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PUBLICATIONS   • 


OF    THE 


MODERN  LANGUAGE  ASSOCIATION 


OP 


AMERICA 


EDITED    BY 

CHAELES  H.  GKANDGENT 

SECRETARY  OF  THE  ASSOCIATION 


VOL.    XXIII 
NEW  SERIES.  VOL.  XVI 


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

BALTIMORE 

1908 


CONTENTS. 


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

Narrative  A.rt.     By  WALTER  MORRIS  HART,  1 

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

SALVIO, 45 

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

Tyre.     By  HARRY  T.  BAKER, 100 

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

COOPER, 119 

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

NOBLE  MACCRACKEN, 128 

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

GEROULD, 141 

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

JOHN  W.  CUNLIFFE, 169 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BURNHAM, 375 

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

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

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

MACCRACKEN, 486 

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

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

BARRY  CERF, 545 

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

JONES, 557 

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

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

By  THOMAS  WILLIAM  NADAL, 646 


CONTENTS. 


APPENDIX. 

PAGE. 

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

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

Eeport  of  the  Secretary, iii 

Keport  of  the  Treasurer, .---  iv 

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

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

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

By  E.  J.  FORTIER, vi 

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

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

By  BAYMOND  MACDONALD  ALDEN,      -  vii 

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

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

EDWARD  OLIVER,  viii 

The    Address  of  the  President  of  the  Association.     By  FRED 

NEWTON  SCOTT, viii 

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

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

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

Classic  Drama.     By  H.  CARRINGTON  LANCASTER,  ix 

9.  Early  Conceptions  of  America  in  European  Literatures.     By 

THOMAS  STOCKHAM  BAKER, ix 

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

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

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

By  B.  J.  Vos, x 

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

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


CONTENTS.  V 

Appointment  of  Committee  on  Early  English  Texts,     -  xi 

Duplication  of  Work  in  Doctoral  Theses, xii 

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

By  HUGH  A.  SMITH, -        -  xiii 

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

EDWARD  PAYSON  MORTON, xiii 

15.  The  Schildbiirger.     By  JOHN  MORRIS, xiii 

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

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

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

CLAPP, xiv 

Meeting  of  the  American  Dialect  Society, xiv 

Eeport  of  Nominating  Committees, xv 

Eesolution  of  Thanks,  xvii 

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

By  BAYARD  QUINCY  MORGAN, xvii 

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

W.  CUNLIFFE, xvii 

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

CAPEN,          -','*.' xviii 

22.  The  Syntactical  Development  of  the  Spanish  2d  Imperfect 

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

By  ARTHUR  K.  SEYMOUR, xviii 

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

Papers  read  by  Title, xix 

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

The  President's  Address  :— 

The  Genesis  of  Speech, xxvi 

The  Constitution  of  the  Association, lv 

List  of  Members,          --. lix 

List  of  Subscribing  Libraries, ci 

Honorary  Members, civ 

Boll  of  Members  Deceased, cv 


PUBLICATIONS 

OF   THE 

Modern  Language  Association  of  America. 

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

I.— THE   KEEVE'S   TALE. 

A  COMPARATIVE  STUDY  OF  CHAUCER'S 
NARRATIVE  ART. 

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

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

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

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

1 


2  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

I. 
LE  MEUNIER  ET  LES  II  CLERS. 

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

Li  molins  si  loin  lor  estoit, 

Plus  de  .11.  Hues  i  avoit. 

C' estoit  lo  molin  a  choisel, 

Si  seoit  juste  un  bocheel : 

II  n'ot  ilueques  environ 

Borde,  ne  vile,  ne  maison, 

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

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

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


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

Et  1'autres  clers  si  s'aparoille, 

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

The  events  of  the  story  require  but  a  single  night. 

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

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


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

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


4  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

La  nuit,  qant  ce  vint  au  soper, 

Li  murders  lor  fait  aporler 

Pain  et  lait,  et  eues,  et  fromage, 

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

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

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

Li  dui  clerc  ont  lo  vilain  pris  ; 

Tant  1'ont  tele*  et  debatu 

Par  po  qu'il  ne  Pont  tot  niolu, 

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

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

2  Be*dier,  p.  358. 


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

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

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

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

^--JL tr 

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


6  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

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

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

Qant  durent  prandre  lo  fromant, 

Ne  trovent  ne  sac  ne  jumant. 

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

Pechiez  nos  a  a  essil  mis." 

Chascuns  escrie :   "  Halas  !  halas ! 

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

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  7 

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

Et  li  muniers  prant  a  panser, 

Or  seroit  il  pire  que  chiens, 

S'il  ne  lor  faisoit  aucun  bien 

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

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

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

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

'B&lier,  pp.  334,  393. 

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


8  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

Lo  briez  trove,  si  s'esbai'st ; 

N'est  pas  mervoille  s'il  lo  fist. 

II  ot  peor,  et  neporqant 

.1.  petit  est  alez  avant ; 

Et  qant  .11.  testes  a  trovees, 

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

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


p.  357. 

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  9 

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

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

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

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


10  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

Qui  en  cez  clers  avez  embl£ 

Lor  sac  de  ble  et  lor  jumant, 

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

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

II. 
THE  REEVE'S  TALE. 

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

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

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  11 

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

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

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

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

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


12  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

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

Toward  the  fen,  ther  wilde  mares  renne, 

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


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

At  Trumpington,  nat  fer  fro  Cantebrigge, 

Ther  goth l  a  brook  and  over  that  a  brigge, 

Up  on  the  whiche  brook  ther  stant  a  melle  ; 

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

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


13 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


14  WALTER  MORRIS  HART. 

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

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

Testif  they  were,  and  lusty  for  to  pleye, 

And,  only  for  hir  mirthe  and  revelrye, 

Up-on  the  wardeyn  bisily  they  crye, 

To  yeve  hem  leve  but  a  litel  stouude 

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

And  hardily,  they  dorste  leye  hir  nekke, 

The  miller  shold  nat  stele  hem  half  a  pekke 

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

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

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

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


15 


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

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

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

1  Op.  tit. ,  p.  262. 

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

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


16  WALTER   MORELS   HART. 

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

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

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

1  They  are  in  good  company  here  ,  Roland  exclaims  : 

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

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  17 

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

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


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

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

2  MR,  34,  about  7500  words. 

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

2 


18  WALTER   MORRIS    HART. 

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  19 

And  up  they  goon,  and  doun  agayn  anon, 

Til  that  the  miller  sporned  at  a  stoon, 

And  doun  he  fil  bakward  up-on  his  wyf, 

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

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

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

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

She  wende  the  clerk  hadde  wered  a  volupeer. 

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

And  wende  han  hit  this  Aleyn  at  the  fulle, 

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

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

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

The  cradel  at  hir  beddes  feet  is  set, 

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

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

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

2  See  vv.  39955.,  4146  ff. 


20  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  21 

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

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

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

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

JCf.,  p.  5,  above. 

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

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


22  WALTEE  MORRIS  HART. 

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

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

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

As  eny  pecok  he  was  proud  and  gay. 

Pypen  he  coude  and  fisshe,  and  nettes  bete, 

And  turne  coppes,  and  wel  wrastle  and  shete  ; 

And  by  his  belt  he  baar  a  long  panade, 

And  of  a  swerd  ful  trenchant  was  the  blade. 

A  loly  popper  baar  he  in  his  pouche ; 

Ther  was  no  man  for  peril  dorste  him  touche. 

A  Sheffeld  thwitel  baar  he  in  his  hose  ; 

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

As  piled  as  an  ape  was  his  skulle. 

He  was  a  market-beter  atte  fulle. 

Ther  dorste  no  wight  hand  upon  him  legge, 

That  he  ne  swoor  he  sholde  anon  abegge. 

A  theef  he  was  for  sothe  of  corn  and  mele, 

And  that  a  sly,  and  usaunt  for  to  stele. 

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

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


23 


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

And  eek,  for  she  was  somdel  smoterlich, 

She  was  as  digne  as  water  in  a  dich  ; 

And  ful  of  hoker  and  of  bisemare. 

Hir  thoughte  that  a  lady  sholde  hir  spare, 

What  for  hir  kinrede  and  hir  nortelrye 

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

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


1Cf.,  v,  3955. 

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


24  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

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

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


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

2Cf.,  vv.  3951  ff. 

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  25 

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

the  more  forceful,  the  wiser  or  more  discreet.1 

+.,$**' 

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

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

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

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

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


26  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


27 


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

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

Aleyn,  under  the  same  circumstances, — 

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

The  satirical  irony : 

For  holy  chirches  good  moot  ben  dispended 

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

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

For  lalous  folk  ben  perilous  evermo, 

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

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

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


28  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

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

1CL,  p.  9,  above. 


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  29 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


See  p.  15,  above. 


50  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

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

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

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

And  the  Reeve  thus  moralizes  the  tale : 

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


Ill 

THE  REEVE'S  TALE  AND  THE  FABLIAUX. 

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  31 

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

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

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

servant  ironically  asks  her  mistress  : 

t 

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

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

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

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

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


32  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


33 


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3 


34  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

To  this  sorry  beast  the  idealized  Vair  Palefroi  offers  sharp 

contrast : 

Vairs  ert  et  de  riche  color  ; 

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

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

Ains  aportent  le  vermeil  vin, 

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

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

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

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


35 


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

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

1  Cf.  p.  15,  above. 


36  WALTER   MORRIS    HART. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


THE  REEVE'S  TALE.  37 

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

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

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

Avoit  en  la  forest  parfonde, 

Qui  granz  estoit  a  la  roonde, 

Un  sentier  fet,  qui  n' estoit  mie 

Hantez  d'ome  qui  fust  en  vie 

Se  de  lui  non  tant  seulement. 

Par  la  aloit  celeement 

Entre  lui  et  son  palefroi, 

Sanz  demener  noise  n'effroi, 

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

Dessus  le  palefroi  requerre 

Aloit  so  vent  la  damoisele 

Par  la  forest  soutaine  et  bele, 

Ou  le  sentier  batu  avoit 

Que  nus  el  monde  ne  savoit 

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

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


38  WALTER   MORRIS    HART. 

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

Ainsi  vont  chevauchant  ensamble. 

Li  vairs  palefrois,  ce  me  samble, 

Ou  la  damoisele  se"oit, 

Qui  la  grant  route  porsiyoit, 

Ne  sot  pas  le  chemin  avant 

Ou  la  grant  route  aloit  devant, 

Ainz  a  choisi  par  devers  destre 

Une  sentele,  qui  vers  1'estre 

Mon  seignor  Guillaume  aloit  droit. 

Li  palefrois  la  sente  voit, 

Qui  molt  so  vent  1'avoit  hantee  ; 

Le  chemin  lest  sanz  demerge 

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

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

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


1  P.  36,  above. 

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


39 


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

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

Avoi !  qu'est  mes  cuers  devenuz? 

Je  suis  toz  vieus  et  toz  chenuz, 

Lais  et  pales  et  noirs  et  maigres, 

En  filosofie  plus  aigres 

Que  nus  c'on  sache  ne  ne  cuide. 

Molt  ai  mal  emploie  m'estuide, 

Qui  onques  ne  finai  d'aprendre. 

Or  me  desaprent  por  mieus  prendre 

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

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

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


40  WALTER   MORRIS    HART. 

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

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

Vestuz  se  f  u  d'  un  burel  gris, 

Cote,  et  sorcot,  et  chape  ensamble, 

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

Et  Si  ot  coifTe  de  borras  ; 

Ses  sellers  ne  sont  mie  a  las, 

Ainz  sont  de  vache  dur  et  fort ; 

Et  cil,  qui  mout  de  barat  sot, 

.1.  mois  et  plus  estoit  remese 

Sa  barbe  qu'ele  ne  fu  rese  ; 

.1.  aguillon  prist  en  sa  main, 

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

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


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


41 


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

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

Chaucer. 

\ 

IV. 

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

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


»m,  38ft  8n,  80  f. 

3  P.  33,  above. 

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

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


42  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

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

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

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


THE  KEEVE'S  TALE.  43 

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

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

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


44  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

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

WALTER  MORRIS  HART. 


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


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

I. 

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

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

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


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

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

45 


46  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

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


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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL,   IN   SOUTHERN   ITALY.  47 

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

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

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

The  key  to  pronunciation  is  as  follows : 

ch  :  ch  in  church. 

& :  close  e. 

§  :  open  e. 

Q  :  indistinct  e. 

j  :  y  in  yes. 

Ih  :  Spanish  II. 

6  :  close  o. 

6 :  open  o. 

s :  English  sh. 

th  :  th  in  this. 

ii :  French  u  in  tu. 

w :  w  in  wet. 

w  :  French  u  in  lui. 

All  other  vowels  and  consonants  are  pronounced  as  in 
Italian. 


48  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

"i 

II. 

TONIC  VOWELS. 

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

a 

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


FKANCO-PROVENgAL   IN    SOUTHERN    ITALY.  49 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 

0 


50  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

5.  Pal.  +  a  '•  ie> 

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

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

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

e,  t 

1.    e,  V, :  dj. 

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

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


FRANCO-PROVEN£AL   IN   SOUTHERN   ITALY.  51 

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

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

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

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

e 

1.  £  not  in  position  :  ie,  ie,  i. 

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

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

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


52  A.    DE   SALVIO. 


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

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL   IN    SOUTHERN   ITALY.  53 

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

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

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


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

o,  u 

1 .  5  :  du. 

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

2.  o :  u. 

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

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

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


54  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

u 

1.    u  :  u. 

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


FRANCO-PROVENgAL   IN   SOUTHERN   ITALY.  55 

2.    More  commonly  u  :  i. 

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

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

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

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


1.  o  :uo. 

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

2.  6  -\-  y  :  ua. 

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

3.  o  :  u£,  ue,  u. 

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

4.  6  in  position  :  d. 

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

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

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


56  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

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

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

an 

au  :  6,  u. 

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENgAL   IN   SOUTHERN   ITALY.  57 

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

III. 

PHOTONIC  VOWELS. 
a 

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

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

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


e  :i,  e,  ^. 

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

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


58  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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


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

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

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

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

o 

o  :  u. 

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENgAL   IN   SOUTHERN    ITALY.  59 

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

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

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

u 

u :  i. 

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

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

au 

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

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

IV. 
FINAL  VOWELS. 

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


60  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

V. 

CONSONANTS. 


1.  Initial  c  +  a:  oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL    IN   SOUTHERN    ITALY.  61 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mank  :  mancum  D19,  bjank  :  blancwn  E. 

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

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

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

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

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


62  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

7.  cs :  s, 

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

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

8.  qu  :  k. 

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


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

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PRO  VENgAL    IN   SOUTHERN    ITALY.  63 

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

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

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

J 

1.  j:  palatal  g. 

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

2.  !j:lh,j. 

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

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

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


64  A.    DE    SALVIO. 

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

4.    dj  :  palatal  g,  di,  j. 

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PRO VEN£AL    IN   SOUTHERN    ITALY.  65 

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

5 


66  A.    DE   SALVIO. 


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

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

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

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


n 


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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL,    IN    SOUTHERN   ITALY.  67 

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

m 

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

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


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

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

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

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


68  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

trem. 

d 

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

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

P 

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL   IN   SOUTHERN   ITALY.  69 

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

b 

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

VI. 
A. 

DECAMERON,  THE  NINTH  NOVEL   OF   THE  FIRST  DAY.1 

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

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

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

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

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


70  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

ITALIAN  ORIGINAL. 

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


FRANCO-PRO  VEN£AL    IN    SOUTHERN    ITALY.  71 

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

B. 

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

By  Arcangelo  Petitti. 

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

K'i  allassiant,  i  allassiant  arragidn ; 

Du  Mu  i  tintint  m6  rog  lu  kanan  ! 

Tutt  i  achaffunt,  e  mai  s'abbinghiiint, 

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

Kg  ?nkiok  a  nus  tutt  i  ant  a  mingij  ! 

89  fan  pa  gial,  S9  fan  pa  rus ; 

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

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

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

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

Kg  i  allarg  milha'ug  chemmindn  pa  16  fuora ; 


72  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

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

A  tutt  nus  n'ant  propria  stuffa  ! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENgAL   IN    SOUTHERN    ITALY.  73 

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

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

C. 

ADDO  Ga  VTJOLH  MURIJ. 

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

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

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

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

PBOVENgAL  ORIGINAL.1 

MOUNTE  VOLE  MOUKI. 

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

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

Dins  li  jardin  de  Sant-Roumie'. 

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


74  A.   DE   SALVIO. 

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

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

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

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

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

FRENCH  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  ABOVE. 
Ou  JE  VEUX  MOURIR. 

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

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

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

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

D. 
A  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  TWO  FAETO  PEASANTS/ 

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL    IN   SOUTHERN    ITALY.  75 

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

A.  Dakir  i  vat  a  la  kijza  ? 

B.  D'ikki  V  ata  deka  de  giiior. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

25          t'rin  ? 

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

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

i  putunt  fa  vita  da  markaj. 

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

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


76  A.    DE   SALVIO. 

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

LITERAL  TRANSLATION. 

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

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

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

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

A.  When  will  she  go  to  the  church  ? 

B.  In  about  ten  days. 

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

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

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

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


FRANCO-PROVENCAL,    IN    SOUTHERN    ITALY.  77 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A.  Good-by,  friend. 

E. 

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

asiij  :  to  dry.  chargij  :  to  load. 

aur&lhz  ;  ear.  chati  :  punishment. 

avrij  :  April.  chi&b  :  ladder. 

baghy  :  to  bathe.  chier  chiew  :  dear. 

bjank  :  white.  chin  chign9  :  dog. 

buck  :  mouth.  chjevdrz  :  goat. 

buz  :  ox.  ddj  :  finger. 

:  kettle.  dau  :  sweet. 


78 


A.    DE   SALVIO. 


ddgiuv  ddgiue  :  Thursday. 

ddmudjdnd  :  demon. 

dimingz :  Sunday. 

&J9  :  water. 

fatid  :  to  work. 

fier  :  gall. 

fi&vrd  :  fever. 

fryrfj  :  February. 

friij  frijd  :  to  rub. 

gel'ms  :  hen. 

gznduz :  knee. 

gidue  gia  :  yoke. 

gin  gen  :  people. 

gioj9  :  joy. 

giriij :  to  turn. 

giurnd  :  the  whole  day. 

ilhd  ij  :  eye. 

ilhv  ;  needle. 

kanmlij  :  candelabrum. 

kiw  :  short. 

kjd  :  key. 

kju9  :  nail. 

krudj :  cross. 

/^ud  ;  tail. 

Jcudjzrz :  to  cook. 

kudjs9  :  thigh. 

kud9  :  elbow. 

kuesun  :  we  cook. 

kuorp  :  body. 

kurrunt :  they  run. 

kutej :  knife. 

largz  ;  large. 

fe; :  milk. 

lejfid  :  to  leave. 


lejsij  :  to  leave. 

li&vdrz  :  hare. 

&/  :  law. 

lij  :  bed. 

Zina  :  moon. 

Us  :  light. 

lun  :  long. 

lusd  :  lye. 

manehz  :  sleeve. 

mej  :  May. 

mejz  :  kneading-trough. 

ming9  :  I  eat. 

naj  naJ9T2  :  black. 

naj :  snow. 

nau  :  knot. 

ni&wfo  :  cloud. 

nudj  :  nut. 

09  :  bone. 

pajrij  :  piracy. 

parmv  :  palm. 

pans  :  dust. 

perdi :  lost. 

pid :  foot. 

piett :  breast. 

pij  :  feet. 

pjdjd  :  wound. 

pjejd  pjijd  :  to  fold. 

pin  :  fist. 

prend :  pregnant. 

prijd :  to  pray. 

prin  :  I  take. 

rejrz  :  to  shave. 

nra :  to  laugh. 

rud  :  street. 


FRANCO-PBOVENgAL  IN   SOUTHERN   ITALY.  79 

secchij  :  to  dry.  talhij  :  to  cut. 

sej  :  I  know.  taur&j  :  bull. 

sej  :  birds.  tin  :  I  hold. 

szrdw  :  sister.  tremd  :  to  tremble. 

syrudj  :  sun.  tuchij  :  to  touch. 

sier  :  sky.  wd/afe  :  oil. 

sijij  :  safe.  vaj  :  voice. 

«pe7'«  :  to  hope.  vielfo  :  old  f. 

sumijija  :  similar.  vej  :  I  go. 

taj :  I  cut. 

A.  DE  SALVIO. 


HI.— SPENSER'S  LOST  POEMS. 

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

I.  Mentioned  in  the  Shepherds  Calender. 

1.  English  Poet. 

2.  Court  of  Cupid. 

3.  Sonnets. 

4.  Pageants. 

5.  Legends. 

6.  Dreams. 

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

tive). 

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

1580). 

8.  My  Slomber  and  other  Pamphlets. 

9.  Stemmata  Dudleiana. 

10.  Nine  English  Comedies. 

11.  Epithalamion  Thamesis. 

12.  Dying  Pelican. 

13.  Dreams. 

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

14.  Sennights  Slomber. 

15.  Hell  of  Lovers — His  Purgatorie. 

16.  Translation  of  Ecclesiastes  and  Canticum  Canticorum. 

17.  Translation  of  Seven  Psalmes. 

18.  Sacrifice  of  a  Sinner. 

19.  Hours  of  the  Lord. 

IV.  Ascribed  to  Spenser  by  tradition. 

20.  Six  more  cantos  of  the  Faerie  Queene. 

21.  Translation  of   the   Greek    dialogue  by  Axiochus. 

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


SPENSER'S  LOST  POEMS.  81 

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

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

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


82 

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

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

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

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


SPENSER'S  LOST  POEMS.  83 

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

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


84  PHILO    M.    BUCK,    JR. 

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

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

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

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

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


85 


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

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

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


86  PHILO   M.    BUCK,    JR. 

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

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

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

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


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


87 


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

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

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

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

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


88  PHILO    M.    BUCK,    JR. 

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

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

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

Gloss  to  the  Oct.  Eel. 

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

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


SPENSER'S  LOST  POEMS.  89 

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

An  hundred  Graces  on  her  eyelidde  sate." 

Gloss  to  the  June  Eclogue. 

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

"  In  this  same  pageaunt  have  a  worthy  place." 

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


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

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


90  PHILO    M.    BUCK,    JB. 

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

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

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

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

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

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


SPENSER'S  LOST  POEMS.  91 

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

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

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


92  PHILO    M.    BUCK,    JR. 

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

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

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

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

And  ye,  faire  Ladie  in  whose  bounteous  brest. 

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

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

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

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


SPENSER'S  LOST  POEMS.  93 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


94  PHILO   M.    BUCK,    JR. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of  my  Stemmata  Dudleiana,   and  especially  of  the 


95 

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

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

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

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

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

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


96  PHLLO    M.    BUCK,    JK. 

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

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

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

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


97 

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

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

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

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

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

7 


98  PHILO   M.    BUCK,   JR. 

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

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

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

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

Book  iv  of  the  Faerie- Queene  begins, 

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

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

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

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

For  lovers  heaven  must  pass  by  sorrows  hell. 


99 

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

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

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

PHILO  M.  BUCK,  JK. 


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

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

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

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

100 


101 

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

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

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

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


102  HARRY   T.    BAKER. 

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

polis." 

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

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

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

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


SHAKSPERE'S  PERICLES.  103 

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

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

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

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


104  HARRY   T.    BAKER. 

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

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

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

(v,  1,  192-196.) 


SHAKSPERE'S  PERICLES.  105 

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

(m,  1,  1-6.) 

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

(v,  1,  109-114. ) 

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

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

(iv,  1,9-10.) 

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

(Novel,  p.  57.) 

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

(v,  1,  196-197.) 

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

(Novel,  p.  77.) 

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


106  HARRY    T.    BAKER. 

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

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

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

(iv,  2,  159-160.) 

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

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

(iv,  6,  116-117.) 

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


SHAKSPERE'S  PERICLES.  107 

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

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


108  HARRY   T.    BAKER. 

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

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

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


109 

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

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

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


110  HARRY    T.    BAKER. 

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

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

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

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

ibid. 


Ill 

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

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

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

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

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


112  HARRY    T.    BAKER. 

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

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

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

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


1A  Shakespeare  Manual,  p.  211. 

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


SHAKSPERE' s  PERICLES.  113 

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

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


114  HARRY    T.    BAKER. 

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


HARRY  T.  BAKER. 


APPENDIX. 


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(II,  1,  30-32.) 

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

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

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

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

(II,  1,  63-65.) 

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

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

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

/   TT        -J          -I  f\{*      \ 

"The  Good  King  call  you  him ? " 

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


115 

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

(II,  1,  122-125. ) 

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

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

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

This  jewel  holds  his  building  on  my  arm." 

(II,  1,  161-162.) 

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

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

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

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

(II,  2,  36-37.) 

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

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

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

With  such  a  graceful  courtesy  delivered." 

(II,  2,  40-41.) 

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

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

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

(11,2,43.) 

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

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

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

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

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

(11,3,  81-85.) 

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

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


116  HARRY    T.    BAKER. 

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

And  not  to  be  a  rebel  to  her  state." 

(II,  5,  61-62.) 

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

be  a  rebell  to  his  State." 

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

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

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

(II,  5,  71-72.) 

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

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

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

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

Thou  hast  as  chiding  a  nativity 

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

(Ill,  1,  30-33. ) 

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

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

16.  "Her  eyelids,  cases  to  those  heavenly  jewels 

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

(Ill,  2,  99-101.) 

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

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

17.  "  Here  I  give  to  understand, 

If  e'er  this  coffin  drive  a-land, 

I,  King  Pericles,  have  lost 

This  queen,  worth  all  our  mundane  cost. 

Who  finds  her,  give  her  burying  ; 

She  was  the  daughter  of  a  king  : 

Besides  this  treasure  for  a  fee, 

The  gods  requite  his  charity  ! " 

(III,  2,  68-75.) 

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


SHAKSPERE'S  PERICLES.  117 

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

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

18.  "O  dear  Diana, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(IV,  1,  9-10.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(IV,  6,  99-101.) 

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

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

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

A  curse  upon  him,  die  he  like  a  thief, 

That  robs  thee  of  thy  goodness !  " 

(IV,  6,  118-122.) 


118  HARRY   T.    BAKER. 

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

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

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

25.  "  Avaunt,  thou  damned  door-keeper  ! 

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

(IV,  6,  126-128.) 

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

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

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

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

(IV,  6,  168-170.) 

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

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

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

Yield  many  scholars." 

(IV,  6,  197-198.) 

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

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

28.  "O,  come  hither, 

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

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

(Novel,  p.  77,  11.  14-15.) 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that,  of  the  fourteen  parallelisms  in  the  last  three 
acts,  five  are  from  one  of  the  brothel  scenes  (IV,  6).  These  scenes  were 
probably  written  by  Wilkins  and  only  partly  recast  by  Shakspere. 


V.— A  SURVEY   OF   THE   LITERATURE   ON 
WORDSWORTH. 

At  the  present  time,  when  the  world  is  too  much  with 
us,  many  reasons  might  be  urged  for  a  wider  and  deeper 
attention  to  the  study  of  Wordsworth.  We  must  content 
ourselves  here  with  a  single,  obvious  reason,  easily  grasped. 
The  two  accredited  leaders  of  English  criticism  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  Coleridge  and  Matthew  Arnold,  ranked 
Wordsworth  among  the  five  greatest  English  poets,  his  com- 
peers being,  in  their  opinion,  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shake- 
speare, and  Milton.1  A  third  critic,  no  mean  one,  namely 
Wordsworth  himself,  held  substantially  the  same  belief, 
viewing  the  grounds  of  his  belief  as  objectively  as  he  could. 
It  is  well  for  everybody,  now  and  then,  to  regard  some 
matters  in  a  broad  perspective. 

The  attention  already  paid  to  Wordsworth  has,  indeed, 
been  greater  than  the  uninitiated  might  suppose ;  but  it  has 
not  been  generally  guided  by  fundamental  considerations, 
or  by  such  a  survey  of  the  field  as,  in  spite  of  some  natural 
reluctance,  I  now  venture  to  report.  My  purpose  is,  first, 
to  indicate  on  broad  lines  what  has  been  accomplished  thus 
far  in  the  study  of  Wordsworth,  in  order,  second,  to  de- 
termine what  ought  to  be  done  in  the  future.  The  necessity 
of  being  brief,  and  the  effort  not  to  be  obscure,  will  doubt- 
less render  me  more  dogmatic  than  one  would  ordinarily 
like  to  appear. 

The  most  complete  collection  of  Words worthi  ana  in  this 
country  is  that  in  the  library  of  Mrs.  Henry  A.  St.  John  at 

1  See  the  general  consensus  of  opinion  among  the  more  important 
authors  cited  by  Karl  Bomig  in  his  dissertation  (Leipzig,  1906). 
William  Wordsworth  im  Urteile  seiner  Zeit. 

11 


120  LANE   COOPER. 

Ithaca,  N.  Y. ;  it  consists  of  approximately  eleven  hundred 
volumes,  and  somewhat  less  than  two  hundred  articles  in 
periodicals.  On  the  basis  of  this,  one  may  estimate  that 
the  existent  literature  by  and  about  Wordsworth  would 
make  a  bibliography  of  not  less  than  fifteen  hundred  titles. 
For  comparison  we  may  note  that  the  very  thorough  Bibli- 
ography of  Coleridge  by  Dr.  J.  L.  Haney  contains  about 
nine  hundred  entries,  exclusive  of  marginalia,  and  inclusive 
of  numerous  school  editions  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  oc- 
casioned by  the  accident  of  our  college  entrance  require- 
ments. Roughly  considered,  the  amount  of  material  on 
Wordsworth  which  could  not  be  discarded  is  perhaps  double 
that  on  Coleridge.  We  can  notice,  of  course,  only  a  few 
even  of  the  works  that  are  indispensable. 

Out  of  the  mass  of  Wordsworthian  literature,  a  brief  sur- 
vey will  naturally  light  first  upon  the  most  important  texts 
of  Wordsworth's  works,  especially  of  his  poetical  works ; 
next  upon  standard  biographies  of  Wordsworth,  if  there 
be  any;  finally  upon  interpretations  and  criticisms  of 
Wordsworth,  so  far  as  these  are  separable  from  biography. 

On  the  text  of  Wordsworth's  poems  practically  nothing 
remains  to  be  done.  The  definitive  text,  though  the  fact 
is  not  commonly  known,  is  that  edited  in  1895  by  Mr. 
Thomas  Hutchinson,  and  since  issued  without  corrigenda 
in  a  volume  of  the  well-known. Oxford  Edition  of  the  Eng- 
lish poets.  This  improves,  of  course,  upon  the  prior  Aldine 
text  of  Professor  Dowden,  though  the  Aldine  Edition  is 
otherwise  the  best  on  account  of  Dowden's  commentary. 
Professor  Knight's  Eversley  Edition,  1896,  derives  some 
importance  from  its  attempt  to  offer  Wordsworth's  poems 
in  chronological  arrangement.  Unfortunately,  with  the 
imperfect  data  thus  far  available,  such  an  effort  is  neces- 
sarily tentative ;  and,  still  more  unfortunately,  Knight  in 
this,  his  second  attempt,  neglected  many  strictures  passed 


LITERATURE  ON  WORDSWORTH.          121 

upon  his  earlier  Edinburgh  Edition,  so  that  only  his  oc- 
casional citation  from  documents  to  which  other  people  are 
denied  access  makes  his  later  edition  of  value  to  scholars. 
The  prospective  edition  by  Mr.  RTowell  Smith,  which  is 
said  to  be  under  way,  will  have  to  be  reckoned  with  when- 
ever it  shall  appear,  but  rather  on  account  of  accessory  in- 
formation about  Wordsworth's  literary  sources  than  be- 
cause of  any  probable  superiority  over  Mr.  Hutchinson's 
edition  in  point  of  a  faithful  text. 

Of  Wordsworth's  prose  works  there  have  been  two  sup- 
posedly complete  editions,  that  by  Grosart  in  1876,  and 
that  by  Knight  in  the  Eversley  Series  of  1896.  Grosart's 
three  volumes  served  their  day.  Knight's  two,  strangely 
enough,  were  passed  over  by  the  reviewers,  though  in  plan 
and  annotation  they  are  hardly  less  vulnerable  than  the  rest 
of  the  good  professor's  achievements  as  an  editor.  There 
is,  however,  no  crying  need  of  a  new  issue  of  Wordsworth's 
prose,  save  in  the  case  of  his  letters. 

The  latter  need,  it  is  true,  Professor  Knight  is  even  now 
aiming  to  satisfy,  and  we  shall  have — before  long,  let  us 
hope — a  substantial  collection  of  Wordsworth's  correspond- 
ence from  the  press  of  Messrs.  Ginn  and  Company,  a  monu- 
ment to  the  unselfishness  of  an  American  publisher.  This 
collection  will  be  indispensable  to  scholars — I  would  not 
for  a  moment  underrate  the  editor's  service — but  it  will 
suffer  from  arbitrary  and  baffling  excisions,  and,  like  the 
Journals  of  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  it  must  sometime  be  re- 
vised by  a  different  hand.1 

With  the  mention  of  letters  we  verge  upon  the  matter  of 
biography.  The  correspondence  of  the  Wordsworths  al- 


JThe  collection  has  since  appeared  (Letters  of  the  Wordsworth 
Family,  in  three  volumes,  Boston,  Ginn)  ;  it  bears  out  the  description 
given  above. 


122  LANE   COOPER. 

ready  published  or  soon  to  be,  the  Journals  of  the  poet's  sis- 
ter, the  Prelude,  the  Memoirs  by  the  poet's  nephew,  the 
Life  by  Knight,  the  incomparable  study  of  Wordsworth's 
early  years  by  Legouis,  and  the  researches  of  Hutchinson, 
afford  an  adequate  account  of  Wordsworth's  career,  at  least 
in  an  external  sense.  Indeed,  the  table  of  external  facts 
given  by  Hutchinson  in  the  Oxford  Edition  of  Wordsworth 
offers  as  much  as  is  needed  in  the  way  of  pure  chronology. 
Of  biography  in  a  higher  sense  we  may  say  that  Legouis's 
monograph,  humanly  speaking,  is  perfect  so  far  as  it  goes. 
In  the  ordinary  sense  of  biography,  Knight's  voluminous 
work,  though  inaccurate,  is  still  necessary.  On  the  whole, 
the  most  trustworthy  record  of  Wordsworth's  career  in 
its  entirety  is  the  first,  by  Bishop  Wordsworth,  the  ex- 
cellent memoirs  by  Dowden  and  Myers  not  excepted.  In 
the  highest  sense,  no  one  is  yet  in  a  position  to  deal  with 
the  poet's  life  in  its  broadest  relations,  for  want  of  num- 
berless preliminary  investigations.  But  with  literary  biol- 
ogy, if  we  may  coin  the  term,  we  begin  to  invade  another 
field.  With  the  poet  not  merely  in  his  own  development, 
and  not  merely  in  relation  to  his  own  age,  but  in  relation 
to  other  ages  and  literatures  as  well,  we  reach  the  province 
of  interpretation  and  criticism,  or,  in  a  word,  simply 
criticism. 

The  salient  trait  in  the  mass  of  critical  literature  on 
Wordsworth  is  its  tone  of  normal  health.  The  eminent 
sanity  of  his  genius,  though  it  could  not  secure  him  against 
the  pens  of  the  hasty  and  ill-taught,  has  saved  the  poet 
from  the  more  sickly  sort  of  sentimentalists.  The  morbid 
gain  strength  in  writing  about  him.  This  is  not  all.  The 
amount  of  Wordsworthian  criticism  that  is  positively  well 
done  is  so  large  that  of  his  abler  exponents  not  a  tithe  may 
here  be  even  named.  Omitting  Coleridge  and  Lamb, 
Arnold  and  Euskin,  Henry  Reed,  William  Minto,  R.  H. 


LITERATURE   ON    WORDSWORTH.  123 

Hutton,  and  coming  down  to  the  present,  we  find  at  the  head 
of  Wordsworthian  students  three  in  particular  that  must 
not  go  unmentioned,  Legouis,  Hutchinson,  and  Dowden. 
Of  these,  it  may  be  said,  Hutchinson  knows  most  about 
the  poet  in  and  for  himself ;  Dowden,  from  his  rich  experi- 
ence in  other  fields,  has  a  better  perspective  of  Wordsworth 
with  reference  to  literature  as  a  whole ;  and  Legouis,  thanks 
to  his  scholarly  French  training,  has  written  the  truest 
single  book  about  Wordsworth  yet  produced.  He  has 
known  how  to  limit  his  treatment  in  such  a  way  as  to  be 
both  specific  and  general.  This  work  by  Legouis,  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  Prelude  already  referred  to,  is,  like 
Dowden's  Introduction  in  his  volume  of  selections  pub- 
lished by  Ginn,  oftener  consulted  than  are  the  invaluable 
criticisms  of  Hutchinson,  which  are  contained  in  his  re- 
prints of  Lyrical  Ballads  and  the  Poems  of  1807,  or  scat- 
tered through  the  files  of  the  Academy  and  the  Athenceum, 
very  often  in  unsigned  reviews. 

In  the  main,  such  extant  interpretation  and  criticism  of 
Wordsworth  as  bids  fair  to  endure  the  test  of  time  has  con- 
fined itself  to  the  elucidation  of  his  topography  in  the  Lake 
District,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  he  wrote  par- 
ticular poems;  to  his  function  as  a  nature-poet,  after  a 
conception  of  nature  narrower  than  the  Aristotelian,  to- 
gether with  his  relation  to  immediate  precursors  in  Eng- 
land; and,  finally,  to  his  connection  with  the  events  and 
motive  forces  of  the  French  Revolution.  It  is  in  the  last 
named  field  that  the  most  stimulating  work  has  been  done, 
by  Legouis,  Dowden,  and,  more  recently,  Cestre. 

But  Wordsworth  is  a  right  English  poet.  Repaying  as 
the  study  has  been  that  has  linked  him  with  Rousseau  and 
Beaupuy,  we  must  not  forget  that  as  a  literary  artist  he 
nourished  his  soul  chiefly  upon  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shake- 
speare, Milton,  and  the  classics.  In  his  literary  history  the 


124  LANE   COOPER. 

first  significant  fact  is  this,  recorded  by  his  nephew :  '  his 
father  set  him  very  early  to  learn  portions  of  the  best  Eng- 
lish poets  by  heart,  so  that  at  an  early  age  he  could  repeat 
large  portions  of  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Spenser.' 
Later  on,  when,  as  Wordsworth  says,  he  took  up  '  the  pro- 
fession of  a  poet  for  life/  these  three  and  Chaucer  became, 
among  English  models,  the  almost  exclusive  objects  of  his 
analysis  and  conscious  emulation.  '  These  I  must  study, 
and  equal  if  I  could]  and  I  need  not  think  of  the  rest.' 
One  other  principle  of  emphasis  he  gives  us,  for  our  guid- 
ance in  approaching  him,  when  he  tells  his  nephew :  l  Re- 
member, first  read  the  ancient  classical  authors ;  then  come 
to  us;  and  you  will  be  able  to  judge  for  yourself  which  of  us 
is  worth  reading.' 

For  these  and  other  reasons  I  proceed  to  indicate  a  clus- 
ter of  problems  which  must  be  worked  out  systematically, 
and  to  a  conclusion,  before  Wordsworth  can  be  thoroughly 
appreciated,  and  which  have  hitherto  been  handled  by  his 
various  devotees  either  casually  or  not  at  all. 

I.  Corresponding   to   the   general   need    of   intensive 
studies  on  the  relation  of  our  greatest  poets  one  to  another, 
for  example,  of  Spenser  to  Chaucer,  and  of  Milton  to  both, 
there  is  a  need  of  special  and  complete  investigations  into 
the  debt  which  Wordsworth  owes  to  Chaucer,   Spenser, 
Shakespeare,  and  Milton,  severally.     In  that  ideal  fabric 
which  English  scholarship  is  rearing  for  the  edification  of 
posterity,  our  age  might  at  least  begin  to  lay  more  of  the 
great  cross-beams. 

II.  Similarly,  Wordsworth's  debt  to  the  classics  ought 
to  be  subjected  to  a  thoroughgoing  examination  by  several 
persons   working   in   harmony.     Such   persons   will   take 
their  cue  from  the  able  investigations  carried  on  under  the 
direction  of  Professor  Cook  for  Spenser,  Shakespeare,  and, 
notably,    Milton.     In   Wordsworth's   case   this   field   will 


LITERATURE  ON  WORDSWORTH.          125 

prove  more  fertile  than  the  traditional  platitudes  about 
Laodamia  and  Intimations  of  Immortality  would  lead  one 
to  suspect,  and  even  richer,  I  think,  than  one  will  be  likely 
to  gather  from  the  forthcoming  annotations  of  Mr.  ISTowell 
Smith.  Wordsworth's  quotations  from  the  Latin  are,  after 
all,  of  much  less  account  than  his  Grecian  clearness  of 
atmosphere  and  outline. 

III.  The  traditional  mist  about  Wordsworth's  attitude 
toward  organized  and  special  science  ought  also  to  be  dis- 
solved, first,  by  some  one  who,  having  grounded  himself  in 
the  history  of  criticism,  shall  trace  the  genesis  and  growth 
of  the  Wordsworthian  theory  or  science   of  literature,  and 
its  progressive  application  to  the  poet's  own  life  and  work, 
and  shall  adequately  demonstrate  in  how  far  this  theory 
was  original.     Mr.  Lowell  Smith  has  done  real  service  by 
making  Wordsworth's  critical  writings  accessible  in  one 
volume,  yet  it  is  more  or  less  typical  of  all  efforts  in  this 
line  that  Mr.   Smith  should  have  neglected  the  obvious 
sources  of  some  of  Wordsworth's  critical  ideas.     For  ex- 
ample, no  heed  has  been  given  to  the  fact  that  whereas  in 
1800  Wordsworth  was  acquainted  with  Aristotle's  Poetics 
only  at  second  hand,  that  is  through  conversation  with 
Coleridge,  he  probably  read  the  Greek  text  afterward  for 
himself.1 

IV.  Nor  should  his  debt  to  other  and  ancillary  sciences 
be  slighted.     In  a  coming  issue  of  Modern  Language  Notes 
I  hope  to  make  evident  the  wise  dependence  of  this  nature- 
poe,t  upon  the  rapidly  developing  geography  of  his  day,  as 
a  mark  of  his  attention  to  the  whole  round  of  scientific 
observation.2     But  I  shall  be  able  to  draw  only  a  feeble 

1  Compare  Wordsworth's  Literary  Criticism,  ed.  Nowell  Smith,  pp. 
25,  153,  254. 

3 The  article  has  since  appeared  (Mod.  Lang.  Notes,  March,  April, 
1907). 


126  LANE   COOPER. 

furrow  in  an  extensive  plain.  In  no  great  poet — I  repeat 
the  assertion  earnestly — in  no  great  poet  have  we  more 
abundant  and  suitable  material  by  which  to  lay  bare  that 
indissoluble  bond  between  poetry  and  science  which  so 
easily  escapes  the  layman;  for  no  other  poet,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  has  manifested  so  variedly  and  so  explicitly  the 
brotherhood  of  theory  and  practice.  What  other  poet  has 
left  us  a  genetic  psychology  of  the  literary  temperament 
comparable  in  faithfulness  and  delicacy  to  the  Prelude? 
V.  It  is  strange  that,  if  the  systematic  study  of  Words- 
worth has  not  been  impelled  to  go  back  as  far  as  Milton,  it 
should  not  at  least  bound  forward  from  the  French  Revo- 
lution and  consider  Wordsworth  comprehensively  in  the 
light  of  his  subsequent  influence.  By  his  fruits  we  shall 
know  him.  Out  of  the  treasure  of  Wordsworthian  scholar- 
ship, therefore,  let  some  regenerated  scribe  bring  forth 
things  new  as  well  as  old.  Let  him  show,  if  only  by  an  ac- 
cumulation of  references,  what  were  the  obligations  to  this 
great  spirit,  of  Byron,  De  Quincey,  Tennyson,  Ruskin, 
Mill,  Matthew  Arnold,  Gladstone.  Or,  turning  to 
America,  let  him  tell  us  what  Wordsworth  has  given  to 
Emerson  in  May  Day,  to  Bryant  in  Thanatopsis,  and 
to  Thoreau  in  Walden.  Doubtless  all  American  nature- 
poetry  is  tinctured  with  the  influence  of  Rousseau ;  and  the 
spirit  of  Jean  Jacques,  or  the  better  spirit  that  has  operated 
through  him,  might  not  always  be  easily  distinguished  from 
the  leaven  of  Wordsworth.  Here  is  an  alluring  theme  for 
the  literary  historian  who  can  make  up  his  mind  whether 
an  ant-hill  is  more  '  natural '  than  a  populous  town,  and 
whether  romantic  solitude  is  nobler  than  social  life  in  the 
Civitas  Dei.  Yet  in  his  pursuit  of  the  nature  cult,  the 
student  had  better  consult  Lucretius  and  Virgil  and  Words- 
worth first,  and  he  will  be  able  to  judge  for  himself  '  which 
of  us  is  worth  reading.' 


LITERATURE    ON    WORDSWORTH.  127 

VI.  But  for  all  Wordsworthian  studies,  complex  or 
simple,  there  is  one  piece  of  apparatus  sadly  lacking. 
Wordsworth's  poems,  though  they  are  to  be  had  in  well- 
nigh  impeccable  texts,  offer  unusual  difficulties  when  it 
comes  to  systematic  reference,  and  would  do  so  even  were 
they  arranged  in  a  sequence  more  convenient  than  any  now 
feasible.  Several  of  the  questions  I  have  mooted  demand 
for  their  solution  not  merely  a  scholar  of  the  widest  erudi- 
tion, the  maturest  taste,  the  firmest  and  most  philosophic 
training.  They  demand  every  sort  of  mechanical  help  to- 
ward accurate  and  definitive  treatment.  Upon  the  ideal 
scholar  of  the  future,  plain  industry  and  honest  thorough- 
ness to-day  can  confer  an  inestimable  service  by  the  prepara- 
tion of  a  complete  concordance  to  Wordsworth's  poetry. 
The  want  of  a  concordance  is  so  imperative  that,  I  believe, 
true  admiration  and  love  for  the  poet,  and  an  unselfish  hope 
for  his  more  effectual  popularization  in  the  future,  will  for 
the  time  being  cause  us  to  defer  all  plans  of  a  less  humble 
kind,  however  enticing,  and  to  strain  every  nerve  in  the 
attainment  of  this  fundamental  work  of  reference.  Ac- 
cordingly, I  have  pleasure  in  announcing  that  my  friend 
Professor  Clark  S.  Northup  and  myself  have  agreed  to 
edit  such  a  concordance,  and  have  taken  initiatory  steps  to- 
ward its  production,  and  that  so  soon  as  our  expectation  that 
it  will  be  published  becomes  assured,  we  shall  proceed  in 
the  undertaking  with  the  utmost  diligence. 


COOPER. 


VI.— ADDITIONAL  LIGHT  ON  THE  TEMPLE  OF 

GLAS. 

Some  loose  vellum  leaves  of  a  manuscript  written  between 
1431  and  1450  (according  to  Dr.  Kenyon  of  the  British 
Museum)  are  bound  in  with  a  paper  MS.  of  Hoccleve's 
Regement  of  Princes,  in  MS.  British  Museum  Sloane  1212. 
These  leaves,  written  in  what  may  be  a  different  hand  from 
that  of  the  Hoccleve  scribe,  contain  some  interesting 
material,  most  of  which  has  up  to  now  remained  un- 
identified. 

The  leaves  at  the  end  of  the  volume  do  not  now  concern 
us.  They  contain  the  last  stanza  of  a  poem  now  lost,  in- 
troducing a  young  squire,  the  "  tresgentyl  Eger  de  Feme- 
nye,"  "  born  in  Pallatye,"  to  the  service  of  some  lord ;  and 
the  Balade  in  Commendation  of  Our  Lady,  by  Lydgate, 
printed  by  Prof.  Skeat  in  the  supplementary  volume  of  the 
"  Oxford  Chaucer." 

The  leaves  at  the  beginning  of  the  volume  are  more  im- 
portant to  students.  Folio  la  contains  16  lines  of  verse, 
made  up  of  phrases  borrowed  from  Lydgate's  Temple  of 
Glas.  These  occupy  half  the  page;  the  rest  contains  an 
extract  from  the  Temple  of  Glas,  11.  736-754,  762-763. 
The  "  hir  "  of  the  original  has  been  changed  to  "  youre," 
to  make  this  seem  a  direct  petition  of  a  lover  to  his  lady, 
instead  of  the  lover's  remarks  to  Venus,  as  in  the  Temple 
of  Glas.1 

Folio  Ib  contains  two  tries  at  a  love-ballade,  made  of 
Lydgatian  phrases;  together  with  a  considerable  number 
of  marginal  notes  by  the  scribe.  These  run  as  follows: 

lrThe  identification  is  mine.     B.  Fehr,  Archiv,  107,  50-52,  prints  this 
and  the  next  page  as  "zwei  lyrische  Gedichte,"  and  anonymous. 
128 


ADDITIONAL    LIGHT   ON   THE   TEMPLE   OF   GLAS.       129 

Left  margin ;  "  Une  sanz  plus,  fortune  alias,"  then  the  fol- 
lowing, one  below  the  other :  "  Scales,1  Ver  elle  tout  bien ; 
Morley,2  Ele  est  mon  cure;  Felbrigge,3  Sanz  mwer;  Nor- 
manvile,4  youres  for  euer." 

Top,  "  Pur  ma  soueraigne,  lucas,"  5  (the  scribe's  name, 
repeated  elsewhere  in  the  MS.  always  in  the  same  hand  as 

1  Thomas  Lord  Scales,  a  resident  of  Norfolk,  was  one  of  the  most 
prominent  nobles  of  his  day.  See  his  life  in  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography. 

8  Thomas  Lord  Morley,  a  resident  of  Suffolk,  died  in  the  fourteenth 
year  of  Henry  VI.  (MS.  Harley  4031,  genealogy,  fol.  109  f.). 

3  Sir  Simon  de  Felbrigg,  who  I  believe  was  head  of  his  family  in  his  day, 
was  a  famous  knight  of  Norfolk.    The  monumental  brass  covering  his  tomb 
is  one  of  the  finest  in  England.     See  W.  Eye,  History  of  Norfolk,  1885,  p. 
196.     Sir  Simon  at  one  time  made  Judge  Wm.  Paston  his  trustee  (Paston 
Letters,  i,  xxxvii). 

4  Henry  Normanvyle  was  a  lance  with  Lord  Koos  at  Agincourt.    He  was 
probably  from  Yorkshire.     See  K.  Belle val,  Agincourt,  1865,  p.  343. 

5  This  "lucas"  I  believe  may  be  identical  with  John  Lucas,  a  scribe  or 
owner  of  MSS.,  in  the  15th  century.      Bitson,  Bibl.  Poetica,  p.  65,  calls 
Lucas  a  collector  or  composer  of  a  book  of  ballades  and  quotes  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  History  of  Music,  n,  91,  ed.  1766,  who  states  that  Joseph  Ames 
owned  a  folio  MS.  of  these  ballades.     I  can  find  no  trace  of  this  MS.  in  the 
sale  catalogue  of  Ames's  books,  May,  1760,  or  in  a  later  sale  in  1852.    Judg- 
ing by  the  contents  of  Harley  1706,  and  Douce  229,  Nos.  826,  829,  830  of 
the  sale  in  1760,  may  contain  ballades  copied  by  Lucas.     Both  MS.  Harley 
1706,  and  MS.  Douce  229  contain  two  ballades  of  four  stanzas  each  in  rhyme 
royal,  probably  by  Lydgate,  "take  owt  of  the  boke  of  John  Lucas,"  and 
inserted  as  premonitory  to  the  treatise  of  How  to  Learn  to  Die  (the  5th 
chapter  of  Orologium  Sapiencie,  being  a  dialogue  between  a  Disciple  of 
Wisdom,  and  Death ).    These  ballades  are  extracts  from  the  Fall  of  Princes, 
i,  1.     The  first  stanza  alone  is  original.    Another  copy,  without  the  above 
rubric,  is  in  MS.  Univ.  Lib.  Cam.  Ff.  5.  45,  fol.  13  b. 

Davy's  genealogy  of  the  Lucas  family  in  MS.  B.  M.  Adds.  19140,  folio 
222,  gives  a  John  Fitz  Lucas  of  Saxham,  Suffolk,  as  son  of  a  Lucas  who 
flourished  in  Henry  V's  time.  The  Lucas  of  this  MS.  is  probably  of  this 
district.  It  is  very  odd  that  he  should  name  three  lords  of  East  Anglia  and 
their  mottoes  if  he  were  not  himself  a  native  of  that  district.  In  1532  a 
John  Lucas  received  acquittance  from  the  Abbot  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds  for 
an  annuity  due  him  in  right  of  his  church  (MS.  Bodl.  Tanner  cvi,  art.  7). 
The  phrase  "ma  souveraigne  joie"  scribbled  by  Lucas  reminds  us  of  the 

9  » 


130  HENRY   NOBLE   MAcCBACKEN. 

the  text) .  Eight  side :  "  Mercy  ma  soueraigne  Joie," 
"Youres  alone,"  "  Yow  best/'  "  Noon  bettir,"  "  Soue- 
raigne/' "  Youres  for  euer,"  "  Jenose  dire,"  "  Humble- 
ment  Magre,"  "  Sanz  Mwer,"  "  Lucas,  Fortune  humble- 
ment  attendaunt,"  "  pur  ma  soueraigne,"  "  Une  sanz  plus 
pur  le  Roy."  I  shall  return  to  these  in  a  moment. 

Folio  2,  both  sides,  contains  lines  98-162  of  the  Temple 
of  Glas.  Half  the  line  163  is  given  as  a  catch- word  at 
2b,  bottom.  Folio  3,  both  sides,  contains  eight  stanzas 
and  two  lines  of  the  poem  by  Lydgate  to  a  royal  prince, 
which  I  call  "  A  Defence  of  Holy  Church,"  21  stanzas  of 
which  are  found  at  the  back  of  MS.  Harley  1245,  fol.  182. 
The  latter  MS.  contains  otherwise  only  the  Fall  of  Princes. 

Folio  4,  both  sides,  contain  11.  439-505  of  the  Lover's 
Complaint,  attached  to  the  Temple  of  Glas  in  two  MSS. 
A  careful  collation  of  all  these  leaves  with  the  readings  of 
other  MSS. — as  given  by  Prof.  Schick  in  his  edition  of  the 
Temple  of  Glas,  shows  that  we  have  here  a  version  closely 
akin  throughout  to  what  Schick  calls  the  A  group,  namely, 
Shirley's  MS.  Adds.  16165,  a  poor  version  of  1450  (  ?),  and 
MS.  Univ.  Library,  Cambridge,  Gg.  4.27,  about  1430 
(Schick,  p.  xxii). 

I  give  the  variants  below.1 


similar  scribble  by  John  Shirley  the  scribe  (c.  1450),  who  in  MS.  Ashmole 
59  writes  "ma  joye"  about  an  initial  letter,  a  "crowned  A." 

The  reason  for  connecting  these  names  with  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  will 
appear. 

1M88.  T.  =  Tanner  346,  Bodl. 

F.  =  Fairfax  16,  Bodl. 
B.  =  Bodley  638,  Bodl. 

P.  =Pepys  2006,  Magd.  Coll.,  Camb. 

G.  =Gg.  4.  27,  Univ.  Lib.  Camb. 
S.  =  B.  M.  Adds.  16165. 

L.  =Longleat  258  (Marquis  of  Bath). 
Sl.=Sloanel212. 


ADDITIONAL   LIGHT   ON   THE   TEMPLE   OF   GLAS.       131 

In  the  last  extract  we  have  thirteen  agreements  of  G. 
with  SI.,  two  agreements  of  S.  with  SI.,  and  six  cases  in 
which  SI.  disagrees  with  both  S.  and  G. 

In  the  other  passages  we  have  a  remarkable  agreement 
with  the  readings  of  G.,  the  only  disagreements  being 
peculiar  to  SI.,  except  in  1.  112  and  1.  752,  where  SI.  is  in 
accidental  agreement  with  T.  and  with  T.  S. 

It  is,  of  course,  obvious  that  we  may  now  add  a  MS. 
SI.,  represented  by  the  fragments  discussed,  to  the  A  group, 
as  derived  from  a  common  original  with  G.  S.  It  seems 
likely,  too,  that  S.  is  at  a  further  remove  from  this 
original  than  either  G.  or  SI. 

The  French  mottoes  copied  above  may  now  be  con- 
sidered in  the  light  they  throw  on  the  Temple  of  Glas  as  a 
poem.  It  seems  clear  that  we  have  in  the  series  "  Scales, 


1.  741,  word  T.]  vowed  G.  S.  SI.  etc.  ;  749,  sane  T,  P.]  but  G.  S.  SI.  F. 
B.  ;  750,  deraenyng  T.  SI.  etc.]  demyng  S.  ;  751,  benygne  T.  SI.  etc.] 
kunnyng  S.  ;  752,  And  T.  F.  S.  81.  etc.]  An  B.  G.  ;  108,  j>at  one  T.  etc.] 
the  ton  G.  81.  J>at  othir  T.  etc.]  the  tothir  G.  81.  ;  110,  Chaucer  T.  G. 
S.  etc.]  causer  81.  ;  112,  hov  T.  81.  etc.]  of  G.  S.,  anoro  T.]  an  arow  G.  S. 
SI.  ;  115,  *Daphueetc.]  Dane,  G.,  81.  Done  S.,  Diane  T.  P.  F.  B.  L.  ;  118, 
loue  of  J>e  T.  S.  etc.]  the  love  of  G.  81.  ;  119,  into  a  bole  T.  G.  etc.]  Tria- 
ble S.  yn  table,  81.  ;  120,  of  T.  G.  S.  etc.]  on  81.  ;  123,  hir  G.  S.  81.]  his 
T.  F.  B.  L.  ;  130,  Philologye  G.  81.]  Phillogie  F.  B.  P.  L.  Philloge  T. 
Philosophic  S.  ;  139,  ledne  G.  S.  T.]  ledevs  81.  ;  141,  oft  G.  S.  T.  etc.] 
oftyn  81.  ;  147,  for  T.  etc.]  thourgh  G.  by  S.  of  P.  thorow  81.  (the  only 
reading  that  makes  the  line  metrical)  ;  149,  iput  T.  G.  S.  etc.]  put  81.  ; 
154,  T.  F.  P.  B.  omit  the  line,  G.  S.  81.  give  it ;  161,  Ne  T.  P.  F.  B.]  in 
G.  S.  81.  ;  G.  S.  and  SI.  alone  have  the  Lover's  Complaint ;  443,  That  G. 
SI.]  Yit  S.  ;  446,  now  G.  81.]  om  S.  ;  447,  of  G.  SI.]  al  of  S. ;  448,  sigh- 
ing S.  81.]  seyinge  G.  ;  450,  herte  G.  81.]  lyve  S.  to-brestG.  81.]  brek  and 
brest  S.  ;  451,  the  G.  S.]  om  81.  ;  453,  Do  G.  81.]  dobe  S.  ;  457,  this 
pitous  G.  S.]  dispitous  81.  (a  better  reading.)  ;  458,  joure  G.  SI.]  hir  S.  ; 
460,  hauyth  G.  SI.]  om  S.  ;  463,  oth  G.  SI.]  of>er  S.  ;  466,  parte  G.]  to 
parte  81.  darte  S.  ;  474,  omitted  by  81.  ;  476,  lyeth  G.  81.]  is  S.  ;  479,  or  S. 
81.]  othyr  G.  disese  G.  81.]  destresse  S.  ;  481,  Vn  to  G.  S.]  to  81.  ;  484, 
more  G.  S.]  may  81.  ;  500,  ek  G.  S.]  om  81.  ;  504,  niyn  S.]  and  myn  G. 
SI. 


132  HENRY   NOBLE   MAcCBACKEN. 

youres  for  euer,"  a  set  of  family  mottoes.  Those  on  the 
other  side  of  the  page  may  well  be  mottoes  of  other 
families.  Among  them  occurs  "  humblement  magre,"  and 
this  motto  is  repeated  on  margins  of  other  leaves.  Now 
this  is  the  motto  inscribed  on  the  dress  of  the  "  Lady  "  in 
the  Temple  of  Gfas,  who  presents  her  bill  to  Venus.  I  am 
referring  here  only  to  the  version  as  represented  by  G.  S. 
SI.  11.  308-310. 

"  Therfore  fair  woord  wi>oute  variaunce 
Was  up  and  down  as  men  mj^te  se 
In  frens  enbrondyt  humblement  magre." 

If  we  remember  the  popularity  of  heraldic  emblazoning 
in  the  fifteenth  century,  and  the  fondness  for  showing 
these  in  a  lady's  dress  (compare  the  Companion  to  Eng- 
lish History,  p.  125),  we  may  assume  with  some  confi- 
dence that  Shirley  was  right  when  he  said  this  poem  was 
written  "  a  la  request  dun  amoureux  "  (rubric  of  Adds. 
16165)  and  that  both  lady  and  lover  were  real  persons. 

But  we  must  go  further  than  this.  The  A  group  is  not 
the  original  group  of  texts  of  the  Temple  of  Glas;  it  is  the 
B  group,  represented  best  by  MS.  Tanner  346,  which  gives 
the  original  version  of  the  story.  Here  the  lady's  garment 
is  embroidered  with  sundry  "  rolles," 

"For  to  expoune  the  trouth  of  hir  entent." 

upon  which  her 

1 '  woord  wtyoute  variaunce 
Enbronded  was  as  men  mj3te  se 
De  mieulx  en  mieulx,  with  stones  and  perre." 

(11.  308-310.) 
Later  (1.  530)  the  lady  says  to  Venus: 

"To  do  youre  will  de  mieulx  en  mieulx  magre." 
The  corresponding  place  in  F.  B.  G.  S.  has  "  humble- 


ADDITIONAL   LIGHT   ON   THE   TEMPLE   OF   GLAS.       133 

ment  magre  "  as  before.  Other  points  in  his  description 
of  the  lady  are  also  differently  treated.1 

Such  changes  in  the  MSS.  point  strongly  to  a  real  pur- 
pose for  the  motto,  and  Prof.  Schick  (note  to  this  line  312) 
does  not  attempt  to  deny  this :  he  only  adds  (p.  cxiii)  "  I 
have  not  been  able  to  find  anywhere  the  motto  of  the 
lady." 

Professor  Schick  need  not  have  looked  far  for  the 
motto  "  de  mieux  en  mieux."  It  is  the  motto  of  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  of  English  families,  the  Pastons, 

xlt  is  impossible  to  agree  with  Professor  Schick' s  theory  that  the  lady's 
earlier  dress  (in  the  A  group  of  texts)  of  green  and  white  was  changed  to 
black,  red,  and  white  because  the  color  green  was  that  of  inconstancy.  It 
was  surely  changed  for  the  same  purpose  that  the  motto  was,  that  the  haw- 
thorne  branches  (white  flowers  and  green  leaves)  (1.  505)  were  changed  to 
roses,  and  1.  510,  which  had  contained  no  name  at  all,  was  altered  to  bring  in 
the  name  Margaret.  That  purpose  was  to  suit  another  lady.  I  am  reminded 
of  Hoccleve's  scratching  out  one  patron's  name  in  a  ballade  of  appeal  and 
inserting  John  Carpenter's  yi  an  autograph  MS. 

But  the  color  and  the  flower  cannot  help  us  in  finding  the  lady,  I  am 
afraid.  The  Paston  coat  of  a  chief  indented  gold,  the  field  silver  flouret 
in  azure  goes  back  no  earlier  than  1466,  at  the  death  of  John  Paston,  the 
son  of  William,  and  the  proof  then  submitted  as  to  the  antiquity  and  gen- 
tility of  the  family  is  not  extant  and  rests  under  grave  suspicion,  as  Gaird- 
ner  shows.  See  his  introduction. 

The  earliest  Paston  coat  extant  is  of  the  Berry  arms,  in  gold  and  silver, 
made  in  1448  by  a  servant  of  John  Paston,  son  of  William  ("  Paston 
Letters,''  ed.  1904,  n,  91).  The  fact  that  the  servant  had  been  sent  to  a 
place  at  some  distance,  to  copy  the  arms  of  Paston' s  mother,  indicates  how 
uncertain  the  knowledge  of  arms  was  among  the  Pastons.  The  change  from 
green  and  white  to  blue  and  white  may  have  occurred  in  John  Paston' s 
time,  for  it  seems  from  the  above  letter  that  he  was  gathering  materials  to 
use  in  claiming  armorial  rights.  The  change  from  green  to  blue  meant  only 
the  misreading  of  a  b  (=  azure,  see  Companion  to  English  History,  plate  57, 
No.  9)  for  v,  a  common  mistake.  For  example  in  the  excellent  Land  MS. 
683,  (circa  1450)  the  word  "avowe"  is  written  "above,"  fol.  41  b,  in  the 
last  stanza  of  Lydgate's  St.  Giles.  It  is  noteworthy  that  the  Barry  arms 
contained  "flower  is  of  sylver,"  white  flowers.  See  in  the  above  reference, 
the  cut  to  the  "Paston  Letters." 


134  HENRY   NOBLE   MxcCRACKEN. 

famous  for  their  letters.  Sir  Wm.  Paston,  who  died  in 
1608,  had  as  his  motto,  "  De  mieux  en  mieux  pour  tout." 
Wm.  Paston,  Earl  of  Yarmouth,  eighty  years  later  had  the 
motto,  "  De  mieux  je  pense  en  mieux;"  and  other  Pastons, 
as  the  "  Visitations  of  Norfolk  "  show,  had  merely  "  de 
mieux  en  mieux."  I  may  refer  also  to  Blomefield's  Nor- 
folk, vi,  491 ;  and  to  W.  Rye,  Monumental  Inscriptions 
in  the  Hundred  of  Tunstead,  Norwich,  1891,  p.  92.  A 
few  supporting  facts  may  make  this  connection  more 
plausible.  The  Pastons  owned  not  only  Lydgate's  Secrees 
(Lansdowne  MS.  285),  but  his  Temple  of  Glas,  his  Guy  of 
Warwick,  Horse,  Goose  and  Sheep,  and  Tale  of  Two 
Merchants,  and  very  likely  others.1 

In  1471  Sir  John  Paston  wrote  his  brother  (Gairdner's 
ed.  Letters,  in,  37) :  "  Brother, — I  pray  you  to  loke  uppe 
my  '  Temple  of  Glasse '  and  send  it  me  by  the  berer 
hereof." 

John  Paston's  father,  Judge  William  Paston,  the 
founder  of  the  family  fortunes,  was  a  brother  of  the 
Abbey  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds,  Lydgate's  home.  The  Pas- 
ton  estates  were  on  the  borderland  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk, 
and  the  notice  of  election  gives  Paston  credit  for  "  de- 
votionem  quam  erga  Deum  et  nostrum  habetis  monaster- 
ium  "  (Yates,  History  of  St.  Edmundsbury,  p.  156).  The 
form  which  Wm.  Paston' s  "  devotion  "  had  taken  can  be 
guessed  from  earlier  documents  of  the  Pastons,  such  as 
that  in  Harley  Charter  54,  E.,  37,  B.  M.,  "  28  August 
1341,"  in  which  Robert  de  Paston  assigns  to  two  chaplains 
lands  in  the  fields  of  St.  Edmund's  Bury.  As  a  monk  in 
the  monastery  of  St.  Edmund,  Lydgate  must  have  known 
Wm.  Paston,  and  rejoiced  in  his  generosity  to  his  church. 
This  conferring  of  brotherhood  was  at  the  feast  of  St. 

1See  the  catalogue  in  Gairdner,  Paston  Letters,  repr.  1896,  m,  300-1. 


ADDITIONAL    LIGHT    ON   THE   TEMPLE   OF   GLAS.       135 

Ambrose,  1429.  But  for  years  before  that  Win.  Paston 
had  been  a  Serjeant  of  the  law,  and  as  early  as  1414  had 
acted  as  arbitrator  in  a  dispute,  for  the  city  of  Norwich 
(Gairdner,  1.  c.,  i,  xxiii).  His  marriage  took  place  in 
1420. 1  And  John  Paston,  his  eldest  son,  was  born  in 
1421.  Wm.  Paston  married  well,  his  bride  Agnes  Berry, 
bringing  a  coat  of  arms  and  much  land  to  her  husband. 
It  is  not  unlikely,  I  believe,  that  the  Temple,  of  Glas  was 
originally  written  to  celebrate  this  union. 

That  Lydgate,  about  this  time,  was  the  proper  person  to 
whom  to  apply  for  an  epithalamium,  is  shown  by  his  poem 
on  the  loves  of  Duke  Humphrey  of  Gloucester  and  Jacque- 
line of  Holland,  in  1422,  written,  as  Shirley  quaintly  puts 
it,  "  in  the  desirous  time  of  their  true  loving."  This  may 
be  read  in  Miss  Hammond's  print  in  Anglia,  xxvn,  381  ff. 
The  Temple  of  Glas  was  undoubtedly  one  of  these  occa- 
sional poems  that  raised  Lydgate  to  the  position  of  un- 
crowned poet  laureate,  and  secured  him  the  commission 
from  this  royal  pair. 

There  are  striking  parallels  to  the  Temple  of  Glas  in 
Lydgate' s  description  of  Jacqueline,  in  regard  to  womanly 
qualities,  stanzas  10-15,  which  I  pass  over  without  quot- 
ing. Stanza  16  is,  however,  even  more  interesting  for  our 
purposes. 

"  And  hir  colours  beon  black  whyte  and  rede 
pe  reed  in  trouthe  tookenej>e  stabulnesse 
And  )>e  black  whoo  so  takej>e  heede 
Signyfyeth  parfyt  soburnesse 
pe  whyte  also  is  tooken  of  clennesse 
And  eek  hir  word  is  in  verray  sooj>e 
1  Ge  Men  raysoun'  al  >at  euer  she  dooj>e." 

Similarly  Humphrey  has  his  motto, 
1  The  marriage  settlement  is  of  this  date.     See  Paston  Letters,  i,  p.  11» 


136  HENRY    NOBLE    MAcCBACKEN. 

( 23)  "  For  whome  he  wryte^e  in  good  aventure 

Sanz  plus  vous  belle1  perpetually  tendure." 

Jacqueline  is  referred  to  by  name,  but  Humphrey  is  not. 

The  poem,  like  the  Temple  of  Glas,  has  an  envoye  in 
which  Lydgate  dedicates  it  to  the  lady  of  his  praise. 

Among  the  Paston  letters,  the  one  in  Gairdner  num- 
bered 876  (in,  302-3)  contains  a  poem  from  a  lady  to  her 
absent  lord,  which  if  not  actually  written  by  Lydgate  for 
a  lady  of  the  Pastons,  shows  the  closest  imitation  of  the 
monk's  style.  I  incline  to  favor  Gairdner' s  alternative 
conjecture  that  the  monk  of  Bury  wrote  the  poem.  The 
rhymes  are  all  in  the  Lydgate  rhyme  index,  and  the  slip- 
pery method  of  parallel  passages  could  be  used  to  the 
fullest  extent  in  support  of  this  contention.2 

That  Lydgate  was  known  to  the  gentry  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  could  feel  for  a  noble  wife  in  her  lonely  state, 
while  her  husband  was  gone,  is  clear  from  the  evidence  of 
his  poem  entitled  the  Departyng  of  Chaucer,  written  in 
1417.  I  quote  from  the  print  in  Modern  Philology,  i, 
331  f. 

1  Cf.  the  motto,  "une  sanz  plus  pour  le  roy,"  in  Lucas's  list  of  mottoes. 

2  The  ye  rhyme  is  kept  in  this  poem.     Companye  :  ie,  st.  7  ;  folye  :  guye  : 
remedye,  st.  4. 

The  word  trust  (st.  5)  =sad,  sober,  stedfast,  is  found  in  Lydgate' s  Fif- 
teen Joys  of  Mary.  Compare  also  : 

Paston  poem,  st.  4  :  "  O  owght  on  absence  ther  foolys  have  no  grace." 
Tale  of  Two  Merchants,  st.  18  : 

"O  oute  on  absence  of  hem  that  loven  trewe, 
O  oute  on  partyng  bi  disseueraunce. " 

The  cold  and  hot,  perplexity  between  two  extremes,  etc.,  found  in  the 
poem,  are  Lydgatian. 

"  Now  hot  now  cold  as  fallyth  by  aventure." 

Tale  of  Two  Merchants,  st.  32  :  "My  dool  now  hot  now  cold." 
Lydgate  always  represents  love  as  a  fever.     But  parallels  need  not  be 
multiplied.     For  another  view,  cf.  Mod.  Lang.  Qu.,  in,  111  (1900). 


ADDITIONAL    LIGHT   ON   THE   TEMPLE   OF   GLAS.       137 

(St.  8. )    " Lat  be  youre  weping  /  tendre  creature 

By  my  sainte  Eleyne  /  fer  away  in  Ynde 
How  shoule  ye  /  )>e  gret  woo  endure 
Of  his  absence  /  )>at  beon  so  truwe  and  kynde 
Ha)>e  him  amonge  /  enprynted  in  your  mynde 
And  seythe  for  him  /  shortly  in  a  clause 
Goddes  soule  to  hem  />at  beon  in  cause." 

The  feeling  of  absolute  boredom  when  the  lord  and  his 
gentlemen  are  away,  as  it  is  expressed  in  the  Paston  poem, 
finds  an  exact  counterpart  in  this  lament  for  Chaucer's 
absence. 

It  is  further  worth  observing  that  it  was  Judge  Wm. 
Paston  who  purchased  the  Manor  of  Gresham  from  Thomas 
Chaucer,  and  that  Molynes,  mentioned  in  Lydgate' s  poem, 
was  co-heir  to  the  estate  with  Chaucer,  and  relative  of  the 
Molynes  whose  feud  with  the  Pastons  occupies  so  much  of 
the  famous  letters. 

It  is  therefore  practically  certain  that  Wm.  Paston, 
while  not  a  knight,  was  in  1417  one  of  the  gentlemen 
"  dwelling  enviroun,"  whom  Lydgate  addresses  as  regret- 
ting with  him  the  absence  of  Thos.  Chaucer  on  his  embassy 
to  France. 

Professor  Schick,  by  always  calling  the  lover  of  the 
Temple  of  Glas  a  knight,  might  mislead  someone  into  ob- 
jecting to  Wm.  Paston  in  respect  to  his  lack  of  knight- 
hood. But  Lydgate  in  the  Temple  of  Glas  nowhere  refers 
to  the  lover  as  a  knight,  but  always  as  a  man.1  The  lover 
then  could  be  any  person  of  respectability.  The  reputa- 
tion of  Wm.  Paston  (he  was  known  as  "  The  Good 
Judge")  accords  well  with  Lydgate's  praise  of  the  lover. 

1  550,  "  I  saugh  a  man."  1041,  "  pe  compleint  of  >is  man." 

849,  "Toward  J>is  man."  1113,  "  Accepte  bis  man." 

936,  "  pis  wof ul  man. ' '  1280,  ' '  Hir  humble  servaunt. ' ' 

964,  "pis  dredful  man."  1285,  " pis  man,"  and  so 

11.  1347,  1354,  1360. 


138  HENRY   NOBLE    MAcCRACKEN. 

After  praising  his  handsome  form  in  conventional  terms 
the  poet  calls  him, 

559.  "like  to  ben  a  man 

And  >erwithal  as  I  reherse  can 
Of  face  and  chere  >e  most  gracious 
To  be  biloved  happi  &  ewrous." 

It  is  quite  unlikely  that  The  Temple  of  Glas,  if  written 
for  a  wedding  in  the  Paston  family,  could  have  been  written 
before  1420,  for  Wm.  Paston's  father  was  a  man  of  small 
means,  in  fact  only  a  small  farmer,  while  his  wife,  so  his 
enemies  claimed,  was  only  a  bondwoman.  (See  his  life  in 
Diet.  Nat.  Biography).  It  is  probable  that  along  with  the 
increasing  fortune  and  state  of  Wm.  Paston  went  a  desire 
for  social  recognition,  and  that  his  assumption  of  arms  and 
a  motto  was  his  own  action.  The  motto,  "  de  mieux  en 
mieux,"  may  well  represent  his  own  rapidly  improving  lot 
in  life.  At  his  marriage  he  may  have  commissioned 
Lydgate  to  write  an  allegory  of  his  lovemaking,  and  fur- 
nished him  with  his  motto.  On  this  the  poet,  who  was 
doing  commissions  for  everybody,  built  up  his  Temple  of 
Glas,  and  clothed  the  lady  in  her  lover's  motto,  a  not  im- 
possible thing,  since  in  his  story  she  had  come  to  Venus  to 
confess  her  love  for  the  "  knight." 

Otherwise  it  might  be  objected  that  the  lady  should 
wear  only  her  own  motto.  But  it  would  not  have  been  a 
bad  slip  for  a  poet  to  put  a  bride  in  the  arms  and  em- 
broidered motto  of  her  husband-elect,  for  this  was  cer- 
tainly done  after  marriage.  In  H.  Spelmann's  Aspilogia, 
L.,  1654,  notes,  p.  94,  ed.  Sir  Edw.  Bysshe,  there  is  a  cut 
of  a  woman's  figure  of  this  period  on  a  monument,  her 
inner  dress  having  her  own  arms,  her  outer  those  of  her 
husband.  I  am  told  that  Japanese  women  observe  the 
same  custom  to-day. 


ADDITIONAL   LIGHT   ON    THE   TEMPLE   OF   GLAS.       139 

Of  course,  it  cannot  be  proved  that  Agnes  Berry  did  not 
bring  this  motto  with  her  into  the  family. 

This  view  of  the  poem  would  put  it  in  1420.  It  would 
put  it  seventeen  years  later  than  Prof.  Schick's  guess.  I 
call  it  guess,  because  it  is  based  on  an  astronomical  remark 
of  Lydgate's  in  the  poem,  dating  it  "amyddecembre."  This 
Professor  Schick  would  confine  to  December  14th  or  15th, 
and  then  working  out  the  moon's  phases,  on  the  suggestion 
in  the  poem,  would  seize  on  1403  as  the  proper  date.  But 
in  Chapter  52  of  the  Life  of  Our  Lady,  Lydgate  remarks 
(stanza  15)  : 

"Amyddecembre 

The  nyght  I  mene  of  his  natyvyte." 

Here  the  25th  is  "  amyd  decembre." 

The  putting  the  date  of  the  Temple  of  Glas  as  late  as 
1420  would  explain  why  this  poem  is  so  largely  in  heroic 
couplets.  Lydgate  was  then  employed  on  Troy  Book,  and 
found  it  hard  to  write  in  anything  else.  His  heroic  couplet 
period  extended  from  1412  to  1426,  and  includes  Troy 
Book,  Thebes,  Prologue  to  Pilgrimage,  Pedigree,  Mum- 
ming at  Hertford,  and  a  Holy  Meditation.  These  are  all 
(save  the  last)  dated  with  certainty  in  this  period,  and  no 
others  of  Lydgate's  one  hundred  and  fifty  poems  are  in 
this  metre,  except  the  Temple  of  Glas.  It  is  more  reason- 
able, then,  to  assign  the  Temple  of  Glas  to  this  period  than 
to  any  other.  The  fact  that  the  Departyng  of  Chaucer 
(1417)  is  in  rhyme  royal  shows  that  Lydgate  was  hovering 
between  the  two  metres,  and  could  write  in  either. 

My  argument  is,  of  course,  circumstantially  incomplete. 
But  I  have  given  evidence  tending  to  show  the  following 
facts : 

(1)  Families  were  associated  with  mottoes  in  Norfolk 
and  Suffolk  in  Lydgate's  time. 


140  HENRY   NOBLE    MAcCRACKEN. 

(2)  The  motto  of  the  Paston  family,  at  the  earliest  date 
at  which  it  can  be  traced,  agrees  with  that  of  the  lady's 
motto  in  the  original  version  of  the  Temple  of  Glas. 

(3)  Wm.  Paston,  first  to  rise  to  prominence  in  his 
family,  was  acquainted  with  Thos.  Chaucer  and  Molynes, 
Lydgate's   friends,    and   was    a   benefactor   of   Bury   St. 
Edmunds,  Lydgate's  home. 

(4)  He  married  in  1420  a  lady  of  position. 

(5)  His  character  concides  with  the  conventional  de- 
scription of  the  lover  in  the  Temple  of  Glas. 

(6)  A  Paston  was  fond  of  the  Temple  of  Glas,  in 
1471,  and  owned  MSS.  of  several  other  of  Lydgate's  poems. 

(7)  One  poem,   possibly  by  Lydgate,   written  for   a 
Paston  lady,  exists  in  the  Paston  letters  of  to-day. 

(8)  The  proposed  date  of  the  Temple  of  Glas,  1420, 
coincides  in  the  use  of  the  heroic  couplet  with  Lydgate's 
usage  during  the  period  1412-26,  and  with  that  of  no  other 
period  in  his  life. 

(9)  Lydgate's  poem  on  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  Be- 
trothal, in  its  address  to  a  lady,  and  particularly  in  its 
description  of  the  lady,  her  dress,  and  motto,  furnishes  a 
close  parallel  to  the  Temple  of  Glas,  and  is  only  two  years 
removed  from  the  date  of  the  Paston  marriage. 

While  the  fact  cannot  be  considered  as  proved,  then,  there 
seems  some  reason  for  associating  the  Temple  of  Glas  with 
the  betrothal,  or  "  ensurance,"  as  it  was  then  called,1  of 
Judge  Wm.  Paston  with  Agnes  Berry,  in  1420. 

HENBY  NOBLE  MACCRACKEN. 

1  Compare  Venus' s  words  to  the  Lady  and  Man  :— 

T.  O.  1229.     Eternally  be  bonde  of  assuraunce 

The  cnott  30  knet,  which  raai  not  be  vnbovnd. 

This  surely  refers  to  a  real  betrothal. 


VII.— THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  BITTER  WITHY. 

It  is  so  unusual  a  circumstance  at  this  late  day  for  an 
entirely  new  English  ballad  to  come  to  light  that  we  are 
justified  in  hailing  its  appearance  as  an  event  of  general 
interest  to  the  world  of  English  scholarship.  From  the 
completion  of  Professor  Child's  magnificent  work  up  to 
the  present  no  ballad  has  been  discovered,1  which  would 
merit  insertion  under  a  new  title  in  that  corpus.  Variants 
of  ballads  already  known  continue  to  be  unearthed  with 
gratifying  frequency,  but  so  well  did  the  great  collector 
glean  the  field  that  it  can  seldom  fall  to  the  lot  of  any 
follower  to  bring  to  light  a  new  specimen.  The  honor 
due  for  such  a  discovery  belongs,  however,  to  Mr.  Frank 
Sidgwick,  who  printed  in  1905  a  ballad  called  The  Withies, 
or  The  Bitter  Withy  in  Notes  and  Queries.2 

Yet  the  very  rarity  of  the  treasure  makes  the  question  of 
its  genuineness  an  important  one,  and  every  such  find 
should  be  submitted  to  all  possible  tests  before  it  is  ac- 
cepted as  belonging  to  the  family  of  traditional  ballads. 
The  tests  by  which  it  must  be  judged,  I  take  it,  are  three. 
The  first  is  purely  personal,  the  critical  sense  of  the  scholar 
who  has  learned  by  long-continued  and  careful  study  to  dis- 
tinguish the  false  from  the  true,  to  separate  the  chaff  from 
the  wheat.  The  second  is  the  external  evidence  with  ref er- 


1H.  Hecht  in  his  survey  of  recent  ballad  literature,  Engl.  Stud., 
xxxvi,  371,  says:  "Was  seitdem  noch  erganzend  gefunden  wurde,  ist 
geringfiigig  und  betrifft  in  keinem  falle  etwa  ein  bei  Child  nicht 
vertretenes  stuck."  Add  to  the  literature  mentioned,  Belden,  Mod. 
Phil.,  n,  301-305;  F.  Sidgwick,  Popular  Ballads  of  the  Olden  Time. 

2  Series  10,  iv,  84  f,  July,  1905.  This  version  was  reprinted  by 
Gummere,  The  Popular  Ballad,  1907,  pp.  228,  229. 

141, 


142  GORDON  HALL  GEROULD. 

ence  to  the  circumstances  of  discovery,  whether  the  collec- 
tor or  collectors  can  be  trusted.  The  third  is  the  source  of 
the  material,  whether  the  narrative  is  the  product  of  tradi- 
tion or  of  some  clever  inventor.  That  ballads  of  very  vari- 
ous degrees  of  worth  may  be  regarded  as  valuable  to  the 
study  of  the  type  is  evidenced  by  comparing  the  contents 
of  the  last  two  volumes  of  Child  with  the  earlier  ones. 
Yet  the  better  a  ballad  comes  out  when  submitted  to  the 
tests  above  mentioned,  the  more  precious  must  it  appear. 
According  to  all  three  of  these  standards  of  judgment  The 
Bitter  Withy  is  genuine,  as  we  shall  see. 

Mr.  Sidgwick's  version,  which  I  shall  call  I,  runs  as 
follows  : 

I.      As  it  fell  out  on  a  Holy  day, 

The  drops  of  rain  did  fall,  did  fall, 
Our  Saviour  asked  leave  of  His  mother  Mary 
If  He  might  go  play  at  ball. 

II.  "To  play  at  ball,  my  own  dear  Son, 
It's  time  You  was  going  or  gone, 
But  be  sure  let  me  hear  no  complaint  of  You 
At  night  when  You  do  come  home." 

III.  It  was  upling  scorn  and  downling  scorn, 

Oh,  there  He  met  three  jolly  jerdins: 
Oh,  there  He  asked  the  three  jolly  jerdins 
If  they  would  go  play  at  ball. 

IV.  "  Oh,  we  are  lords'  and  ladies'  sons, 

Born  in  bower  or  in  hall, 
And  You  are  but  some  poor  maid's  child 
Born'd  in  an  ox's  stall." 

V.  "If  you  are  lords'  and  ladies'  sons, 

Born'd  in  bower  or  in  hall, 
Then  at  the  very  last  I'll  make  it  appear 
That  I  am  above  you  all." 

VI.      Our  Saviour  built  a  bridge  with  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
And  over  He  gone,  He  gone  He, 


THE   BALLAD   OF   THE   BITTER   WITHY.  143 

And  after  followed  the  three  jolly  jerdins, 
And  drownded  they  were  all  three. 

VII.      It  was  upling  scorn  and  downling  scorn, 

The  mothers  of  them  did  whoop  and  call, 
Crying  out,  "  Mary  mild,  call  home  your  Child, 
For  ours  are  drownded  all." 

VIII.      Mary  mild,  Mary  mild,  called  home  her  Child, 

And  laid  our  Saviour  across  her  knee, 
And  with  a  whole  handful  of  bitter  withy 
She  gave  Him  slashes  three. 

IX.      Then  He  says  to  His  Mother,  "Oh!    the  withy,  oh! 

the  withy, 

The  bitter  withy  that  causes  me  to  smart,  to  smart, 
Oh!  the  withy  it  shall  be  the  very  first  tree 
That  perishes  at  the  heart." 

A  contributor  to  Notes  and  Queries  in  1868  1  gave  some 
fragments  of  a  second  version,  which  I  shall  call  II.  The 
correspondent  wrote : 

"  I  have  lately  heard  sung  a  Christmas  carol  com- 
mencing— 

'It  happened  on  a  certain  day 

The  snow  from  heaven  did  fall: 
Sweet  Jesus  asked  his  mother  dear 
To  let  him  go  to  the  ball." 

"  It  goes  on  to  relate  his  meeting  with  virgins  three  who 
scornfully  refused  to  let  him  play  at  ball  with  them,  and 
whom  he  drowned  in  the  sea  by  leading  them  over  a  bridge 
made  of  sunbeams.  For  this  act  he  receives  from  his 
mother  slashes  three  from  a  withy  tree,  and  exclaims — 

'  Cursed  shall  be  the  withy,  withy  tree, 

For  causing  me  to  smart; 
And  it  shall  be  the  very  first  tree 

That  shall  perish  at  the  heart.' " 
Series  4,  I,  53. 


144  GORDON    HALL    GEROULD. 

Two  further  versions  of  the  ballad  have  up  to  the  present 
been  discovered.1  The  first  has  been  printed  entire  in  the 
Journal  of  the  Folk-Song  Society2  by  the  editor,  Miss 
Lucy  E.  Broadwood. 

III. 

OUB  SAVIOUB  TABBIED  OUT. 

Our  Saviour  tarried  out  on  a  high  holiday, 
Some  drops  of  rain  did  fall,  did  fall, 
Our  Saviour  asked  leave  of  his  mother  Mary, 
Might  He  go  play  at  the  ball. 

"To  play  at  the  ball,  my  own  dearest  son, 
It  is  time  you're  going  or  gone,  or  gone, 
And  its  never  let  me  hear  of  your  ill-doing 
At  night  when  you  don't  come  home." 

It  was  up  the  hall,  it  was  down  the  hall, 

Our  Saviour  he  did  run,  did  run, 

As  our  Saviour  he  was  a-running  for  to  play  at  the  ball, 

He  met  three  jolly  jolly  dons. 

"Well  met,  well  met,  you  three  jolly  dons, 
Well  met,  well  met,"  said  he, 
And  its  which  of  you  three  jolly,  jolly  dons, 
Will  play  at  the  ball  with  me?  " 

Our  Saviour  built  a  bridge  by  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
And  'twas  over  the  bridge  went  he,  went  he, 
And  the  dons  they  went  a-following  after  he, 
And  they  got  drowned  all  three. 

"  Oh  mother,  dear  mother,  don't  scold  on  your  son, 
For  'twas  over  the  bridge  went  he,  went  he, 
And  the  dons  they  went  a-following  after  he, 
And  they  got  drowned  all  three." 

*Mr.  Sidgwick  has  had  communicated  to  him  a  fifth  text  from 
Bidford,  near  Stratford-on-Avon.  I  have  not  seen  this  but  am 
informed  that  it  reads  "  lance  "  instead  of  "  bridge  "  and  "  jordans  " 
instead  of  "  jerdins." 

No.  8,  1906,  n,  205,  206. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   THE    BITTER    WITHY.  145 

She  gathered  an  armful  of  small  withys 
And  laid   him   across   her   knee,   her   knee, 
And  with  that  armful  of  small  withys 
She  gave  him  lashes  three. 

"O  the  withy,  the  withy,  the  bitter  withy, 
That  has  caused  me  to  smart,  to  smart, 
And  the  withy  it  shall  be  and  the  very  first  tree, 
Shall  perish  all  at  the  heart." 

The  last  version  has  not  yet  been  printed  in  extenso, 
though  the  three  closing  stanzas  appeared  in  the  ninth 
number  of  the  Journal  of  the  Folk-Song  Society.1  There 
are  a  few  discrepancies  between  the  stanzas  as  there  quoted 
and  as  they  appear  in  the  complete  version,  communicated 
by  the  lady  who  noted  it,  Mrs.  Leather  of  Weobley,  to  Mr. 
Sidgwick.  Through  the  kindness  of  the  latter  I  am  able 
to  give  the  entire  poem. 

IV. 

THE  SALLY  TWIGS,  OB  THE  BITTER  WITHY. 

As  it  fell  out  on  a  high  holiday, 

When  drop  of  rain  did  fall, 
Jesus  asked  His  Mother  Mary, 

If  He  should  go  and  play  at  the  ball. 

'  To  play  at  the  ball,  my  own  dear  Son, 

It's  time  you're  goin'  or  gone; 
But  let  me  hear  of  no  complaints, 
At  night  when  you  come  home/ 

(The  next  verse  is  unfortunately  forgotten.  Our  Lord  meets  three 
children  who  revile  and  despise  Him.  They  say: — ) 

*  And  we  are  lords  and  ladies  sons, 

And  born  in  bowers  all; 
And  thou  art  but  a  poor  maid's  Son, 
Born  in  an  oxen's  stall.' 

1n,  302.     Noted  by  Miss  Broadwood. 

10 


146  GORDON    HALL   GEROULD. 

'  If  you  are  lords  and  ladies  sons, 

And  born  in  bowers  all, 
I'll  let  you  know  at  the  latter  end 
That  I  am  above  you  all.' 

And  Jesus  made  a  bridge  of  the  beams  of  the  sun, 

And  over  the  sea  went  He; 
And  there  followed  after  the  three  jolly  Jorrans, 

And  He  drowned  the  three,  all  three. 

And  Mary  Mild  called  home  her  Child, 

And  laid  Him  across  her  knee, 
And  with  three  twigs  of  the  bitter  withy 

She  gave  Him  thrashes  three. 


'The  bitter  withy,  the  bitter  withy, 
Which  made  my  back  to  smart, 
It  shall  be  the  very  first  tree 

To  wither  and  decay  at  the  heart.' 

To  the  elucidation  of  certain  dark  words  and  phrases  in 
the  ballad  I  am  unable  to  give  much  help.  Most  difficult 
is  the  phrase  "  jolly  jerdins,"  as  it  appears  in  I.  In  II 
this  is  transformed  into  "  virgins,"  in  III  into  "  jolly 
dons,"  and  in  IV  into  "  jolly  Jorrans."  The  occurrence 
of  "  virgins '  in  II  led  Mr.  Sidgwick  to  conjecture  that 
"  jerdins  "  might  be  a  corruption  of  that  word.  But  this 
evasion  of  the  difficulty  seems  to  me  impossible  for  two 
reasons:  first,  because  a  study  of  the  legendary  material 
will  show  that  all  forms  of  the  phrase  indicate  the  children, 
who  were  the  playmates  of  Christ,  and  because  in  the 
ballad  there  is  marked  emphasis  upon  the  repeated  "  lords' 
and  ladies'  sons;  and,  secondly,  because  it  is  always  un- 
likely that  a  common  word  has  been  changed  for  a  rare 
one.  The  latter  reason  makes  it  improbable  that  "  chil- 
dren "  gave  rise  to  "  jerdins "  and  "  jorrans,"  while 


THE   BALLAD    OF   THE    BITTER    WITHY.  147 

"  dons  "  seems  to  be  a  case  of  folk  etymology.  The  words 
"  upling  "  and  "  downling  "  in  the  line  "  It  was  upling 
scorn  and  downling  scorn,'7  though  unregistered  words,  are 
clear  enough  in  meaning  from  the  context,  and  preferable 
to  "  It  was  up  the  hall,  it  was  down  the  hall  "  of  III. 

With  the  four  versions  of  The  Bitter  Withy  before  us 
we  may  now  apply  to  the  ballad  the  tests  of  authenticity  re- 
ferred to  above.  As  to  the  first,  I  shall  simply  say  that 
the  greatest  living  critic  of  English  popular  poetry,  Pro- 
fessor Gummere,  regards  the  ballad  as  genuine  of  its  sort.1 
In  such  matters,  where  nicely  balanced  acumen  is  so  neces- 
sary to  detect  spurious  phrases  and  false  notes,  an  appeal 
to  authority  is  not  only  wise  but  inevitable ;  yet  all  students 
of  the  ballad  will  agree,  I  think,  that  if  an  imitation  this  is 
marvellously  well  done. 

The  excellent  pedigree  of  our  specimens,  however,  makes 
conscious  imitation  quite  impossible  and  thus  establishes 
the  ballad  according  to  the  second  test.  The  fragments 
printed  in  1868  were  taken  down  from  memory  after  hear- 
ing the  poem  sung.  With  reference  to  version  I,  Mr. 
Sidgwick  says :  2  "  The  following  version  was  communi- 
cated on  31  December,  1888,  by  Mr.  Henry  Ellershaw, 
Jun.,  of  Rotherham,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  A.  H.  Bullen 
(shortly  after  the  publication  of  the  latter's  i  Songs  and 
Carols  '),  who  has  given  me  permission  to  contribute  a 
copy.  It  was  taken  down  verbatim  as  sung  by  an  old 
Herefordshire  man  of  about  seventy  (in  1888),  who  learnt 
it  from  his  grandmother." 

Version  III  was  sung  at  Wimbledon  in  September, 
1905,  by  a  Mr.  Hunt,  a  native  of  Sussex,  who  learned  it  at 
home.  The  words  were  taken  down  by  Miss  Lucy  E. 

1  See  The  Popular  Ballad,  1907,  p.  227. 

2  Notes  and  Queries,  place  cited. 


148  GOEDON   HALL   GEROULD. 

Broadwood  and  the  music  transcribed  by  Mr.  R.  Vaughan 
Williams.  Version  IV  was  noted  by  Mrs.  E.  M.  Leather, 
Castle  House,  Weobley,  as  sung  in  Herefordshire  in  1904.1 
We  thus  have  two  versions  from  Herefordshire  and  one 
from  Sussex,  aside  from  the  fragment  of  uncertain  deriva- 
tion. Version  I,  moreover,  carries  the  evidence  for  the 
knowledge  of  the  ballad  back  to  about  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  which  is  sufficiently  remote  to  make  a 
longer  course  of  tradition  almost  inevitable. 

To  this  matter  of  tradition,  the  third  test  of  authenticity, 
we  must  now  turn.  Of  itself  the  fact  that  the  material, 
out  of  which  a  ballad  has  been  fashioned,  has  been  known 
to  the  learned  or  even  to  the  unlearned  for  some  centuries 
does  not  give  clear  proof  that  the  ballad  is  genuine.  It 
would  be  quite  possible  for  a  modern  imitator  to  turn  a 
tradition  of  most  venerable  antiquity  into  a  poem  that 
would  not  deceive  the  veriest  tyro  in  balladry.  Without 
other  tests,  the  study  of  sources  is  about  as  useless  to  in- 
vestigation of  this  kind  as  anything  that  could  possibly  be 
imagined.  From  this  point  of  view  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  the  events  happened  the  day  before  the  ballad  was 
made,  or  a  thousand  years  before,  or  never  at  all.  As  long 
as  they  actually  belong  to  the  stock  of  popular  knowledge, 
their  provenance  is  of  no  consequence.  At  the  same  time, 
when  a  ballad  treats  a  subject  which  has  as  basis  a  legend 
or  a  folk-tale,  it  is  of  considerable  value  to  show  the  previ- 
ous existence  of  the  story  and  to  trace  its  development. 
Contributory  evidence  of  authenticity  may  thus  be  found. 
From  another  point  of  view,  moreover,  every  systematic 
study  of  a  motive  has  its  warrant. 

To  find  the  first  suggestion  of  the  events  narrated  in  The 
Bitter  Withy  it  is  necessary  to  go  back  to  the  early  ver- 

1  Journal  of  the  Folk-Song  Society,  n,  302. 


THE    BALLAD    OF   THE   BITTER    WITHY.  149 

sions  of  the  apocryphal  gospels,  though  not  until  after  the 
eleventh  century  A.  D.  do  they  begin  to  take  form. 

In  the  Evangelium  Thomae,1  the  Pseudo-Matthew,2  the 
Evangelium  Infantiae  Arabicum^  and  the  Syriac  texts  of 
the  gospels  4  there  is  a  tale,  which  must  first  be  discussed. 
The  Gospel  of  Thomas  is  the  earliest  of  these  books,  a 
Gnostic  work  dating  from  the  middle  of  the  second  cen- 
tury, according  to  Reinsch.5  It  is  only  slightly  later  than 
the  Protevangelium  Jacobi,  and  gives  a  more  expanded  ac- 
count of  the  fabulous  history  of  Christ's  childhood.  Con- 
siderably later  were  written  the  Arabian  gospel  and  the 
Pseudo-Matthew,  the  latter  probably  soon  after  the  middle 
of  the  fifth  century,  as  the  ascetic  and  monastic  tone 
adopted  by  the  author  bears  witness.6  The  date  of  the 
Syriac  texts  has  not  been  accurately  ascertained,  but  "  there 
is  no  doubt/7  to  quote  their  learned  editor,  "  that  the 
principal  materials  for  the  construction  of  the  narrative 
were  collected  before  the  end  of  the  fourth  century."  7 

The  version  of  the  Pseudo-Matthew,  because  of  its  in- 
fluence on  later  forms  of  the  legend,  may  be  taken  as  the 
basis  of  comparison :  8 

1  Graece  A,  cap.  ix,  Tischendorf,  Evangelia  Apocrypha,  1853,  p.  142 ; 
Graece  B,  cap.  viii,  Tischendorf,  p.  153;  Latinum,  cap.  vii,  Tischen- 
dorf, pp.   164  f. 

2  Cap.  xxxii,  Tischendorf,  pp.  96  f. 

3  Cap.  xliv,  Tischendorf,  p.  197. 

4  Budge,    The   History   of    the   Blessed    Virgin   Mary — The   Syriac 
Texts  edited  with  English  Translations,  1899,  pp.  81  f.  of  Transla- 
tions. 

*Die  Pseudo-Evangelien  von  Jesu  und  Maria's  Kindheit  in  der 
romanischen  und  germanischen  Literatur,  1879,  p.  4. 

'See  Reinsch,  p.  6. 

T  Budge,  p.  x. 

8  Tischendorf ,  pp.  96  f.  Found  without  essential  changes  in  Evan- 
gelium Thomae,  Graece  A,  Tischendorf,  p.  142  ;  Graece  B,  Tischendorf,  p. 
153;  Latinum,  Tischendorf,  pp.  164-165;  Evangelium  Infantiae 
Arabicum,  Tischendorf,  p.  197. 


150  GORDON    HALL    GEROULD. 

"  Post  haec  abierunt  inde  Joseph  et  Maria  cum  Jesu 
in  civitatem  Nazareth;  et  erat  ibi  cum  parentibus  suis. 
Et  cum  esset  ibi  una  sabbati,  dum  lesus  luderet  cum  in- 
fantibus  in  solario  cuiusdam  domus,  contigit  ut  quidam  de 
infantibus  alium  depelleret  de  solario  in  terram,  et  mortuus 
est.  Et  cum  non  vidissent  parentes  mortui,  clamabant 
contra  Joseph  et  Mariam  dicentes  Eilius  vester  nlium  nos- 
trum misit  in  terrain,  et  mortuus  est.  lesus  vero  tacebat 
et  nihil  eis  respondebat.  Venerunt  autem  festinantes 
Joseph  et  Maria  ad  lesum,  et  rogabat  mater  sua  dicens 
Domine  mi,  die  mihi  si  tu  misisti  eum  in  terram.  Et 
statim  descendit  lesus  de  solario  in  terram  et  vocavit 
puerum  per  nomen  suum  Zeno.  Et  respondit  ei  Domine. 
Dixitque  illi  lesus  Num.  ego  praecipitavi  te  in  terram  de 
solario?  At  ille  dixit  Non,  domine.  Et  mirati  sunt 
parentes  pueri  qui  fuerat  mortuus,  et  honorabant  lesum 
super  facto  signo.  Et  abierunt  inde  Joseph  et  Maria  cum 
lesu  in  Jericho." 

In  the  chapter  next  following  this  narrative  in  the 
Pseudo-Matthew  l  occurs  another  tale,  which  is  likewise 
found  without  substantial  changes  in  the  other  gospels 
mentioned  above.2 

"  Erat  autem  lesus  annorum  sex,  et  misit  ilium  mater 
sua  cum  hydria  ad  fontem  haurire  aquam  cum  infantibus. 
Et  contigit  postquam  hausit  aquam,  ut  quidam  ex  in- 
fantibus impegerit  eum  et  conquasseraverit  hydriam  et 
fregerit  earn.  At  Jesus  expandit  pallium  quo  uteba- 
tur,  et  suscepit  in  pallio  suo  tantum  aquae  quantum 
erat  in  hydria,  et  portavit  earn  matri  suae.  At  ilia  videns 

1  Cap.  xxxiii,  Tischendorf,  p.  97. 

*Evangelium  Thomae,  Graece  A,  cap.  xi,  Tischendorf,  p.  143; 
Graece  B,  cap.  x,  Tischendorf,  p.  154;  Latinum,  cap.  ix,  Tischendorf, 
p.  165;  Evangelium  Infantiae  Arabicum,  cap.  xlv,  Tischendorf,  p. 
197;  Budge,  p.  75. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    THE    BITTER    WITHY.  151 

mirabatur,  et  cogitabat  intra  se,  et  condebat  omnia  haec  in 
corde  suo." 

In  addition  to  these  two  stories  of  Zeno's  fatal  fall  and 
the  broken  jug  there  is  found  in  the  Laurentian  Codex  1 
of  the  Pseudo-Matthew,  which  was  written  after  the 
eleventh  century  Vatican  text  printed  by  Tischendorf, 
another  fable  of  more  direct  importance  for  our  study.  It 
runs :  "  Et  cum  lesus  cum  aliis  inf  antulis  super  radios 
solis  2  ubique  plures  ascenderet  et  sederet,  multique  simili 
modo  facere  coeperunt,  praecipitabantur  et  eorum  crura 
frangebantur  et  brachia.  Sed  dominus  lesus  sanabat 
omnes." .  This  appears  to  be  the  earliest  suggestion  in  the 
legend  of  the  miracle  which  forms  the  essential  feature  of 
our  ballad. 

These  three  stories  are,  as  one  would  expect,  repeated  in 
later  accounts  of  the  childhood  without  material  altera- 
tion. Without  being  altogether  constant  in  their  appear- 
ance, they  occur  with  considerable  frequency  both  in  Latin 
and  in  vernacular  versions.  By  the  thirteenth  century, 
however,  the  tendency  to  expand  and  embellish  narrative  of 
whatever  sort  had  resulted  in  the  addition  of  three  more 
tales  pretty  closely  allied  to  these  in  character  and  obvi- 
ously their  offspring. 

The  book  known  as  De  Infantia  Salvatoris,  which  is 
found  in  several  manuscripts  of  the  thirteenth  and  four- 
teenth centuries  3  has  the  story  of  Zeno's  fall  (here  called 
Synoe)  and  of  the  unsuccessful  attempt  of  the  children  to 

1  Inserted  in  cap.  xxxvii.  Printed  by  Tischendorf  in  a  note  on 
p.  100. 

3 The  editor  prints  "solus  (sic,  nisi  fallor),"  but  the  emendation  is, 
of  course,  necessary,  as  Reinsch  notes,  p.  128. 

3  See  Reinsch,  p.  7.  He  dates  but  one,  MS.  Bib.  Nat.  lat.  11867, 
which  he  ascribes  to  the  thirteenth  century.  MSS.  Harl.  3185  and 
Harl.  3199,  in  the  British  Museum,  are  of  the  fourteenth. 


152  GORDON    HALL    GEROULD. 

imitate  Jesus'  example  in  sitting  on  the  sunbeam;  and  it 
adds  two  more  stories.     I  shall  mention  all  of  them  in  the 
order  of  the  text.   (1)  A  certain  boy,  whose  father  had  tried 
unsuccessfully  to  keep  him  out  of  the  company  of  Jesus, 
made  one  of  a  troop  that  went  "  usque  in  campum  Sichar." 
The    father    followed,   "  iratusque    arripuit    fustem,    ut 
Jhesum   percuteret,   et   insecutus   est   Jhesum   usque    ad 
montem,  cui  subjacet  planicies  fabe  collateralis,  et  declin- 
avit.     Jhesus  Christus  a  furore  saltum  fecit  a  montibus 
supercilio  usque  ad  locum,  qui  distat  a  monte,  quantum 
archus  jacit  sagittam.     Quod  volentes   alii   pueri   simili 
saltu  sequi  ruentes  praecipites  fregerunt  crura,  brachia  et 
colla.     Facta  autem  super  hoc  gravi  querimonia  coram 
Maria  et  Joseph,  sanavit  eos  omnes  Jhesus  Christus  et 
reddidit  validiores."  1      (2)   The  story  of  how  Jesus  sat 
on  the  sunbeam  is  given  with  more  detail  than  in  the 
Laurentian    manuscript.      For    reasons    that    will    later 
appear,  I  quote  the  setting.     "  Una  autem  die  tempore 
hiemali,  cum  sol  in  sua  virtute  clarus  radiaret,  extendit 
se  radius  Solaris  attingens  a  fenestra  in  parietem  in  domo 
Joseph.     Ubi  cum  luderent  cum  Jhesu  contribules  pueri 
vicinorum    per    domum    discurrentes,     ascendit     Jhesus 
Christus  radium  solis,  et  positis  super  eum  vestimentis 
suis  sedebat  quasi  super  trabem  nrmissimum.2      (3)   The 
story  of  Zeno  is  then  given.3      (4)   Jesus  went  with  his 
comrades  to  a  fountain  to  get  water.     While  returning,  he 
struck  his  jar  against  a  rock  by  the  wayside.     Pleased 
with  the  sound  produced,  the  others  "  similiter  fecerunt 
de  suis  et  fregit  unusquisque  amphoram  suam  effusa  aqua, 
postquam  ierant.     Orto  autem  super  hoc  tumultu  et  queri- 
monia, collegit  Jhesus  Christus  fragmenta  et  vasa  omnia 
reintegrat;  et  cuncto  libero  vas  suum  cum  aqua  restituit."  4 

1  See  Reinsch,  p.  9.  2  See  Reinsch,  p.   10. 

•Quoted  by  Reinsch,  pp.  11  f.  4  Reinsch,  p.  12. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   THE   BITTER    WITHY.  153 

The  first  of  these  tales,  that  of  leaping  from  the  hill, 
seems  to  be  a  variation  of  the  story  of  Zeno  in  that  it  con- 
cerns the  healing  of  children  injured  while  at  play. 
Whether  it  had  any  being  outside  this  legendary  cycle,  and 
whether  it  was  used  in  this  connection  earlier  than  by  the 
writer  of  De  Infantia  Salvatoris,  I  am  unable  to  say.1  The 
fourth  tale,  that  of  repairing  the  water  jar,  is  certainly  a 
mere  variant  of  the  earlier  story  about  carrying  water  in 
a  mantle.  However,  both  stories  reappear  in  other  works 
from  this  time  forward. 

The  Narraiiones  de  Vita  et  Conversatione  Beatae  Mariae 
Virginia,2  which  appears  to  be  only  a  little  later  3  than  the 
work  just  mentioned,  gives  the  story  of  Zeno  4  and  a  new 
version  of  the  broken  water  pot.  The  latter  version  runs : 
"  Legitur  eciam  ibi  quod  dum  lesus  quandque  matri  aquam 
de  fonte  ferret,  super  solis  radium  suspendit  uasculum  et 
postse  radium  sicutfunem  cum  uasculo  traxit."  5  For  both 
of  these  De  Infantia  Salvatoris  is  named  as  authority. 
Though  the  latter  does  not  contain  the  second  tale,  as  far 
as  study  of  the  manuscripts  up  to  the  present  time  has 
shown,  it  is  possible  that  some  form  of  the  work  was  really 
the  source  from  which  the  writer  of  these  Narrationes 
worked.  In  any  case,  wherever  the  tale  started,  it  is 
obviously  nothing  more  than  an  interesting  combination  of 

*Not  improbably  the  story  finds  its  ultimate  suggestion  in  the 
Song  of  Songs  2.  8;  "  ecce  iste  venit  saliens  in  montibus,  transiliens 
colles."  This  passage  was  interpreted  as  applying  to  Christ  at 
least  as  early  as  the  time  of  Ambrose.  See  Cook,  Philologische 
Studien,  Festgabe  fiir  Eduard  Sievers,  1896,  pp.  27-29,  and  The 
Christ  of  Cynewulf,  1900,  p.  143,  for  examples  of  this  mystical  use. 

2  Ed.  0.   Schade,  'Narrationes — ex  codici  Gissensi,   1870. 

3  Schade,  p.  3,  dates  the  manuscript  from  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
or  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

4  Cap.  xlii,  Schade,  p.  20.  «  Cap.  xliii,  Schade,  p.  21. 


154  GORDON    HALL   GEROULD. 

ideas  taken  from  the  miracles  of  sitting  on  the  sunbeam 
and  of  repairing  or  using  a  substitute  for  a  broken  jug. 

The  Vita  Beate  Virginia  Marie  et  Salvatoris  Rhyth- 
mica,1  which  has  been  ascribed  by  its  editor,  though  doubt- 
fully, to  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  century,2  contains 
three  of  the  six  tales  that  have  now  come  before  us.  It 
tells  (vv.  2684-2717)  how  Jesus  collected  the  water  from 
the  broken  pitcher  in  his  mantle,  and  proceeds  (vv.  2718- 
2763)  with  the  story  of  Zeno.  The  fact  that  the  scene 
of  the  boy's  fall  is  placed  at  a  cliff  like  that  described  in 
the  story  of  Christ's  leap  indicates  that  the  writer  either 
knew  the  De  Infantia  Salvatoris  or  some  similar  work. 
The  two  stories  are  certainly  confused  by  him.  A  little 
further  on  (vv.  2780-2783)  he  gives  the  brief  account  of 
suspending  the  water  pot  on  the  sunbeam  in  words  almost 
precisely  the  same  as  those  of  the  Narrationes  mentioned 
above,  only  turning  them  into  verse.  It  is  impossible  to 
say  whether  he  drew  on  that  work  directly,  but  it  seems 
likely  that  such  was  the  case.  / 

There  remains  to  be  considered  one  Latin  version  of  the 
Childhood,  which  is  of  some  interest  as  the  first  account 
printed  in  England,  though  it  is  later  than  the  mediaeval 
versions  in  the  vernacular.  This  is  the  prose  Infantia 
Salvatoris,  which  was  published  at  Turin 3  in  1476  or 
1477  and  in  England  by  Caxton.  The  latter  text,  known 
only  through  a  single  example  at  Gottingen,4  contains  three 
of  our  six  tales:  Zeno,5  the  jar  suspended  on  the  sun- 
beam,6 and  the  leap.7  The  last  differs  from  the  version  of 

JEd.  A.  Vogtlin,  Vita  Beata  Virginia  Marie  et  Salvatoris  Rhyth- 
mica  (Bibl.  des  litt.  Vereins  in  Stuttgart,  180),  1888. 
2  P.  3.  s  See  Reinsch,  p.  13. 

*Ed.  F.  Holthausen,  Infantia  Salvatoris,  1891.     It  is  without  date. 
6  Cap.  xx.  «  Cap.  xxii. 

'Cap.  xxix. 


THE    BALLAD    OF   THE   BITTER   WITHY.  155 

De  Infantia  in  making  Jesus  encourage  the  other  boys  to 
follow  Him  after  He  had  leaped  from  hill  to  hill.  Cax- 
ton's  text  is  throughout  amplified. 

In  Germany  tradition  seems  to  have  dealt  gingerly  with 
these  grotesques.  The  Vita  Rhythmica  was  translated  by 
Walther  von  Rheinau  1  with  intelligence,  and  a  Kindheit 
Jesu  by  Konrad  von  Fussesbrunnen  2  has  the  incident  of 
carrying  water  in  the  mantle  (vv.  2616-2634)  and  of 
Zeno's  fall  (vv.  2667-2698),  both  in  conventional  form. 
Whether  any  Italian  or  Spanish  works  contain  the  miracles 
I  cannot  at  present  state.  In  France  they  seem  to  have 
found  much  greater  favor  than  in  Germany,  though  the 
dearth  of  published  texts  of  the  various  Enfances  makes 
it  difficult  to  trace  their  course.  The  well-known 
Proven§al  poem  edited  by  Bartsch  3  relates  only  two  of  the 
stories, — how  Christ  sat  on  the  sunbeam  4  and  how  He 
healed  Zeno.5  The  former  follows  the  account  in  De  In- 
fantia Salvatoris  rather  than  that  of  the  Laurentian 
Pseudo-Matthew,  in  which  it  agrees  with  the  English  ver- 
sions soon  to  be  mentioned.  A  second  Provencal  text, 
from  the  fourteenth  century,  known  to  us  only  through 
Suchier's  analysis  6  based  on  Raynouard's  quotations  in 
his  Lexique  roman,  tells  the  story  of  Zeno.  In  the  French 
of  the  North  appears  a  thirteenth  century  work,  La  vie 
nostre  dame  et  la  passion  de  nostre  seigneur,7  which  con- 

*Ed.  A.  von  Keller,  1849-1855. 

2  Ed.  J.  Feifalik,  1859,  and  K.  Kochendorffer,  Quellen  und  Forsch- 
ungen,  43  (1881).  Konrad  wrote  early  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
says  Kochendorffer,  p.  1. 

8  Denkmdler  der  provenzalischen  Litteratur,  1856  (Bibl.  des  litt. 
Vereins  in  Stuttgart,  39).  The  MSS.  are  of  the  thirteenth  and 
fourteenth  centuries,  according  to  Suchier,  Zts.  f.  rom.  Phil.,  vni,  523. 

*  Bartsch,  pp.  279-281.  5  Bartsch,  pp.  287-291. 

6  Zts.  f.  rom.  Phil.,  vni,  534. 

7  See  Reinsch,  p.  42,  for  date  and  MSS. 


156  GORDON   HALL   GEROULD. 

tains  the  story  of  the  broken  jug,  which  Jesus  repaired.1 
The  Enfance  most  important  for  our  study,  however,  has 
not  yet  been  either  printed  or  adequately  analyzed.  It  is 
found  in  two  redactions,  from  the  former  of  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  M.  Paul  Meyer,2  the  first  of  the  English  poems 
to  be  mentioned  was  probably  a  translation. 

This  work,  which  is  found  in  MS.  Laud  108,3  contains  all 
six  of  the  stories  which  we  have  been  considering.,  and  in 
the  following  order:  (1)  the  leap  from  hill  to  hill  (vv. 
557-612),  (2)  the  repairing  of  the  broken  jug  (vv.  613- 
638),  (3)  the  suspension  of  the  jug  on  the  sun  ray  (vv. 
639-678),  (4)  Zeno  (vv.  871-946),  (5)  the  gathering  up  of 
the  spilled  water  (vv.  947-984),  and  (6)  how  Jesus  sat  on 
the  sunbeam  (vv.  1051-1129).  M.  Meyer's  discovery  of 
the  source  for  this  poem  naturally  throws  out  of  court  the 
previous  statement  of  its  editor  that  it  was  taken  from  a 
Latin  original.4  It  explains,  however,  the  fact  noted  by 
him  5  that  the  percentage  of  French  derivatives  is  extra- 
ordinarily large.  Until  the  French  texts  are  printed,6  we 
must  take  for  granted  that  the  English  work  fairly  repre- 
sents one  or  another  redaction  of  the  poem  indicated  and 
attribute  to  the  original  author  rather  than  to  the  South- 
English  translator  of  about  1300  the  arrangement  and 
form  of  the  miracles  mentioned  above.7 

1Reinsch,  pp.  71-73. 

2 See  P.  Meyer,  Romania,  xvm,  128  ff.  The  MSS.  of.  (1)  are 
Grenoble  1137  and  Didot;  of  (2)  Oxford  Selden  supra  38  and 
Cambridge  Gg  I.  1. 

3  Ed.  Horstmann,  Altenglische  Legenden,  1875,  pp.  3-61. 

*Horstmann,  p.  xli.  5P.  xlii. 

6  The  analysis  of  MS.  Grenoble  given  by  Bonnard,  Les  traductions 
de  la  lible  en  vers  francais,  1884,  pp.  181-193,  leaves  out  (3)  and 
(5),  but  apparently  the  latter  is  merely  illegible  in  the  MS.  (See  p. 
187),  while  the  latter  may  have  been  passed  over  in  the  summary. 

'Meyer's  belief  that  the  redaction  of  MSS. Grenoble  and  Didot  rather 
than  of  MSS.  Selden  and  Cambridge  is  the  original  of  the  Middle 


THE   BALLAD    OF   THE    BITTER   WITHY.  157 

It  will  be  noted  that  here  for  the  first  time  all  of  the 
tales  are  given  in  a  single  work.  Their  order  is  significant, 
it  seems  to  me,  with  reference  to  the  sources  which  the 
author  used.  First  come  the  two  miracles  which  are  first 
found  in  De  Infantia  Salvatoris,  secondly  the  one  added  in 
the  Giessen  Narrationes,1  and  finally  after  nearly  two 
hundred  lines  the  original  three  in  the  order  of  the  Lau- 
rentian  Pseudo-Matthew.  It  seems  clear  that  the  French 
writer  had  before  him  some  Childhood  like  the  De  In- 
fantia as  well  as  a  Pseudo-Matthew.  However  they  were 
brought  together,  the  stories  were  now  united  in  a  single 
poem  and  that  poem  carried  into  England. 

Other  evidence  of  their  dissemination  in  England  dur- 
ing the  Middle  Ages  by  means  of  the  vernacular  is  found  in 
an  entirely  distinct  Childhood,  which  has  been  published 
from  three  different  manuscripts:  MS.  Additional  3 1042, 2 
MS.  Harl.  2399,3  and  MS.  Harl.  3954. 4  All  three  are 
redactions  of  a  single  work,  though  they  differ  considerably 
in  content.  Their  relationship  has  been  worked  out  by 
Dr.  Landshoff,  whose  conclusion  that  the  versions  of  the 

English  is  open  to  some  doubt  for  two  reasons.  The  English  MS. 
is  at  least  as  early  as  the  French  and  perhaps  older;  in  several 
places  (w.  77-80,  159-162,  233-236,  etc.)  it  shows  traces  of  rhymes 
"  quatre  &  quatre,"  which  Meyer  tells  us  is  the  form  of  the  second 
French  redaction.  The  translation  is  rather  clumsily,  though  vigor- 
ously, made.  In  a  great  number  of  instances  (see  Horstmann,  pp. 
xlii  ff.)  the  rhymes  are  faulty. 

lThe  appearance  of  this  here  in  conjunction  with  the  other  two 
makes  me  more  inclined  to  give  credence  to  the  ascription  of  it  to 
De  Infantia  by  the  compiler  of  the  Narrationes.  See  p.  153  above. 

2 Ed.  Horstmann,  Archiv  f.  d.  Stud.  d.  n.  Sprachen,  LXXIV,  327-339. 
Northern  dialect,  fifteenth  century. 

8  Ed.  Horstmann,  Sammlung  altenglischer  Legenden,  1878,  pp.  111- 
123.  Midland  dialect,  fifteenth  century. 

4  Ed.  Horstmann,  Work  cited,  pp.  101-110.  Midland  dialect,  four- 
teenth century. 


158  GORDON  HALL  GEROULD. 

Harleian  manuscripts  form  a  group  deriving  from  a  pre- 
cursor of  MS.  Additional  is  certainly  justified.1  In  spite 
of  the  fact  that  one  of  the  Midland  texts  is  considerably 
earlier  than  the  Northern,  I  believe  that  the  latter  is  in 
the  dialect  of  the  original  English  form  of  the  poem  2  and 
that  its  content  may  accordingly  be  taken  with  security  as 
representing  the  original.  Like  the  poem  in  the  Laud 
manuscript  it  has  all  six  of  the  miracles,  but  it  changes  the 
order  slightly,  placing  the  story  of  how  Jesus  sat  on  the 
sunbeam  fourth  instead  of  last.3  Into  the  form  of  the 
stories  I  need  not  go  further  than  to  state  that  they  show 
what  is  witnessed  by  the  work  at  large,  an  origin  inde- 
pendent of  Laud  108. 

That  these  miracles  had  a  considerable  vogue  in 
mediaeval  England  is  shown  clearly  enough,  I  think,  by  the 
examples  adduced.  We  have  seen  how  the  three  tales  of 
Pseudo-Matthew  were  expanded  to  six  by  the  common  pro- 
cess of  fictional  embroidery,  and  how  the  six  were  spread 


1  H.  Landshoff,  Kindheit  Jesu,  ein  englisches  Gedicht  aus  dem  14. 
Jahrhundert.  I.  Verhaltnis  der  Handschriften,  1889,  p.  15. 

2 Certain  rhymes  like  Late:  mate:  sate:  satte  (yv.  66-72  of  MS. 
Add.),  which  are  perfect  in  the  Northern  dialect,  are  bungled  hope- 
lessly in  the  Harleian  copies.  Furthermore,  the  completer  form  of 
the  Northern  version  inclines  one  to  the  belief  that  it  better  repre- 
sents the  original.  Landshoff's  summary  (pp.  17-33)  of  places 
where  the  Northern  version  is  textually  in  the  right  makes  the  matter 
clearer. 

3 The  stories  occur  in  the  texts  as  follows:  (1)  The  leap,  Add. 
W.  280-327;  Harl.  2399,  vv.  277-324;  Harl,  3954,  w.  381-486.  (2) 
The  jug  repaired,  Add.  w.  328-341;  Harl.  2399,  vv.  325-339;  Harl. 
3954,  vv,  345-357.  (3)  The  jug  suspended,  Add.  vv.  342-363;  Harl. 
2399,  vv.  340-360;  Harl.  3954,  w.  358-380.  (4)  Sits  on  sunbeam, 
Add.  vv.  472-520;  Harl.  2399,  vv.  453-496.  (5)  Zeno,  Add.  vv.  521- 
572.  (6)  Collects  spilled  water,  Add.  vv.  834-845;  Harl.  2399.  vv. 
755-766. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   THE    BITTER    WITHY.  159 

by  vernacular  versions  in  England  as  well  as  on  the  Conti- 
nent. We  may  now  revert  to  The  Bitter  Withy. 

I  have  said  above  1  that  with  the  entrance  of  the  story 
of  how  Jesus  sat  on  the  sunbeam  the  kernel  of  the  legend 
in  its  relation  to  the  material  of  the  ballad  is  to  be  found. 
The  leap,  which  was  fatally  imitated  by  His  playmates,  is 
of  scarcely  less  importance  in  explaining  why  He  should 
build  a  bridge  with  the  beams  of  the  sun ;  and  the  further 
expansion  into  the  tale  of  the  water  pot  suspended  on  the 
sunbeam  is  not  without  value.  Furthermore,  the  sug- 
gestion of  the  original  De  Infantia  2  that  the  ray  of  the  sun 
extended  across  the  room  like  a  beam,  when  it  was  used  as 
a  seat,  though  I  have  not  found  it  in  the  vernacular,  shows 
how  easily  the  notion  of  a  bridge  could  come  in.  That 
the  playmates  of  the  ballad  were  drowned  instead  of  killed 
by  fracture  is  a  natural  sequence.  It  will  be  understood, 
of  course,  that  I  am  not  seeking  to  establish  anything  more 
than  the  popular  knowledge  of  the  series  at  an  early  day  on 
English  soil,  where  they  could  be  used  as  ballad  material. 
That,  it  seems  to  me,  has  been  indicated  by  the  existence 
of  the  miracles  in  a  rather  crude  literary  form,  frequently 
copied  as  we  know  from  the  manuscript  relations  of  the 
Northern  Childhood,  which  was  clearly  made  for  popular 
use.  It  is  another  case,  I  believe,  of  an  ecclesiastical 
legend  sifting  down  to  the  common  people.3 

Another  bit  of  evidence  for  the  diffusion  of  the  miracles 
in  England  was  long  ago  pointed  out  by  Reinhold  Kohler.4 
It  is  found  in  the  chapbook  History  of  Tom  Thumb,  of 


*P.  151.  2Seep.  152. 

8  See  the  author's  articles,  Publications  of  the  Mod.  Lang.  Ass.,  xix, 
335-448  and  xx,  529-545. 
*Eng.  Stud.,  n,  115. 


160  GORDON   HALL   GEROULD. 

which  the  earliest  edition  now  known  to  exist  was  printed 
in  1630. 1     I  quote  a  stanza  from  the  reprint  by  Hazlitt.2 

Of  whom  to  be  reueng'd,  he  tooke 

( in  mirth  and  pleasant  game ) 
Black  pots  and  glasses,  which  he  hung 

vpon  a  bright  sunne-beame. 
The  other  boyes  to  doe  the  like, 

in  pieces  broke  them  quite; 
For  which  they  were  most  soundly  whipt, 

Whereat  he  laught  outright. 

This  curious  adaptation  of  the  story  of  the  suspended 
water  pot  is  valuable  for  the  indirect  evidence  afforded  as 
to  the  popularity  of  these  tales. 

We  have  seen  that  the  legend  of  Christ's  relations  with 
His  playmates,  which  we  have  been  studying,  was  of 
gradual  growth.  It  is,  then,  not  out  of  place  to  inquire 
whence  came  the  sunbeam  in  the  legend.  Dr.  Kressner 
in  treating  the  Provencal  versions  suggests  a  parallel,  which 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  a  source.  He  says :  "  Man  ist 
versucht,  dieses  Wunder  mit  einer  im  Mittelalter  sehr 
verbreiteten  Geschichte  zusammen  zu  bringen,  namlich  von 
einem  Diebe,welcher  auf  einemMondstrahle  vondemDache 
eines  Hauses  in  dasselbe  hinunter  gleiten  will  und  dabei 
den  Hals  bricht."  3  This  story  is  found  in  Kalila  and 
Dimna  and  thus  goes  back  to  Sanskrit.  I  give  a  sum- 
mary of  the  text  of  John  of  Capua  to  show  the  European 
form  of  the  tale  and  print  in  an  appendix  a  list  of  versions. 

1  A  complete  set  of  the  three  parts  is  owned  by  the  Harvard  Col- 
lege Library. 

2  Early  Popular  Poetry  of  England,  1866,  II,  180.     Keprinted  also 
by  Ritson,  Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry,  1791,  and  by  Halliwell, 
The  Metrical  History  of  Tom  Thumb  the  Little,  1860.     The  story  is 
retold  in  prose  by  Halliwell,  Popular  Rhymes  and  Nursery   Talcs, 
1849,  pp.  95-100. 

3  Archiv  f.  d.  Stud.  d.  n.  Sprachen,  LVIII,  296,  note. 


THE    BALLAD    OF   THE    BITTER   WITHY.  161 

A  thief  with  certain  of  his  fellows  ascended  the  roof  of  a 
rich  man's  house  one  night,  hoping  in  that  way  to  gain 
entrance.  The  man  heard  them  and  told  his  wife  to  ask 
him  in  a  loud  voice  how  he  had  obtained  his  wealth.  When 
she  had  asked  him  more  than  once,  he  responded  that  he 
had  gained  all  by  skilful  theft.  On  the  night  of  the  full 
moon  he  would  go  up  on  the  roof  of  a  house,  say  "  sulem  " 
seven  times,  embrace  a  moon  ray  and  be  carried  safely  into 
the  house.  After  securing  his  booty  he  would  get  away 
quietly  in  the  same  manner.  The  leader  of  the  robbers 
waited  a  few  minutes,  then  tried  the  ingenious  plan  to  his 
great  discomforture.1  This  story  is,  of  course,  absolutely 
unlike  our  legend  save  for  the  expedient  of  using  the  ray 
of  the  moon  as  a  means  of  conveyance ;  yet  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  the  Oriental  story  was  known  in  Europe  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  eleventh  century  2  and  that  the  Lauren- 
tian  MS.  of  Pseudo-Matthew  somewhat  after  that  date  gives 
the  legend  very  briefly,  it  seems  probable  that  the  first  man 
to  invent  the  incident  of  Jesus  and  the  sunbeam  knew  the 
earlier  tale  in  some  form  or  other. 

The  legend,  which  we  have  been  studying,  appears  to  me 
to  be  the  central  theme  of  The  Bitter  Withy.  I  am  not 
disturbed  by  the  leap  in  the  dark  required  in  passing  from 
mediaeval  versions  to  the  ballad,  nor  do  I  think  that  the 
features  unexplained  by  the  legend  are  of  prime  import- 
ance. There  is  first  the  game  of  ball  and  the  taunts  of 
the  children  by  which  the  poem  is  introduced.  References 
to  ball-playing  are  so  frequent  in  the  ballads  that  this  need 
not  be  regarded  as  anything  more  than  a  half  conventional 
opening.  Read,  for  example,  the  first  stanza  of  Sir  Hugh 

*Ed.  Derenbourg,  pp.  24  f. 

2  The  translation  by   Simeon   Seth  was  made   towards   1080.     Se« 
Hervieux,  Les  fabulistes  latins,  v,  75. 

11 


162  GORDON   HALL  GEROULD. 

of  Lincoln  and  see  how  closely  it  is  approached  by  this. 
Yet  that  popular  tradition  in  England  actually  connected 
the  Child  Jesus  with  ball-playing  is  shown  by  a  reference 
in  the  second  of  the  two  Middle  English  poems  discussed 
above.  In  the  story  of  His  wonderful  dealings  with  the 
dyer  it  is  said,  according  to  MS.  Additional,  that  He 

"...  went  to  playe  hym  at  the  balle 

With  his  felawes,  walde  he  noghte  lette." l 

or  as  Harl.  2399  puts  it, 

"Ande  seben  to  play  hym  at  J?e  balle 
Wyth  ht/s  felouse  he  wulde  not  lete."  2 

The  further  picture  given  in  a  well-known  carol,  called 
The  Holy  Well,  of  His  relations  with  the  children  and 
their  taunts  furnishes  at  least  an  interesting  parallel  to  this 
part  of  the  ballad  story.  The  carol  3  runs  as  follows : 

As  it  fell  out  one  May  morning, 

And  upon  one  bright  holiday, 
Sweet  Jesus  asked  of  his  dear  Mother, 

If  he  might  go  to  play. 

1  Vv.  672,  673.  »  VY.  599,  600. 

3  Printed  from  W.  Sandys,  Christmas  Carols,  Ancient  and  Modern, 
1833,  pp.  149-152.  Sandys  says  that  he  took  it  from  a  "popular 
broadside  carol."  Other  versions  in  William  Howitt,  Rural  Life  in 
England,  1838,  n,  214,  215  (from  "a  volume  of  Christmas  Carols  as 
sung  in  the  neighborhood  of  Manchester,"  collected  by  "the  late 
Mrs.  Fletcher  [Miss  Jewsbury] ;  "Joshua  Sylvester,"  A  Garland  of 
Christmas  Carols,  1861,  pp.  32-35  (from  a  broadside  printed  at 
Gravesend  in  the  eighteenth  century,  reprinted  in  Journal  of  the 
Folk-Song  Society,  n,  303,  and  with  changes  in  Ancient  Carols 
[Shakespeare  Head  Press  Booklets,  No.  I],  1905,  pp.  17-19)  ;  and  W. 
H.  Husk,  Songs  of  the  Nativity,  pp.  91-94  (from  a  Gravesend  broad- 
side). These  versions  differ  from  that  of  Sandys  and  from  one 
another  in  a  good  many  lines. 


THE   BALLAD   OF   THE   BITTER   WITHY.  163 

'To  play,  to  play  sweet  Jesus  shall  go, 

And  to  play,  pray  get  you  gone, 
And  let  me  hear  of  no  complaint 
At  night  when  you  come  home/ 

Sweet  Jesus  went  down  to  yonder  town, 

As  far  as  the  Holy  Well, 
And  there  did  see  as  fine  children 

As  any  tongue  can  tell. 

He  said,  '  God  bless  you  every  one, 

And  your  bodies  Christ  save  and  see: 
Little  children,  shall  I  play  with  you, 

And  you  shall  play  with  me.' 

But  they  made  answer  to  him,  'No:' 

They  were  lords'  and  ladies'  sons; 
And  he,  the  meanest  of  them  all, 

Was  but  a  maiden's  child,  born  in  an  ox's  stall. 

Sweet  Jesus  turned  him  around, 

And  he  neither  laugh'd  nor  smil'd, 
But  the  tears  came  trickling  from  his  eyes 

Like  water  from  the  skies. 

Sweet  Jesus  turned  him  about, 

To  his  Mother's  dear  home  went  He, 
And  said,  'I  have  been  in  yonder  town, 

As  after  you  may  see. 

'I  have  been  down  in  yonder  town, 

As  far  as  the  Holy  Well, 
There  did  I  meet  as  fine  children 
As  any  tongue  can  tell. 

'  I  bid  God  bless  them  every  one, 
And  their  bodies  Christ  save  and  see: 
Little  children,  shall  I  play  with  you, 
And  you  shall  play  with  me. 

'But  they  made  answer  to  me,  No, 

They  were  lords'  and  ladies'  sons, 
And  I,  the  meanest  of  them  all, 

Was  but  a  maiden's  child,  born  in  an  ox's  stall/ 


164  GORDON  HALL  GEROULD. 

'Though  you  are  but  a  maiden's  child, 

Born  in  an  ox's  stall, 
Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  King  of  Heaven, 
And  the  Saviour  of  them  all. 

'  Sweet  Jesus,  go  down  to  yonder  town, 

As  far  as  the  Holy  Well, 
And  take  away  those  sinful  souls, 
And  dip  them  deep  in  hell.' 

'  Nay,  nay/  sweet  Jesus  said, 

'Nay,  nay,  that  may  not  be, 
For  there  are  too  many  sinful  souls, 
Crying  out  for  the  help  of  me/ 

O  then  spoke  the  Angel  Gabriel, 

Upon  one  good  Saint  Stephen, 
Altho'  you're  but  a  maiden's  child, 

You  are  the  King  of  Heaven. 

The  whole  point  and  force  of  the  ballad  is  lost  in  this 
curiously  emasculated  text,  which  appears  notwithstanding 
to  be  genuinely  popular.  Presumably  the  carol  derives 
from  the  same  wave  of  tradition  as  the  ballad  and  may  be 
regarded  as  a  variant  of  it.  The  introduction  of  the  holy 
well  recalls  the  story  of  the  broken  pitcher,  which  I  have 
shown  to  be  of  some  importance  in  the  growth  of  the 
legend.  It  is  possible  that  the  tradition  gave  rise  to  two 
ballads,  of  one  of  which  The  Holy  Well  is  a  debased  copy ; 
but,  as  this  explanation  would  demand  as  a  corollary  some 
confusion  of  phrase  between  the  two,  it  seems  more  likely 
that  we  have  to  do  with  a  single  ballad,  which  in  the  broad- 
sides fell  on  evil  days. 

After  the  legend  proper  come  the  chastisement  and  the 
curse,  both  of  which  seem  to  me  features  of  less  import- 
ance than  the  main  story.  As  to  the  whipping,  I  know  of 
no  reference  to  it  in  England.  Indeed,  in  all  the  versions 


THE   BALLAD   OF   THE   BITTER   WITHY.  165 

of  the  Childhood  from  both  the  Continent  and  England 
that  I  have  read,  the  Mother's  attitude  toward  her  Son  is 
one  of  respectful  adoration.  Mr.  Sidgwick,  however,  has 
called  attention  1  to  a  note  in  Notes  and  Queries  for  1863,2 
which  quotes  the  following  passage  from  the  pen  of  an 
English  clergyman  3  descriptive  of  a  fresco  on  the  exterior 
of  the  west  end  of  a  church  at  Lucca.  "  Leaving  the  square 
at  Lucca,  which  contains  the  cathedral,  I  entered  a  long  and 
narrow  street ;  and  when  I  had  traversed  it  for  about  half 
a  mile,  I  suddenly  came  upon  the  ancient  and  massive 
church  of  San  Martino. — The  Virgin  is  represented  in- 
flicting corporal  punishment  upon  the  youthful  Jesus. 
She  holds  a  rod  in  her  hand ;  with  the  other  she  holds  the 
garments  of  the  Child.  She  is  in  the  act  of  inflicting 
punishment.  The  child  is  in  alarm,  and  its  eyes  are 
eagerly  directed  to  St.  Anna,  the  mother  of  the  Virgin,  in 
the  background;  entreating  her  intercession  to  escape  the 
cruel  ordeal."  4 

Furthermore,  in  the  Old  French  Miracles  de  Nostre 
Dame  par  personnages  (i,  vv.  1383-1385)  we  find  Premier 
Dyable  blasphemously  remarking  of  Christ: 

"  Pour  sa  mere  n'en  ose  el  f aire : 
Si   lui   faisoit  riens    de   contraire, 
II  seroit  batuz  an  retour."  5 

So  in  a  later  play  of  the  same  series,  Deuxiesme  Dyable 
says  ( xxxvi,  vv.  587-589)  : 

1  Place  cited.  *  Third  Series,  in,  324  f . 

3  Rev.  A.  Vicary,  Notes  of  a  Residence  at  Rome  in  1846,  by  a 
Protestant  Clergyman. 

*  As  the  cathedral  of  Lucca  is  dedicated  to  St.  Martin,  it  seems 
certain  that  the  traveler  was  mistaken  in  the  name  of  the  church. 

6  Ed.  Paris  and  Robert,  1876,  i,  49,  50  (Soci6t6  des  anciens  textes.) 


166  GORDON    HALL   GEROULD. 

"  Et  s'il  le  faisoit,  abatuz 
Seroit  de  sa  m6re  et  batuz 
Dessus    ses    fesses." 1 

These  allusions  seem  to  imply  a  knowledge  on  the  part 
of  the  authors  of  some  such  story. 

With  this  evidence,  slight  as  it  is,  one  must  regard  the 
chastisement  as  belonging  to  the  legend,  no  matter  how  it 
came  to  be  there.  What  more  natural  than  that  it  should 
be  seized  upon  by  the  ballad-maker  or  balladmakers  as  a 
fitting  end  to  the  story?  The  ballad  requires  a  catastro- 
phe,— and  here  you  have  it.  It  is  not  humorous.  It  is 
rather  most  grave  and  sober  and  unsmiling.  The  thing 
could  not  be  done  at  all  except  by  the  sublime  unconscious- 
ness of  a  childlike  mind,  and  the  perfect  propriety  of  the 
execution  is  all  of  a  piece  with  the  genuineness  of  the 
ballad. 

The  cursing  of  the  withy  in  the  last  stanza  of  all  may 
be  of  some  importance,  but  it  seems  to  me  more  probably 
an  afterthought  and  a  tag.  To  my  ear  it  does  not  ring 
quite  true,  though  I  am  willing  to  be  convinced  that  it  is 
not  an  addition.  The  opportunity  for  explanation  was  too 
good  a  one  to  be  lost,  wherefore  some  singer  of  the  ballad 
proceeded  to  explain  the  nature  of  the  withy  by  the  natural 
impatience  of  the  Child. 

VERSIONS  OF  THE  THIEF  AND  THE  MOONBEAM.  2 

Arabian.    Kabila  and  Dimna,  trans.  Knatchbull,  p.  69. 

Bidpai,  trans.  Wolff,  p.  xxxix. 
Syriac.    Ed.  G.  Bickell,  Kalilag  und  Damnag,  1876. 

lWork  cited,  vi,  249.  Both  references  I  owe  to  the  kindness  of 
Dr.  Donald  C.  Stuart,  of  Princeton. 

2 1  give  this  list  as  being  of  possible  use,  though  it  is  neither  complete 
nor  in  every  respect  accurate.  Many  of  the  references,  culled  largely  from 
Benfey  and  Oesterley,  I  have  been  unable  to  verify. 


THE   BALLAD   OF   THE   BITTER    WITHY.  167 

From  Arabian. 
Greek  (by  Simeon  Seth).    Ed.  Stark,  Specimen  Sapientiae  Indorum  Veterum, 

1697. 

Persian  (lyar-i-Danish).    See  Malcolm,  Sketches  of  Persia,  i,  144. 
Hebrew.    Ed.  J.  Derenbourg,  Deux  versions  hebraiques  du  livre  defKalildh  et 

Dimndh  (Bibl.  de  1'Ecole  des  Hautes  Etudes,  49),  1881. 
Spanish  (by  Alphonse  le  Sage).    Calila  e  Dymna,  chap.  2,  ed.  Pascual  de 

Gayangos,  in  Escritores  en  prosa  anteriores  al  siglo  XV  (Bibl.  de 

auiores  espanoles) ,  1860,  pp.  15  f. 

From  Greek. 

Possinus,  Specimen  Sapientiae  Indorum  Veterum  ( appended  to  Observationes 
Pachymerianas),  1666,  p.  558. 

From  Hebrew. 

John  of  Capua,  Directorium  Humane  Vitae,  cap.  i,  ed.  J.,  Derenbourg, 
Johannis  de  Capua  Directorium  Humanae  Vitae  (Bibl.  de  1'Ecole  des 
Hautes  Etudes,  72),  1887,  pp.  24,  25;  L.  Hervieux,  Les  fabulistes 
latins,  1899,  v,  98-100. 

From  Spanish. 
El  libro  de  los  enxemplos,  no.  vii,  ed.  Pascual  de  Gayangos,  Escritores,  etc. , 

p.  449. 
Kaymond  de  Be*ziers.     See  under  John  of  Capua. 

From  John  of  Capua. 
Baldo,  Ed.  Hervieux,  v,  344,  no.  vi. 
Eaymond  de  Be*ziers.     Ed.  Hervieux,  v,  425,  cap.  iii  ;  du  Me"ril,  Poesies 

inedites,  p.  222. 

Doni,  La  Moral  Filosofia  de  Doni,  1552,  p.  17. 
Petrus  Alphonsus,  Disciplina  Clericalis,  cap.  xxv.     Ed  V.  Schmidt,  I,  149. 

From  Petrus  Alphonsus. 

Oesta  Romanorum,  cap.  136.     Ed.  Oesterley,  1872,  p.  490. 
Vincent  of  Beauvais  (ascribed),  Speculum  Morale,  3,  6,  2. 
Chastoiement.   Ed.  Le  Grand  d'Aussy,  Fabliaux,  1799,  n,  409  ;  Barbazan, 
Fabliaux,  n,  148 ;  Me"on,  Fabliaux  et  contes,  1808,  n,  148. 


Wright,  Selections  of  Latin  Stories,  p.  24. 

Bromyard,  Summa  Praedicantium,  S,  3,  14. 

Hans  Sachs,  ed.  1579,  v,  376. 

Pauli,  Schimpf  und  Ernst.     Ed.  Oesterley,  1866  ( Bibl.  des  litt.  Ver.  in 

Stuttgart,  85),  no.  628,  p.  345. 
Geiler,  Narrenschiff,  20. 

GORDON  HALL  GEROULD. 


PUBLICATIONS 


OF   THE 


Modern  Language  Association  of  America. 


19O8. 


VOL.  XXIII,  2.  NEW  SERIES,  VOL.  XVI,  2. 


VIII.— ELIZABETH  BARRETT'S  INFLUENCE   ON 
BROWNING'S   POETRY. 

There  are  many  well-established  cases  of  the  influence 
of  an  earlier  on  a  later  poet — of  Marlowe  on  Shakspere,  of 
Spenser  on  Keats,  of  Keats  on  Tennyson,  for  instance ;  but 
it  is  not  often  that  we  have  so  clear  an  example  of  inter- 
action between  contemporaries  as  that  of  Elizabeth  Barrett 
and  Robert  Browning.  In  these  days  of  minute  scholar- 
ship, it  seems  strange  that  so  remarkable  an  instance  should 
(so  far  as  I  am  aware)  have  escaped  detailed  examination, 
in  spite  of  the  unwearying  activity  of  graduate  schools  and 
Browning  Societies.  Both  for  its  human  and  for  its  literary 
interest,  the  case  seems  worth  presenting,  at  any  rate  in 
broad  outline. 

Browning's  influence  upon  his  wife  is  written  Iprge  on 
the  surface  of  all  her  later  work,  the  best  thing  she  eve*-  4id, 
the  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese,  being  directly  due  to  his 
inspiration.  Her  influence  upon  him  is  subtler,  deeper — the 
influence  of  the  weaker  and  finer  upon  the  stronger  nature. 
Richly  as  her  ardent  spirit  developed  under  the  emotional 
1  169 


170  JOHN    W.    CUNLIFFE. 

and  intellectual  stimulus  she  received  from  him,  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  her  most  enduring  contributions  to 
literature  were  not  direct  but  indirect — through  the  influence 
she  exerted  on  her  poet-husband.  Her  best  work  is  to  be 
found  not  in  her  own  writings,  but  in  his. 

Such  a  view  would  have  been  scouted  during  Mrs. 
Browning's  lifetime;  and  in  order  to  orient  ourselves,  it 
may  be  well  to  recall  the  circumstances  of  their  first  acquaint- 
ance. Older  by  six  years,  Elizabeth  Barrett  was  also  more 
precocious,  and  had  a  wide  circle  of  admirers  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic  when  he  was  known  only  to  a  little  ring  of 
select  spirits  in  London.  She  had  published  her  first  volume 
of  poems  in  1826,  when  he  was  a  boy  of  14,  and  had  risen 
to  the  dignity  of  a  collected  edition  while  he  was  still  trying 
to  force  his  poems  on  an  unwilling  public  in  sixpenny  and 
shilling  pamphlets.  It  was,  indeed,  a  compliment  she  paid 
in  her  three  volume  edition  to  Browning's  cheap  series  of 
"  Bells  and  Pomegranates "  that  first  brought  the  two  poets 
together.  Browning's  approach  in  response  was  character- 
istically direct :  "  I  love  your  verses  with  all  my  heart,  dear 
Miss  Barrett,"  he  wrote  on  January  10,  1845,  and  later  in 
the  same  letter  he  added,  "  and  I  love  you  too."  So  began 
the  memorable  courtship — the  most  remarkable,  I  think, 
in  the  history  of  literature — which  I  must  not  stay  now  to 
rehearse.  In  spite  of  the  emotional  tone  of  Browning's  first 
letter  to  a  lady  he  had  never  seen,  there  was  at  this  time  no 
suspicion  on  either  side  of  what  was  so  soon  to  come.  It 
would  be  rash  to  say  of  any  man  over  thirty,  as  Browning 
was,  that  he  had  never  been  in  love;  but  he  was  heart- 
whole,  and  he  had  made  his  scheme  of  life,  as  he  afterwards 
wrote  to  Miss  Barrett,  supposing  the  "  finding  such  a  one  as 
you  utterly  impossible."  She  also  had  definitely  renounced 
any  thought  of  marriage,  and  she  took  his  letter  in  the 
friendly  spirit  of  appreciation  in  which  it  was  meant.  "  I 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT'S    INFLUENCE    ON    BROWNING.       171 

had  a  letter  from  Browning  the  poet  last  night  which  threw 
me  into  ecstasies/7 — she  writes  to  a  friend,  "  Browning,  the 
author  of  Paracelsus,  and  king  of  the  mystics.."  In  spite 
of  many  literary  interests  in  common,  they  were  strikingly 
different  in  character  and  tastes.  He  was  already  a  man  of 
the  world  and  a  bit  of  a  dandy,  with  marked  social  abili- 
ties and  inclinations,  as  Mr.  Kenyon's  recent  book,  Robert 
Browning  and  Alfred  Domett,  has  shown.  He  had  already 
developed  that  attitude  of  mind  which  made  Lockhart  say 
later  that  he  liked  Browning,  because  he  was  "not  at  all 
like  a  damned  literary  man."  She,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
a  student  and  a  recluse,  an  invalid  who  enjoyed  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  blue-stocking  in  those  early  Victorian  days.  Miss 
Mitford  describes  her  as  "  reading  almost  every  book  worth 
reading  in  almost  every  language,"  and  having  a  Greek  text 
of  Plato  bound  like  a  novel  so  as  to  deceive  the  family 
physician.  Yet  there  was  nothing  of  the  blue-stocking  in 
her  disposition.  Miss  Mitford's  description  may  be  further 
quoted  :  "  Of  a  slight,  delicate  figure,  with  a  shower  of  dark 
curls  falling  on  either  side  of  a  most  expressive  face,  large 
tender  eyes  richly  fringed  by  dark  eyelashes,  a  smile  like  a 
sun-beam,  and  such  a  look  of  youthfulness," — this  was  in 
1836,  before  the  days  of  her  suffering  and  bereavement. 
But  twenty  years  later  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  found  her  still 
"  youthful  and  comely "  as  well  as  "  very  gentle  and  lady- 
like." His  first  impression  is  of  "  a  small,  delicate  woman, 
with  ringlets  of  dark  hair,  a  pleasant,  intelligent,  and  sensi- 
tive face,  and  a  low,  agreeable  voice."  Two  years  later,  on 
closer  acquaintance,  he  describes  her  with  greater  fulness 
and  enthusiasm — aa  pale,  small  person,  scarcely  embodied 
at  all ;  at  any  rate  only  substantial  enough  to  put  forth  her 
slender  fingers  to  be  grasped,  and  to  speak  with  a  shrill 
yet  sweet  tenuity  of  voice.  Really,  I  do  not  see  how  Mr. 
Browning  can  suppose  that  he  has  an  earthly  wife  any  more 


172  JOHN    W.    CUNLIFFE. 

than  an  earthly  child;  both  are  of  the  elfin  race,  and  will 
flit  away  from  him  some  day  when  he  least  thinks  of  it. 
She  is  a  good  and  kind  fairy,  however,  and  sweetly  disposed 
towards  the  human  race,  although  only  remotely  akin  to  it. 
It  is  wonderful  to  see  how  small  she  is,  how  pale  her  cheek, 
how  bright  and  dark  her  eyes.  There  is  not  such  another 
figure  in  the  world ;  and  her  black  ringlets  cluster  down 
into  her  neck,  and  make  her  face  look  the  whiter  by  their 
sable  profusion.  I  could  not  form  any  judgment  about  her 
age ;  it  may  range  anywhere  within  the  limits  of  human  life 
or  elfin  life.  ...  It  is  marvellous  to  me  how  so  extraordi- 
nary, so  acute,  so  sensitive  a  creature  can  impress  us,  as  she 
does,  with  the  certainty  of  her  benevolence." 

Mr.  Chesterton  in  his  study  of  Browning  (English  Men 
of  Letters)  has  said  that  Browning's  behaviour  during  the 
secret  courtship  which  ended  in  so  respectable  an  elopement 
is  "more  thoroughly  to  his  credit  than  anything  in  his 
career."  This  is  surely  an  exaggeration,  for  to  tell  a  lie 
when  occasion  calls  for  it,  and  remain  a  gentleman  is  not, 
after  all,  a  task  of  such  super-human  difficulty  as  Mr. 
Chesterton  seems  to  think;  and  though  Mr.  Moulton  Bar- 
rett's system  of  paternal  theocracy  amounted  almost  to 
religious  monomania,  it  is  a  little  absurd  to  regard  him  as 
an  ogre,  and  Miss  Barrett's  invalid  chamber  as  an  enchanted 
castle.  She  was  a  woman  of  forty  with  an  independent 
income,  and  all  she  had  to  do  to  escape  from  her  dungeon 
was  to  summon  the  moral  and  physical  courage  to  walk  out 
of  it.  The  obstacles  she  had  to  overcome  are  very  well 
represented  by  her  father's  remark  after  the  marriage.  "  I 
have  no  objection  to  the  young  man,  but  my  daughter  should 
have  been  thinking  of  another  world."  It  was  precisely 
from  this  other  world — the  world  of  depressing  religiosity 
and  domestic  tyranny — that  Browning  rescued  Elizabeth 
Barrett,  and  it  required  qualities  which  are  not  exactly 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT'S    INFLUENCE   ON    BROWNING.       173 

heroic,  but  which  are  DO  less  rare—single-minded  devotion 
and  infinite  tact  and  patience.  There  was  also  some  risk 
of  social  odium  to  be  faced,  for  Browning  had  no  means,  and 
the  secret  marriage  of  the  two  poets,  unsuspected  even  by 
their  friends,  of  course  made  a  sensation  when  it  was  publicly 
announced  a  few  days  later.  It  startled  Wordsworth  into 
his  one  recorded  jest :  "  So  Robert  Browning  and  Elizabeth 
Barrett  have  gone  off  together  !  Well,  I  hope  they  may 
understand  each  other — nobody  else  could. " 

Fortunately  they  did  understand  each  other :  their  mar- 
riage proved  just  what  Milton  says  the  poet's  life  should 
be — in  itself  "  a  true  poem."  To  Elizabeth  Barrett  it  meant 
fifteen  years  of  the  sublime  happiness  which  the  Sonnets 
from  the  Portuguese  help  us  to  measure.  Browning's  side 
of  the  picture  is  given  in  By  the  Fireside,  which  is  simply  a 
romantic  presentation  of  their  courtship  and  married  life  in 
Italy.  The  scenery  described  is  that  of  the  Baths  of  Lucca, 
where  they  spent  some  delightful  summers,  and  there  are 
many  glances  at  their  common  life  in  Pisa  and  Florence. 

11 1  will  speak  now 
No  longer  watch  you  as  you  sit 
Reading  by  fire-light,  that  great  brow 
And  the  spirit-small  hand  propping  it, 
Mutely,  my  heart  knows  how — 

"  When,  if  I  think  but  deep  enough, 
You  are  wont  to  answer,  prompt  as  rhyme  ; 
And  you,  too,  find  without  rebuff 
Eesponse  your  soul  seeks  many  a  time 
Piercing  its  fine  flesh-stuff." 

This  is  but  a  poetical  description  of  the  Brownings  in 
their  Italian  home.  Mrs.  Browning  writes  of  her  husband 
in  a  letter  to  his  sister :  "  Nobody  exactly  understands  him 
except  me,  who  am  in  the  inside  of  him  and  hear  him 
breathe.  For  the  peculiarity  of  our  relation  is  that  he 
thinks  aloud  with  me  and  can't  stop  himself." 


174  JOHN   W.    CUNLIFFE. 

A  few  stanzas  later  Browning  looks  back  to  the  courtship 
and  gives  us  in  poetry  what  we  have  in  the  love  letters 

in  prose. 

"  Come  back  with  me  to  the  first  of  all, 
Let  us  lean  and  love  it  over  again, 
Let  us  now  forget  and  now  recall, 
Break  the  rosary  in  a  pearly  rain, 
And  gather  what  we  let  fall !  " 

To   him   their   union    remains   the   supreme    moment  of 

his  life : 

"I  am  named  and  known  by  that  moment's  feat ; 
There  took  my  station  and  degree  ; 
So  grew  my  own  small  life  complete, 
As  nature  obtained  her  best  of  me — 
One  born  to  love  you,  sweet ! ' ' 

But  this  is  the  language  of  lyric  poetry,  not  of  sober 
criticism.  The  author  of  the  Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics, 
of  Pippa  Passes  and  Sordello  would  have  been  a  great  poet 
if  he  had  never  met  Elizabeth  Barrett;  but  he  would  not 
have  been  the  same  poet,  or  the  same  man.  Professor 
Herford,  who  will  not  be  suspected  of  exaggeration,  says 
that  Mrs.  Browning  "  brought  a  new  and  potent  influence 
to  bear  upon  his  poetry,  the  only  one  which  after  early 
manhood  he  ever  experienced  ;  and  their  union  was  by  far 
the  most  signal  event  in  Browning's  intellectual  history,  as 
it  was  in  his  life."  Let  us  now  address  ourselves  to  examine 
this  influence  as  particularly  and  dispassionately  as  we  can. 

"Being  too  happy  doesn't  agree,  with  literary  activity," 
writes  Mrs.  Browning  three  years  after  the  marriage ;  the 
first  and  most  obvious  effect  of  Browning's  wedded  bliss 
was  to  greatly  decrease  the  amount  of  his  poetical  produc- 
tion. Every  year  of  the  ten  before  his  marriage  saw  some 
important  work  of  his  published;  after  his  marriage  there 
was  a  long  silence  till  the  publication  of  Christmas  Eve  and 
Easter  Day  in  1850;  five  more  years  elapsed  before  Men 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT'S    INFLUENCE    ON    BROWNING.       175 

and  Women  appeared  in  1855  ;  and  he  published  nothing 
else  until  after  his  wife's  death.  But  in  poetry  it  is  quality, 
not  quantity,  that  counts  ;  if  I  were  to  select  from  Browning's 
works  one  volume  for  which,  if  necessity  so  demanded,  all 
the  rest  should  be  sacrificed,  it  would  be  precisely  this  series 
of  Men  and  Women,  which,  as  Mr.  Arthur  Symons  says, 
"represents  Browning's  genius  at  its  ripe  maturity,  its 
highest  uniform  level.  In  this  central  work  of  his  career 
every  element  of  his  genius  is  equally  developed,  and  the 
whole  brought  into  a  perfection  of  harmony  never  before  or 
since  attained  ....  In  Men  and  Women  Browning's  special 
instrument,  the  monologue,  is  brought  to  perfection."  Of 
Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day  I  hold  a  lower  opinion  than 
many  admirers  of  the  poet.  It  illustrates,  to  my  mind,  the 
weaker  side  of  his  wife's  influence.  There  is  some  draw- 
back even  in  happy  marriages,  between  poets  as  among 
ordinary  men  and  women,  for  poets  are,  after  all,  human, 
only  more  intensely  so  than  the  rest  of  us — a  truism  which 
critics  are  sometimes  inclined  to  forget.  Now  the  genius 
of  these  two  poets,  as  we  have  noted,  was  essentially 
different.  Browning  in  his  essay  on  Shelley  divided  poets  ^  / 
into  two  great  classes — the  objective  or  dramatic  poets,  and 
the  subjective  or  lyric.  He  belonged  very  distinctly  to  the 
first  order ;  she  with  equal  distinctness  to  the  second.  It 
was  a  pardonable  weakness  in  her  to  encourage  her  husband 
to  be  more  subjective;  she  disliked  the  drama  and  the 
dramatic  form.  Before  they  were  married  she  wrote  to 
him  :  "  Several  times  you  have  hinted  to  me  that  I  made 
you  careless  for  the  drama,  and  it  has  puzzled  me  to  fancy 
how  it  could  be,  when  I  understand  myself  so  clearly  both 
the  difficulty  and  the  glory  of  dramatic  art.  Yet  I  am 
conscious  of  wishing  you  to  take  the  other  crown  besides — 
and  after  having  made  your  own  creatures  speak  in  clear 
human  voices,  to  speak  yourself  out  of  that  personality 


176  JOHN    W.    CUNLIFFE. 

which  God  made,  and  with  the  voice  which  He  tuned  into 
such  power  and  sweetness  of  speech.  I  do  not  think  that, 
with  all  that  music  in  you,  only  your  own  personality  should 
be  dumb,  nor  that  having  thought  so  much  and  deeply  on 
life  and  its  ends,  you  should  not  teach  what  you  have  learnt, 
in  the  directest  and  most  impressive  way,  the  mask  thrown 
off  however  moist  with  the  breath.  And  it  is  not,  I  believe, 
by  the  dramatic  medium,  that  poets  teach  most  impres- 
sively— I  have  seemed  to  observe  that !  ....  it  is  too 
difficult  for  the  common  reader  to  analyse,  and  to  discern 
between  the  vivid  and  the  earnest.  Also  he  is  apt  to  under- 
stand better  always,  when  he  sees  the  lips  move.  Now,  here 
is  yourself,  with  your  wonderful  faculty  ! — it  is  wondered  at 
and  recognized  on  all  sides  where  there  are  eyes  to  see — 
it  is  called  wonderful  and  admirable  !  Yet,  with  an  inferior 
power,  you  might  have  taken  yourself  closer  to  the  hearts 
and  lives  of  men,  and  made  yourself  dearer,  though  being 
less  great.  Therefore  I  do  want  you  to  do  this  with  your 
surpassing  power — it  will  be  so  easy  to  you  to  speak,  and  so 
noble,  when  spoken.77 

Browning  had  himself  ambitions  in  this  direction.  He 
had  written  early  in  their  acquaintance :  "  What  I  have 
printed  gives  no  knowledge  of  me — it  evidences  abilities  of 
various  kinds,  if  you  will — and  a  dramatic  sympathy  with 
certain  modifications  of  passion  ....  that  I  think — But  I 
never  have  begun,  even,  what  I  hope  I  was  born  to  begin 
and  end — '  R.  B.  a  poem.7  7'  And  again  :  "  I  always  shiver 
involuntarily  when  I  look — no,  glance — at  this  First  Poem 
of  mine  to  be.  'Now,'  I  call  it,  what,  upon  my  soul, — for  a 
solemn  matter  it  is, — what  is  to  be  done  now,  believed  now, 
so  far  as  it  has  been  revealed  to  me — solemn  words,  truly.77 

I  imagine  that  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day  is  the  fulfil- 
ment of  these  early  aspirations  under  his  wife7s  encourage- 
ment. He  tries  to  be  subjective  and  does  not  wholly  succeed, 


177 


so  that  it  is  often  difficult  to  say  whether  he  is  speaking 
dramatically  or  in  his  own  person.  This  accounts  for  the 
very  diverse  interpretations  put  upon  the  poem  by  competent 
critics,  not  merely  with  respect  to  particular  passages,  but 
as  to  the  general  purpose  and  attitude  of  the  poet.  Professor 
Dowden  takes  it  as  not  dramatic  at  all,  but  a  declaration  of 
the  poet's  own  faith;  he  describes  Browning  as  "a  preacher," 
uttering  his  message  in  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day  (i  after 
the  manner  of  earlier  prophets,"  and  suggests  that  "  his  doc- 
trine may  sometimes  protrude  gauntly  through  his  poetry  " 
(pp.  134-7).  To  this  critic  the  representation  of  Roman 
Catholicism  in  Christmas  Eve  seems  a  crude  misconception, 
and  the  picture  of  the  Gottingen  professor  an  amiable  cari- 
cature (pp.  128-9).  Miss  Ethel  M.  Naish,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  her  recent  study,  Browning  and  Dogma,  says : 
"The  closer  and  more  unprejudiced  the  study  accorded  it, 
the  stronger  becomes  the  conviction  of  the  essentially  dra- 
matic character  of  the  composition  of  both  Christmas  Eve 
and  Easter  Day"  (p.  149).  Professor  Herford  takes  an  inter- 
mediate position  between  these  two  extremes :  "  While  he 
did  not  succeed  ....  in  evading  his  dramatic  bias,  he 
succeeded  in  making  the  dramatic  form  more  eloquently 
expressive  of  his  personal  faith"  (p.  116).  "The  strong 
personal  conviction  which  seems  to  have  been  striving  for 
direct  utterance,  checked,  without  perfectly  mastering,  his 
dramatic  instincts  and  habitudes,  resulting  in  a  beautiful 
but  indecisive  poetry  which  lacks  both  the  frankness  of  a 
personal  deliverance  and  the  plasticity  of  a  work  of  art. 
The  speakers  can  neither  be  identified  with  the  poet  nor 
detached  from  him ;  they  are  neither  his  mouthpieces  nor 
his  creations  "  (p.  120). 

My  own  view  of  Browning's  intentions  in  Christmas  Eve 
and  Easter  Day  and  his  incomplete  success  in  carrying  them 
out,  agrees  substantially  with  that  of  Professor  Herford  ; 


178  JOHN   W.    CUNLIFFE. 

and  it  is  to  be  noted  that  after  his  wife's  death  the  poet 
returned  frankly  to  the  plan  of  dramatic  presentation  as  the 
"  one  way  possible  Of  speaking  truth,  to  mouths  like  mine 
at  least."  1 

Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day  illustrates  another  phase 
of  Mrs.  Browning's  influence  which  may  be  diversely  inter- 
preted. Whatever  may  be  our  view  as  to  the  relative 
proportions  of  the  subjective  and  objective  elements  in  the 
poem,  there  can  be  no  question  that  in  it  Browning  takes  a 
more  definite  stand  on  religious  matters  than  he  took  in  any 
earlier  or  later  work.  While  he  was  never  an  irreligious 
man,  he  was  not,  till  he  came  under  his  wife's  influence, 
decidedly  religious.  In  a  letter  written  just  before  their 
marriage  (August  15,  1846)  she  sets  forth  her  religious 
views  fully  and  clearly ;  and  like  a  wise  lover  he  concurs 
without  saying  anything  definite  on  his  own  side,  beyond 
the  safe :  "  What  you  express  now  is  for  us  both."  But 
undoubtedly  he  obtained  a  clearer  conception  and  deeper 
conviction  of  the  "revelation  of  God  in  Christ"  which  she 
regarded  as  the  central  doctrine  of  the  Christian  faith.  The 
poems  of  this  middle  period,  such  as  Christmas  Eve  and 
Easter  Day,  and  Karshish,  Cleon,  and  Saul  in  Men  and 
Women,  which  have  a  distinctly  Christian  bias,  have,  as 
Professor  Herford  has  pointed  out,  "  no  prototype  or  parallel 
among  the  poems  of  Browning's  previous  periods."  Later, 
as  in  La  Saisiaz,  he  returned  to  what  some  would  call  a 
broader,  and  others  a  more  agnostic  point  of  view.  Pro- 
fessor Dowden  defines  this  later  phase  of  Browning's  reli- 
gious belief  as  the  "  non-historical  form  of  a  Humanitarian 
Theism,  courageously  accepted,  not  as  a  complete  account 
of  the  Unknowable,  but  as  the  best  provisional  conception 
which  we  are  competent  to  form"  (p.  364).  His  attitude 
to  truth  approaches,  in  Professor  Dowden's  opinion,  "  what 

1  See  The  Ring  and  the  Book,  xn,  835-867. 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT'S    INFLUENCE   ON    BROWNING.       179 

has  now  begun  to  style  itself  '  Pragmatism.' '  Assuredly  it 
is  something  very  different  from  the  simple  faith  of  Pippa 
Passes,  The  Boy  and  the  Angel,  and  the  first  part  of  Saul; 
and  it  is  still  further  removed  from  the  more  definite  evan- 
gelical convictions  of  his  middle  life. 

But  whatever  differences  of  opinion  there  may  be  on  the 
two  points  just  raised,  there  can  be  none  on  the  main  issue 
— that  Browning's  keen  intellectual  nature  was  enormously 
enriched  on  its  spiritual  and  emotional  side  by  his  marriage, 
with  corresponding  gains  in  the  power  and  beauty  of  his 
poetry.  It  was  this  which  gave  such  wonderful  fire  and 
tenderness  to  the  romantic  passion  which  we  find  in  Men 
and  Women  for  the  first  time  in  all  its  fulness  and  richness ; 
hitherto  Ke  had  written  no  real  love  poems,  and  about  half 
of  the  poems  of  Men  and  Women  fall  under  that  description. 
It  developed  his  human  sympathies,  too,  in  a  broader  sense, 
and  held  in  check  a  tendency  to  the  abstruse,  the  abnormal, 
and  the  grotesque  which  is  strongly  marked  in  his  earlier 
work.  It  is  not  without  significance  that  Browning's  first 
poems  centred  round  such  uncanny  heroes  as  the  poet 
of  Pauline,  Paracelsus,  Porphyria's  mad  lover,  Johannes 
Agricola,  and  Sordello.  There  are  many  beautiful  and 
inspiring  poems  in  the  Bells  and  Pomegranates  series ;  but 
there  are  also  such  grotesque  psychological  studies  as  the 
Soliloquy  of  the  Spanish  Cloister,  The  Confessional,  and  Time's 
Revenges,  in  addition  to  some  already  named.  In  Men  and 
Women  Browning  indulged  his  love  of  dialectic  in  only  one 
poem,  Bishop  JBlougram's  Apology,  and  his  inclination 
towards  the  grotesque  in  one  other,  The  Heretic's  Tragedy, 
justifying  himself  in  each  case  by  the  result.  Both  these 
tendencies  returned  in  full  force  upon  the  poet  in  his  later 
years,  to  the  great  detriment  of  his  work  and  reputation.  In 
the  first  volume  published  after  his  wife's  death,  Dramatis 
Personce,  the  overdevelopment  of  this  phase  of  his  intellectual 
activity  is  already  marked.  One  poem,  Mr.  Sludge  "the 


180  JOHN   W.    CUNLIFFE. 

Medium"  is  a  realistic  study  of  the  metaphysical-grotesque 
which  would  certainly  not  have  been  published  during  his 
wife's  lifetime  ;  and  whatever  might  have  been  the  loss  to 
psychology,  it  would  have  been  no  great  loss  to  poetry. 

It  is  part  of  the  price  that  must  be  paid  for  a  union  so 
beautiful  in  its  completeness  as  that  of  Robert  Browning 
and  Elizabeth  Barrett  that  the  inevitable  severance  of  the 
tie  leaves  the  survivor  with  a  shattered  life.  The  death  of 
Mrs.  Browning  marks  the  beginning  of  the  third  and  down- 
ward stage  in  Browning's  poetical  career  just  as  clearly  as 
his  marriage  marks  the  approach  of  his  grand  climacteric. 
When  he  left  Florence,  never  to  return,  after  his  wife's 
death,  he  was  a  broken  man.  He  compares  himself  to  "  a 
worm-eaten  piece  of  old  furniture,  looking  solid  enough,  but 
when  I  was  moved  I  began  to  go  to  pieces."  He  set  himself 
resolutely  to  reconstruct  a  new  life,  as  little  like  the  last 
fifteen  years  as  possible,  and  after  a  period  of  retirement, 
he  deliberately  forced  himself  to  go  back  into  society ;  but 
he  was  never  a  whole  man  again.  Mr.  Henry  James  has 
given  us  a  picture  of  this  later  Browning  in  William  Wet- 
more  Story  and  his  Friends  which  is  so  illuminating  that  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  reproduce  it  here  :  "  It  is  impossible  not 
to  believe  that  he  had  arrived  somehow,  for  his  own  deep 
purposes,  at  the  enjoyment  of  a  double  identity.  It  was  not 
easy  to  meet  him  and  know  him  without  some  resort  to  the 
supposition  that  he  had  literally  mastered  the  secret  of  divid- 
ing the  personal  consciousness  into  a  pair  of  independent 
compartments.  The  man  of  the  world — the  man  who  was 
good  enough  for  the  world,  such  as  it  was — walked  abroad, 
showed  himself,  talked,  right  resonantly,  abounded,  multi- 
plied his  contacts  and  did  his  duty ;  the  man  of  "  Dramatic 
Lyrics,"  of  "Men  and  Women,"  of  the  "King  and  the 
Book,"  of  "A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon/'  of  "  Pippa  Passes," 
of  "Colombe's  Birthday,"  of  everything,  more  or  less,  of 
the  order  of  these, — this  inscrutable  personage  sat  at  home 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT'S    INFLUENCE   ON    BROWNING.       181 

and  knew  as  well  as  he  might  in  what  quarters  of  that  sphere 
to  look  for  suitable  company.  The  poet  and  the  "  member 
of  society  "  were,  in  a  word,  dissociated  in  him  as  they  can 
rarely  elsewhere  have  been ;  so  that,  for  the  observer  im- 
pressed with  this  oddity,  the  image  I  began  by  using  quite 
frequently  of  necessity  completed  itself:  the  wall  that  built 
out  the  idyll  (as  we  call  it  for  convenience)  of  which  memory 
and  imagination  were  virtually  composed  for  him  stood  there 
behind  him  solidly  enough,  but  subject  to  his  privilege  of 
living  almost  equally  on  both  sides  of  it.  It  contained  an 
invisible  door  through  which,  working  the  lock  at  will,  he 
could  softly  pass  and  of  which  he  kept  the  golden  key — 
carrying  the  same  about  with  him  even  in  the  pocket  of  his 
dinner-waistcoat,  yet  even  in  his  most  splendid  expansions 
showing  it,  happy  man,  to  none.  Such  at  least  was  the 
appearance  he  could  repeatedly  conjure  up  to  a  deep  and 
mystified  admirer." 

This  division  of  the  man  within  himself  had  inevitably 
its  effect  upon  his  poetry.  In  the  same  manly  spirit  as  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  education  of  his  son  and  to  his  social 
duties,  he  set  himself  to  write.  "  I  mean  to  keep  writing 
whether  I  like  it  or  not/7  he  said ;  and  he  felt  in  his  wife's 
memory  a  part  of  the  inspiration  he  derived  from  her 
presence.  "  I  shall  grow  still  I  hope  " — he  wrote,  "  but  my 
root  is  taken  and  remains."  Three  years  later  he  added  : 
"  I  feel  such  comfort  and  delight  in  doing  the  best  I  can 
with  my  own  object  of  life,  poetry,  which,  I  think,  I  never 
could  have  seen  the  good  of  before  that  it  shows  me  I  have 
taken  the  root  I  did  take  well.  I  hope  to  do  much  more  yet 
and  that  the  flower  of  it  will  be  put  into  Her  hand  some- 
how." 

In  Prospiee  (Dramatis  Personal)  and  in  The  Ring  and  the 
Book  he  gave  passionate  expression  to  his  confidence  in  his 
wife's  continuing  interest  and  influence ;  and  so  the  strong 
man  survived  the  blow,  but  the  scar  remained.  Already  in 

* 


182  JOHN    W.    CUNLIFFE. 

Dramatis  Personce,  published  three  years  after  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's death,  Professor  Herford  remarks  a  tone  of  dissonance. 
"  The  sense  of  tragic  loss  broods  over  all  its  music."  He 
never  entirely  lost  the  glow  of  the  Beatific  Vision  ;  and  at 
times,  even  in  the  love  lyrics  of  his  old  age,  he  seems  to  sing 
with  his  youthful  note  of  vibrant  and  ecstatic  passion  : — 

"Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture." 

But  if  these  later  love  poems  are  looked  into  carefully 
they  will  be  found  less  like  "  rapt  utterances  of  passion  than 
eloquent  analyses  of  it  by  one  who  has  known  it  and  who 
still  vibrates  with  the  memory"  (Herford,  233).  The 
Vision  faded.  Browning  came  not  merely  to  accommodate 
himself  to  his  new  life,  but  to  enjoy  it.  In  the  Prologue  to 
Fifine,  in  which  his  wife  is  again  referred  to,  he  admits  that 
he  has  no  wish  to  leave  the  earth ;  he  "  both  lives  and  likes 
life's  way ; "  and  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Fifine 
itself  was  intended  as  a  justification  of  the  poet  to  himself 
for  his  inability  to  live  in  spirit  up  to  that  standard  of 
devotion  to  his  wife's  memory  which  he  had  at  first  set 
himself.  Immediately  after  her  death  he  had  written  on 
the  fly-leaf  of  her  Greek  Testament  these  lines  from  Dante's 
Convito :  "  Thus  I  believe,  thus  I  affirm,  thus  I  am  certain 
it  is,  that  from  this  life  I  shall  pass  to  another  better,  there, 
where  that  lady  is  of  whom  my  soul  was  enamoured."  In 
La  Saisiaz  he  raises  this  question  of  immortality  again, 
considers  it  not  in  the  flush  of  emotion  but  in  the  cold  light 
of  intellect,  and  leaves  the  issue  doubtful.  The  meta- 
physical impulse  which  was  always  strong  in  him  returned 
with  redoubled  force  as  Mrs.  Browning's  influence  waned. 
In  The  Ring  and  the  Book  her  personality  is  still  to  be  dis- 
cerned in  the  character  of  Pompilia,  and  his  next  poem, 
Balaustion's  Adventure,  is  partly  due  to  Mrs.  Browning's 
interest  in  Euripides.  But  after  that  we  have  in  succession 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT'S    INFLUENCE    ON    BROWNING.       183 

Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwangau,1  Fifine  at  the  Fair,  Red  Cotton 
Night-Cap  Country,  Aristophanes'  Apology,   The  Inn  Album. 

Of  these  later  poems  Professor  Henry  Jones  has  well 
said  :  "  Kant's  Metaphysic  of  Ethics  is  not  more  meta-  ! 
physical  in  intention  than  the  poet's  later  utterances  on  the 
problems  of  morality.  .  .  .  Browning  definitely  states  and 
endeavours  to  demonstrate  a  theory  of  knowledge,  a  theory 
of  the  relation  of  knowledge  to  morality,  and  a  theory  of 
the  nature  of  evil ;  and  he  discusses  the  arguments  for  the 
immortality  of  the  soul.  In  these  poems  his  artistic  instinct 
avails  him,  not  as  in  his  earlier  ones,  for  the  discovery  of 
truth  by  way  of  intuition,  but  for  the  adornment  of  doctrines 
already  derived  from  a  metaphysical  repository.  His  art  is 
no  longer  free,  no  longer  its  own  end,  but  coerced  into  an 
alien  service.  It  has  become  illustrative  and  argumentative, 
and  in  being  made  to  subserve  speculative  purposes,  it  has 
ceased  to  be  creative.  Browning  has  appealed  to  philosophy, 
and  philosophy  must  try  his  cause."  2 

If  Mrs.  Browning  had  lived,  we  should  very  likely  have 
been  spared  these  psychological  and  casuistical  treatises, 
which  have  rather  detracted  from  than  added  to  Browning's 
fame  as  a  poet.  But  it  is  idle  to  speculate  on  what  might 
have  been.  Let  us  rather  acknowledge  a  debt  of  gratitude 
to  Elizabeth  Barrett  for  contributing  to  Browning's  poetry 
the  human  sympathy,  passionate  fire,  and  lyrical  beauty, 
which  have  made  some  of  his  poems  priceless  and  ever- 
lasting possessions  of  the  English-speaking  world. 

JOHN  W.  CUNLIFFE. 

1  Browning  began  a  poem  on  Napoleon  and  the  Italian  question  in  1859, 
but  destroyed  it  after  Villafranca.     (Letters  of  E.  B.  B.,  u,  368-9.)     He 
appears  to  have  returned  to  the  subject  a  little  later  (Ibid.,  388,  and  Her- 
ford,  167).    Mrs.  Browning  in  May,  1860,  describes  it  merely  as  "along 
poem  which  I  have  not  seen  a  line  of." 

2  Browning  as  a  Philosophical  and  Religious  Teacher,  p.  275. 


IX.— ENGLISH  DOUBLETS. 

The  list  of  doublets  in  the  appendix  of  Skeat's  Etymo- 
logical Dictionary  is  the  most  complete  collection  so  far 
published,  the  list  in  Maetzner's  Englische  Grammatik  being 
hardly  worthy  of  mention.  Professor  Skeat's  definition  of 
doublets,  however,  is  so  broad  as  to  include  cognates  from 
the  Aryan  mother  tongue — pairs  referable  to  the  same 
Aryan  base,  such  as  beef  and  cow.  brother  and  friar,  cell  and 
hall,  chief  and  head,  cool  and  gelid,  cone  and  hone,  core 
and  heart,  corn  (1)  and  grain,  corn  (2)  and  horn,  fell  and 
pell,  foremost  and  prime,  genus  and  kin,  guest  and  host  (2), 
name  and  noun,  two  and  deuce,  verb  and  word,  the  list  of 
which  might  be  extended.  Professor  Skeat  would  probably 
now  exclude  chief  and  head,  for  it  is  doubtful  (see  Brug- 
mann),  tho  the  consonants  agree,  whether  Lat.  caput  and 
A.-S.  heafod  are  cognates.  His  definition  of  doublets  is  as 
follows  :  "  Doublets  are  words  which,  tho  apparently  differ- 
ing in  form,  are  nevertheless,  from  an  etymological  point 
of  view,  one  and  the  same,  or  only  differ  in  some  unim- 
portant suffix/' 

For  the  purposes  of  this  article  I  would  so  modify  his 
definition  as  to  read :  English  doublets  are  pairs  of  words 
in  the  English  language,  derived  by  different  courses  from 
the  same  base,  Romanic,  Teutonic,  Arabic,  etc.  Accordingly, 
flame  and  phlegm,  in  Professor  Skeat's  list,  are  excluded, 
because  the  base  of  flame  is  Lat.  flamma,  the  base  of  phlegm 
is  Lat.  phlegma  (Gk.  <£Xe'7/za),  and,  tho  perhaps  related  and 
ultimately  from  the  same  root,  they  cannot  be  traced  to  the 
same  base  in  the  Latin.  On  the  other  hand,  tho  English 
bishop  and  French  eveque  are  as  pure  doublets  as  priest  and 
presbyter,  the  one  coming  thru  A.-S.  biscop,  the  other  thru 
184 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  185 

Old  French  evesque,  from  the  same  Latin  base,  episcopus 
(or  rather  episcopum),  a  latinized  form  of  Greek  eVtcr/eoTro?, 
overseer,  yet  as  eveque  has  never  found  its  way  into  English, 
the  pair  cannot  be  included  in  the  list  of  English  doublets. 
This  is  an  interesting  example,  however,  for  the  beginner 
in  comparative  philology,  since  the  two  words  are  readily 
seen  to  be  the  same,  altho  they  have  not  a  single  sound 
or  letter  alike.  After  this,  the  relationship  of  Lat.  anser 
and  Engl.  goose,  for  instance,  becomes  less  a  matter  of 
faith.  But  crypt  and  grot  are  rightly  included,  because 
they  are  both  English  words  and  are  both  traceable  to  the 
same  base  in  Latin,  crypta  (Gr.  /cpvTmj,  a  vault) ;  and  zero 
and  cipher,  for  the  reason  that  both  words  come,  by  devious 
ways,  from  the  same  Arabic  base,  sifr. 

In  a  list  of  English  doublets  will  be  found,  of  course, 
many  words  purely  foreign ;  such  as,  camera,  chorus,  insignia, 
radius,  nucleus,  papyrus,  ratio,  iota,  ague,  elite,  piazza,  cargo, 
sombrero,  alcoran,  antiphon,  herbarium,  aria,  area,  basilica, 
boulevard,  breve,  cadet,  calix,  cicada,  cicala,  copula,  cupola, 
corps,  ditto,  data,  integer,  grosgrain,  manoeuvre,  maximum, 
memoir,  major,  mosquito,  iris,  pendulum,  poignant,  polypus, 
pomatum,  puissant,  quietus,  radix,  replica,  residuum,  rouge, 
saga,  savant,  catafalque,  circus,  chamois,  senior,  soprano, 
superficies,  tableau,  thesaurus,  trousseau,  umbrella,  valet,  and 
others  more  or  less  technical ;  but  all  the  words  in  the  list 
below,  whether  of  early  or  of  late  adoption,  are  found  in 
English  dictionaries  and  counted  as  English  words.  No 
word  is  included  in  the  list  that  is  not  found  in  Webster's 
International.  Some  words  in  the  list  marked  as  obsolete  in 
this  dictionary  are  familiar  to  readers  of  Chaucer,  Spenser, 
and,  for  the  most  part,  of  Shakspere. 

The  main  sources  of  doublets  in  English  are:  (1)  Latin 
and  French ;    as,  abbreviate  and  abridge,  strict  and  strait, 
fact  and  feat;   (2)   different  dialects  of  French;  as,  cark 
2 


186  EDWAKD    A.    ALLEN. 

and  charge,  catch  and  chase,  cavalier  and  chevalier;  (3) 
earlier  and  later  (learned)  French ;  as,  frail  and  fragile, 
chance  and  cadence,  fealty  smd  fidelity  ;  (4)  different  dialects 
of  Middle  English,  northern  and  southern ;  as,  hale  and 
whole  (earlier  hole),  fat  (wine-fat)  and  vat,  dike  and  ditch  ; 
(5)  Italian  and  French;  as,  piazza  and  place,  piano  and 
plain,  influenza  and  influence. 

It  is  well  to  keep  in  mind  that  it  is  the  Anglo-French — 
the  Norman  dialect  which  developed  in  England — rather 
than  the  Continental  ("Central")  French,  that  forms  a  great 
substratum  of  our  speech,  next  in  importance  to  Anglo- 
Saxon.  Text-books  on  the  English  language,  even  some 
of  the  better  sort,  continue  to  repeat  such  statements  as 
this,  for  instance :  "Tense  is  from  French  temps  (Lat.  tempus), 
and  means  time"  If  we  compare  Anglo-French  tens,  noun, 
honour,  oistre,  realme,  people,  to  name  only  a  few  examples, 
with  the  modern  French  temps,  nom,  honneur,  huitre,  royaume, 
peuple,  it  will  be  readily  seen  that  English  tense,  noun,  honour, 
oyster,  realm,  people,  etc.,  are  not  indebted  to  Parisian  French, 
however  numerous  the  modern  English  words  borrowed  from 
that  source.  So  many  forms  of  Anglo-French,  however,  are 
identical  with  the  Old  French  of  the  continent  (Central 
French)  that  it  becomes  more  and  more  difficult  in  the  later 
Middle  English  period  to  determine  with  certainty  the  source 
of  the  borrowings. 

While  doublets  go  in  pairs  usually,  there  are  often  more 
than  two  offshoots  from  the  same  base,  as,  for  example ;  leal, 
loyal,  legal;  gentle,  genteel,  gentile,  jaunty;  rote  (1),  rut,  rout, 
route  ;  plait,  pleat,  plat  (2),  ply,  plight ;  quiet,  quite,  quit,  coy, 
quietus;  pick,  pitch  (2),  pique,  peak,  pike,  peck  (I)  •  parle, 
parley,  parole,  palaver,  parable,  parabola. 

The  etymology  is  indicated  in  the  briefest  manner  and 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  the  identity  of  the 
forms  enumerated.  For  fuller  treatment  the  reader  should 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  187 

consult  the  New  English  Dictionary,  as  far  as  it  goes,  or 
Skeat's  Etymological  Dictionary.  I  have  found  it  convenient 
to  rely,  for  etymology,  on  Skeat's  Concise  Etymological  Dic- 
tionary (1901),  an  entirely  new  work,  tho  in  doubtful  cases 
other  authorities  are  cited.  The  numbering  of  homonyms, 
as  pitch  (2),  also  follows  Skeat. 

In  the  following  list  the  nominative  of  the  Latin  noun  or 
adjective  is  frequently  given  instead  of  the  accusative,  from 
which  the  Romance  forms  are,  as  a  rule,  derived. 

The  abbreviations  are  such  as  are  in  common  use :  A.-F. 
(Anglo-French),  O.  F.  (Old  French),  M.  F.  (Middle 
French),  A.-S.  (Anglo-Saxon),  M.  E.  (Middle  English), 
LL.  (late  Latin),  K  E.  D.  (New  English  Dictionary),  etc. 

I  may  remark  that,  altho  the  greatest  pains  have  been 
taken  to  let  no  example  of  real  doublets  escape,  yet  so  many 
have  been  discovered  and  added  from  time  to  time  since  my 
original  list  was  made  out,  I  am  far  from  confident  that  the 
present  list  will  be  found  final  and  complete.  Certain  pairs, 
closely  akin,  such  as  sweep  and  sivoop  (in  Skeat's  list),  bake 
and  batch,  wake  and  watch,  etc.,  have  been  excluded.  The 
line  had  to  be  drawn  somewhere,  tho  doubtless  it  may  seem 
to  be  drawn  now  and  then  with  some  inconsistency. 

A  few  pairs,  presumably  from  Skeat's  list,  coming  from 
different  stems  (present  and  supine)  of  the  Latin  verb,  as 
assail  and  assault,  construe  and  construct,  are  found  in  this 
list,  but  such  forms  are,  for  the  most  part,  excluded.  If 
this  paper  should  be  expanded  and  appear  finally  in  book 
form,  a  separate  list  would  be  made  of  all  such  pairs  as  con- 
vince and  convict,  deduce  and  deduct,  and  many  others.  I 
shall  be  grateful  to  any  one  who  will  call  my  attention  to 
omissions  and  mistakes.  I  can,  doubtless,  discover  many  of 
these  myself  after  they  once  get  into  print. 


188  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

Abbreviate :  abridge. 

O.  F.  abregier,  abreger  :  L.  abbreviare,  from  ad  +  brevis,  short, 
absolve  :  assoil. 

O.  F.  assoiler  :  L.  absolvere,  from  db  -)-  solver  e,  to  loosen, 
acute  :  cute  :  ague. 

O.  F.  ague :  L.  acuta  (febris) ;  cute,  aphetic  form  of  acute :  L.  acutus, 

sharp,  from  acuere,  to  sharpen, 
adamant:  diamond. 

O.  F.  diamont:   L.  adamantem  (nom.  adamas):   Gk.  d5d/uas  (d,  not, 

-j-  5a/itda>,  tame), 
adjudicate :  adjudge. 

O.  F.  ajugier,  ajuger  :  L.  adjudicare,  from  ad  -f-  judicare,  to  judge, 
adjust :  ad  jute. 

O.  F.  ajuster  :  F.  ajouter  :  LL.  adjustare,  to  fit,  from  L.  ad  -{- juxta,  near, 
adjutant :  aid. 

O.  F.  aider :  L.  adjutare ;  L.  adjutantem,  pres.  part  of  adjutare,  from 

ad  -f- juvare,  to  help, 
admiral :  amiral. 

O.  F.  amiral,  from  Arab,  amir,  prince,  -f-  aZ,  the  amir-al-bahr,  prince 

of  the  sea. 
adultery  :  advowtry,  avowtry,  avoutry. 

O.  F.  avoutrie  :  L.  adulterium,  from  L.  adultus,  grown  up. 
advance  :  avaunt. 

A.  F.  avaunt :  F.  avant :  avancer,  from  L.  ab  -f-  ante,  before, 
advocate  :  avouch  :  advoke  :  avoke  :  avow. 

F.  avouer  :  O.  F.  avochier,  advoquer,  avoquer :  L.  advocare,  from  ad  -\- 

vocare,  to  call, 
advocation :  advowson. 

O.  F.   avo'eson:   LL.  advocationem  (LL.   advocdtus,   a  patron),  from 

adwcare,  ad  -f-  vocare,  to  call, 
aggravate :  aggrieve. 

O.  F.  agrever :  L.  aggravare,  from  ad  -f-  gravis,  heavy, 
aim  :  esteem  :  estimate. 

A.  F.  esmer :  O.  F.  estimer :  L.  aestimare,  to  value, 
aisle  :  ala  (biol. ) 

F.  atte  :  L.  ala,  wing  :  confounded  with  isle. 
ait :  eyot. 

A.-S.  iggath,  Igeoth,  dim.  of  Ig,  an  island.     "Among  green  aits  and 

meadows  " — Dickens, 
alarum  :  alarm. 

F.  alarme  :  Ital.  aW  arme :  LL.  ad  i#as  armas,  for  L.  ad  ilia  arma. 
alburn  (zool. )  :  alburnum :  auburn. 

O.  F.  alborne,  auborne :  LL.  atournus :  L.  alburnumt  the  inner  bark  of 

trees,  from  albus,  white. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  189 

alkoran  :  koran. 

Arab,  al,  the  -\-  qoran,  recitation, 
alembic :  limbeck. 

F.  alambique  :  Arab,  at,  the  -j-  anbig,  a  still,  from  Gk.  fy*/3«,  a  cup. 
alleviate  :  allege,  alegge  (Spenser). 

O.  F.  alegier,  aleger,  later  alteger :  LL.  alleviare,  from  ad  -\-  levis,  light. 

Mod.  English  allege  is  a  different  word, 
allineate  :  align. 

F.  aligner :  L.  allineare,  from  ad  -f-  linea,  a  line, 
allocate:  allow  (1). 

F.  aUouer  :  LL.  allocare,  from  ad  4-  locus,  place, 
alloy  :  ally  :  alligate. 

O.  F.  aleier,  alier  :  F.  aloi :  L.  alligare,  from  ad  -j-  ligare,  to  bind, 
ambulate  :  amble. 

O.  F.  ambler :  L.  ambulare,  to  walk, 
amicable :  amiable. 

O.  F.  amiable :  L.  amicabilis,  friendly, 
an  :  one. 

A.  S.  an,  one. 
anchoret,  anchorite  :  anchor  (2). 

F.  anachorete :  LL.  anachoreta :  Gk.  dvax^p'nr^,  one  who  retires  from 

the  world.     Cf .  '  'An  anchor*  s  cheer  in  prison  be  my  scope. ' '  — Hamlet, 
ancient  (2):  ensign:  insignia. 

O.  F.  enseigne,  ensigne  :  LL.  insignia,  pi.  of  insigne,  a  standard, 
anele:  anoil. 

O.  F.  enoUer  :  M.  E.  anelien,  from  A.  S.  aw,  on  -f-  tie,  from  L.  oleum,  oil. 
annoy:  ennui. 

O.  F.  anoi  :  F.  ennui :  L.  in  odio,  abl.  of  odium,  hatred, 
annunciate :  announce. 

F.  announcer :  L.  annuntiare,  from  ad  +  nuntius,  a  messenger, 
ant :  emmet. 

M.  E.  amete,  amte:  A.-S.  semette. 
antic:  antique. 

Ital.  antico :  F.  antique :  L.  antlquus,  old. 
antiphon  :  anthem. 

M.  E.  antem  :  A.-S.  antefn  (borrowed)  :  LL.  anhphona  :  Gk.  &vrl4>uvaf 

from  avrt  -f-  <fxavfj,  voice, 
applicate  :  apply. 

O.  F.  aplier :  L.  applicare,  from  ad  -f-  plicare,  to  fold, 
appreciate  :  appraise  :  apprize. 

O.  F.  apreiser :  L.  appretiare,  from  ad  -{-  pretium,  price, 
apprehend  :  apprise. 

O.  F.  apprise :  L.  apprehendere,  to  grasp. 


190  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

aptitude :  attitude. 

F.  aptitude :  Ital.  attitudine  (hence  F.  attitude)  :  LL.  aptitudinem,  ace. 

of  aptitudo,  from  aptus,  fit. 
arbor:  herbarium. 

A.  F.  erber :  L.  herbarium,  herb-garden,  from  herba,  herb.     Confused 

with  arbor,  tree, 
arbute :  arbutus. 

F.  arbute:  L.  arbutus. 
arc  :  arch  (1). 

F.  arc,  arche  :  LL.  area,  from  arcus,  a  bow. 
area  :  aerie,  aery,  eyry. 

F.  aire  :  LL.  area.     Origin  uncertain, 
aria  :  air. 

Ital.  aria :  F,  air  :  L.  aer :  Gk.  a^p,  air. 
army :  armada. 

O.  F.  armee :  Sp.  armada  :  L.  armdta,  p.  p.  of  armare,  to  arm. 
arrant :  errant. 

O.  F.  errer :  LL.  iterare,  from  iter,  a  journey, 
as :  also. 

A.-S.  ealswd(eal,  all-f-stwz,  so),  of  which  05  is  a  contraction,  earlier 

ahe,  als. 
asphodel:  daffodil. 

F.  fleur  d'a/odille  :  LL.  a/odillus :  L,  asphodelus  :  Gk.  &<r<t>6$e\os. 
assail :  assault. 

O.  F.  asailir  :  LL.  assalire,  from  L.  ad  -f  satire  (p.  p.  fiofttw),  to  leap, 
assay :  essay. 

0.  F.  asai,  essai  :  L.  exagium,  a  trial. 


O.  F.  assesser  :  LL.  assessdre. 
astounded  :  astonied  :  astonished. 

O.  F.  estoner  :  LL.  extonare,  from  ex  -f-  tonare,  to  thunder, 
atonement :  at  onement  (Bish.  Hall). 

at  -f  one  -f  ment. 
attach  :  attack. 

F.  attacher,  attaquer :  O.  F.   atachier,  a  (ad)  -f  O.  F.  tache,  a  nail, 

fastening.     Of  Germanic  origin.     Cf.  tack  and  tache. 
azure  :  lazur,  lasur. 

O.  F.  azur  for  lazur,  as  if  Pazur:  LL.  Zozwr,  also  %ns  ZazuZt :  Arab. 

lazward :  Per.  lajuward,  so  called  from  the  mines  of  Lajward,  where 

the  lapis  lazuli  was  found  (Skeat). 

Balm :  balsam. 

M.  E.  baame  :  O.  F.  basme :  L.  balsamum. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  191 

band  :  bond. 

Icel.  band :  Swed.  band :   M.  E.  band,  variant,  bond  :  A.-S.  bindan,  to 

bind, 
bank  (2)  :  bench. 

A.-S.  benc:  F.  banque,  from  M.  H.  G.  bank,  a  bench.    Cf.  mountebank, 

one  who  mounts  a  bench, 
bark :  barge. 

F.  barque,  barge  :  LL.  barca,  a  row-boat. 


F.  base:  L.  basis. 
bate :  abate. 

O.  F.  abatre :  LL.  abbatere,  from  ad  -J-  batere,  to  beat.     Aphetic, 
batten  (2):  baton:  baston. 

ftaftew,  another  form  of  baton  :   F.   bdton  :   O.  F.  baston  :   LL. 

bastonem,  a  stick, 
beldam  :  belladonna. 

F.  belle  dame  :  Ital.  &g/£a  donna  :  L.  6e//a  domina,  a  fine  lady, 
belly  :  bellows. 

M.  E.  6eZt,    bely,   below,  a  bag.      Bellows  is  the  pi.    of  fiefow :  Icel. 

belgr :  A.-S.  bcelg,  belg,  a  bag,  skin  (for  holding  things),  hence  (later), 

belly.    A.-S.  bl^st-belg,  bellows.     Cf.  G.  blase-balg. 
benison  :  benediction. 

O.  F.  beneison :  L.  benedictionem,  from  bene,  well  -f-  dicere,  to  speak, 
berg :  barrow  (1). 

M.  E.  bergh,  berw :  O.  Mercian,  berg :  A.  -S.  beorg,  beorh,  a  mountain, 

mound, 
birk  :  birch. 

A.-S.  birce:  M.  E.  birche :  North,  birk. 
blame :  blaspheme. 

F.  bldmer :  O.  F.  blasmer  :  L.  blasphemare,  to  speak  ill. 
blanc :  blanch. 

O.  F.  blanc  :  blanch. 
bleak  :  bleach. 

M.  E.  bleke:  bleche:    A.-S.   blaec,  variant  of  bloc,  shiny,  white.     CL 

"a  bleach  barren  place"— Fuller  (1655):  "bleak  hills  and  leafless 

woods ' '  —Johnson  ( 1750 ). 
blenk  :  blench. 

M.  E.  blenken  :  blenchen:  A.-S.  blencan,  to  deceive, 
book :  buck  (wheat). 

A.-S.  boc,  a  beech-tree,  book.     "The  original  'books'  were  pieces  of 

writing  scratched  on  a  beechen  board"  (Skeat).     Buckwheat,  from 

the  resemblance  of  its  seeds  to  the  mast  of  the  beech-tree.     The  form 

buck  is  from  A.  S.  boc,  as  in  buckmast  (A.-S.  bocmcest),  beech-mast. 


192  EDWARD    A.    ALLEN. 

bosk  :  bush. 

M.  E.  busch,  busk :  LL.  boscus,  a  bush.     Cf.  bosky  and  bushy. 
bosquet,  bosket :  bouquet. 

F.  bouquet :  O.  F.  bosquet,  dim.  of  boscus. 
boss  :  botch  (2). 

F.  bosse  :  O.  F.  boce,  boche.    Origin  unknown, 
boulevard :  bulwark. 

F.  boulevard,  from  G.  bollwerk :  Dan.  bolvb'rk,  bulvdrk,  a  rampart.     Cf. 

bole,  a  tree-trunk, 
bourn  (1):  bound  (2). 

F.  borne:  A.-F.  bounde:  O.  F.  bonne:  LL.  bodina,  bonna,  a  bound, 

limit :  prob.  of  Celtic  origin.     Cf.  sound,  M.  E.  soun,  L.  sonus. 
bourse  :  purse. 

O.  F.  borse  :  LL.  bursa,  a  purse:  A.-S.  purs  (borrowed), 
brave:  bravo:  braw  (Scot). 

F.    brave,   fine,   gay :    Ital.  bravo.     Origin  uncertain — prob.  from   L. 

barbarus. 
breeks:  breeches. 

A.-S.  brec,  pi. — North,  breeks — both  double  plurals, 
brief :  breve. 

F.  bref :  Ital.  breve :  L.  brevis,  short, 
brown :  bruin. 

A.-S.  brun :  Du.  bruin,  brown, 
bulge  :  bilge  :  bouge. 

M.  E.  bulge :  O.  F.  boulge,  bouge :  L.  bulga,  a  bag.      Cf.  budget  and 

bouget.     Of  Celtic  origin, 
bullion  :  bouillon. 

F.  bouillon  :  LL.  buttionem,  bullio,  a  boiling, 
burg,  burgh :  burrow,  borough. 

M.  E.  burgh,  borgh,  borwe:  A.-S.  burh,  burg,  a  fort,  shelter. 

Cabal:  cabala. 

F.  cabale :  L.  cabbala,  from  Heb.  quabbaleh,  tradition, 
cabezon:  cavesson. 

F.  cavecon :  Sp.  cabezon  :  augm.  from  LL.  capitium,  a  head-covering, 

hood, 
cad  :  cadet. 

F.  cadet :  abbrev.  cad :  LL.  capitcllum,  a  little  (younger)  head, 
cadence:  chance. 

O.  F.  cheance :  F.  cadence :  LL.  cadentia,  a  falling, 
caldron,  cauldron  :  chaldron. 

O.  F.  caudrun :  F.  chaudron  :  L.  caldaria,  from  calidus,  hot. 
calender  (1):  cylinder. 

F.  calandre :  O.  F.  cilindre  :  L.  cylindrus,  a  roller. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  193 

calix :  chalice. 

A.  F.  chalice  :  O.  F.  calice :  L.  calicem,  calix,  a  cup. 
calumniate :  challenge. 

O.  F.  chalengier :  L.  calumniari,  from  calumnia,  false  accusation, 
camera:  chamber. 

F.  chambre :  L.  camera,  vault, 
campaign  :  champaign. 

F.  champaigne :  Picard.  campaign  :  L.  campdnia,  an  open  field, 
canal  :  channel. 

O.  F.  chanel:  F.  canal:  L.  candlem,  a  trench,  channel, 
cancel :  chancel. 

O.  F.  chancel :  F.  canceller  :   L.  cancelldre,  from  cancelli,  lattice- work, 

from  cancer,  crab, 
cancer :  canker. 

North.  F.  cancre :  L.  cancrum,  ace.  of  cancer,  a  crab,  a  canker, 
cant:  chant. 

F.  chanter :  North.  F.  canter :  L.  cantare,  to  sing, 
captain  :  chieftain. 

O.  F.  chevetaine,  capitain :  LL.  capitdneiis,  capitdnus,  from  L.  caput, 

head, 
captive  :  caitiff. 

A.-F.  caitif:  F.  captif,  captive  :  L.  captivus,  a  captive, 
card  :  chart. 

F.  carte :  O.  F.  charte :  L.  charta,  a  paper. 
cariole  :  carryall. 

carryall,  corruption  of  cariole.     F.  cariole,  dim.  of  L.  carrus,  car. 
cark  :  charge  :  cargd. 

A.  F.  karke :  F.  charge :  Sp.  cargo :  L.  carriedre,  to  load,  from  carrus, 

a  wagon, 
carl :  churl. 

A.-S.  ceorl,  a  man :  Dan.,  Swed.,  Icel.,  karl. 
case  :  chase  (3) :  cash. 

O.  F.  casse :  F.  chdsse :  L.  copsa,  a  box. 
cashier:  quash. 

O.  F.  quasser  :  F.  casser,  whence  Du.  casscren,  to  cashier :  L.  quasidrc, 

freq.  of  quatere  (sup,  quassum),  to  shake, 
caste  :  chaste. 

O.  F.  chaste :  Port,  casta  :  L.  castus,  pure, 
castle  :  chateau. 

A.-S.  castel  (borrowed):  F.  chateau :  L.  caste/to,  dim.  of  castrum,  a 

fortified  place, 
castellan :  chatelaine. 

O.  F.  castelain :  F.  chatelain,  chatelaine :  L.  castelldnus,  from  eastellum. 
catch  :  chase  (1 ). 

O.  F.  chacier :  Picard,  cachier  :  LL.  captiare :  L.  captaret  to  catch. 

* 


194  EDWARD   A.   ALLEN. 

catena :  chain. 

O.  F.  chaine  :  L.  catena,  a  chain, 
cattle  :  chattel :  capital  (2). 

O.  F.  chatel,  North,  catel:  LL.  capitdle,  wealth, 
cavalier :  chevalier. 

F.  chevalier,  cavalier :  LL.   cabattarius,  a  horseman,  from  L.  caballus, 

horse, 
cavalry :  chivalry. 

O.  F.  chevalerie,  cavalkrie :  LL.  caballdria,  horsemanship,  knighthood, 

from  caballus,  horse, 
cave :  cage. 

F.  cage,  from  LL.  cavea :  Folk  Lat.  cava,  a  cave :  L.  cavus,  hollow, 
cawk,  cauk  (min. )  :  chalk. 

A.-S.  cealc  (borrowed)  :  L.  calcem,  calx,  lime, 
calked,  caulked  :  calced. 

M.   E.  cauken :  O.   F.   cauquer,  to  tread  :  L.  calcare,  to  tread,  from 

calcem  (calx),  the  heel.    A.-S.  cole  (borrowed),  shoe.     Cf.  "the  calced 

Carmelites." 
chagrin :  shagreen. 

F.  chagrin :  Turk,  saghri,  back  of  horse,  rough-grained  leather,  then 

friction,  corroding  grief.    Disputed  by  Skeat,  but  see  Diez  and  N.  E.  D. 
chair  :  chaise  :  cathedra. 

O.  F.  chaiere:  F.  chaise:  L.  cathedra,  a  raised  seat:  Gk.  KaBtdpa,  a 

seat.    But  see  Zeitschriftf.  rom.  Phil.,  xxxi,  574. 
chanson  :  canzone. 

F.  chanson :  Ital.  canzone :  L.  cantionem,  a  song, 
chapel :  chapeau. 

Q.  F.  chapele :  LL.  capella,  a  hood,  from  capa,  a  cape,  then  the  place 

where  St.  Martin's  cloak  was  preserved  as  a  sacred  relic.     F.  chapeau. 
chapiter:  chapter. 

O.  F.  chapitre :  L.  capitulum,  dim.  of  caput,  head, 
char  :  chore  :  (a)- jar. 

A.-S.  cerr,  a  turn  :  M.  E.  cher,  char,  a  turn  of  work  (cf.  char-woman): 

ajar  =  an  (on)  char  (turn)  :  South,  chore. 
cheat :  escheat :  excheat. 

cheat,  aphetic  form  of  escheat :  O.  F.  eschcit,  p.  p.  of  eschoir  :  F.  eschoir  : 

LL.  excadere,  to  fall  to  one's  lot.    Escheaters  became  cheaters. 
check  (-mate)  :  shah. 

check  means  king  :  Pers.  shah.    Shah  mat,  the  king  is  dead,  became  in 

English  check-mate. 
chest:  cist. 

A.-S.  cist,  cest  (borrowed)  :  L.  cista,  a  box,  whence  also  cist-ern. 
chief  :  chef  :  cape  (2). 

O.  F.  chief :  F.  chef :  Ital.  capo  :  L.  caput. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  195 

chirurgeon :  surgeon. 

F.  chirurgien :  O.  F.  surgien :  L.  ehirurgia :  Gr.  x€lPovpy^a)  a  working 

with  the  hands, 
choir,  quire  (2) :  chorus. 

O.   F.  cuer,  later  ehoeur  :  M.   E.   queir,  quer :  L.   chorus,  a  band  of 

singers, 
choler :  cholera. 

O.  F.  colere :  L.  cholera,  bile :  Gk.  %°^Pa' 
chuck  :  shock  (1)  :  shog. 

chuck,  formerly  chock :  F.  choc,  choquer :  M.  H.  G.  schoc :  O.  H.  G. 

scoc,  a  swing.     Cf .  jog. 
church  :  kirk. 

A.-S.  cirice,  circe  (borrowed)  :  M.  E.  chirche,  kirke  :  Gk.  Kvpiaic6v,  of 

the  Lord,  the  Lord's  house, 
cicada :  cicala. 

Ital.  cicala :  L.  cicada. 
cithern  :  gittern  :  guitar. 

F.  guitare :  O.  F.  giterne :  L.  cithara :  Gk.  Kiddpa,  a  kind  of  lyre, 
clause :  close. 

O.  F.  clos :  F.  clause :  L.  dausus,  p.  p.  of  claudere,  to  shut, 
clink  :  clinch,  clench. 

M.  E.  klenken,  clcnchen:  A.-S.  clenc(e)an,  in  beclencan. 
cloak  :  clock, 

M.  E.  cloke :  O.  North.  F.  cloque :  LL.  cloca,  a  bell,  a  horseman's  cape, 

which  resembled  a  bell  in  shape.     Cf.  Chaucer's  "  rounded,  as  a  bell, 

out  of  theprcsse." 
coffee  :  cafe". 

Turk,  qahveh  ;  Arab,  qahwah. 
coffer  :  coffin. 

O.  F.  cofre,  eo/m,  a  chest :  L.  cophinus :  Gr.  K6<f>ivos,  basket, 
cognate  :  connate. 

L.  co  -f-  gnatus,  con  -j-  natus,  from  nasci,  to  be  born, 
cognizance :  connoisance. 

O.  F.  connoisance :  M.  F.  cognoissance :  L.  cognoscentia,  from  eognoscere, 

to  know, 
cohort :  court. 

O.  F.  cort:  F.  court:  L.  cortem,  cohortem  (cohors),  enclosure,  from  co 

(cum)  +  hort  (as  in  hortus),  garden, 
coin,  coigne  :  quoin. 

O.  F.  coin,  a  wedge,  a  coin  (stamped  by  means  of  a  wedge  :  L.  cuneum, 

ace.  of  cuneus,  wedge, 
collocate :  couch. 

O.  F.  coucher  :  L.  coUocare,  to  put  together. 


196  EDWARD   A.   ALLEN. 

colonel :  column. 

F.  colonel :  Sp.  coronel :  Ital.  colonello,  dim.  of  colonna :  L.  columna,  a 

column, 
common :  commune. 

O.  F.  comun  :  F.  commun  :  L.  communis,  common,  general,  from  com 

+  munis,  ready  to  serve, 
complacent :  complaisant. 

F.  complaissant :  L.  complacentem,  pres.  part,  of  complacere,  from  placere, 

to  please, 
complete :  comply. 

Ital.  complire,  to  fulfil :  L.  complere,  to  fill  up. 
compliment :  complement. 

F.  compliment :  L.  complementem,  from  complere,  to  fill  up. 
composite  :  compost :  compote. 

O.  F.  compost :  F.  compote :  L.  compositum,  p.  p.  of  componere,  to  put 

together, 
comprehend :  comprise. 

O.  F.  compris,  p.  p.  of  comprendre :  L.  comprehendere,  to  grasp, 
compute:  count  (2). 

F.  confer,  earlier  compter :  L.  computare,  to  compute, 
concept :  conceit. 

M.  E.  conceit  (by  analogy  with  deceit),  as  if  from  p.  p.  of  O.  F.  concever 

(p.  p.  conceu)  :  L.  conceptum,  from  concipere,  con  -f-  coper«,  to  take, 
conduct :  conduit. 

O.  F.  conduit :  L.  conductum,  p.  p.  of  conducere,  con  -f-  ducere,  to  draw, 

lead, 
confect :  comfit. 

O.  F.  confit :  L.  conftctum,  p.  p.  of  conficcrc,  to  put  together, 
confident :  confidant. 

F.  confidant :  L.  confidentem,  pres.  part,  of  confidtre,  to  trust, 
confound  :  confuse. 

F.  confondre :  L.  con/w*us,  p.  p.  of  confundere,  to  pour  together, 
constipate :  costive. 

O.  F.  coateve :  L.  constipatus,  p.  p.  of  constipdre,  to  press  together, 
construe :  construct. 

L.  construere  (p.  p.  constructus ),  to  heap  together, 
consuetude  :  custom  :  costume. 

O.  F.  costume,  custume :  L.  consuetudo,  custom, 
convey :  convoy. 

A.  F.  conveier :  O.  F.  convoier :  LL.  convidre,  to  accompany, 
cope  (1)  :  cape. 

M.  E.  cope :  O.  North.  F.  cape :  LL.  capo,  a  cape, 
cope  (2)  :  coup. 

O.  F.  coper,  from  O.  F.  cop,  colp :  F.  coup :  LL.  colpus,  eolaphus :  Gk. 
r,  a  blow. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  197 


copse :  coppice. 

O.  F.  copeiz :  LL.  copecia,  brushwood, 
copula :  couple. 

F.  couple :  L.  copula,  a  bond, 
copulate :  couple. 

F.  coupler :  L.  copulare,  to  join, 
cordovan :  cordwain. 

O.  F.  cordouan,  Spanish  leather,  from  Cordova, 
corpse :  corse  :  corps. 

O.  F.  cors :  M.  F.  corps :  F.  corps :  L.  corpus,  body.     Cf.  corset  and 

corslet. 
cot:  cote. 

M.  E.  cote:  A.-S.  cot,  cote,  a  den,  cot.     Cf.  sheep-cote. 
countenance :  continence. 

O.  F.  contenance  :  F.  continence :  L.  continentia,  from  continere,  to  hold 

together, 
cousin  :  cozen. 

F.  cousin  :  cousiner,  to  call  cousin :  LL.  cosinus :  L.  consobrinus. 
crate :  grate  (1). 

LL.  grata,  variant  of  LL.  crata,  a  grating,  crate :  L.  crates,  a  hurdle, 
creel :  grill. 

O.  F.  creil,  greil,  grail :  F.  gril :  LL.  craticulum,  for  craticula,  a  small 

gridiron.     Cf.  crate  and  grate, 
crew  :  accrue. 

creiv,  earlier  crue,  short  for  accrue,  a  reinforcement:   O.  F.  accreue, 

p.  p.  of  accroistre  :  L.  accrescere,  ad  -f-  crescere,  to  grow, 
crisp  :  crape. 

F.  crepe :  L.  crispus,  curled, 
crevice :  crevasse. 

O.  F.  crevasse :  M.  E.  crevice :  LL.  erepdtia,  from  L.  crepdre,  to  burst, 
crimson  :  carmine. 

Sp.  carmin,  short  form  of  carmesin :  O.  F.  cramoisin  :  LL.  cramesinus, 

carmeslnus  :  Arab,  qirmizi,  the  cochineal  insect, 
crook :  crouch. 

M.  E.  crouchen,  crouken,  to  bend :  O.  F.  crochir :  LL.  croccus,  a  hook, 
crop:  croup  (2). 

A.-S.  cropp,  the  top  of  a  plant,  craw  of  a  bird,  protuberance :  Icel. 

kroppr,  a  hunch  :  F,  croupe,  earlier  crepe,  hump  of  a  horse,  crupper, 
cross  :  cruise  :  crouch (n)  :  crux. 

O.  F.  crois :  Du.  kruis  (borrowed),  whence  kruuen :  L.  crux. 
crown :  corona. 

M.  E.  coroune,  crown :  O.  F.  coron« :  L,  corona,  a  wreath, 
crypt :  grot :  grotto. 

F.  grotte  :  Ital.  grotta  :  LL.  grupta  :  L.  crypta  :  Gk.  KPVVTJ,  a  vault. 


198  EDWARD    A.    ALLEN. 

cud  :  quid. 

A.-S.  cwiduy  cudu. 
cue :  queue. 

O.  F.  coue :  F.  queue :  L.  cauda,  tail, 
cull :  coil  (1)  :  collect. 

O.  F.  cuiller,  coillir:  L.  colligere  (p.  p.  collectum),  to  gather  together, 
cupola :  cupule. 

Ital.  cupola :  F.  cupule  :  L.  cupula,  dim.  of  cupa,  a  cask, 
curricle  :  curriculum. 

L.  curriculum,  a  race-course,  a  course,  from  currere,  to  run. 
currant :  Corinth. 

F.  corinthe  :  raisins  de  Oorinthe. 

Dace:  dart:  dare  (2). 

dace,  earlier  darce :  O.  F.  dars :  LL.  nom.  dardus,  dart,  javelin  :  dare, 

as  if  sing,  of  dars :  F.  dard :  O.  F.  dart :  LL.  ace.  dardum :  of  Low 

German  origin.     Cf.  A.-S.  daroth,  dareth,  a  dart, 
dactyl:  date  (2). 

O.  F.  datele,  date :  L.  dactylus :  Gk.  Sd/crvXcs,  finger, 
daft:  deft. 

A.-S.  dcefte  (gedcefte),  mild,  meek, 
daisy :  day's  eye. 

A.-S.  daeges  cage :  M.  E.  dayesye,  daisy, 
dame  :  dam. 

O.  F.  dame:  L.  domina,  lady, 
damsel :  damosel. 

M.  E.  damosel :  O.  F.  damoisele :  LL.  domicella,  dim.  of  domina,  lady, 
damson  :  damascene. 

M.  E.  damascene:   L.   Damascenum  (prunum),  from  Damascus.     Cf. 

damask, 
darling:  dearling  (Spenser). 

A.-S.  deorling,  a  favorite,  dim.  of  deor,  dear, 
date  (1) :  die  (2)  :  dado :  data. 

die,  used  as  sing,  of  M.  E.  dys,  dees  :  O.  F.  dez,  dice,  pi.  of  det :  F. 

de,  a  die  :  Ital.  Sp.  dado,  a  die  :  LL.  datum,  a  thing  decreed  :  F.  date  : 

LL.  data,  a  date :  L.  data,  neut.  pi.  of  datus,  p.  p.  of  dare,  to  give, 
daub  :  dealbate. 

O.  F.  dauber :  L.  dealbdre,  to  whiten,  from  L.  aVbus,  white.     Cf.  alb. 
deal :  dole. 

A.-S.  dsel,  ddl,  portion,  share, 
dean':  decan. 

O.  F.  deien:  L.  decdnum,  ace.  of  deednus,  one  set  over  ten,  from  L. 

decem,  ten. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  199 

debt:  debit:  due. 

M.  E.  dette :  O.  F.  dette  :  L.  debita,  a  sum  due,  p.  p.  of  debere,  to  owe  : 

due  is  from  O.  F.  deu,  deue,  p.  p.  of  devoir  (L.  debere),  to  owe. 
decolor:  discolor. 

F.  decolorer :  O.  F.  deseolorer :  L.  discolorare,  from  color,  color, 
decompose :  discompose. 

F.  decomposer :  O.  F.  deswmposer,  from  L.  dis  +  com  -+-  pausare.     See 

pose  (1). 
decore :  decorate. 

F.  decorer :  L.  decorare,  to  adorn, 
defeat :  defect. 

A.  F.  defeter,  from  O.  F.  de/a^,  p.  p.  of  defaire :  L.  defectus,  p.  p.  of 

deficere,  from  de  -f/acere  =  to  make, 
defendable :  defensible. 

F.  defendable,  defensable :  LL.  defensabilis,  defensibilis,  from  L.  defenders 

(p.  p.  defmsus),  to  defend, 
degrade:  degree. 

O.  E.  <%rd,  ek#re  :  F.  degrader :  LL.  degraddrc,  from   de,  down  -{- 

gradu$,  a  step, 
delectable:  delightable  (Shaks.). 

O.  F.  delitable :  F.  delectable :  L.  delectdbilis,  from  delectdre,  to  delight, 
deliberate :  deliver. 

O.  F.  delivrer :  L.  deliberare,  to  set  free, 
demise  :  dismiss. 

O.  F.  demise,  desmisc,  fern,  of  p.  p.  of  desmettre :  L.  dimittere,  from  cfo' 

(for  dis)  away  +  mittere,  to  send, 
denier  :  dinar  :  denarius. 

F.  denier  :  L.  denarius.     See  dinar. 
deposit :  depot. 

F.  depot :  L.  depositum,  p.  p.  of  deponere,  to  lay  down, 
describe:  descry. 

O.  F.  descrire :  L.  describere,  to  describe, 
desiderate:  desire. 

O.  F.  desirer :  L.  desiderare,  to  long  for. 
designate :  design. 

O.  F.  designer :  L.  designare,  to  denote, 
desk  :  disk  :  dish  :  dais ;  discus, 

A.  F.  deis :  L.  discus,  a  platter,  a  table,  etc, 
despicable :  despisable. 

O.  F.  despis,  from  despire  :  L.  despiceret  to  look  down  on. 
despite:  spite. 

»pite,  aphetic  form  of  despite :   O.  F.  despit :   L.  despectum,  p.  p.  of 

despicere,  to  despise. 


200  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

devote :  devout. 

M.  E.  devot,  devout :  L.  devotus,  p.  p.  of  devovere,  from  de  -f  vovere, 

to  vow. 
dictate:  dight. 

A.-S.  dihtan  (borrowed):  L.  dictare,  to  prescribe, 
dignity:  dainty. 

O.  F.  daintie:   L.    dignitatem,  from   dignus,    worthy.      Cf.   "  Dainty 

maketh  dearth." 
dike  :  ditch. 

A.-S.  die,  a  trench, 
dilate  (1)  N.  E.  D.  :  delay. 

O.  F.  dilaier,  delayer :  A.  F.  dilater  :  LL.  dttdtdre,  to  defer,  freq.  of 

L.  di/ere  :  Mod.  dilate,  a  different  word, 
diluvium  :  deluge. 

O.  F.  deluge :  L.  diluvium. 
din :  dun. 

M.  E.  dine,  dune :  A.-S.  dyne,  clamor, 
dingle :  dimble. 

dingle,  variant  of  dimble:  origin  uncertain  (N.  E.  D.).     Skeat  collates 

dimple.    Cf.  "  Dingle  or  bushy  dell" — Milton;   "  within  a  gloomie 

dimble" — Jonson.     Cf.  crangle  and  cramble  (N.  E.  D.). 
dint:  dent. 

A.-S.  dynt,  a  blow, 
direct :  dress. 

O.  F.  dresser :   LL.  directiare,  from  L.  directus,  p.  p.  of  dirigere,  to 

direct, 
disjoint :  disjunct. 

O.  F.  desjoint :  L.  disjunctus,  p.  p.  of  disjungere,  to  disjoin, 
display  :  splay  :  deploy. 

splay,  aph.  form  of  display :   A.  F.  desplayer :   F.  deployer :  L.  displi- 

cdre,  to  unfold, 
disrange  :  disrank  :  derange. 

O.  F.  desrengier :  F.  deranger,  from  L.  dis  -f  F.  rang,  O.  F.  reng,  rank — 

of  Germanic  origin, 
dissimulate :  dissemble. 

O.  F.  dissembler :  L.  dissimulare. 
distrait:  distract.:  distraught. 

F.  distrait :  L.  distractum,  distraught  (see N.  E.  D.). 
ditto  :  dictum. 

Ital.  ditto :  L.  dictum,  p.  p.  of  dicere,  to  say. 
ditty :  dictate. 

O.  F.  ditie :  L.  dictatum,  a  thing  dictated, 
diurnal :  journal. 

F.  journal :  L.  diurndlis,  daily. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  201 

divers  :  diverse. 

O.  F.  divers,  fem.  diverse :  L.  diversus,  p.  p.  of  divertere,  to  turn  aside, 
doge:  duke. 

Ital.  doge :  O.  F.  due :  L.  dux  (ductm),  a  leader, 
dolphin  :  dauphin. 

F.  dauphin :  0.  F.  daulphin  :  LL.  dolphlnus :  L.  delphlnus,  a  dolphin, 
domain  :  demesne. 

A.  F.  demesne :  F.  domain :  L.  dominicus,  from  dominus,  a  lord, 
dominate  :  domineer. 

Du.  domineren,  from  O.  F.  dominer  :  L.  domindri,  to  be  lord  over. 
1     dominion :  dungecn. 

M.  E.  dongeon :  O.  F.  donjon :  LL.  dominionem,  domnionem,  lordship, 
domino  :  don  :  dan  :  dominie. 

Sp.  don :  O.  F.  dan :  Ital.  domino  :  L.  dominus,  a  lord, 
drake :  dragon. 

A.-S.    draca  (borrowed):    L.    draco :    F.    dragon:   L.  draconem;  cf. 

fyrdraca,  firedrake. 
draw  :  drag. 

A.-S.  dray an  :  M.  E.  drawen  :  Icel.  Swed.  draga,  draw:  M.  E.  draggen. 
dropsy  :  hydropsy. 

dropsy,  aph.    form  of    hydropsy :    M.    F.    hydropisie :    L.    hydropisis, 

hydropisia,  from  Gk.  tiSpwj/ :  tiSwp,  water, 
dubitate :  doubt. 

O.  F.  douter  :  L.  dubitdre,  to  be  of  two  minds, 
dual  :  duel :  duello. 

L.  dualis  :  Ital.  duello  :   L.  duellum,  a  fight  between  two  men,  from 

L.  duo,  two. 
dune  :  down. 

M.  E.  doun :  A.  S.  dun,  a  hill. 

Ean :  yean. 

A.-S.  eanian:  ge-eanian,  to  bring  forth.  Cf.  "In  eaning  time." — 
Shaks. 

earl :  jarl. 

A.-S.  eorl :  Icel.  jarl :  O.  Sax.  erl,  a  man. 

ecru:  crude. 

F.  ecru :  L.  ex  -f-  crudus,  raw  :  the  color  of  unbleached  stuff. 

edge  :  egg  (on). 

A.-S.  ecg,  eggian  :  Icel.  egg,  eggja.  Cf.  "Cassius  did  edge  him  on  the 
more ' '  —North' s  Plutarch.  ' '  Flatterers  would  egg  him  on ' '  — Thack- 
eray's  Esmond. 

eisil :  acetyl. 

O.  F.  aisil:  L.  acetum  (vinegar) -{- 2/£  (Gk.  tfXij),  material. 

elite  :  elect. 

F.  elite :  L.  electus,  p.  p.  of  eligeret  to  choose. 

3  * 


202  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

elongate  :  eloign  :  lunge. 

A.  F.  alonger  :   F.  eloigner  :   L.  elongdre,  to  lengthen,  remove,  from 

longus,  long, 
emboss  (2):  ambush. 

F.  embucher  :  O.  F.  embosquer :  LL.  imboscdre,  from  boscus,  a  bush, 
emeroids :  hemorrhoids. 

M.  F.  hemorrhoide :  L.  haemorrhoidae :  Gk.  di/Ao/>/o6i5es. 
employ  :  imply :  implicate. 

M.  F.  employer:  impliquer:  L.  implicare,  f  rom  in  +  plicdre,  to  fold, 
endue  ( 1 )  :  endow. 

O.  F.  endoer,  endouer  :  A.  F.  endower:  L.  indotdre,  from  in -{-dot-  (dos), 

a  dowry, 
endue  (2)  :  indue. 

L.  induere,  to  put  on. 
endure  :  indurate. 

F.  endurer :  L.  indurare,  from  durus,  hard, 
engine:  gin  (2). 

gin,  aph.  form  of  engin :  L.  ingenium,  invention, 
engle  :  angle. 

A.-S.  angel,  a  hook,  fish-hook,  dim.  of  anga,  sting,  etc. 
enounce:  enunciate. 

F.  f.noncer  :  L.  enuntiare,  from  e  -f-  nuntius,  a  messenger, 
enow  :  enough. 

M.  E.  tnow,  enogh:  A.-S.  genoh. 
entire  :  integer. 

O.  F.  «n£ier :  L.  integer,  whole, 
envious  :  invidious. 

O.  F.  enmos :  L.  invidiosus,  from  invidia,  envy, 
envoy :  invoice. 

invoice,  corruption  of  envois,  pi.  of  F.  envoi :  O.  F.  envoy,  a  sending  : 

L.  -m  viam,  on  the  way. 
eradicate  :  rash  (3). 

F.  arracher :  O.  F.  esrachier :  L.  e(x)radicare,  to  root  out. 
escutcheon  :  scutcheon. 

A.  F.  escuchon :  LL.  scutionem,  from  scutum,  a  shield, 
espousal :  spousal. 

O.  F.  espousailks :  L.  sponsalia,  from  sponsalis,  belonging  to  betrothal, 
espy:  spy. 

O.  F.  espier :  O.  H.  G.  spehon,  to  spy. 
estate :  state  :  status. 

O.  F.  estat :  L.  statum,  from  stare,  to  stand, 
etiquette:  ticket. 

F.  etiquette:  M.  F.  etiquet:  O.  F.  estiquei,   "a  little  note,  such  as  is 

stuck  up  on  the  gate  of  a  court  "—of  Germanic  origin.    Cf.  G.  stecken, 

to  stick. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  203 

evanesce :  vanish. 

A.  F.  evanir  :  L.  evanescere,  e  -\-  vanescere,  from  vanus,  empty, 
exchequer :  checker. 

O.  F.  eschequier :  LL.  scaccdrium,  a  chess-board,  from  scaccus :  Arab., 

Pers.  shah,  king.     Cf.  chess,  the  game  of  the  kings, 
explicate :  exploit :  explicit. 

O.  F.  exploit :  L.  explicitum,  p.  p.  of  explicare,  to  unfold. 

Fabricate :  forge. 

O.  F.  forgier  :  L.  fabrieare,  to  form, 
fact :  feat. 

O.  F.fait,fet:  L.  factum,  pp.  oifacere,  to  do. 
factitious :  fetich. 

F.  fetiche:  L.  factitius,  artificial,  from/acere,  to  make, 
faction  :  fashion. 

O.  F.  fachon  :  L.  factionem,  a  making, 
faculty  :  facility. 

F.  faculte :  L.  facultatem,  facilitatem,  fromfacilis,  easy, 
faint :  feint. 

faint,  variant  of  feint :   O.  F.  feint,  p.  p.   of  feindre :   L.  fingere,   to 

feign, 
fan  :  van  (2). 

A.-S. /arm  (borrowed)  :  LL.  vannus :  F.  van,  a  fan. 
fane:  vane. 

M.  E.  fane:  South,  vane  :  A.-S. /ana,  a  banner, 
fancy  :  fantasy  :  phantasia. 

O.  F.  fantasie  :  L.  phantasia  :  Gk.  <f)avra<rla,  a  making  visible, 
faro  :  Pharoah. 

faro,  so  called  from  Pharoah  on  one  of  the  cards, 
farm  :  firm. 

M.  E.  ferme :  F.  ferme :   LL.  firma,  from  L.  firmus,  firm.     Cf.  A.-S. 

feorm  (borrowed), 
fat:  vat. 

A.-S.  feet,  a  vessel :  South,  vat. 
fay:  fate. 

F.  fee :  O.  F.  foe :  LL.  fata,  a  fate,  a  fay  :  L.  fdtum,  what  is  spoken, 

from  fdri,  to  speak, 
feast:  f&e. 

O.  F.  feste:  Y.fete:  LL./esto,  fern.  sing.  :  L.  festa,  neu.  pi.,  festivals, 
feature  :  facture. 

O.  F.  failure  :  F.  facture  :  L.  factura. 
fee:  fief:  feud  (2). 

A.  F.  fee:  O.  F.  fiu  (Koland),  fief:  LL.  fevum,  also  feudum  (d  unex- 
plained): prob.  from  O.  H.  G.  fehu,  property.     Cf.  A.-S.  feoh,  cattle, 

property,  whence  M.  E.  fee,  now  obsolete. 


204  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

feeble  :  faible. 

A.  F.  feble  :  M.  F.  faible  :  O.  F.  fleble:  L.  flebilis,  from  flere,  to  weep, 
fence :  defence. 

fence,  aph.  form  of  defence  :  O.  F.  defense  :  L.  defensa,  from  defendere. 
fend  :  defend. 

fend,  aph.  form  of  defend  :  O.  F.  defendre :  L.  defendere,  to  ward  off. 
feverfew  :  febrifuge. 

A.   F.  feverfue :   F.  febrifuge :  LL.  febrifuga,    from  febris,  fever,    and 

fugdre,  to  put  to  flight, 
fiddle:  viol. 

M.  F.  t>iofe,  a  violin :  LL.  vidula,  vltula,  whence  A  -S.  fithel,  a  fiddle, 
fidelity:  fealty. 

O.  F.fealte:  M.  F.fidelite:  L.  fidelitatem,  homfldelis,  faithful, 
filibuster :  freebooter. 

Sp.  filibuster,  a  corruption  of  Du.  vrijbuiter,  a  freebooter, 
filter  :  filtrate. 

F.  filtrer :  LL.  filtrare,  to  strain  thru  felt :  A.-S.  /eft. 
fitch  :  vetch. 

O.  F.  vecta:  M.  E.  veche,feche:  L.  w'cta,  a  vetch  (plant), 
flagellate:  flail. 

O.  F.  fldel :  L.  flagellum,  a  whip  :  flagellare,  to  scourge, 
flank :  flanch :  flange. 

A.  F.  flanke :  O.  F.  flanche  :  F.  flanc,  side.     See  N.  E.  D. 
flare:  flash. 

Norw.  flam  :  Swed.  flasa,  to  blaze, 
flick  :  flitch. 

A.-S./icce  ;  Icel.  flikki,  a  flick,  (flitch)  of  bacon, 
flower  :  flour. 

O.  F.  flour  :  L.  florem,  flower, 
focal:  fuel. 

O.  F.  fouaitte :  F.  focal :  LL.  focalia,  from  L.  focdlis,  from  focus,  hearth, 
foil(l):  full  (2). 

O.  F.  fuler  :  F.  /owk ;  M.  E.  foylen,  to  trample  under  foot :  LL.  fuUare, 

folare,  to  full  cloth, 
folio  :  foil  (2). 

O.  F./otf:  L.  folia,  folium  (in  folio),  leaf, 
found  (2):  fuse  (1). 

O.  F.  fondre  ;  L.  fundere :  p.  p.  fusus  :  to  pour, 
fragile :  frail. 

O.  F.  fraile  :  F.  fragile  :  L.  fragilem,  fragile, 
fray  t  affray. 

/ray,  aph.  form  of  affray :  O.  F.  e/raier  :  LL.  ex/rufare,  to  break  the 

king's  peace,  from  ex  -f  O.  H.  G.  fridu,  peace. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  205 

fresh  :  frisk  :  fresco. 

A.-S.  fresc:  M.  E.  fresch :  O.  H.  G.  /rise :  Dan.-Swed.  frisk:  O.  F. 

f risque  :  Ital.  fresco  :  F.  frais,  fern,  fraiche. 
fro  :  from. 

A.-S.  from  :  Dan.  fra. 
frumenty  :  furmenty,  furmity. 

O.  F.  fromentee  :  L.  frumentum :  thru  *frumentata,  made  with  wheat, 
fulmine  :  fulminate. 

F.  fulminer:  L.  fulminare,  from  fulmen,  thunder-bolt, 
furl :  fardel. 

furl,  contr.  of  earlier  furdle,  to  roll  up  in  a  bundle  :   O.  F.  fardel ; 

Span,  fardel,  fardo  :  prob.  from  Arab,  fardah,  a  package, 
fusion  :  foison. 

O.  F.  foison  :  L.  fusionem,  from  L.  fundere,  to  pour. 

Game :  gammon  (2). 

A.-S.  gamen;  M.  E.  gamen,  game:  cf.  back-gammon. 
gar(l):  gore  (3). 

A.-S.  gar,  spearhead,  spear:  cf.  garlic. 
garden  :  garth  :  yard  (1). 

A.-S.  geard  :  Icel.  garthe :  A.-F.  gardin,  O.  Frank,  gardin,   gen.  and 

dat.  of  gardo,  a  yard, 
gaud  ;  joy. 

M.  E.  gaude  :   L.    gaudia,  pi.  of  gaudium,  mistaken  for  fern,    sing., 

hence  F.  la  joie.     Cf.  la  Bible,  from  biblia,  books, 
gentle :  genteel :  gentile  :  jaunty. 

O.  F.  gentil,  variant  jantyl :  F.  gentil:  L.  gentilis,  from  gens,  a  clan, 
germ  :  germen. 

F.  germe:  L.  germen,  seed,  germ, 
german  :  germane. 

M.  F.  germain  :  L.  germdnus,  closely  akin.     Cf.  cousins-german. 
gest :  jest. 

O.  F.  geste,  exploit,  romance  ;  L.  gesta  (res  gesta). 
gin  (3);  juniper. 

gin,  short  for  geneva,   corruption   of  M.    F.  genevre ;   L.  juniperum, 

juniper, 
gist:  joist. 

O.  F.  gist  (F.  gity.  L.  jacet,  it  lies;  gist  is  "  where  the  matter  lies," 

and  joist,  the  timber  on  which  the  floor  lies,  M.  E.  giste :  O.  F.  giste, 

place  to  lie  on. 
glamour ;  grammar. 

glamour,  a  corruption  of  gramarye  or  grammar :  O.  F.  gramaire.    Cf. 

glamourie  and  gramarye,  magic. 


206  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

gloom  :  gloam  :  glum. 

A.-S.  glom,  twilight,  gloom, 
gnaw  ;  nag. 

A.-S.  gnagan,  to  gnaw  :  Norw.,  Swed.  nagga. 
godhead  :  godhood. 

A.-S.  had,  state,  quality.     Cf.  maidenhead  and  maidenhood. 
gonfanon  :  gonfalon,  confalon. 

O.  F.  gonfanon:  M.  H.  G.  gund-fano,  battle-flag.     Cf.  A.-S.  gufi-fana  : 

F.  gonfalon ;  F.  confalon,  name  of  a  religious  brotherhood,  is  the  same 

word, 
granary;  garner. 

O.  F.  gernier,  variant  of  grenier  :  L.  granarium,  storehouse  for  grain, 
grenade :  garnet :  granate. 

O.  F.  granate :  F.  grenade  t  M.  E.  garnet  :  LL.  granatus,  from  granum, 


grise;  grade. 

grise,  properly  grees,  pi.  of  gree,  a  step :  O.  F.  gre  :  L.  gradus,  a  step. 
Cf.  "every  grise  of  fortune." — Shaks. 

grogram  ;  grosgrain  :  grog. 

M.  F.  grosgrain:  grog,  short  for  grogram.  " Admiral  Vernon,  nick- 
named Old  Grog,  from  his  grogram  breeches,  ordered  the  sailors  to 
dilute  their  rum  with  water  "  (1745). 

guy:  guide. 

O.  F.  guie,  a  guide,  guier,  to  guide  :  F.  guide,  guider :  Ital.  guidare — 
of  Teutonic  origin. 

gypsy :  Egyptian. 

gypsy,  short  for  M.  E.  Egypcien :  O.  F.  Egyptian  ;  LL.  Aegyptianus, 
an  Egyptian,  from  a  false  supposition  that  the  gypsies  came  from 
Egypt. 

Hack:  hatch  (3):  hash. 

A.-S.  haccian :  G.  hacken  :  F.  hacher. 
haggle:  higgle. 

higgle,  weakened  form  of  haggle,  frequentative  of  North.  E.  hag,  to 

cut :  Icel.  hb'ggra,  to  hew  ;  Norm.  F.  haguer,  to  hack, 
hale :  whole. 

A.-S.  hdl:  North.  E.  hale:  Southern  (w)hole. 
hale  (2) :  haul. 

F.  holer:  M.  E.  halen,  halien:  Low  G.  halen:  O.  H.  G.  halon. 
hamper,  hanaper. 

O.  F.  hanapier  :  LL.  hanaperium,  a  large  vase — of  Germanic  origin, 
harangue  :  ring  :  rink. 

A.-S.  hring :  O.  H.  G.  hrinc:  O.  F.  harangue  (Ital.  aringa),  "a  speech 

made  in  the  midst  of  a  ring  of  people"  (Skeat).     Cf.  F.  canif  and 

A.-S.  cnif. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  207 

hatchment :  achievement. 

hatchment  is  for  atcheament,  corrupt,  of  achievement. 
heap  :  hope  (2). 

A.-S.    heap,   crowd,    heap;   Du.    hoop,   troop,   band.     Cf.    "verloren 

hoop, "  forlorn  hope  —  lost  band, 
helpmeet :  helpmate. 

A  corruption  of  "help  meet  for  him"  (Gen.  n,  18). 
hermit :  eremite. 

F.  hermite  :  LL.  heremita,  eremite  :  Gk.  Ipwifrip,  a  dweller  in  a  desert, 
heyday  :  high-day. 

M.  E.  hey,  high, 
history  :  story. 

A.  -F.  stone  :  O.  F.  estoire :  L.  historia. 
hoax  :  hocus. 

Low  L.  hocus,  a  juggler's  trick, 
hoiden,  hoyden  :  heathen. 

A.-S.  haefien :  M.  Du.  heyden,  a  heathen, 
hospital :  hotel. 

F.  hotel :  O.  F.  hostel :  LL.   hospitdle,   pi.   hospHalia,    apartments  for 

strangers, 
human  :  humane. 

F.  humain  :  L.  hwndnus,  belonging  to  man. 
hyacinth  :  jacinth. 

F.  jacinth  :  L.  hyacinthus. 

Inapt :  inept. 

F.  inapte  :  M.  F.  inepte  :  L.  ineptus,  from  in,  not  +  aptus,  fit. 
inch  :  ounce. 

A.-S.  ince  (borrowed):  O.  F.  unce :  L.  uncia,  a  twelfth  part, 
indict :  endite. 

O.  F.  enditer ;  LL.  indictare,  to  show,  accuse, 
influence :  influenza. 

O.  F.  influence  :  Ital.  influenza  :  L.  influentia,  from  fluere,  to  flow, 
inquire  :  enquire. 

O.  F.  enquerre  :  L.  inquirere. 
insulate :  isolate. 

Ital.  isolate:  L.  insulatus,  from  insida,  an  island, 
intrigue :  intricate. 

F.  intriguer  :  L.  intricare,  to  perplex, 
invocate  :  invoke. 

F.  invoquer  :  L.  invocare,  to  call  upon. 

Jabber :  gabber. 

O.  F.  jaber,  variant  of  O.  F.  gaber,  to  mock. 


208  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

jasmin  :  jessamine. 

F.  jasmin  :  Arab,  gasemin  :  Pers.  yasamln,  yasmin. 
jasper  :  diaper. 

O.  F.  diaspre,  diapre  :  Ital.  dlaspro,  diaspo  :  L.  jaspidem  (jaspis), 

a  precious  stone,  whence  also  O.   F.  jaspre,  jaspe. 
jealous  :  zealous. 

O.  F.  jalous  :  LL.  zelosus. 
jennet  :  genet. 

F.  genet  :   Span,  jinete  :  Arab,  zenatu,  a  tribe  of  Barbary. 
jet  :  jut. 

jut,  variant  of  jet  :    O.  F.  jetter  :    L.   jactare,   from  jacere,   to 

throw. 

jimson  :   Jamestown, 
jingo  :  St.  Gingoulph. 
joint  :  junta. 

O.  F.  joinct  :  F.  joint  :  Span,  junta,  junto  :  L.  junctum,  p.  p.  of 

jungere,  to  join, 
jointure  :  juncture. 

F.  jointure  :  L.  junctura,  from  jungere,  to  join, 
jostle  :  justle. 

Freq.  of  O.  F.  jouster  :  LL.  juxtare,  from  juxta,  hard  by. 
jot  :  iota. 

jot,  Englished  from  L.  iota  :  Gk.  IQra,  letter  of  the  Gk.  alphabet. 

Kale  (kail)  :  cole. 

kale,  north,  dial.:  south,  cole;  A.-S.  caul  (borrowed)  :  L.  caulis, 

stalk,  cabbage, 
kindle    (2)  :  candle. 

Icel.  kyndill  :  A.-S.  candel  (borrowed)  :  L.  candela  :  see  Skeat's 

Etym.  Diet,   sub  kindle. 
kith  :   kit    (3). 

A.-S.  cy/>,    native  land,  relationship :  cf .  "  the  whole  kit "  —  the 

whole  kith  or  family, 
kraal  :  corral. 

Span,  corral  :  Port,  curral  :  Du.  kraal,  enclosure,  from  L.  cur- 

rere,  to  run  ( Diez ) . 

Lace  :  lasso. 

M.  E.  las  :  O.  F.  las  :  O.  Span,  laso  :  L.  laqueus,  a  noose, 
lagoon  :  lacuna. 

Ital.  lagone,  laguna  :  Span,  laguna  :  L.  lacuna,  from  lacus,  lake, 
lair  :  layer  :  leaguer. 

A.-S.  leger  :   Du.  leger,  a  camp  :  M.  ,E.  leir. 
lamp  :  lampad. 

O.  F.  lampe  :  L.  lampas,  lampadis  :  Gk.  Xctjwirds,  \afj.ird$os. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  209 

lance  :  launch,  lanch. 

O.  F.  lander,  lanchier  :  L.  lanceare,  from  lancea,  a  lance, 
lax  :  leash. 

O.  F.  lesse  :  LL.  laxa  :  L.  laxus,  loose, 
lecherous  :  likerous. 

M.  E.  lechur,  lechour  :  O.  F.  lecheor,  lecheur,  one  who  licks  up, 

addicted  to  lewdness.     O.  F.  lecher  :  F.  Itcher,  to  lick — of  Ger- 
manic origin, 
legal  :  loyal  :  leal. 

A.  F.  leal  :  F.  loyal  :  M.  F.  leyal  :  L.  legalem. 
lesson  :  lection. 

F.  leQon  :  L.  lectionem,  a  reading, 
level  :  libella. 

O.  F.  livel  :  L.  libella,  dim.  of  libra,  a  balance, 
levy  :  levee. 

F.  levee-,  p.  p.  of  lever  :  L.  levare,  to  raise, 
libbard  :  leopard. 

L.  leo,  lion  +  pardus,  spotted, 
like  :  lich  :  ly. 

A.-S.  lie  :  M.  E.  lik,  lich  :   ly  =  li(ch),  li(che). 
limn  :  enlumine  :  illumine  :  illuminate. 

limn,  aph.  form  of  enlumine  :  O.  F.  enluminer  :   F.  illuminer  : 

L.  illuminare,  from  lumen,  light, 
live   (2)  :  alive. 

live,  aph.  form  of  alive  :  A.-S.  on  life,  in  life, 
livery  :   liberate. 

A.-F.  liver ee  :  F.  Iwree,  p.  p.  of  livrer  :  LL.  liberare,  to  deliver 

up  :  L.  liberare,  to  set  free, 
lobby  :  lodge. 

0.  F.  loge  :  LL.  lobia  :  O.  H.  G.  louba,  arbor, 
lobster  :  locust. 

A.-S.    loppestre,   lopust,   corruption  of   L.   locusta,   a   shell-fish, 

a  locust, 
lone  :  alone. 

M.  E.  al  one,  al  oon. 
lunch  :  luncheon. 

luncheon,  an  extension  of  lunch,  a  lump,  now  used  as  short  for 

luncheon. 
lurk  :  lurch   (1). 

See  Skeat  and  N.  E.  D. 

Madam  :  madonna. 

F.  ma  dame  :  Ital.  ma  donna  :  L.  mea  domina,  my  lady. 


210  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

maidenhead  :   maidenhood. 

A.-S.  mcegden  +  had,  state,  quality, 
mail    (1)  :  mactile  :  mackle. 

O.  F.  maille  :  F.  macule  :  L.  macula,  a  spot,  mesh, 
maim  :  mayhem. 

O.  F.  mahaym  :  LL.  mahemiare,  to  mutilate — Origin  uncertain, 
malison  :  malediction. 

O.  F.  malison  :  L.  maledictionem,  a  curse, 
mammet,  mawmet  :  Mahomet. 

mawmet,  etc.,  a  puppet,  doll,  idol,  contr.  from  Mahomet. 
mandate  :  maundy. 

O.  F.  mande  :  L.  mandatum,  a  charge,  from  mandare,  to  enjoin, 
mantle  :   mantel  :  manteau. 

O.  F.  mantel  :  F.  manteau  :  L.  mantellum,  a  napkin,  also  a  cloak, 
manure  :  maneuvre. 

O.    F.   manuvrer  :    F.    manoeuvre  :    LL.    manuopera,    manopera, 

handwork, 
marge  :  margin  :  margent. 

F.  marge  :  L.  marginem,  margo  :  margen-t,  with  excrescent  t. 
mark  :  marque  :  march. 

A.-S.  mearc  :  south,  march  :  O.  F.  marque. 
mart  :  market. 

mart,  contr.  of  market  :  L.  mercatus,  p.  p.  of  mercari,  to  trade, 
mash  :  mess   (2). 

mash  is  from  a  supposed  A.-S.  base,  *masc,  a  mixture   (miscian, 

to  mix),  hence  mesh,  hence  mess,  mixture,  disorder, 
massive  :  massy. 

F.  massif,  from  masse  :  L.  massa. 
master  :  mister. 

0.  F.  maistre  :  L.  magistrum,  magister,  master, 
matin  :  matutine. 

F.  matin  :  L.  matutinum,  belonging  to  the  morning, 
matrix  :  matrice. 

F.  matrice  :  L.  matrix,  matricem. 
maudlin  :  magdalen. 

O.  F.  maudeleine  :  L.  magdalene. 
mauve  :  mallow. 

A.-S.  malwe  (borrowed)  :  L.  malva  :  F.  mauve. 
maxim  :  maximum. 

F.  maxime  :  L.  maxima  ( sententiarum ) ,  neut.  maximum. 
mayor  :  major. 

O.  F.  maior  :  Span,  mayor  :  L.  major,  majorem. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  211 

medal  :    (black)  mail. 

F.  maille,  "  a  French  half-penny  "  :  O.  F.  medaille  :  LL.  medalia, 

medalla,  a  small  coin  :  L.  metallum,  metal, 
megrim  :  migraine. 

F.  migraine  :  LL.  hemigranea  :  L.  hemicrania,  half  a  head, 
mell  :   meddle — mele*e  :   medley. 

A.  F.  medlee  :  O.  F.  medle,  p.  p.  of  medler,  mesler  :  F.  meler  : 

melee  :   L.  misculare,  to  mix. 
memoir  :   memory. 

A.  F.  memorie  :  F.  memoire  :  L.  memoria. 
mend  :  amend  :  emend. 

mend,  aph.  of  amend  :    F.  amender  :   L.  emendare,  from  ex  + 

mendum,  a  fault, 
mess  (1)  :  mass. 

O.  F.  mes  (F.  mets)  :  LL.  messa  :  A.-S.  mcesse  (borrowed)  :  L. 

missa,  from  mittere,  to  send.     Of.  Ite,  missa  est. 
mettle  :  metal. 

Mettle,  variant  of  metal  :   O.  F.  metal  :  L.  metallum,  a  mine, 

metal, 
mew   (3)   :   mute  :  moult. 

F.  muer  :  L.  mutare  :  A.-S.  miitian    (borrowed)  :   moult,  same 

word  with  intrusive  I. 
mince  :  minish. 

F.  minuiser  :  O.  F.  minder  :  LL.  minutiare,  from  minutus,  small, 
minim  :  minimum. 

F.  minim  :  L.  minimum,  least, 
minster  :  monastery. 

A.-S.  mynster  (borrowed)  :  L.  monasterium. 
mint  :  money. 

A.-S.  mynet  (borrowed)  :  0.  F.  moneie  :  F.  monnaie  :  L.  moneta 

(monere,  to  advise),  surname  of  Juno  in  whose  temple  money  was 

first  coined, 
minuet  :  minute  :  menu. 

M.  F.  minuet,  little  :  dance  so  called  from  the  small  steps  :  F. 

menu  :  L.  minutus,  small, 
miscellane,  miscellany  :   miscellanea. 

F.  miscellane'e  :   miscellanea,  from  miscere,  to  mix. 
mistery  (mystery)  :  ministry. 

O.  F.  mestier,  trade,  occupation  :    LL.  misterium  :   L.  ministe- 

rium,  employment.     Cf.  mystery  plays,  "  so  called  because  acted 

by  craftsmen  "  ( Skeat ) . 
mizen,  mizzen  :  mean   ( 3 ) . 

F.  misaine  :  Ital.  mezzana  :  A.  F.  meien  (F.  moyen)  :  L.  medi- 

anus,  from  medius,  middle. 


212  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

mob  :  mobile. 

mob,  contr.  of  mobile  (vulgus)  :  L.  mobilis,  moveable,  fickle, 
mode  :  mood  (2). 

F.  mode  :  L.  modus,  manner,  measure, 
moire  :  mohair. 

F.  moire  :  O.  F.  mouaire  (1650) — perhaps  of  Arab,  origin, 
moment  :  movement  :  momentum. 

F.  moment,  mouvement  :  L.  momentum   ( movimentum ) . 
mop  :  map  :  nappe  :  nap- (kin). 

O.  F.  mappe,  later  nappe  :  L.  mappa,  a  cloth,  cf.  an  apron,  for  a 

napron,  O.  F.  naperon,  a  large  cloth, 
morris  :  moorish. 

Span,  morisco,  moorish, 
moslem  :  mussulman. 

Arab,  muslim,  a  true  believer.     "  Moslem,  Mussulman,  islam  and 

salaam  are  all  from  the  same  Arab,  root  salama,  to  be  resigned." 

(Skeat). 
motif  :  motive. 

M.  F.  motif  :   LL.  motwus. 
mould  :  mulled. 

A.-S.  molde,  earth,  dust  :  "  mulled  ale  is  a  corruption  of  muld- 

ale  or  mold-ale,  a  funeral  ale"   (Skeat)  :     Cf.  bride-ale,  bridal, 
much  :  muckle  :  mickle. 

A.-S.  micel,  great   :   M.  E.  muchel,  mukel,  michel,  mikel. 
musket  :  musquito. 

M.  F.  mousquet  :  Span,  mosquito,  from  L.  musca,  a  fly. 
muster  :  monster. 

O.  F.  mostre  :  F.  monstre  :  L.  monstrum  (mon-es-trum) ,  a  por- 
tent, from  monere,  to  warn. 

Nab  :    (kid) -nap. 

Dan.  nappe,  to  catch  :  kidnap,  to  nab  a  kid  (child), 
nape  :  knop  :  knob. 

A.-S.  cncep,  the  top  of  a  hill.     Cf .  O.  Fries,  halsknap,  nape  of 

the  neck, 
native  :  naive. 

F.  naif,  fern,  naive  :  L.  nativus,  native,  from  natus,  born, 
navvy  :  navigator. 

navvy,  short  for  navigator  :  L.  navigator,  sailor, 
net  (2)  :  neat  (2)  :  nitid. 

F.  net,  fern,  nette  :  L.  nitidus,  from  nitere,  to  shine, 
newel  :  nucleus. 

O.  F.  nuel  :  L.  nucleus,  a  small  nut,  kernel,  from  nucem,  nux,  a 

nut. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  213 

nias  :  eyas. 

F.  mats,  a  nestling  :   LL.  nididcem    (supposed),  from  L.  nidus, 

nest  :   an  eyas,  for  a  nias.     Cf.  an  apron,  for  a  napron. 
nigromancy  :  necromancy. 

O.  F.  nigromance  :  LL.  nigromantia,  corruption  of  L.  necroman- 

tia,    from    Gk.     i>e/cp6s,      a    corpse  +  pavrtia,    prophetic      power. 

"  Necromancy  was  called  '  the  black  art '  owing  to  a  popular  ety- 
mology from  L.  niger,  black  "  ( Skeat ) . 
noise  :  nausea. 

O.  F.  noise  :  L.  nausea. 
norman  :  northman. 

0.  F.  normand,  north-man, 
norweyan  :  norwegian. 
nother  :   nor. 

A.-S.  nawther  (na  -f-  hwcether)  :  nor  =  no  (the)  r.     Cf.  or,  contr. 

of  otHer  :   G.  oder. 
nought  :  naught  :  not. 

A.-S.  na  +  wiht  :   not,  contr.  of  nought. 
nozzle  :  nuzzle. 

dim.  of  nose, 
number  :  numerate. 

F.  nombrer  :  L.  numerare,  to  number. 

obeisance  :  obedience. 

O.  F.  obeissance  :  F.  obedience  :  L.  obedientia. 
oblige  :  obligate. 

F.  obliger  :  L.  obligare,  ob  +  ligare,  to  bind, 
oboe  :  hautboy. 

Ital.  oboe   :   F.  hautbois   :   L.  altus,  high,  LL.  boscus,  wood, 
of  :  off. 

A.-S.  of. 
ogre  :    Orcus. 

F.  ogre  :  L.  Orcus,  god  of  the  infernal  regions, 
oillet,  oelet  :  eyelet. 

M.  F.  oeillet,  dim.  of  oeil  :  L.  oculus,  eye. 
onion  :  union. 

F.  oignon  :  L.  unionem  (unio) ,  union, 
or  (1)  :  other. 

or,  contr.  of  other, 
or  (2)   :  ere. 

A.-S.  Her,  before, 
ordnance  :  ordinance. 

O.  F.  ordinance  :  LL.  ordinantia,  a  command,  from  ordinare,  to 

set  in  order. 


214  EDWARD    A.    ALLEN. 


orgue  :  organ. 

F.  orgue  :  L.  organum,  instrument, 
orison  :  oration. 

O.  F.  orison  :  L.  orationem,  a  prayer, 
orpin,  orpine  :  orpiment. 

F.  orpin,  contr.  of  orpiment  :  L.  auri-pigrnentum,  gold  paint, 
orris  :  iris. 

M.  Ital.  irios,  whence  prob.  "  oris-roote  "  (Florio)  :  L.  iris,  rain- 
bow, the  plant  iris. 
osprey    :   ossifrage. 

osprey,  corruption  of  ossifrage  :  L.  ossifragus,  bone-breaking, 
ostiary  :  usher. 

A.   F.  usser  :    O.   F.  ussier  :   L.  ostiarius,  a  door-keeper,  from 

ostium,  a  door, 
ostler  :  hosteler,  hostler. 

O.  F.  hosteller,  from  O.  F.  hostel  :  LL.  hospitale. 
ouch  :  nouch. 

an  ouch  is  for  a  nouch  :  O.  F.  nouch  :  LL.  nusca,  a  buckle, 
ounce    (2)  :   lynx. 

F.  once  is  for  lonce  (as  if  Vonce)    :  L.  lynx. 
ouph  :   oaf  :   auf  :   elf. 

ouph,  variant  of  oaf,  variant  of  auf,  elf.  :  Icel.  alft  :  Dan.  alp  : 

A.-S.  alf,  elf. 
outer  :  utter. 

A.-S.  uttera,  utera,  comparative  of  ut,  out. 

Paage  :  peage  :  pedage. 

O.  F.  paage  :  F.  pe"age  :  LL.  pedagiam,  for  pedaticum,  a  toll  for 

passage  over  another's  ground, 
pace  :  pass. 

F.  pas  :  L.  passus,  a  step, 
paddle  (2)    :  epaddle  :  spatula. 

paddle,  for  spaddle  :  L.  spatula,  a  little  spade, 
paddock   (2)  :  parrock  :  park. 

paddock,  corrupt,  of  parrock  :  A.-S.  pearroc. 
page  :  pageant. 

F.  page  :  L.  pagina,  leaf  of  book, 
pajock  :  peacock. 

pa  jock,  corrupt,  of  peacock  :   A.-S.  pawa,  pea    (borrowed)  :   L. 

pavo. 
pain  :  pine. 

F.  peine  :  L.  poena  :  A.-S.  pin  (borrowed). 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  215 

paladin  :  palatine. 

F.  paladin  :  Ital.  paladino  :  L.  palatinus,  pertaining  to  the  pal- 
ace, 
palaver  :  parley  :  parole  :  parable  :  parabola. 

O.  F.  parabole  :  F.  parole,  parler  :  Port,  palavra  :  L.  parabola  : 

Gk.  -rrapapoX-fi,  a  comparison, 
pale  (2)  :  pallid. 

0.  F.  pale  :  L.  pallidum,  pale, 
pall   :  appall. 

pall,  aph.  form  of  appall  :  O.  F.  apallir  :  L.  ad  +  pallidum. 
pallet   (2)  :  palette. 

F.  palette  :  Ital.  paletta,  dim.  of  L.  pala,  a  spade, 
palsy  :    paralysis. 

M.  E.  palesy  :  O.  F.  paralysie  :  L.  paralysis. 
paper  :   papyrus. 

F.  papier  :   L.  papyrus,  an  Egyptian  rush  of  which  a  writing 

material  was  made, 
parcel  :  particle. 

F.  parcelle  :  Ital.  particella  :  L.  particula,  a  small  part, 
parcener  :  partner. 

partner,  corrupt,  of  parcener  through  influence  of  part  :   O.  F. 

parcener  :  LL.  partitionarius,  from  L.  partitio,  a  division, 
parfit  :  perfect. 

O.  F.  parfit  :  L.  perfectus,  p.  p.  of  perficere,  to  complete, 
parlous  :  perilous. 

parlous,  variant  of  perlous,  contr.  of  perilous  :  O.  F.  perillous, 

perilleus  :  L.  periculosus,  from  periculum,  danger, 
parse  :  part. 

L.  pars  (quae  pars  orationisf)  :  F.  part  :  L.  partem,  ace.  of  pars. 
parson  :  person. 

O.  F.  persone  :  L.  persona,  a  mask,  a  character,  actor, 
parvis  :  paradise. 

O.  F.  parvis,  outer  court  :  LL.  .paravisus  :  L.  paradisus,  church 

court,  paradise, 
pasch,  paas  :  pasque,  paque. 

A.-S.  pascha   (borrowed)  :  D.  paasch  :  L.  pascha  :  Gk.    irdtrxa  : 

O.  F.  pasque  :  F.  paque  :  Heb.  pesakh,  a  passing  over- 
pasha  :  bashaw  :  padishaw. 

Turk,  pasha,  basha  :  Pers.  basha,  badshah  :  same  as  Pers.  pad- 
shah,  a  great  lord,  prince  (pad,  protecting,  +  shah,  king), 
pastel  :  pastille. 

F.  pastel,  pastille  :  L.  pastillum,  a  little  roll. 


216  EDWARD   A.   ALLEN. 

paten  :  pan. 

M.  F.  patene  :  A.-S.  panne  (borrowed)  :  LL.  panna  :  L.  patina, 

a  flat  dish, 
patron  :  pattern. 

F.  patron,  a  patron,  example  :  L.  patronum,  a  protector, 
pause  :   pose    (1). 

F.  pause,  pose,  attitude  :  LL.  pausa  :  Gk.    7rau<m,    a  ceasing, 
pavilion:   papilio    (zool.). 

F.  pavilion,  a  tent  :  L.  papilionem  (papilio),  a  butterfly, 
pawn  (2)  :  peon. 

M.  E.  paune,  poun  :   O.  F.  paon,  a  pawn  :   Span,  peon,  a  foot- 
soldier,   a   pawn    (in  chess)  :    LL.   pedonem,   foot-soldier,   from 

pedem,  foot, 
pay  (2)  :  pitch  (1). 

A.  F.  peier  :  O.  F.  poier  :  L.  picare,  from  picem  (pix),  pitch, 
paynim  :  paganism. 

paynim,  orig.  heathen  country  :   0.  F.  paisnisme  :  LL.  paganis- 

mus,  from  paganus,  a  villager, 
peach  (1)  :  Persic. 

O.  F.  pesche  :   LL.  persica  :   L.  Persicum    (malum],  a  Persian 

apple, 
peal  :  appeal. 

peal,  aph.  form  of  appeal  :  O.  F.  apel,  apeler  :  L.  appelare,  to 

call  upon, 
pedicle,  pedicel  :  pedicule. 

F.  pedicelle  :  M.  F.  pedicule  :  L.  pediculus,  a  little  foot, 
peise,  peize  :  poise. 

A.  F.  peiser  :  O.  F.  poiser  :  L.  pensare,  to  weigh, 
pelisse  :  pilch. 

A.-S.  pylce  (borrowed)  :  F.  pelisse  :  LL.  pellicea,  made  of  skins, 

from  L.  pellis,  a  skin, 
peer  (1)  :  pair  :    (um)pire  :  par. 

O.  F.  per,  peer  :  F.  paire  :  L.  par,  equal.     An  umpire  is  for  a 

numpire  :  O.  F.  nomper  :  L.  non  par,  unequal,  odd,  a  third  man 

called  in  to  arbitrate,  a  non  peer. 
peer  (3)  :  appear. 

M.  E.  peren,  short  of  aperen,  apperen  :  O.  F.  apparoir  :  L.  ap- 

parere,    to   appear.     Cf .    "  So    honour    peereth    in   the   meanest 

habit"    (Shaks.). 
pellitory  :  paritory,  parietory. 

pellitory,  corrup.  of  paritory,  a  flower  that  grows  on  walls  :  M. 

F.  paritoire  :  L.  parietaria,  from  parietem  (paries),  a  wall. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  217 

pendule  :  pendulum. 

F.  pendule  :  L.  pendulum,  from  pendere,  to  hang. 
pennant  :  pennon  :  pinion. 

M.  F.  pennon,  a  flag  :  F.  pignon  :  L.  penna,  pinna,  wing,  feather, 
pentice  :   penthouse. 

penthouse,  corrup.  of  pentice  :  M.  F.  apentis  :  L.  appendicium, 

an  appendage, 
people  :  pueblo. 

A.  F.  people  :  O.  F.  pueple  :  Span,  pueblo. 
perdy  :  parde. 

F.  pardi,  par  Dieu  :  L.  per  Deum,  by  God. 
peregrine  :  pilgrim. 

Itai.  pellegrino  :  L.  peregrinus   (per,  thru -\- ager,  land),  a  for- 
eigner, 
periwig  :  wig  :  peruke. 

wig,  short  for  periwig,  corrup.  of  F.  perruque  :  Ital.  perucca  : 

Span,  peluca,  from  L.  pilus,  a  hair, 
pert  :  apert. 

pert,  aph.  form  of  apert  :  O.  F.  apert  :  L.  apertus  :  open,  from 

aperire,  to  open, 
phase  :  phasis. 

F.  phase  :  L.  phasis  :  Gk.  0d<7i5,  an  appearance, 
piazza  :  place  :  plaza. 

Ital.  piazza,  a  market  place  :   F.  place  :   Span,  plaza,  a  public 

square  :  LL.  plattia,  L.  platea,  a  courtyard, 
pick  :  pitch   ( 2 )  :  pique  :  peak  :   pike  :  peck   ( 1 ) . 

A.  S.  pic  (borrowed)  :  L.  pic,  as  in  picus,  a  woodpecker  :  L.  L. 

picdre,  to  peck,  to  use  a  pickax  (pica,  a  pick,  pickax)  :  F.  piquer. 
pigment  :  pimento,  pimenta. 

Span,  pimento  :  Port,  pimenta  :  L.  pigmentum,  pigment,  juice  of 

plants, 
pin  :  pen. 

A.-S.  pinn  (borrowed),  a  pen,  pin,  peg  :  O.  F.  penne  :  L.  pinna, 

penna,  wing,  feather,  pen. 
pinch  :  pink  (1). 

F.  pincer  :  North  F.  pincher  :  M.  E.  pinken,  "  a  nasalised  form 

of  pick"  (Skeat)  :  L.  pic  :  whence  pike,  pick,  etc. 
piquet  :  picket. 

F.  piquet,  dim.  of  pique,  a  pike, 
pistil ':  pestle. 

0.  F.  pestel  :  L.  pistillum,  a  small  pestle, 
pitcher  :  bicker  (Scot.),  beaker.  , 

M.    E.    picher,    biker  :    O.    F.    picher  :    Icel.    bikarr  :    Pop.    L. 

4 


218  EDWARD   A.   ALLEN. 

*piccari-um,    *biccari-um  :    LL.    picari-um,    licari-um,    a    wine- 
vessel,  prob.  from  Gk.  /St/cos,  an  earthen  vessel  for  wine, 
pity  :  piety. 

O.  F.  pite  :  M.  F.  piete  :  L.  pietatem,  from  plus,  devout, 
plait  :  pleat  :  plat  (2)  :  ply  :  plight  (2). 

O.  F.  pleit  :  LL.  plictum,  for  plicitum  :  L.  plicatum,  from  plicare, 

to  fold  :  F.  plier. 
plan  :  plane  :  plain  :  piano. 

L.  planus,  flat  :  F.  plan,  plane,  plain  :  Ital.  piano. 
plank  :  planch. 

F.  planch    :    North.  F.   planke    :    L.  planca,  a  flat  board.     Cf. 

"  planched  gate  "   ( Shaks. ) . 
plaintiff  :  plaintive. 

F.  plaintif,  fern,  plaintive  :  L.  planctivus,  from  planctus,  p.  p.  of 

plangere,  to  bewail, 
plea  :  plead. 

O.  F.  plai,  plaid,  plait  :  LL.  placitum,  from  placere,  to  please, 
plum  :   prune    ( 2 ) . 

A.-S.  plume  (borrowed)  :  F.  prune  :  L.  prunum,  a  plum, 
plumb  :  plunge. 

F.  plomb,  plonger  :  L.  plumbum,  lead, 
poignant  :  pungent. 

F.  poignant  :  L.  pungentem,  from  pungere,  to  prick, 
poison  :  potion. 

F.  poison  :  L.  potionem,  a  draft, 
poitrel  :  pectoral. 

M.  F.  poitrel  :  L.  pectorale,  from  pectus,  the  breast, 
poke  ( 1 )  :  pouch  :  poach  ( 1 ) . 

poke,  a  bag,  is  of  Scand.  origin  :   Icel.  poke  :   F.  poche  :   O.  F. 

pouch  :  to  poach  an  egg  is  to  make  a  pouch  of  it. 
pole  :  pale  (2). 

A.-S.  pal  (borrowed)  :  L.  palus,  a  stake, 
policy  :  polity. 

O.   F.   policie    :    F.  politie    :    L.  politia    :    Gk.      iroXirela,      from 

Tro\lTi}s}  a  citizen, 
polite  :  polished. 

F.  poliss, — stem  of  pres.  part,  of  polir  :  L.  polire  (p.  p.  politus), 

to  make  smooth, 
polyp  :  poulp. 

F.  poulpe  :  L.  polypus  :  Gk.  iroXtfirovs,  many-footed, 
pomade  :  pomatum. 

O.  F.  pomade,  cider  :  LL.  pomata,  a  drink  made  from  apples  : 

L.  pomum,  apple. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  219 

pomp  :  pump  (2). 

F.  pompe  :  L.  pompa  :  Gk.  •JTOJKIT^,  a  sending,  procession  :  pump, 

a  shoe  for  pomp, 
poor  :  pauper. 

O.  F.  povre  :  L.  pauper,  poor, 
pope  :  papa. 

A.-S.  papa  (borrowed)  :  L.  papa,  father,  pope, 
porch  :  portico. 

F.  porche  :  Ital.  portico  :  L.  porticum,  from  porta,  a  door, 
porcupine  :  porpentine. 

M.  E.  porkepyn,  porpentine  :  L.  porcus,  swine  +  spina,  thorn, 
porridge  :  pottage. 

F.  potage,  from  pot  -f-  age    (L.  -aticum)  :   porridge,  corrup.  of 

pottage  thru  earlier  poddige. 
portgrave  :   portreeve. 

L.  portus,  harbor  +  A.-S.  gerefa,  an  officer,  bailiff, 
porthors  :  portass,  portesse,  portous. 

O.  F.  portehors,  a  portable  prayer  book,  from  porter  :  L.  portare, 

to  carry  -|-  hors   ( O.  F.  f ors  :  L.  foris )  forth,  abroad, 
portray  :  protract. 

0.  F.  portraire  :  L.  protrahere  (p.  p.  protractum),  to  draw  forth, 
pose  (2)    :  appose. 

pose,  aph.  form  of  appose  :   F.  apposer,  to  put  questions  to,  as 

if  from  L.  ponere,  but  really  from  L.  pausare,  to  cease  :  F.  poser, 

hence  poser  (for  apposer),  a  difficult  question, 
posy  :  poesy. 

M.  F.  poesie  :  L.  poesis  :  Gk.  irofycris. 
potent  :  puissant. 

F.  puissant  :  L.  potens,  potentem,  from  potis,  able  -f  esse,  to  be. 
poult  :  pullet. 

F.  poulet,  dim.  of  poule  :  LL.  pulla,  hen. 
pounce  (1)  :  punch  (1). 

thru  French  from  an  assumed  LL.  punctiare,  from  L.  punctum, 

p.  p.  of  pungere. 
pounce  (2)  :  pumice. 

F.  ponce  :  L.  pumicem  (pumex),  pumice, 
pound  (2)  :  pond. 

M.  E.  pond  :  A.-S.  pund,  an  inclosure. 
praise  :  price. 

0.  F.  preis,  pris,  value,  merit  :  L.  pretium,  price, 
prank  :  prance. 

M.  E.  pranken,  to  trim,  prancen.     See  Skeat. 


220  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

preach  :  predicate. 

O.  F.  precher  :  L.  praedicare,  to  declare, 
prentice  :  apprentice. 

prentice,  aph.  form  of  apprentice  :  O.  F.  aprentis,  aprentif  :  as- 
sumed LL.  apprenditivus,  from  apprenditus,  as  if  p.  p.  of  appren- 

dere,  apprehendere,  to  lay  hold  of,  to  learn, 
priest  :  presbyter. 

A.-S.  preost   (borrowed)  :  L.  presbyter  :  Gk.  Trpea/Stfrepos,  elder, 
prim  :  prime. 

O.  F.  prim,  prime  :  L.  primus,  prima. 
primer  :  premier  :  primero. 

O.  F.  primer,  premier  :  Span,  primero  :  L.  primarius,  chief, 
primrose  :  primerole. 

primrose,  as  if  from  prima  rosa  :  M.  E.  primerole,  dim.  of  LL. 

primula,  dim.  of  L.  primus,  first, 
prison  :  prehension. 

F.  prison  :  L.  prehensionem,  from  prehendere,  to  seize, 
privy  :  private. 

F.  prive  :  L.  privatus,  apart, 
probe  :  prove. 

0.  F.  prover  :  L.  probare,  to  test, 
proctor  :  procurator. 

proctor,  contr.  of  L.  procurator. 
property  :  propriety. 

O.  F.  properte  :  M.  F.  propriete  :  L.  proprietatem,  from  L.  prop- 

rius,  one's  own. 
prore  :  prow. 

F.  proue  :  L.  prora,  prow, 
prorogue  :  prorogate. 

O.  F.  proroguer  :  L.  prorogare,  from  pro,  forward  -f  rogare)  to 

ask. 
proud  :  prude. 

O.  F.  prod,  prud,  fern,  prode,  prude  :  M.  E.  prud,  later  proud. 
proxy  :  procuracy. 

proxy,  contr.  of  procuracy  :  LL.  procuratia  :  L.  procuratio,  man- 
agement, 
prudent  :  provident. 

F.  prudent  :  L.  prudent  em,  contr.  of  providentem,  pres.  part,  of 

providere,  to  foresee, 
prune  (1)  :  provine. 

M.  E.  proinen,  prunen  :  F.  provin  :  provigner  :  O.  F.  provain  : 

L.  propagincm  (propago)  a  sucker. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  221 


pry  :  prey. 

0.  F.  prier,  to  search  for  plunder  :  LL.  predare,  from  L.  praeda, 

booty, 
pun  :  pound  (3). 

pound  =  poun  +  d   (excrescent  d)  :  A.-S.  punian,  to  pound  :  M. 

E.  pounen  :  pun  is  to  pound  into  new  senses  (Skeat). 
punch   (2)  :  punish. 

M.   E.   punischen,   punchen  :    F.   puniss-,   stem   of   pres.    part.  : 

L.  punire,  to  punish, 
puncheon  :  punction. 

O.  F.    (Gascon)   pouncheon   :   F.  poingon,  a  bodkin   :   L.  puncti- 

onem,  from  pungere,  to  prick, 
punt   ( 1 )  :  pontoon. 

A.-S.  punt   (borrowed)  :   L.  ponto,  a  boat  :   F.  ponton,  from  L. 

ace.  pontonem — of  Celtic  origin, 
punt  (2)  :  punto  :  point. 

O.   F.  point  :    Span,  punto  :    F.  ponter  :    L.  punctum,  p.  p.  of 

pungere,  to  prick, 
puny  :  postnate. 

O.  F.  puisne,  younger  :  L.  postnatus,  born  after, 
pupa  :  puppy. 

F.  poupee,  a  baby,  young  of  animals,  as  if  from  L.  *pupata  :  L. 
pupa,  doll,  puppet. 

purl    (3)  :  purfle  :   profile. 

purl,  contr.  of  purfle  :  M.  F.  pourfiler  ;  Ital.  profile  :  L.  pro  + 

filum,  thread, 
purloin  :  prolong. 

O.  F.  pourloigner,  to  prolong,  retard,  keep  back  :  F.  prolonger  : 

L.  prolongare,  from  pro  +  longus,  long, 
purpose   ( 1 )  :  propose. 

O.  F.  purposer  :  F.  proposer  :  LL.  pausare,  to  cease,  confused  in 

meaning  with  L.  ponere,  to  place, 
purslain,  purslane  :  portulaca. 

O.  F.  porcelaine,  pourcelaine  :  Ital.  porcellana  :  corrup.  from  L. 

porcilaca,  for  portulaca.     Colloq.  pusley. 
pursue  :  prosecute. 

O.   F.  pursuir    :    L.  prosequi,  prosecutus,  from  pro  +  sequi,  to 

follow, 
purvey  :  provide. 

A.  F.  purveier  :  L.  providere,  to  foresee, 
purview  :  proviso. 

O.  F.  purveu,  p.  p.  of  purveoir  :  L.  provisus,   (abl.  proviso),  p. 

p.  of  providere. 


222  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

puzzle  :  opposal. 

puzzle,  short  for  opposal,  from  oppose. 
Quadrel  :  quadrille  :  quarrel  (2). 

O.  F.  quarrel  :   F.  quadrille  :  LL.  quadrellus,  from  L.  quadrus, 

square, 
quatern  :  quadroon. 

O.  F.  quarteron  :   Span,  cuarteron  :  LL.  quarteronem,  a  fourth 

part,  from  L.  quartus,  fourth, 
quiet   :   quite    :   quit    :   coy    :   quietus. 

O.  F.  coi,  from  Folk-Lat.  quetus  :   LL.  quitus  :   O.  F.  quite  :L. 

quietus. 
quinsy  :  squinancy. 

O.  F.  quinancie,  squinancie,  aphetic  forms  of  esquinancie,  from  L. 

ex  +  cynanche :    Gk.    Kvvdyxv,    from   Ktwv   (wv-),    dog  -f-  ATX"'';  to 

choke, 
quitch  :  quick. 

A.-S.  cwic,  alive.     Cf.  quitch-grass  and  quick-silver, 
quire  :  cahier. 

O.  F.  quaier  :   F.  cahier  :   LL.  quaternum,  a  collection  of  four 

leaves. 

Race   (3)  :  radish  :  radix. 

O.  F.  rais  :  F.  radis  :  L.  radicem,  radix,  root.     Cf .  "  a  race  of 

ginger"   (Shaks.). 
rack  (4)  :  wrack,  wreck. 

rack  =  wrack  :  A.-S.  wrcec,  what  is  cast  ashore  :  Icel.  rek.     Cf. 

"  go  to  rack  and  ruin." 
rack  (5)  :  arrack. 

rack,  aph.  form  of  arrack  :  Arab,  araq,  juice,  distilled  spirits  : 

Span,  raque,  arrack, 
raid  :  road. 

A.-S.  rad,  road,  North,  raid, 
rail  ( 1 )  :  rule. 

O.  F.  reille  :  Norm.  F.  raile  :  A.  F.  reule  :  L.  regula,  bar,  rule, 
rail   (2)  :  rally   (2). 

F.  railler,  to  deride, 
raiment  :    arraiment. 

raiment,  aph.  form  of  arraiment  :  O.  F.  arrai,  from  L.  ad  +  O. 

F.  rai  :  0.  Low  G.  rede  :  A.-S.  rode  :  Goth,  raidjan,  to  arrange, 
raise  :  rear. 

A.-S.  r&ran-.  Icel.  reisa,  to  raise, 
raisin  :  raceme. 

O.  F.  raisin  :  Folk  L.  racimum,  L.  racemum,  a  cluster. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  223 

rake   (2)  :  rakel  :  rakehell. 

rake,  short  for  rakel,  corrupt,  to  rakehell  :  M.  E.  rakel,  rash  : 

Swed.  rakkel,  a  vagabond,  from  raka,  to  run  hastily, 
ramp  :  romp. 

F.  ramper,  to  leap,  climb, 
rank  :  range  :  ranch. 

O.  F.  reng  :  F.  rang  :  Span,  rancho  :  0.  H.  G.  Urine,  ring.     Cf. 

ranis  des  vaches. 
rampire   :  rampart. 

M.  F.  rempar,  rempart,  from  remparer    :   L.  re  +  in  +  parare. 

Cf.  "  rampired  walls  of  gold"  (Browning).    "  The  Trojans  round 

the  place  a  rampire  cast"   (Dryden). 
ransom  :  redemption. 

O.  F.  raenson,  later  rangon  :  L.  redemptionem,  from  red  +  imere, 

to  buy  back, 
rapine  :  ravin  :  ravine. 

O.  F.  ravine  :  F.  rapine  :  L.  rapina,  plunder, 
rase  :  raze. 

F.  raser  :  LL.  rasare,  from  L.  radere  ( p.  p.  rasum ) ,  to  scrape, 
ratio  :  ration  :  reason. 

O.  F.  reison  :  F.  raison  :  L.  ratio,  rationem.  •.-« 

ray  :  radius. 

O.  F.  raye  :  L.  radius,  a  ray. 
rayah  :  ryot. 

Arab,  and  Hind,  raiyah,  raiyat,  a  tenant,  peasant, 
realty  :  reality. 

realty,  contr.  of  reality  :  F.  realite  :  L.  realitatem. 
reconnaissance  :    reconnoisance  :    recognizance. 

O.  F.  recognoissance  :  F.  reconnaissance,  from  L.  recognoscere. 
recover  :    recuperate.  j 

0.  F.  recovrer  :  L.  recuperare.  "v 

redingote  :  riding-coat. 

redingote,  French  adaptation  of  English  riding-coat. 
redouble  :   reduplicate. 

F.  redoubler  :  L.  reduplicare  (re  +  duo  +  plicare,  to  fold), 
redoubt  :  reduit  :  reduct. 

F.  redoute,  reduit  :  L.  reductus,  p.  p.  of  reducere,  to  lead  back, 
redounding  :   redundant. 

F.  redonder  :  L.  redundare  (red,  back  +  unda,  a  wave),  to  over- 
flow, 
reeky  :   reechy. 

A.-S.  rec,  vapour,  smoke. 


224  EDWABD   A.    ALLEN. 

rein  :  retain. 

O.  F.  reine  :  L.  retinere,  to  hold  back, 
reintegrate  :  redintegrate. 

L.  reintegrare,  redintegrare. 
relax  :   release. 

M.  F.  relaisser  :  L.  relaxare,  from  re  +  laxus,  loose, 
relay   ( 1 )  :  relish. 

O.  F.  reles,  relais  :  F.  relais. 
relic   :  relique   :  relict. 

F.  relique   :  L.  relicta,  p.  p.  of  relinguere,  to  leave  behind, 
remiss  :  remise. 

F.  remise  :  L.  remissus,  p.  p.  of  remittere,  to  send  back, 
renaissance  :  renascence. 

M.  F.  renaissance  :  L.  renascentia  (re,  again  +  nascentia,  birth), 
renegade  :  runagate. 

runagate,  corrupt,  of  O.  F.  renegat  :  Span,  renegado  :  LL.  rene- 

gatus,  from  L.  re  +  negare,  to  deny, 
repair  (2)  :  repatriate. 

O.  F.  repairer  :  L.  repatriare,  to  go  back  to  one's  country, 
reply  :   replica. 

O.  F.  replica  :  Ital.  replica  :  L.  replicare,  to  fold  back,  to  repeat, 
reprieve  :   reprove  :    reprobate. 

O.  F.  repreuve,  reprover    :   F.  reprouver    :   L.  reprobare    (p.  p. 

reprobatus ) ,  from  re  -f-  probare,  to  test, 
rereward  :  rearguard. 

rereward,  old  spelling  of  rearward  :  F.  guard  =  ward,  which  see. 
residue  :   residuum. 

O.  F.  residu  :  L.  residuum,  remainder, 
resin  :  rosin. 

M.  F.  resine  :  Norm.  F.  rosine  :  L.  resina,  gum  from  trees, 
respite  :  respect. 

O.  F.  respit  :  L.  respectum,  p.  p.  of  respicere,  to  look  back  upon, 
retreat  :  retract. 

O.  F.  retrete,  later  retraite  :  L.  retractum,  p.  p.  of  retrahere,  to 

draw  back, 
revenge  :   revindicate. 

O.   F.  revengier    :    L.  revindicare,   from  re  +  vindicare,   to   lay 

claim  to. 
revel  :  rebel. 

O.  F.  revel,  reveler  :  L.  rebellare. 
reward  :  regard. 

A.  F.  rewarder  :  0.  F.  regarder.     Cf.  A.-S.  wear  A,  a  guard. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  225 

rhomb  :  rumb  (rhumb). 

P.  rhombe  :    Span,  rumbo,  a  ship's  course  :   L.  rhombus  :   Gk. 

/36/i/3os,   a  thing  twirled  round, 
rig  (3)  :  ridge. 

A.-S.  hrycg,  the  back   :  M.  E.  rig,  North,  form  of  rigge. 
rivel  :  rifle. 

M.  E.  rivelen  :  rifle,  short  for  rifled  gun  :  rifle,  to  groove  :   O. 

F.  rifler,  to  scratch  :   A.-S.  rifeled,  wrinkled  :  Low  G.  rifln,  to 

furrow, 
rob  :    robe. 

O.  F.  rober  :  F.  robe  :  LL.  rauba  :  O.  H.  G.  raup,  booty,  garment 

taken  from  the  slain, 
robber  :  rover. 

Du.  roover,  a  robber,  pirate,  thief, 
rod  :  rood. 

A.-S.  rod,  the  cross,  a  rod  or  pole, 
romance  :  romaunt  :  romanic. 

O.  F.  romanz,  romans,  romant  :  LL.  romanice,  from  Romanicus, 

from  Romanus. 
rondel,  rondle,  roundel  :  rondeau. 

O.  F.  rondel  :  F.  rondeau. 
rote  (1)    :  rout  :  route  :  rut. 

O.  F.  rote  :  F.  route  :  L.  rupta,  p.  p.  of  rumpere,  to  break, 
round  :  rotund. 

O.  F.  roond  :  L.  rotundus,  from  rota,  a  wheel, 
row    (3)  :   rouse    (2). 

row,  as  if  sing,  of  rouse  :  Du.  ruus  :  Swed.  rus,  drunkenness.    Of 

Scandinavian  origin.     Cf.  pea,  cherry,  shay,  etc. 
rowel  :   rotella. 

M.  F.  rouelle  :  LL.  rotella,  dim.  of  rota,  a  wheel, 
royal  :  regal  :  real  (2). 

F.  royal  :  Span,  real  :  L.  regalem. 
ruby  :  rouge. 

F.  rouge  :  L.  rubeus,  red. 
rune  :  roun  :   round. 

A.-S.  runian,  to  whisper,  run,  a  whisper  :  O.  H.  G.  run,  a  secret, 
ruse  :  recuse. 

F.  ruse,  ruser  :  O.  F.  reiiser  :  L.  recusare,  to  refuse,  to  oppose 

a  cause. 

sacristan  :  sexton. 

sexton,  contr.  of  sacristan  :  M.  F.  sacristain  :  LL.  sacristanus, 
from  sacer,  sacred. 


226  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

saga  :  saw  (2). 

Icel.  saga  :  A.-S.  sagu. 
sage    (2)  :   salvia. 

O.  F.  sauge  :  L.  salvia,  sage,  from  salvdre,  to  heal, 
saint  :  sanctum. 

F.  saint  :  L.  sanctus,  holy, 
salad  :  sallet. 

F.  salade   :  M.  Ital.  salata,  salted,  p.  p.  from  salare,  to  salt, 
salary  :    (salt)  cellar. 

F.    salaire   :  L.    solarium,    salt-money,    salt-holder,    hence    A.-F. 

saler  :  M.  F.  saliere  :  cellar  is  for  selar. 
salon  :  saloon. 

F.  salon,  a  large  room  :  0.  H.  G.  sal,  hall, 
samphire  :  saint  Peter. 

F.  herbe  de  saint  Pierre. 
sample  :  ensample  :  example. 

O.  F.  essample  :  A.  F.  ensample  :  L.  exemplum,  sample,  pattern, 
sassafras   :  saxafrage. 

F.  sassafras    :    L.  saxafraga,  supposed  to  break  stones   in  the 

bladder, 
sate  :  satiate. 

sate,  short  for  satiate  :  L.  satiare,  from  sat,  satis,  enough, 
savant  :  sapient. 

F.  savant  :  L.  sapientem,  pres.  part,  of  sapere,  to  be  wise, 
saveloy  :  cerebellum. 

saveloy,  a  kind  of  sausage  containing  brains  :  F.  cervelas,  from 

Ital.  cervellata,  from  cervello  :  L.  cerebellum,  dim.  of  cerebrum, 

brain, 
savine^  sabine. 

A.-S.  safine  (borrowed):  L.  sabina   (herba),  Sabine  herb, 
scabby  :  shabby. 

A.-S.  scceb,  scab, 
scaffold  :  catafalque. 

O.  F.  escafaut,   *escafalt,  short  for  escadafalt  =  es    ( L.   ex )  4- 

Ital.  catafalco,  a  funeral  canopy,  whence  F.  catafalque. 
scale   (1)  :  shale. 

A.-S.  scealu  :  O.  H.  G.  scala  :  O.  F.  escale.     Cf.  G.  schale. 
scandal  :  slander. 

F.    scandale  :    L.    scandalum  :    Gk.  <TK&v8a\ov,    stumbling-block, 

offence  :  O.  F.  escandle,  later  esclandre,  whence  slander, 
scar   (2)  :  scaur  :  shear  :  shore  :  score  :  skerry. 

A.-S.  sceran,  to  shear,  p.  p.  scoren,  hence  score  and  shore  :  Icel. 

sker,  an  isolated  rock  in  the  sea. 


ENGLISH  DOUBLETS.  227 

scarce  :  excerpt. 

O.  F.  escars  :  LL.  scarpsus,  for  excarpsus  :   L.  excerptus,  p.  p. 

of  excerpere,  to  pick  out. 
scarf  :  scrap  :  scrip  (1). 

A.-S.  scearfe,  a  fragment  :   Icel.  skrap  :  A.  F.  escrepe,  a  scarf, 

hence  scrip,  a  small  bag  made  of  a  scrap.     Cf.  N.  Fries,  skrap,  a 

scrip, 
scatter  :  shatter. 

A.-S.  scateran  :  M.  E.  scatteren,  shatteren. 
schedule  :  cedule. 

F.  cedule  :  L.  schedula,  a  small  leaf  of  paper, 
school    (2)  :   shoal  :   scull    (3). 

A.-S.  scolu,  a  troop  :  M.  E.  scole,  shole  :  scull  (Shaks.,  Milton), 
scot  :   shot. 

Icel.  skot  :  A.-S.  scot  :  M.  E.  schot  :  O.  F.  escot.     "Experienced 

men  of  the  world  know  very  well  that  it  is  best  to  pay  scot  and 

lot  as  they  go  along  "   ( Emerson ) . 

"A  man  is  never  ....  welcome   to  a  place   till   some  certain 

shot  be  paid  and  the  hostess  say  'Welcome'"  (Shakspere). 
scour  :   skirr  :   scur  :   excur. 

O.  F.  escourre  :  L.  excurrere. 
scourge  :  excoriate. 

A.  F.  escorge  :  L.  excoriatum,  p.  p.  of  excoriare,  to  flay, 
scranny  :  scrannel  :  scrawny. 

Swed.  Norw.  skran,  weak,  thin,  lean, 
screech  :  shriek  :  shrike. 

Icel.  skrcekja  :   Swed.    skrika,  to  shriek, 
scrawl  :   scrabble. 

scrawl,  contr.  of  scrabble,  freq.  of  scrape,  to  scratch  with  some- 
thing sharp, 
scuffle  :  shuffle. 

freq.  of  scuff   (Scand.)  :   Swed.  skuffa,  to  shove, 
scuttle  (1)  :  skillet. 

A.-S.  scutel  (borrowed)  :  O.  F.  escuelette  :  L.  scutella,  a  dish, 
seal  :  sigil. 

O.  F.  seel  :  L.  sigillum,  dim.  of  signum,  mark, 
search  :  shark  :  shirk. 

0.  F.  cercher  :  Picard,  cherquier  :  L.  circare,  to  go  round,  from 

circus,  a  ring  :    shirk,  variant  of  sherk,  shark.     In  late  Latin 

circare  meant  to  hunt   (see  Grandgent's  Introduction  to  Vulgar 

Latin. ) 
secret  :  secrete. 

O.  F.  secret  :  L.  secretus,  p.  p.  of  secernere,  to  separate. 


228  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

sect  :  sept  :  set  (2)    :  suit  :  suite. 

F.  secte  :   Ital.  setta  :   LL.  secta,  setta,  a  set  of  people,  a  suit 

of  clothes   :  O.  F.  siute  :  F.  suite  :  L.  secuta,  p.  p.  of  sequi,  to 

follow, 
seek  :    ( be )  seech. 

A.-S.  secern  :  M.  E.  selce,  seche. 
selvage  :  selfedge. 

M.  Du.  selfegge,  selvage, 
sennet  :  signet. 

O.  F.  sinet,  senet  :  F.  signet,  dim.  of  signe  :  L.  signum,  a  mark, 
sergeant  :  servant. 

O.  F.  sergant,  serjant  :   F.  servant  :   L.  servientem,  pres.  part. 

of  servire,  to  serve, 
sever  :  separate. 

O.  F.  sevrer  :  L.  separare,  to  separate, 
sham  :  shame. 

sham,  "  a  London  slang  term,  due  to  North.  E.  sham,  a  shame, 

hence  trick"    (Skeat)    :   A.-S.  sceamu,  scamu. 
shamefaced  :   shamefast. 

shamefaced,    corrupt,    of    shamefast  ;    A.-S.    scamfcest,    fast    in 

shame,  modesty, 
shammy  :   chamois. 

F.  chamois,  a  kind  of  antelope, 
shard  :  sherd. 

.    A.-S.  sceard,  a  fragment,  from  sceran,  to  cut. 
shawm  :   calamus. 

F.  chaume  :  L.  calamus,  reed, 
shed  (2)  :  shade  :  shadow. 

A.-S.  sceadu  :  Kent,  shed,  a  shade, 
shiver  ( 1 )  :  quiver  ( 1 ) . 

A.-S.  cwifer,*  cifer  :  M.  E.  chiveren. 
shred  :  screed. 

A.-S.  screade,  a  shred, 
shrew  :  screw  (2). 

A.-S.    sceawa,    a    shrew-mouse,    "  having    a    venomous    bite "  ; 

North,  screw,  a  vicious  horse.     Of.  shrewd,  p.  p.  M.  E.  schrewen, 

from  schrewe,  malicious, 
shrub    (1)   :    scrub. 

A.-S.  scrob,  brush-wood, 
shrub  (2)  :  syrup  :  sherbet. 

Arab,  shardb,  shurab,  shorbat,  shirb,  shrub  from  Arab,  shoriba  : 

M.  F.  syrop. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  229 


sir  :  sire  :  senior. 

F.  sire  :  L.  senior,  elder, 
size  :  assize. 

size,  aph.  form  of  assize  :  O.  F.  assise  (p.  p.  of  asseoir),  assem- 
bly of  judges,  tax,  etc.  :  L.  assessus,  p.  p.  of  assidere,  to  sit  near, 
skewer  :   skiver  :   shiver   (2). 

Dan.  Swed.  skifer,  slate.     Not  proved, 
skiff  :  ship. 

A.-S.  scip  :  O.  H.  G.  skiff  :  M.  F.  esquif. 
skirl  :  shrill. 

Norw.  skryla,  to  cry  shrilly  :  M.  E.  schrillen. 
skirmish  :  scrimmage. 

scrimmage,  scrummage,  corrupt,  of  skirmish  :   O.  F.  eskirmiss, 
a  stem  of  eskermir,  to  fence  :  hence  scrimer,  a  fencing  master, 
skirt  :   shirt. 

A.-S.  scyrte  (sceort,  short).  :  Icel.  skyrta. 
skittle  :  shuttle. 

M.  E.  schitel  :  A.-S.  scyttel  :  Dan.  skyttel,  a  shuttle, 
slaver  :  slabber. 

Icel.  slafra  :    Fries,  slabbern,  to  slaver, 
sleek  :  slick. 

Icel.  slike  :  Fries,  silk  :  M.  E.  sllke. 
sleight  :   sloyd. 

Icel.  slcegfi,   slyness  :  Swed.  sloyd,  dexterity, 
sleuth  :  slot  (2). 

O.   F.   esclot  :    Icel.   sloth,  a  track  :    M.   E.   sloth,  sleuth  :    Cf. 
sleuth-hound  and  slot-hound, 
slogan  :  slughorn. 

slughorn,  corrupt,  of  slogan    :   M.  Sc.  slogorne    :   Gael,  sluagh 
(army)  +  ghairm    (cry), 
sloop  :    shallop  :    chaloupe. 

Du.  sloep  :    F.  chaloupe. 
smack  :  smatch. 

A.-S.   smcec,   taste.     Cf.   "  Thy   life   hath   had   some   smatch   of 
honor  in  it."— Shaks. 
smudge  :  smutch  :  smootch. 

Dan.  smuds,  dirt  :  Swed.  smuts,  dirt,  smut, 
snack  :   snatch. 

M.  E.  snacchen  :  Du.  snakken,  to  grasp, 
snivel  :    sniffle  :   snuffle. 

M.  E.  snuvelen,  snevelen  :   From  A.-S.  snoft,  mucus. 


230  EDWARD    A.    ALLEN. 

snub  :  sneb  :  snib. 

sneb    (Spenser),  variant  of  snib    (Chaucer)  :  M.  E.  snibben,  to 

reprimand  :   Dan.  snibba  :    Swed.  snubba  :   Fries,  snubbe. 
soil  :    sole. 

A.  F.  soil  :  LL.  solea,  soil,  ground, 
soldan  :   sultan. 

F.  sultan  :   Span,  soldan  :  Arab,  sultan,  a  ruler,  prince, 
solder  :  solidate. 

O.  F.  souder  :  L.  solidare,  to  make  solid, 
solid  :  sou. 

F.  sou  :    L.   solidus,   solid,   a  coin.     Cf.    1.    s.   d.,   librae,  solidi, 

denarii. 
sombre  :  sombrero. 

F.  sombre  :    Span,  sombrero,   from  L.  subumbra    (Diez)    or  ex 

umbra  ( Littre" ) . 
sop  :  sup  :  soup. 

A.-S.  supan  :  Icel.  soppa  :  Low  G.  soppe  :  F.  soupe,  souper. 
soprano  :   sovereign. 

0.  F.  souverain  :  Ital.  soprano  :  LL.  superanus,  chief, 
sough  :   surf. 

A.-S.   swogan,   to   resound  :    M.   E.   swough  :    surf,   for   earlier 

suffe.     Cf.  "the  suffe  of  the  sea"   (Hakluyt). 
souse  :  sauce. 

souse,  variant  of  sauce  :   F.  sauce  :   L.  salsa,  salted, 
spawn  :   expand. 

M.  F.  espandre  :  L.  expandere,  to  spread  out. 
special  :    especial. 

O.  F.  especial  :  L.  specialis,  from  species,  kind, 
spell  (4)  :  spill  (1). 

M.  E.  speld,  a  splinter  :  A.-S.  speld,  a  torch  to  light  a  candle, 
spend  :   expend. 

A.-S.  spendan  (borrowed)  :  L.  expendere,  to  weigh  out. 
spice  :   species. 

O.  F.  espice,  spice  :  L.  species,  kind,  later  Latin,  spice. 
spider  :    spinner. 

A.-S.  spider  (for  spinther),  from  spinnan,  to  spin  :  Dan.  spinder. 
spoil  :   spoliate. 

O.  F.  espolier  :  L.  spoliare,  from  spolium,  booty, 
sport  :   disport. 

sport,  aph.  form  of  disport  :  O.  F.  se  desporter,  to  amuse  oneself  : 

L.  disportare,  to  carry  away. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  231 


spouse  :   espouse. 

O.  F.  espouse  :  L.  sponsa  (a  betrothed  woman),  p.  p.  of  sponderc, 

to  promise.     Cf.  sponsor, 
sprint  :  spurt  ( 2 ) . 

Icel.  spretta,  for  sprenta,  sprinta  (Noreen),  to  spring,  bound  : 

sprette,  a  spring,  spurt, 
sprite  :    spirit  :    spright(ly). 

A.  F.  espirit  :  F.  esprit  :  L.  spiritus,  from  spirare,  to  breathe, 
spruce  :   Prussia. 

M.    E.    spruce  =  Prussia  :    "  fashionable    dress after    the 

manner  of  Prussia  or  Spruce  "    ( Hall's  Chronicle ) .     Cf .  spruce 

leather,  spruce  pine,  spruce  beer, 
spunk  :   sponge. 

0.  F.  esponge  :  L.  spongia  :  Gk.  ffiroyyid,  a  sponge  :  Irish  sponc, 

sponge,   spongy  wood, 
spur  :    spoor. 

A.-S.  spor,  a  foot-track  :  Du.  spoor, 
spurge  :  expurgate. 

0.  F.  espurge,  spurge,  espurger  :  L.  expurgare,  to  cleanse  away, 
spurt    (1)   :   sprout. 

A.-S.  *sprutan,  spryttan  :   M.  E.  sprutan. 
squall  :  squeal. 

Swed.  sqvala,  to  gush  out  :  Norw.  skvella,  to  squeal, 
squash  :   quash. 

O.  F.   esquasser,  quasser  :   L.   quassare,  exquassare,  to  shatter. 

Disputed, 
squire   (1)  :  esquire. 

0.    F.    escuier  :    LL.    scutarius,    shield-bearer,    from    scutum,    a 

shield, 
squire   (2)  :  square. 

0.    F.   esquarre,   esquierre  :    LL.   exquadrare,   from   L.   quadrus, 

four-cornered.     Cf.  "with  golden  squire"    (Spenser), 
stablish  :  establish. 

O.  F.  establiss,  a  stem  of  establir  :   L.  stabilire,  from  stabilis, 

firm, 
stave  :  staff. 

A.-S.  stcef,  pi.  stafas. 
steer   (2)  :  star  (board). 

A.-S.  steoran,  styran,  to  steer  :  A.-S.  steor-lord   (steor,  rudder), 

the  side  on  which  the  steersman  stood, 
stench  :    stink. 

A.-S.  stenc,  odor,  often  in  a  good  sense. 


232  EDWARD    A.    ALLEN. 

sterling  :    Easterling. 

A.  F.  esterling  :  Easterling,  "  popular  names  of  German  traders 

in  England  whose  money  was  of  the  purest  quality."     See  N.  E. 

D. 
stick  :  stitch. 

A.-S.  stice  :  stician,  to  prick.     Cf.  steeks    (Burns),  for  stitches. 
story  :  history. 

A.  F.  storie  :  O.  F.  estoire  :  L.  historia. 
stove  :    stew. 

O.  F.  estuve,  hot-house,  stove,  stew  :  O.  H.  G.  stupa,  hot  room 

lor    bath., 
straight  :  stretched. 

A.-S.  streht,  p.  p.  of  streccan,  to  stretch, 
strait  :    strict. 

A.  F.  estreit  :  L.  strictum,  p.  p.  of  stringere,  to  draw  tight, 
strange  :  extraneous. 

O.  F.  estrange  :  L.  extraneus,  from  extra,  without, 
strap  :  strop. 

A.-S.  stropp   (borrowed)  :  L.  struppus,  stroppus,  a  strap, 
stretch  :  streek,  streak. 

M.  E.  strecchen  :  A.-S.  streccan. 
stunt  :   stint. 

A.-S.  styntan  :   M.  E.  stinten,  stenten,  stunten. 
sty    (1)  :    ste(ward). 

A.-S.  stigu,  a  sty,  pen.     A.-S.  stiweard,  a  sty  ward, 
suage  :  assuage. 

suage,  aph.  form  of  assuage  :   0.  F.  assouagier,  from  L.  ad  -f- 

suavis,  sweet, 
subtle  :  subtile. 

O.  F.  sotil,  soutil  :   L.  subtilem,  finely  woven,  from  sub  +  tela, 

a    web. 
succory  :  chicory. 

succory,  for  siccory  or  cichory  :  F.  chicor^e  :  L.  cichorium. 
such  :  so  like. 

M.  E.  sich,  sech,  such  :  A.-S.  swylc,  from  swa  (so)  -f  lie  (like), 
sudden  :  subitaneous. 

O.    F.    sodain,    sudain  :    LL.    subitdnus  :    L.    subitaneus    from 

subitum,  p.  p.  of  subire,  to  go  stealthily, 
sultry  :   sweltry. 

sultry,  variant  of  sweltry,  for  sweltery  :    M.   E.  swelteren,   to 

swelter. 


ENGLISH    DOUBLETS.  233 

summerset,  somerset  :   somersault. 

F.  soubresaut  :   M.  F.  soubresault  :   L.  supra    (over)  +  saltum 

(leap), 
suppliant  :  supplicant. 

F.   suppliant  :    L.    supplicant  em,    pres.    part,    of   supplicare,   to 

beseech, 
surcease  :  supersede. 

O.  F.  surds,  p.  p.  of  surseoir  :  L.  super  +  sedere,  to  sit. 
surcharge  :   supercargo. 

F.  surcharge  :   L.  super  +  Span,  cargo,  freight  :   LL.  carricare, 

to  load  a  car. 
sure  :  secure. 

O.  F.  setir  :  L.  securus. 
surety  :  security. 

O.  F.  seiirte  :  F.  securite  :  L.  securitatem. 
surface  :  superficies. 

F.  surface  :  L.  superficies. 
surge  :   source. 

0.  F.  stem  sourge,  as  in  sourgeant,  pres.  part,  of  soudre  :  O.  F. 

sorse,  fern,  of  sors,  p.  p.  of  sordre   (F.  soudre)  :  L.  surgere,  to 

rise, 
survey  :  supervise. 

A.  F.  surveier  :  LL.  supervidere  :  L.  super  +  videre,  p.  p.  visum. 
swath  :  swarth. 

A.-S.    swa/>u,     a  track.     For   intruded  r  in  swarth,   cf.  varlet, 

for  valet,  etc. 
swoon  :  swound. 

M.  E.  swounen,  from  M.  E.  swowen  :  A.-S.  swogan,  to  sigh  as 

the  wind.     Cf .  sowndl  from  M.  E.  sown. 

Tabor  :  tambour. 

M.   F.  tabour  :    F.   tambour  :    Span,   tombor  :   Arab,   tambur,  a 

kind  of  guitar, 
tache  ( 1 )   :  tack. 

O.  F.  tache,  nail,  fastening  :  Dan.,  Fries,  takke. 
taffrail  :  tableau. 

Du.   tafereel,  dim.  of  tafel  :    F.   tableau^  dim.  of  F.   table  :   L. 

tabula. 
taint  :  tint,  tinct. 

F.  teint  :  L.  tinctum,  p.  p.  of  tingere,  to  dye. 
tamper  :  temper. 

A.-S.  temprian  (borrowed)  :  L.  temperare,  to  qualify. 


234  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

tansy  :  athanasia. 

O.  F.  tanasie  :  LL.  athanasia  :  Gk.  adavaffia,  immortality, 
tarre  :  tarry. 

A.-S.  tergan,  to  vex  :  M.  E.  tarien,  to  worry,  hence  hinder,  delay, 
task  :   tax. 

O.  N.  F.  tasque  :  LL.  tasca,  taxa,  a  tax. 
tawdry  :   St.  Awdry   (Audrey). 

L.  Ethelreda.     Cf.  "  tawdry  lace,"  lace  bought  at  St.  Awdry's 

fair, 
tawny  :   tanny. 

F.  tanne,  p.  p.  of  tanner,  to  tan. 
techy,  tetchy  :  touchy. 

M.  E.  teche,  whim  :  O.  F.  teche,  tache,  a  blemish  :  changed  to 

touchy,  as  if  sensitive  to  the  touch, 
tent  (1)  :  tense   (2)  :  toise. 

F.  tente  :   LL.  tenta  :   L.  tentum,  p.  p.  of  tendere  to  stretch  : 

another  form  of  p.  p.  is  tensum,  whence  tense  and  F.  toise.     Cf. 

intent  and    intense, 
tent  (2)  :  tempt. 

F.  tenter,  earlier  tempter  :  L.  tentare,  temptare,  to  try  :  proba- 
bly taunt  is  from  the  0.  F.  form  tauter,  but  see  Skeat. 
tercel  :  tarsel  :  tassel  (2). 

O.  F.  tercel,  from  tiers,  tierce,  a  third  :   L.  tertius.     The  male 

of  any  hawk  is  so  called  because  it  is  "  third  smaller  than  the 

female." 
terebinth  :   turpentine. 

Norm.  F.   turpentine  :   M.   F.  turpentine  :   L.  terebinthus  :    Gk. 

Teptfiivdos,  turpentine  tree, 
term  :  terminus. 

F.  terme  :  L.  terminus. 
thatch  :   thack. 

A.-S.    />cec    :  North.  E.  thack   (Burns), 
then  :   than. 

A.-S.  fionne    :  M.  E.  thanne. 
thread  :  thrid. 

A.-S.    /rraed,    from  thrawan,  to  twist, 
thresh  :  thrash. 

A.-S.    fitrscan,    to  thresh, 
through  :  thorough. 

A.-S.  fmrh  :  ME.  thuruh,  thoru. 
tinsel  :  stencil  :  scintilla. 

M.  F.  estincele  :  L.  scintilla,  a  spark. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  235 

tithe  :  tenth. 

A.-S.    teofia,    teonfia,    the    tenth    :    tithe,    for    tinthe,     from    A.-S. 

tyn,  tien,  ten. 
to  :  too. 

A.-S.    to. 
ton  :  tun. 

A.-S.  tunne   (borrowed)  :  LL.  tunna,  a  cask, 
tone  :  tune. 

A.-F.  tun  :    F.  ton  :    L.   tonus  :    Gk.  r6vos,  tone, 
tort  :   tortoise  :    ( nas )  turtium. 

O.  F.  tortis,  crooked  :   F.  tort  :  L.  tortum,  p.  p.  of  torquere,  to 

twist  :   nasturtium  =  nose- twister,  from  the  sharp  smell, 
touch  :  tuck   (3). 

F.  toucher  :  0.  F.  toquer.     Cf.  tocsin, 
tour  :  turn. 

F.  tour  :  L.  tornus  :  Gk.   r6pvos,    a  lathe, 
tousle  :  tussle. 

Freq.  of  touse,  to  pull  about, 
tow   ( 1 )   :  tug  :  taut. 

M.  E.  towen,  togen  :  A.-S.  tog,  as  in  togen,  p.  p.  of  teon,  to 

pull  :  Icel.,  Swed.  tog,  a  rope  to  pull  by  :  M.  E.  toht,  toght,  p.  p. 

of  togen,  drawn  tight,  taut, 
track  :  trek. 

F.  trac  :  Du.  trek — of  Teutonic  origin, 
trait  :  tract. 

F.  trait  :  L.  tractum,  p.  p.  of  trahere,  to  draw, 
traitor  :  traditor. 

0.  F.  traitor  :  L.  traditor,  from  tradere,  to  betray, 
trance  :  transit. 

F.  transe  :  L.  transitus,  from  transire,  to  pass  away, 
transmew  :  transmute. 

F.  transmuer  :  L.  transmutare,  to  transform, 
trass  :    terrace. 

M.  F.  terrace  :  M.  Ital.  terrazza,  from  L.  terra,  earth, 
travel  :  travail. 

F.  travail,  toil, 
traverse  :   transverse. 

M.  F.  travers,  cross-wise  :  L.  transversus,  from  trans  +  vertere, 

to  turn, 
treachery  :  trickery. 

O.  F.  trecherie,  tricherie,  triquerie,  from  tricher  :  Norm.  dial. 

triquer,  to  trick  :  L.  trlcari,  from  tricae,  wiles. 


236  EDWARD    A.    ALLEN. 

treacle  :  theriac. 

O.   F.  triacle,  theriaque  :  L.  theriaca,  antidote  against  bites  of 

wild  beasts  :  Gk.  ^pia/cd,  from  Qriptov,  a  wild  animal, 
treason  :  tradition. 

O.  F.  traison  :  L.  traditionem,  from,  tradere,  to  betray, 
treasure  :  thesaurus. 

0.  F.  tresor  :  L.  thesaurus  :  Gk.  0y<ravpfc,  a  store  laid  up. 
treble  :  triple. 

O.  F.  treble  :  L.  triplum,  three-fold, 
trespass  :  transpass. 

O.  F.  trespasser  :  LL.  transpassare,  to  step  over, 
trifle  :  truffle. 

M.  E.  trufle,  trefle  :  M.  F.  trufle,  dim.  of  truffe,  a  gibe,  jest,  a 

truffle,  from  trufre  :  L.  tuber  a.     Cf.  Ital.  tartufo  (terrae  tuber), 

a  truffle,  whence  Ger.  kartoffel,  earlier  tartuffel,  a  potato, 
troth  :  truth. 

A.-S.    treowfi,    from  treowe,  true, 
trump  :  triumph. 

trump,  corrupt,  of  triumph  :   O.  F.  triomphe  :  L.  triumphus. 
truss  :  trousseau. 

O.  F.  trousse,  troussel,  a  bundle  :  F.  trousseau. 
tuberose  :  tuberous. 

F.  tubereuse  :   L.    (polyanthes)   tuberosa,  from  tuber,  a  bulb, 
tulip  :   turban. 

M.  F.  tulippe,  tulippan  :  Ital.  tulipa,  tulipano,  from  likeness  to 

a  turban  :  Turk,  tulbend,  a  turban. 

Umbel  :  umbrella. 

Ital.  umbrella,  ombrella,  dim.  of  ombra  :   L.  umbra,  a  shade  : 

L.  umbella,  a  parasol, 
umber  :  umbra. 

F.  ombre  :   Ital.  ombra  :   L.  umbra. 
unit  :  unity. 

M.  F.  unite  :  F.  unite  :  L.  unitatem,  from  unus,  one. 
unco  :   uncouth. 

unco    (Scot)    :  A.-S.    uncufi,    unknown,    hence  strange  ;  un  +  cu/>, 

p.  p.  of  cunnan,  to  know. 

Vade  :   fade. 

O.  F.  fader  :  M.  Du.  vadden  :  L.  vapidum,  stale,  tasteless.     Cf. 
"  summer  leaves  are  vaded  "   ( Shaks ) . 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  237 

vail  :  avail. 

vail,    aph.    form    of    avail.     M.    E.    availen  :    O.    F.    a  -{-valoir 

(valer)  :  L.  ad  -j-  valere,  to  be  of  use. 
vail    (2)  :  avale. 

vail,  vale,  aph.  of  avale  :   O.   F.   avaler,  to  let  fall  down  :    L. 

ad  +  valient,  valley, 
vair  :   various. 

F.  vair  :  L.  varius. 
varlet  :  valet. 

F.  vaslet,  varlet,  valet,  dim.   of  O.   F.   vasal  :    LL.  vasellus,  n 

tenant,  subject, 
vast  :  waste. 

F.  vaste  :  O.  F.  wast  :  L.  vastus,  waste, 
veneer  :  fournish. 

veneer,   formerly  fineer  :    F.  fournir  :    G.  funiren  :    O.   F.  four- 

niss,  a  stem  of  fournir. 
vertex  :  vortex. 

L.  vertex,  vortex,  from  vertere,  to  turn, 
vervain  :    verbena. 

F.  vervaine  :  L.  verbena. 
vie  :  invite. 

M.  E.  vien,  aph.  of  envien  :  L.  invitare,  to  invite, 
village  :  villatic. 

F.  village  :  L.  villaticus,  from  villa,  a  farm  house.     Cf.  "  tame 

villatic  fowl."     Milton, 
visor,  vizor  :  visard. 

visard  (excrescent  d)  :  M.  F.  visiere  :  M.  E.  visere,  from  M.  F. 

vis,  the  face, 
vowel  :  vocal. 

O.  F.  vouel  :  L.  vocalis,  vocal, 
voyage  :   viaticum. 

F.  voyage  :  L.  viaticum,  from  via,  way. 

Wage  :  gage. 

O.  F.  wage,  later  gage  :   LL.  wadium  :  Goth,  wadi,  a  pledge, 
wain  :  wagon. 

A.-S.  waen,    woegn  :  Du.  wagen. 
warble  :   whirl. 

M.  E.  werbelen  :  O.  F.  werbler  :  M.  H.  G.  werbelen  :  G.  wirblen, 

to  whirl,  to  warble;  same  as  M.  E.  whirlen,  for  whirflen  :  Dan. 

hvirvle  :  Icel.  hrifla. 
ward  :  guard. 

A.-S.  weard,  a  guard,  weardian,  to  guard  :   O.  F.  warder,  later 

garder — of  Teutonic  origin. 


238  EDWARD   A.    ALLEN. 

warden  :   guardian. 

A.  F.  wardein  :  O.  F.  gardein  :  LL.  gardianus,  a  guardian, 
warrison  :  garrison. 

O.  F.  warison,  garison  :  O.  H.  G.  warjon,  to  protect, 
warranty  :  guarantee. 

O.  F.  warantie,  garantie,  p.  p.  of  warantir,  garantir. 
wayward  :    awayward. 

M.  E.  aweiward,  weiward,  turned  away, 
weald,  wald  :   wold. 

A.  S.  weald,  a  forest, 
whortleberry  :  huckleberry. 

Formerly  hurtle-berry  :   A.-S.  heorot    (hart)  +  lerige    (berry)  : 

Skeat.     But  cf.  A.-S.  wyrtil,  a  small  shrub, 
wick   (2)   :  wich. 

A.-S.  wic    (borrowed)  :   L.  vicus,  a  village.     Cf.  Warwick  and 

Greenwich, 
wight  :  whit. 

A.-S.  wiht,  creature,  thing, 
wile  :  guile. 

A.-S.  wll,  a  wile  :  O.  F.  guile, — of  Germanic  origin, 
wise   (2)  :  guise. 

A.-S.  wise,  way,  manner  :  O.  F.  guise  :  O.  H.  G.  totsa. 
wivern,  wyvern,  weever  :  viper. 

A.  F.  wyvre  :  O.  F.  wivre  :  L.  vipera,  a  viper.     Final  n  as  in 

Mtter-n. 
wrastle  :  wrestle. 

A.-S.  wr&stlian,  to  wrestle,  freq.  of  wraestan,  to  wrest, 
wrath    (adj.)  :    wroth. 

A.-S.    wrafi,    crooked,   etc.  :   M.  E.   wrath,   wroth.     Cf.   wri/xin,  to 

writhe. 

Yelk  :   yolk. 

M.  E.  yelke,  yolke  :  A.-S.  geoleca,  geolca,  yellow  part,  from 
geolu,  yellow. 

yelp  :  yap,  yaup,  yawp. 

A.-S.  gielpan,  to  boast  :  Icel.  gjalpa,  to  yelp. 

yield,  'ild  :  guild,  gild  (ale). 

M.  E.  glide  :  A.  S.  gieldan,  gildan,  geldan,  to  pay  :  Icel.  gildi, 
a  payment,  a  guild  :  gildale,  a  drinking  bout  in  which  every 
one  pays  an  equal  share. 

ywis  :  I  wis. 

A.-S.  geiois,  certain,  certainly  :  M.  E.  y-wis,  iwis,  then  erro- 
neously /  lois. 


ENGLISH   DOUBLETS.  239 

Zany  :  Johnny. 

Ital.  zanni,  familiar  form  of  Giovanni,  a  silly  John — of  Heb. 
origin. 

zenith  :  azimuth. 

Arab,  as-samut,  from  as  (=al,  the)  +  samt  (quarter,  direc- 
tion) :  samt  became  semt  of  which  Span,  zenit  is  a  corruption, 
hence  F.  zenith. 

zero  :  cipher. 

Ital.  zero,  short  for  zefiro  :  LL.  zephyrum  :  Arab,  sifr  :  O.  F. 
cifre  :  Span,  cifra. 

EDWABD  A.  ALLEN. 


X.— SEGISMUNDO' S  SOLILOQUY  ON  LIBERTY  IN 
CALDERON'S  LA  VIDA  ES  SUENO. 

Spanish  poets  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  very  fond 
of  the  contrast  between  the  physical  limitations  of  men, 
especially  when  prisoners, — "  ces  eternels  envieux  des  mouches 
et  des  oiseaux"  (Victor  Hugo) — and  the  freedom  of  birds 
that  fly  at  will,  or  of  "  fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep."  But 
nowhere  has  the  comparison  been  given  such  artistic  form 
and  signal  appropriateness  as  in  the  mouth  of  Calderon's 
hero,  Segismundo.  This  young  Titan  felt  himself  fettered 
by  stone  walls.  They  were  a  real  prison  to  him  and  he 
rebelled  against  his  lot.  He  was  not  in  a  mood  to  admit, 
had  it  even  occurred  to  him  to  do  so,  the  superior  advantage 
of  man's  mental  freedom  over  the  physical  freedom  of  fishes 
and  birds  and  brutes,  or  running  brooks.  But  the  thought 
was  not  original  with  Calderon,  nor,  according  to  Sr. 
Mene*ndez  y  Pelayo,  was  it  original  with  any  of  Calderon's 
immediate  predecessors,  but  went  back  to  the  Greek  phi- 
losopher, Philo.1  Lope  de  Vega  was  probably  the  first  to 
transplant  the  conceit  to  Spanish  soil, — and  it  bore  abundant 
fruit.  In  one  of  his  early  plays,  El  Remedio  en  la  desdieha,2 
written  before  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  occur  the 
following  verses  : 

1  See  the  Acad.  ed.  of  Lope  de  Vega,  iv,  xxxviii,  where  it  is  stated  that 
the  indebtedness  to  the  Greek  writer  was  first  noted  by  Joseph  Fernandez 
Vinjoy,  in  his  translation  of  Philo' s  ptoir  7roXtTt%oiJ,  El  Eepublico  mas  sabio, 
1788.     The  text  was  accessible  to  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  century  poets 
in  Segismundo  Galenic' s  translation.     Vin joy's  work  is  very  rare, — there 
is  no  copy  at  the  National  Library,  Madrid.     The  treatise  in  question  is 
not  found  in  any  of  the  editions  of  Philo' s  works  accessible  to  me. 

2  Ed.  Kivad.,  in,  144c-145.    It  may  be  noted  here,  once  and  for  all,  that, 
unless  indicated,  the  material  of  this  study,  has  not  been  used  before  in 
this  connection. 

240 


SEGISMUNDO'S    SOLILOQUY   ON    LIBERTY.  241 

Kendido  estoy  a  tu  nobleza,  y  veo 
Que  mi  ignorancia  fue*  mi  propio  engano  ; 
Aunque  si  amor  a  todos  da  disculpa, 
I  Porque*  no  la  tendran  mi  amor  y  celos  ? 
Si  tu,  si  tus  soldados,  si  los  hombres 
Si  las  aves,  los  peces,  si  las  fieras, 
Si  todo  sabe  amor,  si  todo  teme 
Perder  su  bien,  y  con  sus  celos  propios 
Defiende  casa,  nido,  mar  y  cueva, 
Llora,  lamenta,  gime,  y  brama  ;  advierte 
Que  celos  y  sospechas  me  obligaron 
Al  desatino  que  a  tus  pies  me  rinde. 

We  are  here,  in  some  respects,  far  from  Segismundo's 
complaint,  and  near  it  only  in  so  far  as  a  contrast  is 
suggested  between  Arraez  (the  speaker)  and  certain  animals 
under  similar  conditions.  Lope  cites  aves  (plural),  peces 
and  fieras  (equivalent  to  brutes'),  and  omits  only  the  arroyo 
of  Segismundo's  soliloquy.  There  is  no  imagery  employed 
whatsoever,  and,  finally,  it  is  not  a  question  here  of  liberty 
but  of  love  and  jealousy. 

But  Lope  offers  a  closer  parallel,  and  one  that  Calderon 
must  have  seen,  for  he  was  elsewhere  in  La  vida  es  sueno 
indebted  to  the  play  in  which  it  occurs,  Barldn  y  Josafd 
(ca.  1611): 

Tristeza,  senor,  recibo 
y  justo  desasosiego 

De  verme  preso  sin  causa, 
i  En  quo",  senor,  te  ofendi  ? 
I  Que"  es  lo  que  temes  de  mi 
Que  tanto  rigor  te  causa  ? 

Nace  el  corderillo  tierno, 
y  salta  luego  en  el  prado, 
Porque  apenas  destetado 
Sufre  el  natural  gobierno. 

Un  ave  arroja  del  nido, 
Aun  antes  de  tener  alas, 
El  polio  a  las  claras  salas 
Del  aire,  y  vuela  aterido. 


242  MILTON   A.    BUCHANAN. 

4  A  quien  despues  que  nacio 
Se  nego  la  luz  del  cielo, 
Pues  el  que  nace  en  el  suelo 
Se  dice  que  a  luz  sali6  ? 

Mas  no  se  dira  por  mi, 
Que  ha  tanto  que  soy  nacido, 
y  nunca  a  luz  he  salido  ; 
Que  a  las  tinieblas  sali.  .  .  .l 

This  quotation  at  once  suggests  a  parallel  mental  attitude 
in  the  victims  of  paternal  tyranny,  and  prepares  for  the 
amplified  imagery  and  verbal  effects  of  Calderon's  rendering. 

In  Lope's  Lo  que  ha  de  ser,  dated  1624,  Prince  Alexander 
complaining,  likewise,  of  imprisonment  at  the  hands  of  his 
father,  says,  in  part : 

I  Que"  es  lo  que  quiere  de  mi 

El  Key?  ,?  Para  qu6  naci, 

Si  aqui  me  quiere  enterrar  ? 
j  Tantos  anos  como  tengo, 

Preso  en  aqueste  castillo  ! 
i  Por  Dios,  que  me  maravillo 

Como  la  vida  entretengo  ! 

I  Que*  hice  en  naciendo  yo  ? 
I  QUC"  intente",  sin  lengua  y  manos? 

Decid,  dioses  soberanos, 
I  Que  inocencia  os  ofendi6  ? 2 

For  the  present  study  the  most  important  line  in  this 
passage  is  the  first  verse  of  the  third  stanza,  j,Que  hice  en 
naciendo  yo?  which  gives  in  epitome  the  theme  of  Cal- 
deron's  introductory  stanzas,  and  prepares  for  the  subsequent 
amplification.  But,  lest  it  be  objected  that  the  parallel  is 
wholly  accidental,  the  following  lines  from  Prince  Alexan- 
der's speech  in  a  later  scene  ought  to  be  noted : 


1  Noted  by  Krenkel  in  his  edition  of  La  vida  es  suefio,  1881,  pp.  18-19. 
3 Ed.  Kivad.,  n,  508. 


SEGISMUNDO'S   SOLILOQUY   ON   LIBERTY.  243 

Asi  lo  creOj  Severe, 
y  el  Key,  mi  senor,  lo  manda  ; 
Pero  entre  tantos  contentos, 
Fiestas,  comedias  y  galas, 
No  hallo  para  mi  gusto 
La  libertad  que  me  falta. 
Sale  coronado  el  sol 
De  su  diadema  dorada  ; 
Seca  las  fingidas  perlas 
Que  dio  a  las  flores  el  alba  ; 
y  despreciando  su  cueva, 
Por  las  asperas  montanas 
El  mas  feroz  animal 
Libre  corre,  alegre  caza. 
Hasta  el  mas  probre  pastor 
Desampara  su  cabana, 
y  a  su  gusto  y  albedrio 
Lleva  sus  traviesas  cabras.  .  .  . l 

Finally,  before  leaving  Lope  de  Vega,  it  may  be  noted 
that  in  El  animal  prqfeta  (attributed,  also,  to  Mira  de 
Mesqua),  we  have  an  example  of  a  monologue  of  some- 
what similar  content,  composed  like  Segismundo's  in  stately 
dtcimas  : 

£  QUC"  barbaro  hiciera  tal 
con  otros  brutos  iguales, 
Si  vemos  los  animales, 
Sin  sentido  racional, 
Tener  afici6n  igual 
A  los  que  les  dieron  ser  ? 
Pues  yo  que  llego  a  tener 
Natural  distinto,  i  habia 
De  intentar  tal  tirania  ? 

Ilusion  debio  de  ser.  .  .  .  2 

» 
i 

The  decima  stanza  was  not  so  limited  in  its  use  as  Lope 
stated  in  his  Arte  de  hazer  comediasj  where  he  asserts  that 

1  Ibid.,  51  lb. 

s  Ed.  Acad.,  iv,  400.    A  passage  in  Lope's  El  Milagro  por  los  celos,  ibid., 
x,  205b,  is  more  remotely  reminiscent  of  the  same  thought. 


244  MILTON   A.    BUCHANAN. 

it  is  good  for  complaints  (quexas).1  Rengifo,  in  the  Arte 
poetica  espanola,  says  of  decimas :  "they  are  very  appro- 
priate for  conceits  (agudos  conceptos)  and  loas  and  dialogues." 
In  point  of  fact  the  decima  was  very  rarely  used  by  the 
dramatists,  and  that  mostly  in  pompous  soliloquies,  which 
sometimes,  as  in  Lope's  El  premio  de  la  hermosura,2  turned 
into  dialogue.  Calderon  was  no  nice  versifier,  judged  from 
the  standpoint  of  variety  and  appropriateness  of  strophic 
forms.  In  the  case  in  question,  however,  he  was  most  fortu- 
nate in  his  choice ;  but  under  the  circumstances  it  would  be 
idle  to  attempt  to  decide  whether  or  not  his  use  here  of 
decimas  was  original  with  him. 

Lope  was  not  the  only  dramatist  to  anticipate  Calderon. 
Mira  de  Mesqua  composed  certain  lines  that  may  be  cited 
next.  In  his  Pruebas  de  Christo  Job  avers  that  he  has 
examined  man  and  has  found  that : 

a  napido 

para  el  trauajo  y  que  a  sido 
centre  de  miserias  sumas, 
como  el  abe  que  sus  plumas 
vfana  a  los  vientos  dio 
6  como  el  pez  que  nacio 
para  cortar  las  espumas.3 

Nothing  derogatory  to  man  is  implied  in  the  comparison. 
In  the  same  author's  Vida  y  muerte  de  la  monja  de  Portugal, 
Maria  reproaches  herself  for  her  vain  aspirations  : 

El  auecilla  simple  se  sustenta 
del  campo,  y  se  alimenta 
en  la  regi6n  del  viento, 

JEd.  Morel-Fatio,  1.  307.  2Ed/Acad.,  x,  455. 

3  MS.  Sibl.  noc.,  Madrid,  catal.  No.  2763,  fol.  5.  Eeaders  will  recall 
that  there  is  something  remotely  akin  in  that  classic  selection,  Ufano,  alegre, 
cdtivo,  enamorado  .  .  .  often  attributed  to  Mira.  There  too  we  have  a 
comparison  suggested  between  man  and  a  bird  (el  pardo  gilgucrillo),  a 
lambkin,  etc. 


SEGISMTJNDO'S   SOLILOQUY   ON   LIBERTY.  245 

y  se  puede  dezir  tiene  su  assiento  ; 

la  fiera  el  monte  habita, 
que  vidas  roba,  y  esperancas  quita. 
La  concha  Eacarada  perlas  cria, 
la  mina  el  oro  embia, 

si  bien  rusticamente 
el  sol  cada  manana  en  el  oriente 
nos  muestra  su  luz  pura 
desterrando  la  noche  triste  obscur[a]. 

Todo  tiene  principio,  origen  tuvo, 
mas  no  Be"  donde  huvo 
intento  como  el  mio, 
ni  tan  desatinado  desvario,  .  ,  .* 

As  is  .seen,  Mary  contrasts  her  lot  with  that  of  the  little 
bird,  the  wild  beast,  the  shell,  etc.,  but  only  in  the  matter 
of  origin,  not  of  freedom. 

Again,  in  Mira's  Examinarse  de  rey  the  Infanta  solilo- 
quizes as  she  sees  birds  flying  about  in  front  of  her  gallery  : 

Alii  en  el  ayre  miro 
que  andan  las  aves  en  hermoso  jiro 
su  libertad  amando, 
Alii  el  aguila  sube 
a  coronar  de  plumas  parda  nube 
y  los  rayos  mas  puros  ba  dorando. 
Sube  la  exalazion,  ama  su  zentro 
el  calido  vapor,  y  estando  dentro 
de  la  nube  ligera 

rebienta  por  salir  y  ama  su  esfera. 
Alii  la  impia  nube 
en  la  rregion  segunda  conjelada 
en  blancas  mariposas  desatada 
ama  la  tierra  que  atraves  la  neue 
ensenando  esta  amor  el  ayre  frio, 
y  no  quiere  aprenderlo  el  pecho  mio. 

Si  al  mar  llevo  los  ojos 
hallo  que  ensena  amor  si 
abrazar  quiere  el  bien  to 

1  Porte  treinta  y  ires  de,  comedias  nuevas  .  .   .  1670,  179.     The  play  is  of 
uncertain  date,  but  seems  to  be  one  of  Mira's  early  productions. 


246  MILTON   A.    BUCHANAN. 

y  la  esenzion  de  sus  prisiones  ama. 

Si  pierde  la  soberuia  y  el  aliento 

y  retrata  el  firmamento 

y  su  ymagen(a)  adora 

en  sus  carteles  mora 

senos  muestran  auezes 

con  guirnaldas  de  nacar  y  azu9enas 

festejadas  de  exercitos  de  pezes, 

la  concha  ama  el  rrocio 

solo  no  saue  amor  el  pecho  mio. 

Pues  si  la  tierra  beo 
todo  es  mostrar  amor  yedras  y  parras 
en  olmos  y  picarras 
son  dotrina  y  trofeo 
de  amor  que  en  berdes  lapos 
nos  ensenan  a  amar  dandose  abrafos. 
Pajarillos  y  flores 
se  bisten  con  amor  barios  colores 
que  las  flores  son  aues 
immobiles  y  graues 
y  los  pajaros  son  los  rramilletes, 
que  en  rusticas  canzones  y  motetes 
suelen  dezir  bolantes 
(aunque  atomos  de  plumas)  tambien  somos  amantes. 

En  tierra  en  biento  en  mar  aman  en  suma 
aues  pezes  y  fresas  (read  fieras) 
y  en  todas  tres  esferas 
se  dize  aqui  ay  amor,  amor  se  escriue 
solo  mi  pecho  sin  amores  biue.1 

What  joy  it  must  have  been  to  hear  such  a  stately  and 
well-rounded  monologue  recited  on  the  stage.2  Attention 
may  be  drawn  to  the  refrain  which  appears  for  the  first  time 
in  the  passages  under  discussion.3  The  lines  moreover  recall 
Tisbea's  vaunt  in  El  Burlador  de  Sevilla : 

'MS.,  1219,  Bibl  nac.,  Madrid.  The  text  is  hopelessly  corrupt  and 
the  variants,  which  the  manuscript  offers  repeatedly,  are  of  little  avail. 

2Act  I,  sc.  x. 

3  The  use  of  the  refrain  in  monologues  is  worth  insisting  upon.  Some 
readers  may  recall  how  effective  it  is  in  Lisardo's  soliloquy  in  Lope's  La 
Have  de  la  honra  (ed.  Kivad.,  n,  129-30).  Another  version  (in  decimas)  by 


SEGISM UNDOES   SOLILOQUY    ON   LIBERTY.  247 

Yo  de  cuantas  el  mar 
Pies  de  jazmin  y  rosa 
En  sus  riberas  besa 
Con  fugitivas  olas, 
Sola  de  amor  exenta, 
Como  en  ventura  sola, 
Tirana  me  reserve 
De  sus  prisiones  locas.  .  .  . 

The  bold  imagery  too,  for  example,  atomos  de  plumas, 
shows  how  the  literary  atmosphere  was  being  prepared  for 
Calderon's  flor  de  pluma  (bird),  bajel  de  escamas  (fish),  etc. 
The  old  order  of  things  had  to  change  before  Segismundo's 
pompous  decimas  could  be  created. 

If  some  of  these  excerpts  may  seem  only  vaguely  remi- 
niscent of  Philo's  conceit,  and  wholly  irrelevant  to  the  study 
of  the  evolution  of  this  poetical  theme,  the  following  sonnet 
in  [Guillen  de  Castro's  El  Narciso  en  su  opinion  is  very  im- 
portant indeed.  There  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  Calderon 
had  it  before  him  when  composing  his  version : 

Apenas  tiene  pluma  el  avecilla, 
Cuando  pone  en  los  vientos  el  cuidado  ; 
El  mas  menudo  pez  del  mar  salado 
Suele  atreverse  a  su  arenosa  orilla. 

Deja  el  monte  la  tierna  cervatilla, 
y  aunque  con  su  peligro  pace  el  prado, 
Las  utiles  defensas  del  ganado 
Pierde  tal  vez  la  mansa  corderilla. 

Sube  al  aire  la  tierra  mas  pesada, 
Sale  de  madre  el  mas  pequeno  rio, 
El  cobarde  mayor  saca  la  espada. 

La  menor  esperanza  finge  lirio, 
y  solamente  la  mujer  honrada 
Tiene  sin  libertad  el  albedrio ! x 

Mira  will  be  found  in  No  hay  dicha  .  .  .  (Act.  Ill)  dated  1628.  The 
refrain  is  interesting : 

Y  siendo  yo  racional 

es  eterna  mi  tristeza. 
'Ed.  Rivad,  p.  332. 


248  MILTON    A.    BUCHANAN. 

According  to  Sr.  Mene"ndez  y  Pelayo,1  an  anonymous 
play  of  unknown  date,  La  reina  Juana,  contains  dfoimas 
that  have  been  imitated  by  Calderon,  or  copied  from  him. 
The  first  act  of  the  play  is  attributed  to  Calderon,  and 
the  third  was  apparently  written  by  Francisco  de  Rojas. 
Catanea  there  soliloquizes  as  follows  : 

Nace  con  belleza  suma 

£1  ave,  al  hielo  temblando, 

Y  apenas  mira  al  sol,  cuando 

Se  halla  vestido  de  pluma  ; 

Antes  que  el  hambre  presuma, 

Sustento  llega  a  tener.  .  .  . 
Nace  el  bruto  mas  airado 

y  apenas  se  ve  nacido, 

cuando  de  una  piel  vestida.  .  .  . 
Nace  el  pez  de  ovas  y  lamas, 

Tan  mudo,  que  aun  no  respira, 

Y  en  un  instante  se  mira 

Cubierto  de  alas  y  escamas.  .  .  , 
^  Como,  una  vez  y  otra  vez, 
I  Cielos  !  en  discurso  igual 

No  excede  lo  racional 

A  la  fiera,  al  aire,  al  pez  ? 

Some  readers  may  be  familiar  with  a  modern  ribald 
burlesque  quoted  by  Spanish  students  of  to-day  : 

Nace  el  buey  y  con  la  estaca 
que  le  dio  naturaleza.  .  .  . 

A  parody  was  composed  for  the  benefit  of  Calderon's 
contemporaries  by  Moreto.  It  occurs  in  the  second  act  of 
the  Adultera  penitente.  Theodora  enters  disguised  as  a  monk 
and  while  ringing  a  bell  to  wake  her  fellow-friars  she  calls 
to  them  : 


1  Lope,  ed.  Acad.,  vii,  p.  cxxix  ;  noted  by  Castro  in  Una  joy  a  desconocida 
de  Ccdderon,  1881  (2nd  ed.),  29  n. 


SEGISMUNDO'S   SOLILOQUY   ON    LIBERTY.  249 


piles  os  ensena 

el  paxaro,  que  del  prado 
fue  dulce  animada  lyra, 
quando  al  arbol  se  retira 
del  blando  sueno  llamado, 
apenas  del  Sol  dorado 
ve  la  cortina  entreabierta, 
quando  las  plumas  concierta, 
y  dexa  el  gustoso  nido  ; 
y  solo  el  hombre  dormido, 
llamandole,  aim  no  despierta. 

La  honesta  encendida  rosa, 
del  Abril  la  adulacion, 
quando  en  el  verde  boton 
adormecida  reposa  ; 
apenas  el  Alva  hermosa 
la  adora  con  luz  incierta 
quando  alegre,  y  descubierta 
sale  del  lecho  florido  ; 
y  solo  el  hombre  dormido, 
llamandole,  aun  no  despierta. 

El  bullicioso  arroyuelo, 
que  libre  el  campo  corrio, 
y  cansado  se  durmio 
en  el  regazo  del  yelo  ; 
apenas  v£  sin  recelo, 
que  el  Verano  abre  la  puerta, 
quando  su  corriente  muerta 
cobra  el  curso  suspendido  ; 
y  solo  el  hombre  dormido, 
llamandole,  aun  no  despierta. 

El  mas  silvestre  animal, 
despues  de  la  noche  fria, 
se  levanta  con  el  dia 
por  instinto  natural  ; 
solo  el  hombre  racional 
dormido  esta  a  los  luceros 
de  el  Sol,  anuncios  primeros, 
y  mas  que  Todos  sin  fee  ; 
yo,  Seiior,  si  desperte, 
despert£  para  ofenderos.  .  .  .*• 


1  1  cite  from  my  copy  of  a  sudta,  published  at  Salamanca,  Imprenta  d 
la  Santa  Cruz,  pp.  12-13. 

6  • 


250  MILTON   A.   BUCHANAN. 

We  come  now  to  Calderon  himself.  The  thought  was 
very  dear  to  him  and  he  repeated  it  many  times  in  his  early 
plays.1 

In  Apolo  y  Climene,  Climene  complains  because  her  father 
allows  her  no  freedom  : 

Ser  hi ja  tuya  £  es  delito  ?  .  .  . 
4  Qu6"  fiera  la  mas  inculta 

Despue"s  que  di6  a  sus  hi  judos 

Bruto  ser  .  .  . 

No  les  pone  en  libertad  .  .  . 
j,  Que  ave,  despues  que  a  sus  polios 

Nutri6  a  piedad  de  su  tierno 

Pico,  el  dia  que  los  ve 

De  plumas  y  alas  cubiertos, 

No  los  arroja  del  nido  .  .  . 

Pues  si  la  fiera,  ave  y  pez 

Nacen  libres,  ,?  como  el  cielo 

Permite  que  nazca  yo 

Sin  el  natural  derecho 

Del  pez  el  ave  y  la  fiera  ? 2 

A  fuller  quotation  would  show  even  more  clearly  how 
diffuse  is  this  version.  In  Las  Cadenas  del  Demonio,  Irene, 
imprisoned  in  a  tower,  soliloquizes  as  follows : 

£  Que"  delito  cometi 
Contra  vosotros  naciendo, 
Que  fu£  de  un  sepulcro  a  otro 
pasar  no  mas,  cuando  veo 
Que  la  fiera,  el  pez  y  el  ave 
Gozan  de  los  privilegios 
Del  nacer,  siendo  au  estancia 
La  tierra,  el  agua  y  el  viento  ?  .  .  .  3 

She  proceeds  to  complain  to  the  gods  because  they  have 
given  her  a  soul  which  she  has  not  the  privilege  of  using. 

*A11  the  parallels  referred  to  have  been  noted  before,   by  Schmidt, 
Krenkel,  etc. 
» Ed.  Kivad.,  iv,  156c-157.  'Ed.  Rivad.,  in,  531b. 


SEGISMUNDO'S   SOLILOQUY    ON    LIBERTY.  251 

In  Los  tres  afectos  de  amor  Rosarda  under  similar  circum- 
stances laments : 

Kacional  b^rbara  vivo,  .  .  . 

Porque  i  qu6  desdicha  como 

Que  no  vea  en  esa  vaga 

Region  de  los  aires  ave, 

Que  apenas  la  cubra  el  ala 

La  primera  pluma,  cuando 

Arbitro  de  la  campana, 

Las  prisiones  de  la  noche 

No  rompa  a  la  luz  del  alba  ? 
£  Qu6  ansia  como  que  no  encuentre 

Fiera  que  apenas  cobrada 

La  primera  piel  se  vea  ;  .  .  . 
iQue*  horror  como  que  no  mire 

Pez  que  la  primera  escama 

Anna  apenas,  cuaodo  sulque 

viviente  bajel,  las  aguas  ? 

y  I  que  rigor  como  que 

No  halle  flor  que  el  primer  nacar 

Apenas  rompa  al  capillo, 

Cuando  ya  goce  del  aura  ; 

y  que  yo  con  mas  instinto, 

Con  mas  razon,  con  mas  alma, 

y  con  menos  libertad, 

Envidie,  sin  dar  mas  causa 

Que  el  delito  del  nacer, 

Ave,  fiera,  pez  y  planta  71 

We  here  find  much  of  the  completeness  without,  however, 
that  perfect  balance  and  exquisite  imagery  of  Segismundo's 
monologue. 

Finally,  a  somewhat  novel  variant  in  EGO  y  Narciso  may 

be  noted : 

Undla 

Sobre  aquella  parda  sierra 
Vf  tina  ave,  que  es  sin  duda 
De  todas  las  otras  reina, 
Segtin  lo  ufana  que  vive, 
Y  segun  lo  alto  que  vuela. 

334. 


252  MILTON   A.    BUCHANAN. 

Esta,  sobre  un  verde  nido 
Hecho  de  pajas  y  yerbas, 
Unos  polluelos  tenia, 
A  quien  con  su  boca  mesma 
Mantenia  en  cuanto  estaban 
Desnudos  de  pluma  ;  apenas 
Vestidos  los  vio  y  con  alas, 
Cuando,  las  piedades  vueltas 
En  rigores,  los  echo 
Del  nido,  para  que  fuera 
Del  discurso  de  su  vida 
La  necesidad  maestra. 
Entre  aquellos  dos  penascos 
(Aun  alii  dura  la  quiebra) 
Una  leona  criaba 
Sobre  pieles  de  otras  fieras 
Unos  cachorros,  a  quien 
Desangrada  su  fiereza 
Por  los  pechos,  man  tenia, 
Hasta  que  cobrando  f  uerzas, 
Los  arrojo  de  si  misma 
Tratandolos  con  soberbia, 
Para  que  ellos  conociesen 
Lo  que  les  daba  en  herencia. 
Pues  si  una  fiera  j  una  ave 
Del  lecho  y  el  nido  echan 
A  sus  hijos,  para  que  ellos 
A  vivir  sin  madre  aprendan, 
I  Porque*  tu,  vie*ndome  ya 
Con  las  alas  que  en  mi  engendra 
El  discurso,  y  con  el  brio 
Que  mi  juventud  ostenta, 
No  me  despides  de  ti?  * 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  dates  of  Calderon's  plays, 
from  which  citations  have  just  been  made,  cannot  be  de- 
termined. The  works  doubtless  belong  to  the  author's  early 
period,  when  the  theme  of  the  development  of  an  imprisoned 
soul  with  its  Promethean  promptings  and  untried  energies 
appealed  very  strongly  to  him  as  it  had  to  Lope.  But 


id.,  n,  576c. 


SEGISMUNDO'S   SOLILOQUY   ON    LIBERTY.  253 

whatever  may  be  the  chronological  order  of  Calderon's 
renderings  of  the  conceit  in  question,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  poet's  art  never  reached  a  more  intense  and  perfect 
note  than  in  Segismundo's  soliloquy.  Here  indeed  does  he 
convey  to  our  minds  the  gloomy  despair  of  one  who  had 
brooded  from  childhood  over  the  loss  of  what'  alone  was 
dear  to  a  king-born  soul — liberty.  How  great  must  be  the 
genius  of  a  poet  who  could  lend  such  dignity  of  form  and 
beauty  of  color  to  a  thought  that  had  become  trite  by  the 
third  decade  of  the  seventeenth  century,  when  La  vida  es 
sueno  was  composed.  Of  the  objects  included  in  the 
comparisons  Calderon  added  only  the  brooklet,  and  it  is 
unnecessary  to  justify  the  addition  of  the  stanza  in  which 
he  develops  the  comparison.  But  the  distinctive  qualities 
of  the  monologue  which  give  it  poetical  and  rhetorical  force 
superior  to  the  charms  of  other  versions  seem  to  be :  the 
appropriateness  of  the  majestic  dttimas;  an  exquisite  succes- 
sion of  suggestive  imagery  elaborated  in  pompous  vocables ; 
the  recurrent  refrain  which  by  reason  of  the  changes  from 
" mas  alma"  " mejor  instinto,"  " mds  albedrio"  to  " mds 
vida"  never  grows  monotonous,  but  adds  to  the  cumulative 
appeal  of  the  soliloquy  and  prepares  step  by  step,  while  at 
the  same  time  welding  the  stanzas  into  a  single  whole,  for 
the  triumphant  fury  of  the  conclusion.  C'est  imiter  quelqu'un 
que  de  planter  des  choux, — but  there  are  good  and  bad  ways 
of  doing  it,  and  Calderon  had  it  in  him  to  improve  the 
occasion.  It  is  such  poets  as  the  author  of  Segismundo's 
soliloquy  that  can  profit  by  Veda's  treatise,  "  On  the  art 
of  stealing." 

MILTON  A.  BUCHANAN. 


XI.— THE  UNDERGRADUATE  CURRICULUM   IN 
ENGLISH   LITERATURE.1 

To  propose  to  consider  the  construction  of  an  ideal  or 
standard  undergraduate  curriculum,  even  to  the  extent 
only  of  tentative  approach,  must  seem,  at  first  thought, 
rather  rash  and  even  a  bit  foolish ;  the  attainment  of  any 
satisfactory  result  seems  extremely  difficult,  and  the  result 
promises  to  be  useless  when  attained.  Yet  when  we  con- 
sider in  connection  with  the  undergraduate  years  the  vast 
number  of  the  works  of  English  literature  and  the  great 
body  of  knowledge  concerning  them,  the  question  must 
inevitably  arise,  What  out  of  all  this  great  mass  of  material 
should  be  presented  to  the  undergraduate?  in  what  order, 
and  by  what  methods  should  it  be  presented  ?  Again,  when 
we  consider  that  the  undergraduate  years  are  but  a  single 
stage  in  the  educational  life,  with  distinct  limitations,  with 
other  stages  before  and  after,  and  that  the  curricula  of  these 
other  stages,  especially  the  secondary  school  period,  have 
recently  been  the  subject  of  much  discussion  having  for  its 
aim  the  construction  of  a  standard  or  ideal  curriculum,  it 
does  not  seem  impossible  that  some  profit  may  come  from 
such  a  discussion  as  that  proposed.  If  it  be  true  that  that 
which  has  not  been  treated  ought  to  be  treated,  then  there 
is  ample  justification  for  the  choice  of  this  subject.  If 
one  may  trust  the  evidence  of  pedagogical  literature  this 
particular  subject  has  not  been  treated  to  any  great  extent. 
A  somewhat  careful  examination  of  pedagogical  bibliography 
has  failed  to  disclose  a  single  title  bearing  directly  upon  it, 
and  my  pedagogical  colleagues  are  unable  to  refer  me  to  any. 
To  rush  in  where  even  pedagogic  angels  fear  to  tread  surely 

1 A  paper  read  before  the  English  Section  of  the  Central  Division  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association  of  America,  December  28,  1906. 
254 


THE   UNDERGRADUATE   CURRICULUM   IN   ENGLISH.       255 

gives  promise  of  folly;  the  rashness  of  the  attempt  may 
pardon  the  folly.  With  a  full  appreciation,  then,  of  the 
difficulties  in  the  way,  but  with  confidence  that  there  are 
among  us  idealists  to  maintain  that  what  is  theoretically 
true  must  be  practicable,  provided  the  means  can  be  found, 
I  venture  upon  some  consideration  of  the  question,  What 
material  out  of  the  great  field  of  English  literature,  includ- 
ing works  of  literature,  history  of  literature,  and  criticism, 
can  best  be  given  to  the  college  student  in  the  several  years 
of  his  undergraduate  life? 

In  the  search  for  fundamental  principles  upon  which  to 
base  an  attempt  at  determination  it  is  natural  to  distrust 
one's  individual  effort ;  it  is  very  easy  to  consider  as  funda- 
mental what  is  in  fact  only  secondary,  and  to  overlook 
important  essential  modifications.  I  present  then  tentatively 
as  the  two  chief  considerations  that  should  govern  in  the 
determination  of  material  and  mode  of  presentation  :  1.  The 
nature  of  the  subject ;  2.  The  educational  aim  or  purpose  of 
the  subject.  Omitting  any  general  discussion  of  these  con- 
siderations as  applicable  to  the  whole  college  curriculum,  let 
us  consider  at  once  their  bearing  upon  English  literature. 

I.  The  nature  of  the  subject. — In  defining  the  nature  of 
a  subject  the  chief  consideration  is  to  be  given  to  those 
characteristics  or  properties  peculiar  to  it ;  characteristics 
that  it  has  in  common  with  other  subjects  are  of  but 
secondary  importance.  The  position  of  any  subject  in  the 
college  curriculum  is  justified  by  what  it  has  peculiarly  its 
own,  rather  than  by  what  it  has  in  common  with  other 
subjects  ;  and  the  principal  aim  of  instruction — not  the  sole 
aim,  but  the  principal  aim  of  instruction — should  ever  be 
to  impart  its  peculiar  element  of  culture.  Now  there  is 
almost  universal  agreement  that  literature  is  an  art.  The 
study  of  literature  is  then,  primarily,  the  study  of  an  art, — 
not  the  study  of  history,  not  the  study  of  philosophy,  not 


256  FRANK   G.    HUBBABD. 

the  study  of  science.  What,  now,  is  the  peculiar  thing  that 
art  has  to  offer  ?  What  in  art  is  the  supremely  important 
thing  ?  Here  I  think  that  we  shall  find  general  agreement 
that  the  peculiar,  the  supreme  thing  that  art  has  to  offer  is 
not  generalization,  not  speculation,  not  information,  but  the 
individual  work  of  art  itself.  In  science  the  individual 
phenomenon  has  no  importance  except  as  a  manifestation 
of  a  general  principle.  In  art  the  individual  phenomenon 
is  all  important ;  it  may  be  the  manifestation  of  a  general 
tendency  or  movement,  it  may  be  one  of  many  expressions 
of  the  same  idea  or  feeling,  and  an  understanding  of  the 
general  movement  and  comparison  with  other  expressions 
may  be  necessary  to  its  complete  interpretation,  nevertheless, 
its  interest,  its  chief  human  value  lies  in  itself.  In  the 
study  of  the  art  of  literature,  then,  the  thing  of  supreme 
importance  is  the  interpretation  and  appropriation  of  the 
individual  work  of  literature. 

If  this  presentation  of  the  matter  may  seem  to  place  too 
much  emphasis  upon  the  chief  object  of  the  study,  and  to 
overlook  other  important  objects,  it  may  be  well  to  look 
upon  it  from  another  point  of  view.  Literature  may  be 
studied  as  phenomena,  or  it  may  be  studied  as  something 
to  be  appropriated,  to  serve  as  intellectual  and  spiritual 
food.  Much  of  the  study  of  the  history  of  literary  move- 
ments and  of  the  development  of  literary  types  is  primarily 
a  study  of  phenomena.  It  must,  of  course,  be  based  upon 
interpretation  of  works  of  literature,  and  is,  in  its  turn,  an 
indispensable  aid  to  complete  interpretation  and  appropria- 
tion, but  its  primary  object  is  generalization,  scientific  or 
historical.  Interpretative  study,  on  the  other  hand,  has  for 
its  primary  object  appropriation.  It  may  call  to  its  aid 
all  knowledge  of  sources  and  influences,  of  general  move- 
ments and  tendencies,  and  of  development  of  types,  but  its 
main  purpose  is  not  generalization. 


THE  UNDERGRADUATE  CURRICULUM  IN  ENGLISH.   257 

2.  The  educational  aim  or  purpose  of  the  subject. — I 
pass  now  to  a  brief  consideration  of  the  general  aims  of 
the  undergraduate  study  of  English  literature.  Without 
attempting  to  be  exhaustive  or  logical,  I  state  these  as 
follows  :  1.  To  impart  to  the  average  undergraduate  the 
peculiar  element  of  culture  to  be  gained  from  the  inter- 
pretation and  appropriation  of  the  best  works  of  English 
literature,  and  to  teach  him  the  principles  and  practice  of 
literary  interpretation.  2.  To  prepare  teachers  of  English 
literature  for  secondary  schools.  3.  To  train  specialists  for 
graduate  work. 

This  statement  recognizes  three  fairly  distinct  classes  of 
pupils  :  specialists,  teachers,  and  those  students  who  elect 
work  in  English  literature  as  part  of  their  undergraduate 
course.  The  last  class  is  by  far  the  largest  and  the  most 
important ;  it  is  the  most  difficult  to  attract  and  the  hardest 
to  hold ;  the  results  attained  with  students  of  this  class  are 
generally  the  least  satisfactory.  The  problems  involved  in 
their  instruction  are  considered  the  most  difficult  to  solve. 
In  any  attempt,  therefore,  to  construct  an  undergraduate 
curriculum  they  should  receive  the  first  consideration,  and 
courses  should  be  adapted  mainly  to  meet  their  needs.  In 
what  follows  attention  has  been  given  almost  solely  to 
students  of  this  class. 

I  pass  now  to  a  consideration  of  the  present  state  of  the 
undergraduate  curriculum.  What  is  offered  here  is  based 
upon  an  examination  of  the  curricula  found  in  the  latest 
catalogues  of  thirty  representative  institutions  :  eight  private 
foundations,  Harvard,  Yale,  Columbia,  Princeton,  Cornell, 
Stanford,  Chicago,  Northwestern  ;  thirteen  state  universities, 
Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Michigan,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Wisconsin, 
Minnesota,  Iowa,  Nebraska,  Missouri,  Kansas,  Texas,  Cali- 
fornia ;  seven  New  England  colleges,  Bowdoin,  Dartmouth, 
Middlebury,  Brown,  Williams,  Amherst,  Wesleyan  ;  and  two 


258  FRANK    G.    HUBBABD. 

western  colleges,  Beloit  and  Colorado.  It  may  be  objected 
that  any  inferences  based  upon  the  evidence  of  college  cata- 
logues must  be  untrustworthy  in  a  high  degree ;  accuracy  has 
never  been  a  striking  characteristic  of  these  publications. 
The  conclusions  that  have  been  drawn,  however,  are  of  such 
a  general  nature  that  the  probability  of  serious  error  is  not 
very  great.  A  wrong  interpretation  may  have  been  given  in 
some  individual  cases,  but  the  number  of  these  is  not  large 
enough  to  invalidate  inferences  concerning  general  condi- 
tions and  tendencies. 

The  courses  have  been  grouped  under  the  following 
heads  : 

1.  General  and  introductory  courses. 

2.  Courses  on  periods  and  movements. 

3.  Courses  on  literary  types. 

4.  Courses  on  individual  authors. 

5.  Miscellaneous  small  groups. 

a)  Literary  criticism  and  interpretation. 
6)  Poetics,  metrics. 

c)  Foreign  influence,  foreign  literature  in  translation, 

English  Bible. 

d)  Teachers'  courses. 

Although  this  classification  is  a  rather  rough  one,  it  will 
be  recognized,  I  believe,  as  a  natural  one.  The  assign- 
ment of  an  individual  course  to  a  group  is  in  some  cases  a 
matter  of  difficulty,  owing  to  the  small  amount  of  informa- 
tion given,  and  even  when  the  statement  seems  to  char- 
acterize the  course  plainly,  there  is  the  possibility  that  in 
the  actual  giving  of  the  course  the  emphasis  is  not  that 
indicated  by  the  statement.  For  example,  a  course  called 
The  Predecessors  of  Shakespeare,  may  put  the  emphasis 
upon  the  works  of  individual  authors  and  not  consider  the 
development  of  the  drama ;  again,  a  course  called  Words- 
worth and  Coleridge  may  put  the  emphasis  upon  the 
Romantic  Movement. 


THE   UNDERGRADUATE    CURRICULUM    IN    ENGLISH.       259 

In  the  first  group,  general  and  introductory  courses,  have 
been  put  general  survey  courses  on  the  history  of  English 
literature,  courses  introductory  to  the  study  of  literature, 
and  courses  in  American  literature.  Nineteen  institutions 
have  the  general  survey  course,  ten  have  the  course  intro- 
ductory to  the  study  of  literature,  and  five  have  both  of 
these  courses.  Of  the  whole  number  of  institutions  (30), 
then,  24  have  either  one  or  both  of  these  courses,  and  6  have 
no  general  introductory  courses.  Two  universities  have  two 
courses  in  general  survey,  and  one  has  two  courses  intro- 
ductory to  the  study  of  literature.  It  is  to  be  noted  here 
that  the  general  survey  course  is  much  more  common  than 
the  course  introductory  to  the  history  of  literature ;  there  are 
21  of  the  former  and  11  of  the  latter. 

In  American  literature,  29  courses  are  given  in  25  institu- 
tions. Twenty-two  of  these  are  general  survey  courses,  two 
are  on  New  England  writers,  one  on  the  South,  three  on 
special  study  of  a  few  writers,  and  one  on  significant  move- 
ments. The  prevalence  of  the  general  survey  course  is  to 
be  noted. 

In  the  second  group,  courses  treating  periods  and  move- 
ments, there  are  135  courses.  There  is,  of  course,  much 
variation  among  institutions  in  the  number  of  these  and 
much  variation  in  their  length ;  the  length  generally  varies 
in  inverse  ratio  to  the  number.  The  smaller  colleges  have 
few,  the  large  universities  many,  so  many,  in  fact,  that  one 
might  be  led  to  expect  that,  with  money  and  men  enough, 
the  periods  would  be  shortened  to  a  decade. 

Next  to  be  considered  are  the  courses  on  the  various  literary 
types.  Of  these  there  are  87,  distributed  as  follows :  drama 
30,  novel  (or  prose  fiction)  20,  epic  4,  lyric  6,  ballad  5, 
metrical  romance  1,  essay  7,  biography  2,  letter  writers  1, 
miscellaneous  (better  classed  here  than  elsewhere)  11  (prose 
6,  Arthurian  legend  4,  periodical  literature  1).  The  drama 


260  FRANK    G.    HUBBARD. 

and  the  novel,  with  a  total  of  50  courses  out  of  87,  seem  to 
have  received  very  full  treatment,  while  the  epic,  with  but 
4  courses,  appears  to  have  been  neglected.  Many  of  the 
courses  in  this  class,  perhaps  the  majority,  treat  the  histor- 
ical development  in  English  literature  of  the  type  under 
consideration,  and  some  trace  this  development  in  other 
literatures  as  well.  Such  courses  are,  in  their  nature,  very 
much  like  the  courses  of  the  preceding  group,  those  on 
periods  and  movements. 

The  next  group  I  have  called  individual  authors ;  it  is 
not,  however,  confined  to  courses  treating  only  one  writer, 
but  includes  also  all  those  in  the  announcement  of  which 
several  authors  are  named,  without  any  statement  concern- 
ing a  period  or  the  development  of  a  type.  It  is  probable 
that  some  of  the  courses  classed  under  periods  or  types 
belong  here.  Such  courses  are  sometimes  rather  closely 
confined  to  the  study  of  a  few  representative  writers,  and 
the  study  of  these  may  be  as  complete  as  that  given  in 
courses  where  several  individual  authors  are  named. 

The  total  number  of  courses  in  this  group  is  85,  distrib- 
uted as  follows  :  single  authors,  Shakespeare  35,  Chaucer 
14,  Milton  8,  Browning  7,  Spenser  3,  Tennyson  3,  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher  1,  Bacon  1,  Coleridge  1 ;  groups  of  two, 
Chaucer  and  Spenser  1,  Tennyson  and  Browning  1,  Shelley 
and  Keats  1,  Shelley  and  Wordsworth  1,  Carlyle  and 
Ruskin  1,  Arnold  and  Newman  1  ;  groups  of  more  than 
two,  4.  Forty  per  cent,  of  these  courses  are  on  Shakespeare, 
nearly  sixty  per  cent,  are  on  Chaucer  or  Shakespeare,  and 
70  out  of  the  total  of  85  are  confined  to  six  authors,  Shakes- 
peare, Chaucer,  Spenser,  Milton,  Browning,  Tennyson. 

The  following  points  may  be  of  interest.  Courses  in 
Shakespeare  are  given  in  25  of  the  30  institutions,  and  in 
six  of  these  more  than  one  course  is  given.  The  14  Chaucer 
courses  are  all  given  as  courses  in  literature ;  in  only  two 


THE   UNDERGRADUATE    CURRICULUM    IN    ENGLISH.       261 

cases  is  a  knowledge  of  Anglo-Saxon  required.  For  some 
reason,  Browning  study  seems  to  thrive  best  west  of  the 
Hudson ;  of  the  seven  courses  enumerated  all  are  given  in 
state  universities  of  the  Middle  West;  in  one  of  these  a 
half-year  is  devoted  to  select  dramas  and  a  half-year  to 
Sordello. 

The  last  group,  miscellaneous,  need  not  detain  us  long. 
Ten  institutions  have  courses  in  literary  criticism  with  a 
total  of  twelve  courses,  four  of  which,  or  one-third,  are  on 
the  history  of  English  literary  criticism.  Nine  universities 
have  special  courses  in  poetics,  metrics,  versification  ;  two 
have  courses  on  the  theory  of  poetry.  Courses  treating 
foreign  influence  are  given  in  four  places.  Foreign  litera- 
ture in  translation  is  studied  in  four  courses  of  varying 
nature, — Great  Books,  Greek  and  Latin  Classics,  Greek 
Drama,  Dante  in  English.  To  these  may  be  added  nine 
courses  in  the  English  Bible,  given  in  six  institutions. 
Eight  courses  for  teachers  are  given  in  as  many  state  uni- 
versities ;  these  are,  however,  general  in  their  nature,  not 
confined  to  literature. 

I  give  now  a  brief  summary  of  the  results  of  this  investi- 
gation as  far  as  they  concern  the  four  principal  groups  of 
courses:  1.  General  Introductory  Courses,  2,  Courses  on 
Periods,  3.  Courses  on  Types,  4.  Courses  on  Individual 
Authors. 

1.  General  Introductory  Courses.     There  are  21  courses 
on  the  General  Survey  of  English  Literature,  11  courses  on 
Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Literature.     On  the  subject  of 
American  Literature  there  are  22  general    survey  courses 
and  5  more  special  courses. 

2.  Courses  on  Periods  and  Movements.     The  total  num- 
ber here  is  135.     There  seems  to  be  a  tendency  to  multiply 
courses  of  this  type. 

3.  Courses  on  Literary  Types.    The  number  of  courses  in 


262  FRANK    G.    HUBBARD. 

this  group  is  87  ;  30  of  these  are  on  the  drama,  20  on  the 
novel,  4  on  the  epic,  6  on  the  lyric. 

4.  Courses  on  Individual  Authors.  Total  number  85, 
40  per  cent,  of  which  are  on  Shakespeare,  and  nearly  60  per 
cent,  on  Shakespeare  or  Chaucer ;  70  out  of  the  85  are  con- 
fined to  six  authors,  Shakespeare,  Chaucer,  Milton,  Brown- 
ing, Tennyson,  Spenser. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  group  1  (general  courses)  has 
much  in  common  with  group  2  (periods  and  movements)  ; 
the  general  survey  courses  generally  differ  from  those  on 
periods  only  in  the  extent  of  time  covered.  In  order,  then, 
to  get  the  whole  number  of  historical  courses,  we  must  add 
to  the  135  of  group  2  the  21  general  survey  courses  on 
English  literature  and  the  22  courses  of  the  same  type  on 
American  literature.  This  will  give  a  total  of  178  his- 
torical courses.  But,  further  than  this,  a  large  majority  of 
the  courses  on  literary  types  (group  3)  are  historical  in  their 
nature,  i.  e.,  they  treat  the  development  of  the  types  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent.  For  example,  several  of  the  courses 
classed  under  the  novel  are  courses  on  prose  fiction,  some 
of  which  begin  with  the  Elizabethan  age,  and  others  much 
farther  back ;  courses  on  the  drama,  also,  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  are  concerned  with  the  history  of  its  development. 
It  is  evident,  then,  that  there  is  a  rather  close  relation 
between  courses  of  this  group  (literary  types)  and  those  of 
group  2  (periods  and  movements).  It  would,  of  course, 
misrepresent  the  actual  state  of  the  case  to  put  these  two 
groups  together  under  the  head  Historical  Courses ;  never- 
theless, in  making  up  the  total  number  of  courses  chiefly 
historical  in  character,  we  should  add  to  the  178  courses  of 
groups  1  and  2  a  majority  of  the  87  courses  in  group  3. 

We  have  seen  that  the  85  courses  on  individual  authors 
are  confined,  for  the  most  part,  to  six  writers,  and  chiefly  to 
Shakespeare  and  Chaucer.  A  comparison  of  this  group  with 


THE   UNDERGRADUATE   CURRICULUM   IN    ENGLISH.       263 

the  courses  mainly  historical  in  character  brings  out  clearly 
the  fact  that  the  latter  predominate  very  strongly  in  the 
undergraduate  curriculum.  It  would  be  wrong  to  base  any 
exact  quantitative  determination  upon  the  figures  presented 
here ;  the  classification  is  too  rough  and  uncertain ;  never- 
theless, when  all  due  allowance  has  been  made,  it  is  plainly 
evident  that  in  the  present  undergraduate  curriculum  his- 
tory of  literature  holds  the  chief  place,  historical  method 
prevails,  the  main  approach  to  authors  is  through  literary 
history. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  turn  aside  for  a  moment  to 
consider  some  of  the  influences  that  have  shaped  the  present 
curriculum.  What  I  have  to  suggest  here  applies,  for  the 
most  part,  only  to  the  larger  institutions. 

The  first  influence  to  be  considered  is  the  training  of 
teachers.  In  the  case  of  teachers  the  results  of  university 
training  are  to  a  certain  extent  visible ;  points  of  strength 
and  weakness  are  made  prominent  by  iteration.  The  inspec- 
tion of  secondary  schools  in  connection  with  accrediting,  and 
the  unceasing  agitation  for  better  work  in  English  literature 
in  these  schools,  have  constantly  impressed  upon  university 
instructors  the  necessity  of  adapting  material  and  methods 
to  the  training  of  teachers.  This  influence  has  been  good 
in  so  far  as  it  has  made  undergraduate  work  more  definite 
and  effective;  but  it  has  been  bad,  I  believe,  in  so  far  as 
it  has  tended  to  magnify  the  importance  of  this  class  of 
students,  and  to  divert  attention  from  the  needs  of  the  much 
larger  class  that  want  English  literature  for  its  own  sake 
rather  than  as  a  part  of  professional  equipment. 

A  much  stronger  influence  than  the  training  of  teachers  is 
the  influence  of  graduate  courses.  Even  a  superficial  exam- 
ination of  catalogues  will  show  that  no  definite  principles 
govern  the  distinction  made  between  undergraduate  and 
graduate  courses.  One  of  the  largest  universities  opens  to 


264  FRANK    G.    HUBBABD. 

graduates  all  but  one  of  its  very  large  number  of  under- 
graduate courses ;  another  offers  but  six  undergraduate 
courses,  all  the  others  are  graduate;  a  western  state  uni- 
versity does  not  credit  as  graduate  work  any  course  open 
to  undergraduates.  The  ordinary  curriculum  groups  its 
courses  under  the  three  familiar  heads,  "  Open  to  under- 
graduates," "Open  to  undergraduates  and  graduates,"  and 
"  Open  to  graduates."  The  second  (open  to  undergraduates 
and  graduates)  is  generally  by  far  the  largest  class.  In 
many  cases  one  cannot  help  feeling,  as  he  looks  over  courses 
in  this  group,  that  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  courses 
wholly  undergraduate  in  character,  which  should  not  be  open 
to  graduates  (for  credit)  and  courses  wholly  graduate  in 
character,  which  should  not  be  open  to  undergraduates.  In 
some  institutions  the  number  of  graduate  students  is  as  yet 
rather  small,  and  the  number  of  strictly  graduate  courses  that 
can  be  offered  is  consequently  not  large.  The  number  of 
men  ready  and  eager  to  give  advanced  courses  is  generally 
comparatively  large.  In  order  to  get  students  for  such 
courses  it  is  necessary  to  open  them  to  undergraduates ;  and 
thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  some  courses  graduate  in  nature 
are  brought  into  the  undergraduate  curriculum. 

A  third  influence  is  that  coming  from  the  nature  of  the 
research  work  done  by  members  of  the  instructional  force. 
In  these  days  of  what  one  of  my  colleagues  irreverently  calls 
"frenzied  research,"  when  publication  is  the  indispensable 
condition  of  promotion,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
the  principal  interest  of  many  university  teachers  lies  in 
investigation.  If  the  field  be  English  literature,  the  subject 
will  almost  inevitably  be  concerned  with  the  history  of 
literature  rather  than  with  interpretation  and  criticism.  A 
natural  consequence  of  this  is  to  magnify  the  importance  of 
the  historical  point  of  view,  to  give  undue  weight  to  details, 
to  over-emphasize  sources,  influences,  movements;  to  look 


THE   UNDERGRADUATE   CURRICULUM    IN    ENGLISH.       265 

at   literature   as   phenomena   rather   than   as    material    for 
appropriation. 

Another  influence  closely  associated  with  the  preceding, 
and  perhaps  not  to  be  clearly  distinguished  from  it,  is 
that  coming  from  special  knowledge  of  certain  subjects  by 
instructors.  The  desire  to  impart  one's  special  knowledge 
is  very  natural ;  to  impart  it  is  to  clarify  one's  own  percep- 
tion of  it.  Then,  too,  such  special  courses  exemplify  the 
great  doctrine  of  academic  freedom  (Lehrfreiheit)  and  shed 
glory  on  the  curriculum.  Again,  if  the  applicant  for  per- 
mission to  give  such  a  course  is  oppressed  by  the  burden 
of  much  theme  work,  it  seems  a  labor  of  mercy  to  grant 
his  request.  Thus  it  comes  about,  now  and  then,  that 
courses  wholly  unsuitable  for  undergraduates  throw  the 
curriculum  out  of  balance  and  proportion. 

Thus  far  have  been  considered  the  general  principles 
that  should  govern  in  the  shaping  of  the  undergraduate  cur- 
riculum, the  present  state  of  that  curriculum,  and  some  of 
the  influences  that  have  shaped  it.  There  remain  to  be 
presented  some  questions  that  arise  when  we  come  to  apply 
these  principles  to  the  construction  of  a  standard  or  ideal 
curriculum. 

In  the  discussion  of  principles  in  the  first  part  of  this 
paper  the  attempt  was  made  to  derive  them  from  a  con- 
sideration of  the  nature  of  the  subject  and  of  its  educational 
aim  or  purpose.  It  was  found  that  the  characteristic,, 
unique,  supremely  important  thing  that  the  study  of  liter- 
ature has  to  offer,  is  the  interpretation  and  appropriation  of 
the  best  works  of  literature;  that  the  chief  aim  of  under- 
graduate courses  is  to  help  the  average  student  (not  the 
teacher  or  specialist)  to  interpret  and  appropriate  some  of 
these  works,  and  to  teach  him  the  principles  of  literary 
interpretation,  in  order  that  he  may  be  able  to  appropriate; 
others  for  himself. 


266  FRANK    G.    HUBBARD. 

If,  now,  these  fundamental  considerations  are  well 
grounded,  it  follows  that  our  undergraduate  courses  should 
be  chiefly  courses  in  interpretation.  This  interpretative 
study,  as  it  advances  in  breadth  and  intensity,  should 
naturally  involve  more  and  more  of  the  historical  element, 
not  so  much  for  its  own  sake  as  for  the  sake  of  a  more 
perfect  interpretation.  To  give  the  first  place  to  courses 
in  interpretation  is  not  to  exclude  from  the  curriculum 
courses  chiefly  historical  in  character.  Such  courses  will 
have  an  important  place,  for  the  study  of  the  history  of 
literature  has  its  peculiar  element  of  culture,  different  from 
that  offered  by  the  study  of  political,  economic,  or  social 
history,  or  the  history  of  philosophy.  The  popular  objec- 
tion to  such  courses  is  that  the  vital  things  of  literature  are 
neglected  and  sacrificed  to  the  acquiring  of  facts  concerning 
its  history.  This  objection  is  no  more  valid  against  the 
historical  study  of  literature  than  it  is  against  all  other 
historical  study.  It  has  great  force,  however,  if  historical 
courses  are  given  the  most  important  place  in  the  under- 
graduate curriculum,  and  if  such  courses  are  the  only  ones 
offered  to  students  that  wish  but  one,  two,  or  three  courses. 

This  brings  us  naturally  to  the  question  of  the  introduc- 
tory course.  Our  examination  of  present  curricula  shows 
that  the  more  common  type  of  introductory  course  is  the 
general  survey  of  English  literature.  Now,  if  the  con- 
siderations advanced  above  are  true,  the  introductory  course 
should  rather  be  one.  that  has  for  its  aim  to  teach  the 
elements  of  interpretation,  and  to  apply  them  to  certain 
masterpieces.  The  class  in  the  introductory  course  is 
generally  a  large  one,  containing  students  of  different 
degrees  of  culture  and  with  a  great  variety  of  tastes  and 
interests.  This  fact  suggests  the  advisability  of  grouping 
in  small  divisions  students  of  like  tastes  and  interests,  and, 
as  far  as  possible,  adapting  the  material  presented  to  the 


THE  UNDERGRADUATE  CURRICULUM  IN  ENGLISH.   267 

character  of  each  division.  It  may  be  objected  that  it  is 
not  advisable  to  make  any  one  course  prerequisite  to  all 
others.  If  this  objection  seem  a  serious  one,  it  may  be 
suggested  that  instead  of  one  course  of  this  type  there 
be  offered  three  or  four  courses  on  individual  authors  or 
groups  of  authors,  in  each  of  which  the  principles  of  inter- 
pretation are  taught  indirectly  through  the  study  of  their 
works;  any  one  of  these  courses  to  be  prerequisite  to  all 
others.  The  problem  of  the  introductory  course  is  too  large 
and  difficult  to  be  treated  adequately  here ;  both  time  and 
wisdom  are  wanting.  The  discussion  held  in  this  section 
two  years  ago  called  forth  many  valuable  suggestions,  to 
which,  no  doubt,  much  will  be  added  in  the  discussion 
to-day. 

However  this  problem  may  be  solved,  there  will  remain 
the  question  of  the  succession  or  gradation  of  the  remaining 
courses.  One  of  the  effects  of  the  free  elective  system  has 
been  a  tendency  to  abandon  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  a 
gradation  of  courses,  and  this  tendency  seems  to  have  been 
strong  in  English  literature,  perhaps  from  the  nature  of  the 
subject.  According  to  the  published  curricula  of  some 
English  departments  it  appears  to  be  possible  to  elect 
almost  any  of  the  remaining  courses  after  one  prerequisite 
course  has  been  taken.  This  tendency  I  believe  to  be  a 
bad  one.  It  seems  to  me  that  much  undergraduate  teaching 
loses  efficiency  by  the  presence  in  the  same  class  of  students 
of  widely  different  degrees  of  maturity  and  of  widely  different 
degrees  of  advancement  in  the  pursuit  of  the  study.  This 
cannot  be  wholly  avoided,  and  any  narrow,  rigid  line  of 
advancement  is  not  advisable ;  as  far  as  possible  a  variety  of 
courses  should  be  open  to  the  student  at  each  stage  of  his 
progress.  I  believe,  however,  that  we  should  go  so  far  as 
to  group  courses  according  to  the  four  years  of  undergraduate 


268  FRANK   G.    HUBBARD. 

life  and  require  students  to  make  progress  through    these 
groups  and  not  over  them. 

Should  undergraduate  courses  be  limited  in  number  ? 
The  natural  answer  to  this,  I  am  sure,  will  be  a  rather 
strong  negative.  Still,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  consider 
whether  such  a  limitation  would  not  eliminate  some  of  the 
special  courses  better  adapted  to  graduates ;  whether  teach- 
ing would  not  gain  in  efficiency  if  the  effort  of  a  department 
should  be  concentrated  on  a  smaller  number  of  courses ; 
whether,  finally,  we  should  not  have  more  constantly  before 
us  the  question,  What  subjects  and  methods  are  best  adapted 
to  meet  the  needs  of  undergraduate  students? 

FRANK  G.  HUBBARD. 


XII.— ON  THE  DATE  AND  COMPOSITION  OF  GUIL- 
LAUME   DE  LORRIS'  ROMAN  DE  LA  ROSE. 

Our  positive  knowledge  concerning  the  date  and  author- 
ship of  the  first  part  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  is  wholly 
derived  from  the  lines  in  which  Jean  de  Meun  refers  to  his 
predecessor,  Guillaume  de  Lorris  : 

Ve*s-ci  Guillaume  de  Lorris, 

Cui  Jalousie,  sa  contraire, 

Fait  tant  d'angoisse  et  de  mal  traire, 

Qu'il  est  en  peril  de  morir.     Michel's  Edition,  11291-94. 

Ci  se  reposera  Guillaume, 

Le  cui  tombel  soit  plains  de  baume.     11326,  11327. 

Car  quant  Guillaumes  cessera 

Jehanb  le  continuera 

Apres  sa  mort,  que  ge  ne  mente, 

Ans  trespasses  plus  de  quarante.     11352-55. 

The  query,  which  naturally  arises,  on  reading  these  words, 
is  how  Jean  de  Meun  obtained  his  information,  and  in  the 
absence  of  any  hints  on  his  part  we  are  forced  to  take  refuge 
in  surmise.  It  may  have  been  derived  from  notes  written 
on  the  margin  of  the  manuscript  of  the  poem,  but  it  is  more 
natural  to  suppose  that  it  was  furnished  Jean  de  Meun  by 
the  persons  who  loaned  him  the  manuscript.  These  may 
have  been  friends  or  even  relatives  of  Guillaume  de  Lorris. 
They  were  probably  his  contemporaries.  For  he  himself 
tells  us  that  he  was  but  twenty-five  years  old  when  he  began 
his  romance  (11.  21-46),  while  Jean  de  Meun  asserts  that  he 
took  up  the  unfinished  work  some  forty  years  after  it  had 
been  laid  down.  So  that  by  extending  this  figure  to  its 
limit  of  forty-five  (it  is  more  likely  forty-one  or  forty-two), 
men  born  in  the  same  year  with  Guillaume  de  Lorris  would 
not  have  exceeded  the  Psalmist's  measure  of  active  life, 

,269 


270  F.    M.    WARREN. 

when  Jean  de  Meun  began  his  sequel.  Some  one  of  these 
sexagenarians  would  have  had  the  manuscript  of  the  Roman 
de  la  Rose  in  his  keeping.  He  would  have  told  Jean  de 
Meun  about  it,  and  finally  produced  it.  Jean  de  Meun 
would  have  read  it,  copied  it  and  added  his  continuation. 

This  explanation  of  the  preservation  of  Guillaume  de 
Lorris'  poem  and  the  sources  of  Jean  de  Meun's  knowledge 
concerning  the  older  poet's  fate  is  the  natural  one,  and  there- 
fore plausible.  It  is  also  supported  by  facts  of  a  different 
order,  which  belong  to  the  domain  of  negative  evidence,  but 
which  are  entirely  pertinent.  The  more  significant  of  these 
facts  is  the  absence  of  any  reference  in  French  literature  to 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  until  it  was  made  popular  by  Jean 
de  Meun.  Such  absence  of  literary  allusion  would  point 
very  decidedly  towards  the  existence  of  but  one  manuscript, 
and  this  manuscript  in  the  custody  of  persons  who  did  not 
write.1  The  other  fact  is,  that  of  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
or  more  extant  manuscripts  of  the  poem  none  is  earlier  than 
the  years  assigned  to  its  completion  by  Jean  de  Meun.2 

*The  claim  that  Thibaut,  the  author  of  the  Roman  de  la  Poire,  was 
acquainted  with  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  before  it  came  into  Jean  de  Meun's 
hands,  is  considered  farther  on.  Waiving  this  connection  for  the  time 
being,  I  know  of  but  three  references  to  the  Rose  which  may  antedate  the 
year  1300.  They  are  found  in  a  verse  translation  of  Solomon's  Song  (in  J. 
Bonnard's  Les  Traductions  de  la  Bible  en  versfrancais  au  moyen  dge,  p.  164), 
which  may  have  been  made  before  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  in 
Nicole  de  Margival's  Panttere  d>  Amour  (11.  1029-1038),  and  in  Mahieu 
de  Poiriers'  Cour  d*  Amour  (see  Tobler's  Abhandlungen,  p.  288).  The  first 
two  references  are  to  Guillaume  de  Lorris'  part,  the  last  one  to  Jean  de 
Meun's — In  an  article  in  the  Bibliotheque  de  I'Ecole  des  Chartres  (year 
1907,  pp.  249-271)  E.  Langlois  shows  that  Gui  de  Mori  wrote  a  continua- 
tion to  Guillaume  de  Lorris  in  1290.  Langlois  thinks  it  more  than  prob- 
able that  Gui  de  Mori  did  not  know  at  that  time  about  Jean  de  Meun's 
work  on  the  romance.  But  as  some  fifteen  years  had  passed  since  Jean  de 
Meun  had  begun  his  sequel  (which  Langlois  sets  towards  the  year  1275), 
such  ignorance  on  the  part  of  Gui  de  Mori  appears  quite  incredible, 
especially  since  Jean  de  Meun  had  translated  Vegetius  in  the  meantime. 

2Grober,  Grundriss,  vol.  n,  p.  735.     Guillaume  de  Lorris'  own  rnanu- 


GUILLAUME    DE   LORRIS'    ROMAN    DE   LA    ROSE.         271 

We  therefore  do  not  see  any  valid  reason  for  doubting 
Jean  de  Meun's  testimony  concerning  Guillaume  de  Lorris. 
Its  very  indefiniteness  implies  a  knowledge  of  the  older 
poet's  career  on  the  part  of  Jean  de  Meun's  associates. 
Consequently  the  time  when  this  testimony  was  offered 
becomes  of  primary  interest.  It  is  generally  accepted  that 
the  continuation  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  was  begun  after 
Conradin's  execution  by  Charles  d'Anjou,  in  October,  1268, 
and  before  Charles's  assumption  of  the  crown  of  Jerusalem 
in  1277.  For  the  poet  includes  the  former  event  in  his 
eulogy  of  Charles  but  does  not  mention  the  latter.1  But 
the  limits  of  this  period  may  be  narrowed  by  a  few  years. 
After  the  passage  which  tells  of  Conradin's  death,  there  is 
this  account  of  the  fate  of  his  ally : 

Henri,  frere  le  roi  d'Espaigne, 

Plain  d'orguel  et  de  tralson, 

Fist-il  morir  en  sa  prison.     7396-7398. 

This  statement  is  incorrect.  Henry  of  Castille,  a  notorious 
soldier  of  fortune,  had  in  fact  been  handed  over  to  Charles, 
and  sentenced  to  imprisonment  for  life  in  the  castle  of 
Santa  Maria  in  Apulia.2  But  when  Charles  died  he  was  * 
released  through  the  intercession  of  Pope  Honorius  IV 
N  (1285-1287),  and  some  years  later  (1294)  returned  to  Spain. 
There  he  took  active  part  in  the  troubles  of  the  country, 
and  in  1295  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  important  post  of 
governor  to  the  king,  a  minor.  Jean  de  Meun  had  been 
told  of  Henry's  sentence,  and  had  assumed  that  he  had  suc- 
cumbed to  his  confinement,  as  prisoners  usually  did.  Still, 
in  order  to  speak  of  his  death  in  such  positive  terms,  some 
years  must  have  passed  since  the  incarceration,  two  at  least, 
probably  five  or  six.  Consequently  this  passage  could  not 

script,  undoubtedly  of  inferior  material  and  loaded  with  corrections,  would 
hardly  have  been  considered  worth  saving. 

1  See  lines  7392-7395.  2G.  Villani,  Cronica,  VH,  c.  27. 

9 


272  F.    M.    WARREN. 

have  been  written  before  1271  at  the  earliest,  and  may  not 
have  been  written  before  1274.1 

Taking  then  1271  (1274)  as  the  earliest  date  for  Jean  de 
Meun's  sequel  and  1277  as  the  latest,  and  interpreting  his 
"  plus  de  quarante "  as  forty-one  or  forty-two,  we  get  the 
years  lying  between  1229  (1232)  and  1236  as  the  season  of 
Guillaume  de  Lorris7  composition.  He  would  be  younger 
than  Raoul  de  Houdan,  the  first  notable  writer  of  allegory 
in  French,  younger  than  Gerbert  de  Montreuil,  the  author 
of  a  sequel  to  Perceval  and  the  Roman  de  la  Violette.  His 
part  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  would  be  contemporaneous 
with  Huon  de  Mori's  Tornoiement  de  1J Antichrist  and  the 
Provenyal  romance  of  Flamenca.  But  unlike  these  produc- 
tions it  would  have  remained  unnoticed  by  the  public  until 
it  was  revealed  by  the  ambition  of  Jean  de  Meun. 

Yet  what  of  the  relation  of  the  Roman  de  la  Poire  to  the 

first  part  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  ?     Did  the  author  of  the 

Poire,  Thibaut,  know  it  before  it  came  into  Jean  de  Menu's 

hands?     Its  editor  makes  this  claim,  and  his  conclusions 

have  not  been  seriously  challenged.2     There  is  no  question 

f  of  the  borrowings  of  the  Poire  from  the  Rose — unless  we 

\jassume  that  the  Rose  borrowed  from  the  Poire,  which  seems 

chronologically    impossible,    because    the    Poire   contains    a 

definite  historical  allusion.     In  extolling  the  charms  of  his 

lady  Thibaut  is  emboldened  to  say  : 

Qu'onques  ne  nasqui  sa  pareille 

Des  le  tens  sainte  Elysabel.     1639,  1640. 

1  As  stated  above,  Langlois  thinks  Jean  de  Meun  wrote  towards  1275,  but 
reserves  his  reasons. — Jean  de  Meun's  error  on  the  subject  of  Henry's  fate 
is  not  without  bearing  on  the  poet's  biography.     Had  he  survived  Henry's 
appointment  of  1295,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  changed  the  lines  which 
took  Henry's  death  for  granted.    That  he  did  not  do  this  would  imply  that 
he  was  not  alive  in  1295,  or  at  the  latest  in  1296. 

2  See  the  Roman  de  la  P&ire,  edited  by  •  Fr.  Stehlich,  Halle,  1881,  pp. 
9,  10. 


GUILLAUME    DE   LORRIS'    ROMAN    DE    LA    ROSE.         273 

The  "  Elysabel "  of  the  comparison  is  Elizabeth  of  Hun- 
gary, who,  after  a  short  life  of  adversity,  died  in  1231,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-four.  She  is  the  Elizabeth  of  Tann- 
hduser.  In  1235  she  was  canonized.  Therefore  Thibaut 
is  writing  after  1235.  But  we  think  that  he  was  writing 
long  after  1235,  four  or  five  decades  afterwards,  and  for 
various  reasons.  Why  should  Thibaut  transform  Elisabeth 
into  Elysabel  ?  How  could  he  assume  that  his  readers  had 
heard  of  a  German  saint  recently  deceased,  whose  life  had 
not  been  connected  with  wars  and  conquests  ?  Both  of  these 
questions  may  be  answered  by  one  answer. 

Some  time  after  Elizabeth's  canonization — between  1256 
and  1269,  and  probably  in  1268 — the  Parisian  poet  Kute- 
beuf  was  commissioned  to  turn  into  French  verse  a  Latin 
account   of  her  life.     The    poem    was    to    be    presented  to 
Isabella  of  France,  queen  of  Navarre.     Now  in  this  version 
the   name    of  the   saint   underwent   a   change    in   the  final 
syllable.     It  became  Ysabiaus  in  the  subjective  case   and 
Elysabel  in  the  objective.1     The  explanation  for  this  volun- 
tary confusion  of  Elizabeth  and  Isabella  is  obvious,  and  it 
may  even  be  that  the  name  of  the  recipient  determined  the 
choice  o^_the_saint.     Rutebeuf's  morphology  is  accounted  ' 
for.     Thibaut' s  is  not.    But  if  we  admit  that  both  form  and 
allusion  were  given  him  by  the  vogue  of  Rutebeufs  poem, .    t 
we  see  at  once  why  he  spells  Elisabeth  Elysabel,  and  also  ! 
why  he  alludes  to  her  at  all.     In  other  words,  the  Roman 
de  la  Poire  was  written  after  Rutebeuf  ?s  Vie  sainte  Elysabel  \ 
had  spread  abroad  throughout  the  reading  circles  of  France  J    ' 
the  reputation  of  the  young  landgravine  and  the  peculiar 
spelling  of  her  name. 

Other   features   of  the    Poire   support    this   assumption. 

lSee  JubinaPs  edition  of   Kutebeuf  (La  Vie  sainte  Elysabel),  vol.  n, 
pp.  311-313,  11.  17,  29,  32,  37,  p.  318,  1.  200,  etc. 


274  F.    M.    WARREN. 

The  very  words,  "  Des  le  tens  sainte  Elysabel,"  indicate  a 
generation  later  at  least.  They  are  not  the  utterance  of  a 
contemporary.  Thibaut's  fondness  for  acrostics  points  to  the 
last  years  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  Bartsch  long  ago 
noticed  that  the  larger  number  of  the  lyric  refrains  cited  by 
him  are  to  be  found  in  Renart  le  Nouvel1  (1288-).  So  that 
all  the  evidence  which  can  be  gleaned  from  the  Roman 
de  la  Poire  itself  would  place  its  composition  after  the 
second  part  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  rather  than  between 
the  two  sections. 

If  we  may  consider  it  settled  then  that  Guillaume  de 
Lorris  wrote  early  in  the  fourth  decade  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  in  1233  or  1234,  the  content  of  his  work  would 
be  typical  of  its  environment.  The  subjective  imaginings 
of  the  poet  would  be  supplemented  by  scenes  alike  realistic 
and  narrative.  And  an  analysis  of  the  beginning  of  his 
poem  furnishes  this  theory  with  a  basis  of  fact.  In  the  first 
fifteen  hundred  lines  of  the  Rose,  or  more  than  a  third  of 
Guillaume  de  Lorris'  whole  composition,  traditional,  conven- 
tional material  is  predominant.  Hardly  does  he  introduce 
his  subject  before  he  is  impelled  to  describe  the  spring  time 
and  his  own  morning  toilet  (11.  46—128).  Then  he  returns 
to  complete  his  outlined  plan  with  a  purely  allegorical 
delineation  of  vices  and  misfortunes,  which  he  sees  on  the 
park  wall  (11.  129-462).  His  conception  thus  firmly  estab- 
lished, he  proceeds  to  win  over  his  audience  by  pictures 
with  which  it  was  familiar,  such  as  descriptions  of  the  park 
itself  (11.  463-512,  635-730,  1293-1311,  1331-1424),  in 
no  way  differing  from  the  parks  of  Thebes,  Floire  et  Blanche- 
fleur,  Cliges,  Galeran  de  Bretagne  and  the  Tornoiement  de 
VAntechrist,  portraits  of  women  and  details  of  their  dress 
(11.  527-576,  803-868,  990-1026,  1059-1114,  1169- 

1  Zeitschrift  filr  romanische  Philologie,  vol.  V,  pp.  571-575. 


GUILLAUME   DE   LORRIS'    ROMAN    DE    LA    ROSE.         275 

1180),  which  recall  the  beauty  and  elegance  of  the  heroines 
of  Meraugis  de  Portlesguez  and  Blancandin,  a  eulogy  of 
Gawain  (11.  1181-1196),  and  finally  the  story  of  Narcissus 
(11.  1433-1514).  And  thru  these  scattered  passages  of 
objective  composition,  some  six  hundred  lines  in  all,  con- 
necting them  like  a  thread,  runs  the  postulated  allegory, 
persistent  yet  unobtrusive. 

But  portraits  of  maidens,  delight  in  nature  and  tales  from 
mythology  are  not  peculiar  to  the  first  decades  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  They  begin,  as  we  know,  with  the  begin- 
nings of  the  romantic  schppl^of_medieval  France,  with  the 
great  poems  which  seek  their  subjects  among  the  themes  of 
classical  antiquity,  with  Thebes]  Eneas,  and  froie.  They  do 
not  indicate  any  "particular  date.  But  in  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose  another  scene  is  pictured  which  points  more  directly 
to  its  own  time  and  surroundings.  After  the  poet  enters  the 
shadowy  park  he  follows  to  the  right  a  fragrant  foot-path, 
and  is  led  to  an  open  meadow,  where  a  company  of  youth 
is  diverting  itself  by  treading  the  measures  of  the  carole 
dance  (11.  731-780).  This  form  of  amusement  was  not,  to 
be  sure,  an  invention  of  the  thirteenth  century.  It  seems 
to  have  existed  for  many  generations.  Few  poets,  from 
Wace  and  the  author  of  Thebes  down,  fail  to  mention  it. 
But  only  in  Jbhejoems  of  the  first  third  of  the  thirteenth 
century  are  the  movements  of  the  dance  described.  Towards 
the  ImddTeof  the  reign  of  Philip  Augustus  it  seems  to  have 
been  taken  up  by  the  nobility,  and  cultivated  with  all  the 
ardor  of  a  fashionable  accomplishment.  Its  presence,  there- 
fore, in  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  and  the  detail  with  which  it 
is  described  there,  are  wholly  in  keeping  with  the  custom  of 
that  generation.1 

1  Our  information  concerning  the  carole  dance  seems  to  be  mainly  derived 
from    Guittaume  de  Dole   (1199-1201),  Meraugis  de  Pvrtlesguez   (1210?- 


276  F.    M.    WARREN. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  will  be  seen  that  objective 
material  of  a  kind  similar  to  the  material  which  is  found  in 
romantic  poems  contemporaneous  with  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose,  or  preceding  it,  forms  a  large  part  of  the  first  third  of 
Guillaume  de  Lorris'  narrative,  in  fact  over  one  half  of  that 
third.  Yet  it  would  not  be  just  to  stress  the  importance  of 
this  fact  unduly.  For  the  remaining  half,  or  seven  hundred 
lines,  is  purely  subjective  and  creative,  three  hundred  lines 
being  filled  with  the  portrayal  of  the  figures  on  the  park 
wall  and  four  hundred  employed  in  sustaining  the  thread  of 
the  allegory.  What  Guillaume  de  Lorris  has  accomplished 
in  this  beginning  of  his  story  has  been  to  conciliate  his 
audience.  He  has  attained  this  result  by  judiciously  blend- 
ing certain  essential  episodes  of  his  main_conception  with 
descriptions  to  which  hishearers  were  accustomed.  Having 
in  this~manner~~gained  their  attention,  and  at  the  same  time 
led  them  to  accept  unconsciously  his  central  thought,  he  is 
at  last  free  to  abandon  the  conventional  allurements  of 
current  poetry  and  concentratehis  talents  on  the  develop- 
ment of  his  real  idea.  And  this  is  what  he~does,  without 
further  digressiontKan  the  long"^assage  in  which  the  God 
"of  Love  lays  down  rules  for  the  lover's  guidance  (11.  2067- 
2592),  and,  considerably  later,  the  fine  sketch  of  a  baronial 
stronghold  (11. 4409-4475).  The  latter  description  is  wholly 
objective.  But  the  rules  of  the  God  of  Love,  while  not 
allegorical  in  themselves,,  are  yet  didactic._and  (jo^notu  notice- 
ably  detract  from  the  force  of  the  image  which  the  poet  is 
trying  To^present. 

1215?),  Guillaume  le  Marechal  (-1225-),  the  Roman  de  la  Vioktte  (-1225- 
1230)  and  the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  The  description  given  by  Guillaume  de 
Lorris  ranks  next  in  definiteness  to  the  one  given  by  the  author  of  Guil- 
laume de  Dole.  In  addition  to  thfL-TT^ftfa  nf  H<f  popularity  at  this  time 
which  these^poems-eSeTj  frequent  allusions  to  the  carole  dance,  which  occur 
in  the  Carolingian  ^£ic_ofthis  period,  loathe  iiQDtemporaneous  Poems  on 
the tGnisades'  andTIn1 Gautier^Je  Coincy*  s  JlfiracLcs-de  la  Vierge  (-1220- ), 
attest  the  favor  which  it  then  enjoyed  in  fashionable  society. 


ROMAN   DE   LA    ROSE.         277 


Accordingly  we  should  not  characterize  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose  as  an  allegorized  roman  d'aventure.  Tt  is  rather  a 
new  creation,  a  romantic  allegory  which_has  assimilated  to 
itself  some  of  fhe~  striking^features  of  the  courtly  romans 
d'aventure,  and  has  made  them 


of  its  own  thougM^-^oFTiaTFa  century  this  end  had 
been  sought  by  writers  both  in  Latin  and  in  the  vernacu- 
lar, Jean  de_Hauteyjlle__witb.  his  A^hMremus_^(l  184- 
1185),  Alamjje  Lille  (  tl202Twith  his  De  Planctu  Natum 
and  Anticlaudianus,  Raoul  de  Houdan  with  his  more  limited 
Voyages  and  Roman  des  Ailes,  Huon  de  Me"ri  with  his 
pious  Tornoiement  de  V  Antechrist.  But  in  neither  Latin  nor 
French  had  the  ideal  been  realized.  To  combine  the  differ- 


ent kinds  of  allegory  which  were_sflatitprf>(l  h^rp  and 
thrnnnt  thp  literature  of  the  ...twelfth  ...century  into-one.  con- 
tinuous, -coLLsis  lent,  romantic"  naTrative'  hadTprove  (T  beyond 
the  str£n^^_pJL^ny_.auihor,  The  accomplishment  of  this  \ 
task  had  been  reserved  for  Guinaumejfe2JiQrr^s-  Alone  of  / 
the  poets  of  the  day  he  succeeded  in  mingling  fact  and 
fancy  in  a  wqrk^jvvhose  content  and  style  place  it  easily 
above  any  of  the  efforts  of  his  predecessors  or  contem- 
poraries. The  misfortune  of  it  was  that  his  work  remained 
unknown  to  his  own  times.  For  had  this  new  kind  of 
imaginative  writing  received  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign 
of  Louis  IX  the  powerful  assistance  of  the  Roman  de  la 
Rose,  we  may  believe  that  romantic  allegory  would  have 
restored  to  France  the  sway  of  subjective  composition,  which 
had  dominated  its  poetry  from  the  days  of  the  First  Crusade 
to  the  disillusionment  of  the  siege  of  Acre.  Guillaume  de 
Lorris  gone,  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  buried,  the  repentant 
verse  of  a  Raoul  de  Houdan  and  the  personified  chivalry  of 
a  Huon  de  M£ri  could  not  avail  to  check  the  inroads  of  an 
arid,  desiccating  realism.  Another  generation  and  the  oppor- 
tunity had  passed,  and  even  Guillaume  de  Lorris'  sincere 


278  F.    M.    WARREN. 

and  simple  romance  was  destined  to  receive  an  erudite  and 
cynical  ending.1 


The  sources  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  whether  in  the  field 
of  allegory  or  the  field  of  romance,  have  been  the  subject  of 
many  thoro  and  productive  studies.2  Few  details  possessing 
any  importance  can  have  escaped  such  vigilant  scrutiny. 
There  remains,  however,  one  passage,  at  least,  which  has 
not  been  commented  upon,  and  yet  which  seems  worthy  of 
occupying  a  fairly  large  place  in  the  annals  of  medieval 
allegory.  It  is  found  in  one  of  the  earliest  —  perhaps  the 
earliest  —  of  t\\e~rbmans  ^ove?^^,Jn_the__£pem  of  Oracle  by 
It  was  probably  in  the  years  1166  or 


^ 

Il67  that  Gautier  turned  into  rime,  for  the  diversion  of  no 
fewer  than  three  noble  patrons,  the  story  of  the  rise  of  Hera- 
clius  from  the  state  of^sfevery  to  the  position  of  "emperor 
ofj-hft  T^gLgt.3  In  this  poem  we  are  told  how  the  future 
sovereign,  while  still  in  bonds,  had  been  ordered  to  select  a 


1  Other    features    of    Guillaume    de    Lorris'    composition,    as    similes, 
proverbs,  and  familiar  expressions,  correspond  in  general  with  the  style  of 
his  day  and  do  not  call  for  particular  mention.     A  notable  exception  to 
this  uniformity  is  made,  however,  by  the  saying, 

Lors  feras  chastiaus  en  Espagne,     2454, 

of  which  no  other  example  has  been  noted.  —  Also  the  name  of  "Fontaine 
d'  Amors"  (1.  1605),  given  by  the  poet  to  the  spring  in  which  Narcissus 
drowned  himself,  seems  unique,  though  he  at  once  adds  : 
Dont  plusors  ont  en  maint  endroit 
Parle",  en  romans  et  en  livre.     1606,  1607. 

This  name  recurs,  to  be  sure,  in  Watriquet  de  Couvin  (  -1319-1329-  ),  a 
century  later,  but  may  have  been  taken  from  our  romance.  It  is  possible 
that  Guillaume  de  Lorris  invented  the  appellation  himself,  for  the  Nar- 
cissus spring  and  the  instances  to  which  he  refers  may  be  allusions  to  the 
story  of  that  misguided  youth, 

2  Preeminent  among  them  is  E.  Langlois's  well-known  Origines  et  Sources 
du  Roman  de  la  Rose 

3&'acle,  edited  by  E.  Loseth,  in  the  Biblioiheque  franchise  du  moyen  dge, 
vol.  vi. 


GUILLAUME   DE    LORRIS*    ROMAN    DE    LA    ROSE.          279 

fitting  bride  for  his  master,  the  king.  A  general  congress 
of  marriageable  maidens  had  been  called,  and  Heraclius  was 
to  estimate  at  their  just  value  their  physical  attractions  and 
moral  character.  He  goes  from  one  to  the  other,  as  they  are 
assembled,  halting  now  and  then  before  a  maiden  unusually 
endowed,  but  only  to  divine  very  quickly  that  soul  and 
body  are  in  no  instance  in  complete  accord.  Finally  he 
comes  upon  one  who  is  physically  perfect.  But  as  he  looks 
at  her  intently  he  sees  that  her  modesty  is  not  invincible. 
Or  as  the  poet  words  it  : 

Je  ne  vi  onques  nule  tour 

Rendre  sanz  plait  et  sanz  estour. 

Eracles  voit  bien  que  li  rose 

N'est  pas  de  tel  paliz  (tar,  oudour]  enclose 

Qu'il  s'en  Fust  pjourjfqlz  tenuz 

Teulqurpeust^stre  venuz^     2394-2399.  * 

This  metaphor  is  not  an  accident.  It  is  too  well  formu- 
lated to"be  anythinjyjbut  a  deliberate  figure  oF^peech^care- 
fully  considered  by  the  author.  Besides,  it  is  not  the  only 
place  \vhere  Uautier  likens  a  woman  to  a  rose.  For  Hera- 
clius, having  condemned  this  candidate,  pursues  his  quest 
and  finds  another,  whose  beauty  and  virtue  are  equally 
complete.  But  this  paragon,  on  close  inspection,  is  seen  to 
be  ill-tempered.  There's  a  nettle  near  that  rose  : 

Mais  que  1'ortie  est  od  le  rose.     2508 

N'affert  pas  a  1'empereur 

Qu'il  ait  1'ortie  entour  le  fleur.     2510,  2511. 

And  once  again,  when  the  ideal  woman  has  been  revealed, 
and  made  empress,  her  husband  is  warned  against  subjecting 
the  "  rose  "  to  harsh  treatment  during  his  absence  : 


1  In  this  citation  I  have  used  the  variant  for  1.  2398,  and  have  emended 
both  1.  2398  and  1.  2399. 


280  F.    M.    WARREN. 

Sire,  ne  malmetez  le  rose, 

Car  s'ele  est  quatre  mois  enclose 

Tart  en  vendrez  al  repentir.     3136-3138. 

There  is  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  Gautier  deliberately 
J^— a^ose^as  o  ther  poets  had  probably 
him  an^Ueertainly-did  after  him.  _  He  had  com- 
bined this  simile — or  some  predecessor  had  effected  the 
combination — with  a  metaphor  in  which  the  rose-maiden  is 
protected  against  the  enterprise  of  a  suitor  by  a  barrier- 
palissade.  In  other  words,  a  poet  of  the  reign  of  Louis  VII 
states  in  outline  the  plot  of  the  Roman  de  la  Hose. 

But  how  did  this  plot  gain  entrance  into  Oracle  f  Did 
Gautier  invent  the  metaphor  himself,  or  did  he  borrow  it 
from  some  one  else  ?  Originality  was  not  Gautier' s  forte. 
XA  more  time-serving,  eclectic  writer  than  he  can  hardly  be 
imagined.  Still  if  the  manuscripts  agreed  among  them- 
selves in  making  the  barrier  which  defends  the  rose  a 
palissade,  we  should  hardly  be  justified,  on  general  grounds, 
merely,  in  denying  to  Gautier  the  credit  for  this  striking 
figure.  The  substitution  of  _a  palissade  for  a  hedge  is 
obvious.  The  poet  had  just  compared  a  woman's  virtue  to* 
a  toaster,  Palissades  formed  the  outer  defences  of  a  castle, 
and  would  naturally  suggest  themselves  in  any  repetition  of 
the  comparison.  "  Paliz  "  must  have  been  the  word  which 
Gautier  selected.  But  why  the  variant  "  oudour "  in  line 
2397?  It  resembles  "paliz"  neither  in  form  nor  sense, 
and  is  clearly  due  to  the  aberration  of  a  copyist,  an  aberra- 
tion which  is  apparently  incomprehensible. 

Possibly  an  examination  of  the  lines  in  which  Guillaume 
de  Lorris  develops  the  thought  of  his  narrative  may  be 
helpful  here.  He  has  brought  himself,  the  lover,  to  the 
Fountain  of  Love,  and  sees,  reflected  in  its  depths,  rose- 
bushes covered  with  roses,  and  the  hedge  which  intervenes  : 


281 


Choisi  rosiers  chargids  de  roses, 

Qui  estoient  en  un  detor 

D'une  haie  clos  tout  entor.     1624-1626. 

When  he  turns  towards  the  roses,  their  perfume  greets  him 
and  penetrates  to  his  soul  : 

Et  sachie's  que  quant  g'en  fui  pres, 

L'oudor  des  roses  savorees 

M'entra  ens  jusques  es  corees, 

Que  por  noient  fusse  embasmds.     1634-1637. 

At   all   risks   he   must   pluck   one   in    order   to   smell   its 
fragance : 

Se  assailli  ou  mesame's 

Ne  cremisse  estre,  g'en  cuillisse 

Au  mains  une  que  ge  tenisse 

En  ma  main,  por  Fodor  sentir.    1638-41. 

But  when  he  tries  to  reach  them,  briars  bar  his  way : 

Ains  m'aprochasse  por  le  prendre, 

Se  g'i  osasse  la  main  tendre. 

M£s  chardon  felon  et  poignant 

M'en  aloient  moult  esloignant ; 

Espines  tranchans  et  agues, 

Orties  et  ronces  crochues 

Ne  me  lessieTent  avant  traire, 

Que  ge  m'en  cremoie  mal  faire.     1681-88  ;  cf.  1808-14. 

Or  it  was  a  hedge  which  stopped  him  : 

Li  rosiers  d'une  haie  furent 

Clos  environ,  si  cum  il  durent.     2791,  2792. 

And  it  is  a  hedge  which  Bel  Accueil  urges  him  to  pass  in 
order  to  breathe  in  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  : 

Biaus  amis  chiers,  se  il  vous  plest, 

Passes  la  haie  sans  arrest, 

Por  Podor  des  roses  sentir.     2809-11. 

Finally,  when  the  lover  reaches  the  roses   and  kisses  the 

8 


282  F.    M.    WARREN. 

flower  he  had  desired  so  long,  it  is  the  odor  which  assuages 
his  bitter  grief: 

Car  une  odor  m'entra  ou  cors, 

Qui  en  a  trait  la  dolor  fors, 

Et  adoucit  les  maus  d'amer 

Qui  me  soloient  estre  amer.     4081-84. 

Et  quant  du  baisier  me  recors, 

Qui  me  mist  une  odor  ou  cors 

Ass<§s  plus  douce  que  n'est  basme, 

Par  un  poi  que  ge  ne  me  pasme.     4382-85. 

The  real  difference,  therefore,  between  the  plot  of  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose  and  the  outline  of  that  plot  as  it  is  pre- 
sented in  Gautier's  romance,  lies  in_the  part_assigned. by 
Guillaume  de  Lorn^_to_the^a^  That 

fragrance  excites  the  lover's  ardor,  but  also  dispels  the 
pangs  of  love  when  once  he  has  breathed  it  in.1  Now  the 
variant  to  line  2397  of  Oracle  furnishes  us  with  a  hint 
regarding  the  missing  factor.  And  because  the  variant,  as 
it  stands,  is  so  absurdly  out  of  place,  we  can  excuse  the 
copyist  for  his  blunder  in  no  othe'r  way  than  by  supposing 
that  the  real  situation  has  been  interpreted  to  us  by  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose  (or  by  the  verses  of  Guillaume  de  Palerne), 

1  Charles  Joret's  brilliant  work,  La  Rose  dans  Vantiquite  et  au-moyen  dge, 
calls  attention,  on  page  305,  to  the  soothing  effects  produced  by  a  rose  on 
the  lover,  in  Guillaume  de  Palerne.  In  a  dream  he  receives  a  rose  from  his 
mistress  and  her  attendant  : 

Dessi  en  droit  a  lui  venoient, 

Une  rose  li  aportoient ; 

Tantost  com  recevoit  la  flor, 

Ne  sentait  paine  ne  dolor, 

Travail,  grevance  ne  dehait.     1453-1457. 

Guillaume  de  Palerne  may  have  been  written  as  early  as  1190.  It  cannot 
be  later  than  1212. — A  rose  seen  in  a  garden  reminds  the  lover  in  Blan- 
candin  of  his  mistress,  and  he  consequently  kisses  it.  But  the  kiss  does  not 
at  all  alleviate  his  distress  of  mind  (11.  2605-2652).  The  author  of  Blan- 
candin  was  probably  a  contemporary  of  Guillaume  de  Lorris. 


and  that  in  Gautier's  original  the  part  played  by  the  flower's 
perfume  was  a  prominent  one. 

Such  a  solution  of  the  problem  assumes  that  Gautier 
knew  a  poem  which  is  now  entirely  lost.  In  support  of  this 
assumption  stand  not  only  the  impossible  variant  of  the  line 
in  question,  but  also  the  improbability  that  Guillaume  de 
Lorris  drew  on  Gautier's  metaphor  for  the  skeleton  of  his 
plot.  Gautier  had  already  deviated  from  nature  by  sub- 
stituting the  palissacle  ofTSnc^for  thejiedge  of  fact.  Had 
Guillaume  de  I^orrTs  imitated  Him,  he  would  have  been 
obliged  to  carry  the  image  back  to  nature,  a  proceeding 
which  is  contrary  to  the  usual  method  of  rhetorical  develop- 
ment. Besides,_he  would  not  have  found  in  Gautier's  figure 
the  deep  significance  wnlch  he  attribute^  to  the  rose's  fra^ 
grance.  Another  theory,  of  independent  invention  on  the  \ 
part  of  each  poet,  is  tenable,  but  it  runs  counter  to  the 
ordinary  opinion  regarding  the  methods  of  medieval  writers. 
When  the  same  conception  is  presented  by  two  or  more 
authors  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  the  general 
conclusion  is  that  the  repetition  of  the  thought  indicates 
imitation  and  not  originality.  And  in  this  particular  in- 
stance the  usual  assumption  is  strengthened  by  the  oddity  of 
the  variant  in  j&racle. 

The  existence  of  a  third  poem,  therefore,  would  furnish 
the  most  consistent  explanation  for  the  likeness  between 
Gautier's  metaphor — including  the  variant — and  the  plot  of 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  This  third  poem  would  have  con- 
tained the  essential  features  of  the  story  narrated  later  by 
Guillaume  de  Lorris.  These  features  he  would  have  made 
his  own,  as  he  did  his  loans  from  antecedent  allegories,  from 
romans  d'aventure,  from  Ovid  and  other  writings.  From 
this  third  poem  Gautier  would  have  borrowed  so  much  as 
he  needed  to  complete  his  metaphor.  A  copyist,  who  was 
familiar  with  the  contents  of  this  third  poem,  and  who  had 

* 


284  F.    M.    WARBEN. 

been  impressed  by  the  importance  it  gave  to  the  fragrance 
of  the  flower,  would  have  unconsciously  blundered  at  the 
point  where  Gautier,  excluding  this  element  from  his  com- 
parison, changes  the  natural  barrier  of  a  hedge  into  the 
artificial  one  of  a  fortification.  And  in  his  confusion  he 
would  have  writteji_down  one  leading  term  for  another, 
"  oudour  "  fojJLpdiZt^  __That_vvedo  not  find  any  evidence 
of  the  e^sten^e^C-this_Jiypoih^icaI  poemr  Bother  than  the 
inferences  which  may  be  drawn  from  Erade,  Guillaume  de 
Palerne,  and  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  would  not  seriously 
invalidate  our  argument.  Far  more  important  works  of  the 
.Middle  Ages  have  failed  to  withstand  the  attacks  of  time. 
Still  we  should  not  wish  to  claim  too  much,  nor  lay  too 
much  weight  on  the  plausibility  of  this  or  that  theory. 
For  the  fact  which  suggests  the  theory  remains  here  the 
essential  point :  that  the  metaphor  on  which  rests  the  Roman 
de  la  Rose  had  appealed  to  another  mind  long  before  it  was 
elaborated  by  the  talent  of  Guillaume  de  Lorris. 

F.  M.  WAKREN. 


XIII.— THE   DATE  OF  CHAUCER'S    TEOILUS 
AND  CRISEYDE. 

In  the  twenty-fifth  stanza  of  the  first  book  of  the  Troilus 
occurs  a  passage  which  is  puzzling  in  more  respects  than 
one.  The  stanza  is  as  follows  : 

Among  thise  othere  folk  was  Criseyda, 
In  widewes  habite  blak  ;  but  nathelees, 
Right  as  our  firste  lettre  is  now  an  A, 
In  beautee  first  so  stood  she,  makelees; 
Hir  godly  looking  gladede  al  the  prees. 
Nas  never  seyn  thing  to  ben  preysed  derre, 
Nor  under  cloude  blak  so  bright  a  sterre. 

It  is  the  line  about  the  letter  A  which,  even  on  a  cursory 
reading,  gives  one  pause,  while  closer  scrutiny  but  heightens 
one's  perplexity.  For,  in  the  first  place,  as  Sandras  long 
ago  pointed  out,1  Chaucer  has  here  curiously  diverged  from 
Boccaccio.  The  corresponding  stanza  in  the  Filostrato  reads 
as  follows  : 

Tra'  quali  fu  di  Calcas  la  figliuola 

Griseida,  la  qual'era  in  bruna  vesta, 

La  qual,  quanto  la  rosa  la  viola 

Di  beltd  vince,  cotanto  era  questa 
f    Piu  ch'altra  donna  bella,  ed  essa  sola 

Piu  ch'altra  facea  lieta  la  gran  festa, 

Stando  nel  tempio  assai  presso  alia  porta, 

Negli  atti  altiera,  piacente  ed  accorta.2 

The  change  from  "  quanto  la  rosa  la  viola  di  beltH  vince " 
to  "Right  as  our  firste  lettre  is  now  an  A"  Sandras 
characterizes  flatly  as  bizarre,3  and  there  is  much  that  seems 

1  Etude  sur  G.  Chaucer,  1859,  pp.  45-46.  2 II  Filostrato,  I,  stanza  19. 

3  He  is  illustrating  his  thesis  that  "comme  les  poe'tes  anciens,  Boccaee 
excelle  a  assortir  les  sentiments  et  les  images ;  Chaucer  neglige  les  plus 
gracieuses  comparaisons  ou  les  altere"  (op.  cit.,  p.  45).  Professor  Skeat 
also  notes  (Oxford  Chaucer,  2.  463)  that  "Boccaccio's  image  is  much  finer." 

286 


286  JOHN   LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

to  warrant,  at  first  blush,  his  stricture.  For  Chaucer's 
substitution  is,  to  say  the  least,  prosaic,  where  Boccaccio  is 
elegant  and  graceful ;  so  much,  whatever  one's  interpreta- 
tion of  the  fact,  seems  clear. 

But  it  is  when  one  turns  from  the  curious  divergence  of 
the  comparison  from  its  original  to  the  precise  wording  of 
the  line  itself  that  the  essential  difficulty  appears.  For  it 
seems  to  have  been  overlooked  that  Chaucer  is  speaking 
with  an  explicituess  of  reference  which  is  unaccountable  if 
the  conventional' interpretation — that  of  a  somewhat  bald 
use  of  the  letter  A  qua  A — be  correct.1  One  word  in 
particular  demands  more  critical  examination. 

In  the  first  place,  the  line  in  question  reads :  "  Right  as 
our  firste  lettre  is  now  an  A." 2  Why  "  now  f  "  Has  not  A 
always  been  our  first  letter?  The  obvious  and,  I  think, 
inevitable  implication  of  the  line,  taken  fairly  as  it  stands, 
is  that  such  has  not  always  been  the  case.  But  this  implica- 
tion carries  with  it  the  alternative  that  Chaucer  is  either  so 
recondite  as  to  advert  to  a  time  when  the  Roman  alphabet 
was  not,  or  so  subtle  as  to  intimate  that  our  alphabet,  to  be 
sure,  was  not  that  of  Troilus  and  Pandare  and  Criseyde. 

1  Even  Professor  Skeat's  apt  citation  (Oxford  Chaucer,  2.  462)  of  Henry- 
son's  reference  to  Criseyde  as  "the  flower  and  A-per-se  Of  Troy  and 
Greece"  (suggested  as  it  probably  was  by  Chaucer's  phrase)  does  not,  as 
will  be  seen,  offer  a  precise  parallel. 

"There  is  no  question  of  the  text.  Except  for  purely  orthographic 
variations  (oure,  Cl.,  Harl.  2280,  Gg.,  Cp.,  Harl.  1239,  Add.  Ms.  12044  ; 
first,  Cl.,  Cp.,  Jo.  ;  fyrst,  Gg.,  Harl.  1239  ;  furste,  Harl.  2280  ;  ferste,  Add. 
Ms.  12044  ;  letter,  Gg.,  Jo.;  nowe,  Harl.  2280)  the  six  MSS.  of  the  Parallel- 
Text  Print  and  the  Three  More  Parallel  Texts,  together  with  Add.  Ms.  12044 
(Brit.  Mus. ),  agree  throughout.  Nor  is  any  variation  noted  in  the  colla- 
tion of  Harl.  2392  (now  in  the  Harvard  College  Library)  used  by  Professor 
Skeat  in  the  Oxford  Chaucer.  The  only  exception  is  Harl.  Ms.  3943  (in 
Kossetti's  Parallel-Text  Edition  of  T.  and  C.  and  the  Filostrato),  in  which 
the  line  reads  :  "  Eight  as  our  chef  lettre  ys  now  A."  The  bearing  of  this 
variant  will  be  noted  later. 


DATE  OF  CHAUCER'S  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      287 

The  suggestion  that  Chaucer  was  concerned  at  this  point 
with  the  abstruse  history  of  the  alphabet  one  may  dismiss 
at  once.  Nor  is  such  realistic  subtlety  as  that  involved 
in  the  second  alternative  more  credible,  especially  when 
one  recalls  Chaucer's  own  frank  disclaimer  of  historical 
verisimilitude  after  arming  Palamon's  knights  with  Prus- 
sian shields  :  "  Ther  nis  no  newe  gyse,  that  it  nas  old." 
But  granting  either  interpretation  of  the  "  now,"  the  thing 
of  capital  importance  to  note  is  that  as  an  element  of  the 
comparison  the  word  is  wholly  without  point.  For  there 
is  nothing  in  the  present  state  of  the  letter  A  as  A,  as  com- 
pared with  some  other  time  than  "now,"  which  demands, 
for  the  purposes  of  the  simile,  such  curious  explicitness  of 
reference.  On  the  assumption  of  a  comparison  with  the 
letter  solely  as  a  letter,  the  passage  seems  inexplicable.2 

But  there  is  unmistakable  evidence  that  what  Chaucer  did 
say  he  said  with  distinct  intention.  The  name  of  the  heroine 
occurs  in  rhyme  fifty-three  (53)  times  in  the  Troilus?  In 
every  one  of  the  other  fifty-two  instances,  without  exception  in 
the  seven  accessible  MSS.,  its  form  is  Criseyde,  with  final 
-e.  Instead,  then,  of  using  (as  one  might  suggest)  the  letter 
A  itself  as  the  most  obvious  and  easy  rhyme  for  a  final  -a 
already  written  in  his  first  line,  Chaucer  has  deliberately 
varied,  in  order  to  introduce  the  A,  from  his  otherwise 


*A.  2125. 

2  Moreover,  it  is  not  quite  clear  why  Chaucer,  if  the  comparison  is  with 
A  merely  as  A,  should   say  "  Right  as  our  firste  lettre  is  now  an  A." 
11  An  A,"  it  is  to  be  noted,  has  the  effect  of  seeming  to  individualize  the 
letter,  as  if  the  reference  were  to  some  A,  a  certain  A. 

3  I.    55,  169  (the  passage  under  discussion),  459,   874,  1010  ;  II.  877, 
1235,  1417,  1550,  1603  ;  III.  1054,  1112,  1173,  1420, 1473;  IV.  138,  149, 
177,  195,  212,  231,  347,  378,  666,  829,  875,  962,  1147,  1165,  1214,  1252, 
1436,  1655 ;  V.  216,  508,  523,  687,  735,  872,  934,  948,  1031,  1113,  1123, 
1143,  1241,  1264,  1422,  1437,  1674,  1712,  1732,  1833. 


288  JOHN   LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

uniform  usage.1  Whatever  the  line  means,  it  is  clearly  no 
hurried  makeshift. 

In  a  word,  Chaucer  seems  to  be  using  an  admittedly 
prosaic,  even  banal,  comparison,  instead  of  the  apt  and 
graceful  one  of  his  original ;  seems,  moreover,  to  be  phrasing 
it  in  a  strangely  irrelevant,  not  to  say  meaningless,  fashion ; 
yet  is  unmistakably  doing  what  he  does  with  deliberate 
intention.  Is  there  any  other  possible  interpretation  of  the 
line? 

On  January  14,  1382,  Richard  II,  then  in  the  second 
week  of  his  sixteenth  year,  and  Anne  of  Bohemia,  not  yet 
seventeen,  were  married  at  Westminster.  Many  things  con- 
spired to  render  the  young  queen  consort  at  once  the  object 
of  keen  interest.  For  five  years  previous  the  marriage 
of  the  king  had  been  a  matter  of  anxious  thought  to  his 
guardians  and  of  manifold  conjecture  to  his  subjects.  There 
had  been  negotiations  in  1377  and  1378  looking  toward  a 
marriage  between  Richard  and  Princess  Marie  of  France ; 2 
in  1379  Bernabo  Visconti  had  offered  the  hand  of  his 
daughter  Caterina ; 3  the  marriage  with  Anne  herself  was 

1  The  situation  is  very  closely  paralleled  in  the  KnigMs  Tale.     In  the 
Tale,  Emily's  name  occurs  29  times  in  rhyme  (A.  871,  1077,  1273,  1419, 
1567,  1588,  1594,  1731,  1749,  1833,  2273,  2341,  2571,  2578,  2658,  2679, 
2699,  2762,  2773,  2780,  2808,  2816,  2836,  2885,  2910,  2956,  2980,  3098, 
3107).     In  every  instance  except  one  (A.  1077)  it  is  spelled  Emelye,  with 
final  -e.     But  in  1.  1077,  through  the  influence  of  a  following  "a,"  it  be- 
comes Emelya,  with  final  -a  : 

He  caste  his  eye  upon  Emelya, 

And  there-with-al  he  bleynte,  and  cryde  "  a  I " 

For  other  instances  of  rhymes  in  -a  see  A.  161-2  (crowned  A,  omnia)  ; 
Bk.  of  Duchesse  1071-2  (Polixena,  Minerva),  H.  F.  401-2  (Medea, 
Dyanira),  1271-2  (Medea,  Calipsa) ;  A.  867-8  and  881-2  (Ipolita, 
Scithia);  B.  71-2  (Ladomea,  Medea);  F.  1455-6  (Bilia,  Valeria). 

2  Life  Records,  pp.  203-4. 

3  Walsingham,  Hist.  Angl.  (Kolls  Series),  n,  46  ;  Eymer's  Foedera  (ed. 
Holmes),  Vol.  in,  Pt.  iii,  p.  84. 


DATE  OF  CHAUCER'S  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      289 

under  formal  consideration  as  early  as  the  middle  of  1380 j1 
and  the  period  intervening  had  not  been  without  its  inci- 
dents. When  at  last,  after  the  long  delay  occasioned  by 
Wat  Tyler's  rebellion,  Parliament  was  prorogued  upon  word 
of  Anne's  coming,  the  news  of  her  arrival  at  Brussels  was 
accompanied  by  the  disconcerting  intelligence  that  twelve 
armed  vessels,  sent  by  the  King  of  France,  were  waiting  in 
the  channel  to  intercept  her.2  Charles's  coup  de  th$dtre  was 
met  by  prompt  diplomacy,  and  on  December  18,  1381, 
attended  by  the  imposing  escort  sent  to  meet  her,  Anne 
embarked  at  Calais,  and  was  conveyed,  "cum  omni  gloria 
mundi,"  to  Dover.  Hardly  had  she  disembarked,  however, 
when  a  still  more  startling  incident  occurred.  By  a  strange 
and  unprecedented  disturbance  of  the  sea,  the  ship  from 
which  she  had  just  stepped  was  broken  to  pieces,  and 
the  rest  of  the  convoy  scattered.3  How  strikingly  this 
"mirabile  cunctis  anspicium"  contributed  to  the  further 
focussing  of  already  curious  eyes  upon  the  queen,  Walsing- 
ham's  contemporary  account4  makes  clear.  Meantime,  a 
general  amnesty  to  the  rebels  had  been  proclaimed  at  her 
intercession,5  and  the  marriage  and  coronation  were  cele- 
brated with  "  muchel  glorie  and  greet  solempnitee."  6  Any 

^atlock,  The  Development  and  Chronology  of  Chaucer* 's  Works  (Chaucer 
Soc.,  1907),  p.  42;  Diet.  Nat.  Biog.,  XLVIII,  147;  Wallon,  Richard  II, 
i,  454-5. 

2Froissart,  Chroniques,  ed.  Kaynaud  (Paris,  1897),  x,  166-67  ;  Diet. 
Nat.  Biog.,  i,  421. 

3Walsingham,  Hist.  Angl  (Kolls  Series),  u,  46;  cf.  Stow,  Annales 
(London,  1631),  p.  294;  Holinshed's  Chronicles  (London,  1807),  n,  753. 
For  further  references  see  Mod.  Lang.  Notes,  vol.  xix,  pp.  240-43. 

*  Walsingham,  n,  46. 

5  See  Wallon,  i,  455,  for  references. 

6  One  must  not  forget,  moreover,  that  almost  at  once  the  prevalence  of 
high  headdresses  peaked  like  horns,  of  long  trained  gowns,  of  extrava- 
gantly pointed  shoes,  testified  to  the  young  queen's  vogue;  "also  noble 
women  .  .  .  rode  on  side  saddles,  after  the  example  of  the  Queene,  who 


290  JOHN    LIVINGSTON    LOWES. 

allusion,  one  may  be  sure,  to  Anne  of  Bohemia,  during  the 
months  succeeding  her  dramatic  arrival,  would  be  secure  of 
ready  comprehension. 

Moreover,  that  Chaucer  himself  would  be  particularly  apt 
to  turn  to  account  any  chance  of  a  passing  and  graceful 
allusion  to  the  queen,  one  has  evidence  enough.  He  had 
been  one  of  the  commissioners  to  negotiate  the  marriage  of 
Richard  II  to  the  Princess  Marie,  before  Anne  of  Bohemia 
was  thought  of;1  he  had  celebrated  in  the  Parkment  of 
Foules  the  betrothal  of  Anne  herself;  the  bringing  home  of 
Hippolyta  to  Athens  associated  itself  in  his  mind,  as  he 
began  the  story  of  Palamon  and  Arcite,  with  the  eventful 
arrival  of  Anne,  and  by  a  single  vivid  touch  the  tempest 
at  Anne's  home-coming  had  been  shifted  to  Hippolyta's.2 
What  could  be  more  in  keeping  than  that  again,  in  the 
poem  of  all  others  whose  vogue  at  court  Chaucer  could  not 
but  have  foreseen,  he  should  permit  himself  a  delicately 
veiled  and  graceful  reference  to  the  queen  ?  3 

So  much  is  a  priori;  but  when  one  reverts  with  the 
suggestion  thus  gained  to  the  hitherto  baffling  lines  about 
the  letter  A,  one  finds  all  the  perplexities  resolved.  For 
every  detail  which  was  absurd  or  impossible  when  applied 
to  A  as  A,  becomes  clear  and  relevant  if  the  allusion  is  to 
Anne.  "Right  as  our  firste  lettre  is  now  an  A" — the 
passage  runs — "In  beautee  first  so  stood  she  makeless." 

The  two  "  firsts,"  for  one  thing,  are  brought  at  once  into 
complete  coordination.  If  A  stands  as  the  initial  of  the  first 

first  brought  that  fashion  into  this  land,  for  before,  women  were  used  to 
ride  astride  like  men  "  (Stow,  Annaks,  London,  1631,  p.  295). 

1  Life  Records,  pp.  xxviii,  203-4,  219,  230. 

2  See  my  discussion  of  this  point  in  Mod.  Lang.  Notes,  vol.  xix  (Decem- 
ber, 1904),  pp.  240-43. 

3  The  specific  dedication  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  to   the  queen 
comes   later ;   but   it  shows  like   the    rest   how  definitely  at   this  period 
Chaucer  had  the  queen  in  mind. 


DATE  OF  CHAUCEK'S  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      291 

lady  of  the  realm,  it  becomes  thereby  "  our  firste  lettre  "  in 
just  the  sense  in  which  Oiseyda  is  "  in  beautee  first" l 
Moreover,  precisely  this  sense  of  "first"  clears  up  at  once 
the  mystery  of  the  "  now."  For  instead  of  being  a  gratui- 
tous statement  about  the  alphabet  per  se,  the  line  conveys 
the  courtly  suggestion  of  a  new  dignity  conferred  upon 
what  is  now  her  letter  by  the  coming  of  the  queen.  A  has 
always  begun  the  alphabet;  now  the  king's  choice  of  his 
consort — "  unto  my  sovereyn  lady,  and  noght  my  fere," 
Chaucer  himself  had  made  him  say2 — has  constituted  it 
"  our  firste  lettre "  in  a  double  sense.  Even  the  "  our," 
instead  of  breathing  purely  alphabetic  ardors,  adds  its  light 
but  unmistakable  touch  of  national  loyalty  to  the  young 
queen.3 

Boccaccio's  elegant  but  hackneyed  "  quanto  la  rosa  la 
viola  Di  belta  vince  "  has  given  place,  then,  not  to  a  bizarre 
transmogrification,  as  Sandras  supposed,  but  to  an  aptly 
turned  and  adroitly  worded  compliment  at  court.  Just  as  a 
certain  A  is  now  our  first  letter — -just  as  (that  is  to  say)  its 
bearer  is  the  "  flour  and  A-per-se  "  of  ladies  in  the  realm 


irTlie  "chef  lettre  "  in  Harl.  Ms.  3943  (see  p.  286,  n.  2)— "  Eight  as  our 
chef  lettre  ys  now  A" — almost  looks  as  if  the  Harleian  scribe  (or  some 
predecessor)  had  understood  and  tried  to  make  even  clearer  the  allusion. 

2Parlement  of  Foules,  1.  416, 

3  Moreover,  if  the  A  referred  to  is  not  after  all  the  mere  first  letter  of  the 
alphabet,  but  a  specific  A,  the  royal  A,  the  now  familiar  initial  of  the  queen, 
the  problem  of  "  an  A  "  is  also  solved.  Whether,  indeed,  as  may  well  be, 
the  collocation  is  accidental,  or  whether  Chaucer  is  designedly  heightening 
the  .transparency  of  his  allusion,  the  fact  itself  remains  that  "  an  A,"  read 
with  the  fourteenth  century  pronunciation  of  the  A,  gives  the  familiar 
Latin  form  of  the  queen's  name.  It  is  the  letter,  to  be  sure,  and  not  the 
name  of  which  Chaucer  is  speaking  ;  but  double  allusions  would  fare  ill  if 
they  had  to  be  rigidly  logical,  and  a  double  allusion  here  can  scarcely 
be  said  to  be  out  of  keeping  with  the  context.  The  fact,  in  any  case, 
is  there,  and  must  be  reckoned  with,  despite  Chaucer's  disinclination 
to  pun. 


292  JOHN   LIVINGSTON    LOWES. 

— so  Criseyda  stood  first  in  beauty  without  peer.  And  it 
must  not  be  overlooked  that  "s<?"  looks  back  as  well  as 
forward,  and  dexterously  links  "in  beautee  first  .  .  .  make- 
less"  with  the  implication  of  its  preceding  line,  in  no  less 
delicate  than  pertinent  recognition  of  the  fact  that  beauty  is 
an  indefeasible  prerogative  of  queens.  "Ye  knowe  eek," 
Chaucer  found  it  necessary  shrewdly  to  remind  his  own 
contemporary  readers, 

' '  Ye  knowe  eek,  that  in  forme  of  speche  is  chaunge 
With-inne  a  thousand  yeer,  and  words  tho 
That  hadden  prys,  now  wonder  nyce  and  straunge 
Us  thinketh  hem  ;  and  yet  they  spake  hem  so."  l 

And  all  this  which  now  it  takes  so  disproportionately 
many  words  to  make  explicit,  for  the  very  reason  that  the 
"chaunge  withinne  a  thousand  yeer"  has  made  it  "wonder 
straunge"  to  us,  one  may  readily  believe  was  patent  at  a 
glance  to  Chaucer's  quick-witted  audience  at  court,  adepts 
in  the  art  of  allusion  as  they  were.2 

But  there  are  facts  which  seem  to  make  it  unnecessary 
to  appeal  to  any  special  proficiency  in  the  interpretation  of 
allusions  on  the  part  of  Chaucer's  readers — facts  which 
seem,  indeed,  to  render  this  particular  allusion  so  obvious  as 
to  be  unmistakable,  even  now.  It  is  only  a  few  years  since 
the  death  of  Queen  Victoria  and  the  accession  of  Edward 
VII  made  strikingly  evident,  in  the  sweeping  changes 
involved  in  the  substitution  of  E.  R.  for  V.  R.,  the  part 
still  played  in  actual  affairs  by  the  royal  initial.  What  was 
the  usage  in  the  court  of  Richard  and  Anne  ? 


1T.  ii,  22-25. 

2  One  has  only  to  recall,  for  example,  the  literature  of  the  Flower  and 
the  Leaf,  on  both  sides  of  the  channel,  to  be  satisfied  on  that  score.  Indeed, 
if  an  allusion  had  not  been  intended,  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  one  would 
not  have  been  understood — if  the  dates  allowed  ! 


It  is  worth  while  to  go  back  for  a  moment  to  the  pre- 
ceding reign.  In  the  Wardrobe  Roll  of  21st  Edward  III — 
the  roll  which  contains  the  first  reference  to  the  celebrated 
motto  of  the  Garter — there  are  mentioned  "  materials  .  .  . 
for  three  escutcheons  of  the  king's  arms,  quarterly ;  of  blue 
and  silver  Cyprus,  sindon  and  silk  for  making  forty  clouds 
for  divers  of  the  king's  garniments,  embroidered  with  gold, 
silver  and  silk,  having  an  £  in  the  middle  of  gold,  and  gar- 
nished with  stars  throughout  the  field,  or  ground.' '  *  Not 
only  were  the  king's  garments  embroidered  with  his  initial, 
but  the  royal  plate  was  also  marked  with  it.  In  his  "  Ob- 
servations on  the  Origin  and  History  of  the  Badge  and 
Mottoes  of  Edward  Prince  of  Wales,"  2  Sir  Harris  Nicolas 
refers  to  "an  indenture  (not  hitherto  known)  witnessing 
that  Sir  Henry  de  Wakefeld,  late  Keeper  of  the  King's 
Wardrobe,  had  delivered  to  .  .  .  de  Mulsho,  his  successor 
in  that  office,  at  Windsor,  on  the  24th  of  October,  in  the 
.  .  .  year  of  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the  Third,  the  plate 
therein  mentioned.  The  date  of  the  year  no  longer  exists, 
but  it  must  have  been  after  the  43d  Edward  III,  1369. 
The  Roll  commences  with  a  list  of  plate  belonging  to  the 
King,  some  articles  of  which  were  marked  with  the  Arms 
of  England  and  France  quarterly ;  others  with  a  leopard, 
others  with  a  fleur-de-lis,  others  with  a  rose,  others  with 
a  crowned  E"  It  is  clear  that  the  king's  initial  was  a 
familiar  object  at  Court  during  the  reign  of  Edward  III. 
But  was  the  queen's?  "The  second  membrane  of  the  Roll," 

1  Sir  Nicholas  Harris  Nicolas,  * '  Observations  on  the  Institution  of  the 
most  noble  Order  of  the  Garter,"  Arvhaeologia,  xxxi,  120.     See  also  John 
Gough  Nichols,  Archaeologia,  xxix,  47  :  ' ' Ashmole  quotes  from  the  Ward- 
robe Eoll  of  the  21st  Edw.  Ill  a  charge  for  '  forty  of  these  clouds  [from 
which  the  sun  of  the  king's  device  was  rising],  embroidered  with  gold, 
silver,  and  silk,  having  in  the  middle  the  Saxon  letter  6  of  gold,  provided  to 
trim  several  garments  made  for  the  king,  and  garnished  with  stars.'  " 

2  Archaeologia,  xxxr,  352. 


294  JOHN    LIVINGSTON    LOWES. 

Sir  Harris  Nicolas  continues,  "  is  entitled  the  l  Queen's 
Plate ' — <  Vessellamenta  Reginae/  which  title,  and  the  fact 
that  all  the  articles,  if  marked  at  all,  were  marked  with  her 
arms,  or  her  initial,1  are  very  important  to  this  inquiry." 
Among  these  articles  were  "fifteen  silver  spoons,  one  of 
which  is  gilt  and  not  marked,  and  fourteen  of  silver  not 
gilt,  marked  outside  with  the  letter  JJ."  2  There  were,  more- 
over, "  five  silver  salt-cellars,  marked  on  the  edge  with  the 
letter  ;|J," 3  and  in  this  case  the  entry  reads  " .  JI  .  corofi."  4 
Queen  Philippa,  accordingly,  used  her  own  initial  as 
the  king  used  his.5  During  the  reign  of  Edward  III, 
then,  the  initials  not  only  of  the  king,  but  of  the  queen 
consort  as  well,  appeared  on  various  objects  about  the  court. 
The  inference  that  Anne's  initial  would  probably  be  no  less 
conspicuous  is  an  easy  one. 

But  one  does  not  have  to  rely  upon  inference.  There  is 
conclusive  evidence  that  Anne's  initial  was  a  familiar  object 
to  the  readers  of  the  Troilus.  Even  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
III,  as  has  been  seen,  it  was  the  vogue  to  embroider  initials 
upon  court  robes.6  During  the  reign  of  Richard  II,  and 
especially  after  Richard's  marriage  to  Anne  of  Bohemia,  the 
custom  of  wearing  letters  and  armorial  devices  became  a 

JThe  italics  are  Sir  Harris  Nicolas' s. 

2  Archaeologia,  xxxi,  353  ;  see  p.  377  for  transcript. 

3  76.,  p.  354.  *lb.,  p.  379. 

5 1  do  not  feel  sure  that  the  E  and  P  which  appear  over  the  ostrich 
feathers  in  the  Black  Prince's  Great  Seal  of  the  Duchy  of  Aquitaine  (see 
Sandford's  Genealogical  History,  p.  125,  quoted  in  Archceologia,  xxxi,  362) 
may  not  stand  for  Edwardus  Princeps,  rather  than  as  the  initials  of  the 
king  and  queen.  But  the  latter  seems  to  be  a  possible  alternative. 

6  Compare  also  Strutt,  Dress  and  Habits  of  the  People  of  England  (1842), 
n,  243,  n.  7:  "An  old  English  chronicle  MS.  cited  in  the  second  volume 
of  the  horSa  Anjelcynnan,  page  83',  informs  us,  that  in  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward the  Third,  'the  Englishmenne  clothede  all  in  cootes  and  hodes 
peynted  with  lettres  and  with  floures.'  " 


DATE  OF  CHAUCER'S  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      295 

craze,  reaching  finally  such  an  extreme  that  in  the  succeed- 
ing reign  prohibitory  statutes  were  enacted.1  That  Richard 
himself  wore  his  own  initial  on  his  royal  robes  is  placed 
beyond  doubt  by  the  famous  painting  of  the  king  in  the  choir 
of  Westminster  Abbey,  said  to  be  the  earliest  contemporary 
portrait  in  existence  of  an  English  king.  In  Dart's  West- 
monasterium 2  is  a  large  and  beautiful  print  of  this  painting, 

1  After  discussing  the  prohibitory  statutes  of  4  Henry  IV  (1403)  relating 
to  apparel,  Strutt  continues  :  "  Four  years  after  the  establishment  of  these 
statutes,  another  was  added  ;  by  which  it  was  ordained,  that  no  man,  let  his 
condition  be  what  it  might,  should  be  permitted  to  wear  a  gown  or  gar- 
ment, cut  or  slashed  into  pieces  in  the  form  of  letters,  rose-leaves,  and 
posies  of  various  kinds,  or  any  such  like  devices,  under  the  penalty  of 
forfeiting  the  same"  (n,  108).  See  also  Archaeologia,  xx,  102: 
"Armorial  devices  were  embossed  and  embroidered  upon  the  common 
habits  of  those  who  attended  the  court  [of  Richard  II].  Upon  the  mantle, 
the  surcoat,  and  the  just-au-corps  or  bodice,  the  charge  and  cognizance  of 
the  wearer  were  profusely  scattered,  and  shone  resplendent  in  tissue  and 
beaten  gold.  The  custom  of  embroidering  arms  upon  the  bodice  was  intro- 
duced by  Richard  II,  but  mantles  of  this  kind  had  been  worn  long  before  " 
( Translation  of  a  French  Metrical  History  of  the  Deposition  of  King  Richard 
the  Second,  written  by  a  Contemporary  .  .  .  By  Rev.  John  Webb).  On  the 
passion  for  finery  in  the  reign  of  Richard  II  see  also  Shaw,  Dresses  and 
Decorations  of  the  Middle  Ages,  London,  1843,  Introduction,  under  xiv 
century  ;  also  i,  plate  33.  The  plates  in  Shaw  and  Strutt  (as,  for  example, 
Plates  xciii,  xcvi,  xcvii,  in  Strutt,  and  the  plate  in  Shaw,  vol.  i,  no.  33) 
are  illuminating.  Compare  also  An  Alliterative  Poem  on  the  Deposition  of 
Richard  II,  in  Political  Poems  and  Songs  (Rolls  Series),  I,  398  ff. ;  or  ed. 
Camden  Soc.,  pp.  19  ff.  More  generally,  one  may  recall  the  mottoes  em- 
broidered on  the  sleeves  (1.  119)  of  the  ladies  in  The  Assembly  of  Ladies,  11. 
88,  208,  308,  364,  489,  583,  590,  598,  616  ;  see  Skeat,  Chaucerian  and  other 
Pieces,  p.  536.  Note  also  Gower's  reference  (Cronica  Tripertita,  i,  52)  to 
the  Earl  of  Derby  as  ' '  Qui  gerit  S, "  in  allusion  to  his  badge.  In  Anglia, 
xxx,  320,  Miss  Eleanor  Prescott  Hammond  calls  attention  to  the  allusions, 
in  Rondeaux  et  autres  poesies  du  XVe  siecle  (Soc.  des  Anc.  Textes  franp. ), 
pp.  72,  108,  135,  to  "her  for  whom  I  wear  the  M,"  "the  A,"  etc.  Miss 
Hammond  interprets  these  letters  as  referring  to  Amor.  But  may  it  not  be 
that  the  lover  is  wearing  his  mistress's  initial? 

2 London,  [1742],  i,  opposite  p.  62.  It  is  described  as  "an  antient 
Painting  of  that  unhappy  beautiful  Prince  Richard  II,  sitting  in  a  Chair 
of  Gold,  dress' d  in  a  Vest  of  Green  flower' d  with  Flowers  of  Gold,  and 


296  JOHN    LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

an  exact  copy  of  an  engraving  from  the  picture  itself,  made 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries.  On  the 
king's  robes  no  less  than  twenty  crowned  B/s  are  visible. 
But  the  evidence  that  Anne's  initial  was  similarly  used  is 
even  more  remarkable.  After  the  queen's  death  the  king 
himself  gave  orders,  still  extant,  for  the  building  of  her 
tomb.1  On  this  tomb  were  placed  the  effigies  of  the  king 
and  queen,  represented  as  clasping  each  other's  hands.  I 
now  quote  from  NichoPs  detailed  description.2 

"The  robes  of  the  King  are  powdered  or  strewn  with 
three  badges,  the  White  Hart,  the  Broom  Plant,  and  the 
Rising  Sun.  Among  them  are  intermixed  the  letters  r  and 
a,  the  initials  of  Richard  and  Anne*  .  .  It  is  now  high 
time  to  turn  to  the  devices  found  upon  the  effigy  of  Queen 
Anne.  Her  coat  or  boddice  is  covered  with  a  flowered  pat- 
tern, intermixed  with  the  letters  r  and  a  crowned.  On  her 
gown  are  the  same  letters  linked  together,  and  also  crowned ; 
but  the  largest  figures  are  alternations  of  a  peculiarly  formed 
knot,  of  which  no  other  example  has  been  found,  and  the 
badge  of  the  Ostrich,  collared  and  chained,  and  holding  in 
its  beak  a  nail.4  About  both  the  two  last  are  small  sprigs 
or  leaves,  which  there  is  reason  to  suppose  are  those  of  the 


the  initial  Letters  of  his  Name,"  etc.  In  Shaw,  plate  32,  is  given  a 
print  of  the  Wilton  House  portrait  of  Kichard  II  (1377),  in  which  the 
magnificent  robes  are  covered  with  harts,  beanpods,  eagles,  etc.,  in  intricate 
devices.  See  also  Strutt,  n,  Plate  Ixxxiv  (opp.  p.  229). 

1  For  the  directions  to  the  masons,  see  Rymer's  Foedera,  III,  Pt.  iv,  pp. 
105-6  (April  1,  1395);  for  the  directions  for  the  metal  work,  see  p.  106 
(April  24,  1395).  See  Dart's  Westmonasterium,  n,  42-46,  for  further  ac- 
count of  the  tomb. 

*Archaeologia,  xxix  (1842),  pp.  32-59.  I  am  indebted  for  this  important 
reference  to  Professor  Charles  H.  Mcllwain,  of  Princeton  University. 

3  P.  36. 

*See  the  account  in  Camden  (Remaines,  ed.  1629,  p.  181),  of  the  queen's 
device.  Camden' s  authority,  however,  seems  to  have  been  this  very  effigy. 


DATE  OF  CHAUCER'S  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      297 

linden  or  lime,  which  was  used  by  the  house  of  Bohemia. 
The  same  leaves  are  added  to  the  White  Harts  on  the 
King's  robe ;  they  form  the  running  border  of  the  Queen's 
mantle,  and  they  are  sprinkled  over  the  latter,  together  with 
crowned  A's  and  Vs,  which  differ  from  the  letters  before 
mentioned,  in  being  capitals,  and  of  a  much  larger  size."  l 
The  use  of  Anne's  initial  in  a  manner  similar  to  that  in 
which  the  initials  of  Edward  III,  Queen  Philippa,  and 
Richard  himself  had  been  employed,  is,  accordingly,  estab- 
lished.2 

1  Arehaeologia,  xxix,  p.  48. 

2  This  use  of  Anne's  initial  brings  at  once  into  question  the  "  crowned 
A  "  of  the  Prioress's  brooch  : 

Of  smal  coral  aboute  hir  arm  she  bar 
A  peire  of  bedes,  gauded  al  with  grene ; 
And  ther-on  heng  a  broche  of  gold  ful  shene, 
On  which  ther  was  first,  write  a  crowned  A, 
And  after,  Amor  vincit  omnia  (A.  158-62). 

Is  there  a  reference  here  also  to  the  queen's  initial?  I  think  not.  It  is  of 
course  merely  a  coincidence  that  Anne  and  Amor  begin  with  the  same  let- 
ter, and  in  this  instance  there  seems  to  be  no  reasonable  ground  for  ascribing 
any  other  significance  than  Amor  vincens  to  the  crowned  A.  The  motto 
itself  was  of  very  frequent  occurrence,  (see,  for  example,  Gower,  Vox  CL, 
VI,  999 ;  Cronioa  Tripertita,  Prologue,  1.  7  ;  Ecce  patet  tensus,  1.  3),  often 
with  a  pious  transfer  of  its  reference  from  earthly  love  to  the  "love 
celestiall."  This  transfer  is  shown  unmistakably  by  the  fact — pointed  out 
to  me  by  Professor  C.  F.  Brown — that  the  substitution  of  caritas  for  amor  is 
not  uncommon  in  mediaeval  religious  literature  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  the 
Miraculum  S.  Nicolai  Andegavensis  (Bib.  Nat.  Ms.  lat.  12,  611,  xii  cent.): 
"  Sed  quia  scriptum  est  :  Caritas  omnia  vincit,"  etc.,  (text  printed  in 
Catal.  Codd.  Hagiogr.  Lai.  Biblioth.  Nat.  Parisiensis,  ed.  Bollandists,  Vol. 
in,  p.  159).  The  common  use  of  the  first  word  of  the  motto  as  a  device — 
referring,  however,  to  "  love  of  kinde" — is  clear  from  the  well-known 
passage  in  Tlie  Squyr  of  Lowe  Degre  (ed.  Mead,  11.  211-16;  cf.,  also,  Miss 
Hammond's  interesting  remarks  on  the  crowned  letters  in  certain  Shirley 
MSS.,  Anglia,  xxx,  320  ;  and  see,  too,  the  cut  of  the  A-brooch  in  Fairholt, 
Costume  in  England,  third  ed.,  1885,  n,  95).  Is  it  not  simply  one  of  the 
Prioress's  engaging  foibles  that  she  wears  the  device  of  the  heavenly  love 
as  earthly  lovers  had  set  the  mode  ?  The  Amor  alone  gives  ample  explana- 

9 


298  JOHN   LIVINGSTON    LOWES. 

But  we  know  not  only  the  mere  fact  that  Anne's  initial 
was  employed  ;  there  is  vivid  contemporary  evidence  of  one 
at  least  of  the  specific  forms  which  its  employment  took. 
On  the  29th  of  August,  1393,  Richard  and  Anne  visited 
London  in  order  that  the  king  might  be  publicly  reconciled 
with  the  citizens  after  their  long  estrangement.  The  occa- 
sion, which  was  celebrated  with  pomp  and  extravagant  dis- 
play, is  described  circumstantially  in  the  well-known  poem 
of  Richard  de  Maidstone.1  Among  the  other  festivities  was 
a  procession  of  the  several  trades,  which  are  enumerated  at 
great  length.2  The  list  closes  with  the  significant  detail : 

A  super  r  gratis  stat  in  artibus  hie  numeratis. 

Whether  on  their  pageants  or  on  their  liveries  or  insignia, 
Anne's  letter  was  displayed  above  Richard's  in  the    long 

tion  for  the  crowned  A  ;  so  understood,  the  characterization  is  of  a  piece 
throughout  ;  whereas  a  reference  to  the  queen  seems  here  not  only  quite 
uncalled  for,  but  even  to  strike  a  discordant  note. 
1  Political  Poems  and  Songs  (Rolls  Series) ,  i,  282-300. 

2  Hos  sequitur  phalerata  cohors  cujuslibet  artis  ; 

Secta  docet  sortem  quaeque  tenere  suam. 
Hie  argentarius,  his  piscarius,  secus  ilium 

Mercibus  hie  deditus,  venditor  atque  meri. 
Hie  apothecarius,  pistor,  pictor,  lathomusque  ; 

Hie  cultellarius,  tonsor,  et  armifaber. 
Hie  carpentarius,  scissor,  sartor,  ibi  sutor  ; 
Hie  pelliparius,  fulloque,  mango,  faber. 
Hie  sunt  artifices,  ibi  carnifices,  ibi  tector  ; 

Hie  lorinarius,  pannariusque  simul. 
Ibi  vaquinator,  hie  zonarius,  ibi  textor  ; 

Hie  candelarius,  cerarius  pariter. 
Hie  pandoxator,  ibi  streparius,  ibi  junctor  ; 

Est  ibi  pomilio,  sic  anigerulus  hie. 
A  super  r  gratis  stat  in  artibus  hie  numeratis, 

*  *  *  *  *  *    (pp.  284-85.) 

Unluckily  there  seems  to  be  just  here  a  break  in  the  MS.,  but  the  essential 
point  is  clear. 


procession  through  the  London  streets.  And  it  is  of  some- 
what curious  interest  that  the  king  himself  is  said,  in  the 
lines  just  following,  to  impress  the  beholder  "  velut  Troilus  ; " 
while  Anne 

Pulchra  quidem  pulchris  stat  circumcincta  puellis, 
Vincit  Amazonibus  Troja  novella  sub  his. 

It  seems  safe  to  say,  then,  in  the  light  of  all  these  facts, 
that  the  coronation  of  Anne  of  Bohemia  was  followed  by  the 
appearance  at  court,  in  manifest  and  conspicuous  fashion,  of 
the  letter  A,  side  by  side  with  or  together  with  the  hitherto 
familiar  R,  Chaucer's  allusion  would  then  be  perfectly 
transparent  and  instantly  intelligible  to  his  contemporary 
readers. 

If  this  interpretation  of  the  line  be  correct  (and  it  reads 
into  it  absolutely  nothing  extraneous),  the  date  of  the  first 
book  of  the  Troilus  is  fixed  as  after  January  14,  1382. * 
The  use  of  the  "now"  seems  to  imply  a  somewhat  recent 
modification  of  the  status  of  the  letter,  and  to  point,  accord- 
ingly, to  a  date  soon  rather  than  long  after  the  coronation. 
Farther  than  that  one  cannot  well  go ;  the  essential  thing  is 
that  the  Troilus  is  placed,  if  the  argument  be  sound,  pre- 

1  It  may  be  suggested  that  the  line  under  discussion  belongs  to  the  revision 
of  the  Troilus,  for  which  Professor  Tatlock  suggests  the  date  "  1380,  or 
somewhat  later"  (Chronology,  p.  15).  In  that  case,  the  reference  to  the 
queen  would  not  be  found  in  Phillipps  8252.  Through  the  courtesy  of 
Dr.  Furnivall  and  of  Mr.  T.  Fitzroy  Fenwick  I  am  able  to  give  the  reading 
of  the  Phillipps  MS.  ,  which  is  as  follows : 

Among  ye  which  was  Criseida 

In  wydewes  habite  blak  but  netheles 

Eight  as  our  lettre  is  now  a 

In  beute  ferst  so  stood  she  makeles. 

The  line,  then,  has  been  in  the  Troilus  from  the  first.  As  it  stands  in  the 
Phillipps  MS.,  the  reference  seems  even  more  unmistakable,  for  it  is  "our 
lettre"  par  excellence  which  "is  now  a."  But  a  word  (in  all  likehood 
"firste"  itself)  has  probably  dropped  out. 

• 


300  JOHN   LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

cisely  where  the  independent  considerations  of  its  style  and 
maturity  and  of  its  relations  to  the  Prologue  to  the  Legend 
of  Good  Women  have  seemed  to  indicate  that  it  belongs.1 

But  what,  it  will  undoubtedly  be  asked,  is  to  be  said  of 
Gower's  supposed  allusion  to  Chaucer's  Troilus  in  the  Mir  our 
de  V  Omme  f  Altogether  independently  of  the  considerations 
which  have  just  been  brought  forward,  I  believe  it  to  be 
highly  improbable  that  Gower  is  alluding  to  Chaucer's  poem. 
It  becomes  necessary,  therefore,  to  recur  briefly  to  the  argu- 
ment of  Professor  J.  S.  P.  Tatlock,2  based  on  the  passage 
referred  to,  in  support  of  a  date  for  the  Troilus  before  1377. 
This  argument  I  have  already  discussed,3  and  to  this  criticism 
Dr.  Tatlock  replies  at  length  in  his  recent  volume  on  The 
Development  and  Chronology  of  Chaucer's  Works.4  In  the 
process  of  rebuttal  and  surrebuttal  the  mass  of  detail  has 
obscured  certain  salient  points  which  it  seems  well  to  dis- 
engage. 

1.  It  is  important,  first  of  all,  to  define  the  bearing  of 
Gower's  phrase  "  o'it  chanter  la  geste  De  Troylus  et  de  la 
belle  Creseide."  Professor  Tatlock,5  for  example,  metamor- 
phoses a  statement  of  mine 6  that  Guido  may  possibly  have  been 
the  source  of  Gower' s  knowledge,  into  a  willingness  "to  enter- 
tain the  idea  that  the  geste  which  Sompnolent  dreams  he 
hears  sung  may  have  been  a  few  scattered  pages  in  Guide's 
Latin  prose  ! "  The  point  is  immaterial,  except  as  it  con- 
cerns the  principle  to  be  followed  in  interpreting  the  phrase. 
For  it  is  essential  to  notice  that  the  form  in  which  Gower 
represents  Sompnolent  as  hearing  the  story  need  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  form  under  which  Gower  himself 


1See  mj  discussion  of  these  considerations  in  Publ.  Mod.  Lang.  Assoc., 
xx,  819-23,  833-41. 

2  Modern  Philology,  I,  317  ff. 

*PubL  Mod.  Lang.  Assoc.,  xx,  823-33. 

4  Chaucer  Soc.,  1907,  pp.  26-33.  6  Chronology,  pp.  28-29. 

6 Publ.  Mod.  Lang.  Assoc.,  xx,  833. 


DATE  OP  CHAUCER'S  TKOILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      301 

may  have  known  it.  I  myself  know,  let  us  say,  the  story  of 
Hero  and  Leander  through  Marlowe's  poem,  and  I  write  a 
narrative  in  which  I  represent  one  of  the  characters  as  hear- 
ing told  the  story  of  Hero  and  Leander.  Does  that  mean  to 
anybody,  unless  I  say  so,  that  I  represent  my  character  as 
hearing  recited  Marlowe's  poem  ?  Dr.  Tatlock  himself  would 
hardly  suggest  that  what  Sompnolent  heard  sung  was  the 
actual  eight  thousand  and  odd  lines  of  Chaucer's  Troilus. 
In  other  words,  "  chanter  la  geste  "  belongs  to  Sornpnolent's 
dream  ;  he  hears  sung,  in  his  dream,  the  story  of  Troilus 
and  the  fair  Criseyde,  precisely  as  he  might,  at  the  marriage 
of  Pride  and  the  World,  earlier  in  the  Mirour,  have  listened 
to  Temptacion,  when 

"         ...  mainte  delitable  geste 
Leur  dist,  dont  il  les  cuers  entice 
Des  jofnes  dames  au  delice"  (11.  981-83). 

The  "  chanter  "  naturally,  though  not  necessarily,  suggests  a 
story  sung  by  "  minstrales  and  gestiours,  that  tellen  tales,"  l 
and  Gower  indeed,  may  possibly  have  known  it  himself  in 
some  such  form.  But  the  manner  in  which  he  represents 
Sompnolent  as  hearing  it  leaves  the  form  or  forms  in  which 
he  himself  actually  knew  it,  absolutely  indeterminate.  The 
phrase  "  chanter  la  geste,"  then,  has  practically  no  evidential 
value. 

2.  The  allusion  in  Gower  dates  from  about  1377.2  But 
in  1369  Froissart,  in  his  Paradys  d' Amours,  had  placed 
Troilus,  whose  name  he  coupled  in  the  same  line  with  that 
of  Paris,  at  the  head  of  a  conventional  list  of  lovers.3 
Troilus  as  a  lover  implies  Criseyde  as  inevitably  as  Paris 
implies  Helen.  The  loves  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde  were 
accordingly  the  subject  of  an  allusion  eight  years  before 

1H.  jP.,  1197-98. 

3  Tatlock,  Chronology,  p.  26;  cf.  pp.  220-25. 

3Potsies,  ed.  Scheler,  i,  29,  11.  971  ff.,  esp.  1.  974  ;  cf.  Publ.  Mod.  Lang. ' 
Assoc. ,  xx,  825 ;  Tatlock,  Chronology,  p.  29. 


302  JOHN   LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

Gower  referred  to  them,  and  Froissart's  reference  is  cer- 
tainly not  to  Chaucer's  poem.  What  version  of  the  love- 
story  Froissart  had  in  mind  is  for  our  purpose  wholly 
unimportant;  his  allusion  demonstrates  the  fact  that  inde- 
pendently of  Chaucer  the  love-story  of  Troilus  (not  Diomede) 
and  Criseyde  was  known,  and  known  well  enough  to  permit 
one's  knowledge  to  be  taken  for  granted.  That  in  itself 
makes  the  extreme  of  caution  necessary  in  dealing  with  a 
bare  reference  such  as  Gower's.  Moreover,  Tatlock' s  state- 
ment of  "its  [the  love-story's]  insignificance  all  over  Europe 
before  or  apart  from  their  [Boccaccio's  and  Chaucer's]  in- 
fluence5'1 and  his  reference  to  it  as  "a  few  scattered  bits 
lost  in  a  long  poem,  or  (worse  yet)  in  a  Latin  prose  work"  2 
simply  beg  the  question.  For  the  earlier  treatments  of  the 
episode  were  manifestly  not  insignificant  to  Chaucer,  who 
used  again  and  again  the  "scattered  bits  lost"  in  both 
Benoit  and  Guido  to  supplement  or  modify  Boccaccio.3  That 
is  to  say,  Chaucer  was  indubitably  familiar  with  the  story  of 
Troilus  and  Criseyde  independently  of  Boccaccio  :  that  we 
know.  But  suppose  we  did  not  know  it.  Is  there  any 
argument  which  Professor  Tatlock  draws  from  the  alleged 
earlier  insignificance  of  the  love-story  which  would  not  bear 
with  equal  force  against  the  possibility  of  any  reference  to 
earlier  versions  in  Chaucer's  work  ?  Yet  it  is  insisted  that 
the  bare  mention  of  the  story  by  the  one  cannot  possibly 
refer  to  any  of  the  sources  whose  use  by  the  other  to 
supplement  Boccaccio  is  accepted  as  a  common-place !  Any 
difficulty  which  is  raised  on  the  score  of  Gower's  (or  his 
readers')  supposed  unfamiliarity  with  the  love-story  before 
Chaucer's  Troilus  is,  I  think  it  may  be  fairly  said,  factitious. 
3.  As  regards  the  spelling  Oreseide,  Professor  Tatlock 

1  Chronology,  p.  28.  2  16.,  p.  30. 

3  See  especially,  on  this  point,  Karl  Young,  The  Origin  and  Development 
of  the  Story  of  Troilus  and  Criseyde  (Chaucer  Soc.,  1908),  pp.  105-139.  Dr. 
Young' s  brilliant  study  reached  me  only  after  this  article  was  in  page-proof. 


DATE  OF  CHAUCER'S  TROILUS  AND  CRISEYDE.      303 

admits  that  "we  must  not  assume  .  .  .  that  Chaucer  was 
the  innovator"  in  the  substitution  of  C  for  G.1  In  other 
words,  independently  of  Chaucer  the  initial  C  appears  in  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  in  MSS.  of  Guido,  and  even 
in  the  Filostrato  itself.  It  is  not  necessary — and  without  fur- 
ther evidence  it  certainly  is  not  safe — to  assume  that  Gower 
followed  Chaucer's  usage,  or  Chaucer  Gower's.  There  may 
readily  have  been  a  common  influence — a  possibility  which 
the  mere  lack  of  adequate  data  cannot  invalidate.  As  for 
the  fact  that  "  Gower's  form  is  French,  with  a  final  -e, 
Creseide,"  2  one  is  inclined  to  surmise  that  that,  perhaps,  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  Gower  was  writing  in  French  !  A 
glance  at  the  index  of  Macaulay's  first  volume  will  show  a 
score  or  so  of  proper  names  to  which,  in  his  French  poems, 
Gower  has  (naturally)  given  the  French  form,  and  logic 
would  suggest  that  that  obvious  fact  is  reason  enough  for 
the  -e  of  Creseide.  It  is  sufficient  to  add  that  when  Gower 
writes  in  Latin,  he  spells  Orisaida,  with  final  -a,3  and  that 
the  same  is  true  once  when  he  uses  the  name  in  English.4 
Neither  the  supposed  unfamiliarity  of  the  story,  then,  nor 
the  peculiarity  in  the  spelling  of  Criseyde's  name  makes 
strongly  against  a  reference  to  an  earlier  version  than  Chau- 
cer's. There  is,  on  the  other  hand,  evidence  which  makes 
strongly  for  such  a  reference,  and  to  that  I  pass. 

4.  Gower,  as  Dr.  Tatlock  points  out,5  mentions  Criseyde 
again  in  the  Vox  Clamantis  (soon  after  1383).  "  It  is 
worthy  of  remark,"  Tatlock  continues,  "that  there  is  no 
significant  change  in  his  manner  of  mentioning  the  lovers, 
which  suggests  that  he  had  had  no  accession  to  his  information 
since  the  first  reference"  (1.  c.,  n.  1).  The  line  in  the  Vox 


1  Chronology,  p.  31;  cf.  Publ.  Mod.  Lang.  Assoc.,  xx,  826-29. 

2  Chronology,  p.  31.  sVox  Clamantis,  vi,  1328. 
4  Confessio,  n,  2456.                                         5  Chronology,  p.  30. 


304  JOHN    LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

Clamantis  l  repays  examination,  especially  in  the  light  of  the 
statement  just  quoted.  It  is  as  follows  :  "  Fictaque  Crisaida 
gaudet  amare  duos."  The  final  -a  of  Crisaida  has  already 
been  adverted  to.  It  is  the  conception  of  Criseyde  herself — 
as  implied  in  the  "gaudet  amare  duos" — which  is  here  im- 
portant. For  that  conception  belongs  to  the  older  sources — 
to  Guido  in  particular — and  not  to  Chaucer.  It  is  just  such 
fickleness  as  is  implied  in  Gower's  "  gaudet "  that  one  finds 
Guido  harping  on  in  his  account  of  Briseida's  faithlessness.2 
And  it  is  just  this  harsh  judgment  of  the  earlier  versions 
against  which  Chaucer  sets  his  own  interpretation  with  a 
strength  of  feeling  which  is  almost  personal : 

Ne  me  ne  list  this  sely  womman  chyde 

Ferther  than  the  story  wol  devyse. 

Hir  name,  alias  !  is  publisshed  so  wyde, 

That  for  hir  gilt  it  oughte  y-now  suffyse. 

And  if  I  mighte  excuse  hir  any  wyse, 

For  she  so  sory  was  for  hir  untrouthe, 

Y-wis,  I  wolde  excuse  hir  yet  for  routhe  ( v.  1093-99). 

These  lines  follow  the  poignant  and  tragic  lament,  suggested 
in  part  by  Benoit,3  which  in  turn  is  introduced  by  the  state- 
ment that 

Ther  made  never  womman  more  wo 

Than  she,  whan  that  she  falsed  Troilus  (v.  1052-53). 

If  Gower  wrote  the  line  in  the  Vox  Clamantis,  with  its 
"  gaudet  amare  duos,"  of  Chaucer's  Criseyde,  one  is  forced 
to  conclude  that  he  had  never  read,  or  else  deliberately 
ignored,  the  fifth  book  of  the  Troilus.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  reference  fits  perfectly  the  pre-Chaucerian  conception  of 

1  vi,  1328. 

2  See,  for  example,  the  long  extract  from   Guido' s  fortieth  chapter  in 
Sommer's  edition  of  the  Recuyell,  I,  cxlix-clv  ;  cf.  also  Hamilton,  Chaucer1  s 
Indebtedness  to  Guido  delle  Col&nne,  pp.  84-88,  124-26 ;  Young,  p,  127. 

3  Hamilton,  p.  124  ;  Young,  pp.  135-36. 


DATE  OP  CHAUCER'S  TKOILUS  AND  CBISEYDE.      305 

Criseyde's  falsity.  But  as  Dr.  Tatlock  himself  points  out, 
this  allusion  and  the  earlier  one  in  the  Mirour  show  no 
significant  differences,  and  therefore  stand  or  fall  together. 
The  "Crisaida  [quae]  gaudet  amare  duos"  and  "  la  belle 
Creseide"  are  admittedly  one  and  the  same,  and  one  of 
them  sharply  diverges  from  Chaucer's  conception  of  the 
character.  The  conclusion  is  obvious. 

5.  Finally,  in  considering  the  possible  bearing  of  Gower's 
allusion,  I  wish  to  repeat  the  suggestion  already  made l  that 
Gower  might  readily  have  known  the  story  of  the  Filostrato 
itself  from  Chaucer  before  the  Troilus  was  written.  This 
suggestion  is  given  additional  point  by  a  curious  fact  which 
Professor  Tatlock  himself  adduces.  "All  are  agreed/'  he 
remarks,2  "that  Gower  knew  no  Italian.  Yet  lines  3831-4 
[of  the  Mirour\  run  : 

1  Sicomme  ly  sages  la  repute, 
En  vie  est  celle  peccatrice, 
Qes  nobles  courtz  de  son  office 
Demoert  et  est  commune  pute,' 

which  cannot  be  independent  of  Dante's  words  on  envy : 

'  La  meretrice,  che  mai  dall'  ospizio 
Di  Cesare  non  torse  gli  occhi  putti, 
Morte  commune,  e  delle  corti  vizio '  (Inf.,  xm,  64-6).  .  . 

We  can  hardly  avoid  believing  that  Chaucer  read  or  re- 
peated the  passage  to  Gower."  3  Gower,  then,  knew  Dante. 
He  must,  accordingly,  either  have  known  Italian  (and  the 
striking  verbal  similarities  which  Tatlock  notes  are  hard  to 
explain  on  any  other  supposition),  or  Chaucer  must  have 
shared  his  new  found  treasure  with  him.  If  Gower  could 

lPubl  Mod.  Lang.  Assoc.,  xx,  823-24. 

2  Chronology,  p.  221. 

3  See  I.  c.,  n.  2,  for  other  verbal  parallels. 


306  JOHN   LIVINGSTON   LOWES. 

read  Dante,  he  could  read  Boccaccio.  If  Chaucer  read 
Dante  to  Gower,  he  could  (and  more  probably  would  !)  also 
read  Boccaccio.1  In  either  case,  Gower  was  scarcely  ignorant 
of  the  Filostrato.  If  he  knew  the  Filostrato,  the  reference  in 
the  Mirour  is  sufficiently  explained. 

Professor  Tatlock  himself,  then,  has  contributed  evidence 
of  weight  in  support  of  the  position  that  "there  are  too 
many  other  possible  [one  may  now,  I  think,  say  "  prob- 
able "]  explanations  of  the  reference  in  Gower  to  allow  one 
safely  to  use  it " 2  to  settle  the  date  -of  the  Troilus.  Whether 
the  interpretation  which  has  just  been  proposed  of  the  line 
in  the  Troilus  itself  is  open  to  the  same  objection,  it  is  for 
others  to  judge.  But  its  accordance  with  definite  external 
facts,  its  solution  at  every  point  of  the  otherwise  baffling 
difficulties  in  the  wording  of  the  line  itself,  and  its  harmony 
with  Chaucer's  well-known  personal  attitude  toward  the 
Court,  seem  to  warrant  consideration  of  its  validity. 

JOHN  LIVINGSTON  LOWES. 


1  Note  also  Tatlock's  suggestion  (Chronology,  p.  221,  n.  3)  that  the  anec- 
dote of  Dante  in  CA.,  vn,  2329*  ff.,  probably  came  through  Chaucer,  and 
that  the  reference  to  the  tyrants  of  Lombardy  in  the  Mirour,  23233-68,  was 
also  due  to  Chaucer's  report  (op.  cit,,  p.  222,  n.  1). 

*Publ.  Mod.  Lang.  Assoc.,  xx,  833. 


XIV.— A  NEGLECTED  PASSAGE  ON  THE  THREE 
UNITIES  OF  THE  FRENCH  CLASSIC  DRAMA. 

The  need  for  critical  research  in  at  least  one  field  of 
modern  literature  is  exemplified  by  the  lack  of  exact 
information  regarding  the  establishment  on  the  French 
stage  of  the  three  dramatic  unities  that  characterized  so 
markedly  many  pieces  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries.  Although  our  knowledge  of  "the  history  of  these 
unities  has  been  increased  by  several  works  that  have 
recently  appeared,  a  number  of  facts  concerning  them  re- 
main to  be  determined,  as  Dannheisser,  the  chief  authority 
on  the  subject,  has  clearly  shown.1  Thus,  while  demonstrat- 
ing that  these  unities  of  action,  time,  and  place  were  not 
imposed  at  one  time,  but,  developing  separately,  came  only 
after  a  half  century  into  general  acceptance  and  a  rigorously 
narrow  form,  he  has  left  unfixed  the  date  at  which  they  were 
first  singled  out  in  seventeenth  century  France  as  the  distin- 
guishing marks  of  the  classic  drama. 

According  to  Dannheisser,  the  first  French  writer  of  the 
seventeenth  century  to  make  reference  to  these  unities  was 
the  physician,  Isnard,  in  his  preface  (published  April  30, 
1631)  to  the  Fittis  de  Scire,  a  posthumous  play  by  his  friend, 
Pichou.  That  this  is  the  earliest  seventeenth  century  refer- 
ence to  the  three  unities  is  apparently  believed  by  Rigal 2  and 
by  Morf 3  in  their  treatment  of  the  subject.  It  is  my  purpose 
to  show  that  this  belief  is  ill-founded,  for,  before  Isnard 

xln  his  admirable  treatise  Zur  Geschichte  der  Einheiten  in  Frankreich, 
Zeitschrift  fur  franzosische  Sprache  und  Litteratur,  1892,  xiv,  1-76. 

2  Cf.  Petit  de  Julleville's  Histoire  de  la  Langue  et  de  la  Litterature  fran- 

iv,  241. 
8  Cf.  Herrig's  Arehiv,  1905,  cxv,  433. 

307 

0 


308  H.    CARRINGTON    LANCASTER. 

wrote,  the  unities  were  distinctly  discussed  by  Antetine  Mare- 
schal, who  was  no  mere  theorizer,  but  an  active  dramatist, 
a  declared  opponent  of  the  unities  that  he  named. 

Le  sieur  Mareschal,  a  contemporary  of  Corneille  and 
Rotrou,  is  known  to  us  only  through  his  nine  extant 
dramas.  His  works  have  been  noted  by  de  Beauchamps,1 
the  Freres  Parfaict,2  and  La  Valliere.3  One  of  them,  Le 
Railleur,  was  reprinted  by  iSdouard  Fournier  in  Le  Thedtre 
franqais  au  XVIe  et  au  XV IP  siecle 4  with  a  brief  prefatory 
statement  concerning  the  author. 

Fournier  judges  Mareschal  to  have  possessed  "de  P  esprit, 
de  la  litte"rature,  du  monde,  une  certaine  ind6pendance 
d'idees,  qui  le  poussait  aux  originalites  de  sujet  et  de  style 
et  qui  Fengageait  dans  des  voies  vraiment  nouvelles."  He 
believes,  though  he  has  no  conclusive  proof  of  it,  that 
Mareschal  was  probably  attached  to  the  household  of  some 
nobleman,  in  spite  of  the  title  avocat  applied  to  him  in 
his  Inconstance  d'Hylas.  The  poet's  versatility  is  shown  by 
the  wide  range  of  subject  and  genre  covered  by  his  plays. 
His  Inconstance  d'Hylas  (1630-1635)  is  one  of  the  many 
pastoral  dramas  drawn  from  the  romance  of  Astree.  La 
Sceur  Valeureuse  (1634)  is  an  exceedingly  romanesque  tragi- 
comedy, extravagantly  praised  in  introductory  verses  by 
Mairet,  Du  Ryer,  Scudery,  Rotrou,  and  Corneille.  Le  Rail- 
leur  (1636  or  1637)  is  a  comedy  of  intrigue;  Le  Veritable 
Capitan  (1637  or  1639)  a  translation  of  Plautus's  Miles 
gloriosus.  La  Cour  Bergere  (1639)  is  a  tragi-comedy  of 
especial  interest  to  an  English  reader,  for  it  is  based  on 
Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia  and  is  dedicated  to  "Robert 


1  Recherches  sur  ks  Theatres  de  France,  n,  106,  Paris,  1735. 
*Hi<$toiredu  Theatre  fran$ois,  iv,  497-8,  Paris,  1745. 

3  Biblwtkeque  du  Theatre  francois,  II,  64  seq.,  Dresden,  1768. 

4  Pages  349-372. 


THE   THREE   UNITIES   OF    FRENCH    CLASSIC    DRAMA.          309 

Sidney,  Comte  de  Leycestre,  Ambassadeur  en  France."  Le 
MausoUe  (1639-1641),  tragi-comedy,  and  Papyre  (1646), 
tragedy,  are  dramatizations  of  ancient  history.  Le  jugement 
Equitable  de  Charles  le  Hardy  (1645),1  tragedy,  draws  its 
plot  from  what  was  then  modern  history,  an  unusual  pro- 
ceeding in  seventeenth  century  France. 

But  MareschaPs  play  with  which  we  are  at  present  con- 
cerned is  La  Genereuse  Allemande  ou  le  Triomphe  d' Amour } 
a  romantic  tragi-comedy  written  in  two  journees,  according 
to  an  occasional  usage  of  the  time.2  The  privilege  to  print 
this  work  was  given  to  Pierre  Rocolet  at  Lyons,  September 
1,  1630.  The  acheve  d'imprimer  for  the  first  journee  is 
dated  January  10,  1631  ;  that  for  the  second,  November 
18,  1630,3  so  that  the  second  journee  preceded  the  first  by 
nearly  two  months.  Now  it  is  to  this  second  journee  that 
a  preface  is  attached,  giving  at  some  length  the  dramatic 
principles  of  the  author  and  containing  the  passage  describ- 
ing the  three  unities.  The  document  was  certainly  written 
before  November  18,  1630,  probably  before  September  1  of 
that  year,  thus  preceding  Isnard's  preface  by  from  five  to 
eight  months. 

The  passage  in  which  Mareschal  mentions  the  three 
unities  and  declares  his  hostility  to  them  runs  as  follows : 

" .  .  .  n'ay  pas  voulu  me  restraindre  &  ces  estroites  bornes 
ni  du  lieu,  ni  du  temps,  ni  de  Faction;  qui  sont  les  trois 
poincts  principaux  que  regardent  les  regies  des  Anciens. 

1  The  dates  given  indicate  the  first  known  appearance  of  the  plays,  when 
they  were  acted,  privileged,  or  printed,  as  the  case  may  be. 

2Cf.  Du  Ryer's  Argenis  et  Poliarque  (1630  and  1631)  and  Schelandre's 
Tyr  et  Sidon  (1628). 

3  For  a  careful  investigation  of  these  dates  I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness 
and  scholarship  of  Mr.  W.  A.  Stowell,  Fellow  in  the  Romance  Depart- 
ment of  the  Johns  Hopkins  University. 


310  H.    CARRINGTON    LANCASTER. 

Qu'ils  me  soutiennent  que  le  suie"t  de  Theatre  doit  estre  un 
en  1'action,  c'est  a  dire  estre  simple  en  son  euenement,  et 
ne  receuoir  d' incidents  qui  ne  tendent  tons  a  un  seul  eiFect 
d'une  personne  seule ;  ie  leur  declareray  que  le  mien  en  a 
deux  diuerses.  Qu'ils  soutiennent  encore  que  la  Scene  ne 
connoist  qu'un  lieu,  et  que  pour  faire  quelque  rapport  du 
spectacle  aux  spectateurs  qui  ne  remuent  point,  elle  u'en 
peut  sortir  qu'en  mesme  temps  elle  ne  sorte  aussi  de  la 
raison ;  i'auou'ray  que  la  mienne  du  commencement  et 
pendant  les  deux  premiers  Actes  est  en  la  Ville  de  Prague, 
et  presque  tout  le  reste  en  celle  d'Aule,  en  uu  mot  qu'elle 
passe  de  Boheme  en  Sylesie.  De  plus  qu'ils  iurent  qu'un 
suie"t,  pour  estre  iuste  ne  doit  contenir  d'actions  qui  s'e"ten- 
dent  au  dela  d'un  iour,  et.  qui  ne  puissent  auoir  este"  faites 
entre  deux  Soleils ;  ie  ne  suis  pas  pour  cela  prest  a  croire 
que  celles  que  i'ay  de"crites,  et  qui  sont  veritables,  pour 
auoir  franchy  ces  liinites  ayent  plus  mauuaise  grace." 

To  appreciate  the  importance  of  this  passage  it  is  neces- 
sary to  consider  the  previous  history  of  the  rules  in  France. 
During  the  sixteenth  century  the  unity  of  action  was  occa- 
sionally implied,  the  unity  of  place  was  mentioned  once  or 
twice,  the  unity  of  time  was  discussed  with  some  frequency. 
All  three  unities  may  be  deduced  from  Scaliger's  Poetices 
(1561),  though  they  are  not  presented  together  and  though 
Scaliger  requires  the  unity  of  place  only  as  a  means  of 
facilitating  the  observation  of  the  unity  of  time.  Jean  de 
la  Taille  declares  in  his  Art  de  la  Tragedie  (1572)  that,  "  il 
faut  tousiours  representer  Phistoire,  ou  le  ieu  en  vn  mesme 
iour,  en  vn  mesme  temps,  et  en  vn  mesme  lieu."  In  his 
second  preface  to  the  Franeiade  Ronsard  states  that  tragedy 
and  comedy  are  limited  to  "  peu  d'espace,  c'est  a  dire  d'un 
iour  entier."  Rivaudeau  in  the  preface  to  his  Aman  (1564) 
holds  that  the  time  represented  should  not  exceed  the  actual 


THE   THREE    UNITIES   OF    FRENCH    CLASSIC    DRAMA.          311 

time  required  by  the  performance.1  Jean  de  Beaubreuil 
(1582)  speaks  of  "la  regie  superstitieuse  des  unites."2 
Laudun  d'Aigaliers3  opposes  the  twenty-four  hour  rule, 
while  Vauquelin  de  la  Fresnaye 4  upholds  it.  But  these 
theorists  do  not  form  the  views  held  by  seventeenth  century 
dramatists  with  regard  to  the  unities.  They  influence  only 
the  academic  tragedies  of  the  sixteenth  century,  a  type  of 
play  that  ceases  to  be  written  during  the  first  quarter  of 
the  following  century,  giving  way  before  the  practical  and 
irregular  drama  of  Hardy  and  his  contemporaries.  When 
Frenchmen  are  again  attracted  to  classic  play-writing,  they 
turn  for  their  rules  to  the  Italians,5  to  Aristotle,  and  to  the 
example  of  the  ancient  tragedies  themselves,  rather  than  to 
the  plays  and  theories  of  their  sixteenth  century  compatriots. 
Such  critics  as  Morf  and  Dannheisser  are  therefore  correct 
in  beginning  the  history  of  the  French  dramatic  unities  with 
the  rebirth  of  the  classic  tragedy  and  its  first  appearance  in 
France  as  a  popular  dramatic  form,  in  the  generation  of 
Richelieu,  Chapelain,  and  Corneille.  Turning  to  this  period 
of  literary  history,  we  become  acquainted  with  the  following 
facts. 

As  early  as  1620  Chapelain  mentioned  the  unity  of  action, 
but  only  as  a  general  principle  adhered  to  in  the  construction 
of  any  poem  to  distinguish  it  from  a  piece  of  prose  fiction. 
"  Or  1' unite"  de  Faction,  entre  les  regies  ge"ne"  rales  que  toute 

1Cf.  Morf,  Geschichte  der  neuern  franzosischcn   Litteratur,  pp.  206-207, 
Strasburg,  1898. 
2Cf.  ibidem,  p.  207. 

3  Cf.  Arnaud,  Theories  dramatiques,  p.  334,  Paris,  1888. 

4  See  I?  Art  poetique  de  Vauquelin  de  la  Fresnaye,  Paris,  1885. 

0  Especially  to  Castelvetro,  to  whom  the  first  promulgation  of  the  law  of 
three  unities  is  commonly  ascribed.  Even  he,  though  dilating  upon  the 
unities,  does  not  speak  of  them  as  the  three  essential  rules  of  the  classic 
drama,  as  does  Mareschal.  See  La  Poetica  d*  Ai-istotele  vulgarizzata  et  sposla, 
pp.  109,  173,  and  534  in  the  edition  of  Bale,  1576. 


312  H.  CARKINGTON  LANCASTER. 

6pop6e  doit  observer,  est  particulierement  la  principale,  sans 
laquelle  le  poeme  n'est  pas  poeme,  ains  roman."  l  Mairet 
appears  to  know  this  rule  when  he  writes  his  Silvanire 
(1629),  though  he  does  not  mention  it  until  two  years  later. 

Before  Mareschal,  indeed,  the  writings  concerned  with 
dramatic  unities  were  largely  devoted  to  the  unity  of  time, 
which,  taken  from  Aristotle  as  interpreted  by  Renaissance 
scholars,  had  been  familiar  to  Italian  critics  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  Thus  Chapelain  referred  to  "  un  an,  terme  que  se 
sont  prudemment  prescrit  tons  ceux  qui  avec  honneur  ont 
voulu  traiter  d'action  illustre  en  poe"sie  narrative,  comme 
celui  djun  jour  naturel,  ceux  qui  ont  embrasse"  la  representa- 
tive."2 On  September  28,  1628,  Balzac  wrote  to  Mme 
Desloges  concerning  a  preoieuse  who  "n'a  point  assez  de 
patience  pour  souffrir  une  come'die  qui  n'est  pas  dans  la  loi 
des  24  heures,  qu'elle  s'en  va  faire  publier  par  toute  la 
France."  3  The  same  year  Ogier  opposed  this  rule  in  his 
preface  to  Schelandre's  Tyr  et  Sidon,  while  in  1629  Mairet 
intentionally  observed  it  in  his  Silvanire.  Other  references 
to  the  unity  of  time,  such  as  those  made  by  Isnard,  Mairet, 
and  Scude*ry,  are  subsequent  to  the  citation  I  have  made 
from  Mareschal. 

It  now  becomes  clear  that  Mareschal  is  the  first  French 
author  of  the  seventeenth  century  known  to  mention  the 
unity  of  place,  and  the  first  to  speak  of  the  unity  of  action 
as  belonging  especially  to  the  drama  rather  than  applying  to 
all  poetic  forms.  Of  greater  importance  is  the  fact  that  he 
is  the  first  French  author  known  to  group  these  unities  of 
action,  time,  and  place  so  as  to  point  them  out  as  the 
three  essential  rules  of  the  classic  theater.  Whether  he  was 

*Cf.  E.  Bovet,  La  Preface,  de  Chapelain  a  I1  Adonis,  page  42,  in  the  Fest- 
schrift Heinrich  Morf,  Halle,  1905. 

2  Ibidem,  page  46. 

3  See  Dannheisser,  ZMT  Geschichte  der  Einheitcn,  page  71. 


THE   THREE    UNITIES   OF    FRENCH    CLASSIC    DRAMA.          313 

actually  the  first  may  well  be  doubted,  for  the  fact  that 
he  opposes  these  three  rules  implies  that  they  had  been 
previously  upheld.  Such  an  advocate  of  the  unities  may  or 
may  not  have  written  in  French,  but  until  he  is  discovered, 
the  priority  in  this  matter  of  French  dramatic  history  clearly 
belongs  to  Mareschal. 

But  the  passage  cited  from  Mareschal  is  of  interest,  not 
only  in  showing  its  author's  position  among  writers  on  the 
unities,  but  also  by  the  light  it  throws  upon  the  manner  in 
which  these  unities  were  understood  in  1630.  MareschaPs 
conception  of  the  unity  of  action  is  much  the  same  as  that 
which  Mairet  expresses  in  the  Preface  (1631)  to  his  Silvanire 
by  the  phrase,  "maistresse  et  priucipale  action  h  laquelle 
toutes  les  autres  se  rapportent  com  me  les  lignes  de  la  circon- 
ference  au  centre."  Of  greater  importance  is  MareschaPs 
understanding  of  the  unity  of  place,  for  he  shows  clearly 
that  those  who  prescribed  the  observance  of  that  unity  did 
so,  not  because  it  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the  observ- 
ance of  the  unity  of  time,  as  Corneille  held  later,1  but 
because  by  logical  realism  the  location  of  the  actors  should 
coincide  with  that  of  the  spectators  "  qui  ne  remuent  point." 
The  unity  of  place,  therefore,  as  Dannheisser  remarks,  was 
first  observed  in  consequence  of  the  author's  objection  to  a 
change  of  scene,  due  to  his  desire  to  conform  with  the  nec- 
essarily fixed  position  of  the  audience. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  whether  Mareschal  held  that 
the  classic  rule  reduced  the  scene  represented  in  a  play  to 
the  actual  space  occupied  by  the  stage,  or  whether  he  be- 
lieved that  it  allowed  the  inclusion  of  some  locality,  limited 
in  extent,  though  larger  than  the  stage ;  as,  for  example,  a 
town,  provided  the  action  did  not  go  beyond  its  walls.  This 

1  Cf .  Dannheisser,  who,  in  Zur  Geschichte  der  Einheiten,  page  57,  points 
out  Corneille' s  error  without  acquaintance  with  Mareschal. 

10 


314  H.    CARRINGTON   LANCASTER. 

larger  view  of  the  unity  of  place,  the  one  which  Corneille 
presents  in  the  Cid,  is  probably  that  referred  to  by  Mare- 
schal,  for  he  states  that  his  play  violates  this  unity  of  place 
by  reason  of  the  fact  that  its  action  occurs  in  two  towns, 
situated  in  different  provinces.  It  is  probable  that  what 
Danuheisser  calls  Zirrmereinheit,  subsequently  established  on 
the  classic  French  stage,  was  as  yet  unknown,  for  Isnard  in 
1631  explains  the  observance  of  the  unity  of  place  by  writ- 
ing, "si  Ton  veut  representer  une  effusion  de  sang  dans 
Constantinople,  qu'on  ne  doit  rien  executer  de  cette  entre- 
prise  ailleurs."  1 

According  to  Mareschal  the  unity  of  time  is  observed 
when  the  action  takes  place  "  entre  deux  Soleils,"  an  ambig- 
uous phrase  explained  by  Chapelain  as  follows  :  "  L? action 
se  termine  entre  deux  Soleils,  c'est  a  dire,  vn  peu  plus  ou 
vn  peu  moins  que  la  moitie"  des  vingt  quatre  heures."  If 
this  is  also  MareschaPs  meaning,  his  reduction  of  the  unity 
of  time  to  a  period  of  twelve  hours  instead  of  twenty-four 
coincides  with  the  view  held  previously  by  Castelvetro  and 
subsequently  by  d'Aubignac.3 

MareschaPs  statement  regarding  the  unities  shows  further 
that  Corneille  was  mistaken  in  declaring  that  the  only  rule 
known  in  1630  was  that  which  limited  the  time  of  the 
action  to  twenty-four  hours.4  It  shows,  too,  that  Dann- 
heisser  is  incorrect  in  referring  to  Scudery's  Ligdamon  et 
Lidias  as  "  der  erste  Protest  gegen  die  alleinseligmachenden 
Theorien  der  Regeldichter."  5  As  MareschaPs  mention  of 
the  unities  precedes  this  Protest  by  a  year,  Scud6ry  cannot 
be  considered  their  first  opponent. 

In  conclusion  I  cite  two  documents  of  this  period  which 


1Cf.  ibidem,  p.  75.  2Cf.  Arnaud,  op.  cit.,  p.  343. 

3 See  ibidem,  p.  240,  and  Castelvetro,  op.  cit.,  p.  109. 
4 See  his  Examen  to  Clitandre.  5  Op.  tit.,  p.  23. 


THE    THREE    UNITIES    OF    FRENCH    CLASSIC   DRAMA.          315 

express  briefly  the  opinions  of  Mareschal  and  have  been 
entirely  neglected  by  dramatic  critics.  Le  sieur  de  Riche- 
mont  Banchereau  writes  in  the  Advertissement  au  Lecteur 
before  his  Passions  esgarees,  a  tragi-comedy  published  in 
1632,  "Au  reste,  ne  t'arreste  pas  tant  aux  regies  de  la 
Tragicomedie  en  lisant  celle-cy,  ny  aux  loix  du  theatre 
Franpois  :  Telle  contrainte,  qui  n'est  que  bien-seante  aux 
mercenaires,  me  sieroit  assez  mal,  a  cause  que  ie  la  hays." 
At  greater  length  the  anonymous  author  of  Les  Trophee?  de 
la  Fidelity  declares  in  his  preface  aux  bons  esprits  that  he 
has  not  observed  certain  rules  "  parce  que  ie  les  ignore,  et 
ne  les  veus  pas  syauoir.  Ie  parle  de  celles  qui  ne  sont  point 
necessaires  a  la  Poesie,  et  qu'une  nouuelle  cabale  d'esprits 
trop  reguliers,  de  la  glose  desquels  on  m'a  voulu  faire  peur, 
a  ose  donner  pour  des  loix  prononcees  de  la  bouche  me'me 
des  Muses.  C'est  une  espece  de  chiquane  dans  cet  Art,  ou 
la  clarte  du  discours,  la  fluidite  de  la  veine,  et  la  propriete 
des  ternies,  apres  la  mesure,  sont  les  parties  les  plus  requises 

par  moy.     Ie  n?ay  suiui  que  Pimpetuosite   de  mon  Genie. 

)) 

These  passages,  taken  in  connection  with  the  earlier  and 
more  important  citation  made  from  Mareschal,  show  by 
their  outspoken  opposition  to  classic  rules  that,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  fourth  decade  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the 
three  unities  had  become  sufficiently  strong  in  France  to 
elicit  the  explanations  of  their  opponents,  even  when  they 
were  unable  to  overcome  the  expression  of  their  hostility. 

H.  CARRINGTON  LANCASTER. 


Published  at  Lyon,  1632. 


XV.— COORDINATION  AND  THE   COMMA. 

Those  who  consider  punctuation  '  largely  a  matter  of 
taste '  and  look  upon  the  so-called  '  sentence-sense '  as  a 
kind  of  sixth  sense  that  comes  only  from  generations  of 
gentle  breeding,  will  regard  with  small  favor  the  attempt 
to  formulate  any  very  definite  principles  governing  the 
structure  of  the  sentence ;  but  those  who  have  little  faith 
in  the  subjective  conclusions  of  capricious  taste  will  welcome 
any  systematic  presentation  of  facts  that  may  enable  them 
to  settle  points  of  disputed  usage  for  themselves.  It  is 
with  this  conviction  that  I  offer  the  following  contribution 
to  the  study  of  the  sentence,  not  without  hope  that  it  may 
incite  others  to  a  more  thoro  investigation  of  related  prob- 
lems of  English  usage. 

The  use  of  the  comma  alone  between  coordinate  clauses 
which  should  without  question  be  pointed  as  independent 
sentences,  as  in, 

A  New  Forest  Ballad  is  also  good,  it  ends  thus —  * 

or  of  the  comma  and  a  purely  logical  connective  when  usage 
demands  at  least  a  semicolon,  as  in, 

John  was  an  old  servant,  and  had  known  his  master  when  he  was 
the  cadet  of  the  house,  therefore  he  often  gave  him  his  Christian 
name,2 

is  generally  considered  the  mark  of  an  illiterate  or  slovenly 
style.  Yet  the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong  usage 
in  this  respect  is  sometimes  so  subtle  that  even  the  careful 
writer  may  occasionally  be  at  fault.  It  is  the  purpose  of 
this  paper  to  determine  more  definitely  :  (a)  under  what 

1  Frederic  Harrison,  Early  Victorian  Literature,  p.  167. 

2  Charlotte  Bronte,  Jane  Eyre. 

316 


COORDINATION   AND   THE   COMMA.  317 

conditions  the  comma  alone  is  sufficient ;  and  (6)  what  dis- 
tinction is  to  be  made  between  '  structural/  or  grammatical, 
and  non-structural,  or  '  logical/  connectives. 

The  conclusions  that  have  been  reached  are  based  upon 
more  than  16,000  pages  of  nineteenth  century  prose,  from 
De  Quincey  and  Carlyle  to  Walter  Pater  and  Mr.  Jolm 
Morley,  including  thirty-five  authors  and  ranging  in  subject 
matter  from  miscellaneous  essays  to  novels  and  familiar 
letters.  In  matters  of  punctuation  it  is  not  always  possible 
to  discriminate  between  author  and  printer.  The  publishing 
house  has  its  system  of  pointing,  from  which  only  eternal 
vigilance  can  protect  the  intelligent  writer.  But  mechanical 
rules  are  uniform  in  their  operation  and  take  no  account  of 
subtle  variations ;  least  of  all  do  they  meddle  with  the 
interrelation  of  independent  clauses.  It  is  safe  to  assume, 
therefore,  that  the  examples  cited  below  reveal  in  almost 
every  case  the  intention  of  the  author ;  and  this  assumption 
finds  confirmation  in  the  fact  that,  whereas  authors  differ 
widely  in  the  pointing  of  coordinate  clauses,  no  correspond- 
ing difference  is  to  be  found  among  publishers. 

The  first  part  of  this  paper  will  deal  with  all  sentences 
containing  independent  clauses  separated  by  the  comma 
alone.  The  three-clause  series  in  which  the  last  two  members 
are  joined  by  the  conjunction  is  too  common  to  detain  us. 
I  may  say  in  passing,  however,  that  in  every  instance  the 
comma  is  retained  before  the  conjunction.  When  the  con- 
junction is  omitted,  the  series,  usually  of  a  climactic  order, 
has  sufficient  structural  significance  to  bind  the  clauses 
together  without  the  use  of  the  semicolon,  as  in  the  follow- 
ing example : 

Romulus  does  not  mount  into  heaven,  Epimenides  does  not  awake, 
Arthur  does  not  return. l 

1  Arnold,  God  and  the  Bible. 


318  RAYMOND   B.    MILLER. 

This  construction  is  also  a  familiar  one.  It  is  legitimate 
only  when  the  three  clauses  are  equally  coordinate  in 
thought — they  must  form  a  genuine  series.  If  they  do  not, 
the  semicolon  must  be  used  to  show  that  two  of  the  clauses 
are  in  parallel  dependence  upon  the  third,  thus  forming 
what  may  be  called  an  Imperfect  Series.  The  two  coordinate 
clauses  may  give  details  elucidating  or  enforcing  a  general 
statement,  as  in, 

Hints  were  dropping  about  the  neighborhood  ;  the  hedgeways  twit- 
tered, the  tree-tops  cawed  ; l 

the  relation  may  be  causal,  as  in, 

Anon  the  applauses  wax  fainter,  or  threaten  to  cease  ;  she  is  heavy 
of  heart,  the  light  of  her  face  has  fled  ; 2 

or  obverse,  as  in, 

It  is  not  a  Convent,  it  is  not  a  Seminary  ;  it  is  a  place  to  fit  men  of 
the  world  for  the  world  ; 3 

or  may  reveal  some  more  subtle  discrimination  difficult 
to  classify. 

But  our  chief  concern  is  with  the  use  of  the  comma 
between  two  coordinate  clauses  which  do  not  form  part  of  a 
three-clause  series.  Of  such  usage  688  examples  (about  1 
to  every  23  pages)  have  been  collated.  A  rigid  classifi- 
cation shows,  however,  that  nearly  half  of  these  are  not  in 
a  strict  sense  coordinate,  but  may  be  accounted  for  in  the 
following  three  ways  : — 

1.  In  about  152  of  the  examples  one  of  the  clauses  is 
so  obviously  subordinate  in  meaning  that  the  coordinate 
structure,  deceiving  no  one,  has  become  more  or  less 
conventional  or  idiomatic.  This  we  may  call  Veiled  Sub- 
ordination and  classify  as  follows  : 


1  Meredith,  The  Egoist.  a  Carlyle,  The  French  Revolution. 

3  Newman,  Idea  of  a  University. 


COORDINATION   AND   THE   COMMA.  319 

a.  Causal  dependence  involving  the  omission  of  some 
such  word  as  because,  since : 

His  kisses  will  not  wound,  the  hair  on  his  lip  is  yet  light. 

Arnold,  Essays  in  Criticism,  I,  p.  240. 
Than  canst  not  speak,  called  one,  the  blood  of  Danton  chokes  thee. 

Morley,  Miscellanies,  I,  p.  126. 
The  tone  is  playful,  Gray  was  not  yet  twenty-one. 

Arnold,  Essays  in  Criticism,  n,  p.  86. 
The  doors  are  well  watched,  no  improper  figure  can  enter. 

Carlyle,  The  French  Revolution. 

b.  As  object  of  the  verb  of  a  preceding  clause,  usually 
involving  an  omitted  tJiat  : 

I  protest,  my  lord  duke,  I  do  not  comprehend  your  Grace. 

Landor,  Imaginary  Conversations. 

c.  With  a  correlative  involving  the  omission  of  that : 

And  I  dare  not  look  back  on  it,  my  heart  is  so  weak. 

Newman,  Callista. 

As  to  his  poetry,  Emerson's  word  shall  suffice  for  us,  it  is  so  accurate 
and  so  prettily  said  :  .  .  .  .  Stevenson,  Thoreau. 

I  really  half  believe  you  are  a  Faun,  there  is  such  a  mystery  and 
terror  for  you  in  these  dark  moods.  Hawthorne,  The  Marble  Faun. 

d.  With  a  verb  of  permission  or  command  equivalent  to 
if  or  tho  : 

Let  him  be  drenched,  his  heart  will  sing.     Meredith,  The  Egoist. 

We  may  struggle  as  we  please,  we  are  not  born  economists.  Steven- 
son, The  Amateur  Emigrant. 

Open  the  book  where  you  will,  it  takes  you  out  of  doors.  Lowell, 
My  Garden  Acquaintance. 

In  like  manner,  sow  small-pox  in  the  human  body,  your  crop  is 
small-pox.  Tyndall,  Fermentation. 

e.  A  less  obvious  kind  of  Veiled  Subordination  is  Apposi- 
tion between  one  clause  and  a  significant  phrase  of  the  other, 
sometimes  involving  an  omitted  in  that,  that  is,  that  is  to 
say,  or  even  a  whole  dependent  clause  : 


320  RAYMOND    D.    MILLER. 

The  claim  was  to  be  jumped  next  morning,  that  was  all  that  she 
would  condescend  upon.  Stevenson,  The  Silverado  Squatters. 

One  thing  you  may  be  assured  of,  he  will  be  proud  of  you.  Mere- 
dith, The  Egoist. 

You  are  right,  my  dear  sir,  she  is  rather  old.  Dickens,  Pickwick 
Papers. 

It  has  this  advantage  as  a  witness,  it  cannot  be  debauched.  Emer- 
son, The  Method  of  Nature. 

The  history  of  reform  is  always  identical,  it  is  the  comparison  of  tha 
idea  with  the  fact.  Emerson,  Lecture  on  the  Times. 

2.  In  88  examples  both  clauses  stand  in  parallel  relation 
to  a  restricting  word,  phrase,  or  dependent  clause.  This  we 
may  call  Common  Restriction. 

a.  Conjunction  : 

But,  as  we  have  insisted  in  a  previous  chapter,  art  is  not  life,  it 
is  not  even  an  exact  transcript  of  life.  Winchester,  Principles  of 
Literary  Criticism,  p.  309. 

b.  Prepositional  phrase  : 

In  the  sublimest  flights  of  the  soul,  rectitude  is  never  surmounted, 
love  is  never  outgrown.  Emerson,  Divinity  College  Address. 

c.  Participial  phrase : 

.Rising  in  his  strength,  he  will  break  through  the  trammels  of  words, 
he  will  scatter  human  voices,  even  the  sweetest,  to  the  winds.  New- 
man, Idea  of  a  University. 

d.  Infinitive : 

We  are  not  bound,  perhaps  we  are  not  able,  to  show  that  the  form 
of  government  which  he  recommends  is  bad.  Macaulay,  Westminster 
Reviewer's  Defence  of  Mill. 

e.  Common  object : 

Who  it  was  by  dying  that  had  earned  the  splendid  trophy,  I  know 
not,  I  inquired  not.  Lamb,  Essays  of  Elia. 

f.  Dependent  clause : 

Well,  but  though  Mr.  Whitford  does  not  give  you  money,  he  gives 
you  his  time,  he  tries  to  get  you  into  the  navy.  Meredith,  The  Egoist. 


COORDINATION   AND  THE   COMMA.  321 

It  was  the  Troad,  it  was  Asia  that  in  those  days  constituted  the 
great  enemy  of  Greece.  De  Quincey,  Style. 

You  need  not  speak  to  me,  I  need  not  go  where  you  are,  that  you 
should  exert  magnetism  on  me.  Emerson,  The  Method  of  Nature. 

3.  In  79  of  the  examples  one  of  the  clauses  serves 
merely  to  introduce,  to  conclude,  or  parenthetically  to  eluci- 
date or  enforce  the  other.  Such  clauses  may  be  called  Tags. 

a.  Initial  and  final  tags,  chiefly  exclamatory  : 

Doubt  it  not,  he  had  his  own  sorrows :  .  .  .  .  Carlyle,  Heroes  and 
Hero  Worship. 

God  help  thee,  Elia,  how  art  thou  changed  !     Lamb,  Essays  of  Elia. 
I'm  not  treating  her  ill,  I'm  not  indeed.     Newman,  Callista. 

b.  Parenthetical  tags  : 

I  don't  believe  Mr.  Peter  came  home  from  India  as  rich  as  a  nabob, 
he  even  considered  himself  poor,  but  neither  he  nor  Miss  Matty  cared 
much  about  that.  Mrs.  Gaskell,  Cranford. 

When  we  have  in  this  manner  eliminated  all  cases  of 
apparent  coordination,  we  discover  that  the  remaining  ex- 
amples, 369  (or  1  to  every  43  pages)  readily  fall  into  one 
large  group  characterized  by  a  more  or  less  clearly  marked 
balance  of  thought  and  expression.  In  other  words,  Balance 
is  in  two-clause  coordination  what  the  series  is  in  three-clause 
coordination — a  structural  equivalent  for  the  semicolon. 

1 .    The  most  common  form  of  Balance  is  Antithesis  : 

You  began  with  a  dream,  you  are  ending  with  a  vision.  Landor, 
Imaginary  Conversations. 

Heat  kills  the  bacteria,  cold  numbs  them.  Tyndall,  Fragments  of 
Science,  n,  p.  270. 

Wives  are  plentiful,  friends  are  rare.     Meredith,  The  Egoist. 

With  Dante  the  main  question  is  the  saving  of  the  soul,  with 
Chaucer  it  is  the  conduct  of  life.  Lowell,  Chaucer. 

Teresa  breaks  in  her  pupils,  Natalia  forms  them.  Dowden,  New 
Studies,  p.  177. 


322  RAYMOND   D.    MILLER. 

2.  Obverse  Repetition  may  also  be  considered  a  form  of 
Antithesis  : 

I  did  not  pick  her  up,  she  was  left  on  my  hands.     Bronte,  Jane  Eyre. 

.  .  .  .  ;  all  beautiful  proportions  are  unique,  they  are  not  general 
formulae.  Kuskin,  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture. 

They  are  not  tended,  they  are  only  regularly  shorn.  Carlyle,  The 
French  Revolution. 

She  had  not  uttered  words,  she  had  shed  meanings.  Meredith, 
The  Egoist. 

3.  When  antithesis  is  lacking,  the  balance  usually  includes 
some  degree  of  repetition  of  thought  or  phrase.  We  may  have 
repetition  of  thought  alone,  giving  (a)  Cumulative  Repetition, 
(6)  Progressive  Repetition,  (c)  Synonymous  Repetition. 

a.  Cumulative  Repetition : 

I  could  distinguish  the  merchant  to  whom  the  ship  was  consigned, 
I  knew  him  by  his  calculating  brow  and  restless  air.  Irving,  The 
Sketch  Book. 

The  moonlit  hours  passed  by  on  silver  wings,  the  twinkling  stars 
looked  friendly  down  upon  him.  Thackeray,  Burlesques. 

The  fine  nose  had  grown  fleshy  towards  the  point,  the  pale  eyes  were 
sunk  in  fat.  Stevenson,  The  Amateur  Emigrant. 

b.  Progressive  Repetition  : 

Long  night  wears  itself  into  day,  morning's  paleness  is  spread  over 
all  faces  ;  .  .  .  .  Carlyle,  The  French  Revolution. 

.  .  .  .  ;  the  city  woke  about  him  with  its  cheerful  bustle,  the  sun 
climbed  overhead  ;  .  .  .  .  Stevenson,  Some  College  Memories. 

c.  Synonymous  Repetition  : 

Sense  would  resist  delirium,  judgment  would  warn  passion.  Bronte, 
Jane  Eyre. 

He  has  put  on  the  strong  armor  of  sickness,  he  is  wrapped  in  the 
callous  hide  of  suffering.  Lamb,  Essays  of  Elia. 

Make  all  clear,  convince  the  reason.    Stevenson,  Virginibus  Puerisque. 

.  .  .  ,  ;  the  long  festival  of  the  ravenous  night  is  over,  the  world  of 
darkness  is  in  the  throes  of  death  ;  .  .  .  .  Swinburne,  Essays  and 
Studies,  p.  39. 


COORDINATION   AND   THE   COMMA.  323 

4.  More  frequently,  however,  the  repetition  of  some 
significant  word  or  phrase  serves  also  to  join  the  clauses. 
The  following  sentences  illustrate  the  repetition  of  subject, 
verb,  object,  or  modifier  as  the  key-word  of  both  clauses : 

Reason  gives  us  this  law,  reason  tells  us  that  it  leads  to  eternal 
blessedness,  and  that  those  who  follow  it  have  no  need  of  any  other. 
Arnold,  Essays  in  Criticism,  I,  p.  371. 

It  might  be  a  duty,  it  might  be  a  merit ;  .  .  .  .     Newman,  Callista. 

For  us  was  thy  back  so  bent,  for  us  were  thy  straight  limbs  and 
fingers  so  deformed.  Carlyle,  Sartor  Resarlus. 

Here  and  now,  just  as  of  old  in  Palestine,  he  has  the  rich  to  din- 
ner, it  is  with  the  rich  that  he  takes  his  pleasure  :  .  .  .  . 
Stevenson,  Beggars. 

Dear  to  us  hast  thou  been  at  this  coming,  dear  to  us  shalt  thou  be 
when  thou  comest  again.  Arnold,  Essays  in  Criticism,  I,  p.  241. 

They  all  have  the  immediate  beauty,  they  all  give  the  direct  delight 
of  natural  things.  Swinburne,  Essays  and  Studies,  p.  374. 

Under  this  head  may  also  be  placed  the  use  of  correlatives 
and  comparatives. 

Not  only  had  Shelley  dealings  with  money  lenders,  he  now  had 
dealings  with  bailiffs  also.  Arnold,  Essays  in  Criticism,  II,  p.  232. 

He  now  needs  to  know  more  than  an  author,  he  must  know  a 
period.  Dowden,  New  Studies,  p.  445. 

Shakespeare's  language  is  no  longer  the  mere  vehicle  of  thought,  it 
has  become  part  of  it,  its  very  flesh  and  blood.  Lowell,  Shakespeare 
Once  More. 

We  have  now  concluded  the  first  part  of  our  classifica- 
tion ;  and  tho  to  classify  is  not  to  justify,  it  is  at  least 
significant  that  all  but  a  score  of  the  sentences  collated 
should  fall  readily  into  one  or  more  of  the  categories  named 
above.  In  all  cases  of  apparent  coordination  the  comma 
would  seem  to  be  the  necessary  usage,  and  this  is  unques- 
tionably true  of  Common  Restriction  and  Tags.  But  in  some 
forms  of  Veiled  Subordination,  such  as  causal  dependence  or 


324  RAYMOND    D.    MILLER. 

apposition,  the  subordination  may  be  so  slight  as  to  warrant 
or  require  the  use  of  the  semicolon. 

In  all  cases  of  clearly  marked  balance  of  thought  or 
expression  the  writer  uses  at  pleasure  the  comma  or  the 
semicolon.  When  the  balanced  clauses  are  long  or  compli- 
cated by  the  use  of  other  commas,  the  semicolon  is  preferable  ; 
when  the  balanced  clauses  are  but  part  of  a  larger  sentence, 
the  comma  is  preferable.  To  the  latter  class  belong  197  of 
the  examples  collated.  There  remain,  therefore,  but  172 
examples  of  the  use  of  the  comma  in  independent  balance, 
giving  us  the  remarkably  small  ratio  of  1  to  every  93  pages. 
So  rare  a  usage  clearly  indicates  a  preference  for  the  semi- 
colon and  warrants  the  conclusion  that  in  balanced  construc- 
tions the  comma  should  be  used  only  when  some  special 
effect  may  thereby  be  gained. 

The  second  part  of  our  investigation  will  attempt  to 
divide  all  coordinating  connectives  into  two  classes  accord- 
ing as  they  do  or  do  not  require  the  semicolon.1  The  former 
will  be  called  grammatical,  or  '  structural/  the  latter  non- 
structural,  or  '  logical.7  Such  a  division  may  be  based  upon 
the  following  differentiae : 

A  structural  connective  is  always  the  first  word  of  the 
clause.  It  may  follow  a  period,  a  semicolon,  or  a  comma, 
but  it  can  never  be  imbedded  within  the  clause.  Conse- 
quently it  can  never  be  combined  with  another  structural 
connective,  tho  it  may  precede  any  logical  connective 
when  the  meaning  permits  or  requires  it. 

On  this  basis  the  following  connectives  are  structural  : 
and,  but,  or,  for,  nor. 

A  logical  connective  may  always  be  imbedded  within  the 
clause.  Consequently  it  may  be  preceded  by  a  structural 

1  The  colon,  which  is  used  more  rarely,  has  of  course  the  same  structural 
significance  as  the  semicolon. 


COORDINATION    AND    THE   COMMA.  325 

or  another  logical  connective.  When  placed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  clause  it  requires  the  semicolon  or  its  structural 
equivalent. 

On  this  basis  the  following  connectives  are  logical : 
accordingly,  also,  besides,  consequently,  hence,  however,  indeed, 
moreover,  nevertheless,  now,  otherwise,  still,  then,  therefore. 

To  this  list  must  be  added  the  exceptional  connectives 
yet,  only,  else,  and  so,  which  require  especial  notice. 

The  connective  yet  seems  to  be  logical  in  that  it  may  be 
combined  with  a  structural  connective  or  imbedded  within 
the  clause ;  yet  modern  writers  use  it  freely  with  the  comma. 
This  anomaly  may  be  explained  if  we  consider  the  preced- 
ing clause  dependent,  thus  involving  an  omitted  altho,  as  in 
the  following  sentence : 

But  though  such  special  rules  might  be  of  service  to  the  literary 
critic,  .  .  .  yet  it  can  hardly  be  the  duty  of  literary  criticism  to 
formulate  them.  Winchester,  Principles  of  Literary  Criticism,  p.  147. 

The  connective  else,  which  is  also  freely  used  with  the 
comma,  (in  Felix  Holt  18  times)  may  be  considered  a  kind 
of  compromise  between  or  and  otherwise.  It  seems  to  take 
the  place  of  a  condition  obversely  implied  in  the  preceding 
clause  : 

It  was  not  so  well  for  a  lawyer  to  be  over-honest,  else  he  might  not  be 
up  to  other  people's  tricks.  George  Eliot,  Felix  Holt. 

Only,  when  used  with  the  comma,  adds  a  qualifying  and 
therefore  subordinate  clause,  and  is  usually  equivalent  to 
except  that  : 

.  .  .  .  ;  a  very  keen  and  clear  argument,  only  the  facts  are  all 
against  it.  Swinburne,  Essays  and  Studies,  p.  168. 

'Tis  the  same  thing  as  the  Tuileries  at  Paris,  only  the  park  has  a 
certain  beauty  of  simplicity  which  cannot  be  described.  Thackeray, 
George  the  First. 

Last,  but  by  no  means  least  troublesome  of  these  excep- 

r 


326  RAYMOND    D.    MILLER. 

tional  connectives,  is  so.  According  to  every  principle 
which  ci'etermines  the  classification  of  connectives,  so  should 
be  '  logical/  but  memories  of  the  nursery  have  endeared  it 
to  us  as  the  most  docile  and  serviceable  of  beasts  for  an  easy 
jog  along  the  byways  of  syntax.  The  best  writers,  how- 
ever, avo.  it  as  a  structural  connective.  In  twenty  of  the 
authors  read  I  find  not  a  single  example  of  such  usage.  It 
does  occur  once  in  Arnold,  Carlyle,  Irving,  Newman,  and 
Euskin,  but  the  sentence  is  in  no  instance  a  strong  one, 
seldom  rising  above  the  level  of  the  following  example  : 

.  .  .  . ;  and  there  is  a  pretty  piece  of  modern  political  economy 
besides,  worth  preserving  note  of,  I  think,  so  I  print  it  in  the  note 
below.  Ruskin,  Sesame  and  Lilies. 

For  the  worst  specimen,  however,  we  are  indebted  to  Mr. 
Saintsbury  : 

Doggerel  (my  printers  prefer  this  spelling,  and  they  have  Chaucer  at 
their  back,  so,  though  I  myself  write  it  "doggrel,"  I  have  not  thought 
it  worth  while  to  trouble  them  with  correction  throughout)  is  a 
subject  as  inseparably  connected  with  prosody  as  vice  is  with  virtue. 
Saintsbury,  History  of  English  Prosody,  I,  p.  392. 

The  hotbed  of  the  structural  so  is  the  novel  and  the 
familiar  letter.  Yet  novelists  differ  widely  in  this  respect. 
George  Eliot's  Felix  Holt  reveals  only  4  examples,  all  in 
conversation;  Meredith's  Egoist  16,  half  of  which  are  in 
conversation ;  Bronte's  Jane  Eyre  8 ;  Dickens' s  Pickwick 
Papers  29,  15  of  which  are  in  conversation.  Hawthorne's 
Marble  Faun  is  guiltless  of  a  single  structural  so. 

In  familiar  letters  the  writer  feels  even  more  free  from 
the  restraints  of  formal  prose.  In  419  pages  of  Science  and 
Christian  Tradition  Huxley  uses  this  so  but  once,  in  200 
pages  of  his  letters,  24  times.  Twelve  hundred  pages  of 
Stevenson's  essays  and  travels  contain  3  examples  as  against 
8  in  200  pages  of  his  letters.  It  is  especially  worthy  of 


COORDINATION   AND   THE   COMMA.  327 

notice,  however,  that  in  both  novels  and  letters  in  which  the 
structural  so  abounds,  the  logical  so  occurs  almost  as 
frequently  in  sentences  that  are  structurally  identical.  The 
only  justification  for  the  use  of  the  comma  seems  to  be 
that  it  reproduces  the  effect  of  careless  or  slovenly  speech. 

Other  logical  connectives  may  occasionally  bj>*bund  with 
the  comma  alone.  Otherwise  is  thus  used,  but  once  only, 
by  Darwin,  De  Quincey,  George  Eliot,  Meredith,  and  Mr. 
Saintsbury.  Mr.  Saintsbury  again  gives  us  the  choicest 
example  : 

That  neither  was  a  poet  of  absolutely  the  first  class  may  be  granted, 
otherwise  they  would  have  done  more  than  they  did  ;  .  .  .  .  Saints- 
bury,  History  of  English  Prosody,  I,  p.  305. 

But  since  we  find,  all  told,  only  24  examples  of  any  kind 
in  about  14,000  pages  of  formal  prose  (or  1  to  every  583 
pages),  there  is  no  escape  from  the  conclusion  that  the 
modern  writer  who  takes  any  pride  in  the  integrity  of  his 
style  will  be  found  to  observe  most  scrupulously  this  funda- 
mental distinction  between  structure  and  logic. 

We  have  now  reached  the  end  of  our  quest  and  may 
briefly  summarize.  The  modern  English  sentence,  far  from 
being  a  will-o-the-wisp,  difficult  to  define  or  classify, 
reveals  a  clearly  marked  structure  in  accordance  with  the 
following  principles : — 

Every  independent  clause  is,  structurally  speaking,  an 
independent  sentence  and  must  be  separated  from  other 
independent  clauses  by  a  period  or  its  structural  equivalent. 

There  are  four  structural  equivalents  of  the  period ; 
namely,  the  semicolon  (or  colon),  the  structural  connective, 
the  series,  and  the  balance. 

A  comma  is  never  the  structural  equivalent  of  a  period. 

The  use  of  the  comma  alone  between  independent  clauses 
not  in  series  or  balance  implies  structural  dependence  and  is 


328  RAYMOND    D.    MILLER. 

justifiable  only  in  clearly  defined  cases  of  Veiled  Subordina- 
tion, in  Common  Restriction,  and  in  Tags. 

A  logical  connective  is  never  the  structural  equivalent  of 
a  period. 

The  use  of  the  comma  alone  before  a  logical  connective 
is  the  mark  of  an  illiterate,  slovenly,  or  careless  style. 

RAYMOND  D.  MILLER. 


331 


PUBLICATIONS 


OF  THE 


Modern  Language  Association  of  America. 


19O8. 


VOL.  XXIII,  3.  NEW  SERIES,  VOL.  XVI,  3. 


XVI. —THE   FABLIAU  AND  POPULAR 
.LITERATURE. 

A  recent  study  of  the  narrative  urt  of  Chaucer's  Reeves 
Tale1  attempted  to  set  forth  some  of  the  technical  excel- 
lences of  the  Old  French  fabliau*,  to  call  attention  to 
their  striking  resemblance  in  forjtute  the  modern  short- 
story,  and,  with  all  due  appreciation  of  the  originality  of 
all  Chaucer's  work,  to  show  that-  he  was  technically  at  his 
best  in  tales  like  the  Miller's  and  the  Reeve's,  because  he 
was  writing  under  the  influence  of  the  best  narrative  art 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  under  the  influence  of  the  fabliaux. 
If  these  contentions  are  true,  the  fabliaux,  in  spite  of  their 
very  manifest  imperfections, — their  lack  of  style,  of  moral 
sense,  of  any  ideal  or  uplifting  quality, — cannot  be  neg- 
lected in  any  study  of  Chaucer,  of  the  short-story,  or 
of  the  history  of  narration.  It  s  the  purpose  of  the 
present  essay  to  push  the  inquiry  a  step  farther  back,  and 
to  ascertain  what  were,  in  turn,  some  of  the  possible  sources 

1  In  the  present  volume  of  the  Publications,  pp.  1  ff. 

1  329 


328  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

-of  the  technique  of  these  early  masterpieces  of  narration. 
The  fabliaux  themselves  are,  indeed,  not  all  alike ;  they 
are  to  be  found  in  all  stages  of  elaboration,  from  the  longer 
and  more  complex  signecl  poems,  which  disclose  an  interest 
not  only  in  plot,  but  also  in  character,  emotions;  scene,  and 
even  in  moral  significance,  down  to  the  mere  anecdote, 
anonymous,  brief,  and  simple.  It  is  not  difficult  to  see 
how  the  more  complex  fabliaux  could  be  developed  from 
the  more  simple.  Seeking,  however,  forms  still  simpler 
and  less  developed  than  these  latter,  the  critic  is  obliged 
to  turn  his  back  upon  the  literature  of  art  and  to  examine 
the  underlying  stratum  of  the  literature  of  the  people. 
Such  a  procedure  is  suggested  by  the  subtitle  of  Professor 
BSdier's  Les  Fabliaux, — "  Etudes  de  Iitt6rature  populaire," — 
by  Professor  Matthews' s  definition  of  the  fabliau  as  "  a 
realistic  folk  tale,"  and  by  the  general  impression  produced 
by  the  fabliau  of  kinship  with  ballad  and  folk  tale.  And 
it  is  justified  by  our  knowledge  of  the  general  fact  that 
popular  literature  precedes  and  paves  the  way  for  the  litera- 
ture of  art.  Fabliaux,  ballads,  folk  tales  are,  then,  to  be 
analyzed  and  compared  with  a  view  to  ascertaining  what 
the  more  developed  forms  owe  to  the  less  developed.  In 
making  such  analyses  and  comparisons  it  is  always  an 
advantage  when  the  whole  matter  can  be  focussed  upon 
such  single  stories  as  may  appear  in  the  various  forms 
concerned.  Such  a  narrowing  down  of  the  field  makes 
for  simplicity  and  clearness,  and,  provided  the  examples 
chosen  be  typical,  does  not  invalidate  the  general  truth  of 
the  conclusions. 

I.  THE  FABLIAU  AND  THE  BALLAD. 

Queen  Eleanor's  Confession1  is  a  typical  popular  ballad 
and  tells  a  story  found  also  in  the  typical  fabliau  of  Le 

1  Child,  No.  156. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         331 

Chevalier  qui  fist  sa  fame  confessed  It  offers,  therefore, 
excellent  opportunity  for  analysis  and  comparison.  In 
substance  it  is  as  follows : 

Queen  Eleanor,  fearing  that  she  was  about  to  die,  sent  for  two  friars  of 
France.  The  King  commanded  Earl  Martial  to  don  a  friar's  coat,  dis- 
guised himself  in  the  same  fashion,  and  swearing  that  he  would  not  write 
down  what  the  Queen  might  say,  went  with  the  Earl  to  hear  her  confes- 
sion. She  told  them  that  she  had  sinned  with  Earl  Martial,  had  made  a 
box  of  poison  strong  to  poison  King  Henry,  and  had  poisoned  Fair  Rosa- 
mund in  Woodstock  bower.  Earl  Martial's  son  she  loved  best,  King 
Henry's  son  least  of  all.  When  the  King  pulled  off  his  friar's  coat,  she 
wrung  her  hands  and  cried  that  she  was  betrayed.  King  Henry  declared 
that  but  for  his  oath  Earl  Martial  should  have  been  hanged. 

This  ballad  "  seems  first  to  have  got  into  print  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  but  was  no  doubt 
circulating  orally  some  time  before  that,  for  it  is  in  the 
truly  popular  tone." 2  If  one  may  venture  to  take  what 
has  been  called  the  "Simple  Ballad,3 — ballad  par  excel- 
lence,— as  a  standard  of  the  truly  popular,  one  finds  that 
Queen  Eleanor's  Confession  is,  in  almost  all  respects,  typical 
of  the  class.  It  was,  and  still  is,  sung.4  It  has  the 
necessary  brevity  :  its  five  hundred  words  are  one  hundred 
less  than  the  average.  The  scene  of  the  action  is  White- 
hall, but  it  is  not  visualized  ;  France  and  Woodstock  bower 
are  named.  There  is  no  date,  and  there  seems  to  be  no 
passage  of  time.  The  persons  form  a  narrow  group  ;  atten- 
tion is  focussed  on  husband,  wife,  and  lover.  "King," 
"Queen"  and  "Earl"  reveal  the  ballad  love  of  titles; 
and,  while  it  is  unusual  that  these  figures  should  be  histori- 
cal personages,  the  ballad  is  loyal  to  the  popular  manner, 
rather  than  to  history,  in  its  perversion  of  fact.5  The 

1  Montaiglon-Raynaud,  No.  16. 

2  Child,  in,  257. 

8  In  the  present  writer' s  Ballad  and  Epic,  pp.  8ff. 

4 Professor  Gummere  refers  to  Hardy's  Return  of  the  Native,  Chapter  III. 

6Cf.  Child,  n,  19. 


332  WALTER   MORRIS    HART. 

characters  are  all  more  or  less  evil,  are  not  further  indi- 
vidualized, or  described  in  any  way ;  they  are,  in  fact, 
mere  doers  of  deeds.  Emphasis  upon  emotion  is  unusual 
in  the  Simple  Ballad,  but  the  method  in  stanzas  19  and 
20  is  not  unlike  that  in  the  ballad  of  Lady  Maisry  ;  and 
here,  as  there,  the  emotion  is  not  named,1  but  expressed 
by  "pantomime."  The  pantomime  suggests,  however,  the 
vulgar  convention  of  the  broadside : 

She  shriekd  and  she  cry'd,  she  wrong  her  hands, 
And  said  she  was  betrayd. 

More  in  the  true  ballad  manner, 

The  King  lookd  over  his  left  shoulder, 
And  a  grim  look  looked  he. 

Structurally,  Queen  Eleanor's  Confession,  like  ballads  of 
the  most  primitive  type,  is  a  single  situation.2  This  is 
the  climax  and  close  of  the  story,  as  final  as  a  comic 
catastrophe  can  be.  As  in  Babylon,  the  persons  are  all 
before  us  at  once.  The  tale  is  told  almost  without  pre- 
liminaries ; 3  nothing  is  said  of  the  earlier  relation  of  the 
King  and  Queen,  and  the  history  of  the  lovers  is  sup- 
pressed until  it  is  revealed  dramatically  in  the  confession. 
The  situation  is  developed  almost  wholly  by  dialogue,  .71 
as  compared  with  the  ballad  average  of  .50  of  direct  dis- 
course. The  threefold  repetitive  confession  involves  group 
conversation  of  a  primitively  formal  kind.  The  speeches 
are  not  all  assigned,  and,  in  general,  one  finds  the  abrupt 
transitions  of  the  Simple  Ballad.  And  when  a  "journey" 

1  Cf.  Ballad  and  Epic,  p.  57. 
2Cf.  Gummere,  The  Popular  Ballad,  pp.  113  ff. 

3  For  relative  emphasis  of  Introduction,  Situation,  and  Conclusion,  se<- 
p.  338,  below. 


THE  FABLIAU  AND   POPULAK   LITERATURE.         333 

is  traced  the  phrasing  suggests  the  broadside  style.1  Yet 
the  end  is  seen  from  the  beginning ;  it  is  the  King's  oath  in 
stanza  4  that  compels  a  comic  outcome  of  the  threatened 
tragedy  in  stanza  20.  While  there  is  no  refrain,  repetition, 
incremental  and  other,  is  in  the  popular  manner.  Earl 
Martial  approaches  the  King,  and  both  approach  the  Queen, 
in  parallel  stanzas.2  The  Queen's  confession  falls  into  the 
conventional  form  of  a  group  of  three  members,  each 
consisting  of  two  stanzas, — one  of  confession  and  one  of 
comment.  Of  this  comment  two  lines  are  the  King's  and 
two  are  .Earl  Martial's.  The  order  of  the  confessions, 
however,  is  not  climactic.  Repetition  heightens  the  con- 
trast between  the  Queen's  two  sons.  Question  is  repeated 
in  answer. 

For  comic  effect  the  balladist  depends  mainly  on  the 
irony  of  the  situation.  Because  of  a  kind  of  poetic  justice 
(the  comment,  "  it  served  him  right "  is  readily  suggested, 
with  the  proverb  about  listeners)  the  husband's  pain  is 
comic,  also.  It  is  impossible  to  say  how  far  the  comic  effect 
is  calculated,  yet  the  balladist' s  care,  just  noted,  to  provide 
•  the  oath  at  the  beginning  to  avoid  a  tragic  outcome,  looks 
like  conscious  art.  Clearly,  there  is  some  sort  of  contrast 
here  with  the  ballad  habit  of  neglecting  all  special  treat- 
ment in  dealing  with  the  Supernatural.3 

For  all  its  "  innocuous  humor "  Queen  Eleanor's  Confes- 
sion implies  something  of  the  cynicism  of  the  Minstrel 
Ballad.  It  is  not,  of  course,  so  described  by  either  Professor 
Child  or  Professor  Gummere,  yet  it  has  certain  charac- 

Thus  both  attired  then  they  go  ; 

When  they  came  to  Whitehall ....  (st.  6). 

2  Stanzas  3  and  7. 

' 3  Cf.  Ballad  and  Epic,  pp.  20  ff.  For  tragic  ballads  of  false  wives  see 
Old  Robin  of  Portingale  (80)  or  Little  Musgrave  and  Lady  Barnard  (81), 
both  very  different  in  tone  from  Queen  Eleanor's  Confession. 


334  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

teristics  which  recall  such  ballads  as  The  Boy  and  the 
Mantle.1  While  the  form  is  still  truly  popular,  its  use  of 
historical  personages,  its  knowledge  of  the  world,  the  nature 
of  its  comic  effects,  imply  professional  rather  than  domestic 
tradition,  minstrels  rather  than  knitters  and  weavers.  It 
would  "suit  the  hall  better  than  the  bower,  the  tavern  or 
public  square  better  than  the  cottage,  and  would  not  go  to 
the  spinning-wheel  at  all."  2  In  so  far  as  it  diverges  from 
the  Simple  Ballad  and  approaches  the  Minstrel  Ballad,  it 
approaches  also  the  fabliau, — how  near  we  are  now  to  see. 
The  story  of  Le  Chevalier  qui  fist  sa  fame  confesse  is,  in  sub- 
stance, as  follows  : 

In  le  Bessin,  near  Vire,  there  lived  a  knight,  whose  wife  was  famous  in 
that  country  for  her  courtesy  and  fine  breeding.  Her  husband  so  loved 
her  and  had  such  faith  in  her  that  he  trusted  her  in  everything  and  left 
all  his  affairs  in  her  hands.  So  they  lived  happily  for  many  years  until 
the  lady  fell  ill,  and,  fearing  that  she  was  about  to  die,  was  confessed  by 
her  priest.  Not  satisfied,  however,  she  desired  her  husband  to  send  for 
the  prior  of  a  near-by  monastery,  that  he  also  might  give  her  absolution. 
The  knight  declared  that  he  himself  would  go,  and,  as  he  rode  along, 
thinking  pf  his  wife,  there  came  into  his  mind  a  desire  to  know  whether 
she  was  really  as  good  as  all  supposed  her.  So,  instead  of  summoning  the 
prior,  he  borrowed  his  habit,  and  waiting  until  after  night-fall,  returned, 
thus  disguised,  to  hear  his  wife's  confession.  At  his  own  house  a  squire 
took  his  horse  and  a  maid-servant  conducted  him  to  his  lady's  bedside. 
He  admonished  her  to  conceal  nothing,  and  she,  failing,  because  of  her 
great  illness,  his  disguise,  his  changed  voice,  and  the  darkness,  to  recog- 
nize her  husband,  confessed  to  having  sinned  with  a  squire,  and  to  having 
been  intimate,  for  five  years,  with  her  husband's  nephew,  for  he  alone 
could,  without  arousing  suspicion,  be  with  her  at  all  times.  And  she  had 
not  only  granted  him  her  favor,  but  had  shared  with  him  her  husband's 
fortune  as  well,  for  she  had  control  of  all  his  property ;  she  was  ruler 

1  Child,  No.  29.     The  same  story  is  told  in  an  Old  French  fabliau,  but 
The  Boy  and  the  Mantle,  like  Crow  and  Pie  (111),  "is  not  a  purely  popular 
ballad,  but  rather  of  that  kind  which  ....  may  be  called  the  minstrel- 
ballad."— Child,  n,  478.     It  is,  in  fact,  practically  a  fabliau,  and  thus  not 
valuable  for  purposes  of  contrast. 

2  Child,  i,  257. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         335 

of  the  house  and  had  made  her  husband  nothing  in  it.  The  supposed 
friar  now  imposed  suitable  penance  and  extracted  from  her  a  solemn 
promise  never,  if  she  lived,  to  love  another  man.  Then,  in  wrath,  he  left 
her  and  meditated  revenge.  Next  day  the  wife  was  surprised  at  her 
husband's  coldness,  but  not  until  he  heard  her,  one  day,  giving 
orders  in  her  old  proud  manner,  did  he  accuse  her  of  the  crimes  she  had 
confessed.  She  readily  understood  that  it  had  been  he  who  had  heard  her 
confession,  and  immediately  declared  that  she  had  at  once  recognized  his 
voice,  protested  her  innocence,  and  accused  him  of  being  a  traitor  and 
coward  in  having  thus  come  to  her  in  disguise  and  attempted  to  betray 
her.  So  much  and  so  long  did  she  protest  that  he  was  at  last  compelled 
to  believe  that  she  spoke  the  truth.  The  story  provoked  many  a  jest  and 
many  a  laugh  in  le  Bessin. 

Composed,  not  for  singing,  but  for  recitation,  this  story 
is  not  told,  like  Queen  Eleanor's  Confession,  in  ballad  stanzas, 
but  in  a  form  which  is,  if  anything,  even  more  primitive,1  in 
the  regular  fabliau  couplets  of  four  accents  in  each  verse. 
Its  greater  elaboration  requires  more  than  three  times  as 
many  words.2  As  in  the  ballad,  the  action  is  localized, — at 
le  Bessin,  near  Vire.  The  scene,  however,  changes  from  the 
home  of  the  knight  to  the  monastery  and  back.  It  is  not 
more  definitely  indicated,  and  not  visualized.  Unlike  the 
balladist,  the  trouv£re  is  conscious  of  the  passage  of  time : 
husband  and  wife,  he  tells  us,  had  long  lived  happily 
together ;  the  lady's  illness  lasted  three  weeks ;  she  had 
loved  the  nephew  five  years.  The  time  of  action  in  the 
story  proper  is  carefully  indicated :  the  knight  did  not 
venture  to  return,  in  his  disguise,  until  after  dark ;  he  had 
promised  to  bring  back  the  prior's  habit  by  midnight,  and 
so  rode  away  after  the  confession,  and  did  not  return  until 
next  day.  It  was  not  until  "one  day/' — clearly  several 
days  later, — that  his  wife  made  her  vigorous  defence. 

While  the  fabliau  elaborates,  it  compresses,  and  attention 
is  now  fixed,  in  the  main  situation  at  least,  wholly  on  wife 

1  Cf.  Gummere,  The  Popular  Ballad,  p.  60,  n.  2. 

2  About  1700. 


336  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

and  husband;  the  lover  is  not  obliged  to  hear  the  confes- 
sion ;  no  children  are  mentioned.  The  prior,  however,  is  a 
new  character,  even  with  some  individuality ;  and  priest, 
servants,  and  squires  are  mentioned.  All  are  lower  in  rank, 
the  familiar  "chevalier,"  "dame,"  and  priest  of  the  fab- 
liaux. The  trouvere  begins  with  an  account  of  the  relations 
of  husband  and  wife,  emphasizing,  for  contrast  with  what  is 
to  follow,  her  excellent  reputation,  his  long-established  faith 
in  her,  and  their  perfect  harmony.  This  contrast  is  height- 
ened by  the  lady's  description  of  her  own  character;  "I 
v  am  held  in  great  esteem,"  she  says,  "but  I  am  really  a 
hypocrite  and  a  false  wife."  More  noteworthy  is  the  charac- 
terization of  the  prior :  he  was  an  upright  man  and  a 
courteous  ;  when  he  saw  the  knight  he  hastened  to  welcome 
him  and  to  receive  him  hospitably.  This  description  is, 
doubtless,  inserted  simply  for  the  purpose  of  furnishing  a 
motive,  and  so  lending  an  air  of  probability  to  the  prior's 
one  function  in  the  story,  the  loan  of  his  habit  to  a  layman. 
Throughout,  the  variety  of  methods  of  characterization  is 
noteworthy, — words,  actions,  epithets,  reputation,  self-de- 
scription. In  further  contrast  with  the  ballad,  moreover, 
more  detail  of  the  husband's  disguise  is  given, — the  prior's 
high  boots  and  cloak  and  hood  of  black  cloth. 

Still  in  the  interests  of  probability,  the  fabliau  introduces 
some  study  of  mental  states.  Thus  the  knight's  great  love 
for  his  lady  led  him  to  go  himself  for  the  prior,  and  his 
thought  of  her,  as  he  rode,  easily  became  a  curiosity  to 
know  how  perfect  she  really  was ;  and  of  this  curiosity 
came  naturally  the  plan  to  act  himself  as  her  confessor. 
When  he  heard  her  confession  he  "  wrinkled  his  nose  in 
wrath," l  and  wished  that  sudden  death  might  overtake 
her;  he  trembled  with  anger  and  with  hatred  of  the  wife 

1  De  mautalent  le  nez  fronci  (v.  135). 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAK   LITEKATURE.         337 

whom  he  had  loved  so  much  and  prized  so  highly ;  the 
thought  of  vengeance  alone  comforted  him ;  when  he  heard 
her  giving  orders  as  usual,  he  looked  at  her,  shook  his  head 
wrathfully,  and  threatened  to  kill  her.  And  we  see  into  her 
mind  as  well  as  into  his  :  we  learn  that  it  was  the  fear  of  death 
that  led  her  to  desire  absolution ;  that  she  was  deceived  by 
her  husband' s  disguise ;  that  she  marveled,  next  day,  that 
he  who  was  wont  to  kiss  and  embrace  her  did  not  deign 
even  to  speak  to  her ;  and  that  she  was  not  at  all  at  ease 
when  he  accused  her  of  her  crimes,  until  she  understood 
how  he  had  learned  of  them.  Here  again  the  variety  in 
method  is  noteworthy,  —  epithet,  words,  "pantomime," 
"physiological  psychology/'  Nice  observation  must  have 
supplied  the  nose  wrinkling,  and  the  head  shaking,  in  wrath. 

jj  That  the  purpose  of  it  all  is  motivation,  verisimilitude,  is 
manifest. 

Structuraljy^the  fabliau  develops  the^situation    of  the 

\-  ballajd^Jbu±_prefixes  anTruTodnc^ion  to  "heighten  ^the  effect, 
and  works  out  the  wife's  defence  at  the  end.  ]Fqr^she_is. 
now  saved,  not  by  her  ^usbanj'^-Qath^ut,  jn  conformity 
with  fabliau  Jraffiipji^_byjiej^ 

bility.  If  the  story  really  developed  in  this  way,  as  seems 
most  likely,  proportion  and  emphasis  were  determined  by 
its  history.  If,  that  is,  the  germ  of  it  was  the  Wife's 
Confession,  it  is  natural  that  this  should  still  be  regarded 
as  of  most  importance,  and  be  elaborated  at  greatest  length.1 
Yet,  as  has  been  said,  the  lover  is  not  present,  as  he  is  in 
the  ballad :  and  the  scene  with  the  prior,  and  the  later  scene 
with  the  wife  are  elaborated  for  introduction  and  conclusion. 


1  The  difference  in  emphasis  and  proportion  can  be  shown  most  clearly 
by  means  of  the  following  table.  In  the  fabliau  twenty  per  cent,  of  the 
story  is  taken  from  the  Confession.  Of  this  four  per  cent,  is  added  to  the 
Introduction,  and  sixteen  to  the  Wife's  Reply. 


338 


WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 


The  latter  renders  the  situation  less  final,  more  comic  in 
effect.  For  purposes  of  contrast  the  earlier  history  of 
husband  and  wife  is  sketched.  The  main  situation  is  still 
developed  largely  by  means  of  dialogue.1  The  group  con- 
versation disappears  with  the  lover;  soliloquy  (thought, 
purpose,  emotion)  is  added  to  dualogue;  and  the  wife's 
reply  may  be  described  as  monologue.  The  ballad  repeti- 
tion has  completely  disappeared  and  with  it  the  artificiality ; 
the  confession  scene  now  wears  the  aspect  of  a  real  conver- 
sation, though  the  order  of  the  revelations  is  less  climactic 
than  in  the  ballad.  The  speeches  are  assigned  and  gaps  are 
filled  in  by  "journeys"  and  by  details  of  action.  Thus 
when  the  knight  had  promised  to  fetch  the  prior  he  rode 
away  on  the  horse  he  had  mounted,  and  ambling  along  the 
road,  thought  of  his  wife.  His  arrival,  his  dismounting, 
his  return  on  the  prior's  horse,  which  ambled  slowly ;  his 
concealment  of  his  face  in  his  hood,  his  reception  by  the 
servants, — all  this  is  traced  with  a  care  quite  foreign  to 
the  ballad.  Manifestly,  too,  the  situation  as  a  whole  is 
foreseen  and  more  carefully  motived.  And  not  content 


QUEEN  ELEANOR'S 
CONFESSION. 

LE  CHEVALIER 
CONFESSEUR. 

Words. 

Per  Cent. 

Words. 

Per  Cent. 

Introduction  

144 
300 
24 
12 
480 

.30 
.62 
.05 
.03 
1.00 

582 
714 
96 
324 
1716 

.34 
.42 
.05 
.19 
1.00 

Confession  

Transition  

Wife's  Reply  

1  Now,  however,  only  .62,  as  compared  with  the  .71  of  the  ballad. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         339 

with  concealing  the  wife's  wickedness  up  to  the  moment 
of  confession,  the  trouv£re  emphasizes  her  reputed  virtue 
and  her  fine  breeding,  thus  increasing  the  shock  of  surprise. 
In  the  same  way  he  expressly  states  that  she  did  not  recog- 
nize her  husband,  in  order  to  give  full  significance  to  her 
statement  that  she  did. 

As^in  ihe  ballad,i_the_main  souivc£-_of_Jhe_cpmic  effect  is 
the  irony  of  jhe  situation  and' the  pain  ofjthe  husband  in 
learning,  in  a  kind  of  poetic  justice^__that_he_Jias— been 
betrayed.  This irBSTirroMtis^rick  seems  less  expected  than 
in  me  l>allad.  To  this  must  now  be  added  the  contrast 
between  the  husband's  hoped-for  revenge  and  his  disappoint- 
ment, as  well  as  whatever  amusement  may  be  derived  from 
the  final  deception  of  the  gullible  husband  and  the  evil 
cleverness  of  the  wife.  As  his  closing  lines  in  regard  to 
the  amusement  of  those  who  heard  the  story  show,  the 
trouvere  was  fully  alive  to  its  comic  character.  At  the 
beginning,  too,  he  calls  it  a  "  marvel/7  His  anxiety  for 
verisimilitude,  also,  of  which  ample  evidence  has  been 
cited,1  is  further  indication  of  his  critical  powers.  Closely 
akin  to  these  is,  finally,  his  faculty  for  general  comment 
upon  life.2 

Analyses  of  these  typical  examples  of  Ballad  and  Fabliau  \ 
leave  one  mainly  impressed  with  the  contrast  between  the 
two.  Both,  indeed,  are  in  the  main  popular  in  matter  and 
manner, — anonymous,  relatively  impersonal,  in  primitive 
metres.  In  both,  the  action,  though  roughly  localized,  is 
not  placed  in  a  visualized  setting.  In  both  the  attention 
is  focussed  on  a  small  group  of  persons,  with  a  few  others 
in  the  background,  but  with  little  suggestion  of  the  world 

1  Cf.,  however,  the  careful  explanation  of  the  lady's  failure  to  recognize 
her  husband, — because  of  her  great  illness,  his  changed  voice,  and  the 
darkness  of  the  room  illuminated  only  by  a  night  lamp. 

2Cf.  vv.  103  ff.,  126  ff.,  204  ff. 

* 


340  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

and  society  at  large.  From  the  ideal  point  of  view  all  the 
characters  in  both  are  evil.  Structurally,  both  are  grasped 
k  as  wholes,  ends  are  seen  from  beginnings.  And  in  each 
the  main  thing  is  a  situation  involving  comic  irony,  and 
implying  a  cynical  view  of  life. 

The  contrasts  aiFe  more  striking.  There  is,  in  the  first 
place,  the  obvious  difference  in  metre, — the  ballad  was 
composed  for  singing,  the  fabliau  for  recitation.  The  fab- 
liau is  more  than  three  times  as  long.  It  emphasizes  and 
traces  carefully,  with  reference  to  the  action,  the  passage 
of  time.  It  jsuopresses  _lh^__lover^  a~nc^  introduces  and 
develogs_thecharacteF-o£-the  prior.  In  general,  the  persons 
become  more  real,  no  longer  mere  human  agents,  but  types. 
Emotion  and  thought,  mainly  to  be  heard  between  the  lines 
of  the  ballad,  is,  with  a  view  to  motivation  and  verisimili- 
tude, carefully  traced  in  the  fabliau. 

Taking  as  its  own  the  primitive  situation  furnished  by 
the  ballad,  the  fabliau  elaborates  it  and  adds  to  it.  It 
substitutes  for  the  repetitive  confession  a  natural  conversa- 
tion, taking  account  of  accompanying  thought  and  action. 
At  the  same  time  it  makes  the  situation  relatively  shorter, 
adds  a  preliminary  sketch  of  the  chief  persons  and  their 
relations,  and  develops  a  new  conclusion  on  the  basis  of  the 
general  fabliau  tradition  of  the  character  of  the  false  wife. 
It  fills  in  gaps,  makes  transitions,  traces  journeys.  The 
situation  furnished  by  the  ballad,  however,  is  still  the  matter 
of  chief  interest.  It  has  the  same  comic  irony.  But  other 
comic  effects  are  now  worked  out,  new  contrasts  between 
expectation  and  fulfilment.  Though  in  this  elaboration  of 
the  story  the  inevitable  ballad  unity  of  time,  place,  and 
point  of  view,  is  lost,  unity  of  impression  is  in  no  way 
impaired,  and  the  deception  of  the  wife  gains  much  in 
verisimilitude.  In  matter  and  manner  there  is  evidence 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         341 

of  a  new  power  of  criticism,  not  only  of  literature,  but 
of  life. 

These  differences,  however,  striking  as  they  are,  are  not 
to  blind  one  to  the  marked  resemblances  of  fabliau  and 
ballad.  Any  classification  of  literary  types  must  place  these 
two  close  together.  To  contrast  with  both  what  may  be 
regarded  as  a  modern  development  of  the  same  story  is  to 
make  this  clear.  De  Maupassant,  in  IS  Inutile  Beaute,  takes 
this  same  theme,  modernizes  it,  refines  it,  elaborates  it, 
almost  past  recognition.  Yet  there  is  in  the  technique 
of  his  story  nothing  essentially  new,  nothing  that  is  not 
to  be  found,  though  perhaps  only  in  the  faintest  foreshadow- 
ing, in  the  fabliau.  The  wife  no  longer  lies  in  her  Defence, 
but  in  her  Confession.  The  story  is  no  longer  comic,  but 
deeply  serious ;  and  it  is  pushed  to  a  serious  and  significant 
conclusion.  In  the  end  the  husband,  Count  de  Mascaret, 
"  sentit  soudain,  il  sentit  par  une  sorte  d'intuition  que  cet 
£tre  la  n'etait  plus  seulement  une  femme  destined  a  perpe"tuer 
sa  race,  mais  le  produit  bizarre  et  myst^rieux  de  tous  nos 
desirs  compliques,  amasses  en  nous  par  les  si£cles,  detourne"s 
de  leur  but  primitif  et  divin,  errant  vers  une  beaute" 
mystique,  entrevue  et  insaisissable."  To  attain  to  this 
conception  of  his  wife  the  Count  de  Mascaret  had  to  hear 
from  her  lips  the  solemn  declaration  that  one  of  her 
children  was  not  his,  and,  after  six  years  of  torturing 
doubt,  to  learn  that  this  declaration  had  been  a  lie,  that  she 
had,  in  fact,  always  been  faithful  to  him. 

There  are  obvious  contrasts, — the  fourfold  increase  in 
length,  the  prose  for  private  reading  substituted  for  the 
verse  for  public  recitation,  a  distinctive  style  and  technique, 
for  the  old  impersonal  manner.  While  the  attention  is  again 
focussed  on  husband  and  wife,  the  figures  in  the  back- 
ground,— the  servants,  the  seven  children,  the  governess  and 
the  tutor,  the  audience  at  the  opera,  the  two  friends  who 


342  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

discussed  the  Count  and  Countess,  the  people  in  the  crowded 
streets, — all  have  become  more  real.  The  action  is  set  in 
a  real  and  visible  world.  It  falls  into  two  parts,  separated 
by  six  years,  one,  an  afternoon,  evening,  and  night,  the 
other,  an  evening.  The  persons  are  still,  from  the  ideal 
point  of  view,  evil.  But  they  are  far  more  complex,  not 
wholly  good  or  bad,  but  human.  Doubtless  we  are  to 
regard  the  wife  as  justified  in  her  lie.  The  lover,  from 
being  present  in  the  ballad,  absent  though  existent  in  the 
fabliau,  has  become  purely  imaginary.  Studies  of  mental 
states  are  elaborate  and  continual. 

The  Confession  has  ceased  to  be  the  main  thing;  de 
Maupassant  is  interested  rather  in  the  moral  question 
involved  in  its  motive,  in  the  results  of  the  long-sustained 
situation  which  it  creates,  in  the  immediate  emotional  effects, 
in  the  reaction  upon  character  and  upon  the  relations  of 
husband  and  wife.  The  Introduction  is  put  into  the  mouth 
of  the  Countess,  an  impassioned  exposition,  which  gives 
the  reader  the  necessary  information,  yet  carries  the  story 
rapidly  forward,  with  increasing  suspense.  A  thoroughly 
modern  motive  is  here  substituted  for  the  traditional  trick 
of  the  fabliau.  Unities  of  time,  place,  persons,  point  of 
view,  are  disregarded,  yet  the  story  remains  essentially  one, 
true  to  its  heritage,  from  ballad  and  fabliau,  of  singleness 
of  impression,  of  "dramatic  concentration."  Most  striking 
is  the  development,  from  the  foreshadowings  in  the  fabliau 
conversation  of  husband  and  wife,  of  the  criticism  of  life 
and  human  relations.  The  story  as  a  whole  has  come 
to  have  a  moral  purpose,  exists  to  enforce  a  moral  concept ; 
one  whole  scene,  nearly  a  third  of  the  story,  is  given  over 
to  the  discussion  of  it  by  persons  introduced  and  character- 
ized simply  for  that  purpose ;  and  only  when  the  husband 
has  grasped  it,  can  the  story  end. 


THE   FABLIAU    AND    POPULAR    LITERATURE.          343 


II.  THE  FABLIAU  AND  THE  FOLK  TALE. 

It  is  important  to  distinguish,  at  the  beginning  of  our 
inquiry,  between  the  two  principal  types  of  the  folk  tale, 
between  mdrchen  and  schwank.  This  suggestive  distinction 
is  discussed  in  an  admirable  dissertation  by  Dr.  L.  F. 
Weber.  He  defines  the  marchen  as  "  eine  mit  dichterischer 
phantasie  entworfene  erzahlung  :  "  the  schwank  is  the  name 
for  "einen  lustigen  streich,  und  die  erzahlung  eines  solchen." 
Mdrchen  may  be  translated  fairy  tale ;  for  schwank  there  is 
no  English  equivalent.  Dr.  Weber  points  out  the  differ- 
ences in  technique  between  these  two  types  and  refers  them 
to  the  differences  in  author,  audience,  and  material.  The 
marchen  is,  typically,  told  by  nurses  to  women  and  children, 
is  a  tale  of  wonder  which  may  be  trusted  to  produce  its 
own  effect.  The  schwank,  on  the  other  hand,  is,  typically, 
told  by  men,  in  the  tavern,  is  comic  and  can,  therefore,  be 
told  in  only  the  one  way  fitted  to  produce  the  desired  effect. 
Hence  the  schwank  is  subjective  in  the  sense  that  the 
narrator  is  obliged  to  think  of  technique,  to  plan  carefully 
for  the  effect  he  intends.  One  may  venture,  then,  to  regard 
the  schwank  as  less  primitive  than  the  marchen,  implying 
more  emphatically  an  audience  and  a  narrator,  the  latter 
endowed  with  special  skill,  self-conscious,  critical,  calculating. 

Das  Burle1  is  a  fairly  typical  schwank,  and  contains  a 
wholly  typical  scene,  which  is  found,  in  elaborated  form,  in 
the  fabliau  of  Le  Povre  Clerc.2  It  offers,  therefore,  excel- 
lent opportunity  for  analysis  and  comparison.  In  substance 
it  is  as  follows  : 


1  Grimm,  no.  61.    Dr.  Weber  regards  Das  Siirle  as  a  schwankmarchen. 
Yet  it  differs  from  the  schwank  proper  only  in  that  it  consists  of  a  series 
of  events  instead  of  a  single  event. 

2  Montaiglon-Raynaud,  No.  132. 


344  WALTER    MORRIS    HART. 

In  a  wealthy  village  lived  one  poor  peasant  who  owned  not  so  much  as 
a  cow,  but  did  so  wish  to  have  one.  So  he  had  the  carpenter  construct 
a  calf  of  wood,  and  paint  it  brown,  hoping  that  in  time  it  would  grow  and 
become  a  cow.  The  carpenter  cut  and  planed  the  calf,  and  painted  it, 
and  made  it  with  its  head  hanging  down  as  if  it  were  grazing.  At  the 
peasant's  request  the  cowherd  carried  it  to  pasture,  but  seeing  that  it 
would  not  come  when  he  called,  returned  without  it.  When  the  owner 
went  to  look  for  it,  it  had  been  stolen,  so  he  complained  to  the  mayor, 
and  the  cowherd  had  to  give  him  a  cow. 

But  the  peasant  couldn't  feed  his  cow,  so  he  killed  it,  salted  the  meat, 
and  set  out  to  sell  the  skin  in  the  town.  On  the  way  he  saw  a  raven  with 
broken  wings,  and  out  of  pity  he  wrapped  him  in  the  hide  and  carried 
him  along.  A  storm  compelled  the  little  peasant  to  stop  at  a  mill  and 
ask  shelter.  The  miller's  wife,  who  was  alone,  gave  him  bread  and  cheese 
to  eat  and  straw  to  lie  on  in  the  corner,  and  thought  that  he  went  to 
sleep.  So  she  welcomed  the  priest  and  prepared  a  feast  for  him.  But 
just  as  they  were  ready  to  begin  her  husband  came  home,  and  she  had  to 
conceal  the  meat,  the  wine,  the  salad,  the  cake,  and  the  priest.  The 
miller  demanded  supper  and  invited  the  stranger  to  join  him.  Asked 
about  his  raven  Biirle  declared  that  he  was  a  soothsayer, — "  he  tells  four 
things,  but  keeps  the  fifth  to  himself."  Biirle  interpreted  the  raven's 
croaks  as  directions  where  to  find  meat,  wine,  salad,  and  cake,  and  the 
delighted  miller  agreed  to  pay  three  hundred  thalers  for  one  more 
prophecy.  This  was  to  the  effect  that  the  devil  was  in  the  cupboard. 
When  the  cupboard  was  opened  the  priest  ran  out  and  the  miller  ex- 
claimed, "It  was  true,  I  saw  the  black  fellow  with  my  own  eyes  !  " 

When  the  peasant  was  brought  before  the  mayor  to  explain  his  new 
prosperity  he  said  that  he  had  sold  his  cowhide  in  the  town  for  three 
hundred  thalers.  Thereupon  all  the  peasants  killed  their  cows  and  took 
the  hides  to  town  ;  but  they  got  less  than  two  thalers  each  for  them.  So 
they  decreed  that  the  little  peasant  should  be  put  in  a  cask  pierced  full  of 
holes,  and  rolled  into  the  water.  The  priest  who  came  to  say  a  mass  for 
his  soul  was  the  one  whom  he  had  seen  with  the  miller's  wife.  He  said 
to  him  :  "  I  set  you  free  from  the  cupboard  ;  set  me  free  from  the  barrel." 
Just  then  a  shepherd  came  up  who  desired  to  be  mayor  and  Biirle  per- 
suaded him  that  the  proper  way  was  to  be  closed  up  in  the  barrel.  Biirle 
went  off  with  the  sheep  and  the  peasants  rolled  the  shepherd  down  into 
the  water. 

The  peasants  went  home,  and  as  they  entered  the  village  saw  Biirle 
driving  a  flock  of  sheep  and  looking  quite  contented.  He  had  found 
them,  he  said,  at  the  bottom  of  the  water.  Then  all  the  peasants  plunged 
in  to  look  for  sheep.  So  all  the  village  was  dead,  and  Biirle,  as  sole  heir, 
became  a  rich  man. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAK    LITEKATUKE. 


345 


The  parallel  fabliau  makes  use  of  but  part  of  this  tale ; 
this  is  the  scene  in  the  mill ;  and  this  will,  for  the  most 
part,  engage  our  attention.  Passing  reference,  however, 
must  be  made  to  typical  characteristics  in  other  parts  of 
the  story. 

The  time  of  the  action  is  not  the  dim  past,  the  typical 
"  once  upon  a  time  "  of  the  marchen.  It  is  not  stated,  but 
gives  the  impression  of  the  present,  or,  at  least,  of  a  past 
immediate  and  vivid.  The  place  of  action  is  regularly  indi- 
cated; in  the  event  under  consideration  it  is  the  mill,  or 
rather  the  single  room  in  the  mill  where  dwelt  the  miller 
and  his  wife.  Its  contents  indicate  its  use  :  the  straw  in 
the  corner  where  the  peasant  was  invited  to  take  his  rest ; 
the  tiled  stove,  the  bed 1  and  pillow,  the  cupboard  in  the 
entrance,  where  were  concealed  meat  and  wine,  salad,  cakes, 
and  priest;  clearly,  this  real  and  humble  interior  is  very 
different  from  the  gorgeousness  desired  by  the  marchen. 
The  persons  of  the  tale  are  no  less  humble,  not  only  those 
who  appear  in  the  scene  in  the  mill, — peasant,  priest,  miller, 
and  miller's  wife, — but  also  those  who  appear  throughout 
the  story.  Unlike  the  marchen,  the  schwank  does  not  marry 
its  peasant  hero  to  a  princess.  Unlike  the  marchen,  too, 
the  schwank  is  concerned  with  but  a  single  generation. 
The  namelessness  of  persons  and  places  is  rather  a  marchen 
than  a  schwank  trait.  The  presence  of  domestic  animals, 
realistic  in  effect,  is  in  the  way  of  the  true  schwank,  how- 
ever, and  the  soothsaying  raven  is  perhaps  to  be  regarded  as 
a  schwank  parody  of  the  speaking  birds  of  the  marchen. 

Nowhere  are  the  persons  directly  described,  and  nothing 
is  said  of  personal  appearance ;  through  words  and  actions 
alone  we  gain  our  knowledge  of  character.  The  mayor 

1  Where  apparently  the  miller's  wife  went  to  bed  and  took  the  keys 
with  her. 


346  WALTEB    MOBKIS    HAKT. 

. 

of  the  neighboring  town  thus  reveals  himself  most  satis- 
factorily. "My  servant  must  go  first/'  he  said,  when  the 
peasants  planned  to  sell  their  cowhides  to  the  merchant. 
And  when  it  was  proposed  to  fetch  the  sheep  from  the 
bottom  of  the  water  he  declared,  "  1  come  first."  At  the 
water's  edge  he  pressed  forward  and  said,  "  I  will  go  down 
first  and  look  about  me,  and  if  things  promise  well  I'll 
call  you." 

From  the  marchen  point  of  view  the  persons  of  the  tale 
are  all  evil,  except  perhaps  the  miller,  who  is  good-natured, 
at  least,  if  somewhat  stupid  and  gluttonous, — the  typical 
gullible  husband  of  the  schwank.  The  relations  of  his  wife 
and  the  priest  are  clearly  characteristic,  and  are  taken  for 
granted  as  a  common  situation,  requiring  no  explanation. 
The  character  of  the  hero  is  not  altogether  clear.  Mani- 
festly, he  is  a  rogue,  but  seems  to  blunder  into  the  clever 
things  he  does  and  says.  At  the  beginning  of  the  tale  he 
is  apparently  stupid  enough  to  have  built  a  wooden  calf  in 
the  hope  that  in  time  it  will  grow  and  become  a  cow.  It 
does  not  appear  that  he  foresaw  the  astonishing  success  of 
the  experiment.  And  it  is  not  said  that  he  had  a  definite 
plan  in  mind  when  he  declared  that  his  raven  was  a  sooth- 
sayer. Doubtless  we  are  to  suppose  that  he  had  such  a 
plan,  and,  like  the  typical  rogue  hero  of  the  schwank, 
intended  to  make  use  of  a  stupid  belief  in  the  supernatural 
in  order  to  deceive  his  victim.  This  is,  in  the  main,  his 
method  throughout  the  tale ;  his  ulterior  purpose,  even  the 
fact  that  he  had  an  ulterior  purpose,  is,  doubtless,  inten- 
tionally concealed,  in  each  case,  for  purposes  of  surprise. 
Thus  any  lack  of  clearness  in  character  is  the  result  of  the 
use  of  an  artifice  of  plot. 

And  if  the  central  motive, — the  relative  stupidity  and 
cleverness  of  the  little  peasant, — is  not  altogether  clear, 
great  pains  are  taken  with  the  minor  motivation.  Burle 


THE   FABLIAU   AND    POPULAR   LITERATURE.         347 


passed  the  mill  on  the  way  to  sell  his  cowhide ;  he  took  the 
wounded  raven  out  of  pity ;  he  sought  shelter  at  the  mill 
because  of  the  storm ;  the  miller's  wife  received  the  priest 
because  her  husband  was  out,  and  because  she  supposed 
Biirle  to  be  asleep  ;  when  the  peasant  heard  her  speak  about 
feasting  "he  was  vexed  that  he  had  been  forced  to  make 
shift  with  a  slice  of  bread  with  cheese  on  it," — and  so  on. 
Apparently  the  narrator  is  making  a  special  effort  to  get  his 
story  believed.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  call  attention  to 
the  fact  that  he  is  not  wholly  successful.  Thus  it  is  mani- 
festly improbable  that  the  miller's  wife  should  entertain  the 
priest  while  Biirle  lies  on  the  straw  in  the  corner  of  the  same 
room,  even  if  she  does  suppose  him  to  be  asleep.  Moreover, 
the  stupidity  of  the  cowherd,  the  shepherd,  and  the  peasants 
generally,  is  beyond  the  limits  of  credibility,  though  perhaps 
frankly  and  laughably  so,  as  in  many  examples  of  typical 
American  humor.  For  all  this,  it  is  clear  that  the  narrator 
of  our  schwank  does  try  to  provide  for  objections,  to  furnish 
adequate  motives  for  the  actions,  and,  in  this  respect,  differs 
significantly  from  the  narrator  of  the  marchen.  This  empha- 
sis on  motives  leads  even  to  some  description,  or  suggestion 
by  words  and  actions,  of  mental  states, — the  peasant's  pity 
and  vexation,  the  wife's  fear,  the  miller's  curiosity. 

Structurally,  Das  Burle  is  not  a  typical  schwank,  for  it 
consists  not  of  a  single  event,  but  of  a  series  of  events. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  not  the  inorganic  structure  of  the 
marchen,  the  transitions  from  one  event  to  another  are 
carefully  motived, — the  scene  at  the  mill  results  from  kill- 
ing the  cow,  and  the  success  of  this  adventure  leads  to  a 
general  slaughter  of  cows  in  the  village,  resulting  in  the 
attempted  punishment  of  the  peasant  and  his  escape  and 
triumph.  At  the  beginning  of  the  story  he  is  the  one  poor 
peasant  in  a  prosperous  village ;  at  the  end  he  is  sole 
survivor  and  possessor  of  all  the  wealth.  Clearly,  the  story 

0 


348  WALTEE    MORRIS   HART. 

was  conceived  as  a  well-rounded  whole,  with  a  sense  of 
proportion  and  of  the  relative  values  of  beginning,  middle, 
and  end.  It  is  very  interesting  to  note  that  the  second 
event,  the  scene  in  the  mill,  is  the  longest  of  the  three.1 
The  internal  structure  of  this  scene  shows  the  same  sense 
of  proportion  and  relative  values.  The  preliminary  or 
transitional  motive  is  treated  rapidly,  the  last  and  most 
important  part  of  the  scene  is  most  fully  elaborated.2 
There  is  further  evidenqe  of  grasp  of  the  scene  as  a  whole 
in  the  admirable  foresight  and  preparation.  The  raven  is 
mentioned  at  the  moment  the  peasant  finds  him,  though 
he  is  not  needed  until  the  last  incident  of  the  scene;  the 
husband7 s  absence  is  mentioned  when  the  peasant  enters 
the  room,3  though  it  does  not  become  significant  until  he 
returns,  driven  home  by  the  same  storm  that  led  the 
peasant  to  ask  for  shelter.4 

Thus,  without  backing  and  filling,  the  narrative  moves 
forward  steadily,  but  not  too  rapidly.  The  narrator  knows 
how  to  conceive  a  climax,  to  approach  it  gradually,  to  hold 
back  his  point  as  long  as  possible.  As  has  been  said,  he 
does  not  tell  us  that  Biirle  had  any  ulterior  purpose  in 
making  the  wooden  calf,  or  in  declaring  his  raven  a  sooth- 

1  The  figures  are,  roughly, — 

1.  The  Wooden  Calf,  .19. 

2.  The  Event  in  the  Mill,  .42. 

3.  The  Triumph  of  Biirle,  .39. 
2Cf.  p.  367,  below. 

3  It  is  further  noteworthy  that  the  priest  is  allowed  to  escape  without  a 
beating  because  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  befriend  the  little  peasant  later 
in  the  story.  In  the  fabliau,  we  shall  see  presently,  this  source  of  comic 
effect  is  possible,  because  the  story  ends  here. 

*This  art  of  preparation  is  not  obvious  or  inevitable.  A  moment  of 
hesitation,  followed  by  "Oh,  I  had  forgotten  to  say,"  etc.,  is  not  uncommon 
with  more  cultivated,  if  less  skilful,  narrators.  See  Stevenson's  comment 
on  Scott's  neglect  of  "preparation,"  Memories  and  Portraits  (1898), 
p.  272. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND    POPULAR   LITERATURE.         349 

sayer,  or  in  telling  the  peasants  that  he  had  found  his 
sheep  at  the  bottom  of  the  water.  Thus,  too,  the  narrator 
not  only  leads  up,  through  a  series  of  four,  to  the  raven's 
chief  revelation, — the  presence  of  the  devil-priest  in  the 
cupboard, — but  also  takes  especial  pains  to  hold  back  the 
last  member  of  the  series  :  "  The  miller  would  have  liked 
much  to  know  the  fifth,  but  the  little  peasant  said,  <  First 
we  will  quickly  eat  the  four  things,  for  the  fifth  is  some- 
thing bad/  So  they  ate,  and  after  that  they  bargained  how 
much  the  miller  was  to  give  for  the  fifth  prophecy,  until 
they  agreed  on  three  hundred  thalers."  No  less  noteworthy 
is  the  narrator's  effective  use  of  contrast :  he  does  not  fail 
to  emphasize  the  difference  between  Biirle  lying  on  the 
straw  in  the  corner,  eating  bread  and  cheese,  and  Biirle 
sitting  at  the  table,  sharing  with  the  miller  the  supper 
prepared  for  the  priest,  and  finally  departing,  three  hundred 
thalers  the  richer  for  his  adventure.  A  typical  character- 
istic of  the  structure  of  popular  narrative  is  the  use  of 
repetition,  and  for  this  the  five  prophecies  of  the  raven 
offer  an  excellent  opportunity.  This  is,  naturally,  made  use 
of  by  the  narrator.  Four  of  the  prophecies  are  developed 
by  two  sentences  of  simple  "  incremental  repetition : " 
"  Biirle  .  .  .  sprach,  '  erstens  (zweitens,  drittens,  viertens), 
hat  er  gesagt,  es  steckte  Wein  unterm  Kopf  kissen  '  (ware 
Braten  in  der  Ofenkachel,  Salat  auf  dem  Bett,  Kuchen 
unterm  Bett).  f  Das  ware  des  Guckgucks ! '  rief  der 
Miiller,  gieng  hin  und  fand  den  Wein  (Braten,  Salat, 
Kuchen)."  The  fifth  member  of  the  series,  the  close  and 
climax,  is,  of  course,  differently  phrased.  The  series  of 
five  members  is,  perhaps,  an  exaggeration  or  parody  of  the 
customary  series  of  three  of  the  marchen. 

The  use  of  dialogue  is  interesting.  Thirty-three  per 
cent,  of  the  tale  is  in  this  form,  and  there  is,  in  addition, 
a  good  deal  of  indirect  discourse.  There  is  no  group 


350  WALTER  MORRIS  HART. 

conversation  or  soliloquy;  monologue  and  dialogue  are 
common.  The  former  reveals  mental  states,  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  the  miller's  wife  and  of  the  peasant,  and 
character,  as  in  the  case  of  the  mayor,  cited  above.  The 
latter  is  used  to  expound  purposes  and  motives,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  planning  of  the  wooden  calf;  to  carry  on  the 
action  in  concrete  and  dramatic  fashion,  throughout  the 
tale ;  and  situations  where  one  person  moves  another  to 
act,  as  where  Biirle  persuades  the  cowherd  to  carry  the 
wooden  calf  to  pasture,  the  peasants  to  sell  their  cowhides, 
the  foolish  shepherd  to  enter  the  cask,  etc. 

So  far  as  comic  effects  are  concerned,  it  will  be  obvious 
at  once  that  our  schwank  depends  mainly  upon  comic  dis- 
appointments, contrasts  between  expectation  and  fulfilment. 
Illustration  is  not  necessary.  Chance,  the  intriguer,  and 
his  victims,  are  all  to  blame.  Thus  it  is  quite  by  chance 
that  the  peasant  finds  the  raven,  comes  to  the  mill  on  the 
same  night  as  the  priest,  and  meets  the  miller  there,  just  as 
it  is  quite  by  chance  that  the  same  priest  is  appointed  to 
say  a  mass  for  the  little  peasant's  soul,  or  that  this  particu- 
lar shepherd,  who  desired  to  become  mayor,  passes  at  just 
this  moment.  Yet  these  are  merely  opportunities ;  it  requires 
a  particularly  quick  and  clever  intriguer  to  make  use  of 
them  all  for  the  discomfiture  of  his  victims.  And  the 
victims,  in  each  case,  are  only  too  eager  to  walk  into 
the  traps  thus  set  for  them. 

Comic  effect  depends  also  on  incongruity  in  character, 
though  in  less  degree.  This  consists  mainly  in  the  implied 
contrast  of  the  incredible  stupidity  of  Biirle's  victims  with 
the  normal  Intelligence  of  men.  But  there  is  contrast^also 
with  the  moral  norm  in  priest  and  miller's  wife  and  in  the 
selfish  omciousness  of  the  mayor.  Yet  there  is.no  sugges- 
tion whatever  of  a  satirical  tendency.  With  no  thought  of 
judging,  no  sense  of  superiority,  narrator  and  audience 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR    LITERATURE.         351 

simply  enjoy  these  comic  imperfections,  moral  as  well  as 
intellectual.  Enjoyment,  however,  never  approaches  sym- 
pathy with  the  victims ;  there  are  no  regrets  for  the  cheated 
cowherd  or  miller,  for  the  poor  shepherd  who  is  drowned 
in  the  cask  in  Biirle's  place,  even  for  the  whole  village, 
when,  led  by  the  mayor,  they  find  death  instead  of  sheep  at 
the  bottom  of  the  water.1 

Absence  of  sympathy,  of  pathos,  of  any  suggestion  of 
seriousness,  complete  control  of  the  story  by  the  schwank 
feeling,  as  opposed  to  the  marchen  feeling,  are  striking 
characteristics.  And  if  an  unconscious  and  instinctive  sense 
of  fitness  has  preserved  this  unity  of  impression  in  the  story 
as  a  whole,  it  has  preserved,  all  the  more  completely,  in  the 
scene  at  the  mill,  this  and  the  other  unities, — of  place,  of 
time,  of  action,  of  persons,  even  of  point  of  view. 

The  story  of  Le  Povre  Clere  is,  in  substance,  as  follows  : 

A  clerk,  compelled  by  poverty  to  leave  Paris  and  return  to  his  home, 
found  himself,  at  the  end  of  a  day's  walk,  tired  and  hungry,  with  no 
shelter  for  the  night.  Approaching  a  peasant's  house,  he  found  there  the 
peasant's  wife  and  a  maid-servant,  and  asked  for  a  lodging.  On  the  ground 
of  her  husband's  absence  the  wife  refused,  and  would  not  listen  to  the  plea 
of  the  poor  scholar,  who  had  been  walking  since  early  morning.  As  he 
spoke,  a  man  brought  in  two  casks  of  wine  and  the  wife  ran  to  conceal 
them  in  a  dark  corner.  Meanwhile  he  saw  the  maid  baking  cake  and 
taking  pork  from  the  pot  and  placing  it  on  a  platter.  The  poor  clerk  stood 
hesitating  on  the  threshold.  "How  nice  it  would  be  if  I  might  remain," 
he  said  ;  but  all  to  no  purpose  ;  he  heard  the  door  slam  as  he  turned  away. 

1  Like  the  savage  punishment  of  wicked  mothers-in-law,  or  the  wanton 
beheading  of  unsuccessful  suitors,  in  the  marchen,  this  comic  view  of 
death,  in  the  schwank,  is  doubtless  a  survival  from  primitive  beginnings. 
It  is  not  uncommon  in  popular  literature, — see  the  variant  versions  of  the 
tale  now  under  discussion,  and  tales  like  that  of  the  Three  Monks  of 
Colmar  (Gesammtabenteuer,  No.  62).  But  much  the  same  thing  appears 
in  the  familiar  modern  story  of  the  Texas  vigilance  committee  which 
hanged  an  innocent  man  for  a  horse-thief,  and  concluded  its  letter  of 
apology  to  the  widow,  "We  can  only  say,  Madame,  that  the  joke  is 


352  WALTER  MORRIS  HART. 

Not  far  from  the  house  he  met  a  man  in  the  dress  of  a  priest,  who  stole 
past  him  without  greeting,  and  was  received  with  honor  where  he  had  been 
turned  away.  "  Where  am  I  to  stay  this  night,"  he  cried.  The  peasant, 
returning  from  the  mill  with  a  sack  of  flour  for  his  children's  bread,  heard 
him  and  invited  him  to  return.  When  she  heard  her  husband  knock,  the 
woman  concealed  the  priest  in  the  stable  [crozcAe]  and  opened  the  door. 
Asked  to  prepare  a  meal  for  the  guest,  she  declared  that  she  had  nothing  in 
the  house,  and  could  only  bake  bread  with  the  flour  which  her  husband 
had  just  brought  in. 

As  they  waited,  the  peasant  asked  the  clerk  to  pass  the  time  by  telling 
the  story  of  some  adventure  or  song  which  he  had  read  or  heard.  The 
clerk  replied  that  he  knew  no  fablel,  but  would  tell  the  story  of  a  great 
fright  which  he  had  just  had.  Passing  through  a  forest  he  had  seen  a 
herd  of  swine  attacked  by  a  wolf  who  chose  for  his  meal  one  of  the  herd 
whose  flesh  was  "as  fat  as  the  meat  that  your  servant  took  but  just  now 
from  the  pot."  So  the  wife  had  to  produce  the  pork.  "  The  blood,"  the 
clerk  went  on,  "  was  as  red  as  the  wine  that  the  man  was  carrying  into  your 
house  when  I  stopped  to  ask  for  a  lodging."  In  his  fright  the  clerk  had 
thrown  a  stone,  as  big  as  the  cake  that  the  servant  was  baking,  at  the  wolf, 
who  appeared  very  much  like  the  priest  "  who  is  now  looking  at  us  through 
the  window."  The  priest  got  a  beating,  and  the  poor  scholar  feasted 
on  meat,  wine,  and  cake,  and  was  given  the  priest's  cloak  into  the  bargain. 

It  is  evident  that  the  fabliau  selects  but  one  of  the  scenes 
of  the  schwank.  This  it  proceeds  to  elaborate  into  a  story 
of  about  1,500  words,  nearly  twice  as  long  as  the  mill  scene 
in  the  schwank.  With  the  details  of  this  elaboration  we  are 
now  concerned. 

The  reality  and  immediacy  of  effect  is  carried  a  little 
farther.  The  time  of  the  action  is  no  less  the  present. 
The  place  is  still  unnamed,  but  it  is  in  France,  a  day's 
march  from  Paris,  where  the  clerk  has  been  studying ;  the 
scene  is  a  room  in  the  peasant's  house ;  whether  it  is  the 
only  room  or  not  is  not  clear,  for  we  learn  nothing  of  its 
contents.  Apparently  door  and  window  connect  it  with  the 
stable.  We  now  find  ourselves  a  degree  higher  in  the  social 
scale.  The  hero  is  not  a  peasant,  but  a  clerk,  who,  by  study- 
ing at  Paris,  connects  the  story  with  the  known  world.  Like 
Biirle,  however,  he  is  distinguished  by  his  poverty.  His 


THE   FABLIAU   AND    POPULAR   LITERATURE.         353 

host  is  not  a  miller,  but  a  peasant,  who  is  bringing  flour 
from  the  mill  for  his  children's  bread.  He  is  a  person 
of  more  importance  than  the  miller,  since  man  and  maid 
servant  are  in  his  employ.  These  last,  and  the  children,  are 
fabliau  additions  to  the  dramatis  personse  of  the  schwank. 
As  in  the  schwank,  all  are  nameless.  The  raven  and  the 
domestic  animals  disappear. 

Again  with  the  exception  of  the  husband,  the  characters 
are  all  evil.  There  is  the  same  cynical  view  of  the  relations 
of  priests,  women,  and  husbands,  typical  alike  of  schwank 
and  fabliau.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  clerk 
was  better  than  the  usual  clerk  intriguer  of  the  fabliau, 
though  he  is  in  no  way  blameworthy  in  the  present  story. 
As  has  been  said,  he  is  justified  in  mentioning  what  he  had 
seen,  and  unlike  Biirle,  he  does  not  practice  any  deception 
upon  his  host.  The  priest  remains  the  same  lay  figure. 
The  miller's  wife  is,  in  the  interests  of  poetic  justice,  made 
a  less  agreeable  person,  who  sends  the  hungry  clerk  away 
from  her  door  instead  of  offering  him  even  the  meager 
hospitality  of  bread  and  cheese  and  a  bed  of  straw.  She 
is  less  passive  and  silent  than  her  schwank  prototype,  and 
attempts  to  explain  to  her  husband  the  presence  of  meat, 
cake,  and  wine.  He  is  perhaps  somewhat  less  gullible. 
At  any  rate,  though  he  seems  to  believe  her  excuses,  he  is 
not  called  upon  to  give  credit  to  the  powers  of  a  sooth- 
saying raven.  Though  more  irritable,  he  is  at  the  same 
time  more  hospitable,  a  shade  more  complex  than  his  proto- 
type. The  hero  appears  in  a  more  favorable  light.  His 
little  intrigue  or  trick  is  more  justifiable;  and  there  is 
nothing  in  the  fabliau  to  suggest  that  he  is  stupid. 

As  in  the  schwank,  we  gain  our  knowledge  of  the 
persons,  not  from  direct  descriptions1  of  appearance  or 

1  Except  that  the  miller's  wife  is  described  as  being  very  proud  in  man- 
ner, "  mout  fu  de  fier  con  tenement "  (v.  24). 

H 


354  WALTER   MORRIS    HART. 

character,  but  from  words  and  actions,  as  in  the  contrasted 
receptions  of  the  clerk  by  the  peasant  and  by  his  wife,  the 
peasant's  declaring  that  his  house  is  his  own,  to  receive 
whom  he  likes,  his  wrath  at  finding  nothing  for  his  guest 
to  eat,  the  priest's  passing  the  clerk  without  greeting. 

While  we  have,  in  the  schwank,  the  trick  partly  for  the 
supper,  but  mainly  for  its  own  sake,  we  have,  in  the 
fabliau,  the  trick  for  purposes  of  revenge.  And,  perhaps 
because  the  scene  stands  alone,  and  is  not  one  of  a  series 
of  similar  adventures,  there  is  less  emphasis  upon  the 
character  of  the  intriguer.  Though  the  story  is  simplified 
by  the  omission  of  the  raven,  there  is  the  same  care  in 
minor  motivation :  the  clerk's  poverty  (a  common  fabliau 
motive) ;  his  hunger  and  weariness ;  the  husband's  trip  to 
the  mill  for  flour  for  his  children ; l  his  desire  to  hear 
stories,  leading  directly  to  the  clerk's  narrative  of  his  great 
fright.  In  neither  story  is  it  quite  clear  why  the  hero 
should  employ  stratagem  at  all.  In  the  schwank,  gratitude, 
perhaps,  causes  him  to  spare  the  wife;  in  the  fabliau, 
fellow-feeling  causes  him  to  spare  the  priest ;  in  both  cases, 
doubtless,  he  gains  the  husband's  favor  more  completely  by 
this  means.  In  the  schwank,  the  marvelous  insight  of  the 
raven  wins  his  owner  three  hundred  thalers.  This  pseudo- 
supernatural  element  seems  to  have  been  lost  from  the 
fabliau  and  to  have  been  replaced  by  something  not  so 
effective.  The  fabliau,  however,  manifestly  improves  upon 
the  schwank  in  doing  away  with  the  improbable  third 
person  in  the  room,  and  provides  more  vigorous  motive 
for  the  intriguer's  action  in  the  wife's  refusal  to  admit  him 
at  all.  The  feelings  of  the  hungry  clerk,  as  he  stands  on 
the  threshold  and  sees  preparations  for  the  feast,  are,  the 

1  Yet  this  does  not  account,  as  the  storm  does  in  the  schwank,  for  the 
husband's  unexpected  return.  The  schwank  is  clearly,  in  this  respect, 
superior. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR  LITERATURE.         355 

trouv£re  evidently  thinks,  better  imagined  than  described. 
Elsewhere,  however,  motives  are  emphasized,  as  in  the 
schwank,  by  brief  references  to  emotions, — to  the  husband's 
vexation,  or  the  wife's  fear. 

Structurally,  the  fabliau  differs  from  the  schwank  in  that 
it  consists  of  a  single  event,  rather  than  of  a  series.  This 
structure  is,  however,  the  rule  for  the  schwank  ;  Das  Burle 
is  exceptional.  It  is  also  the  rule  for  the  fabliau.  Com- 
pared with  the  internal  structure  of  the  mill  scene  in  Das 
Bwie,  Le  Povre  Clerc,  as  a  whole,  shows  the  same  sense  of 
proportion  and  relative  values ;  the  same  parts  of  the  story 
receive  much  the  same  emphasis.1  There  is  really  no  signifi- 
cant difference,  except  that  the  trouvere  permits  himself  to 
add  a  "moral,"  to  the  effect  that  one  should  never  send 
away  any  man  in  haste  from  one's  door, — had  not  the 
peasant's  wife  been  inhospitable  the  clerk  would  not  have 
said  a  word.  Thus  the  whole  story  is  interpreted  as  an 
example  of  poetic  justice,  and  this  "  moral,"  however  curi- 
ous it  may  seem  to  modern  readers,  is  interesting  as  evidence 
of  the  trouvere's  power  to  comment  on  the  action.  His 
opening  line,  similarly,  reveals  a  self-consciousness  beyond 
the  narrator  of  the  schwank :  he  does  not,  he  says,  wish  to 
tell  a  long  story.  And  he  has  clearly  a  firm  grasp  of  his 
tale  as  a  whole,  makes  adequate  preparation  for  whatever  is 
to  come.  The  poor  and  hungry  scholar  sees,  as  he  stands 
on  the  threshold,  wine  and  meat  and  cake ;  and  presently 
he  meets  the  priest  in  the  street.  When  the  husband  knocks 
at  the  door  the  priest  conceals  himself  in  the  stable,  later 
looking  through  the  window  at  the  clerk.  Thus  each 
incident  is  mentioned  in  its  proper  place.  There  is  no  back- 
ing and  filling ;  the  narrative  moves  steadily  forward ;  as 
in  the  schwank,  the  climax, — the  discovery  of  the  priest, — 

iSeep.  367,  below. 


356  WALTER    MORRIS   HART. 

is  approached  through  a  series  of  less  important  incidents, 
now  three  in  number  instead  of  four.  Unlike  the  schwank, 
however,  is  the  absence  of  special  effort  to  delay  the  climax ; l 
it  is  introduced  in  exactly  the  same  manner  as  the  other 
incidents,  though  distinguished  by  the  different  effect  pro- 
duced upon  the  peasant.  This  series  of  incidents,  obviously, 
offers  an  opportunity,  in  the  fabliau  as  in  the  schwank,  for 
verbal  repetition,  but  of  this  the  trouvere  does  not  avail 
himself.2  The  same  contrasts  are  involved  in  the  story. 

Of  dialogue  there  is,  relatively,  nearly  twice  as  much  in 
the  fabliau  as  in  the  schwank.3  There  is  relatively  less 
indirect  discourse.  The  increase  in  amount  of  dialogue  is 
due  largely  to  the  fact  that  the  clerk's  story  of  his  great 
fright  takes  the  place  of  the  soothsaying  raven.  The 
interruptions  of  the  peasant,  too,  are  longer,  and  each  time 
his  wife  has  something  to  say,  does  not  simply  go  to  bed 
and  take  the  keys  with  her,  as  in  the  schwank.  There  is 
thus,  in  the  successive  incidents  leading  up  to  the  climax,  a 
series  of  group  conversations.  In  each  case  the  order  of 
speeches  is  the  same,  the  form  is  the  simplest  possible. 
What  is  remarkable  is  the  presence  of  group  conversation  in 
any  form ;  it  is  unusual,  if  not  unparalleled,  in  the  fabliau. 
To  the  more  extended  use  of  dialogue  is  due  mainly  the 
greater  length  of  the  opening  scene  between  clerk  and 
peasant's  wife.  In  the  fabliau  he  makes  several  vain 
requests  for  food  and  lodging ;  in  the  schwank  he  is 
admitted  at  once.  It  is  noteworthy  that  in  each  case  his 
opening  speech  is  given  in  the  indirect  form ;  in  the  fabliau 

1Cf.  pp.  348-9,  above, 

3  A  trace  remains  in  the  peasant's 

"Que  est  ce,  dame?  avon  nos  vin?"   (v.  187). 
"Qu'est  ce,  dame?  avon  nos  gastel?"   (v.  211). 

'About  64  per  cent. 


THE  FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         357 

it  has  more  nearly  the  effect  of  direct  discourse.1  There  is 
no  monologue ;  mental  states  are  for  the  most  part  directly 
described,  as,  for  example,  the  effect  upon  the  wife  of  each 
of  the  clerk7 s  revelations.  Dialogue,  however,  in  the  form 
of  dualogue  or  group  conversation,  is  the  main  method  of 
carrying  on  the  narrative.  Omit  from  the  last  part  of  the 
scene  the  brief  reference  to  the  wife's  emotions,  and  dialogue 
is  all  that  is  left.  To  dialogue,  finally,  we  owe,  as  has  been 
said,  most  of  our  knowledge  of  the  character  of  the  persons 
concerned. 

For  comic  Affects  thefabliau,  like  the  schwank,  depends 
mainly  on  plot.  There  are  the  same  comic  disappointments ; 
but  they  are  now  due  not  to  the  stupidity  of  any  victim,  but 
wholly  to  chance  and  to  the  intriguer.  As  a  source  of 
comic  effect  character  is  less  important  than  in  the  schwank. 
Imperfections  are  moral,  merely,  not  intellectual ;  the  moral 
tag  at  the  end  does  not  affect  the  attitude  of  mere  unjudging 
enjoyment.  Since  the  story  ends  with  the  discovery  of  the 
priest,  it  is  not  necessary  to  let  him  off  without  the  usual 
beating ;  this  is  described,  however,  with  less  than  the 
usual  detail.  Death,  as  a  source  of  comic  effect,  does  not 
appear,  since  that  part  of  the  schwank  is  not  included  in 
the  fabliau. 

While  the  trouvere  expands  or  elaborates  the  story,  he 
does  so  without  destroying  the  unities.  His  new  incident, 
indeed, — the  meeting  of  clerk  and  husband  in  the  street, — 
involves  a  slight  change  of  scene,  and,  later,  when  priest 
and  wife  are  alarmed  at  the  peasant's  return,  it  involves  a 
slight  inconsistency  in  point  of  view.  These  are  matters 
of  minor  importance,  however.  Unity  of  impression  is 

xln  the  schwank  :  "err.  .  .  .  bat  urn  Herberge  ;"  in  the  fabliau, 

"  L'ostel  li  a  li  clers  requis 
Par  charitS  et  par  amor  "  (vv.  26  f. ). 

9 


358  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

nowise  affected ;  unities  of  time,  of  persons,  of  action,  are 
no  less  marked  than  in  the  schwank. 

Unlike  the  analyses  of  Ballad  and  Fabliau,  these  analyses 
of  Schwank  and  Fabliau  leave  one  mainly  impressed  with 
the  remarkable  similarity  of  the  types.  Both  are  "  subjec- 
tive "  in  the  sense  that  they  are  composed  with  reference  to 
a  definite  comic  effect.  Yet  both  are  impersonal, — give  us 
no  hint,  beyond  the  suggestion  of  masculine  authorship, 
of  a  man  behind  the  composition, — are  essentially  anonymous. 
Both  were  intended  for  a  more  or  less  public  recitation.1 
Both  are  realistic  in  effect.  In  both,  time  and  place  are 
vivid  and  near  at  hand.  The  persons  are  of  the  middle 
class,  commonplace,  unnamed,  of  a  single  generation.  Their 
appearance  is  not  mentioned  ;  their  characters  are  not  empha- 
sized, and  not  described,  but  suggested  dramatically.  A 
certain  cynicism  with  regard  to  them  is  implied.  In  both, 
the  preliminary  motive  is  poverty ;  the  minor  motivation  is 
excellent;  the  grasp  of  the  story  as  a  whole  is  noteworthy. 
Both  are  remarkable  for  proportion,  relative  emphasis,  prepa- 
ration for  what  is  to  come.  In  both,  comic  effects  are  due 
mainly  to  plot ;  and  in  the  attitude  toward  the  comic  imper- 
fections of  character  is  neither  satire  nor  sympathy.  Both 
have  marked  unity,  in  every  sense ;  and  both  are  notably 
concrete  and  dramatic  in  effect.2 


1  The  Fabliaux  are  intended  ' '  bei  passender  Gelegenheit  offentlich  recitiert 
zu  werden."     J.  Loth,  Die  Sprichworter  und  Sentenzen  der  Altfranzosischen 
Fabliaux.     They  are,  says  Bedier,   "destines   a  la  recitation   publique." 
Les  Fabliaux,  p.  37. 

2  All  that  has  just  been  said  is  equally  true  of  Hans  Sachs's  Derfarendt 
Schuler  mit  dem  Teuffelbannen ;  schwank  or  fabliau  become  farce  with  the 
slightest  of  changes.     The  farce  is  obviously  all  dialogue,  it  is  longer 
(2,150  words),  and,  like  the  fabliau,  it  is  verse.     The  priest  is  received 
before  the  scholar,  and  both  priest  and  Bewrin  take  part  in  turning  out  the 
scholar.     The  series  of  revelations  does  not  appear.     Instead,  the  final 
revelation  is  elaborated  :  the  priest  is  compelled,  disguised  as  the  devil, 


THE    FABLIAU    AND    POPULAR    LITERATURE.          359 

The  fabliau  manifestly  differs  from  the  schwank  in  that 
it  is  verse,  and  in  its  greater  length,  due  in  part  to  addition 
of  new  material,  mainly,  however,  to  an  elaboration  of  what 
was  already  there.1  Aside  from  these  very  obvious  matters, 
however,  the  differences,  while  not  without  significance,  are 
slight  and  rather  subtle.  In  the  fabliau  we  find  ourselves 
in  a  world  which,  in  its  mention  of  the  clerk  of  Paris,  is 
a  shade  more  real  and  a  degree  higher  in  the  social  scale. 
There  is  less  mention  of  the  furnishings  of  the  room  where 
the  action  takes  place.  The  clerk's  host  is  a  man  of  greater 
importance  than  the  peasant's.  Background  characters  are 
added.  The  central  motive, — the  character  and  purpose  of 
the  hero, — is  clearer.  There  is  direct  evidence  of  greater 
self-consciousness  in  the  opening  line  and  in  the  moral  at 
the  close.  The  latter  interprets  the  story  as  an  example 
of  poetic  justice.  In  conformity  with  this  idea  is  the  wife's 
refusal  to  admit  the  clerk.  The  story  thus  becomes  more 
credible.  The  same  effect  is  produced  by  the  exclusion  of - 
the  abnormally  stupid  victims,  and  of  the  soothsaying 
raven.  The  device  which  takes  the  raven's  place,  the 
clerk's  story,  with  its  series  of  similes,  is  indeed  more  proba- 
ble, but  at  the  same  time  more  learned,  more  artificial, 

to  bring  in  wurst,  semmel,  and  wine.  The  Bawer  is  frightened,  but  notices 
the  resemblance  to  the  priest.  The  wife  declares  that  she  would  like  to 
see  the  devil  oftener  in  their  house.  Thus  the  tendency  to  give  most  space 
to  what  is  most  important,  which  increases  as  we  pass  from  schwank  to 
fabliau,  is  carried  still  further  in  the  farce.  The  phase  of  life  is  practically 
that  of  the  fabliau.  There  is  the  same  underlying  sense  of  poetic  justice. 
There  is  still  more,  and  more  varied,  group  conversation.  As  in  the 
schwank,  however,  the  hero  makes  use  of  the  belief  in  the  supernatural 
to  practice  upon  the  stupidity  of  one  of  his  victims  ;  and  the  unexpected 
return  of  the  husband  is  motived.  On  the  whole, — except  for  the  increase 
in  dialogue, — it  does  not  appear  in  any  way  necessary  to  suppose  fabliau 
or  its  equivalent  to  intervene  between  schwank  and  farce.  It  is  an  easy 
step  from  schwank  to  farce  direct. 
1CL  p.  367,  below. 


360  WALTER  MORRIS   HART. 

less  effective.  The  absence  of  a  special  effort  to  delay 
the  climax  renders  the  fabliau,  in  this  respect,  inferior. 
The  incremental  repetition  vanishes.  There  is  an  increase 
of  over  thirty  per  cent,  in  the  amount  of  dialogue,  and  a 
greater  diversity  in  the  forms  employed ;  group  conversa- 
tion marks  an  important  advance  in  the  art  of  dramatic 
narration.  Comic  disappointments  are  due  no  longer  to  the 
stupidity  of  the  victim  but  to  moral  obliquity.  The  elabo- 
ration, finally,  results  in  momentary  disregard  of  the  unities 
of  place  and  point  of  view.  The  fabliau  is,  then,  peculiar 
in  the  possession  of  a  certain  intellectual  or  rational  quality, 
of  which  there  is  evidence  in  the  self-conscious  opening  line, 
the  notion  of  an  underlying  moral  law,  and  in  the  substitu- 
tion of  the  artificial  series  of  similes  for  the  soothsaying 
raven. 

A  further  elaboration  of  this  same  story  may  be  traced 
in  the  Scottish  fabliau  of  The  Freiris  of  Berwik,  sometimes 
ascribed  to  Dunbar.1  It  is  about  4,600  words  in  length, — 
more  than  three  times  as  long  as  Le  Povre  Clerc,  about  six 
times  as  long  as  the  mill  scene  in  Das  Burle.  The  story  is, 
in  substance,  as  follows  : 

It  happened  one  day  in  May  that  two  Jacobin  friars,  Allane  and  Robert, 
were  returning  from  the  country  to  their  monastery  in  the  fair  walled  city 
of  Berwick-upon-Tweed.  As  it  drew  toward  night  they  stopped  at  an  inn 

1  Professor  W.  H.  Browne  prints  it  with  Dunbar' s  poems  in  his  Early 
Scottish  Poets.  To  Professor  Henderson  ' '  it  does  not  seem  to  be  stamped 
with  the  impress  of  Dunbar' s  peculiar  genius.  It  is  too  purely  and  lightly 
comic,  too  genial,  and  even  too  merely  superficial,  to  be  his.  The  irony 
possesses  little  of  his  subtlety,  corrosiveness,  or  depth.  The  style,  easy, 
simple,  and  apt  though  it  be,  lacks  his  peculiar  strength  and  incisiveness." 
Scottish  Vernacular  Literature,  p.  278.  Professor  G.  Gregory  Smith  says  : 
"The  ascription  of  this  piece  to  Dunbar  has  been  doubted,  but  there  is 
nothing  in  it  unworthy  of  his  metrical  art  or  his  satiric  talent."  The 
Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,  n,  288.  The  question  of  author- 
ship is  not  involved  in  the  present  study.  So  long  as  it  is  unsettled,  it 
will  be  convenient  to  speak  of  the  author  as  Dunbar. 


THE   FABLIAU  AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         361 

kept  by  one  Symon  Lawrear.  Symon  himself  was  away,  and  his  wife, 
while  she  gave  them  ale  and  bread  and  cheese,  refused  them,  in  her  hus- 
band's absence,  any  lodging  other  than  the  loft  at  one  end  of  the  hall. 
Thither  the  maid  conducted  them,  made  their  bed,  and  closed  them  in. 

However,  Freir  Kobert,  in  quest  of  adventure,  cut  a  hole  in  the  floor, 
and  was  rewarded  by  sight  of  preparations  for  a  feast.  Presently  Freir 
Johine,  abbot  of  the  Augustinian  monastery,  entered,  and  began  to  make 
merry  with  dame  Aleson.  But  just  as  the  table  was  spread  they  heard 
a  great  knocking  at  the  door  and  Symon' s  voice  calling  for  admittance. 
Wine,  rabbits,  capons,  partridges,  and  plover  were  concealed  in  the  cup- 
board, and  Freir  Johine  under  a  great  trough  in  the  corner.  While  the 
maid  swept  the  house  and  put  out  the  fire,  Aleson  flung  off  her  finery,  got 
into  bed,  and  let  Symon  knock  and  call  to  his  heart's  content.  At  last  she 
rose,  demanded  who  was  there  calling  her  name,  and  refused  admittance  to 
anyone.  When  Symon  declared  himself,  she  welcomed  him  heartily, 
hastily  covered  the  board,  and  set  soused  calve' s  foot  and  sheep's  head 
before  him.  He  expressed  a  desire  for  company  at  this  repast ;  a  discreet 
cough  informed  him  of  the  presence  of  the  guests  above,  and  he  insisted 
upon  their  being  asked  to  join  him.  In  reply  to  his  half  apology  for 
"such  as  we  have,"  Freir  Allane  declared  that  here  was  God's  plenty, 
but  Freir  Kobert  confessed  that  he  had  learned  certain  practices  in  Paris, 
over  sea,  and  could  provide  whatever  was  desired.  After  turning  toward 
the  east,  reading  in  his  book,  clapping  his  hands,  groaning  and  glouring  as 
if  he  were  mad,  and  more  hocus-pocus,  all  terrifying  enough  to  Aleson,  he 
directed  her  to  go  to  the  cupboard  and  bring  forth  wine,  rabbits,  capons, 
partridges,  and  plover.  Aleson  found  what  she  had  herself  placed  there, 
yet  started  back,  as  if  terrified,  crossed  herself,  and  cried  out  that  it  was  a 
great  marvel. 

The  company  now  proceeded  to  enjoy  these  dainties.  The  friars  drank 
"cup  out,"  they  and  Symon  sang  loudly,  and  thus  with  good  cheer  they 
passed  the  long  night.  For  the  dame  there  was  little  pleasure  in  it,  yet 
she  must  needs  bear  her  part,  a  smile  on  her  face  and  a  heavy  heart  in  her 
breast.  At  length  Symon  expressed  a  very  natural  wonder  at  the  friar's 
skill.  Robert  replied  that  it  was  a  very  simple  matter, — he  had  at  his  beck 
and  call  a  servant  who  brought  him  whatever  he  desired.  Symon  wished 
to  see  this  servant.  Freir  Kobert  at  first  refused  outright,  then  made 
difficulties,  but  at  length  consented  that  he  should  appear  in  the  compara- 
tively harmless  form  of  an  Augustinian  friar.  Symon  was  stationed  at  the 
door,  a  staff  in  his  hand,  somewhat  frightened,— but  stout  was  his  heart. 
Then  Freir  Kobert  conjured  the  evil  spirit  to  appear  in  the  likeness  of  a 
friar,  in  a  black  habit,  from  the  great  trough  in  the  corner,  and,  with  cowl 
drawn  down  over  his  face,  harming  no  one,  to  leave  that  house  and  come 
there  no  more.  And  so  it  happened.  As  the  black  friar  reached  the  door 
Robert  called  on  Symon  to  strike  hard.  Symon  brought  down  his  staff 

3  » 


362  WALTER    MOEEIS    HART. 

with  such  force  on  the  abbot's  neck  that  he  himself  fell  and  broke  his  head 
on  a  stone.  Freir  Johine  missed  the  step  and  fell  into  a  mire,  but  picked 
himself  up  and  made  ofl  in  haste,  his  clothing  "  nothing  fair."  Kobert 
raised  Symon  from  the  floor,  revived  and  reassured  him.  Thus  Symon's 
head  was  broken,  the  abbot  was  fouled  in  the  mire,  and  Aleson  in  no  wise 
got  her  will. 

We  find  ourselves  here  in  a  Present  still  more  vivid, — 
a  morning  and  a  night  in  May, — in  a  place  still  more 
real, — the  neighborhood  of  Berwick,  whose  walls  and  towers 
are  celebrated  in  a  manner  characteristic  of  the  early  Scottish 
delight  in  description  for  its  own  sake.  The  scene  of  the 
action  is  now  the  interior  of  an  inn,  a  hall  with  a  loft  for 
corn  and  hay,  reached  by  a  trap,  at  one  end ;  sleeping  rooms 
elsewhere ;  table,  spread  with  rich  cloth  and  fair  napery 
above,  chairs,  fire,  cupboard,  in  a  corner  a  great  trough  for 
dough,  a  stone  for  grinding  mustard ;  outside,  a  vast  mire, 
wherein,  missing  the  steps,  one  might  fall.  We  continue  to 
ascend  the  social  ladder.  Symon's  inn  betokens  his  import- 
ance. The  intriguer  is  no  peasant  or  poor  clerk,  but  a 
friar;  his  victim,  an  abbot,  whose  supper  was  to  be  worthy 
of  his  rank.  The  moral  elevation  is  much  the  same. 

The  most  noteworthy  phase  of  the  elaboration  of  the 
story  is  in  the  direction  of  character.  Each  of  the  persons 
is  introduced  with  a  few  lines  of  description.  The  victim, 
Freir  Johine,  was  a  "  Blak  Freir  of  grit  renown  : " 

He  had  a  prevy  posterne  of  his  awin, 

Quhair  he  micht  ische,  quhen  that  he  list,  vnknawin  (vv.  127  f. ). 

While  Symon  Lawrear  was  but  a  "  woundir  gude  hostillar," 
who  had  the  usual  qualities  of  good  nature  and  gullibility, 
required  by  the  story,  his  wife  Aleson  had  gone  far  beyond 
her  prototypes  in  cleverness.  She  was  "dink"  and  " danger- 
ous/7 and,  not  content  with  silence  or  mere  passive  explana- 
tions, she  planned  an  active  campaign  to  deceive  her  husband, 
feigning  sleep  and  then  indignation  when  he  returned,  and 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         363 

an  astonishment  equal  to  his  own  at  the  discovery  in  the 
cupboard.  Freir  Allane,  an  addition  of  Dunbar's,  was  old, 
weary,  lay  still  on  the  straw  in  the  loft,  declared  himself 
content  with  Symon's  simple  fare.  His  only  function  in 
the  story  is  to  act  as  foil  to  Eobert,  who  was  young,  vigor- 
ous, restless,  hot  of  blood,  cut  a  hole  to  see  what  was  going 
on  below,  and  at  once  devised  and  carried  out  a  plan  to 
conjure  the  dainties  out  of  the  cupboard  and  the  abbot  out 
of  the  house.  Both  these  simple  friars  "with  wyffis  weill 
cowld  gluder."  Evidence  of  character,  it  is  manifest,  is 
obtained  from  epithet,  from  direct  description,  as  well  as 
from  words  and  actions.  Still  we  learn  nothing  of  personal 
appearance. 

Freir  Robert's  trick  is  motived  in  much  the  same  fashion 
as  Biirle's, — not  so  much  by  desire  for  revenge  or  even  by 
desire  for  the  supper,  as  by  delight  in  the  art  of  gulling  for 
its  own  sake.  Add  to  this  the  rivalry  of  Jacobins  and 
Augustinrans,  clearly  implied.  And  there  is,  as  has  been 
said,  greater  emphasis  upon  the  character  of  the  intriguer,  a 
gratuitous  emphasis,  one  may  say,  since  it  is  not  necessary 
to  explain  the  action,  or,  as  with  Biirle,  to  unify  a  longer 
and  looser  plot.  There  is  the  same  care  in  the  minor 
motivation,  though  Dunbar,  like  the  trouvere,  neglects  to 
account  for  the  husband's  unexpected  return.  As  in  the 
schwank,  the  intriguer  is  permitted  to  remain  in  the  house, 
but  his  bed  of  straw  is  moved  to  a  loft,  where  he  is  locked 
up,  supposedly  unable  to  see  or  hear  what  goes  on.  Thus 
the  story  becomes  more  credible.  Desire  for  credibility, 
however,  does  not  exclude  the  pseudo-supernatural  element, 
as  it  does  in  the  fabliau,  but  gives  it  a  form  practically 
identical  with  that  in  the  Farendt  Schuler.  Freir  Eobert' s 
hocus-pocus,  certainly,  requires  far  more  interesting  and 
characteristic  action  of  the  wife,  and  Dunbar,  to  emphasize 
her  cunning,  dwells  upon  her  fear,  contrasts  what  she  does 


364  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

with  what  she  feels.  Nor  does  he  fail  to  look  into  the 
minds  of  the  other  persons, — even  of  Freir  Johine, — and 
thus  mental  states  come  to  receive  more  attention  than  in 
schwank  or  fabliau. 

Structurally,  Dunbar  carries  still  further  the  development 
of  the  single  scene ;  he  elaborates  what  was  already  there, 
adding  nothing  from  without.  He  closes,  not  with  a  moral, 
but  with  a  summary,  and  makes  no  comment  on  his  story. 
He  carries  still  further  the  emphasis  of  important  matters.1 
He  makes  the  same  adequate  preparation  for  what  is  to 
come,  reveals  the  same  grasp  of  his  story  as  a  whole.2  The 
narrative  is  no  less  steady  in  its  forward  movement,  but 
the  pace  is  now  slower,  there  is  more  delay,  more  suspense. 
The  series  of  minor  revelations,  taken  over,  though  with 
loss  of  one  number  and  of  incremental  repetition,  by  the 
fabliau  from  the  schwank,  now  disappears  altogether.  In- 
stead we  have  the  single  revelation,  with  elaborate  dialogue 
and  minor  actions,  followed  by  the  nightlong  merry-making,3 
then  more  dialogue  and  hocus-pocus,  all  leading  up  to  the 
comic  climax,  and,  at  the  same  time,  delaying  it.  This  is 
the  method  of  the  Farendt  Schuler  and,  manifestly,  it  is  more 
dramatic,  since  the  suspense  is  greater,  and  the  monotony  of 
the  series  is  avoided.  The  usual  contrasting  situations  and 


'Cf.  p.  367,  below. 

2  Yet  there  are  some  minor  inconsistencies.     Thus  the  two  friars  feared 
that  the  gates  would  be  closed  (v.  47),  and  for  this  reason  planned  to  spend 
the  night  at  Symon's.     Yet  when,  as  they  were  making  merry  they  heard 
the  bell,  "they  were  agast,"  because  they  knew  that  the  gates  were  now 
closed  (v.  77).     Again,  Aleson  "covers  the  board"  (v.  178),  though  she 
had  already  done  so  (v.  143).     And,  finally,  Freir  Kobert  conjures  a  good 
deal  more  out  of  the  cupboard  than  Aleson  put  in.      Cf.  vv.  132  ff.  and 
151  ff.  with  vv.  361  S.     As  a  story  grows  longer  it  grows  more  difficult  to 
handle. 

3  This  special  delay,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  a  virtue  of  the  schwank, 
not  found  in  the  fabliau. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITER ATUBE.          365 

mental  states,  involved  in  the  story,  now  receive  greater 
emphasis.  Merely  for  purposes  of  contrast  with  the  hero 
is  introduced,  as  has  been  said,  the  new  figure  of  Freir 
Allane. 

While,  as  in  the  schwank  and  the  fabliau,  it  is  never 
necessary  for  the  plot  that  distinct  series  of  actions  should 
be  carried  on  simultaneously,  Dunbar  is  nevertheless  careful 
to  mark  very  clearly  the  transitions  from  the  doings  of  one 
character  or  group  of  characters  to  the  doings  of  another, 
to  call  attention  to  every  shift  of  point  of  view.  So  he 
says  : 

Thus  in  the  loft  latt  I  thir  freiris  ly  (v.  118). 

And,  after  a  mere  description  of  Freir  Johine, 

Now  thus  in-to  the  toun  I  leif  him  still, 
Bydand  his  tyme  ;  and  turne  agane  I  will 
To  this  fair  wyfe  (vv.  129  ff.  ).* 

While  there  is  relatively  less  dialogue  than  in  the  fabliau, 
absolutely  there  is  a  good  deal  more.  Of  the  4600  words, 
that  is,  about  2400,  or  .52,  are  in  the  form  of  direct 
discourse.  In  the  fabliau  there  are  only  1500  words  in 
all,  of  which  960,  or  .64,  are  dialogue;  and  in  the  Farendt 
Schuler  there  are  only  2150  words,  so  that  Dunbar  actually 
writes  more  dialogue  than  Sachs.  Yet  it  is  less  dramatic 
in  effect  than  the  conversation  in  the  fabliau.  It  is,  indeed, 
used  to  make  clear  purpose  and  situation,  and  to  express 
mental  states  ;  it  even  takes  the  place  of  narrative  in  Freir 
Johine' s  list  of  his  contributions  to  the  feast.  But  there 
is  a  distinctly  non-dramatic  tendency  to  separate  speeches 
by  narrative  passages,  and  to  mingle  indirect  with  direct 
discourse.  Thus 

1Cf.  vv.  164  ff.,  256  ff.,  4983. 


366  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

Freir  Robert  said,  4I  pray  grit  God  him  speid 
Him  haill  and  sound  in- to  his  travell,' 
And  hir  desyrit  the  stowp  to  fill  of  aill, 
'  That  we  may  drink,  for  I  am  wondir  dry'  (vv.  64 ff. ). 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  indirect  discourse, — as  in  schwank 
and  fabliau  the  first  speech  to  the  hostess  is  in  this  form. 
Furthermore,  while  there  is  dualogue,  soliloquy,  monologue, 
Dunbar  neglects  excellent  opportunities  for  group  conversa- 
tion. Dialogue -alone  would  not  carry  along  the  story  as  it 
does  in  the  most  important  part  of  the  fabliau. 

Comic'  effects  are,  once  more,  mainly  a  matter  of  plot. 
In  spite  of  his  increased  interest  in  character,  Dunbar 
makes  little  or  no  attempt  to  develop  its  comic  incon- 
gruities. The  contrast  between  Allane  and  Robert  is 
amusing,  indeed,  yet  in  no  way  comparable  to  Chaucer's 
contrast  of  Absolon  and  Nicholas,  for  instance ;  and  though 
Aleson  is  described  as  a  dink  and  dangerous,"  these 
qualities  are  not  brought  into  comic  relation  with  the  plot, 
as  they  are  in  the  case  of  Simkin's  wife  in  the  Reeve's  Tale. 
The  effect  of  the  comic  disappointments  of  the  plot,  how- 
ever, is  considerably  heightened  by  Dunbar' s  elaboration, 
and  the  possibilities  of  Pain  are  more  completely  developed. 
Thus,  as  has  been  said,  Aleson's  fear  is  dwelt  upon  with 
more  frequency  and  emphasis,  and  a  good  deal  is  made  of 
the  terrors  of  Johine,  not  mentioned  in  schwank  or  fabliau. 
Moreover,  he  is  not  permitted  to  escape  unharmed,  as  in 
Das  Burle,  or  with  a  mere  beating,  as  in  Le  Povre  Clerc, 
but  a  fall  into  the  mire  is  added  to  Symon's  great  blow, 
which  now  becomes  even  more  disastrous  for  the  innocent 
husband  than  for  the  guilty  lover.  Freir  Robert  thought, 
indeed,  that  Symon  was  dead,  but  this  height  of  comic 
climax  Dunbar  does  not  permit  us  to  enjoy.  Manifestly, 
however,  there  is  no  thought  of  justice,  poetic  or  other ; 
there  is  no  moral  tag,  appropriate  or  inappropriate,  no 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         367 


rationalization  of  the  story,  and  enjoyment  of  it,  as  of  the 
schwank,  is  purely  unjudging  and  emotional. 

If  the  fabliau  in  elaborating  the  story  trespassed  some- 
what against  the  unities,  Dunbar,  in  carrying  on  the 
elaboration,  trespassed  still  farther.  His  description  of 
Berwick  is  there  for  its  own  sake,  simply,  as  is  some  of 
his  description  of  character.  There  is,  moreover,  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  story,  continual  shift  of  point  of  view. 
But  these,  once  more,  are  minor  matters,  and  in  the  main 
Dunbar  holds  fast  to  the  schwank-fabliau  tradition  of  unity, 
— of  time,  of  place,  of  action,  of  persons,  of  impression. 

In  spite,  then,  of  its  greater  length,  The  Freiris  of  Berwick 
seems  to  be  very  nearly  as  conservative  as  Le  Povre  Clerc 
in  its  elaboration  of  the  technique  of  Das  Burle.  Character- 
istics common  to  schwank  and  fabliau,  though  doubtless 
more  pronounced  or  more  highly  developed,  are  still,  for  the 
most  part,  preserved.  There  is  the  same  "subjectivity," 
impersonality,  fitness  for  recitation ;  the  same  realism  and 
vividness ;  the  same  cynicism ;  the  same  careful  motivation, 
grasp  of  the  story  as  a  whole,  proportion,  emphasis,1  prepara- 

1  The  relative  elaboration  of  the  various  parts  of  the  story,  in  its  three 
forms,  may  be  set  forth  in  the  following  table  : 


SCHWANK. 

FABLIAU. 

DUNBAK. 

Words. 

Per 

Cent. 

Words. 

Per 

Cent. 

Words. 

Per 

Cent. 

216 
216 
584 
480 

400 
2640 

48 

4584 

| 

.05 
.05 
.12 
.10 

.09 

.58 

.01 
1.00 

1.    Introduction  

80 
60 
55 

.10 

.07 
.07 

120 
210 

180 
90 
846 
78 

.08 
.14 

.12 
.06 
.55 
.05 

2.    Reception  of  Hero 

3.    Reception  of  Priest  

4.    Hero  meets  Husband  

5.    Arrival  of  Husband 

75 
510 

.10 
.66 

6.   The  Revelations  

7.   Moral  

780 

1.00 

1524 

1.00 

368  WALTER  MORKIS  HAET. 

tion ;  the  same  dependence  on  plot  for  comic  effects ;  the 
same  attitude  toward  comic  imperfections  of  characters; 
the  same  concrete  and  dramatic  method ;  and,  finally,  very 
nearly  the  same  unity. 

In  certain  respects  The  Freiris  of  Berwick  differs  from  Le 
Povre  Clere  and  resembles  Das  Burle.  It  resembles  it  in 
the  absence  of  poetic  justice ;  in  the  retention  of  the  pseudo- 
supernatural  as  a  means  of  gulling  the  husband ;  and  in  the 
special  effort  to  delay  the  climax.  But  like  Le  Povre  Clerc 
it  is  in  verse,  and  it  resembles  it  furthermore  in  its  apparent 
connection  with  the  real  world,  in  the  clearness  of  its  central 
motive,  and  in  its  use  of  Pain  as  a  source  of  comic  effect. 

Dunbar's  technique  owes  much,  then,  to  schwank  and 
fabliau ;  and  even  for  the  little  that  is  left  we  can  claim  no 
great  originality  for  him,  since  his  improvements  were  made 
under  the  very  evident  influence  of  his  master,  Chaucer. 
His  metre  is  the  familiar  heroic  couplet  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales.  The  description  of  Berwick  may  have  been  inspired 
by  a  desire  to  outdo  the  descriptions  prefixed  to  the  Miller's 
Tale  and  the  Reeve's  Tale;  like  the  opening  lines  of  the 
Clerk's  Tale  it  introduces  matter  not  necessary  for  the  story. 
The  elaboration  of  character  recalls  Chaucer.  There  are 
two  intriguers,  as  in  the  Reeve's  Tale;  but  one  has  nothing 
to  do ;  doubtless  he  is  there  only  to  make  a  contrast  like 
that  of  Absolon  and  Nicholas  in  the  Miller's  Tale.  The  bits 
of  character-description  suggest  Chaucer's  method,  though 
D unbar  is  briefer  and  does  not  follow  Chaucer's  plan  of 
describing  two  characters  fully,  then  introducing  to  these 
a  third.  The  very  names,  though  they  all  occur  in  the 
French  fabliaux,  are  doubtless  taken  from  Chaucer — Johine, 
Allane,  and  Symon,  from  the  Reeve's  Tale,  Aleson,  from  the 
Miller's  Tale,  Robert,  perhaps,  from  the  Friar's  Tale  (D. 
1356).  Again,  the  preliminary  motive  is  not  poverty,  but, 
as  in  the  Reeve's  Tale,  the  intriguers  come  in  wet  and 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         369 

weary,  simply,  desiring  food  and  lodging.  Freir  Robert's 
use  of  the  pseudo-supernatural  to  gull  a  stupid  husband 
recalls  Nicholas,  in  the  Miller's  Tale;  their  methods  are 
much  the  same.  Rough  parallels  for  the  verses  used  to 
mark  transitions  may  be  found  in  the  Franklin's  Tale.1  It 
is  even  conceivable  that  the  "  mustard-stone/ '  upon  which 
Symon  fell,  was  the  same  that  tripped  his  namesake  in  the 
Reeve's  Tale.2  The  mention  of  "  Wednesday "  as  the  day 
of  the  husband's  departure  recalls  the  similar  and  really 
necessary  indication  of  the  time  of  the  husband's  absence  in 
the  Miller's  Tale.  And  for  the  final  summary  close  parallels 
are  to  be  found  in  the  closing  lines  of  Miller  and  Reeve.  ' 

III.   GENERAL  CONCLUSIONS. 

We  have  now  traced  the  development  of  the  story  of  the 
Wife's  Confession  from  Comic  Ballad  (with  incidental  con- 
trast with  the  technique  of  the  more  primitive  Simple 
Ballad),  through  the  Fabliau,  to  the  Short  Story ;  and  we 
have  traced  the  parallel  development  of  the  story  of  the 
Lodging  for  the  Night  from  the  Schwank  (with  incidental 
contrast  with  the  technique  of  the  more  primitive  Marchen), 
through  the  Old  French  Fabliau,  to  the  Scottish  Fabliau. 
The  first  line  is  longer  than  the  second ;  it  begins  with  a 
more  primitive  form  and  ends  with  one  more  highly  elabo- 
rated. We  have  now,  by  way  of  summary  and  conclusion, 
to  combine  the  results  of  these  inquiries,  and,  disregarding 
the  subject-matter,  the  story,  to  trace  the  development  of 
manner,  of  technique,  alone,  from  the  simplest  type  to  the 
most  complex. 


1Cf.  vv.  1084  f.,  1099  f. 

2  This  stone,  Professor  Browne  explains,  was  used  for  grinding  mustard. 
Perhaps  this  was  the  purpose  of  the  stone  in  the  floor  of  the  miller's 
house. 


370  WALTEB   MORRIS   HART. 

For  Queen  Eleanor's  Confession  part,  at  least,  of  Professor 
Guinmere's  characterization  of  Babylon  still  holds  :  "  Here 
the  situation  retains  its  sovereignty,  and  keeps  the  ballad 
brief,  abrupt,  springing  and  pausing,  full  of  incremental 
repetition,  and  mainly  in  dialogue  form."  *  But  there  is 
now  something  more  than  bare  situation ;  we  know  where 
the  dialogue  took  place,  who  the  speakers  were,  how  they 
felt.  We  learn  what  happened  just  before  and  just  after 
the  confession.  We  are  conscious  of  something  like  a 
special  effort  to  preserve  unity  of  tone,  to  produce  a  purely 
comic  effect. 

Das  Burle  represents  a  higher  stage  of  the  development. 
It  is  not  alone  that  prose  is  less  primitive  than  verse,  the 
narrator  and  his  audience,  than  the  chorus ;  the  situation 
has  begun  to  lose  its  supremacy,  elements  of  narration  are 
thrust  forward.  We  learn  now  not  merely  what  the  setting 
was,  but,  in  a  measure,  how  it  looked.  We  know  when* 
the  action  took  place,  what  sort  of  people  took  part  in  it, 
just  why  it  was  that  they  came  together.  Abruptness 
vanishes ;  the  action  moves  more  slowly  and  steadily,  with 
the  special  pause,  for  suspense,  as,  through  a  series  of 
ballad-like  repetitions,  we  approach  the  climax.  Dialogue 
yields  to  narrative.  In  general,  the  art  is  manifestly  more 
self-conscious,  more  is  made  of  the  comic  possibilities  of 
the  story,  comic  effects  are  more  nicely  calculated.  So  far 
as  the  scene  in  the  mill  is  concerned  the  unities  are  all 
preserved. 

We  have  already  traced  the  development  of  this  story 
in  Le  Povre  Clerc, — the  change  back  to  verse,  and  the 
further  increase  in  length.  Due  conceivably  to  the  per- 
sistence of  ballad  traditions  are  the  closer  connections  with 
the  real  world,  accompanied  by  slight  loss  in  visualization, 

1  The  Popular  Ballad,  p.  111. 


THE   FABLIAU   AND   POPULAR   LITERATURE.         371 

the  rise  in  the  social  scale,  the  increase  in  dialogue,  with 
group  conversation.  But  all  repetition  now  vanishes. 
Character  is  more  firmly  grasped,  the  central  motive  be- 
comes clearer.  Most  notable  is  the  development  of  the 
tendency  towards  self-consciousness  and  reflection.  Comic 
effects  are  more  carefully  calculated.  Unities  of  place  and 
point  of  view  are  not  so  well  preserved. 

Le  Povre  Clere  and  Le  Chevalier  qui  fat  sa  fame  confesse 
are  not  far  from  the  same  level ;  the  latter  is,  however,  a 
little  longer  and  is  clearly  the  more  highly  developed.  It 
lacks,  necessarily  the  homely  details  of  Das  Burle  and  Le 
Povre  Clerc,  yet  the  trouvere  was  at  some  pains,  evidently, 
to  visualize  the  dimly  lighted  room  where  the  knight  heard 
his  wife's  confession.  And  he  was  far  more  careful  than 
the  composer  of  the  Clerc  to  give  date  and  duration  of 
action.  His  persons,  though  higher  in  the  social  scale,  and 
though  still  types,  are  a  shade  more  real,  more  complex ; 
their  relations  to  one  another  are  more  clearly  realized. 
Their  thoughts,  purposes,  emotions,  are  traced  with  far 
greater  care.  The  whole  is  more  elaborately  motived. 
Structurally,  the  Chevalier  has  a  more  elaborate  introduc- 
tion, and  adds  an  important  concluding  scene,  for  which,  of 
course,  no  parallel  was  necessary  in  the  Clerc.  Yet  the  main 
situation  still  holds  its  own.  The  amount  of  dialogue  is  the 
same,  but  there  is  no  group  conversation.  No  conventional 
series  like  that  carried  over  by  the  Clerc  from  the  schwank, 
is  carried  over  by  the  Chevalier  from  the  ballad.  There  are 
changes  of  scene,  carefully  indicated  by  connective  passages. 
Comic  effects  are  less  obvious,  less  varied,  perhaps,  but  more 
refined,  even  more  subtle.  In  still  higher  degree  than  the 
ClerCj  the  Chevalier  gives  evidence  of  the  rational  or  critical 
quality,  the  faculty  of  comment  upon  life.  It  deals  with 
the  unities  more  freely :  there  are  distinct  changes  of  place 


372  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

and  point  of  view ;  the  action  falls  into  two  parts,  separated 
by  several  days ;  a  minor  character  is  described.  ' 

Beyond  the  Chevalier  the  Freiris  of  Berwick  marks  no 
great  advance ;  yet  in  certain  directions  there  is,  thanks 
mainly  to  the  influence  of  Chaucer,  a  distinct  development. 
The  action  is  for  the  first  time  dated,  though  the  passage  of 
time  is  not  so  carefully  followed  as  in  the  Chevalier.  There 
is  for  the  first  time  a  relatively  full  description  of  a  real 
city ;  and  the  immediate  scene  of  the  action  surpasses  all 
predecessors  in  the  vividness  of  homely  detail.  The  persons 
are  more  complex,  more  real,  and  a  minor  character  is 
introduced,  not  for  the  sake  of  plot,  like  the  prior  in  the 
Chevalier,  but  for  the  sake  of  character-contrast  merely. 
The  Freiris  thus  goes  farther  than  the  CJievalier  in  elabora- 
tion of  time,  place,  character.  But,  though  emotions  are 
traced,  and  we  see  the  inside  of  several  minds,  we  make  no 
advance  in  this  direction.  Nor  is  the  action  more  carefully 
motived,  nor  the  story  more  credible,  better  proportioned, 
more  coherent;  nor  the  wife  more  clever  in  extricating 
herself  from  an  embarrassing  position.  Yet  there  is  more 
skilful  delay,  more  suspense, — a  development,  however,  of 
that  found  in  Burle.  There  is  greater  variety,  though  no 
greater  subtlety,  of  comic  effects.  The  unities  are  more  care- 
fully preserved.  The  peculiar  intellectual  quality  present  in 
both  the  fabliaux,  particularly  noteworthy  in  the  Chevalier, 
is  wholly  lacking  in  the  Freiris.  There  is  no  reflection,  no 
comment  on  life  or  on  the  story  as  a  whole. 

The  debt  of  a  modern  Short  Story  like  IS  Inutile  Beaute 
to  popular  and  medieval  narration  will  now  be  still  more 
apparent.  To  place  the  action  of  one's  story  in  real  and 
vivid  settings,  temporal,  spatial,  social,  is  nothing  new.  It 
is  nothing  new  to  create  real  characters,  thinking,  speaking, 
acting,  like  human  beings,  differing  significantly  one  from 
another.  It  is  nothing  new  to  construct  a  plot  with  due 


THE   FABLIAU   AND    POPULAR    LITERATURE.          373 

regard  for  the  unities,  proportion,1  emphasis,  suspense, 
climax,  to  develop  it  by  means  of  lively  and  dramatic 
dialogue  and  of  concrete  and  suggestive  action.  It  is 
nothing  new,  finally,  to  abstract  from  one's  story  its  moral 
significance,  to  see  in  it  a  criticism  of  life.  Modern 
narrative  art  at  its  best  adds  nothing  to  these  technical 
virtues;  it  has  but  elaborated  what  it  found  ready  to  its 
hand. 

We  have  been  dealing  with  but  a  restricted  group  of 
documents,  yet  all  are  so  nearly  typical  that  ifc  is  not  likely 
that  a  more  comprehensive  study  would  greatly  modify  our 
conclusions.  So  far  as  the  development  from  Ballad  and 
Schwank  to  Fabliau  is  concerned,  it  would  seem  to  be 
governed  'by  laws  of  growth  and  change  much  like  those 
which  govern  the  transition  from  Ballad  to  Epic.2  Though 
always  in  lower  degree,  there  is  the  same  increase  in  scope, 
in  organization,  in  abstraction,  and  in  elaboration.  There 
is,  it  is  true,  but  little  increase  in  art,  in  felicity  of  style. 
And  for  increase  in  architectural  power  there  is  little 
opportunity.  The  Ballad  is  primarily  a  simple  situation, 
and  adds  the  elements  of  narration  so  cautiously  that  this 
situation  still  remains  supreme.  Thus  it  inevitably  has  all 
the  unities,  as  well  as  excellent  proportion  and  emphasis. 
It  may  even  have  suspense  and  climax ;  but  these  are,  in  all 
probability,  a  more  inevitable  contribution  of  the  Schwank, 
a  result  of  the  narrator's  desire  to  tell  his  story  in  the  one 
way  best  suited  to  produce  the  comic  effect.  The  Fabliau  of 

xlt  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  chief  situation,  in  ballad,  schwank, 
and  fabliau,  always  occupies  more  than  one-half  of  the  story.  De  Maupas- 
sant's interest  in  a  general  question  leads  him  to  give  equal  space  to  an 
abstract  discussion,  leaving  only  a  third  of  L' Inutile  Beaute  for  the  main 
scene  or  situation.  Omit  the  discussion,  surely  not  to  the  detriment  of  the 
story  as  a  work  of  art,  and  the  old  proportion  would  be  restored. 

2  Cf.  Ballad  and  Epic,  pp.  307  ff. 


374  WALTER   MORRIS   HART. 

average  length  (such  as  those  just  under  consideration) 
makes  no  great  demand  upon  the  grasp  and  foresight  of  the 
trouv£re,  and  contributes  but  little  to  the  development  of 
plot- const  ruction.  But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  there 
are  other  fabliaux,  longer  and  more  elaborate,  which  make 
no  small  demands  upon  their  authors  and  very  considerable 
contribution  to  the  narrative  art  in  all  its  phases.1  To  the 
technique  of  such  fabliaux  may  be  traced  much  of  Chaucer's 
skill,  and  they  go  far  towards  bridging  the  gulf  between 
Fabliau  and  Short  Story. 

WALTER  MORRIS  HART. 


1  Like  Du  Vair  Palefroi,  Le  Lai  d'Aristote,  and  others,  discussed  in  the 
study  of  the  Reeve's  Tale,  pp.  30  ff. 


XVII.— A  STUDY    OF  THOMAS  OF    ERCELDOUNE. 

The  Romance  and  Prophecies  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  is 
a  poem  dealing  with  the  adventures  of  a  Scottish  prophet 
in  fairyland,  and  with  the  predictions  concerning  Scotch 
history  which  it  was  his  privilege  to  hear  from  the  fairy 
queen.  Of  this  poem  the  graceful  "romance"  occupies 
the  first  fytt,  and  the  prophecies  the  remaining  two  fytts. 

The  five  MSS.  known  have  been  printed  and  described 
by  Dr.  J.  A.  H.  Murray  in  his  valuable  edition  of  the 
poem.1  The  most  satisfactory  version,  on  the  whole,  is 
that  in  the  well-known  Thornton  MS.  (Lincoln  A.,  1.  17), 
written  about  A.  D.  1430-1440.  All  the  leaves  in  this 
MS.  are  more  or  less  injured,  but  there  are  no  serious  gaps 
in  the  first  fytt,  and  few  in  the  second.  "  It  is,  in  date 
probably,  in  form  certainly,  the  oldest  of  the  existing  MSS., 
retaining  the  original  Northern  form  of  the  language  little 
altered ;  while  it  is  free  from  most  of  the  corruptions  with 
which  .  .  .  the  Cambridge  and  Cotton,  abound."  Ms. 
Cambridge,  Ff.  5,  48,  is  in  English  handwriting  of  the 
middle  of  the  fifteenth  century.  This  MS.,  which  gives  a 
Southernized  version  of  the  original,  is  nearly  illegible,  and 
generally  inferior.  It  has  its  value,  however,  for  "  those 
parts  where  the  Thornton  and  Cotton  are  partially  or 
wholly  destroyed."  Ms.  Cotton,  Vitellius  E.  x.  presents  a 
copy  of  Thomas  of  Erseldown  of  about  or  slightly  after 
1450.  It  has  been  seriously  impaired  by  fire,  so  that 
scarcely  one  line  of  the  poem  is  perfect.  In  general,  its  text 
agrees  closely  with  the  Thornton ;  but  besides  numerous 
omissions  it  has  "  some  singular  additions  of  its  own,  as 

1  The  Romance  and  Prophecies  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  E.  E.  T.  S., 
No.  61.  9 

375 


376  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

lines  109-116,  and  others  near  the  end."  Ms.  Lansdowne 
762,  of  about  1524-30,  includes  Thomas  of  Erceldoune, 
together  with  other  prophetic  literature.  Besides  omitting 
long  passages,  it  gives  three  remarkable  additions  to  our 
poem,  lines  141-156,  lines  237-248,  and  the  reference  to 
Eobert  II  in  lines  465-468.  Ms.  Sloane  2578  is  a  collec- 
tion of  prophecies,  compiled  in  1547.  It  gives  only  the 
second  and  third  (or  prophetic)  fytts  of  the  poem.  "  The 
conclusion  is  also  very  much  abridged,  the  writer  seemingly 
being  impatient  of  everything  not  prophetic.  In  other 
respects  the  text  agrees  very  closely  with  the  Thornton 
MS.  both  in  its  extent  and  readings,  always  excepting  lines 
577-604,  found  only  in  that  MS."  x 

Professor  Brandl,2  after  a  careful  examination  of  the 
MSS.,  divides  them  into  two  groups,  V  L  and  T  S  C,  and 
postulates  as  the  sources  of  these  groups  two  MSS.,  x  and 
an  inferior  y.  All  the  existing  MSS.,  then,  are  independent 
of  one  another. 

It  is  interesting  and  significant  that  the  hero  of  the 
poem  was  an  historical  character.  Thomas  Ryrnour  lived 
in  Ercildoune,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and  probably  died, 
as  Murray  has  shown,  before  1294.  Apparently  he  was 
actually  a  poet,  for  although,  as  Murray  has  pointed  out, 
the  name  By m our  may  be  a  mere  patronymic,  his  reputation 
as  poet  and  prophet  began  soon  after  his  death,  if  not  before 
it.  From  1314  to  1870  he  was  quoted  as  an  authority  of 
undoubted  weight.3  Besides  the  ballad  of  Thomas  Rymer, 
and  the  poetical  prophecies  founded  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent  on  The  Romance  and  Prophecies  of  Thomas  of  Ercel- 

1  For  Murray's  collation  of  the  various  MSS.,  and  his  numbering 
of  the  lines  (followed  by  Brandl),  see  T.  of  E.,  pp.  Ixii  if. 

2  Brandl,  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  Berlin,  1880. 

3  Murray,   T.   of  E.,   pp.   xviii  ff .     Chambers,   Popular  Rhymes   of 
Scotland   (London,  1870),  p.  211. 


A    STUDY   OF   THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  377 

doune,1  a  good  number  of  popular  legends  and  of  "  derne  " 
sayings  have  attached  themselves  to  his  name.  Thomas  is 
a  sort  of  Scotch  Merlin,  generally  believed  to  have  had 
dealings  with  supernatural  powers,  and  to  have  acquired 
thereby  knowledge  of  future  events. 

Professor  Child  was  even  inclined  to  attribute  to  Thomas 
an  account  of  his  adventures  with  the  Elf-queen.2  "All  four 
of  the  complete  versions  [of  the  Romance  and  Prophecies] 
speak  of  an  older  story.  .  .  .  The  older  story,  if  any, 
must  be  the  work  of  Thomas."  Yet  Professor  Child  him- 
self says  that  the  appearance  of  the  first  person  in  part 
of  the  story  is  without  significance.  Any  evidence  that 
Thomas  was  the  author  of  this  or  any  story  about  himself, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find.  We  can  never  hope,  unless 
fresh  MSS.  are  forthcoming,  to  identify  any  verse  as 
Thomas's  own. 

As  for  the  authorship  of  The  Romance  and  Prophecies, 
the  poem  itself  furnishes  no  real  clue.  The  narrative  begins 
in  the  first  person,  but  changes  to  the  third,  lapsing  once 
for  a  moment  into  the  first.  So,  as  Murray  says,  "  it  is 
difficult  to  say  whether  it  even  claims  to  be  the  work  of 
Thomas  "  (Murray,  p.  xxiii).  Of  any  other  author  there  is 
no  trace.  Even  the  nationality  of  the  poet  seems  uncertain. 
Murray  seems  to  assume  that  although  some  of  the  MSS. 
have  been  copied  and  changed  by  Englishmen  the  poem 
was  written  by  a  Scotchman ;  and  the  very  nature  of  the 
topics  treated  in  the  second  and  third  fytts  would,  as  Pro- 
fessor Child  has  said,3  tend  to  confirm  this  view.  Brandl, 

1  Child,  Ballads  (1882-1898),  I,  317-329;  Murray,  T.  of  E.,  App.  I, 
II,  and  III;  Brandl,  T.  of  E.,  pp.  117  ff. 

2  Child,  Ballads,  I,  318. 

3  Child,  Ballads,  I,  319.     Yet  how  are  we  to  explain  the  popularity 
in  England,  attested  by  the  English  MSS.,  of  this  poem  devoted  to 
the  Scotch  wars? 

4 


378  JOSEPHINE    M.    BUENHAM. 

however,    shows   that   the    language    might    be   that    of  a 
northern    Englishman   just   as    well    as    of   a    Scotchman.1 
He  finds  difficulty  also    in  the  poet's  emphasis  on  Scotch 
reverses,  and  his  bitter  reviling  of  the  Countess  of  Dunbar. 
(Brandl,  pp.  41  f.).      Still    more    serious   is    the    confusion 
Brandl    discovers    in    Murray's    interpretation  of  the   first 
prophecy    in    the    second    fytt.      In    this    passage,    which 
Murray  understands  as  referring  to  1333,  we  have  Baliols, 
Erasers,  Corny ns — families    on    different    sides    in    1333 — 
joined  in  one  anathema.     BrandFs  explanation  is  simpler: 
that  the  passage  refers  to  the  defection  of  Baliol  and  others 
from    England  in    1295,   and   is  therefore  to  be    regarded 
as   an  English    prophecy    against   all  these   persons.     The 
nationality  of  the  author  is  nowise    indicated  by  the  fact 
that  the  Scotch  Thomas  is  his  authority ;  for  in  a  MS.  earlier 
than  1320   we  have  a  prophecy,  ascribed  to  Thomas,  in  a 
southern  or  south-midland  dialect.2     The  single  trait  which 
seems  indubitably  Scottish  is  the  prediction  of  victory  for 
the   Scots   at    Halidon    Hill — if    indeed    the   transcriber's 
JEldone  hille  is  to  be  so  read — in  the  oldest  MS.,  the  Thorn- 
ton.    The  later  MSS.,  conforming  to  fact,  assign  the  victory 
to  the  English.     May   we  not  infer  that  this  part  of  the 
poem,  at  least,  was  written  by  a  Scotchman  on  the  eve  of 
Halidon  Hill?   With  it  we  should  perhaps  link  the  romance 
and   the   introduction  of  the    second    fytt,  with   which  its 
connection  seems  close.    '  The  passage  preceding,  relating  to 
the  Baliols,  Comyns,  and  Erasers,  may  be  an  old  prophecy 
coming  down  from  the  year  1295,  and  interpolated  by  some 
transcriber;  and  the  whole  poem, — originally,  it  may  well 

1  Brandl,  pp.  41,  51.     He  also  suggests   (p.  74)   "  dass  der  dichter, 
wie  er  seine  prophezeiungen  fur  ein  jahrhundert  alter  ausgab  als  sie 
waren,  auch  seiner  sprache  ein  archaisierendes  colorit  zu  leihen  ver- 
sucht  habe." 

2  MS.  Harl.  2253  If.  127,  col.  2.     See  Murray,  pp.  xviii  f. 


A   STUDY    OF   THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  379 

be,  the  work  of  a  Scot, — may  have  been  enlarged  and 
altered  by  some  transcriber  antecedent  to  x  and  y. 

The  date  of  the  poem  in  its  present  form  can  be  pretty 
clearly  determined.  Murray  points  out  (p.  xxiv)  that  all 
the  events  of  the  second  fytt  are  "historical  and  easily 
identified/'  and  that  with  the  exception  of  the  battle  of 
Halidon  Hill,  which  comes  first, — or,  if  we  follow  BrandPs 
interpretation,  first  after  the  lines  relating  to  1295 — these 
events  are  arranged  in  chronological  order  from  1298  to 
1388.  Fytt  II,  then,  was  completed  after  1388.  The 
second  prophecy  of  Fytt  III  seems  to  refer  to  Henry  IV's 
invasion  in  1401 ;  the  rest  is  unintelligible.  Part  of  Fytt 
III  is  thus  seen  to  belong  to  the  year  1401  or  later.  "The 
oldest  MS.  of  the  poem,  the  Thornton,  itself  clearly  not  an 
original,  dates  to  1430—1440,  some  time  before  which  the 
poem  must  have  existed  in  its  present  form,  so  that  we  have 
the  period  between  1402  and  1440,  with  strong  reasons  in 
favour  of  the  earlier  date,  for  its  completion." 

But  the  prediction  about  Halidon  Hill,  coming  out  of 
order,  before  the  chronological  list  in  Fytt  II,  and  being 
closely  associated  with  the  introduction  of  the  fytt,  stands 
alone.  The  question 

Wha  sail  be  kynge,  wha  sail  be  none, 

was,  as  Murray  shows,  scarcely  likely  to  be  asked  after 
1401.  The  Thornton  MS.,  moreover,  seems  to  predict 
Scottish  victory  in  that  battle — a  prophecy  which  events 
proved  mistaken.  This  part  of  the  poem,  then,  would  seem 
to  date  from  the  year  of  the  battle,  1333.  Murray  con- 
cludes (p.  xxv)  "that  this  part,  with  perhaps  Fytt  I,  the 
conclusion,  and  an  indefinite  portion  of  Fytt  III,  which  is  in 
all  probability  a  melange  of  early  traditional  prophecies,  may 
have  been  written  on  the  eve  of  Halidon  Hill,  with  a  view 
to  encourage  the  Scots  in  that  battle."  Around  this  nucleus 


380  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

other  prophecies  would  naturally  be  clustered,  and  there  is 
no  telling  how  many  times  these  predictions  may  have  been 
revised  or  augmented  before  the  version  of  1402-1440  was 
written. 

FORM  AND  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  POEM. 

The  most  interesting  part  of  the  poem,  and  the  one  which 
I  shall  especially  treat,  is  the  first  fytt.  In  brief,  the  story 
is  this :  Thomas,  lying  under  a  "  semely "  tree  on  Huntley 
banks,  sees  a  "  lady  gay "  come  riding  over  the  lea. 
Thinking  her  the  Virgin  Mary,  he  runs  to  meet  her.  As 
they  meet  at  Eldon  tree,  Thomas  addresses  the  lady  as 
"  Queen  of  Heaven,"  but  she  disclaims  the  title,  saying  that 
she  is  of  another  country.  When  Thomas  pleads  for  her 
love,  she  warns  him  that  if  she  grants  it,  that  will  fordo 
all  her  beauty.  But  the  lover  persists,  and  the  lady  yields. 
It  is  as  she  had  said ;  Thomas  presently  finds  that  the  lady 
has  become  a  gruesome  and  loathly  object.  She  now  tells 
him  that  he  must  take  leave  of  sun  and  moon,  and  go  with 
her,  not  to  see  earth  again  for  a  twelvemonth.  Regard- 
less of  his  pleadings  (he  has  forgotten  that  he  said  a  little 
while  before 


Here  my  trouthe  j  will  the  plyghte 
Whethir  ]?ou  will  in  heuene  or  helle), 


she  leads  him  into  Eldon  hill.  For  three  days  he  wades  in 
water  to  the  knee,  in  utter  darkness,  hearing  always  the 
"  swoghynge  of  the  flode."  When  at  last  he  complains 
of  hunger  the  lady  leads  him  into  "  a  faire  herbere." 
Naturally  Thomas  reaches  for  some  of  the  fruit  which 
grows  there.  But  the  lady  checks  him ;  if  he  takes  this 
fruit,  "  the  fiend  "  will  "  atteynt  "  him.  Bidding  him  lay 
his  head  on  her  knee,  she  points  out  to  him  the  roads  to 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS   OF   EBCELDOUNE.  381 

heaven,  paradise,  purgatory,  hell,  and  the  castle  which  is 

hers 

And  be  kynges  of  this  Countree.1 

She  would  rather  be  hanged  and  drawn  than  that  the  king 
should  know  what  has  passed  between  her  and  Thomas. 
For  this  reason,  possibly,  she  enjoins  Thomas,  when  they 
come  to  the  castle,  to  answer  none  but  her.  Thomas  now 
finds  that  the  lady  is  as  fair  as  at  first.  They  proceed  to 
the  castle,  which  is  somewhat  fully  described.  After  a 
certain  time  spent  there,  Thomas  is  told  by  his  love  that  he 
must  return  to  Eldon  hill.  He  protests,  saying  he  has  been 
in  the  castle  only  three  days ;  but  is  told  that  the  time  is 
three  years  instead.  The  fiend  is  about  to  "  fetch  his  fee  " 
from  "this  folk/'  and  Thomas,  being  "mekill  mane  and 
hende,"  is  likely  to  be  chosen.  Back  once  more  at  the  Eldon 
tree,  Thomas  begs  for  a  token  as  she  turns  to  leave  him, 
that  he  may  say  he  has  spoken  with  her. 

"To  harpe,  or  carpe,  whare-so  bou  gose, 
Thomas,  bou  sail  hafe  be  chose  sothely," 
And  he  saide,  "  harpynge  kepe  j  none ; 
ffor  tonge  es  chefe  of  mynstralsye." 

"  If  bou  will  spelle,  or  tales  telle, 

(Thomas,  bou  sail  neuer  lesynge  lye." 

Not  yet  satisfied,  he  begs  her  to  remain  and  tell  him  of 
some  ferly.  The  rest  of  the  poem  is  composed  of  the  pre- 
dictions which  the  lady  utters  in  response  to  this  request, 
often  repeated.  Finally  she  leaves  Thomas,  with  a  promise 
to  meet  him  at  Huntley  banks. 

In  this  story  the  MSS.  substantially  agree.2     The  Lans- 
downe  has  two  additional  passages  in  Fytt  I.     The  first, 

1  Neither  here  nor  elsewhere  in  the  poem  are  elves,  fairies,  or  Elf- 
land  named. 

2  The  Cambridge  MS.  makes  Thomas's  stay  seven  years. 

* 


382  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

lines  141-156,  represents  Thomas  as  thinking  the  "loathly 
lady  "  was  the  devil,  and  as  being  rebuked  for  this  thought. 
The  passage  is,  as  Murray  says  (p.  Ixxii),  unworthy,  and  is 
awkwardly  interpolated,  for  lines  153-4  give  a  clumsy 
rendering  of  a  thought  immediately  repeated  in  its  proper 
place,  line  159.  The  other  passage  is  one  (lines  237-252) 
in  which,  after  reaching  the  other  world,  Thomas  inquires 
why  the  lady  lost  her  beauty  on  Eldon  hill,  and  is  told  that 
the  double  change  of  form  somehow  keeps  the  knowledge 
of  her  misdeed  from  the  king. 

Distinct  as  the  romance  is  from  the  prophecies  which 
follow  it,  it  is  closely  linked  in  structure.  The  first  fytt 
closes  with  a  "  derne  "  saying  about  a  falcon,  and  the  lady's 
stereotyped  formula  (used  later  again  and  again)  of  farewell. 
Thomas's  request  for  a  token  and  its  answer  appear  in  the 
opening  of  the  second  fytt,  and  the  first  words  of  prophecy 
are  made  to  follow  very  naturally  from  this.  And  at  the 
close  of  the  third  fytt,  in  spite  of  the  amount  of  very 
different  material  which  has  intervened,  the  relations  of 
Thomas  and  the  lady  are  not  forgotten ;  Thomas  weeps  at 
parting,  and  she  promises  to  meet  him  again.  Further  than 
this  the  prophetic  fytts  need  not  detain  us,  except  that 
we  may  recur  to  the  fact  that  they  contain  at  least  two 
passages — one  apparently  relating  to  1295,  the  other  to 
1333 — which  seem  to  have  been  independent  earlier 
prophecies. 

One  very  curious  and  somewhat  puzzling  feature  of  this 
poem  is  the  change  of  person  before  alluded  to.  For  the 
first  seventy-two  lines  the  story  is  told  in  the  first  person ; 
then  the  third  appears,  with  Thomas  as  subject.  In  line 
276  the  first  person  is  used  again,  but  only  for  the  moment. 
"In  the  prophecies  from  line  317  to  672  the  speeches  of 
Thomas  and  the  lady  are  merely  quoted  without  even  so 
much  as  an  introductory  ( he  said '  or  '  she  said/  so  that 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  383 

nothing  can  be  determined  as  to  the  professed  narrator " 
(Murray,  p.  xxiv).  The  conclusion,  as  Murray  has  pointed 
out  (loc.  cit.),  is  distinctly  of  the  third  person,  in  spirit  as 
well  as  in  form. 

"  Of  swilke  an  bird  mane  wold  j  here 
]?at  couth  Me  telle  of  swilke  ferly,"  etc. 

Brandl's  explanation  (Brandl,  p.  13)  that  by  the  change 
of  person  the  reader  is  bewildered  and  so  brought  to  the 
proper  state  of  mind  for  receiving  prophecies  must,  I  think, 
be  rejected  as  far-fetched.  A  more  plausible  view  is  that 
the  writer  of  the  poem  used  as  one  of  his  sources,  but  did 
not  entirely  assimilate,  an  earlier  story  in  the  first  person ; 
or  that  the  present  romance  is,  as  a  whole,  merely  a 
redaction  of  one  in  the  first  person.  The  motive  for  change 
of  person  is  readily  conjectured :  the  poem  is  to  be  given  in 
the  third  person  that  the  impressive  name  of  Thomas  the 
Rhymer  may  be  thoroughly  understood  to  belong  to  it.  It 
is  even  possible  that  the  original  poet,  beginning  by  con- 
vention in  the  first  person,  may  have  turned  to  the  third  to 
draw  attention  to  the  name  of  Thomas ; l  but  this  view 
offers  no  explanation  of  the  third  person  at  line  276.  The 
exact  significance  of  these  changes  we  cannot,  however, 
determine  without  further  study  of  the  material  and  form 
of  the  poem.  As  for  the  reference  in  lines  83  and  123  to 
an  older  "  story e,"  if  it  be  not,  as  Brandl  thinks  (p.  14),  a 
mere  literary  device,  it  would  tend  to  confirm  the  hypothesis 
of  an  earlier  work  used  as  source  for  all  or  part  of  the 
romance. 

The  opening  lines  of  the  romance — the  very  lines  which 

1  Cf.  Adam  Davy's  fourth  and  fifth  Dreams;  especially  the  fourth, 
E.  E.  T.  S.,  No.  69,  pp.  14,  16.  Here  we  have  vacillation  from  one 
person  to  the  other,  but  nothing  like  the  unexpected  momentary  lapse 
of  line  276. 


384  JOSEPHINE   M.    BUENHAM. 

are  characterized  by  the  use  of  the  first  person — deserve 
separate  consideration.  If  one  were  to  read  them  without 
knowledge  of  the  story  to  follow,  one  would  doubtless 
suppose  them  to  form  the  induction  to  a  vision  of  some  sort. 
We  find  a  conventional  opening  in  the  first  person,  with  a 
definite  date  for  the  narrative — "this  endres  day" — the 
usual  walk  on  a  May  morning,  the  usual  position  of 
the  hero — lying  under  a  tree.  We  miss  the  statement  that 
sleep  and  a  dream  came  upon  him.  But  the  apparition  of 
a  lady  is  just  what  one  might  expect  in  a  vision.  The 
"  season-mo^/","  to  be  sure,  appears  in  romances  with  no 
visionary  character,1  but  in  connection  with  the  walk  and  the 
use  of  the  first  person,  it  seems  to  belong  distinctly  to 
visions.  Ladies,  again,  of  necessity,  appear  in  many  stories 
and  lays.2  In  other  stories,  too,  we  may  have  the  sleep 
under  a  tree  (as  in  Sir  Orfeo)  •  but  not  usually  in  connec- 
tion with  the  walk  and  the  first  person.3  It  is  the  combi- 
nation of  all  these  elements — the  specified  date,  the  May 
morning,  with  singing  birds,  etc.,  the  walk,  the  use  of  the 

1  For  use  of  the  season-motif  in  poems  not  recounting  visions,  see 
Richard  Cceur  de  Lion,  Part  n  (in  Weber's  Metrical  Romances,  vol. 
n) ;  Heuline  and  Eglantine   (Le  Grand,  Fabliaux,  tr.  by  G.  L.  Way, 
vol.  ii) ;  The  Testament  of  Cresseid,  etc. 

2  And  sometimes  fairies  appear  when  one  has  been  sleeping  under 
certain  trees.     Cf.  Tydorel  (Romania,  vm,  67) ;  Sir  Orfeo,  in  which 
Heurodys,  lying  under  an  ympe-tree,  visits  fairyland  in  a  dream,  just 
as  she  is  the  next  day  compelled  to  do  in  reality;   Tamlane,  version 
G  26,  K  14  (Child,  Ballads,  I,  350,  iv,  456) ;  Child,  Ballads,  I,  340, 
in,  505;   G.  L.  Kittredge,  Am.  Jour.  Phil,  vii,  190.     Scott,  Letters 
on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft    (London,   William   Tegg),   p.    125: 
"  Sleeping  on  a  fairy  mount,  within  which  the  fairy  court  happened 
to  be  held  for  a  time,  was  a  very  ready  mode  of  obtaining  a  passage 
for  Elfland."     In  the  conventional  vision,  however,  the  tree  seems  to 
be  merely  a  part  of  the  "May  morning"  machinery.     In  going  to 
sleep  out  of  doors  one  naturally  looks  for  shade.     In  Thomas  of  Er- 
celdoune,  perhaps  we  have  the  two  conceptions  united. 

'  The  first  person  and  the  sleep  appear  in  the  ballad  of  Tamlane. 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS   OF   EKCELDOUNE.  385 

first  person,  and  the  appearance  of  a  lady — which  seems 
typical  of  the  visions.1  The  lady,  too,  if  we  take  into 
account  the  prophetic  fytts,  is  by  no  means  the  ordinary  fay 
of  romance.  On  the  contrary,  she  does  just  what  the  lady  of 
a  vision  should  do ;  she  imparts  instruction.  Or,  to  put  the 
matter  in  another  way,  Thomas  knows  nothing  about  the 
future  of  himself;  he  is  a  passive  recipient  of  knowledge, 
like  the  seer  of  any  vision. 

Analysis  of  the  poem,  then,  brings  to  light  inconsistent 
if  not  disparate  elements  within  it :  a  prophecy  apparently 
English  in  sympathy,  and  dating  from  1295;  a  prophecy 
perhaps  written  and  circulated  to  encourage  the  Scotch 
before  the  battle  of  Halidon  Hill ;  a  vision  induction  in  the 
first  person ;  and  traces  of  an  older  "  storye,"  appearing 

10n  the  vision-type  see  Langlois,  Origines  et  Sources  du  Roman 
de  la  Rose,  jfp:  56,  57;  Triggs,  edition  of  Lydgate's  Assembly  of  Gods, 
pp.  Iv  f ;  and  Schick's  Introduction  to  The  Temple  of  Glas,  cxviii  ff . 
On  the  season-motif,  see  Triggs,  Assembly  of  Gods,  liii.  On  the 
dating  of  visions  and  other  poems,  see  C.  G.  Osgood's  Introduction 
to  Pearl,  p.  xvi  (Boston,  1906).  For  visions  opening  with  the  season- 
motif,  the  walk,  and  the  sleep:  The  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman;  the 
Parlement  of  the  Three  Ages;  Winnere  and  Wastour;  Death  and 
Life  in  the  Percy  Folio  MS.;  Douglas's  Prologue  to  the  "  13th"  book 
of  the  ^neid;  Dunbar's  Golden  Targe;  Henryson's  Prologue  to  his 
Moral  Fables.  Cf.  also  the  late  and  very  curious  Armonye  of  Byrdes 
(Hazlitt's  Early  Popular  Poetry,  in,  187),  in  which,  though  there 
is  no  vision,  there  is  an  induction  in  the  conventional  style;  indeed 
the  whole  is  a  sort  of  apotheosis  of  the  May  morning  motif  and  its 
singing  birds.  For  visions  without  the  walk  and  the  outdoor  de- 
scription, though  often  with  mention  of  the  season:  Lydgate's  Assem- 
bly of  Gods  and  Temple  of  Glas;  Dunbar's  Dance  of  the  Seven  Deadly 
sins,  Amendis  to  the  Telyouris  and  Sowtaris  and  The  Tenyeit  Freir 
of  Tungland;  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  and  The  Boke  of  the  Duchesse 
(in  which  the  May  morning  description  appears  in  the  dream)  ;  The 
Parlement  of  Foules;  The  Hous  of  Fame;  Adam  Davy's  Visions; 
Boethius.  For  ladies  of  one  sort  or  another  in  visions:  Boethius, 
Pearl,  Death  and  Life,  etc.  For  the  first  person  in  visions,  any  one 
of  the  above. 


386  JOSEPHINE   M.    BURNHAM. 

first  (line  83)  just  after  the  shifting  of  the  narrative  from 
first  to  third  person.  The  mere  mechanical  structure  of 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune  suggests  at  once  that  its  author  drew 
from  various  sources. 

SOURCES  OF  THE  ROMANCE. 

There  are  several  stories,  any  one  of  which,  were  it  not 
for  the  existence  of  the  others,  might  somewhat  plausibly  be 
affirmed  to  be  the  source  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoune. 

A.  The  general  machinery  of  the  poem  is  paralleled,  as 
Brandl  notes  (p.  131),  in  an  old  Scotch  prophecy  found  in 
a  MS.  ,of  the  fourteenth  century.1  The  poem  begins 

Als  y  yod  on  a  Mounday 

bytwene  Wyltinden  and  Walle 
Me  ane  aftere  brade  waye 

ay  litel  man  y  mette  withalle. 

The  "  little  man "  is  grotesque  in  appearance,  but  of  great 
strength.  The  narrator  asks  where  he  dwells,  and  receives 

the  reply, 

My  wonige  stede  ful  wel  is  dygh 
nou  sone  thou  salt  se  at  hame. 

Terrified,  as  it  seems,  the  other  says, 

For  Godes  mith, 
lat  me  forth  myn  erand  gane. 

But  he  must  go.     After  a  trying  journey — 

"  Stinted  us  broke  no  becke, 
ferlicke  me  thouth  hu  so  mouth  be  " — 

they  go  "  in  at  a  gate  "  to  a  castle  or  court  where  lords  and 

1  Child,  Ballads,  I,  333;  Langtoft's  Chronicle  (ed.  Wright),  n, 
452  ff. 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  387 

ladies  are  enjoying  themselves.  After  the  brief  description 
of  the  place  there  is  a  break.  The  narrator  goes  on  to 
report  a  "  tale  told  on  a  Wednesday  " — that  is,  a  conversa- 
tion in  which  he  interrogates  "  a  mody  barn,"  a  "  merry 
man  "  about  the  outcome  of  the  wars,  and  receives  answers 
couched  in  the  usual  zoological  figures. 

Here  we  have  the  walk ;  the  encounter  with  a  richly- 
dressed  supernatural  person ; l  the  command,  reluctantly 
obeyed,  to  follow  to  a  castle ;  the  difficult  journey ;  and  the 
prophecies  given  through  question  and  answer.2  But  the 
story  is  bald  and  uninteresting  compared  with  that  of 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  and  the  prophecies  are  much  less 
skilfully  combined  with  it.  Even  if  the  ground-plan  of  the 
romance  were  derived  from  this  poem,  its  details  must 
evidently  be  sought  elsewhere.3 

B.  The  Merlin  cycle  offers  another  tempting  parallel, 
combining  romance  with  prophecy  much  more  organically 
than  "Als  y  yod  on  a  Mounday."  I  have  already  pointed 
out  the  general  similarity  between  the  positions  of  Merlin 

1  See  stanzas  i  and  v  of  "  Als  y  yod." 

2  Of.  many  of  the  Irish  prophecies  cited  by  O'Curry :    MS.  Materials 
of  Ancient  Irish  History,  pp.  383  ff. 

3  "Als  y  yod  on  a  Mounday,"  being  a   Scotch   prophecy,  would 
doubtless  be  available  as  a  source  to  a  Scotch  or  Northern  poet  of 
the  fourteenth  century.    And  though  it  appears  in  a  MS.   of  the 
fourteenth  century,  it  may  quite  possibly  in  one  form  or  another  be 
even  older.     Brandl  points  out  a  similarity  of  phrase  between  line 
33  of  the  prophecy, 

Wei  still  I  stod  als  did  the  stane, 
and  line  233  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoune, 

Thomas  still  als  stane  he  stude. 

But  the  phrase  is  not  uncommon.     We  have  it  in  Sir  Gawain  and 
the  Green  Knight  (line  242) : 

&  al  stouned  at  his  steuen,  &  ston-stil  seten. 


388  JOSEPHINE   M.    BUKNHAM. 

and  Thomas  in  popular  thought.  The  two  further  resemble 
each  other  in  being  not  knights,  like  the  heroes  of  most 
fairy-love  tales,  but  prophets.  And  in  the  romance  there  is 
a  coherent  story,  suggesting  the  imprisonment  of  Merlin. 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune  loves  a  damoisele  cacheresse,  who 
detains  him  in  an  other- world  castle.  Of  the  Welsh  prophet 
we  read :  "  Essentially  the  story  places  Merlin  among  the 
many  heroes  of  old  who  fell  victims  to  fairy  blandishments, 
and  were  transported  by  other-world  agencies  to  a  land 
without  return.  .  .  .  The  story  of  his  disappearance  from 
the  world  was  popular  in  the  highest  degree."  l  The  general 
likeness  of  the  two  stories,  and  the  fact  that  the  universally 
known  Merlin  material  could  be  readily  used  by  any  writer, 
suggests  that  the  author  of  our  romance  may  have  had 
Merlin  in  mind.  There  are,  however,  some  distinctions  to 
draw.  The  correspondence  of  the  underground  journey 
with  the  cave  is  not  of  great  importance,  for  this  was  a  very 
common  way  of  reaching  the  other  world.2  The  fairy-love 
in  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  is  uniformly  friendly.  Though 
forced  to  enter  Eldon  Hill  against  his  will,  Thomas  finds 
himself  happy  in  fairy-land.  (In  this  particular  his  experi- 
ence is  more  typical  than  Merlin's.)  Even  his  banishment 
to  earth  was  a  distinct  act  of  kindness.  The  love  of  Merlin 
is  treacherous  and  cruel ;  she  decoys  Merlin  into  the  cave 
and  imprisons  him  there.  Thomas,  so  far  as  the  romance 
testifies,  is  an  ordinary  man.3  He  has  no  prophetic  power 

xLucy  Allen  Paton,  Studies  in  the  Fairy  Mythology  of  Arthurian 
Romance  (Radcliffe  College  Monographs,  No.  3),  p.  224. 

2Cf.  Wright,  St.  Patrick's  Purgatory  (London,  1844),  pp.  81  ff., 
85;  Am.  Jour.  Phil,  vii,  194 ff.;  the  story  of  Oisin  (Miss  Paton's 
Fairy  Mythology,  p.  215);  Mapes,  De  Nug.  Cur.,  p.  16;  Giraldus 
Cambrensis,  It.  Earn.,  liber  I,  ch.  8;  Tarn  Lin,  I,  stanza  31  (Child, 
Ballads,  I,  354)  ;  Sir  Orfeo. 

8  The  popular  stories  of  the  nineteenth  century,  representing 
Thomas  as  being  taught  by  the  fairies  in  childhood  recall,  of  course, 
the  myth  concerning  Merlin's  origin.  These  stories  may  or  may  not 
be  as  old  as  our  poem. 


A    STUDY   OF   THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  389 

without  the  teaching  of  the  fairy  queen,  no  necromantic 
arts  to  impart  to  his  lady-love.  The  only  striking  point 
of  contact,  then,  is  the  love  of  the  prophet-hero  for  a 
huntress.  But  to  have  the  fairy  lady  ride  is  common 
enough.1  Even  if  horn  and  hounds  be  added  to  her  equip- 
ment, through  the  suggestion  of  some  Merlin  tale,  there  is 
nothing  to  show  that  the  whole  romance  is  based  on  such 
a  story  of  Merlin.  Later  I  shall  have  occasion  to  show 
that  the  huntress  may  have  entered  the  story  in  another  way. 
Nor  does  Merlin  the  Wild  offer  a  more  satisfactory 
parallel.  In  the  Vita  Merlini,  Merlin  Sylvestris,  or  the 
Wild,  instead  of  being  carried  away  to  the  other  world, 
lives  the  life  of  a  wild  beast  in  the  woods.  He  resembles 
Thomas  in  being  eventually  restored.  But  here  again, 
Merlin  is  prophet  independently  of  his  relations  with  the 
fay.  Before  his  madness 

Rex  erat  et  vates:   Demetarumque  superbis 
Jura  dabat  populis,  ducibusque  futura  canebat.2 

Again,  too,  the  fairy  love  of  Merlin  is  unkind  and  treacher- 
ous. The  incident  of  the  fruit  in  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  may 
indeed  suggest  the  poisoned  apples  which  drove  Merlin 
mad.3  It  might  be  maintained  that  the  fruit  forbidden 
Thomas  was  of  the  same  character,  and  conceivably  the 
original  reading  may  have  suggested  madness  instead  of 
punishment  in  hell  as  the  penalty  of  eating.  But  the  more 
obvious  explanation,  if  we  are  to  postulate  any  older  version, 
or  the  influence  of  any  traditional  conception,  is  the  danger 

1  Child,  Ballads,  I,  339. 

2  Vita  Merlini,  lines  21,  22. 

3Brandl,  p.  23  f.  Stephens  in  his  Literature  of  the  Kymry  (p. 
232)  shows  that  the  name  of  Merlin  is  associated  with  apples,  but 
gives  nothing  to  throw  light  on  the  relationship  of  Thomas  and 
Merlin. 


390  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

of  eating  anything  in  the  other  world.1  The  points  of 
similarity  between  the  stories  of  Thomas  and  Merlin  Sylves- 
tris  are  only,  then,  that  each  contains  a  story  of  fruit  better 
not  eaten,  and  that,  unlike  Merlin  Ambrosius,  both  heroes 
are  restored  to  their  homes. 

C.  Another  correspondence  which  has  impressed  some 
readers  is  that  between  Thomas  of  Ereeldoune  and  Tann- 
hauser.  In  her  Legends  of  the  Wagner  Drama,  Miss  Weston 
speaks  of  a  connection  between  the  two  not  yet  worked  out, 
and  quotes  Simrock  as  saying  that  Ercildoune  is  equivalent 
to  Horselberg.2  Fiske,  in  his  Myths  and  Myth-makers  (p. 
40)  draws  the  parallel  with  less  hesitation,  and  gives  the 
same  etymology.  I  shall  try  to  point  out  certain  facts 
which  must  be  taken  into  account  in  any  examination  of 
this  theory.  In  each  story,  it  is  true,  the  hero — a  poet  who 
really  lived  in  the  thirteenth  century — is  lured  away  to  an 
abode  within  the  hills  by  a  supernatural  woman  or  goddess. 
"Thomas  remains  with  her  for  seven3  years  (a  period  also 
assigned  by  a  Flemish  version  of  the  legend  to  Tannhauser's 
stay").4  But  the  number  seven  is  by  no  means  peculiar  to 
this  incident ;  the  time  of  any  sojourn  in  the  other  world 
would  naturally  be  expressed  in  threes  or  sevens.  Other 
features  found  in  these  two  stories  are  common  also  to  many 

*As  to  eating  in  the  other  world,  see  Child,  Ballads,  I,  322;  Hart- 
land,  Science  of  Fairy  Tales,  ch.  ill;  Meyer  and  Nutt,  Voyage  of 
Bran,  I,  299 ;  Scott,  Demonology  and  Witchcraft,  p.  125.  It  is  surely 
an  exasperating  predicament  in  which  Thomas  finds  himself  His 
complaint  of  hunger  leads  to  his  being  conducted  to  the  arbor  full 
of  fruit,  and  then  he  is  forbidden  to  touch  or  taste. 

2  Simrock  says :  "  Auch  erinnert  allerdings  Horselberg  an  Ercil- 
doune."— Deutsche  Mythologie  (ed.  1874),  p.  386.  He  also  compares 
Thomas  with  Tannhauser  (ibid.,  p.  330). 

8  In  the  Cambridge  MS.  and  the  ballads. 

4  Weston,  Leg.  Wagner  Drama,  p.  351. 


A    STUDY   OF    THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  391 

tales.1  The  fact  that  both  heroes  were  poets  need  not  lead 
us  to  conclude  that  somewhat  similar  accounts  of  them 
have  the  same  root.  On  the  contrary,  supposing  that  the 
basis  of  both  stories  were  the  same,  it  is  a  most  singular 
coincidence  that  it  should  come  to  be  associated  with  two 
poets,  of  different  countries,  who  were  contemporaries.  If 
the  legend  is  much  older  than  either  of  the  two  poets,  and 
Ercildoune  is  really  Horselberg,  the  application  of  the  myth 
to  two  contemporary  poets  is  yet  more  singular.  This 
supposed  equivalence  of  the  two  names  seems  to  be  the 
clinching  argument  for  the  identity  of  the  two  stories.  But 
what  does  this  imply?  That  the  name  Ercildoune  was 
given  in  remote  heathen  days,2  or  shortly  thereafter,  and 
that  connected  with  it  was  a  tradition  of  a  goddess  or  fay 
luring  away  a  human  lover,  which  lingered  till  the  thir- 
teenth century  and  then  attached  itself  in  Scotland  as  in 
Germany  to  a  local  poet.  If  this  were  true,  should  we  not 
expect  to  find  some  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  story 
before  the  days  of  Thomas,  some  ballad  or  tale?  It 
may  be  that  such  evidence  exists.  Until  it  is  brought 
forward,  however,  it  is  not  necessary  to  connect  Thomas 
with  Tannhauser. 

D.  A  theory  which  stubbornly  reappears  is  that  Ogier 
the  Dane  was  the  original  of  Thomas  in  the  romance. 
Professor  Child  (Ballads,  I,  319)  states  this  view  emphati- 

1  On  the  underground  abode,  see  supra,  p.  388.  .  For  the  fairy  love, 
see  Mapes,  De  Nug.  Cur.,  pp.  70,  77,  801;   Gir.  Cam.  It.  Kam.,  I, 
ch.  5,  10;  the  story  of  Owain  in    the  Mabinogion-,  Cuchulin's  Sick- 
bed;  the   story  of  Oisin    (Miss   Paton,   pp.   215    and  243)  ;    Merlin 
stories;   lays  of  Lanval,  Graelent,  etc.;   numerous  ballads  in  Child, 
Ballads,  i. 

2  If,    indeed,   it   is    possible   to   regard   "  Ercil "    as    cognate   with 
"  Horsel "   in  case   we   derive  the   latter   from  Asen,   or  even  from 
Hor-sed    (Simrock,  Deut.  Myth.,  p.   386). 


392  JOSEPHINE    M.    BUKNHAM. 

cally,  and  he  is  followed  by  F.  F.  Henderson  (Scottish 
Vernacular  Literature,  p.  23).  The  surviving  versions  of 
Ogier's  other-world  experiences  belong  to  the  fourteenth 
century  and  later,  and  have,  indeed,  not  been  published  in 
full.  (Apparently,  however,  there  were  earlier  versions.)  * 
The  story  as  it  is  known  from  extracts  and  summaries  is 
thus  outlined  by  Professor  Child  : 

"  Six  fairies  made  gifts  to  Ogier  at  his  birth.  By  the  favor  of 
five  he  was  to  be  the  strongest,  the  bravest,  the  most  successful,  the 
handsomest,  the  most  susceptible  of  knights:  Morgan's  gift  was  that, 
after  a  long  and  fatiguing  career  of  glory,  he  should  live  with  her 
at  her  castle  of  Avalon,  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  still  longer  youth 
and  never  wearying  pleasures.  When  Ogier  had  passed  his  hundredth 
year,  Morgan  took  measures  to  carry  out  her  promise.  She  had  him 
wrecked,  while  he  was  on  a  voyage  to  France,  on  a  loadstone  rock 
conveniently  near  to  Avalon,  which  Avalon  is  a  little  way  this  side 
of  the  terrestial  Paradise.  In  due  course  he  comes  to  an  orchard, 
and  there  he  eats  an  apple,  which  affects  him  so  peculiarly  that  he 
looks  for  nothing  but  death.  He  turns  to  the  east,  and  sees  a  beauti- 
ful lady,  magnificently  attired.  He  takes  her  for  the  Virgin;  she 
corrects  his  error,  and  announces  herself  as  Morgan  the  Fay.  She 
puts  a  ring  on  his  finger  which  restores  his  youth,  and  then  places 
a  crown  on  his  head  which  makes  him  forget  all  the  past.  For  two 
hundred  years  Ogier  lived  in  such  delights  as  no  worldly  being  can 
imagine,  and  the  two  hundred  years  seemed  to  him  but  twenty; 
Christendom  was  then  in  danger,  and  even  Morgan  thought  his 
presence  was  required  in  the  world.  The  crown  being  taken  from 
his  head  the  memory  of  the  past  revived,  and  with  it  the  desire  to 
return  to  France.  He  was  sent  back  by  the  fairy,  properly  provided, 
vanquished  the  foes  of  Christianity  in  a  short  space,  and  after  a 
time  was  brought  back  by  Morgan  the  Fay  to  Avalon." 

This  does  indeed,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  offer  more  corre- 
spondences with  our  poem  than  any  story  hitherto  considered. 
Morgan's  gift  to  Ogier  at  birth  may  possibly  be  compared 
with  the  popular  tradition  of  Thomas's  education  in  fairy- 
land. To  the  romance  Ogier  shows  a  closer  parallelism. 
In  the  Ogier  story,  as  in  the  romance,  we  have  a  journey  to 

1Miss  Paton,  Fairy  Mythology,  p.  74. 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  393 

the  other  world,  in  this  case  without  a  preliminary  appear- 
ance of  the  fay.  Ogier  eats  fruit  with  dire  results,  as 
Thomas  would  have  done  had  he  not  been  prevented.  (Yet 
it  is  not  clear  whether  this  is  not  part  of  Morgan's  plan.) 
A  beautiful  lady  appears,  whom  Ogier,  like  Thomas,  takes 
for  the  Virgin.  The  country  of  Avalon  is  near  the  terres- 
trial Paradise ;  and  in  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  the  ways  to 
both  Paradise  and  the  unnamed  country  we  may  call  fairy- 
land were  pointed  out.  Ogier  sojourns,  like  Thomas,  for  a 
time  that  seems  much  shorter  than  it  is.  Like  Thomas,  too, 
he  is  sent  back  to  earth ;  not,  after  much  insistence,  per- 
mitted to  go.  Then  there  is  a  final  return  of  the  hero  to 
the  other- world,  paralleled  by  the  popular  story  of  Thomas. 
There  is,  surely,  a  general  similarity  between  the  two  stories, 
or  cycles. 

On  the  other  hand,  certain  details  in  these  romances  are 
quite  dissimilar.  Ogier  is  not  a  prophet  but  a  knight ;  he 
is  claimed  by  the  fay  at  birth ;  the  mode  of  his  journey  to 
the  other- world  is  altogether  unlike  Thomas's  ;  *  the  fairy- 
lady  appears  to  him  at  the  end,  not  at  the  beginning  of  this 
journey ;  a  ring  of  youth  and  a  crown  of  forgetfulness  are 
given  him. 

What  of  the  details  which  are  alike?  Fairy  fruits  are 
not  peculiar  to  these  two  stories.2  Fays  are  elsewhere 
mistaken  for  the  Virgin.3  The  connection  of  Avalon  and 

1  Except   that  both   have   to   traverse  water.     But  Thomas,   after 
first  entering  the  hill,  wades  in  water  to  his  knee.     Ogier  is  trans- 
ported in  a  ship  which  seems  to  be  a  variant  of  the  magic  boat 
employed  by  many  enamoured  fairies.     See  Paton,  Fairy  Mythology, 
p.  16,  note  1. 

2  See  supra,  p.  390.     It  seems  to  have  been  overlooked  that  though 
tne  apple — the  fruit  associated  with  Merlin  and  Ogier — grows  in  the 
arbor  to  which  Thomas  is  led,  the  fruit  which  Thomas  attempts  to 
pluck  is  not  specified. 

8Cf.  S6billot,  Oontes  Populaires  de  la  H.  Bretagne  (Paris,  1880), 
n,  31;  Hist.  Litt.,  xxx,  93;  Child,  Ballads,  I,  319,  note;  m,  504. 
(References  given  by  Miss  Paton,  p.  77.)  0 

5 


394  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

of  the  fairy  castle  with  the  terrestrial  Paradise,  though 
certainly  an  interesting  correspondence,  is  to  be  regarded 
in  each  case  simply  as  the  result  of  the  widespread  con- 
fusion of  Christian  and  fairy  other- worlds.1  Avalon,  in  the 
Ogier  story,  is  perhaps  placed  near  the  terrestrial  Paradise 
to  emphasize  the  felicity  of  life  there.  In  Thomas  of  Ercel- 
doune  the  poet  evidently  wishes  to  give  a  complete  view  of 
other-world  regions,  doubtless,  as  Brandl  suggests  (p.  24), 
in  order  to  establish  the  authority  of  Thomas  by  ascribing 
to  him  a  knowledge  of  regions  forbidden  other  living  men. 
Another  point  of  similarity — the  illusion  concerning  the 
lapse  of  time  in  fairyland — is  a  mere  commonplace.2  Such 
resemblances  evidently  give  very  slight  ground  for  deriva- 
tion of  one  romance  from  the  other.  On  the  other  hand,  in 
the  case  of  that  somewhat  remarkable  feature,  the  definite 
dismissal  of  the  hero  by  his  fairy-love,  the  reasons  given  in 
the  two  stories  are  quite  different.  Ogier  is  spared  for  a 
time  to  the  needs  of  Christendom ;  Thomas  is  sent  back  to 
earth  that  he  may  escape  the  tiend  to  hell.3  To  sum  up,  the 
points  of  similarity  between  Ogier  and  Thomas  of  Erceldoune 
are  mainly  from  stock  fairy  material,  and  there  are  impor- 
tant differences  between  them.  We  must  search  elsewhere 
for  the  main  source  of  our  romance. 

E.    None  of  the  stories   thus  far  examined  throws  any 

1  Cf.  Wright,  St.  Patrick's  Purgatory,  p.  82. 

2  Cf.  Mapes,  De  Nug.  Cur.,  p.  16;  Wright,  8t.  Patrick's  Purgatory, 
p.  93;   Baring  Gould,   Curious  Myths  of  the  Middle  Ages,   p.   219; 
Miss  Paton's  Fairy  Mythology,  pp.  2,  69,  211,  n.  5,  215;  Hartland's 
Science  of  Fairy  Tales,  chs.  7,  8,  9,  passim-,  Rom.,  vin,  51  ff.;  Se"billot, 
Contes  Pop.,  n,  36;  Meyer  and  Nutt,  I,  143. 

3  For  the  tiend  to  hell,  see  Lady  Wilde,  Ancient  Legends  of  Ireland, 
I,  70;  Scott,  Bord.  Mins.  (Edinburgh,  1861),  n,  325;  Child,  Ballads, 
V,  215;  Tamlane,  versions  A,  B,  C,  D,  G,  H,  I,  J;  Scott,  Demonology 
and  Witchcraft,  p.  127.     This  seems  to  be  distinctly  a  folk-lore  con- 
ception, and  altogether  dissonant  with  the  Ogier  material. 


A   STUDY    OF   THOMAS    OF    EECELDOUNE.  395 

light  on  the  "  loathly-lady "  incident  in  Thomas,  the  grue- 
some transformation  of  the  fay.  Professor  Child,  indeed, 
holding  that  we  have  here  the  Ogier  story  in  disguise,  says 
that  the  episode  has  properly  no  place  in  the  poem  (Ballads, 
I,  320).  That  it  does  probably  belong  to  the  story  is  shown 
by  the  firm  way  in  which  it  is  joined  to  the  rest,  and  by 
the  fact  that  it  appears  twice,  and  at  suitable  points.  In 
any  case,  however,  we  must  look  further  for  a  source  from 
which  the  incident  could  have  been  derived,  either  detached 
or  as  an  integral  part  of  a  longer  story.  Brandl,  evidently 
regarding  .it  as  an  essential  part  of  the  romance,  thinks  that 
the  poet  borrowed  from  the  Anturs  of  Arthur  and  from  some 
folk-tale  resembling  the  story  of  Meilerius  told  by  Giraldus 
Cambrensis.  Of  the  latter,  he  says  (p.  20) : 

"  Mit  dieser  als  volkssage  iiberlieferten  darstellung  1st  die  unsers 
dichters  in  wesentlichen  punkten,  besonders  in  der  verwandlung  der 
schonheit  und  in  der  verleihung  dauernder  weissagungsgabe,  jeden- 
falls  verwandter  als  mit  den  elfenliebschaften,  welche  manche  kunst- 
dichter  erzahlen." 

Later  (p.  21),  he  sums  up  his  views  : 

"  Nach  alle  dem  halte  ich  es  fur  das  wahrscheinlichste,  dass  unser 
dichter  den  kern  seiner  einkleidung  aus  mtindlichen  quellen,  teilweise 
mit  anlehnung  an  Aunt.  Arth.  und  die  genannte  altschottische  pro- 
phezeiung,1  geschopft  hat." 

To  consider  first  the  Anturs  of  Arthur.  Brandl  sees  in 
Guinevere's  mother  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  fairy-love 
of  Thomas  : 

"  Der  prophezeiende  geist,  allerdings  keine  elfin,  war  auch  vorher 
eine  konigin  und  the  fayereste  of  alle  gewesen  und  dann  ebenfalls 
durch  liebessiinden  schwarz,  nackt  und  scheusslich  geworden." 

The  lady  is  certainly  "  keine  elfin,"  being  simply  a  ghost 
1 "  Als  y  yod  on  a  Mounday." 


396  JOSEPHINE    M.    BUKNHAM. 

modeled  after  that  in  The  Trentals  of  St.  Gregory,  and,  like 
her  prototype,  returning  to  earth  to  give  her  child  a  message 
of  religious  purport.1  The  association  of  a  frightful  hag 
with  prophecy  is,  of  course,  a  trait  strongly  suggestive  of 
Thomas  of  Ercddoune.  But  the  conditions  of  the  trans- 
formation in  the  two  poems  are  quite  dissimilar.  The 
mother  of  Guinevere  is  a  mortal  who  has  died ;  she  is 
undergoing  punishment — an  idea  absent  from  our  romance2 — 
and  can  be  restored  only  through  masses  and  prayers.  No 
lover  of  hers  appears  in  the  story,  and  she  bestows  no  gift 
of  true-speaking. 

The  minor  correspondences  pointed  out  by  Brandl  (pp. 
21,  22)  are  without  great  significance.  Brandl  connects  the 
"grenwode  spraye"  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  with  the  laurel 
in  stanza  VI  of  the  Anturs,  as  well  as  with  the  ympe-tre  of 
Sir  Orfeo.  Plainly,  he  regards  them  all  as  magic  trees, 
exposing  one  to  the  fairies'  influence.3  But  as  the  Anturs 
can  hardly  be  interpreted  as  fairy  material,  we  must  make 
exception  of  the  laurel.  Nor  has  Thomas's  blunder  in 
mistaking  the  fairy  lady  for  the  Virgin  any  necessary  rela- 
tion with  Gawain's  conjuring  the  ghost  by  the  name  of 
Christ.4  The  very  natural  figure  and  play  upon  sound  in 
line  171  of  Thomas: 

1  See  W.  H.  Schofield,  Eng.  Lit.,  p.  220.  A  reading  of  the  two 
poems  would  seem  sufficient  to'  demonstrate  the  derivation  of  the 
Anturs  from  The  Trentals  of  St.  Gregory.  In  the  latter,  the  Pope's 
mother  comes  to  her  son  at  mass,  a  grisly  apparition;  she  explains 
that  she  is  in  torment  for  her  sins  of  adultery,  and  begs  that  masses 
be  said  for  her  soul.  In  the  Anturs  it  is  Guinevere's  mother  who 
returns  to  make  similar  confession  and  to  warn  her  daughter,  and 
receives  a  promise  of  masses  to  be  said. 

"Except  in  the  Lansdowne  MS.,  lines  151,  152. 

»Cf.  supra, p. 384,  note;  Miss  Paton,  Fairy  Mythology,  p.  52,  note  1. 

*  Anturs,  xi.  Of.  the  second  appearance  of  the  lady  in  The  Trentals 
of  St.  Gregory,  where  she  is  addressed  as  Queen  of  heaven. 


A   STUDY   OF  THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  397 

Whare  it  was  dirke  als  mydnyght  myrke, 

though  possibly  copied  from  stanza  VI  of  the  Anturs, 

The  daye  waxe  als  dirke, 
Als  it  were  mydnyght  myrke, 

might  well  be  either  original  with  the  poet  or  proverbial. 
There  is  little  reason,  then,  for  assuming  indebtedness  to  the 
Anturs  on  the  part  of  our  poet,  though  he  may,  of  course, 
have  caught  up  a  detail  here  and  there. 

A  more  complete  parallel  with  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  is 
to  be  found  in  the  story  of  Meilerius  recounted  by  Gerald 
of  Wales  (It.  Kam.,  Liber  I,  ch.  5)  in  which,  as  Brandl 
points  out,  the  hag  appears  in  connection  with  prophecy  and 
the  gift  of  true-speaking.  Of  Meilerius  Gerald  tells  us ; 

"  Nocte  quadam,  scilicet  Ramis  palmarum,  puellam  diu  ante  ada- 
matam,  sicut  forma  prseferebat,  obviam  habens  loco  amoeno,  et  ut 
videbatur  opportune,  desideratis  amplexibus  atque  deliciis  cum  in- 
dulsisset,  statim,  loco  puellse  formosse,  formam  quamdam  villosam, 
hispidam  et  hirsutam,  adeoque  enormiter  deformem  invenit,  quod  in 
ipso  ejusdem  aspectu  dementire  coepit  et  insanire.  Cumque  pluribus 
id  annis  ei  durasset, optatam  sanitatem  recuperavit.  Sem- 
per tamen  cum  spiritibus  immundis  magnam  et  mirandam  famili- 
aritatem  habens,  eosdem  vivendo,  cognoscendo,  colloquendo,  propri- 
isque  nominibus  singulos  nominando,  ipsorum  ministerio  plerumque 

futura  praedicebat Videbat  autem  eos  fere  semper  pedites  et 

expedites,  et  quasi  sub  forma  venatorum,  cornu  a  collo  suspensum 
habentes,  et  vere  venatores  non  ferarum  tamen  nee  animalium  sed 

animarum Quoties  autem  falsum  coram  ipso  ab  aliquo  di- 

cebatur,  id  statim  agnoscebat,  videbat  enim  super  linguam  menti- 
entis  daemonem  quasi  salientem  et  exultantem.  Librum  quoque 
mendosum,  et  vel  falso  scriptum,  vel  falsum  etiam  in  se  continentem 
inspiciens,  statim,  licet  illiteratus  omnino  fuisset,  ad  locum  mendacii 
digitum  ponebat." 

Here,  for  the  first  time,  we  find  an  analogue  to  that  most 
remarkable  feature  of  Thomas's  history,  his  adventure  with 


398  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

a  fay  who  assumes  a  "loathly"  form.1  The  difficulty  of 
interpretation  is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  thoroughly  eccle- 
siastical tone  of  Gerald's  narrative.  If,  however,  we  are  to 
regard  the  story  as  popular  in  any  sense,  and  not  merely  as 
a  figment  of  Gerald's  brain,  we  shall  doubtless  be  justified 
in  translating  it  into  the  language  of  popular  fairy-lore. 
In  view  of  the  widespread  tendency  to  associate  fairies  and 
demons,2  and  of  the  features  common  to  Meilerius  and  many 
fairy  tales — the  hero's  love  for  a  supernatural  woman,  a 
change  of  form,  familiarity  on  the  part  of  the  hero  with 
supernatural  beings  who  bestow  peculiar  powers — the  transi- 
tion is  easy.  Apparently,  considering  the  material  in  this 
light,  we  have  come  upon  the  track  of  that  ancient  and 
widely  known  story  of  which  the  most  familiar  embodiment 
is  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale.  Meilerius,  as  I  have  said,  offers 
the  first  true  parallel  to  the  fairy  in  Thomas  of  Erceldoune, 
who  loses — or  lays  aside — her  beauty.3  Moreover,  Meilerius 
and  Thomas  vary  in  the  same  way  from  the  typical  loathly- 
lady  story,  for  in  both  the  lady  is  at  first  beautiful,  is  wooed 
by  the  hero  instead  of  wooing  him,  and  becomes  frightful 
after  a  love-scene. . 

Some  essential  features  of  the  loathly-maiden  theme  which 
are  absent  from  Meilerius,  at  least  in  Gerald's  meagre  version, 
are  preserved  in  Thomas.  The  loathly-lady  properly  tests 

1  Compare  the  puella  in  the  Meilerius  story,  "  villosam,  hispidam, 
et  hirsutam,"   with   the   daughter   of   King  Underwaves,   with   her 
"  hair  down  to  her  heels."     Campbell,  Popular  Tales  of  the  West 
Highlands,  in,  403  ff. 

2  Cf.  infra,  p.  406,   note  2. 

3  The   lady  of  the   earliest   transformed-hag   stories   could   hardly 
be  termed  a  fay.     (See  Whitley  Stokes,  The  Marriage  of  Sir  Gawain, 
Academy,    xu,  399).     But  in  the  later  development  of  the  legend, 
at  least  in  that  form  into  which  the  idea  of  enchantment  has  not 
entered — as  The  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale — the  heroine  seems  to  take  on 
the  nature  of  the  fairy-ladies  of  Celtic  romance. 


A    STUDY    OF   THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  399 

the  hero,  recovers  her  beauty  if  he  meets  the  test,  and 
bestows  on  him  happiness  or  some  more  tangible  gift.1  The 
fairy-love  of  Thomas  tests  him,  while  wearing  her  loathly 
guise,  by  insisting  on  compliance  with  hard  conditions,  and 
rewards  him  by  resuming  her  beauty.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
fanciful  to  interpret  Thomas's  words, 

Here  my  trouthe  j  will  the  plyghte, 
Whethir  J?ou  will  in  heuene  or  helle, 

as  yielding  sovereignty  to  the  lady  in  the  fashion  demanded 
in  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  especially  since  they  are  spoken 
before  the  fay's  unpleasant  metamorphosis.  The  tongue 
that  will  not  lie,  however,  may  be  analogous  to  the  gifts 
bestowed  in  certain  other  loathly-lady  stories.2  The  legend 
given  by  Gerald,  so  far  as  it  suggests  any  explanation  of  the 
truth-testing  power  of  Meilerius,  seems  to  ascribe  it  simply 
to  commerce  with  unclean  spirits — in  popular  language, 
probably,  fairies. 

In  various  other  particulars  Meilerius  corresponds  more 
or  less  closely  with  our  romance.  The  puella  of  the  tale,  if 
not,  like  Thomas's  love,  a  huntress  herself,  seems  to  be 
associated  with  spirits  who  appear  as  hunters.  The  mad- 
ness of  Meilerius  may  be  compared  with  the  other- world 
sojourn  of  Thomas,  as  well  as  with  the  insanity  of  Merlin 
the  Wild.  In  one  respect,  indeed,  it  more  nearly  resembles 
the  former,  since  both  Thomas  and  Meilerius  acquired 
prophetic  power  through  this  absence  (or  madness).3  Like 

1  On  the  meaning  of  the  loathly-lady  theme,  see  Maynadier's  Wife 
of  Bath's  Tale,  p.  160. 

2  Of .   the   story  of   Daire's   Sons    (Academy,   XLI,    399),   and   the 
"Daughter  of  King  Underwaves  "    (Campbell,  Pop.  Tales,  in,  403). 
But  fairy  ladies  of  every  sort  as  a  rule  bestow  gifts  on  their  lovers. 

3O'Curry  remarks  that  "The  word  Baile,  which  means  madness, 
distraction,  or  ecstacy,  is  the  ancient  Gaedhlic  name  for  a  Prophecy." 
(M8.  Materials,  p.  385.)  Cf.  Gir.  Cam.,  Descriptio  Kamlrice,  Liber  I, 
ch.  16. 


400  JOSEPHINE   M.    BTJRNHAM. 

both  Thomas  and  Merlin  Sylvestris,  Meilerius  is  restored. 
Finally,  as  has  already  been  pointed  out,  the  supernatural 
beings  of  Gerald's  story  endow  a  mortal  with  prophetic 
knowledge,  and  with  something  comparable  to  the  tongue 
that  will  not  lie.  Of  these  common  details  the  huntress, 
and  still  more  the  other-world  sojourn,  belongs  to  stock 
fairy-material.  The  permanent  restoration  of  the  hero  to 
his  home  is  more  unusual.  The  gifts  of  prophetic  knowl- 
edge and  of  true  speaking  are  still  less  commonly  met  with 
outside  the  Merlin  cycle,  and  in  combination  with  the  hag 
story — which  usually  deals  in  rewards  of  a  material  nature — 
would  seem  to  be  unique.1 

All  in  all,  the  general  parallelism  between  Thomas  of 
Erceldoune  and  Gerald's  tale  of  Meilerius,  considered  in  the 
light  of  the  typical  "  loathly-lady "  story,  suggests,  on 
the  one  hand,  that  Meilerius  is  a  rationalized  and  moralized 
version  of  a  story  about  a  fairy-love  who  bestows  prophetic 
gifts,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Thomas  is  largely  based 
on  some  story  very  similar,  in  theme  and  order  of  events,  to 
that  of  Meilerius.2  Between  the  typical  transformed-hag 

1  For  truth  in  general  as  an  object  of  concern  to  fairies  see  Hist. 
Litt.,  xxvi,  105;  Meyer  and  Nutt,  I,  190,  191,  217;   a  story  from 
Gir.  Cam.  cited  by  Miss  Paton  (p.  129)  of  lovers  of  truth  who  lived 
underground;  and  these  words  from  the  Sickbed  of  Cuchullin  (cited 
in  another  connection  by  Prof.  Kittredge,  Am.  Jour.  Phil.,  vn,  197)  : 
"  a  country  bright  and  noble,  in  which  is  not  spoken  falsehood  or 
guile." 

2  These   two    points   would   seem    to    be   established,    even   if    the 
specifically   "  loathly-lady "   details — the   test   of   the   hero   and   the 
lady's  return  to  her  beautiful  form — never  existed  in  Meilerius,  and 
entered  our  romance  from  quite  a  different  source.     That  the  latter 
was  very  likely  the  case,  is  suggested  at  once  by  the  fact  that  no 
unmistakable  transformed-hag  story,  technically  so  called,  seems  to 
appear  in  Wales.     Two   folk-tales,  of  fiends  assuming  the  guise  of 
beautiful  women,  but  in  the  end  exhibiting  their  true  nature,  may 
be  cited  as  of  some  interest  here   (Owen,  Welsh  Folk-lore,  pp.  186  f, 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  401 

story  and  Meilerius,  Thomas  occupies  middle  ground,  retain- 
ing some  traits  of  the  former  not  to  be  discerned  in  Gerald's 
tale,  yet  resembling  the  latter  in  important  and  perhaps 
unique  particulars. 

Nor  are  the  discrepancies  between  the  two  stories  very 
significant.  In  Meilerius,  it  is  true,  some  details  of  the 
Thomas  story  are  lacking :  the  episode  of  the  fruit,  the 
underground  journey,  the  vision  of  the  ways  to  heaven,  hell, 
etc.,  the  enjoining  of  silence,  the  delusion  as  to  the  lapse  of 
time.  Some  of  these  may  very  likely  have  been  in  the 
Meilerius  story  originally,  if  there  was  an  earlier  and  more 
popular  version  in  which  a  journey  to  the  other  world  took 
the  place  of  madness.  At  any  rate,  all  but  one  (the  roads  to 
the  different  regions  of  the  other  world)  belong  to  a  stock 
fairy-material,  and  might  be  introduced  into  any  story 
of  fays. 

To  show  that  these  two  stories  are  related  is  easier  than 
to  demonstrate  derivation  of  one  from  the  other.  The  fact 
that  we  have  the  story  of  Meilerius  from  an  ecclesiastical 
source  rather  strengthens  any  supposition  in  favor  of  its 
connection  with  Thomas ;  for  in  spite  of  Gerald's  (or  some 
one's)  decidedly  non-popular  improvements — the  demons 
who  betrayed  the  lying  book  or  man,  the  hunters  after  souls, 
etc. — the  resemblance  between  Meilerius  and  Thomas  is  still 
strong.  We  can  hardly  suppose,  however,  that  the  poet  of 
our  romance  drew  directly  from  Gerald.  His  treatment 
of  the  material  is  far  more  in  the  spirit  of  popular  fairy- 
love,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  is  in  some  ways  closer  to  the 
original  meaning  of  the  loathly-lady  theme.  Certainly,  if 

and  Sikes,  British  Goblins,  pp.  193  ff.)'  The  second  presents  some 
points  of  likeness  to  T.  of  E. :  the  lady  insists  on  the  hero's  following 
her,  at  the  same  time  implying  that  her  beauty  may  sometime  depart. 
But  the  order  of  events  is  different,  and  the  theme  of  the  story  is 
plainly  not  test  and  reward,  but  exorcism  of  a  devil. 


402  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

he  was  by  chance  a  reader  of  Gerald,  and  took  a  suggestion 
from  his  book,  he  reshaped  the  tale  with  other  stories 
in  mind. 

Of  a  popular  legend  in  England  and  Wales,  to  be  postu- 
lated as  the  source  used  by  both  Gerald  and  our  poet, 
there  is  no  satisfactory  evidence.  Brandl,  indeed,  remarks 
(p.  20): 

"  Doch  will  ich  noch  nicht  behaupten  class  er  [the  author  of  our 
romance]  die  geschichte  gerade  bei  Giraldus  gelesen  oder  in  Caerleon 
gehb'rt  habe;  denn  derartige  niarchenziige  sind  in  England  iiberhaupt 
seit  dem  12n  jahrhundert  als  popular  nachzuweisen." 

But  as  the  examples  from  British  writers  which  he  pro- 
ceeds to  give  want  the  loathly-lady  episode,  they  can 
hardly — except  through  the  fairy-love — serve  to  connect 
Meilerius  and  Thomas  of  Erceldoune.  Other  stories  which 
we  may  cite,  such  as  Dame,  Ragnell,  The  Marriage  of  Sir 
Gawain,  and  The  Daughter  of  King  Underwaves,  though  they 
demonstrate  the  widespread  popularity  of  the  loathly-lady, 
down  even  to  our  own  day,1  lack  the  incidents  preceding  the 
transformation  of  the  fay  to  a  hag,  and  are  quite  uncon- 
nected with  prophecy. 

So  far  as  the  prophetic  elements  in  the  story  are  con- 
cerned, there  seems  to  be  nothing  to  serve  as  link  between 
Meilerius  and  Thomas  of  Erceldoune.  It  may  even  be  that 
the  correspondence  of  the  two  stories  is  mere  coincidence,  the 
result  of  the  tendency  seen  throughout  the  British  Isles  to 

1 "  The  Daughter  of  King  Underwaves  "  was  written  down  from  an 
old  woman's  recital  in  1860  (Campbell,  Pop.  Tales,  ni,  403).  The 
latest  appearance  of  the  hag  seems  to  be  that  in  Campbell's  Super- 
stitions of  the  Highlands  and  Islands  of  Scotland  (Glasgow,  1900), 
cited  by  Maynadier,  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  p.  194.  It  is  singular 
enough  that  the  loathly-lady  theme,  so  popular  in  other  forms,  and 
so  natural  a  magnet  for  the  equally  popular  stories  of  disenchant- 
ment, should  have  dropped  out  of  the  ballad  Thomas  altogether. 


A    STUDY   OF   THOMAS  OF    ERCELDOUNE.  403 

clothe  prophecy  with  romance.1  Or,  the  Meilerius  material 
as  found  in  Gerald  may  simply  have  been  attracted  into  the 
Thomas  story  (which  told  how  a  prophet  was  instructed  by 
the  fairy-queen)  through  the  common  idea  of  prophetic 
knowledge  imparted  to  a  mortal,  and  may  have  been  worked 
over  to  conform  more  nearly  with  other  loathly-damsel 
stories.2  At  any  rate,  if  a  popular  legend  of  a  hag  asso- 
ciated with  prophecy  existed  antecedent  to  Gerald's  account, 
and  lingered  in  Wales  or  Scotland  till  it  was  used  by  our 
poet,  all  traces  of  that  legend  are  lost. 

If  we  attempt  to  show  a  relationship  between  Thomas  of 
Urceldowne  and  Meilerius  solely  through  the  loathly-damsel 
incident,  we  find  one  English  poem  which  at  first  sight 
seems  to  promise  a  vague  connection  between  the  two,  since 
it  gives  the  same  sequence  of  events  in  the  early  part  of  the 
story  as  Thomas  and  Meilerius.  In  the  ballad  of  The  Knight 
and  the  Shepherd's  Daughter,3  as  in  Thomas,  the  heroine  at 
first  is  beautiful  and  is  wooed  by  the  hero ;  they  go  on  a 
journey ;  the  lady  becomes  loathly  (disagreeable  to  deal 
with) ;  she  recovers  her  beauty  (turns  out  to  be  of  noble 
rank).  Again,  Thomas,  Meilerius  and  the  Knight  resemble 
the  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale  form  of  the  hag-story  in  beginning 
the  narrative  with  an  incident  of  rape,  but  differ  from  it  in 

xOn  the  vogue  of  prophecy  in  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  and 
Wales,  and  the  forms  under  which  it  appeared,  see  Schofield,  Eng. 
Lit.,  pp.  367  f;  Brandl,  T.  of  E.,  p.  12;  O'Curry,  MS.  Mat.,  pp. 
383  ff.;  Stephens,  Lit.  of  Kymry,  pp.  273,  275  ff.;  Skene,  The  Four 
Ancient  Books  of  Wales,  I,  436-446. 

2  Cf.  Maynadier,  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  p.  161 :  The  "  resemblance  of 
the   story   of  Thomas   to   the   incident  of  Meilyr,   coupled  with   its 
northern  location,  may  be  due  to  a  fusion  of  two  legends — one  of 
Welsh  origin,  the  other  of  Scottish  Gaelic — by  a  poet  who  recognized 
that  they  contained  virtually  the  same  incident." 

3  For  explanation  of  this  ballad  see  Maynadier,   Wife   of  Bath's 
Tale,  pp.  260  if. 


404  JOSEPHINE   M.    BUKNHAM. 

making  the  woman  of  the  opening  scene  the  same  one  who 
undergoes  the  transformations  of  the  story.  Thus  the  three 
tales  seem  to  form  a  group  by  themselves.  But  in  the  case 
of  The  Knight  and  the  Shepherd's  Daughter  the  identification 
of  the  two  women  seems  to  be  due  to  the  ballad-writer's 
desire  to  simplify  his  material,  joined  with  some  misunder- 
standing of  its  nature.  It  is,  moreover,  intimately  connected 
with  a  scene  at  court  which  has  no  counterpart  in  the  other 
stories.  And  if  the  identity  of  the  two  women  is  not  a 
common  trait,  neither  is  the  change  from  beauty  to  ugliness, 
which  depends  upon  it.  Meilerius  and  Thomas,  then,  stand 
alone  in  containing  this  chain  of  incidents ;  a  love-scene 
between  a  mortal  and  a  beautiful  woman,  her  transformation 
into  an  ugly  hag,  and  the  final  bestowal,  through  her,  of  a 
gift.  Moreover,  in  The  Knight  and  the  /Shepherd's  Daughter, 
we  have,  as  in  The  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  the  appeal  to  the 
king,  and,  as  in  most  English  versions  of  the  loathly-lady 
story,  relationship  between  the  hero  and  the  king's  family. 
In  lacking  this  group  of  background  characters,  Thomas 
and  Meilerius  are  nearer  the  simplicity  of  the  more  primitive 
transformed-hag  story. 

Thus  any  attempt  to  trace  relationship  between  Thomas 
of  Erceldoune  and  Meilerius  through  any  extant  popular 
story  of  a  hag,  connected  or  not  connected  with  prophecy, 
breaks  down.  If  our  poet  made  use  of  any  popular  version 
of  the  Meilerius  material,  that  version  is  lost.  At  the  same 
time,  our  examination  has  brought  out  more  sharply  the 
resemblances  between  the  two  stories;  the  opening  love- 
scene,  the  loss  of  beauty,  and  the  gifts  of  prophecy  and  of 
true-speaking.  The  author  of  our  romance  would  seem  to 
have  known  the  Meilerius  tale  in  some  form.  But  the 
version  which  he  knew  was  either  much  closer  than  Gerald's 
to  the  typical  loathly-lady  story,  or  was  altered  by  him  to 
conform  more  nearly  to  the  type. 


A    STUDY    OF   THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  405 

To  sum  up  the  points  of  resemblance  which  we  have 
found  between  Thomas  of  Erceldoune  and  other  stories.  The 
fairy  love  is  found  in  Ogier,  Tannhduser  (a  goddess  here), 
Merlin,  Meilerius ;  is  connected  with  the  hunt  in  Merlin 
(some  versions)  and  Meilerius;  she  is  taken  for  the  Virgin 
in  Ogier ;  she  leads  the  hero  to  an  underground  dwelling  in 
Tannhduser  and  in  some  versions  of  the  Merlin  story.  There 
is  an  episode  connected  with  fruit  in  Merlin  the  Wild  and  in 
Ogier.  The  hero  is  deceived  as  to  the  passage  of  time 
in  Ogier.  He  returns  to  earth  or  is  restored  to  sanity  in 
Ogier,  Tannhduser,  Merlin  the  Wild,  Meilerius,  and  "Als  y 
yod  on  a  Mounday."  Prophetic  knowledge  or  power  is 
given  by  a  supernatural  person  in  "Als  y  yod "  and  Meile- 
rius. Truth-telling  is  connected  with  this  person  in  Meilerius. 

Among  all  these  stories  more  or  less  roughly  correspond- 
ing to  the  story  of  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  it  is  evidently 
dangerous  to  pick  out  any  one  as  the  main  source  of  the 
romance.  Especially  is  it  hazardous  to  base  conclusions  on 
stock  incidents,  such  as  the  fairy  love,  unless  they  are 
associated  with  more  unusual  details.  We  may,  however, 
consider  these  points  established  :  that  the  author  of  Thomas 
of  Erceldoune  was  not  acquainted  with  the  legend  of  Tann- 
hauser,  or  in  any  fundamental  sense  indebted  to  the  story  of 
Ogier,  if  indeed  he  knew  it;  that  though,  like  every  one 
else,  he  doubtless  knew  something  of  the  Merlin  cycle,  he 
did  not  borrow  from  it  in  important  particulars ;  that  he 
very  likely  knew  and  possibly  took  a  hint  from  "Als  y  yod 
on  a  Mounday;"  and  that  he  was  pretty  certainly  acquainted 
with  the  typical  "  loathly-lady  "  story,  and  with  some  version 
of  the  Meilerius  material,  combining  a  transformed  hag  with 
prophecy  and  the  gift  of  true-speaking. 

F.  The  other-world  elements  in  the  story,  recalling,  as 
they  do,  that  ancient  and  popular  tradition  of  Christian 


406  JOSEPHINE    M.    BUBNHAM. 

literature  which  found  its  supreme'  expression  in  the  Divine 
Comedy,  must  be  separately  considered.  In  this  poem  the 
roads  to  heaven,  hell,  purgatory,  paradise,  and  apparently 
fairyland  (the  country  is  not  named),  are  pointed  out.  No 
distinction  is  made  between  Christian  and  popular  or  pagan 
conceptions ;  the  two  are  placed  side  by  side.  The  appear- 
ance of  fairyland  is  readily  accounted  for  by  the  nature  of 
the  heroine.  The  association  of  fairyland  with  hell,  since 
both  are  frequently  conceived  as  underground,1  is  natural 
enough.  We  often  find,  indeed,  a  moral  association  between 
the  two,  as  in  the  tiend  the  fairies  are  obliged  to  pay.?  On 
the  other  hand,  fairyland,  being  a  land  of  pleasure,  is  easily 
connected  with  the  terrestrial  paradise,  as  in  Ogier.  And 
given  any  one  of  the  four — heaven,  hell,  purgatory,  or 
paradise — the  tendency  would  of  course  be  to  introduce  the 
whole  series. 

The  occurrence  of  this  other-world  material  in  a  poem 
beginning  with  a  conventional  vision-induction  suggests  at 
first  sight  that  there  is  some  intimate  connection  between 
the  two.  We  cannot,  however,  suppose  that  such  an  induc- 

3  For  Paradise  located  in  the  East,  see  Wright,  St.  Patrick's  Pur- 
gatory, pp.  92-3;  Maundevile,  ch.  xxx.  For  hell  and  purgatory 
underground,  Owayne  Myles  (Englische  Studien,  I,  p.  100)  ;  St. 
Patrick's  Purgatory,  pp.  85,  94,  99,  102,  103;  Becker,  Medieval 
Visions  of  Heaven  and  Hell,  p.  58.  For  Fairyland  underground, 
St.  Patrick's  Purgatory,  pp.  81  if.;  Gir.  Cam.  It.  Kam.,  I,  8;  Mapes, 
De  Nug.  Cur.,  p.  16;  Sir  Orfeo;  Meyer  and  Nutt,  I,  174;  Miss  Paton, 
Fairy  Mythology,  p.  215. 

2  Scott  (Demonology  and  Witchcraft,  p.  126),  speaks  of  a  man 
who,  for  his  sins,  was  condemned  to  wander  with  the  fairies  after 
his  death.  The  easy  transition  from  fairies  to  demons  is  doubtless 
illustrated  (if  my  view  of  the  material  is  correct)  by  the  demons 
who  attended  Meilerius.  It  is  shown  again  in  Thomas's  feeling  (as 
reported  by  the  Lansdowne  MS.,  line  144)  that  the  hag  he  sees  in 
place  of  the  lovely  fay  must  be  the  devil.  Cf.  also  Scott,  Bord. 
Mins.,  II,  291  ff. 


A   STUPY   OF   THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  407 

tion  as  that  of  our  poem  would  be  used  if  the  author's  main 
purpose  were  to  give  a  view  of  the  world  beyond.1  Visions 
of  heaven  and  hell  were  usually  begun  in  other  ways.2 
Though  Owen  Miles  visits  purgatory  and  paradise  in  the 
flesh,  the  seer  of  the  vision  generally  falls  into  a  trance, 
and  there  is  no  preliminary  walk  or  season-mo^.3  The 
conventions  of  the  allegorical  or  moral  vision  and  of  the 
other-world  vision  were  not  the  same,4  and  the  induction 
of  our  romance  belongs  to  the  former  class.5  At  the  same 
time,  the  roads  to  heaven  and  hell,  though  here  not  the  main 
feature  of  the  vision,  might  very  well  be  an  element  in  it. 
If  a  prophet  is  to  be  taken  to  the  other  world  that  he  may 
gain  authority,  why  not  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity, 
and  give  him  the  importance,  not  only  of  one  who  has  heard 
strange  predictions  in  his  dreams,  but  also  of  one  who  has 
seen  all  these  unknown  realms?6 

1  It  is  noteworthy  that  in  Thomas  we  have  only  the  roads  to  the 
different  realms,  with  a  brief  characterization  of  each,  but  no  de- 
scription. 

2  Becker,    Mediaeval    Visions,   passim;    The   Eleven   Pains    of   Hell 
(E.  E.  T.  S.,  No.  49,  p.  147)  ;  In  Diebus  Dominicis  (E.  E.  T.  S.,  No. 

•34,  p.  41). 

3  Pearl  seems   to  partake  of  both  the  allegorical  and   the  other- 
world  vision,  in  form  as  well  as  in  thought.     See  Schofield,  Nature 
and  Fabric  of  the  Pearl,  Pub.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass.,  xix,  162. 

4Cf.  Schick  in  Temple  of  Glas,  p.  cxix. 

5Brandl  (T.  of  E.,  p.  131)  remarks:  "II  hat  besondere  ahnlich- 
keit  mit  dem  eingange  eines  gedichts,  welches  ebenfalls  eine  vision 
des  paradises  enthalt  und  von  Wright  aus  einem  MS.  des  15.  jahr- 
hunderts  in  Rel.  Ant.  I  26  gedruckt  worden  ist: 

myself  walkyng  all  alone 

Full  of  thoght,  of  joy  desperat, 

To  my  hert  makyng  my  mone,"  etc. 

But  the  most  attentive  reading  of  the  song  printed  by  Wright  fails 
to  reveal  any  vision  of  Paardise. 

6  The  details  of  the  other-world  experiences  of  Thomas  are  con- 
ventional. Christian  elements:  For  the  darkness  of  the  journey  cf. 

r 


408  JOSEPHINE   M.    BURNHAM. 

There  is  a  very  curious  poem,  in  the  same  verse-form  as 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  printed  by  Wright  in  his  St.  Patrick's 
Purgatory  (p.  86)  from  a  MS.  of  the  beginning  of  the  fif- 
teenth century.  It  is  about  a  youth,  who,  desirous  of 
learning  the  fate  of  his  dead  father  and  uncle,  was  guided 
to  hell  and  paradise  by  one  in  a  white  surplice. 

He  led  hym  till  a  cumly  hille 

The  erth  opynd  [and]  in  thei  yede. 

He  found  his  father  in  hell.     In  paradise 
He  led  him  to  a  fayre  erber. 


The  pellican  and  the  popynjay, 

The  tomor  and  the  turtil  trew, 
A  hundirth  thousand  upon  hy, 

The  nyghtyngale  with  notis  new. 

"He  saw  near  at  hand  the  tree  'on  which  grew  the 
appull  that  Adam  bote/  and  from  the  place  where  the  fruit 
was  plucked  blood  issued  whenever  any  one  appeared  who 
was  not  purified  of  his  sins." 

Owayne  Myles  (Eng.  Stud.,  I,  p.  100)  ;  Maundeville  (ed.  Halliwell), 
p.  302;  for  the  roaring  flood,  Maundevile,  p.  305;  cf.  also  Becker 
(Mediaeval  Visions,  p.  61)  :  "The  loathsome  flood  or  river  is  a  con- 
spicuous feature  in  almost  all  detailed  early  Christian  accounts  of 
hell."  Fairy  elements:  For  the  usual  view  of  eating  in  the  other 
world  see  Child,  Ballads,  I,  322;  Hartland,  Science  of  Fairy-Tales, 
ch.  ni;  Meyer  and  Nutt,  i,  299;  Scott,  Dem.  and  Witchcraft,  p.  125. 
For  silence  as  a  wise  measure  in  the  other  world,  Child,  Ballads,  I, 
322.  So  ballad  Thomas  A  15.  Sir  Orfeo  and  his  wife  say  nothing 
when  they  meet  in  fairyland  (Am.  Jour.  Phil.,  vn,  193).  But 
Thomas  is  not  told  to  be  speechless,  only  to  say  nothing  to  any  one 
but  the  fairy  queen.  Perhaps  the  object  here  is  the  secrecy  so  dear 
to  the  fairy  nature  (See  Brandl,  T.  of  E.,  p.  24).  In  general, 
"  Kings  or  Queens  of  the  Otherworld,  when  they  entered  into  rela- 
tions with  mortals,  established  a  sort  of  taboo"  (Schofield,  Eng. 
Lit.,  p.  191).  On  this  point  see  Meyer  and  Nutt,  I,  143,  150,  299; 
Schofield,  Lays  of  Graelent  and  Lanval,  Pub.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass., 
xv,  166. 


A  STUDY   OF    THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  409 

He  led  hym  forth  upon  [a]  playne 

He  was  war  of  a  pynakyll  pigt. 
Sechan  had  he  never  seyne 

Of  clothes  of  gold  burnyshed  brigt. 

Ther  under  sate  a  creature, 

As  brigt  as  any  son  beme, 
And  angels  did  hym  gret  honoure. 

"Lo!   childe,"  he  said,  "this  is  thyn  erne!" 

This  poem  may  have  no  relation  whatever  to  our  romance, 
but  it  certainly  offers  some  interesting  parallelisms.  Of 
correspondences  in  diction  there  are  a  number.  Compare 
with  the  third  line  I  have  quoted,  line  177  of  Thomas: 

Scho  lede  hym  in-till  a  faire  herbere. 

In  the  arbor  of  Thomas,  among  other  birds,  there  are  also 
popinjays  and  nightingales.  The  stanzas  about  the  youth's 
"erne"  recall  the  first  appearance  of  the  fay  in  Thomas. 
Of  her,  too,  it  is  said  (11.  47,  48)  : 

Als  dose  J?e  sonne  on  someres  daye, 
J?at  faire  lady  hir  selfe  scho  schone. 

We  might  even  compare  lines  46  and  63  : 

Swylke  one  ne  saghe  j  neuer  none; 
And  als  clere  golde  hir  brydill  it  schone. 

But  though  the  number  of  resemblances  in  diction  is 
striking,  we  should  not  emphasize  them  overmuch,  for  the 
phrases  are  all  more  or  less  conventional.  More  important 
is  the  entrance  to  the  "cumly  hille,"  somewhat  like  that 

of  Thomas. 

Scho  ledde  hym  jn  at  Eldone  hill, 
Vndir-nethe  a  derne  lee.1 

*Of  course,  however,  this  is  a  commonplace  of  fairy  material. 

6  , 


410  JOSEPHINE   M.    BUBNHAM. 

Another  interesting  coincidence  with  Thomas  is  the  "fair 
arbor"  in  the  other  world.  And  the  arbor  is  associated 
with  the  tree  of  which  Adam  ate — a  tree  which  bears  testi- 
mony against  sinners.  In  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  although 
the  true  fairy-reason  for  denying  Thomas  the  fruit  would 
doubtless  be  that,  eating  it,  he  must  remain  in  the  other 
world,  the  reason  stated  is 

T>e  fende  the  will  atteynt. 

If  }?ou  it  plokk,  sothely  to  saye, 

Thi  soule  gose  to  T?e  fyre  of  helle; 

It  commes  neuer  owte  or  domesday, 

Bot  her  jn  payne  ay  for  to  duelle. 

In  the  poem  given  by  Wright,  the  tree  is  in  the  terrestrial 
paradise,  exactly  where  it  should  be ;  *  in  Thomas  the  inci- 
dent of  the  fruit  is  not  connected  with  the  lady's  castle,  as 
we  should  expect  in  a  pure  fairy-tale,  but  immediately 
precedes  the  pointing  out  of  the  ways  to  heaven,  paradise, 
etc.  Finally,  the  two  poems  are  alike,  and  different  from 
other  stories  of  visits  to  the  Christian  other-world,  in  con- 
ducting their  hero  thither  in  the  flesh,  in  giving  only  a  brief 
and  general  description  of  the  place,  and  in  treating  the 
theme  with  an  unusual,  almost  lyric,  simplicity. 

What  are  we  to  conclude  as  to  the  relationship  of  these 
poems  ?  The  MS.  of  the  shorter  seems  to  be  of  about  the 
same  age  as  the  Thornton  and  Cambridge  MSS.  of  Thomas. 
But  as  any  poem  may  be  much  older  than  its  MS.,  one  of 
these  might  well  be  antecedent  to  the  other.  If  there  were 
any  influence  of  one  upon  the  other,  however,  it  would  have 
to  exist  in  spite  of  or  previous  to 2  difference  of  dialect. 
Granting  the  possibility  of  influence,  it  is  a  little  hard  to 
decide  which  poem  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  source.  But 
the  incidents  which  they  have  in  common  are  more  vital 

1  Genesis,   2,   15-17;    Owayne  Myles,  st.    146,  p.   108;    second  text, 
lines  527-8,  p.  119. 

2  In  case  there  were  an  earlier  version  of  one  of  the  poems. 


A    STUDY    OF   THOMAS   OF    EECELDOUNE.  411 

and  essential  to  the  shorter  poem.  The  author  of  Thomas 
may,  then,  with  this  poem  in  mind,  have  added  the  "  arbor  " 
and  with  it  the  tree  of  knowledge,  possibly  also  the  roads 
to  heaven,  etc.,  to  his  hero's  other-world  experiences.  The 
arbor  or  garden,1  being  common  to  Paradise  and  to  faery, 
might  serve  to  attract  Christian  material  into  a  fairy-tale,  or 
vice  versa.  The  rather  purposeless  and  clumsy  way  in 
which  the  arbor  is  fitted  into  our  romance — since  it  directly 
follows  Thomas's  demand  for  food,  but,  leaving  him  hungry, 
serves  only  to  introduce  the  routes  to  heaven,  etc. — suggests 
that  the  poet  either  interpolated  the  scene,  or  was  fitting 
together  with  some  difficulty  parts  of  two  or  three  stories. 
Taking  into  account  the  numerous  points  of  likeness  between 
the  two  poems,  we  conclude  that  the  author  of  Thomas  of 
Ereeldoune  very  likely  had  in  mind  this  poem,  or  one  very 
similar.  In  any  case,  our  examination  of  the  poem  has 
been  instructive,  as  showing  by  analogy  how  the  incident 
of  the  fruit  and  the  arbor  is  probably  to  be  understood.2  It 
is  plain,  moreover,  that  whether  their  immediate  source 
be  a  particular  story  or  mere  floating  tradition,  Thomas  of 
Erceldoune  contains  suggestions  of  Christian  other-world 
description  combined  with  romance  in  a  fashion  for  which 
we  find  no  analogy  in  the  stories  hitherto  considered — "Als 
y  yod  on  a  Mounday,"  Merlin,  Tannhduser,  Ogier,  or 
Meilerius;  and  that  the  description  is  handled  by  the  poet 
with  a  brevity  and  lightness  of  touch  almost  unknown  in 
religious  poems  on  this  theme.3 

1  As  to  fairy  gardens,  see  Meyer  and  Nutt,  sections  6,  39,  43. 

2  The  ballads  repeat  this  interpretation.     May  not  the  poet  have 
intended  a  fusion  of  the  Christian  and  the  fairy  conceptions,  using 
the  tree  of  knowledge  because  he  happened  to  be  dealing  with  para- 
dise   (possibly  by  imitation  of  some  such  poem  as  that  under  con- 
sideration)  but  also  preventing  Thomas  from  eating,  that  he  might 
return  to  give  his  prophecy? 

3  Contrast,  for  example,  The  Eleven  Pains  of  Hell  (E.  E.  T.  Sv  No. 
49,  pp.  211  if.).  * 


412  JOSEPHINE    M.    BURNHAM. 

G.  To  complete  our  study,  we  must  examine  the  relation 
of  the  prophetic  and  the  vision-elements  in  the  poem  to  the 
rest.  Certain  details  in  this  romance  seem  to  point  pretty 
clearly  toward  the  prophecies  which  follow.  The  fairy-love 
and  the  sojourn  in  elfland  may  obviously  be  employed  to 
give  weight  to  prophecies.1  So  of  course  may  the  roads 
to  heaven,  hell,  and  paradise.  The  "tiend  to  hell"  or 
some  other  device  for  getting  the  hero  back  to  earth  is  of 
value,  as  explaining  how  one  lured  away  to  fairyland,  and 
so  in  the  way  of  obtaining  prophetic  power,  returned  to 
earth,  where  he  might  exercise  it.  The  gift  of  the  tongue 
that  never  will  lie  has  marked  advantages  for  a  prophet.  If 
I  am  correct  in  my  interpretation  of  the  loathly-lady  inci- 
dent, that,  too,  can  be  directly  utilized  toward  the  same  end. 
The  loathly-lady  properly  tests  the  hero  and  rewards  him ; 
why  not  reward  him  with  the  gift  of  prophecy  ? 2  Other 
details,  it  is  true,  and  some  of  them  very  characteristic,  can 
hardly  be  shown  to  have  any  such  bearing.  The  injunction 
to  keep  silence,  the  episode  of  the  fruit,  the  journey  through 
darkness  and  the  flood,  the  delusion  regarding  the  passage 
of  time,  the  character  of  the  lady  (a  huntress),  the  mistak- 
ing of  the  fay  for  the  Virgin — no  one  of  these  relates  in  any 
way  to  the  prophecy.  On  the  other  hand,  none  of  these  is 
an  essential  feature  in  the  history.  They  are  rather  embel- 
lishments or  "  corroborative  detail." 

*Cf.  the  old  Irish  tract  of  "The  Champion's  Ecstacy,"  in  which 
Conn  gains  knowledge  of  the  future  during  what  seems  to  be  an 
other- world  sojourn.  (O'Curry,  MS.  Mat.,  p.  385.)  The  same  tract 
faintly  suggests  the  connection  of  fairy  and  Christian  other-worlds 
in  T.  of  E.,  for  though  the  land  whither  Conn  journeys  seems  to  be 
of  fairy  (or  pagan)  character,  the  "Champion"  is  one  of  Adam's 
race  who  has  come  back  from  death. 

2  It  may  be  remarked — though  the  suggestion  is  far-fetched — that 
the  original  transformed  hag  prophesied  to  the  hero  in  the  sense  of 
promising  him  or  his  descendants  sovereignty  (Academy,  XLI,  425). 


A   STUDY   OF  THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  413 

Putting  the  matter  in  another  way,  the  plot  of  the 
romance,  as  we  know  it,  is  fundamentally  this :  A  beautiful 
fay  wooed  by  the  hero  turns  out  to  be  a  "  loathly-lady." 
She  carries  off  her  lover  to  her  underground  home,  where 
she  rewards  him  by  returning  to  her  beautiful  form,  since  he 
has  stood  the  test,  has  loved  her  despite  her  warning,  and 
has  followed  at  her  command  in  spite  of  her  distressing 
transformation.  Finally  she  sends  him  back  to  earth, 
rewarding  him  further  with  the  gift  of  the  truthful  tongue. 
Now  in  Meilerius  we  have  an  analogous  story — recounting 
the  hero's  love  for  a  supernatural  woman,  her  loss  of  beauty, 
an  other-world  sojourn  (possibly),  and  the  gift  of  truth — 
with  the  addition  of  prophetic  power.  The  plot  seems  by  no 
means  incompatible  with  prophecy.  As  for  the  subordinate 
features  of  the  story,  they  are,  as  I  have  shown,  either 
neutral  or  actually  in  keeping  with  prophetic  intention.  It 
would  appear,  then,  that  the  prophecies  are  not  so  disparate 
as  Professor  Child  thinks  them  from  the  romance.1 

The  vision-form  of  which  we  have  found  suggestions  in 
part  of  the  poem  accords  better  with  prophecy  than  with 
some  features  of  the  romance.  The  vision,  pure  and  simple, 
would  call  almost  necessarily  for  prophecy  or  some  other 
kind  of  instruction  to  give  it  purpose.2  On  the  other  hand, 
the  loathly-lady  episode,  itself  quite  consistent  with  prophecy, 
would  seem  incongruous  in  a  vision.  Moreover,  the  vision 
would  naturally  occupy  a  much  shorter  time  than  Thomas's 
three  years  in  Elfland;  and  the  induction  to  the  poem 
actually  begins  with  "this  endres  day/'  thus  seeming  to 
throw  the  whole  story  into  the  recent  past.  One  is  forced 
to  conclude  that  our  poet  either  in  the  first  instance  used 

1  Child,  Ballads,  I,  319. 

2  The  vision  used  as  a  vehicle  for  prophecy  is  illustrated  by  Adam 
Davy's  Dreams  about  Edward  II,  and  further  by  the  vision  of  Art 
as  he  slept  on  his  hunting-mound  (O'Curry,  MS.  Mat.,  p.  391). 


414  JOSEPHINE    M.    BUKNHAM. 

inconsistent  conventions  with  considerable  carelessness  (as 
poets  have  been  known  to  do)  or  put  together  older  stories 
containing  incongruous  elements. 

We  have  now  disentangled  the  four  main  threads  which 
are  so  intricately  interwoven  in  the  fabric  of  Thomas — the 
story  of  a  fay  who  is  a  "  loathly-lady,"  who  lures  her  lover 
to  her  castle  and  presently  sends  him  home,  endowed  with 
the  truthful  tongue ;  a  glimpse  of  the  Christian  other- world ; 
suggestions  of  a  vision  of  the  allegorical,  non-ecclesiastical 
type ;  and  prophecy.  To  the  first,  the  fairy -story,  belongs 
the  general  framework  of  the  romance  (whether  or  not  it 
originally  included  the  loathly-lady  features),  and  the  stock 
detail  of  fairy-lore  which  it  has  attracted  to  itself.  The 
second  accounts  for  the  roads  to  heaven,  hell,  and  purga- 
tory, and  perhaps  for  the  fair  arbor  and  the  fruit.  Third, 
the  vision  is  to  be  traced  in  the  induction  with  its  use  of 
the  first  person,  its  May  morning  atmosphere,  and  its  rest 
under  the  semely  tree ;  and  perhaps  in  the  passage  immedi- 
ately following,  which  describes,  still  in  the  first  person,  and 
with  conventional  details  of  costume,  the  meeting  of  the 
hero  and  the  lady.  Prophecy,  the  fourth  component  of 
Thomas,  appears  only  in  the  second  and  third  fytts,  but 
relates  itself  readily  to  each  of  the  other  three.  No  one  of 
the  four  sorts  of  material,  as  has  been  shown,  is  in  any 
sense  the  invention  of  the  author. 

Analyzing  the  poem,  part  by  part,  we  may  divide  it  thus : 
opening  in  the  vision-manner,  lines  25  to  72,  with  which  we 
should  perhaps  connect  lines  693-694 ;  view  of  the  other- 
world,  171-222;  prophecy,  301-304,  323-700;  loathly-lady 
story,  lines  97-140,  233-236  (or— if  we  accept  the  curious 
passage  interpolated  in  the  Lansdowne  MS. — 233-252),  309- 
322 ;  general  frame- work  of  a  fairy-love  and  fairyland 
sojourn,  easy  enough  to  combine  with  most  of  the  other 
elements,  all  other  passages  in  the  poem.  The  demarcation 


A    STUDY    OF   THOMAS    OF    ERCELDOUNE.  415 

of  different  sorts  of  material  is,  however,  extremely  diffi- 
cult ;  and  our  analysis  demonstrates  chiefly  the  close  texture 
of  the  whole. 

Are  we  to  believe  that  the  poem  in  its  present  form,  so 
cunningly  wrought  of  various  material,  is  the  production  of 
the  original  author,  or  a  working  over  of  earlier  pieces? 
The  mere  variety  of  material  is  in  itself  inconclusive.  We 
must  take  into  account,  however,  the  two  singular  facts  of 
the  change  of  person  from  first  to  third  at  line  72,  and  back 
to  first  for  a  moment  in  line  276 ;  and  the  references  to  a 
"storye"  in  lines  83  and  123.  Four  hypotheses  present 
themselves :  (a)  the  changes  of  person  are  due  to  corruption 
of  the  text,  the  references  to  a  story  being  a  literary  device ; 
(b)  both  the  change  of  person  and  the  references  to  a  story 
are  devices  of  the  poet ;  (c)  the  first  change  of  person  and 
the  hints  of  a  story  are  to  be  set  down  to  literary  artifice, 
the  second  change  of  person  to  corruption  of  the  text ; 
(d)  these  peculiarities  result  from  imperfect  welding  together 
or  working  over  of  an  older  story  or  stories. 

None  of  these  theories  admits  of  rigorous  verification. 
It  will  appear,  however,  that  the  two  last  are  better  founded 
than  the  others.  Though  (a)  might  account  for  line  276, 
the  change  at  line  72  seems  too  marked,  and  the  new  form 
too  consistently  held,  to  be  due  to  mere  blundering.  Both 
(b)  and  (c)  have  considerable  plausibility,  but  (c)  is  prefer- 
able as  offering  a  more  satisfactory  explanation  of  the 
apparent  slip  in  line  276.  All  these  three — (a),  (b),  and 
(c) — leave  out  of  account  the  inconsistencies  in  subject- 
matter  already  noted.  Lastly,  (d)  is  supported,  though 
hardly  proved,  by  certain  features  of  the  passages  in  ques- 
tion. The  first  change  of  person,  considered  in  connection 
with  the  style  of  the  opening  passage,  suggests  at  once  a 
patching  together  of  a  vision  about  a  fairy-lady,  and  some 
story  in  the  third  person.  The  change  in  line  276, 

0 


416  JOSEPHINE   M.    BUKNHAM. 

Till  one  a  daye,  so  hafe  I  grace, 
My  lufly  lady  sayde  to  mee, 

is  not  so  easily  accounted  for.  It  may  be  due — even  on  the 
hypothesis  assumed  for  the  moment — to  corruption  of  the 
text.  Or  we  may  have  here — in  spite  of  the  discrepancy 
in  time,  a  discrepancy  less  violent  than  that  between 
"  endres  daye "  and  "  three  years  " — a  fragment  of  the 
vision  we  have  postulated.  Again,  the  lines  may  indicate 
imperfect  assimilation  of  still  another  story  in  the  first 
person.  This,  by  the  way,  would  hardly  be  the  same  as 
the  "storye"  quoted  in  other  passages  of  our  romance, 
since  a  writer  putting  together  two  stories  in  the  first  person 
would  scarcely  introduce  the  third  person.  The  references 
to  a  "storye/7  if  they  can  be  identified  with  any  specific 
part  of  the  material,  seem  to  belong  to  the  loathly-lady 
episode.  The  second  reference  occurs  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  the  loathly-lady  scenes.  The  first  is  connected  with  the 
meeting  of  the  fay,  mistaken  for  the  Virgin,  at  Eldon  tree 
— an  incident  which,  being  conventional,  might  easily  have 
been  part  of  one  "  story  "  with  the  second.  It  is  possible, 
then,  to  postulate  at  least  two  sources :  a  vision  of  a  lady 
and  an  other-world  experience,  a  vehicle  for  prophecy ; 
and  a  loathly-lady  story,  probably  much  like  the  tale  of 
Meilerius.  In  this  way  (d)  may  explain  not  only  the 
changes  of  person  and  the  allusions  to  the  story,  but  also 
the  incongruities  of  the  poem. 

It  is  clear  that  we  may  dismiss  (a)  and  (b)  as  leaving  too 
much  out  of  account.  Whether  one  decides  for  (c)  or  (d) 
will  largely  depend  on  how  strongly  one  feels  the  discrepan- 
cies and  incongruities  which  have  been  pointed  out  :  (c) 
convicts  the  original  poet,  gifted  though  he  evidently  was 
with  artistic  feeling,  of  rather  careless  workmanship  ;  (d) 
supposes  a  poet  who  worked  over  and  adapted  material  with 


A   STUDY   OF   THOMAS   OP   ERCELDOUNE.  417 

some  heedlessness  as  to  details,  but  with  great  skill.  One 
fact,  however,  so  far  as  it  has  weight,  is  in  favor  of  the 
former  view — the  uniform  quality  of  the  verse.  There  are 
no  marked  changes  in  meter  or  rime-scheme  to  indicate 
patching. 

In  either  case,  we  cannot  hope  to  trace  precisely  the 
growth  of  the  romance.  If  we  adopt  (c),  we  may  surmise 
some  such  process  as  this  :  A  popular  tradition  of  a  visit  by 
Thomas  to  fairyland  may  very  well  have  existed  before  the 
poem  was  written.  (Unless,  however,  such  a  story  were 
attached  to  Thomas's  name,  or  had  some  unusual  feature, 
it  could  never  be  shown  to  be  the  basis  of  our  romance ;  the 
motif  is  too  common).  Given  the  bare  outlines  of  such  a 
story  about  Thomas,  the  writer  may  have  taken  a  hint  from 
the  "Als  y  yod  on  a  Mounday," — which  combines  prophecy 
in  dialogue-form  with  a  visit  to  a  sort  of  fairy  castle — 
and  may  then  have  added  the  Meilerius  material  from 
some  source.  The  three  stories  would  naturally  be  drawn 
together  by  the  connection  between  prophecy  and  faery 
common  to  them  all.  Suppose  there  were  no  such  tradition, 
at  that  time,  concerning  Thomas ;  he  was  nevertheless  a 
renowned  prophet,  whose  name  was  valuable  as  authority, 
and  the  machinery  of  the  poem  could  still  be  furnished  by 
the  other  two  stories.1  The  vision-induction  might  be  a 
literary  flourish,  and  the  Christian  other-world  material, 
from  current  tradition  or  from  a  story  similar  to  that  of 
the  youth  who  went  to  Paradise,  added  merely  by  way  of 
elaboration.  For  such  details  as  the  tiend  to  hell  the 
writer  had  only  to  draw  upon  popular  folk-lore.  Finally, 

1It  is  much  to  be  desired  that  we  have  some  popular  utterance 
on  the  name  True  Thomas.  If  any  tradition  accounting  for  the 
name  has  existed  apart  from  the  ballad  and  the  romance,  the  name 
may  be  independent  of  the  whole  Meilerius  story.  If  so,  it  might 
nevertheless  attract  the  Meilerius  material  into  the  story  of  Thomas. 


418  JOSEPHINE   M.    BURNHAM. 

the  prophetic  fytts  may  have  been  written,  in  their  present 
form,  at  the  same  time  and  by  the  same  author  as  the 
romance,  though  they  may  have  been  largely  made  up  of 
earlier  scraps  of  prophecy. 

Our  most  complex  hypothesis,  (d),  accounting  for  the 
peculiarities  of  the  poem  by  imperfect  assimilation  of 
earlier  works,  offers  us  almost  an  un chartered  freedom  of 
speculation. 

1.  The  writer  of  the  original  poem  may  have  used  all 
the  material  now  included  in  it,  gathering  it  from  various 
popular  sources,  but  may  have  put  the  whole  into  the  form 
of  a  vision.     A  later  writer  might  have  worked  this  over, 
introducing  the  third  person  almost  anywhere,  but  retaining 
the  induction. 

2.  But  certain  parts  of  the  material  seem  better  adapted 
than  others  to  the  vision-form.     As  has  already  been  pointed 
out,  the  chronology  of  the  story  is  confused.     It  begins  with 
"  this  endres  daye,"  and  goes  on  with  the  events  of  three 
years.     The  loathly-lady  story  may  be  conceived  as  appear- 
ing in  a  vision,  but  not  very  readily.    The  vision,  moreover, 
being  a  didactic  form,  would  be  cumbered  by  the  wealth  of 
incident  given  in  the  present  romance,  and  would  doubtless 
proceed  much  more  briefly  and  directly  to  the  business  in 
hand.    The  apparition  of  a  lady  who  should  take  the  hero  to 
the  other-world  and  speak  prophecies  to  him — suggested  per- 
haps by  "Als  y  yod  on  a  Mounday,"  and  by  popular  stories 
of  fays,  possibly  already  connected  with  Thomas — would  be 
machinery  enough  for  the  vision.1    And  such  a  lady  we  find 
intimately  associated  with  the  vision-like  opening  passage. 
This  lady  might  explain  the  geography  of  the  other  world 

*May  the  vision  account,  at  least  in  part,  for  the  fact  that  the 
lady  is  nowhere  classified  as  fay  or  what  not?  It  is  only  in  the 
ballads  that  she  is  called  Queen  of  Elfland. 


A   STUDY    OF   THOMAS   OF   ERCELDOUNE.  419 

to  Thomas,  by  way  of  giving  him  greater  authority.  Such 
a  vision  as  this  might  have  been  the  vehicle  for  the  Halidon 
Hill  prophecy  of  1333  which  Murray  postulates.1 

The  lady  of  this  supposed  vision  has  two  points  of  contact, 
perhaps,  with  the  Meilerius  story.  First,  obviously,  her 
connection  with  prophecy.  Second,  and  more  doubtful,  the 
huntress  character  which  she  evidently  possessed,  which  is 
emphasized  in  almost  the  first  lines  of  the  romance.  If 
there  is  really  some  such  character  belonging  to  the  fays  of 
Meilerius7  acquaintance,  this  might  serve  to  attach  them  to 
the  other  legend.  A  later  writer,  seeing  the  possibilities  of 
the  Meilerius  material,  might  add  it  to  the  rest.  And  here 
we  have  a  motive  for  the  working  over  suggested  by  the 
changes  in  person.  For  why  work  over  the  whole,  unless 
to  add  fresh  material?  With  the  working  over,  we  should 
have  the  third  person,  the  loathly-lady  incident,  i.  e.,  the 
"  storye,"  and  the  gift  of  the  truthful  tongue.2  At  the  same 
time,  through  oversight  on  the  part  of  the  poet,  the  con- 
fusions in  chronology  which  we  have  noted  may  have  crept 
in.  Thomas's  three-year  stay  in  Elfland,  and  the  tiend  to 
hell  which  was  the  occasion  of  his  dismissal — details  readily 
associated  with  other-world  visits — might  be  added  out  of  a 
desire  to  embellish  the  narrative. 

3.  The  original  vision  may  have  been  even  simpler  and 
more  purely  of  fairy  character  than  has  been  suggested  above, 


1  And  would  not  a  shorter  story  than  our  present  romance  accord 
better  with  the  shorter  prophecy? 

2  It  may  now  seem  more  remarkable  than  before  that  the  loathly- 
lady   has    entirely    disappeared   from   the   ballads.     But   the   ballad 
writer  might  not  see  her  connection  with  "  the  truthful  tongue."     In 
the  prophecies,  too,  he  had  no  interest.     Nor  is  it  strange  that  the 
loathly-lady  episode  has  dropped  out  of  the  later  prophetic  poems 
based  on  T.  of  E.,  when  we  consider  that  the  narrative  element  in 
those  poems  is  simplified  almost  to  the  point  of  extinction. 


420  JOSEPHINE   M.    BURNHAM. 

and  the  Christian  other-world  details  may  have  been  added 
later,  perhaps  at  the  same  time  as  the  Meilerius  material. 

If  we  adopt  (2)  or  (3),  we  may  suppose  that  around  the 
nucleus  of  the  Halidon  Hill  prophecy  fresh  predictions  were 
gathered,  either  at  the  same  time  the  Meilerius  story  was 
added,  or  before,  or  later.  However  that  may  be,  the  con- 
nection of  the  prophecies  with  a  "lady"  is  plain  throughout. 
They  are  spoken  in  answer  to  questions  put  by  Thomas,  and 
the  third  fytt  closes  with  the  promise  of  the  lady  to  meet 
Thomas  at  Huntley  banks.  The  author  or  redactor  of  the 
poem  in  its  present  form  clearly  had  every  intention  of  com- 
bining romance  and  prophecy. 

It  is  plain  that  we  can  only  suggest  possibilities,  and  can 
never  trace  exactly  the  stages  through  which  Thomas  of  Er- 
celdoune  developed,  either  in  the  hands  of  its  sole  author — if 
we  assume  his  existence — or  in  the  hands  of  a  series  of  poets 
and  redactors.  Nor  can  we,  by  the  most  patient  investi- 
gation, demonstrate  a  servile  following,  by  the  poet  of  the 
romance  as  we  know  it,  of  any  known  story.  Hints  he 
doubtless  gathered  here  and  there  ;  much  of  his  material 
was  literary  commonplace.  He  handled  it  all  with  freedom 
and  individuality. 

JOSEPHINE  M.  BURNHAM. 


XVIIL-frTALY  IN  ENGLISH  POETRY. 

In  ways  innumeraWe  in  the  course  of  the  past  fou4<or  five 
centuries  Italy  has  inmtejjced  the  thoughts^wfG  feelings  of 
Englishmen.  The  full  history""bf  Lilly  funuence  is  yet  to  be 
written.  And  naturally  enough,  for  Italy  appeals  variously 
to  the  student  of  archaeology,  to  the  historian,  to  the  artist, 
to  the  poet,  and  to  the  mere  tourist  in  search  of  amusement. 
No  landscapes  more  exquisite  can  be  found  in  the  world 
than  some  portions  of  Italy  ;  no  city  can  fill  the  peculiar 
place  of  Rome  or  Florence  or  Venice  ;  and  nothing  can  sur- 
pass the  subtle  witchery  of  Capri  and  Sicily  and  some  of  the 
half-forgotten  hill  towns  ruined  ages  ago. 

Italy  has  for  centuries  drawn  streams  of  travellers  from 
all  over  the  world.  At  the  time  of  the  Renaissance  Italy 
became  the  University  of  Europe  and  the  one  unrivaled 
center  of  the  new  culture.  This  initial  supremacy  did  not 
continue  undisputed,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  generation  or 
two,  passed  in  part  to  other  lands.  But  Italy  retained  for 
a  variety  of  reasons  its  preeminence  as  a  land  of  fascination, 

1  This  paper  makes  no  pretence  to  rival  the  detailed  studies  that  have 
been  made  of  two  or  three  of  the  poets  who  have  pictured  Italy  in  their 
verse.  It  aims  rather  at  a  general  survey,  and  it  must  sacrifice  a  good 
deal  of  detail  for  the  sake  of  a  wider  view. 

The  material  for  this  paper  has  been  gathered  by  an  independent  exam- 
ination of  English  poetry  from  about  1525  to  1890.  Longfellow's  Poems  of 
Places,  Boston,  1876-1879,  comprises  31  volumes,  18mo.,  of  which  three 
are  on  Italy.  This  collection  contains  but  a  portion  of  the  English  poems 
dealing  with  Italy,  and  it  includes  translations  from  Greek,  Latin,  German, 
and  Italian  writers.  Another  collection  has  just  appeared,  under  the  edi- 
torship of  Kobert  Haven  Shaumer,  Through  Italy  with  the  Poets,  with  selec- 
tions "  ranging  from  Homer  and  Pindar  to  Arthur  Symons  and  William 
Vaughan  Moody."  Two  recent  books,  neither  of  which  I  have  consulted, 
are  Anna  Benneson  McMahon's  Florence  in  the  Poetry  of  the  Brownings, 
and  Helen  A.  Clarke's  Browning's  Italy. 

421* 


422  WILLIAM    EDWAKD    MEAD. 

and  by  its  natural  beauty,  its  art,  its  architecture,  its  learn- 
ing, its  romantic  history,  its  brilliant  society  and  manifold 
forms  of  entertainment,  attracted  visitors  of  the  most  diverse 
type. 

Among  the  strangers  who  early  made  their  way  to  Italy 
Englishmen  were  conspicuous  for  their  numbers,  their 
rank,  and  their  wealth.  Multitudes  of  Englishmen  went 
by  sea  to  Naples  or  made  the  long,  hard  journey  over  the 
Alps,  being  carried  by  stalwart  mountaineers  over  the 
dangerous  passes,  and  in  the  land  of  Circe,  as  Ascham  calls 
it,  they  fed  upon  the  new  learning  or  yielded  to  the  danger- 
ous allurements  that  beset  them  on  every  side. 

The  Italian  journey  naturally  varied  in  popularity  from 
one  generation  to  another,  and  it  was  now  and  then  inter- 
rupted by  war.  But  for  several  centuries  there  has  been 
substantially  the  same  unceasing  current  of  travel  setting 
towards  Italy  from  England.  The  travel  in  the  last 
hundred  years  has  been  larger  than  ever,  but  the  conditions 
under  which  it  has  been  performed  mark  off  the  nineteenth 
century  from  any  of  its  predecessors.  The  eighteenth  cen- 
tury established  a  standard  of  comfort  which  has  steadily 
risen  ever  since,  and  which  has  enticed  the  poet  of  limited 
means  to  Italy  along  with  the  ordinary  traveller. 

We  have  now  to  consider  a  striking  fact.  One  might 
have  expected  that  the  Revival  of  Learning  and  the  rapidly 
growing  familiarity  with  Latin  classics,  the  popularity  of 
Italian  literature,  and  the  increasing  fondness  for  travel  in 
Italy  would  have  led  to  frequent  poetic  treatment  of  Italian 
scenes.  But  although  there  is  a  superfluity  of  classical 
allusion,  there  is  singularly  little  poetic  description  of  Italy 
for  the  greater  part  of  three  centuries.1  The  trend  of  litera- 

1  "It  was  this  presence  of  danger,  as  well  as  of  personal  inconvenience  of 
travelling,  which  perhaps  delayed  for  so  long  the  appreciation  of  natural 
beauties.  The  interest  in  scenery  and  landscape  on  the  part  of  the  Eng- 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH   POETRY.  423 

ture  was  in  another  direction ;  and  the  delineation  of  a  scene 
or  a  land  for  its  own  sake  we  must  recognize  as  a  compara- 
tively modern  affair. 

In  the  three  centuries  from  1500  to  1800,  notwithstanding 
the  notable  interest  in  Italy  as  evidenced  in  a  great  variety 
of  ways,  the  number  of  English  poems  written  in  that 
period  that  have  Italy  as  their  theme  can  be  numbered  on 
the  fingers.  The  dramatists,  it  is  true,  often  lay  the  scenes 
of  their  plays  in  Italy,  because  in  many  cases  the  stories 
they  borrow  are  Italian,  and  they  are  almost  inevitably 
compelled  now  and  then  to  depict  an  Italian  scene.  But 
the  poets  in  general  either  ignore  Italy  altogether  or  touch 
it  only  incidentally  in  passing.  As  we  approach  our  own 
time,  however,  we  find  the  poems  on  Italy  increasing 
in  number  until  they  cannot  be  enumerated  in  detail  in 
a  paper  as  brief  as  the  present  one. 

Our  main  topic,  then,  by  the  mere  force  of  facts,  is  nine- 
teenth century  poetry  on  Italy.  But  we  must  spend  a  few 
words  upon  the  earlier  attempts. 

While  noting  the  rarity  of  early  poems  on  Italy  we  may 
observe  that  there  seem  to  have  been  in  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries  about  as  many  English  poems  on 
Italy  as  on  France  or  Germany  or  Spain  or  Egypt.  But 
Englishmen  were  writing  poems  about  their  own  land. 
Besides  what  we  find  in  the  dramatists  we  may  note 
Warner's  great,  or,  I  should  say,  bulky,  poem,  Albion's 
England;  and  there  is  also  Drayton's  Polyolbion,  both 
associating  different  parts  of  England  with  various  legends 
and  historic  tales.  Why  should  there  have  been  such  •  a 

lish  travellers  in  Italy  was  certainly  not  very  pronounced.  They  noticed 
the  general  situation  of  each  city,  and  at  times  made  a  few  remarks  on  the 
beauty  of  the  locality,  but  their  observation  of  nature  fell  behind  all  their 
other  comments;  the  real  attraction  they  found  in  Italy  lay  in  other 
directions." — Einstein,  Italian  Renaissance  in  England,  p.  134. 

0 


424  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

dearth  of  poems  on  Italy?  It  could  not  be  because  men 
were  not  thinking  of  Italy,1  for  they  thought  of  few  things 
so  often.  The  question  cannot  be  fully  answered.  But  the 
fact  remains  that  such  poems  were  scarcely  attempted  until 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  even  then, 
with  one  or  two  exceptions,  might  about  as  well  have  been 
unwritten. 

"We  must,  however,  turn  from  these  general  considerations 
to  the  poems  themselves.  The  only  sixteenth  century  Eng- 
lish poem  on  Italy — apart  from  the  bits  found  in  plays — 
is  a  version  of  du  Bellay's  poem  on  The  Ruines  of  Rome. 
This  version  appeared  in  1569,  and  is  printed  in  Edmund 
Spenser's  works.  If  it  is  really  his,  it  is  one  of  his  early 
exercises  in  translation.  The  theme  is  one  in  harmony  with 
the  classical  taste  of  the  Renaissance.  The  poem  is  a  series 
of  thirty-three  sonnets  and  contains  comparatively  little 
description  but  many  reflections  on  the  marvellous  history 
of  Rome  as  suggested  by  the  scattered  fragments  of  once 
mighty  structures. 

In  a  characteristic  line  or  two  we  catch  the  tone  of  the 
entire  poem. 

"  Thou  stranger,  which  for  Rome  in  Rome  here  seekest, 
And  nought  of  Rome  in  Rome  perceiv'st  at  all, 

These  same  olde  walls,  olde  arches  which  thou  seest, 
Olde  Palaces,  is  that  which  Rome  men  call. 

Beholde  what  wreake,  what  ruine,  and  what  wast."  2 

1  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  on  the  Continent  two  years  in  his  youth,  much  of 
the  time  at  Venice.     His   work   was   profoundly  influenced  by   Italian 
culture,  but  there  is  no  picture  of  Italy  in  any  of  his  verse.     Cf.  S.  Lee, 
Great  Englishmen,  p.  73. 

"  Nearly  all  the  English  poets  had  then  travelled  abroad,  and  Walling- 
ton  even  gave  advice  to  such  of  his  travellers  in  Italy  as  were  anxious  to 
follow  the  muse." — Einstein,  Italian  Renaissance  in  England,  p.  339. 

See  the  whole  of  Einstein's  third  chapter,  and  also  Garnett  and  Gosse, 
Engl  Lit.,  I,  241;  Maugham,  The  Book  of  Italian  Travel,  1580-1900,  Lon- 
don, 1903. 

2  Stanza  in,  lines  1-5. 


ITALY  IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  425 

It  must  be  confessed  that  in  view  of  the  marvellous  influ- 
ence that  Italy  exerted  upon  English  thought  and  English 
literature  in  the  sixteenth  century  we  might  have  expected 
more  on  this  theme  than  this  single  translated  poem,  but 
there  is  nothing  else  except  the  scattered  bits  in  the 
dramatists.1 

1  The  dramatists  are  not  included  in  the  scope  of  this  paper,  but  I  must 
find  space  for  the  following  remarks  on  the  relation  of  Shakespeare  to 
Italy  and  Italian  themes. 

"It  seems  unlikely  that  Shakespeare  ever  set  foot  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe  in  either  a  private  or  a  professional  capacity." — S.  Lee,  Great 
Englishmen  of  the  16th  Century,  p.  298. 

And  yet,  as  the  author  hastens  to  add  :  "  To  Italy — especially  to  cities 
of  northern  Italy,  like  Venice,  Padua,  Verona,  Mantua,  and  Milan — 
Shakespeare  makes  frequent  and  familiar  reference,  and  he  supplies  many 
a  realistic  portrayal  of  Italian  life  and  sentiment.  But  the  fact  [of  various 
blunders]  renders  it  almost  impossible  that  he  could  have  gathered  his 
knowledge  of  Northern  Italy  from  personal  observation.  Shakespeare 
doubtless  owed  all  his  knowledge  of  Italy  to  the  verbal  reports  of  travelled 
friends  and  to  Italian  books,  the  contents  of  which  he  had  a  rare  power 
of  assimilating  and  vitalising.  The  glowing  light  which  his  quick  imagina- 
tion shed  on  Italian  scenes  lacked  the  literal  precision  and  detailed 
accuracy  with  which  first-hand  exploration  must  have  endowed  it." — 
p.  299. 

"With  Italy — the  Italy  of  the  Kenaissance — his  writings  show  him  to 
have  been  in  full  sympathy  through  the  whole  range  of  his  career.  The 
name  of  every  city  of  modern  Italy  which  had  contributed  anything  to  the 
enlightenment  of  modern  Europe  finds  repeated  mention  in  his  plays. 
Florence  and  Padua,  Milan  and  Mantua,  Venice  and  Verona  are  the  most 
familiar  scenes  of  Shakespearian  drama.  To  many  Italian  cities  or  dis- 
tricts definite  characteristics  that  are  perfectly  accurate  are  allotted. 
Padua,  with  its  famous  university,  is  called  the  nursery  of  the  arts  ;  Pisa 
is  renowned  for  the  gravity  of  its  citizens  ;  Lombardy  is  the  pleasant 
garden  of  great  Italy.  The  mystery  of  Venetian  waterways  excited 
Shakespeare's  curiosity.  The  Italian  word  'traghetto,'  which  is  reserved 
in  Venice  for  the  anchorage  of  gondolas,  Shakespeare  transferred  to  his 
pages  under  the  slightly  disguised  form  of  '  traject.'  " — p.  303. 

See  also  pp.  304-307  for  other  evidence  of  Shakespeare's  knowledge  of 
Italy  and  Italian  literature. 

"In  no  less  than  five  plays  the  action  passes  in  Rome.  Not  only  is  the 
ancient  capital  of  the  world  the  scene  of  the  Koman  plays  Titus  Andronicus, 

7  • 


426  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

In  the  seventeenth  century  the  gleanings  are  almost  as 
scanty.  William  Drummond  has  ten  lines  Upon  a  Bay 
Tree  Not  Long  Since  Growing  in  the  Ruins  of  Virgil's  Tomb,1 
but  he  attempts  no  description.  Davenant,  in  his  unread- 
able poem,  Gondibert,  11,  1,  gives  us  a  picture  of  "Verona, 
by  the  poet's  pencil  drawn ; "  and  mentions  Brescia,  I,  1,  5, 
Bergamo,  i,  1,  n,  3,  "the  UbaBan  bay,"  i,  5,  etc.,  but  apart 
from  his  attempt  to  describe  Verona  he  presents  no  descrip- 
tion worthy  the  name  and  little  of  anything  else  essentially 
Italian  besides  the  names  of  places  and  characters.  We 
may,  however,  be  grateful  that  the  piece  is  no  longer. 

The  one  really  striking  passage  on  an  Italian  theme  in 
the  seventeenth  century  is  Milton's  description  of  Rome  in 
Paradise  Regained.  Yet  even  this  is  not  Rome  as  Milton 
really  saw  it,  but  as  he  conceived  it  to  exist  in  the  time  of 
Christ.  Then  there  is  Milton's  sonnet,  On  the  Late  Massacre 
in  Piedmont,  which  has  little  local  color,  and,  lastly,  his 
famous  lines  on  Vallombrosa,  perhaps  more  often  quoted 
than  any  others  in  Paradise  Lost : 

11  Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 
la  Vallombrosa,  where  the  Etrurian  shades, 
High  overarched,  embower." 

I,  302-304. 

For  the  seventeenth  century  we  have  but  one  more  name 
to  consider,  Dryden.  He  was  no  traveller,  and  what  he 
knew  of  Italy  he  got  at  second  hand,  but  in  his  translations 
from  Boccaccio  he  treated  with  free  hand  two  themes  deal- 
ing with  Italian  life  and  scenery.  The  first  tale,  Sigismonda 

Goriolanus,  Julius  Ccesar,  and  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  but  in  Cymbeline  much 
that  is  important  to  the  plot  is  developed  in  the  same  surroundings.  Of 
all  the  historic  towns  of  northern  Italy  can  the  like  story  be  told." — p. 
311. 

On  this  question,  see  also,  Einstein,  Italian  Renaissance  in  England,  pp. 
369-372. 

1  Chambers,  English  Poets,  v.  691. 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  427 

and  Guiscardo,  has  its  scene  at  Salerno,  but  it  is  not  par- 
ticularly vivid  in  portraying  the  place.  In  Theodore  and 
Honoria,  on  the  other  hand,  he  displays  considerable  skill 
in  picturing  the  Pineta  and  other  characteristic  features  of 
the  region  about  Ravenna.  Nothing  could  more  completely 
prove,  than  does  this  enumeration,  that  the  attention  of 
poets  was  directed  to  other  things.  Most  of  the  poets  were 
classically  educated  and  might  have  been  as  much  expected 
to  write  about  Italy  as  about  anything  else ;  but  for  some 
reason  they  did  not. 

The  eighteenth  century  contribution,  as  far  as  mere 
quantity  goes,  is  far  larger  than  that  of  the  two  preceding 
centuries,  though  for  the  most  part  the  quality  is  nothing 
to  boast  of.  But  as  indicating  the  trend  of  literature,  some 
of  them  are  worth  noting.  The  much -abused  eighteenth 
century,  prosaic  and  commonplace  as  it  was,  took  an 
interest  in  a  great  many  things.  Among  the  things  that 
appealed  to  contemplative  and  artistic  natures  were  ruins, 
— particularly  if  artificial — and  sooner  or  later  ruins  found 
their  way  into  poetry.  We  have  a  succession  of  poetic 
exercises,  of  no  special  inspiration,  that  deal  either  wholly 
or  in  part  with  the  wrecks  that  time  has  wrought  and 
minister  to  the  feeling  of  melancholy  so  dear  to  the  poets 
of  a  century  or  two  ago. 

First  in  point  of  time  is  Addison's  famous  Letter  from 
Italy.  It  is  difficult  to  share  the  enthusiasm  of  Addison's 
contemporaries  for  this  production,  which,  to  modern  taste, 
appears  to  be  the  most  conventional  of  commonplace  industri- 
ously translated  into  glittering  generality.  The  trail  of  the 
vicious  eighteenth  century  poetic  diction  is  over  the  whole 
piece.  No  one  now  reads  it  except  as  a  task — and  few  at 
that.  And  yet,  it  is  polished  and  graceful,  and  now  and 
then  suggests  that  Addison  has  really  seen  what  he  is  trying 

to  describe. 

0 


428  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

But  in  general  the  picture  is  blurred.  Take  these  lines 
on  the  Coliseum  : 

"  Immortal  glories  in  my  mind  revive, 
And  in  my  soul  a  thousand  passions  strive 
When  Home's  exalted  beauties  I  descry 
Magnificent  in  piles  of  ruin  He. 
An  amphitheatre's  amazing  height 
Here  fills  my  eye  with  terror  and  delight, 
That  on  its  public  shows  unpeopled  Rome 
And  held  uncrowded  nations  in  its  womb  : 
Here  pillars  rough  with  sculpture  pierce  the  skies : 
And  here  the  proud  triumphal  arches  rise, 
Where  the  old  Romans  deathless  acts  displayed 
Their  base  degenerate  progeny  upbraid." 

Addison's  prose  has  the  elastic  grace  of  the  conversation 
of  the  polished  man  of  the  world :  his  verse  is  stiff  and 
formal,  and  displays  all  the  faults  of  the  attempted  poetry 
of  his  day. 

Addison's  example  was  followed  in  all  its  pompous 
vagueness  by  more  than  one  writer  of  verse  and,  in  a  few 
instances,  by  genuine  poets.  In  1715  Alexander  Pope 
wrote  an  Epistle  to  Mr.  Addison  Occasioned  by  his  Dialogues 
on  Medals.1  The  Dialogues  were  not  then  published,  but 
were  handed  about  in  manuscript.  Pope  was  never  in 
Italy,  yet  his  pictures  of  Rome,  drawn  in  the  conven- 
tional eighteenth  century  style,  are  quite  as  vivid  as 
Addison' s  own. 

"See  the  wild  Waste  of  all-devouring  years  ! 
How  Rome  her  own  sad  Sepulchre  appears, 
With  nodding  arches,  broken  temples  spread  ! 
The  very  Tombs  now  vanish' d  like  their  dead  ! 
Imperial  wonders  rais'd  on  Nations  spoil' d, 
Where  mix'd  with  Slaves  the  groaning  Martyr  toil'd: 
Huge  Theatres,  that  now  unpeopled  Woods, 
Now  drain' d  a  distant  country  of  her  Floods  : 
Fanes,  which  admiring  Gods  with  pride  survey, 
Statues  of  men,  scarce  less  alive  than  they  ! ' ' 

11.  1-10. 
1  Moral  Essays,  Epistle  V,  ed.  Ward. 


ITALY   IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  429 

With  varying  degrees  of  dulness  one  poet  after  another 
touched  more  or  less  briefly  on  Italy.  We  have,  for  ex- 
ample, from  John  Hughes  (1677-1720)  a  few  lines  in  his 
poem,  The  Court  of  Neptune,1  which  seem  to  require  no 
inspiring  source  beyond  a  classical  dictionary : 

"  hence  Tiber  takes  his  course  ; 
Hence  rapid  Rhodanus  his  current  pours  ; 
And,  issuing  from  his  urn,  majestic  Padus  roars  ; 
And  Alpheus  seeks,  with  silent  pace,  the  lov'd  Sicilian  shores." 

The  poet  Akenside  was  never  in  Italy,  but  he  was  classi- 
cally educated  and  could  therefore  safely  venture  upon  an 
occasional  classic  allusion  or  partly  borrowed  description. 
One  or  two  such  appear  in  his  Odes : 

1 '  Mark,  how  the  dread  Pantheon  stands, 
Amid  the  domes  of  modern  hands  : 
Amid  the  toys  of  idle  state, 
How  simple,  how  severely  great. 

I  care  not  that  in  Arno's  plain, 

Or  on  the  sportive  banks  of  Seine,"  2  etc. 

To  produce  such  lines,  no  long  journey  over  the  Alps  was 
required. 

Among  the  crowds  of  titled  Englishmen  who  made  the 
grand  tour  and  visited  Italy  we  may  note  Lord  Lyttleton, 
who  in  1730  addressed  An  Epistle  to  Mr.  Pope  from  Rome? 
In  this  production  he  assures  Mr.  Pope  that  "  The  muses 
fly  from  Baise,  Umbria's  plain,"  and  elsewhere,  and 

"  To  Thames' s  flowery  borders  they  retire 
And  kindle  in  the  breast  the  Koman  fire." 

He  laments  in  proper  form  over  "Unhappy  Italy,"  but  he 
tells  us  very  little  about  it. 

1  Chambers,  English  Poets,  X,  14. 

2  Book  i,  No.  18. 

'Chambers,  English  Poets,  xiv,  174. 


430  WILLIAM   EDWARD    MEAD. 

Another  English  visitor  to  France  and  Italy  in  1730  and 
1731  was  James  Thomson,  who  was  there  as  travelling 
companion  to  Charles  Richard  Talbot,  eldest  son  of  Sir 
Charles  Talbot.  Thomson  had  already  made  his  reputation 
as  the  author  of  The  Seasons  and  now  tried  his  hand  on  a 
classical  theme.  This  was  his  Liberty,1  a  subject  which  at 
first  thought  might  seem  not  un suited  to  the  poet.  But  the 
result  is  not  very  happy.  He  knows  his  English  landscape, 
and  he  can  paint  it  in  truthful  colors,  even  though  he 
generally  lays  them  on  too  thickly.  But  his  pictures  of 
Italy  are  conventional  and  vague.  If  he  is  familiar  with 
Italy,  one  would  hardly  suspect  the  fact  on  reading  his 
poem.  In  his  verses  on  Rome,  in  Liberty,  Part  in,  scarcely 
a  line  or  an  epithet  can  be  found  that  is  really  descriptive. 
All  is  commonplace  and  in  the  traditional  style.  Italy  is 
viewed  as  a  land  that  has  fallen  from  its  high  estate  and 
become  the  prey  of  the  spoiler.  The  prevailing  note  is  one 
of  depression : 

"Mark  the  desponding  race, 
Of  occupation  void,  as  void  of  hope." 

A  few  lines  in  Ancient  and  Modern  Italy  are  fresher  than 
the  rest  and  suggest  that  the  writer  is  describing  what  he 
has  actually  seen,  but,  taken  as  a  whole,  the  poem  is  a 
decided  failure.  It  won  few  readers,  even  in  its  own  day, 
and  it  drew  a  not  undeserved  sneer  from  Dr.  Johnson. 

The  only  really  notable  eighteenth  century  poem  of  its 
class  is  Dyer's  on  The  Ruins  of  Rome  (1740),  a  title  antici- 
pated by  du  Bellay  in  1558.  John  Dyer  was  a  landscape 
painter,  as  well  as  a  poet,  and  had  spent  considerable  time  in 

1  The  First  Part  of  this  poem  was  published  late  in  December,  1734,  the 
Second  and  Third  Parts  in  1735,  and  the  Fourth  and  Fifth  Parts  in  1736. 
A  good  deal  of  the  portion  dealing  with  Ancient  and  Modern  Italy  in 
Liberty,  Part  I,  is  merely  a  reflection  of  the  author's  classical  reading  and 
shows  little  trace  of  actual  observation. 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  431 

Italy.  Before  writing  this  poem  he  had  already  published 
his  Grongar  Hill }  and  was  recognized  as  an  author.  Dyer 
is  a  genuine  poet,  though  not  a  great  one,  but  he  is  fettered 
in  his  movement  by  the  stiff  poetic  diction  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  In  the  style  of  the  time  he  has  his  fling  at  luxury, 
as  the 

"  Bane  of  elated  life,  of  affluent  states," 

and  he  periphrastically  mentions  oysters  as, 

"Neptunian  Albion's  high  testaceous  food." 

Every  page  suggests  a  reminiscence  of  Milton  or  Thom- 
son. But  there  is,  nevertheless,  in  Dyer's  verse  much  of 
the  simple,  unobtrusive  beauty  which  is  often  present  in 
work  done  with  honesty  guided  by  discrimination.  He 
attempts  to  describe  what  he  has  actually  seen,  and  he 
views  Rome  with  the  eye  of  a  painter  and  a  poet.  In  form, 
too,  the  poem  follows  the  blank  verse  of  Thomson  rather 
than  the  rigid  rhyming  couplet  of  Pope. 

Dyer  dwells,  as  his  subject  suggests,  upon  what  is  forlorn 
and  waste;  he  is  mournful  at  the  sight  of  the  destruction 
spread  round  him,  and  in  general  introduces  considerable  of 
the  standard  eighteenth  century  melancholy. 

"Fall'n,  fall'n,  a  silent  heap  ;  her  heroes  all 
Sunk  in  their  urns  ;  behold  the  pride  of  pomp, 
The  throne  of  nations  fall'n  ;  obscure  in  dust ; 
Ev'n  yet  majestical." 

He  notes  "the  Theban  obelise"  lying  deep  in  dust; 
"grey-mould7 ring  temples;"  the  ruins  on  the  Palatine  Hill; 
the  roar  of  the  waters  in  the  ancient  sewers  of  Tarquin. 
He  muses  on  the  great  men  who  once  trod  the  place  before 

1  Printed  in  a  collection  issued  by  Kichard  Savage  in  1726,  and  revised 
and  published  separately  in  1727. 

0 


432  WILLIAM   EDWARD    MEAD. 

him — Scipio,  Marius,  Pompey,  Caesar,  Brutus,  Tully.     From 
the  Palatine  he  views  the  amphitheatre. 

"  Mountainous  pile  !  o'er  whose  capacious  womb 
Pours  the  broad  firmament  its  varied  light ; 
While  from  the  central  floor  the  seats  ascend 
Kound  above  round,  slow-wid'ning  to  the  verge, 
A  circuit  vast  and  high." 

He  turns  to  the  Pantheon,  which  he  has  evidently  studied 
closely.  He  observes, 

"  How  range  the  taper  columns,  and  what  weight 
Their  leafy  brows  sustain." 

We  cannot  accompany  the  poet  on  his  entire  itinerary 
through  the  city,  and  we  can  note  only  a  striking  passage 
or  two.  He  has  a  genuine  inspiration  when  he  sees, 

"  From  yon  blue  hills 
Dim  in  the  clouds,  the  radiant  aqueducts 
Turn  their  innumerable  arches  o'er 
The  spacious  desert,  bright' ning  in  the  sun, 
Proud  and  more  proud,  in  their  august  approach : 
High  o'er  irriguous  vales  and  woods  and  towns, 
Glide  the  soft  whispering  waters  in  the  wind, 
And  here  united  pour  their  silver  streams 
Among  the  figur'd  rocks,  in  murm'ring  falls, 
Musical  ever." 

He  is  likewise  moved  at  sight  of  Vespasian's  Temple  of 
Peace,  of  which, 

"  Three  nodding  isles  remain  ;  the  rest  an  heap 
Of  sand  and  weeds  ;  her  shrines,  her  radiant  roofs 
And  columns  proud,  that  from  her  spacious  floor, 
As  from  a  shining  sea,  majestic  rose 
An  hundred  foot  aloft,  like  stately  beech 
Around  the  brim  of  Dion's  glassy  lake, 
Charming  the  mimick  painter  :  on  the  walls 
Hung  Salem' s  sacred  spoils  ;  the  golden  board, 
And  golden  trumpets,  now  conceal' d,  entomb*  d 
By  the  sunk  roof. — O'er  which  in  distant  view 
Th'  Etruscan  mountains  swell,  with  ruins  crown' d 
Of  ancient  towns  ;  and  blue  Soracte  spires, 
Wrapping  his  sides  in  tempests." 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  433 

Striking,  too,  is  the  picture  when, 

"Cool  ev'ning  comes  ;  the  setting  sun  displays 
His  visible  great  round  between  yon  tow'rs, 
And  through  two  shady  cliffs." 

Had  he  maintained  this  level  throughout  the  five  or  six 
hundred  lines  of  the  poem,  we  should  have  to  claim  for 
him  a  place  among  the  foremost  of  the  poets  who  have 
striven  to  picture  Italy.  But  Dyer  cannot  break  away, 
except  now  and  then,  from  the  manner  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  his  work  is  notable  mainly  as  a  foretaste  of 
better  things. 

I  cannot  take  space  for  detailed  comment  upon  a  con- 
siderable number  of  poems,  or  what  were  meant  for  poems, 
that  mention  Italy  or  Italian  cities.  They  are  all  alike 
insignificant  as  poetry,  though  they  are  now  and  then 
sharply  satirical.1 

*For  the  sake  of  completeness  I  cite  the  following  titles.     There  are 
probably  others  that  I  have  overlooked. 

1.  Brno's  Vale.    A  Song.     Written  at  Florence  on  the  Death  of  the  Last 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  of  the  Medici  Family,  by  Charles  Duke  of  Dorset. 
Dodsley,  Poems  (1783),  Supplement,  n,  292,  293.    This  merely  mentions 
"Arno's  silver  stream"  and  "  Arno's  vale." 

2.  An  Epistle  from  a  Swiss  Officer  to  his  Friend  at  Rome.    Dodsley,  Poems, 
(1763),  in,  58-61.     The  Swiss  boasts  of  the  freedom  of  his  own  land  and 
scorns  to  "sell  himself  to  Kome  and  slavery."     This  is  the  burden  of  the 
whole  piece:  Italy  is  enslaved — "Who  fights  for  tyrants  is  his  country's 
foe." 

3.  On   a   Bay-Leaf,    plucVd  from  Virgil's    Tomb    near  Naples,  1736, 

by  .     Dodsley,  Poems,  in,  268,  269.     Of  this,  nothing  is  Italian  but 

the  title. 

4.  To  the  Memory  of  a  ,Gentleman,  Who  died  on  his  Travels  to  Rome, 
written  in  1738  by  the  Kev.  Dr.  Shipley  (now  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph). 
Dodsley,  Poems  (1763),  v,  256,  257.     This  merely  mentions  the  Tiber  and 

"the  last  remains 
Of  ancient  art ;  fair  forms  exact 
In  sculpture,  columns,  and  the  mould' ring  bulk 
Of  theatres,"  etc. 

5.  An  Epistle  from  Florence,  To  T.  A.  Esqr.;  Tutor  to  the  Earlj/P . 


434  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

A  piece  by  Gilbert  West,  On  the  Abuse  of  Travelling* 
deserves  no  attention  as  poetry,  but  is  worth  noting  as 
illustrating  certain  conceptions  common  to  eighteenth  century 
poets.  The  style  is  in  imitation  of  Spenser. 

"For  long,  to  visit  her  once-honoured  seat 
The  studious  sons  of  learning  have  forbore  ; 
Who  whilom  thither  ran  with  pilgrim  feet 
Her  venerable  relics  to  adore, 
And  load  their  bosom  with  the  sacred  store, 
Whereof  the  world  large  treasure  yet  enjoys. 
But  sithence  she  declined  from  wisdom's  lore, 
They  left  her  to  display  her  pompous  toys 
To  virtuosi  vain  and  wonder-gaping  boys." 

After  describing  the  methods  of  the  ciceroni,  he  proceeds  : 

Written  in  the  Year  1740.    By  the  Honorable  .     Dodsley,  Poems,  in, 

75-89.     This  contains  some  very  severe  satire  on  the  oppression  of  Italy 
by  the  church  and  by  great  lords. 

6.  To  Mr.  Fox,  written  at  Florence.    By  the  late  Lord  H y.     Dodsley, 

Poems,  in,  187-189.     This  presents  nothing  on  Italy  except— 

"Or  thro'  the  tainted  air  of  Home's  parch' d  plains, 
Where  Want  resides,  and  Superstition  reigns." 

7.  Ode  to  the  Genius  of  Italy,  occasioned  by  the  Earl  of  Corkers  going  Abroad. 
By  Mr.   J.  Buncombe,  Dodsley 's  Poms  (1782),  vi,  284-286.     There  is 
nothing  really  Italian  in  this  poem.     But  the  Genius  of  Italy  is  urged  to 
rear  his  drooping  head  and  put  on  an  olive  crown, — 

"  For  see  !  a  noble  guest  appears,"  etc. 

8.  Virgil's  Tomb,  Naples,  1741.      Anonymous.     Dodsley,  Poems  (1763), 
IV,  110-115.     A  conventional  piece,  steeped  in  eighteenth  century  diction 
and  sentiment.     The  author  can  get  not  a  crumb  of  comfort : 

* '  To  groaning  slaves  those  fragrant  meads  belong, 
Where  Tully  dictated,  and  Maro  sung. 

Alas  !  how  changed  ! — dejected  and  forlorn  ! 
The  mistress  of  the  world  become  the  scorn  !  " 

1  Chambers,  English  Poets,  xin,  175-180.  West  was  born  very  early  in 
the  eighteenth  century  and  died  in  1755.  The  poem  mentioned  above 
contains  fifty-eight  stanzas  of  nine  lines  each. 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  435 

"Which  when  the  Fairy  heard,  he  sigh'd  full  dear, 
And  casting  round  his  quick  discerning  eye, 
At  every  deal  he  dropt  a  many  tear, 
As  he  the  stately  buildings  mote  descry 
Baths,  theatres,  and  fanes,  in  mouldering  fragments  lie. 

"  And,  oh,  imperial  city  ! "  then  he  said, 

"  How  art  thou  tumbled  from  thine  Alpine  throne  !  " 

There  follows  more  lament  over  the  "woeful  plight"  of 
modern,  as  compared  with  ancient,  Rome. 

Another  bit  of  satire  on  the  grand  tour  appears  in  The 
Modern  Fine  Gentleman,1  written  in  the  year  1746. 

"  Just  broke  from  school,  pert,  impudent,  and  raw, 
Expert  in  Latin,  more  expert  in  taw, 
His  honour  posts  o'er  Italy  and  France, 
Measures  St.  Peter's  dome,  and  learns  to  dance. 
Thence  having  quick  thro'  various  countries  flown, 
Glean' d  all  their  follies,  and  expos' d  his  own, 
He  back  returns,  a  thing  so  strange  all  o'er, 
As  never  ages  past  produc'd  before." 

We  may  remark  in  passing  that  Joseph  Warton  in  an  Ode 
to  a  Gentleman  on  his  Travels2  has  a  few  references  to  "Vir- 
gil's laurelPd  tomb,"  to  "  smooth  Clitumnus'  banks,"  and  to 

"ruin'd  domes 

That  their  cleft  piles  on  Tyber's  plains  present." 

He  illustrates  the  prevailing  temper  of  the  eighteenth  century 
poets  in  his  reflections  on  the  state  of  ruin  in  Italy.  But  his 
poem  on  The  Enthusiast :  or  the  Lover  of  Nature*  written  in 
1740,  is  wholly  romantic  in  spirit  and  in  a  line  or  two 
reveals  Warton's  delight  in  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of 
Italian  landscape. 

"  Yet  let  me  choose  some  pine-topt  precipice, 
Abrupt  and  shaggy,  whence  a  foamy  stream, 
Like  Anio,  tumbling  roars." 

1  Dodsley,  Poems,  in,  167-171.     Cf.  also  Pope,  Dundad,  iv,  293-321. 

*  Chambers,  English  Poets,  xvm,  165. 

s  Dodsley,  Poems,  in,  99-108.  0 


436  WILLIAM    EDWAKD   MEAD. 

It  is  a  matter  of  regret  that,  among  our  poems  on  Italy, 
we  have  practically  nothing  from  Thomas  Gray.  He  was 
abroad  in  1739  and  1740  as  the  travelling  companion  of 
Horace  Walpole,  and  he  described  Italy  accurately  and 
entertainingly  in  his  personal  letters.  But  nothing  on  Italy, 
apart  from  a  line  here  and  there,  appears  in  his  poems, 
except  in  the  Fragment  of  a  Latin  Poem  on  the  Gaurus  and 
the  short  Farewell  to  Florence.  Gray  was  one  of  the  few 
eighteenth  century  poets  with  a  genuine  feeling  for  natural 
scenery,  and  he  was  prepared  by  his  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  country  and  his  keen  appreciation  of  its  varied  beauty 
to  stand  as  the  principal  poetic  interpreter  of  its  spirit  in 
the  eighteenth  century,  but  in  this  case,  as  in  so  many  others, 
he  left  his  feelings  unexpressed.  His  admirable  letters, 
which  doubtless  cost  him  little  effort,  rank  among  the  best 
descriptions  that  we  possess  of  Italian  life  and  scenery. 
But  poetry  was  for  him  no  spontaneous  utterance ;  and  the 
time  for  his  poem  on  Italy  never  came. 

Besides  Gray  the  only  notable  poet  to  be  here  considered 
is  Goldsmith.  Goldsmith's  Traveller*  presents  a  picture  of 
Italy  sketched  in  broad  outlines  and  following  as  a  model 
Addison's  Letter  from  Italy.  In  Goldsmith's  own  words  : 
"  Few  poems  have  done  more  honour  to  English  genius 
than  this."  Naturally  enough,  he  emulates  the  formal  and 
stilted  phrases  of  his  predecessor.  He  speaks  of  the  "  wander- 
ing Po,"  of  "Arno's  shelvy  side/'  of  "those  domes  where 
Caesars  once  bore  sway,"  and  the  place  "where  Campania's 
plain  forsaken  lies." 

A  favorable  specimen  appears  in  these  lines : 

' '  Far  to  the  right  where  Apennine  ascends, 
Bright  as  the  summer,  Italy  extends  ; 
Its  uplands  sloping  deck  the  mountain's  side, 
Woods  over  woods  in  gay  theatric  pride  ; 
While  oft  some  temple's  mould 'ring  tops  between 
With  venerable  grandeur  mark  the  scene." 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  437 

This  sort  of  description  is  frigid  enough  and  has  for  the 
present-day  reader  no  special  attraction.  But  as  eighteenth 
century  descriptive  poetry  goes  it  is  more  than  tolerable, 
and  it  helped  at  all  events  to  keep  the  subject  before  the 
minds  of  budding  poets. 

Besides  these  poems  of  more  or  less  note,  we  may  call 
attention  to  two  brief  poems  by  William  Whitehead  (1715- 
1785),  unimportant  in  themselves,  but  full  of  classical 
material,  the  one  entitled  an  Ode  to  the  Tiber,1  and  the  other, 
On  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus.2  More  important  is  the 
passage  of  fifty-eight  lines  in  The  Task,  Book  II,  in  which 
Cowper  describes  and  moralizes  upon  the  recent  earthquake 
in  Sicily.  Cowper  takes  occasion  also  in  The  Progress  of 
Error  to  comment  upon  the  fondness  of  Englishmen  for  the 
grand  tour  and  makes  particular  reference  to  Italy. 

The  poems  we  have  enumerated  practically  exhaust  the 
eighteenth  century  contribution  to  this  theme.  Some  of 
these  productions,  it  may  be  remarked,  are  very  small 
poetry,  but  with  that  matter  we  are  not  at  this  moment 
particularly  concerned.  We  are  endeavoring  chiefly  to  trace 
the  characteristic  tendencies  of  eighteenth  century  literature. 
If  the  entire  century  has  only  this  scanty  product  to  exhibit 
on  this  theme,  so  much  the  more  surprising  is  the  poetical 
output  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Before  taking  leave  of  the  eighteenth  century  we  may 
note  once  more  that  there  is  in  this  poetry  dealing  with 
Italy  a  good  deal  of  mild  sentimentalism, — a  musing  regret 
that  Rome  is  no  longer  the  recognized  mistress  of  the  world, 
that  the  glory  of  the  land  is  departed,  and  that  it  now  offers 
little  but  picturesque  ruins.  This  feeling  is  never  violently 

1  Chambers,  English  Poets,  xvu,  226.     "Ode  to  the  Tiber.     On  entering 
the  Campania  of  Rome,  at  Otricoli,  1755." 

2  Idem,  xvii,  228.    "  Written  at  Rome,  1756." 


438  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

expressed,  but  is  of  that  decorous  and  well-mannered  sort 
befitting  an  age  that  abhorred  enthusiasm.  Doubtless  to 
some  extent  the  subdued  melancholy  so  patiently  nursed  is 
about  as  real  as  some  of  the  other  poetic  fictions  of  that 
unpoetic  age,  but  as  a  fashion  it  does  not  entirely  disappear 
even  with  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

In  passing  to  the  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century  we 
enter  a  new  world.  Diction,  sentiment,  theme,  all  are 
different.  The  early  nineteenth  century  poets  in  a  sense 
discovered  Italy,  and  they  and  their  successors  treated  the 
theme  with  a  range  of  vision  and  an  intensity  of  feeling 
hitherto  unknown.  To  more  than  one  nineteenth  century 
poet  Italy  has  been  an  object  of  passionate  devotion,  and 
not  merely  a  museum  on  a  grand  scale, — a  collection  of 
ruins  to  be  coldly  described  in  formal  verse. 

This  deeper  interest  in  Italy  is  merely  one  manifestation 
of  the  great  Romantic  movement  felt  all  over  Europe. 
Under  the  new  impulses  Italy  speedily  became  a  favorite 
theme,  and  such  it  has  remained  for  more  than  a  century.1 
I  do  not  wish  to  imply  that  all  the  poems  on  Italy  since  the 
French  Revolution  are  of  the  Romantic  type,  but  poems 
of  this  type  are  assuredly  predominant. 

Whatever  their  character  they  have  been  produced  in  the 
nineteenth  century  in  far  greater  volume  than  ever  before. 
At  least  two-score  of  English  poets  may  be  named,  some  of 
them  of  the  first  rank,  who  have  treated  this  theme.  In 
more  than  one  instance  their  Italian  work  is  their  most 
notable  achievement. 

Nor  does  this  take  account  of  American  poets,  for  they 
are  not  included  in  this  paper.  But  I  may  note  in  passing 

1  We  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  novels  that  drew  attention  in  the  eight- 
eenth and  the  early  nineteenth  century  to  the  possibilities  of  Italy  as  a 
theme.  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  for  example,  had  doubtless  more  or  less  influence 
on  Byron  in  this  matter. 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  439 

that  Italy  has  had  a  peculiar  fascination  for  our  poets  and 
has  inspired  some  of  their  most  genuinely  poetic  verse. 
Bayard  Taylor,  Bryant,  Lowell,  Christopher  Pearse  Cranch, 
Longfellow,  Thomas  W.  Parsons,  John  Bruce  Norton, 
William  W.  Story,  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  Whittier,  Edgar  Allan 
Poe,  Florence  Smith,  William  Gibson,  George  E.  Wood- 
berry,  Bliss  Carman,  and  other  names  less  widely  known, 
present  a  body  of  verse  comparing  favorably  with  much 
that  has  been  produced  by  English  poets  on  the  same  theme. 
In  most  cases,  though  not  in  all,  as,  for  example,  Whittier, 
the  inspiration  came  from  a  direct  personal  acquaintance 
with  the  scene  described. 

Within  the  limits  of  my  remaining  space  I  can  obviously 
do  little  more  than  discuss  the  most  important  names.  A 
few  stand  out  as  easily  preeminent.  Every  one  thinks  at 
once  of  Byron  and  Shelley,  of  Wordsworth  and  Samuel 
Rogers,  of  the  Brownings  and  Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  of 
Tennyson  and  Swinburne.  But  there  are  at  least  a  score 
of  others  who,  in  any  other  century,  would  be  named  among 
the  first.  It  is  enough  to  mention  here  the  names  of  Walter 
Savage  Landor,  Aubrey  de  Vere,  Bryan  Waller  Procter, 
Francis  Turner  Palgrave,  Lord  Houghton,  Archbishop 
Trench,  Mrs.  Hemans,  Anna  Jameson,  and  Frances  Ann 
Kemble.  For  some  of  these  we  must  spare  a  few  words 
of  comment,  though  we  must  reserve  most  of  our  space  for 
the  more  representative  names. 

We  can  hardly  do  better  than  to  begin  with  Byron.1  To 
Byron  Italy  is  not  some  remote  land  to  be  viewed  and  calmly 
described  !  "  He  was  a  citizen  of  the  world/'  says  Nichol, 
"  because  he  not  only  painted  the  environs,  but  reflected  the 
passions  and  aspirations  of  every  scene  amid  which  he  dwelt."2 

1  Anna   Benneson   McMahon,    With    Byron   in    Italy,    presents  typical 
scenes  in  Italy  with  illustrations  of  his  poems. 

2  Byron  (English  Men  of  Letters,  American  ed. ),  p.  208. 

0 


440  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

His  Childe  Harold  was  a  revelation  of  untold  possibilities. 
Practically  the  whole  of  the  fourth  canto  is  on  Italy.  No 
such  pictures  of  Italy  had  ever  been  drawn.  They  are  in 
the  main  sketched  in  bold  outlines  and  not  finished  in  detail, 
but  they  show  what  might  be  done.  To  quote  would  be 
easy,  but  to  cite  many  passages  that  every  reader  of  poetry 
knows  by  heart  is  scarcely  necessary.  It  is  enough  to 
instance  the  description  of  the  Coliseum  in  Childe  Harold 
as  a  specimen  of  his  manner.  With  this  may  be  compared 
the  wonderful  passage  in  Manfred,  for  which  I  cannot  afford 
room. 

11 A  ruin, — yet  what  ruin !  from  its  mass 
Walls,  palaces,  half-cities,  have  been  reared  ; 
Yet  oft  the  enormous  skeleton  ye  pass, 
And  marvel  where  the  spoil  could  have  appeared. 
Hath  it  indeed  been  plundered,  or  but  cleared  ? 
Alas  !  developed,  opens  the  decay, 
When  the  colossal  fabric's  form  is  neared  : 
It  will  not  bear  the  brightness  of  the  day, 
Which  streams  too  much  on  all  years,  man,  have  reft  away. 

But  when  the  rising  moon  begins  to  climb 
Its  topmost  arch,  and  gently  pauses  there  ; 
When  the  stars  twinkle  through  the  loops  of  time, 
And  the  low  night-breeze  waves  along  the  air, 
The  garland  forest,  which  the  gray  walls  wear, 
Like  laurels  on  the  bald  first  Caesar's  head  ; 
When  the  light  shines  serene,  but  doth  not  glare, 
Then  in  this  magic  circle  raise  the  dead  ; 
Heroes  have  trod  this  spot,  'tis  on  their  dust  ye  tread. 

'  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand  ; 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall ; 
And  when  Rome  falls— the  World.'  "  l 

Italy  appeals  in  a  thousand  ways  to  Byron,  but  of  all  the 
cities  of  Italy  none  more  profoundly  impresses  him  than 
Venice  and  Rome.  In  Venice  is  laid  the  scene  of  Beppo, 

1  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  iv,  stanzas  cxliiiff. 


ITALY   IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  441 

the  scene  of  Marino  Faliero,  and  of  other  poems.  In  the 
latter  piece  (Act  IV,  sc.  1)  is  an  exquisite  picture  of  the  city 
of  palaces  looking  down  upon  the  ever-flowing  lagoons. 
The  Two  Foseari  breathes  the  very  atmosphere  of  Venice 
and  in  brilliant  lines  here  and  there,  presents  boldly 
well-known  buildings  or  bits  of  scenery.  His  Venice,  A 
Fragment,  gives  a  wonderful  picture  of  the  Doge's  Palace 
and  St.  Mark's.  But  Rome,  as  we  have  seen,  stirs  his 
imagination  even  more  deeply,  as  he  views  the  remains  of 
mighty  structures  and  broods  over  the  strange  vicissitudes 
of  the  city  that  once  ruled  the  world. 

Possibly  Byron's  most  characteristic  achievement  is  Don 
Juan.  This  presents  numerous  passages  dealing  with 
Italy  that  are  worthy  of  quotation,  but  none  more 
remarkable  than  that  in  the  third  canto,  where  "  Ravenna's 
immemorial  wood"  is  described.  Thousands  of  visitors, 
it  is  safe  to  say,  have  taken  the  fascinating  drive  out  to  the 
Pineta,  impelled  by  the  magic  of  Byron's  verse. 

"  Sweet  hour  of  twilight !  in  the  solitude 

Of  the  pine  forest,  and  the  silent  shore 
Which  bounds  Ravenna's  immemorial  wood, 

Booted  where  once  the  Adrian  wave  flowed  o'er 
To  where  the  last  Csesarean  fortress  stood, 

Evergreen  forest ;  which  Boccaccio's  lore 
And  Dryden's  lay  made  haunted  ground  to  me, 
How  have  I  loved  the  twilight  hour  and  thee  ! " 

Byron  is  never  very  profound,  and  in  his  verse  he  pre- 
sents little  more  than  the  Italy  that  he  sees.  But  the  theme 
stirs  his  turbulent  soul  to  the  depths  and  brings  out 
all  the  sincerity  there  is  in  his  nature.  Whatever 
Byron's  faults,  he  longed  to  see  a  free,  united  Italy,  and  he 
may  claim  his  share  of  credit  for  making  familiar  that  con- 
ception of  liberty  and  union  which  had  gradually  been 
taking  shape  in  Italy  for  centuries.  Byron  is,  then,  more 
than  the  mere  painter  of  landscapes  and  ruins  and  the  life 
8  * 


442  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

of  the  streets.     He  is  also  the  prophet  and  the  evangelist 
of  the  new  order,  and  his  message  is  in  these  lines : 

'  *  What  is  there  wanting,  then,  to  set  thee  free, 
And  show  thy  beauty  in  its  fullest  light  ? 
To  make  the  Alps  impassable  ;  and  we 
Her  sons,  may  do  this  with  one  deed — Unite  ! "  l 

We  cannot  linger  to  discuss  Byron's  work  in  detail,  and 
we  must  pass  to  another  poet  who,  like  Byron,  is  full  of  the 
revolutionary  spirit,  but  who  in  a  multitude  of  ways  is  his 
polar  opposite — Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  The  two  poets  see 
the  same  things  and  breathe  the  same  air,  but  the  one  is 
a  vigorous,  trenchant  declaimer,  and  the  other  a  subtle, 
dreamy,  somewhat  intangible  idealist,  who  gives  himself  up 
to  day  musings  and  throws  upon  his  conceptions  the  light 
of  his  own  gorgeous  imagination. 

Shelley  felt  at  home  in  Italy  as  soon  as  he  took  up  his 
abode  there,  and  this  is  not  strange.  Italy  is  in  a  peculiar 
sense  the  poets'  land,  and  it  casts  a  spell  upon  them. 
Indeed,  even  the  most  prosaic  traveller  who  has  drifted  in 
a  gondola  along  the  canals  of  Venice,  or  looked  down  from 
Fiesole  upon  Florence  and  the  valley  of  the  Arno,  or 
wandered  amid  the  ruins  left  by  mysterious  races  of  the 
vanished  past,  can  hardly  escape  the  fascination.  Little 
wonder  is  it,  then,  that  Shelley  catches  the  very  spirit  of 
the  land.2  He  pictures  the  abysses  of  blue,  the  quivering 
heat  of  the  burning  days,  the  snowy  mountains,  and 

"The  waves  upon  the  shore, 
Like  light  dissolved  in  star-showers,  thrown." 

And  all  this  is  for  him  no  mere  poetical  exercise.     He  is 
a  part  of  the  scene  he  describes,  and  his  utterance  is  sponta- 

1  Prophecy  of  Dante. 

2  In  Anna  Benneson  McMahon's  With  Shelley  in  Italy  are  illustrations  of 
many  of  the  scenes  pictured  in  Shelley's  poems. 


ITALY   IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  443 

neous,  in  a  sense,  inevitable.  Mrs.  Shelley's  Prefaces  to 
Shelley's  Poems  abound  in  suggestive  remarks  on  the  inti- 
mate relation  between  Shelley  and  his  favorite  land.  I 
cannot  illustrate  at  length,  but  I  must  cite  one  or  two 
characteristic  passages  from  his  poems.  Can  anything  better 
describe  the  magic  of  an  Italian  night  than  these  lines  on 
Evening,  at  Ponte  a  Mare,  Pisa  ? 

"  The  sun  is  set ;  the  swallows  are  asleep  ; 

The  bats  are  flitting  past  in  the  gray  air  ; 
The  slow  soft  toads  out  of  damp  corners  creep  ; 

And  evening's  breath,  wandering  here  and  there 
Over  the  quivering  surface  of  the  stream, 
Wakes  not  one  ripple  from  its  summer  dream. 

There  is  no  dew  upon  the  dry  grass  to-night, 
Nor  damp  within  the  shadow  of  the  trees  ; 

The  wind  is  intermitting,  dry  and  light ; 
And  in  the  inconstant  motion  of  the  breeze 

The  dust  and  straws  are  driven  up  and  down, 

And  whirled  about  the  pavement  of  the  town." 

As  a  usual  thing,  however,  we  do  not  find  in  Shelley 
anything  so  realistic  as  this.  His  plastic  imagination  takes 
every  object  and  clothes  it  with  his  dreamy  idealism.  And 
thus  we  have  such  a  typical  passage  as  this  from  the  Lines 
written  among  the  Euganean  Hills :  * 

' '  Beneath  is  spread  like  a  green  sea 
The  waveless  plain  of  Lombardy, 
Bounded  by  the  vaporous  air, 
Islanded  by  cities  fair, 
Underneath  day's  azure  eyes, 
Ocean's  nursling,  Venice  lies, — 
A  peopled  labyrinth  of  walls, 
Amphitrite's  destined  halls, 
Which  her  hoary  sire  now  paves 
With  his  blue  and  beaming  waves." 


JIn  comparing  this  poem  with  Keats' s  Ode  to  Autumn  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold  remarks:  "The  latter  piece  [the  Ode]  renders  nature,  the  ^>rmer 
tries  to  render  her." 


444  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

"Lo,  the  sun  floats  up  the  sky, 
Like  thought-winged  Liberty, 
Till  the  universal  light 
Seems  to  level  plain  and  height ; 
From  the  sea  a  mist  has  spread, 
And  the  beams  of  light  lie  dead 
On  the  towers  of  Venice  now, 
Like  its  glory  long  ago." 

Shelley  is  not  of  the  earth,  earthy,  and  his  Italy  is  always 
the  Italy  of  a  poet,  colored  by  the  atmosphere  of  light  and 
beauty  in  which  he  himself  has  lived  and  moved.  But  he 
knows  the  land  as  few  poets  do,  and  he  brings  us  to  share 
with  him  its  very  spirit. 

To  a  far  different  category  belongs  the  banker  poet 
•Samuel  Rogers.  Rogers  was  a  wealthy  dilettante,  a  traveller, 
a  collector  of  rare  curiosities,  and  a  man  of  discriminating 
taste.  As  a  poet,  he  was  a  belated  survivor  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century.  In  his  Pleasures  of  Memory  (1792)  his 
verse  is  still  saturated  with  the  characteristic  poetic  diction 
of  Thomson  and  his  school.  The  subject  matter  is  also  con- 
ventional. Among  other  things  his  memory  takes  pleasure 
in  recalling  the  Tiber,  Virgil's  tomb,  Tusculum,  the  Roman 
Forum, Vespasian's  Sabine  Farm.  But  the  passing  allusions 
to  classical  scenes  in  this  poem  are  scarcely  more  than  a 
foretaste  of  the  glorified  guide-book  which  appears  anony- 
mously thirty  years  later  under  the  title  Italy. 

Rogers' s  Italy  (1822)  is  the  most  ambitious  attempt  made 
by  any  English  poet  up  to  his  time  to  exploit  systematically 
the  treasures  of  Italy  for  poetic  purposes.  As  poetry  it 
cannot  rank  above  the  third  grade,  and  perhaps  not  so  high. 
It  is  neat  and  polished,  always  in  good  taste,  full  of  remi- 
niscent phrases  from  older  poets,  but  it  is  in  the  main 
lifeless.  Only  on  the  rarest  occasions  does  the  poet  let 
himself  go ;  and  this  cold  reserve,  from  what  we  otherwise 
know  of  Rogers,  is  just  what  we  might  expect.  Character- 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY. 


445 


istically  enough,  when  Rogers  has  his  poem  written,  he 
supplies  it  with  brief  but  accurate  notes,  and  his  work  is 
done. 

The  piece  made  no  great  stir  and  would  in  the  natural 
course  of  events  have  been  forgotten,  but  Rogers  determined 
to  create  his  own  public,  and  fourteen  years  later,  in  1836, 
with  the  aid  of  Stothard  and  Turner,  the  two  most  dis- 
tinguished illustrators  of  the  time,  he  produced,  at  the  cost 
of  £10,000,  a  volume  that  no  gentleman's  library  could 
afford  to  be  without. 

Italy  does  not  stir  Rogers  to  the  depths, — nothing  ever 
did  for  that  matter.  But  it  affords  material  for  description 
and  suggests  tales,  legends  and  historical  anecdotes  connected 
with  various  localities.  He  tells,  for  example,  the  pathetic 
story  of  Ginevra,  the  lovely  young  bride  of  Modena,  who 
in  sport  hides  in  an  old  chest  and  there  finds  her  grave. 
He  relates  the  tragedy  of  the  Foscari,  a  theme  already 
treated  by  Byron.  He  recalls  the  meeting  of  Milton  and 
Galileo.  In  a  word,  he  has  an  eye  mainly  for  literary  and 
historical  associations.  But  Rogers  loses  no  opportunity  to 
paint  a  picture  of  scenery,  and  in  his  chilly  way  he  does  it 
very  well. 

In  the  main  the  style  of  this  poem  is  lighter  and  has  less 
of  the  formal  eighteenth  century  stiffness  than  the  Pleasures 
of  Memory ,  but  the  style  is  still  brocaded.  Rogers  dreads 
to  call  anything  by  its  plain,  unadorned  name,  and  hence, 
notwithstanding  close  acquaintance  with  his  subject,  he  often 
comes  short  of  being  vivid. 

We  have  no  room  for  extended  quotation,  but  can  note 
only  one  or  two  famous  passages : 

•>  JL  O 

"  O  Italy,  how  beautiful  thou  art ! 
Yet  I  could  weep — for  thou  art  lying,  alas  ! 
Low  in  the  dust ;  and  we  admire  thee  now 
As  we  admire  the  beautiful  in  death. 
Thine  was  a  dangerous  gift,  when  thou  wast  born, 
The  gift  of  Beauty."  0 


446  WILLIAM    EDWARD   MEAD. 

And  these  lines  on  Venice,  which  reach  a  higher  level 
than  perhaps  any  others  in  the  entire  poem : 

' '  There  is  a  glorious  city  in  the  sea. 
The  sea  is  in  the  broad,  the  narrow  streets, 
Ebbing  and  flowing  ;  and  the  salt  sea-weed 
Clings  to  the  marble  of  her  palaces. 
No  track  of  men,  no  footsteps  to  and  fro 
Lead  to  her  gates.     The  path  lies  o'er  the  sea, 
Invisible  ;  and  from  the  land  we  went 
As  to  a  floating  City — steering  in, 
And  gliding  up  her  streets  as  in  a  dream, 
So  smoothly,  silently — by  many  a  dome, 
Mosque-like,  and  many  a  stately  portico, 
The  statues  ranged  along  an  assure  sky ; 
By  many  a  pile  in  more  than  Eastern  pride, 
Of  old  the  residence  of  merchant-kings  ; 
The  fronts  of  some,  though  Time  had  shattered  them, 
Still  glowing  with  the  richest  hues  of  art, 
As  though  the  wealth  within  them  had  run  o'er." 

This  is  assuredly  excellent  of  its  kind,  and,  if  not  poetry 
of  the  loftiest  type,  it  can  at  all  events  be  admired  for  what 
it  is.  It  is  plain,  however,  in  general,  that  Rogers  has  little 
poetic  insight  and  no  message,  and  that  he  sees  of  Italy 
nothing  but  the  outside.  One  cannot  deny  that  there  is  in 
Rogers  a  certain  delicacy,  an  exquisiteness  of  phrase,  at  least 
akin  to  poetry,  but  he  always  lacks  the  divine  touch  that 
marks  the  genuine  poet.  He  is  at  best  a  skilled  rhetorician.1 
"  His  verses  are  poetry/'  says  Hazlitt,  "  chiefly  because  no 
particle,  line,  or  syllable  of  them  reads  like  prose." 

It  is  not  easy  to  group  comprehensively  all  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  poets  who  have  written  on  Italy;  and  we 
can  do  little  better  in  some  cases  than  to  discuss  the  work 
of  one  after  another  without  looking  too  closely  for  marks  of 
interrelation.  We  may  begin  with  Thomas  Moore. 

1  William  Sotheby's  Italy  (1828)  is  a  poem  suggested  by  the  work  of 
Eogers  and  is  the  record  of  a  tour  on  the  Continent  in  1816-17.  For  a 
detailed  comparison  of  the  two  poems,  see  London  Monthly  Review,  July, 
1828,  pp.  396-407. 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  447 

As  a  friend  of  Byron,  Moore  might,  perhaps,  have  been 
expected  to  write  freely  on  Italy,  but  he  really  produced 
very  little,  and  that  little  is  extremely  perfunctory.  His 
song  to  a  Venetian  air,  When  through  the  Piazetta,  mentions 
a  gondolier  and  the  "  silent  Lagoon,"  but  that  is  about  the 
extent  of  his  use  of  Italian  material. 

Of  Wordsworth,  too,  there  is  not  a  great  deal  to  be  said, 
though  he  visited  the  Italian  lakes  in  his  early  manhood 
and  made  two  extensive  tours  in  Italy  in  1820  and  1837. 
In  the  Prelude l  he  touches  lightly  upon  "Locarno's  Lake" — 

"Locarno  !  spreading  out  in  width  like  Heaven, 
How  dost  thou  cleave  to  the  poetic  heart, 
Bask  in  the  sunshine  of  the  memory  ; ' ' 
and  on 

"that  pair  of  golden  days  that  shed 
On  Como's  Lake,  and  all  that  round  it  lay, 
Their  fairest,  softest,  happiest  influence." 

But  apart  from  a  few  pictures  there  is  little  more  on  Italy 
in  the  Prelude. 

The  Italian  tour  of  1820  is  commemorated  in  Memorials 
of  a  Tour  on  the  Continent.  It  includes  descriptions  of 
Vallombrosa ;  of  the  Church  of  San  Salvador,  seen  from  the 
Lake  of  Lugano  ;  of  Leonardo's  Last  Supper ;  and  occasional 
bits  of  Italian  scenery ;  but  it  offers  nothing  remarkable. 
Not  particularly  inspired  either  is  the  poetic  journal  which 
he  called  Memorials  of  a  Tour  in  Italy,  1837.  The  best  lines 
are  probably  those  on  Pisa,  on  Pompey's  Pillar  and  on  The 
Pine  of  Monte  Mario,  which  at  least  remind  one  of  the  Words- 
worth of  an  earlier  day.  But  the  series  of  poems  on  Rome,  St. 
Peter's,  Albano,  Vallombrosa,  Florence,  and  other  places, 
though  good  respectable  poems  of  the  solid  type,  are  chiefly  no- 
table as  authentic  memorials  of  Wordsworth's  impressions 
at  certain  times  and  places.  There  are  also  three  sonnets  of 

1Book  vi,  "Cambridge  and  the  Alps." 


448  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

his,  entitled  At  Bologna,  in  Remembrance  of  the  Late  Insur- 
rection, 1837 ^  which  contain  calm,  sensible  advice  to  the 
revolutionists — but  no  poetry. 

In  fact,  the  one  really  remarkable  poem  that  Wordsworth 
produced  on  an  Italian  theme  is  his  sonnet  On  the  Extinction 
of  the  Venetian  Republic,  which  is  one  of  that  great  series 
of  "  Poems  dedicated  to  national  independence  and  liberty  " 
which  he  produced  while  still  a  comparatively  young  man. 
His  imagination  takes  wing  as  he  reflects  upon  the  marvel- 
lous history  of  Venice,  and  he  pays  worthy  tribute  to  the 
greatness  of  the  past.  But  except  for  this  sonnet  the  larger 
part  of  his  poems  on  Italy  have  no  special  claim  to 
recognition. 

Far  better  than  Wordsworth  the  poet  Landor  knew  Italy 
from  a  long  residence  there,  and  he  might  have  been  expected 
to  picture  Italy  frequently  in  his  verse,  but  his  entire  poeti- 
cal output  is  of  moderate  extent,  and  only  a  small  part  is 
on  Italy.  What  there  is  accords  well  with  the  character  of 
the  man.  Landor  had  a  fiery  temper  and  could  endure 
no  restraint.  Naturally  enough  he  hated  the  oppression 
under  which  Italy  groaned,  and  more  than  once  he  raised 
his  voice  against  it. 

Characteristic  is  his  Ode  to  Sicily,  with  his  scorn  of  the 

"  brood 
Swamp-fed  amid  the  Suabian  wood," 

and  so,  too,  are  his  lines  To  the  Nobles  of  Venice  On  the  Recep- 
tion of  the  Austrian : 

"Lords  of  the  Adriatic,  shore  and  iles, 
Nobles  !  of  that  name  sole  inheritors  ! 
Bravely  ye  acted,  worthy  of  yourselves 
And  ancestors,  who  shut  your  palaces 

1  In  Sonnets  Dedicated  to  Liberty  and  Order. 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  449 

When  Perjury  stalkt  along  the  square 
Where  Doges  sat  beneath  their  patron  saints, 

Keckless  of  German  threat  and  Gallic  fraud." 

There  are  also  bits  of  description  that  might  be  cited  from 
his  poems,  but  in  comparison  with  multitudes  of  descriptions 
by  other  poets  they  are  not  particularly  distinctive.  Landor's 
long  residence  in  Italy  seems  in  a  sense  to  have  blunted  his 
vision. 

One  of  the  poets  linked  to  Italy  in  part  by  natural  inheri- 
tance is  Mrs.  Hemans.  She  travelled  very  little  and  was 
never  in  Italy,  and  most  of  her  knowledge  of  the  country 
she  got  from  books.  But  her  mother,  though  bearing  a 
German  name,  was  Italian  ;  her  husband,  a  retired  army 
officer  in  broken  health,  after  separating  from  his  wife  spent 
his  time  in  Italy ;  and  Mrs.  Hemans  herself  by  reading  and 
conversation  became  familiar  with  Italian  themes.  She  read 
Italian  easily  and  quoted  it  freely.  Her  conception  of  Italy 
is  purely  conventional.  In  her  poem  on  The  Restoration  of 
the  Works  of  Art  to  Italy  the  country  figures  as  the  "  Land 
of  departed  fame,"  the  "  Proud  wreck  of  vanished  power, 
....  fallen  Italy  " — a  land  that  has  no  future,  but  only  a 
past,  and  that  a  sad  one.  This  poem  is  full  of  well-worn 
imagery  and  the  standard  eighteenth  century  poetic  diction. 

She  writes  also  of  Alaric  in  Italy ;  of  The  Death  of 
Conradin,  beheaded  by  Charles  d'Anjou  at  Naples;  of  Imelda 
and  of  Constanza,  two  heroines  of  love  stories ;  and  half  a 
score  of  other  pieces,  none  of  great  merit,  but  worth  noting 
as  indicating  tendencies  of  nineteenth  century  literature. 

To  an  entirely  different  class  belongs  Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 
He  is,  perhaps,  less  often  thought  of  as  a  descriptive  poet 
than  as  a  typical  representative  of  the  spiritual  unrest  of  the 
middle  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Yet  he  caught  with  quick 
eye  and  described  with  peculiar  vividness  the  characteristic 


450  WILLIAM   EDWARD    MEAD. 

features  of  Venice  and  Rome.  His  Dipsychus  is,  of  course, 
in  the  main  a  poem  dealing  with  profound  spiritual  prob- 
lems, but  it  is  full  of  color  and  of  glimpses  of  the  gay 
Venetian  life  before  his  eyes. 

On  the  Piazza  he  watches  the  crowd  in  the  square  before 
St.  Mark's  and  notes 

' '  The  red  flaunting  streamers  on  the  staffs, 
And  the  barbaric  portal  of  St.  Mark's,1 

The  Campanile 

its  apex  lost  in  air." 

Then, 

"We  see  the  Palace  and  the  Place, 
And  the  white  dome  ;  beauteous  but  hot. 

The  great  Alps,  rounding  grandly  o'er 
Huge  arc  to  the  Dalmatian  shore."  2 

There  are  exquisite  lines  on  the  swift,  noiseless  movement 
of  the  gondola  and  on  the  sights  to  be  viewed  from  it. 
But  from  this  poem  I  must  not  quote  further. 

His  other  most  characteristic  descriptive  piece  is  Amours 
de  Voyage.  This  is  a  collection  of  brief  epistles  in  verse, 
delightfully  unconventional  in  form,  and  presenting  the 
impressions  made  upon  travellers  of  different  age,  sex  and 
culture  by  St.  Peter's,  the  Pantheon,  the  Vatican,  the 
Pincian  Hill,  by  Tivoli,  by  Florence,  Milan,  and  the  lakes. 
It  is  full,  too,  of  that  strange  stirring  of  the  mind  and 
spirit  which  marked  the  struggle  for  Italian  freedom  and 
unity.  Clough  is  never  stagy,  and  he  never  declaims,  but 
he  gets  very  near  to  the  heart.  Take  these  lines,  which  I 
cite  as  merely  typical,  and  which  must  suffice : 

"There  is  a  home  on  the  shore  of  the  Alpine  sea,  that  upswelling 
High  up  the  mountain-sides  spreads  in  the  hollow  between  ; 
Wilderness,  mountain,  and  snow  from  the  land  of  the  olive  conceal  it ; 

lDipsychus,  Part  I,  sc.  I. 
2  Idem,  Part  I,  sc.  II. 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH    POETRY.  451 

Under  Pilatus's  hill  low  by  the  river  it  lies  : 

Italy,  utter  the  word,  and  the  olive  and  the  vine  will  allure  not,— 

Wilderness,  forest,  and  snow  will  not  the  passage  impede  ; 

Italy,  unto  thy  cities  receding,  the  clue  to  recover, 

Hither,  recovered  the  clue,  shall  not  the  traveller  haste?"  l 

Matthew  Arnold,  who  in  his  temper,  if  not  in  the  form 
of  his  work,  had  more  than  one  trait  in  common  with 
Clough,  felt  the  magic  of  Italy  as  few  have  felt  it,  and 
although  he  has  left  but  scanty  poetical  record  of  his 
impressions,  we  can  see  what  he  might  easily  have  produced. 
We  find  bits  of  description  and  allusion  in  the  poems  on 
Heine's  Grave,  in  Stanzas  from  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  in 
Obermann  Once  More,  and  in  Empedodes  on  Etna.  This 
last  poem  contains  some  perfect  descriptions,  but  I  select  a 
few  lines  from  Heine's  Grave  as  perhaps  most  striking. 

"Ah,  I  knew  that  I  saw 
Here  no  sepulchre  built 
In  the  laurell'd  rock,  o'er  the  blue 
Naples  bay,  for  a  sweet, 
Tender  Virgil !  no  tomb 
On  Kavenna's  sands,  in  the  shade 
Of  Ravenna  pines,  for  a  high 
Austere  Dante ! 


Ah,  as  of  old,  from  the  pomp 
Of  Italian  Milan,  the  fair 
Flower  of  marble  of  white 
Southern  palaces — steps 
Border*  d  by  statues,  and  walks 
Terraced,  and  orange-bowers 
Heavy  with  fragrance." 

Lines  such  as  these  breathe  the  very  spirit  of  the  South, 
and  make  one  regret  that  Arnold  so  early  ceased  writing 
poetry  and  took  up  biblical  criticism. 

I  must  spare  also  a  word  or  two  for  Aubrey  deVere, 

lAmours  de  Voyage,  Canto  iv. 


452  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

the  friend  of  Tennyson,  and  one  of  the  foremost  representa- 
tives of  the  Celtic  revival  of  the  last  two  generations.  De 
Vere  is  not  a  poet  of  the  first  rank.  He  lacks  the  fire,  the 
movement,  the  imaginative  insight  of  a  great  poet,  but  his 
beauty  of  language,  his  deep  feeling,  his  genuineness,  make 
his  group  of  sonnets  and  other  brief  poems  notable  among 
the  poetic  interpretations  of  the  form  and  spirit  of  Italy. 

We  may  hesitate  in  ranging  through  these  poems  whether 
to  select  one  on  Genoa,  or  Venice,  or  Florence,  or  Pisa  or 
Rome,  but  we  cannot  go  far  wrong  in  taking  the  sonnet  on 
St.  Peter's  by  Moonlight  : 

"Low  hung  the  moon  when  first  I  stood  in  Home  ; 
Midway  she  seemed  attracted  from  her  sphere, 
On  those  twin  fountains  shining  broad  and  clear 
Whose  floods,  not  mindless  of  their  mountain  home, 
Rise  there  in  clouds  of  rainbow  mist  and  foam. 
That  hour  fulfilled  the  dream  of  many  a  year : 
Through  that  thin  mist,  with  joy  akin  to  fear, 
The  steps  I  saw,  the  pillars,  last,  the  dome. 
A  spiritual  empire  there  embodied  stood  ; 
The  Roman  Church  there  met  me  face  to  face  : 
Ages,  sealed  up,  of  evil  and  of  good 
Slept  in  that  circling  colonnade's  embrace. 
Alone  I  stood,  a  stranger  and  alone, 
Changed  by  that  stony  miracle  to  stone." 

With  less  beauty  of  form,  Francis  Turner  Palgrave,  the 
critic  and  poet,  wrote  brief  and  thoughtful  poems,  one  on 
Two  Graves  at  Rome, — those  of  Shelley  and  Keats, — and 
another  in  memory  of  the  battle  fought  at  Mentana.  Charac- 
teristic lines  from  the  latter  piece  are  the  following : 

"Noble  error,  if  error 
To  make  their  fatherland  one  ! — 
Through  her  five-and-twenty  centuries 
Rome  counts  no  nobler  son 
Than  he  who  led  them  to  die 
Where  death  and  triumph  were  one — 
Lion-hearts  of  young  Italy." 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  453 

We  have,  moreover,  warm  appreciation  of  the  varied 
charms  of  Italy  and  close  description  of  striking  scenes  by 
Bryan  Waller  Proctor. 

' '  Forever  and  forever  shalt  thou  be 
Unto  the  lover  and  the  poet  dear 
Thou  land  of  sunlit  skies  and  fountains  clear, 
Of  temples,  and  gray  columns,  and  waving  woods, 
And  mountains,  from  whose  rifts  the  bursting  floods 
Bush  in  bright  tumult  to  the  Adrian  sea." 

But  we  cannot  afford  the  space  for  a  detailed  account. 

Buskin  is  not  commonly  thought  of  as  a  poet,  but  at  the 
age  of  fourteen  he  produced  a  half  dozen  brief  descriptive 
poems  on  Italy  as  a  part  of  his  "Account  of  a  Tour  on  the 
Continent  in  1833."  In  them  he  pictures  Lake  Como, 
Milan  Cathedral,  Lake  Maggiore,  and  other  places.  Two 
years  later  he  attempts  a  description  of  Venice.  These  are 
not  remarkable  as  poems,  but  they  are  excellent  bits  of 
description.  The  first  stanza  of  the  poem  on  Venice  in 
particular  anticipates  his  later  skill  in  selecting  precise 
epithets. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  we  have  from  Tennyson  some 
pictures  of  Italy  as  perfect  as  any  that  we  possess.  Noth- 
ing is  lacking  but  a  more  ample  product  to  assure  his  place 
in  the  very  front  rank  of  the  poets  who  have  taken  Italy  as 
a  theme.  In  his  poem  on  The  Daisy,  which  is  full  of 
memories  of  his  first  journey  to  Italy,  he  touches  on  what 
is  most  characteristic  in  the  region  between  the  Riviera  and 
the  Italian  lakes.  Here  we  can  best  let  the  poet  speak  for 

himself. 

' '  Nor  knew  we  well  what  pleased  us  most, 
Not  the  dipt  palm  of  which  they  boast  ; 
But  distant  color,  happy  hamlet, 
A  moulder' d  citadel  on  the  coast, 

Or  tower,  or  high  hill-convent,  seen 

A  light  amid  its  olives  green  ; 

Or  olive-hoary  cape  in  ocean  ; 

Or  rosy  blossom  in  hot  ravine,  * 


454  WILLIAM    EDWAED   MEAD. 

Where  oleanders  flush' d  the  bed 
Of  silent  torrents,  gravel-spread  ; 
And,  crossing,  oft  we  saw  the  glisten 
Of  ice,  far  up  on  a  mountain  head. 

We  loved  that  hall,  tho'  white  and  cold, 
Those  niched  shapes  of  noble  mould, 
A  princely  people's  awful  princes, 
The  grave,  severe,  Genovese  of  old. 

At  Florence  too  what  golden  hours, 
In  those  long  galleries  were  ours  ; 
What  drives  about  the  fresh  Oascine, 
Or  walks  in  Boboli's  ducal  bowers. 

In  bright  vignettes,  and  each  complete, 
Of  tower  or  duomo,  sunny-sweet, 
Or  palace,  how  the  city  glitter' d, 
Thro'  cypress  avenues;  at  our  feet. 

But  when  we  crost  the  Lombard  plain 
Remember  what  a  plague  of  rain  ; 
Of  rain  at  Eeggio,  rain  at  Parma  ; 
At  Lodi,  rain,  Piacenza,  rain. 

And  stern  and  sad  (so  rare  the  smiles 
Of  sunlight)  look'd  the  Lombard  piles  : 
Porch-pillars  on  the  lion  resting, 
And  sombre,  old,  colonnaded  aisles. 

0  Milan,  O  the  chanting  quires, 
The  giant  windows'  blazon' d  fires, 

The  height,  the  space,  the  gloom,  the  glory  ! 
A  mount  of  marble,  a  hundred  spires  ! 

1  climb' d  the  roofs  at  break  of  day  ; 
Sun-smitten  Alps  before  me  lay. 

I  stood  among  the  silent  statues, 

And  statued  pinnacles,  as  mute  as  they. 

How  faintly  flush' d,  how  phantom-fair, 
Was  Monte  Rose,  hanging  there 
A  thousand  shadowy-pencill'd  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air." 

And  then  we  have  a  word  on  "  Como,  when  the  light  was 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  455 

gray,"  and  on  the  "  Snowy  Splugen."  This  is  not  precisely 
the  method  of  Rogers ! 

Beside  these  lines  we  may  place  those  on  Sirmio,  the  long, 
narrow  peninsula  in  Lake  Garda  where  was  the  home  of 
Catullus.  The  poem  is  perfect  in  its  way. 

"Bow  us  out  from  Desenzano,  to  your  Sirmione  row  ! 
So  they  row'd,  and  there  we  landed — '  O  venusta  Sirmio ! ' 
There  to  me  thro'  all  the  groves  of  olive  in  the  summer  glow, 
Came  that  'Ave  atque  Vale'  of  the  Poet's  hopeless  woe, 
Tenderest  of  Roman  poets  nineteen  hundred  years  ago, 
'Frater  Ave  atque  Vale' — as  we  wander' d  to  and  fro 
Gazing  at  the  Lydian  laughter  of  the  Garda  Lake  below, 
Sweet  Catullus' s  all-but-island,  olive-silvery  Sirmio  !  "  l 

Tennyson  makes  other  passing  mention  of  Italy  in  Maud, 
in  The  Brook,  and  elsewhere ;  but  he  does  not  elaborate  his 
thought  in  any  extended  poem. 

But  we  cannot  comment  in  detail  upon  the  work  of  all 
those  who  have  contributed  a  brief  poem  or  two  or  three 
to  the  mass  of  verse  upon  Italy.  We  must  be  content 
merely  to  name  Henry  Taylor,  Robert  Stephen  Hawker, 
John  Sterling,  Henry  Hart  Milman,  John  Hookham  Frere, 
James  Haskins,  Arthur  Helps,  Anna  Jameson,  Frances 
Anne  Kemble,  John  Nichol,  Richard  Chenevix  Trench, 
Gerald  Massey,  Frederick  Locker,  Richard  Garnett,  Herman 
Charles  Merivale,  Lord  Houghton.  These  are  of  course  not 
all  upon  the  same  level,  but  I  have  not  the  space  to  dis- 
criminate more  closely.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  almost 
any  of  the  poems  on  Italy  produced  by  this  group,  would, 
if  written  in  the  eighteenth  century,  have  required  our  close 
attention.  As  products  of  the  nineteenth  century,  they 
simply  illustrate  a  tendency  that  has  become  general. 

It  remains  to  discuss  somewhat  more  minutely  the  work 
of  two  or  three  poets  of  the  second  half  of  the  nineteenth 

1  'Frater  Ave  atque  Vale.'     First  printed  March,  1883. 


456  WILLIAM    EDWAKD   MEAD. 

century  who  have  been  with  peculiar  closeness  associated 
with  Italy. 

Of  all  the  poets  who  have  written  on  Italy  the  Brownings 
stand  easily  first,  not  only  in  the  range  and  depth  of  insight 
of  their  work,  but  in  the  perfect  truth  of  the  pictures  they 
present.  And  this  is  not  strange,  for  Robert  Browning  and 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  are  saturated  with  the  spirit  of 
Italy  as  few  Englishmen  have  ever  been.  It  is,  therefore, 
more  difficult  adequately  to  present  the  work  of  the  Brown- 
ings than  that  of  any  one  else  who  has  written  on  Italy, 
not  merely  because  their  work  is  so  great  in  extent,  but 
because  in  a  multitude  of  cases  they  do  not  describe  an 
object  outright,  but  rather  assume  its  existence  and  describe 
by  implication  and  allusion. 

When  Robert  Browning  married  Elizabeth  Barrett  in 
1846  he  at  once  took  his  bride  to  Italy,  and  there  they  lived, 
mainly  in  Florence,  till  her  death  in  1861.  Mrs.  Browning's 
nature  was  intense,  and  she  gave  herself  without  reserve  to 
whatever  enlisted  her  sympathy.  And  in  the  Italy  to  which 
she  had  come  there  was  enough  to  stir  a  heart  colder  than 
hers.  The  whole  land  was  in  a  ferment.  There  were  plots 
and  arrests  and  executions.  There  were  revolts  and  massa- 
cres and  assassinations.  There  was  war,  and  there  was 
triumph.  And  although  the  dream  of  a  united  Italy  had 
not  been  realized  when  she  breathed  her  last,  there  was  no 
longer  reason  to  doubt  that  the  day  so  eagerly  awaited  was 
soon  to  dawn. 

In  such  an  atmosphere  it  is  not  surprising  that  Italy  and 
freedom  constantly  find  an  advocate  in  her  verse.  Her 
early  poem,  An  August  Voice,  satirizes  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Tuscany,  who  was  trying  to  stand  well  with  both  Austria 
and  Italy.  It  is  a  lyric  monologue  full  of  dramatic  feeling. 
In  it  Italy  is  something  not  merely  to  be  viewed  and 
described,  but  to  be  felt  and  loved. 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  457 

Then  in  Casa  Guidi  Windows,  one  of  her  best  known 
poems,  is  a  succession  of  pictures  and  comments  on  the 
stirring  events  of  the  time.  Christmas  Gifts  is  a  scathing 
satire  on  the  Pope  and  his  ideals.  Mrs.  Browning  loses  no 
opportunity  of  leading  Italy  to  higher  levels.  She  heaps 
praise  upon  Napoleon  III  and  others  as  long  as  she  is 
convinced  that  their  part  in  the  work  is  unselfish,  but  she 
is  pungent  in  her  Summing  up  in  Italy,  where  the  cold, 
calculating  intrigues  of  the  scheming  liberators  are  brought 
to  light.  In  all  her  utterances  she  has  no  good  word  for 
Austria,  and  in  her  First  News  from  Villafranca  she  is  bitter 
in  expressing  her  disappointment  at  the  rumors  of  peace. 

But  her  whole  attention  is  by  no  means  absorbed  by 
politics  and  the  struggle  for  freedom.  She  cannot  help 
being  impressed  by  the  beauty  of  the  land  she  has  made 
her  home,  and  that  beauty  she  portrays  in  her  verse.  Single 
bits  of  description  can  be  pointed  out  in  A  Child's  Grave  at 
Florence,  in  Bianca  Among  the  Nightingales,  and  in  other 
poems,  but  the  greatest  wealth  of  descriptive  pictures  appears 
in  Aurora  Leigh.  These,  moreover,  do  not  seem  to  be 
brought  in  for  mere  ornament,  but  they  are  an  essential 
part  of  the  account  of  life  in  Italy. 

One  is  tempted  to  quote  freely,  but  I  can  afford  space 
for  but  a  few  passages. 

"I  found  a  house  at  Florence  on  the  hill 
Of  Bellosguardo.    "Pis  a  tower  which  keeps 
A  post  of  double-observation  o'er 
That  valley  of  Arno  (holding  as  a  hand 
The  outspread  city, )  straight  toward  Fiesole 
And  Mount  Morello  and  the  setting  sun — 
The  Vallombrosan  mountains  opposite 
Which  sunrise  fills  as  full  as  crystal  cups 
Turned  red  to  the  brim  because  their  wine  is  red. 
No  sun  could  die,  nor  yet  be  born  unseen 
By  dwellers  at  my  villa  :  morn  and  eve 
Were  magnified  before  us  in  the  pure 

9  9 


458  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

Illimitable  space  and  pause  of  sky, 
Intense  as  angels'  garments  blanched  with  God, 
Less  blue  than  radiant.     From  the  outer  wall 
Of  the  garden,  drops  the  mystic  floating  gray 
Of  olive  trees  (with  interruptions  green 
From  maize  and  vine)  until  'tis  caught  and  torn 
On  that  abrupt  black  line  of  cypresses 
Which  signs  the  way  to  Florence.     Beautiful 
The  city  lies  along  the  ample  vale, 
Cathedral,  tower  and  palace,  piazza  and  street ; 
The  river  trailing  like  a  silver  cord 
Through  all — and  curling  loosely,  both  before 
And  after,  over  the  whole  stretch  of  land 
Sown  whitely  up  and  down  its  opposite  slopes, 
With  farms  and  villas.1 

Several  other  pictures  drawn  with  amazing  fidelity  appear 
in  this  poem.     I  cite  one  or  two  without  comment : 

"I  rode  once  to  the  little  mountain-house 
As  fast  as  if  to  find  my  father  there, 
But,  when  in  sight  of  't,  within  fifty  yards, 
I  dropped  my  horse's  bridle  on  his  neck 
And  paused  upon  his  flank.     The  house's  front 
Was  cased  with  lingots  of  ripe  Indian  corn 
In  tesselated  order  and  device 
Of  golden  patterns  :  not  a  stone  of  wall 
Uncovered — not  an  inch  of  room  to  grow 
A  vine  leaf.     The  old  porch  had  disappeared, 
And  right  in  the  open  doorway  sate  a  girl 
At  plaiting  straws — her  black  hair  strained  away 
To  a  scarlet  kerchief  caught  beneath  her  chin 
In  Tuscan  fashion — her  full  ebon  eyes, 
Which  looked  too  heavy  to  be  lifted  so, 
Still  dropt  and  lifted  toward  the  mulberry-tree 
On  which  the  lads  were  busy  with  their  staves 
In  shout  and  laughter,  stripping  all  the  boughs 
As  bare  as  winter."  2 

"The  duomo-bell 

Strikes  ten,  as  if  it  struck  ten  fathoms  down, 
So  deep ;  and  twenty  churches  answer  it 

1  Aurora  Leigh,  Book  vn.     Tenth  ed. ,  London,  1872. 

2  Aurora  Leigh,  Book  vn. 


ITALY   IN    ENGLISH   POETKY.  459 

The  same,  with  twenty  various  instances. 
Some  gaslights  tremble  along  squares  and  streets  ; 
The  Pitti's  palace-front  is  drawn  in  fire  : 
And,  past  the  quays,  Maria  Novella  Place, 
In  which  the  mystic  obelisks  stand  up 
Triangular,  pyramidal,  each  based 
Upon  its  four-square  brazen  tortoises, 
To  guard  that  fair  church,  Buonarroti's  Bride, 
That  stares  out  from  her  large  blind  dial-eyes, 
(Her  quadrant  and  armillary  dials,  black 
With  rhythms  of  many  suns  and  moons)  in  vain 
Enquiry  for  so  rich  a  soul  as  his  l — ." 

In  viewing  Mrs.  Browning's  work  as  a  whole  one  cannot 
escape  the  feeling  that  Italy  is  an  essential  part  of  her  very 
life.  She  is  no  mere  antiquarian,  no  dilettante  traveller 
luxuriously  drawn  from  place  to  place  to  view  the  fairest 
sights  and  then  to  pass  on.  She  is  palpitating  with  emotion 
for  the  fate  of  the  land,  and  she  cannot  view  scenery  as 
mere  scenery  and  forget  that  she  is  looking  upon  Italy, 
which  is  her  dearest  home.  It  is  this  feeling  of  oneness 
with  her  adopted  country  which  has  vitalized  much  of  her 
best  work,  and  which  has  permanently  endeared  her  to  the 
Italian  people. 

More  notable  still  is  the  work  of  Robert  Browning,  for 
there  is  perhaps  no  English  poet  who  has  touched  life  on 
so  many  sides.  Architecture,  painting,  sculpture,  history, 
legend,  politics,  philosophy,  religion,  all  the  activities  of 
man,  stir  in  him  a  living  interest.  But  by  more  than  all 
else  is  his  soul  kindled  at  the  thought  of  Italy.  In  De 
Gustibus  he  breaks  out : 

"  Italy,  my  Italy! 

Queen  Mary's  saying  serves  for  me  — 
(When  fortune's  malice 
Lost  her,  Calais) 

1  Aurora  Leigh,  Book  vin. 


460  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

Open  my  heart  and  you  will  see 
Graved  inside  of  it,   '  Italy. ' 
Such  lovers  old  are  I  and  she  : 
So  it  always  was,  so  shall  ever  be." 

His  more  than  forty  years  of  intimate  acquaintance  with 
Italy  enable  him  to  draw  upon  a  wealth  of  accurate  and  vivid 
impressions  such  as  are  paralleled  in  no  other  poet.  So 
familiar  is  he  with  conditions  which  most  readers  only 
vaguely  guess  at  that  he  often  alludes  casually  to  things 
that  none  but  the  visitor  to  the  very  spot  can  fully  realize. 
This  might  be  illustrated  by  scores  of  passages,  but  I  select 
a  few  lines  from  the  introduction  to  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
where  he  describes  the  square  in  Florence  in  which  he 
bought  the  Book.  These  lines  are  amazingly  specific  : 

"I  found  this  book, 

Gave  a  lira  for  it,  eight  pence  English  just, 
(Mark  the  predestination !)  when  a  Hand, 
Always  above  my  shoulder,  pushed  me  once, 
One  day  still  fierce  'mid  many  a  day  struck  calm, 
Across  a  Square  in  Florence,  crammed  with  booths, 
Buzzing  and  blaze,  noontide  and  market-time, 
Toward  Baccio's  marble, — ay,  the  basement- ledge 
O'  the  pedestal  where  sits  and  menaces 
John  of  the  Black  Bands  with  the  upright  spear, 
'Twixt  palace  and  church, — Kiccardi  where  they  lived, 
His  race,  and  San  Lorenzo  where  they  lie. 
This  book, — precisely  on  that  palace-step 
Which,  meant  for  lounging  knaves  o'  the  Medici, 
Now  serves  re- venders  to  display  their  ware, — 
'Mongst  odds  and  ends  of  ravage,  picture-frames 
White  through  the  worn  gilt,  mirror  sconces  chipped, 
Bronze  angel-heads  once  knobs  attached  to  chests 
(Handled  when  ancient  dames  chose  forth  brocade), 
Modern  chalk  drawings,  studies  from  the  nude, 
Samples  of  stone,  jet,  breccia,  porphyry 
Polished  and  rough,  sundry  amazing  busts 
In  baked  earth  (broken,  Providence  be  praised  ! ) 
A  wreck  of  tapestry,  proudly-purposed  web 
When  reds  and  blues  were  indeed  red  and  blue, 


ITALY   IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  461 

Now  offered  as  a  mat  to  save  bare  feet 
(Since  carpets  constitute  a  cruel  cost) 
Treading  the  chill  scagliola  bedward  ;  then 
A  pile  of  brown-etched  prints,  two  crazie  each, 
Stopped  by  a  conch  a-top  from  fluttering  forth — 
Sowing  the  Square  with  works  of  one  and  the  same 
Master,  the  imaginative  Sienese 
Great  in  the  scenic  backgrounds — name  and  fame 
None  of  you  know,  nor  does  he  fare  the  worse :) 
From  these  .  .  .    Oh,  with  a  Lionard  going  cheap 
If  it  should  prove,  as  promised,  that  Joconde 
Whereof  a  copy  contents  the  Louvre  ! — these 
I  picked  this  book  from. 

That  memorable  day, 

(June  was  the  month,  Lorenzo  named  the  Square) , 
I  leaned  a  little  and  overlooked  my  prize 
By  the  low  railing  round  the  fountain-source 
Close  to  the  statue  where  a  step  descends  : 
While  clinked  the  cans  of  copper,  as  stooped  and  rose 
Thick-ankled  girls  who  brimmed  them,  and  made  place 
For  marketmen  glad  to  pitch  basket  down, 
Dip  a  broad  melon-leaf  that  holds  the  wet, 
And  whisk  their  faded  fresh." 

This  description  is  remarkably  detailed,  but  for  the  most 
part  Browning  does  not  dwell  long  upon  a  scene.  He 
flashes  a  single  hint  or  two  upon  the  page  and  passes  on. 
How  characteristically  Italian  is  the  line, — 

' '  Down-stairs  again  goes  fumbling  by  the  rope 
Violante;"1 

Or  these, — 

"  Suddenly  I  saw 

The  old  tower,  and  the  little  whitewalled  clump 
Of  buildings  and  the  cypress  tree  or  two, — 
Already  Castelnuovo — Borne  !  "  2 

Take  this  picture  from  Sordello, — 

"In  Mantua  territory  half  is  slough, 
Half  pine-tree  forests  ;  maples,  scarlet-oaks 

1  The  Ring  and  the  Book,  iv,  Tertium  Quid. 

2  Idem,  vi.  0 


462  WILLIAM   EDWARD   MEAD. 

Breed  o'er  the  river-beds  ;  even  Mincio  chokes 
With  sand  the  summer  through  :  but  'tis  morass 
In  winter  up  to  Mantua  walls  ; "  l 

Or  these  swift  allusive  touches  in  another  poem  to  "  crumbled 
arch,  crushed  acqueduct,"  and  to 

"the  grassy  sea 
Under  the  blinding  blue  that  basks  o'er  Rome."  2 

As  one  more  picture  of  scenery   I   select  the  following 
stanzas,  depicting  a  valley  in  the  Italian  Alps  : 

VII. 

"Look  at  the  ruined  chapel  again 

Half-way  up  in  the  Alpine  gorge  ! 
Is  that  a  tower,  I  point  you  plain, 

Or  is  it  a  mill,  or  an  iron  forge 
Breaks  solitude  in  vain  ? 

VIII. 

A  turn,  and  we  stand  in  the  heart  of  things  ; 

The  woods  are  round  us,  heaped  and  dim  : 
From  slab  to  slab  how  it  slips  and  springs, 

The  thread  of  water  single  and  slim, 
Through  the  ravage  some  torrent  brings  ! 

IX. 

Does  it  feed  the  little  lake  below  ? 

That  speck  of  white  just  on  its  marge 
Is  Pella  ;  see,  in  the  evening  glow, 

How  sharp  the  silver  spear-heads  charge 
When  Alp  meets  heaven  in  snow ! 

x. 

On  our  other  side  is  the  straight-up  rock  ; 

And  a  path  is  kept  'twixt  the  gorge  and  it 
By  boulder-stones  where  lichens  mock 

The  marks  on  a  moth,  and  small  ferns  fit 
Their  teeth  to  the  polished  block. 

1  Book  i. 

2  Prince  Hohenstiel. 


ITALY   IN    ENGLISH    POETRY.  463 


XIV. 


And  yonder,  at  foot  of  the  fronting  ridge 
That  takes  the  turn  to  a  range  beyond, 

Is  the  chapel  reached  by  the  one-arched  bridge 
Where  the  water  is  stopped  in  a  stagnant  pond 

Danced  over  by  the  midge. 


XVI. 

Poor  little  place,  where  its  one  priest  comes 

On  a  festa  day,  if  he  comes  at  all, 
To  the  dozen  folk  from  their  scattered  homes, 

Gathered  within  that  precinct  small 
By  the  dozen  ways  one  roams — 

XVII. 

To  drop  from  the  charcoal-burners'  huts, 
Or  climb  from  the  hemp-dressers'  low  shed, 

Leave  the  grange  where  the  woodman  stores  his  nuts, 
Or  the  wattled  cote  where  the  fowlers  spread 

Their  gear  on  the  rock's  bare  juts.1 

Words  can  scarcely  do  more,  and  comment  is  unnecessary. 

Florence,  Fiesole,  Rome,  the  Campagna,  Venice,  Ferrara, 
Asolo,  Faenza,  Sorrento, — these  are  but  a  part  of  the  places 
that  figure  in  Browning's  verse.  To  present  them  all  would 
far  transcend  the  limits  of  our  space.  1  can  cite  but  a  few 
lines  from  The  Englishman  in  Italy,  which  gathers  together 
in  astonishing  vividness  the  characteristic  sights  of  the 
Piano  di  Sorrento. 

"  So,  I  guessed,  ere  I  got  up  this  morning, 

What  change  was  in  store, 
By  the  quick  rustle-down  of  the  quail-nets 

Which  woke  me  before 
I  could  open  my  shutter,  made  fast 

With  a  bough  and  a  stone, 
And  look  through  the  twisted  dead  vine-twigs, 

Sole  lattice  that's  known. 

lBy  the  Fireside. 


464  WILLIAM    EDWARD    MEAD. 

Quick  and  sharp  rang  the  rings  down  the  net-poles, 

While,  busy  beneath, 
Your  priest  and  his  brother  tugged  at  them, 

The  rain  in  their  teeth. 
And  out  upon  all  the  flat  house-roofs 

Where  split  figs  lay  drying, 
The  girls  took  the  frails  under  cover  ; 

Nor  use  seemed  in  trying 
To  get  out  the  boats  and  go  fishing, 

For,  under  the  cliff, 
Fierce  the  black  water  froth'd  o'er  the  blind  rock. 

No  seeing  our  skiff 
Arrive  about  noon  from  Amalfi, 

Our  fisher  arrive, 
And  pitch  down  his  basket  before  us, 

All  trembling  alive 
With  pink  and  gray  jellies,  your  sea-fruit ; 

You  touch  the  strange  lumps, 
And  mouths  gape  there,  eyes  open,  all  manner 

Of  horns  and  humps, 
Which  only  the  fisher  looks  grave  at, 

While  round  him  like  imps 
Cling  screaming  the  children  as  naked 

And  brown  as  his  shrimps  : 
Himself  too  as  bare  to  the  middle 
— You  see  round  his  neck 
The  string  and  its  brass  coin  suspended, 

That  saves  him  from  wreck." 

This  is  Italy  and  nowhere  else ;  and  no  poet  has  pictured 
it  to  the  life  more  vividly  than  Browning.  His  utterance 
is  no  mere  sightseer's  attempt  to  describe  something  that  he 
hurries  to  see  and  hurries  away  from  in  search  of  something 
else.  His  descriptions  are  spontaneous  and  are  introduced 
because  they  are  a  part  of  the  life  he  knows  and  loves. 
His  Italy  is  not  the  mournful  ruin  of  the  eighteenth  century 
poets.  Nor  is  it  the  classic  Italy,  which  so  fascinated  Byron. 
It  is,  rather,  the  land  of  moving  tragedy  and  of  great 
achievement  in  the  centuries  since  modern  history  began. 
In  his  own  day  Italy  is  for  him  the  land  of  hope  and  prom- 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH   POETRY.  465 

ise,  with  face  turned  toward  the  light.  His  is  a  triumphant 
Italy,  full  of  the  optimism  that  fills  his  own  verse. 

These  few  words  are  but  a  tithe  of  what  might  be  said 
on  Browning,  but  this  sketch  aims  at  no  more  than  a 
general  outline. 

We  now  turn  to  the  last  great  poet  who  has  written 
freely  on  Italy.  In  the  work  of  Swinburne  we  find  a 
burning,  passionate  love  for  Italy  that  cannot  be  paralleled 
in  the  verse  of  any  living  English  poet.  Swinburne  is 
unmeasured  in  praise  or  blame,  and  in  his  enthusiasm  goes 
now  and  then  farther  than  most  readers  can  follow  him. 
But  all  in  all  his  poems  on  Italy  represent  perhaps  his 
highest  poetic  achievement.  Whenever  he  utters  the  name 
of  Italy  his  imagination  takes  fire,  as  in  these  lines : 

"  Beloved  above  all  nations,  land  adored, 
Sovereign  in  spirit  and  charm,  by  song  and  sword, 
Sovereign  whose  life  is  love,  whose  name  is  light, 
Italia,  queen  that  hast  the  sun  for  lord  ;  "  l 

and  so  on  in  the  same  high  strain. 

In  the  long  series  of  his  poems  on  Italy  we  follow  the 
varying  fortunes  of  the  land  in  the  struggle  against  Austria 
and  the  Pope.  One  of  Swinburne's  great  heroes  is  the 
patriot  Giuseppe  Mazzini,  whom  he  adores  and  addresses  in 
the  language  of  very  idolatry.  I  refer  in  particular  to  the 
poem,  entitled  After  Nine  Years,  which  I  hardly  venture  to 
quote.  The  objects  of  his  hate  appear  in  the  series  of 
sonnets  entitled  Dirce,  in  which  he  hurls  maledictions  against 
those  who  are  crushing  Italy.  His  burning  love  finds  utter- 
ance in  such  lines  as  these  from  The  Eve  of  Revolution  : 

"Ah  heaven,  bow  down,  be  nearer !   This  is  she, 
Italia,  the  world's  wonder,  the  world's  care, 
Free  in  her  heart  ere  quite  her  hands  be  free, 
And  lovelier  than  her  loveliest  robe  of  air. 

1  Poems,  VI,  382. 


466  WILLIAM   EDWAKD   MEAD. 

The  earth  hath  voice,  and  speech  is  in  the  sea, 

Sounds  of  great  joy,  too  beautiful  to  bear  ; 
All  things  are  glad  because  of  her,  but  we 

Most  glad,  who  loved  her  when  the  worst  days  were. 
O  sweetest,  fairest,  first, 
O  flower,  when  times  were  worst, 
Thou  hadst  no  stripe  wherein  we  had  no  share."  * 

He  realizes,  too,  the  historic  place  of  Rome  in  the  de- 
velopment of  Europe,  and  he  breaks  out  in  The  Song  of  the 
Standard : 

"Banner  and  beacon  thou  wast  to  the  centuries  of  storm-wind  and  foam, 
Ages  that  clashed  in  the  dark  with  each  other,  and  years  without  home  ; 
Empress  and  prophetess  wast  thou,  and  what  wilt  thou  now  be,  O  Kome?" 

But  Swinburne's  poems  on  Italy  are  not  all  political. 
His  Spring  in  Tuscany  is  a  rapture  over  the  beauty  of  the 
land  he  loves  best. 

' '  Vallombrosa  remotely  remembers 

Perchance,  what  still  to  us  seems  so  near 

That  time  not  darkens  it,  change  not  mars, 
The  foot  that  she  knew  when  her  leaves  were  September's 
The  face  lift  up  to  the  star-blind  seer, 
That  saw  from  his  prison  arisen  his  stars. 

And  Pisa  broods  on  her  dead,  not  mourning, 
For  love  of  her  loveliness  given  them  in  fee  ; 

And  Prato  gleams  with  the  glad  monk's  gift 
Whose  hand  was  there  as  the  hand  of  morning ; 
And  Siena,  set  in  the  sand's  red  sea, 

Lifts  loftier  her  head  than  the  red  sand's  drift. 

And  far  to  the  fair  south-westward  lightens, 

Girdled  and  sandalled  and  plumed  with  flowers, 

At  sunset  over  the  love-lit  lands, 
The  hill-side's  crown  where  the  wild  hill  brightens, 
Saint  Fina's  town  of  the  Beautiful  Towers, 
Hailing  the  sun  with  a  hundred  hands. 

Land  of  us  all  that  have  loved  thee  dearliest, 
Mother  of  men  that  were  lords  of  man, 

Whose  name  in  the  world's  heart  works  as  a  spell, 

1  Stanza  21. 


ITALY   IN   ENGLISH    POETRY.  467 

My  last  song's  light,  and  the  star  of  mine  earliest, 
As  we  turn  from  thee,  sweet,  who  wast  ours  for  a  span, 
Fare  well  we  may  not  who  say  farewell." 

This  is  exquisite  of  its  kind,  but  possibly  in  A  Song  of 
Italy1  Swinburne  reaches  the  highest  level  he  has  ever 
attained.  The  poem  is  a  majestic  paean  over  the  dawn  of 
freedom  in  Italy.  One  may  say  that,  like  most  of  Swin- 
burne's work,  it  is  too  unrestrained,  too  luxuriant,  but  it 
abounds  in  magnificent  passages.  In  sustained  richness, 
few  English  poems  can  compare  with  this  one  where  the 
poet  calls  the  long  roll  of  the  cities  of  Italy  and,  like  a 
Hebrew  prophet,  summons  them  one  by  one  to  praise  their 
deliverer.  The  whole  is  far  too  long  to  quote ;  I  can  admit 
but  a  few  lines. 

' '  From  faint  illumined  fields  and  starry  valleys 
Wherefrom  the  hill-wind  sallies, 
From  Vallombrosa,  from  Valdarno  raise 
One  Tuscan  tune  of  praise. 
O  lordly  city  of  the  field  of  death, 
Praise  him  with  equal  breath, 
From  sleeping  streets  and  gardens,  and  the  stream 
That  threads  them  like  a  dream 
Threads  without  light  the  untravelled  ways  of  sleep 
With  eyes  that  smile  or  weep  ; 
From  the  sweet  sombre  beauty  of  wave  and  wall 
That  fades  and  does  not  fall ; 
From  coloured  domes  and  cloisters  fair  with  fame, 
Praise  thou  and  thine  his  name." 

The  whole  poem  is  in  fact  one  wild,  surging  sea  of 
emotion,  with  now  and  then  a  picture  flashed  upon  the 
vision,  such  as, 

"Bed  hills  of  flame,  white  Alps,  green  Apennines," 
or, 

' '  Ye  starry-headed  heights 
And  gorges  melting  sunward  from  the  sun." 

1  Along  with  this  should  be  read  his  great  poem  on  Siena. 


468  WILLIAM    EDWARD   MEAD. 

The  effect  is  magnificent,  and  yet  one  is  compelled  to  admit 
that  the  average  reader  wearies  a  little  of  this  continued 
exaltation.  At  all  events,  no  one  can  go  to  Swinburne  for 
a  picture  of  Italy  as  it  is.  His  Italy  is  glorified,  deified, 
but  the  image  is  distorted  and  magnified  by  being  viewed 
through  golden  mist. 

Considering  the  extent  of  Swinburne's  work  on  Italy 
there  is  indeed  surprisingly  little  in  the  form  of  exact 
description,  but  there  is  a  superfluity  of  dithyrambic  eulogy, 
heaped  up  epithet,  and  overwrought  phrase.  The  result  is 
that  amid  the  torrent  of  words  one  is  not  always  sure  as  to 
just  what  it  all  means. 

As  we  glance  in  retrospect  at  the  entire  body  of  verse 
that  has  Italy  as  its  theme,  we  may  venture  a  few  generali- 
zations. It  is  obvious  that  poetry  of  this  sort  is  at  least 
liable  to  various  faults.  The  tendency  is  to  run  into  poetry 
of  mere  description ;  and  poetry  of  mere  description,  with 
no  other  purpose  than  to  reproduce  a  scene  with  photo- 
graphic accuracy,  has  only  now  and  then  attained  a  high 
level.  Vital  poetry  is  more  than  mere  words,  and  art  is 
more  than  mere  photography. 

Poetry  of  the  sort  we  are  considering  presupposes  as  a 
usual  thing  that  the  poet  has  had  opportunity  to  get 
a  personal  acquaintance  with  the  place  of  which  he  writes. 
This  fact  of  itself  is  enough .  to  account  for  the  entire 
omission  of  any  mention  of  Italy  in  the  work  of  a  multitude 
of  poets,  for  there  are  many  who  never  knew  Italy  except 
through  books.  Now  and  then  a  poet,  as,  for  example, 
Pope,  may  have  ventured  a  little  distance  without  a  first- 
hand knowledge  of  the  country,  but  the  result  is  in  general 
insignificant  in  quantity  or  quality,  or  both. 

The  list  of  poets  who  make  no  use  of  Italy  is  too  long 
to  cite,  but  a  few  names  are  suggestive.  We  may  note 


ITALY    IN    ENGLISH    POETEY.  469 

Sidney,  Raleigh,  and  the  long  line  of  other  Elizabethan 
poets,  many  of  whom,  nevertheless,  draw  their  inspiration 
from  Italian  sources.  In  the  seventeenth  century  there  are 
Donne,  Quarles,  George  Herbert,  Carew,  Suckling,  Cowley, 
Denham,Waller,  Herrick,  Butler.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
there  are  Parnell,  Gay,  Garth,  Young,  Blair.  In  the  nine- 
teenth century  there  are  Burns,  Campbell,  Scott,  Kirke 
White,  Jean  Ingelow,  Tupper,  William  Morris  and  scores 
of  others.  We  have  very  little  from  South  ey  or  Coleridge, 
and  many  others  whom  we  might  reasonably  expect  to  find 
among  those  who  are  drawn  to  Italy  by  natural  ties.  The 
explanation  "is  doubtless,  in  some  cases,  that  the  writer  had 
a  natural  bent  toward  other  things ;  but  in  many  instances 
the  neglect  of  Italian  themes  may  be  explained  by  the  mere 
lack  of  opportunity  to  get  a  sufficient  acquaintance  with  the 
subject. 

Besides  these  limitations,  one  cannot  help  noting  that 
there  is  a  singular  narrowness  in  the  range  of  places  in 
Italy  that  have  attracted  the  poets.  Venice  and  Florence, 
Rome  and  Naples,  and  their  environs,  recur  again  and  again. 
Other  cities  are  indeed  mentioned,  but  so  rarely  as  to  be 
exceptional.  Yet  this  is  perhaps  what  we  might  expect. 
These  famous  places  are  of  universal  interest.  An  allusion 
to  them  is  immediately  understood.  But  the  reader  of  a 
poem  that  pictures  some  remote  corner  of  the  Abruzzi  or 
of  Calabria  needs  a  guide-book  and  a  commentary  to  start 
with. 

It  is,  therefore,  easy  to  name  multitudes  of  places  notable 
for  beauty  or  even  for  historic  interest — Taormina,  Segesta, 
Selinunte,  San  Gimignano,  Spoleto — that  are  as  good  as 
ignored  by  English  poets.  Mere  beauty,  it  may  be  remarked, 
is  not  enough  in  most  cases  to  stir  the  poetic  emotion  to 
activity.  There  must  be  something  human  that  enters  into 
the  scene,  and  though  that  element  is  by  no  means  dissoci- 

0 


470  WILLIAM   EDWAED    MEAD. 

ated  with  places  of  the  sort  just  enumerated,  they  are  in 
general  too  remote  from  ordinary  thinking  to  find  their  way 
often  into  poetry.  Yet  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  with 
increasing  travel  and  growing  familiarity  with  the  land  and 
its  history  the  sources  of  inspiration  will  be  limited  to  a 
narrow  round  of  localities.  The  poetic  possibilities  of  Italy 
are  too  great  for  that.  Beyond  question  the  whole  land 
will,  in  due  time,  find  in  every  part  its  due  poetic  tribute. 

In  conclusion,  we  may  note  that  two  sentiments  run 
through  practically  all  the  nineteenth  century  poems  on 
Italy.  One  is  the  sense  of  the  strange,  haunting,  almost 
unearthly,  beauty  of  the  land,  a  beauty  which,  once  felt,  is 
almost  irresistible  and  calls  back  the  wanderer  after  years 
of  absence.  And  along  with  this  there  is  the  delight  in  the 
life  of  the  gay  and  passionate  South,  in  the  bright  glancing 
color  of  Naples  and  Capri,  and  the  picturesque  figures  that 
gleam  amid  fruits  and  flowers  in  the  market-places  of  Rome 
and  Florence. 

The  other  sentiment  is  the  feeling  of  the  well-nigh  infinite 
possibilities  of  Italy,  of  what  she  has  achieved  in  art  and 
science,  and  literature  and  philosophy,  and  of  what  she 
might  accomplish  could  she  but  reach  the  level  of  her 
highest  aspirations.  The  mere  endeavor  thus  to  express  the 
innermost  heart  of  Italy  has  been  itself  a  quickening  force. 
These  impulses  have  never  been  stronger  than  in  our  genera- 
tion ;  and  we  may  confidently  expect  that  the  generations  to 
come  will  embody  them  in  verse  of  enduring  merit. 

WILLIAM  EDWAED  MEAD. 


XIX.—  AMI  ET  AMILE. 

It  is  not  so  very  many  years  ago  that  students  of  Folk- 
Lore  who  felt  that  the  indebtedness  of  Europe  to  the  East 
in  the  matter  of  stories  had  been  exaggerated  were  greatly 
interested  and  pleased  by  Be"dier's  work  on  the  French 
Fabliau.  The  same  scholar  is  now  publishing  the  re- 
sults of  his  investigations  in  the  field  of  the  French  epic, 
results  extremely  suggestive,  not  to  say  exciting.  What 
more  startling  than  to  be  told  that  if,  because  of  illness  or 
accident,  William  of  Toulouse  had  died  before  he  was  able 
to  enter  the  monastery  of  Aniane  and  found  the  monastery 
of  Gellone,  not  one  of  the  chansons  de  geste,  not  one  of  the 
legends  of  the  cycle  of  Orange  would  exist ;  and  not  one  of 
these  chansons  nor  one  of  these  legends  would  exist,  if  by 
chance,  three  or  more  centuries  after  the  death  of  this  man 
in  the  Abbey  of  Gellone,  the  monks  of  the  abbey  had  not 
been  anxious  to  attract  to  his  relics  the  pilgrims  of 
Saint  Gilles  de  Provence  and  Santiago  of  Compostela? 
Whether  such  a  radical  theory  meets  with  general  accept- 
ance or  not,  it  was  well  that  some  one,  instead  of  trying  to 
reconstruct  the  French  epic  postulated  as  existing  before 
the  documents  which  we  possess,  should  examine  the  latter 
anew  and  pay  especial  attention  to  what  is  an  interesting 
phenomenon  in  nearly  every  mass  of  epic  literature,  the 
relations  of  the  religious  bodies  to  these  great  narrative 
works.  No  one  could  have  done  this  more  brilliantly  than 
Be"dier.  No  one  henceforth  will  forget  how  intimate  these 
relations  were  in  France.  Nevertheless,  it  is  hard  to  give 
up  without  a  struggle  what  we  have  fancied  were  inter- 
mediate steps  in  the  evolution  of  the  French  epic,  when  we 
remember  what  has  gone  on  in  other  countries  participating 

4*1 


472  M.    A.    POTTER. 

in  epic  activity,  and  one  may  well  hesitate  to  attribute  to 
the  church  so  great  a  role  as  does  this  latest  theorist. 
Doubts  become  especially  insistent  when  one  reads  his 
remarks  upon  the  Ami  and  Amile  legend,  in  its  three  forms, 
the  eleventh  century  Latin  poem  on  friendship  by  Raoul  le 
Tourtier,  the  chanson  de  geste,  and  the  Vita  sanctorum  Amid 
et  Amelii  of  the  twelfth  century.  To  do  Bedier  entire 
justice,  his  own  words  will  be  quoted  as  far  as  possible, 
even  his  summary  of  the  legend,  with  which  it  is  well  to 
start. 

"Ami  et  Amile  sont  deux  enfants  nobles  con9us  a  la 
meme  heure,  ne"s  le  m6me  jour  en  deux  regions  de  France, 
eloignees  Pune  de  Pautre ;  leurs  parents,  avertis  miracu- 
leusement  qu'ils  sont  pre* destines  &  une  e'ternelle  amitie,  les 
out  port4s  au  pape,  pour  qu'ils  fussent  baptises  le  m&ne  jour 
par  le  meme  parrain ;  d£s  Penfance,  ils  se  ressemblent  a  tel 
point  que  nul  ne  peut  les  distinguer  Pun  de  Pautre.  Ils 
grandissent  se"pare"s ;  mais,  venus  a  Page  d'homme,  tous 
deux  se  mettent  en  route  le  meme  jour  pour  se  retrouver. 
Apr6s  s'6tre  longtemps  cherches,  ils  se  rejoignent  en  effet, 
forment  un  pacte  de  compagnonnage  et  servent  ensemble 
avec  honneur  le  m£me  roi,  jusqu'au  jour  ou  Pun  d'eux, 
Amile,  accuse"  d'avoir  seduit  la  fille  de  ce  roi,  est  tenu  de 
s'en  justifier  par  combat  judiciaire  ;  il  ne  saurait  soutenir  ce 
combat,  car  Paccusation  est  vraie  ;  mais  les  deux  compagnons 
tirent  alors  profit  de  leur  merveilleuse  ressemblance.  Ils 
changent  de  v£tements  et  se  font  passer  Pun  pour  Pautre. 
Amile  se  retire  dans  le  chateau  d'Ami,  et  tous  le  prennent 
pour  le  vrai  seigneur  du  lieu,  mdme  la  femme  de  celui-ci, 
auprSs  de  qui  il  couche,  comme  s'il  e"tait  le  mari,  mais  en 
mettant  entre  elle  et  lui  une  e'pe'e  nue,  symbole  et  gardienne  de 
sa  chastete".  Cependant  Ami  se  faisant  passer  pour  Amile, 
a  pu  jurer  sans  mensonge  qu'il  n'avait  pas  se"duit  la  prin- 
cesse,  a  soutenu  le  combat  judiciaire,  tu6  Paccusateur,  et 


AMI   ET   AMILE.  473 

victorieux  a  Spouse",  sous  le  nom  de  son  compagnon,  la  fille 
du  roi.  II  la  conduit  a  son  vrai  mari;  mais,  pen  apres, 
Dieu  le  frappe  :  il  devient  lepreux.  Chasse  par  sa  femme, 
il  erre  par  les  pays,  pendant  des  anne"es,  r6duit  a  mendier, 
tant  qu'enfin  il  parvient  au  chateau  ou  son  compagnon, 
ignorant  ses  malheurs,  vivait  en  paix.  Amile  reconnait  le 
miserable,  le  recueille,  le  soigne  tendrement.  Un  jour  Dieu 
lui  enseigne  comment  Ami  pourra  guerir  :  il  faut  qu' Amile 
Sgorge  ses  deux  enfants  et  qu'il  frotte  de  leur  sang  les  plaies 
du  ladre.  II  le  fait  et  guerit  Ami,  un  nouveau  miracle  res- 
suscite  les  enfants.  Les  deux  compagnons  meurent  le  m£me 
jour  :  miracle  de  leurs  tornbes  qui  se  rSunissent." 

Fairly  elaborate  as  this  summary  is,  it  omits  one  or  two 
details  of  some  importance ;  for  instance,  the  manner  in 
which  God  informs  Ami  how  he  can  be  cured.  One  night 
an  angel  comes  to  Ami  and  tells  him  that  on  the  next  Sun- 
day he  must  remain  at  home  instead  of  going  to  church. 
Belissant  will  attend  mass,  while  Amile  will  come  to  see  how 
his  friend  is.  He  must  be  told  that  it  is  God's  will  that 
Ami  be  healed,  provided  that  Amile  decapitate  his  children 
and  bathe  the  sick  man  in  their  blood.  Both  Ami  and 
Amile  are  distressed  by  the  angel's  message,  and  Amile's 
anguish  is  increased  by  the  words  of  one  of  his  little  sons 
when  he  awakes : 

2989      "  L'anfes  se  tome,  son  pere  ravisa, 

S'espee  voit,  moult  grant  paor  en  a. 
Son  pere  apelle,  si  Ten  arraisonna: 
'  Biax  sire  peres,  por  deu  qui  tout  forma, 
Que  volez  faire,  nel  me  celez  voz  ja. 
Ainz  mais  nus  peres  tel  chose  ne  pensa.' " 

When  his  father  explains  to  him  why   he  has  come,   the 
boy  gladly  consents  to  die,  his  last  words  being  : 

3011      "Mais  nostre  mere  la  bele  Belissant 

Noz  saluez  por  deu  omnipotent."  , 

10 


474  M.    A.    POTTER. 

The  miracle  of  the  healing  follows  the  slaying  of  the  chil- 
dren. Then  the  two  friends  go  to  the  church,  where  they 
see  Belissant,  whose  joy  is  turned  to  terror  and  grief  when 
she  learns  from  her  husband  the  price  paid  for  Ami's 
recovery.  Followed  by  a  crowd,  she  rushes  to  the  room 
where  she  left  her  children,  and  finds  them  playing  together. 
This  is  the  second  miracle. 

What  are  the  most  striking  features  of  this  legend  ?  First 
of  all,  the  friendship  of  the  two  men.  That  is  why  they 
figure  in  the  poem  of  Eaoul  le  Tourtier,  and  as  the  chanson 
de  geste  says  : 

3071         "  Moult  puet  bien  croire  que  il  est  ses  amis 
Quant  ses  douz  fiuls  a  si  por  lui  ocis." 

The  second  is  the  healing  by  blood,  and  a  third  would  be, 
in  Bedier's  opinion,  the  hagiographical  character  of  the 
story. 

Now  almost  invariably  when  an  epic  poem  is  an  object  of 
study,  one  of  the  first  things  done  is  to  attempt  to  discover 
the  source  of  its  plot.  Here  Bedier  is  original.  He  says 
explicitly : 

"II  n'entre  pas  dans  mon  dessein  de  rechercher  ou  et 
quand  cette  Iggende  s'est  d'abord  forme'e.  Comme  elle 
utilise  quelques  themes  rSpandus  dans  le  folk-lore  de 
maints  pays  (P6p6e  gardienne  de  continence,  le  sang  inno- 
cent, qui  seul  peut  gue"rir,  etc.),  de  nombreux  critiques  y 
voient  un  tr£s  ancien  conte  populaire,  d'origine  orientale 
naturellement.  G.  Paris  e"crit :  '  Malgre*  le  manque  de 
paralleles  orientaux  signals  jusqu'a  present,  nous  penchons 
fort  a  voir  dans  la  le"gende  du  I6preux  que  son  ami  gue"rit 
en  sacrifiant  ses  enfants  pour  Poindre  de  leur  sang,  un  conte 
d'origine  orientale  venu  en  Occident  par  un  intermediaire 
byzantin  et  par  transmission  litteraire.7 ):  This,  B£dier  says, 
is  a  gratuitous  hypothesis  which  he  neither  accepts  nor  con- 


AMI    ET    AMILE.  475 

tradicts.  In  a  footnote,  he  adds  that  since  Paris  made  the 
suggestion  in  1885 — "  Vingt  ans  ont  passes  depuis :  je  ne 
sache  pas  qu'ou  ait  de"couvert  dans  I'intervalle  le  moindre 
parallele  ni  dans  PInde,  ni  nulle  part  en  Orient." 

But  there  is  a  parallel  in  an  Eastern  literature,  in  that  of 
the  Turkish  races  of  Southern  Siberia  with  which  most  stu- 
dents of  the  epic  are  familiar  in  KadlofFs  collection,  and  this 
particular  case  was  noted  in  connection  with  the  Ami  and 
Amile  story  by  Panzer  in  his  study  of  the  Hilde-Gudrun 
theme.1  No  one,  of  course,  expects  Be"dier  to  seek  out  every 
parallel  of  every  story  in  the  French  epic,  but  his  attitude  is 
not  ingratiating,  and  it  is  dangerous  to  make  statements  like 
the  following : 

"  Que  par  des  speculations  ingenieuses  on  de"pouille  cette 
histoire  de  ses  elements  chevaleresques  (le  combat  judiciaire, 
etc.)  et  de  ses  elements  chre"tiens  (la  rnaladie  et  la  guerison 
envoyees  par  Dieu),  je  ue  sais  ce  qu'il  pourra  rester  du  conte  ; 
mais  la  tentative  est  permise.  On  peut  imaginer  abstraite- 
ment  une  forme  de  la  I6gende  telle  qu'elle  se  deroule  en  ci- 
vilisation indienne,  arabe  ou  byzantine ;  en  fait,  une  seule 
forme  nous  est  connue,  primitive  ou  non ;  et  Ton  ne  peut 
que  constater  que,  sous  cette  forme,  1' histoire  d'Ami  et 
d'Arnile  est  une  le"gende  a  la  fois  feodale  et  chretienne." 

The  Siberian  version  is  to  be  found  in  the  second  volume 
of  RaJloITfi  Pi'ubufrifyr  voii&htteratur  der  tur/dschen  titdmme 
and  is  the  eighth  song,  entitled  Ai  Tolysy.2 
Ai  Tolysy  isthe  Siberian  Ami,  Kattandschula  the  Amile, 
and  the  part  of  the  poem  which  more  or  less  closely  corres- 
ponds to  the  French  legend,  may  be  (briefly)  summarized  as 
follows  :  The  youthful  hero,  Ai  Tolysy,  rides  forth  from 


1  Panzer,  Hilde-Gudrun,  1901,  p.  274. 

2  P.  176. 


476  M.    A.    POTTEK. 

home  one  day,  and  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings  comes  to 
a  black  house  which  he  enters  by  force.  An  old  woman 
whom  he  finds  within,  tells  him  that  the  place  belongs  to 
the  hero,  Kattandschula  (her  son),  who  will  kill  him  on  his 
return.  Being  a  resourceful  person,  however,  and  pitying 
the  lad,  she  changes  him  into  a  whip,  conceals  him  in  a 
chest,  and  then  with  the  help  of  her  "  siebzig  grausamen 
Manner,"  whom  she  has  at  her  beck  and  call,  she  forces  the 
fierce  Kattandschula  to  promise  that  he  will  not  harm  Ai 
Tolysy.  This  accomplished, 

217  "  Die  im  Kasten  befindliche  goldstielige 

Peitsche  nahm  sie  lieraus, 
Hin  warf  sie  die  Peitsche, 
Der  Jiingling  stand  da. 

*  Kattandschula,  mein  Bruder !  ' 
Da  spricht  Kattandschula: 

*  Wir  beide  sind  Bruder  geworden, 
Ja   Briiderchen!  '" 

Here  we  have  the  beginning  of  the  friendship  of  the  men. 
After  a  number  of  adventures  Kattandschula  asks  Ai 
Tolysy  to  obtain  for  him  the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  Tar- 
batty  Kan,  Tarbatty  Tana  : 

469          "'Dies   ist   das   mir  bestimmte  Madchen, 

Dem  Helden,  der  im  Guten  dorthin  kommt, 
Giebt  jener  seine  Tochter  nicht. 
Der  Held,  der  im  Bosen  hinkommt, 
Vermag  das  Madchen  nicht  zu  nehmen.'  " 

When  a  father  is  so  unreasonable,  the  suitor  or  his  repre- 
sentative must  have  recourse  to  abduction.  Ai  Tolysy's 
first  attempt  falls  through,  the  second  is  successful,  but 
Tarbatty  Tana  then  causes  trouble  because  she  prefers  to 
marry  the  man  who  has  carried  her  off.  She  consents, 
however,  to  abide  by  the  decision  of  her  father  as  to  which 
one  shall  become  her  husband.  Neither  hero  has  the 


AMI    ET   AMILE.  477 

slightest  desire  to  appear  before  Tarbatty  Kan  on  this 
quest,  but  Ai  Tolysy  yields  to  Kattandschula7  s  urging  and 
makes  the  journey  a  third  time.  Tarbatty  Kan,  on  hearing 
his  daughter's  message,  expresses  the  most  complete  indiffer- 
ence : 

1257        "  '  Da  sie  ohne  meine  Erlaubniss  gegangen, 

Mag  sie  einen  Menschen  heirathen  oder  einen  Aina, 
Das  ist  nicht  meine   Sache.' " 

He  sends,  however,  as  wedding  presents  to  his  prospective 
son-in-law  a  pair  of  black  boots,  a  silken  girdle,  and  a 
white  hat.  Greek  gifts,  as  it  proves,  for  while  Ai  Tolysy 
is  crossing  the  Yellow  Sea,  he  hears  a  little  bird,  which  has 
alighted  on  the  boat,  sing  : 

1288        "'Schwarze   Stiefel  bringst   du  bin, 

Der  Mensch,   der   diese   Stiefel   anzieht, 

Wird  bis  zum  Knie  zu   Stein. 

Einen  seidenen  Gurt  bringst  du  bin, 

Der  Mensch,  der  den  seidenen  Gurt  umbindet, 

Wird  bis  zu  den  Hiiften  zu  Stein. 

Einen  weissen  Hut  bringst  du  bin, 

Der  Mensch,  der  den  Hut  aufsetzt, 

Wird  bis  zum  Kopfe  zu  Stein. 

Der  Mensch,  der  dies  weiss  und  es  sagt, 

Wird,  ohne  sie  angelegt  zu  haben,  zu  Stein/" 

On  his  return,  Ai  Tolysy  prevents  Kattandschula  from 
putting  on  the  boots,  girdle  and  hat,  and  to  calm  his  friend's 
fury  tells  him  the  reason.  Immediately  he  is  turned  to 
stone. 

1373          "Tarbatty  Tana  jammert, 

Auch  Kattandschula's  Mutter 
Weinte. 

'Ehe  Ai  Tolysy  zu  Stein  geworden  ware, 
Wenn  Kattandschula  zu  Stein  geworden  ware, 
Wiirde  es  besser  gewesen  sein.' 
Im  Hause  wohnten  sie, 
Ai  Tolysy  kam  ihnen  nicht  in  den  Sinn, 
Sie  vergassen  ihn. 
Die  Alte  jammert  immer  noch."  * 


478  M.    A.    POTTER. 

Tarbatty  Tana  gives  birth  to  a  boy.  One  night  she 
dreams  that  she  cuts  him  open  : 

1389  "  Als    sie   den   Leib   aufgesclmitten,, 

Nahm   Kattandschula  Herz  und  Lunge, 
Die  Gedarme  nahm  Tarbatty  Tana, 
Hinaus  gingeii   sie, 
Den  zu  Stein  gewordenen  Ai  Tolysy 
Schlagen  sie  damit  dreimal  rund  umgehend, 
Da  wird  Ai  Tolysy  lebendig." 

Kattandschula,  when  he  hears  the  dream,  declares  that 
he  has  no  intention  of  bringing  his  friend  back  to  life  at 
such  a  price,  but  his  old  mother,  who  is  especially  fond  of 
Ai  Tolysy,  says  : 

1442        "  '  Des  Ai  Tolysy  wegen 

Thut  dir  eiii  kind  leid, 

Wenn  du  es  nicht  thust, 

Werde  ich  schon  etwas  finden,  dicli  zu  todten.' " 

This  has  some  effect  upon  Kattanschula. 

1449  "  Das  Kind  nahm  er,   legte  es   hin, 

Liess  es  von  der  Mutter  halten, 
Das  Stahlschwert  nahm  er  in  die  Hand, 
Da   weinte   das   Kind: 
'  Was  macht  ihr  nur  mit  mir  ? 
Ehe  ich  sterbe,  will  ich  der  Mutter  Brust  nehmen !  ' ' 

Ai  Tolysy  is  restored  to  life ;  and  sometime  after  the 
celebration  in  honor  of  the  event,  he  himself  brings  the  dead 
child  to  life  again. 

In  this  wild,  often  grotesque  poem  we  have  once  more 
the  story  of  two  friends,  brothers  in  arms,  the  penalty  that 
one  of  them  pays  for  serving  the  other,  and  the  healing  by 
blood.  The  tenderness  which  characterizes  the  French 
chanson  de  geste  is  almost  entirely  lacking,  but  there  is 
something  fine  about  the  affection  of  the  old  woman  for 
Ai  Tolysy ;  and  if  Kattandschula  kills  his  child  because  of 


AMI    ET   AMILE.  479 

fear  rather  than  from  devotion  to  his  friend,  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  Ai  Tolysy  is  great.  It  is  the  friendship  of  the 
Siberian  Ami,  not  of  Aniile,  that  withstands  the  severe 
test.  Here  again,  the  words  of  the  French  poem  are  true  : 

"  Car  au  besoing  puet  li  horn  esprouver 
Qui  est  amis  ne  qui  le  vueult  amer." 

Now  not  only  are  the  similarities  between  the  two  legends 
of  interest,  but  the  divergencies  as  well  :  the  turning  to 
stone  instead  of  the  falling  sick  with  leprosy,  the  fatal  gifts 
and  the  .warning.  These  are  features  of  a  well  known 
mdrcJien,  Faithful  John,  which  Be"dier  must  have  had  in 
mind  when  he  referred  to  "  quelques  themes  r6pandus 
dans  le  folk-lore  de  maints  pays  (  .  .  .  .  le  sang  innocent 
qui  seul  peut  guerir)."  Faithful  John  is  the  guardian  of 
a  young  prince  whose  father  has  left  orders  that  his  son 
must  never  enter  a  certain  room,  where  hangs  the  portrait 
of  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  the  Golden  Palace.  Should 
the  boy  see  the  picture,  he  will  wish  to  obtain  the  princess 
as  wife,  and  will  undergo  great  perils.  The  prince  does 
enter  the  room,  in  spite  of  the  pleadings  of  his  guardian, 
and  soon  afterwards,  disguised  as  merchants,  the  two  succeed 
in  abducting  the  princess.  On  the  voyage  home  Faithful 
John,  overhearing  by  chance  the  conversation  of  three 
crows,  learns  of  dangers  which  threaten  his  master  and 
mistress.  When  the  latter  go  on  shore,  "  a  fox-coloured 
horse  will  spring  towards  them,  on  which  the  prince  will 
mount,  and  as  soon  as  he  is  on  it,  it  will  jump  up  with  him 
into  the  air,  so  that  he  will  never  again  see  his  bride. "  The 
second  crow  asked,  "Is  there  no  escape?"  "Oh  yes,  if 
another  mounts  behind  quickly,  and  takes  out  the  firearms 
which  are  in  the  holster,  and  with  them  shoots  the  horse 
dead,  then  the  young  king  will  be  saved.  And  if  any  one 
does  know  it,  and  tells  him,  such  a  one  will  be  turned  to 


480  M.    A.    POTTER. 

stone  from  the  toe  to  the  knee."  When  the  second  crow 
said,  "  I  know  still  more  :  if  the  horse  should  be  killed,  the 
young  king  will  not  then  retain  his  bride  ;  for  when  they 
come  into  the  castle,  a  beautiful  bridal  shirt  will  lie  there 
upon  a  dish,  and  seem  to  be  woven  of  silver  and  gold,  but 
it  is  nothing  but  sulphur  and  pitch  ;  and  if  he  puts  it  on,  it 
will  burn  him  to  his  marrow  and  bones."  Then  the  third 
crow  asked,  "  Is  there  no  escape  ?  "  "  Oh,  yes,"  answered 
the  second ;  "  if  some  one  takes  up  the  shirt  with  his  gloves 
on,  and  throws  it  into  the  fire  so  that  it  is  burnt,  the  young 
King  will  be  saved.  But  what  does  that  signify  ?  Whoever 
knows  it,  and  tells  him,  will  be  turned  to  stone  from  his 
knee  to  his  heart."  Then  the  third  crow  spoke  :  "  I  know 
still  more  :  even  if  the  bridal  shirt  be  consumed,  still  the 
young  King  will  not  retain  his  bride.  For  if,  after  the 
wedding,  a  dance  is  held,  while  the  young  Queen  dances, 
she  will  suddenly  turn  pale,  and  fall  down  as  if  dead ;  and 
if  some  one  does  not  raise  her  up,  and  take  three  drops  of 
blood  from  her  right  breast,  and  throw  them  away,  she  will 
die.  But,  whoever  knows  that,  and  tells  it,  will  have  his 
whole  body  turned  to  stone,  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to 
the  toes  of  his  feet." 

Faithful  John  does  avert  the  three  catastrophes  and  as  a 
reward  is  condemned  to  the  gallows.  Before  the  execution 
takes  place,  he  explains  his  reasons  and  is  turned  to  stone. 
The  King,  repenting  too  late,  has  the  stone  statue  placed  in 
his  room  and  "  often  as  he  looked  at  it,  he  wept  and  said, 
'Ah,  could  I  bring  you  back  to  life  again,  my  faithful 
John  !  >  » 

In  time  the  Queen  gave  birth  to  two  little  sons.  One 
day  when,  like  Belissant,  she  had  gone  to  church  and  the 
boys  are,  playing  by  the  side  of  their  father,  the  latter 
again  addresses  the  statue  with  the  usual  remark.  This 
time  the  statue  replies,  tells  him  that  he  can  restore  him  to 


AMI   ET  AMILE.  481 

life  if  he  will  sacrifice  what  is  dearest  to  him,  cut  off  the 
heads  of  his  children  and  sprinkle  the  stone  with  his  blood. 
The  King,  terrified  but  mindful  of  the  self-sacrifice  of  his 
guardian,  follows  out  the  suggestion.  The  promised  result 
follows,  and  then  Faithful  John,  "  taking  the  heads  of  the 
two  children,  set  them  on  again,  and  anointed  their  wounds 
with  their  blood,  and  thereupon  they  healed  again  in  a 
moment,  and  the  children  sprang  away  and  played  as  if 
nothing  had  happened/' 

Obviously  this  mdrchen  resembles  less  closely  the  Ami 
and  Amile  than  the  Siberian  song,  and  the  connection  is 
clearer  between  the  first  two,  since  the  discovery  of  the  last. 
Nevertheless,  the  similarity  had  been  remarked  long  before, 
and  as  it  is  incredible  that  B6dier  should  not  have  seen  the 
long  note  on  the  parallel  by  Nyrop  in  his  work  on  the 
French  epic,  which  appeared  in  the  Italian  translation  only 
three  years  after  Paris  had  suggested  an  Oriental  origin  of 
the  tale,  it  would  have  been  well  for  him  to  refer  to  it  rather 
than  say,  "  Je  ne  sache  pas  qu'on  ait  de*couvert  dans  Pint<§r- 
valle  le  momdre  [my  own  italics]  paralMe  ni  dans  PInde  ni 
nulle  part  en  Orient."  He  may  refuse  to  regard  the  Sibe- 
rian song  and  the  mdrchen  as  real  variants  of  the  Ami  and 
Amile,  but  as  long  as  he  simply  ignores  them,  instead  of 
proving,  so  far  as  is  possible,  that  this  particular  point  of 
view  is  correct,  many  who  are  deeply  interested  in  his  theo- 
ries must  hesitate  and  even  refuse  to  accept  some  of  his  most 
vital  conclusions.  For  instance,  he  says  : 

"Cette  le*gende  feodale  et  chre"tienne,  on  peut  concevoir 
abstraitement  et  par  unjeu  d'hypotheses  qu'elle  n'a  e"te*  coulee 
que  sur  le  tard  et  par  accident  dans  le  moule  des  chansons 
de  geste :  il  n'est  pas  ne"cessaire  qu'Ami  et  Arnile  soient  des 
comtes  ou  des  chevaliers  ni  que  leur  destinee  se  noue  a  la 
cour  d'un  roi,  ni  que  ce  roi  soit  Charlemagne.  Mais,  en 

* 


482  M.    A.    POTTER. 

fait,  et  si  Ton  se  garde  des  hypotheses,  on  ne  pent  que  con- 
stater  que  les  trois  seals  textes  anciens  dont  nous  dis- 
posons  s'accordent  a  faire  d'Ami  et  d'Amile  les  h6ros  d'un 
roman  6pique."  Again  : 

"  Cette  ancienne  chanson  de  geste  franpaise,  on  peut 
imaginer  abstraitement,  et  par  un  jeu  d' hypotheses,  que  les 
h6ros  n'en  sont  devenus  des  saints  que  sur  le  tard  et  par 
accident.  En  fait,  et  si  Ton  se  dispense  de  toute  hypothSse, 
on  ne  peut  que  constater  que  nos  trois  textes  anciens  les 
donnent  pour  des  saints  ;  il  est  bien  vrai  que,  seule,  la  Vita 
de"veloppe  le  recit  de  leur  ' passion  '  et  de  leur  '  deposition' ; 
mais  les  trois  textes  s'accordent  a  les  marquer,  des  Pheure  de 
leur  naissance,  des  signes  d'une  predestination  stirnaturelle ; 
Dieu  les  mene  tous  deux  a  travers  les  e"preuves,  vers  une 
meme  fin,  qu'il  sait ;  n6s  le  meme  jour,  lie's  par  Dieu  dans 
la  vie,  leur  histoire  n?a  de  sens  que  s'ils  meurent  le  meme 
jour,  lie's  dans  la  mort ;  et  ce  n'est  done  pas  seulement  Pac- 
cord  des  textes  conserves,  e'est  1'esprit  intime  de  la  legende 
qui  veut  que  le  miracle  des  tombes  soit  primitif  et  que  les 
deux  compagnons  soient  des  saints." 

That  the  oldest  documentary  evidence  we  possess  is  fur- 
nished by  the  Latin  poem,  the  Vita,  and  the  Chanson  de 
Geste,  is  probably  true.  In  this  respect  the  marchen  and 
the  Siberian  songs  are  younger,  but  documents  do  not,  of 
necessity,  determine  the  age  of  any  legend,  though  they 
should  be  taken  into  account.  But,  younger  or  older,  cer- 
tain things  are  proved.  There  is  no  need  of  accepting  the 
challenge  to  imagine  abstractly  some  form  of  the  story  whose 
scene  is  laid  in  the  East,  for  the  version  actually  exists,  and 
Bedier  is  incorrect  when  he  says,  "  en  fait,  une  seule  forme 
nous  est  connue,  primitive  ou  non."  Again,  while  Ami  and 
Amile  are  heroes  of  an  epic  romance  which  is  both  feudal 
and  Christian,  it  is  indeed  not  necessary  that  they  should 


AMI    ET   AMILE.  483 

be  counts  or  knights,  that  their  destiny  should  be  bound  up 
with  the  court  of  a  king,  that  that  king  should  be  Charle- 
magne. The  story  of  such  a  friendship,  surviving  such  tests, 
is  a  theme  universal  in  its  nature,  adaptable  to  all  milieux, 
and  certainly  not  inherently  feudal  or  Christian.  It  appears 
to  be  a  rather  wide-spread  tale,  with  Faithful  John  as  one 
of  its  forms.1 

An  incident  in  the  Ami  and  Amile  which  has  per- 
plexed some  of  its  readers  and  which  Be"dier  has  tried 
to  interpret,  probably  has  its  explanation  in  the  mdrchen 
variants.  That  is,  the  leprosy  of  Ami.  "  Why  does  God 
make  Ami  suffer  from  this  horrible  malady  ?  "  Be"dier  asks. 
He  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  disease  is  accidental  in 
Kaoul  le  Tourtier.  He  mentions  Schwieger's  theory  that  it 
was  a  punishment  for  having  fought  Belissant's  traducer 
Hardre  en  combat  judieiaire.  "C'est  un  contresens  que 
personne  n'eut  fait  au  moyen  age."  According  to  the 
Chanson  de  Geste,  it  is  because  Ami,  marrying  the  king's 
daughter  under  a  false  name,  committed  the  crime  of  bigamy. 
Quoting  B6dier  at  some  length  for  the  last  time : 

"  Cependant,  a  la  reflexion,  cette  '  bigamie '  parait  si  inno- 
cente  qu'on  s7e"tonne  qu'elle  soit  si  cruellement  chatie'e. 
D'autre  part,  jamais  dans  la  suite  de  la  chanson  de  geste  il 
n'est  rappele"  que,  si  Ami  souffre  ainsi  dans  sa  chair,  c'est 

1  In  another  variant,  the  Rama  and  Luxman  of  Miss  Frere's  Old 
Deccan  Days,  the  two  heroes,  like  Ami  and  Amile,  are  "  nes  le  mgme 
jour,  lies  par  Dieu  dans  la  vie,"  yet  one  cannot  say  that  "  leur  his- 
toire  n'a  de  sens  que  s'il  meurent  le  meme  jour,  lie's  dans  la  niort," 
for  the  story  says  nothing  about  their  death,  and  yet  it  has  enough 
meaning  to  make  it  hold  together.  (Contemporaneous  birth  of  a 
hero  and  men  who  are  destined  to  be  his  future  companions,  or  of 
a  hero  and  his  horse,  is  a  far  from  uncommon  motif  of  mdrchen  and 
epic  saga.)  Again  the  esprit  intime  of  the  tale  does  not  demand 
that  the  two  friends  become  saints.  Rama  and  Luxman  are  not, 
though  the  narrator  of  this  story  was  a  Christian,  and  neither  are 
Faithful  John  and  the  King,  nor  Ai  Tolysy  and  Kattafcdschula. 


484  M.    A.    POTTEE. 

parce  qu'il  s'est  deVoue"  pour  son  compagnon.  Celui-ci,  de"- 
nombrant  les  obligations  qu'il  lui  a,  n'y  fait  nulle  allusion. 
Pourtant  le  poete  avait  les  meilleures  occasions  de  rappeler 
que  la  lepre  d'Ami  est  une  consequence  de  son  denouement : 
par  exemple,  quand  il  s'agit  de  nous  faire  accepter  le  meurtre 
des  enfants.  Ce  sont  des  indices  que  le  theme  de  la  lepre- 
chatiment  n'est  pas  primitif.  .  .  .  Dans  la  Vita  ce  n'est  pas 
un  chatiment,  mais  une  6preuve.  Dieu  frappe  Ami  par  ce 
qu'il  aime,  juxta  illud  quod  scriptum  est:  Omnem  filium 
quern  Deus  recipit,  corripit,  flagellat  et  castigat.  C'est  la  Pex- 
plication  chre"tienne.  Seule  elle  s'accorde  avec  le  reste  de 
Thistoire  ;  c'est  done  tres  probablement  le  theme  primitif. 
II  met  bien  en  relief  le  caract£re  hagiographique  de  la 
ISgende." 

Perhaps,  but  knowing  the  mdrchen  and  Siberian  variants, 
it  is  impossible  to  be  quite  as  confident  as  is  B6dier.  The 
theme  primitif  is,  just  as  probably,  the  penalty  a  man  pays  for 
breaking  a  certain  taboo,  a  punishment  which  also  is  a  test 
of  friendship.  In  other  words,  the  legend  of  Ami  and 
Amile  was  originally  a  mdrchen.  When  it  donned  epic 
dress  (and  it  is  not  the  only  mdrchen  to  do  this),  the  later 
author,  or  authors,  found  some  difficulty  in  handling  this 
particular  incident;  for  what  is  perfectly  logical  in  the 
mdrchen  is  not  clearly  so  in  the  Vita  or  the  Chanson  de 
Geste,  which  certainly  are  largely  hagiographical  in  char- 
acter, as  Bedier  says.  What  we  have,  then,  in  the  Ami  and 
Amile  is  a  story  which  is  neither  essentially  feudal  nor  Chris- 
tian, but  which  has  become  so  at  the  hands  of  a  jongleur, 
who  either  worked  over  an  old  narrative  poem  or  created  a 
new  one  with  the  mdrchen  as  its  basis,  at  the  request  of  some 
churchman  who  wished  to  attract  the  attention  of  pilgrims 
to  the  church  of  Mortara. 

To  say  that  a  mdrchen  is  the  ultimate  source  of  the  Vita, 


AMI    ET   AMILE.  485 

the  Latin  poem,  and  the  Chanson,  to  suggest  that  the  two 
friends,  heroes,  became  saints  only  "  sur  le  tard  et  par 
accident,"  that  is  to  be  guilty,  of  course,  of  "  speculations 
ing6nieuses  "  and  "jeux  d'hypotheses  "  ;  but  indeed  anyone 
must  be  so  who  attempts  to  reason  on  the  matter  without 
possessing  every  bit  of  evidence  which  has  ever  existed. 
And  Bedier,  who  makes  rather  too  much  of  the  audacity  of 
others  who  have  theorized  on  the  origins  of  the  French 
epic,  is  not  blameless  himself.  It  is  one  thing  to  point  out 
as  convincingly  as  he  has  the  intimate  connection  between 
the  chansons  de  geste  and  the  religious  institutions  along 
the  great"  pilgrimage  routes  frequented  by  pilgrims  and 
jongleurs;  it  is  quite  another  to  make  the  statement  quoted 
further  back  about  the  William  of  Orange  Cycle.  In  this 
latter  case  he  may  be  equally  correct,  and  if  that  turns  out 
to  be  true,  great  and  deserved  will  be  his  credit.  But  not 
all  his  arguments  are  of  equal  cogency,  even  to  his  hearties! 
admirers. 

M.  A.  POTTER. 


XX.— A  SOURCE   OF  MUNDUS  ET  INFANS. 

The  morality  of  Mundus  et  Infans  exists  in  a  print 
dated  1522,  from  Wynkyn  de  Worde's  press,  and  is  styled 
by  him  a  '  new  production.'  1  The  word  must  be  taken 
for  what  it  is  worth,  but  it  should  be  remembered  that 
Wynkyn  was  not  afraid  to  print  old  works,  and  call  them 
such.  In  his  print  of  Ragmannes  Rolle,  Wynkyn  adds  an 
envoy  attributing  the  faults  of  the  poem  to  "  Kynge  Rag- 
man holly,  whiche  dyde  the  make  many  yeres  ago."  2  The 
printer  is  therefore  entitled  to  some  confidence,  especially 
since  certain  internal  evidence  points  to  the  same  fact. 

1Here  begynneth  a  propre  newe  Interlude  of  the  worlde  and  the 
chylde  otherwyse  called  [Mundus  et  Infans]  &  it  sheweth  of  the 
estate  of  chyldehode  and  Manhode."  Colophon :  "  Here  endeth  the 
Interlude  of  Mundus  &  Iiiians.  Imprynted  at  London  in  Fletestrete 
at  the  sygne  of  ye  Sonne  by  me  Wynkyn  de  worde.  The  yere  of 
our  Lorde  M.CCCCC.  and  xxij.  The  xvij  daye  of  July."  Ed.  Rox- 
burghe  Club,  1877,  Collier's  Dodsley,  vol.  XH,  1827;  Hazlitt's  Dods- 
ley,  vol.  i;  Manly,  Specimens  of  the  Pre-Shaksperean  Drama,  I, 
353-385. 

The  continual  rhyming  of  words  in  -y,  -ye  with  words  in  -e  goes 
to  show  that  the  play  must  have  been  written  later  than  1450. 
Examples  (Collier's  ed.,  p.  318,  glorye:  me:  be,  p.  319,  me:  lechery: 
"be:  me:  enuy:  company;  me:  Ite:  glotonye.  Similarly  the  rhyme  (loc. 
cit.,  p. 330),  recreacyon:  saluacyon:  Inuersacyon:  dampnacion,  points 
to  late  15th  century  work.  For  in  the  early  part  of  the  century 
the  rhyme  is  final,  not  penultimate.  On  p.  314,  wrought:  mought 
(=mote),  shows  the  loss  of  the  guttural,  which  is  rare  in  the  early 
fifteenth  century.  There  are  numerous  cases  of  assonance,  and  the 
metre  in  general  is  of  a  rude  type.  E.  K.  Chambers,  Mediceval  Stage, 
n,  440,  refers  to  Collier  and  Pollard  who  "assign  the  play  to  the 
reign  of  Henry  VII,"  while  Brandl  thinks  that  "  the  use  of  the 
Narrenmotiv  points  to  a  date  of  composition  not  long  before  that  of 
publication." 

2  See  Collier's  Dodsley,  xn,  p.  308,  where  the  lines  are  quoted. 

486 


A    SOURCE    OF    MUNDUS   ET   INFANS.  487 

Mundus  et  Infans  is  written  for  the  most  part  in  rough 
triplets  with  a  short  link-line,  aaabcccbdddefffe,  etc.  In 
passages  of  boasting  and  formality  it  becomes  highly  alli- 
terative 1  in  the  parts  devoted  to  low  comedy  it  descends  to 
doggerel.  Besides  this  metre  is  another,  which  appears 
only  in  the  opening  speech  of  the  Child.2  It  is  a  passage 
in  twenty-seven  lines  of  four  accents,  rhyming  ababcdcd, 
etc.  Its  presence  in  the  play  is  difficult  of  explanation, 
except  by  a  theory  which  I  shall  shortly  present. 

The  play  has  not  much  plot,  but  what  there  is  is  here 
outlined;  Mundus  opens  the  play  and  announces  himself 
as  master  of  man.  Infans,  the  new-born  child,  follows, 
and  after  a  monologue  describing  the  perils  of  his  birth 
and  his  poverty,  goes  to  Mundus  who  gives  him  food  and 
clothes  and  names  him  Wanton  or  Daliance  (1-75).  Wan- 
ton plays  about  the  stage,  describes  his  childish  play,  and 
returning  to  Mundus  at  fourteen  is  given  the  name  of  Lust 
and  Lykyng  (76-117).  At  twenty-one  (155)  Mundus 
calls  him  Manhood,  and  counsels  him  to  follow  the  Seven 
Kings  (168-183),  whom  he  describes,  and  departs  (236). 
Manhood  boasts  of  his  triumphs  until  Conscience  enters 
and  tries  to  dissuade  Manhood  from  the  service  of  the 
Seven  Kings,  whom  he  groups  under  the  name  of  Folly, 
and  defines  as  the  seven  deadly  sins  (237-461).  Manhood 
is  rather  wearied  by  Conscience's  teaching,  and  when  Folly 
comes  to  him,  he  finds  him  a  boon  companion,  and  after  a 
play  at  quarter  staff  goes  off  with  him  to  lead  a  wild  life 
in  London  (521-720).  Conscience  finds  Manhood,  and 


1  This  practice,  as  we  may  guess  from  comparing  similar  lines  in 
Dux  Moraud,  was  a  regular  dramatic  convention  in  early  plays. 

2  An  alternate  rhyme  is  used  elsewhere,  it  is  true,  but  only  as  a 
preliminary  to  the  tail-rhymes  in  triplets.     This  is  true  of  the  first 
speeches  of  Mundus,  Conscience,  Perseverance,  and  Age. 


\ 


488  HENEY   NOBLE    MAcCRACKEN. 

goes  out  to  seek  Perseverance  to  endoctrine  Manhood  (721- 
744).  His  search  is  successful ;  and  when  Manhood  comes 
back  a  broken  old  man,  despairing  of  life,  mocked  by  his 
companions  (745-810),  Perseverance  comforts  him  and 
teaches  him  that  by  repentance  shrift,  the  five  bodily  and 
ghostly  wits,  the  ten  commandments,  and  the  Creed  he 
may  yet  enter  heaven.  Age  has  been  dubbed  Shame  by 
Folly  but  is  now  to  be  called  Repentance.  The  play  ends 
with  an  exhortation  to  the  audience  to  "  take  ensaumple  " 
(962-979). 

In  brief  the  essence  of  the  story  is  the  strife  between 
Virtue  and  Vice  for  the  soul  of  man,  his  sins  in  manhood 
and  repentance  in  age,  with  the  assurance  of  salvation. 
The  action  progresses  by  description  rather  than  by  pres- 
entation ;  at  each  "  age  "  man  describes  himself  in  a  long 
monologue.  Similarly  Mundus  describes  the  sins,  Con- 
science the  virtues,  Perseverance  the  means  of  salvation. 
Folly  alone  introduces  us  to  real  life,  and  seems  to  have 
stepped  out  of  another  world. 

Leaving  Folly  for  the  moment  out  of  account,  I  wish 
to  point  out  a  striking  parallel,  hitherto,  I  believe,  un- 
noticed, in  the  Mirror  of  the  Periods  of  Man's  Life  or 
Bids  of  the  Virtues  and  Vices  for  the  Soul  of  Man.  The 
poem  exists  in  a  MS.  which  Dr.  Furnivall  places  at  1430 ;  1 
and  in  others  of  a  later  date.  It  is  a  highly  finished 
and  artistic  production,  with  many  good  lines,  and  is  a 
far  more  poetic  work  than  the  morality.  Aside  from  the 
dates  of  the  MSS.  the  fact  that  this  poem  is  a  vision-alle- 


1  Dr.  Furnivall  printed  the  poem  from  Lambeth  MS.,  853,  in  E.  E. 
T.  S.,  24,  Hymns  to  the  Virgin  and  Christ,  pp.  58-78.  Other  MSS. 
are  Balliol,  354,  which  lacks  the  last  21  stanzas  at  the  end,  but  adds 
a  stanza  after  1.  392;  and  Un.  Lib.  Camb.,  Ff.  5.  48.  The  poem 
contains  656  lines. 


A   SOURCE   OF   MUNDUS   ET   INFANS.  489 

gory  of  an  early  type  would  be  sufficient  to  show  that  it  is 
the  earlier  work  of  the  two.  The  poem  closely  resembles 
the  Debate  between  the  Body  and  the  Soul,  one  of  the 
most  striking  of  all  mediaeval  poems.  Like  the  Debate, 
it  is  introduced  to  us  as  a  winternight's  dream,  just  before 
the  waking.1  Like  it  again,  the  seer  takes  no  part  in  the 
action,  which  consists  of  a  debate,  and  on  a  theme  related 
to  man's  life.  The  phrase  "  body  and  soul  "  occurs  haunt- 
ingly  throughout  the  Mirror,  while  its  terror  of  death  and 
the  assurance  of  mercy  are  strikingly  like  those  of  the 
Debate.2  Most  striking  of  all  is  its  metrical  form,  which 

1  Debate :  Mirror  : 

1.  As  I  lay  in  a  wintris  nyht  9.  In  a  wintris  nyht  or  I  awakid 

In  a   droukening  bifor  the  In  my  slepe  I  dremid  so 

day  I  sawe  a  child  al  niodir  nakid 

For  sob  I  sawe  a  sely  syht  And  newe  borne  the  modir  fro. 
A  body  on  a  bere  that  lay. 

2 1  need  not  quote  the  Debate;  those  who  know  it  (and  ho  one 
that  reads  it  can  forget  it)  will  see  the  similarity  of  the  following 
lines  to  the  theme  of  the  greater  poem: 

595 :   "  My    fleissche    in    ouerhope    wolde    me    faite 

And  into  wanhope  it  wolde  me  caste 
Helle  houndis  berken  and  baite 

be  feendis  writib  my  synnes  faste 
And  deeb  me  waitib  with  a  trippe  of  dissaite 

These  sixe  maken  me  soore  agaste." 
Against  this  picture, 

"  God  hab  mercies  ynow  in  stoore 
For  a  bousand  worldis  bat  mercie  wole  crie." 

The  poet  on  a  winter's  night  sees  a  newborn  child  ready  to  go 
out  into  the  world.  The  world  agrees  to  find  it  till  it  grows  old. 
Bodily  gifts,  God's  commandments,  the  Pleasures,  the  seven  works 
of  mercy,  the  Creed,  Vices  and  Virtues  offer  their  services  to  the 
child.  Free- Will  offers,  and  is  answered  by  Conscience  (1-64).  At 
seven  years  the  Good  and  Wicked  Angels  advise  the  child  (65-80). 
At  fourteen  (81-112)  and  at  twenty  (113-248)  the  Seven  Virtues 
and  Seven  Vices,  Reason,  Lust  and  Conscience  give  their  advice  to 

11 


490  HENRY   NOBLE   MAcCRACKEN. 

is  identical  with  the  Debate,  being  stanzaic,  of  8  short 
lines  rhyming  dbababdb. 

A  vision-poem  in  which  the  poet  overhears  a  dialogue, 
and  is  not  himself  a  partaker  in  the  action,  is  already  half- 
dramatic.  He  is  the  audience,  the  dream  his  stage,  the 
shades  of  his  dream  the  characters  of  his  play.  Let  us 
see  what  a  morality-writer  could  have  made  of  this  prom- 
ising material.  His  first  task  would  have  been  to  cut  the 
number  of  characters.  Twenty-two  characters  passed  be- 
fore the  poet  in  a  single  stanza  (5),  and  disappeared  for- 
ever. The  dramatic  needs  demand  compression,  and  the 
play  will  gain  by  this  a  centering  of  interest.  The  chief 
debate  in  the  poem  is  between  Virtues  and  Vices.  But 
on  the  stage  our  interest  must  be  centered  on  man.  Thus 
the  Vices  are  compressed  into  a  single  character,  the  Fool, 
or  Folly.  The  word  folly,  as  equivalent  to  the  seven  sins, 
is  found  in  the  poem,  together  with  a  reference  to  fools.1 

the  child  who  is  now  called  Man.  At  thirty  (249-304)  Conscience, 
who  has  hitherto  spoken  only  in  a  minor  part  before  the  contest 
of  Virtues  and  Vices,  now  comes  forward  and  pleads,  but  is  disre- 
garded by  Man.  At  forty  (305-320)  Strength  and  Lust,  at  fifty 
(321-336)  Covetousness  strive  for  Man  against  Conscience.  At 
sixty  (337-424)  Man,  now  called  Age,  is  mocked  by  Youth,  and  as 
he  goes  nearer  the  grave  (70  years  at  1.  425,  80  at  1.  455,  90  at  1. 
486,  100  at  1.  577)  turns  to  Repentance.  The  Seven  Deadly  Sins 
forsake  him,  and  Sickness  comes  with  Despair,  reproved  by  Con- 
science. Good  Hope  and  Good  Faith  teach  him  at  the  last,  and  the 
Man  learns  that  Repentance,  the  Commandments,  the  seven  works  of 
mercy  and  the  Creed  shall  let  him  in  at  heaven's  gate.  The  poem 
closes  with  an  exhortation  to  all  to  choose  wisely  and  pray  to  God 
and  His  Mother  for  grace  (633-656). 
^oem,  11.  438 ff.,  Youth  speaks  to  Age: 

all  ]?ese  (the  gifts  of  health,  etc.),  j?ou  hast  wastide  amys 
From  wisdom  into  folies  fele. 

]?ine  hearynge  and  ]?ine  i3e  si}te 

J?at  J?ou  hast  wastide  in  vewnglory 

J?i  mou]?e  to  wronge  a$en  rijte 


A   SOURCE   OF   MUNDUS    ET   INFANS.  491 

It  is  easy  with  these  hints,  and  the  knowledge  of  such 
plays  as  Hyckescorner,  to  create  Folly.  Professor  Brandl's 
allusion  to  the  "  ISTarrenmotiv "  is  quite  unnecessary. 
There  were  plenty  of  fools  in  England  before  Brant's 
ship  set  sail.1 

In  the  early  part  of  his  play  the  child  may  be  kept  in 
touch  with  the  world,  and  his  progress  in  age  must  be 
marked  by  renewed  communication.  The  world  will  in- 
troduce the  child  to  the  seven  sins;  Conscience,  who  is 
already  their  opponent  in  the  poem,  will  take  over  the 
task  of  the  Virtues.  Finally,  at  the  end  of  the  poem  Good 
Faith  and  Good  Hope  can  be  compressed  into  a  new  char- 
acter to  teach  age  how  to  die. 

It  is  thus,  I  believe,  possible  to  conceive  how  such  a 
morality  as  The  World  and  the  Child  could  spring  out 
of  a  poem  like  the  Mirror.  But  without  evidence  of  more 
immediate  relation  than  that  of  plot,  it  would  be  unreason- 

In  fals  oobis  and  foule  glotenye 
bin  hondis  to  robbe  and  to  fi^te 
bi  strengb  bou  wastid  in  tyrannye 
bi  feet  in  derknesse  out  of  li^te 
hi  bewte  bou  wastidist  in  lecchery. 
Again : 

243:  "He  is  a  foole  bat  may  be  wise 

In  heuene  comeb  no  foolis  to  jeere 
God  doob  richelees  foolis  refuse 
bat  kunnen  no  good  ne  noon  wole  lere." 
Again : 

81 :  "  Thus  at  vn.  jeer  age  childhood  bigynnes, 
And  folowith  folies  many  foold. 

1  Herford,  Literary  Relations  "between  England  and  Germany  in  the 
xvi  Century,  notes  Lydgate's  Order  of  Fools,  but  omits  "The  51 
Follies,"  printed  in  "Twenty-six  Poems,"  E.  E.  T.  S.,  E.  S.,  1903; 
"  Ces  sunt  xxx  folies,"  Landsdowne  MS.,  564,  "  Cinkante  et  dix  folis," 
MS.  Arundel  507  (Brit.  Mus.)  ;  "  Les  xxxn  Folies,"  Univ.  Lib.  Camb. 
MS.  Gg.  i,  1,  the  latter  by  Ralph  of  Lynham  (?);  all  earlier  than 
1500. 


492  HENRY   NOBLE   MAcCRACKEN. 

able  to  claim  the  poem  as  source.  These  direct  parallels, 
however,  exist,  and  in  sufficient  number.  The  title  of  the 
play  lies  ready  to  hand  in  line  17"  of  the  poem: 

"Quod  J?e  world  to  ]?e  child;" 

The  child  is  addressed  in  the  poem  as  in  the  play  as  "  Mi 
fair  child  "  (line  52 ).1  The  name  Folly,  we  have  already 
seen,  as  embodiment  of  the  seven  sins,  exists  in  the  poem. 
Other  and  more  striking  parallels  in  names  exist.  Wan- 
ton and  Daliance  are  not  in  the  poem,  but  "  Lust  and 
Lykynge,"  man's  name  in  youth,  is  there. 

Poem :  Play : 

309.    Quod  luste  and  liking,  "  make  131.  Lust     and    Lykynge     is    my 

good  cheere/  name. 

35.  Lust,  liking  &  iolite.  125.  Loue,  Lust,  Lykyng  in  fere. 

The  name  "  Manhood  myghty  "  is  also  in  the  poem,  by 
implication. 

Poem:  Play    (p.  330)  : 

252.  Ful    of    manhode    and    of  "I was  borne  manhoode  moost 

myjt  of  myght." 

160.  Manhode  myghty  shal  be  thy 
name. 

Age  as  a  name  for  man  is  in  the  poem,  and  his  last 
title  of  Repentance  is  given. 

627.  And  Repentaunce  my  come  schal  weede. 
643.  Bid  repentaunce  to  merci  beende. 

Conscience  is  addressed  by  Manhood  as  "  Sir  Friar,"  2 
and  it  is  probable  he  was  so  represented  in  character.  The 
author  might  have  got  this  idea  from  the  poem,  where 
Man  says : 

1  Poem,  52 :       Mi  fair  child  what  hast  Tpou  bouit. 

Play,  60:        But  my  fayre  child  what  woldest  thou  haue. 
a  Lines  401,  409,  715. 


A   SOUECE   OF   MUNDUS   ET   INFANS.  493 

287.  "  Now  good  Conscience  &  }?ou  wolt  preche 
Goo  stele  an  abite  &  bicome  a  frere." 

The  play  v  at  quarter-staff  between  Folly  and  Man  in  the 
morality  might  have  been  suggested  by  Lust's  speech  in 
the  poem  (Lust  here  is  Man)  : 

91.  "Harpe  and  giterne  bere  may  y  leere  * 

And  pickid  staffe  &  buckelere  J?ere-wiJ?  to  plawe." 

Folly  says  in  the  play,  1.  540,  "  A  coryous  bukler-player 
I  am/7  while  the  reference  to  "  longe  or  shorte,"  1.  549, 
shows  that  staff-play  is  referred  to. 

The  general  parallels  in  two  such  works,  where  the  plot 
is  similar,  are  of  course  numerous.  Two  such  may  be 
quoted. 

Poem,  Man  says:  Play: 

249.  In  J?ritti  jeer  now  y  abide  315.  Lo  syrs  I  am  a  prynce  peryl- 
In  discrecioun  yhaue  in-si^t  lous  yprovyde 

Loueli  to  goo  and  to  ride  

Fulof  manhode  and  of  myjt.  316.  I  am  worthy  and  wyght  wythy 
207.  Myn  I^en  ben  cleere  &  briat  and  wise 

as    glas  315.  Myne  eyen  do  shyne  as  Ian- 
Mi  lire  as  lillye  and  roose  tern  bryght 

of  hewe  I  am  a  creature  comely  out 

Of  schappe  &  strengbe  alle  of  care 

folke  I  passe  Emperours   and   kynges    they 

And  euere  my  uertu  wexib  knele  to  my  kne 

newe.  

p.  312.  I  am  as  fresshe  as  flourys 

in  maye. 

Poem :  Play : 

255.  Quod  man  in  scorn  "lo  con-  719.  "I  wyll  go  whyder  me   lest 
science  looj?  chide  For  thou  canst  nought  elles 

For  losse  of  catel  he  dar  not  but  chide." 

fijt."  710.  "  Conscyence  counseylleth  me 
303.  "  Goo,  Conscience,  hou  lew-  to  all  sadnes. 

ide   asse  Ye,   to   muche   sadnes   myght 

I  kepe  not  ]?i  maneris  to  brynge  me  into  madnes. 


sue/ 


*At  Oxenforde,  whither  Reasoun  has  advised  him  to  go  to  study 
law.  • 


494 


HENRY   NOBLE   MAcCRACKEN. 


Poem: 

283.  And  y  dide  as  ]?ou  doist  me 

teche 
I  schulde  neuer  make  myrie 

chere. 


Play: 


A  closer  parallel  is  the  answer  of  Conscience  later  on  in 
the  poem : 


Poem: 

548.  "  If    a    man    haue    synned 

longe   bifore 
And  axe  mercy  and  amende 

his  wys 
Repente  and  wilne  to  synne 

no  more 

Of  ]?at  man  god  gladder  is 
J?an  of  a  child  synlees  y- 
bore. 
541.  Of  such  a  man  god  is  moore 

gladde 

J?an  of  a  child  ]?at  neuere 
dide  synne. 


Play: 
862.  For 


thoughe   a  man  had  do 

alone 

The  deedly  synnes  euerychone 
And  he  with  contricyon  make 

his  mone 

To  cryst  our  heven  kynge 
God  is  also  gladde  of  hym 
As  of  the  creature  that  neuer 

dyde  syn. 


Equally  close  is  the  advice  to  the  child  in  the  poem  to  the 
child's  boast  in  the  play. 


Poem: 

77.  Quod     ]?e     wickid     aungil, 
"while  J?ou  art  a   child 
with  YI  tunge  on  folk  J?ou 

bleere 
Course  of  kynde  is  for  $ou\>e 

to  be  wilde 
To  beete  alle  children  and  do 

hem  deerre." 
71.  ]?e   wickid   aungil    bad   him 

be   boold 

To  calle  boj?e  fadir  &  modir 
schrewis 


Play: 

79.  I  can  with  my  scorge  stycke 
My  felow  upon  the  heed  hytte 
and  lyghtly  from  hym  make 

a    skyppe 

And  blere  on  hym  my  tonge. 
88.  If   fader    or   mother   wyll   me 

smyte 

I  wyll  wrynge  with  my  lyppe 
And  lyghtly  from  hym  make  a 

skyppe 
And  call  my  dame  shrewe. 


Conscience's  opening  speech  is  alike  in  both. 


A   SOURCE   OF    MUNDUS   ET   INFANS. 


495 


Poem:  Play: 

57.  For  my  name  is  Conscienc3    298.  Methynke    it    is    a    nessarye 
To  knowe  me  bou  must  bi-  thynge 

gynne  Poore      Conscyence      for      to 

knowe. 

301.  For    Conscyence    clere    it    is 
my  name. 

But  by  far  the  closest  parallel,  and  one  which  argues  more 
strongly  for  direct  borrowing  than  any  other,  is  the  passage 
in  alternate  rhyme,  of  which  I  have  spoken.  This  is  the 
Child's  opening  speech,  and  the  verbal  identities  with  the 
same  speech  in  the  poem  are  too  numerous  to  be  passed 
over  as  an  accidental  coincidence  in  following  the  same 
source.  I  believe  that  the  Mirror  is  here  at  least  the 
direct  source  of  the  play,  and  that  the  alternate  rhyme 
is  due  to  imitation  of  the  alternate  rhyme  in  the  poem. 
The  identity  of  rhyming  words  deserves  particular  atten- 
tion. 


Poem: 
1.  How  mankynde  doob  begynne 


3.  In  game  he  ys  getyn  in  synne 

(Balliol  text) 

4.  be  child  is  be  modris  deedli 

foo 
Or   bei   be   fulli   partide   on 

tweyne 
In  perelle  of  deed  ben  bobe 

two. 
7.  Pore  he  come  be  world  with- 

ynne. 
25.  Quod  be  child  "  I  come  pore 

be  world  withinne. 
11.  I  saw  a  child  modir  nakid. 
27.  Nakid  out  of  be  wyket  of 

synne 

Of  be  perellis  of  streite  pas- 
sage 

To  seke  deeb  I  dide  begynne 
bat  ilke  dredful  pilgrymage 


Play: 

29.  How  mankynde  doth  begynne. 

31.  Go  ten   in    game    and   in   grete 

synne. 
42.  Full    oft    of    dethe    she    was 

adred 
Whan  that  I  sholde  parte  her 

from. 
34.  Whan  I  was  rype  from  her  to 

founde 
In    peryll    of    dethe    we    stode 

bothe   two. 
44.  Now  into  the  worlde  she  hathe 

me  sent 

Poore  and  naked  as  ye  may  se 
I    am    not    worthely    wrapped 

nor  went 
But   powerly   prycked   in  pou- 

erte. 

36.  Now  to  seke  dethe  I  must  begyn 
For  to  passe  that  strayte  pas- 
sage; 


496  HENEY   NOBLE    MAcCRACKEN. 

Poem  :  Play  : 

Mi  body  &  soule  to  parte  a  For  body  and  soule  that  shall 

tweyne  then  twynne 

To  make  a  deuourse  of  bat  And  make   a  partyng  of  that 

mariage  maryage. 

The  world  speaks  : 

19.  bou  schuldist  deie  for  him-  61.  Infans:  Syr,  I  you  craue  meete 

ger  and  colde  and  clothe  my  lyfe  to  saue. 

But  y  lente  meete  and  clobe  65.  Mundus  :  "  I  wyll  the  fynde 

to  bee  whyle  thou  art  yinge 

I  wole  bee  fynde  til  bou  be  So  thou  wylt  be  obedyent  to 

oolde  my  byddyng." 

How  wolt  bou  quyte  it  me  ?  " 

The  Mirror  of  Man's  Life  is  then  to  be  regarded  as  a 
valuable  link  between  the  mediseval  vision  and  the  early 
morality,  since  direct  connection  appears  to  be  proved 
between  it  and  Mundus  et  Infans.  The  plots  of  poem 
and  play  are  not  so  different  but  that  every  variation  of 
the  play  can  be  explained  as  the  result  of  the  dramatic 
needs.  The  title  of  the  piece,  most  of  the  names  of  the 
dramatis  personce,  and  numerous  passages  could  have  been 
borrowed  from  the  poem,  while  a  certain  passage  in  alter- 
nate rhyme  is  so  close  to  the  similar  passage  of  the  poem 
as  to  justify  the  theory  of  direct  borrowing.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  full  consideration  of  the  points  in  which  the  play 
differs  from  the  poem  would  be  most  instructive  for  a 
knowledge  of  the  stagecraft  of  the  moralities.  But  such 
a  study  is  outside  the  limits  of  this  paper.1 


MACCEACKEN. 


1 1  should  like  to  call  attention  to  some  verses  on  the  seven  ages 
of  man,  in  B.  M.  Adds.  37049,  28b-29a,  as  yet,  I  believe,  unprinted. 
Under  a  picture  of  each  "  act,"  representing  man,  his  good  angel, 
and  the  fiend,  is  given  8  lines  of  dialogue,  somewhat  recalling  parts 
of  the  Mirror. 


XXI.— THE  MIDDLE  ENGLISH  VOX   AND   WOLF.1 

It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  long  before  the  day  of  the 
modern  nature-fakir,  animal  story  played  an  important  part 
in  the  history  of  fiction.  In  medieval  literature  there  were 
three  sets  of  works  that  dealt  with  animals.  There  were  the 
bestiaries,  in  which  the  medieval  symbolists  attempted  to 
give  a  moral  interpretation  to  the  habits  of  beasts ;  there 
were  the  fables,  in  which  beast  tales  were  told  for  the  sake 
of  the  lesson  they  taught ;  and  third,  there  was  the  distinct- 
ively medieval  set  of  stories,  told  because  of  their  own 
intrinsic  power  of  affording  amusement,  to  which  is  gener- 
ally given  the  name  '  beast  epic/ 

Of  this  last  set  of  beast  tales,  which  possibly  had  its  origin 
in  France,  and  which  is  so  well  represented  in  the  branches 
of  the  French  Roman  de  Renard,  English  offers  few  speci- 
mens. If  we  except  Chaucer's  Nun's  Priest's  Tale,  we  may 
say  that  the  story  of  The  Vox  and  the  Wolf  is  the  sole2 

lrrhe  present  paper  was  read  at  the  last  meeting  of  the  Modern 
Language  Association.  The  time  allowed  was  fifteen  minutes; 
hence  the  condensed  nature  of  the  work.  The  aim  of  the  paper  was 
to  present  several  distinct  ideas  that  came  to  the  writer  in  the 
course  of  a  somewhat  prolonged  study  of  the  story,  rather  than  to 
support  any  one  thesis.  The  footnotes,  it  is  hoped,  may  suffice  to 
support  most  of  the  statements  that  were  unsupported  in  the  paper 
as  read. 

2  This  does  not  mean  that  beast  stories  do  not  appear  at  all 
elsewhere  in  Middle  English  literature.  Fables  appear  in  the  Ayen- 
lite  of  Inicyt,  Piers  Plowman,  Gesta  Romanorum,  and  the  English 
translation  of  Barlaam  and  Josaphat.  Lydgate  is  the  author  of 
a  collection  of  seven  fables  (Anglia,  IX,  Iff.).  One  may  mention 
also  the  fable  of  Lion,  Wolf  and  Ass  (T.  Wright,  Pol.  Songs,  p.  195) 
and  the  poem  concerning  "  f als  fox  "  ( T.  Wright,  Rel.  Antiquae,  I, 
4).  N.  Bozon,  Odo  of  Sherington,  and  John  of  Sheppey  certainly 
derived  their  fables  in  part  from  English  popular  sources.  The 


498  G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 

representative  in  English  literature  until  the  time  of  Caxton. 
Because  of  this  solitary  prominence,  this  tale  demands 
special  attention. 

The  story  itself  is  a  familiar  one.  The  fox,  who  would 
"  lever  meten  one  hen  than  half  anoundred  wimmen,"  has 
just  met  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  appetite  with  two  or  three 
of  the  hens  belonging  to  a  monastery.  Thirsty  after  his 
feast,  he  gets  into  a  bucket  to  drink.  The  bucket  descends, 
carrying  the  fox  with  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  well.  While 
the  fox  is  in  this  plight,  his  neighbor,  Sigrim  the  wolf,  hap- 
pens along.  Reneuard  gives  to  Sigrim  so  alluring  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  "  blisse  of  paradis  "  below,  that  Sigrim  is  con- 
sumed with  envy  and  wishes  to  join  him,  and  after  a  highly 
amusing  confession  of  his  sins  to  Reneuard,  is  shriven  and 
enters  the  second  bucket  to  come  down  to  the  paradise 
below.  The  weight  of  the  wolf  lifts  the  bucket  with  the 
fox,  and  the  wolf  is  left  in  the  well  to  be  nearly  clubbed  to 
death  by  the  monks  in  the  morning. 

This  English  tale  has  a  real  intrinsic  interest.  The  author 
has  not  provided  an  elaborate  setting,  nor  has  he  introduced 
any  of  the  "  ensamples  "  that  mar  the  symmetry  but  at  the 
same  time  enhance  the  interest  of  Chaucer's  tale  of  Chauntic- 
cleer,  but  he  does  enliven  with  many  humorous  details  a  well 
constructed  narrative.  To  one  who  has  been  reading  the 
heavy  productions  of  Old  English  literature,  it  is  particularly 

French  fable  of  Wolf  and  Sheep,  by  N.  Bozon  ends  with  the  English 
words,  "  For  was  hyt  neuer  myn  kynd  chese  in  welle  to  fynd." 
Further  it  should  be  remembered  that  fable  versions  of  our  story 
of  fox  and  wolf  in  the  well  appear  not  only  in  the  Middle  English 
translations  of  the  Disciplina  Clericalis,  but  in  the  just-mentioned 
fable  of  sheep  and  wolf  by  N.  Bozon,  where  the  sheep  plays  the  part 
usually  played  by  the  wolf,  and  in  the  Scotch  collection  of  fables 
by  Henryson.  In  Henryson's  version  the  fable  of  fox  and  wolf  is 
told  in  very  spirited  style.  The  fox  ("Tod")  bears  the  name 
"Lowrence"  and  the  wolf  that  of  "  Freir  Wolf  Waitskaith." 


THE    MIDDLE   ENGLISH    VOX    AND    WOLF.  499 

refreshing  to  come  upon  a  lively  tale  like  this,  one  of  the 
earliest  of  humorous  productions  in  English  literature. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  we  cannot  claim  this  tale  as  a  native 
English  product.  Although  neither  of  the  two  existing  ver- 
sions L  in  the  French  Roman  de  Renard  corresponds  exactly 
with  the  English  story,  the  striking  features  in  common 
between  the  English  and  the  French  versions  leave  no  doubt 
that  the  English  author  used  as  his  source  some  tale  belong- 
ing to  the  French  Roman. 

The  story  as  told  in  our  English  tale  and  in  the  French 
Roman,  has  several  important  features  that  distinguish  it 
from  a  pure  fable.  We  may  mention  the  personal  relations 
between  fox  and  wolf,  the  individual  names,  Reneuard,  or 
Renard,  and  Sigrim,  or  Isengrim,  the  distinctively  human 
notion  of  an  earthly  paradise  and  the  amusing  shrift  of 
Sigrim  preparatory  to  entering  this  paradise,  and  most  dis- 
tinctive of  all,  the  feature  peculiar  to  the  ordinary  French 
version,  where  Isengrim  mistakes  the  reflection  of  his  face  in 
the  water  for  that  of  his  wife  Hersent  and  suspects  her  of 
adulterous  relations  with  Renard. 

It  is  a  fact  not  sufficiently  emphasized  that  there  is  a  close 
analogy  between  the  tales  of  the  beast  epic,  of  which  our  tale 
may  be  taken  as  a  representative,  and  another  set  of  dis- 
tinctively medieval  tales,  the  fabliaux.  Both  sets  of  tales 
are  animated  by  the  same  spirit,  call  it  I' esprit  gaulois,  if  you 
will.  Both  sets  of  tales  result  from  a  similar  modification 
of  earlier  story  types.  The  fabliaux  handle  for  the  most 
part  stories  used  elsewhere  for  conveying  moral  instruction, 
many  of  which  appear  in  collections  of  exempla  for  the  use  of 
the  medieval  preacher.  The  difference  between  the  fabliaux 

1  Besides  the  ordinary  version  of  the  French  Roman  de  Renart  there 
is  a  simpler  version  which  is  preserved  in  a  unique  manuscript  ( Bibl. 
de  1'Arsenal,  3334)  and  has  been  printed  by  Chabaille  in  a  supple- 
ment to  Meon's  edition  of  the  Roman. 


500  G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 

and  the  tales  used  for  conveying  instruction  consists  largely 
in  the  emphasis  on  the  distinctively  human  or  individual  in- 
terest at  the  expense  of  the  moral.  The  story  is  told  to 
entertain,  not  to  instruct.  A  similar  transformation  of  the 
beast  tale  appears  in  the  case  of  the  tales  of  the  beast  epic, 
and  in  this  way  are  to  be  explained  the  distinctive  features 
of  our  English  tale  and  the  corresponding  versions  in  the 
French  Roman  de  Renard.  It  may  be  said  that  this  tale  is 
to  a  fable  what  a  fabliau  is  to  one  of  the  medieval  exempla. 
This  tale  appears  in  a  great  variety  of  forms.  In  the 
English  tale  and  the  French  Roman,  the  wolf  is  enticed  by 
the  description  of  paradise.1  In  another  set  of  tales  han- 
dling the  theme  of  fox  and  wolf  in  well,  the  credulous  wolf 
is  attracted  by  the  prospect  of  fish.2  In  still  another  set  he 
is  beguiled  by  Kenard's  eloquent  account  of  palatable  things 

1The  notion  of  attracting  the  wolf  by  describing  a  paradise  at 
the  bottom  of  the  well  seems  to  be  peculiar  to  the  two  versions 
of  Branch  iv  of  the  Roman  de  Renart,  the  French  Renart  le  Con- 
trefait,  the  Middle  High  German  Reinhart  Fuchs  and  the  English 
Vox  and  Wolf.  There  are,  however,  among  the  French  folk  many 
superstitions  concerning  wells  (P.  Se"billot,  Le  Folk-lore  de  France, 
II,  ch.  m),  "Le  fond  des  puits  ou  des  citernes  est  parfois  me  sorte 
de  purgatoire  temporaire "  ( p.  307 ) .  "  Certains  puits  passaient 
pour  6tre  si  profonde  qu'ils  touchaient  a  un  monde  souterain  (p. 
323).  See  A.  Milieu,  "  La  veille"e  dans  le  puits  "  (Rev.  des  trad,  pop., 
I,  p.  24).  M.  R.  Basset  cites  an  Arabic  story  in  which  a  man  goes 
to  the  well  to  draw  water.  The  bucket  falls  to  the  bottom.  The 
man  descends  to  get  the  bucket  and  finds  a  door  opening  into  a 
garden  of  Paradise  (Rev.  des  trad,  pop.,  xv,  p.  667). 

2  This  is  the  form  of  the  tale  as  it  appears  in  the  second  part 
of  the  Flemish  Reynaert,  and  in  the  derived  versions;  a  German 
volksbuch,  Reinecke  der  Fuchs  (Leipzig,  1840),  the  Reinecke  Fuchs 
of  Goethe,  and  the  English  version  by  Caxton.  This  is  the  form  of 
the  tale  also  in  Odo  of  Sherington,  John  of  Sheppey,  and  Nicole 
Bozon,  in  the  Spanish  translation  from  Odo  in  the  Libro  de  los  Gatos, 
no.  14,  in  the  fourteenth  century  Italian  version  printed  by  K. 
McKenzie  (Publ.  M.  L.  A.,  xxi,  226  ff.)  and  in  the  apparently  cog- 
nate tale  of  rabbit  and  fox  told  by  Uncle  Remus. 


THE   MIDDLE    ENGLISH    VOX   AND    WOLF.  501 

to  eat,1  lambs  or  fat  hens,  or  as  one  German  tale  has  it, 
simply  "  sweet  things  to  eat."  In  still  another  set  of  tales 
he  is  drawn  to  the  bottom  of  the  well  by  thirst.2  A  more 
likely  representative  of  the  primitive  form  of  the  story  is  the 
one  that  was  put  into  medieval  circulation  by  the  Disciplines 
Clericalis  of  Petrus  Alfonsus.  In  this  version  of  the  story 
the  wolf  is  attracted  to  the  bottom  of  the  well,  not  by  the 
description  of  the  joys  of  paradise,  but  by  the  reflection  of 
the  moon  in  the  water,  which  the  fox  leads  him  to  think  is 
a  cheese.  This  is  the  most  widespread  form  of  the  tale.  It 
appears  in  popular  tradition  in  various  parts  of  Europe  and 
in  many  fable  collections,  among  others  in  those  by  Marie 
de  France,  by  Henryson,  by  Hans  Sachs,  and  by  La  Fon- 
taine.3 It  is  not  only  widespread,  but  it  is  the  earliest 

1  Things  to  eat,  "  manger  siissen  spise,"  attract  the  wolf  in  the 
version  appearing  in  Lassberg's  Lieder  Saal,  though  this  version  in 
some  respects  is  closely  related  to  the  version  in  the  French  Roman 
and  the  eleventh  century  German  Reinhart  Fuchs;  a  hen  is  the  bait 
in  the  tale  as  told  by  J.  Regnier  and  by  San  Bernardino. 

2  In  certain  modern  French  versions  of  the  tale,  the  wolf  is  at- 
tracted by  the  prospect  of  a  girl,  or  girls,  bathing  in  the  well,  whom 
the  wolf  wishes  to  embrace  ( cf .  Breton  tale  printed  by  L.  F.  Sauve", 
Rev.  des  trad,  pop.,  I,  363-4  and  a  tale  of  La  Bresse,  "Le  Renard 
de  Bassieu  et  le  loup  D'Hotonnes,"  printed  by  P.  Se"billot  in  Contes 
des  Provinces  de  France.     In  a  French  popular  tale  of  Bas  Langue- 
doc  (P.  Redonnel,  Rev.  des  trad,  pop.,  in,  611,  612)  and  in  a  German 
tale  (J.  Haltrich,  Deutsche  Volksm&rchen,  no.  100,  Wien,  1877)  the 
wolf  is  impelled  solely  by  thirst,  and  in  a  Walloon  tale   (A.  Gitte"e 
and  J.  Lemoine,  Contes  des  pays  wallon,  pp.  159-169),  he  descends 
to  the  bottom  of  the  well  in  angry  pursuit  of  the  fox.     In  a  fifteenth 
century  German  version  (printed  by  J.  Baechtold,  Germania,  xxxm, 
257)    the  fox  merely  tells  the  wolf  "  dz  mir  all  min  tag  nie  so 
wol  wz. 

8K.  Krohn  (Bar (Wolf)  und  Fuchs,  p.  41)  expresses  the  belief 
that  the  reflection  of  the  moon  mistaken  for  cheese,  enters  not  only 
beast-epic,  but  fable  literature,  through  the  story  in  the  Disciplina 
Clericalis  and  its  translations.  Besides  the  versions  mentioned  above, 
and  the  direct  translations  from  Petrus  Alfonsus,  may  be  named 


502  G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 

known  form  of  the  story,  having  been  told  in  the  eleventh 
century  by  the  Jewish  Eabbi  Raschi.  That  this  form  of  the 
story  was  extant  before  the  composition  of  the  Roman  de 
Renard  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  the  story  in  this  form  is 
alluded  to  in  Branch l  I.  of  the  Roman.  Further- 
more, the  moon  illusion  as  a  means  of  attracting  the 
stupid  wolf  seems  most  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the 
story.  The  moon  illusion  appears  frequently  in  the  world's 
noodle2  literature  to  express  Boeotian  stupidity,  surviving 

the  German  version  by  B.  Waldis  (ed.  H.  Kurz,  Book  3,  Fab.  27), 
the  French  related  story  by  N.  Bozon  (Contes  Moralises,  64,  65, 
the  Latin  version  by  Desbillons  (Fabulce  JEsopice,  Book  3,  Fab.  10), 
the  Spanish  version  (El  libro  de  los  Enxemplos,  no.  307),  and  a 
late  English  text-book  version  (G.  Wright,  The  Principles  of  Gram- 
mar .  .  .  .  ,  London,  1794). 

aThe  allusion  in  Branch  I  is,  perhaps,  to  another  story  com- 
bination ; 

Jel  fis  pecher  en  la  fonteine 

Par  nuit,  quant  la  lune  estoit  pleine, 

De  1'ombre  de  la  blance  image 

Quida  de  voir,  ce  fust  fromage. 

Branch  I,  1057-60. 

2  Among  other  such  tales  might  be  mentioned :  the  Servian  tale 
where  the  fox  leads  the  wolf  to  believe  the  moon  reflection  in  the 
water  is  a  cheese  and  the  wolf  bursts  in  the  attempt  to  drink  up  the 
water  to  get  at  the  cheese  (F.  S.  Krauss,  Sagen  und  Marchen  der 
Sudslaven,  I,  31)  ;  the  Zulu  tale  of  the  hyena  that  drops  the  bone 
to  go  after  the  moon  reflection  in  the  water  (Nursery  tales  .... 
of  the  Zulus,  transl.  by  the  Rev.  Canon  Callaway)  ;  the  Gascon 
tale  of  the  peasant  watering  his  ass  on  a  moonlight  night.  A  cloud 
obscures  the  moon,  and  the  peasant,  thinking  the  ass  has  drunk  the 
moon,  kills  the  beast  to  recover  the  moon  (E.  K.  Blumml,  Schnurren 
und  Schwanke)  ;  the  Turkish  tale  of  the  Khoja  Nasru-'d-Din  who 
thinks  the  moon  has  fallen  into  the  well  and  gets  a  rope  and  chain 
with  which  to  pull  it  out.  In  his  efforts  the  rope  breaks,  and  he 
falls  back,  but  seeing  the  moon  in  the  sky,  praises  Allah  that  the 
moon  is  safe  ( W.  A.  Clouston,  Book  of  Noodles,  p.  92 );  the  Scotch 
tale  of  the  wolf  fishing  with  his  tail  for  the  moon  reflection  (Camp- 
bell, Tales  of  the  West  Highlands,  I,  272).  See  also  N.  Bozon, 
Contes  Moralises,  no.  96;  Pantschatantra,  n,  226  ff. ;  H.  Oesterley, 
Romulus,  App.,  43;  J.  C.  Harris,  Nights  with  Uncle  Remus,  xix. 


THE   MIDDLE   ENGLISH    VOX   AND   WOLF.  503 

to  this  day  in  the  expression,  ( think  the  moon  is  made  of 
green  cheese.'  Of  the  different  forms  of  the  story  this  one 
seems  best  to  represent  the  primitive  form. 

M.  Sudre,1  the  French  authority  on  the  Roman  de  Renard, 
emphasizes  the  fact  that  the  story  of  fox  and  wolf  in  the  well 
does  not  appear  in  the  earlier  Aesopian  or  Phedrian  fable 
collections.  Weber,2  too,  the  German  orientalist,  says  that 
"  For  the  two  buckets  in  the  well  I  know  nothing  analogous 
in  Indian  literature."  Professor  Fleischer3  of  Leipzig,  is 
authority  for  the  statement  that  in  Arabic  there  is  no  version 
of  this  story.  Certain  features  of  the  story  do  find  parallels 
in  Indian4  and  Greek  fable  literature,  but  the  story  as  a 
whole  cannot  be  derived  from  any  Greek  or  Arabic  or 
Indian  source.  Both  the  German  orientalists,  Ben  fey,  and 
the  more  modern  Russian  student  of  fables,  Kolmatschewsky, 
hold  that  the  story  of  wolf  and  moon  reflection  is  a  com- 
posite story  made  up  of  Indian  and  of  Greek  elements.  The 
story  may  well  be  of  composite  nature,  for  its  component 
elements  did  circulate  separately  in  the  popular  story  of 
medieval  Europe,  but  we  do  not  need  to  assume  that  these 
elements  were  necessarily  derived  from  antique  sources. 

1  L.  Sudre,  Les  Sources  du  Roman  de  Renart,  p.  226,  Paris,  1893. 

2H.  Weber,  Indische  Studien,  ill,  369    (1855). 

8  Gelbhaus,  Ueler  Stoffe  Altdeutscher  Poesie,  p.  39,  Berlin,  1887. 
R.  Basset  (Rev.  des  trad,  pop.,  xxi,  300)  cites  an  analogous  Arabic 
tale,  " Le  renard  et  la  hyene,"  Meidani,  Proverles  (6),  t.  II,  p.  7, 
but  I  have  been  unable  to  find  the  story. 

4K.  Krohn,  Bar  (Wolf)  und  Fuchs,  pp.  41,  42,  Helsingfors,  1888. 
See  the  fable  of  fox  and  goat  well  known  in  fable  literature,  ancient 
and  modern,  the  Indian  tale  of  hare  and  lion  and  the  lion's 
shadow  in  the  well  (Pantsch.,  I,  8,  Hitapodesa,  n,  11),  and  the 
analogous  modern  Indian  version  where  jackals  take  the  place 
of  the  hare  (Old  Deccan  Days),  the  Indian  tale  of  the  elephant 
whom  the  hare  leads  to  mistake  his  own  shadow  in  the  well  (Pantsch., 
II,  226),  and  the  Arabic  tale,  cited  in  the  note  above,  where  the  man 
finds  a  door  opening  into  a  subterranean  paradise.  Cf.  also  the 
Greek  and  Indian  versions  of  the  fable  of  Dog  and  Shadow. 

9 


504  G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 

The  only  other  hypothesis  that  presents  itself  is  one  that 
assumes  Hebrew  origin.  As  we  have  seen,  Petrus  Alfonsus, 
the  author  of  the  Disoiplina  Clericalis,  can  claim  the  honor 
of  having  put  into  general  literary  circulation  the  story  of 
fox  and  wolf  and  moon  reflection,  but  he  cannot  claim  that 
of  being  the  first  to  tell  the  tale.  Another  Jew,  the  Rabbi 
Raschi,  who  lived  in  the  eleventh  century,  is  responsible  for 
the  earliest  version  of  which  we  have  record.  This  earliest 
version  of  the  story,  since  it  may  give  a  clew  to  the  origin, 
deserves  consideration  at  some  length. 

Fables  are  of  infrequent  occurrence  in  early  Hebrew  lit- 
erature. In  the  Bible  l  there  are  said  to  be  but  two  exam- 
ples. In  later  literature  they  appear  more  frequently,  and 
Rabbi  Meir,  who  lived  in  the  second  century  A.  D.,  is  cele- 
brated among  the  Jews  as  the  chief  of  fable  writers.  Meir 
is  said  to  have  known  three  hundred  fox  fables.  These  three 
hundred  fables  have  been  entirely  lost  except  in  the  few 
instances  where  they  have  been  retold  by  later  Jewish 
writers.  Of  these  few  twice-told  tales  from  Rabbi  Meir, 
one  is  closely  related  to  our  subject.  Hai  Gaon,2  who  lived 
between  969  and  1038  A.  D.,  tells  from  Rabbi  Meir  the 
fable  of  "  The  children  eat  sour  grapes."  A  lion  is  about  to 
devour  a  fox.  The  fox  says  he  is  too  small  to  be  worth 
while  and  offers  to  show  the  lion  a  fat  man  instead.  He 
conducts  the  lion  to  a  covered  pit,  on  the  other  side  of  which 
a  man  is  kneeling  in  prayer.  The  lion  is  afraid  to  leap  at 
the  man  because  the  man  is  praying,  but  the  fox  tells  the 
lion  his  sins  will  not  be  atoned  for  by  him  or  his  sons,  but 
by  his  grandsons.  Thus  reassured,  the  lion  leaps  and  falls 
into  the  pit.  The  fox  mocks  the  lion.  The  lion  asks  for  an 
explanation.  The  fox  explains  that  the  lion's  grandfather 

*A.  Blumenthal,  RcibU  Meir,  p.  98,  Frankfort,  1888. 
2  A.  Blumenthal,  op.  cit.,  p.  100. 


THE    MIDDLE   ENGLISH    VOX    AND    WOLF.  505 

has  sinned.  The  lion  exclaims,  '  The  father  eats  sour  grapes 
and  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on  edge.' 

This  same  tale,  still  attributed  to  Rabbi  Meir,  is  told  in 
extended  fashion  by  Rabbi  Raschi,1  who  was  born  at  Troyes 
about  1040  A.  D.  According  to  Raschi,  the  story  runs  as 
follows : — The  fox  induces  the  wolf  to  accompany  him  in  a 
visit  to  a  Jewish  house  to  prepare  food  for  the  Sabbath. 
Men  with  clubs  drive  the  wolf  away.  The  wolf  asks  an 
explanation  of  the  fox.  The  fox  replies,  'This  has  hap- 
pened not  on  thy  account,  but  on  account  of  thy  father  who 
helped  prepare  the  food  and  swallowed  every  fat  bit.  The 
fathers  eat  sour  grapes  and  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on 
edge.'  The  fox  offers,  however,  to  conduct  the  wolf  to 
where  there  is  plenty  to  eat  and  drink.  He  conducts  the 
wolf  to  a  well,  and  the  adventure  that  follows  is  the  familiar 
one  of  fox  and  wolf  and  moon  reflection.  The  moral  drawn 
by  the  fox  in  this  case  is,  '  The  just  man  is  rescued  from 
difficulty  and  the  sinner  takes  his  place,'  to  which  he  adds, 
'  The  just  balance  gives  just  weight.' 

In  this  version  of  Rabbi  Raschi  we  have  the  earliest 
extant  version  of  our  story,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  con- 
verted Jew,  Petrus  Alfonsus,  who  by  the  version  in  his  Dis- 
ciplina  Clericalis  put  the  story  into  general  circulation,  de- 
rived the  story  either  from  Raschi  or  from  the  same  Hebrew 
sources  from  which  Raschi  drew.  Perhaps  there  is  some 
relation  between  the  fact  that  there  are  few  surviving  Hebrew 
fables  and  the  fact  that  the  story  of  the  fox  and  wolf  is  the 
only  pure 2  animal  fable  in  the  collection  of  thirty  stories  in 
the  Disciplina  Clericalis.  It  is  worthy  of  note,  however, 
that  Petrus  Alfonsus  draws  quite  a  different  moral,  1)  Take 
advice  only  from  a  tried  friend,  2)  A  certain  present  is  better 
than  an  uncertain  prospect. 

*A.  Blumenthal,  op.  cit.,  p.  101.     Gelbhaus,  op.  cit.,  p.  39. 

2  See,  however,  no.  4,  Man  and  serpent ;  no.  20,  churl  and  bird. 

12 


506  G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 

Was  Raschi  the  author  of  this  tale  ?  It  hardly  seems 
probable.  The  version  by  Hai  Gaon  of  the  fox  fable  by 
Rabbi  Meir  illustrating  the  sins  of  the  fathers'  idea,  is  earlier 
and  probably  more  near  the  original.  The  fact  that  Raschi 
was  born  at  Troyes 1  at  the  time  and  in  the  place  where  the 
beast  epic  seems  to  have  had  its  origin,  renders  it  more  prob- 
able that  Raschi  drew  from  the  same  stock  of  popular  stories 
that  was  used  in  the  composition  of  the  beast  epic.  If  we 
take  this  view,  we  see  another  reason  for  believing  in  the 
western  origin  of  the  fox  and  wolf  story. 

The  history  of  this  story  in  later  times  is  interesting.  If, 
in  medieval  beast  epic  tales  the  human  element  was  empha- 
sized and  the  moral  to  be  drawn  was  all  but  lost  sight  of,  in 
later  times  the  situation  was  reversed,  and  the  moral  ele- 
ment regained  its  dominant  position.  The  later  history  of 
our  tale  illustrates  this  reactionary  change.  In  later  fable 
literature  the  story  of  fox  and  wolf  often  appears  in  a  very 
much  emasculated  form.  A  fox  has  fallen  into  a  well.  A 
wolf  happens  along,  and  the  fox  implores  assistance.  The 
wolf  commiserates  with  him  and  asks  how  he  comes  to  be 
there.  The  fox  sharply  replies  to  the  effect  that  this  is  no 
time  for  explanations,  "  For  pity  is  but  cold  comfort  when 
one  is  up  to  his  chin  in  water."  This  form  of  the  tale 
appears  as  early  as  1500  in  the  Hecatomythion 2  secundum  of 
the  Italian  Abstemius,  and  later  in  the  Italian  fable  collec- 
tion of  Gabriele  Faerno3  and  in  a  collection  of  Turkish 
fables  translated  by  Decourdemanche.4  In  French,  Le- 
noble,5  a  contemporary  of  La  Fontaine,  tells  a  similar  story 

aCf.  G.  Paris,  Le  roman  de  Renard  .  .  .  Repr.  from  Journal  des 
Savants,  1895, 

2  L' Abstemius,  Hecatomythion  secundum,  no.    15,  Venice,   1499. 

3  G.  Faerno,  Centum  Fabulce  .  .  .  ,  p.  49,  London,   1672. 
*  Fables    Turques,   trad,    par   J.    — A.    Decourdemanche. 

8  Lenoble,  Oeuvres,  t.    xiv,  p.  515. 


THE   MIDDLE    ENGLISH    VOX    AND    WOLF.  507 

but  with  the  parts  reversed,  the  wolf  being  in  the  well  and 
the  fox  ironically  commiserating  him  from  above.  In 
English  it  is  this  form  of  the  story  that  appears  in  the  fable 
collections  of  1'Estrange  l  and  of  Croxall 2  and  in  most  of  the 
later  English  fable  collections  when  it  appears  at  all.  The 
universal  significance  of  the  incident  as  told  in  this  form  3  is 
apparent,  but  as  a  story  what  interest  is  left? 

The  story  of  fox  and  wolf  has  been  handled  by  several  of 
the  greatest  literary  artists.  Goethe,  in  his  Reinecke  Fuchs, 
tells  in  brief  but  pleasing  manner  the  form  of  the  tale  derived 
ultimately  from  the  second  part  of  the  Flemish  Reynaert. 
La  Fontaine,  with  the  addition  of  several  highly  amusing 
circumstantial  details,  retells  the  version  dealing  with  fox 
and  wolf  and  moon  reflection.  But  perhaps  the  most  inter- 
esting of  these  artistic  handlings  of  this  tale  is  the  one  in 
Italian,  recently  printed  by  Professor  McKenzie  in  the  Pub- 
lications 4  of  this  Association.  This  version,  which  has  been 
attributed  to  Boccaccio,  but  more  probably  is  by  Antonio 
Pucci,  has  a  distinctively  Italian  character.  It  is  a  recog- 
nized fact  that  the  Italian  writers,  such  as  Boccaccio,  Ser- 
cambi,  and  Bandello,  introduced  the  tragic  element  into, 
'  stained  5  with  blood/  the  medieval  popular  story.  This 
peculiar  Italian  characteristic  is  imparted  to  our  story  in  a 
sequel.  The  fox  is  hurrying  away,  leaving  the  wolf  in  the 
well,  when  he  meets  a  dog.  He  tells  the  dog  that  he  has 

1  Fables   of  sEsop,   and   other   Eminent   Mythologists  ...  by    Sir 
Roger  L'Estrange,  Kt.,  Fab.  410,  London,  1692. 

3  S.  Croxall,  Fables  of  JEsop  and  others,  no.  166,  Boston,  1803. 

3  Cf .  the  somewhat  similar  fable  of  Hare  and  Fox  in  the  Syriac 
Fabeln  des  Bophos,  no.  10   (ed.  by  J.  Landsberger,  Posen,  1859),  and 

the  one  in  the  Fables  of  T.  Bewick,  p.  311, ,  1818,  and  in  the 

French-German  Esope-Esopus  (ed.  by  Carl  Mouton,  Hamburg,  1750), 
and  in  the  Fables  of  JEsop,  no.  8,  New  York,  1865. 

4  K.   McKenzie,  Publ  M.  L.  A.,  xxi,   226  ff. 

5  J.  Bgdier,  Les  Fabliaux,  2d  ed.,  p.  240,  Paris,  1895. 


508  G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 

killed  his  enemy,  the  wolf,  and  left  him  in  the  well.  The 
dog,  instead  of  being  pleased,  expresses  his  intention  of  res- 
cuing the  wolf,  and  (  he  seized  the  fox  by  the  throat  and 
killed  her  with  much  torture.  He  wished  to  be  the  avenger 
of  the  wolf  and  to  do  justice.7  A  truly  tragic  ending  to  a 
comic  tale  ! 

The  adventure  of  the  fox  and  wolf  in  the  well  continues 
to  amuse  people  of  the  present  generation.  The  tale  exists 
still  in  popular  story l  in  Sweden,  in  Germany,  in  France, 
in  Spain,  in  Portugal,  in  Russia;  and  a  story  in  which  the 
rabbit  plays  a  similar  trick  on  the  fox,  is  told  among  Amer- 
ican negroes.  In  the  popular  story  of  France 2  and  of  Ger- 
many,3 it  appears  in  a  cycle  of  connected  tales  of  the  adven- 
tures of  fox  and  wolf  quite  analogous  to  the  cycle  of  tales  in 
the  Roman  de  Renard.  Especially  popular  are  the  stories 
dealing  with  the  reflection  of  the  moon  in  the  water.  This 
story  element  appears  most  often  connected  with  the  tale  of 
the  buckets,  but  in  many  instances  the  wolf  is  represented 
as  drinking  4  until  he  bursts  in  an  attempt  to  reach  the  sup- 
posed cheese,  and  in  other  instances  at  the  suggestion  of  the 
fox,  he  fishes  5  for  the  cheese  with  his  tail,  an  obviously  far 
from  happy  combination  of  two  independent  stories.  We 

1  K.  Krohn,  op.  cit.,  pp.  41  ff. 

3  P.   Redonnel,  Rev.   des   trad,  pop.,   m,   61  Iff.;    A.   Gitte"e  et  J. 
Lemoine,  op.  cit. 

8  J.  Haltrich,  Zur  volkskunde  der  Sieberiburger,  ed.  by  Wolf,  Wien, 
1885.  Numbers  1-9  deal  with  the  exploits  of  fox  and  wolf.  Most 
of  the  well  known  stories  are  grouped  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of 
popular  beast  epic. 

4  Cf .  Servian  tale  cited  above,  p.  502 ;  Arnaudin,  Contes  populaires 
recueillis  dans  la  Grande-Lande,  etc.,  p.   116,   1887;   Hervieux,  Les 
fabulistes   latins,   2d   ed.,   n,   598;    Exortce  Romuli   anglici   cunctis 
fabulce. 

5  N.   Bozon,  op.  cit.,  pp.   64,   65,   Zulu  tale  of  hyena  and  bone; 
A.   Seidel,   Geschichten  der  Afrikaner,   p.   267,   Berlin,   1896,   etc. 


THE   MIDDLE    ENGLISH    VOX    AND    WOLF.  509 

are  told  that  the  expression  '  moon-fishers ' l  is  at  the  present 
time  applied  to  the  Boeotians  of  certain  parts  of  France. 

This  story  of  the  fox  and  the  wolf  has  not  the  moral  sig- 
nificance that  has  given  vitality  to  many  2  fables.  It  requires 
some  little  ingenuity  to  make  any  moral  application  of  the 
tale.  For  this  reason  among  others,3  in  many  modern  fable 
collections,  it  fails  to  appear  or  appears  in  the  mutilated  form 
that  we  have  considered.  The  story  is  simply  that  of  a  very 
practical  joke  played  by  the  guileful  fox  on  his  Boeotian 
friend  the  wolf.  It  makes  its  entrance  into  literature  in 
company  with  the  tales  of  humans  in  the  Discipline,  Cleri- 
calis  •  in  Middle  English  it  is  told  merely  as  an  entertaining 
tale,  and  in  general  it  may  be  said  that  its  associations  more 
than  in  the  case  of  most  other  beast  stories  4  are  with  tales 
designed  solely  to  amuse. 

G.  H.  MCKNIGHT. 


1  Of.  P.  Se"billot,  Le  folk-lore  de  France,  I,  27,  Paris,  1904. 

2  Such   as   the   fables   of   dog  in  manger,   tortoise   and  hare,   and 
the  like. 

8  Another  very  important  reason  is  that  this  tale  is  not  included 
in  the  mediaeval  Phaedrus  which  served  as  the  nucleus  around  which 
most  of  the  later  collections  gathered. 

4  For  example  notice  the  German  version  in  the  Lieder  Saal  of  J. 
von  Lassberg,  where  the  story  of  fox  and  wolf  appears  in  company 
with  love  debates,  lovers'  complaints  and  the  like,  also  the  version 
in  the  appendix  to  Boner's  Fabeln  ( Germania,  xxxm,  257  ff . )  where 
the  author  remarks, 

"  Sid  dis  buch  ein  ende  hat 
so  wil  ich  ouch  ein  torren  tat 

in  dis  buch  schriben. 


doch  wenn  es  nit  geualle  wol 
dem  ratt  ich  dz  er  sol 
vnderwegen  lassen  sin  lesen." 


XXII.— A  LITERARY  MOSAIC. 

Nearly  forty  years  ago  Robert  Browning  issued  The  Ring 
and  the  Book,  his  longest  and  most  important  poem.  It  has 
suffered  varied  fortunes  at  the  hands  of  the  critics.  Brooke, 
Dowden,  Chesterton,  and  Herford,  however,  devote  long  and 
important  chapters  to  its  discussion,  and  acknowledge  the 
poet's  mastery  in  his  subject.  Amid  critics  friendly  and 
hostile  alike,  the  lawyers'  monologues  have  perhaps  suffered 
more  than  any  other  portion  of  the  poem.  They  have  been 
skipped  by  the  ordinary  reader  as  unmeaning  and  dull. 
Few  open  and  intelligent  words  of  defense  have  been  uttered 
in  their  behalf.  Chesterton  puts  the  matter  well  (p.  160), 
"  One  of  the  ablest  and  most  sympathetic  of  all  the  critics  of 
Browning,  Mr.  Augustine  Birrell,  has  said  in  one  place  that 
the  speeches  of  the  two  advocates  in  The  Ring  and  the  Book 
will  scarcely  be  very  interesting  to  the  ordinary  reader. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  great  number  of  readers 
of  Browning  think  them  beside  the  mark  and  adventitious. 
But  it  is  exceedingly  dangerous  to  say  that  anything  in 
Browning  is  irrelevant  or  unnecessary The  introduc- 
tion of  them  is  one  of  the  finest  strokes  in  The  Ring  and  the 
Booh" 

Why,  then,  did  'the  poet  create  them  ?  He  certainly 
must  have  felt  he  had  reason.  The  architecture  of  this 
poem  was  deliberately  wrought,  and  Browning  assures  us 
that  he  saw  the  whole  plan  from  the  beginning.  Did  he 
blunder,  then,  in  this  portion  of  his  work  ?  These  questions 
find  a  new  reply  in  the  light  of  the  poet's  source-book,  which 
has  been  issued  recently  from  the  press  of  the  Carnegie  Insti- 
tution. The  poet's  purpose  and  method  in  them  become 
quite  clear. 

510 


A    LITERARY    MOSAIC.  511 

Browning's  unique  source-book,  the  treasure-trove  of  one 
of  his  days  of  wandering  through  the  streets  of  Florence,  is 
a  collection  of  the  original  pamphlets  of  argument  and  evi- 
dence in  the  Franceschini  murder  trial  in  Rome,  1698.  The 
volume  was  probably  collected  and  bound  by  a  lawyer,  who 
regarded  it  as  a  technical  legal  precedent — a  case.  The 
machinery  of  the  law  and  the  lawyer's  attitude  of  mind  are 
therefore  present  on  every  page.  In  creating  his  poem  from 
the  old  book,  Browning  has  been  conscientiously  accurate  to 
an  unusual  degree.  Hence  it  is  not  strange  that  this  ever- 
present  fact  of  the  law  found  place  in  the  poem. 

Browning  has  been  called  "  subtlest  assertor  of  the  soul 
in  song."  The  oft-quoted  words  from  the  Introduction  to 
Sordello  hardly  need  to  be  repeated  in  this  connection.  He 
was  essentially  a  student  of  the  human  heart.  In  poem 
after  poem  this  interest  manifested  itself,  as  in  his  wide 
readings  he  has  caught  glimpses  of  man.  Not  infrequently 
he  has  turned  to  strange  and  even  monstrous  personality,  as 
in  Sludge  and  Caliban.  Hence  when  he  read  the  pages  of 
the  old  book,  he  probably  felt  an  immediate,  but  ironic,  in- 
terest in  the  men  of  the  "  patent  truth-extracting  process." 
They  were  the  official  representatives  of  law,  and  law  is  the 
colossal  institution  founded  by  man  for  sifting  human  right 
and  truth.  But  Browning  was  always  skeptical  of  institu- 
tions as  against  men,  and  he  had  no  admiration  for  the  cus- 
tom- or  institution-ridden  man.  The  attitude  of  these 
lawyers,  therefore,  excited  his  strong  dissent.  He  did  not 
believe  in  their  version  of  truth  in  spite  of  their  profession. 
For  he  saw  in  their  treatment  of  the  facts  of  this  sad  page 
of  human  history  abundance  of  cunning  sophistry,  of  respect 
for  authority  and  precedent,  of  insistent  and  minutely  argu- 
mentative setting  forth  of  certain  technical  aspects  of  the 
crime  ;  but  the  real  lawyers  of  the  book  showed  no  genuine 
love  of  truth  nor  any  human  concern  for  the  rights  and 


512  CHARLES   W.    HODELL. 

wrongs  of  victim  and  criminal  alike.  In  his  purpose  to 
present  in  turn  the  various  aspects  of  the  story,  the  poet 
could  hardly  have  omitted  the  most  characteristic  attitude 
displayed  in  the  volume  before  him  without  abandoning  the 
conscientiousness  of  which  we  have  spoken  above.  He 
therefore  put  forth  the  full  power  of  his  art  to  reproduce  in 
his  poem  the  legal  bias  as  he  had  found  it  in  his  book. 

There  were  four  lawyers  in  the  Franceschini  murder 
trial,  but  these  are  necessarily  reduced  to  two,  one  for  each 
side  of  the  case.  Their  professional  type  of  mind  is  every- 
where evident  in  the  original  arguments ;  their  personal 
traits  are  but  meagerly  present.  The  poet  accordingly  takes 
over  the  former,  but  he  must  invent  the  latter  outright. 

The  personal  traits  of  the  two  lawyers  thus  invented  may 
be  regarded  as  representing  the  dual  aspect  of  the  legal 
mind  as  it  revealed  itself  to  Robert  Browning,  the  comic 
and  tragic  aspects  respectively.  He  laughs  heartily  at  the 
grotesquerie  of  the  logic,  at  the  forced  eloquence,  at  the 
pomp  of  precedent.  This  begets  a  Chaucerian  mood  of 
satire,  which  sees  Arcangeli  not  merely  as  a  pompous 
pleader,  but  as  the  devoted  father  to  the  eight-year-old 
curly  pate  and  as  the  gourmand  ising  prophet  of  the  birth- 
day feast.  The  fun  of  the  invention  is  contagious.  It 
lightens  and  humanizes  the  whole  borrowed  technical  ma- 
chinery of  the  "  speech  in  the  egg "  which  forms  the  body 
of  the  monologue.  The  poet  shows  no  small  skill  in  giving 
this  interest  of  concrete  personality  to  the  dry,  harsh  profes- 
sionalism with  which  he  had  grown  familiar.  It  was  the 
true  creative  breath  upon  a  very  dry  valley  of  bones. 

But  when  Browning  stopped  to  think,  he  saw  also  the 
cruelty  of  this  unsympathetic  professionalism  which  had  felt 
no  pity  for  the  dying  Pompilia,  whom  he  loved.  His  indig- 
nation was  aroused.  His  irony  was  no  longer  playful,  it 
became  almost  fierce  ;  he  scorned  Bottini,  he  caricatured 


A   LITERARY   MOSAIC.  513 

i 

him  almost  passionately.  This  was  probably  due  to  the 
actual  Bottini's  habit  of  making  damaging  admissions  con- 
cerning Pompilia  and  then  explaining  them  away  by  his 
sophistries.  Browning  was  so  thoroughly  convinced  of  the 
innocence  of  Pompilia  that  he  resented  this,  and  grew  unfair 
in  his  indignation.  Hence  he  has  invented  the  arrogant 
self-conceit  of  bachelor  Bottini,  trying  his  written  speech 
"  amorously  o'er."  This  makes  by  no  means  as  pleasing  a 
monologue  situation  as  the  one  invented  for  Arcangeli. 
Moreover,  the  fair  reproduction  of  legal  fact  which  is  seen 
throughout  Arcangeli' s  speech,  gives  way  to  scornful  caric- 
ature in  the  second  lawyer's  monologue.  Browning's  anger 
with  Bottini  all  but  spoils  his  art  in  recreating  him. 

When  Browning  had  decided  to  make  the  legal  mind  one 
of  the  psychological  biases  of  his  story,  he  must  straightway 
have  seen  the  impossibility  of  following  any  one  of  the  eleven 
arguments  given  in  the  book.  His  creation  must  be  eclectic, 
choosing  salient  features  here  and  there.  To  forward  this 
plan,  he  imagined  Arcangeli  uttering  no  completed  speech, 
but  sitting  at  his  office  desk  getting  up  notes  for  one  of  his 
pleas  for  the  defense.  This  gave  opportunity  for  the  desul- 
tory and  incomplete  statement  of  one  point  after  another,  and 
admitted  the  occasional  introduction  of 

The  jolly  learned  man  of  middle  age, 
Cheek  and  jowl  all  in  laps  with  fat  and  law 

A-bubble  in  the  larynx  while  he  laughs, 
As  he  had  fritters  deep  down  frying  there. 

The  speech  in  the  making  on  Arcangeli' s  desk  that  cold 
January  day  is  a  remarkable  composite,  a  skilful  mosaic, 
made  up  of  scores  of  fragments  assembled  from  all  parts  of 
the  old  yellow  book.  Each  of  these  is  reproduced  with 
painstaking  exactitude.  But  the  final  design  in  which  they 
are  set  is  the  poet's,  and  does  not  follow  any  connected  line 


514  CHARLES    W.    HODELL. 

of  thought  in  the  book.  The  ease  and  precision  with  which 
these  parts  fall  into  their  places  in  the  new  design  show  how 
fully  the  poet  had  made  the  book  his  own.  Nor  will  the 
unconscious  memory  explain  all  this  treasuring  of  fragments  ; 
they  were  evidently  sought  out  and  copied  from  the  book. 

The  facts  of  the  Franceschini  story  used  by  Arcangeli, 
even  the  many  minute  and  trivial  facts,  are  taken  from  the 
book.  Such  are  the  swooning  of  Baldeschi,  one  of  the  ac- 
complices, under  torture  (line  349) ;  Guido7  s  arrival  in 
Rome  on  Christmas  eve  with  his  cutthroats  (line  1071),  and 
the  confession  of  an  after-plot  to  murder  Guido  (line  1598). 
The  fact  of  the  ridicule  which  Abate  Paolo  suffered,  as  told 
by  Arcangeli  (lines  764-74),  reads  as  follows  in  the  legal 
argument :  a  While  he  was  prosecuting  Guidons  cause  in  the 
courts,  it  befell  him  that  he  excited  the  ridicule  and  the 
guffaws  of  nearly  all  sensible  and  honorable  men,  not  to  say 
of  the  very  judges  themselves."  Notice  that  the  word  cac- 
chinos,  translated  guffaws,  is  given  as  "  cacchinations  "  by 
Browning.  Such  use  of  fact  is  the  rule  throughout  much  of 
the  poem. 

Still  further,  every  point  of  law  made  in  Arcangeli's 
monologue  is  drawn  from  the  book.  The  main  plea  of 
honoris  causa,  so  much  emphasized  in  recent  newspaper 
reports  of  sensational  murders,  is  the  chief  plea  in  defense 
of  the  real  Guido.  This  is  turned  in  many  ways  in  the 
monologue,  but  all  of  them  are  found  in  the  actual  record 
before  the  poet.  In  supporting  this  plea,  Advocate  Spreti 
says  :  "  The  aforesaid  authorities  unanimously  assert  that 
husbands  are  considered  vile  and  horned  (cornuti)  if  they  do 
not  take  vengeance  with  their  own  hands,  but  wait  for  the 
judges  to  do  this,  who  laugh  at  them  scornfully."  The 
word,  "horned"  from  the  original  cornuti,  Browning  trans- 
lates humorously  "  fronts  branching  forth  a  florid  infamy." 
The  poet  in  a  spirit  of  waggery  parodies  rather  than  para- 


A    LITERARY    MOSAIC.  515 

phrases  this  part  of  the  argument.  Then  follows  the  further 
discussion  as  to  whether  murder  is  justifiable  only  when 
done  in  immediate  anger  (lines  983-1056),  all  borrowed 
from  the  actual  book.  The  discussion  of  the  aggravating 
circumstances  (lines  1108-1381)  is  taken  entirely  from  the 
original  arguments.  These  points  of  law  transferred  to  the 
poem  have  first  been  condensed  and  are  not  infrequently 
steeped  in  humor.  Thus  in  the  argument  concerning  illegal 
arms,  the  real  Arcangeli  says,  "  it  would  have  been  the  very 
same  if  they  had  been  slain  with  the  longest  of  swords,  or 
with  sticks  or  stones.7'  Browning  puts  it  (lines  1176—7), 

"  Then,  if  killed,  what  matter  how? 
By  stick  or  stone,  by  sword  or  dagger  ?  " 

In  his  description  of  the   Book,  the   poet  ridicules   the 
masses  of  precedent  (I,  217-232) : 

"  there  heaped  themselves 
From  earth's  four  corners,  all  authority 
And  precedent  for  putting  wives  to  death, 

Solon  and  his  Athenians  ?  Quote  the  code 
Of  Komulus  and  Rome  !  Justinian  speak  ! 
Nor  modern  Baldo,  Bartolo  be  dumb  ! 

Cornelia  de  Sicariis  hurried  to  help 
Pompeia  de  Parricidiis :  Julia  de 
Something-or- other  jostled  Lex  this-and-that ; 
King  Solomon  confirmed  Apostle  Paul : 
That  nice  decision  of  Dolabella,  eh  ? 
That  pregnant  instance  of  Theodoric,  oh  ! 
Down  to  that  choice  example  Aelian  gives," 

Not  only  is  every  one  of  these  precedents  taken  from  the 
book,  but  every  precedent  mentioned  in  Arcangeli's  mono- 
logue is  drawn  from  the  same  source.  Such  are  the  "  fruc- 
tuous  sample  "  from  the  Dutch  Jurist,  Matthaeus  (lines  824- 
30),  Sicily's  decisions,  61  (lines  813-21),  the  case  from 
Caesar  Panimolle  (lines  1228-47),  from  Cyriacus  (lines  951- 


516  CHARLES    W.    HODELL. 

61),  from  Castrensis  (lines  1541-7),  and  that  of  the  Smyr- 
nean  woman  before  Proconsul  Dolabella  as  quoted  from 
Valerius  Maximus.  The  book,  too,  was  put  under  requi- 
sition for  the  "  choice  example"  (lines  512-18)  : 

"  Aelian  cites,  the  noble  elephant, 
(Or  if  not  Aelian,  somebody  as  sage), 
Who  seeing,  much  offense  beneath  his  nose, 
His  master's  friend  exceed  in  courtesy 
The  due  allowance  to  his  master's  wife, 
Taught  them  good  manners  and  killed  both  at  once, 
Making  his  master  and  the  world  admire." 

Its  original  statement  is  as  follows :  "  JElian,  in  his 
Natural  History,  tells  of  an  elephant  which  avenged  the 
adultery  of  the  wife  and  the  adulterer  found  together  in  the 
act  of  adultery."  The  citation  from  Farinacci  concerning 
the  torture  of  the  vigil,  which  is  closely  paraphrased  in  lines 
328-43,  was  referred  to  in  the  book,  but  the  poet  had  to 
follow  the  reference  to  get  the  above  text.  This  is  the  more 
interesting,  as  it  shows  the  poet  found  here  in  Farinacci  his 
knowledge  of  Guide's  torture.  Browning's  humor  plays 
with  another  of  these  citations  in  the  lines  680-3  : 

"Saint  Ambrose  makes  a  comment  with  much  fruit, 
Doubtless  my  Judges  long  since  laid  to  heart, 
So  I  desist  from  bringing  forward  here. 
(I  can't  quite  recollect,)" 

Arcangeli's  numerous  quotations  from  unusual  authors  are 
drawn  from  the  same  convenient  treasury, — the  Theodoric 
(lines  482-7),  St.  Jerome  (lines  585-95),  Gregory  (lines 
597-600),  St.  Bernard  (lines  625-36),  even  including  the 
pseudo-saying  of  Christ :  honorem  meum  nemini  dabo.  The 
poet  follows  these  even  to  the  grotesque  literality  of  lines 
613-15  : 

"  quia, — says  Solomon, 
(The  Holy  Spirit  speaking  by  his  mouth 
In  Proverbs,  the  sixth  chapter  near  the  end) " 


A    LITERARY    MOSAIC.  517 

taken  from  come  parla  in  questo  proposto  lo  Spirito  Santo  per 
bocca  di  Salomone  nei  Proverbi  al  6  in  fine.  Only  one  quo- 
tation (aside  from  half  a  dozen  fragments  of  the  classics) 
seems  to  have  been  found  outside  the  book,  that  from  Scali- 
ger's  Table  Talk,  concerning  the  words  castae  apes. 

To  the  casual  reader,  perhaps  no  feature  of  the  monologue 
is  more  obvious  than  its  abundance  of  law-Latin.  Ninety- 
five  per  cent,  of  this  Latin,  in  fifty-six  quotations,  varying 
from  two  to  one  hundred  and  ninety-eight  words  long,  are 
taken  directly  from  the  source-book.  Six  mere  scraps  of 
Latin  are  drawn  from  classic  sources,  one  from  Aquinas,  and 
two  from  unknown  medieval  sources.  The  fifty-six  passages 
are  drawn  at  random  from  all  parts  of  the  book,  and  must 
have  been  thoughtfully  and  precisely  extracted  from  their 
context,  and  are  not  at  all  to  be  explained  as  mere  chance 
feats  of  memory.  The  longest  of  these,  the  peroration  (lines 
1638-1737)  is  transferred  from  the  close  of  the  last  and 
most  important  of  the  real  Arcangeli's  arguments.  The  poet 
has  edited  the  book-Latin  but  slightly,  supplying  occasional 
antecedents  for  pronouns,  exchanging  synonyms  for  the  sake 
of  metrical  convenience,  excising  useless  portions,  and  occa- 
sionally changing  grammatical  forms,  but  on  the  whole,  fol- 
lowing the  text  before  him  with  surprising  closeness. 

His  running  translation  of  these  passages  is  worthy  of 
attention.  In  general,  it  is  a  free,  brilliant  paraphrase, 
giving  the  sense  but  not  the  syntax  of  the  original.  Thus 
he  translates  Ultra  quod  hie  non  agitur  de  probatione  adulierii 
"  It  is  not  anyway  our  business  here  to  prove  what  we  thought 
crime  was  crime  indeed."  The  expressiveness  of  Browning's 
idiomatic  English  style  far  transcends  his  original.  There 
are  parts  of  this  translation,  however,  where  the  poet's  sense 
of  humor  rather  than  his  good  Latinity  guides  him,  and 
many  a  characteristic  thrust  is  made  in  this  way.  We  have 
already  cited  his  translation  of  the  word  cornuti  above.  The 


518  CHAELES    W.    HODELL. 

opening  words  of  Arcangeli's  first  argument,  nupserat  sinis- 
tris  avibus,  he  renders 

"He  wedded, — ah,  with  owls  for  augury." 

And  the  common  expression,  ignea  arma  for  fire-arms,  he 
renders  "igneous  engine."  Or,  as  he  adds, 

"Might  one  sty  lea  pistol — popping-piece." 

This  is  suggested  by  the  word  of  Laniparelli,  sdopulo.  Still 
further,  excogitari  potest  becomes 

"From  out  the  cogitative  brain  of  thee." 

The  irony  and  humor  of  the  poet  play  effectively  through 
all  his  task  of  producing  an  English  version  of  the  book- 
Latin.  No  one  can  read  the  monologue  with  a  full  percep- 
tion of  its  value  without  giving  thought  to  these  masterful 
niceties  of  translation. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  show  the  poet's  painstaking 
accuracy  in  the  use  of  the  materials  assembled  for  this 
monologue,  yet  his  pains  have  not  entirely  freed  him  from 
error.  He  speaks  of  Panicollus  for  Panimollus  (1228)  and 
of  Butringarius  for  Butrigarius  (1542).  The  technical  phrase 
ineontinenti  he  makes  ex  incontinenti,  probably  in  confusion 
with  the  contrasting  phrase  ex  intervallo.  Quia  becomes  qui 
at  line  1241.  The  most  evident  error  of  all  is  his  reading 
ex  iusta  via,  which  he  translates  "on  ground  enough," 
instead  of  ex  iusta  ira.  These  errors  are,  of  course,  acci- 
dental, and  the  poet  avoided  them  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power. 

It  becomes  quite  evident,  therefore,  that  Browning's 
impulse  to  create  the  lawyers  grew  from  the  very  legal 
nature  of  his  source-book,  and  that  the  poet  who  became 
interested  in  the  strangely  sophisticated  type  of  mind  showrn 
there,  turned  to  the  book  itself  for  the  material  of  his  fic- 
titious legal  arguments  in  the  poem.  For  the  first,  he 


A   LITERARY   MOSAIC.  519 

assembled  perhaps  a  hundred  fragments  from  various  parts 
of  the  book.  These  details  seem  so  unvital  and  technical  as 
to  be  apparently  impossible  material  for  the  creative  artist. 
But  under  his  touch,  they  were  wrought  into  a  strange  new 
device,  just  as  the  fragments  of  a  mosaic  lose  their  shapeless 
individuality  in  the  larger  unity  of  the  whole.  The  wit,  the 
humor,  the  satire  of  the  poet  serve  as  a  cement  to  bind  them 
all  together.  Browning's  creative  vitality  has  used  the  mate- 
rials with  an  ease  and  precision  which  other  artists  show 
with  purely  fictitious  material.  He  has  thus  produced  one 
of  his  most  entertaining  studies  of  grotesque  psychology. 
But  still  further  he  has  made  the  legal  mind  as  he  found  it 
in  his  book  an  integral  part  of  the  carefully  wrought  design 
of  this,  his  master  poem. 

CHARLES  W.  HODELL. 


XXIII.— CHRISTIAN   WERNICKE,    A   PREDECESSOR 
OF  LESSING. 

In  the  history  of  the  development  of  good  literary  taste 
in  Germany,  Christian  Wernicke  has  long  held  an  honor- 
able position.  The  praise  of  Johann  Ulrich  Konig,1  of 
Bodmer,2  of  Hagedorn,3  and  Ramler ;  4  the  commendation, 
the  more  impressive  for  being  qualified  with  criticisms, 
of  Lessing  5  and  Herder ;  6  and  the  tendency  of  historians 
of  literature  to  maintain  groups  and  relationships  once 
established,  have  all  contributed  to  secure  to  Wernicke  the 
title  of  a  redoubtable  opponent  of  the  so-called  second  Sile- 
sian  school  of  poets.  Until  recently,  however,  little  more 

lUntersuchung  von  dem  guten  Geschmack  in  der  Dicht-  und  JRede-Kunst, 
supplement  to  Des  Freyherrn  von  Canitz  Gedichte,  Berlin,  1727  ;  pp.  373- 
476  of  the  edition  of  1765.  Konig  writes  of  Wernicke:  "  Er  selbst  war 
ein  Mann  von  ausbiindigem  Geschmack,  und  der  erste,  welch  er  das  Herz 
gehabt,  sich  der  Lohensteinischen  schwiilstigen  Schreibart  in  offentlichem 
Drucke  zu  widersetzen"  (p.  383). 

2  Nachrichten  von  dem  Ursprung  und  Wachsthum  der  Critik  bey  den  Deut- 
schen,  1741,  and  an  edition  of  Wernicke  entitled    Herrn  Wemikens  .  .  . 
Poetische  Versuche  in  tlberschriften  ;  me  auch  in  Helden-  und  Schafergedichten, 
Zurich,  1749 ;  neue  verbesserte  Auflage,  1763.     Bodmer's  edition,  which 
is  a  tolerably  faithful   reproduction   of  Wernicke' s  definitive  edition  of 
1704,  has  been  the  basis  of  all  subsequent  studies  in  Wernicke.     My 
references  are  to  Bodmer's  reprint  of  1763.     I  am  indebted  to  the  Colum- 
bia University  Library  for  the  opportunity  to  use  this  volume. 

3  Moralische  Gedichte,  Hamburg,  1752,  p.  242. 

4  Critische  Nachrichten  aus  dem  Reiche  der  Gelehrsamkeit,  1750  ;  Einleitung 
in  die  schb'nenWissenschaften  nach  dem  Franzb'sischen  des  Herrn  Batteux,  1756- 
58;  a  "modernized"  edition  of  Christian  Wemikens  tjberschriften.     Nebst 
Opitzens  u.  a.  epigrammatischen  Gedichten,  1780. 

5  Zerstreute  Anmerkungen  uber  das  Epigramm,  1771,  L-M  xi,  214-295, 
passim. 

^Anmerkungen  uber  die  Anthologie  der  Griechenj  besonders  uber  das  grie- 
chische  Epigramm,  Werke,  Hempel,  VII,  179,  and  Adrastea,  Werke,  Hempel, 
xiv,  735. 

520 


CHRISTIAN    WERNICKE.  521 

has  been  known  about  his  personal  character  and  career  than 
what  he  himself  incidentally  disclosed  in  his  verses  and 
in  his  unusually  frank  and  circumstantial  foot-notes.  Ko- 
ber stein,1  with  accustomed  succinctness,  summarized  Wer- 
nicke's  critical  opinions;  Gervinus,2  in  one  of  his  famous 
parallels,  contrasted  Wernicke  unfavorably  as  a  man  and 
as  a  poet  with  Logau ;  Scherer  3  barely  mentioned  him ; 
Francke  4  did  not  mention  him  at  all ;  Ludwig  Fulda,5 
without  adding  much  to  our  knowledge,  set  forth  in  an 
excellent  brief  essay  the  proper  bearing  of  the  facts  that 
were  then  known,  and  corrected  thereby  the  somewhat  dis- 
torted presentation  of  Gervinus;  but  not  until  the  inves- 
tigations and  fortunate  discoveries  of  Julius  Elias  6  and 
Leonhard  RTeubaur  7  had  brought  a  host  of  new  facts  to 
light  was  an  adequate  estimate  of  either  the  personal  or 
the  literary  character  of  Wernicke  possible.  We  now  have 
such  an  estimate  by  Erich  Schmidt.8  Looking  eagerly 
forward  to  the  reprint  of  Wernicke's  epigrams  promised 
by  Elias,  E.  Schmidt  says  of  the  epigrammatist,  "  philo- 
sophisch  reichgebildet,  in  alter  und  moderner  Literatur 
ungemein  belesen,  huldigt  er,  mit  Boileau  vom  Dichter 
vollstandige  Kenntnis  der  Welt,  zumal  des  Hofes  for- 
dernd,  einer  vornehmen  Poetik ;  "  and  adds,  "  wir  ken- 
nen  vor  Liscow,  ja  vor  Lessing  keinen  klareren,  geschei- 
teren  Kopf."  The  question,  therefore,  how  far  Wernicke 

1  Gesch.  d.  d.  Nationalliteratur,  n,  §  207. 

2  Gesch.  d.  d.  Dichlungf  in,  pp.  658  ff. 

3  Gesch.  d.  d.  Lit.,  Berlin,  1883,  pp.  367,  395. 

4  Social  Forces  in  German  Literature,  New  York,  1896. 
5DNL,  39,  n,  pp.  507  ff. 

6  Cftristian  Wernicke,  1.  Such,  Munchen,  1888. 

7  Jugendgedichte  von   Christian   Wernigke,  Altpreussische  Monatsschrift,  25 
(1888),  pp.    124-165.     Keviewed  by  J.  Elias  in  Anzeiger  fur  deuisches 
Altertum,  15.  Juli,  1889,  pp.  341-347. 

8  Allgemeine  deutsche  Biographic,  XLII  (1897),  pp.  90-92. 

13 


522  WILLIAM    GUILD    HOWARD. 

is  to  be  regarded  as  a  predecessor  of  Lessing  in  the  devel- 
opment of  a  critical  theory  of  poetry  appears  to  deserve 
serious  attention.1 

If  we  should  have  regard  only  to  fundamentals,  and 
should  compress  into  a  single  sentence  the  substance  of 
Lessing' s  service  to  esthetics,  we  might  well  follow  Goethe's 
example  2  and  describe  Lessing  as  the  critic  who  once  for 
all  destroyed  the  prestige  of  the  shibboleth  so  long  mis- 
understood, Ut  pictura  poesis.  The  first  thing  to  be  said 
of  Wernicke  as  an  esthetic  philosopher  is  that  for  him 
this  formula  was  no  shibboleth  at  all.  On  the  contrary, 
he  enjoys  the  distinction,  unique  so  far  as  my  observation 
of  contemporary  and  subsequent  German  critical  docu- 
ments extends,  of  quoting 3  Horace's  sentence  in  its  en- 
tirety and  applying  it  in  Horace's  sense.  This  fact  alone 
invites  an  examination  of  Wernicke' s  attitude  towards 
the  usual  equation  of  the  arts  of  painting  and  poetry ;  and 
though  as  a  critic  he  cannot  be  expected  so  far  to  have 
outstripped  his  coevals  as  to  condemn  all  descriptive  writ- 
ing, he  seems  in  his  practice  as  a  poet,  and  in  his  theori- 
zing about  poetry,  to  have  held  to  a  distinction  which 
Goethe  formulated  4  after  Lessing  as  follows :  "  Der  bild- 
ende  Kiinstler  sollte  sich  innerhalb  der  Grenze  des  Schonen 
halten,  wenn  dem  redenden,  der  die  Bedeutung  jeder  Art 
nicht  entbehren  kann,  auch  dariiber  hinauszuschweifen 

*Dr.  Elias  was  kind  enough  to  inform  me,  after  this  paragraph  was 
written,  that  the  critical  edition  of  Wernicke  announced  as  in  preparation 
by  him  for  the  DLD  has  recently  been  intrusted  to  Dr.  Pechel ;  and  that 
some  months  ago  Dr.  Pechel  printed  as  a  Berlin  dissertation  certain  pre- 
liminary portions  of  his  investigations  on  Weruicke.  At  the  time  of 
going  to  press  I  had  not  received  the  copy  of  this  work  which  Dr.  Elias 
generously  volunteered  to  procure  for  me  ;  accordingly,  I  am  at  present 
unable  to  give  any  account  of  its  title  or  contents. 

2D.  «.  W.  8.  Buck.  3P.  134. 


CHRISTIAN    WEKNICKE.  523 

vergonnt  ware/'  We  could  not  better  epitomize  the  total 
impression  of  Wernicke's  work  than  in  Goethe's  phrase  die 
Bedeutung  jeder  Art;  and,  mutatis  mutandis,  that  might 
be  affirmed  of  Wernicke  which  Lessing l  affirmed  of 
Homer :  "  Er  sagt  Sirens  war  schon,  Achilles  war  noch 
schoner,  Helena  besass  eine  gottliche  Schonheit.  Aber  nir- 
gends  lasst  er  sich  in  die  umstandlichere  Schilderungdieser 
Schonheiten  ein."  It  is,  to  be  sure,  in  the  nature  of  an 
epigram  that  it  should  more  often  deal  with  spiritual  than 
with  physical  traits;  satirical  epigrams,  like  the  majority 
of  Wernicke's,  are  aimed  rather  at  ugliness  than  at  beauty ; 
the  very  brevity  of  all  epigrams  precludes  circumstantial 
descriptions  of  the  relatively  insignificant,  such  as  pecu- 
liarities of  personal  appearance.  In  choosing  to  represent 
characters,  and  ihe  manifestations  of  character  in  action, 
instead  of  describing  bodies,  Wernicke  was,  however,  a 
practical  Lessingian  before  Lessing;  while  both  in  his 
attacks  upon  the  Silesians  and  in  his  insistence  upon  the 
primary  importance  of  subjective  elements  in  all  poetic 
expression  he  was,  no  less  than  Lessing,  an  enemy  of  the 
SchilderungssucJit  in  der  Poesie. 

The  representative  of  progressive  ideas  in  a  time  of 
transition  is  apt,  unless  he  be  a  conscious,  iconoclastic 
revolutionist,  to  stand  with  one  foot  on  the  old  ground  and 
one  on  the  new.  He  cannot  quite  get  clear  of  entangling 
alliances;  he  has  the  habit  of  traditional  respect  even  for 
those  whom  he  assails;  he  surmises  that  something  is 
wrong  without  always  knowing  exactly  what  it  is;  and 
instead  of  forging  new  weapons,  he  uses  the  old  ones  in 
a  new  way.  Wernicke  has  even  been  accused  of  incon- 
sistency in  the  judgments  that  he  passed  upon  Hofmanns- 

1  Laokoon,  xx,  ed.  Bliimner,2  Berlin,  1880,  p.  282. 


524  WILLIAM    GUILD    HOWABD. 

waldau  and  Lohenstein.  His  valuation  of  some  of  his 
contemporaries  is  certainly  widely  at  variance  with  the 
verdict  of  posterity.  His  very  terminology  seems  based 
upon  the  notorious  identification  by  Opitz  in  the  verses,1 
Uber  des  l>eruhmten  Malilers  Herrn  BartJiolomei  Strobels 
Kunstbuch : 

11  Es  weis  fast  auch  ein  Kind, 

Dass  Dein'  und  meine  Kunst  Geschwisterkinder  sind  : 
Wir  schreiben  auf  Papier,  Ihr  auf  Papier  und  Leder, 
Auf  Holtz,  Metall  und  Grund  ;  der  Pinsel  macht  der  Feder, 
Die  Feder  wiederum  dem  Pinsel  Alles  nach." 

Nevertheless,  Wernicke,  though  on  principle  a  staunch 
Opitzian,2  is  no  champion  of  such  childish  philosophy, 
however  much  his  use  of  words  may  seem  to  imply  it. 
A  conspectus  of  these  uses  would  indeed  show  him  con- 
stantly employing  the  vocabulary  of  the  painter  to  describe 
the  means,  processes,  and  products  of  the  poet.  Fully  half 
of  his  epigrams  are  literary  portraits ;  and  eight  3  of  these 
are  expressly  denominated  Gemahlde.  The  poet  paints,4 

1  Quoted  by  Bliimner,  I  c.,  p.  19. 

2  "  Den  deutschen  Pegasus  setzt  Opitz  erst  in  Lauf, 

Und  Gryph  verbesserte,  was  an  ihm  ward  getadelt  "  (p.  184) . 

Cf.  "bey  der  reinen  und  natiirlichen  Schreibart  des  Opitz  und  Griphs  "  (p. 
121 )  ;  "  bis  endlich  der  schlesische  Attila,  Opitz,  mit  der  grausamen  Kein- 
lichkeit  seiner  Sprache,  die  von  Alters  hergebrachte  lobliche  Freyheit  der 
Deutschen  ungeschickt  und  albern  zu  schreiben  zernichtiget  ;  und  ihnen 
nicht  allein  die  unertragliche  Sclaverey,  sinnlich  und  verstandlich  in  ihren 
Schriften  zu  seyn,  sondern  auch  Masse  und  Gewicht  als  eine  tyrannische 
Schatzung  auferleget "  (p.  306). 

8  To  wit :  Gemdhld  des  Aracemus,  p.  74  ;  der  Corilis,  p.  85  ;  des  Celsus,  p. 
159  ;  der  zweyen  Gebriider  Kastor  und  Pollux,  p.  161  ;  des  Leodorus,  p.  211  ; 
des  nordischen  Mdcenas,  p.  214  ;  des  Valleons,  p.  227  ;  der  Gloriuna,  p.  239. 
This  use  of  the  word  Gemdlde  is  not  noted  in  Grimm's  T76.,  iv,  i,  3162. 

4         "  Wolan,  ich  mahl  ihn  selbst  itzt  schoner  und  doch  gleich  : 
Hier  stehts,  Menalkas  ist  ein  Affe"  (p.  160). 


CHRISTIAN   WERNICKE.  525 

with  a  brush ;  1  he  makes  strokes ;  2  he  produces  pictures ;  3 
and  Wernicke's  collection  of  depictions  of  character  is  a 
veritable  gallery :  "  Wie  man  nun  aber  in  den  satyrischen 
Uberschriften  selten  eine  eigentliche  Person  in  Augen  ge- 
habt,  und  durchgehends  niemandem  an  seine  Ehre  und 
guten  Namen  gegrrffen;  also  hat  man  auch  die  kleinen 
Lobgedichte,  welche  meistentheils  in  Gemahlden  bestehen, 
mit  solcher  Sittsamkeit  geschrieben,  dass  man  sich  nicht 
einmal  unterstanden,  dieselben  mit  den  vortrefflichen  Na- 
men  derer,  auf  die  sie.gemachet  sind,  zu  beehren.  So  dass, 
wo  dieselben  bios  aus  ihren  Gemahlden  erkennet  werden, 
dieses  ein  gewisses  Zeichen  1st,  dass  man  ihnen  keine  f al- 
schen  Farben  angestrichen ;  und  wo  man  dieselben  daraus 
nicht  erkennet,  sich  keiner  von  ihnen  zu  beschweren  haben 
wird,  dass  man  sie  mit  einem  ungeschickten  Pinsel  verun- 
ehret  habe."  4  In  spite  of  all  this  apparatus,  however, 
from  which  only  palette  and  easel  appear  to  be  missing, 
Wernicke  was  a  writer  and  not  a  painter ;  and  he  had  little 

"  Mein  Pinsel  ist  zu  schwach,  zu  mahlen 

Zwey  Sterne,  die  am  Pol  des  nordschen  Himmels  stralen  "  (p.  161). 
2  "Avidus  alieni,  sui  profusus,  ist  einer  der  merkwiirdigsten  Striche  in  des 
Katilina  Gemahld "  (p.  196). 

u 'An  den  Leser. 

1 '  Wo  man  mich  nicht  allein  bey  meinem  Pinsel  kennt ; 
So  hab  ich  wol  gethan,  dass  ich  mich  nicht  genennt : 

Denn  was  fur  Kuhm  hab  ich  zu  hoffen, 
Wo  ich  mit  einem  Strich  nicht  zwey  zugleich  getroffen  ; 
So  dass  von  jedem  wird  in  jedem  Stuck  erkannt 
Dein  Angesicht,  und  meineHand"  (p.  187). 
8        "  Bern  Thoren  geb  ich  hier  das,  was  des  Thoren  ist, 

Ist  gleich  das  Bild  nur  dein,  und  mein  die  Uberschrift" 

(p.  26);  cf.  Matt.  22,  20. 

' '  Driick  hier  in  jeden  Vers  von  Stelpo  einen  Kiss  "  (p.  302) . 
"  Abriss  eines  Weltmanns,  unter  dem  Gemahld  von  Pomponius 

Atticus"  (p.  22). 
4  Preface,  p.  [xxvi]. 


526  WILLIAM   GUILD   HOWAED. 

patience  with  those  writers  who  conceived  their  art  to 
consist  in  representing  only  the  visible  aspect  of  things. 

With  respect  to  theoretical,  critical  opinions,  Wernicke's 
most  conspicuous  traits  are  a  somewhat  ostentatious  l  but 
none  the  less  real  independence  of  judgment,2  strength  of 
conviction,3  and  the  habit  of  exacting  from  himself  as 
well  as  from  others  a  high  degree  of  correctness.4  His 
point  of  view  is  essentially  that  of  Boileau ;  and  like  Boi- 
leau,  he  is  a  firm  believer  in  the  authority  of  Virgil,  Hor- 
ace, Longinus,  and  Quintilian.  Opitz  advocated  study  of 

1  "Der  ich  von  Jugend  auf  gewohnet  bin,  nullius  in  verbajurare  Magis- 
tri"  (p.  18). 

2  "Ich  war  damals  in  einen  Emanuel  Thesaurus,  Juglaris  und  Mase- 
nius  verliebt ;   anitzo  kan  ich  kaum  einen  Seneka  und  Plinius  mit  Ver- 
gnugenlesen"  (p.  126). 

3  "  Wir  haben  Witz  genug,  aber  wir  lassen  uns  nicht  Zeit  genug  etwas 
dauerhaftes  zu  schreiben  .  .  .  Weise  und  Francisci,  vieler  anderer  anitzo 
zu  geschweigen,   hatten   sich   mit   Recht  einen   Namen   in   Deutschland 
gemachet,  wenn  sie  weniger  geschrieben  hatten  .  .  .  Weise  insonderheit 
hatte  wegen  seines  geschickten  Kopfs  und  seiner  artigen  Einfalle  viel  gutes 
in  der  deutschen  Sprache  stiften  konnen,  wenn  er  sich  auf  was  gewisses 
geleget,   und  dasselbe  auszuarbeiten  sich   Zeit  genug  genommen  hatte'* 
(p.  112  f.). 

*Cf.  the  epigram,  An  den  Leser  (p.  213)  : 

"  Wer  gegen  diese  itzt  die  vorig  Auflag  halt, 
Der  findet,  wo  ihm  nur  die  Miihe  nicht  missfallt, 
Dass  fast  kein  Verse  nicht,  den  ich  zuvor  geschrieben, 
1st,  was  er  vormals  war,  und  ohne  Strich,  geblieben." 
Likewise  the  detailed  criticism  of  a  series  of  Hofmannswaldau's  verses 
(pp.  121-125),  and  this  denunciation  of  German  translations  (p.  113)  : 

' '  Und  woher  kommt  es,  dass  unsere  Ubersetzungen  so  verachtlich,  der 
Franzosen  ihre  hergegen  in  solcher  Achtung  sind,  als  dass  wir  so  wenig 
Zeit  auf  die  unsrigen,  diese  hergegen  fast  ihre  ganze  Lebenszeit  auf  die 
ihrige  anwenden.  Es  ist  bekannt,  dass  der  beriihmte  Vaugelas  liber 
dreyssig  Jahre  an  der  Ubersetzung  der  kleinen  Geschichte  des  Alexanders 
von  Quintus  Curtius  beschrieben,  gearbeitet  ;  und  dieselbe  hiedurch  in 
solche  Vollkommenheit  gesetzet,  dass  Balzac  von  derselben  gesaget  hat : 
Que  V  Alexandre  de  Quinte  Curce  etoit  invincible  ;  et  celui  de  Vaugelas  inimi- 
table." 


CHRISTIAN    WERNICKE.  527 

the  ancients  as  an  indispensable  preparation  for  the  poet 
who  wished  to  profit  by  his  rules ;  l  he  cited  Aristotle, 
Cicero,  Virgil,  Horace,  Quintilian  and  others — but  not 
Longinus — in  his  Buch  von  der  deutschen  Poeterey;  his 
immediate  guides  were,  however,  Scaliger  and  Ronsard. 
The  situation  is  reversed  in  Wernicke.  The  title  page  of 
the  UberscJiriften  bears  a  motto  from  Horace.  Each  of 
its  ten  books  has  a  motto  from  Yirgil ;  2  and  Virgil  likewise 
furnishes  the  mottoes  for  the  Schdfergedichte  and  for  the 
Heldengedicht,  Hans  Sachs  genannt.  In  the  notes  to 
the  Uberschriften  Horace  is  quoted  some  thirty-five  times, 
a  considerably  larger  number  than  that  by  which  any 
other  author  is  represented.  Quintilian  is  cited  a  dozen 
times  in  cases  involving  questions  of  rhetoric.  Longinus' s 
treatise  on  the  sublime  is  described  as  "  einer  der  grossten 
Schatze,  die  uns  das  Altertum  hinterlassen,"  3  and  is  ad- 
duced several  times.  To  Boileau,  Wernicke  pays  the  re- 
spect due  to  one  of  the  best  French  poets  and  critics ;  4 
but  he  does  not  stand  in  awe  of  him ;  5  and  I  suspect  that 


lBuch  von  der  deutschen  Poeterey,  Neudr.  I,  p.  19. 
2  "Des  zweyten  Vaters  aller  Poeten"  (p.  90). 
»P.  [xx]. 

4  "  Boileau  wird  ohnstreitig  von  den  Franzosen  fur  einen  ihrer  besten 
Poeten  gehalten"  (p.  71);    cf.   "die  beriihmten  Regnier  und  Boileau" 
(p.  [xii]). 

5  "  Diese  Worte  sind  dem  Juvenalis  abgelehnet.  .  .  .  Boileau  nennet  dieses 
eine  verschmitzte  Nachfolge  der  Alten  .  .  .  und  verschweiget  ganze  Orter, 
die  er  haufenweise  in  seinen  Gedichten  den  alten  Poeten  abgestohlen.    Wir 
Deutschen  aber  sind  hierinnen  mit  den  Franzosen  nicht  einer  Meinung  ; 
und  das  ist  vielleicht  die  Ursach,  dass  er  unsre  deutsche  Musen  vor  ein- 
faltig  halt"    (p.    88).     Wernicke  invites   comparison   of   his  work  with 
Boileau's  in  a  note  (sufficiently  interesting  to  be  quoted  entire)  to  his 
epigram,  Alexander  vor  des  Diogenes  JFass.     The  epigram  runs  as  follows 
(p.  127): 

"Der  mit  der  ganzen  Welt  sich  urn  die  Herrschaft  schlug, 
Der  wiinschte,  nach  sich  selbst,  Diogenes  zu  seyn  ; 


528  WILLIAM    GUILD    HOWARD. 

he  valued  Boileau  as  the  translator  of  Longinus  and  the 
imitator  of  Horace  rather  than  for  any  original  merits 
in  the  legislator  of  the  French  Parnassus.  His  good 
opinion  of  Buckingham  and  Roscommon x  is  evidently 
based  in  part  at  least  upon  the  fact  that  they  drew  from 
Horace  much  of  the  material  in  their  respective  Arts  of 
Poetry.2  In  short,  Wernicke,  for  all  his  emulation  of 

Ein  Fass  war  diesem  nicht  zu  klein, 
Der  hatt  an  einer  Welt  nicht  gnug  : 
O  hatte  seinen  Wunsch  das  Schicksal  ihm  gewiihret, 
Ich  wett,  er  hatte  denn  mehr  als  ein  Fass  begehret." 

Wernicke  annotates  the  last  line  :  "  Die  Thorheit  des  Alexanders,  der  an 
einer  Welt  nicht  genug  hatte,  ist  von  vielen  verlachet  worden.  Juvenalis 
in  seiner  10.  Salyra  sagt : 

Unus  Pellaeo  Juveni  non  sufficit  orbis, 
Aestuat  infelix  angusto  limite  mundi. 

Boileau  in  seiner  8.  Satyre  giebt  ihm  den  Namen  eines  beriihmten  Hof- 
narren,  welchen  der  Prinz  von  Cond6  aus  Flandern  nach  Hofe  gebracht  : 
Ce  fougueux  I'Angely,  qui  de  sang  altere 
Maitre  du  monde  entier,  s'y  trouvoit  trop  serre. 

Ob  nun  gleich  dieser  letzte  Vers  dem  lateinischen  Poeten  abgestolen  wor- 
den, und  den  ersten,  worinn  er  einen  der  grossten  Helden  der  Welt  einem 
Trompin,  damit  ich  so  dunkel  als  er  selbst  rede,  vergleichetj  ihm  so  leicht 
keiner  abzustehlen  sich  geliisten  lassen  wird  ;  so  hat  ihn  dennoch  Bouhours 
als  etwas  sonderliches  in  seiner  Manitre  de  bien  penser  angezogen.  Allein 
ich  zweifle  nicht,  dass  die,  welche  dieses  franzosischen  Poeten  Gedanken 
gegen  meinen  halten,  so  gleich  darunter  einen  grossen  Unterscheid  in 
Ansehn  beydes  der  Sittsamkeit  und  der  Sinnlichkeit  finden  werden.  Mehr 
will  ich  nicht  sagen,  damit  man  mich  nicht  unter  die  Zahl  derjenigen 
rechne,  von  welchen  Horatius  sagt  : 

Oaudent  scribentes;  et  se  venerantur  ;  et  ultro 

Si  taceas,  laudant,  quicquid  scripsere,  beati.     Ep.  2,  lib.  2." 

1  "  Und  unter  den  englischen  Poeten  wird  der  erste  Preis  den  Grafen 
von  Rochester  und  Roscommon,  und  dem  heutigen  Herzog  von  Bu[c] king- 
ham  und  Normanby  gegeben ;  als  welcher  letztere,  nebst  andern  sinnreichen 
Gedichten,  eine  schone  Anweisung  zur  Dichtkunst,  so  wol  als  der  Graf 
von  Roscommon  vor  ihm,  in  Versen  geschrieben  hat"  (p.  [xvii]). 

2  Buckingham's  Essay  on  Poetry,    1682;   Roscommon,    Translation  into 
blank  verse  of  Horace's  Ars  Poetica,  1680  ;  Essay  On  Translat ed  Verse,  1684. 


CHRISTIAN   WERNICKE.  529 

Martial  in  the  form  of  his  epigrams ;  for  all  his  indebted- 
ness to  Boileau  as  an  interpreter  and  codifier  of  laws ;  and 
for  all  his  discipleship  to  Opitz,  was  a  Horatian  and  a 
classicist,1  not  a  pseudo-classicist. 

It  is  well  known  that  no  one  of  Wernicke's  authorities 
contributed  anything  to  the  proper  differentiation  of  the 
arts  of  painting  and  poetry.  Horace  is  not  to  be  held 
accountable  for  the  abuse  of  his  phrase  Ut  pictura  poesis; 
but  his  Ars  Poetica  starts,  and  for  a  hundred  lines  con- 
tinues intermittently,  with  analogies  as  between  the  two 
arts;  and  the  verses  (86  f.)  chosen  as  a  motto  by  Opitz, 

Descriptor  servare  vices  operumque  colores 
Cur  ego  si  nequeo  ignoroque  poeta  salutor  ? 

put  a  question  which,  taken  figuratively,  may  be  answered 
in  only  one  way,  but,  taken  literally,  need  not  be  answered 
at  all.  Longinus's  sublimity  is  a  high  style  of  expression 
in  images  and  pictures ;  2  Quintilian  refers  to  painting  3 
only  for  purposes  of  illustration;  and  Boileau's  Art  Po- 
etique  swarms  with  such  words  as  peindre.,  peinture,  image., 

1  Speaking  of  Lohenstein,  Wernicke  says:  "  Denn  ich  gestehe  es  mit 
Freuden,  dass  wenn  dieser  scharfsinnige  Mann  in  die  welschen  Poeten 
nicht  so  sehr  verliebt  gewesen  ware  ;  sondern  sich  hergegen  die  lateini- 
schen,  die  zu  des  Augustus  Zeiten  geschrieben,  allein  zur  Folge  gesetzet 
hatte  ;  so  wiirden  wir  vielleicht  etwas  mehr  als  einen  deutschen  Ovidius  an 
ihin  gehabt  haben  "  (p.  125). 

2Cf.  Cap.  xv :  "Images  (Qavrafftai),  moreover,  contribute  greatly,  my 
young  friend,  to  dignity,  elevation,  and  power  as  a  pleader.  In  this  sense 
some  call  them  mental  representations  (et'SwXoTroifas).  In  a  general  way 
the  name  of  image  or  imagination  is  applied  to  every  idea  of  the  mind,  in 
whatever  form  it  presents  itself,  which  gives  birth  to  speech.  But  at  the 
present  day  the  word  is  predominantly  used  in  cases  where,  carried  away 
by  enthusiasm  and  passion,  you  think  you  see  what  you  describe,  and  you 
place  it  before  the  eyes  of  your  hearers."  Trans.  W.  K.  Roberts,  Longi- 
nus  On  the  Sublime,  Cambridge,  Engl.,  1899,  p.  83. 

SE.  g.,  Inst.  Oral,  n,  xiii,  8  ;  xii,  i,  1. 


530  WILLIAM   GUILD   HOWAKD. 

portrait,  tableau  for  the  poetic  process  and  its  products. 
Neither  by  inheritance  nor  by  disposition  would  Wernicke 
be  inclined  to  avoid  this  kind  of  terminology.  He  was 
given  to  the  use  of  rather  strikingly  sensuous  language, 
and  thus  predisposed  to  the  adoption  of  such  metaphors, 
so  long  current  that  nobody  questioned  their  propriety  in 
his  day,  or  indeed  can  get  along  without  them  in  ours. 
It  is  therefore  more  important  to  determine  the  manner 
of  their  use  by  Wernicke  and  their  meaning  in  the  light 
of  his  creative  work  than  to  note  the  fact  that  in  using 
them  he  simply  conformed  to  precedent. 

Like  Lessing,  Wernicke  was  not  a  poet  Dei  gratia;  he 
was  a  philosophical  spirit  who  owed  to  critical  insight  the 
capacity  to  express  himself  in  forms  that  come  very  near 
to  being  those  of  genius.1  In  his  hands,  the  epigram  is 
the  objectivation  of  a  demonstrable  idea.  If  his  subject 
is  an  individual  character,  this  character  becomes  typical 
of  certain  qualities  inherent  in  human  nature;  so  that  it 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Friedrich  HebbePs  "  first  and 
only  rule  of  art,"  an  der  singulairen  Erscheinung  das 
Unendliche  veranschaulichen,2  defines  at  least  the  inten- 
tion of  Wernicke's  compositions.  The  bombast  of  the  Si- 
lesians  consisted  in  the  inflation  of  the  symbols  of  ex- 
pression; their  method  was  rather  the  contrivance  of  high- 
flown  metaphors  and  similes  for  the  sublimation  of  com- 
monplace objects  than  the  excogitation  of  things  to  express 
that  were  not  commonplace.  Wernicke,  on  the  contrary, 
starts  with  a  cogitation,  as  is  evident  from  this  criticism 
of  his  predecessors :  "  Man  halt  daf iir,  dass  wir  bisher  in 
unsern  Versen  mit  eiteln  und  falschen  Wortern  zu  viel 
gespielet,  und  sehr  wenig  auf  das  bedacht  gewesen,  was  die 

1  Hamb.  Dramaturgic,  101-4.  Stuck. 
*Tgb.,  5.  Jan.,  1836,  ed.  Werner,  I,  p.  29. 


CHRISTIAN   WERNICKE.  531 

Welschen  Concetti,  die  Eranzosen  Pensees,  die  Engellander 
Thou[g^hts,  und  wir  fiiglich  Einfalle  nennen  konnen; 
da  doch  dieselben  die  Seele  eines  Gedichtes  sind."  1  When 
he  says,  "  Die  hochste  Vollkommenheit  der  Poesie  aber  be- 
stehet  hierin,  dass  man  erstlich  die  Anstandigkeit  in  alien 
Dingen  genau  beobachte;  und  hernach  durch  edle  und 
grossmiithige  Meynungen  die  Seele  seines  Lesers  entziicke, 
und  auf  solche  Weise  aus  der  Poesie  etwas  gottliches 
mache,"  2  he  seems  conventional,  and  would  be  negligible 
if  he  stopped  there.  "  Noble  sentiments  "  are,  however, 
by  no  means  the  qualities  that  he  most  insists  upon;  and 
though  he  does  not  underestimate  emotional  elements  in 
poetry,3  the  quality  that  he  represents,  demands,  and  ad- 
vocates is  not  nobility,  nor  feeling,  nor  charm,  nor  beauty, 
but  intellectuality.  The  poet,  according  to  Wernicke,  is 
a  man  not  of  nerves,  but  of  brains ;  and  the  prime  requisite 
of  a  poetic  style  is  what  he  calls  Sinnliclikeit. 

Wernicke  uses  the  word  SinnlicJikeit  in  a  significance 
so  different  from  the  modern  "  sensuousness  "  and  the  like, 
and  the  conception  is  so  characteristic  of  his  way  of  looking 
at  poetry,  that  it  is  worth  while  to  collect  all  of  the 
passages  in  which  the  word  occurs.  They  follow  in  order : 
"  Sintemal  sich  an  demselben  4  einige  vornehme  Hofleute 
hervor  gethan,  welche  Ordnung  zu  der  Erfindung;  Yer- 
stand  und  Absicht  zur  Sinnlichkeit ;  und  Nachdruck  zur 
Reinlichkeit  der  Sprache,  in  ihren  Gedichten  zu  setzen 


XP.  [xiv].  2R  [xvi]. 

3"Niemand  schreibet  wol,  der  nicht  fiihlet,  was  er  schreibet.  Die 
Sinnlichkeit  der  Schule  bestehet  gemeiniglich  in  Dingen,  die  entweder 
wider,  oder  iiber  die  Natur  zu  seyn  scheinen.  Wer  aber  den  Weltleuten 
gefallen  will,  derselbe  muss  mehr  seinen  Verstand  als  seinen  Witz,  mehr 
sein  Herz  als  sein  Gehirne  zu  Bath  ziehen  ;  und  sich  festiglich  einbilden, 
dass  dieselben  nichts  fur  schon  halten,  was  nicht  natiirlich  ist"  (p.  263 f. ). 

4 1.  e.,  dem  preussischen  Hofe. 


532  WILLIAM   GUILD   HOWARD. 

gewusst  "  (p.  [xv]).  "  Wolfliessende  Verse  zu  schreiben, 
1st  die  geringste  obgleich  nothige  Tugend  eines  Poeten; 
und  verdienet  niemand  diesen  Namen,  der  nicht  zugleich 
die  Eigenschaft  der  Sprache,  in  der  er  schreibet,  und 
derselben  Starke  zierlich  auszudriicken,  und  dabey  mit 
grosser  Sinnlichkeit l  zu  schreiben  weiss "  (p.  [xvi]). 
"  Allein  diese  Metapher  ist  ohne  Zweifel  von  denjenigen, 
von  welchen  Longinus  in  seinem  Tmctatu  de  sublimi. 
Cap.  2  saget,  dass  sie  wegen  gar  zu  viel  Sinnlichkeit  ein- 
faltig  sind  "  (p.  14).  "  Ich  muss  hier  nochmals  wieder- 
holen  .  .  .  dass  in  solchen  Gleichnissen  mehr  Sinnlich- 
keit bestehe,  als  wenn  man  nach  weit  hergesuchten  Griin- 
den  schwarz  aus  weiss,  oder  weiss  aus  schwarz  am  Ende 
einer  tiberschrift  machet  "  (p.  55).  "  Ealsche  Sinnlich- 
keit in  den  Uberschriften "  (p.  73) — the  title  of  the 
epigram  which  ends  with  the  lines : — 

"Wo  man  kein  reissend  Lamm  beym  bloden  Wolf  antrift. 
So  halt  Corvinus  nichts  auf  einer  Uberschrift. 
Er  denkt,  die  Wahrheit  sey  der  Sinnlichkeit  Verbrechen, 
Und  dieses  Witz  allein,  was  die  Vernunft  verkehrt  ; 
Schatzt  eine  Missgeburt  allein  verwunderns  werth, 
Und  findt  kein  Schauspiel  schon,  als  wo  die  Poppen  sprechen." 

"  Die  Eranzosen  .  .  .  sind  diejenige,  welche  seit  der  Grie- 
chen  und  Romer  Zeiten  uns  am  besten  gewiesen  haben, 
worinnen  eine  mannliche  Sinnlichkeit  bestehe  "  (p.  103). 
"  Eine  jede  Reihe,2  ein  jedes  Wort,  zeigten  durch  eine 
gezwungene  Sinnlichkeit  nur  gar  zu  viel  die  Jahre  an, 

1  Fulda,  in  quoting  this  sentence  (p.  519)  from  Wernicke's  third  edition 
(1704) ,  prints  Sinnbildlichkeit.     This  seems  to  be  either  a  modernization  or 
an  error,  or  both. 

2  Reihe  =  verse  ;  cf.  "  fast  in  jeder  Keihe  etwas  nachzudenken  "  (p.  39). 
Grimm,  TT6.,  vm,    638,   has    "  Keihe  fur  geschriebene  oder  gedruckte 
Zeilen,  mehr  indessen   mundartlich    [nd.]    als  schriftdeutsch,"   with  no 
citation  from  Wernicke. 


CHRISTIAN   WEBNICKE.  533 

darin  sie  geschrieben.  Der  Welsche  sagt  von  dergleichen 
Einf alien:  Questo  e  bizarmente  pensato.  Und  Demetrius 
Phalerius  in  seinem  Buch  de  Elocutione  nennt  es  malam 
affectationem,  und  fiihret  desswegen  einen  an,  der  wunder 
gedachte,  was  er  vor  einen  schonen  Einfall  gehabt  hatte, 
als  er  von  einem  Centaurus  sagte,  dass  er  auf  sich  selber 
ritte:  Centaurus  equitans  se  ipsum  "  (p.  114).  "  Sieg  in 
der  Fluent  gefunden.  Die  Sinnlichkeit  dieser  zwey  sonst 
widerwartigen  Worter  .  .  .  stimmt  mit  der  Wahrheit  so 
wol  iiberein;  dass  dieselbe  mehr  von  der  Sache  selbst,  als 
des  Verf  assers  Witz  geflossen  zu  seyn  scheinet  ...  so  bin 
ich  doch  gewiss,  dass  er  [der  Gedanke]  den  andern  nicht 
anstehen  werde,  welche  keine  Regeln  der  Sinnlichkeit  vor 
richtig  halten,  als  welche  ihnen  Cicero,  Virgilius  und 
Horatius  1  vorgeschrieben  haben  "  (p.  118).  "  In  Ansehn 
beydes  der  Sittsamkeit  und  der  Sinnlichkeit"  (p.  128); 
cf.  supra,  p.  527,  note  5.  "  Eine  ins  Aug  scheinende  Sinn- 
lichkeit "  (p.  129).  "  Sintemal  derselbe  [Gedanke]  nicht 
allein  in  einer  ungewungenen  Sinnlichkeit  bestehet;  son- 
dern  auch  noch  diese  Sittenlehre  mit  sich  fiihret :  u.  s.  w." 
(p.  158).  "  Und  giebt  ihm  denn  auch  noch,  wenn  er 
schon  schweigt,  Gehor.  Dieweil  man  demjenigen,  was  er 
gesagt,  nachdenket;  Und  wenn  man  die  Sinnlichkeit  der 
Sache  begriffen,  hernach  eben  so  viel  Yergniigung  dariiber 
empfindet,  als  wenn  man  sie  selbst  erfunden  hatte.  Audi- 
toribus  grata  sunt  haec,  quae  cum  intellexerint,  acumine 
suo  delectantur;  et  gaudent  non  quasi  audiverint,  sed 
quasi  invenerint.  Idem  [Quintil.]  lib.  8.,  cap.  2."  (p. 
182).  "Dass  ich  durch  Sinnlichkeit  nicht  den  Yerstand 
verstelle"  (p.  186).  "Durch  den  Schwung  den  Werth 
einer  eignen  Erfmdung,  und  durch  die  Zueignung  eine 
spitze  Sinnlichkeit  gegeben  "  (p.  198).  "Ob  nun  gleich 

1  Cf.  supra,  p.  526  f. 


534  WILLIAM    GUILD    HOWARD. 

dieser  Spruch  gemein  1st,  so  hat  man  doch  demselben  durcli 
den  Schwung  und  die  Yeranderung  eine  Sinnlichkeit  nach 
dieser  des  Horaz  Regel  gegeben, 

In  verbis  etiam  tennis,  cautusque  serendis 

Dixeris  egregie:  etc.     De  arte  Poet.   [46-48]  "  (p.  207). 

"  Nun  stimmen  hierin  alle,  so  wol  alte  als  neue,  die  uns 
eine  Anweisung  sinnreich  zu  schreiben  gegeben  haben, 
iiberein;  dass  es  eine  der  grossten  Sinnlichkeiten  sey  also 
zu  schreiben,  dass  man  allezeit  einem  geschickten  Leser 
etwas  nachzudenken  lasse  "  (p.  230).  "Die  Sinnlichkeit 
der  Schule  u.  s.  w."  (p.  263)  ;  cf.  supra,  p.  531,  note  3. 

"  Macht,  dass  ich  eilend  zwar,  doch  nicht  ohn  Absicht  schreibe  ; 
Auf  Sinnlichkeit  gedenk,  und  doch  verstandlich  bleibe  "  (p.  279). 

"  Da  steht,  nicht  weit  von  dem,  ein  stark  und  gross  Gebaude,1 
Der  Fremden  Zeitvertreib,  der  Eingesessnen  Freude, 
Das  ein  beriihmter  Mann,  zu  Nutz  und  Zier  der  Stadt, 
Der  Kunst  und  Sinnlichkeit  zugleich  gewidmet  hat  "(p.  298). 

The  adjective  sinnlich  is  likewise  used  by  Wernicke  in 
the  sense  of  intellectual,  ingenious,  witty,  clever,  spirituel: 
"  Nichts  ergetzet  den  Yerstand  eines  sinnlichen  Leser  s 
mehr,  als  wenn  man  ihm  ein  Ding  in  dem  andern;  und 
in  einem  gemeinen  Bilde  eine  nachdenkliche  Sache  vor- 
stellet.  Ein  gemeiner  Leser  halt  sich  an  die  eigentliche 
Worte;  ein  sinnlicher  aber  siehet  im  ersten  Augenblick  so 
weit  als  der  Yerfasser,  und  weiss  ihm  Dank,  dass,  indem 
er  geschrieben,  er  nicht  alle  seine  Leser  vor  Dudentopfe 
gehalten  habe  "  (p.  188).  "  Zehntes  Buch.  In  sinnlichen 
und  lustigen  Begebenheiten  bestehend "  (p.  241).  Cf. 
"  verstand-  und  sinnlich  "  (p.  228)  ;  "  sinnlich  und  ver- 
standlich "  (p.  306).  Wernicke  also  has  sinnreich  in  this 
sense  a  number  of  times ;  2  SinnspriicJi  (p.  34)  in  the 

1  Theater. 

2  Pp.  [xv,  xvii,  xviii],  12,  50,  83, 122, 137,  181,  205,  214,  223,  224,  230. 


CHRISTIAN    WERNICKE.  535 

sense  of  epigrammatic  sayings;  SinnsMuss  in  the  sense 
of  witty  conclusion  to  an  epigram ;  l  and  unsinnig  (pp. 
52,  96),  eigensinnig  (pp.  96,  100),  Scharfsinnigkeit  (pp. 
121,  122)  in  the  usual  meanings.  He  rejects  Sinngedicht 
as  a  translation  of  Epigramma — "  gleich  als  ob  alle  andern 
[poetischen  Sachen]  von  einem  Klotz  ohne  Sinn  und 
Verstand  konnten  geschrieben  werden  "  (p.  230). 

Sinn  und  Verstand — mind  and  understanding,  intellect, 
wit — these  constitute  the  equipment  of  the  poet;  ideas 
(Einfdlle)  furnish  the  impulse  to  write  and  the  substance 
of  poetic  expression;  concise,  masculine,  vigorous,  sugges- 
tive and  symbolical,  but  above  all  rational  language  is  the 
appropriate  poetic  form.  In  an  epigram  Auf  die  schle- 
sische  Poeten,2  Wernicke  by  implication  defines  a  poet  as 
one  "  Der  jedes  Dings  Natur  versteht,  und  sinnlich  die 
vorstellt."  The  passage  quoted  above  3  in  which  "  Ein- 
falle  "  are  described  as  "  die  Seele  eines  Gedichtes  "  con- 
tinues, "  Ja  [man  halt  dafiir]  dass  auch  eben  die,  welche 
sinnreich  zu  seyn  gewusst,  dennoch  nicht  eine  nachdriick- 
liche  und  mannliche  Art  zu  schreiben  gehabt  haben.  In 
wolfliessenden  Versen  iibertreffen  wir  unstreitig  die  mei- 
sten  Auslander  .  .  .  Aber  eben  diese  Lieblichkeit  kitzelt 
nur  alien  das  Ohr,  ohne  ins  Herze  zu  dringen ;  und  betriiget 
den  Leser,  welcher,  durch  die  glatten  Worte  entziicket,  der 
Sache  gemeiniglich  eben  so  wenig,  als  der  Poet  selbst,  nach- 
denkt.  Es  sind  Baume,  welche  aufs  beste  nur  schone 
Bluthe,  aber  keine  Eruchte  tragen."  4  It  is  a  truism  when 
Wernicke  says :  5 

"  Denn  lasst  die  Uberschrift  kein  Leser  aus  der  Acht, 
Wenn  in  der  Kiirz  ihr  Leib,  die  Seel  in  Witz  bestehet." 

1  Pp.  6,  35  bis,  45,  78,  80,  99,  156,  157,  219. 

2  P.  120  f.  3P.  531.  *P.  [xv]. 

5  P.  1  ;  cf.  p.  78  :  "Denn  dieselbe  [i.  e.  eine  Uberschrift]  bestehet  in 
der  Kiirze,  und  ihr  Witz  gemeiniglich  in  widerwiirtigen  Dingen." 


536  WILLIAM   GUILD   HOWARD. 

His  apology  for  length  is  more  significant  in  itself  and  in 
what  it  implies :  "  Man  will  auch  hoffen,  dass  der  Leser 
aus  dieser  Uberschrift  und  einigen  andern  gleicher  Art 
gar  leicht  ersehen  wird,  dass  die  Lange  denenselben  nicht 
allezeit  nachtheilig  ist,  sintemal  er  darinnen  nicht  durch 
weitlauftige  und  nichts  bedeutende  Umstande  von  dem 
allein  klingenden  Ende  aufgehalten,  sondern  weil  er  fast 
in  jeder  Reihe  etwas  nachzudenken  findet,  gemeiniglich 
unvermerkt,  und  unterweilen,  eh  er  es  verlanget,  zu  dem 
Schluss  gefiihret  wird."  1  This  statement  implies  con- 
conciseness,  pregnancy  of  meaning,  and  a  proper  balance 
of  suspense  and  satisfaction,  as  general  principles  in 
poetry.  Violation  of  these  principles  is  one  of  the  misde- 
meanors charged  against  the  Silesians  and  the  Italians: 
"  Man  findet  in  der  That  in  den  Trauerspielen  des  letz- 
tern  2  unterschiedliche  vortreffliche  Orter ;  und  unter  de- 
nen  einige,  welche  es  in  Ausdriickung  einer  Sache  den 
besten  alten  Poeten  gleich  thun.  Wenn  man  aber  die 
Wahrheit  gestehen  darf,  so  hat  er  sich  auch  hierin  unter- 
weilen  durch  seine  Hitze  so  weit  verfiihren  lassen,  dass 
er  schone  Sachen  zur  Unzeit  angebracht,  und  prachtige 
Worte  seinem  Yerstande  zum  Nachtheil,  und  gleichsam 
in  einer  poetischen  Raserey  geschrieben  hat."  3  "  Weise 
und  Francisci  .  .  .  sind  zwey  Fliisse,  welche  wegen  ihres 
schnellen  und  ungewissen  Laufs  so  viel  Schlamm  und 
Unflath  mit  sich  fiihren,  dass  man  den  goldnen  Sand 
derselben  nicht  erkennen  kan." 4  As  to  the  Italians : 
"  Nun  ist  es  unstreitig,  dass  dieselben  am  wenigsten  unter 
alien  andern  zu  folgen,  weil  in  ihren  Schriften  mehr  f al- 
scher  als  wahrer  Witz,  und  vor  eine  reine  Redensart 
hundert  rauhe  Metaphoren  anzutreffen  sind.  Es  gibt  nur 

XP.  39;  cf.  p.  [ziii].  2Lohenstein. 

3 P.  [xviii].  4P.  113. 


CHRISTIAN    WERNICKE.  537 

einen  Guarini,1  und  folgends  nur  einen  getreuen  Schafer 
unter  denselben.  Tasso  selber  hat  in  seinem  Jerusalem 
mehr  Sachen,  die  den  Leser  verfiihren  als  die  demselben 
zur  IJnterrichtung  dienen  kb'nnen."2  Instead  of  the  "  hun- 
dert  rauhe  Metaphoren"  characteristic  of  an  exuberant  de- 
scriptive style,  Wernicke's  maxim,  "  In  einem  gemeinen 
Bilde  eine  nachdenkliche  Sache  vorstellen,"  3  leads  to  the 
production  of  little  pieces,  sometimes  obscure,  sometimes 
over-intellectual,  but  nevertheless  as  truly  representative 
of  poetic  style  as  the  works  of  Goethe,  or  Kleist,  or  Uhland, 
or  Hebbel,  or  any  other  manly  man  who  gives  us  things 
and  not  merely  words. 

"  Ein  mannlicher  Verstand  im  Schreiben  iiberwegt 
Weit  kergesuchten  Witz,  der  jedes  Blat  aufschwellet : 
Denn  jener  gleicht  der  Frucht,  die  reif  vom  Baum  abfallet, 
Und  dieser  der,  die  man  vom  Baum  zu  schiitteln  pflegt."  4 

Coming  back  now  to  the  question  with  which  we  started, 
we  are  prepared  by  Wernicke's  insistence  upon  the  quality 
of  SinnlichJceit  to  find  him,  in  spite  of  his  pictorial  vocabu- 
lary, distinguishing  to  a  certain  extent  between  painting 
and  poetry,  and  painting  pictures  in  words  that  could  not 
by  any  possibility  be  transferred  to  canvas.  Goethe's 
Bedeutung  and  Schonheit  5  are  paralleled  in  these  sen- 
tences :  "  Ja  es  kostet  weniger  Miihe,  einen  Oedipus  wie 
Seneka,  als  einen  Davus  wie  Terentius  gethan  hat,  aufzu- 
fiihren.  Gemeine  Mahler  konnen  das  vom  Wetter  ge- 
hartete  Gesicht  eines  Helden;  aber  die  zarte  Schonheit 
einer  Yenus  kan  nur  ein  Apelles  treffen."  6  Beauty  is 

*A  somewhat  surprising  exception.     Cf.   "Guarini  hat  nicht  weniger 
K-uhm  unter  den  Welschen,  als  Boileau  unter  den  Franzosen  "  (p.  71). 
2  P.  121.  3  P.  188  ;  cf.  supra,  p.  534. 

4  P.  78.  *  Supra,  p.  522. 

6  P.  [xix]. 

14 


538  WILLIAM   GUILD   HOWARD. 

the  end  sought  by  the  artist ;  and  Wernicke  is  aware  how 
imitation,  in  the  Aristotelian  sense,  leads  to  the  creation 
of  beautiful  forms.  Witness  his  epigram,1 

11  An  einen  gewissen  beruhmten  Mahler. 
u  Kein  Wunder,  dass  du  nicht  die  andern  Mahler  achtst, 
Die  schon  genug  gelernt,  wenn  sie  nur  iihnlich  mahlen, 
Indem  du  kiinstlich  weisst  die  Gleichheit  zu  bestrahlen, 
Und  Schonheit,  wo  du  sie  nicht  vor  dir  findest,  machst  : 
Dein  Pinsel  der  vermehrt  der  Liebe  weites  Keich, 
Du  mahlst  ein  jedes  Ding  viel  schoner,  und  doch  gleich  ; 2 
Die  andre  geben  nur  der  Schonheit  die  Gebiihr, 
Sie  folgen  der  Natur :  Du  aber  gehst  ihr  fur." 

Beauty  of  form  and  color,  quite  apart  from  merits  of 
expression,  is  also  extolled  as  the  ideal  of  the  painter  in 
the  following  clear  and  incisive  passage :  3  "  Mancher 
Hudler  wird  fur  einen  Kiinstler  gehalten,  weil  er  wol  zu 
treffen  weiss.  Die  Farben  aber  so  zu  mischen,  und  durch 
eine  geschickliche  Eintheilung  der  Schatten  der  Gestalt 
eine  solche  Rundigkeit  zu  geben  wissen,  dass  ein  Gemahld 
ohne  andere  Umstande  an  sich  selber  schatzbar  ist,  das 
ist  das  Werk  eines  Meisters."  Furthermore,  Wernicke 
is  familiar  with  the  use  of  objective  symbols — "  wozu  aber 
den  Kiinstler  die  Noth  treibet  "  4 — in  the  representation 
of  personified  abstractions.  See  the  epigram,5 

1  P.  28. 

2  The  epigram  Auf  Menalkas  (p.  160)  is  a  witty  satire  showing  how 
painting  furnishes  symbols  for  expression  in  words  without  thereby  pre- 
venting a  different  sort  of  depiction  appropriate  to  words  : 

11  Menalkas  kommt  in  meinen  Saal, 

Und  ob  gleich  manch  Gemahld  hierinnen  ihm  behaget ; 
Doch  schiittelt  er  den  Kopf,  und  saget : 

Dass  ich  ein  Bild  zwar  gleich,  doch  ungestalter  mahl. 

Dass  in  der  Einbildung  ich  manche  Warzen  schaffe, 
Und  die  auf  fremde  Wangen  streich  ; 

Wolan,  ich  mahl  ihn  selbst  itzt  schoner  und  doch  gleich  : 
Hier  stehts,  Menalkas  ist  ein  Affe." 

3  P.  263.  4  Lessing,  Laokoon,  Kap.  x,  p.  225.  5P.  93. 


CHKISTIAN    WERNICKE.  539 

"Auf  die  Schamhaftigkeit. 

"  An  einen  Mahler. 

11  Mahl  uns  die  Grossmuth  ab  an  einer  Marmorsaul  ; 
Der  Unverdrossenheit  gehort  des  Herkuls  Keul ; 
Der  Tapferkeit  ein  blosses  Schwert  ; 
Der  Massigkeit  ein  kleiner  Hert ;  l 
Die  Wagschal  der  Gerechtigkeit ; 
Ein  Spiegel  der  Verschwiegenheit ; 
Der  Klugheit  ein  Entfernungsglass  ; 
Und  der  Geduld  ein  Seekompass  ; 
Wie  aber  bildet  man  die  Scham,  fragst  du  mich,  ab  ? 
O  Einfalt !  mahle  die  mit  einem  Bettelstab." 

Finally,  in  a  note  to  the  epigram,  An  den  Leser,2  Wer- 
nicke  shows  perfect  appreciation  of  the  worth  of  artistic 
style :  "  Wo  ein  Mahler  nicht  allein  ein  Bild  wol  zu 
treffen,  sondern  auch  in  demselben  eine  gewisse  vortreff- 
liche  Eigenschaft  entweder  in  der  Zeichnung,  in  Ver- 
mischung  der  Farben,  oder  in  der  Schattirung  also  vor 
Augen  zu  stellen  weiss,  dass  man  ihn  so  gleich  daraus  im 
ersten  Anblick  wie  einen  Angelo,  Raphael,  Titian,  Ru- 
bens oder  Korreggio,  von  alien  andern  unterscheiden ; 
und  folgends  aus  einem  Bilde  den  Kiinstler  so  wol  als 
die  vorgesetzte  Person  erkennen  kan,  so  kan  er  sich  keines 
Meisterstiicks  riihmen,  und  thut  wol,  dass  er  hinter  der 
Decke  verborgen  bleibt." 

Wernicke  nowhere  contrasts  the  poet  and  the  painter 
with  a  view  to  expounding  the  difference  in  their  modus 
operandi.  Better  than  this,  however,  he  illustrates  the 
difference  by  an  indubitable  example,  the  epigram,3 

1  Hert  =  Herd? 

2  P.  187  ;  quoted  above,  p.  525,  note  2. 

3  P.  68.     M.   le  Clerc  paid  Wernicke  the  compliment  of  printing  this 
epigram  with  cordial  comments  in  the  Mercure  historique  et  politique  for 
October,  1699,  as  a  refutation  of  the  notorious  allegation  of  Father  Bou- 
hours  that  a  German  could  not  be  a  bel  esprit.    Wernicke  takes  a  pardon- 
able pride  in  calling  attention  to  this  fact.     He  appends  the  following 


540  WILLIAM    GUILD    HOWARD. 

"Uhtcrricht  an  des  Konigs  von  Grossbrittannien  Mahler. 
"Gnug,  dass  du  Irrland  mahlst,  und  dass  man  Flandern  sieht, 

Wenn  Wilhelm  seinen  Degen  zieht  ; 
Gnug,  dass  du  England  mahlst,  und  in  erhobnem  Licht 

Das  Parlament,  wenn  Wilhelm  spricht ; 
Zeig  uns  die  ganze  Welt,  und  was  ihr  Wolseyn  misst, 
Wenn  Wilhelm  in  Gedanken  ist." 

Notwithstanding  a  certain  fulsorneness,  this  eulogy  is 
exceedingly  well  composed;  it  sustains  itself  at  a  high 
level  and  mounts  to  a  still  higher  climax.  It  consists  of 
a  series  of  conceptions  that  approach  sublimity  when  ex- 
pressed in  words,  and  are  utterly  unpaintable  on  canvas. 
So  far  as  the  method  is  concerned,  this  is  as  genuine  a 
specimen  of  effective  verbal  description  as  Homer's  lines 

translations  of  his  own — highly  interesting  evidence  of   his  command  of 

"  Concilium  Gulielmi  Regis  Pictori  impertitum. 
"Hibernos  pingas  domitos,  Belgasque  quietos, 

Cum  Gulielmus  agit  victor  in  arma  viros. 
Anglorum  laeta  praedarum  fronte  Senatum 

Pingas,  cum  placido  pectore  verbafacit. 
Pande  age  sed  lotum  variis  virtutibus  orbem 

Pacatum,  ut,  volvens  plurima  mente,  tacet." 

"  Avis  au  Peintre  du  Roy. 
"  Peins  VHibernois  soumis,  le  Flamand  rasseure 

Lors  que  tu  vois  Guillaume  arme. 
Parle-t-il  ?     Peins  alors  attentif  et  content 

Tout  son  auguste  Parlement. 

Mains  peins  le  monde  entier,  ses  interests,  son  bien, 
Lors  que  Guillaume  ne  dit  rien." 

"Advice  to  His  Majesties  Painter. 
"Ireland  reduc'd,  an[d]  Flanders  paint  restor'd, 
When,  call'd  to  succour,  William  draws  his  Sword. 
When  William  speaks,  then  represent 
With  England  its  wise  Parliament. 
But  paint  the  World  entire,  and  of  it's  happiness 
The  different  measures  all,  when  William  silent  is." 


CHRISTIAN    WERNICKE.  541 

on  Helen  of  Troy ;  l  for  if  Homer  conveys  the  impression 
of  beauty  by  describing  its  effects,2  Wernicke  also  conveys 
an  impression  of  valor,  eloquence,  and  benevolent  wisdom 
by  setting  forth  the  objects  upon  which  these  qualities 
are  exercised.3  That  he  recommends  these  ideas  to  a 
painter  is  immaterial.  He  knows  the  difference  between 
pictorial  and  verbal  symbols.  Specifically  referring  to 
his  advice  to  a  painter  in  the  epigram  Auf  die  Scham- 
haftigkeit,4  he  thus  "  depicts  "  impudence :  5 

"  Gliick  der  Unverschdmten. 
1 '  In  einem  Wirthshaus  die  geehrtsten, 
Und  in  der  Schule  die  gelehrtsten  ; 
Die  kliigsten  nach  misslungnem  Rath, 
Die  tapfersten  nach  einer  That. 
Die  grossten  Helden  im  Erdulden, 

Ul.  m,  156-158. 

2Cf.  Lessing,  Laokoon,  xxi,  xxn,  pp.  292  f.,  295  ff.,  and  these  Publica- 
tions, xxu,  617. 

8  If  it  be  objected  that  this  is  not  quite  the  same  thing  ;  that  the  de- 
scription of  beauty,  a  quality  of  form,  presents  a  different  problem  from 
the  description  of  valor,  eloquence,  and  wisdom,  qualities  of  character  or 
accomplishment,  better  evidence  that  Wernicke' s  method  is  Homeric  may 
perhaps  be  found  in  the  epigram  (p.  26), 

"An  ArnariUis. 

"Die  Tugend  wird  zwar  meist  verlachet, 
Doch  deine  theure  Schonheit  machet, 
Dass  jene  man  auch  in  dir  preist ; 
Die  Schonheit  fallt  zwar  oft  ins  Netze, 
Doch  deiner  Tugend  streng  Gesetze 
Beschiitzet  das,  was  jene  weist. 
Die  Welt  fallt  dem  Gezeugniss  bey, 
Das  dir  mein  schwacher  Mund  itzt  giebet ; 
Man  lobt  dich  ohne  Heucheley, 
Wie  man  dich  ohne  Hoffnung  liebet." 

The  contrast  between  this  sort  of  exposition,  whether  of  beauty,  or  virtue, 
or  valor,  and,  e.  g.,  Lohenstein's,  is  manifest. 

4  P.  93  ;  quoted  above,  p.  539.     Bodmer  neglected  to  change  Wernicke' s 
reference  from  "pag.  129"  to  p.  93. 
6  P.  207. 


542  WILLIAM   GUILD   HOWARD. 

Die  besten  Schlafer  mit  viel  Schulden  ; 
Die  weitsten  Wandrer  in  der  Welt, 
Als  scharfsten  Spieler,  ohne  Geld. 
Die  Giinstling  unversuchter  Weiber, 
Und  der  Lukrezen  Zeitvertreiber  ; 
Am  fremden  Tisch  die  ersten  satt, 
Und  reich,  wo  niemand  sonst  was  hat. 
Die  besten  Heuchler,  Liigner,  Wascher, 
Wahrsager,  Arzt  und  Zungendrescher  ; 
Die  erst  im  Welt-  und  Kirchenstand  : 
Propheten  all  im  Vaterland." 

These  are  Einfalle,  and  are  unpaintable.     Here  is  a  trans- 
lation 1  of  the  symbols  of  painting  into  words : 

"Auslegung  des  Bilds  der  Gerechtigkeit. 
u  1st  die  Gerechtigkeit  gleich  blind, 
Doch  fiihlt  sie  die,  die  nach  ihr  fragen  ; 
Die  gleiche  Wagschal  muss  ihr  sagen, 
Ob  die  Dukaten  wichtig  sind, 
Die  man  ihr  zusteckt ;  und  sie  halt 
Ein  blankes  Schwert  in  ihren  Handen, 
Dass  ihr  die  Diebe  nicht  das  Geld, 
Das  ihr  geschenket  wird,  entwenden." 

We  should  be  led  too  far  afield  if  we  undertook  to 
examine  any  considerable  number  of  Wernicke's  Gemahlde 
— whether  so  called  or  not — and  we  should  find  nothing 
inconsistent  with  the  foregoing  exposition.  These  "  pic- 
tures "  are  characterizations ;  consisting  sometimes  in  the 
enumeration  of  qualities  of  mind  or  heart,2  but  more  often 
in  the  recounting  of  particular  or  habitual  actions;  that 
is,  the  exhibitions  of  character  in  conduct.  Many  of  them 
are  little  narratives;  some  of  the  longer  ones  the  poet  ac- 
tually describes  as  comedies.3  I  quote  the  shortest :  4 

1  P.  102. 

2  The  compliment  is  of  course  not  complete  unless  it  includes  a  reference 
to  distinguished  personal  appearance  also. 

3  "  Es  sind  gleichsam  kleineLustspiele,-in  welchem  nach  einer  iangen  Ver- 
wirrung  in  dem  letztern  Auftrit  alles  in  eine  richtige  Ordnung  gebracht 
wird"  (p.  [xiv]). 

*P.  211. 


CHRISTIAN    WERNICKE.  543 

"  Gemdhld  des  Leodorus. 

"  Des  Reiches  Zier  zu  Hof  ;  im  Streit  des  Heeres  Kraft ; 
Freygebig  von  Natur,  doch  mehr  durch  Wissenschaft  ; 
Ansehnlich  von  Gestalt ;  und  als  er  jung  noch  war, 
Verwegen  in  der  Lust,  und  kiihn  in  der  Gefahr. 
Nie  stammt  ein  Unterthan  aus  einem  hohern  Blut ; 
Kein  Fiirst  hat,  der  sein  Keich  erobert,  grossern  Muth  ; 
Ain  meisten  dar  geliebt,  wo  man  ihn  meistens  kannt, 
Und,  Vater  von  dem  Volk,  dem  Konig  gleich,  genannt ; 
So  gross,  dass  ich  auch  noch  ihra  nichts  zu  wiinschen  find, 
Als  dass  er,  und  sein  Kuhm,  auf  gleichen  Fiissen  stiind." 

This  is  certainly  no  masterpiece ;  nor  can  it  be  denied  that 
in  the  eight  Gemdhlde  taken  as  a  whole,  Wernicke  strikes 
us  rather  as  a  courtier  than  as  a  poet,  though  even  in 
these  he  is  no  painter.  We  shall  be  more  just  to  Wernicke 
the  poet — denn  da,  wo  er  hofiert,  ist  er  kein  Dichter  1 — 
if  we  let  him  speak  his  last  word  in  a  characterization 
which  is  really  representative,  and  was  famous  in  its  time, 
but  has  nevertheless  not  been  included  in  Fulda's  selec- 
tion: 

"  Ein  jedes  Ding  hat  seine  Zeit.  * 

"Auf  Alcestes. 
"Theilt  seine  Stunden  nicht  Alcestes  richtig  aus? 

Bis  eilf  im  Bett,  hernach  im  Coffeehaus, 
Um  zwolfe  vor  der  Bors,  um  ein  Uhr  in  der  Schiissel, 
Bald  in  dem  Kaisershof ,  bald  in  dem  Bremerschliissel ; 
Von  drey  bis  sechs  da  gilt  es  ihm  gleich  viel, 
Ob  er  im  Brett,  Truck,  oder  Kartell  spiel ; 
Er  stellet  sich  bis  acht,  nachdem  die  Tage  seyn, 
Im  Singspiel,  oder  auch  in  der  Gesellschaft  ein  ; 
Von  acht  bis  zehn  da  geht  er  in  den  Keller, 
Trinkt  und  verspielt  gar  oft  den  letzten  Heller : 
Was  aber  folgt  hernach  ?  Das  weiss  ich  nicht  gewiss, 
Weils  Werke  sind  der  Nacht  und  Finsterniss." 

1Sit  venia  verbis.     Lessing  wrote  of  the  didactic  poet  (Laokoon,  xvn, 
p.  263),  "denn  da  wo  er  dogmatisiret,  ist  er  kein  Dichter." 
2  P.  116. 


544  WILLIAM    GUILD    HOWARD. 

So  much  for  Wernicke  as  a  predecessor  of  Lessing  in 
the  theory  and  practice  of  poetry.  He  was  no  more  than 
a  pioneer  in  either;  but  in  both  he  represents  a  notable 
advance  beyond  the  point  reached  by  those  who  had  gone 
before  him.  Along  with  the  agreeable  sensation  always 
produced  by  a  phrase  neatly  turned  and  a  point  well  made, 
one  gets  from  Wernicke's  verses  the  impression  that  he 
had  a  firm  grasp  of  fundamental  truths;  and  from  his 
critical  remarks  the  same  impression,  however  much  his 
terminology  may  fail  to  keep  pace  with  his  thought.  Not 
a  philosopher,  not  even  a  poet,  but  a  diplomat  by  profes- 
sion, he  contented  himself  with  obiter  dicta  in  the  tech- 
nical language  then  current,  and  did  not  feel  called  upon 
to  prosecute  systematic  speculations,  nor  to  attempt  the 
improvement  of  definitions.  Discriminating  good  sense, 
disciplined  by  the  best  masters  of  antiquity,  and  encour- 
aged by  the  example  of  the  most  exacting  of  contem- 
porary critics,  enabled  him  to  detect  and  to  avoid  the 
errors  that  were  fashionable  in  his  time.  Instinct,  per- 
haps, more  than  reason,  but  after  all,  rational  instinct  led 
him  on  the  one  hand  to  observe,  and  on  the  other  hand 
at  least  to  imply,  a  distinction  which  Lessing  method- 
ically established.  Wernicke  ought  not  to  have  been  so 
soon  forgotten  by  his  fellow-countrymen.  Had  he  ex- 
erted an  influence  commensurate  with  his  latent  power 
to  instruct,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  Brockes's  IrdiscJies  Ver- 
gnilgen  in  Gott  and  translation  of  Thomson's  Seasons, 
Haller's  Alpen,  and  Kleist's  Fruhling  could  have  attained 
their  prodigious  popularity;  and  but  for  these,  Lessing 
might  never  have  been  impelled  to  write  his  Laokoon. 

WILLIAM  GUILD  HOWARD. 


XXIV.— A  CLASSIFICATION  OF  THE  MANUSCRIPTS 
OF    "OGIER  LE  DANOIS."  l 


The  sole  edition  of  the  chanson  de  geste  "  Ogier  le 
Danois,"  generally  attributed  to  Raimbert  de  Paris,  is 
that  of  J.  Barrois,  Paris,  1842,  and  bears  the  title :  "  La 
Chevalerie  Ogier  de  Danemarche."  This  edition  makes 
no  pretence  to  critical  accuracy. 


II. 

The  known  MSS.  containing  this  poem  are: 

B:  now  in  the  library  of  Tours  (No.  938);  cf.  Barrois,  edition, 
pp.  liii-liv.  P.  Meyer  (Documents  Manuscrits  de  Vancienne  Lit- 
terature  de  la  France  conserve's  dans  les  Bibliotheques  de  la 
Grande-Bretagne,  Paris,  1871,  p.  86,  N.  3)  dates  this  MS.  in  the 
thirteenth  century.  B  forms  the  basis  of  Barrois's  edition. 

A:  Paris,  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  No.  24403  (La  Valliere,  78); 
dated  by  P.  Meyer  (op.  cit.,  p.  86)  in  the  last  years  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  This  MS.  was  used  by  Barrois  along  with  B;  cf.  edition, 
pp.  liv-lv. 

M:  Montpellier,  Bibliotheque  de  PEcole  de  MeMecme,  No.  247. 
See  Catalogue  des  MSS.  des  Billiotheques  des  Dtpartements,  I,  pp. 
377-9.  This  MS.  is  dated  by  P.  Meyer  (op.  cit.,  p.  86)  in  the 
fourteenth  century. 

D:  Durham,  Library  of  Bishop  Cosin,  V.  II,  17;  dated  by  P. 
Meyer  (op.  cit.,  p.  86)  at  about  the  same  time  as  B. 

P:  Paris,  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  No.  1583  (anc.  7608-3) ;  written 

1  The  material  for  this  paper  is  drawn  from  a  dissertation  pre- 
sented in  partial  fulfilment  of  the  requirements  for  the  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Philosophy  at  Harvard  University  (1908).  The  writer, 
who  is  preparing  a  critical  edition  of  Ogier  le  Danois,  desires  to 
thank  Professor  Sheldon  and  Professor  Grandgent  of  Harvard  for 
their  sympathetic  encouragement. 

5^45 


546  BARRY   CERF. 

in  the  fifteenth  century  (P.  Meyer,  op.  cit.,  p.  86).  This  MS.  really 
contains  two  poems:  the  song  attributed  to  Raimbert  and  a  con- 
tinuation. The  scribe  of  P  had  in  mind  the  continuation  while 
copying  the  older  song,  as  may  be  seen  from  certain  verses  introduced 
in  anticipation  of  the  continuation:  f.  25  verso,  first  col.,  w.  11-13 
(interpolated  after  the  verse  corresponding  to  v.  3073  of  the  edition), 
f.  77  verso,  second  col.,  vv.  3-16  (after  the  verse  corresponding  to 
v.  9911  of  the  edition). 

A  MS.  of  the  British  Museum  (Royal  15  E  VI)  is  wrongly  added 
by  Groeber  (Grundriss,  n,  p.  547,  N.  7),  to  the  MSS.  containing  our 
poem  (see  Ward,  Catalogue  of  Romances,  etc.,  I,  604 ff.;  Barrois, 
edition,  pp.  Ixiiff.). 

In  referring  to  the  MSS.  I  give  folio,  column  (a,  b  = 
recto ;  c,  d  =  verso)  and  verse.  In  the  case  of  B,  for  the 
convenience  of  the  reader  I  usually  give  only  the  corre- 
sponding verse  of  the  edition,  correcting  wherever 
necessary. 

III. 

It  has  been  found  that  the  MSS.  are  to  be  grouped  as 
follows : 

o 


I  quote  a  few  of  the  many  passages  which  show  this 
classification  to  be  exact: 

For  vv.  762-776  of  the  edition,  M  (91  c  12-21)  reads 
as  follows: 

"...  De  chele  ensengne  me  vois  trop  merveillant : 
Hui  matinet  Ten  vi  tourner  fuiant; 
Or  la  nous  as  raportee  ens  u  camp. 
Fet  nous  i  as  .i.  damage  si  grant, 


OGIER  LE  DANOIS.  547 

Les  vos  resqueus  et  des  nos  ochis  tant, 
Ni  a  cheli  qui  du  gaaing  se  vant." 
Kespont  Ogier:   "  Je  vons  en  dirai  tant 
Que  faus  seres  se  m'en  queres   avant: 
Prison   sui   Kail.    1'empereor   puissant; 
.De   Danemarche   fu   amene   1'autre   an  ..." 

For  these  verses,  D  (60  a  28-37)  reads: 

"...  De  cele  ensegne  me  vois  molt  mervellant : 
Hui   matinet   Ten  vi   tourner  fuiant; 
Or  le  nous  a  reportee  ens  el  camp. 
Mors  a  nos  homes  et  desconfis  el  camp, 
Ni  a  celui  qui  de  gaaing  s'en  vant. 
Comment  as  non?     Ne  me  celes  noient." 
"  Voir,"   dist   Ogier,   "  Jou  t'en   dirai   itant 
Que  pour  noient  m'en  querroies  avant: 
Non  ai  Ogier,  par  Dieu  le  Raiemant, 
Fieus  sui  Gauf roi  ou  Danemarche  apent  ..." 

Unhappily  P  is  here  in  very  bad  condition,  but  what 
remains  shows  that  P  agrees  with  D  wherever  D  differs 
from  M.  P  contained  the  verses  in  D  beginning  with 
"  Comment "  and  "  Voir,"  and  the  last  two  verses  of  P, 
8  d  15-16  (cf.  D),  are: 

"...  J'ay  nom  Ogier,  saiches  certainement ; 

Filz  sui  Gauf.  qui  Danemarche  apent  ..." 

A  has  practically  the  same  reading  as  B. 
After  v.  1488,  M  (94  c  4-5)  reads: 

"...  Poy   priseroie    en   moi    le   vasselage 
S'a  tel  garchon  avoie  pris  bataille." 

DP  have  these  two  verses,  and  between  them  introduce 
this  third  verse: 

"...  Jamais  honor  n'avroie  en  mon  cage  ..."     D  64  a  39,  cf. 

P   14  a  3. 


548  BAKRY   CERF. 

After  v.  2790,  MDP  add: 

"...  Par  Mahommet  molt  es  biau  chevaliers : 

De  toi  ochirre  me  prent  grant  pities."       M  100  a  12-13. 

DP  add  to  these  two  the  following  verse: 

"...  Quant  t'arai  mort  si  en  serai  iries."         D  72  c  9,  cf . 

P  23  c.  26. 

The  beginning  of  the  second  canto  (vv.  3103  ff.)  is  quite 
different  in  the  two  versions  X  and  Y.  A  offers  only 
slight  variations  from  B  as  printed  in  the  edition.  DP, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  words,  agree  with  M.  M 
(101  a  42  ff.,  cf.  D  73  +  a  28  ff.,  P  25  d  1  ff.)  reads  as 
follows : 

Oes,  segnors,  que  Dex  vous  puist  aidier, 

Le  glorieus  qui  tout  a  a  jugier. 

Oi  aves  des  enfanches  Ogier, 

Le  fix  Gaufroi  qui  tant  fist  a  proisier: 

Onques   son   pere  ne   le   pot  avoir   chier, 

Quar  chen  feisoit  sa  desloial  moullier; 

Envers  Kallon  le  fist  forsostagier 

Si  que  le  roi  li  vout  le  chief  trenchier, 

Ardoir  en  fu  ou  en  iaue  noier 

Quant  Ten  proia  la  roine  au  vis  fier, 

Maint  due,  maint  conte,  maint  baron  chevalier, 

Ensorquetout  Dunaimez  de  Bavier: 

Kail,  alerent  le  cordouen  baisier; 

Tant  li  proierent  pour  Dieu  le  droiturier 

Que  de  la  mort  respiterent  Ogier 

Et  a  Kallon  le  firent  apaier. 

Molt  Pama  puis  Kallm.  au  vis  fier 

Et  1'adouba  et  le  fist  chevalier 

Et  en  bataille  en  fist  gonf anonier ; 

Puis  li  aida  maint  castel  a  bruisier. 

Molt  fu  Ogier  et  preudons  et  entier 

Et  quant  venoit  a  sez  armez  baillier 

II  n'estoit  homme  qui  le  feist  plessier. 

Ainc  veve  fame  ne  vout-il  plaidoier, 

Lor  escu  fu  quant  en  orent  mestier; 


OGIEB    LE    DANOIS.  549 

As  orphelins  vouloit  tous  jours  aidier. 

Que  vous  diroie?     Trop  fu  preudons  Ogier, 

Molt  ama  Dieu  qui  tout  a  a  jugier, 

Bien  servi  Kail,  o  fer  et  a  1'achier. 

Au  desraain  en  ot  mauvez  louier 

De   son   servise   si   com  m'orrez   nunchier 

Se  vous  voulez  entendre  sans  noisier, 

Quar  huimez  well  ma  canchon  commenchier. 

Vv.  4318-4428  (BA)  are  condensed  to  24  verses  in  MDP 
(M  104  d  34  ff.,  D  79  a  1  ff.,  P  32  d  24  ff.). 

Instead  of  w.  5661-3  (BA),  MDP  introduce  an  epi- 
sode of  31  verses  (M  109  b  3  fF.,  D  85  d  llff.,  P  41  a 
21  ff.). 

For  v.  6439  (BA),  M  (112  b  58  ff.)  reads  as  follows: 

" .  .  .  Et  au  .s.  temple  dedens  Jerlm. 

Servirai,  Sire,  pour  le  vostre  quemant: 
Guerrierai  la  sarrasine  gent." 

DP  read  these  two  verses  and  add  a  third  (D  90  d  13, 
P  47  c  13). 

MDP  read  several  hundred  verses  not  found  in  BA 
and  omit  many  verses  printed  in  the  edition  from  BA. 
Some  of  these  verses  omitted  in  MDP  are:  1422-3,  1438, 
1442,  1548,  1585,  1810-1,  1906,  2057,  2424,  2427,  2452-9, 
2559,  2561,  2602,  2604,  2685,  2721,  etc. 

The  variation  of  Y  from  X  grows  more  and  more  marked 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  poem.  We  have  in 
X  and  Y  two  decidedly  different  versions  of  the  original 
poem.  I  cite  a  few  errors  in  X  (BA)  and  a  few  in  Y 
(MDP)  which  show  the  independence  of  the  two  versions: 
neither  one  is  a  copy  of  the  other. 

Errors  in  X  corrected  from  Y : 

In  v.  512  change  vees  to  ou  est. 

In  v.  905  change  cent  (BA)  to  rens. 


550  BARRY   CERF. 

In  v.  1055  change  caoir  (BA)  to  seoir. 
Before  v.  1974  supply  this  verse  from  Y: 

Et  Kallot  point,  fiert  s'en  1'eaue  courant. 

Vv.  3064-5  are  absurd.  They  are  to  be  corrected  from 
the  text  of  Y: 

"...  Lui  et  s'amie  qui  tant  a  le  vis  cler 

Donnasse  ilomme  et  la  terre  a  garder." 

V.  4074  should  read: 

Car  c'est  li  horn  que  il  plus  avoit  chier. 

After  v.  6692  supply  this  verse  from  Y: 
S'ara  Ogier  fet  traire  a  mal  destin 

(cf.  vv.  7233-4,  7559-60,  8115-6,  etc.). 
In  v.  8285  change  estables  to  entailles. 

Errors  in  Y: 

Vv.  2452-9  are  omitted  in  MD  (P  has  a  variant  for  this 
tirade).  V.  2460,  coming  abruptly  after  v.  2451,  is  sense- 
less, and  the  passage  following  has  no  meaning, 

V.  4117  reads  as  follows  in  MDP : 

"...  Si  fu  ton  pere,"  dist-il  au  due  Ogier. 

The  verses  following  are  accordingly  addressed  to  Ogier 
instead  of  to  Desiderius,  and  confusion  results. 

V.  4275,  necessary  for  the  sense  of  the  passage,  is 
omitted  in  MDP. 

In  v.  7954,  MDP  wrongly  read  Kallon  for  Eaimbaut. 
Charles  comes  up  at  v.  7970. 

In  v.  10281,  AMD  (A  is  in  this  part  of  the  poem  a 
Y  MS.,  see  §  iv;  P.  has  a  variant  for  this  passage)  read 


OGIER    LE   DANOIS.  551 

naie  for  obscure.     Naie  is  doubtless  a  corruption  (asso- 
nance in  -u-e)  for  mue.     MD  read  for  v.  10362 : 

Ou  il  cachoit  aval  la  chartre  mue. 

Ko  one  of  the  existing  MSS.  is  a  copy  of  any  other. 
Fundamental  differences  throughout  the  poem  or  date  of 
execution  preclude  all  possibilities  except  that  A  may  be  a 
copy  of  B  and  P  of  D.  That  these  possibilities  are  not 
facts  is  shown  by  errors  in  B  not  shared  by  A  and  by 
errors  in  D  not  found  in  P. 

Errors  in  B  not  found  in  A : 

In  v.  853  change  Rosne  to  Toivre  (AY). 

In  v.  1344  change  I'Ardenois  to  le  Danois  (AY). 

In  v.  2730  the  name  of  Brunamont's  sword  is  given: 
Nabugodonosor  (AY)  ;  the  name  is  not  mentioned  else- 
where in  the  poem. 

Many  verses  omitted  in  B  are  found  in  AY:  vv.  230-2, 
335,  1195,  2851-2,  2866,  3091,  3112,  3188-3217  (30 
verses:  probably  one  column  of  B's  original),  3282,  3916, 
etc. 

Errors  in  D  not  found  in  P: 

In  v.  7,  D  has  Paris  instead  of  Saint-Omer  (BMP). 

The  mother  of  Baudouin,  according  to  D  (55  b  20), 
is  Beuseline.  P  has  correctly  Beatris  in  this  passage 
(1  c  12)  and  again  at  1  d  25.  In  v.  8817,  all  MSS.,  in- 
cluding D,  have  Beatris. 

In  v.  1894,  D  reads : 

"...  Faus  fu  ses  peres   quant  1'envoia  de   cha  ..." 

P  has  the  reading  of  AM. 

D  ends  v.  5541  with:  "  si  est  revigoures."       P  has  the 

reading  of  BM. 

* 


552  BAKKY    OERF. 

For  v.  9817  P  Las  the  reading  of  AM.  D  stupidly 
reads : 

Icil  avoit  .iii.  nes  et  .iii.  dromons. 

Many  verses  omitted  in  D  are  found  in  BAMP :  vv. 
1791,  2077,  2219,  2229,  2245,  2627,  3251,  5492,  6465- 
6,  etc. 

IV. 

The  classification  studied  above  is  exact  for  all  parts  of 
the  poem  with  two  exceptions:  from  v.  9276  to  the  end 
A  belongs  to  the  Y  group;  in  vv.  12185-12952,  M  has 
shifted  to  the  X  group.  The  grouping  is  to  be  altered  as 
follows : 

(For  vv.  9276-12184  :)       (For  vv.  12185-12952 :) 


With  the  omission  of  v.  9276  by  AMDP  begins  the 
agreement  of  A  with  MDP.  Barrois  has  printed  almost 
all  the  variants  of  A.  With  trifling  exceptions,  MDP 
offer  in  all  these  cases  the  readings  of  A,  while  B  stands 
alone.  For  a  few  of  the  longer  variants  of  AMDP  from 
B,  see  the  following  foot-notes  in  the  edition:  p.  389  1ST.  1 
(19  vv.),  p.  392,  K  1  (32  vv.),  p.  400,  K  1  (128  vv.), 
p.  411,  K  3  (11  vv.),  p.  432,  K  3  (19  vv.),  p.  440,  K  1 
(35  vv.),  p.  456,  ST.  1  (33  vv.),  p.  465,  1ST.  1  (86  vv.). 


OGIEE    LE    DANOIS.  553 

The  scribe  of  M  has  changed  MSS.  at  v.  12184 ;  v.  12183, 
omitted  in  B,  is  read  in  AMDP ;  v.  12185,  read  in  ADP, 
is  omitted  in  BM.  From  this  point  to  v.  12952  all  the 
verses  which  Barrois  has  printed  from  A  are  lacking  in  M. 
Wherever  Barrois  has  indicated  a  variation  of  A  from  B, 
M  stands  with  B.  At  v.  12952  the  accord  of  B  and  M 
ceases,  and  the  scribe  of  M  continues  the  poem  after  his 
own  fancy.  That  he  does  not  return  to  a  MS.  of  the  Y 
group  can  be  ascertained  by  a  comparison  with  P,  the  only 
remaining  MS.  of  this  group,  A  and  D  being  acaudate. 

Against  the  almost  absolute  identity  of  M  and  B  in 
w.  12185-12952  stand  about  a  dozen  cases  in  which  M 
agrees  with  ADP  in  opposition  to  B.  These  few  cases 
suffice  to  prove  that  M  was  not  copied  from  B  but  goes 
back  independently  to  X.  The  following  almost  exhaust 
the  list  of  variations  of  M  from  B  in  these  verses: 

The  following  verses,  omitted  in  B,  are  found  in 
MADP:  p.  515,  K  6,  p.  518,  ST.  1-v.  2,  p.  518,  K  6, 
p.  527,  N.  2-v.  2,  p.  543,  K  1. 

Yv.  12353,  12710  are  omitted  in  MADP. 

M  has  the  reading  of  ADP  in  the  following  verses :  vv. 
12473  (B  has  un  for  quatre),  12532,  12693,  12711. 

Y. 

Raimbert  de  Paris,  to  whom  the  poem  here  studied  has 
been  generally  attributed,  was  probably  the  author  of  Z. 
Throughout  the  entire  poem  D  and  P  stand  more  or  less 
apart  from  the  other  MSS.  But  the  beginning  (about 
1370  verses)  represents  what  the  author  of  Z  .certainly  in- 
tended to  make  an  entirely  new  version  of  the  story.  The 
variation  of  DP  from  BAM  in  this  part  of  the  poem  is 
so  considerable  that  if  the  author  had  continued  his  work, 

15  0 


554  BAKKY    CEEF. 

D  and  P  would  probably  never  have  been  considered  to 
contain  the  same  version  of  the  poem  as  BAM.  But  at 
v.  1370,  approximately,  the  author  of  Z  tired  of  his  task 
and  was  content  with  simply  copying  the  rest  of  the  poem. 
The  gradual  approach  of  DP  to  the  other  MSS.  is  proof 
that  there  was  not  a  change  of  MSS.  :  the  scribe  of  Z  did 
not  copy  the  beginning  from  one  MS.  and  the  rest  of  the 
poem  from  another.  The  author  of  Z  names  himself 
"  Raimbert  de  Paris  "  in  the  fourth  line  of  his  version : 
Barrois  prints  the  first  few  verses  of  D  (p.  xliv).  That 
the  author  of  Z  used  a  Y  MS.  as  the  basis  of  his  uncom- 
pleted "  remaniement "  has  already  been  shown  (§  III). 

VI. 

In  the  preparation  of  a  critical  text,  the  version  of  X 
is  to  be  preferred  to  that  of  Y.  Could  two  versions  be 
placed  side  by  side,  it  would  be  immediately  manifest  that 
in  numberless  passages  X  preserves  the  simplicity  of  the 
old  poem,  whereas  Y  amplifies  the  text  beyond  reason.  Y 
has  also  an  unhappy  propensity  to  tamper  with  the  asso- 
nances, sometimes  substituting  rimes  in  whole  tirades. 
A  striking  example  of  Y's  treatment  of  the  assonance  vowels 
is  found  in  vv.  11381-11404.  In  this  tirade  B  has  a 
feminine  assonance  in  -a.  Y,  unable  to  accept  such  asso- 
nances as  armes-faire  (i.  e.,  -a-e,  -ai-e),  has  altered  the 
text  so  as  to  suppress  all  words  in  -a-e  and  has,  further- 
more, by  suppressing  such  words  as  laische  reduced  the 
tirade  to  a  rime  in  -ere. 

B  has  been  recognized  by  all  who  have  discussed  the 
relative  value  of  our  MSS.  as  the  one  which  retains  most 
traces  of  the  original  song  (e.  g.,  P.  Meyer,  op.  c%t.,  pp.  85- 
86).  To  control  B,  we  must  use  A  for  vv.  1-9275  and  M 


OGIER    LE   DANOIS.  555 

for  vv.  12185-12952.  The  agreement  of  A,  in  vv.  1- 
9275,  or  M,  in  vv.  12185-12952,  with  Y  will  be  sufficient 
to  overbalance  the  authority  of  B.  For  these  verses  we 
can  arrive  at  a  fairly  satisfactory  text.  But  in  vv.  9276- 
12184  B  unhappily  stands  alone.  In  vv.  12952  to  the 
end,  P  affords  very  little  help,  M  is  practically  useless, 
AD  show  lacunae. 

BARKY   CERF. 


PUBLICATIONS 


OF   THE 


Modern  Language  Association  of  America, 


19O8. 


VOL.  XXIII,  4.  NEW  SERIES,  VOL.  XVI,  4. 


XXV.— THE    CLEOMADfiS  AND   RELATED 
FOLK-TALES. 

I. 

Among  the  many  baffling  problems  of  Chaucerian  schol- 
arship are  those  connected  with  the  Squire's  Tale.  To 
undertake  a  satisfactory  solution  of  these  is  to  court  dis- 
aster. The  attempt  confounds  us.  One  may,  however, 
with  all  modesty  endeavor  to  fix  one's  bearings  in  the  area 
of  story-land  to  which  this  poem  belongs.  To  know  where 
we  are  is  almost  as  gratifying  as  to  discover  a  source,  and 
it  is  sometimes  more  instructive.  If,  then,  I  can  do  any- 
thing to  further  a  survey  of  the  narrative  neighborhood  of 
the  Squire's  Tale  and  its  nearest  analogue,  the  Cleomades, 
my  work  may  be  serviceable.  Perhaps,  too,  this  paper 
may  put  in  a  clearer  light  the  probabilities  in  regard  to 
Chaucer's  method  and  inspiration  while  at  work  upon  one 
of  his  best  known  Tales  of  Canterbury.1 

1  It  will  be  noticed  throughout  that  I  have  found  Mr.  Clouston's 
Magic  Elements  in  the  Squire's  Tale  very  serviceable.  Professor 
Kittredge,  too,  has  given  me  very  great  aid  and  comfort  in  the 
course  of  this  investigation. 

557* 


558  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

The  story  of  the  Cleomades  is  as  follows : — 
Ynabele,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Spain,  is  married  to 
Marcadigas,  son  of  Caldus,  King  of  Sardinia.  They  have 
one  son,  Cleomades,  and  three  daughters,  Elyador,  Feni- 
adisse,  and  Marine.  Marcadigas,  in  the  absence  of  his 
son,  is,  with  great  difficulty,  defending  his  land  against 
five  kings,  one  of  whom  he  has  challenged  to  single  combat. 
In  the  meantime,  Cleomades,  hearing  of  his  father's  hard 
case,  returns  from  France,  is  knighted  at  a  festival,  and 
enables  Marcadigas  to  overcome  the  champions  of  the  op- 
posing side, — Garsianis,  King  of  Portugal;  Bondart  le 
Gris,  King  of  Gascony;  Galdas  des  Mons,  sire  of  Tou- 
louse; Agambart  le  Long,  King  of  Aragon;  and  Sormant 
le  Rous,  King  of  Galicia. 

At  this  time  there  are  in  Africa  three  kings  who  have 
great  riches;  their  kingdoms  are  adjacent;  greatly  they 
love  one  another.  Each  of  them  knows  a  great  deal  of 
"  clergie,"  necromancy,  and  "  astronomic."  Two  of  them 
are  seemly  enough,  but  the  third,  named  Crompart,  is 
"  lais,  petis  et  bogus."  These  three  kings,  having  heard  of 
the  radiant  beauty  of  the  three  Spanish  princesses,  hold  a 
council,  at  which  they  decide  to  proceed  in  state  to  King 
Marcadigas  and  ask  him  for  his  daughters.  Crompart, 
thinking  uneasily  of  his  ugliness,  suggests  that  each  of 
them  should  give  the  king  "  un  jouel  de  tres  grant  richece," 
in  order  to  predispose  him  in  their  favor. 

"  Quant  il  se  furent  arr66 
Aprfes  ce  ont  pou  sejorn6. 
Tant  ont  li  uns  1'autre  atendu 
Que  ensamble  sont  revenu."  1 

The  African  kings  bring  their  gifts  to  Marcadigas  on 
1  Cleomad&s,  ed.  van  Hasselt,  1843  ff. 


THE   CLEOMADES  AND   BELATED    FOLK-TALES.         559 

his  birthday.  Melocandis  brings  a  man  of  gold  with  a 
golden  trumpet ;  Baldigant,  a  hen  with  six  chickens,  all  of 
gold  and  able  to  walk  and  sing;  Crompart,  a  horse  of 
ebony  that  can  travel  as  swiftly  as  an  arrow  shot  from 
a  bow.  Marcadigas,  well  pleased  with  these  gifts,  offers 
his  visitors  anything  they  desire.  They  at  once  ask  for 
the  three  princesses.  The  two  older  sisters  are  satisfied 
with  their  handsome  suitors,  Melocandis  and  Baldigant, 
but  Marine  is  deeply  distressed  by  the  request  of  Crom- 
part.  The  unhappy  girl  takes  her  trouble  to  her  brother, 
Cleomades,  who  promises  to  protect  her  from  the  displeas- 
ing suitor.  In  the  meanwhile  all  the  gifts  are  to  be  tested, 
and  Cleomades  is  to  try  the  horse. 

When  Cleomades  mounts  the  magic  steed,  the  man  of 
gold  vigorously  sounds  his  trumpet,  but  it  is  to  no  purpose. 
Crompart  goes  in  front  of  the  horse,  turns  a  little  pin,  and 
horse  and  rider  are  presently  lost  to  sight.  Crompart  is 
then  placed  in  confinement,  and  the  nuptials  of  his  brother 
kings  are  indefinitely  postponed. 

Cleomades,  borne  quickly  through  the  air,  learns  in 
time  the  mechanism  of  his  wonderful  horse.  He  descends 
upon  the  roof  of  a  tower,  passes  through  a  trap-door,  and 
enters  an  apartment  in  which  he  finds  a  table  well  supplied. 
After  partaking  of  the  food,  he  comes  upon  a  "  grant 
vilain,"  and  later,  having  crossed  a  corridor,  enters  a 
chamber  where  four  maidens  are  asleep.  The  castle  is 
Castle  Noble,  the  apartments  are  those  of  the. princess  Clar- 
mondine,  and  the  maidens  are  the  princess  herself  and  her 
"^hree"attendants,  Florete,  Gaitie,  and  Lyades.  Cleomades 
makes  bold  to  kiss  the  princess ;  she  awakens  and  asks  him 
whether  he  is  not  Bleopatris,  to  whom  her  father  has 
promised  her.  He  says  that  he  is,  and  she  then  asks  him 
to  withdraw  while  she  dresses.  Later,  when  the  lovers  are 


560  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

surprised  by  the  girl's  angry  father,  our  resourceful  hero 
is  not  found  wanting.  Every  three  years,  he  says,  the 
persecuting  fairy  folk  have  him  carried  away  on  a  wooden 
horse  that  takes  him  rapidly  over  the  world,  exposing  him 
to  serious  dangers.  Carmant,  Clarmondine's  father,  sends 
to  the  roof  of  the  tower  for  the  strange  device.  Cleomades, 
when  he  is  condemned  to  death,  asks  for  the  privilege 
of  dying  upon  his  horse.  The  request  is  granted  and  the 
hero  makes  good  his  escape. 

After  Cleomades  returns  to  Seville,  the  nuptials  of  his 
two  older  sisters  are  celebrated.  Crompart,  who  has  been 
banished  the  court,  remains  in  the  neighborhood  attending 
the  sick.  He  could  not  go  home  because  he  had  committed 
certain  crimes,  which,  according  to  the  custom  of  his  coun- 
try, must  be  expiated  by  a  seven  years'  exile. 

Cleomades,  after  an  impatient  stay  at  Seville,  sets  out 
once  more  on  his  magic  horse  for  Castle  Noble.  Arriving 
there  in  the  daytime,  he  hides  until  nightfall  in  a  grove 
adjacent  to  Clarmondine's  apartments.  He  then  enters 
her  chamber,  awakes  her  with  two  kisses,  and  tells  her 
that  he  is  Cleomades,  son  of  the  King  of  Spain.  When  the 
sun  is  rising,  Cleomades  and  Clarmondine  effect  their 
escape,  Cleomades  shouting  to  King  Carmant  that  he  is 
Marcadigas'  son. 

When  the  travellers  reach  Seville,  Cleomades  leaves  his 
amie  in  a  garden  just  outside  the  city,  while  he  goes  to 
prepare  a  suitable  reception  for  her.  Crompart  then  meets 
with  Clarmondine  and,  noticing  his  ebony  horse,  takes  in 
the  situation  at  a  glance.  Having  persuaded  the  girl  that 
he  is  her  lover's  emissary,  sent  to  escort  her  to  the  court, 
he  soars  away  with  her.  Clarmondine,  who  finds  herself 
in  a  perilous  situation,  tells  Crompart  that  she  is  a  silk- 
weaver  of  Lombardy,  engaged  by  Cleomades  to  work  for 


THE    CLEOMADES    AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.          561 

his  sisters.  While  the  two  are  resting  in  a  meadow,  Crom- 
part  is  overcome  by  the  hot  sun,  and  Clarmondine,  op- 
pressed by  sorrow  and  fatigue,  falls  asleep. 

In  this  condition,  the  beautiful  princess  and  her  ugly 
abductor  are  found  by  Meniadus,King  of  Salerno,  and  his 
followers,  while  they  are  out  hunting.  That  was  a  good 
flight  of  the  hawk,  exclaims  the  poet,  that  brought  Menia- 
dus  to  Clarmondine.  Meniadus  commands  that  Clarmon- 
dine  shall  be  escorted  to  his  palace  with  the  greatest 
consideration,  but  that  Crompart  shall  be  thrown  into 
prison.  During  the  night  the  wicked  Crompart  expires 
and  next  morning  Meniadus  sues  Clarmondine  for  her  love. 
She  obtains  a  respite  of  three  months.  When  this  period 
is  almost  at  an  end,  she  decides  to  feign  madness,  in  order 
to  escape  his  importunity. 

In  the  meantime  there  is  an  unsuccessful  search  for 
Clarmondine  at  Seville.  Cleoniades  finds  one  of  her  gloves 
but  no  other  trace  of  his  losj:  -miat-pppg  He  will  search  for 
her  throughout  the  world.  After  traversing  many  coun- 
tries, he  comes  to  Greece,  where  there  is  a  war  in  progress 
with  Primonus,  King  of  Chaldea.  Our  hero  first  helps 
the  Greeks  to  conquer  the  Eastern  king  and  then  presses 
on  through  Sicily  to  Venice.  Thence  he  travels  by  wild 
and  unfrequented  ways,  while  at  home  his  mother  and 
sisters  are  distracted  with  sorrow  and  his  father  has  died 
of  grief.  One  night  Cleomades  reaches  the  castle  of 
Mount  Estrais.  After  he  has  been  well  received,  he  is 
told  that  a  strange  custom  prevails  at  that  castle:  every 
man  entertained  there  must  on  the  following  morning 
either  leave  his  arms  and  horse  behind  or  singly  engage 
two  knights.  Cleomades,  having  chosen  the  latter  alter- 
native, fights  the  two  knights  and  is  victorious.  Notwith- 
standing the  ungenerous  custom  that  they  strive  to  main- 


562  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

tain,  his  vanquished  opponents  appear  to  be  courteous 
chevaliers.  One  of  them,  who  has  been  badly  wounded, 
is  sorrowful  because  he  shall  now  be  unable  to  go  to  the 
rescue  of  a  damsel  wrongfully  accused.  The  maiden  in 
the  case  is  Lyades,  one  of  Clarmondine's  attendants.  She, 
together  with  her  companions,  has  been  charged  with 
treason  by  Bleopatris,  the  disappointed  suitor  of  the  prin- 
cess. Durbant  and  Sartant,  the  two  knights  against  whom 
Cleomades  has  contended,  are  in  love  with  two  of  the 
accused  damsels.  Cleomades  promises  to  take  the  place 
of  Sartant,  the  wounded  knight. 

With  Durbant  and  the  minstrel  Pinchonnet,  Cleomades, 
disguised,  sets  out  for  the  court  of  King  Carmant.  The 
party  is  first  lodged  at  an  inn,  near  Castle  Noble,  a  loca- 
tion from  which  Cleomades  wishes  to  move  because  he 
cannot  look  with  composure  upon  Clarmondine's  home. 
Durbant  accordingly  finds  new  lodgings  in  Verde  Coste, 
the  house  of  Lyades'  father.  In  the  tournament  that  fol- 
lows, Cleomades  and  Durbant  successfully  defend  the  dam- 
sels charged  with  treason,  and  then  return  with  them  to 
Verde  Coste.  There  the  girls  discover  the  identity  of 
Cleomades.  The  hero,  still  accompanied  by  Pinchonnet, 
now  takes  the  road  to  Rome,  searching  for  his  beloved 
through  many  countries  until  he  reaches  Salerno,  the  king- 
dom of  Meniadus.  Instead  of  asking  toll,  this  ruler  re- 
quires all  comers  to  tell  him  news  of  the  strange  lands 
through  which  they  have  travelled. 

When  Cleomades  has  reached  Salerno,  he  goes  to  an 
inn.  There  he  learns  of  Clarmondine^madness.  Sus- 
pecting the  true  nature  of  her  malady,  he  obtains  a  false 
beard  and  the  habit  of  a  physician.  Tims  attired,  he 
secufes^an  interview  witH  the  king,  as  a  result  of  which 
he  is  conducted  to  Clarmondine's  apartment.  Cleomades, 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  RELATED  FOLK-TALES.      563 

who  has  brought  Clarmondine's  glove  filled  with  herbs, 
easily  makes  himself  known  to  his  beloved.  She  speedily 
shows  marked  symptoms  of  improvement  and  calls  for  her 
ebony  horse.  The  new  physician  advises  that  this  harm- 
less whim  of  his  patient  should  be  indulged ;  the  horse 
is  accordingly  produced  and  the  lovers  make  good  their 
escape.  As  they  soar  away,  Cleomades  calls  out  that  he 
is  the  Prince  of  Spain  and  that  his  companion  is  Clar- 
mondine,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Tuscany. 

Piiichonnet  now  tells  Meniadus  the  whole  story  of  the 
adventures  of  Cleomades  and  the  fair  Clarmondine.  He 
then  goes  to  Verde  Coste  and  recounts  to  Lyades  all  that 
had  happened.  Finally  he  takes  his  story  to  Carmant, 
who  learns  with  joy' that  his  daughter  is  safe,  and  to  Dur- 
bant,  to  whom  he  makes  known  the  strange  knight's  iden- 
tity. 

After  stopping  several  times  to  rest  by  the  way,  Cle- 
omades and  Clarmondine  reach  Seville  in  safety.  There 
follows  a  magnificent  feast  to  which  almost  everybody  in 
the  story  is  bidden,  even  the  five  kings  conquered  by  Cle- 
omades and  his  father.  Besides  the  weddings  of  Cleo- 
mades, Melocandis,  and  Baldigant,  the  following  nuptials 
are  celebrated: — Meniadus  marries  Marine;  Carmant 
marries  Inabele.  Further,  Pinchonnet  is  knighted  and 
Durbant  and  Sartant  are  made  dukes. 


II. 

The  theme  of  winning  or  rescuing  a  girl  by  means  of  an 
aerial  journey,  specifically  with  the  aid  of  a  wonderful 
horse,  is  widely  current  in  folk-tales.  In  a  number  of 
these  the  hero  serves  a  magician,  either  kindly  or  malig- 
nant, and  as  a  return  for  his  services  or  through  trickery 


564  H,  s.  v.  JONES. 

obtains  an  extraordinary  horse,  which  helps  him  to  win  a 
girl  in  some  competitive  contest.  In  other  stories  the 
ho;v.  having  left  his  magician-master,  resides  as  a  menial 
at  the  king's  court.  There  he  wins  a  princess  by  the 
prodigious  deeds  of  valour  which  his  helpful  steed  enables 
him  to  perform.  In  many  of  these  tales,  called  Goldcncr- 
m-archen,  he  obtains  golden  hair  early  in  the  story  :  in 
many  of  them,  called  sometimes  Glasberg  march  en,  he 
scales  a  glass  mountain.  But  inasmuch  as  these  classes 
are  by  no  means  well  defined,  their  designations  are  not 
very  useful. 

The  Goldencrmarchen  cycle  is  well  represented  by  a 
story  in  Leskien-Brugmann's  Litauische  Volkslieder  und 
Mdrchen  (No.  9)  : — A  king's  three  sons  go  hunting.  One 
of  them,  wandering  away  from  the  others,  conies  in  time 
to  a  palace.  He  enters  and  finds  upon  a  table  as  much 
meat  and  drink  as  his  heart  could  desire.  Soon  an  old 
man  appears  and  asks  the  hero  why  he  is  in  the  palaee. 
After  he  has  explained  his  presence,  he  is  employed  by  the 
old  man  to  look  after  the  fire  and  a  horse.  Following 
the  advice  of  the  horse,  he  anoints  his  hair  with  an  oint- 
ment that  makes  it  glitter  like  diamonds.  He  then  pro- 
cures various  magic  articles,  mounts  his  helpful  animal, 
and  runs  away  from  his  master.  He  is  pursued,  but  with 
the  aid  of  his  magic  objects  he  makes  good  his  escape. 

The  hero  now  learns  from  his  horse  the  comforting 
news  that  the  old  man  is  dead.  He  is  told,  too,  that  if 
he  should  strike  the  ground  with  a  certain  stick,  the  earth 
would  open  and  reveal  a  subterranean  castle.  As  soon 
as  the  castle  appears,  the  horse  is  led  into  it  and  left  there, 
while  the  hero,  still  following  the  advice  of  his  horse, 
goes  to  the  palace  of  a  king  nearby  and  asks  to  be  taken 
into  his  service.  He  is  appointed  royal  gardener,  having 
taken  care  in  the  meantime  to  conceal  his  diamond  hair. 


THE   CLEOMADES   AND   RELATED   FOLK-TALES.         565 

The  omniscient  horse  contrives  to  inform  his  master 
that  many  suitors  are  coming  to  urge  their  claims  for  the 
king's  three  daughters.  The  awards  are  to  be  made  as 
f ollows :  each  princess  will  set  rolling  a  diamond  apple  and 
he  at  whose  feet  it  stops  will  be  her  chosen  one.  The 
apple  of  the  youngest  and  most  beautiful  daughter,  says 
the  prophetic  horse,  will  come  to  the  gardener  of  the 
diamond  locks.  And  so  it  all  came  to  pass.  But  the  king, 
ashamed  of  his  son-in-law,  compels  the  garden-boy  and  his 
beautiful  wife  to  live  apart  from  the  court. 

The  hero,  however,  soon  comes  into  his  own.  When  a 
war  breaks  out  between  the  king  and  his  enemies,  the 
king's  disgraced  son-in-law  is  vouchsafed  only  a  sorry  steed 
for  the  combat.  At  this  juncture,  the  wonderful  horse 
appears,  permits  the  hero  to  mount  him,  and  furnishes 
the  most  resplendent  armor  and  the  most  powerful  sword. 
Thus  accoutered,  the  garden-boy  goes  forth  to  conquer 
miraculously  the  enemies  of  the  king.  At  the  close  of  the 
battle  he  modestly  withdraws  before  he  is  recognized.  All 
this  happens  a  second  time;  but  in  the  third  battle  the 
hero  is  wounded  and  the  king  binds  the  wound  with  his 
own  handkerchief.  While  the  wounded  man  is  lying  ill 
in  bed,  his  diamond  hair  and  the  king's  handkerchief  are 
noticed  by  his  wife.  The  identity  of  the  valorous  knight 
is  then  discovered,  and  upon  this  discovery  the  horse,  who 
is  king  of  the  underground  palace,  becomes  a  man. 

A  familiar  story  in  Hahn's  Griechische  und  Albane- 
sische  Mdrchen  has  much  in  common  with  the  tale  just 
summarized.  A  variation  in  the  introduction  and  the 
employment  of  the  Forbidden  Chamber  motive  make  it 
of  special  interest.  A  disguised  demon  promises  children 
to  a  childless  king  on  condition  of  being  repaid  with  the 
eldest.  The  demon  gives  the  king  an  apple,  which  he 


566  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

shares  with  his  wife.  Not  long  after  this  three  sons  are 
born.  His  progeny  once  assured,  the  king  tries  to  foil 
the  demon  by  guarding  his  children  in  a  tower  of  glass. 
One  day,  when  the  children  have  escaped  from  confine- 
ment, the  eldest  is  seized  by  the  demon  and  taken  to  his 
underground  palace.  Here  are  forty  rooms,  of  which  the 
hero  is  allowed  to  enter  thirty-nine.  He  is  also  given  a 
book  to  learn.  But  this  does  not  satisfy  his  curiosity. 
He  contrives  to  get  the  key  to  the  forbidden  chamber, 
opens  that  mysterious  apartment,  and  there  finds  a  maiden 
suspended  by  the  hair.  When  he  has  taken  her  down, 
she  tells  him  to  feign  inability  to  learn  his  lessons  and 
then  requests  that  -she  may  be  suspended  once  more. 
With  the  help  of  his  book  the  hero  secures  magic  articles, 
changes  the  girl  into  a  mare,  and  then  rides  away  on  her 
back.  He  is  pursued,  but  by  throwing  his  magic  articles 
behind  him  he  creates  obstacles  between  his  pursuer  and 
himself.  By  means,  too,  of  changing  his  form  he  gets 
away  from  his  master  in  safety  and  is  in  good  time  united 
to  the  heroine.1 

1  Johann  G.  von  Hahn,  Griechische  und  Albanesische  Mdrchen, 
Leipzig,  1864,  No.  68.  On  p.  286  Hahn  quotes  an  interesting  vari- 
ant from  Epirus,  which  has  much  in  common  with  the  Bluebeard 
type.  The  motive  of  the  pursuit  and  wonderful  objects  obstructing 
the  pursuer  is  wide-spread.  See  Radloff,  Proben  der  Volkslittera- 
tur  der  Twrkischen  Stamme  Sud-Sibiriens,  m,  383;  Frere,  Old  Dec- 
can  Days,  pp.  62  and  63;  Captain  T.  H.  Lewin,  Progressive  Collo- 
quial Exercises  in  the  Lushai  Dialect  of  the  Dzo  or  Kuki  Language, 
with  vocabularies  and  popular  tales,  Calcutta,  1874,  p.  85;  G. 
McCall  Theal,  Kaffir  Folklore,  1882,  p.  82;  Folk-Lore  Journal,  1883, 
I,  234;  Jones  and  Kropf,  Folk-Tales  of  the  Magyars,  p.  157;  Folk- 
Lore  Journal,  1883,  p.  286.  For  other  parallels  see  the  voluminous 
note  in  Jones-Kropf,  The  Folk-Tales  of  the  Magyars,  London,  1889, 
393  ff. — A  story  very  similar  to  the  one  summarized  from  Hahn 
appears  in  Guillaume  Spitta-Bey,  Contes  Arabes  Modernes,  Paris, 
1883,  1  ff.  The  story  of  Hasan  of  Bassorah  in  the  Thousand  and 
One  Nights  is  very  similar  to  the  Slavic  tale  but  it  lacks  the 
magic  horse. 


THE   CLEOMADES   AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.         567 

For  tales  of  the  kind  now  being  considered  Cosquin 
distinguishes  four  main  types  of  Introduction: — (1)  the 
simple  Teacher-Scholar  type;  (2)  the  hero  before  birth  is 
promised  by  his  father  to  the  magician,  the  father  either 
failing  to  understand  the  import  of  the  contract  or  mak- 
ing the  contract  with  open  eyes;  (3)  the  hero,  having  re- 
leased a  wild  man  held  captive  by  his  father,  is  exposed, 
taken  to  the  wild  man's  castle,  and  in  various  ways  assisted 
by  him;  (4)  a  queen  who  has  been  childless,  eats  of  an 
apple  given  her  by  a  Jew  while  a  mare  eats  the  peelings ; — 
the  woman  and  the  mare  are  delivered  at  the  same  time, 
the  colt  later  saving  the  young  prince  from  the  machina- 
tions of  the  queen  and  her  lover  the  Jew.1 

A  group  of  stories  which  have  much  in  common  with 
the  type  under  discussion  is  represented  by  Grimm's  Ferdi- 
nand True  and  Ferdinand  Untrue.2  This  tale  contains 
the  kindly  magician,  the  helpful  horse  and  other  helpful 
animals,  and  the  hero  as  a  servant  to  the  king.  The  hero, 
however,  marries  the  queen,  who  has  previously  put  her 
husband  to  death.  Another  familiar  story  belonging  in 
the  same  general  class  is  Robert  the  Devil.3  Here  again 
appear  the  helpful  horses  that  assist  the  hero  in  over- 
coming the  enemies  of  his  master  the  king.  Besides, 
Robert  marries  the  princess. 

The   Forbidden    Chamber   appears   in   many   mdrchen 


1  Cosquin,  Contes  Populaires  de  Lorraine,  I,  139  ff. 

3  See  Panzer,  Hilde-Gudrun,  259  ff.  Cosquin,  Contes,  I,  44  ff.;  n, 
294  ff.  The  story  of  Ferdinand  has  been  hospitable  to  magic  articles 
of  all  kinds.  See  Cosquin,  I,  32  ff. 

1  A  convenient  summary  is  in  Ashton,  Romances  of  Chivalry,  305  ff. 
See  Histoire  litteraire  de  la  France,  xxn,  879.  Cf.  Emil  Benze", 
Orendel,  Wilhelm  von  Orenze  und  Robert  der  Teufel,  eine  Studie  zur 
Dcutschen  und  Franzosischen  Sagengeschichte,  Halle,  1897.  Lie- 
brecht,  Zur  Volkskunde,  p.  107. 

0 


568  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

of  the  kinds  so  far  considered.  As  in  the  story  from 
Hahn,  the  room  sometimes  contains  a  girl,  who  gives  the 
hero  advice,  is  magically  transformed  into  a  mule,  and 
carries  the  hero  away  upon  her  back.  In  Leskien-Brug- 
mann,  No.  9,  the  horse  is  an  enchanted  human  being  at  the 
beginning  of  the  story  and  is  disenchanted  at  the  end. 
In  Hahn  45,  the  horse  is  not  the  result  of  enchantment 
at  all  and  the  Forbidden  Chamber  contains  no  other 
evidence  of  the  cruelty  of  the  draJcos  except  the  perversity 
of  placing  bones  before  a  horse  and  hay  before  a  dog. 

The  association  of  animals  with  the  Forbidden  Chamber 
is,  of  course,  not  limited  to  the  group  of  stories  now  being 
considered.  It  appears,  for  instance,  in  the  more  familiar 
Bluebeard  type.  The  animal  is  sometimes  on  the  side  of 
the  malignant  monster,  sometimes  with  the  heroine.  In 
Imbriani,  La  Novellaja  Fiorentina,  ~No.  23,  the  monster 
threatens  that  his  bitch  will  reveal  his  wife's  guilt.  In 
two  Celtic  stories  a  cat  helps  the  heroine.  In  one  of  these 
the  animal  takes  the  form  of  a  woman  on  drinking  milk; 
in  another  it  offers  to  remove  the  tell-tale  blood  on  the 
heroine's  foot  in  return  for  a  drop  of  milk,  and,  having 
received  this,  it  gives  instructions  for  restoring  the  sisters 
by  means  of  a  magic  club.  In  certain  tales  of  the  The 
Third  Royal  Mendicant  type  an  animal  of  some  kind, 
found  behind  the  forbidden  door,  either  takes  the  hero 
to  his  happiness  or  causes  him  to  lose  it.  Many  of  these 
stories  involve  not  merely  the  motive  of  the  grateful  or 
helpful  beasts  but  the  widespread  and  significant  super- 
stition that  animals  can  help  or  hinder  mortals  who  are 
under  the  influence  of  otherworld  creatures  and  that  they 
can  transport  mortals  to  the  otherworld.1 

1  For    further   information   upon   the    Goldenermarchen   cycle,    see 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  BELATED  FOLK-TALES.       569 

In  many  stories  the  hero's  wonderful  horse  is  employed 
in  some  kind  of  competitive  contest.  The  magic  steed  or 
steeds  in  these  tales  is  sometimes  obtained  as  a  reward  for 
a  faithful  grave-watch.  Both  of  these  features  appear  in 
~No.  4  in  Leskien-Brugmann,  ISTo.  4  in  Schiefner,  and  No. 
13  in  Kreutzwald-Lowe.  The  competition  in  such  stories 
often  consists  in  high- jumping,  sometimes  in  scaling  on 
horseback  a  glass  mountain.  A  tale  in  Zingerle's  collec- 
tion tells  of  a  young  shepherd  who  carelessly  lets  his  sheep 
go  into  a  forbidden  meadow.  There  he  overcomes  three 
dragons.  The  first  has  one  head,  the  second  two,  the  third 
three.  From  these  he  secures  keys  of  iron,  silver,  and 
gold  respectively,  by  which  he  is  admitted  into  the  subter- 
ranean halls.  In  the  first  of  these  he  finds  a  black  horse 
and  a  suit  of  iron  armor,  in  the  second  a  red  horse  and  a 
suit  of  silver  armor,  in  the  third  a  white  horse  and  a  suit 
of  gold  armor.  Mounted  on  these  horses  he  takes  three 


Grimm,  Kinder-  und  Hausmarchen,  in,  218  ff.;  Kb'hler,  Jahrbuch  f. 
rom.  u.  engl.  Lit.,  vin,  256  ff.  (Kleinere  Schriften,  I,  330  ff.)  ;  Leskien 
und  Brugmann,  Litauische  Volkslieder  und  Marchen,  537  ff. — A  note 
of  Grimm's  about  the  service  of  the  hero  and  his  golden  hair  is 
interesting :  "  Das  marchen  mag  eine  alte  Grundlage  haben  und  von 
einem  hoheren  halbgottlichen  Wesen  erzahlen,  das  in  die  Gewalt  eines 
Unterirdischen  gerieth  und  niedrige  Arbeiten  verrichten  musste  bis 
es  wieder  zu  seiner  hoheren  Stellung  gelangte;  die  goldenen  leuch- 
tenden  Haare  weisen  darauf  hin."  KHM.,  in,  p.  219.  Compare 
with  the  tales  summarized  in  the  text: — Miillenhoff,  Sagen,  Marchen, 
u.  s.  w.,  No.  12;  Wolf,  Hausmarchen,  p.  269;  Sommer,  Sagen,  Mar- 
chen, und  Gebrauche  aus  Sachsen  und  Thuringen,  pp.  88,  133,  135; 
Zingerle,  Tiroler  Kinder-  und  Hausmarchen,  No.  28;  Vernaleken, 
Osterreichische  Kinder-  und  Hausmarchen,  No.  8.  The  references 
might  easily  be  multiplied.  Liebrecht  has  shown  that  the  type  is 
widespread: — VolksJcunde,  pp.  106  and  107;  Gottingische  Gelehrte 
Anzeigen,  1868,  p.  1656,  and  1870,  p.  1417;  Heidelb.  Jahrl.,  1869, 
p.  115. 


570  H.   S.    V.    JONES. 

times  a  flower  from  the  hand  of  a  princess  seated  on  a 
column.1 

It  is  clear  that  the  stories  which  have  been  so  far 
summarized  cannot  be  brought  into  any  close  relation 
with  the  Cleomades.  They  remind  us,  however,  that  there 
are  many  otherworld  creatures  who  are  in  a  class  with 
Crompart  and  who  possess  wonderful  horses ;  furthermore, 
that  there  are  many  tales  in  which  these  horses  come  into 
the  possession  of  mortals  who  employ  them  in  affairs 
of  love.  So  much  of  the  Cleomades,  then, — the  winning 
of  a  woman  by  the  aid  of  a  wonderful  horse  obtained  from 
an  otherworld  creature — is  widespread  in  folk-tales.  The 
other  main  portion  of  the  French  romance — the  rescue  of 
a  woman  by  the  aid  of  a  wonderful  horse — is  also  of  wide 
currency. 

A  story  similar  in  many  respects  to  those  already  sum- 
marized and  of  special  interest  on  account  of  the  abduc- 
tion and  rescue  of  the  heroine  is  found  in  Wenzig's 
Westslavische  Mdrchen : — 

A  widow's  son  takes  service  with  a  monster  magician 
of  kindly  nature  who  dwells  in  a  forest.  As  a  reward 
for  fidelity  the  magician  gives  his  servant  gold  and  a  dove. 
The  dove  is  an  enchanted  maiden  who  will  be  restored 
to  human  form  as  soon  as  three  golden  feathers  are 
plucked  from  her  plumage.  The  widow's  son  takes  the 
dove-maiden  home,  weds  her,  and  builds  a  palace.  In  the 
walls  of  this  palace  he  conceals  the  precious  feathers, 
letting  only  his  mother  into  the  secret.  The  mother  proves 

1  For  stories  of  this  kind  see,  further,  Cosquin,  Contes  populaires 
de  Lorraine,  II,  89  ff.;  Kohler,  Kl.  Schr.,  I,  432  ff.;  Wollner,  in 
Leskien-Brugmann,  524  ff.;  Panzer,  Hilde-Gudrun,  254-5  (Panzer 
furnishes  a  valuable  list  of  tales)  ;  Garrett,  Harvard  Studies  and 
Notes  in  Philology,  v,  162,  No.  3. 


THE   CLEOMADES    AND    RELATED    FOLK-TALES.          571 

to  be  unreliable,  the  enchantment  is  renewed,  and  the 
heroine  flies  away.  The  hero  now  has  recourse  to  his 
friendly  magician,  who  transports  him  to  the  bird-girl's 
palace,  warning  him  at  the  same  time  not  to  set  free  her 
enemy.  This  reunion  is  imperfect  because  the  heroine 
has  to  pass  several  hours  of  every  day  as  a  dove.  There 
is,  too,  a  forbidden  chamber.  One  day  the  unfortunate 
widow's  son  enters  this  room  and  gives  water-of-life  to 
a  dragon.  The  dragon  thus  strengthened  breaks  forth 
and  carries  off  the  heroine.  The  hero  twice  recovers  her 
from  the  dragon  but  loses  her  again  each  time.  Finally 
with  the  aid  01  his  wife's  brother  enchanted  in  the  form 
of  a  horse  he  recovers  his  beloved  for  good.1 

This,  in  part,  is  clearly  a  swan-maiden  story.  It  will 
be  observed  that  the  hero  loses  the  heroine  twice.  In  the 
first  case  their  separation  is  due  to  the  heroine's  recovery 
of  her  plumage;  in  the  second,  to  her  abduction  by  an 
evil  spirit  or  monster.  We  can  see  how  the  tale  has 
grown.  In  some  swan-maiden  stories,  the  narrative  con- 
cludes with  the  departure  of  the  fairy- woman;  in  others, 
it  includes  a  search  and  a  recovery.  But  in  Wenzig's  tale 
and  in  many  others  we  have  in  addition  to  both  of  these 
elements  the  abduction  of  the  fairy-mistress  and  her  rescue. 
Such  mdrchen  seem  to  show  a  contamination  between  the 
swan-maiden  type  and  stories  of  the  rescue  of  mortal 
women  from  supernatural  abductors. 

Contamination  between  swan-maiden  or  fairy-mistress 
and  these  demon-abductor  stories  is  not  hard  to  under- 
stand. The  separation  and  reunion  motives  are  behind 
both  groups.  The  cumulative  tendency,  which  is  one  of 

1Wenzig,  Westslavische  Mdrchen,  p.  69.  For  some  interesting 
observations  upon  this  tale,  see  E.  Sidney  Hartland,  The  Folk- 
Lore  Journal,  HI,  193  ff. 


572  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

the  most  obvious  characteristics  of  folk-tales,  goes  far  to 
explain  such  a  product  as  we  find  in  Wenzig's  mdrchen. 
When  the  resources  of  one  cycle  of  tales  had  been  ex- 
hausted, the  popular  imagination  turned  to  a  similar  cycle 
in  order  to  spin  out  the  story.  At  times  there  must  have 
been  a  desire  in  some  story-teller's  too  sophisticated  mind 
to  explain  the  strange  commands  and  strange  behaviour 
of  the  fairy-mistress.  Why  should  her  name  remain  un- 
known? Why  should  her  lover  not  see  her  at  certain 
times  of  day?  Why  should  not  Psyche  reveal  everything 
to  her  Cupid?  The  Forbidden  Chamber  with  its  dragon 
occupant  gives  reason  enough  for  the  heroine's  command. 
Compared  with  the  usual  prohibitions  of  the  fairy-mistress, 
this  is  rational.1 

If  there  is  a  natural  attraction  of  fairy-mistress  for 
demon-abductor  stories,  we  should  not  be  surprised  to  find 
in  tales  of  abduction  by  creatures  more  or  less  demonic, 
stock  characteristics  of  the  fairy-mistress  cycle.  I  shall 
need,  however,  to  look  at  this  cycle  more  closely  before 
noting  possible  traces  of  it  in  the  Cleomades. 


III. 

The  most  distinctive  feature  of  the  Cleomades  and 
many  related  stories  is  the  aerial  journey.  This  motive 
abounds  in  Oriental  tales.  The  Katlia-sarit-sagara,  the  cele- 
brated Sanskrit  collection,  contains  innumerable  examples. 

Compare  "The  Golden  Apple  Tree  and  the  Nine  Peahens," 
Mijatovichs-Denton,  Serbian  F  oik-Lore,  43  ff .  See,  too,  "  Mary  a  Mo- 
revna,"  Ralston,  Russian  Folk-Tales,  85  ff. ;  Hartland,  Folk-Lore 
Journal,  ill,  200,  cites  a  story  from  Arnason's  Icelandic  Legends, 
in  which  the  heroine  escapes  from  her  giant-captor  "  disguised  with 
soot  and  ashes  and  riding  on  a  poker  witch-fashion." 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  RELATED  FOLK-TALES.      573 

Sometimes  it  is  of  the  nature  of  the  man  or  woman — 
^7'idyadhara  or  Vetala — to  move  through  the  air;  some- 
times the  power  is  acquired  by  performing  austerities. 
The  trip  is  made  now  on  the  back  of  a  man,  now  in  a 
vehicle  or  on  the  back  of  an  animal,  horse  or  other.  The 
occasions  for  such  journeys  are  many:  to  satisfy  a  mere 
whim  or,  as  very  often,  to  further  an  affair  of  love.  For 
instance,  we  learn  of  Vasavadatta  that  she  "  felt  a  longing 
for  stories  of  great  magicians,  provided  with  incantations 
by  means  of  spells,  introduced  appropriately  into  conver- 
sations. Vidyadhara  ladies,  beginning  melodious  songs, 
waited  upon  her  when  in  her  dream  she  rose  high  up  in 
the  sky,  and  when  she  woke  up  she  desired  to  enjoy  in 
reality  the  amusement  of  sporting  in  the  air,  which  would 
give  the  pleasure  of  looking  down  upon  the  earth.  And 
Yangandharayana  gratified  that  longing  of  the  queen's  by 
employing  spells,  machines,  juggling  and  such  like  con- 
trivances. So  she  roamed  through  the  air  by  means  of 
these  various  contrivances,  which  furnished  a  wonderful 
spectacle  to  the  up-turned  eyes  of  the  citizens'  wives."  1 

From  the  Katha-sarit-sagara  we  learn  that  the  power 
of  making  aerial  excursions  was  acquired  in  various  ways. 
It  was  obtained  by  the  sacrifice  of  a  rascally  mendicant 
("i,  350)  ;  again  by  eating  human  flesh  (i,  157)  ;  sometimes 
by  the  recitation  of  spells  (i,  159).  In  several  cases  the 
magic  power  of  a  sword  makes  an  aerial  journey  possi- 
ble : — "  And  once  on  a  time  he  made  a  chariot  that  would 
fly  through  the  air,  produced  by  thought  through  the 
virtue  of  his  sword"  (i,  386);  and  "You  must  come 
there  quickly  by  virtue  of  the  magic  power  of  your  sword  " 
(i,  558).  Sometimes  a  person  becomes  a  vehicle  as  the 

1  Tawney,  Katha-sarit-sagara,  I,  173. 
2 


574  ii.  s.  v.  JONES. 

result  of  a  curse :  "  Since  you  cursed  in  your  folly  my 
destined  husband,  you  shall  be  a  vehicle  for  him  to  ride 
on  in  his  human  condition,  possessing  the  property  of 
going  with  a  wish  and  changing  your  shape  at  will " 
(n,  537;  see  n,  540). 

The  vehicles  of  transportation  are  various.1  The  trans- 
portation sometimes  made  with  the  aid  of  a  person  en- 
chanted or  accursed,  sometimes  through  the  agency  of  a 
creature  whose  nature  it  is  to  fly  through  the  air.  For 
instance,  in  K.  S.  S.f  n,  361,  an  aerial  excursion  is  made 
on  the  back  of  a  Yetala :  "  Then  at  the  request  of  the 
Yakshini  he  mounted  on  her  back  and  being  carried  by  her 
through  the  air,  he  went  to  find  his  beloved"  (i,  338). 
In  i,  343,  there  is  a  similar  situation.  Among  the  means 
of  aerial  locomotion  mentioned  by  Chauvin  are :  ring,  cap, 
boots,  branch,  chair,  chariot,  hair,  chest,  pitcher,  ele- 
phant, platform,  arrow,  garter,  mantel,  cloud,  bird,  skin 
of  fish,  sofa,  carpet.  Obviously,  any  object  could  be 
charged  with  this  power.  One  can  easily  understand, 
however,  the  selection  for  such  a  purpose  of  the  swiftly 
flying  arrow  or  the  light  cloud,  and  one  remembers  how 
varied  is  the  magic  virtue  of  ring,  cap,  hair,  and  mantel. 
In  the  use  of  the  sofa  is  seemingly  consulted  only  the 
comfort  of  the  traveller.  The  flight  of  a  cow-house  in 
K.  S.  S.,  i,  159,  gives  us  burlesque:  "  Then  Kalaratri  with 
her  friends  recited  the  spells  that  enable  witches  to  fly  and 
they  flew  up  into  the  air,  cow-house  and  all."  Comical, 
too,  is  the  story  of  a  man  who  is  carried  through  the  air 

1For  a  careful  investigation  of  this  aspect  of  our  subject,  see 
Cosquin,  Contes  popul.  de  Lorraine,  I,  123  ff.,  and  especially,  Chauvin, 
Bibliographic  des  Outrages  Arabes  ou  relatifs  aux  AraJbes  publiees 
dans  I'Europe  Chre'tienne  de  1810  a  1885,  Liege  and  Leipzig,  v, 
229-230. 


THE    CLEOMADES    AND    RELATED    FOLK-TALES.         575 

clinging  to  the  tail  of  a  bull  (K.  8.  8.f  n,  111).  Magic 
shoes1  and  mantels  2  are,  of  course,  very  familiar.  The 
flying  chariot,  also,  is  not  uncommon.  For  example, 
"  Then  Kalingasena  went  on  enjoying  herself  in  the  city 
of  Takshesila  in  the  society  of  Somaprabha,  who  went 
every  night  to  her  own  house  and  came  back  every  morn- 
ing to  her  friend,  in  her  chariot  that  travelled  through  the 
air  (K.  S.  S.f  i,  268).3 

The  aerial  journey,  as  has  been  said,  was  often  a  part 
of  Oriental  love-stories : — "  And  flying  with  him  through 
the  air,  she  introduced  that  lover  secretly  into  the  private 
apartments  of  Usha,  who  was  awaiting  him  "  (K.  S.  S.t 
i,  277).  "  Then  at  the  request  of  the  Yakshimi  he 
mounted  on  her  back,  and  being  carried  by  her  through 
the  air,  he  went  to  find  his  beloved'7  (K.  8.  8.,  i,  338). 
"  !N~aravahanatta,  trying  to  reach  the  city  of  his  beloved, 
is  helped  by  a  flying  chariot  made  by  Rajyadhara  "  (K. 
8.  S.f  i,  396).  Very  often  we  have  the  familiar  story  of 
love  between  mortal  and  immortal.  Indra,  for  instance, 
is  said  to  have  been  enamoured  of  Malna,  Parmal's  wife, 


1  See   the   important   article    on    "  Seven-League    Boots "   by   Paul 
Sartori,  Zeitschrift  des  Vereins  fur  Volkskunde,  iv,  284  ff. 

2  Dunlop-Liebrecht,  491;  Jahrbuch  fur  rom.  u.  engl.  Lit.,  in,  147- 
148. 

3  For  other  examples  of  the  flying  chariot  see  K.  S.  8.,  I,  pp.  276, 
278,  386,  396,  401,  440,  476,  494;  n,  pp.  82,  146;   Oesterley,  Baital 
Pachisi,   69;    Rev.   d.    Trad,   pop.,   iv,   438;    Chauvin,   Bibliographic, 
v,  229.     Macculloch  thinks  that  "  the  general  belief  in  swift,  bodily 
passage  through  the  air  was  strengthened  by  the  alleged  phenomena 
of  levitation,  of  which  the  Acta  Sanctorum  are  so  full."     "  Buddhist 
saints  and  neo-Platonist  ecstatics,  savage  medicine-men  and  Euro- 
pean witches,  join  hand  in  hand  with  mediaeval  saints,  Covenanters, 
and  Irvingites,   in   this   business   of   levitation."     The   Childhood  of 
Fiction,  222  ff. 


576  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

and  often  to  have  come  down  from  heaven  on  a  flying  horse 
to  visit  her.1 

Such  stories  as  that  of  Indra  easily  involve  an  aerial 
journey.  The  land  of  immortals,  whether  above  the  clouds 
or  beyond  the  sunset,  seems  to  require  extraordinary 
means  of  communication  with  the  land  of  men.  Biblical 
and  classical  illustrations  will  occur  to  all.  Such  stories 
as  that  'of  Indra  must  have  been  early  fixed  in  popular 
consciousness,  and  Indra's  means  of  reaching  his  loved 
one  must  have  formed  a  part  of  many  love  stories.  The 
merry  or  popular  versions  of  the  type  go  far  to  establish 
the  contention  that  it  was  early  current.  Of  these  ver- 
sions the  best  known  is  the  fifth  tale  in  the  first  book  of 
the  Pancatantra, — "  The  Weaver  as  Vishnu." 

One  day  at  a  festival  a  weaver  and  a  carpenter,  who 
have  been  friends  from  childhood,  notice  a  girl  of  wonder- 
ful beauty  riding  upon  an  elephant.  The  weaver  is  over- 
come by  love  and  in  an  unconscious  condition  is  carried 
to  the  carpenter's  house.  As  soon  as  his  consciousness 
returns  the  weaver  asks  that  his  funeral  pyre  may  be 
prepared.  His  friend  will  not  listen  to  such  a  proposal. 
Having  learned  the  cause  of  the  weaver's  suffering,  the 
carpenter  promises  relief.  He  constructs  a  Garuda  mov- 
ing on  a  pivot,  and  furnishes  two  pairs  of  arms,  and  the 
shell,  discus,  club,  lotus,  diadem,  and  breast-jewel  asso- 
ciated with  Vishnu.  He  then  teaches  his  friend  how  to 
govern  the  bird  and  directs  him  to  proceed  on  its  back  at 
midnight  to  the  princess'  palace. 

The  weaver  does  as  he  is  told  and  completely  deceives 
the  maiden.  His  adventure  is  often  repeated  until  one 


*G.  A.  Grierson,  Indian  Antiquary,  1885,  p.  256;  Clouston,  Magic 
Elements  in  the  Squire's  Tale,  p.  452. 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  RELATED  FOLK-TALES.      577 

day  the  servants  of  the  harem  think  the  princess  shows 
signs  of  being  loved  by  a  man.  The  king  and  queen  hear 
the  rumor  with  great  sorrow  and  the  girl's  mother  goes 
to  her  chamber  and  reviles  her  in  unmeasured  language. 
Wrath  is  turned  to  pleasure,  however,  when  the  girl  says 
that  she  is  loved  by  the  mighty  husband  of  Lakshmi. 
That  night  the  king  and  queen  witness  with  great  delight 
the  appearance  of  their  son-in-law. 

About  this  time  the  king's  country  is  overrun  by  his 
enemies.  Thinking  that  his  son-in-law  might  be  of  ser- 
vice to -him  he  appeals  to  his  daughter  for  aid,  and  she 
in  turn  to  the  spurious  Vishnu.  In  the  meantime  the  real 
Vishnu,  having  heard  of  the  weaver's  project  and  fearing 
lest  the  tradesman's  undoing  should  be  to  his  own  dis- 
advantage, sends  his  spirit  into  the  body  of  the  mortal 
and  the  spirit  of  his  Garuda  into  the  wooden  bird.  In 
this  way  the  enemies  of  the  king  are  slaughtered. 

When  this  feat  has  been  accomplished,  the  weaver  de- 
scends from  the  sky  and  tells  the  whole  story  to  the  king, 
who  graciously  receives  him  as  his  son-in-law.  And  thus 
the  tradesman  passes  his  life  in  enjoyment  of  the  five 
kinds  of  sensual  pleasures.1 

Mr.  Clouston  has  cited  an  interesting  Persian  variant 
of  the  "  Weaver  as  Vishnu."  It  is  worth  reproducing 
inasmuch  as  its  introduction  bears  an  obvious  likeness  to 
a  portion  of  the  Cleomades. — A  weaver  and  a  carpenter 
in  Nishapur  are  both  in  love  with  the  same  girl.  For 
her  sake  each  makes  a  masterpiece  of  his  craft :  the  weaver, 

1Benfey,  Pantsohatantra,  I,  No.  5.  See  Benfey's  important  dis- 
cussion of  the  story  in  his  Introduction,  §  56.  For  the  hero's  dis- 
guise, see  Chauvin,  Bibliographic,  v,  233.  Among  the  titles  there 
given  may  be  particularly  mentioned  Dunlop-Liebrecht,  231-232, 
489,  497. 


578  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

a  seamless  shirt;  the  carpenter,  a  magic  coffer.  Induced 
to  try  the  coffer,  the  weaver  enters  it  and  on  turning  a 
peg  finds  himself  flying  up  to  the  sky.  Having  bethought 
himself  to  turn  the  peg  the  other  way,  he  rapidly  descends 
and  alights  in  view  of  a  castle  in  which  the  daughter  of 
the  king  of  Oman  is  jealously  kept  under  seven  locks. 
Coming  down  upon  the  roof  at  night,  he  enters  the  chamber 
of  the  princess  and  declares  that  he  is  the  angel  Gabriel, 
to  whom  she  has  been  given  by  God.  She  accepts  him 
as  her  suitor  and  he  visits  her  in  the  same  way  every 
night.  The  king,  having  learned  of  these  wonderful  visits, 
believes  that  his  son-in-law  is  an  angel.  He  is  confirmed 
in  this  belief  by  further  evidence  of  the  lover's  divine 
power.  "  Gabriel "  crushes  the  head  of  an  incredulous 
courtier,  and  puts  to  flight  a  king  who  is  a  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  the  princess,  first  by  bombarding  his  army  with 
stones  and  then  by  throwing  fire  down  on  the  camp.  On 
the  latter  occasion  the  coffer  is  accidently  burnt  and 
"  Gabriel  "  is  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  earning  bread 
by  his  old  trade.  In  this  humble  situation  he  is  recog- 
nized by  the  princess.  He  says,  in  explanation,  that  he 
has  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  Almighty  and  that 
the  gates  of  heaven  are  for  a  time  closed  to  him.  At  this 
crisis  the  king  is  attacked  by  another  enemy.  The  un- 
willing Gabriel  is  clad  in  armor  and  set  upon  a  horse. 
The  steed  is  a  fiery  one.  It  rushes  into  the  enemy's  camp, 
knocks  down  a  tree,  which  crushes  the  hostile  king,  and 
finally  horse  and  rider  fall  into  a  pit.  There  "  Gabriel " 
is  later  discovered  half-dead.  In  the  end  the  pseudo- 
Gabriel  confesses  his  deceit  to  the  king,  who,  grateful  for 
past  services,  condones  the  offence  and  keeps  the  secret 
to  himself.1 

1 1  follow  Mr.  Clouston's  summary :  Magic  Elements,  426  ff.     Clous- 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  EELATED  FOLK-TALES.       579 

To  bring  the  "  Weaver  as  Vishnu  "  group  of  stories  into 
connection  with  a  group  already  described,  it  may  be  well 
to  call  attention  not  only  to  the  aerial  locomotion  by  means 
of  which  a  lover  reaches  his  mistress,  but  also  to  the  lover's 
disguise  and  the  assistance  which  in  some  of  our  stories 
he  renders  his  father-in-law.  One  should  compare,  too, 
the  Salvation  of  Rome  in  the  Seven  Wise  Masters.1  There 
it  will  be  remembered  the  enemy  is  put  to  flight  by  the 
sight  of  a  man  who  is  so  disguised  that  he  is  taken  for 
the  Christian's  god.  Particularly  interesting  for  our  pur- 
pose is  a  tale  cited  by  Benfey  which  tells,  "  comment  lem- 
pereris  devise  a  lempereour  de  jenus  que  il  fist  par  son 
enging  une  beste  si  merveilleuse  quil  en  chaca  les  saris 
qui  estoient  venus  assir  romme."  2 

The  "  Weaver  as  Vishnu  "  stories,3  founded  upon  the 

ton  says,  "  The  story  occurs  in  a  collection  of  an  author  of  whom 
nothing  seems  to  be  known,  except  that  he  was  70  years  of  age 
when  he  made  it,  and  that  his  name  was  Muhammed  Kazim  bin 
Mirak  Husain  Muzaffari  Sajavandi,  poetically  surnamed  Hubbi. 
This  collection  which  is  described  in  Dr.  Rien's  Catalogue  of  Persian 
Manuscripts  in  the  British  Museum,  vol.  n,  pp.  759-760,  237,  has 
no  specific  title,  but  is  merely  called  Hikayat-i-Ajib  u  Gharib,  Won- 
derful and  Strange  Tales,  and  it  may  have  served  as  a  model  of  the 
Turkish  story-book,  Al-Faraj  ba'd  al-Shiddab,  Joy  after  Distress, 
many  of  the  tales  in  both  being  identical,  and  the  story  in  question 
being  No.  13  of  the  Turkish  MS.  375,  in  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale, 
Paris."  Magic  Elements,  p.  426. — It  is  hardly  necessary  to  call 
attention  to  the  striking  similarity  between  the  first  part  of  this 
story  and  the  earlier  portions  of  the  Cleomades. 

1  Keller,  Li  Roumans  des  Sept  Sages,  ccxx  ff . 

2  Benfey,  Pantschatantra,  I,  163. 

3  For  further  illustrations  of  this  very  well-known  group  see,  Katha- 
Sarit-Sagara,  n,  117  ff.;  Histoire  de  Malik  et  de  la  Princesse  Schirine, 
Les  Mille  et  un  Jours:   Contes  Persans,  translated  by  Petis  de  la 
Croix,  Paris,  1710-12;   Clouston,  Magic  Elements,  p.  421;  Jonathan 
Scott,  Tales,  Anecdotes,  etc.,  1  ff . ;   Morlini,  69 ;   Decamerone,  rv,  2. 
For  similar  cases  of  disguise  see  Chauvin,  Bibliographic,  v,  232-233. 


580  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

widespread  idea  of  sexual  love  between  a  mortal  and  an 
immortal,  suggest,  in  general,  tales  of  the  otherworld. 
The  hero  of  these  tales  goes  to  the  otherworld,  sometimes 
to  visit  his  fairy-mistress,  sometimes  to  rescue  a  mortal 
woman  held  captive  by  a  malignant  spirit.  In  certain 
stories,  as  has  already  been  seen,  both  the  winning  and 
rescuing  motives  are  employed.  But  what  is  of  special 
interest  here  is  that  many  stories  make  something  of  the 
journey  between  this  and  the  other  world  and  at  least 
mention  the  means  of  conveyance.  One  should  not  be  sur- 
prised to  find  traces  of  otherworld  stories  in  a  tale  that 
comprehends  an  aerial  journey. 

The  familiar  story  of  the  "  Third  Koyal  Mendicant "  1 
furnishes  a  good  example  of  the  fairy-mistress  group  of 
stories: — A  king  and  the  son  of  a  king,  after  various  ad- 

Sometimes,  as  is  well  known,  the  lover  gains  access  to  his  mistress 
disguised  as  a  woman ;  see,  Oertel,  "  Contributions  from  the  Jaiminiya 
Brahmana  to  the  history  of  the  Brahmana  literature,"  Journal  of 
the  American  Oriental  Society,  xxvi,  First  Half,  176  ff. — The  lover 
disguised  as  a  god  appears  in  the  story  of  Alexander's  parents.  See 
E.  Talbot,  Legende  d'Alexandre  le  Grand,  Paris,  1850,  pp.  73-74; 
E.  A.  Wallis  Budge,  The  Life  and  Exploits  of  Alexander  the  Great, 
London,  1896,  10  ff.  Compare  Vincent  of  Beauvais,  Speculum  Histo- 
riale,  iv.  Stories  similar  to  this  tale  of  Alexander  are  cited  by 
Del  Rio,  Disquisitiones  Magicae,  u,  Q.  xxvn,  Sec.  1,  p.  249  ff. 
Wright,  No.  80,  of  "A  Selection  of  Latin  Stories,"  vol.  vm  of  the 
Percy  Society  Publications,  tells  of  a  lover  who  announces  that  the 
Messiah  will  be  born  of  the  young  Jewess  with  whom  he  has  been 
passing  his  nights.  The  child  is,  however,  a  daughter.  The  story 
comes  from  Caesarius  of  Heisterbach  and  Wright  cites  the  following 
parallels: — Masuceio,  Novellino,  I,  2;  Malespini,  Ducento  Novelle, 
nov.  80;  Gent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles,  nouv.  xiv;  Facetiae  Bebelianae, 
II;  Lafontaine,  II,  No.  15. 

xLane,  I,  160  ff.  Compare,  K.  S.  S.,  I,  194  ff.;  Scott,  Tales,  p.  117; 
Bytal  Pachisi,  p.  76;  von  Hammer,  Geschichte  der  Schdnen  Rede- 
kilnste  Persiens,  p.  115;  Wilkins,  Hitopadesa,  p.  129  (Clouston, 
Book  of  Sindibad,  p.  309 ) ;  Benfey,  Pantschatantra,  I,  §  52. 


THE   CLEOMADES   AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.         581 

ventures,  comes  to  a  palace  where  there  are  one-eyed  men 
lamenting  their  fate.  When  he  insists  upon  knowing 
the  cause  of  their  grief,  they  kill  a  ram  and  sew  him  up 
in  its  skin.  A  rukJi  then  comes  down  and  hears  him  off 
to  a  palace  where  he  finds  forty  young  damsels  beautiful 
as  so  many  moons.  From  time  to  time  they  absent  them- 
selves for  a  period  of  forty  days  and  on  their  return 
indulge  in  feasting  and  drinking.  During  their  absence 
the  prince  is  free  to  enter  ninety-nine  closets  but  he  must 
not  open  the  one-hundredth.  Disobeying  this  command 
he  goes  into  the  forbidden  chamber  and  there  finds  a  black 
horse.  He  mounts;  but,  at  first,  in  spite  of  all  his  urg- 
ing, his  steed  will  not  move.  When,  however,  the  prince 
has  struck  him  with  a  milcra'ah,  the  horse  makes  a  great 
noise,  becomes  possessed  of  wings  and  soars  away.  The 
prince  has  an  eye  struck  out  by  the  horse's  tail  and  is 
rudely  dumped  upon  the  roof  of  that  palace  in  which  the 
one-eyed  men  are  lamenting  their  fate.  He  descends  into 
the  interior  of  the  palace  and  joins  the  sad  company. 

As  in  the  story  just  summarized,  both  the  attainment 
and  the  loss  of  the  joys  of  the  otherworld  are  often  caused 
by  disobedience  of  an  arbitrary  command.  But  at  least 
as  often  a  separation  is  caused  by  a  longing  of  the  mortal 
for  his  earthly  home.  In  the  very  familiar  Tannhauser 
story  Christian  influence  has  given  homesickness  the  more 
sombre  coloring  of  remorse.  Originally  the  tale  was  only 
one  of  many  in  which  the  hero  in  weariness  of  the  other- 
world  yearns  for  mother  earth.  The  following  story  con- 
tains the  homesickness  motive  and  is  of  further  interest 
on  account  of  its  wooden  horse. 

An  Indian  king  had  a  son  named  Benazir.  One  night 
the  fairy  Mahrukh  carried  the  boy  away  on  a  flying  throne 
to  fairy-land.  Benazir,  however,  longs  so  much  for  his 


582  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

home  that  she  gives  him  a  flying  horse  of  wood  upon  which 
to  visit  the  earth.  This  privilege  is  granted  under  the 
condition  that  he  will  return  to  her  every  day.  On  one 
of  his  flying  visits  the  boy  falls  in  love  with  Badr-i-Manir 
and,  after  that,  he  visits  her  daily.  He  is  finally  freed 
from  the  spell  of  his  fairy-mistress  and  is  unconditionally 
restored  to  his  parents  and  his  mortal  love.1 

"  The  Story  of  Ciaban  "  is  an  interesting  Celtic  form 
of  the  otherworld  stories : — Ciaban  with  two  strangers 
put  to  sea  in  a  boat.  The  travellers  were  in  danger  of 
perishing  in  a  dreadful  storm  when  they  saw  riding  over 
the  waves  a  horseman  on  a  dark  green  steed  with  a  golden 
bridle.  This  person  took  the  three  companions  on  the 
back  of  his  horse,  while  the  boat  floated  along  beside, 
and  in  this  way  they  all  came  to  the  "  Land  of  Promise." 
There  they  dismounted  and  proceeded  to  Manannan's  cath- 
air  (stone-fort),  in  which  an  end  had  just  been  made  of 
ordering  a  banquet  hall  for  them.  All  four  were  served 
there;  their  horns  and  their  cups  were  raised;  comely 
dark-eyed  gillies  went  around  with  smooth  polished  horns ; 
sweet-stringed  timpans  were  played  by  them  and  most 
melodious  dulcet-chorded  harps,  until  the  whole  house  was 
flooded  with  music.  Now  in  the  "  Land  of  Promise  "  Ma- 
nannan  possessed  an  arch-ollave  who  had  three  daughters. 
With  these  the  three  travellers  eloped,  Ciaban  reaching 
Ireland  with  one  named  Clidna. 

Dr.  Brown's  comments  on  this  Celtic  tale  are  worth 
quoting.  "  The  incident,"  he  tells  us,  "  of  meeting  Ma- 
nannan  on  the  sea  is  found  in  the  oldest  tales.  In  the 
Serglige  and  the  Bran,  however,  Manannan  drives  a  char- 

1The  Bibliography  of  Folk-Lore,  Capt.  R.  C.  Temple,  Folk-Lore 
Journal,  1886,  iv,  p.  301;  see,  too,  p.  306.  Compare  Clouston,  Magic 
Elements,  p.  282. 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  RELATED  FOLK-TALES.      583 

lot.  Horseback  riding  is  probably  a  later  feature,  though 
not  necessarily  very  late.  Loegaire,  according  to  the  Book 
of  Leinster,  returned  from  the  otherworld  on  horseback. 
In  Celtic  story  the  otherworld  is  reached  either  in  a  mar- 
vellous ship,  which  is  presumably  the  earlier  motive,  or 
by  means  of  a  horse  that  travels  on  the  sea  as  well  as  on 
the  land.  The  tale  of  Ciaban  is  interesting  as  showing 
one  motive  as  it  were  in  process  of  transformation  into 
the  other.  The  travellers  start  in  a  boat  but  finish  their 
journey  on  the  back  of  a  horse."  1 

In  the  "  Weaver  as  Vishnu  "  cycle  the  lover,  it  should  be 
noted,  visits  his  mistress  in  disguise  and  by  means  of 
aerial  locomotion.  In  the  fairy-mistress  group,  which 
offers  the  converse  of  this  situation,  we  find  also  the  pas- 
sage through  the  air,  sometimes  by  means  of  a  wonderful 
horse.  In  certain  stories  this  horse  is  a  horse  of  wood. 
One  should  note,  too,  the  homesickness  of  the  lover  and 
the  feast  all  ready  for  his  coming.  Of  these  various 
characteristics  there  seem  to  be  more  or  less  certain  traces 
in  one  version  or  another  of  the  Cleomades  group  of 
stories. 

When  Cleomades  enters  Clarmondine's  chamber  he  is 
taken  for  Bleopatris,  the  man  to  whom  Clarmondine  had 
been  plighted.  Seeing  his  advantage  in  deceit,  the  hero 
confirms  the  girl's  opinion,  and  it  is  not  until  her  father 
appears  that  the  fraud  is  discovered.  The  suggestion 
of  the  "  Weaver  as  Vishnu  "  is  stronger  when  we  turn  to 
the  Arabian  story  of  the  "  Enchanted  Horse."  Here  the 
eunuch  and  the  courtiers  in  general  believe  that  the  hero 
is  some  otherworld  being.  One  might  note,  too,  Cleo- 
mades' "  yarn  "  that  the  fairies  compel  him  every  three 

*A.  C.  L.  Brown,  Harvard  Studies  and  Notes  in  Philology,  vm, 
96  ff. 


584  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

years  to  wander  over  the  world  on  a  niagic  horse.  It 
would  not  do  to  be  very  positive  about  the  meaning  of 
such  passages,  but  they  apparently  show  an  association  in 
the  Oriental  mind  between  the  magic  horse  and  other- 
world  stories. 

The  Cleomades  group  of  stories  shows  signs  of  the 
fairy-mistress  as  well  as  of  the  fairy-lover  group.  In  the 
Galland  version  of  the  Arabian  story,  for  instance,  the 
hero  is  described  as  being  impatient  to  get  home  and  the 
heroine  as  desirous  of  retaining  him.  At  first  the  hero, 
to  all  appearances,  simply  thinks  of  leaving  his  mistress 
for  a  time;  then  he  persuades  her  to  accompany  him. 
Add  to  this  the  lavish  entertainment  of  the  hero  and  one 
easily  thinks  of  the  typical  home  and  behavior  of  the 
fairy-mistress.  In  the  Cleomades  and  in  the  other  Ara- 
bian versions  the  hero's  sojourn  is  not  long.  Speedily 
captured  by  the  irate  father,  he  escapes  only  through  strat- 
agem. It  is  not  improbable  that  we  have  here  a  later 
form  of  the  story.  The  change  provides  for  another  trip 
of  the  magic  horse,  who  doubtless  became  a  more  and 
more  important  figure  as  the  story  grew. 

It  should  further  be  noted  that  Cleomades  upon  his 
arrival  at  Clarmondine's  castle  finds  a  feast  all  prepared 
for  him: — 

"  Une  table  y   avoit  drecie" 
D'yvoire  a  pierres  de  cristal. 
Tout  si  fait  furent  li  liestal. 
Trfes  blanche  nape  ot  desus  mise 
Ouvre"e  de  diverse  guise. 
Sor  1'un  cor  de  la  table  avoit 
A    mengier    kan    k'il    convenoit, 
Et  sor  1'autre  coron  a  destre 
Ot  vin  si  bon  que  vins  pot  estre, 
En  pos  d'or  et  hanas  aute"s. 
Viande  et  vin  i  ot  asse"s." 


THE   CL^OMADES   AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.         585 

We  may  probably  go  behind  Adenet's  explanation  of  this 
feast.  The  poet  tells  us  only  that  it  was  the  custom  in 
this  castle  to  spread  a  feast  for  two  months  in  every  year.1 


IV. 

The  set  of  otherworld  stories  most  interesting  for  my 
purpose,  is  the  Skilful  Companion  cycle.  Here  the  rescue 
motive  is  often  combined  with  aerial  locomotion.  The  tale 
is  found  in  a  simple  form  in  the  Tuti-Nameh.  Benfey 
supposes  that  it  goes  back  at  least  to  the  eleventh  century 
in  the  oldest  Tuti-Nameh,,  that  it  reached  the  redaction 
of  ISTachshebi  —  the  extant  Persian  Tuti-Nameh  —  in  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century  and  from  that  passed 
into  the  Turkish  Parrot-Book.2 

The  Skilful  Companion  stories  are  of  value  in  this  in- 
vestigation on  account  of  the  rescue  of  the  heroine  from 
an  otherworld  abductor  by  means  of  aerial  locomotion 
and  on  account  of  the  skilful  companions  themselves  and 
their  gifts.  It  will  appear  that  in  these  matters  there  are 
significant  points  of  contact  between  the  mdrchen  cycle  and 
the  French  romance. 

The  version  of  the  Skilful  Companion  story  in  the 
extant  Persian  Tuti-Nameh  is  as  follows:  —  There  once 
lived  a  merchant  who  had  a  beautiful  daughter  named 
Zohra.  Many  came  to  ask  her  in  marriage  but  Zohra  told 
her  father  that  she  would  marry  no  one  who  was  not  either 
very  wise  or  very  skilful.  One  day  three  merchants  ap- 
peared as  suitors,  affirming  that  they  were  men  of  great 


2821  ff. 

2  For  Benf  ey's  celebrated  article,  see  Kleinere  Schriften,  94  ff.     Con- 
venient records  of  the  following  versions  will  be  found  there. 


586  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

skill.  One  said  that  he  could  discover  whatever  was  lost ; 
another,  that  he  could  make  a  horse  that  would  ascend 
in  the  air  like  Solomon's  throne;  a  third,  that  he  could 
pierce  with  an  arrow  whatever  he  shot  at.  When  the 
merchant  told  his  daughter  of  the  three  gifted  suitors, 
she  asked  that  she  might  be  given  until  the  next  morn- 
ing for  her  decision.  During  the  night  she  disappeared 
and  in  the  morning  all  search  for  her  was  fruitless.  But 
the  suitors  were  equal  to  the  occasion.  The  first  one  said : 
"  A  fairy  has  carried  your  daughter  to  the  top  of  a  moun- 
tain which  is  inaccessible  to  men  "  ;  the  second  suitor  made 
a  magic  horse  of  wood ;  the  third  mounted  it,  ascended  the 
mountain,  killed  the  fairy,  and  restored  the  girl.  There 
was  now  a  dispute  as  to  who  should  be  considered  the 
successful  suitor.  She  was  awarded  to  the  crack  shot, 
because  he  was  not  only  skilful  but  willing  to  risk  danger 
for  his  beloved. 

The  earliest  version  of  this  story  according  to  Benfey 
is  that  which  we  find  in  the  Vetalapancavimgati.  It  is 
as  follows: — Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king  named 
Mahabala.  His  minister  Haridasa  had  a  beautiful  daugh- 
ter named  Mahadevi.  To  her  father,  who  wished  to  see 
her  married,  she  said :  "  Father !  you  shall  give  me  only 
to  a  man  who  has  extraordinary  gifts."  About  this  time 
Haridasa  was  sent  to  the  Dekhan.  While  he  was  there 
someone  asked  him  for  his  daughter  in  marriage.  He  re- 
plied that  he  should  give  her  to  no  man  who  did  not  have 
extraordinary  accomplishments.  The  suitor  then  exhibited 
a  chariot  which  could  take  one  through  the  air  wherever 
one  wished  to  go.  Haridasa  bade  him  appear  the  next 
morning  with  his  chariot.  He  did  so  and  took  the  king's 
minister  home  in  the  wonderful  vehicle.  Here  they  found 
another  suitor,  who  had  made  his  request  to  Mahadevi's 


THE   CLEOMADES   AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.         587 

eldest  brother,  and  who  had  obtained  his  suit  on  the  score 
of  marvellous  knowledge.  In  the  meantime  the  mother 
had  promised  her  daughter  to  a  third  suitor,  who  was  an 
unfailing  shot.  During  the  night  the  maiden  was  carried 
off  by  an  evil  spirit  to  the  mountain  Vindhya.  The  suitor 
who  had  made  the  chariot  brought  her  home  and  married 
her. 

The  version  of  our  story  in  the  Turkish  Tuti-Nameh 
makes  the  important  substitution  of  an  island  for  the 
mountain-top,  as  the  place  to  which  the  girl  is  abducted. 
With  the  island,  in  later  versions  of  the  story,  enters  a 
magic  ship  that  can  travel  over  sea  and  land.  More  im- 
portant variations  from  the  earlier  forms  of  the  story  are 
found  in  a  Mongolian  version  1  cited  by  Benf ey.  Here 

1The  Mongolian  variant  is  as  follows: — Once  upon  a  time  there 
were  in  a  great  kingdom  a  rich  young  man,  an  arithmetician,  a  car- 
penter, a  painter,  a  physician,  and  a  smith,  who  all  left  their 
parents  and  went  into  foreign  lands.  When  they  reached  the  mouth 
of  a  certain  river,  each  of  the  companions  planted  a  life-tree,  and 
then  went  up  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  river  to  seek  his  fortune. 
Before  parting,  they  agreed  to  meet  each  other  again  on  the  same 
spot.  If  the  life-tree  of  any  one  of  them  had  withered,  then  the 
others  were  to  seek  him  in  that  country  to  which  he  had  gone. 
With  this  agreement  they  separated.  The  rich  young  man,  having 
reached  the  source  of  his  river,  found  there  a  house  at  the  door  of 
which  sat  an  old  man  and  an  old  woman.  When  they  asked  whence 
he  had  come  and  whither  he  was  going,  he  said  that  he  came  from 
a  far  land  to  seek  his  fortune.  Then  the  aged  couple  gave  him 
their  daughter  in  marriage. 

In  this  land  there  ruled  a  great  khan.  Having  heard  of  the 
young  man's  beautiful  wife,  he  commanded  that  she  should  be 
brought  before  him.  When  he  saw  her  he  exclaimed :  "  This  is  a 
Tangari  maiden;  compared  with  her  my  wives  are  as  bitches  and 
sows."  Later  the  khan  had  the  young  husband  slain  and  buried 
by  the  river,  and  a  stone  placed  upon  his  body.  When  the  rich 
man's  brothers  return  to  the  appointed  place,  they  find  his  tree 
withered.  Promptly  the  mathematician  calculates  where  the  body 


588  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

the  skilful  companions  separate  near  the  beginning  of 
the  tale  with  the  understanding  that  they  will  meet  again 
at  an  appointed  place.  This  portion  of  the  narrative, 
Benfey  supposes,  resulted  from  contamination  with  a  dis- 
tinct set  of  stories,  called  "  The  True  Brothers."  It  is  a 
regular  part  of  the  European  forms  of  the  Skilful  Com- 
panion cycle,  and  these  might  have  been  influenced  by  the 
Mongolian  version.  But  the  assumption,  as  Benfey  ob- 
serves, is  not  necessary.  If  the  companions  were  brothers 
in  the  early  European  versions,  this  in  itself  would  account 
for  contamination  with  the  well-known  and  widespread 
"  True  Brothers  "  group. 

It  must  be  noted  in  connection  with  the  resurrection  of 
one  of  the  brothers  in  the  Mongolian  version  that  restora- 
tion of  the  dead  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  "  True 
Brothers  "  group.  In  later  versions  we  shall  see  that  the 
person  restored  is  the  heroine.  In  some  cases  she  is  only 
sick.  Her  condition  is  miraculously  discovered,  the  com- 
panions are  miraculously  transported  to  her,  and  she 
is  miraculously  cured.  In  other  cases  we  find  a  com- 
bination of  the  abduction  and  sickness  motives  more  or 
less  skilfully  combined.  The  plot,  then,  of  the  Skilful 
Companion  stories  after  amalgamation  with  the  "  True 

is;  the  smith  breaks  the  stone  and  takes  it  out;  the  physician  re- 
stores the  dead  man  to  life.  The  resurrected  youth  then  tells  what 
had  happened  to  him.  At  this  the  carpenter  makes  a  wooden  Garu- 
da,  operated  by  pins;  and  the  painter  adorns  it  with  mock  plumage. 
The  rich  man  then  flies  through  the  air  until  he  comes  to  the  khan's 
palace.  There  he  alights  on  the  roof.  Naturally  the  khan's  court 
is  greatly  astonished.  The  khan  bids  his  wife  go  feed  the  bird. 
She  goes  and  is  carried  away,  overjoyed  at  her  escape,  by  the  rich 
man.  But  no  sooner  has  the  rich  man  returned  to  his  brothers 
than  they  all  lay  claim  to  his  wife,  on  account  of  the  sendee  they 
have  rendered  in  restoring  her.  The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter 
is  that  they  draw  their  knives  and  kill  one  another.  Sagas  from 
the  Far  East,  105  ff.;  Kletke,  Mdrchensaal,  ill,  4ff. 


THE  CL£OMADES  AND  BELATED  FOLK-TALES.      589 

Brothers  "  cycle  is  somewhat  as  follows : — A  number  of 
brothers  go  forth  into  the  world  and  acquire  accomplish- 
ments. After  a  specified  time  they  return  to  a  rendezvous. 
In  some  way  they  learn  that  a  girl  has  been  carried 
away  by  an  otherworld  creature.  With  the  aid  of  their 
accomplishments  they  discover  where  she  is  and  bring  her 
back  to  the  land  of  mortals. 

Benfey  thinks  that  the  seventy-ninth  novella  of  Morlini 
represents  the  oldest  European  version  of  the  Skilful  Com- 
panion cycle.  The  story  is  as  follows: — 

A  poor  man  has  three  sons.  In  order  to  lighten  their 
father's  burdens  the  boys  go  out  into  the  world  to  seek 
their  fortunes,  promising  to  return  in  ten  years.  After 
travelling  together  for  a  time  they  separate.  The  oldest 
becomes  a  soldier  of  such  skill  that  he  can  climb  the 
highest  towers  with  the  aid  of  two  daggers;  the  second 
becomes  a  wonderful  shipbuilder;  the  third,  having  long 
wandered  through  a  wood  and  having  become  a  wild  man, 
learns  the  language  of  birds.  After  ten  years  the  brothers 
meet  once  more  at  the  appointed  place.  The  wild  man 
gets  clothes  from  his  brothers  and  the  three  proceed  to 
an  inn.  There  they  see  a  bird  who  makes  known  to  the 
wild  man  that  a  great  treasure  is  hard  by.  Later  another 
bird  communicates  the  intelligence  that  in  the  island  of 
Chios  Apollo's  daughter  has  built  a  tower,  the  entrance 
to  which  is  guarded  by  a  frightful  snake  and  a  terrible 
basilisk.  Within  the  tower  are  very  great  treasures  and 
a  most  beautiful  princess,  and  he  who  can  climb  the  tower 
may  win  them  both.  The  skilful  soldier  achieves  this 
feat  and  lets  the  princess  down  to  his  brothers.  Then 
follows  the  usual  dispute.  In  this  case  the  claims  of 
each  brother  were  so  good  that  no  decision  could  be  reached. 

Another  Italian  story  has  much  in  common  with  the 


.590  H.   S.    V.    JONES. 

one  just  summarized.  It  is  ~No.  45  in  Basile's  Penta- 
merone.  There  are  here  five  suitors:  one  of  them  has 
learned  the  language  of  birds ;  a  second,  the  craft  of  ship- 
building; a  third  knows  about  an  herb  that  will  make  a 
dead  man  live  again;  a  fourth  is  a  dead  shot;  a  fifth  is 
a  skilful  pickpocket.  The  maiden,  while  being  rescued 
from  "  the  wild  man,"  is  killed ;  but  the  companion  who 
knows  of  the  wonderful  herbs  restores  her  to  life.  We 
should  notice  once  more  the  suitor  whose  knowledge  of 
bird-language  enables  him  to  learn  the  whereabouts  of 
the  maiden. 

The  skilful  physician  appears  rather  frequently  in  the 
Skilful  Companion  cycle.  We  meet  with  him,  for  in- 
stance, in  two  interesting  tales  cited  by  Mr.  Clouston. 
One  of  these  is  contained  in  a  unique  Persian  manuscript 
in  the  India  Office  Library ;  the  other  is  from  von  Hahn's 
"  Contes  Populaires  Grecs."  x  In  the  former  we  are 
simply  told  that  the  girl  when  rescued  from  the  demon, 
was  very  ill.  Von  Hahn's  story  contains  no  demon,  and 
the  physician  has  to  bring  back  to  life  a  girl  who  has  died. 
In  the  Persian  tale  and  in  others  similar  to  it,  the  sick- 
ness motive  seems  to  have  entered  the  story  in  accordance 
with  a  tendency  to  multiply  the  number  of  skilful  com- 
panions. It  sometimes  leads  the  story-teller  into  awkward 
situations.2 

The  Skilful  Companion  cycle  is,  of  course,  closely  re- 
lated to  a  large  group  of  stories  in  which  interest  centers 
in  wonderful  objects  rather  than  wonderful  accomplish- 
ments. Benfey  has  recognized  the  strong  attraction  that 


1  Clouston,  Popular  Tales  and  Fictions,  283  ff . 

3  For  further  information  upon  the  Skilful  Companion  cycle  see, 
Kohler-Bolte,  Ztschr.  des  Ver.  f.  Volkskunde,  vi,  77,  and  Kohler, 
Kleinere  Schriften,  I,  192  ff.,  298  ff.,  389-90,  431,  544. 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  BELATED  FOLK-TALES.      591 

must  have  existed  between  these  two  groups  and  the  con- 
sequent influence  exerted  by  one  upon  the  other.  The 
wonderful-objects  stories  of  interest  in  this  paper  are  well 
represented  by  the  "  Tale  of  Jonathan "  in  the  Gesta 
Romanorum  1  and  may  as  a  class  be  entitled  the  Fortunatus 
group.  The  "  Tale  of  Jonathan  "  follows : 

King  Darius  had  three  sons.  On  his  death-bed  he 
bequeathed  to  the  first  his  kingdom;  to  the  second,  all  his 
personal  acquisitions,  exclusive  of  a  gold  ring,  a  neck- 
lace, and  a  piece  of  cloth.  These  three  he  gave  to  the 
youngest;  they  were  of  great  virtue.  The  ring  made  its 
wearer  universally  beloved  and  enabled  him  to  obtain 
whatever  he  sought;  the  necklace  insured  the  realization 
of  his  heart's  desire ;  the  cloth  could  transport  him  where- 
ever  he  wished  to  go.  One  day  after  the  youngest  son 
had  come  into  possession  of  the  wonderful  ring,  he  met  a 
beautiful  woman,  immediately  fell  in  love  with  her,  and 
later  took  her  to  him.  By  virtue  of  his  ring  he  was  liked 
by  everyone  and  obtained  whatsoever  he  desired. 

Misfortune  was,  however,  very  near  Jonathan  in  the 
person  of  his  beautiful  wife.  Curious  about  the  source 
of  all  the  wealth  that  came  so  easily  to  her  husband,  she 
coaxed  from  him  both  his  secret  and  his  ring.  Later  she 
got  the  necklace.  Then  Jonathan,  having  obtained  from 
his  mother  the  magic  cloth,  transports  himself  and  his 
wife  to  the  very  boundaries  of  the  world.  The  lady  weeps 
bitterly  and  Jonathan  declares  that  he  will  leave  her  to 
the  mercy  of  wild  beasts,  unless  she  surrenders  his  ring 
and  necklace.  Once  more,  however,  the  wily  woman  pre- 
vails. She  flies  away  from  Jonathan  while  he  sleeps. 

1Swan,  Gesta  Romanorum,  n,  441-443.  See  further,  Spitta-Bey, 
Contes  Arabes  Hodernes,  No.  9;  Cosquin,  Contes,  I,  123-124;  Busk, 
p.  129;  Zingerle,  n,  p.  142. 


592  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

Jonathan  wanders  about  in  great  misery.  In  the  course 
of  these  wanderings  he  procures  wonderful  waters  and 
wonderful  fruits.  One  kind  of  water  will  take  the  flesh 
from  the  bones;  another  kind  will  restore  the  flesh.  One 
kind  of  fruit  will  cause  leprosy;  another  kind  will  cure 
the  terrible  disease.  Well  supplied  with  these  waters  and 
fruits  Jonathan  manages  to  get  back  to  his  native  land. 
He  there  poses  as  a  physician  and  in  a  physician's  habit 
visits  his  mistress  who  is  very  ill.  Having  learned  from 
her  where  his  treasures  are,  he  gives  her  of  the  baleful 
water  and  fruit.  She  shortly  after  dies  in  great  agony. 

In  the  Fortunatus  story  proper,  Andelosia,  after  he  has 
persuaded  his  mistress  to  eat  some  of  the  baleful  fruit, 
takes  her  once  more  on  his  magic  cloth  to  the  desert.  In 
the  three  trips  through  the  air  we  have  here  in  general 
outline  something  similar  to  what  we  find  in  the  Cleomades 
and  the  Arabian  tale  of  the  "  Enchanted  Horse.'7  It 
should  be  noted,  too,  that  the  dominant  interest  of  the 
Fortunatus  stories  is  similar  to  that  which  characterizes 
the  Skilful  Companion  cycle.  The  wonderful  objects  en- 
gage the  attention  in  one  group  of  tales  as  the  wonderful 
accomplishments  do  in  the  other. 

The  story  of  Putraka  in  the  Katha-sarit-sagara  shows 
an  approach  toward  the  Cleomades  from  the  side  of  For- 
tunatus. It  is  as  follows: — 

Putraka  meets  the  two  sons  of  the  Asura  Maya,  who 
were  fighting  over  a  magic  shoe,  a  magic  staff,  and  a  magic 
vessel.  Through  treachery  Putraka  gets  possession  of 
these  wonderful  objects  and  with  their  aid  goes  to  seek 
a  wife.  An  old  woman  with  whom  he  had  been  staying 
had  told  him  of  the  beautiful  Patali,  the  daughter  of  a 
king,  who  was  preserved  like  a  jewel  in  the  upper  story 
of  a  seraglio.  Patali  flies  thither  by  the  help  of  his  shoes 


THE   CLEOMADES   AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.          593 

and  enters  a  window  as  high  above  the  ground  as  the 
peak  of  a  mountain.  Putraka  successfully  visits  the  prin- 
cess several  nights.  Then  the  intrigue  is  detected  by  the 
guards  of  the  seraglio  and  the  king  appoints  an  old  woman 
to  watch  his  daughter.  The  spy  contrives  to  mark  the 
prince's  garment  and  in  the  morning  he  is  captured  and 
brought  before  the  king  with  clear  evidence  of  guilt. 
Finding  himself  in  a  tight  place,  Putraka  contrives  to  fly 
away  with  his  magic  shoes  and  enter  again  the  apartments 
of  Patali.  The  two  escape.  Descending  near  the  bank 
of  the  Ganges,  they  get  food  from  the  magic  vessel  and 
build  a  city  with  the  aid  of  the  staff.  Putraka  becomes 
king  of  the  surrounding  country  and  later  subdues  his 
father-in-law.1 

V. 

Four  groups  of  stories  have  been  treated  in  the  last  two 
chapters:— (1)  "Weaver  as  Vishnu;"  (2)  "  Fairy-Mis- 
tress;" (3)  "  Skilful  Companions;"  (4)  "  Fortunatus." 
In  2  the  purpose  of  the  aerial  journey  is  to  reach  the 
otherworld,  and  this  group  of  tales  sometimes  recounts,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  rescue  as  well  as  the  winning  of  a  maiden. 
3,  too,  in  its  earlier  forms  contains  a  trip  through  the 
air  for  the  purpose  of  rescuing  a  girl  from  an  otherworld 
creature.  Other  forms  of  3  contain,  in  place  of  the 
rescue  of  the  maiden,  her  restoration  from  sickness  or  her 
revival  after  death.  In  many  of  these,  however,  the  aerial 
journey  is  retained.  As  a  means  of  aerial  locomotion,  in 
all  of  these  stories,  a  horse  not  infrequently  appears,  and  in 
several  notable  instances  a  horse  of  wood.  One  should  note, 
too,  that  the  trip  through  the  air  is  made,  especially  in 

1K.  8.  8.,  i,  13  ff. 


594  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

the  "  Weaver  as  Vishnu  "  group,  by  means  of  a  wonder- 
ful mechanical  contrivance.  This  cycle  may  be  regarded, 
moreover,  as  a  replica  of  2.  In  1  a  man  disguised  as  a 
god  visits  a  girl;  in  2  a  mortal  visits  a  fairy-mistress. 
Furthermore,  the  striking  motive  of  aerial  locomotion  and 
the  dominant  interest  in  wonderful  objects  and  accom- 
plishments must  have  served  to  associate  all  of  the  above 
groups  in  the  minds  of  story-tellers. 

An  important  analogue  of  the  Cleomades  and  the 
Squire's  Tale  illustrates  possibly  a  combination  of  2 
and  3.  It  is  the  tale  of  "  Anangavarti  and  her  Four 
Suitors :  " — Anangavarti  will  marry  no  man  who  is  not 
brave,  handsome,  and  possessed  of  some  splendid  accom- 
plishment. Four  suitors  pay  her  court.  One  of  these 
can  perform  an  extraordinary  amount  of  weaving  every 
day;  one  knows  the  language  of  all  birds  and  beasts;  a 
third  is  surpassed  by  none  in  fighting  with  the  sword;  a 
fourth  named  Jivadatta  is  an  ugly  Brahman  addicted  to 
forbidden  practices,  but  he  can  revive  a  dead  woman. 
An  astrologer  tells  the  company  of  suitors  that  Ananga- 
varti is  for  none  of  them  because  she  is  a  Yidyadhari 
fallen  by  a  curse  and  destined  in  three  months  to  return 
to  the  otherworld.  When  this  time  has  elapsed  Anan- 
gavarti is  as  one  dead.  Jivadatta,  after  vainly  trying  to 
revive  her,  has  decided  to  kill  himself.  At  this  critical 
moment  he  hears  a  voice  that  says :  "  O  Jivadatta,  do  not 
act  rashly,  listen  now.  This  noble  Vidyadhara  maiden, 
named  Anangaprabha,  has  been  for  so  long  a  time  a  mortal 
owing  to  the  curse  of  her  parents.  She  has  now  quitted 
this  human  body,  and  has  gone  to  her  own  world,  and 
taken  her  own  body.  So  go  and  propitiate  again  the  god- 
dess that  dwells  in  the  Vindhya  hills,  and  by  her  favor 
you  shall  recover  this  noble  Vidyadhara  maiden.  But 
as  she  is  enjoying  heavenly  bliss,  neither  you  nor  the  king 


THE   CLEOMADES   AND    BELATED    FOLK-TALES.         595 

ought  to  mourn  for  her."  Jivadatta  does  as  the  voice  has 
directed  him  and  in  time  wins  his  beloved.  He  receives 
from  the  dweller  in  the  Vindhya  hills  a  sword  which  will 
make  him.  invincible  and  enable  him  to  travel  through 
the  air. 

After  Jivadatta  has  won  Anangaprabha,  he  remains 
with  her  in  the  otherworld  for  some  time.  Then  he  pro- 
poses that  they  should  go  to  the  world  of  men.  She  con- 
sents to  the  plan  and  they  travel  through  the  air  until 
they  come  to  a  pleasant  mountain.  There  Jivadatta,  by 
the  power  of  various  sciences,  produces  food  and  drink. 
Later  the  lover  falls  asleep  while  his  mistress  sings  to 
him.  Then  a  king,  named  Harivara,  wearied  out  with 
hunting  and  attracted  by  the  girl's  singing,  approaches 
the  pair.  He  carries  off  Anangaprabha.  But,  since  she 
is  destined  to  marry  many  times,  because  as  a  Vidyadhari 
she  had  abstained  from  a  suitable  match,  her  abduction 
by  Harivara  is  only  one  of  a  series  that  spins  out  the  tale 
to  a  tedious  length.1 

Coming  back  now  to  the  Cleomades  we  find  that  the 
poem  readily  resolves  itself  into  two  main  divisions  cor- 
responding in  a  general  way  with  groups  2  and  3.  First 
there  is  the  winning  of  Clarmondine,  then  her  recovery. 
Moreover  certain  features  of  the  two  portions  serve  to 
connect  them  respectively  with  the  two  groups  of  mdrchen. 
Crompart,  for  instance,  is  virtually  some  outlandish 
creature : — 

"  Et  li  tiers  avoit  non  Crompars ; 
Oil   sot   presque   tous    les   vn   ars. 
Lais  et  petis  fu  et  bogus. 
Tex  enfossez  et  lie's  camus 
Avoit,  et  si  ot  courbe  eschine 
Et  le  menton  sor  la  poitrine. 
Moult   fu   sages   et  bien   lettrfcs." 2 

1Tawney,  i,  498  ff. 

*CUomadts,  1499  ff.  * 


596  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

We  should,  further,  compare  the  gifts  in  the  CUomades 
with  the  accomplishments  of  the  skilful  companions.  The 
magic  horse  of  wood  is  in  both  mdrchen  and  romance. 
Then  the  mathematician  or  astrologer  is  like  the  man 
with  the  trumpet  in  that  each  of  them  can  reveal  what 
is  hidden, — limited  in  the  case  of  the  golden  man  to  hidden 
treason.  It  will  be  remembered,  however,  that  it  became 
the  duty  of  the  astrologer  in  the  Slavic  story  to  make  this 
kind  of  revelation.  One  might  note,  too,  that  the  as- 
trologer in  Grimm's  story  l  is  furnished  with  a  mirror. 

Besides  these  agreements  between  the  Skilful  Com- 
panion stories  and  the  CUomades  there  are  other  corres- 
pondences which  are  worthy  of  note.  At  line  1509  fL  of 
the  French  romance  we  learn  that  the  three  kings  hold 
a  council  in  order  to  talk  about  the  three  beautiful  prin- 
cesses of  Spain,  whom  they  have  never  seen.  The  event 
of  their  conference  is  a  decision  to  go  in  state  to  Marca- 
digas  and  ask  him  for  his  daughter.  Crompart,  thinking 
uneasily  of  his  ugliness,  suggests  that  they  should  each 
give  the  king  "  i  jouel  de  tres  grant  richece."  2  Then 
follows  an  important  passage: — 

"  Quant   il   se   furent  arre"e 
Apres  ce  ont  pou  sejorne". 
Tant  ont  li  uns  1'autre  atendu 
Que  ensamble  sont  revenu. 
Lors   dist   Crompars   qu'il   lograit 
Le   chascun   d'aus   s'i   acordoit, 
Que  il  meiissent  si  a  point 
Qu'il  venissent   IS.   a   ce   point. 
Que  rois  Marcadigas   fu  ne"s." 

As  in  the  Skilful  Companion  stories,  then,  the  suitors 
separate,  acquire  their  wonderful  objects,  and  meet  again 

1  Grimm,  K.  und  H.,  No.  129. 
1843ff. 


THE  CLEOMADES  AND  BELATED  FOLK-TALES.       597 

before  proceeding  with  their  courtship.  Furthermore, 
as  we  sometimes  find  in  the  mdrchen  a  test  of  the 
accomplishments,  so  in  the  romance  is  there  a  test  of 
the  gifts. 

In  the  means  employed  for  the  rescue  of  the  heroine 
of  the  French  romance  we  may  find,  perhaps,  suggestions 
of  the  marvellous  accomplishments  or  objects  of  the  Skilful 
Companion  cycle.  The  importance  of  the  horse  in  mdr- 
chen and  romance  should  be  once  more  noted.  Then  the 
heroine's  pretended  madness  and  the  hero's  gaining  access 
to  her  disguised  as  a  physician  suggests  the  Skilful  Com- 
panion stories  in  which  the  heroine  is  miraculously  cured. 
In  the  related  Forlunalus  group  the  hero  actually  as- 
sumes the  disguise  of  a  physician  and  thus  enters  his 
mistress'  chamber.  For  the  madness  motive  we  need 
not  seek  far.  The  idea  that  a  mad  person  was  sacred 
might  easily  have  occurred  to  the  first  person  who  told 
the  story  of  the  fair  Clarmondine  and  her  unwelcome 
suitor.  It  was  better,  moreover,  for  the  sake  of  the  story 
in  general  and  of  the  heroine  in  particular  that  Clar- 
mondine, like  Hamlet,  should  not  be  actually  mad. 

So  much,  then,  we  find  that  the  Cleomades  and  the 
Skilful  Companion  stories  have  in  common: — (1)  simi- 
larity of  the  wonderful  objects;  (2)  the  sojourn  of  the 
companions  and  their  later  meeting  before  proceeding  with 
the  courtship  and  after  having  procured  wonderful  objects 
or  acquired  wonderful  accomplishments;  (3)  the  test  of 
the  objects  or  accomplishments;  (4)  the  abduction  of  the 
heroine  by  a  more  or  less  unearthly  creature;  (5)  the  re- 
covery of  the  heroine  by  means  of  a  wonderful  journey 
through  the  air,  and  a  wonderful — in  the  Cleomades  ap- 
parently wonderful — cure.  In  addition,  it  is  of  interest 


598  H.    S.    V.    JONES. 

to  note  that  in  the  Fortunatus  group  of  stories,  as  in  the 
Cleomades,  the  hero  gains  access  to  his  mistress  disguised 
as  a  physician.1 

H.   S.  V.  JONES. 


\\ 


1  In  considering  the  question  of  special  folk-lore  influence  upon  the 
Squire's  Tale,  one  should  note  carefully  the  nature  of  Chaucer's 
wonderful  horse.  It  differs  from  Crompart's.  For  instance: — 

"  Or  if  yow   liste  bidde   him  thennes   gon, 
Trille  this  pin,  and  he  wol  vanishe  anon 
Out  of  the  syghte  of  every  maner  wyght, 
And  come  agayn,  be  it  by  day  or  nyght, 
When  that  yow  list  to  clepen  him  ageyn 
In  swich  a  gyse  as  I  shal  to  yow  seyn 
Bitwixe  yow  and  me,  and  that  ful  sone. 
Hyde  when  yow  list,  ther  is  namore  to  done." 

And  again: 

"  The  brydel  is  unto  the  tour  yborn, 
And  kept  among  his  Jewels  leve  and  dere 
The  hors  vanisshed,  I  noot  in  what  manere, 
Out  of  her  syghte;   ye  gete  namore  of  me." 

If  we  put  the  two  passages  together,  it  becomes  reasonably  clear 
that  the  bridle  may  be  used  in  summoning  the  horse.  This  detail, 
not  found  in  the  Cleomades,  suggests  the  wonderful  horse  of  flesh 
and  blood  rather  than  the  cheval  de  fust.  May  not  the  confusion 
mean  that  Chaucer  was  following  no  one  source  but  working  freely, 
with  a  knowledge  of  the  Cleomades  and  related  folk- tales?  If  this 
be  true,  one  may  venture  the  guess  that  Chaucer's  birds,  like  those 
in  certain  variants  of  the  Skilful  Companion  cycle,  are  helpful  ani- 
mals, whether  or  no  metamorphosized  human  beings.  And  just  here 
would  be  the  connection  between  the  main  plot  and  the  sub-plot  of 
the  Squire's  Tale. 


XXVI.— THE  AUTHORSHIP  OF  THE  DE   ORTU 

WALUUANII  AND  THE  HISTORIA 

MERIADOCL 

It  is  now  ten  years  since  a  Latin  romance  dealing  with 
the  history  of  Gawain  was  published  for  the  first  time  by 
Professor  Bruce  from  the  Cottonian  MS.  Faustina  B.  VI.1 
Two  years  later  2  he  printed  a  second  romance  3  from  the 
same  manuscript,4  which  he  believed,  no  doubt  correctly, 
to  be  the  work  of  the  same  author.  As  to  who  this  author 
was,  Professor  Bruce  hazarded  no  opinion,  but  he  dated 

*Pub.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass.,  xin    (1898),  p.  365  ff. 

2  Pub.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass.,  xv  (1900),  p.  326  ff. 

3  In  the  catalogue  of  the  Cottonian  MSS.  of  the  British  Museum, 
the   full  titles  of   these   two   romances  are   as   follows: — 

"  1.     Historia   sive   vita   Meriadoci   regis    Cambriae. 
2.     De  ortu  Valuuanii    (sic)    nepotis  Arturi." 

Cott.  Faust.  B.  vi,  according  to  the  description  given  by  Ward 
(Catalogue  of  Romances,  I,  374),  is  a  vellum  MS.  written  in  a  hand 
of  the  early  XlVth  century. 

*  There  is  also  preserved  in  Rawlinson  MS.,  B.  149,  a  second  copy 
of  the  Meriadoc  romance,  which  Professor  Bruce  does  not  seem  to 
have  noticed  and  to  which  Professor  Kittredge  refers  in  his  edition 
of  Arthur  and  Gorlagon  (Harvard  Studies  and  Notes,  1903,  vol.  8, 
p.  149 ) .  This  copy  is  in  the  same  manuscript  as  the  Arthur  and 
Gorlagon,  which  is  by  an  unknown  author,  although  clearly  he  is 
not  the  author  of  the  Meriadoc  romance  (Kittredge,  Arthur  and 
Gorlagon,  p.  150). 

According  to  Mr.  Madan  of  the  Bodleian  Library,  this  manu- 
script is  in  a  hand  of  the  first  quarter  of  the  15th  century.  The 
earliest  recorded  owner  is  Nicholas  Wyntur,  whose  name  is  written 
on  the  first  leaf.  Inside  the  cover  is  a  list  of  contents  by  Dr.  Gerard 
Langbaine  and  a  note:  "  Suum  cuique.  Tho.  Hearne,  Dec.  29,  1722, 
at  wch  time  I  bought  this  MS."  The  manuscript  then  passed  into 
the  Rawlinson  collection,  which  was  bequeathed  to  the  Bodleian  in 
1756. 


600  MARGAEET  SHOVE   MOEBISS. 

the  romances,  on  grounds  which  will  be  discussed  later 
in  this  article,  in  the  second  quarter  of  the  13th  century. 
Professor  Carleton  F.  Brown  has  recently  called  my 
attention  to  the  fact  that  Bale,  in  his  Index.  Britanniae 
Scriptorum,1  does  assign  these  two  romances  to  a  defi- 
nite author.  I  shall  quote  Bale's  references  to  them  and 
to  their  author  in  full,  as  these  will  show  also  the  sources 
to  which  Bale  owed  his  information : — 

"Robertus  sancti  Michaelis  de  monte,  inter  cetera  scripsit 
Chronicorum   opus,  li.    i. 

Gesta   Walwani,   li.   i.  '  Vterpendragon  rex  pater.' 

Gesta  Maradoci,  li.  i.  '  Memoratu  dignam.' 

Ex  Nordouicensi  scriptorum  catalogo." 

The  preceding  entry  in  the  Index  is  also  concerned  with 
Robert  de  Monte. 

"  Robertus  abbas  de  monte  sancti  Michaelis  in  Normannia,  scripsit 
Chronicorum  opus,  li.  i. 

Ex  Bostoni  Buriensis  catalogo" 

This  Robert  de  Monte  (or  "  Robert  de  Torigny,"  as 
he  is  often  called  from  the  place  of  his  birth)  was  the 
well  known  abbot  of  Mont  St.  Michel  in  Normandy  during 
the  reign  of  Henry  II  of  England,  and  was  also  a  famous 
chronicler. 

If  this  statement  made  by  Bale  may  be  trusted,  then,  the 
romances  must  have  been  written  in  the  12th  and  not  in 
the  13th  century,  a  fact  which  will  greatly  increase  their 
interest  and  importance.  It  is  with  this  problem,  whether 
Bale's  ascription  of  the  authorship  of  the  two  romances 
can  be  considered  trustworthy,  that  this  paper,  written 
under  the  direction  of  Professor  Brown,  is  to  deal. 

1  Edited  by  Poole  and  Bateson  (Anecdota  Oxoniensia,  Oxford, 
1902),  p.  384. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   OETU    WALUUANII.       601 


I. 

It  is  true,  in  the  first  place,  that  one  might  feel  some 
doubt  whether  the  testimony  of  a  16th  century  writer  in  re- 
gard to  these  romances  is  early  enough  to  possess  authority. 
Bale,  too,  is  notoriously  unreliable  in  his  larger  work,  the 
Scriptores.  The  character  of  the  Index,,  however,  as  a 
simple  record  of  data  which  have  been  gathered  from 
older  authorities,  makes  it  differ  widely  from  the  author's 
more  formal  work,  and  makes  an  entry  in  it  form  a  re- 
liable basis  for  further  investigation. 

A  good"  illustration  of  the  difference  between  the  two 
books  is  furnished  in  this  very  case  of  Robert  de  Monte. 
When  Bale  proceeded  1f>  build  up  his  biographical  account 
on  the  basis  of  the  two  references  to  the  chronicler  which 
he  found  in  different  sources,  he  came  to  the  mistaken  con- 
clusion that  there  must  have  been  two  Robert  de  Montes. 
These  two  paragraphs  from  the  Scriptores  will  indicate 
the  error  into  which  he  fell : — 

"Robertus  de  Monte  Michaelis.     XXII. 

"  Robertus  de  monte  Michaelis,  famigerati  illius  coenobij  mona- 
chus  &  abbas,  patria  Normanus,  circiter  Stephani  Anglorum  regis 
tempora,  ob  multarum  rerum  scientiam,  in  precio  fuit.  Qui  sui 
nominis  memoriam  literarijs  aliquot  monumentis  perpetuare  sata- 
gens,  ueterum  quorundam  historiographorum  moribus  ac  uestigijs 
inherescens,  historias  &  ipse  in  quorundam  authoritate  ualentium 
hominum  gratiam,  congessit.  Placuere  eius  opera  per  earn  aetatem 
multis,  uidebanturqwe  eis  tarn  utilia  quam  docta.  Sed  quod  de 
nominis  fama  ex  ipsis  sperauit,  difficulter  in  posterum  obtinebat, 
quum  puluere  obsita,  in  paucis  deliterent  monachorum  bibliothecis. 
Bostonus  tamen  Buriensis,  in  talibus  exquirendis  uir  diligentissimus, 
hos  eius  operum  in  suo  Catalogo  signauit  titulos 

Chronicorum  opus,  Lib.  1 

Gesta  Vualuuani,     Lib.  1  Vter  Pendragon  rex  pater  Arth. 

Gesta  Marodoci,       Lib.  1  Memoratu    dignam    historiam. 


602  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

Et  alia  ipsis  similia.  Superest  ut  lector  intelligat,  perduxisse 
illti  sua  Chronica  usqwe  ad  annu  a  Christ!  seruatoris  incarnations 
1158,  Thoma  Rudburno  atqwe  Lelando  testibus,  quo  anno  uixit, 
Henrico  secudo  in  Anglia  regnante." 

"Robertus  Montensis  Abbas.     XXIII. 

"Robertas  Montensis  abbas,  alius  &  praedicto  Roberto,  patria 
quoque  Normannus  (nam  &  ea  terra  sub  Anglorum  regis  ditione 
tune  erat)  non  ultimus  inter  sui  temporis  scriptores  &  ipse  agnosce- 
batur.  Is  primum  fuit  famosi  illius  Beccensis  rnonasterij,  quod  tot 
Anglorum  ecclesijs  archiprsesules,  episcopos,  abbates,  priores  &  doc- 
tores  pepererat,  sub  Benedictinorum  institute  monachus.  Postea  mon- 
tis  Naualis,  a  quo  cognomen  accepit,  in  Abrincensi  dioecesi  prases 
seu  abbas  constitutus,  &  Anglorum  regi  Henrico  secudo  familiariter 
notus,  ad  ilium  in  Angliam  anno  Domino  1176,  confidenter  uenit, 
chartamqwe  &  sigillum  magnarum  eleemosynaru  pro  asdificando  sui 
coenobij  templo,  ab  ipso  demum  obtinuit.  Annales  iste  centum  fere 
annorum,  Sigeberti  Gemblacensis  ccenc&itse  chronico  addidit:  in 
quibus  loannem  Anglorum  regem,  contra  monachorum  eius  temporis 
more,  a  multis  commendat,  prsesertim  ab  insigni  quadam  de  Gallis 
uictoria,  et  liberatione  suae  matris  Aleonorse.  Quod  opus  aptissime 
dici  poterit 

Appendix  ad  Sigebertum,  Lib.  1.  Vualdrico  Laudunensi  a  suse  urbis. 

Bella Christianorumprincipum,  Lib.  8.  Inter  omnes  historiographos,  illi. 

Ad  Guilandum  monachum,  Lib.  2.  Sanctorum  patriarcharum  benedictio. 

Acta  conciliorum,  Lib.  1. 

De  suis  temporibus,  Lib.  1. 

Vitam  Henrici  primi,  Lib.  1. 

Aliaqwe  composuit  multa.  Interfuit  iste  comitijs  prselatorum 
tarn  Romse  quam  Tholosse,  ubi  omnia  scriptis  commendauit.  Suam 
uerd  appendice  ab  anno  Seruatoris  Christi  1112,  porrexit  usqwe 
ad  annum  1210,  in  quo  claruit,  Anglorum  regi  loanni  admodum 
gratus." 1 

It  is  obvious  that  Bale  was  mistaken  in  his  statement 
that  there  were  two  Roberts  in  Mont  St.  Michel  during 
the  12th  century.  It  is  impossible  on  the  face  of  it  that 
there  should  have  been  two  abbots  of  the  same  monastery 
at  almost  the  same  time,  both  deriving  their  names  from 

1  Scriptorum  illustriu  maioris  Brytannie  Catalogue,  1557,  n,  p. 
131-2. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   OKTU   WALUUANII.       603 

this  monastery,  and  both  famous  chroniclers.  If  we  turn 
now  to  the  notes  recorded  by  Bale  in  his  Index,  it  is  easy 
to  understand  how  he  came  to  fall  into  this  error.  The 
extant  manuscripts  of  Robert  de  Monte's  Chronicle  do 
not  all  stop  at  the  same  year.  Several  of  them  l  break 
off  before  1160,  while  others  have  been  brought  down  by 
continuators  (still  writing  under  Robert's  name)  into  the 
reign  of  John.2  In  all  probability  the  two  Catalogues, 
upon  which  Bale  based  his  biographical  statements  con- 
cerning Robert,  gave  accounts  of  different  manuscripts  of 
his  Chronicle,  one  of  which  stopped  in  the  reign  of  Ste- 
phen, while  the  other  continued  down  to  the  time  of  King 
John.  From  this  discrepancy  Bale,  who  in  all  likelihood 
had  never  himself  seen  either  manuscript,  naturally  con- 
cluded that  the  Chronicles  referred  to  by  his  authorities 
could  not  have  been  written  by  the  same  person.  In  this 
way  he  was  led  to  suppose  that  there  were  two  chroniclers 
of  the  same  name.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  both  of  Bale's 
sources  in  their  account  of  Robert's  Chronicle  were  refer- 
ring to  the  work  of  the  same  author. 

This  blunder  into  which  Bale  fell  in  the  Scriptores  well 
illustrates  the  far  greater  historical  value  possessed  by 
the  Index,  for  the  reason  that  here  Bale  set  down  without 
addition  or  inference  the  information  which  he  found  in 

1Cf.  for  example  the  following  MSS.: 
Bayeux  MS.   (ends  at  1157). 
Brit.  Mus.,  Royal  MS.  13  C,  xi   (ends  at  1160). 
Bibl.  Nat.  Paris.  Fonds  Latin  4862    (ends  at   1156). 

Descriptions  of  the  different  MSS.  of  the  Chronicle  of  Robert  de 
Monte  may  be  found  in  Hewlett's  edition  of  the  Chronicle  in  the 
Rolls  Series,  1889.  Introduction,  p.  xxxviii. 

2  That  the  first  part  of  the  second  chronicle  mentioned  by  Bale 
was  really  the  one  written  by  Robert  de  Monte  is  certain  from  the 
fact  that  it  is  described  as  a  continuation  of  Sigebert  of  Gemblours. 


604  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

his  sources.  It  is,  therefore,  not  Bale  but  Bale's  authori- 
ties whose  reliability  we  must  now  examine.  These  two 
authorities  which  he  cites  in  the  Index  are,  respectively, 
the  Bostoni  Buriensis  catalogus  for  the  Robert  who  wrote 
only  the  chronicle,  and  the  Nordovicensi  scriptorum  cata- 
logus 1  for  the  Robert  to  whom  the  romances  are  also 
ascribed. 

Of  the  Catalogue  of  Boston  of  Bury  considerable  is 
known.  Tanner  in  the  BMiotheca  Britannia  Hibernica  2 
has  given  an  account  of  the  author  and  his  work.  Boston 
of  Bury  was  a  monk  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds  who  was  living 
in  the  year  1410.  Moved  by  a  desire  to  preserve  the 
memory  of  the  books  in  the  great  monastic  libraries,  this 
monk  travelled  through  England,  making  a  catalogue  of 
the  authors  and  works  to  be  found  in  these  different  col- 
lections. He  arranged  his  catalogue  alphabetically  and 
prefixed  to  it  a  list  of  the  monasteries  he  had  visited. 
The  value  of  the  catalogue  was  increased  by  the  fact  that 
it  included  foreign  as  well  as  English  authors.3  Tanner 
in  his  preface  has  printed  a  part  of  this  catalogue  of 

1  Index,  p.  384. 

2  Tanner,  Bibliotheca  Britannica-Hibernica,  London,   1748,  p.   114: 
"  Bostunus  Buriensis,  in  monasterio  S.  Edmundi  in  comit.   Suffolc. 
monachus.     Vir    magni    ingenii,    nee    minoris    industriae;     qui,    ut 
veterum    librorum    et    auctorum    conservaret    memoriam,    omnium 
ecclesiarum  cathedralium,  abbatiarum,  prioratuum,  collegiorum,  etc. 
bibliothecas  rimavit.     Librorum  collegit  titulos,  et  auctorum  eorum 
nomina;    quae   omnia    alphabetico   disposuit   ordine,    et    quasi   unam 
omnium   bibliothecam   fecit.     Ipsorum   etiam   aetates   et   vitas   cum 
operum  initiis  curiose  adjunxit  et  in  quibus  essent  ea  opera  inveni- 
enda  coenobiis,  calendarii  vice,  per  numeros  demonstravit.     Hoc  opus 
vocabat   Catalogum   Scriptorum   ecclesiae.     Claruit   Bostonus   A.    D. 
MCCCCX."  . . . 

8  Tanner,  p.  xv.  "In  hoc  Catalogo  non  auctores  solummodo  Britan- 
nos  non  ecclesiasticos  tantum,  sed  profanos  quoque  sine  discrimine, 
Aristotelem,  Terentium,  Ciceronem,  Avicenuam,  aque  ac  Ambrosium, 
Originem,  Chrysostonum,  Athanasium  recitat." 


THE  AUTHORSHIP   OF  THE   DE   OBTU   WALUUANII.       605 

Boston  of  Bury,1  in  the  case  of  foreign  authors,  however, 
omitting  all  but  the  names. 

His  mention  of  Robert  de  Monte,  therefore,  stands  as 
follows : — "  Robertas  abbas  de  Monte  S.  Michaelis  in  Nor- 
mandia,"  the  entries  under  his  name  being  omitted,  since 
he  was  not  an  Englishman.2 

The  catalogue  of  the  writers  of  Norwich — Bale's  other 
source — was  evidently  an  ecclesiastical  collection  similar 
to  that  of  Boston  of  Bury,  because  in  the  Index  books  are 
several  times  cited  as  given  in  both  of  these  catalogues.3 
This  catalogue,  however,  I  have  been  unable  to  trace.4 


1  There  is  also  an  imprinted  fragment  of  Boston's   Catalogue  in 
the  British  Museum,  Add.  MSS.  4787,  fol.  133-135,  but  in  this  frag- 
ment the  name  of  Robert  de  Monte   does  not  occur. 

2  After  this  article  had  been  written  Professor  Brown  called  my 
attention  to  the  existence,  in  the  library  of  Cambridge  University, 
of  a  complete  transcript  of  Boston  of  Bury's   Catalogue,  made  by 
Tanner   himself    (Camb.    MS.    Add.    3470).     In    this   transcript   the 
entry  concerning  Robert  de  Monte  reads  as  follows: 

"Robertus  Abbas  de  Monte  S.  Michaelis  in  Normannia  floruit  et 
scrip sit 

Cronicorum,  lib.  1."     (p.  129). 

The  recovery  of  the  full  text  of  Boston  of  Bury's  Catalogue  is  of 
importance  for  it  assures  us  that  Bale,  in  his  statement  concerning 
the  authorship  of  the  romances,  must  have  been  following  his  other 
source,  namely,  the  Catalogus  Nordomcensi  Seriptorum.  Moreover, 
now  that  we  are  able  to  compare  the  entry  in  the  Index  with  Boston 
of  Bury's  own  words,  it  will  be  seen  that  Bale  has  set  down  with 
entire  fidelity  the  information  which  he  found  in  his  source.  May 
we  not  reasonably  assume  equal  fidelity  in  the  case  of  the  entry 
taken  from  the  Catalogue  of  Norwich  writers? 

8  Index,  pp.   1,  12,  16,  25. 

*Mr.  Poole,  in  his  edition  of  Bale's  Index  (p.  xxxiii)  refers  us  for 
the  Catalogue  of  the  writers  of  Norwich  to  Leland  (Collectanea, 
m,  25).  It  could  not  have  been  from  the  Collectanea,  however,  that 
Bale  derived  his  Norivich  Catalogue,  because  the  books  contained  in 
Leland's  list  and  those  cited  by  Bale  throughout  the  Index  as  coming 
from  the  Catalogue  correspond  in  but  few  instances.  Bale's  Cata- 
logue was  evidently  a  larger  collection  than  that  of 

4 


606  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

Nevertheless  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that,  as  the  source 
of  the  first  entry  in  the  Index  is  a  well  known  and  reliable 
catalogue,  the  other  may  also  have  been  well  known  at  the 
time  when  Bale  was  writing.1 

In  the  case  of  at  least  one  of  the  two  romances  we  have 
other  evidence  also  that  a  manuscript  was  preserved  at 
Norwich.  We  have  this  on  the  authority  of  Leland,  who 
in  the  Collectanea  mentions  the  Historia  Meriadoci  as  one 
of  the  books  in  the  possession  of  the  library  of  the  Priory 
of  Norwich. 

"  In  bibliotheca  Christicolarum 2  Nordovici. 

Ex  historia  de  Meriadoco  scripta  per  R. 
Arglud  sylva   in   Wallia 
Sylva  fleuantana  ibidem 

Snowdune  mons  munitus  circa  tempora,  Arturi  a  Griphino, 
fratri   Caradoci."  8 

It  is  clear  that  Bale's  information  concerning  the  Meri- 
adoc  and  the  De  Ortu  is  quite  independent  of  this  notice 
in  the  Collectanea  for,  whereas  Leland  mentions  only 

1  Another  instance  of  the  difference  between  the  Scriptores  and  the 
Index  must  be  noticed  here.  In  Bale's  more  formal  book  it  is  the 
romances  which  are  ascribed  to  Robert  de  Monte  on  the  authority 
of  Boston's  catalogue,  thus  practically  reversing  the  statement  of 
the  Index.  But  as  it  has  already  been  shown  that  the  Index  is  in 
every  case  the  more  reliable  authority,  here  too  I  have  followed  its 
statement  that  the  ascription  of  the  romances  came  from  the 
mysterious  Catalogue  of  the  writers  of  'Norwich.  The  wording  of 
the  entry  of  Robert's  name  in  Tanner's  reprint  of  Boston,  and  of 
that  of  the  first  Robert  in  Bale,  to  whom  the  chronicle  alone  is 
ascribed,  are  almost  exactly  alike. 

a  We  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Dugdale  that  Leland  meant  the 
Priory  Library  by  his  Christicolarum  Nordovici :  "  Of  the  Library 
of  the  Priory  of  Norwich  we  have  but  little  information.  Leland, 
Collect.,  torn,  in,  p.  27,  mentions  the  following  works  belonging  to  it 
as  'in  bibliotheca  Christicolarum  Nordovici."  (Dugdale,  Monasti- 
con,  IV,  p.  11). 

8  Leland,  Collectanea,  in,  p.  25. 


f 

THE   AUTHOKSHIP    OF   THE    DE   OETU   WALUTJANII.       607 

the  single  romance,  Bale's  source  referred  to  both  of  them, 
and  in  addition  ascribed  them  to  a  definite  author.  More- 
over, Bale  when  borrowing  information  from  Leland  in 
his  Index  refers  to  him  explicitly.1 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  whether  the  copy  of  the 
Historia  Meriadoci  which  Leland  saw  in  the  library  of  the 
Norwich  Priory  might  be  identified  with  either  of  the 
extant  MSS.  of  this  romance,  but  on  this  point  evidence 
is  lacMng.  The  early  possessors  of  the  Cotton  MS.  cannot 
be  traced  2  and  the  earliest  known  owner  of  the  Rawlinson 
MS.  is  one  Nicholas  Wyntur 3  concerning  whom  I  can 
learn  nothing.  But,  though  neither  of  the  extant  MSS.  of 
this  romance  can  be  traced  back  to  Norwich,  it  is  at  least 
worth  noting  that  both  in  Leland's  record  of  the  Meriadoc 
among  the  books  in  the  Norwich  Library,  and  in  the  testi- 
mony of  the  Catalogue  of  Norwich  Writers  quoted  by  Bale, 
this  romance  is  brought  into  connection  with  Norwich. 

But  beyond  the  statement  that  the  Meriadoc  was  written 
by  a  certain  "  R,"  Leland' s  testimony  gives  us  no  assis- 
tance in  identifying  the  author  as  Robert.  For  the  ascrip- 
tion of  the  two  Latin  romances  to  the  12th  century 
chronicler  we  are  thrown  back  again  upon  the  authority 
of  the  sources  consulted  by  Bale.  Nevertheless,  Bale  had 
access,  as  we  have  seen,  to  mediaeval  library  catalogues 
which  are  no  longer  extant,  and  in  his  Index  he  has  jotted 
down  in  good  faith  the  information  which*  he  gathered 
from  these  early  records.  Clearly,  then,  in  the  absence 

1  Index,  pp.  2,  39,  61,  62,  248,  281,  295,  310,  327,  328,  418,  425, 
468,   469,   484. 

2  For  this   information,   or   rather   lack   of  information,   I  am  in- 
debted to   Miss   Katherine  Martin,   of  London,  who   found  out   for 
me  that  nothing  was  known  of  this  particular  MS.  in  the  Department 
of  Manuscripts  at  the  British  Museum. 

8  See  p.  599,  note  4. 


608  MAEGAEET  SHOVE  MOEEISS. 

of  other  external  evidence,  the  positive  ascription  of  these 
romances  to  Kobert  de  Monte  by  these  earlier  authorities 
ought  not  to  be  set  aside  unless  it  should  appear  from  the 
study  of  the  romances  themselves  that  they  must  have  been 
written  later  than  the  12th  century.  Accordingly,  let  us 
proceed  to  examine  such  evidence  of  date  of  composition 
as  is  to  be  found  in  the  documents  themselves. 

Professor  Bruce  would  assign  their  composition  to  the 
first  quarter  of  the  13th  century  on  the  basis  of  a  bit  of 
internal  evidence.  He  points  out  a  reference  to  costume, 
which  in  his  opinion  gives  a  clue  to  the  earliest  date  at 
which  the  romance  could  have  been  written.  Gawain 
in  the  De  Ortu  l  goes  into  his  first  tournament  with 
his  tunic  or  surcoat  worn  over  his  coat  of  mail  and 
from  this  circumstance  receives  the  nickname  of  the 
Knight  of  the  Surcoat,  "  Miles  cum  tunica  armature." 
On  this  point  Professor  Bruce  appeals  to  Schultz,  who 
says :  2  "  This  use  of  the  surcoat  over  the  armour  became 
general  about  the  first  decade  of  the  13th  century,"  basing 
his  evidence  for  this  statement  on  contemporary  seals. 
From  this,  then,  Professor  Bruce  concludes  that  the  ro- 
mance could  not  have  been  written  before  the  first  quarter 
of  the  13th  century,  when  this  custom  was  coming  into 
general  use.  We  shall  see,  however,  that  as  early  as  the 
12th  century  there  are  a  number  of  sporadic  cases  of  the 
use  of  the  surcoat  over  the  armour,  and  in  the  first  ten 
years  of  the  13th  century  it  becomes  a  general  custom. 
So  it  may  well  be  possible  that  the  romance,  of  which 
this  peculiarity  of  costume  forms  a  part,  should  have  been 
written  when  but  a  few  instances  of  this  usage  are  on 
record  and  before  it  has  become  a  common  one.  The 


1De  Ortu,  p.  396. 

2  Das  Hofische  Leben  zur  Zeit  der  Minnesinger,  n,  p.  58;  cf.  also 
p.  40. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   ORTU   WALUUANII.       609 

author's  comment  on  his  hero's  attire,  "  neque  enim  antea 
huiusmodi  tunica  armis  septus  aliquis  usus  fuerat,"  al- 
though indicating  that  the  fashion  must  certainly  have 
been  known,  does  not  necessarily  imply  that  at  the  time 
he  was  writing  such  a  style  of  costume  had  become  uni- 
versal. 

Planche,1  in  a  history  of  British  costume,  states  that 
the  military  surcoat  "  appears  first  in  the  twelfth  century, 
descending  in  folds  to  the  knees  or  a  little  below  it."  King 
John  (1199-1216)  was  the  first  English  sovereign  to  wear 
a  surcoat  ^over  his  hauberk.  It  is  conjectured  that  the 
custom,  originated  with  the  Crusaders,  in  order  to  distin- 
guish the  many  leaders  serving  under  the  Cross,2  as  well 
as  to  veil  the  iron  armour  so  apt  to  heat  excessively  when 
exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  Syrian  sun.  According  to 
Hewitt,3  "  the  surcoat  though  found  in  some  rare  in- 
stances in  the  twelfth  century  does  not  become  a  charac- 
teristic part  of  the  knightly  equipment  until  the  13th 
century ;  "  and  later  he  says,  "  About  the  beginning  of  the 
13th  century  arose  the  use  of  the  military  surcoat.  The 
first  English  monarch  who,  on  his  Great  Seal,  appears  in 
this  garment,  is  King  John:  1199-1216.  The  seal  of  the 
dauphin  Louis,  the  rival  of  John  (Harl.  Charter  B.  37, 
1216)  has  it  also.  The  earliest  Scottish  king  who  wears 
the  surcoat  is  Alexander  the  Second:  1214-1249."  Mey- 
rick  in  the  Critical  Enquiry  into  Antient  Armour,*  gives 
an  interesting  illustration  of  a  knight  performing  homage 

1  Cyclopedia  of  Costume  and  Dictionary  of  Dress,  London,  1876, 
I,  p.  490. 

3  See  also  in  addition  to  Planche",  Meyrick,  Critical  Enquiry  into 
Antient  Armour.  London,  i,  100;  and  Hewitt,  Ancient  Armour  and 
Weapons,  Oxford  and  London,  1855,  i,  271. 

3  Ancient  Armour  and  Weapons,  I,  126  and  271. 

4  Critical  Enquiry  into  Antient  Armour,  I,  p.   27. 


610  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

to  King  Henry  I.  This  picture  is  presumably  dated  1100, 
and  the  surcoat  is  in  this  case  worn  over  the  hauberk. 
Meyrick's  comment  is  that  this  use  of  the  surcoat  would 
place  the  illustration  later  than  Henry  I,  but  that  other 
early  examples  of  such  use  are  known,  and  in  a  footnote 
he  adds  two  other  instances  of  its  early  use.  He  remarks, 
however,  farther  on  in  his  book,  that  surcoats  were  not 
generally  introduced  in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen  (1135- 
1154),1  Finally  there  is  an  effigy  in  Gloucester  Cathe- 
dral 2  which  is  supposed  to  represent  Kobert,  Duke  of 
Normandy,  the  son  of  William  I.  His  figure  lies  in  the 
attitude  of  a  Crusader  with  his  surcoat  over  his  coat  of 
mail.  Robert  of  Normandy  died  in  the  reign  of  Henry  I, 
but  this  effigy  has  been  dated  by  Meyrick  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  II  (1154-1189). 

To  this  historical  evidence  that  the  surcoat  was  some- 
times worn  over  the  hauberk  in  the  12th  century,  and  that 
it  came  into  general  use  very  early  in  the  13th,  we  may 
add  two  sentences  from  romances  of  the  time,  one  written 
at  the  end  of  the  12th  and  the  other  at  the  beginning 
of  the  13th  century. 

In  King  Sverrer's  Saga,  written  towards  the  close  of 
the  12th  century,3  by  the  abbot  of  Thingore  in  Iceland  and 
others,  from  the  narrative  of  the  king  himself,  we  have 
the  following  curious  passage :  4  "  Konungr  sat  a  brunum 
hesti,  hann  hafSi  g6"Sa  brynju  ok  styrkan,  panzara  um 

1IUd.}  p.   39. 

2  Stothard,  Monumental  Effigies  of  Great  Britain,  London,   1817, 
p.  24. 

3  Hewitt,  Ancient  Armour,  i,  111. 

4  C.  R.  linger,  Konunga  Sogur,  Christiania,  1873,  p.  181.     Hewitt 
(Ancient   Armor,   I,    111)    translates    this   passage: — "  Sverrer   was 
habited  in  a  good  byrnie,   above  it  a  strong  gambeson    (panzara), 
and  over  all  a  red  surcoat   (raudan  hiup)." 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   ORTU    WALUUANII.       611 

utan,  ok  yztan  rauftan  hjup."     The  other  reference  is    to 
be  found  in  Parzival : —  * 

"  lat  si  riten,  swer  da  geste  sin : 
den  gap  urlCup  der  Anschevin. 
dez  pantel,  daz  sin  vater  truoc, 
von  zobele  uf  si'nen  schilt  man  sluoc. 
al  kleine  wi'z  si'din 
ein   hemede   der   kiinegin, 
als   ez   ruorte   ir   blozen   lip, 
diu  nu  worden  was  sin  wip, 
daz  was  sins  halspe"rges  dach."  2 

This  evidence  shows  conclusively  that  the  surcoat,  al- 
though infrequently,  was  nevertheless  sometimes  worn  over 
the  armour  at  the  end  of  the  12th  century  and  that  it  be- 
came the  ordinary  costsume  of  kings  and  barons  in  the  early 
part  of  the  13th  century.  Now  inasmuch  as  the  author 
of  the  De  Ortu  himself  remarks  on  the  peculiarity  of  the 
surcoat,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  was  writing 
before  this  usage  had  become  common.  On  that  ground 
alone,  then,  one  would  hardly  be  justified  in  insisting  that 
the  romance  could  not  have  been  written  before  the  13th 
century. 

1Bartsch,  Wolfram's  von  EscTieribach  Parzival  und  Titurel.  Deut- 
sche Classiker  des  Mittelalters.  Leipzig,  1875,  Bk.  n,  11.  1269  ff. 
Compare  also  Bk.  v,  11.  1057-1060  and  1113-1164. 

2  Miss  Weston's  translation  of  these  lines  is  as  follows: — 

"  Let  them  ride  whom  he  there  had  feasted,  from  the  Angevin 

leave   they   prayed 
Then  the  panther  the  badge  of  his  father  on  his  shield  they 

in  sable  laid; 
And   a   small  white   silken   garment,   a   shift  that   the   queen 

did  wear, 
That   had   touched   her   naked  body,    who   now   was   his   wife 

so  fair, 
This   should  be  his  corselet's  cover." 

J.    Weston,   Parzival,    Wolfram   von   Eschenbach,   I,    p.    56,    Bk.   II, 
1.  675  ff. 


612  MAKGARET  SHOVE   MOREISS. 

Moreover,  in  the  matter  of  costume,  the  De  Ortu 
supplies  us  with  another  bit  of  evidence  which  points 
to  a  date  earlier  than  the  13th  century.  Twice  in  this 
romance,  the  author  mentions  a  particular  feature  of 
the  armour,  namely,  the  nosepiece  worn  on  the  helmet. 
In  the  course  of  his  adventures  the  knight  of  the  sur- 
coat  fights  on  a  certain  island  in  the  ^Egean  Sea.  In 
the  narrative  of  his  campaign  we  find  the  following 
passages : — "  Ac  Miles  cum  tunica  armature,  dum  suos 
cedere  uideret  postibus,  stricto  gladio  in  eorum  ducem 
irruens  humo  prostrauit,  apprehensoque  naso  cassidis  eum 
ad  socios  traxit  ac  uita  cum  armis  destituit."  l  Again, 
"  Aduenientem  igitur  Militem  cum  tunica  armature  ipse 
prior  impetit,  gladio  eiusque  qua  galea  inmunita  erat 
fronti  uulnus  inflixit,  nique  nasus  qui  a  casside  deorsum 
prominet  fuisset  presidio  una  mortem  intulisset  cum  uul- 
nere."  2  This  use  of  the  nasal,  that  is,  a  nosepiece  project- 
ing downwards  from  the  front  of  the  helmet,  was  almost 
universal  in  the  llth  and  part  of  the  12th  centuries.  "The 
nasal  appears  to  have  been  given  to  the  helmet  about  the 
end  of  the  tenth  century.  By  the  middle  of  the  next 
century,  its  adoption  has  become  general,  and  in  the  Bay- 
eux  tapestry  it  is  worn  equally  by  Norman  and  Saxon."  3 
"  The  characteristic  helmet  of  this  time  [the  twelfth  cen- 
tury] is  the  conical  nasal  helmet,  of  which  we  have  seen 
examples  in  the  close  of  the  former  period.  Eound  and 
flat  topped  helmets  of  the  twelfth  century  have  also  the 
nasal."  4  Fairholt  5  shows  a  figure  (ca.  1140)  with  a  nasal 
helmet,  and  Planche  6  describes  a  number  of  helmets  with 

*De  Ortu,  p.  400.  2  De  Ortu,  p.  409. 

8  Hewitt,  i,  72.  4  Ibid.,  p.  138. 

5  Costume  in  England,  London,  1846,  p.  88. 
"  Cyclopedia  of  Costume,  i,  p.  2. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   ORTU   WALTJUANII.       613 

nosepieces  which  were  used  in  the  12th  century,  one  of 
which  may  have  belonged  to  King  Stephen  himself. 
Meyrick  I  also  gives  several  instances  of  the  use  of  the 
nasal  helmet,  such  as  that  of  Alexander  I  of  Scotland, 
1107,  and  of  the  Earl  of  Chester,  standard  bearer  to  the 
king  in  the  reign  of  Stephen,  1141. 

Although  Hewitt,  it  is  true,  comments  on  the  fact  that 
occasional  uses  of  the  nasal  are  to  be  found  later  than 
this,  the  greatest  importance  in  the  mention  of  this  type 
of  helmet  in  our  romance  lies  in  the  well-attested  fact 
that  the  use  of  such  helmets  was  generally  discontinued 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.2  "  The  cylindrical  or  flat- 
topped  helmet  (without  the  nasal)  appears  to  have  come 
into  fashion  towards  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century."  3 
One  reason  for  the  discontinuance  of  its  use  was  the  in- 
convenient hold  which  the  nosepiece  afforded  to  the  enemy 
in  battle.  Stephen,  at  the  siege  of  Lincoln,  was  seized 
by  his  helmet  and  detained  a  prisoner,4  an  incident  similar 
to  that  in  the  romance  where  the  hero  drags  the  keeper 
of  the  forest  over  to  his  own  side  by  the  nosepiece  of  his 
helmet.  Because  of  the  unfortunate  accident  to  Stephen  the 
nasal  went  out  of  use  and  the  consequent  unprotected  state 
of  the  face  led  later  to  the  invention  of  close  face  guards. 
As  early  as  1148  Henry  of  Scotland  appears  on  his  seal 
in  a  conical  helmet  without  the  nasal.5  The  seal  of 
Henry  II  depicts  the  monarch  in  a  helmet  without  a  nose- 
piece.6 Eairholt  7  describes  a  figure  in  the  reign  of  King 
Stephen  attired  in  a  tall  conical  helmet  without  the  nasal. 

1  Critical  Enquiry,  i,  pp.  34  and  35.          2  Ibid.,   p.   36. 

3  Hewitt,  Ancient  Armour,  i,  p.  141. 

4  Fairholt,  Costume  in  England,  p.  89. 

5  Critical  Enquiry,  i,  p.  36. 

6  Ibid.,  p.  54.  7  Costume  in  England,  p.  89. 


614  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  safely  asserted  that  the  custom  of 
wearing  a  helmet  with  a  nasal  went  out  of  use  as  early 
as  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  ~Now  the  inference  may  fairly 
he  drawn  that  the  author  of  the  De  Ortu  would  describe 
such  a  helmet  only  at  a  time  when  its  use  was  still  some- 
what frequent.  Consequently  the  only  date  which  will 
fit  both  pieces  of  evidence  from  costume,  that  is,  which  will 
be  early  enough  for  the  use  of  the  nosepiece  and  at  the 
same  time  late  enough  for  the  surcoat  fashion,  is  obviously 
the  second  half  of  the  12th  century. 

Moreover,  Gawain's  journey  to  Jerusalem  at  a  time  when 
it  was  still  a  kingdom  of  the  Christians,  affords  another 
slight  clue  to  the  date.  Professor  Bruce  thinks  that  the 
incident  is  merely  reminiscent  of  the  former  possession  of 
that  city  by  the  Crusaders,  but  surely  the  story  would  more 
naturally  have  been  written  when  this  possession  was  still 
a  present  fact  to  the  mind  of  the  author. 

So  far,  then,  there  is  nothing  in  the  date  of  the  ro- 
mances which  would  forbid  the  authorship  of  Kobert  de 
Monte.  When  we  come  next  to  compare  these  romances 
themselves  with  the  character  and  life  of  Eobert,  it  will 
be  seen  that  here  too  they  fit  remarkably  well. 

It  will  be  convenient  at  this  point  to  recount  briefly 
the  facts  of  the  life  of  Robert  de  Monte  which  may  be 
found  at  greater  length  in  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography.**  Robert  de  Monte,  or  de  Torigny,  lived  dur- 
ing the  greater  part  of  the  12th  century.  The  first  men- 
tion of  his  name  occurs  in  the  Matriculation  List  of  the 

1See  also  for  the  life  of  Robert  de  Monte,  Delisle,  Edition  of  the 
Supplement  to  Sigebert  of  Gemllours  and  of  the  Opuscula  for  the 
Societe  de  I'Histoire  de  Normandie,  1872,  vol.  II,  Introduction;  and 
Hewlett,  Chronicles  of  the  Reigns  of  Stephen,  Henry  II  and  Rich- 
ard I.  Vols.  l-iv,  Rolls  Series,  1889,  vol.  iv.  Chronicle  of  Robert  of 
Torigni.  Introduction. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE  ORTU   WALUTJANII.       615 

monks  of  Bee  in  1128.  The  year  of  his  birth  was  about 
1110,  as  Mr.  Howlett  conjectures.1  In  1139  Henry  of 
Huntingdon  2  passed  a  short  time  with  Robert  at  the  mon- 
astery of  Bee  on  his  way  to  Rome.  Robert  probably  be- 
came prior  of  Bee  in  1149,  when  the  former  prior  was 
made  abbot,  as  in  1154  he  was  certainly  the  claustral 
prior  of  Bee.  The  same  year,  1154,  he  was  elected  to  the 
abbacy  of  the  famous  monastery  of  Mont  St.  Michel,  which 
office  he  held  until  the  time  of  his  death.  He  travelled 
considerably  in  connection  with  his  duties  as  abbot,  visit- 
ing England  twice,  the  first  time  in  1157.3  When  he  was 
in  the  island  he  visited  a  number  of  the  possessions  of 
his  abbey  there,  some  of  which  were  in  the  diocese  of 
Exeter,  including  the  Cornish  St.  Michael's  Mount.  The 
death  of  Robert  de  Monte  in  1186  has  been  confidently 
affirmed  by  Dom  Huynes,  an  early  author  of  a  history  of 
the  great  abbey.  A  list  of  the  abbots  in  Avranches  MS. 
213,  confirms  this  date,  and  there  is  also  a  document  in 
the  chartulary  of  the  abbey,  which  under  the  date  of  1187 
refers  to  Robert's  successor  Martin.  So  Mr.  Howlett, 
too,  concludes  on  these  grounds  that  Robert  de  Monte  died 
in  1186. 

As  abbot  of  Mont  St.  Michel,  one  of  the  four  great 
goals  for  pilgrimage  in  the  Middle  Ages,  Robert  had  many 

1  Mr.  Howlett  bases  his  conjecture  on  a  bit  of  internal  evidence 
in  the  chronicle,  taken  in  connection  with  the  fact  that  Robert 
would  probably  not  have  been  a  monk  at  Bee  until  he  was  at  least 
18  years  of  age;  while  the  date  of  his  death,  in  1186,  argues  for  the 
earliest  possible  age  limit  for  his  entering  the  monastery. 

3  See  letter  of  Henry  of  Huntingdon  to  Warinus.  Delisle,  Chronicle, 
I,  98-111.  Also  see  Chronicle  of  Henry  of  Huntingdon,  Rolls  Series, 
pp.  xxi-xxiii. 

3  Bale  gives  1176  as  the  date  of  Robert's  journey  to  England,  but 
the  date  1157,  given  by  Mr.  Howlett,  is  based  on  an  examination  of 
various  charters  and  other  documents. 


616  MAEGARET  SHOVE  MOKRISS. 

opportunities  for  meeting  the  most  celebrated  personages 
of  his  day.  Henry  II  and  Louis  VII  are  both  known 
to  have  visited  the  monastery  while  he  was  the  abbot.  M. 
Delisle  1  says  that  Robert  de  Monte  knew  the  principal 
members  of  civil  and  religious  society  in  England,  Nor- 
mandy and  Brittany.  Pilgrims  of  all  ranks  flocked  to 
the  great  abbey.  Mr.  Howlett  2  remarks  that  the  chroni- 
cler's own  means  of  obtaining  crusading  news  from  re- 
turning knights  was  so  good  that  even  when  he  was 
borrowing  from  Fulcher  of  Chartres  he  could  add  details 
which  his  authority  had  omitted;  and  his  knowledge  of 
later  events  in  the  Holy  Land,  though  not  always  accurate, 
leads  Michaud  to  rank  him  for  certain  facts  among  the 
original  authorities  on  the  Crusades.  This  detailed  knowl- 
edge of  crusading  history  and  geography,  shown  on  the 
part  of  the  chronicler,  becomes  significant  when  we  re- 
member the  description  of  Gawain's  journey  to  Jerusalem 
in  the  De  Ortu  with  its  unusual  comprehension  of  geo- 
graphical localities.  The  voyage  to  the  Holy  Land  was, 
however,  one  of  which  Robert  must  have  heard  every 
detail,  just  as  he  had  heard  of  the  actual  crusade  against 
the  Saracens,  and  what  could  be  more  natural  than  that 
he  should  represent  in  his  romance  the  length  and  dangers 
of  the  journey. 

Does  not  this  close  relationship  with  the  men  and  events 
of  his  age  make  it  possible  that  Eobert  de  Monte,  the  abbot 
of  the  great  monastery,  should  have  acquired  not  only 
the  knowledge  necessary  for  his  chronicle,  but  also  a  keener 
appreciation  of  all  kinds  of  literature?  In  fact,  it  is 
known  that  he  was  famous  for  just  such  literary  tastes 

1  Delisle,  II,  p.  xii. 

2  Howlett,  p.  xviii. 


THE    AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   ORTU    WALUUANII.       617 

and  interests.  The  Dictionary  of  Larousse,1  in  the  article 
under  Mont  St.  Michel,  attributes  part  of  the  great  repu- 
tation of  the  abbey  in  the  12th  century  to  Robert  de 
Torigny,  who  gathered  there  one  of  the  best  collections  of 
manuscripts  then  known,  from  which  the  monastery  re- 
ceived the  name  of  the  City  of  Books.  It  was  during 
his  abbacy  too,  and  partly  due  to  his  literary  zeal,  accord- 
ing to  the  same  authority,  that  the  Roman  du  Mont  Saint 
Michel  by  William  de  Saint-Pair  was  written.2  This  man 
with  his  love  of  books  and  learning  was  certainly  well 
qualified  to  be  the  author  of  romances  which,  as  Pro- 
fessor Bruce  says,3  must  have  been  written  by  a  man  of 
culture  and  learning  and  probably  by  an  ecclesiastic. 
Testimony  to  the  breadth  of  his  knowledge  is  found  in  his 
classical  allusions  to  the  Cyclops  and  the  battle  of  the 
Lapithse  and  Centaurs.4 

A  direct  knowledge  of  Arthurian  material  and  especially 
of  the  story  of  Arthur  as  told  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth 
may  also  be  attributed  to  Robert  de  Monte  as  early  as 
1139.  In  this  year  Henry  of  Huntingdon  on  his  way  to 
Rome  stayed  a  few  days  at  Bee  and  there  met  the  young 
monk.  He  records  the  incident  in  his  letter  to  Warinus. 
"  Robertum  de  Torrinneio,  ejusdem  loci  monachum  veruin 
tarn  divinorurn  quam  secularium  librorum  inquisitorem 
et  conservatorem  studiossimum  ibidem  conveni.  Qui  cum 
de  ordine  hystorise  de  regibus  Anglorum  a  me  editse  me 

1  Larousse,   Dictionnaire  universel  du  XI Xe  siecle. 

2  For  a  discussion  of  this   13th  century  romance,  see  the  preface 
of  M.  Beaurepaire  to  the  edition  of  the  romance  by  Michel,  Caen, 
1856.     In  this  preface  high  tribute  is  paid  to  the  abbot,  Robert  de 
Monte,  due  to  whose  efforts  the  monastery  became  a  famous  school 
of  learning.     Guillaume  de  Saint-Pair,  Roman  du  Mont-Saint-Michel. 
Ed.   by   Francisque-Michel,   Caen,    1856. 

*De  Ortu,  p.  386.  4  Ibid.,  p.  421. 


618  MARGARET  SHOVE   MORRISS. 

interrogaret,  et  id  quod  a  me  quserebat  libens  audisset, 
obtulit  michi  libram  ad  legendum  de  regibus  Britorum, 
qui  ante  Anglos  nostram  insulam  temierunt;  quorum  ex- 
cerpta  ut  in  epistola  decet,  brevissime  scilicet,  tibi,  dilec- 
tissime,  mitto."  *  That  Henry  meant  the  Historia  of 
Geoffrey  by  this  book,  a  sentence  at  the  end  of  his  letter 
shows :  "  Hsec  sunt  quse  tibi,  Warine  Brito  karissime, 
brevibus  promisi ;  quorum  si  prolixitatim  desideras,  librum 
grandem  Gauf ridi  Arturi,  quern  apud  Beccense  coenobium 
inveni,  diligenter  requiras,  ubi  prsedicta  satis  prolixe  et 
eluculenter  tract  at  a  reperies.  Vale.'7  2 

This  epistle  of  Henry  of  Huntingdon  to  Warinus  was 
inserted  by  Robert  in  his  own  chronicle  to  explain  the 
early  history  of  the  Britons  more  easily  than  he  himself 
could  have  recapitulated  it.  He  refers  also  again  to 
Geoffrey  in  the  body  of  his  chronicle.3  So  it  is  evident 
that  Robert  de  Monte  had  an  intimate  knowledge  of  Geof- 
frey of  Monmouth's  book,  with  its  important  body  of 
Arthurian  tradition,  no  more  than  three  years  after  it 
was  written.  This  fact  alone  would  seem  to  indicate  that 
his  interest  in  such  subjects  was  unusually  keen.  The 
definite  linking  of  Robert  with  Geoffrey  at  such  an  early 
date  also  serves  well  to  connect  him  with  that  small  circle 
of  men  who  in  the  12th  century  were  developing  the 
Arthurian  tradition  into  romance.4 

1Delisle,  i,  p.  98.  2 Ibid.,  p.  111. 

8 "  Gauf ridus  Artur,  qui  transtulerat  historiam  de  regibus  Bri- 
tonum  de  britannico  in  latinum,  fit  episcopus  Sancti  Asaph  in 
Norgualis."  Delisle,  i,  p.  265. 

A  catalogue  of  Bee  library  in  the  12th  century  also  includes  the 
history  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  among  the  titles  of  books  given 
in  it.  "  Item  historiarum  de  regibus  majoris  Britannie  usque  ad 
adventum  Anglorum  in  insulam  libri  XII,  in  quorum  septimo  con- 
tinentur  prophet!  Merlini,  non  Silvestris,  sed  alterius,  id  est  Merlini 
Ambrosii."  Migne,  Patrologia,  Cwrsus  Latince,  vol.  150,  770-782. 

'Vita   Meriadoci,   p.    339. 


THE    AUTHORSHIP    OF   THE    DE   ORTU    WALUUANII.       619 

The  bearing  of  this  fact  of  Robert's  interest  in  Geoffrey 
on  our  question  of  authorship  is,  of  course,  obvious,  since 
we  know  that  the  author  of  our  two  romances  made  fre- 
quent and  exact  use  of  the  Historia,  as  a  source  not  only 
for  situations,  but  for  turns  of  phraseology  as  well. 

All  the  facts,  then,  of  Robert's  career  and  interests  and 
of  his  knowledge  of  Arthurian  material  fit  remarkably 
with  the  evidences  of  the  character  and  training  of  the 
author  and  of  his  direct  use  of  Geoffrey  to  be  found  in 
the  romances. 

Finally,  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  the  identification 
of  Robert  as  the  author  of  these  romances  at  once  clears 
up  the  mysterious  "  R  "  which  stands  in  the  text  of  the 
Historia  Meriadoci.  Both  the  Cotton  and  the  Rawlin- 
son  MSS.  of  this  romance  begin  with  the  words,  "  Incipit 
prologus  R."  *  Professor  Bruce,  in  a  note  on  this  phrase, 
remarks  cautiously  enough :  "I  confess  I  do  not  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  this  R.  Probably  it  was  the  initial 
of  the  author  or  scribe."  From  this  tentative  suggestion, 
however,  M.  Paul  Meyer  has  dissented,  asserting  posi- 
tively, though  without  argument,  that  this  "  R  "  stands 
for  "  Rubrica,"  and  adding  somewhat  ungraciously:  "  II  y 

1  Bale,  it  is  true,  notes  the  Meriadoe  story  as  beginning  "  Meno- 
ratu  dignam."  This  seems  to  indicate,  however,  not  that  the  "R," 
prologue  was  omitted  in  the  manuscript  to  which  Bale's  authority 
was  referring,  but  that  all  which  was  written  up  to  that  point  was 
to  be  regarded  merely  as  an  introductory  sentence.  If  the  sentence 
"  Incipit  prologus  R  in  Historia  Meriadoci,  regis  Kambrie,"  be 
read  as  an  introduction  to  the  author's  short  prologue,  it  will 
closely  parallel  the  sentence  on  the  next  page  which  introduces  the 
body  of  the  narrative: — "Incipit  historia  Meriadoci,  regis  Kambrie." 
It  looks,  therefore,  as  if  this  were  the  proper  reading,  that  is,  as 
if  the  first  two  lines  of  the  Meriadoe  should  be  punctuated  as 
follows :  "  Incipit  prologus  R  in  Historia  Meriadoci,  regis  Kambrie. 
Memoratu  dignam  dignum  duxi  exarare  historiam,"  etc. 


620  MARGARET  SHOVE   MORRISS. 

a  d'autres  traces  d' inexperience,  ou  meme  d'une  connais- 
sance  insufSsante  du  latin."  1  But  Professor  Bruce,  at 
all  events,  was  not  the  first  to  draw  the  inference  that  in 
"  R "  we  have  the  initial  of  the  author's  name.  Mr. 
Macray,  the  editor  of  the  Bodleian  Catalogue,  describes 
the  Rawlinson  copy  as  follows :  "  Historia  Meriadoci  Re- 
gis Cambriae  cum  prologo  brevi  cujusdam  R."  2  And 
long  before,  Leland,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  written 
with  even  greater  positiveness,  "  Ex  historia  de  Meriadoco 
script  a  per  R."  3  The  fact  that  each  of  these  authori- 
ties, writing  independently,  understood  "  K "  to  be  the 
initial  of  a  name  seems  to  show  that  this  is  the  most  natural 
interpretation  of  it. 

We  have  then,  to  sum  up  the  case  in  a  word,  the  mediae- 
val tradition  preserved  in  Bale's  Index  that  these  two 
romances  were  written  by  Robert  de  Monte.  We  have 
seen,  further,  that  what  is  known  of  Robert's  life  and 
literary  interests  makes  the  ascription  of  these  romances 
to  him  extremely  plausible.  Finally,  we  find  in  the 
extant  manuscripts  of  the  Historia  Meriadoci  the  letter 
"  R "  which  may  most  reasonably  be  explained  as  the 
initial  of  the  author's  name.  The  occurrence  of  this  letter 
in  the  text  must  be  regarded,  therefore,  either  as  an  ex- 
traordinary coincidence,  or,  as  I  prefer  to  believe,  as  a 
confirmation  of  the  statement  in  the  Index  that  these  ro- 
mances came  from  the  pen  of  the  Abbot  of  Mont  St. 
Michel. 

1 Romania,   xxxiv,   p.    144. 

2  Catalogi  Codicum  Manuscriptorum  Bibliothecce  Bodleiance.     Par- 
tis   Quintse    Fasciculus    Primus  ....  confecit,    Guilelmus    D(unn) 
Macray  ....  Oxonii.     E    typographeo    Academico,    MDCCCLXII,    col. 
501,  No.   149.  4. 

Historia  Meriadoci  Regis  Cainbriae  eum  prologo  brevi  cujusdam 
R.,  p.  91. 

3  Collectanea,  HI,  25. 


THE   AUTHOKSHIP   OF   THE  DE   OKTU   WALTJUANII.       621 


II. 

Asssuming  now  that  Eobert  de  Monte  was  the  author 
of  the  De  Ortu  and  the  Historia  Meriadoci,  let  us  proceed 
to  inquire  as  to  their  relationship  to  other  romances.  Pro- 
fessor Bruce  has  already  pointed  out  a  number  of  similar 
incidents  and  situations  in  other  romances,  though  in  most 
cases  the  parallels  are  not  sufficiently  direct  to  warrant 
any  positive  conclusion  as  to  their  relationship  to  the 
De  Ortu  and  the  Meriadoc.  Moreover,  now  that  we  place 
the  composition  of  these  Latin  romances  in  the  12th 
century  instead  of  the  13th,  the  whole  question  of  their 
sources  must  again  be  opened. 

In  the  first  place,  there  are  in  both  romances  frequent 
borrowings  from  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  Historia,  a  fact 
which  causes  no  surprise  when  we  recognize  them  as  the 
work  of  the  man  who  first  brought  Geoffrey's  treatise  to 
the  attention  of  Henry  of  Huntingdon.  Indeed,  the  estab- 
lishment of  Robert  de  Monte's  authorship  of  these  ro- 
mances makes  it  certain  that  these  borrowings  from 
Geoffrey  were  at  first  hand  and  not  through  an  interme- 
diary. This  relationship  to  the  Historia  is  particularly 
distinct  and  fundamental  in  the  case  of  the  De  Ortu. 

Professor  Bruce,  in  his  Introduction  to  the  De  Ortu* 
called  attention  to  the  likeness  between  the  beginning  of 
the  island  adventure  of  Gawain  and  the  landing  of  Brutus 
on  the  island  of  Loegecia  (Historia,  Bk.  1,  ch.  xi). 
Another  incident  in  the  Brutus  expedition,  described  in 
Chapter  xn,  still  more  closely  approximates  the  story 
found  in  the  De  Ortu.  Brutus  on  coming  to  Aquitania 
delayed  there  seven  days,  exploring  the  region.  When  the 

lDe  Ortu,  p.  385. 
5 


622  MAEGAEET   SHOVE   MOEEISS. 

king  of  that  country  heard  of  his  arrival,  he  sent  out 
legates  to  ask  what  he  was  doing  there,  and  whether  his 
men  brought  peace  or  war.  The  legates  on  the  way  met 
Corineius  (Brutus's  lieutenant)  with  two  hundred  men 
hunting  in  the  woods.  The  king's  messengers  asked  Cori- 
neius by  whose  leave  they  were  hunting  there,  and  added 
that  one  could  hunt  in  those  woods  only  by  the  permission 
of  their  lord.  Corineius  upon  this  made  a  bold  reply, 
and  rushing  upon  one  of  the  legates,  killed  him.  The 
others,  taking  to  flight,  returned  with  the  news  to  their 
king,  who  thereupon  collected  an  army,  went  back  to  fight 
Brutus,  and  was  eventually  defeated.  This  incident  com- 
bined with  that  of  the  first  landing  of  Brutus  was  evi- 
dently the  suggestion  on  which  was  based  the  story  of 
Gawain's  adventures  on  the  island  in  the  .ZEgean  Sea.1 

Again,  the  narrow  escape  of  Gawain  from  King  Milo- 
crates  may  have  been  a  reminiscence  of  the  situation  of 
King  Arthur  in  his  fight  with  Flollo.  "  Denique  Flollo 
invento  aditu,  percussit  Arturum  in  frontem,  et  nisi  col- 
lisione  cassidis  mucronem  hehetasset,  mortiferum  vulnus 
forsitan  intulisset."  2  The  similar  passage  in  De  Ortu 
reads :  "  Aduenientem  igitur  Militem  cum  tunica  arma- 
ture ipse  prior  impetit,  gladio  eiusque  qua  galea  inmunita 
erat  fronti  uulnus  inflixit,  nique  nasus  qui  a  casside  de- 
orsum  prominet  fuisset  presidio  una  mortem  intulisset 
cum  uulnere."  3 

1  In  connection  with  this  incident,  Professor  Bruce  has  also  called 
my  attention  to  a  passage  in  Garin  de  Loherain    (ed.  P.  Paris,  p. 
242)    describing    the    fight    of    Begon    de    Belin   with    the    foresters, 
which    results    in    his    death.     There    is,    however,    little    similarity 
between  the  two  stories.     The  incident  in  the  Historia  furnishes  a 
far   more   probable   source,    as   well   as    a   much   closer   parallel;    so 
there  is  no  need  to  look  further. 

2  Historia,  Bk.  ix,  ch.  xi.  *  De  Ortu,  p.  409. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP    OF   THE   DE    ORTU    WALTJUANII.       623 

But  by  far  the  most  important  obligation  which  the 
author  of  the  De  Ortu  owes  to  Geoffrey  is  the  account 
of  Gawain  at  Eome  (Bk.  ix,  Ch.  xi)  :  "  Erat  tune  Wal- 
vanus  nlius  praedicti  Lot  duodecim  annorum  juvenis, 
obsequo  Sulpicii  Papse  ab  avunculo  traditus;  a  quo  arma 
recepit."  This  brief  statement  in  the  Historia  appears 
to  have  supplied  the  initial  suggestion  for  the  romance. 

It  is  interesting  in  this  connection  to  note  a  passage  in 
Robert  of  Brunne's  Chronicle  which  seems  to  indicate 
that  he  was  acquainted  with  a  romance  dealing  with  Ga- 
wain's  education  at  Rome.  The  passage  runs  as  follows: 

"  Sire  Loth  J7at  weddede  Anne, 
Wawayn  her  sone  at  Rome  was  banne 
To    norise,    als    he    romaunce    seys, 
&   he   highte   Wawayn    be    curteys." * 

What  romance  Robert  of  Brunne  had  in  mind  in  the 
phrase  "  als  ]?e  romaunce  seys  "  no  one  can  tell,  but  his 
words  certainly  seem  to  refer  to  a  romantic  treatment  of 
the  story  rather  than  to  Geoffrey's  brief  sentence. 

In  the  prose  Perlesvaus,2  which  is  a  great  composite 
romance  of  the  13th  century,  we  find,  as  in  the  De  Ortu, 
that  Gawain  is  mentioned  at  Rome.  In  both  the  De  Ortu 
and  the  Perlesvaus  the  story  of  Gawain  at  Rome  has  been 
connected  with  the  tale  of  the  foundling  child  also  related 

1  Chronicles   of   Robert   of  Brunne,   ed.   by   F.   J.   Furnivall,   Rolls 
Series,  London,  1887,  I,  363  ff.     The  last  two  lines  in  this  quotation 
were  added  by  Robert  of  Brunne  to  the  information  he  had  gained 
from  Wace  concerning  Gawain's  infancy,  showing  that  although  he 
probably  used  Wace  for  the  statement,  he  was  familiar  also  with 
another    source    for    the    story.     In    line    10,667    he   refers   again   to 
Gawain  at  Rome  in  a  passage  taken  directly  from  Wace. 

2  Perceval    le    Gallois    ou    le    Conte    du    Graal   publie    d'apr&s    les 
manuscrits  originaux  par  Ch.   Potvin.     Premiere  partie,  Le  Roman 
en  Prose,  Mons,  1866,  pp.  252  ff. 


624  MARGARET  SHOVE  MORRISS. 

of  him.  In  their  account  of  Gawain's  birth  and  education 
these  romances  then  have  so  many  points  in  common  that 
direct  relationship  of  some  sort  must  be  supposed.  Fur- 
thermore, in  the  Huth  Merlin  1  the  foundling  child  story 
again  appears,  though  in  this  case  it  is  attached  to  Modred 
instead  of  to  Gawain.  Nevertheless,  the  story  presents 
such  close  parallels  in  incident  that  it  must  be  regarded 
as  definitely  related  to  the  De  Ortu  and  the  Perlesvaus.2 
This  foundling  child  story  in  the  three  romances,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  is  not  to  be  found  in  Geoffrey,  but  it  has 
been  incorporated,  in  strikingly  similar  form,  into  the 
12th  century  Vie  du  Pape  Gregoire.  Indeed,  Professor 
Bruce  was  so  much  impressed  by  the  similarity  between 
this  part  of  the  Gregory  story  and  the  three  Arthurian 
romances,  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  assume  that  the  three 
were  derived  from  the  French  Gregory.  He  points  out 
likenesses  in  detail  between  the  stories  of  Gawain' s  birth, 
as  found  in  the  De  Ortu  and  the  Perlesvaus,  and  that 
of  the  infancy  of  Gregory,  emphasizing  especially  certain 
slight  correspondences, — the  discovery  of  the  child  by  the 
sea  shore,  the  fact  that  in  the  Perlesvaus  the  guardian 
gives  his  name  to  the  hero,  that  in  the  Latin  romance 
the  person  who  brings  him  up  is  a  fisherman,  and  that 
in  the  Perlesvaus  the  person  who  gives  his  name  to  the 
child  is  not  the  one  who  actually  rears  him.  The  Huth 
Merlin,  he  thinks,  approaches  the  De  Ortu  more  closely 
than  it  does  the  other  tale,  as  it  retains  the  original  feature 
of  the  discovery  of  the  child  by  a  fisherman,  although 
many  other  details  are  lacking.  All  these  likenesses,  then, 

1  Soci6t6  des  anciens  textes  francaise,  Paris,  1875.  S.  Paris, 
Merlin,  roman  en  prose  du  XIII  siecle,  2  v. 

a  Professor  Bruce  has  already  recognized  the  close  relationship 
between  these  two  stories  and  the  De  Ortu  romance. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP    OF   THE    DE   ORTU    WALUUANII.       625 

Professor  Bruce  explains  by  supposing  a  common  deriva- 
tion of  the  De  Ortu,  the  Perlesvaus,  and  the  HutJi  Merlin, 
from  a  French  prose  tale,  itself  directly  derived  from  the 
Vie  du  Gregoire. 

In  proposing  this  derivation,  Professor  Bruce  was,  of 
course,  thinking  of  the  De  Ortu  as  a  13th  century  ro- 
mance. Now  that  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  it  is 
of  the  12th  century,  it  becomes  possible  to  explain  these 
relationships  in  a  different  way.  Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to 
suppose  that  the  story  as  found  in  the  Vie  du  Pape 
Gregoire  in  the  12th  century  could  have  had  time  to  pass 
through  a  French  prose  intermediary  into  the  De  Ortu, 
which  was  also  written  in  the  same  century.  Moreover, 
quite  apart  from  the  question  of  the  date  of  the  De  Ortu,  M. 
Gaston  Paris  found  evidence  which  made  him  believe  that 
there  existed  already  in  the  12th  century  some  romance 
dealing  with  Gawain  at  Rome.  For  M.  Paris,  in  his 
review  of  the  De  Ortu,1  announced  several  years  ago  that 
he  was  prepared  to  demonstrate  beyond  doubt  that  such 
a  romance  must  have  been  in  existence  at  that  time.2 
Before  proceeding,  however,  to  draw  definite  conclusions 
as  to  the  relation  of  the  De  Ortu  to  this  Gregory  story, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  examine  the  development  of  the  tale 
of  the  foundling  child.3 

1  Romania,  xxvm,   pp.    165,    166. 

2  Unfortunately,  Paris'  edition  of  the  Ider  in  which  he  intended 
to  present  his  evidence,  was  not  completed  at  the  time  of  his  death. 
It  cannot  be  known,  therefore,  on  what  grounds  he  was  basing  his 
statement  nor  in  what  form  he  thought  this  12th  century  Gawain 
romance   had   existed.     It   is   clear,   however,   that   at   the   time   he 
wrote  he  considered  the  De  Ortu  as  a  13th  century  romance.     Is  it 
not  now  possible,  since  we  know  that  the  De  Ortu  was  written  in 
the   12th  century,  that  this  very  romance  itself  supplies  the  early 
version   of   the   story   which   Gaston   Paris   postulated? 

3  It  is  no  longer  believed  that  the  Gregory  legend  was  modelled 

0 


626  MARGAEET   SHOVE    MORRISS. 

The  key  to  the  development  of  this  story  is,  I  believe, 
to  be  found  in  two  Eastern  versions,  one  Servian  and  the 
other  Bulgarian,  outlines  of  which  are  printed  by  Lip- 
pold  *  and  Kohler  2  respectively,  although  neither  of  these 
scholars  seems  to  have  recognized  the  full  importance  of 
these  late  popular  versions  as  preserving  comparatively 
primitive  forms  of  the  story.3 

The  Servian  version  is  the  story  of  Simon  the  Found- 
ling, found  in  a  Servian  manuscript  of  the  15th  or  16th 
century  (Talvj,  i,  139,  and  Gerhard's  Wila,  i,  226),  the 
outline  of  which  follows: — 

A  monk  from  a  cloister  finds  on  Donau  strand  a  little  chest. 
When  he  opens  it  at  the  cloister,  a  child  laughs  up  at  him.  He 
calls  the  child  Foundling  Simon  and  trains  him  in  the  cloister. 
One  day  when  the  scholars  are  playing  together  one  of  them  tells 
Simon  that  he  is  a  homeless  child.  He  goes  weeping  to  the  abbot 
of  the  monastery,  who  is  finally  forced  to  let  him  go  out  into  the 
world  to  seek  his  fortune.  He  provides  the  boy  with  clothing  and 
a  horse  and  exacts  from  him  a  promise  that  he  will  return  to  the 
monastery  in  ten  years.  As  the  boy  rides  forth  he  comes  to  a  royal 
feast  in  Buda.  The  queen  sees  him  at  the  feast  and,  attracted  by 


directly  upon  the  (Edipus  story,  as  Luzarche  seems  to  have  supposed 
in  the  Introduction  to  his  edition  of  the  Vie  du  Pape  Gregoire, 
Tours,  1857.  The  connection  between  the  two  stories  must  have 
been  at  best  but  a  vague  one  transmitted  through  many  intermediate 
sources.  Lippold  in  his  dissertation,  fiber  die  Quelle  des  Gregorius 
Eartmann's  von  Aue,  Leipzig,  1869,  p.  50,  insists  that  although 
ultimately  derived  from  the  (Edipus  story,  the  Gregory  legend  was 
not  based  directly  on  the  Greek  (Edipus. 

1  fiber  die  Quelle  des   Gregorius  Hartmann's  von  Aue,  pp.   55-56. 

2  Germania,   xv,    284. 

'Lippold  (p.  58)  does  not  think  the  Servian  tale  represents  an 
old  version  of  the  story  and  does  not  believe  in  the  theory  that  the 
story  was  an  eastern  one  which  came  west  through  Servia.  The 
presence  of  a  Bulgarian  MS.  of  a  similar  tale  would  seem,  however. 
to  confirm  the  theory  of  an  eastern  original  for  the  foundling  child 
story. 


THE   AUTHOESHIP   OF   THE   DE    OKTU    WALUUANII.       627 

his  beauty,  sends  him  a  message.  Simon  hastens  to  her,  greets  her, 
and  finally  spends  the  night  with  her.  In  the  morning  he  sees, 
ashamed,  what  has  happened.  Heavy  of  heart  he  springs  up  to 
leave,  and  the  queen  seeks  in  vain  to  keep  him.  On  the  way,  how- 
ever, he  misses  his  copy  of  the  Evangelists  and  returns  to  get  it. 
He  finds  the  lady  weeping,  for  she  has  recognized  the  book  and 
through  it  the  fact  that  he  is  her  son.  When  the  young  man  knows 
who  she  is,  he  returns  straightway  to  the  cloister.  He  tells  the 
abbot  what  has  happened,  and  the  latter  imprisons  him  in  a  loath- 
some cell  to  expiate  his  sin,  throwing  away  the  key  that  the  door 
might  not  be  unlocked  unless  the  key  return  to  him  again.  In  the 
tenth  year  of  Simon's  imprisonment,  a  fish  is  found  in  the  sea  and 
in  it  the  key.  The  abbot  hears  of  this  event,  and  remembering  the 
sinner  in  prison,  opens  the  door  of  the  cell.  He  finds  Simon  sitting 
in  a  refulgence  of  glory,  which  abundantly  testifies  to  the  fact  that 
his  sin  has  been  forgiven. 

The  second  of  these  versions  is  preserved  in  a  Bulgarian 
manuscript  of  the  17th  century  1  in  a  Gymnasialbibliothek 
at  Laibach.  Its  outline  is  given  in  the  article  in  Germa- 
nia,  by  Mr.  Kohler: — 

A  certain  king  named  Anthony,  in  the  city  of  Csesarea,  had  a  son 
and  daughter.  After  his  death  and  that  of  the  queen,  the  two 
children  ruled  the  country.  After  a  time  another  king  wished  to 
marry  the  sister  and  so  to  gain  half  the  inheritance.  The  brother 
and  sister  prevented  this  by  an  incestuous  union,  the  fruit  of  which 
was  a  son.  But  the  two  could  not  keep  the  child  because  of  the 
nature  of  its  birth.  So  they  made  a  chest  and  wrote  a  letter  telling 
of  the  child's  parentage  which  they  laid  in  the  chest  with  the  child. 
Finally  the  brother  died  and  the  sister  ruled  the  kingdom. 

A  wind,  meantime,  had  blown  the  chest  to  the  land  of  Herod. 
There  a  monk,  Hermolaus,  found  it  and,  keeping  the  letter  secret, 
reared  the  child,  who  finally  inherited  the  land  of  Herod.  Word 
came  to  his  mother  that  there  was  a  wise  young  king  in  that  land, 
but  she  did  not  know  that  it  was  her  son.  So  she  wrote  to  him 
and  asked  him  to  become  her  husband.  He  took  his  mother  as  his 
queen  and  became  king  of  Ccesarea.  He  (and  the  name  is  given 
here  as  Paul)  then  went  to  the  monk  and  asked  him  for  his  bless- 
ing. Hermolaus  answered  sadly  that  he  was  unfit  to  rule  and  gave 

1  Germania,  xv,  288 :  R.  Kohler,  Zur  Legende  von  Gregorius  auf 
dem  Bteine.  0 


628  M  AEG  ABET   SHOVE   MORBISS. 

him  the  letter  to  read.  Paul  did  not  read  it  until  he  reached  home, 
but  when  he  knew  its  contents,  that  he  was  a  child  of  incestuous 
parents,  he  became  very  sad.  From  this  time  he  would  not  lie 
with  the  queen.  She  wondered  at  this,  made  a  servant  tell  her  the 
reason  for  her  husband's  sadness,  and  in  her  turn  read  the  letter. 
From  it  she  found  out  with  horror  that  she  had  committed  incest 
with  her  own  son  as  well  as  with  her  brother.  She  then  told  Paul 
that  she  who  was  his  wife  was  also  his  guilty  mother  who  had 
written  the  letter.  Afterwards  she  repented  her  double  wrong  doing 
with  many  severe  penances.  But  Paul  went  to  John  Chrysostem 
and  told  him  of  his  sin.  John  was  much  horrified  at  the  enormity 
of  the  evil  deed,  but,  remembering  a  small  island  on  the  sea  on 
which  there  was  a  marble  column,  he  conceived  the  idea  of  confining 
Paul  there.  This  he  did,  fastening  him  hand  and  foot  and  locking 
him  into  the  column  with  an  iron  key  which  he  threw  into  the  sea, 
crying  "  When  these  keys  come  forth  out  of  the  sea,  then  I  shall 
come  to  you."  Twelve  years  later  John  found  the  key  in  a  fish 
brought  before  him  on  Annunciation  Day.  At  first  he  wondered 
about  it,  but  finally  he  remembered  Paul,  and  the  next  morning 
he  went  out  to  the  rock  on  which  he  had  left  the  guilty  man 
bound.  When  he  opened  the  column,  he  saw  Paul  shining  with 
glory  like  the  sun.  John  called  out  to  him  and  Paul  blessed  him, 
and  then  gave  his  own  soul  into  the  hands  of  God.  Finally,  his 
mother  came  to  him  and  she,  too,  found  rest  to  her  soul,  because 
she  had  done  penance  with  all  her  heart. 

Now,  inasmuch  as  both  of  these  versions  are  late  in 
date,  may  it  not  be  objected  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  intro- 
duce them  into  a  discussion  of  the  sources  of  the  12th 
century  French  Gregory?  This  might  be  the  case,  were 
it  not  for  several  important  points  in  connection  with 
the  versions.  Their  essential  similarity  to  the  Gregory 
story  makes  it  impossible  to  suppose  that  the  stories  had 
an  independent  origin.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  hard  to 
see  how  the  two  versions  could  have  been  derived  from 
the  French  Gregory.  For  the  general  course  of  romance 
material  was  from  East  to  West  and  not  from  West  to  East, 
and  these  are  both  eastern  forms  of  the  tale.  Even  if  it 
were  possible  that  in  this  case  the  course  of  the  story  was 


THE  AUTHOKSHIP   OF  THE  DE   ORTU  WALTJUANII.      629 

from  West  to  East,  it  would  still  be  necessary  to  explain 
the  somewhat  complicated  change  in  language.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  by  what  path  the  French  metrical  text  of  the 
Gregory  romance  could  have  travelled  to  Servia  and  Bul- 
garia. There  is,  besides,  a  suggestion  in  Mr.  Kohler's 
comment  on  the  Paul  of  Ccesarea  which  will  indicate  the 
probable  path  which  the  story  did  take.  He  quotes  the 
opinion  of  the  Russian  scholar  Lamansky  that  the  Bulga- 
rian manuscript  is  undoubtedly  the  translation  of  a  Greek 
text.  Although  there  is  no  indication  of  the  source  of 
the  Simon  story,  it,  too,  may  have  come  from  this  Greek 
version.1  Finally,  the  most  important  reason  for  rely- 
ing on  these  tales  as  representing  earlier  versions  of  the 
foundling  child  story  than  the  Gregory,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  character  of  the  stories  themselves.  Their  compara- 

1  The  relationship  between  the  Paul  of  Ccesarea  and  the  Simon 
would  not  in  any  way  forbid  this  theory  of  a  common  source  for 
the  two.  Both  stories  contain  the  essential  parts  of  the  legend: — 
the  finding  of  the  child  in  a  chest  on  the  shore  by  a  monk,  the 
education  of  the  child  by  the  man  who  finds  him,  the  incest  between 
mother  and  son,  the  discovery  of  this  first  by  the  mother,  the 
penance  performed  by  both,  the  imprisonment  of  the  son  and  the 
throwing  away  of  the  keys  which  are  found  again  in  the  body  of 
a  fish.  Where  the  two  stories  differ,  as  in  the  omission  from  the 
Simon  of  the  first  incestuous  connection,  and  in  the  imprisonment 
of  the  sinner  in  a  cell  instead  of  on  a  rock  in  the  sea,  the  variation 
was  probably  made  by  the  author  of  the  Simon,  as  the  version 
found  in  the  Gregory  agrees  more  closely  with  the  Paul.  The  latter 
version,  therefore,  evidently  represents  the  original  story. 

The  foundling  child  features  of  the  story  may  have  become 
attached  to  the  incest  motive  because  it  was  necessary  for  the 
development  of  the  incestuous  union  between  mother  and  son,  that 
they  should  be  separated  and  should  come  together  again  in  ignor- 
ance of  their  true  relationship.  Another  incestuous  connection  is 
made  the  reason  for  the  abandonment  of  the  child,  perhaps  to 
heighten  the  awfulness  of  the  position  of  the  man  who  is  to  expiate 
his  terrible  sin. 


630  MARGARET  SHOVE  MORRISS. 

tive  simplicity  and  their  lack  of  any  of  the  features  of 
romantic  adventure  so  conspicuous  in  the  French  Gregory, 
testify  strongly  to  their  early  origin. 

In  view  of  the  late  date  of  these  two  versions  as  they 
have  been  preserved,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the 
French  Gregory  could  not  have  been  derived  directly  from 
either  of  them.  How  then  could  this  foundling  child 
story  have  been  incorporated  into  all  three  of  these  ver- 
sions except  through  the  medium  of  a  common  source, 
which  was  a  story  doubtless  written,  as  Mr.  Lamansky 
suggests,  in  the  Greek  language? 

This  postulated  Greek  version  must  have  been,  more- 
over, marked  by  a  distinct  flavor  of  piety,  its  fundamental 
purpose  being  to  teach  the  efficacy  of  penance  for  the 
expiation  of  the  greatest  of  sins.  We  may  suppose,  then, 
that  the  Greek  parent  version  of  all  the  others  was  from 
the  first  distinctly  a  Christian  legend.1 

It  is  easy  to  conceive  that  this  pious  Christian  story, 
similar  in  most  respects  to  the  Paul  of  Ccesarea,  should 
have  passed  over  into  a  Latin  version,  likewise  pious, 
irom  which  in  turn  would  come  the  different  stories  of 
the  western  group.  This  postulated  western  story,  which 
we  may  for  convenience  call  W,  must  have  been  in  Latin 
and  was  altogether  probably  in  prose.  As  the  Greek 
was  an  ecclesiastical  tale,  W,  too,  may  well  have  kept 
the  essentially  pious  character  of  the  story  and  may  natur- 
ally have  become  connected  with  the  Latin  church.  It 
was,  therefore,  probably  already  attached  to  the  name 


1  The  nature  of  the  connection  between  the  CEdipus  and  the  Greek 
Christian  tale  cannot  be  made  clear.  It  is  possible  that  the  story 
was  first  taken  over  from  the  Greek  CEdipus  by  a  Christian  writer 
who  changed  the  story  to  make  it  serve  his  pious  purpose. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP    OF   THE   DE    OKTU    WALUUANII.       631 

Gregory,  which  is  that  of  several  of  the  greatest  of  the 
Popes.1 

This  W  then  went  over,  perhaps  through  intermediate 
steps,  to  a  French  romantic  poem,  from  which  in  turn 
came  the  German  and  English  versions  of  the  legend. 
But  the  character  of  the  story  in  this  French  form  must 
have  been  considerably  changed  by  its  incorporation  into 
romance  literature.  Its  somewhat  bare  outlines  were  soft- 
ened and  were  filled  in  at  much  greater  length.  It  was 
also  for  the  first  time  told  in  a  vernacular  tongue  and  put 
into  literary  metrical  form.  Moreover,  the  story  is  told 
with  such  relish  that  its  original  pious  purpose  is  almost 
overshadowed  by  the  interest  excited  in  the  exploits  of 
the  hero. 

Now  the  question  still  remains  as  to  the  way  in 
which  the  foundling  child  story,  as  so  far  developed,  was 
related  to  the  Arthurian  cycle  of  romance.  The  fact  that 
in  the  De  Ortu,  the  Perlesvaus,  and  the  Huth  Merlin 
alike,  this  story  is  connected  with  King  Arthur's  court, 
cannot  be  a  mere  coincidence.  It  is  necessary  to  suppose, 
therefore,  that  the  transition  was  made  in  some  one 

1Kaufmann  (Trentalle  Sancti  Gregorii,  Erlangen,  1889,  p.  5) 
supposes  the  romance  of  the  Trental  of  St.  Gregory  to  have  had 
some  connection  with  the  Gregorius  legend.  He  points  out  the 
similarity  of  name,  the  fact  that  the  theme  of  both  stories  is  the 
expiation  of  great  sin  by  penance,  and  that  in  both  stories  it ,  is  a 
mother  and  a  son,  who  afterwards  becomes  Pope,  that  are  con- 
cerned. It  is  easier  to  suppose  that  the  connection  of  the  Trental 
with  the  Gregory  story  came  through  W,  an  essentially  eccle- 
siastical tale,  rather  than  through  the  French  romance.  If  this 
connection  between  the  Trental  and  the  Gregory  legend  is  then 
through  W,  it  furnishes  an  additional  reason  for  thinking  that  the 
name  Gregory  was  already  attached  to  the  foundling  child  story  in 
the  W  version. 


632  MARGARET  SHOVE  MORRISS. 

romance  from  which  the  others  are  directly  or  indirectly 
derived.1  This  common  source  of  the  three  versions  we 
may  for  convenience  designate  as  Z. 

Can  this  hypothetical  version  Z  have  been,  as  Professor 
Bruce  thinks,  a  French  prose  tale  deriving  from  the  metri- 
cal French  Vie  du  Gregoire?  Even  if  we  leave  out  of 
account  the  chronological  objection  which  the  early  date 
of  the  De  Ortu  raises  against  this  hypothesis,  several  other 
difficulties  in  this  derivation  from  a  lost  French  source 
remain  to  be  considered. 

The  principal  ones  are  those  of  language  and  form. 
It  has  already  been  demonstrated  that  the  romance  Vie 
du  Pape  Gregoire  must  have  derived  from  a  Latin  source 
W.  It  would  hardly  be  expected,  then,  that  the  French 
poem  should  in  its  turn  have  been  the  source  of  another 
Latin  tale  such  as  the  De  Ortu.  ISTor  would  the  romance 
changed  from  prose  into  verse,  be  likely  to  return  again 
to  a  prose  form,  in  which  form,  however,  all  three  of  the 
Arthurian  romances  are  written.  In  addition  to  these 
reasons,  the  romantic  elaboration  of  the  incident  and  of 
the  motive  for  the  exposure  of  the  child  as  found  in  the 
French  Gregory  differentiates  it  clearly  from  the  somewhat 
simpler  form  in  the  De  Ortu.  It  is  far  more  reasonable, 
therefore,  to  suppose  that  Z  came  directly  from  W  and 
did  not  pass  through  the  medium  of  the  Vie  du  Gregoire. 

The  development  of  the  foundling  child  story  up  to  this 
point  may,  perhaps,  therefore,  be  indicated  by  the  follow- 
ing diagram: 


1  Professor  Bruce    (De  Ortu,  p.  375)   has  already  pointed  out  the 
necessity  of  a  common  source  for  these  three  romances. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE   OBTU   WALUTJANII.       633 

CEdirjus  (?) 


Greek  Christian  Legend 


Simon 

Paul  of  C 


Fr.  Greg. 


Assuming,  then,  the  existence  of  a  version  Z  as  the  com- 
mon original  of  the  three  Arthurian  stories  l  it  is  easy 
to  define  its  general  outlines. 

Z  in  all  probability  was  written  in  prose,  as  all  its  de- 
rivatives are  in  prose,  and  in  Latin,  because  the  De 
Ortu  is  a  Latin  romance.  It  must  have  contained  all 
the  characteristic  features  of  the  foundling  child  story 
as  it  appears  in  the  extant  Gregory  legend.  These  are, — 
the  concealment  motive,  the  placing  of  the  child  in  a 
cradle  or  chest  with  clothes  and  money  and  a  letter  ex- 

1  Z,  the  source  of  the  romance  of  the  De  Ortu,  could  have  been 
neither  the  Perlesvaus  nor  the  Huth  Merlin,  as  Professor  Bruce 
has  already  demonstrated  (De  Ortu,  pp.  375-376).  To  the  reasons 
which  he  gives,  still  others  may  be  added  at  this  point.  Because, 
in  Perlesvaus,  the  child  apparently  was  carried  away  by  land  and  not 
by  sea,  while  in  the  other  two  stories  the  feature  of  the  sea  voyage  is 
prominent.  The  incident  in  the  Huth  Merlin  differs  from  the  others 
in  many  details,  especially  in  the  absence  of  the  concealment  motive 
for  the  exposure  of  the  child,  and  is  clearly  but  a  weaker  reflection 
of  the  other  tale.  Moreover,  if  either  the  Perlesvaus  or  the  Merlin 
was  the  source  of  the  De  Ortu,  that  is,  was  Z,  the  difficulty  of 
the  change  of  language  would  again  arise. 


634  MARGARET    SHOVE    MORRISS. 

plaining  its  parentage,  the  cradle  put  into  a  ship  or  boat, 
the  stranding  of  the  boat  and  the  subsequent  finding  of 
the  child  by  a  stranger,  and  finally,  its  education  by  the 
man  who  found  it.  At  the  same  time  Z  must  have  differed 
from  the  source  of  the  Gregory  in  its  omission  of  the 
incest  feature,  in  its  loss  of  a  pious  purpose,  and  in  its 
attachment  to  the  Arthurian  cycle. 

Thus,  by  comparing  on  the  one  hand  the  early  forms 
of  the  foundling  child  story,  and  on  the  other  the  deriva- 
tive Arthurian  versions,  we  have  been  able  to  define  with 
considerable  precision  this  Z  which  supplies  a  necessary 
link  in  the  development  of  the  story.  And  now  that  we 
have  the  outlines  of  this  hypothetical  version  clearly 
before  us,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  it  coincides  point  by 
point  with  the  De  Ortu  itself.  That  the  De  Ortu  was 
actually  Z  cannot,  of  course,  be  proved,  nor  is  the  estab- 
lishment of  this  in  the  slightest  degree  necessary  to  our 
argument.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  nothing  to 
be  urged  against  the  identity  of  the  two  versions,  and 
it  certainly  becomes  most  difficult  to  differentiate  the 
hypothetical  Z  from  the  extant  De  Ortu.  If  Z,  then, 
may  be  identified  with  the  De  Ortu,  it  follows  that  it 
must  have  been  the  source  of  the  Perlesvaus  and  the  Huth 
Merlin,  although  in  the  case  of  the  latter  this  derivation 
may  not  have  been  direct. 

Against  this  derivation  of  the  Perlesvaus  directly  from 
the  De  Ortu,  Professor  Bruce  discovers  only  two  slight 
difficulties,  that  is,  two  details  in  which  he  finds  that  the 
Perlesvaus  is  more  like  the  Gregory  than  is  the  De  Ortu. 
These  difficulties  are:  first,  the  naming  of  the  hero  after 
the  person  who  takes  charge  of  him,  and  secondly,  the 
additional  feature  that  the  guardian  and  the  person  who 
brings  up  the  child  are  not  identical.  It  is  true  that  in 
the  Perlesvaus  the  name  is  given  to  the  child  by  its  guar- 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF    THE   DE    OKTU    WALTJUANII.       635 

dian;  but  at  the  same  time,  in  this  very  question  of  the 
name,  the  story  told  in  the  Perlesvaus  is  on  the  whole 
closer  to  the  De  Ortu  than  to  the  Gregory.  The  child  is 
given  the  same  name,  Gawain,  in  both  the  Perlesvaus  and 
the  Latin  romance.  It  is  also  named  by  its  mother  before 
the  exposure  incident,  and  not,  as  in  the  Gregory,  by  the 
guardian  after  the  voyage  is  over.  In  view  of  these  close 
likenesses  with  the  De  Ortu,  may  not  the  mere  fact  of 
the  child  being  called  after  the  guardian  in  the  Perlesvaus 
and  the  Gregory  be  a  coincidence  ?  In  the  other  instance 
also  the  greater  similarity  of  the  Perlesvaus  to  the  Gregory 
is  not  clearly  established.  While  the  abbot  who  has 
given  his  name  to  the  child  in  the  Gregory  romance  does 
not,  perhaps,  actually  rear  him,  it  is  within  the  mon- 
astery precincts  that  the  boy  is  educated,  and  it  is  to  the 
abbot  he  turns  when  he  is  in  trouble.  This  differentiates 
the  story  strongly  from  the  Perlesvaus,  where  the  guardian 
does  not  appear  again  after  he  leaves  the  child  in  the 
peasant's  hut.  The  likeness  of  the  Perlesvaus  to  the 
French  Gregory  does  not  appear  to  be  close  enough  to 
justify  the  supposition  that  it  could  not  have  been  derived 
from  the  Gregory  legend  through  the  De  Ortu. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Huth  Merlin  is,  as  Professor 
Bruce  recognizes,  closer  to  the  De  Ortu  than  to  the 
Perlesvaus,  and  consequently  could  well  have  derived 
from  the  Latin  romance.1 

Moreover,  the  character  of  this  hypothetical  Z  reveals 
an  author  of  sufficient  ingenuity  and  power  of  con- 
struction to  weave  together  into  one  story  many  different 

1  One  need  not  assume  that  the  extant  Latin  text  was  the  identical 
source  used  by  the  author  of  the  Huth  Merlin.  There  may  have 
been  intermediary  versions;  but  at  least  it  is  true  that  the  line  of 
descent  of  the  Merlin  must  have  been  through  the  De  Ortu  and  not 
through  the  Perlesvaus. 


636  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

elements.  He  evidently  took  this  incident  bodily  from 
its  former  setting  and  inserted  it  into  a  story  of  King 
Arthur's  court,  for  which  the  general  suggestion  had  been 
taken  from  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  Historia.  Was  not 
Robert  de  Monte  a  man  eminently  capable  of  making 
these  considerable  alterations  in  the  form  of  the  tale  that 
it  must  have  had  in  Z?  As  an  ecclesiastic,  too,  Robert 
would  have  had  access  to  such  a  version  of  the  foundling 
child  story  as  W,  the  pious  Latin  source  of  the  French 
Gregory.  Though  it  is  not,  I  repeat,  necessary  to  insist 
on  the  De  Ortu  as  the  very  source  of  the  Perlesvaus  and 
the  Huth  Merlin,  it  certainly  satisfies  all  the  conditions 
required  of  this  common  source.  Z,  if  another  version, 
must  have  been  similar  to  the  De  Ortu  in  language,  form, 
and  incident. 

In  any  case  it  has  been  shown  that  the  De  Ortu  must 
have  derived,  not  through  a  French  prose  tale  from  the 
French  metrical  romance,  but  rather,  either  directly  or 
through  a  lost  version  Z,  from  the  Latin  story  W,  which 
was  also  the  ultimate  source  of  the  Vie  du  Pape  Gregoire. 
Also,  since  it  is  clear  that  the  De  Ortu  comes  from  this 
version  W,  any  chronological  difficulty  on  the  score  of 
the  early  date  of  the  Latin  romance  is  at  once  obviated. 

The  sources  for  most  of  the  other  incidents  in  the 
romance  need  not  detain  us  here,  as  they  have  already 
been  pointed  out  by  Professor  Bruce  in  his  Introduction 
to  the  De  Ortu.  He  has  since  been  kind  enough  to  send 
me  one  or  two  further  references  in  connection  with 
minor  points  in  the  romance. 

The  most  important  of  these  is  a  parallel  in  expression 
between  the  De  Ortu  and  two  passages  in  the  prose 
Lancelot  du  Lac,  where  it  is  pretended  that  the  hero  in- 
troduces for  the  first  time  some  well-known  portion  of 
the  armour  or  dress. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE  ORTU   WALUUANII.      637 

1 — "  — ils  s'arm£rent,  Galehaut  des  armes  du  Roi  des  cent  che- 
valiers, Lancelot  de  ses  armes  ordinaires,  sauf  la  bande  blanche  a 
travers  le  champ  noir  de  l'e"cu  et  le  pennon  flottant  sur  le  heaume. 
Pour  la  premiere  fois  e*tait  porte  ce  signe  de  reconnaissance."  1 

2 — "  Celui-ci  pour  la  premiere  fois  parut  monte  sur  un  cheval  barde 
de  fer,  et  non,  comme  c'e"tait  jusqu'alors  1'usage,  de  cuir  vermeil 
ou  de  drap.  On  fut  d'abord  tente"  de  le  blarner,  on  finit  en  I'imitant 
par  montrer  qu'on  1'approuvait.  II  fit  encore  une  autre  chose  nou- 
velle,  ce  fut  d'arborer  une  banniere  de  ses  armes,  en  jurant  d'avancer 
toujours  au  dela  de  toutes  les  autres  bannifcres,  et  de  ne  pas  reculer 
d'un  pas."2 

The  passage  in  the  De  Ortu  referring  to  the  tunic  worn 
by  the  hero  above  his  armour  has  been  quoted  in  another 
connection :  "  neque  enim  antea  huius  modi  tunica  armis 
septus  aliquis  usus  fuerat."  3 

The  parallels,  however,  between  these  two  passages  and 
that  in  the  De  Ortu  are  not  close.  In  neither  instance 
taken  from  the  Lancelot  is  it  a  tunic  which  is  thus  worn 
for  the  first  time,  nor  is  the  matter  there  one  on  which 
much  emphasis  is  laid,  as  is  the  case  in  the  De  Ortu, 
where  the  incident  gives  a  nickname  to  the  hero.  It  is 
not  necessary,  therefore,  that  the  De  Ortu  should  have  been 
derived  from  the  Lancelot  romance.  It  is  not  impossible, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  the  writer  of  the  Lancelot  may 
have  appropriated  the  expression  from  the  Latin  romance, 
but  it  is  more  probable  that  the  two  stories  had  a  common 
original.  This  may  indeed  have  been  a  stock  device  for 
glorifying  the  hero  of  a  tale. 

The  description  of  the  island  people  who  live  only 
until  they  are  fifty  years  old  may  be  compared  to  two 
passages  in  the  English  Alexander  romances,  where  a 
fixed  limit  of  life  is  indicated. 

1P.  Paris,  Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  rv,  p.  50. 
3  Hid.,  iv,  p.  62.  sDe  Ortu,   p.   396. 

6  * 


638  MARGARET  SHOVE   MORRISS. 

"  Wymmen  there  ben  mychel  and  belde ; 
Whenne  hy  habbeth  ben  of  fiftene  wyntre  elde, 
Children   hy   beren   verrayment, 
That  ben  of   body  fair  and  gent: 
Ac  no  womman  of  that  countrey 
Ne  lyveth  no  lenger,  par  ma,  fey, 
Then  she  be  of  twenty  wyntres  age, 
For  then  she  gooth  to  dethes  cage." l 

"  Oure  lord  has  lemett  vs  elike  J?e  lenthe  of  oure  days, 
For  j?ar  leues  na  lede  in  oure  lande  langire  ]?an  othire. 
If  he  be  sexti  ^ere  of  sowme  ]?at  a  segge  lastis, 
His  successoure  has  bot  J?e  same  &  J?an  J?e  saule  ^eldis."2 

It  may  be  inferred  from  these  quotations  that  the  des- 
cription of  the  De  Ortu  was  suggested  indirectly  by  some 
such  Eastern  tradition  as  this,  but  the  parallel  is  so  vague 
that  no  direct  connection  can  be  assumed.3 

Turning  now  to  the  Historia  Meriadoci,  we  may  briefly 
consider  its  sources.  As  in  the  case  of  the  De  Ortu,  here 
also  there  are  distinct  traces  of  the  use  of  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth,  although  Geoffrey's  Historia  does  not  form, 
as  in  the  Gawain  romance,  the  starting  point  for  the  story. 
Almost  all  the  places  where  Geoffrey  has  been  used  have 
already  been  noted.  My  attention  has  recently  been 
called  by  Professor  Bruce  to  the  fact  that  the  author  of 
the  Meriadoc  also  received  from  Geoffrey  his  suggestion 
for  the  island  alike  on  all  four  sides,  the  description  of 
which  is  developed  from  a  sentence  or  two  found  in  the 
Historia  (Bk.  ix,  Ch.  vn). 

1  Weber,  Metrical  Romances,  Edinburgh,  1810.     Kyng  Alisaunder, 
I,  p.  208. 

2  Wars  of  Alexander,  E.  E.  T.   S.,  Extra  Series,  47,  p.  232. 

3  Mr.  Bruce  adds  also  to  the  two  references  given  above  another 
instance  in  which  the  name  Nabor  is  used,  that  is  in  the  Grand  St. 
Graal,  Hucher,  in,  p.  106.     As  he  had  already  pointed  out  the  name 
in   the  Huth  Merlin  this   additional   instance   of  its   use  indicates 
that  it  was  not  uncommon  in  romance  literature. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DE  ORTU   WALTJUANII.       639 

"  Cumque  ad  mirum  contulisset,  accessit  Arturus,  dixit  que  illi : 
aliud  stagnum  magis  esse  mirandum  in  eadem  provincia.  Erat 
quippe  baud  longe  illinc,  latitudinem  habens  viginti  pedum,  eademque 
mensura  longitudinem,  cum  quinque  pedum  altitudine." 

The  Meriadoc  description  is  as  follows: 

"  Est  autem  ei  quedam  insula,  quindecim  ex  omni  parte  patens 
miliariis  ....  Eiusdem  latitudinis  cuius  et  longitudinis  est."1 

An  attempt  has  recently  been  made  by  Deutschbein  2 
to  trace  in  the  first  part  of  the  Latin  Meriadoc  a  Welsh 
version  of  the  Havelok  romance.3  The  Meriadoc,  he 
thinks,  was  derived  directly  from  a  Celtic  story  of  northern 
England,  from  which  also  came  a  Danish  version  of  the 
Havelok  found  in  the  east  of  England,  and  so  ultimately 
the  other  forms  of  the  Havelok  story.  But  the  Meriadoc 
although  clearly  Welsh  in  origin,4  can  scarcely  have  been 
derived  from  the  story  of  Havelok.  The  likeness  between 
the  two  romances  consists  only  in  the  situation  of  the 
dispossessed  heir,  while  the  differences  between  them  are 
great.  There  are  a  boy  and  a  girl  in  both  tales,  but  in 
the  Meriadoc  they  are  sister  and  brother,  and  the  story 
of  their  disinheritance  forms  but  a  single  incident,  not, 
as  in  the  Havelok,  two  separate  ones.  In  the  Havelok 
the  father  of  the  hero  is  not  slain  by  the  treacherous  re- 

1  Meriadoc,  p.  386. 

2  Studien  zur  Sagengeschichte  Englands,   1906,   i,   pp.    134-137. 

8  The  parallel  between  the  Meriadoc  and  the  Havelok  was  suggested 
by  Professor  Bruce  in  the  Introduction  to  his  edition  of  the  Meri- 
adoc. Deutschbein  has  done  little  more  than  expand  to  a  somewhat 
greater  length  Professor  Bruce's  suggestions. 

4  In  connection  with  the  Welch  origin  of  the  Meriadoc  romance, 
which  Professor  Bruce  has  already  demonstrated,  it  is  perhaps  signi- 
ficant to  remember  Robert  de  Monte's  visit  to  England  in  1157. 
As  he  is  known  to  have  been  both  in  Devonshire  and  Cornwall,  it 
is  certainly  not  impossible  that  he  also  visited  Wales. 


640  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

gent.  The  Meriadoc,  moreover,  does  not  contain  any  hint 
of  a  sea  voyage  nor  of  the  humble  youth  of  the  hero  and 
his  ignominious  position  at  the  king's  court.  The  occurr- 
ence of  the  Welsh  name  Orwen  or  Orwain  in  both  the 
HaveloJc  and  the  Meriadoc  appears  to  be  but  a  natural 
coincidence  as  the  two  stories  were  both  drawn  from 
Cymric  sources.  Had  there  been  any  direct  connection 
between  the  Meriadoc  and  the  HaveloJc  story  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  suppose  that  other  more  important  names  would 
not  also  have  been  carried  over  to  the  Meriadoc.  It  is, 
moreover,  not  probable  that  the  name  would  have  been 
transferred  from  the  mother  of  the  girl  to  the  girl  her- 
self. On  the  whole,  then,  the  two  stories  are  so  different 
that  it  is  difficult  to  see  in  what  their  similarity  consists. 
In  view  of  the  great  divergences  between  them,  the  one 
or  two  slight  likenesses,  such  as  the  pity  of  the  cruel 
regent  for  the  child,  which  leads  him  to  postpone  its 
death,  may  be  regarded  as  merely  fortuitous.  There  is 
certainly  no  adequate  reason  for  assuming  the  depend- 
ence of  the  Meriadoc  on  the  Havelofc  story.1 

Indeed,  although  there  are  in  the  Meriadoc  many  slight 
resemblances  to  scattered  incidents  found  in  other  roman- 
ces, I  have  been  unable  to  discover  a  possible  direct  source 
for  any  part  of  the  story.  A  few  additional  references 
may  be  mentioned  2  which  are  of  the  same  general  char- 
acter as  those  to  which  attention  is  called  in  the  Intro- 
duction to  the  Meriadoc.  That  is  to  say,  the  passages 


1  The  Havelok  story  itself  clearly  passed  through  a  Welsh  medium. 
If,  then,  the  Meriadoc  too  is  to  represent  a  Welsh  version  of  the 
Havelok,  there  would  have  been  in  Wales  at  the  same  time  two 
versions  of  the  same  story  under  different  names,  a  situation  which 
is  highly  improbable. 

2 1  am  indebted  to  Professor  Bruce  for  these  references. 


THE   AUTHOKSHIP   OF   THE  DE   ORTU   WALUUANII.      641 

present  parallels  of  the  vaguest  description  and  cannot 
in  any  case  be  supposed  to  have  furnished  sources  for  the 
story. 

Gundebald's  test  for  applicants  for  military  service 
in  the  Meriadoc  (p.  387)  may  be  compared  in  a  general 
way  with  the  description  found  in  Lancelot  du  Lac: l 

"Le  mer  le  bornait  d'un  c6te,  de  Pautre  une  riviere  nominee 
Asurne,  large,  rapide  et  profonde,  qui  aboutissait  a  la  mer.  On 
y  trouvait  des  chateaux,  des  cite"s,  des  forests,  des  montagnes.  Pour 
y  pene"trer,  il  fallait  passer  par  deux  chausse"es  qui  n'avaient  que 
trois  conde'es  de  large  et  plus  de  sept  mille  et  cinquante  conde"es  de 
long.  A  1'entre'e  et  a  la  sortie  se  dressait  une  forte  tour  de"fendue 
par  un  chevalier  de  prouesse  e'prouvee,  et  par  dix  sergents  arme"s 
de  haches,  de  lances  et  d'e"pe"es.  Quiconque  demandait  9.  passer 
e"tait  tenu  de  combattre  le  chevalier  et  les  dix  sergents.  S'il  for- 
cait  le  passage,  on  inscrivait  son  nom  a  Fentr€e  de  la  tour,  et  d&s- 
lors  il  devait  faire  ie  service  de  celui  qu'il  avait  vaincu,  jusqu'a 
ce  qu'il  plut  a  Galehant  d'envoyer  un  de  ses  chevaliers  pour  le  rem- 
placer.  S'il  e"tait  vaincu,  le  chevalier  le  retenait  prissonier." 

The  three  knights  whom  Meriadoc  meets  and  over- 
comes in  succession,  Niger  Miles  de  Negro  Saltu,  etc.,  are 
not  unlike  the  three  whom  Gareth  defeats  in  the  Morte 
d' Arthur,2  but  the  circumstances  under  which  the  fight- 
ing is  done  are  very  different. 

There  is  a  dwarf,  who  will  not  answer  questions  put 
to  him,  in  the  romance  of  Sir  Degree.3 

The  name  Dolphin  occurs  as  a  man's  name  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  chronicle  (Laud  MS.)  under  the  year  1092,  and 
in  King  Lear.4" 

These  references  are,  however,  as  has  already  been  said, 
far  too  late  to  have  furnished  sources  for  the  Meriadoc. 
The  minor  parallels  which  they  present  to  the  Latin 

*P.  Paris,  Romans  de  la  Table  Ronde,  in,  p.  279. 

s  Morte  d' Arthur,  Bk.  vn,  ch.  vn. 

8  Percy  Folio  MS.,  in,  p.  39.  « Act  III,  Scene  iv,  1.  93. 


642  MAKGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

romance,  as  well  as  the  other  resemblances  of  the  same  kind 
already  noted  by  Professor  Bruce,  indicate  not  direct 
sources,  therefore,  but  mere  fleeting  resemblances,  the 
very  elusiveness  of  which  points  to  the  origin  of  the  Latin 
story  before  the  formation  of  definite  romance  cycles. 

Finally,  there  are  still  other  features  in  the  two  ro- 
mances, such  as  the  unusual  names,  the  fight  at  sea  with 
the  long  description  of  Greek  fire,  and  part  of  the  island 
adventures  of  Gawain,  which  cannot  be  even  remotely 
paralleled  with  incidents  found  in  other  romance  material. 
Does  not  an  explanation  of  these  features  become  possible 
when  we  remember  that  Robert  de  Monte,  the  author  of 
the  Latin  stories,  was  a  chronicler  as  well  as  a  writer  of 
romance?  The  comparative  geographical  accuracy  in 
the  account  of  Gawain's  travels  and  the  clear  description 
of  military  and  naval  warfare  suggest  strongly  a  chroni- 
cle source  for  these  parts  of  the  romances.  This  idea, 
unfortunately,  remains  but  a  suggestion,  because  I  have 
been  unable  to  find  any  passages,  in  the  chronicles  to 
which  Robert  must  have  had  access,  which  would  serve 
as  a  direct  source  for  any  of  the  incidents  in  the  romances. 
The  only  piece  of  evidence  which  shows  distinctly  some 
use  of  the  chronicles  is  to  be  found  in  several  of  the 
names  in  the  Meriadoc,  those  of  Gundebaldus,  Guntram- 
nus,  and  Meroveus,  all  of  which,  as  Professor  Bruce 
points  out,  are  taken  from  the  names  of  French  or  Bur- 
gundian  kings.1 

There  is  besides,  however,  a  general  similarity  between 
the  names  and  situations  in  the  romances  and  those  found 
in  the  various  chronicles,  which  is  very  tantalizing  in 
its  suggestiveness.  The  names  found  in  the  De  Oriu, 

1  See  the  Chronicles  of  Gregory  of  Tours,  Bruno,  and  Paul  the 
Deacon. 


THE   AUTHORSHIP    OF   THE    DE    ORTU   WALUUANII.       643 

e.  g.,  Milocrates,  Buzafarnan,  Egesaurius,  and  Odabal,  are 
not  unlike  those  of  the  Persians  in  the  war  of  Justin- 
ian with  Chosroes  II  described  in  Procopius,1  e.  g., 
Gubazes,  Isdiguna,  Odonathus,  Buzes,  Nabedes,  etc.,  but 
in  no  case  is  there  exact  similarity.  Procopius 2  and 
Fulcher  of  Chartres  3  both  describe  an  animated  sea-fight 
but  there  is  no  incident  in  either  story  which  can  be 
directly  compared  with  the  fight  in  the  De  Ortu.  Such, 
too,  is  the  case  in  the  description  in  Baudri  of  Bour- 
gueil  4  of  the  capture  of  Antioch  through  the  treachery 
of  a  man  within  the  walls  of  the  city.  The  situation  is 
similar  to  one  in  the  Latin  romance,  but  there  is  no 
likeness  in  the  actual  phrasing  of  the  incidents.  Many 
of  the  chronicles  also  mention  the  use  of  Greek  fire,  but 
I  have  found  no  such  description  of  its  preparation  as  in 
the  De  Ortu.  The  parallel  with  chronicle  material  so 
far,  therefore,  remains  one  of  general  character  rather 
than  of  specific  phrase  or  incident;  but  it  is  very  possible 
that  a  wider  search  among  the  chronicles  would  reveal 
material  actually  incorporated  into  the  romances. 

This  study  of  the  sources  of  the  De  Ortu  and  the  M er- 
iadoc,  I  am  fully  aware,  has  not  been  exhaustive.  But 
so  far  as  it  has  gone,  it  has  not  brought  out  any  relation- 
ships which  are  inconsistent  with  the  conclusions  reached 
in  the  first  part  of  this  paper ;  and  the  general  impression 
gained  from  the  romances  themselves  that  they  were  writ- 
ten before  the  development  of  the  Arthurian  cycle,  war- 
rants us  in  accepting,  on  the  authority  of  Bale's  Index, 
Robert  de  Monte  as  their  author.  Changing  the  date  thus 

1  De  Bello   Gothico. 

3  Ibid.,   iv,   23,   p.   577. 

8Migne,  Patrologia  Lat.,  vol.  155,  col.   1273. 

4Migne,  Patrologia  Lat.,  vol.   166,  col.    1102. 


644  MARGARET   SHOVE   MORRISS. 

from  the  13th  to  the  12th  century  brings  the  two  Latin 
stories  into  a  different  circle  of  romance  connections  and 
thereby  increases  their  importance.  They  must  at  least 
have  been  composed  while  Chretien  de  Troyes  was  writing, 
and  possibly  even  before  the  date  of  his  first  romance. 
The  earliest  time  at  which  the  two  romances  could  have 
been  written  was  after  1139,  when  Robert  called  the 
attention  of  Henry  of  Huntingdon  to  the  existence  of 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  Historia',  while  the  date  of 
Robert's  death  was  1186.  The  first  romances  of  Chretien 
de  Troyes  were  written  between  the  years  1164-1174. 
The  two  sets  of  dates,  therefore,  are  parallel  only  in  the 
later  years  of  Robert  de  Monte' s  life.  It  might  easily  be 
expected,  however,  that  the  abbot  of  Mont  St.  Michel  would 
have  been  inspired  to  write  Arthurian  romances,  showing 
so  clearly  the  influences  of  the  Historia,  at  a  time  when 
the  Geoffrey  material  was  still  comparatively  fresh  in  his 
mind.  In  any  case  it  would  certainly  be  necessary  for 
one  who  questions  the  assumption  that  our  author  did  not 
borrow  from  Chretien,  to  prove  that  he  knew  and  availed 
himself  of  the  works  of  the  French  romance  writer.  If  he 
had  used  Chretien,  one  would  expect  to  find  in  the  Latin 
romances  parallels  to  the  French  poems  which  would 
approach  the  definiteness  of  their  parallels  to  Geoffrey. 
Such  parallels,  however,  are  not  to  be  found.  If  Robert's 
independence  of  Chretien  seems  probable,  then  the  im- 
portance of  his  romances  increases  greatly,  for  there  are 
matters  of  characterization  and  episodes  in  the  two  Latin 
stories  thereby  shown  not  to  be  the  work  of  Chretien. 
Such  incidents  are  those  of  the  encounter  at  the  ford,  the 
conversation  of  Arthur  and  the  queen  in  bed,  and  other 
typically  Arthurian  material. 

One  general  result  of  this  whole  study  must  be  to  supply 


THE    AUTHOKSHIP    OF    THE    DE    OBTU    WALUUANII.       645 

another  interesting  example  of  this  early  type  of  Latin 
literature.  Professor  Warren,  in  the  course  of  a  discussion 
of  the  French  romances  of  the  Thebes  and  Eneas  1  throws 
out  the  suggestion  that  there  was  already  a  considerable 
body  of  romantic  literature  in  Latin  in  the  first  half  of 
the  12th  century.  The  results  reached  in  this  paper  give 
additional  force  to  this  suggestion. 

MAEGAEET  SHOVE  MOEEISS. 


*Pub.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass.,  xvi,  p.  375. 


XXVII.— SPENSER'S   DAPHNAIDA,    AND 
CHAUCER'S  BOOK  OF  THE 
DUCHESS. 

No  editor  of  Spenser  has  failed  to  remark  on  certain 
poems  and  passages  which  reflect  the  influence  of  Chaucer. 
Attention  has  not  hitherto  been  called,  however,  to  what 
not  only  seems  to  be  the  most  marked  example  of  this 
influence,  but  to  what  is  also  an  unusually  clear  case  of 
literary  borrowing.  The  purpose  of  this  study  is  to  show 
that  in  Daphndida,  Spenser  has  followed  Chaucer's  Book 
of  the  Duchess,  in  general  form  and  outline,  in  manner 
of  treatment,  and  in  style  and  subject  matter ;  that  he  has 
taken  from  the  Duchess  certain  stanzas  almost  entire,  has 
borrowed  from  it  whole  sections  of  eulogistic  ideas  and 
elegiac  conceits,  and  has  adopted  Chaucer's  phraseology 
itself,  with  a  freedom  at  once  both  striking  and  con- 
vincing. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  main  discussion,  it  will  be 
interesting  to  note  the  similarity  of  the  circumstances 
which  gave  rise  to  these  two  elegies.  Spenser's  friend, 
Arthur  Gorges,  has  lost  his  wife,  Lady  Douglas  Howard. 
Spenser  composes  Daphna/ida,  he  tells  us  in  the  dedication, 
on  account  of  the  "  great  good  fame  "  he  has  heard  of 
Lady  Howard,  as  well  as  "  the  particular  goodwill  "  which 
he  bears  "  unto  her  husband  Master  Arthur  Gorges."  The 
circumstances  attending  the  composition  of  the  Duchess 
will  be  at  once  recalled.  Chaucer's  friend,  John  of  Gaunt, 
had  lost  his  wife,  the  Lady  Blaunche.  Chaucer  wrote  his 
poem  in  memory  of  the  Duchess,  and  we  may  readily 

646 


DAPHNAIDA,  AND  BOOK  OF  THE  DUCHESS.     647 

believe  that  he,  too,  was  moved  to  write,  not  only  by  the 
"  great  good  fame  "  of  the  Lady,  but  as  well  by  "  the 
particular  goodwill  "  he  bore  "  unto  her  husband."  Thus 
Spenser  could  hardly  have  found  an  elegiac  model  more 
admirably  adapted  to  his  purpose.  The  fact  that  he  was 
already  familiar  with  the  Duchess  1  would  make  it  alto- 
gether natural  that  his  mind  should  revert  to  it  when 
casting  about  for  a  form  in  which  to  compose  an  elegy, 
the  occasion  of  which  was  so  strikingly  similar  to  that  of 
Chaucer's  poem.  This,  of  course,  is  not  evidence.  It 
does,  nevertheless,  reveal  a  noteworthy  coincidence  in  situ- 
ation, and  has  value  for  this  discussion  in  establishing 
a  fairly  strong  antecedent  probability.  Conclusive  argu- 
ment, however,  must  be  found,  if  at  all,  in  the  poems 
themselves.  In  the  discussion  which  follows,  I  shall  first 
point  out  the  resemblances  in  the  general  form  and  outline 
of  the  two  poems,  and  shall  then  compare  them  in  detail. 
The  poems  agree  in  the  following  points : 

1.  The  poet  describes  himself  at  the  outset  as  sorely 
troubled  in  mind. 

2.  The  exact  cause  of  this  trouble  is  left  unexplained.2 

3.  The  poet  goes  forth3   and  meets,  by  accident,   a 
man  in  sorrow,  clothed  all  in  ~black. 

4.  The  poet  hears  this  man  in  black  uttering  a  sorrow- 
ful moan,  whereupon  he  approaches,  and  greets  him  gently. 

5.  The  man  in  black  at  first  ignores  the  greeting  and 


JThat  Spenser  knew  Chaucer's  Book  of  the  Duchess,  can  be  established  on 
grounds  quite  independent  of  Daphnaida.  (Cf.  Faerie  Queene,  I,  1,  39-43.) 

2 In  Chaucer's  case  it  may  be  explained  as  a  purely  poetic  convention. 
Keasons  will  later  appear  for  believing  that  Spenser  has  followed  Chaucer 
in  this,  and  that  his  lines,  also,  have  no  autobiographical  significance. 

3  Chaucer,  of  course,  in  his  dream  (see  below,  p.  648). 


648  THOMAS   WILLIAM   NADAL. 

refuses  to  be  comforted.     He  finally  discloses  his  secret 
only  on  persuasion  of  the  poet. 

6.  He  describes  his  sorrow  in  the  form  of  a  riddle,1 
which  the  poet  asks  to  have  explained. 

7.  The  bereaved  man  not  only  tells  of  the  death  of 
his  wife,  but  also  rehearses  the  story  of  his  early  love. 

8.  He  rails  against  Fortune,2  who  has  played  false 
with  him  and  robbed  him  of  his  love. 

9.  He  pours  forth  a  formal  plaint,3  "  a  maner  song," 
which  in  each  case  the  poet  quotes  verbatim. 

10.  The  ending  in  both  poems  is  similarly  abrupt  and 
dramatic. 

The  two  poems  will  now  be  considered  in  detail.  In 
this  comparison  I  shall  follow  the  narrative  as  given  in 
Daphnaida,  noting  at  the  same  time  corresponding  lines 
and  passages  in  the  Duchess.  For  the  sake  of  brevity  and 
clearness,  I  shall  refer  to  Spenser's  "  man  in  black  "  as 
Alcyon, — the  poet's  own  name  for  him, — and  to  Chaucer's 
nameless  "  man  in  black "  simply  as  the  Knight.  Re- 
membering that  Spenser  does  not  adopt  the  dream  con- 
vention, and  passing  over  the  hunt,  which  forms  no 
essential  part  of  the  story  in  the  Duchess,  let  us  follow 
the  two  narratives  from  what  is  really  the  starting  point 
in  both, — the  point  at  which  the  poet  comes  upon  the 
"  sory  wight,"  the  death  of  whose  wife  the  poem  in  each 
case  is  written  to  celebrate. 

After   three   stanzas   of   a  very  general   introduction, 


*It  is  worth  while  to  observe,  also,  that  in  both  poems,  the  "man  in 
black"  gives  to  his  lady  a  pseudonym  which  has  a  very  definite  connection 
with  her  real  name. 

8  See  below,  p.  657. 

3  In  the  Duchess,  this  plaint  comes  at  the  beginning  of  the  narrative.  In 
Daphnaida,  it  comes  at  the  end. 


DAPHNAIDA,   AND   BOOK   OF   THE   DUCHESS.          649 

Spenser  proceeds  at  once  to  his  story.  He  tells  us  that 
one  "  gloomie  evening "  as  he  "  walkt  abroade  to  breath 
the  freshing  ayre  in  open  fields,"  there  came  into  his 
mind  a 

* '  troublous  thought, 
Which  dayly  dooth  my  weaker  wit  possesse." 

He  describes  himself  as  "  most  miserable  man "  of  all 
men  miserable,  in  language  which  at  once  suggests  the 
opening  lines  of  the  Duchess.  It  was  while  thus  musing 
on  his  misery,  that  he  came  upon  the  sorrowing  shepherd. 
From  this  point  the  two  poems  continue  as  follows: 


DAPHNATDA. 

1  did  espie 
Where  towards  me  a  sory  wight  did 

cost, 
Clad  all  in  black  (38-40). l 

Downe   to   the   earth  his   heavie   eyes 
were  throwne 

He  sighed  soft,  and  inly  deepe  did 

grone. 
As  if  his  heart  in  peeces  would  have 

rent,  (46  ff.). 
[And  breaking  forth  at  last,  thus 

dearnelie  plained  ( 196) .  ] 


DUCHESS. 

.     .     .     .    so  at  the  last 
I  was  war  of  a  man  in  blak  (444-5). 
And  he  was  clothed  al  in    blakke, 
(457). 

For-why  he  heng  his  heed  adoune. 
And  with  a  deedly  sorwful  soune 
He  made  of  ryme  ten  vers  or  twelve, 
Of  a  compleynt  to  him-selve, 
The  moste  pite,  the  moste  rowthe, 

Hit  was  gret  wonder  that  nature 
Might  suffre[n~\  any  creature 
To  have  swich  sorwe,  and  be  not  deed 
(461). 


Approaching  the  "  sory  wight,"  the  poet  addresses  him, 
but  meets  with  no  response.  He  speaks  again,  and  asks 
to  know  the  cause  of  his  sorrow.  The  request  is  at  first 
refused. 


1 1  find  that  Skeat  has  observed  the  imitation  in  this  line  and  in  line  184 
(Cf.  Skeat' s  Chaucer,  I,  476  and  494).  He  notes  no  further  resemblance 
between  the  two  poems. 


650 


THOMAS   WILLIAM    NADAL. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

Approaching  nigh,  his  face  I  vewed 
nere  (50). 

I  softlie  sayd,  'Alcyon  ! '  Therewith- 
all 

He  lookt  aside  as  in  disdainef  ull  wise, 

Yet  stayed  not :  till  I  againe  did  call. 

Then  turning  back,  he  saide  with 
hollow  sound  (58ff.). 

'  Chief e  findes  some  ease  by  him  that 

like  does  beare, 
Then    stay,    Alcyon,   gentle    shep- 

heard,  stay,' 
Quoth   I,    'till    thou  have    to  my 

trustie  eare 
Committed  what  thee  dooth  so  ill  apay ' 

(673.). 

1  Cease,  foolish  man,'  saide  he  halfe 

wrothfully, 
'  To  seeke  to  heare  that  which  cannot 

be  told'  (71  f.). 


DUCHESS. 
Anoon-right  Iwente  nere  (450). 

I  wente  and  stood  right  at  his  fete, 
And  grette  him,  but  he  spak  noght, 

(502). 
[With  that  he    loked  on  me  asyde 

(558).] 

But  at  the  laste,  to  sayn  right  sooth, 
He  was  war  of  me  (514  f. ). 


'  And  telleth  me  of  your  sorwes  smerte, 
Paraventure  hit  may  ese  your  herte ' 
(556  f.). 

'  But  certes  [good]  sir,  yif  that  ye 
Wolde  ought  discure  me  your  wo 
I  wolde,  as  wis  god  helpe  me  so, 
Amende    hit,   yif    I    can    or  may 
(548  ff.). 

With  that  he  loked  on  me  asyde, 
As  who  sayth,  '  nay,  that  wol  not  be,' 
(558  f.). 


Finally  the  poet  wins  Alcyon's  confidence. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

1 1  will  to  thee  this  heavie  case  relate. 
Then  hearken  well  till  it  to  ende  be 
brought'  (96f.). 


DUCHESS. 

'  Alias !  and  I  wol  telle  the  why : 
My  song  is  turned  to  pleyning,'  etc. 
(598  ff.). 

'Do  thyn  entent  to  herkene  hit  (752). 


And  just  here  occurs  a  significant  parallel.  Before 
speaking  of  the  death  of  Daphne,  the  immediate  cause 
of  his  sorrow,  Alcyon  goes  back  in  memory  and  rehearses 
the  story  of  his  early  love.  He  tells  how  he  had  one  day 
come  by  chance  upon  his  "  f  aire  young  Lionesse,"  1  and 

1  "So  called  from  the  white  lion  in  the  arms  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
the  head  of  the  family  to  which  Lady  Douglas  Howard  belonged." 
Child's  Spenser,  v,  219,  note. 


DAPHNAl'DA,    AND   BOOK   OF   THE   DUCHESS.          651 

how  lie  was  at  once  "  much  moved  at  so  goodly  sight." 
Up  to  this  time  he  had  been  but  a  free  and  careless 
youth,  whose  whole  life  was  his  "  little  flocke  on  westerne 
downes  to  keepe."  In  exactly  the  same  way,1  Chaucer's 
Knight  goes  back  in  the  history  of  his  love,  tells  of  his 
first  chance  meeting  with  his  "  swete,"  and  how  she,  too, 
"  ful  sone,  in  my  thoght  was  y-caught  so  sodenly."  He 
likewise  says  that  before  this  event  in  his  life,  "  youthe  " 
had  been  his  "  maistresse."  The  lines  run  as  follows : 


DAPHNAIDA. 

'Nought  carde  I  then  for  worldly 

change  or  chaunce, 
For  all  my  joy  was   on  my  gentle 

sheepe, 
And  to  my  pype   to  caroll  and  to 

daunce'  (103  ff.). 


DUCHESS. 

'For  that  tyme  Youthe,  my  mais- 
tresse, 
Governed  me  in  ydelnesse  ; 

For  al  my  werkes  were  flittinge ; 
And    al    my    thoghtes    varyinge.' 
(797  ff.). 


Then  immediately  following  in  both  poems: 


DAPHNAIDA. 

llt  there  befell,  as  I  the  fields  did 

range 
Feareless  and  free,  a  faire  young 

Lionesse, 


/  spied    playing     on    the    grassie 
playne 

That  did  aU  other  beasts  in  beawtie 
staine, 

Whose  like  before  mine  eye  had  sel- 
dome  seene'  (106 ff.). 


DUCHESS. 

*  Hit  happed  that  I  came  a  day 
Into  a  place,  .... 


Soth  to  seyn,  I  saw  [ther\  oon 
That  was  lyk  noon  of  [dl]  the  route  ; 

so  had  she 

Surmounted    hem     alle    of    beaute' 
(805  ff.). 


1  The  knight  relates  the  early  story  of  his  love  only  after  he  has  told 
how  fortune  had  robbed  him.  Alcyon  gives  his  chronologically.  Barring 
this  unimportant  change  in  order  the  two  accounts  are  close  parallels. 


652 


THOMAS   WILLIAM   NADAL. 


Alcyon  then  tells  how  he  won  his  Lionesse,  and  after 
describing  the  beauty  of  their  wedded  life,  adds  the  line 
below.  The  corresponding  line  from  the  Duchess,  it  will 
be  interesting  to  remember,  immediately  follows  the 
Knight's  ideal  picture  of  his  married  life. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

'Long  thus  I  joyed  in  my  happiness ' 
(148). 


DUCHESS. 

'  And  thus  we  lived  ful  many  a  yere 
So    wel,    I    can    nat    telle    how' 
(12961). 


But,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Knight,  false  Fortune,  who 
"  daylie  doth  her  changefull  counsels  bend,"  has  robbed 
Alcyon  of  his  beloved.  A  "  cruell  Satyre  with  his  mur- 
drous  dart "  has  given  his  Lionesse  "  the  f  atall  wound  of 
deadly  smart."  In  the  Duchess,  Fortune  stole  upon  the 
Knight  and  took  his  "  fers  "  in  a  game  of  chess.  In  both 
poems  Dame  Fortune  is  blamed  for  the  loss  of  the  mourn- 
er's wife,  in  both,  her  death  is  told  in  the  form  of  a 
riddle  which  is  not  understood,  and  in  both,  the  narrative 
of  the  sad  event  is  directly  succeeded  by  the  following 
expression  of  pity  on  the  part  of  the  poet: 


DAPHNAIDA. 

Therewith  he  gan  afresh  to  waile 

and  weepe, 

That  I  for  pittie  of  his  hcavie  plight 
Gould  not  abstains    mine    eyes  with 

teares  to  steepe  (169ff.). 


DUCHESS. 

And  whan  I  herde  him  telle  this 

tale 

Thus  pitously,  as  I  yow  telle, 
Unnethe  mighte  I  lenger  dwelle, 
Hit  dide  myn  herte  so  moche  wo 

(7102.). 


The  order  of  the  two  narratives  is  the  same  here, 
and  we  come  at  once  upon  the  lines  in  which  the  poet 
asks  for  an  explanation  of  the  story  he  has  just  heard. 
Spenser  stumbles  at  the  "  riddle  of  thy  loved  Lionesse." 
Chaucer  accepts  literally  the  story  of  the  game  of  chess. 


DAPHNAIDA.    AND    BOOK    OF   THE   DUCHESS. 


653 


DAPHNALDA. 

1  Yet  doth  not  my  dull  wit  well  under- 
stand 

The  riddle  of  thy  loved  Lionesse  ; 

For  rare  it  seemes  in  reason  to  be 
skand, 

That  man,  who  doth  the  whole 
worlds  rule  possesse, 

Should  to  a  beast  his  noble  hart  em- 
base, 

Therefore  more  plaine  aread  this 
doubtf  ull  case '  (1763.). 


DUCHESS. 

'Lo  sir,  how  may  that  bef  quod   I 
(745). 

'  But  there  is  noon  a-ly  ve  here 
Wolde  for  a  fers  make[n]  this  wo/} 
(740  f.). 

1  Good  sir,  tel  me  al  hoolly 

In  what  wyse,  how,  why  and  wher- 

fore 

That  ye  have  thus  your  blisse  lore ' 
(746  f.). 


The  words  of  Alcyon  in  reply  are  almost  identical  with 
the  words  of  the  Knight  near  the  end  of  the  Duchess. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

Then  sighing    sore,    'Daphne  thou 

knewest,'  quoth  he; 
'She  now  is  dead'  (183 f.). 


DUCHESS. 

Therwith  he  wex  as  deed  as  stoon, 
And  seyde,  'alias!  that  I  was  bore  f 

She  is  deed'  (1300  ff.). 


It  is  at  this  point  that  Spenser  introduces  the  formal 
plaint  which  in  the  Duchess,  as  elsewhere  observed,  comes 
at  the  beginning  of  the  narrative.  Spenser  has  not  only 
put  into  this  plaint  most  of  what  is  found  in  the  short, 
formal  plaint  of  the  original,  but  he  has  expanded  it  to 
include  several  succeeding  sections  of  informal  plaints, 
which  Chaucer's  Knight  pours  forth  at  various  intervals 
throughout  the  poem.  Illustration  of  this  is  found  in  the 
lines  which  follow. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

'She/cuVe,  shee  pure  most  f  air  e,  most 
pure  she  was'  (208). 

'In  purenesse  and  in  all  celestiall 

grace 
That  men  admire  in  goodlie  woman- 

kinde, 
She  did  excell'  (211f.). 

7 


DUCHESS. 

That  was  so  fayr,  so  fresh,  so  free' 
(484). 


So  good,  that  men  may  wel  [y]  see 

Of  al  goodnesse  she  had  no  mete ' 
(485  f.). 


654 


THOMAS    WILLIAM    NADAL. 


Into  this  one  stanza  Spenser  has  condensed,  with  the  loss 
of  scarcely  a  single  idea,  what  in  Chaucer  is  an  elaborate 
and  detailed  description  of  all  the  virtues  belonging  to  the 
Knight's  lady. 

An  equally  marked  example  of  condensation  is  seen  in 
the  two  following  lines,  the  idea  of  which  Chaucer  makes 
the  subject  of  two  separate  and  complete  sections  of  his 
poem. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

'No    age    hath    bred    (since    fay  re 

Astraea  left 
The  sinfull  world)  more  vertue  in  a 

wight'  (218 f.). 


The  plaint  continues, 

DAPHNAIDA. 

(  What  hart  so  stony  hard,  but  that 
would  weepe, 

And  poure  foorth  fountaines  of  in- 
cessant teares  ?'  (246f.). 


'  To  carelesse    heavens  1  doo  daylie 

call: 
But    heavens    refuse    to    heare    a 

wretches  cry : 
And  cruell  Death  doth  scorne  to  come 

at  call, 
Or  graunt  his  boone  that  most  desires 

to  die'  (354  ff.). 
'  My  bread  shall  be  the  anguish  of 

my  mind, 
My  drink  the  tears  which  fro  mine 

eyesdoraine'  (375 f.). 


DUCHESS. 

'  To  speke  of  goodnesse :  trewly  she 
Had  as  moche  debonairte 
As  ever  had  Hester  in  the  bible, 
And  more,  if  more  were  possible' 
(985  ff.). 

'  She  was  as  good,  so  have  I  reste, 

As  ever  was  Penelope  of  Grece, 

Or  as  the  noble  wyfLucrcce'  (10805.). 


DUCHESS. 

'And  who  so  wiste  al,  by  my  trouthe, 
My  sorwe,  but  he  hadde  routhe 
And  pite  of  my  sorwes  smerte, 
That  man  hath  a  feendly  herte ' 
(591  ff.). 

1  Alias,  deeth  !  what  ayleth  thee, 
That  thou  noldest  have  taken  me, 
Whan    that    thou    toke    my    lady 
swete'  (481  ff.). 

*  The  pure  deeth  is  so  my  fo, 
Thogh  Iwolde  deye,  hit  wolde  not  so ' 
(583  f.). 

'  For  who  so  seeth  me  first  on  morwe 
May  seyn,   he  hath   [y]  met  with 

sorwe ; 
For  I  am  sorwe  and  sorwe  is  I ' 

(597  ff.). 


DAPHNAl'DA,  AND  BOOK  OF  THE  DUCHESS.     655 

In  what  follows  Spenser  has  made  a  very  clever  adap- 
tation of  the  passage  in  the  Duchess  where  the  Knight 
tells  how  completely  sorrow  has  changed  his  mental  and 
moral  perspective.  The  operations  of  natural  law  have 
been  entirely  reversed  for  him.  His  world  is  quite  upside 
down.  He  says,  "  my  wele  is  wo,"  "  my  good  is  harme," 
"  mv  wit  is  foly,"  "  my  day  is  night,"  "  my  love  is  hate," 
"  my  sleep  waking,"  "  my  meles  fasting,"  "  my  pees  in 
werre."  He  prefaces  this  series  of  epigrammatic  sen- 
tences by  saying  that  death  is  his  foe,  that  he  loathes  life, 
and  that  he  hates  his  days  and  nights.  Spenser's  passage 
is  too  long  to  be  given  in  full,  but  a  sufficient  number 
of  lines  will  be  quoted  to  make  clear  the  adaptation. 
Alcyon  begins,  like  the  Knight,  by  hating  life  and  the 
world  in  general.  Then  he  particularizes,  as  the  Knight 
does,  expressing  his  hate  for  practically  everything  in  the 
catalogue  of  desirable  objects  on  earth.  The  lines  speak 
of  the  same  reversal  of  the  natural  order  of  things,  the 
same  mental  and  moral  chaos,  that  we  find  in  the  Duchess.1 
Spencer's  Alcyon  not  only  hates  life  and  death,  his  days 
and  his  nights,  as  in  Chaucer,  but  he  also  hates  them  in 
a  series  of  remarkably  similar  lines,  and  with  very  much 
the  same  vocabulary. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

'  Hencefoorth    I    hate    what    ever 
Nature  made'  (393). 

*J  hate  the  day,  because  it  lendeth 
light 

(580). 
I  hate  the  darknesse  and  the  drery 

night1  (407  ff.). 

1  It  is  true,  as  Prof.  W.  A.  Neilson  has  pointed  out  to  me,  that  Spenser's 
lines  are  after  the  fashion  of  the  conventional  paradoxes  and  contrarieties 
of  the  sorrowing  lover.  Elizabethan  literature  abounds  in  such,  (cf.  Wat- 


DUCHESS. 


That  hate  my  dayes  and  my  nightes 


656 


THOMAS   WILLIAM   NADAL. 


DAPHNAIDA. 
'I  hate  all  times'  (411). 

'  I  hate  to  speake,  my  voyce  is  spent 
with  crying '  (414 ). 

1 1  hate  to  tost,  for  food  witholds  my 

dying'  (416). 
1 1  hate  to  see,  mine  eyes  are  dimd 

withteares'  (417). 

1  And  life  I  hate,  because  it  will  not 

last, 
And  death  I  hate,  because  it  life  doth 

marre'  (425f.). 

1  To  live  I  finde  it  deadly  dolorous ' 
(449). 

*  And  pitie  me  that  living  thus  do 
die'  (383). 

'  That    dying   lives,    and   living  still 

does  dye.1 

So  doo  I  live,  so  doo  I  daylie  die, 
And    pine    away  in   self-consuming 

paint1  (434  ff.). 


DUCHESS. 


1  My  song  is  turned  to  pleyning 

And    al    my    laughter    to    weeping ' 

(5991). 
*  My   mirthe   and  meles  is  fasting ' 

(612). 
'To  derke  is  turned  al  my  light' 

(609). 


1  The  pure  deelh  is  so  my  fo '  (583). 

'Me  is  wo  that  I  live  houres  twelve ' 
(573). 


'  Alway  deying,  and    be    not    deed* 
(588). 

'  This  is  my  peyne  withoute  reed  * 
(587). 


It  is  here  that  Alcyon  devotes  a  stanza  to  the  changeable 
world,  which  he  likens  to  a  mill-wheel  that  "  round  about 
doth  goe."  2  It  is  at  this  same  point  in  the  story  of  the 


son's  Passionate  Centurie  of  Love,  xvm  and  xx ;  Romeo  and  Juliet,  I,  1, 
168),  and  their  mere  presence  in  Spenser  need  argue  no  dependence  on 
Chaucer.  There  is  an  additional  contextual  significance  here,  however, 
which  clearly  does  argue  such  dependence. 

1  The  idea  of  these  passages  is  found  in  I  Cor.  15  : 31.  It  is  not  hard  to 
believe,  however,  that  on  this  occasion  Spenser's  Chaucer  was  probably  as 
near  at  hand  as  his  Bible. 

3 It  is  true  that  Alcyon  does  not  here  use  the  word  "  fortune."  But  the 
fact  that  he  has  already  twice  before  (11.  151,  153),  applied  the  feminine 
pronoun  to  the  "worlds  ficklenesse,"  indicates  clearly  that  he  has  "Dame 
Fortune"  in  mind. 


DAPHNA1DA,    AND   BOOK   OF  THE   DUCHESS. 


657 


Duchess,  likewise,  that  the  Knight  tells  of  false  Fortune 
and  her  wheel.  The  figure  of  Fortune  and  her  wheel  is, 
of  course,  quite  too  common  in  literature  for  its  presence 
in  each  of  two  poems  under  comparison  to  argue  even  a 
probable  dependence.  It  will  certainly  be  admitted,  how- 
ever, as  an  accident  of  unusual  interest,  that,  having 
already  obviously  followed  Chaucer  in  the  preceding 
stanzas,  Spenser  should  have  only  happened  to  follow  him 
in  the  stanzas  immediately  succeeding.  The  coincidence 
gains  in  interest  from  a  comparison  of  the  following 
lines : 


DUCHESS. 


'Now  by  thefyre,  now  at  table'  (646). 
'  .  .    for  it  is  no-thing  stable' 
(645). 


;  So  turneth  she  (Fortune)  Mr  false 
whele'   (644). 


DAPHNAIDA. 

'So  all  the  world,  and  all  in  it  I 

hate, 

Because  it  changeth  ever  to  and  fro, 
And  never  standeth  in  one  certaine 

state, 
But  stitt  unstedfast  round  about  doth 

goe, 
Like  a  mill  whcele,  in  midst  of  mis- 

erie'  (428ff.). 

[And  later  in  Spenser] 

DAPHNAIDA. 

'  For  all  I  see  is  vaine  and  transi- 

torie, 
Ne  will  be  helde  in  anie  stcdfast 

plight1  (495  f.). 

'And  ye,   fond  men,   on   Fortunes 
wheele  that  ride'  (498). 

'  For  all  mens  states  alike  unstedfast 
be'  (518). 


Again  it  seems  pretty  clear  that  Spenser  had  the  lines 
from  the  Duchess  in  mind  in  the  following : 


658 


THOMAS   WILLIAM   NADAL. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

1  And  ever  as  I  see  the  starres  to  fall, 
And  under  ground  to  goe  .  .  . 
...  I  to  minde  mil  call 
How  my  faire  starre  (that  shinde  on 

me  so  bright) 
Fell    sodainly    and     faded     under 

ground'  (477ff.). 


DUCHESS. 

'  Ther  nis  planete  in  firmament, 
Ne  in  air,  ne  in  erthe,  noon  element, 
That  they  ne  yive  me  a  yift  echoon 
Of  weeping,  whan  I  am  aloon  ' 
(693ff.). 


But  nowhere  has  Spenser  come  so  near  taking  a  whole 
stanza,  bodily,  from  the  Duchess,  as  in  the  closing  lines. 
It  must  not  be  forgotten,  also,  that  these  parallel  lines 
follow  in  regular  order  the  same  incidents  in  both  poems. 
They  come  at  the  conclusion  of  the  formal  plaint. 


DAPHNAIDA. 

Thus  when  he  ended  had  his  heavie 

plaint, 
The  heaviest  plaint  that  ever  I  heard 

sound  (540f.). 


His  cheekes  wext  pale,  and  sprights 
began  to  faint  (542). 


Which  when  I  saw,  I  (stepping  to  him 

light) 
Amoved  him  out  of  his  stonie  swound 

(544  f.). 


DUCHESS. 

When   he   had   mad   thus   his  com- 
playnte  (487). 

...  a  compleynt  .  .  . 
The  moste  pite,  the  most  rowthe, 
That  ever  1  herde'  (465  ff.). 

His  sorowful  herte  gan  faste  faynte, 
And  his  spirites  wexen  dede  (488f.  ). 

His  hewe  change  and  wexe  grene 


Anon  therwith  whan  I  saw  this, 

I  wente  and  stood  right  at  his  fete 
Andgrettehim  (500ff.). 


Sufficient  evidence  has  already  been  adduced  to  estab- 
lish my  thesis,  that  in  Daphndida,  Spenser  has  fol- 
lowed Chaucer's  Book  of  the  Duchess.  But  there  is  still 
another  very  interesting  bit  of  testimony.  Where  did 
Spenser  get  the  name  Alcyon  for  Ms  shepherd  ?  Neither 
in  mythology  nor  in  literature  does  it  have  any  associa- 


DAPHNAIDA,    AND    BOOK    OF   THE   DUCHESS.  659 

tions  whatever  with  shepherd  life,1  and  it  certainly  is  far 
from  frequent  occurrence  anywhere  as  the  name  of  a  man.2 
The  question  naturally  arises  as  to  what  suggested  this 
particular  name  to  Spenser,  and  suggested  it  so  strongly 
that,  without  any  literary  or  historical  justification,  he 
adopts  it  for  his  shepherd.  The  answer  is,  I  believe,  no 
less  conclusive  than  interesting.  In  the  proem  of  the 
Duchess,  Chaucer  relates  the  story  of  Ceys  and  Alcyone, 
which,  he  tells  us,  he  has  just  been  reading  in  Ovid.  The 
name  Alcyone  occurs  six  times  in  the  proem,  and  again 
near  the  close  of  the  elegy.3  Is  not  this,  then,  Spenser's 
most  natural  and  most  obvious  source?  Does  it  not  seem 
more  than  probable  that  the  name  Alcyone,  met  with  so 
frequently  in  the  pages  of  the  Duchess,  has  suggested 
to  Spenser  the  name  Alcyon  for  his  mourning  shepherd? 
The  results  of  this  study  may  be  briefly  stated  as 
follows : 

1.  It  gives  us  clear  and  unmistakable  evidence,  in  one 
instance  at  least,  of  Spenser's  indebtedness  to  Chaucer  for 
something  more   definite  than  poetic   inspiration,   subtle 
tricks   of    style,   unconscious    absorption,    and   occasional 
borrowings  of  isolated  lines  and  phrases. 

2.  It  contributes,  though  in   a  small   and  somewhat 
negative  way,  to  the  facts  of  Spenser's  life.     It  helps  to 
account  for  at  least  one  year  which  has  not  given  some 
of   his    critics    deep   concern.     Palgrave   is   not   a   little 
disturbed   over  the   autobiographical   significance   of  the 

1  Professor  J.  B.  Fletcher  tells  me  that  he  has  never  met  with  this  name 
in  pastoral  literature,  and  adds,  "One  may  safely  call  it  uncommon." 

2 Spenser  so  uses  it  once  afterwards  (Colin  Clout,  1.  384),  where  he  refers 
to  this  same  Arthur  Gorges  as  "sad  Alcyon." 

3 Alcyone  occurs  but  five  times  in  the  proem  of  Skeat's  edition.  In 
Thynne's  edition  of  1532,  however  (the  edition  which  Spenser  most  likely 
used)  it  occurs  six  times,  appearing  also  in  line  76. 


660  THOMAS   WILLIAM   NADAL. 

opening  lines  of  Daphndida,  where  Spenser  speaks  of 
himself  as 

"of  many  most, 
Most  miserable  man." 

Palgrave  says  1  that  Daphna/ida  was  written  "  in  a  year 
which  was  apparently  one  of  his  most  prosperous  " ;  and 
the  "  like  wofulness,"  he  thinks,  can  hardly  be  interpreted 
as  biographical,  for  "  little  as  we  know  of  Spenser's  life, 
we  cannot  believe  that  he  was  at  this  time  a  desponding 
widower."  Palgrave  finally  throws  up  his  hands  at  the 
autobiographical  anomaly,  and  concludes  by  wondering 
whether  the  poet's  "  long  iteration  of  grief  "  may  not  be — 
"  how  far,  who  should  say  ? — a  poetical  convention."  Of 
course,  that  is  exactly  what  it  is.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
make  a  "  desponding  widower  "  out  of  Spenser, — who  was 
not  married  till  three  years  later,2 — or  to  fill  the  year  of 
1591  with  any  other  hypothetical  calamities,  in  order  to 
account  for  the  lines  in  Daplinaida.  Spenser  simply 
followed  the  convention  of  Chaucer.  We  need  go  no  fur- 
ther than  that.  Indeed,  we  cannot  go  further,  and  a  bio- 
graphical interpretation  is  not  only  unnecessary,  but  quite 
impossible. 

3.  Finally,  and  second  only  in  importance  to  the  fact 
of  the  indebtedness  itself,  it  shows  Spenser  leaning  hard 
on  his  master  at  a  comparatively  late  period  in  his  poetic 
career.  We  naturally  look  to  find  Chaucer's  influence 
most  strongly  marked  in  the  earlier  years  of  the  poet's 
life ;  at  the  time  when  he  is  first  trying  his  hand  at  verse- 
making  and  is  still  new  to  his  art.  Then  it  is  the  dis- 
ciple shows  a  beginner's  dependence  on  the  models  of  his 


*Cf.  Grosart's  Spenser,  iv,  p.  Ixivii. 

J  June  11,  1594,  is  the  date  generally  accepted. 


DAPHNAIDA,    AND   BOOK   OF   THE   DUCHESS.          661 

master.  And  scholars  have  not  failed  to  detect  a  strong 
Chaucerian  flavor  in  Spenser's  earliest  works,  such  as 
the  Calender  and  Mother  Hubberds  Tale.1  But  here, 
twelve  years  after  the  Calender,  "  long  sithens  "  the 
Mother  Hubberds  Tale}  at  least  two  years  after  the  first 
three  books  of  The  Faerie  Queene,  —  where  the  poet  had 
certainly  quite  come  into  his  own,  —  appears  a  poem  2 
which,  in  general  subject  matter  and  form,  as  well  as  in 
specific  incidents,  words  and  phrases,  shows  a  far  greater 
indebtedness  to  Chaucer,  than  do  any  of  the  poems  of 
Spenser's  apprenticeship  days.  To  find  Spenser,  past  the 
middle  of  his  poetic  career,  thus  going  back  to  "  Tityrus," 
who  first  taught  him  "to  make,"  not  only  reveals  his 
continued  dependence  on  Chaucer,  but  also  throws  addi- 
tional light  on  his  methods  of  work. 


THOMAS  WILLIAM 


1  "  In  two  prominent  characteristics,  more  or  less  external,  Chaucer's 
influence  upon  the  Calender,  is,  of  course,  generally  admitted."  Professor 
Dodge  (Spenser,  Cambridge  edition,  p.  4). 

"  The  Mother  Hubberds  Tale  is  a  satire  in  the  manner  of  Chaucer." 
Professor  Child  (Spenser,  I,  p.  xxiiv). 

3  A  poem,  too,  of  which  Professor  Dodge  says,  "few  of  Spenser's  poems 
are  more  thoroughly  characteristic."  Todd  and  Craik  both  refer  to  it  as 
very  beautiful,  and  Palgrave  sees  in  it  "the  sustained  ideal  loftiness  of  dic- 
tion and  manner"  which  marks  all  of  Spenser's  "maturer  poetry." 


APPENDIX. 

PROCEEDINGS     OF     THE    TWENTY-FIFTH    ANNUAL 

MEETING   OF    THE    MODERN    LANGUAGE 

ASSOCIATION    OF    AMERICA, 

HELD   AT   THE 

OHIO  STATE  UNIVERSITY,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO, 
DECEMBER  26,   27,  28,  1907. 


THE  MODERN  LANGUAGE  ASSOCIATION 
OF  AMERICA. 


The  twenty-fifth  annual  meeting  of  the  MODERN  LAN- 
GUAGE ASSOCIATION  OF  AMERICA,  which  was  also  the 
thirteenth  annual  meeting  of  the  CENTRAL  DIVISION  of 
the  Association,  was  held  at  the  Ohio  State  University, 
Columbus,  O.,  December  26,  27,  28,  in  accordance  with  the 
following  invitation  : 

THE  OHIO  STATE  UNIVERSITY,  COLUMBUS. 

November  28,  1906. 

On  behalf  of  the  Trustees  and  Faculty  of  the  Ohio  State  University,  I 
have  pleasure  in  extending  a  most  cordial  invitation  to  the  Modern  Lan- 
guage Association  of  America  to  hold  its  meeting  in  December,  nineteen 
hundred  and  seven,  at  the  Ohio  State  University. 

The  University  will  extend  every  possible  facility  and  courtesy  to  the 
Association.  I  am  assured  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Trade  of 
Columbus  that  any  facilities  they  can  offer  will  be  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Association. 

W.  O.  THOMPSON, 

President. 

All  the  sessions  were  held  in  Page  Hall.     Professor  F. 
N.  Scott,  President  of  the  Association,  presided  at  all. 
The  railways  refused  to  grant  reduced  rates. 

FIRST  SESSION,  THURSDAY,  DECEMBER  26. 

The  Association  met  at  2.45  p.  m.  The  session  was 
opened  by  an  address  of  welcome  from  President  W.  O. 
Thompson. 

The  Secretary  of  the  Association,  Professor  C.  H. 
Grandgent,  submitted  as  his  report  the  published  Pro- 


IV  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

ceedings  of  the  last  annual  meeting  and  the  complete  vol- 
ume of  the  Publications  of  the  Association  for  1907.  He 
called  attention  to  the  growth  of  the  Association — an 
increase  of  over  fifty  per  cent. — in  the  last  five  years,  and 
to  the  geographical  distribution  of  membership. 
The  report  was  approved. 

The  Treasurer  of  the  Association,  Mr.  W.  G.  Howard, 
submitted  the  following  report : 

EXPENDITURES. 

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To  Secretary  for  Salary,    .        .        .        .  $  200  00 
"         "  "  Printing  and  Stationery,          51  18 

"         "  "  Postage  and  Expressage,  4705 

"        "          "  Typewriting,    ...          9  25 
"         "          "  Proof-reading,          :        .          3  75 

$    311  23 

To  Secretary,  Central  Division, 

for    Postage,      Expressage     and 

Telegrams,       ....  2  48 

Guarantee  to  K.  R,  Central  Division,       .          7  00 

Subscription  returned,  K.  I.  News  Co.,      .          2  70 

$       9  70 

For  Printing  Publications, 

Vol.  XXII,  No.  1,  .  .  .  $  529  49 
"  XXII,  "  2,  .  .  .  447  19 
"  XXII,  "  3,  .  .  .  558  46 
"  XXII,  "  4,  .  .  .  557  83 

$2,092  97 

For  Printing  Program  25th  Annual  Meet- 

ing, 77  60 

Exchange, 9  10 

2,699  42 


Balance  on  hand  }  Eutaw  SavinSs  Bank>  •         •         •  *M40  10 

Dec   24   1907     f  Cambrid§e  Savings  Bank,     .         .        830  98 

'  J  Cambridge  Trust  Co.,    .        .        .        575  18 


2,846  26 
$5,545  68 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907. 


KECEIPTS. 


Balance  on  hand, 

December  27,  1906, 

$2,479  82 

From  Members,  Life         .... 

$  160  00 

"         for  1903, 

3  00 

"   1904, 

6  00 

"            "          "   1905, 

15  00 

"            "          "  1906, 

105  00 

"   1907, 

2,126  25 

"            "          "   1908, 

81  00 

:  $2,496  25 

From  Libraries  for  Vols.  III-X1II, 

18  90 

«            «        «      «            XX 

90 

11           "       "     "         XXI,'    . 

8  70 

"    '    "      "         XXII,    . 

143  51 

"      "      XXIII,    • 

59  40 

0*       001      A] 

For  Publications,  Vols.  IX-XVI,      . 

$    33  60 

"          XVII,      . 

1  80 

"             "             "         XVIII,      . 

12  00 

"             "             "            XIX,      . 

19  40 

«                    «                    it                     ~Y"Y" 
AA, 

14  00 

XXI,        . 

15  80 

"             "             "          XXII,      . 

38  80 

$    135  40 

For  Reprints,  Vol.  XXII, 

3  50 

"    Engraving,  Vol.  XXII,  No.  1,  . 

15  00 

"    Postage  Stamps,          .... 

3  00 

"    Eeport,  Committee  of  Twelve,    . 

2  60 

$      24  10 

From  Advertisers,  Vol.  XXI,    . 

60  00 

11            "     XXII, 

24  00 

84  00 

Interest,  Eutaw  Savings  Bank, 

48  65 

"        Cambridge  Savings  Bank,    . 

22  23 

"        Cambridge  Trust  Co., 

23  82 

Q4.  7ft 
i/^r    /  \J 

3,065  86 

$5,545  68 

The  President  of  the  Association,  Professor  F.  N.  Scott, 
appointed  the  following  committees  : 

0 


V  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

(1)  To   audit   the  Treasurer's   report:  Professors  G.  E. 
Karsten  and  S.  H.  Bush. 

(2)  To   nominate   officers :    Professors   G.  Gruener,    R. 
Weeks,  and  H.  A.  Smith. 

The  Chairman  of  the  Central  Division,  Professor  G.  E. 
Karsten,  announced  the  following  committees  : 

(1)  To  nominate  officers :  Professors  J.  T.  Hatfield,  F. 
G.  Hubbard,  K.  F.  R.  Hochdorfer,  E.  E.  Brandon. 

(2)  To  recommend  a  place  for  the  next  annual  meeting  : 
Professors   T.  E.  Oliver,  O.  F.  Emerson,  L.  A.  Rhoades, 
H.  A.  Smith,  S.  H.  Bush. 

The  reading  of  papers  was  then  begun. 

1.  "The  Middle  English  Vox  and  Wolf."     By  Professor 
G.  H.  McKnight,  of  the  Ohio  State  University.      [See  Pub- 
lications, xxiii,  3.] 

[This  work  demands  attention  because,  aside  from  the  Nonne  Preestes 
Tale,  it  is  the  sole  representative  in  English  of  the  Roman  de  Renart  before 
the  time  of  Caxton.  The  history  of  this  tale  illustrates  the  whole  subject 
of  animal  story  in  the  Middle  Ages.  This  story  has  no  certain  prototype 
in  classical  or  oriental  fable  collections.  The  theory  of  its  Hebrew  origin 
has  not  been  established.  The  story  combines  in  an  interesting  way  with 
several  independent  tales.  It  is  often  associated  with  fabliaux  in  story 
collections.  In  later  fable  collections  this  tale  often  appears  in  a  mutilated 
and  deteriorated  form. — Fifteen  minutes.'] 

In  the  absence  of  the  writer  the  paper  was  read  by 
Professor  W.  T.  Pierce.  It  was  discust  by  Professor  J.  D. 
Bruner. 

2.  "  La  Nouvelle  Atala :  A  Bit  of  French  Literature  in 
Louisiana."     By  Mr.  E.  J.  Fortier,  of  the  University  of 
Illinois. 

[Louisiana  possesses  two  distinct  literatures.  The  most  important 
writers  of  French  literature  in  Louisiana.  A  little  resume  of  the  novel  in 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  vii 

Louisiana.  Biography  of  Adrien  Kouquette,  author  of  the  Nouvdle  Atala. 
Comparison  of  the  Nouvelk  Atala  and  the  Atala  of  Chateaubriand.  The 
influence  of  the  latter  upon  Bouquette.  Extracts  from  the  two  works 
showing  the  treatment  of  Nature  in  each. — Twenty  minutes.] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professors  J.  Geddes,  Jr.,  F. 
N.  Scott,  H.  P.  Thieme,  W.  H.  Hulme,  and  others. 

3.  "Notes  on  Luther's  Language."      By  Professor  W. 
W.  Florer,  of  the  University  of  Michigan.     [To  appear  in 
the  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology.] 

[The  paper  consisted  of  an  investigation,  based  on  the  Zerbster  Hand- 
schrift,  treating  of  the  declension  of  nouns.  A  comparison  with  the  1545 
edition  was  made.  The  problems  of  the  regularity  of  Luther's  language 
and  of  his  influence  on  the  printed  form  were  discust. — Ten  minutes.] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  W.  T.  Hatfield. 

4.  "The  Use  of  Prose  in  the  Serious  English  Drama 
(1675-1800)."     By  Professor  Raymond  Macdonald  Alden, 
of  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University.      [To  appear  in  Modern 
Philology.] 

[The  purpose  of  this  paper  was  to  trace  something  of  the  history  of  the 
movement  which  resulted  in  the  partial  substitution  of  prose  for  verse  in 
the  serious  English  drama,  particularly  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
and  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  centuries  ;  further,  to  attempt  to 
explain  the  movement  as  due  in  large  measure  to  a  change  in  the  prevalent 
conception  of  the  nature  of  comedy,  later  carried  over  into  tragedy  ;  and 
finally,  to  present  certain  reasons  why  the  serious  prose  drama  may  be 
regarded  as  an  illegitimate  literary  form. — Twenty  minutes.'] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  F.  N.  Scott,  J.  D. 
Bruner,  and  the  author. 

5.  "Coordination  and  the  Comma."     By  Dr.  Raymond 
D.    Miller,    of    Syracuse    University.      [See    Publications, 
xxin,  2.] 

[The  use  of  the  comma  alone  between  coordinate  clauses  which  should 
without  question  be  pointed  as  independent  sentences,  or  of  the  comma  and 

* 


Vlll  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

a  purely  " logical"  connective  (such  as  therefore)  when  usage  demands  at 
least  a  semi-colon,  is  generally  considered  the  mark  of  an  illiterate  or 
slovenly  style.  Yet  the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong  usage  in  this 
respect  is  sometimes  so  subtile  that  even  the  careful  writer  may  occasionally 
be  at  fault.  It  was  the  purpose  of  this  paper  to  determine  more  definitely ; 
(a)  under  what  conditions  the  comma  alone  is  sufficient ;  and  (b)  what 
distinction  is  to  be  made  between  ' '  structural, ' '  or  grammatical,  and  non- 
structural,  or  "  logical,"  connectives. — Twenty  minutes.] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  F.  N.  Scott. 

6.  "Some  Analogues  of  Maistre  Pierre  Pathelin."  By 
Professor  Thomas  Edward  Oliver,  of  the  University  of 
Illinois. 

[A  Danish  folk-almanac  story  called  Old  Rasmus  resembles  in  many 
features  a  portion  of  the  farce  of  Maistre  Pierre  Pathelin,  but  has  this  one 
curious  difference  ;  namely,  the  change  from  the  use  of  the  sheep's  cry 
1 '  bee ' '  in  the  court  scene  to  that  of  a  prolonged  whistle.  A  similar 
whistle  or  hiss  occurs  in  the  so-called  Lucerne  New  Year's  Play,  in  a  scene 
of  Grazzini's  IS  Arzigogolo,  in  a  tale  by  Domenichi,  in  a  novella  of  Para- 
bosco,  and  in  a  rabbinical  proverb  by  Jacob  of  Dubno,  whereas  in  the 
clearly  proven  descendants  of  the  Pathelin  farce  itself,  the  sheep's  cry  is 
retained.  Now,  inasmuch  as  one  of  the  episodes  of  the  Pathelin  farce 
shows  marked  resemblances  with  the  Mak  the  Thief  interlude  of  the 
Townelay  Plays,  which  are  of  much  earlier  date  than  the  complete  Pathelin 
as  we  know  it,  may  not  the  "  bee"  episode  also  go  back  to  an  earlier  version 
in  which  the  whistle  was  the  method  of  deception  used?  Altho  as  yet 
only  general  reasons  may  safely  be  adduced,  this  view  seems  fairly  prob- 
able. — Fifteen,  minutes.  ] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  E.  C.  Roedder. 

The  Auditing  Committee  reported  that  the  Treasurer's 
report  was  found  correct,  and  recommended  its  acceptance. 
The  recommendation  was  adopted. 

At  &  p.  m.  the  Association  met  in  the  chapel  of  Univer- 
sity Hall  to  hear  an  address  by  Professor  Fred  Newton 
Scott,  President  of  the  Association,  on  "The  Genesis  of 
Speech.** 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  ix 

After  the  address,  the  members  and  guests  of  the  Associa- 
tion were  received  by  President  and  Mrs.  Thompson  at  their 
residence. 

SECOND  SESSION,  FRIDAY,  DECEMBER  2T. 

The  session  began  at  9.55  a.  m. 

7.  "  A  Middle  English  Version  of  Peter  Alfunsi's  Disci- 
plina  Clericalist     By  Professor  William  H.  Hulme,  of  the 
College  for  Women,  Western  Reserve  University. 

[A  brief  account  of  the  principal  facts  of  Peter  Alfunsi's  life.  The 
importance  of  the  Disciplina  Clericalis  in  other  medieval  literatures  than 
that  of  England.  The  influence  of  the  Disciplina  in  Middle  English,  and 
an  account  of  the  Worcester  MS.  version  of  the  same.  Peculiarities  of  the 
Middle  English  Version. — Twenty-five  minutes.'] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  H.  A.  Todd. 

8.  "A  neglected  Passage  on   the  Three  Unities  of  the 
French  Classic  Drama.     By  Dr.  H.  Carrington  Lancaster, 
of  Amherst  College.      [See  Publications,  xxui,  2.] 

[The  passage  in  question  is  of  some  interest  to  students  of  dramatic  his- 
tory, as  it  is  the  earliest  known  mention  of  the  three  unities  in  seventeenth 
century  France  and  one  of  the  clearest  statements  concerning  them  before 
d'  Aubignac  and  Boileau.  It  seems  to  have  been  absolutely  unmentioned 
since  a  passing  note  by  de  Beauchamp  in  1735. — Fifteen  minutes.'] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professors  J.  W.  Cunliffe,  J. 
D.  Bruner,  and  M.  F.  Liberma. 

9.  "  Early  Conceptions  of  America  in  European  Litera- 
tures."    By    Professor   Thomas   Stockham   Baker,   of    the 
Jacob  Tome  Institute. 

[The  New  World  and  the  idea  of  a  return  to  nature.  America  the  seat 
of  a  series  of  Utopias.  The  Conquest  of  Peru  and  the  Conquest  of  Mexico 
as  themes  for  literary  treatment.  Virginia  and  New  England  in  English 
literature.  Nature  poetry.  The  Indians.  The  American  Revolution  and 
European  literatures. — Twenty  minutes*] 


X  MODERN   LANGUAGE  ASSOCIATION. 

10.  "  Ben  Jonson's  Influence  on  the  Non-Dramatic  Poetry 
of  the  Seventeenth  Century — Illustrated  by  one  of  his  most 
Prominent  <  Sons.7  "    By  Dr.  A.  G.  Reed,  of  the  University 
of  Missouri. 

[External  and  internal  evidence  show  Jonson's  influence  upon  his 
contemporaries  and  immediate  successors  to  have  been  considerable.  An 
illustration  of  this  influence  is  seen  in  Herrick. — External  evidence  shows 
that  Herrick  knew  Jonson  personally,  had  an  exalted  opinion  of  his 
poetry,  calls  himself  his  "son,"  and  acknowledges  his  indebtedness  to 
him.  The  dates  of  their  respective  publications  make  Jonson's  influence 
possible  and  highly  probable. — Internal  evidence  shows  (1)  similarities  in 
style — choice  of  subjects,  treatment,  diction,  and  versification  ;  and  (2) 
similarities  in  thought  and  phraseology. — Twenty  minutes.'] 

11.  "An  alleged  Travesty  of  Ossian  and  other  Notes  on 
Heine."     By  Professor  B.  J.  Vos,  of  the  Johns  Hopkins 
University.    [See  Modern  Language  Notes,  xxm,  2  5  and  3  9 .  ] 

[1.  The  passage  Elster  3,  64,  11.  20-40,  was  shown  to  be  a  literal  trans- 
lation of  the  opening  lines  of  Ossian' s  Dar-thula,  according  to  the  text  of 
1762.  A  comparison  was  made  with  other  German  translations  of  Dar- 
thula  previous  to  1824.  Elster  3,  65,  11.  13-19,  was  similarly  shown  to  be 
taken  from  Ossian' s  Berrathon,  Heine  here  following  Goethe's  rendering  in 
Die  Leiden  des  jungen  Werther,  Weimar  Edition  19,  175-6.— 2.  On  the 
basis  of  a  variant  in  F1  and  an  examination  of  Heine's  other  works,  an 
attempt  was  made  to  show  that  the  reference  in  Elster  3,  22,  11.  20-24,  is 
not  to  Napoleon,  and  that  Prometheus  as  a  typical  figure  in  Heine  serves 
in  two  clearly  distinct  functions. — 3.  The  identity  of  "einer  unserer 
bekanntesten  Dichter,"  Elster  3,  73,  was  established. — 4.  It  was  shown  that 
in  "Theophrast,"  Elster  3,  69,  Heine  had  in  mind  not  the  Greek  Theo- 
phrastus,  but  Theophrastus  Paracelsus  of  Hohenheim. — Twenty  minutes.] 

12.  "JBocJcspiel  Martini  Luthers,  darinnen  fast  alle  Staende 
der  mennschen  begriifen.     Ynd  wie  sich  ein  yeder  beklaget 
der   ytzleuffigen    schwaeren  Zeyt.     Gantz    kurtzweilig  vnd 
lustig  zuo  lesen. — Gehalten  zu  Rammbach  vff  dem  Schlosz. 
Am  xxv.  Tag  Junij.     Des  M.  D.  xxxj.  Jars."     By  Profes- 
sor E.  K.  J.  H.  Voss,  of  the  University  of  Wisconsin. 

[Otto  Kaufmann's  Dissertation,  Bockspiel  Martin  Luthers  und  Martini 
Luthers  Clagred,  Halle,  1905,  brings  up  anew  the  question  of  the  author- 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  xi 

ship  of  the  Bockspid.  He  arrives  at  no  definite  results  in  his  investigation. 
New  light  was  thrown  upon  this  question  and  it  was  shown  that  Flogel's 
remark  in  his  Geschichte  der  komischen  Literatur,  vol.  in,  255,  is  worthy  of 
consideration  and  that  Thomas  Murner  is  the  probable  author  of  the 
Bockspiel. — A  five-minute  summary.  ] 

In  the  absence  of  the  writer  this  paper  was  presented  by 
Professor  E.  C.  Roedder. 

Professor  J.  W.  Cunliffe  offered  the  following  motion  : 

That  the  President  of  the  Association  be  authorized  to  nominate  at  each 
Union  Meeting  a  Committee  of  Five  for  the  promotion  of  the  following 
aims  : — (1)  The  acquisition  of  photographic  reproductions  of  earlier  Eng- 
lish texts  by  American  University  Libraries  ;  (2)  the  circulation  of  index 
cards  of  reproductions  so  acquired  ;  (3)  the  cataloguing  of  original  English 
texts  prior  to  1660  in  public  and  private  libraries  in  the  United  States  and 
Canada. 

That  the  Committee  so  appointed  shall  report  yearly  to  each  division  of 
the  Association,  and  shall  furnish  to  the  Secretary  lists  of  reproductions 
acquired,  which  shall  be  printed  in  the  Publications. 

The  President  of  the  Association,  for  the  time  being,  shall  fill  by  nomi- 
nation any  vacancy  arising  on  the  Committee. 

Attractive  photographic  specimens,  illustrating  different 
styles  of  reproduction,  were  exhibited.  The  motion  was 
discust  by  Professors  H.  A.  Todd  and  H.  A.  Smith. 

Professor  Todd  moved  as  an  amendment : 

That  the  Committee  consider  the  possibility  of  an  extension  of  its 
functions  to  include  the  acquisition  of  photographic  reproductions  of  texts 
in  other  languages  than  English. 

The  amendment  was  accepted  by  Professor  Cunliffe,  and 
the  motion  was  then  past  unanimously. 

The  President  appointed  as  members  of  the  Committee : 
Professors  J.  W.  Cunliffe,  C.  M.  Gayley,  J.  M.  Manly,  H. 
A.  Todd,  G.  L.  Kittredge. 


Xll  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

In  accordance  with  action  taken  last  year  by  the  Central 
Division,  Professor  E.  C.  Roedder  moved : 

That  it  is  desirable  to  adopt  some  plan  of  obviating,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  duplication  of  work  in  doctoral  theses  intended  for  publication. 

That  any  graduate  student  certified  by  the  professor  in  charge  of  his 
department  to- have  done  one  year's  work  on  a  subject  be  allowed  to 
register  that  subject  in  the  next  issue  of  the  Publications,  with  the  under- 
standing that  no  other  graduate  student  shall  be  encouraged  to  take  up  the 
same  line  of  investigation  within  two  years  of  the  date  of  registration. 

The  motion  was  discust  by  Professors  J.  W.  Cunliffe,  C. 
H.  Grandgent,  L.  F.  Mott,  H.  A.  Todd,  and  E.  C.  Ford. 
After  several  tentative  suggestions  by  various  members, 
Professor  Grandgent  offered  as  a  substitute  for  the  original 
motion  : 

That  it  is  desirable  to  adopt  some  plan  of  obviating,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  duplication  of  work  in  doctoral  theses  intended  for  publication. 

That  Professor  W.  H.  Carpenter  be  asked  to  lay  the  views  of  our  Asso- 
ciation before  the  Association  of  American  Universities  and  to  urge  the 
adoption  of  some  remedy. 

The  substitute  was  accepted  by  Professor  Roedder,  and 
was  then  past  by  a  unanimous  vote. 

[The  subject  was  brought  before  the  Association  of  American  Universi- 
ties by  Professor  Carpenter,  and  was  referred,  on  Jan.  10,  after  considerable 
discussion,  to  the  Executive  Committee  with  power.  At  a  meeting  of  this 
Committee,  on  May  7,  it  was  :  "  Eesolved  that,  in  view  of  the  attitude  of 
the  delegates  at  the  last  meeting  of  the  Association  of  American  Universi- 
ties that  it  would  be  unwise  to  take  up  this  question,  no  action  be  taken 
thereon."] 

The  Secretary  announced  that  no  report  had  been  received 
from  the  Committee  of  Fifteen  appointed  to  revise  the  lists 
of  recommended  books  and  to  prepare  a  uniform  system  of 
grammatical  terminology. 

At  one  o'clock  the  members  of  the  Association  were  the 
guests  of  the  Ohio  State  University  at  luncheon  in  Hayes 
Hall. 


PKOCEEDINGS  FOE  1907.  xiii 

THIRD  SESSION,  FRIDAY,  DECEMBER  2f. 
The  session  began  at  2.55  p.  m. 

13.  "Some  New  Facts  about  a  Manuscript  of  Godefroi 
de  Bouillon."     By  Professor  Hugh  A.  Smith,  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  "Wisconsin. 

[In  the  Romania,  1894,  A.  G.  Kriiger  gives  an  account  of  a  manuscript 
at  Berne,  hitherto  unnoticed,  of  the  Swan-knight  and  Godfrey  of  Bouillon. 
He  offers  evidence  to  show  that  it  contains  the  oldest  known  form  of  these 
poems.  Where  passages  in  the  Paris  manuscripts  are  different  the  one  at 
Berne  is  said  to  offer  the  original  version.  The  object  of  this  paper  was  to 
prove  that  the  passages  mentioned  by  Kriiger  are  mistakes  and  changes 
made  by  the  Berne  manuscript,  and  that  this  manuscript  is  in  reality  the 
same  version  as  one  of  those  at  Paris.  Also  thru  these  mistakes  one  can 
obtain  some  interesting  information  about  the  model  on  which  the  Berne 
manuscript  was  copied  and  the  methods  of  the  scribe. — Twenty  minutes.] 

14.  "Non-dramatic   Blank  Verse  |between  Milton   and 
Young."    By  Professor  Edward  Payson  Morton,  of  Indiana 
University. 

[This  paper  consisted  of  some  account  of  the  many  poems  in  blank  verse 
between  Milton  and  Young  ;  a  discussion  of  their  length,  derivation,  popu- 
larity, and  importance ;  citation  of  various  contemporary  critical  com- 
ments ;  and  an  attempt  to  show  that  the  blank  verse  of  the  Augustan  Age 
filled  a  considerable  and  recognized  place.  The  paper  did  not  try  to  push 
farther  back  the  beginnings  of  English  Romanticism,  but  merely  to  enlarge 
and  define  our  somewhat  misleading  conceptions  of  Augustan  poetry. — 
Twenty  minutes.'] 

15.  "The    Schildburger."     By    Professor  John   Morris, 
University  of  Georgia. 

[Stylistic  mannerisms.  Detailed  comparison  with  Fischart's  Qargantua: 
(a)  the  heaping  up  of  verbs,  adverbs,  nouns,  -adjectives,  etc.  ;  (6)  other 
marked  peculiarities  of  style. — Further  resemblances  to  Fischart.  Woman 
with  the  eggs.  Kabelais'  Isle  of  Ennasin  and  the  Schildbiirgers'  drinking 
bout. — Distinctive  qualities  of  the  author's  original  creative  faculty 
illustrated  in  detail.  Nevertheless,  barring  evidence  of  the  dates, — 
Fischart  died  in  1591,  Schildburger  appeared  in  1597, — we  should  unhes- 
itatingly declare  for  Fischart's  authorship. — Tiventy  minutes.'] 


XIV  MODEKN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

16.  "The  German  Romantic  Marchen."     By  Professor 
Robert  H.  Fife,  Jr.,  of  Wesleyan  University. 

[The  Marchen  was  the  most  popular  and  successful  narrative  form  among 
the  authors  of  the  German  Romantic  epoch.  They  differ  widely  in  their 
use  of  the  term,  but  regard  it  as  a  distinct  literary  type.  The  various 
theories  of  the  Marchen  were  reviewed,  and  the  practice  of  Tieck,  Novalis, 
Brentano,  and  Hoffmann  was  examined  in  their  treatment  of  the  Volks- 
mdrchen  and  the  so-called  Kunstmarchen.  It  was  shown  that  the  term  does 
represent  a  literary  genus,  which  is  covered  by  none  of  the  current 
definitions. — Twenty  minutes.] 

17.  "  The  Plea  of  Poetic  Licence."    By  Professor  George 
Philip  Krapp,  of  Columbia  University.      [Printed  in   The 
Forum,  Nov.,  1908.] 

[The  writer  of  verse  has  two  sets  of  conventions  to  keep  in  mind.  He 
has  the  conventions  of  the  normal  idiom  of  the  language  to  satisfy  and,  at 
the  same  time,  the  special  conventions  of  versification  and  the  poetical 
style.  The  two  conventions  often  clash,  the  conventions  of  grammar  yield- 
ing to  the  conventions  of  verse.  Frequent  illustrations  are  to  be  found  in 
the  writings  of  the  standard  poets. — Twenty  minutes.] 

This  paper  called  forth  an  interesting  discussion  from 
Professors  J.  W.  Cunliffe,  J.  D.  Bruner,  F.  G.  Hubbard, 
L.  F.  Mott,  H.  A.  Todd,  F.  E.  Bryant,  F.  N.  Scott,  and 
others. 

18.  "The   French   Nouvelle   in   England,  1660-1700." 
By  Professor  John  M.  Clapp,  of  Lake  Forest  College. 

[Examination  of  Arber's  reprint  of  the  Term  Catalogues,  1668-1696, 
shows  that  the  fiction  then  current  in  England  was  more  abundant  than 
has  been  supposed,  and  that  the  leading  form  was  the  translation  of  the 
French  Nouvelle.  This  was  not  without  merit :  the  tone  was  serious  and 
the  action  swift ;  the  plotting  crude  but  not  without  good  scenes  ;  the 
characterization  also  crude  but  often  with  good  analysis  of  feeling  and 
motive.  Its  relations  to  the  later  English  Novel  deserve  study. — Twenty 
minutes.  ] 

[The  annual  meeting  of  the  American  Dialect  Society  was 
held  immediately  after  this  session.] 


PKOCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  XV 

In  the  evening  the  gentlemen  of  the  Association  were 
entertained  at  the  Columbus  Club.  A  smoke  talk  was 
given  by  Professor  Josiah  Eenick  Smith,  of  the  Ohio  State 
University. 

FOURTH  SESSION,  SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  28. 

The  fourth  and  last  session  began  at  10  a.  m. 

O 

The  Central  Division  Committee  on  Nominations  recom- 
mended the  election  of  the  following  officers : — 

Chairman:  Oliver  Farrar  Emerson,  Western  Reserve 
University,  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

Secretary:  Charles  Bundy  Wilson,  State  University  of 
Iowa,  Iowa  City,  Iowa. 

Executive  Committee. 

Laurence  Fossler,  University  of  Nebraska,  Lincoln, 
Nebraska. 

J.  W.  Cunliffe,  University  of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis- 
consin. 

Karl  Pietsch,  University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  Illinois. 

The  report  was  adopted. 

The  Central  Division  Committee  on  Place  of  meeting 
recommended : 

That  we  accept  the  kind  invitation  of  Northwestern  University  to  meet 
in  Chicago. 

The  report  was  adopted. 

The  Nominating  Committee  of  the  Association  reported 
the  following  nominations  : 


XVI  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

President:  Frederick  M.  Warren,  Yale  University,  New 
Haven,  Conn. 

First  Vice-President :  John  A.  Walz,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass. 

Second  Vice-President :  Benjamin  L.  Bowen,  Ohio  State 
University,  Columbus,  Ohio. 

Third  Vice-President:  J.  Douglas  Bruce,  University  of 
Tennessee,  Knoxville,  Tenn. 

Secretary:  C.  H.  Grandgent,  Harvard  University,  Cam- 
bridge, Mass. 

Treasurer :  William  Guild  Howard,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass. 

Executive  Council. 

Alce"e  Fortier,  Tulane  University,  New  Orleans,  La. 

Charles  Harris,  Western  Reserve  University,  Cleveland, 
Ohio. 

George  Hempl,  Leland  Stanford  University,  Palo  Alto, 
Cal. 

John  M.  Manly,  University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Lewis  F.  Mott,  College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  New 
York,  N.  Y. 

C.  Alphonso  Smith,  University  of  North  Carolina,  Chapel 
Hill,  N.  C. 

Henry  A.  Todd,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Editorial  Committee. 

James  W.  Bright,  Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore, 
Md. 

Calvin  Thomas,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  xvii 

The  candidates  nominated  were  unanimously  elected 
officers  of  the  Association,  the  President  and  Vice-Presi- 
dents to  serve  during  1908,  the  others  to  serve  until  the 
next  Union  Meeting.  The  Secretary  of  the  Association  and 
the  Secretary  of  the  Central  Division  are  members  of  the 
Editorial  Committee  ex-officio. 

On  motion  of  Professor  H.  A.  Smith,  it  was  unanimously 

Voted,  That  in  view  of  the  great  increase  in  the  duties  of  the  Secretary 
and  Treasurer,  the  sum  of  $200  be  added  to  the  annual  salary  of  the 
Secretary  of  the  Association,  and  the  sum  of  $100  to  the  annual  salary  of 
the  Treasurer. 

On  motion  of  Professor  H.  A.  Todd,  it  was  unanimously 

Resolved,  That  the  thanks  and  cordial  appreciation  of  the  members  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association  of  America,  for  many  delightful  hospitali- 
ties and  courtesies  received  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Association  held 
at  Columbus,  be  expressed  to  the  authorities  of  the  Ohio  State  University, 
to  President  and  Mrs.  Thompson,  to  the  Ladies'  Committee,  to  the  officers 
and  members  of  the  Columbus  Club  and  of  the  Ohio  Club,  to  Professor 
Josiah  Kenick  Smith,  to  Mrs.  Powell,  to  Miss  Mary  Thomas,  and  to  the 
chairman  and  members  of  the  local  Committee  of  Arrangements  ;  that  a 
copy  of  this  resolution  be  sent  to  President  Thompson,  to  the  secretary  of 
the  Columbus  Club,  to  the  secretary  of  the  Ohio  Club,  to  Professor  Josiah 
Renick  Smith  and  to  Professor  B.  L.  Bowen  ;  and  that  the  resolution  be 
printed  in  the  Publications  of  the  Association. 

[Copies  of  the  resolution  were  subsequently  sent,  as 
directed.] 

The  reading  of  papers  was  resumed. 

19.  "Speech-Melody  and  Alliteration  in  West  Germanic 
Poetry."  By  Mr.  Bayard  Quincy  Morgan,  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Wisconsin.  [See  Paul  and  Braune's  Beitrage  zur 
Geschichte  der  deutschen  Sprache  und  Liter atur,  xxxin,  95.] 

[The  increasing  application  of  the  theory  of  speech-melody.  That 
theory  characterized.  Its  application  to  the  problems  of  alliteration. — 

2  * 


XV111  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

Previous  treatment  of  crossed  alliteration. — The  formulation  of  a  melodic 
law  to  cover  both  crossed  and  double  alliteration. — Fifteen  minutes.'] 

This  paper  provoked  a  lively  debate,  in  which  Professors 
J.  T.  Hatfield,  R.  H.  Fife,  Jr.,  J.  Morris,  O.  F.  Emerson, 
and  F.  N.  Scott  participated.  General  distrust  was  exprest 
in  Sievers's  theory  of  speech-melody. 

20.  "Elizabeth     Barrett's     Influence     on    Browning's 
Poetry."     By  Professor  J.  W.  Cunliffe,  of  the  University 
of  Wisconsin.      [See  Publications,  xxin,  1.] 

[The  paper  aimed  at  establishing  the  view  that  Elizabeth  Barrett's 
influence  was  the  paramount  factor  in  Browning's  poetical  career.  The 
arguments  advanced  depend,  in  the  first  place,  upon  an  examination  of  the 
chronology  of  the  poet's  works  ;  and  in  the  second,  upon  internal  evidence. 
The  character  of  the  influence  was  defined  and  illustrated. — Thirty  min- 
utes.'] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  O.  F.  Emerson,  Dr. 
A.  G.  Reed,  and  others. 

21.  "The   Sensationalism  of    Richard    Wagner."      By 
Professor  Samuel  P.  Capen,  of  Clark  College. 

[Naturalism  is  the  artistic  expression  of  a  commercial  age.  Wagner's 
productive  years  coincided  with  the  beginning  of  the  movement.  His 
works,  altho  Romantic  in  content,  reflect  the  Naturalistic  spirit.  It 
appears  as  sensationalism.  His  popularity  is  not  due  to  the  public  endorse- 
ment of  the  "music-drama"  as  a  form  of  dramatic  art. — Twenty  minutes.'] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professor  T.  S.  Baker,  who 
described  Nietzsche's  treatment  of  Wagner. 

22.  "The  Syntactical  Development  of  the  Spanish   2d 
Imperfect  Subjunctive  (-ra  form)  and  its  Functional  Differ- 
entiation from  the   1st  Imperfect  Subjunctive   (-se  form)." 
By  Dr.  Arthur  R.  Seymour,  of  the  University  of  Illinois. 

[Preservation  of  the  original  value  of  the  -ra  form  up  to  the  present 
time.  The  -ra  form  shows  the  subjective  appreciation  of  the  speaker  and 


PEOCEEDINGS   FOE    1907. 

may  be  designated  opinional  form.  The  -se  form  is  objectively  used  in 
dependent  clauses  of  uncertainty. — The  -ra  form  in  optative  expressions 
shows  the  impossibility  of  the  realization  of  the  desire.  The  -se  form 
Implies  that  the  desire  may  be  realized. — Great  preference  for  the  -se  form 
in  substantive  clauses. — Conclusion  :  the  -ra  form  is  an  opinional  one  and 
the  -se  form  non-opinional. — Twenty  minutes.] 

This  paper  was  discust  by  Professors  H.  A.  Smith  and 
C.  H.  Grandgent. 

23.  "  Political  Allegory  of  the  Faerie  Queene."  By  Mr. 
P.  M.  Buck,  of  the  McKinley  High  School,  St.  Louis. 

[As  is  well  known,  references  to  political  affairs  of  the  time  are  found 
in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene.  The  first  three  books  take  definite  periods  of 
English  and  Elizabethan  History.  Thus,  the  First  Book  refers  to  the 
triumph  of  Protestantism  under  Elizabeth,  and  to  the  undoing  of  the 
mischief  of  Mary  I  and  Pole  (Duessa  and  Archimago).  The  Second  Book 
refers  to  the  downfall  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  and  the  hero,  Guy  on,  is 
Thomas  Ratcliffe,  Earl  of  Sussex.  The  Third  Book  refers  to  the  courtships 
of  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  last  three  books  are  occupied  with  court  gossip 
and  isolated  events  of  the  reign.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Spenser  has 
clouded  his  allegory  by  deliberately  confusing  his  characters,  using  one 
name  for  several  distinct  individuals. — A  fifteen-minute  abstract."] 

The  Association  adjourned  at  half-past  twelve  o'clock. 


PAPERS  READ  BY  TITLE. 

The  following  papers,  presented  to  the  Association,  were 
read  by  title  only  : 

24.  "Plot  Parallels  in  Popular  Ballad  and  Tale."  By  Professor 
Arthur  Beatty,  of  the  University  of  Wisconsin. 

[In  the  systematic  study  of  ballad  and  folk-tale  the  consideration  of 
parallel  stories  has  always  formed  an  important  part  of  the  method  of 
enquiry.  An  examination  of  the  principles  underlying  systems  of  classifi- 
cation (von  Hahn,  de  Gubernatis,  Folk-Lore  Society,  Child)  shows  that 
with  the  material  now  in  hand  a  clearer  definition  of  a  plot  parallel  is 
needed.  Strictly  interpreted,  there  are  comparatively  few  real  parallels  in 
plot.  The  constant  is  a  custom,  belief,  ceremony,  or  ritual.  This  is  of 

0 


XX  MODERN   LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

the  utmost  importance,  and  must  be  taken  into  account  in  the  study  of  the 
origins  of  the  popular  ballad  and  tale.] 

25.  "The  Decline  of  the  English  Heroic  Drama."     By  Dr.  William 
E.  Bohn,  of  the  University  of  Michigan.     [To  appear  in  Modern  Language 
Notes.] 

[An  attempt  to  determine  when  and  why  the  heroic  drama  went  out  of 
favor.  A  rapid  sketch  was  given  of  the  type  in  question  and  the  conditions 
under  which  it  flourished.  Then  the  decline  of  the  heroic  and  the  rise  to 
favor  of  another  type  were  followed  in  the  works  of  Dryden,  Otway,  and 
Lee.  The  change  of  dramatic  ideals  involved  was  discust  in  connection 
with  certain  political  and  social  developments.] 

26.  "The  Relation  of  the  Standard  Language  to   the  Population  of 
London."     By  Professor  Frank  E.  Bryant,  of  the  University  of  Kansas. 

[The  paper  discust  the  instability  of  London's  population — the  re- 
markable growth  and,  in  the  past,  the  surprising  death  rate.  The  city 
has  not  grown  from  within.  Moreover,  we  find  that  for  all  centuries  a 
large  proportion  of  the  great  writers  of  so-called  standard  English  have  not 
been  Londoners  by  birth  or  early  residence.  What  is  the  bearing  of  these 
facts  upon  the  standard  language  ?  ] 

27.  "Social  Problems  in  Grillparzer's  Dramas."     By  Dr.  P.  G.  A. 
Busse,  of  the  Ohio  State  University. 

[Grillparzer  used  his  later  plays,  e.  g.,  Jildin  von  Toledo,  Libussa,  Bruder- 
zm&t)  etc.,  extensively  for  the  discussion  of  social  problems.  As  a 
profound  student  of  political  affairs  and  questions  he  was  very  much 
interested  in  the  socialistic  doctrines  that  were  spread  broadcast  from 
France  by  men  like  Fourier,  Cabet,  Saint  Simon,  etc.,  about  the  time  of  the 
revolution  of  July.  It  is  from  their  point  of  view  that  he  presents  political 
complications  in  his  dramas.  Other  writers,  e.  g.,  Gutzkow  (in  TFa%), 
Fanny  Lewald  (  Vatex  und  Sokn,  etc. ) ,  were  similarly  affected  by  this  move- 
ment. Grillparzer,  however,  takes  up  the  minute  details  of  communistic 
theories,  such  as  the  abolishing  of  the  oath  of  allegiance,  the  even  distribu- 
tion of  all  property,  the  principle  of  equality,  and  the  question  of  leader- 
ship, etc.  In  Libussa  he  applies  these  ideas  (which  appear  almost  as  the 
real  purpose  of  the  play)  to  such  an  extent  that  an  exact  comparison  of 
them  with  contemporary  writings  of  socialistic  leaders  will  furnish  more 
definite  dates  regarding  the  various  stages  of  the  composition  of  the  drama. 
Yet  the  poet  never  declared  himself  an  adherent  of  these  doctrines  ;  his 
clear  intention  was  to  prove  the  absolute  impossibility  of  realizing  any  of 
these  socialistic  theories.  In  that  point,  he  differs  distinctly  from  G. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Xxi 

Hauptmann,  M.  Dreyer,  and  others,  who,  as  dramatists  "des  reifen 
Zustandes,"  merely  represent  stages  in  the  actual  development  of  socialis- 
tic enterprises.] 

28.  "The  Life  and  Letters  of  Antoine  Arlier."     By  Dr.  J.  L.  Gerig, 
of  Columbia  University. 

[These  letters,  discovered  by  M.  Emile  Picot,  give  much  interesting 
information  concerning  the  literary  history  of  the  early  16th  century.  The 
author  of  them  played  a  prominent  role  at  Nimes  and,  later,  in  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Turin.  Much  of  the  information  concerning  him  and  his  friends, 
to  whom  these  letters  are  addressed,  represents  extensive  researches  in  the 
archives  of  France  and  Northern  Italy.  Altho  Arlier  was  once  instrumen- 
tal in  securing  a  pardon  for  Dolet,  Mr.  Christie  was  unable  to  find  anything 
concerning  him.  -  As  a  writer  of  Latin,  Arlier  rivals  his  master,  Bembo. 
(To  be  published  in  collaboration  with  M.  Picot.)] 

29.  "  The  College  of  the  Trinity  at  Lyons  before  1540."    By  Dr.  J.  L. 
Gerig,  of  Columbia  University. 

[It  was  thru  this  college,  founded  in  1527,  that  the  Renaissance  was 
introduced  into  Lyons.  Among  its  regents  during  this  period  were  Guil- 
laume  Durand,  the  friend  of  Dolet ;  Jean  Canappe,  author  of  many  medical 
tracts  and  rival  of  Eabelais  ;  Jean  Raynier,  the  grammarian  ;  Jean  Pelis- 
son,  afterward  celebrated  as  principal  of  the  College  of  Tournon  ;  the 
poets,  Charles  de  Ste-Marthe,  Gilbert  Ducher  and  Claude  Bigothier ;  and 
finally  Barthelemy  Aneau,  to  a  study  of  whose  life  and  works  this  article 
serves  as  an  introduction.  (To  be  published  in  the  Revue  de  la  Renaissance. )] 

30.  "  Bericht  iiber  das  Studium  der  deutschen  Eomantechnik,  mit  einer 
ausfuhrlichen  Bibliographic  der  einschliigigen  Werke  und  Zeitschriften- 
artikel."     By  Professor  Charles  Hart  Handschin,  of  Miami  University. 
[To  appear  in  Modern  Language  Notes.'] 

[Die  ersten  Forscher  waren  die  Komanschriftsteller  selbst,  und  die  besten 
alteren,  z.  T.  grundlegenden  Abhandlungen  stammen  von  ihnen.  Vieles, 
was  sich  heutzutage  unter  dem  Numen  "  Studien  zur  Romantechnik  " 
gibt,  ist  lediglich  Anpreisung  irgend  eines  Werkes  oder  Autors.  Das 
Bestreben  der  bedeutendsten  neueren  einschliigigen  Werke  geht  darauf 
hinaus,  nicht  nur  die  historische  Entwickelung  darzutun  und  Wechsel- 
beziehungen  aufzuweisen,  oder  asthetisch  zu  wiirdigen,  sondern  besonders 
die  Regeln,  welche  die  bedeutendsten  Romanschriftsteller  bei  ihrem 
Schaffen  beobachtet,  darzulegen.  Das  Ergebnis  ist  wachsendes  Verstiindnis 
fiir  Romankunst  und  die  Gewinnung  von  bestimmteren  Massstaben  zur 
Beurteilung  derselben.] 


XX11  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

31.  "A  Literary  Mosaic."     By  Professor  Charles  Wesley  Hodell,  of 
the  Woman's  College,  Baltimore.     [See  Publications,  xxm,  3.] 

[The  lawyers'  monologues,  hitherto  the  crux  of  Browning's  The  Ring 
and  the  Book,  appear  in  a  new  light  when  compared  with  the  ' '  old  yellow 
book,"  now  in  press  with  the  Carnegie  Institution.  In  them  the  poet  of 
humanity  reproduces  his  own  impression  of  the  legal  mind  as  seen  in  the 
cunning  sophistries  of  the  book.  To  this  end  he  has  assembled  in  his  first 
lawyer's  speech  a  mass  of  fragments  from  the  book — precedents,  illustra- 
tions, points  of  law,  Latin  quotations — all  of  which  he  arranges  in  a  new 
design,  cementing  them  fast  in  an  element  of  irony  and  humor.] 

32.  "Rabener's   Theory  of  Satire."     By  Professor  G.  Lehmann,  of 
Kentucky  University. 

[The  paper  began  by  stating  briefly  the  general  theory  of  satire  held  by 
Rabener's  predecessors  and  contemporaries.  It  then  endeavored  to  prove 
from  Rabener's  writings,  especially  from  Vom  Missbrauche  der  Satyre  and 
Sendschreiben  that  Rabener  aimed  to  develop  a  system  of  his  own,  by 
investigating  the  nature  and  purpose  of  satire  from  a  purely  ethical 
standpoint.] 

33.  "  On  the  Principles  of  Naturalism  in  Modern  German  Literature." 
By  Professor  O.  E.  Lessing,  of  the  University  of  Illinois.     [To  form  a  part 
of  a  volume  entitled  Poets  and  Prophets.  ] 

[Literary  criticism  has  never  done  justice  to  the  theory  of  naturalism  as 
expounded  by  Arnold  Holz.  Consistent  ( ' '  konsequenter ' ' )  naturalism  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  choice  of  subject  nor  with  the  pessimistic  view  of 
life  embodied  in  the  works  of  Hauptmann  and  others.  It  is  in  reality  the 
purely  esthetic  law  of  perfect,  harmony  of  style :  a  law  resulting  from  a 
conception  of  art  that  is  closely  related  to  Walt  Whitman's  theories.] 

34.  "Silence  and  Solitude  in  the  Poems  of  Leopardi."     By  Professor 
M.  Levi,  of  the  University  of  Michigan. 

[The  greatness  of  men  and  their  sufferings. — Dante  and  Leopardi. — 
Leopardi,  the  singer  of  sorrow. — Accents  of  universal  misery  in  Leopardi' s 
poems. — The  poet  of  pessimism. — Aim  of  the  present  paper  :  Silence  and 
solitude  in  the  poems  of  Leopardi  one  of  the  frequent  means  by  which  the 
poet  has  given  expression  to  his  pessimism. — Analysis  of  the  following 
poems,  to  illustrate  the  features  mentioned  :  1.  Frammento,  2.  II  Primo 
Amore,  3.  AW  Italia,  4.  II  Passero  Solitario,  5.  L' Infinite,  6.  Alia  Luna, 
7.  II  Sogno,  8.  La  Sera  del  di  di  Festa,  9.  Canto  Notturno  di  un  Pastore 
Errante  deW  Asia.  ] 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  xxiii 

35.  "  Italy  in  the  English  Poets."     By  Professor  William  E.  Mead,  of 
Wesleyan  University.     [See  Publications,  xxm,  3.] 

[This  paper  was  not  concerned,  except  incidentally,  with  the  influence 
of  Italian  literature  or  thought  upon  English  literature,  but  rather  with 
the  various  attempts  to  present  Italy  in  English  verse  since  the  Revival  of 
Learning.  With  few  exceptions  the  noteworthy  English  poems  dealing 
with  Italy  have  been  produced  within  the  past  hundred  years,  a  fact 
which  calls  for  some  explanation.  Moreover,  the  modern  conception  of 
Italy  differs  widely  from  the  earlier  in  depth  and  intensity  and  in  breadth 
of  sympathy.  This  was  illustrated  by  an  examination  of  the  more  impor- 
tant poems  that  have  Italy  as  their  theme.] 

36.  * '  Studies  in  Cervantes.    III.  Persiles  y  Sigismunda  and  the  Aeneid. ' ' 
By  Professor  Rudolph  Schevill,  of  Yale  University.     [See  Transactions  of 
the  Connecticut  Academy,  xui,  475.] 

[The  continuation  of  a  study  in  the  sources  of  Cervantes' s  last  work. 
The  influence  of  the  JEneid  on  Spanish  literature  before  Cervantes  was 
first  considered,  especially  in  the  prose  fiction  of  the  Renaissance.  Then 
followed  a  study  of  the  extent  to  which  Cervantes  is  indebted  to  Virgil.] 

37.  "The  Two  Rival  Texts  of  Richard  III."     By  Mr.  Robinson  Ship- 
herd,  of  Harvard  University. 

[This  was  an  attempt  to  show  that  there  is  but  one  authentic  text  of 
Richard  III,  that  of  the  First  Folio.  This  version,  tho  containing  defects 
due  to  the  bad  condition  of  the  theatre  copy  from  which  it  was  probably 
printed,  and  revealing  some  traces  of  revision,  was  shown  to  represent 
essentially  the  original  form  of  Shakespeare's  play  ;  the  variants  in  the 
Quarto  text  being  in  most  cases  explicable  as  errors  and  substitutions  made 
by  the  actors,  the  reporter,  and  the  printer.  If  this  argument  be  regarded 
as  conclusive,  it  renders  unnecessary  the  hypothesis  that  either  version 
represents  a  detailed  revision  of  the  play  by  the  author,  and  establishes  the 
right  of  the  First  Folio  version  to  be  regarded  as  the  only  text  with  any 
claim  to  authority.] 

38.  "  Variation  in  the  Orthography  and  Inflection  of  English  Loan- 
Words  in   German."     By  Professor  Rudolf  Tombo,    Jr.,    of  Columbia 
University. 

[We  are  witnessing  an  influx  of  English  words  into  the  German 
language,  and  in  many  instances  variation  of  form  is  still  found  by  reason 
of  the  recency  of  the  borrowing.  A  comparison  of  material  contained  in 
the  ktest  edition  (1906)  of  Duden's  Orthographisches  Worterbuch  with  that 
found  in  the  seventh  (1902),  reveals  the  rapidity  of  changes  towards 


XXIV  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

normal  orthographical  and  inflectional  forms  and  enables  the  establishment 
of  certain  tendencies  in  the  treatment  of  loan-words.  Thus  we  have  Keek 
( 1 906  )<  Kake  <  Cake  ( 1902 ) .  Similarly,  a  series  of  words  which  formerly 
took  a  nom.  pi.  in  -s,  now  follow  one  of  the  established  declensions,  e.  g. 
pi.  Zinder  (1906)  but  Cinders  (1902),  while  about  twenty-five  masc.  and 
neut.  nouns  now  take  the  gen.  sing,  only  in  -s  (or  -es)  that  formerly 
also  permitted  the  form  without  any  ending. — Examples  of  variation  are 
seen  in  :  Klub  and  Koks,  but  Clown  and  Collie,  Zinder  but  City,  schocking 
but  Shoddy,  etc. ,  and  pi.  Niyger,  Receiver,  etc. ,  but  Dissenters,  Squatters, 
etc.  Many  English  substantives  still  form  the  pi.  in  -s,  most  nouns  in  -er 
take  no  ending,  while  in  some  words  both  German  and  English  pi.  forms 
exist  side  by  side  :  Boxen-Soxes,  Docke-Docks,  etc.,  the  tendency  being  to 
drop  the  form  in  -s.  Variation  in  gender  is  also  found,  as  in  Tramway 
(masc.  and  fern.),  Pony  (masc.  and  neut.),  Interview  (fern,  and  neut.), 
etc.] 

39.  "  On  the  Date  and  Composition  of  Guillaume  de  Lorris's  Section  of 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose."     By  Professor  F.  M.  Warren,  of  Yale  University. 
[See  Publications,  xxm,  2.  ] 

[Reliability  of  Jean  de  Meun's  testimony  concerning  Guillaume  de 
Lorris.  Objective  character  of  the  beginning  of  the  romance  :  descrip- 
tions of  nature,  persons,  dress,  and  customs,  material  borrowed  from 
romans  d'aventure.  The  main  plot  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose  outlined  in 
Gautier  d' Arras's  Erode  (11.  2396-99).  Possible  existence  of  a  third  poem 
containing  this  plot.  ] 

40.  "Grabbe's  Eelations  to  Byron."     By  Mr.    Josef  Wiehr,  of  the 
University  of  Illinois.     [Printed  in  the  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic 
Philology,  vn,  3.] 

[Some  features  of  Gothland,  Grabbe's  first  work,  bear  a  strong  resem- 
blance to  Byron's  Cain,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  Grabbe  knew  Cain 
before  the  completion  of  Gothland,  and  was  influenced  by  it.  Don  Juan 
und  Faust  shows  the  influence  of  Manfred,  Cain,  and  possibly  of  Canto  III 
of  Childe  Harold.  We  knew  from  one  of  Grabbe's  letters  that  some  time 
previous  to  the  writing  of  Don  Juan  und  Faust  he  bought,  and  of  course 
read,  the  complete  works  of  Byron.  Scene  I  of  Act  V  of  Napoleon  seems 
to  be  modeled  on  those  stanzas  of  Canto  IV  of  Childe  Harold  that  describe 
the  feast  of  the  Duchess  of  Richmond  at  Brussels  on  the  eve  of  the  battle 
of  Waterloo.] 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  XXV 

OFFICERS  OF  THE  ASSOCIATION  FOR  1908 


President, 
F.  M.  WARREN, 

Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn. 

Vice-Presidents, 
JOHN  A.  WALZ,  BENJAMIN  L.  BOWEN, 

Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  Ohio. 

J.  D.  BRUCE, 

University  of  Tennessee,  Knoxville,  Tenn. 

Secretary,  Treasurer, 

C.  H.  GRANDGENT,  WILLIAM  GUILD  HOWARD, 

Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

CENTRAL  DIVISION 

Chairman,  Secretary, 

O.  F.  EMERSON",  CHARLES  BUNDY  WILSON, 

Western  Reserve  University,  Cleveland,  0.  State  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la. 


EXECUTIVE   COUNCIL 

ALCEE  FORTIER, 

Tulane  University  of  Louisiana,  New  Orleans,  La. 

CHARLES  HARRIS,  GEORGE  HEMPL, 

Western  Reserve  University,  Cleveland,  O.    Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal. 

JOHN  M.  MANLY,  LEWIS  F.  MOTT, 

University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  III.          College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

C.  ALPHONSO  SMITH,  HENRY  A.  TODD, 

University  of  North  Carolina,  Chapel  Hill,  N.  C.        Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


EDITORIAL  COMMITTEE 

C.  H.  GRANDGENT,  CHARLES  BUNDY  WILSON, 

Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  Slate  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la. 

CALVIN  THOMAS,  JAMES  W.  BRIGHT, 

Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore,  Md. 


XXVI  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 


THE   PRESIDENT'S    ADDRESS 

DELIVERED   ON   THURSDAY,    DECEMBER   26,    IN   COLUMBUS, 

O.,    AT  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH   ANNUAL 

MEETING   OF  THE  ASSOCIATION. 

BY   FRED   NEWTON   SCOTT. 

THE  GENESIS  OF  SPEECH. 


If  I  have  departed  from  tradition  in  using  in  my  title 
the  word  genesis  for  the  word  origin,  the  substitution  is  not 
without  reason.  There  are  many  persons  to  whom  the  latter 
word  is  fatally  suggestive;  they  cannot  hear  it  applied  to 
speech  without  thinking  forthwith  of  an  invention  or  dis- 
covery ;  they  tend  under  its  influence  to  conceive  of  speech 
as  coming  into  existence  under  the  conditions  and  through 
the  agencies  which  went  to  the  making  of  Volapiik  and 
Esperanto ;  it  is  almost  as  if  they  imagined  some  clever 
troglodyte  of  primitive  days  saying  to  his  fellows:  "A 
happy  thought  strikes  me ;  let  us  invent  a  language." 

"  Genesis "  will,  I  hope,  suggest  a  different  view ;  it 
presents  speech  not  as  an  invention,  but  as  a  process,  not 
as  an  abrupt,  but  as  a  slow  and  gradual  coming-into- 
existence,1  like  the  evolution  of  man  himself,  proceeding 

1 1  am  not  unmindful  of  the  claims  of  the  mutation  theory,  which  Pro- 
fessor A.  H.  Pierce  has  already  applied  tentatively  to  the  explanation  of 
gesture  and  other  modes  of  expression  (Jnl.  of  Philos.,  Psych,  and  Sci. 
Method,  vol.  3,  p.  573),  and  which  Professor  Manley  has  used  analogically 
(and  perhaps  a  little  prematurely,  if  ingeniously)  for  the  interpretation  of 
literary  history  (Modern  Philology,  vol.  4,  p.  1);  but  as  the  theory  is  still 
in  its  inception,  and  liable  to  sweeping  modifications,  I  have  thought  it 
best  to  hold  for  the  present  purpose  to  the  older  view. 


PROCEEDINGS  FOB  1907.  XXVii 

without  a  break  from  beginnings  crude  and  humble  and 
scarcely  recognizable,  yet  not  contemptible,  to  the  rich 
and  complex  function  of  the  present  day. 

Like  every  other  complicated  human  phenomenon,  speech 
may  be  defined  in  a  variety  of  ways,  according  as  stress  is 
thrown  upon  the  physical,  the  physiological,  the  psychical, 
or  other  aspect  of  it.  For  my  part,  since  I  wish  to 
simplify  the  problem  of  its  genesis  as  much  as  I  can,  I 
shall  reduce  it  to  its  lowest,  most  nearly  physiological, 
terms.  I  shall  therefore  assume  for  the  present  that  what- 
ever else  it  may  be,  it  is  for  my  purpose  merely  a  peculiar 
movement  of  certain  organs  of  the  body — a  series  of 
muscular  contractions  of  the  thorax,  the  throat,  the  tongue, 
the  lips,  etc.  Disregarding  other  equally  interesting  ques- 
tions, I  shall  ask  how  these  movements  are  related  to  other 
bodily  movements  and  how,  in  the  history  of  early  man, 
or  his  precursor,  they  arose,  developed,  and  attained  their 
peculiar  character  and  significance. 

We  may  begin  by  considering  the  general  categories  of 
bodily  movement. 

Bodily  movements  may  be  divided  into  two  main 
classes :  1)  life-serving  movements,  or  utility  accommoda- 
tions, as  the  biologist  terms  them,  and  2)  expressive-com- 
municative movements.  The  first  class  comprises  those 
whose  primary  function  is  to  maintain  and  promote  the  life 
of  the  bodily  organism.  In  the  lowest  orders  of  creation 
all  movements  are  thought  to  be  of  this  class,  for  all  con- 
tribute in  some  way  to  the  animal's  well-being.  If  the 
creature  expands  or  contracts,  if  it  reaches  out  or  draws 
back,  if  it  attaches  itself  to  objects  or  lets  go  of  them,  if  it 
undulates,  or  quivers,  or  moves  from  place  to  place, — in 
every  instance,  the  origin  and  meaning  of  the  movement  is 
the  preservation,  furthering,  or  propagating  of  the  little 
life.  The  organism  has  no  other  desire,  no  other  ambition, 


XXV111  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

no  other  destiny.  That  it  may  have  physical  life  and  may 
have  it  more  abundantly  sums  up  the  purpose  of  its  being 
— so  far  as  nature,  from  the  evolutionary  point  of  view, 
may  be  said  to  have  any  purpose  at  all. 

As  the  organism  becomes  more  complex  and  its  inner  and 
outer  structures  are  differentiated,  two  sub-classes  of  life- 
serving  functions  may  be  distinguished,  to  which  I  shall 
give  the  names  covert  and  overt.  Under  covert  processes 
will  fall  physiological  functions  which,  going  on  within  the 
cavities  of  the  body,  are  ordinarily  hidden  from  observation. 
The  secretion  of  bile,  the  beating  of  the  heart,  the  move- 
ments of  the  white  and  red  corpuscles  of  the  blood,  will 
serve  as  examples  of  these.  On  the  other  hand,  we  may 
reckon  as  overt  processes  those  obvious  movements  of  the 
head,  limbs,  trunk,  or  body  as  a  whole,  which  are  necessary 
in  obtaining  food,  escaping  from  harmful  agencies,  or  secur- 
ing a  more  favorable  environment.  Under  this  head  we 
may  bring  also  the  various  strains  in  which  muscles  are  set 
to  resist  attack  or  prepare  for  flight,  although  these  are  more 
properly  denominated  attitudes. 

To  this  large  category  of  life-serving  movements,  embrac- 
ing both  covert  and  overt  movements,  is  often  applied  the 
term  useful. 

If  the  first  category  includes  movements  which  promote 
individual  life,  the  second  includes  those  whose  purpose  is 
primarily  to  manifest  this  life  and  convey  an  apprehension 
of  it  to  others,  that  is,  to  express  and  communicate.1 

1  Although  the  two  classes  have  been  thus  marked  off  from  each  other 
there  is  a  sense  in  which  all  overt  movements  may  be  said  to  be  at  one  and 
the  same  time  life-serving  and  expressive-communicative.    The  life-serving 
function  of  eating,  for  example,  when  it  is  performed  by  persons 

"Feeding  like  horses  when  you  hear  them  feed," 

both  expresses  hunger  and  communicates  the  idea  of  hunger  to  others.  The 
provincial  guest  at  a  hotel  who  with  his  fork  spears  a  slice  of  bread  on  the 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  xxix 

Examples  of  such  movements  are  gnashing  of  the  teeth 
and  rolling  of  the  eye-balls  in  rage,  exposing  of  the  canine 
tooth  in  scorn,  setting  of  the  lips  in  decision,  shaking  of  the 
head  in  negation,  shrugging  of  the  shoulders  in  doubt, 
elevation  and  depression  of  the  corners  of  the  mouth  in  joy 
and  grief  respectively.  Here  belongs,  generally  speaking, 
the  whole  round  of  gesture,  pantomime  and  grimace.  And 
here,  finally,  belong  the  phenomena  of  speech. 

Movements  of  this  type,  compared  with  life-serving  func- 
tions, are  termed  useless,  and  in  one  sense  they  are  so : 
they  do  not  promote  directly  the  life  of  the  bodily  organism. 
They  can  be  suspended,  as  the  life-serving  functions  cannot, 
without  injury  to  the  body.  A  man  may  sit  quietly  in  a 
chair,  or  lean  against  a  lamp-post,  or  lie  asleep  in  his  bed, 
not  only  without  speaking  or  laughing  or  crying,  but  without 
moving  his  head  or  his  limbs,  or  (with  one  important  exception 
which  will  be  noted  later)  in  any  other  way  giving  sign  of 
his  presence.  He  may  in  this  passive  condition  preserve  his 
bodily  integrity  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time.  More 
than  this,  he  may,  if  he  is  alone,  dispense  altogether  with 
the  class  of  movements  which  we  term  communicative.  To 
this  extent  movements  of  expression  and  communication 
may  with  some  degree  of  truth  be  said  to  be  non-useful. 

When  we  come  to  consider  the  two  classes  closely,  how- 
ever, we  find  that  they  are  more  intimately  related  than  is 
implied  by  this  sheer  distinction,  botli  in  origin  and  in 
purpose.  I  will  speak  first  of  their  origin.  Since  the  time 


far  side  of  the  table,  not  only  performs  a  life-serving  function,  but  also  gives 
publicity  to  his  lack  of  manners.  Just  so  the  movement  of  running  away 
expresses  fear,  the  movement  of  striking  expresses  anger,  the  movement  of 
carrying  a  hod  of  bricks  up  a  ladder  expresses  toil.  Even  covert  processes 
may  have  this  function,  as  when  accelerated  beating  of  the  heart  in  excite- 
ment appears  in  the  temporal  artery  or  defective  secretion  of  bile  gives  a 
yellow  cast  to  the  complexion. 

* 


XXX  MODERN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

of  Darwin,  and  especially  since  the  publication,  in  1873,  of 
Darwin's  Expression  of  the  Emotions  in  Man  and  Animals,  it 
has  been  almost  an  axiom  with  scientists  that  expressive  and 
communicative  movements  are  life-serving  functions  worn  to 
the  butt, — functions  reduced,  that  is,  to  attitudes  and 
tendencies  to  action,  to  mere  remnants  of  their  former  selves.1 
To  give  a  few  familiar  examples :  What  was  originally  a 
knock-down  blow  in  anger  has  now  been  reduced  to  a  futile 
clenching  of  the  fist ;  what  was  once  an  actual  biting  of  a 
foe,  has  become  a  gnashing  with  the  teeth  at  a  safe  distance ; 
what  was  once  a  prostration  of  oneself  at  the  feet  of  a 
superior,  has  become  an  inclination  of  the  head.  Much 
ingenuity  has  been  expended  in  thus  tracing  the  origin  of 
grimace  and  gesture.  Henle  explains  the  clapping  of  hands 
for  applause  as  a  symbolic  abridgment  of  an  embrace.  The 
flaring  of  the  nostrils  in  violent  rage  has  been  interpreted  as 
a  remnant  of  that  lively  epoch  in  the  life  of  primitive  man 
when  two  foes,  their  teeth  buried  in  each  other's  flesh,  drew 
back  the  wings  of  their  nostrils  in  order  to  take  breath. 
Without  going  to  such  length  as  this,  we  may  at  least  trace 
the  shake  of  the  head  in  negation  to  the  avoidance  of 
unpleasant  food,  the  sudden  raising  of  the  arm  in  fright  to  an 
original  shielding  of  oneself  from  a  blow  or  the  attack  of  a 
wild  beast,  pointing  with  the  finger  and  beckoning,  to 
clutching  movements  in  seizing  food  or  in  drawing  another 
person  toward  oneself.  And  so  on  through  a  long  list. 

But  not  only  are  the  expressive-communicative  move- 
ments derived,  by  a  wearing-down  process,  from  the  life- 
serving  movements,  they  are  also,  like  the  latter,  useful. 
Their  use,  however,  is  different.  The  life-serving  move- 
ments are  useful  in  preserving  and  promoting  the  life  of  the 


1  This  theory  has  been  fully  elaborated  by  Dewey,  The  Theory  of  Emotion, 
Psychological  Review,  vol.  1,  p.  553. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOB    1907. 

individual.  The  expressive-communicative  movements,  on 
the  other  hand,  since  they  are  the  means  by  which  indi- 
viduals are  bound  together  in  a  social  group,  are  useful  in 
preserving  and  promoting  the  life  of  society.  I  have  said 
that  an  isolated  individual  could  apparently  dispense  with 
them  and  yet  preserve  his  bodily  integrity.  But  it  must  be 
remembered  that  as  a  rule  individuals  do  not  and  cannot 
live  in  isolation.  They  live  and  must  live  in  families, 
groups,  and  communities.  Consequently  in  the  higher  forms 
of  life  a  condition  of  things  frequently  comes  about  such  that 
individuals  must  cooperate  with  one  another  in  order  to 
preserve  their  existence  and  continue  the  species, — the  pre- 
servation and  progression  of  individual  life  depending 
directly  upon  the  organization  of  social  life.  In  such  case 
intercommunication  becomes  an  absolute  necessity.  If  food, 
for  instance,  in  the  form  of  an  elephant  cannot  be  obtained 
without  calling  or  beckoning  to  one's  fellows,  the  ability  to 
call  or  beckon  is  as  useful  as  the  eating  of  the  elephant- 
meat.  Similarly,  if  the  repelling  of  an  attack  demands  the 
cooperation  of  the  clan  as  a  whole,  the  means  of  summoning 
the  clan  and  directing  their  mode  of  defense  is  no  less 
useful  than  skill  with  club  or  javelin.1 

It  would  appear,  then,  that  expressive  and  communicative 
movements  are  movements  which  have  lost  their  primitive 
life-serving  functions  only  to  be  reinstated  in  a  different 
function  of  an  equally  useful  character.  They  have  ceased 
to  sustain  the  life  of  the  isolated  individual  in  order  that 
they  may  sustain  community  life. 

If  the   relation  between  these  two  categories  of  move- 

1  In  like '  manner,  to  rise  to  a  higher  plane,  if  spiritual  life  and  progress 
be  the  end  in  view,  if  existence  without  it  is  intolerable,  the  means  of 
intercommunication  which  will  conserve  and  propagate  spiritual  life — say, 
for  example,  the  maintenance  of  free  speech — is  as  distinctively  a  life- 
serving  process  as  eating,  sleeping  or  breathing. 


XXX11  MODEKN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

ments  is  such  as  I  have  indicated,  the  question  at  once 
arises  :  By  what  steps  or  stages  have  functions  originally 
life-serving  passed  over  into  society-serving  functions? 
How  have  muscular  contractions  whose  original  purpose 
was  to  secure  food,  to  repel  enemies,  to  escape  dangers,  to 
secure  a  more  favorable  environment,  been  transformed  into 
muscular  contractions  whose  sole  purpose  is  to  express 
feelings  and  states  of  consciousness,  and  to  communicate 
these  feelings  and  mental  states  to  others? 

I  will  begin  my  answer  to  this  question  by  pointing  out 
that  in  the  evolution  of  bodily  movement  from  the  indi- 
vidual-serving to  the  social-serving  stage,  we  may  distin- 
guish certain  grades.  The  lowest  grade  is  that  of  the 
recognition-sign,  by  which  in  any  group  the  presence  and 
identity  of  one  member  are  revealed  to  his  fellows.  Just 
as  among  the  fishes  certain  marks  and  contours  and  motions 
enable  the  male  to  distinguish  the  female  of  the  same 
species,  just  as  among  the  social  ants  the  sense  of  smell 
enables  the  ants  of  one  colony  to  distinguish  those  of  a 
friendly  or  a  hostile  colony,  so  in  the  lowest  human  societies 
movements  of  various  kinds  have  enabled  members  of  a 
given  community  to  identify  one  another  and  to  comport 
themselves  in  such  a  way  as  to  maintain  and  advance  social 
integrity. 

All  overt  life-serving  movements  possess  this  lowest 
grade  of  expressive  and  communicative  function.  Even  in 
our  present  highly  organized  social  relations,  we  depend  to 
a  considerable  degree  upon  these  low-grade  recognition- 
signs  for  judgments  of  identity.  We  know  our  acquaint- 
ances by  their  walk,  by  their  pose,  by  the  carriage  of  the 
head  or  swing  of  the  arms.  "  That  thou  art  my  son,"  says 
Falstaff,  "  I  have  partly  thy  mother's  word,  partly  my  own 
opinion,  but  chiefly  a  villainous  trick  of  thine  eye  and  a 
foolish  hanging  of  thy  nether  lip,  that  doth  warrant  me." 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  XXXlii 

In  how  many  cases  do  we  not  fail  to  recognize  an  old 
acquaintance  until  a  peculiar  lift  of  the  chin,  or  wrinkling 
of  the  brow,  recalls  him  suddenly  to  our  remembrance  ? 1 
Such  distinguishing  marks  must  have  been  of  great  value 
in  the  early  history  of  mankind  in  sharpening  the  vague, 
inchoate  sense  of  personality, — in  enabling  the  mother,  for 
example,  to  know  her  child,  and  the  adult  to  recognize  his 
clansman. 

But  the  movement  which  serves  as  a  recognition-sign 
may  pass  to  a  higher  stage.  It  may  become  a  voluntary 
communication.  The  process  by  which  this  comes  about  is 
so  complicated  and  an  explanation  of  it  is  so  essential  to  my 
thesis,  that  I  may  be  pardoned  for  dwelling  upon  it  at  some 
length.  I  will  be  as  un-technical  as  I  can. 

In  the  first  place  it  must  be  remembered  that,  psychologi- 
cally speaking,  the  motives  to  all  voluntary  acts  are  mental 
images  of  involuntary  acts  previously  performed.  "  Wheu 
a  particular  movement,"  says  Professor  James,  "  having 
once  occurred  in  a  random,  reflex,  or  involuntary  way,  has 
left  an  image  of  itself  in  the  memory,  then  the  movement 
can  be  desired  again,  proposed  as  an  end,  and  deliberately 
willed.  But  it  is  impossible  to  see  how  it  could  be  willed 
before."2  An  illustration  may  be  taken  from  that  most 
fundamental  of  life-serving  functions — the  taking  of  food. 
If  I  voluntarily  reach  out  my  hand  for  food,  it  is  because 
a  previous  involuntary  act  has  traced  in  my  mind  an  image 

1  For  a  striking  illustration  of  the  psychical  value  of  a  seemingly  trivial 
gesture,  see  May  Sinclair's  story,  The  Fault     Compare  also  the  following  : 
"  Der  Eunuch  Euliius  warder  hochste  Bewunderer  dieser  Fiisse  [?'.  e.,  of 
Cleopatra,  as  she  lay  at  the   banquet],   nicht,  wie  er   vorgab,   um  ihrer 
Schonheit   willen,  sondern   weil   das  Spiel   der  Zehen  der  Konigin  ihm 
gerade  dann  zeigte,  was  in  ihr  verging,  wenn  aus  ihrem  in  der  Kunst  der 
Verstellung  wohlgeiibten  Mund  und  Auge  nichts,  was  ihre  Seele  erregte, 
zu  erkennen  vermochte. "  —  Georg  Ebers,  Die  Schwestern,  8.  Kap.,  S.  112. 

2  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  n,  p.  487.  ^ 

3 


XXXIV  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

of  myself  grasping  the  food  and  carrying  it  to  the  mouth. 
The  image  serves  as  the  motive  to  the  act.  I  seize  the 
food  because  I  wish  to  make  this  pleasing  image  a  reality. 

In  the  second  place  I  must  be  allowed  to  assume  that 
the  desire  of  primitive  man  to  cooperate  with  those  of  his 
own  group, — of  the  mother,  for  example,  to  help  and 
cooperate  with  her  child, — is  at  least  as  fundamental  as 
the  desire  to  fight  and  kill.  Appeals  for  help  or  move- 
ments which  show  that  help  is  needed  will,  therefore,  meet 
with  a  response  from  other  members  of  the  community. 
The  mother  who  perceives  from  the  actions  of  her  child 
that  it  desires  food,  will  place  the  food  within  its  reach. 
A  man  who  sees  that  his  clansman  is  in  danger  will  go  to 
his  aid.  Generally  speaking,  each  member  of  a  community 
is  prompted  by  the  social  instinct  to  render  to  his  fellows 
the  services  which  will  promote  the  integrity  of  the 
community. 

How  these  individual  and  social  motives  operate  in  trans- 
forming a  life-serving  act  into  a  true  communication,  may 
be  illustrated  most  simply  by  tracing  the  genesis  of  a 
familiar  gesture.  I  will  take  for  this  purpose  the  gesture 
or  attitude  of  pointing.  In  its  original  form  this  gesture 
is  the  act  of  seizing  or  clutching.  Its  primary  purpose  is 
the  acquisition  of  food.1  Such  a  movement  also  serves  as 
a  recognition-sign,  disclosing  to  others  the  presence,  and  to 
some  extent  the  identity,  of  the  individual  making  it,  and 
also  revealing  his  hungry  condition.  If  a  supply  of  food 
were  always  present,  the  act  would  never  rise  above  its 
primitive  stage.  As  often  as  the  individual  felt  the  need 
of  food  he  would  reach  out  his  hand  and  take  it.  But  the 
source  of  food-supply,  especially  in  the  case  of  the  very 

1  Or  of  whatever  else  is  necessary.     For  simplicity's  sake  I  use  hunger 
as  a  typical  motive. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  XXXV 

young,  is  not  always  within  reach.  The  hand  goes  out 
towards  it  in  vain.  The  stomach  remains  empty,  and  the 
futile  clutching  movement  is  merely  a  sign  of  increasing 
hunger. 

If,  now,  when  such  a  movement  is  made  by  the  child, 
the  mother  places  the  food  within  its  reach,  the  clutching 
takes  on  a  new  aspect.  The  movement  was  at  first  com- 
pleted by  the  act  of  the  child ;  it  is  now  completed 
by  the  act  of  the  mother,  since  a  part  of  the  movement 
which  was  formerly  made  by  the  child  alone,  is  supplied 
by  the  mother's  movement.  This  vicarious  completion  of 
the  child's  act  has  important  consequences.  If  the  original 
image  in  the  child's  mind  which  supplied  the  motive  for 
the  act,  was  an  image  of  itself  grasping  the  food,  that 
image  has  now  been  supplanted  by  one  which  also  includes 
the  image  of  the  mother's  cooperation.  When  the  child 
performs  the  act  a  second  time,  the  motive  to  it  will  be  not 
an  image  of  itself  grasping  the  food  with  its  own  hand,  but 
an  image  of  a  cooperative  grasping,  in  which  the  mother's  act 
supplements  its  own  and  coalesces  with  it.  The  effect  of 
this  is  to  abort  or  abbreviate  the  movement,  for  since  part 
of  it  is  to  be  performed  by  another,  the  whole  movement 
need  not  be  made.  All  that  is  necessary  is  a  reaching 
toward  the  object ;  the  mother  will  do  the  rest.  Hence,  in 
course  of  time,  the  grasping  part  of  the  movement  will  be 
abandoned.  The  clutch  will  be  shortened  into  a  mere  thrust 
of  the  hand  accompanied  by  an  expectant  look  at  the 
mother.  The  life-serving  movement  of  clutching  will  have 
passed  over  into  the  gesture  of  pointing.1 

It  is  important  to  notice  how  in  this  process  the  character 

JCf.  Wundt,  Volkerpsychologie,  I,  S.  129:  "  Nach  so  oft  wiederholten 
vergeblichen  Versuchen,  die  Gegenstande  zu  ergreifen,  verselbstiindigt 
sich  dann  erst  die  Deutebewegung  als  solche."  Wundt  fails  to  explain, 
however,  how  the  transition  is  effected. 


XXXVI  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

and  value  of  the  movement  has  been  affected.  In  the  first 
place  the  movement  has  been  socialized.  What  at  first 
related  solely  to  one  individual  has  now  been  connected 
with  another  individual.  From  a  selfish,  self-centered 
impulse  to  seize  and  appropriate,  it  has  been  transformed 
into  an  appeal  for  help.  It  is  now  made  in  its  modified 
form  with  the  expectation  that  another  will  cooperate  to 
secure  the  end  in  view. 

But  in  the  second  place  it  has  been  made  symbolic.  The 
abbreviated  movement,  through  the  intervention  of  another, 
has  come  to  stand  in  the  child's  mind  for  the  whole  move- 
ment. It  now  means  "  Help  me/7  or  "  Feed  me,"  or 
"  Please  pass  me  the  bread."  It  is  more  than  a  muscular 
contraction ;  it  is  an  indication  or  sign  of  the  child's  desire, 
voluntarily  directed  towards  its  kin. 

To  sum  up  :  The  individual  life-serving  movement  of 
clutching  has,  through  response  and  cooperation,  passed  over 
into  the  socialized,  symbolic  attitude  or  gesture  which  is 
called  pointing. 

Assuming  that  the  process  I  have  described  is  fairly 
typical,  I  shall  now  attempt  to  apply  this  view  of  the 
nature  and  origin  of  expressive-communicative  movements 
to  speech.  If  speech  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  movement  of  the 
vocal  organs  analogous  to  movements  of  the  head,  arms, 
face,  etc.,  the  fundamental  problems  of  its  genesis  appear  to 
be  as  follows : 

1.  Of  what  life-serving  function  is  speech  a  survival  or 
development  ? 

2.  By  what  steps  or  stages  has  the  original  life-serving 
function  been  transformed  into  an  expressive  and  communica- 
tive function  ? 

With  regard  to  the  first  question,  if  we  consider  how 
intimately  the  most  elementary  phenomena  of  speech  are 
related  to  the  musculature  of  the  thorax  and  diaphragm,  we 


PROCEEDINGS  FOE  1907.          XXXvii 

shall  see  some  reason  for  suspecting  that  the  life- serving 
movement  from  which  speech  has  arisen  is  ordinary  respira- 
tion. Such,  at  any  rate,  is  the  hypothesis  which  I  shall 
adopt.  Speech,  in  its  inception,  is  significantly  modified 
breathing.  Just  as  gesture  arose  from  movements  of  the 
hands  in  obtaining  food  or  warding  off  enemies,  so  speech 
arose  from  the  movements  of  the  muscles  of  the  thorax 
and  diaphragm  in  obtaining  a  fresh  supply  of  oxygen  and 
in  rejecting  the  harmful  products  of  physiological  com- 
bustion. 

Starting  with  this  postulate,  I  shall  proceed  to  the  second 
question  :  By  what  steps  or  stages  has  this  life-serving 
and  indispensable  process  of  breathing  been  transformed 
into  the  expressive  and  communicative  function  which  is 
termed  speech  ? 

Five  different  kinds  of  breathing  are  distinguished  by  the 
biologists,  namely,  intestinal-breathing,  skin-breathing,  gill- 
breathing,  bucco-pharyngeal  breathing  (as  in  frogs),  and  lung- 
breathing.  The  last  is  the  dominant  method  in  man.  It  is 
marked  off  from  all  the  rest,  except  gill-breathing,  by  the 
fact  that  the  interchange  of  oxygen  and  carbon  dioxid  takes 
place  not  uninterruptedly  as  in  intestinal  and  skin-breathing, 
nor  at  irregular  intervals,  as  in  frogs,  but  rhythmically. 
Although  it  is  to  a  certain  extent  under  control  of  the 
will,  it  cannot  be  suspended  for  more  than  a  few  seconds 
without  discomfort. 

Breathing  is  the  result  of  a  demand  of  the  system  for  a 
certain  kind  of  food,  namely,  oxygen.  It  is  analogous  to 
the  movement  of  a  starving  man  in  reaching  for  a  loaf 
of  bread.  It  differs  from  the  latter  movement  mainly  in 
the  fact  that  the  process  of  assimilation  is  much  more  rapid. 
If  the  digestive  system  were  of  such  a  character  that  repletion 
and  starvation  succeeded  each  other  at  intervals  of  a  few 
seconds,  the  analogy  would  be  complete.  The  hand,«n  that 


XXXV111  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

case,  would  go  out  rhythmically  for  the  food  at  brief  and 
regular  intervals. 

The  inhalatory  movement  of  the  air  supplies  oxygen  to 
the  circulatory  system,  the  exhalatory  movement  rejects  the 
waste  products.  In  both  cases  the  air  passes  through  the 
narrow  channel  of  the  throat  and  mouth  or  nasal  passages. 
If  this  channel  is  wide  open  and  wholly  unobstructed,  the 
rush  of  air  in  normal  slow  breathing  makes,  especially  in 
the  nasal  passages,  a  faint  rasping  sound  such  as  is  produced 
by  drawing  a  finger  across  the  surface  of  smooth  paper.  I 
shall  call  the  sound  produced  in  this  way  a  respirate.  Increase 
in  the  rate  or  force  or  breathing  under  excitement  increases 
the  loudness  of  this  sound.  After  intense  exertion,  when  the 
system  has  great  need  of  oxygen  and  also  a  great  accumula- 
tion of  waste  material  to  throw  off,  the  respirate,  even  when 
the  mouth  is  open  and  the  air-passages  are  relaxed,  may 
become  so  loud  as  to  be  audible  at  a  considerable  distance.1 

In  the  beginnings  of  human  life  the  sound  of  normal 
breathing  served  no  doubt  as  a  recognition-sign.  It  disclosed 
the  presence,  and  possibly  in  some  cases  the  identity,  of  the 
individual  who  made  it.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to  think  of  the 
sound  as  being  loud.  Philologists  have  written  of  the 
beginnings  of  speech  as  if  they  consisted  of  hoarse,  shrill  cries 
like  the  roaring  of  lions  or  the  shrieking  of  gorillas,  but  I 
see  no  reason  for  assuming  these  violent  utterances  in  the 
earliest  stages  of  vocal  expression.  For  one  thing,  the  ears 
of  primitive  man  were  much  sharper  than  ours.  Slight 
sounds  had  greater  significance  when  life  was  a  struggle  d 
outranee.  Even  to  us,  with  our  dull  senses,  faint  noises  are, 
in  moments  of  great  suspense,  fraught  with  meaning.  One 

1  At  one  of  the  Henley  regattas  the  panting  of  an  exhausted  oarsman 
could  be  distinctly  heard,  amid  the  confusion  of  other  sounds,  at  a  distance 
of  forty  feet. 


PROCEEDINGS  FOR  1907.  XXxix 

who  wakes  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  a  lonely  house, 
may  be  thrown  into  a  spasm  of  terror  by  the  creaking  of  a 
loose  board  or  by  the  still  fainter  sound  of  some  one 
breathing  at  his  bedside.  The  intelligibility  and  impressive- 
ness  of  a  sound  depend  in  no  way  intrinsically  upon  its 
loudness,  but  upon  the  conditions  under  which  it  is  produced 
and  heard. 

Again,  silence  is  sometimes  more  powerful  than  sound, 
especially  if  it  takes  the  form  of  a  sudden  cessation  of  the 
customary.  Just  as  the  stopping  of  an  orchestra  in  a  theatre 
may  throw -the  audience  into  a  state  of  panic,  so,  in  a  circle 
of  primitive  men,  a  sudden  pause  in  the  breathing  of  one  of 
them  may  very  well  have  raised  excitement  to  a  high  pitch. 

There  is  another  reason,  also,  why  we  need  not  imagine 
that  the  earliest  communicative  sounds  were  loud  sounds. 
It  is  that  the  original  contacts  between  individuals  were 
physical  contacts.  The  psychologists  tell  us  that  all  the 
senses  were  originally  senses  of  touch.  The  lowest  organisms 
know  each  other  only  in  this  way.  To  this  sense  were 
added  in  course  of  time  the  senses  of  smell,  of  taste,  of 
sight,  and  of  hearing ;  but  all  retained  in  some  measure  this 
original  function  of  touch.  They  were  all  means  by  which 
one  body  came  into  physical  contact  with  another  body.  It 
follows  that  the  earliest  social  consciousness  was  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  bodily  contact  by  which  the  movement  of 
one  individual  was  transmitted  directly  to  the  senses  of 
another. 

"  Even  among  the  higher  animals  that  can  distinguish 
their  own  and  other  species  by  sight  and  hearing/7  says 
Professor  Giddings,1  "and  among  mankind,  touch  survives 
as  a  fundamental  test  which  is  over  and  over  resorted  to 
in  obedience  to  an  unconquerable  instinct  or  habit.  Horses, 

1  Principles  of  Sociology,  p.  107. 


xl  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

cattle,  sheep,  and  dogs  perfect  acquaintance  by  touching  and 
rubbing  one  another.  The  embrace,  the  hand-clasp,  and  the 
kiss  are  survivals  of  the  primitive  way  of  making  and 
renewing  acquaintance  among  men  and  women.  They  sur- 
vive because,  as  Guyau  profoundly  observes  :  '  Le  toucher 
est  le  moyen  le  plus  primitif  et  le  plus  sur  de  mettre  en 
communication,  d'harmoniser,  de  socialiser  deux  systemes 
nerveux,  deux  consciences,  deux  vies '  •  because  it  is  '  par 
excellence,  le  sens  de  la  vie.' ' 

We  must,  then,  seek  for  the  beginnings  of  communication, 
and  the  beginnings  of  speech,  in  what  a  recent  novelist  has 
called  "  the  horrible  intimacy  "  of  domestic  life — that  is,  in 
the  closest  physical  contacts.  From  a  variety  of  such 
contacts *  we  may  select  as  a  typical  example  the  relations 
of  mother  and  child.  When  the  infant  is  resting  on  its 
mother's  breast,  the  two  bodies  are  in  intimate  physical 
union.  The  child's  body,  is,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  the 
mother's  body.  Every  movement  of  the  child,  every  thrill, 
every  shudder,  every  breath,  even  every  heart-beat,  com- 
municates itself  instantly  to  the  senses  of  the  mother.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  mother's  body,  her  movements,  her 
breathing,  her  starts  of  alarm,  are  part  of  the  most  intimate 
experiences  of  the  child.  As  far  as  physical  contact  can 
go,  each  shares  as  fully  in  the  consciousness  of  the  other  as 
if  they  were  parts  of  the  same  organism. 

In  such  close  contact  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  child's 
abdomen  and  chest  in  the  process  of  respiration,  as  well  as 
the  warmth  or  moisture  of  its  breath  upon  the  mother's 
body,  is,  we  may  suppose,  a  constant  indication  to  the 
mother  of  the  life  and  condition  of  the  child.2 

1 1  purposely  omit,  while  recognizing  its  importance  for  the  discussion, 
the  question  of  the  relation  of  the  sexes. 

2  This  view  receives  confirmation  from  the  well-known  fact  that  the  sense 
of  hearing  was  originally  a  shake-organ,  the  sensations  of  noise  having 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  xli 

The  beginnings  of  speech  are,  then,  to  be  sought  in  the 
movements  of  breathing  and  the  respirates,  or  relatively 
faint  sounds,  produced  by  the  passage  of  the  breath  through 
the  unobstructed  throat.  These  movements  and  sounds  may 
have,  as  I  have  shown,  a  communicative  value.  Variations 
in  the  rate  of  breathing  and  in  the  loudness  of  the  sounds 
may  serve  to  express  a  physical  condition  or  a  social  situa- 
tion, and  to  convey  the  existence  of  such  condition  or  situa- 
tion to  others,  especially  from  the  child  to  the  mother  and 
vice  versa.  We  have  now  to  consider  how  these  movements 
and  sounds-  may  be  still  further  varied  and  especially  how 
the  sounds  may  be  enhanced. 

Aside  from  the  increase  in  rapidity  and  force  of  exhalation 
and  inhalation,  the  most  important  means  by  which  the 
current  of  breath  becomes  variously  audible  is  partial  or 
complete  closure  of  the  vocal  passages.  If  the  sides  of  the 
passages  approach  one  another  at  any  point,  the  air  in  its 
inward  and  outward  flow  is  compelled  to  move  at  a  higher 
rate  of  speed.  The  result  of  the  increased  friction  is  a 
louder  sound.  Should  the  passage  close  completely,  the 
movement  of  the  air  ceases  and  there  is  silence ;  but  the 
necessity  of  inhaling  and  exhaling  at  fairly  regular  intervals 
soon  compels  the  obstruction  to  give  way.  The  walls  of  the 
air  passages  separate,  and  the  air  rushes  in  or  out  with  some 
violence,  causing  at  the  moment  of  separation  an  explosive 
sound, — a  cough,  grunt,  catch,  etc.,  if  the  breath  is  exhaled, 
a  gasp,  gulp,  click,  etc.,  if  the  breath  is  inhaled. 

The  causes  of  these  constrictions  are  various,  but  are 
chiefly  of  two  kinds :  (1)  ordinary  physiological  processes, 
(2)  strains  or  tensions  of  the  whole  body.  Let  us  consider 
first  the  effect  of  certain  physiological  processes. 

developed  before  the  sensations  of  tone.  "All  sensations  of  hearing,"  says 
Professor  Titchener,  ' '  have  been  in  some  way  developed  from  sensations  of 
jar  or  shake  which  were  not  heard  at  all."  (Primer  of  Psychology  p.  43.) 


xlii  MODERN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Of  the  constrictions  of  the  air-passages  due  to  purely 
physiological  causes,  those  connected  with  the  assimilation  of 
food,  namely  with  mastication  and  swallowing,  and  with  the 
rejecting  of  food,  are  the  most  interesting,  not  only  because 
the  digestive  apparatus  and  the  lungs  are  genetically  the 
same  organ  and  still  maintain  an  intimate  connection,  but 
because  to  these  processes  may  be  traced  some  of  the  most 
familiar  uses  of  the  vocal  organs  ; — laughter,  for  example, 
to  the  taking  of  food  (or  at  least  to  movements  which 
promote  digestion),  crying  to  the  rejection  of  food.1  It  is 
obvious  that  both  gorging  and  disgorging 2  necessitate  a 
temporary  closure  of  the  respiratory  channel,  after  which  the 
lungs,  if  full,  relieve  themselves,  or  if  empty,  refill  them- 
selves, by  a  violent  effort.  In  either  case  the  air  rushes 
with  abnormal  force  through  the  reopened  passages.  Sounds 
of  laughter,  I  need  hardly  say,  are  mainly  connected  with 
the  expiratory  movement,  sounds  of  crying  with  the 
inspiratory  movement. 

Other  constrictions  due  to  physiological  causes  are  to  be 
found  in  sneezing,  snoring,  coughing,  spitting,  groaning,  hic- 
cuping,  choking,  grunting,  and  gulping. 

The  closures  which  accompany  these  various  physiological 
processes  occur  at  different  points  in  the  vocal  passages.  In 
some  the  constriction  takes  place  at  the  glottis,  in  others  at 
the  epiglottis,  in  still  others  the  soft  palate  is  involved.3 

1  See  the  interesting  and  suggestive  article  on  Crying,  by  A.  Borgquist, 
American  Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  17,  p.  149. 

2  According  to  Furness,  Home-Life  of  the  Borneo  Head-Hunters,  nothing 
is  more  characteristic  of  savage  life  than  the  ravenous  devouring  of  food. 
The  savage  grace  before  meat  in  Borneo  is  '  Eat  slowly.'     An  overplus  of 
food,  or  a  modicum  of  poisonous  food,  is  commonly  rejected  by  the  spon- 
taneous recoil  of  the  digestive  system. 

3  On  the  function  of  the  epiglottis  in  modifying  vocal  sounds,  see  Czermak, 
Sitzungsberichte  d.  K.  Akademie  d.  Wiss.,  Wien,  Math. -Nat.  Klass.,  1858, 
xxix,  S.  557  (reprinted  in  Ges.  Schriften,  i,  555),  and  Scripture,  Experi- 
mental Phonetics,  pp.  274,  279. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOE    1907.  xliii 

Thus  it  may  be  seen  that  from  purely  physiological  causes 
may  arise  a  considerable  variety  of  closures  and  resultant 
sounds,  all  indicative  of  corresponding  bodily  states.1 

A  second  class  of  constrictions  result  from  the  sympathetic 
action  of  the  throat-muscles,  and  other  muscles,  under  the 
influence  of  bodily  strains  of  various  kinds.  That  strains 
arising  from  violent  efforts  of  any  sort  tend  to  close  the 
vocal  passage,  is  easily  demonstrated.2  If  any  one  of  those 
who  are  sitting  before  me  will,  after  taking  a  full  breath, 
pull  violently  at  the  arm  or  rung  of  his  chair,  he  will  find 
that  his  glottis  has  closed  involuntarily.  The  immediate 
reason  for  this  is  that  when  the  air-passages  are  open,  the 
thorax  affords  an  insecure  basis  for  the  strain  of  the  arm- 

:Such  sounds  as  these  are  frequently  said  to  be  meaningless.  Thus  Jesper- 
sen  (Progress  in  Language,  p.  361)  speaking  of  the  phonation  with  which 
he  conceives  speech  to  have  begun,  says:  "Originally  a  jingle  of  empty 
sounds  without  meaning,  it  came  to  be  an  instrument  of  thought."  Aston 
also  characterizes  spitting5  gulping,  and  coughing  as  "  non-significant 
human  vocal  sounds"  (Japanese  Onomatopes  and  the  origin  of  Language,  Jnl. 
Anthropol.  Inst.,  vol.  23,  p.  332).  Although  significance  is  a  relative  term, 
it  seems  to  me  unscientific  to  apply  the  word  non-significant  to  any  vocal 
sound  which  reveals  bodily  states  or  affects  social  relations.  In  primitive 
society  the  sound  of  sneezing,  for  example,  may  at  times  have  been  as 
significant  for  human  events  then  and  there,  as  are  the  most  solemn  words 
of  our  modern  vocabulary.  To  take  an  extreme  case,  a  sneeze  which  re- 
vealed the  presence  of  an  individual  to  his  enemy  may  have  resulted  in 
death.  The  sentence  of  a  judge  could  do  no  more. 

2  Scripture,  Experimental  Phonetics,  p.  380  :  "  Experiments  on  the  nervous 
and  mental  reactions  of  the  vasomotor  system,  of  the  heart,  of  the  muscles, 
of  the  sweat  glands,  bladder,  anus,  etc. ,  make  it  probably  safe  to  say  that 
the  production  of  any  vocal  sound  is  accompanied  by  nerve  impulses  to  and 
from  every  organ  of  the  body.  Vocal  sounds  of  a  certain  character,  such  as 
clear,  smooth,  energetic  phrase  in  song,  become  associated  with  the  regula- 
tion not  only  of  the  vocal  muscles  but  also  of  those  of  the  arms  and  hands, 
and,  in  fact,  of  the  entire  body.  The  disturbance  of  any  of  these  by  re- 
straint or  unnatural  posture  interferes  to  a  greater  or  less  degree — depend- 
ing on  the  individual  and  on  circumstances — with  the  vocal  action.  To 
produce  the  proper  modulation  the  singer  or  speaker  should  put  his  entire 
body  into  the  appropriate  condition." 


xliv  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

muscles ;  it  is  like  an  unstoppered  air-cushion  which  col- 
lapses suddenly  when  one  sits  on  it.  Full  and  tightly- 
stoppered  lungs,  on  the  other  hand,  expand  and  stiffen  the 
thorax  and  give  points  of  attachment  to  the  muscles  of 
the  arms.1 

Of  such  strains  the  most  important  for  the  present  inquiry 
are  those  which  are  correlated  with  emotional  seizures,  such 
as  anger,  fright,  suspense,  and  the  like.  Whether  the  emotion 
is  caused  by  the  strain,  as  some  psychologists  believe,  or  the 
strain  is  the  expression  of  the  emotion,  I  shall  not  pause  to 
inquire.  It  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose  to  note  that  the  two 
are  in  some  way  connected,  and  that,  in  consequence,  a  con- 
striction of  the  throat  is  an  invariable  accompaniment  of 
violent  emotion. 

As  for  the  strains  themselves,  they  no  doubt  can  be  traced 
to  original  life-serving  movements  whose  purpose  was  to 
secure  food,  to  resist  attack,  or  to  prepare  for  running  away.2 

To  show  how  strain  and  emotion  operate  in  modifying 
respiration  and  producing  sound,  I  will  take  as  an  illustra- 
tion one  of  the  most  elementary  and  typical  of  all  emotions, 
namely,  fright.  When  one  is  startled,  as  by  a  brilliant  flash 
of  lightning,  the  breath  is  first  drawn  in  sharply,  filling  the 
lungs  with  oxygen  as  if  to  nourish  the  system  for  a  coming 
struggle.  The  muscles  stiffen  throughout  the  whole  body 
just  as  they  do  when  one  braces  oneself  to  resist  attack  or 
prepare  for  flight,  and  as  a  result  of  this  general  muscular 
contraction,  the  glottis  closes  abruptly,  penning  up  the  air 

1  And  to  the  muscles  of  the  legs  as  well.     Thus  the  runner  in  a  hundred- 
yard  dash,  first  taking  a  full  inspiration,  closes  the  glottis  tightly,  and  if 
closely  pressed  keeps  it  closed  during  the  entire  race.     Cf.  the  interesting 
article  by  Dr.  E.  Tait  McKenzie  on  The,  Facial  Expression  of  Violent  Effort, 
Breathlessness,  and  Fatigue,  in  the  London  Journal  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology, 
October,  1905,  p.  51. 

2  Darwin,    Expression  of  the  Emotions,    p.    284  ;    Dewey,  The  Theory  of 
Emotion,  Psychological  Review,  vol.  I,  p.  553. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOB    1907.  xlv 

behind  it.  This  strained  attitude  may  be  held  for  some  little 
time.  The  system,  however,  soon  clamors  for  a  fresh  supply 
of  oxygen,  the  lungs  discharge  their  contents,  and  the 
imprisoned  air,  forcing  its  way  with  an  explosive  sound 
through  the  constricted  glottis,  rushes  violently  through  the 
throat  and  mouth. 

In  this  series  of  quickly  drawn  breath,  tightly  constricted 
glottis,  explosive  opening  and  violent  exhalation,  we  have 
what  I  shall  regard  as  the  earliest  form  of  voice  proper.  It 
may  be  termed  the  vocal  unit.  For  the  sake  of  simplicity  I 
will  treat  the  glottal  constriction  as  the  typical  form, 
assuming  that  closures  at  other  points  in  the  vocal  passages 
illustrate  the  same  principles. 

It  now  remains  to  show  how  this  elementary  form  of 
vocal  utterance  may  pass  over  into  a  communicative  sign. 
This  will  be  the  less  difficult  because  the  process  of  trans- 
formation is  so  closely  analogous  to  that  by  which  the 
clutching  movement  of  the  hand  and  arm  passes  into  a 
gesture  of  pointing,  that  the  terms  used  to  describe  one 
phenomenon  may  be  applied  to  the  other  almost  without 
change.  Thus  the  clamor  of  the  stomach  for  food  is 
analogous  to  the  clamor  of  the  circulatory  system  for 
oxygen,  the  only  difference  being  in  the  kind  of  nourish- 
ment demanded.  Again,  the  grasping  movement  of  the 
hand  is  paralleled  by  the  movements  of  the  diaphragm 
and  of  the  intercostal  muscles  which  expand  the  chest.1 

To  continue  the  analogy,  since  an  important  factor  in  the 
development  of  the  pointing  gesture  was  the  absence  of  food, 
we  must,  in  the  case  of  breathing,  look  for  a  condition 
which  will  check  the  supply  of  oxygen.  This  we  can 
readily  discover  in  the  closing  of  the  glottis,  or  other  parts 

1  Nor  is  the  comparison  merely  fanciful.  The  lungs  hunger  for  their 
proper  food.  A  diver  rising  to  the  surface  after  a  long  stay  under  water 
"  clutches"  the  air  as  fiercely  as  a  starving  cat  clutches  a  piece  of  meat. 


xlviil  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

word  and  sentence,  it  was  a  protoplasmic  speech-form  in 
which  an  entire  situation  was  inchoately  expressed  and 
communicated.  Within  it  were  embraced  emotional  seizure, 
instinctive  appeal  to  its  kind  for  help,  discharge  of  feeling, 
consciousness  of  self,  and  consciousness  of  cooperation.  If 
there  was  to  the  child  any  differentiation  in  the  utterance, 
it  consisted  in  this,  that  the  first  part  of  the  series  of 
movements  pertained  more  closely  to  itself,  the  latter  part 
pertained  more  closely  to  its  mother. 

I  have  now  tried  to  show  how,  in  the  early  history  of 
mankind,  even  prior  to  the  full  development  of  the  vocal 
chords,  the  passage  of  air  through  the  respiratory  channel 
may  have  produced  a  variety  of  sounds.  I  have  tried  also 
to  show  how  these  sounds,  together  with  the  muscular 
movements  which  occasioned  them,  may,  under  the  condi- 
tion of  close  physical  contact,  as  in  the  case  of  mother  and 
child,  first  have  served  as  recognition-signs,  then,  through 
the  response  of  the  mother  to  the  child's  implicit  appeals 
for  help,  have  developed  into  true  communications.  Still 
further,  I  have  attempted  to  show  that  the  successive 
stopping  and  unstopping  of  the  breath,  owing  to  the  neces- 
sarily rhythmical  character  of  the  respiratory  act,  may 
have  caused  a  succession  of  consonantal  and  aspirate,  or 
consonantal  and  sonant,  sounds  which  would  form  the 
basis  of  articulation. 

It  remains  to  consider  by  what  stages  the  symbolic 
representatives  of  bodily  states  or  social  situations  may 
have  come  to  stand  for  particular  ideas. 

Since  all  speculations  of  this  kind  are  imaginative  recon- 
structions of  the  past,  I  will,  for  variety 's  sake,  venture 
to  recount  the  process  of  evolution  as  it  may  actually  have 
occurred. 

If  we  could,  by  the  aid  of  Mr.  Wells' s  time-machine, 
transport  ourselves  back  to  the  period  when  speech  was 


PROCEEDINGS    FOE    1907.  xlix 

beginning,  and  could  then,  by  leaps  of  a  century  or  a 
millennium,  approach  our  own  era,  we  should  probably 
witness  such  conditions  and  changes  as  the  following.1  At 
the  beginning  we  should  find  the  creatures  who  are  to 
become  men,  perhaps  the  only  voice-producing  mammals  in 
creation.  Their  voices,  however,  owing  to  the  rudimentary 
condition  of  the  vocal  apparatus,  are  little  more  than 
buzzings,  hoarse  whispers,  or  faint  cries,  following  abrupt 
closures  of  the  air-passages  at  the  glottis,  the  epiglottis,  the 
root  of  the  tongue,  the  palate,  and  the  lips.  These  sounds 
increase  in  volume  and  rise  in  pitch  in  moments  of  excite- 
ment or  of  physiological  disturbance.  At  this  early  period, 
they  serve  among  adults  only  as  recognition-signs  by  which 
one  detects  the  presence  of  his  kind  in  the  dark  or  through 
intervening  obstacles.  But  if  we  observe  the  relations  of 
mother  and  child  and  note  the  development  of  their 
intelligence,  we  shall  perceive  the  dawning  of  a  higher  use. 
Imagine,  if  you  please,  a  primitive  mother  and  her  sleeping 
child.  The  mother  clasps  the  child  to  her  breast.  As  long 
as  she  feels  and  hears  its  regular  breathing,  she  is  content, 
for  to  her  dim  intelligence  this  rhythm  of  respiration  is  a 
sign  of  life  and  health.  If  at  intervals  the  child  stirs 
restlessly,  she  perceives,  through  her  physical  contact  with 
it,  not  only  the  movement  of  its  body,  but  also  the  irregu- 
larity of  its  breathing.  Now,  we  may  suppose,  it  wakes  in 
fright,  drawing  its  breath  in  sharply  and  stiffening  all  its 
muscles.  The  passage  of  the  throat  closes,  the  breathing 
stops.  The  cessation  of  the  customary  movement  alarms 
the  mother  and  excites  her  sympathy.  She  fondles  the  child, 
and  at  her  comforting  touch  the  glottis  opens  with  an 
explosion,  and  the  breath  rushes  out  in  a  whisper  or  faint 

1  For  the  sake  of  simplicity  I  will  confine  myself  to  a  single  phenome- 
non. 

4 


1  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

cry,  which  diminishes  in  intensity  as  the  fear  passes  away. 
The  breathing  again  becomes  regular.  Trivial  as  this  little 
series  of  events  may  seem,  it  has  traced  in  the  simple  brains 
of  both  these  beings  a  record  of  momentous  importance. 
On  the  part  of  the  child,  the  emotional  seizure,  the  desire 
for  protection,  and  the  instinctive  muscular  contraction  with 
its  resulting  constriction  of  the  throat,  are  combined  with 
the  image  of  the  caress  and  with  consciousness  of  a 
pleasureable  relaxation  of  tension.  The  spasmodic  movement 
to  resist  attack  or  escape  from  imagined  danger  has  been 
completed  by  the  mother's  act.  A  consciousness  of  the 
social  value  of  stopped  and  unstopped  breathing  has  been 
awakened. 

On  the  mother's  part  also,  the  sudden  tension  of  the 
child's  body  within  her  arms,  which  conveyed  to  her  its 
emotion  of  fear,  has  been  connected  with  its  vocal  sounds, 
just  as  her  instinctive  caress  has  been  connected  with  the 
cessation  of  the  sound  and  the  restoration  of  the  child's 
normal  condition.  She  realizes  vaguely  the  value  of  its 
interrupted  breathing  as  an  appeal  to  her  for  aid.1 

We  set  our  machine  in  motion  and  pass  down  a  score 
of  generations.  The  voices  have  grown  louder  as  the 
vocal  chords  have  developed  with  use.  But  the  multiplied 
records  of  tension,  sound,  response,  and  achievement  of 
desire,  transmitted  from  one  generation  to  another  in  a 
more  highly  developed  brain-structure,  have  produced  a 
remarkable  change  in  the  relations  of  mother  and  child. 
The  value  of  the  vocal  unit  as  a  means  of  intercommunica- 
tion has  been  enhanced.  The  connection  in  the  child's  con- 
sciousness between  the  muscular  sensations  of  the  thorax, 

1  Fanciful  though  this  description  may  be,  it  was  suggested  in  all  its 
outward  details  by  the  behavior  of  a  mother  and  baby  Macacus  in  the 
London  Zoological  Gardens. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  11 

vocal  organs,  etc.,  and  the  mother's  response  to  the  resulting 
sounds,  is  so  firmly  established  that  the  cry  is  uttered  with 
the  expectation  that  it  will  be  responded  to.  The  child 
cries  at  the  mother.  The  mother,  on  her  side,  imitates  the 
cry,  partly  through  the  instinct  of  imitation,  but  also  because 
the  sound  of  her  voice  is  a  part  of  her  feeling  for  the  child. 
The  movement  of  her  hand  and  the  constriction  of  her 
throat  are,  in  fact,  a  single  complex  innervation.  She 
recognizes  also  the  value  of  the  cry  as  a  response  to  the 
child's  appeal,  since  together  with  the  caress  it  restores  the 
normal  respiratory  rhythm. 

As  we  go  on  down  the  centuries  we  see  these  vocal  sounds 
growing  in  value  and  importance  as  the  sound  frees  itself 
to  some  extent  from  the  movements  which  originally  gave 
rise  to  it.  When  the  recollection  of  a  painful  experience 
innervates  the  muscles  of  the  child's  throat  and  produces 
the  cry  of  fright,  the  mother,  if  she  sees  no  real  occasion  for 
fear,  gives  only  the  comforting  vocal  response.  Thus  the 
sound  is,  in  a  measure,  detached  from  its  original  cause, 
while  remaining  significant  of  it.  In  other  words,  it 
becomes  a  symbol  of  the  relations  between  the  two. 

At  a  still  later  stage  we  shall  find  this  sound  attaching 
itself  to  some  particular  element  in  the  situation  which, 
with  their  growing  intelligence,  both  are  now  able  to 
distinguish.  Because  this  element  is  most  prominent,  or 
because  it  occurs  most  frequently,  the  sound  becomes  more 
closely  associated  with  it  than  with  the  rest  of  the  complex. 
When  the  sound  is  uttered  on  either  side,  it  calls  into 
consciousness,  as  before,  the  entire  situation ;  but  since  the 
stress  of  attention  now  falls  upon  the  particular  element 
which  in  both  minds  is  most  typical  or  most  characteristic, 
the  sound  which  before  expressed  for  each,  and  communi- 
cated from  one  to  the  other,  an  emotional  seizure,  now 
denotes  a  particular  element  in  the  exciting  cause.  ^  The 


Hi  MODEEN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

unimportant  details  of  the  situation  retreat  into  the  back- 
ground, leaving  the  typical  feature  in  isolation ;  out  of  the 
emotion  emerges  that  sharpened  state  of  consciousness  which 
we  call  an  idea.  What  this  typical  feature  is  will  depend 
upon  the  experience  of  the  individuals.  In  the  case  of  the 
emotion  we  have  been  considering,  it  may  be  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, thunder,  the  cry  of  a  tiger,  the  crackling  of  a  twig 
under  the  foot  of  a  prowling  enemy,  the  dividing  of  the 
grass  marking  the  approach  of  a  poisonous  snake,  or  a 
pain  in  the  stomach.  In  any  case,  the  vocal  sound  has  been 
so  often  interchanged  to  convey  the  state  of  fear  which  this 
object  of  terror  arouses,  that  the  utterance  of  it  calls  up 
infallibly  in  the  mind  of  each  the  image  of  this  particular 
element  in  the  dangerous  situation. 

As  we  flit  by  the  succeeding  generations,  we  note  that  the 
number  of  these  significant  respirates  increases.  Different 
situations  cause  different  kinds  of  strains,  and  these  again, 
resulting  in  different  sorts  of  constrictions  of  the  throat  and 
varying  shapes  of  the  resonance  chambers,  produce  in  their 
turn  a  variety  of  vocal  sounds,  symbolizing  the  most  ele- 
mentary relations  of  mother  and  child.  At  first  unstable 
and  sporadic  and  confined  to  single  families,  these  little 
vocabularies  die  out  of  use  as  rapidly  as  they  are  born,  and  a 
new  set  springs  up  in  each  succeeding  generation.  But  in 
course  of  time,  as  the  mind  becomes  more  retentive,  the 
growing  child  holds  fast  to  his  infantile  vocabulary.  A 
bridge  is  thus  made  from  one  generation  to  the  next.  The 
vocal  creations  of  the  past  are  conserved  and  added  to.  A 
tendency  is  established,  which  out  of  the  manifold  creations 
of  each  new  generation  selects  for  survival  those  which  are 
analogous  to  the  old,  and  rejects  the  remainder.  These 
usages  spread  from  one  family  to  another.  The  latest 
arrival  in  the  community  finds  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 
group  who  will  attend  to  his  needs  only  when  he  uses  the 


PEOCEEDINGS    FOB    1907.  liii 

sounds  which  others  use,  and  only  when  he  uses  them  with 
the  meanings  which  others  attach  to  them. 

We  shall  see  hundreds  and  thousands  of  these  little 
systems  of  speech  springing  up,  competing  one  with  another 
and  passing  away.  In  the  struggle  for  existence  we  may 
conceive  either  that  the  fittest  group  survives,  together  with 
its  mode  of  speech,  or,  what  is  more  probable,  that  (other 
things  being  equal)  the  group  with  the  best  language-system, 
since  it  is  able  to  give  more  explicit  instructions  for  the  or- 
ganization of  defense  and  attack,  gets  the  start  of  the  rest, 
and  perpetuates  both  itself  and  its  system  of  communication. 
Thus  a  particular  vocabulary,  at  first  confined  to  a  single 
group,  may  come  to  dominate  a  wide  area. 

But  we  need  pursue  our  imaginary  flight  no  farther* 
for  we  have  left  the  period  of  genesis  behind ;  we  have 
entered  upon  the  period  of  transmission  in  which  we  find 
ourselves  to-day.1 

1It  will  be  observed  that  among  the  factors  of  speech-genesis  I  have 
given  but  a  modest  r61e  to  imitation.  Considering  the  great  importance 
which  philologists  have  assigned  to  the  imitative  instinct,  this  view  may 
excite  surprise  and  at  least  deserves  a  word  of  explanation. 

It  must  be  apparent  to  persons  who  are  familiar  with  the  recent  literature 
of  psychology,  that  the  imitation-theory,  not  only  with  respect  to  speech, 
but  with  respect  to  origins  of  mental  aptitudes  of  all  kinds,  especially  in 
infants,  has  been  sadly  overworked.  Imitation  has  been  treated  as  a  purely 
reflex  and  mechanical  act,  as  an  inscrutable  instinct  prompting  men  and 
animals  to  repeat  exactly  the  movements  of  others  or  to  reproduce  in  one 
way  or  another  certain  natural  phenomena.  The  truth  is,  however,  as 
Professor  C.  H.  Cooley  has  well  said,  that  much  of  what  we  call  imitation 
is  a  difficult  and  complicated  exercise  of  attention,  will,  and  even  judgment. 
It  is  more  characteristic  of  adults  than  of  the  very  young.  Referring  to 
the  speech  of  young  children,  Professor  Cooley  says  :  "  The  imitativeness 
of  children  is  stimulated  by  the  imitativeness  of  parents.  A  baby  cannot 
hit  upon  any  sort  of  a  noise,  but  the  admiring  family,  eager  for  communi- 
cation, will  imitate  it  again  and  again,  hoping  to  get  a  repetition.  They 
are  usually  disappointed,  but  the  exercise  probably  causes  the  child  to 
notice  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  and  so  prepares  the  way  for  imitation.  It 


liv  MODERN   LANGUAGE  ASSOCIATION. 

Let  me  say  in  conclusion  that  I  am  far  from  thinking  that 
the  processes  involved  in  the  genesis  of  speech  are  so  simple 
as  I  have  made  them,  for  purposes  of  brevity  and  clearness. 
My  sketch  is,  as  the  physiologists  say,  diagrammatic.  I  have 
left  out  of  it  the  details  which,  however  necessary  to  a  finished 
picture,  seem  to  me  nevertheless  to  confuse  the  main  outlines. 
If  the  picture  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes,  the  details  can  be 
readily  filled  in.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  false,  its  very 
bareness  and  simplicity  will  make  the  errors  more  easy  of 
detection.  In  either  case  I  shall  be  content  if  my  paper,  by 
stimulating  other  minds,  leads  to  a  reconsideration  of  this 
ever-abandoned,  ever-renewed,  baffling  yet  perennially  fas- 
cinating problem. 


is  perhaps  safe  to  say  that  up  to  the  end  of  the  first  year  the  parents  are 
more  imitative  than  the  child. ' '  (Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order,  p.  25. ) 
Applying  this  principle  to  the  genesis  of  speech,  we  may  say  that  the 
primitive  mother's  imitation  of  the  child's  irregularities  of  respiration  are 
a  more  potent  factor  in  the  development  of  speech  than  the  child's  imitation 
of  the  mother,  or  of  anything  else.  The  so-called  imitation  words  pop, 
crack,  bang,  sizzle,  and  the  like  are  probably  late  creations.  Primitive  man 
must  have  attained  to  a  relatively  advanced  stage  of  intelligence  and  dis- 
criminative power  before  he  detected  the  similarity  of  the  sounds  he  was 
making  with  his  breath  to  the  sounds  made  by  the  forces  and  objects  of 
nature — to  the  rippling  of  streams,  the  murmuring  of  the  winds  in  the 
trees,  or  the  rolling  of  thunder  in  the  clouds.  (Cf.  Wundt,  Schallnach~ 
ahmungen  und  Lautmetaphern  in  der  Sprache.  Beilage  zur  Munchcncr  Allg. 
Ze.it. ,  16.  Feb. ,  1907. )  I  say  nothing  about  the  sounds  made  by  other  animals, 
because,  as  I  have  said  before,  I  assume  that  man  or  his  precursor  was  the 
earliest  of  his  kind  to  develop  voice. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  lv 


CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  MODERN  LANGUAGE 
ASSOCIATION  OF  AMERICA. 

ADOPTED  ON  THE  TWENTY-NINTH  OF  DECEMBER,  1903. 


The  name  of  this  Society  shall  be  The  Modern  Language 
Association  of  America. 

II. 

1.  The  object  of  this  Association  shall  be  the  advance- 
ment  of  the  study  of  the   Modern  Languages   and  their 
Literatures  thru  the  promotion  of  friendly  relations  among 
scholars,  thru   the   publication  of  the   results   of   investi- 
gation  by  members,  and   thru   the   presentation   and   dis- 
cussion of  papers  at  an  annual  meeting. 

2.  The  meeting  of  the  Association  shall  be  held  at  such 
place  and  time  as  the  Executive  Council  shall  from  year  to 
year  determine.     But  at  least   as    often   as   once   in   four 
years  there  shall  be  held  a  Union  Meeting,  for  which  some 
central  point  in  the  interior  of  the  country  shall  be  chosen. 

in. 

Any  person  whose  candidacy  has  been  approved  by  the 
Secretary  and  Treasurer  may  become  a  member  on  the  pay- 
ment of  three  dollars,  and  may  continue  a  member  by  the 
payment  of  the  same  amount  each  year.  Any  member,  or 
any  person  eligible  to  membership,  may  become^  a  life 


Ivi  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

member  by  a  single  payment  of  forty  dollars  or  by  the 
payment  of  fifteen  dollars  a  year  for  three  successive  years. 
Distinguished  foreign  scholars  may  be  elected  to  honorary 
membership  by  the  Association  on  nomination  by  the  Ex- 
ecutive Council. 

IV. 

1.  The  officers  and  governing  boards  of  the  Association 
shall  be :   a  President,  three  Vice-Presidents,  a  Secretary,  a 
Treasurer;    an  Executive  Council    consisting  of  these    six 
officers,  the   Chairmen   of  the  several  Divisions,  and  seven 
other  members ;    and  an  Editorial  Committee  consisting  of 
the  Secretary  of  the  Association  (who  shall  be  Chairman 
ex  officio),  the  Secretaries  of  the  several  Divisions,  and  two 
other  members. 

2.  The    President    and    the   Vice-Presidents    shall    be 
elected  by  the  Association,  to  hold  office  for  one  year. 

3.  The  Chairmen  and  Secretaries  of  Divisions  shall  be 
chosen  by  the  respective  Divisions. 

4.  The  other  officers  shall  be  elected  by  the  Association 
at  a  Union  Meeting,  to  hold  office  until  the  next  Union 
Meeting.     Vacancies  occurring  between   two  Union  Meet- 
ings shall  be  filled  by  the  Executive  Council. 

v. 

1.  The     President,    Vice-Presidents,     Secretary,     and 
Treasurer  shall  perform  the  usual  duties  of  such  officers. 
The  Secretary  shall,  furthermore,  have  charge  of  the  Publi- 
cations of  the  Association  and  the  preparation  of  the  pro- 
gram of  the  annual  meeting. 

2.  The  Executive  Council  shall  perform  the  duties  as- 
signed to  it  in  Articles  II,  III,  IV,  VII,  and  VIII ;   it 
shall,  moreover,  determine  such  questions  of  policy  as  may 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ivii 

be  referred  to  it  by  the  Association  and  such  as  may  arise 
in  the  course  of  the  year  and  call  for  immediate  decision 
3.  The  Editorial  Committee  shall  render  such  assist- 
ance as  the  Secretary  may  need  in  editing  the  Publications 
of  the  Association  and  preparing  the  annual  program. 

VI. 

1.  The  Association  may,  to  further  investigation  in  any 
special  branch  of  Modern  Language  study,  create  a  Section 
devoted  to  that  end. 

2.  The  officers  of  a  Section  shall  be  a  Chairman  and  a 
Secretary,    elected    annually    by    the   Association.      They 
shall   form   a  standing  committee   of  the  Association,  and 
may  add  to  their  number  any  other  members  interested  in 
the  same  subject. 

VII. 

1,  When,  for  geographical  reasons,  the  members  from 
any  group  of  States  shall  find  it  expedient  to  hold  a  sepa- 
rate annual  meeting,  the  Executive   Council  may  arrange 
with  these  members  to  form  a  Division,  with  power  to  call 
a  meeting  at  such  place  and  time  as  the  members  of  the 
Division  shall  select;   but  no  Division  meeting  shall  be  held 
during  the  year  in  which  the  Association  holds  a  Union 
Meeting.     The  expense  of  Division  meetings  shall  be  borne 
by  the  Association.     The  total  number  of  Divisions  shall 
not  at  any  time  exceed  three.     The   present   Division  is 
hereby  continued. 

2.  The  members  of  a  Division  shall  pay  their  dues  to 
the  Treasurer  of  the  Association,  and  shall  enjoy  the  same 
rights  and  privileges  and  be  subject  to  the  same  conditions 
as  other  members  of  the  Association. 

0 


Iviii  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

3.  The  officers  of  a  Division  shall  be  a  Chairman  and  a 
Secretary.  The  Division  shall,  moreover,  have  power  to 
create  such  committees  as  may  be  needed  for  its  own  busi- 
ness. The  program  of  the  Division  meeting  shall  be  pre- 
pared by  the  Secretary  of  the  Division  in  consultation  with 
the  Secretary  of  the  Association. 

VIII. 

This  Constitution  may  be  amended  by  a  two-thirds  vote 
at  any  Union  Meeting,  provided  the  proposed  amendment 
has  received  the  approval  of  two-thirds  of  the  members  of 
the  Executive  Council. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  lix 


MEMBERS  OF  THE  MODERN  LANGUAGE 
ASSOCIATION  OF  AMERICA 

INCLUDING  MEMBERS  OF  THE  CENTRAL  DIVISION  OF  THE 
ASSOCIATION. 


Adams,  Arthur,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Trinity  College,  Hart- 
ford, Conn. 

Adams,  Edward  Larrabee,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [644  S.  Ingalls  St.] 

Adams,  Warren  Austin,  Professor  of  German,  Dartmouth  College, 
Hanover,  N.  F. 

Alden,  Raymond  Macdonald,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Litera- 
ture and  Rhetoric,  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University,  Palo  Alto, 
Cal.  [Box  82.] 

Alder,  Eugene  Charles,  Master  of  German,  William  Penn  Charter 
School,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [125  School  Lane,  Germantown,  Pa.] 

Alexander,  Luther  Herbert,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Univer- 
sity of  Alberta,  Strathcona,  Alberta,  Canada. 

Allard,  Louis,  Instructor  in  French,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge, 
Mass.  [9  Hampden  Hall,  Plympton  St.] 

Allen,  Edward  Archibald,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  University  of  Missouri,  Columbia,  Mo. 

Allen,   F.    Sturges,    Springfield,   Mass.     [246    Central    St.] 

Almstedt,  Hermann,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages,  University  of 
Missouri,  Columbia,  Mo. 

Armes,  William  Dallam,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
University  of  California,  Berkeley,  Cal.  [Faculty  Club.] 

Armstrong,  Edward  C.,  Associate  Professor  of  French,  Johns  Hopkins 
University,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Armstrong,  Edwin  Stanley,  Teacher  of  English,  Central  High  School, 
St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Arrowsmith,  Robert,  American  Book  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [Wash- 
ington Square.] 

Artmann,  Florentine  E.,  Instructor  in  German,  Normal  College  of 
the  City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [828  Lexington  Ave.] 

Aviragnet,  Elys6e,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Buckn^ll  Uni- 
versity, Lewisberg,  Pa. 


IX  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Axson,  Stockton,  Professor  of  English,  Princeton  University,  Prince- 
ton, N.  J. 

Ayer,  Charles  Carlton,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University 
of  Colorado,  Boulder,  Col. 

Ayres,  Harry  Morgan,  Lecturer  in  English,  Columbia  University, 
New  York,  N.  Y.  [507  Fayerweather  Hall.] 

Babbitt,  Irving,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [6  Kirkland  Road.] 

Babcock,  Earle  Brownell,  Instructor  in  French,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111.  [5546  Madison  Ave.] 

Babize,  Auguste  Charles,  Editor  in  Chief,  L'Echo  des  Deux  Mondes, 
Chicago,  111. 

Bacon,  Edwin  Faxon,  Teacher  of  Modern  Languages,  State  Normal 
School,  Oneonta,  N.  Y.  [56  East  St.] 

Bagster-Collins,  Elijah  William,  Adjunct  Professor  of  German, 
Teachers'  College,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Baillot,  E.  P.,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Northwestern  Uni- 
versity, Evanston,  111.  [718  Emerson  St.] 

Baker,  Asa  George,  G.  &  C.  Merriam  Co.,  Publishers  of  Webster's 
Dictionaries,  Springfield,  Mass. 

Baker,  Franklin  Thomas,  Professor  of  English,  Teachers'  College, 
Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [525  W.  120th  St.] 

Baker,  George  Pierce,  Professor  of  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [195  Brattle  St.] 

Baker,  Harry  Torsey,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
Beloit  College,  Beloit,  Wis.  [Chapin  Hall.] 

Baker,  Thomas  Stockham,  Head  Master,  Tome  School  for  Boys,  Jacob 
Tome  Institute,  Port  Deposit,  Md. 

Baldwin,  Charles  Sears,  Assistant  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  Yale  Uni- 
versity, New  Haven,  Conn. 

Baldwin,  Edward  Chauncey,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Litera- 
ture, University  of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [1006  Nevada  St.] 

Bargy,  Henry,  Professor  of  the  French  Language  and  Literature, 
Normal  College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  68th  St.  and  Park 
Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Barnes,  Frank  Coe,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Union  College, 
Schenectady,  N.  Y. 

Bartlett,  Mrs.  D.  L.,  Baltimore,  Md.     [16  W.  Monument  St.] 

Baskervill,  Charles  Read,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Texas, 
Austin,  Texas. 

Bassett,  Ralph  Emerson,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
University  of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas. 


PKOCEEDINGS   FOB   1907.  Ixi 

Batt,  Max,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  North  Dakota  Agricul- 
tural College,  Fargo,  N.  D. 

Battin,  Benjamin  F.,  Professor  of  German,  Swarthmore  College, 
Swarthmore,  Pa. 

Baumgartner,  Milton  D.,  Instructor  in  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literature,  Nebraska  State  University,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

Baur,  William  F.,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Cincinnati, 
Cincinnati,  O. 

Beam,  Jacob,  Preceptor  in  Modern  Languages,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J. 

Beatty,  Arthur,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Wis- 
consin, Madison,  Wis.  [1824  Jackson  St.] 

de  Beaumont,  Victor,  Lecturer  in  the  French  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Victoria  College,  University  of  Toronto,  Toronto,  Canada. 
[40  Dupont  St.] 

Bechert,  Alexander  Otto,  Tutor  in  the  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literatures,  Barnard  College,  Columbia  University,  New  York, 
N.  Y.  [464  Bainbridge  St.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.] 

Becker,  Ernest  Julius,  Head  of  the  Department  of  Modern  Languages, 
Baltimore  City  College,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Belden,  Henry  Marvin,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Missouri, 
Columbia,  Mo.  [811  Virginia  Ave.] 

Bell,  Robert  Mowry,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Collegiate  De- 
partment, Clark  University,  Worcester,  Mass. 

Berdan,  John  Milton,  Instructor  in  Rhetoric,  Yale  University,  New 
Haven,  Conn. 

Bergeron,  Maxime  L.,  Tutor  in  French,  College  of  the  City  of  New 
York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [505  W.  148th  St.] 

Berkeley,  Frances  Campbell,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of 
Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [616  Lake  St.] 

Bernkopf,  Anna  Elise,  Instructor  in  German,  Vassar  College,  Pough- 
keepsie,  N.  Y. 

Bernkopf,  Margaret,  Instructor  in  German,  Smith  College,  North- 
ampton, Mass. 

Bernstorff,  Frank  A.,  Instructor  in  German,  Northwestern  Univer- 
sity, Evanston,  111.  [2241  Sherman  Ave.] 

de  Bgthune,  Baron  F.,  Louvain,  Belgium.     [36  rue  de  Be"riot.] 

Bevier,  Louis,  Jr.,  Professor  of  the  Greek  Language  and  Literature, 

Rutgers  College,  New  Brunswick,  N.  J. 
Be"ziat  de  Bordes,  Andre",  Professor  of  French,  Newcomb  College,  New 

Orleans,  La. 

Bigelow,  John,  Jr.,  Professor  of  French  and  Head  of  the  Department 
of  Modern  Languages,  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology, 
Boston,  Mass.  0 


MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 


Bigelow,  William  Pingry,  Professor  of  Music  and  German,  Amherst 

College,  Amherst,  Mass. 
Bishop,  David  Horace,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 

ture,   University   of   Mississippi,    Oxford,    Miss.     [University, 

Miss.] 
Blackburn,  Francis  Adelbert,  Associate  Professor  of  the  English  Lan- 

guage, University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.     [383  E.  56th  St.] 
Blackwell,  Robert  Emory,  President  and  Professor  of  English,  Ran- 

dolph-Macon  College,  Ashland,  Va. 
Blair,    Emma    Helen,    Historical    Editor,    State    Historical    Library, 

Madison,  Wis. 
Blaisdell,  Daisy  Luana,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Illinois, 

Urbana,  111.     [1010  W.   California  Ave.] 
Blanchard,   Frederic  T.,   Instructor  in  English,   University  of   Cali- 

fornia, Berkeley,  Cal. 
Blau,  Max  F.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Princeton  University, 

Princeton,  N.  J. 
Bleyer,  Willard  Grosvenor,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Univer- 

sity of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.     [625  Langdon  St.] 
Boesche,  Albert  Wilhelm,  Instructor  in  German,  Harvard  University, 

Cambridge,  Mass.     [322  Harvard  St.] 
Bohn,  William  Edward,  Instructor  in  Rhetoric,  University  of  Michi- 

gan, Ann  Arbor,  Mich.     [718  Monroe  St.] 
Boll,  Helene  Hubertine,  Instructor  in  German,  Hillhouse  High  School, 

New  Haven,   Conn. 
Bonilla,  Rodrigo  Huguet,  Instructor  in  French  and  Spanish,  U.  S. 

Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  Md. 

Booth,  William  Stone,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [19   Berkeley   St.] 
Borgerhoff,  J.  L.,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Western 

Reserve   University,    Cleveland,   O. 
Both-Hendriksen,    Louise,   Assistant   Professor   of   History,   Adelphi 

College,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.     [150  Lefferts  Place.] 
Bothne,    Gisle    C.    J.,    Professor    of    Scandinavian    Languages    and 

Literatures,  University  of  Minnesota,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 
Boucke,   Ewald   A.,   Assistant   Professor   of   German,    University   of 

Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.     [808  S.  State  St.] 
Bourland,  Benjamin  Parsons,  Professor  of  the  Romance  Languages, 

Western    Reserve    University,    Cleveland,    O.     [11170    Euclid 

Ave.] 
Bo  wen,    Benjamin   Lester,   Professor   of   Romance   Languages,    Ohio 

State  University,  Columbus,  O. 
Bowen,  Edwin  Winfield,  Professor  of  Latin,  Randolph-Macon  College, 

Ashland,  Va. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ixiii 

Bowen,  James  Vance,  Professor  of  Foreign  Languages,  Mississippi 
Agricultural    and    Mechanical    College,    Agricultural    College, 
Miss. 
Boysen,  Johannes  Lassen,  Associate  Professor  of  German,  Syracuse 

University,   Syracuse,  N.   Y.     [714   Beech   St.] 

Bradshaw,  S.  Ernest,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Furman  Uni- 
versity, Greenville,  S.   C. 
Bradsher,   Earl   L.,    Instructor    in   Rhetoric,   University   of   Illinois, 

Urbana,  111. 

Brandon,  Edgar  Ewing,  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures,  Miami   University,   Oxford,   O. 
Brandt,  Hermann  Carl  Georg,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages 

and  Literatures,  Hamilton  College,  Clinton,  N.  Y. 
Braun,  Wilhelm  Alfred,  Instructor  in  the  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literatures,  Barnard  College,  Columbia  University,  New  York, 
N.  Y. 

Brecht,  Vincent  B.,  Head  of  the  Department  of  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Northeast  Manual  Training  High  School,  Lehigh  Ave.  and 
8th  St.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Bre"de,  Charles  F.,  Professor  of  German,  Northeast  Manual  Training 
High    School,    Lehigh    Ave.    and    8th    St.,    Philadelphia,    Pa. 
[1813  N.  15th  St.] 
Briggs,  Fletcher,  Instructor  in  German,  Dartmouth  College,  Hanover, 

N.  H.     [Box  240]. 
Briggs,    Thomas    H.,    Professor    of    English,    Eastern    Illinois    State 

Normal  School,  Charleston,  111. 
Briggs,  William  Dinsmore,   Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Leland 

Stanford  Jr.    University,   Palo  Alto,    Cal. 
Bright,  James  Wilson,  Professor  of  English  Philology,  Johns  Hopkins 

University,  Baltimore,  Md. 
Bristol,  Edward  N.,  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [29  West 

23d  St.] 
Bronk,  Isabelle,  Professor  of  the  French  Language  and  Literature, 

Swarthmore   College,   Swarthmore,   Pa. 

Bronson,  Thomas  Bertrand,  Head  of  the  Modern  Language  Depart- 
ment,  Lawrenceville   School,   Lawrenceville,   N.   J. 
Bronson,  Walter  C.,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Brown  Univer- 
sity,  Providence,   R.   I. 
Brooks,  Maro  Spalding,  Head  of  the  Modern  Language  Department, 

Brookline  High  School,  Brookline,  Mass.     [25  Waverly  St.] 
Brooks,  Neil  C.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  University  of  Illinois, 

Urbana,  111. 

Brown,  Arthur  C.  L.,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Northwestern 
University,  Evanston,  111.     [815  Coif  ax  St.]  0 


Ixiv  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Brown,  Calvin  S.,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University  of 
Mississippi,  Oxford,  Miss.  [University,  Miss.] 

Brown,  Carleton  F.,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Bryn  Mawr  Col- 
lege, Bryn  Mawr,  Pa. 

Brown,  Frank  Clyde,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Emory  College, 
Oxford,  Ga. 

Brown,  Frederic  Willis,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Bowdoin 
College,  Brunswick,  Me. 

Brown,  Rollo  Walter,  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  Wabash  College,  Craw- 
fordsville,  Ind. 

Brownell,  George  Griffin,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Univer- 
sity of  Alabama,  University,  Ala. 

Bruce,  Charles  A.,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Ohio 
State  University,  Columbus,  O.  [1981  Indianola  Ave.] 

Bruce,  James  Douglas,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, University  of  Tennessee,  Knoxville,  Tenn. 

Brugnot,  Mrs.  Alice  Gabrielle  Twight,  Head  of  the  French  Depart- 
ment, University  School  for  Girls,  Chicago,  111.  [21  Lake 
Shore  Drive.] 

Brumbaugh,  Martin  Grove,  Superintendent  of  Schools,  Philadelphia, 
Pa.  [3324  Walnut  St.] 

Brun,  Alphonse,  Instructor  in  French,  Harvard  University,  Cam- 
bridge, Mass.  [39  Ellery  St.] 

Bruner,  James  Dowden,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, University  of  North  Carolina,  Chapel  Hill,  N.  C. 

Bruns,  Friedrich,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Wisconsin, 
Madison  Wis.  [424  Frances  St.] 

Brush,  Henry  Raymond,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Hope  Col- 
lege, Holland,  Mich.  [609  State  St.] 

Brush,  Murray  Peabody,  Associate  in  Romance  Languages,  Johns 
Hopkins  University,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Brusie,  Charles  Frederick,  Principal,  Mt.  Pleasant  Academy,  Ossin- 
ing,  N.  Y. 

Bryant,  Frank  Egbert,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas. 

Buchanan,  Milton  Alexander,  Lecturer  in  Italian  and  Spanish,  Uni- 
versity of  Toronto,  Toronto,  Canada.  [124  McPherson  Ave.] 

Buck,  Gertrude,  Professor  of  English,  Vassar  College,  Poughkeepsie, 
N.  Y. 

Buck,  Philo  Melvyn,  Jr.,  Head  of  the  Department  of  English,  McKin- 
ley  High  School,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Buckingham,  Mary  H.,  Boston,  Mass.     [96  Chestnut  St.] 

Buffum,  Douglas  Labaree,  Preceptor  in  Romance  Languages,  Prince- 
ton University,  Princeton,  N.  J. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ixv 

Burkhard,  Oscar  C.,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Minnesota, 
Minneapolis,  Minn.  [Care  of  Rev.  John  Burkhard,  Elkader, 
la.] 

Burnet,  Percy  Bentley,  Director  of  Modern  Languages,  Manual  Train- 
ing High  School,  Kansas  City,  Mo.  [1112  E.  14th  St.] 

Burnett,  Arthur  W.,  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [29  West 
23d  St.] 

Burnham,  Josephine  M.,  Instructor  in  English  Composition,  Wellesley 
College,  Wellesley,  Mass.  [142  York  St.,  New  Haven,  Conn.] 

Burton,  Richard,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University  of 
Minnesota,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Busey,  Robert  Oscar,  Instructor  in  German,  Ohio  State  University, 
Columbus,  O. 

Bush,  Stephen  Hayes,  Professor  of  French,  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa, 
City,  la.^ 

Busse,  Paul  Gustav  Adolf,  Instructor  in  German,  Ohio  State  Uni- 
versity, Columbus,  O.  [316  W.  Ninth  Ave.] 

Cabeen,  Charles  William,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Syra- 
cuse University,  Syracuse,  N.  Y. 

Cady,  Frank  William,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, McKendree  College,  Lebanon,  111.  [Box  258.] 

Callaway,  Morgan,  Jr.,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Texas, 
Austin,  Texas.  [1104  Guadalupe  St.] 

Camera,  Amerigo  Ulysses  N.,  Instructor  in  French,  College  of  the 
City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [575  West  Ave.,  Flat- 
bush,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.] 

Cameron,  Arnold  Guyot,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

Cameron,  Susan  E.,  Instructor  in  English,  Royal  Victoria  College, 
McGill  University,  Montreal,  Canada. 

Campbell,  Killis,  Adjunct  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Texas, 
Austin,  Texas.  [2301  Rio  Grande  St.] 

Campion,  John  L.,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [370  W.  116th  St.] 

Canby,  Henry  Seidel,  Instructor  in  English,  Sheffield  Scientific 
School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [77  Elm  St.] 

Canfield,  Arthur  Graves,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [909  E.  University 
Ave.] 

Capen,  Samuel  Paul,  Assistant  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Col- 
legiate Department,  Clark  University,  Worcester,  Mass. 

Carnahan,  David  Hobart,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
University  of  Illinois,  Champaign,  111.  [Box  113,  Station  A.] 


Ixvi  MODERN    LANGUAGE    ASSOCIATION. 

Carpenter,  Frederic  Ives,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.  [Barrington,  111.] 

Carpenter,  George  Rice,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Compo- 
sition, Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Carpenter,  William  Henry,  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology,  Columbia 
University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Carruth,  William  Herbert,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literatures,  University  of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas. 

Carson,  Lucy  Hamilton,  Professor  of  English,  Montana  State  Normal 
College,  Dillon,  Mont. 

Carson,  Luella  Clay,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  American  Literature, 
University  of  Oregon,  Eugene,  Ore.  [289  E.  9th  St.] 

Carteaux,  Gustav  A.,  Professor  of  the  French  Language,  Polytechnic 
Institute,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Carter,  Charles  Henry,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Syracuse 
University,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [1005  Walnut  *Ave.] 

Castegnier,  Georges,  Civilian  Instructor  in  French,  U.  S.  Military 
Academy,  West  Point,  N.  Y.,  and  Lecturer  for  the  Board  of 
Education  of  New  York,  Newark,  and  Jersey  City.  [100  W. 
117th  St.,  New  York,  N.  Y.] 

Cerf,  Barry,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  University  of  Wis- 
consin, Madison,  Wis. 

Chamberlain,  May,  Instructor  in  Germanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, State  University  of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb.  [Station 
A.] 

Chamberlin,  Willis  Arden,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and 
Literature,  Denison  University,  Granville,  O. 

Chandler,  Edith  Beatrice,  Instructor  in  French  and  German,  Huron 
College,  Huron,  S.  D.  [467  Illinois  St.] 

Chandler,  Frank  Wadleigh,  Professor  of  Literature  and  History, 
Polytechnic  Institute,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  [22  Orange  St.] 

Chapman,  Henry  Leland,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Bowdoin 
College,  Brunswick,  Me. 

Charles,  Arthur  M.,  Professor  of  German  and  French,  Earlham  Col- 
lege, Richmond,  Ind. 

Chase,  Frank  Herbert,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Beloit  Col- 
lege, Beloit,  Wis.  [718  Church  St.] 

Chase,  Lewis  Nathaniel,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Louis- 
ville, Louisville,  Ky.  [14  rue  Duplessis,  Bordeaux,  France.] 

Chase,  Stanley  Perkins,  Instructor  in  English  Literature,  North- 
western University,  Evanston,  111. 

Cheek,  Samuel  Robertson,  Professor  of  Latin,  Central  University  of 
Kentucky,  Danville,  Ky. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOE    1907.  Ixvii 

Cheever,  Louisa  Sewall,  Instructor  in  English,  Smith  College, 
Northampton,  Mass.  [Chapin  House.] 

Chenery,  Winthrop  Holt,  Assistant  Professor  of  Spanish  and  Italian, 
Washington  University,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Cherington,  Frank  Barnes,  Associate  in  English,  University  High 
School,  Chicago,  111.  [115  Maroon  Heights,  University  of 
Chicago.] 

Child,  Clarence  Griffin,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [4237  Sansom  St.] 

Chiles,  James  A.,   University  of  Illinois,   Urbana,   111. 

Churchill,  George  Bosworth,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Amherst 
College,  Amherst,  Mass. 

Churchman,  Philip  Hudson,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Lan- 
guages, Clark  College,  Worcester,  Mass.  [21  Shirley  St.] 

Clapp,  John  Mantel,  Professor  of  English,  Lake  Forest  College,  Lake 
Forest,  111. 

Clark,  Alexander  Frederick  Bruce,  Instructor  in  French,  University 
College,  Toronto,  Canada. 

Clark,  J.  Scott,  Professor  of  the  English  Language,  Northwestern 
University,  Evanston,  111. 

Clark,  Thatcher,  Head  of  the  Department  of  Modern  Languages, 
Cathedral  School  of  St.  Paul,  Garden  City,  N.  Y. 

Clark,  Thomas  Arkle,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  Dean  of  Under- 
graduates, University  of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111. 

Clarke,  Charles  Cameron,  Jr.,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  Shef- 
field Scientific  School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn. 
[254  Bradley  St.] 

Clary,  S.  Williard,  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass.  [120  Boylston 
St.] 

Clementine,  Sister  M.,  Teacher  of  English,  Saint  Clara  College, 
Sinsinawa,  Wis. 

demons,  William  Harry,  Instructor  in  English,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J. 

Coar,  John  Firman,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Adelphi  College,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Cohn,  Adolphe,  Professor  of  the  Romance  Languages  and  Literatures, 
Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Colin,  Mrs.  Henriette  Louise  The"rese,  Professor  of  the  French  Lan- 
guage and  Literature,  Wellesley  College,  Wellesley,  Mass. 

Collings,  Harry  T.,  Instructor  in  French  and  German,  Colgate 
Academy,  Hamilton,  N.  Y. 

Collins,  George  Stuart,  Professor  of  German  and  Spanish,  Polytechnic 
Institute,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  [Wyckoff,  N.  J.] 


Ixviii  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Collins,  Varnum  Lansing,  Preceptor  in  Modern  Languages,  Princeton 

University,  Princeton,  N.  J. 
Collitz,  Hermann,  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology,  Johns  Hopkins 

University,    Baltimore,   Md. 
Colville,  William  T.,   Carbondale,   Pa. 
Colvin,  Mrs.  Mary  Noyes,  Dansville,  N.  Y. 
Colwell,  William  Arnold,  Instructor  in  German,  Harvard  University, 

Cambridge,  Mass.     [17  Conant  Hall.] 
Comfort,  William  Wistar,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 

Haverford  College,  Haverford,  Pa. 
Compton,  Alfred  D.,  Tutor  in  English,  College  of  the  City  of  New 

York,   138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
Conant,  Martha  P.,  Walnut  Hill  School,  Natick,  Mass. 
Conklin,    Clara,   Professor  of   Romance  Languages   and  Literatures, 

University  of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb. 
Cook,  Albert  S.,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Literature, 

Yale   University,   New  Haven,    Conn.     [219    Bishop    St.] 
Cool,  Charles  Dean,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  University  of 

Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.     [2022  Jefferson  St.] 
Cooper,   Lane,   Assistant  Professor   of   English,    Cornell   University, 

Ithaca,  N.  Y.     [120  Oak  Ave.] 

Cooper,  William  Alpha,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Leland  Stan- 
ford Jr.  University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal.     [1111  Emerson  St.] 
Corbin,  William  Lee,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Wells  College, 

Aurora,  N.  Y. 
Corwin,    Robert    Nelson,    Professor    of    German,    Sheffield    Scientific 

School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.     [247  St.  Ronan 

St.] 
Coues,  Robert  Wheaton,  Assistant  in  English,  Harvard  University, 

Cambridge,   Mass.     [10   Mason    St.] 
Cox,  John  Harrington,  Professor  of  English  Philology,  West  Virginia 

University,  Morgantown,  W.  Va.     [188  Spruce  St.] 
Craig,  Percy  Gaines,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [Liv- 
ingstone Hall,  115th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.] 
Crawford,  James  Pyle  Wickersham,  Instructor  in  Romanic  Languages 

and  Literatures,  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Crawshaw,  William  Henry,  Dean  and  Professor  of  English  Literature, 

Colgate  University,  Hamilton,  N.  Y. 

Critchlow,  Frank  Linley,  Preceptor  in  Romance  Languages,  Prince- 
ton University,  Princeton,  N.  J. 
Croll,  Morris  William,  Preceptor  in  English,  Princeton  University, 

Princeton,  N.  J.     [53  Patton  Hall.] 
Cross,  Wilbur  Lucius,  Professor  of  English,  Sheffield  Scientific  School, 

Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.     [24  Edgehill  Road.] 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  Ixix 

Crowell,  Asa  Clinton,  Associate  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literatures,  Brown  University,  Providence,  R.  I.  [345  Hope 
St.] 

Crowne,  Joseph  Vincent,  Instructor  in  English,  College  of  the  City 
of  New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Cunliffe,  John  William,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Wiscon- 
sin, Madison,  Wis. 

Curdy,  Albert  Eugene,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  Yale-  Uni- 
versity, New  Haven,  Conn.  [743  Yale  Station.] 

Curme,  George  Oliver,  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology,  Northwestern 
University,  Evanston,  111.  [629  Coif  ax  St.] 

Cushwa,  Frank  William,  Instructor  in  English,  Phillips  Academy, 
Exeter,  N.  H. 

Cutting,  Starr  Willard,  Professor  and  Head  of  the  Department  of 
Germanic  Languages  and  Literatures,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111. 

Daland,  Rev.  William  Clifton,  President  and  Professor  of  English  and 
Philosophy,  Milton  College,  Milton,  Rock  Co.,  Wis. 

Dallam,  Mary  Theresa,  Teacher  of  English,  Western  High  School, 
Baltimore,  Md.  [307  Dolphin  St.] 

Damon,  Lindsay  Todd,  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  Brown  University, 
Providence,  R.  I. 

Daniels,  Francis  Potter,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Cornell 
College,  Mt.  Vernon,  la. 

Danton,  George  Henry,  Acting  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Leland 
Stanford  Jr.  University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal.  [1327  Byron  St.] 

Dargan,  Edwin  Preston,  Adjunct  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages, 
University  of  Virginia,  Charlottesville,  Va. 

Darnall,  Frank  Mauzy,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Mississippi 
Agricultural  and  Mechanical  College,  Agricultural  College, 
Miss. 

Darnall,  Henry  Johnston,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  University 
of  Tennessee,  Knoxville,  Tenn. 

Davidson,  Frederic  Joseph  Arthur,  Associate  Professor  of  Italian  and 
Spanish,  University  of  Toronto,  Toronto,  Canada.  [22  Madi- 
son Ave.] 

Davies,  William  Walter,  Professor  of  the  German  Language,  Ohio 
Wesleyan  University,  Delaware,  0. 

Davis,  Edward  Z.,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Pennsylvania, 
Philadelphia,  Pa.  [3223  Powelton  Ave.] 

Deering,  Robert  Waller,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
ture, Western  Reserve  University,  Cleveland,  0.  [1130  Bell- 
flower  Road.]  0 


Ixx  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

De  Haan,  Fonger,  Professor  of  Spanish,  Bryn  Mawr  College,  Bryn 
Mawr,  Pa. 

Deister,  John  Lewis,  Assistant  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Mis- 
sissippi State  University,  Oxford,  Miss.  [University,  Miss.] 

De  Lagneau,  Lea  Rachel,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Lewis 
Institute,  Chicago,  111. 

Delamarre,  Louis,  Instructor  in  French,  College  of  the  City  of  New 
York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [324  Highland  Ave.,  Mt.  Vernon, 
N.  Y.] 

Denney,  Joseph  Villiers,  Professor  of  English  and  Dean  of  the  College 
of  Arts,  Philosophy,  and  Science,  Ohio  State  University,  Co- 
lumbus, O. 

Dey,  William  Morton,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
University  of  Missouri,  Columbia,  Mo. 

Diekhoff,  Tobias  J.  C.,  Junior  Professor  of  German,  University  of 
Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

Dodge,  Daniel  Kilham,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, University  of  Illinois,  Champaign,  111. 

Dodge,  Robert  Elkin  Neil,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [21  Mendota  Court.] 

Doniat,  Josephine  C.,  Instructor  in  French  and  German,  Lyons  Town- 
ship High  School,  La  Grange,  111. 

Douay,  Gaston,  Professor  of  French,  Washington  University,  St. 
Louis,  Mo. 

Dow,  Louis  Henry,  Professor  of  French,  Dartmouth  College,  Hanover, 
N.  H. 

Downer,  Charles  Alfred,  Professor  of  the  French  Language  and 
Literature,  College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  138th  St.  and 
Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Durst,  Marie,  Teacher  of  Modern  Languages,  Steele  High  School, 
Dayton,  O.  [152  Eagle  St.] 

Dunlap,  Charles  Graham,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University 
of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas. 

Dunn,  Joseph,  Associate  Professor  of  Celtic  Languages  and  Lecturer 
in  Romance  Languages,  Catholic  University,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Dupouey,  Robert,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  University  of  Cali- 
fornia, Berkeley,  Cal.  [1943  Rose  St.] 

Dye,  Alexander  Vincent,  Professor  of  German  and  Instructor  in 
French  and  Spanish,  William  Jewell  College,  Liberty,  Mo. 

van  Dyke,  Henry,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Princeton  Uni- 
versity, Princeton,  N.  J. 

Eastman,  Clarence  Willis,  Associate  Professor  of  German  Literature, 
Amherst  College,  Amherst,  Mass. 


PROCEEDINGS  FOR   1907.  Ixxi 

Easton,  Morton  William,  Professor  of  English  and  Comparative  Phi- 
lology, University  of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [224  S. 
43d  St.] 

Eaton,  Mrs.  Abbie  Fiske,  Principal,  Friedeneck  School,  Pasadena,  Cal. 

Eaton,  Horace  A.,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Syracuse  Univer- 
sity, Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [607  Walnut  Ave.] 

Eckelmann,  Ernst  Otto,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Illinois, 
Urbana,  111.  [905  S.  Busey  St.] 

Edgar,  Pelham,  Professor  of  the  French  Language  and  Literature, 
Victoria  College,  University  of  Toronto,  Toronto,  Canada. 

Effinger,  John  Robert,  Junior  Professor  of  French,  University  of 
Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

Eggert,  Carl  E.,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Michigan,  Ann 
Arbor,  Mich.  [930  Church  St.] 

Elliott,  A.  Marshall,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Johns  Hop- 
kins University,  Baltimore,  Md.  [18  E.  Eager  St.] 

Elliott,  George  Ray,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Wisconsin, 
Madison,  Wis. 

Emerson,  Oliver  Farrar,  Professor  of  English,  Western  Reserve  Uni- 
versity, Cleveland,  O.  [98  Wadena  St.,  E.  Cleveland,  0.] 

Erskine,  John,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Amheret  College, 
Amherst,  Mass. 

Evans,  M.  Blakemore,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  University  of 
Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [21  Mendota  Court.] 

Evers,  Helene  M.,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  University  of 
Missouri,  Columbia,  Mo. 

Ewart,  Frank  Carman,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Colgate 
University,  Hamilton,  N.  Y. 

Fahnestock,  Edith,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Vassar  College, 

Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y. 
Fairchild,  Arthur  Henry  Rolph,  Assistant  Professor  of  the  English 

Language  and  Literature,  University  of  Missouri,  Columbia, 

Mo.     [Until  May  1,  1909:  155  Iffley  Road,  Oxford,  England.] 
Fairchild,  J.  R.,  American  Book  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [Washington 

Square.] 
Farley,  Frank  Edgar,  Professor  of  English,  Simmons  College,  Boston, 

Mass. 
Farnsworth,  William  Oliver,  Instructor  in  French,  Asheville  School, 

Asheville,  N.   C. 
Farr,  Hollon  A.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Yale  University, 

New  Haven,   Conn.     [351   White  Hall.] 
Farrand,  Wilson,  Head  Master,  Newark  Academy,  Newark,  N.  J. 

m 


Ixxii  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Farrar,  Thomas  James,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Washington 
and  Lee  University,  Lexington,  Va. 

Faust,  Albert  Bernhardt,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Cornell 
University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y.  [University  Place.] 

Fay,  Charles  Ernest,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Tufts  College, 
Tufts  College,  Mass. 

Ferrell,  Chiles  Clifton,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages,  University 
of  Mississippi,  Oxford,  Miss.  [University,  Miss.] 

Ferren,  Harry  M.,  Professor  of  German,  High  School,  Allegheny,  Pa. 

Few,  William  Preston,  Professor  of  English,  Trinity  College,  Dur- 
ham, N.  C. 

Fielder,  Edwin  W.,  Editor,  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
[436  Fifth  Ave.] 

Fife,  Robert  Herndon,  Jr.,  Professor  of  German,  Wesleyan  Univer- 
sity, Middletown,  Conn.  [240  College  St.] 

Files,  George  Taylor,  Professor  of  German,  Bowdoin  College,  Bruns- 
wick, Me. 

Fiske,  Christabel  Forsyth,  Instructor  in  English,  Vassar  College, 
Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y. 

Fitz-Gerald,  John  Driscoll,  2d,  Instructor  in  the  Romance  Languages 
and  Literatures,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Fitz-Hugh,  Thomas,  Professor  of  Latin,  University  of  Virginia,  Char- 
lottesville,  Va. 

Fletcher,  Jefferson  Butler,  Professor  of  Comparative  Literature, 
Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [112  E.  22d  St.] 

Fletcher,  Robert  Huntington,  Acting  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
Iowa  College,  Grinnell,  la.  [1110  West  St.] 

Fiona,  George  Tobias,  Professor  of  Scandinavian  Languages  and  Lit- 
eratures and  Acting  Professor  of  English  Philology,  State 
University  of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la.  . 

Florer,  Warren  Washburn,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  University 
of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [910  Olivia  Ave.] 

Fogg,  Miller  Moore,  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  University  of  Nebraska, 
Lincoln,  Neb. 

Ford,  Daniel,  Adjunct  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  Composition,  Uni- 
versity of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

Ford,  J.  D.  M.,  Professor  of  the  French  and  Spanish  Languages, 
Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [57  Brewster  St.] 

Ford,  Joseph  Sherman,  Instructor  in  German,  Phillips  Academy, 
Exeter,  N.  H. 

Ford,  R.  Clyde,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  State  Normal  Col- 
lege, Ypsilanti,  Mich. 

Fortier,  Alc6e,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Tulane  University 
of  Louisiana,  New  Orleans,  La.  [1241  Esplanade  Ave.] 


PKOCEEDINGS   FOE    1907.  Ixxiii 

Fortier,  Edward  J.,  Associate  in  Romance  Languages,  University  of 
Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [609  S.  Busey  St.] 

Fossler,  Laurence,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, University  of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

Foster,  Irving  Lysander,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Pennsyl- 
vania State  College,  State  College,  Pa.  [Box  543.] 

Foulet,  Lucien,  Professor  of  French,  Bryn  Ma\vr  College,  Bryn  Mawr, 
Pa. 

Fowler,  Thomas  Howard,  Professor  of  German,  Wells  College,  Au- 
rora, N.  Y. 

Fox,  Charles  Shattuck,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  Lehigh  Uni- 
versity, South  Bethlehem,  Pa.  [222  Wall  St.,  Bethlehem.] 

Francke,  Kuno,  Professor  of  the  History  of  German  Culture  and 
Curator  of  the  Germanic  Museum,  Harvard  University,  Cam- 
bridge, Mass.  [3  Berkeley  Place.] 

Francois,  Victor  Emmanuel,  Associate  Professor  of  French,  College 
of  the  City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [140th  St.  and 
Convent  Ave.] 

Fraser,  Margaret  E.  N.,  Dean  of  Women  and  Head  of  the  Department 
of  Romance  Languages,  Allegheny  College,  Meadville,  Pa. 
[Hulings  Hall.] 

Fraser,  William  Henry,  Professor  of  Italian  and  Spanish,  University 
of  Toronto,  Toronto,  Canada. 

Freeman,  J.  C.,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University  of  Wis- 
consin, Madison,  Wis.  [222  Langdon  St.] 

Froelicher,  Hans,  Professor  of  German,  Woman's  College  of  Balti- 
more, Baltimore,  Md. 

Fruit,  John  Phelps,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, William  Jewell  College,  Liberty,  Mo. 

Fuentes,  Ventura,  Instructor  in  Spanish,  College  of  the  City  of  New 
York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Fuller,  Harold  DeW.,  Instructor  in  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [44  Brentford  Hall.] 

Fuller,  Paul,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [71  Broadway.] 

Fulton,  Edward,  Associate  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  University  of  Illi- 
nois, Urbana,  111.  [1008  W.  Oregon  St.] 

Fulton,  Maurice  Garland,  Professor  of  English,  Centre  College, 
Central  University  of  Kentucky,  Danville,  Ky. 

Furst,  Clyde  B.,  Secretary  of  Teachers'  College,  Columbia  University, 
New  York,  N.  Y. 

Oalloo,  Eugenie,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages  and  Literatures, 
University  of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas. 


Ixxiv  MODEBN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Galpin,  Stanley  Leman,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
Amherst  College,  Amherst,  Mass. 

Gardiner,  John  Hays,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, Cambridge,  Mass.  [18  Grays  Hall.] 

Garnett,  James  M.,  Baltimore,  Md.     [1316  Bolton  St.] 

Garrett,  Alfred  Cope,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [525  Locust  Ave.,  German- 
town.] 

Garver,  Milton  Stahl,  Instructor  in  French,  Sheffield  Scientific  School, 
Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [811  Yale  Station.] 

Gauss,  Christian  Frederick,  Preceptor  in  Romance  Languages,  Prince- 
ton University,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

Gaw,  Mrs.  Ralph  H.,  Topeka,  Kas.     [1321  Filmdre  St.] 

Gay,  Lucy  Maria,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [216  N.  Pinckney  St.] 

Gayley,  Charles  Mills,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, University  of  California,  Berkeley,  Cal.  [2403  Piedmont 
Ave.] 

Geddes,  James,  Jr.,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Boston  Uni- 
versity, Boston,  Mass.  [20  Fairmont  St.,  Brookline,  Mass.] 

Geissendoerfer,  John  Theodore,  Assistant  Instructor  in  German, 
State  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la.  [320  Davenport  St.] 

Gerig,  John  Lawrence,  Lecturer  in  Romance  Languages  and  Celtic 
Philology,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Gerould,  Gordon  Hall,  Preceptor  in  English,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J. 

Gill,  John  Glanville,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [16  Oxford  St.] 

Gillett,  William  Kendall,  Professor  of  French  and  Spanish,  New  York 
University,  University  Heights,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Glascock,  Clyde  Chew,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Sheffield  Sci- 
entific School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [Gradu- 
ates' Club.] 

Glen,  Irving  M.,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Early  Eng- 
lish Literature,  University  of  Oregon,  Eugene,  Ore.  [254  E. 
9th  St.] 

Goad,  Caroline  M.,  Teacher  of  German,  Wilson  College  for  Women, 
Chambersburg,  Pa. 

Goddard,  Harold  C.,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature,  North- 
western University,  Evanston,  111.  [843  Judson  Ave.] 

Goebel,  Julius,  Professor  of  German,  University  of  Illinois,  Urbana, 
111. 

Goettsch,  Charles,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOR    1907.  IxxV 

Gould,  Chester  Nathan,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111. 

Gould,  William  Elford,  Instructor  in  Spanish  and  French,  University 
of  Texas,  Austin,  Texas. 

Grandgent,  Charles  Hall,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [107  Walker  St.] 

Graves,  William  Lucius,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Ohio  State 
University,  Columbus,  O. 

Gray,  Charles  Henry,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University  of 
Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas.  [1000  Ohio  St.] 

Greene,  Herbert  Eveleth,  Collegiate  Professor  of  English,  Johns  Hop- 
kins University,  Baltimore,  Md.  [1019  St.  Paul  St.] 

Greenlaw,  Edwin  Almiron,  Professor  of  English,  Adelphi  College, 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Greenough,  Chester  Noyes,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Illi- 
nois, Urbana,  111. 

Gregor,  Leigh  R.,  Associate  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  McGill 
University,  Montreal,  Canada.  [139  Baile  St.] 

Griebsch,  Max,  Director,  National  German- American  Teachers'  Semi- 
nary, 558-568  Broadway,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Griffin,  James  0.,  Professor  of  German,  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  Univer- 
sity, Stanford  University,  Cal. 

Griffin,  Nathaniel  Edward,  Preceptor  in  English,  Princeton  Univer- 
sity, Princeton,  N.  J.  [14  N.  Dod  Hall.] 

Grimm,  Karl  Josef,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Pennsylvania  College,  Gettysburg,  Pa. 

Gronow,  Hans  Ernst,  Associate  in  German,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111.  [Faculty  Exchange,  University  of  Chicago.] 

Gruener,  Gustav,  Professor  of  German,  Yale  University,  New  Haven, 
Conn.  [146  Lawrance  Hall.] 

Grumbine,  Harvey  Carson,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  University  of  Wooster,  Wooster,  O. 

Grummann,  Paul  H.,  Professor  of  Modern  German  Literature,  Uni- 
versity of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb.  [1930  Washington  St.] 

Gu6rard,  Albert  Le"on,  Assistant  Professor  of  the  Romance  Languages, 
Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University,  Stanford  University,  Cal. 

Guite"ras,  Calixto,  Professor  of  Spanish,  Girard  College,  Philadelphia, 
Pa. 

Guitner,  Alma,  Professor  of  German,  Otterbein  University,  Wester- 
ville,  O. 

Gummere,  Francis  B.,  Professor  of  English,  Haverford  College,  Hav- 
erford,  Pa. 


Ixxvi  MODEBN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Gutknecht,  Louise  L.,  Teacher  of  German  and  French,  South  Chicago 
High  School,  Chicago,  111.  [7700  Bond  Ave.,  Windsor  Park, 
Chicago.] 

Hale,  Edward  E.,  Jr.,  Professor  of  English,  Union  College,  Schenec- 
tady,  N.  Y. 

Hall,  John  Leslie,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Literature 
and  of  General  History,  College  of  William  and  Mary,  Wil- 
liamsburg,  Va. 

Ham,  Roscoe  James,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Hartford,  Conn.  [83  Allen  Place.] 

Hamill,  Alfred  Ernest,  Ballyatwood,  Lake  Forest,  111. 

Hamilton,  George  Livingstone,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages, 
University  of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [538  Church  St.] 

Hamilton,  Theodore  Ely,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Univer- 
sity of  Missouri,  Columbia,  Mo.  [1111  University  Ave.] 

Hammond,  Eleanor  Prescott,  Chicago,  111.  [360  E.  57th  St.,  Hyde 
Park.] 

Hancock,  Albert  E.,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Haverford  Col- 
lege, Haverford,  Pa. 

Handschin,  Charles  Hart,  Professor  of  German,  Miami  University, 
Oxford,  O. 

Haney,  John  Louis,  Professor  of  English  Philology,  Central  High 
School,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Hanner,  James  Park,  Jr.,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Emory 
College,  Oxford,  Ga. 

Hansche,  Maude  Bingham,  Teacher  of  German,  Commercial  High 
School  for  Girls,  Broad  and  Green  Sts.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Hardy,  Ashley  Kingsley,  Assistant  Professor  of  German  and  Instruc- 
tor in  Old  English,  Dartmouth  College,  Hanover,  N.  H. 

Hare,  James  Alexander,  Speyer  &  Co.,  24-26  Pine  St.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Hargrove,  Henry  Lee,  Professor  of  English,  Baylor  University,  Waco, 
Texas. 

Harper,  George  McLean,  Professor  of  English,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J. 

Harris,  Charles,  Professor  of  German,  Western  Reserve  University, 
Cleveland,  O. 

Harris,  Lancelot  Minor,  Professor  of  English,  College  of  Charleston, 
Charleston,  S.  C. 

Harrison,  James  Albert,  Professor  of  Teutonic  Languages,  University 
of  Virginia,  Charlottesville,  Va. 

Harrison,  John  Smith,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Kenyon  Col- 
lege, Gambier,  O. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  Ixxvii 

Harry,  Philip  Warner,  Instructor  in  French,  Northwestern  Univer- 
sity, Evanston,  111.  [University  Club.] 

Hart,  Charles  Edward,  Professor  of  Ethics  and  Evidences  of  Christi- 
anity, Rutgers  College,  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.  [33  Livingston 
Ave.] 

Hart,  James  Morgan,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y. 

Hart,  Walter  Morris,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University  of 
California,  Berkeley,  Cal.  [2255  Piedmont  Ave.] 

Hastings,  William  Thomson,  Instructor  in  English,  Brown  University, 
Providence,  R.  I.  [11%  John  St.] 

Hatfield,  James  Taft,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Northwestern  University,  Evanston,  111. 

Hathaway,  Charles  Montgomery,  Jr.,  Instructor  in  English,  U.  S. 
Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  Md.  [183  King  George  St.] 

Hauhart,  William  F.,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Michigan, 
Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [1115  S.  University  Ave.] 

Hauschild,  George  William,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of 
Chicago  High  School,  Chicago,  111.  [75  Hitchcock  Hall.] 

Hausknecht,  Emil,  Professor  at  the  University  of  Lausanne,  Lau- 
sanne, Switzerland. 

Havens,  Raymond  Dexter,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of 
Rochester,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 

Head,  Walter  Dutton,  Instructor  in  French,  Phillips  Academy, 
Exeter,  N.  H. 

Heller,  Otto,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Literature, 
Washington  University,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Hempl,  George,  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology,  Leland  Stanford  Jr. 
University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal.  [382  Lincoln  Ave.] 

Henning,  George  Neely,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  George 
Washington  University,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Herford,  Charles  Harold,  Professor  in  the  University  of  Manchester, 
Manchester,  England. 

Herrick,  Asbury  Haven,  Woburn,  Mass.     [4  Plympton  St.] 

Hervey,  Wm.  Addison,  Adjunct  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Langua- 
ges and  Literatures,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Heuser,  Frederick  W.  J.,  Tutor  in  the  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literatures,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Hewett,  Waterman  Thomas,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and 
Literature,  Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y.  [Netherby, 
Cornell  Heights.] 

Heyd,  Jacob  Wilhelm,  Professor  of  German  and  French,  Kirksville 
State  Normal  School,  Kirksville,  Mo.  [1112  S.  Florence  Ave.] 


Ixxviil  MODEEN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Hicks,  Fred  Cole,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Wisconsin, 
Madison,  Wis.  [Tipton,  la.] 

Hill,  Albert  Ellsworth,  Associate  Instructor  in  English,  University 
of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.  [Box  73,  Faculty  Exchange.] 

Hill,  Raymond  Thompson,  Instructor  in  Romanic  Languages,  Syra- 
cuse University,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [907  University  Ave.] 

Hills,  Elijah  Clarence,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, Colorado  College,  Colorado  Springs,  Col.  [120  Tyler 
Place.] 

Hilmer,  William  Charles,  Instructor  in  German,  Oberlin  College, 
Oberlin,  0.  [219  W.  Lorain  St.] 

Hinckley,  Henry  Barrett,  Northampton,  Mass.     [54  Prospect  St.] 

Hinsdale,  Ellen  C.,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Literature, 
Mount  Holyoke  College,  South  Hadley,  Mass. 

Hochdorfer,  Karl  Friedrich  Richard,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages, 
Wittenberg  College,  Springfield,  O.  [31  E.  Cecil  St.] 

Hodder,  Mrs.  Alfred,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [Hotel   San  Remo.] 

Hodell,  Charles  Wesley,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  Woman's  College  of  Baltimore,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Hohlfeld,  Alexander  R.,  Professor  of  German,  University  of  Wiscon- 
sin, Madison,  Wis. 

Holbrook,  Richard  Thayer,  Associate  in  Italian  and  Old  French,  Bryn 
Mawr  College,  Bryn  Mawr,  Pa. 

Hollander,  Lee  M.,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Michigan, 
Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

Holzwarth,  Franklin  James,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages 
and  Literatures,  Syracuse  University,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [911 
Walnut  Ave.] 

Hopkins,  Annette  Brown,  Instructor  in  English,  Teachers'  Training 
School,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Hopkins,  Edwin  Mortimer,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  the  English 
Language,  University  of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas. 

Hopkins,  John  Bryant,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  Lafayette 
College,  Easton,  Pa.  [72  Blair  Hall.] 

Home,  Charles  F.,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  College  of  the  City 
of  New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Horning,  L.  Emerson,  Professor  of  Teutonic  Philology,  Victoria  Col- 
lege, Toronto,  Canada. 

Hoskins,  John  Preston,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Princeton 
University,  Princeton,  N.  J.  [22  Bank  St.] 

Hospes,  Mrs.  Cecilia  Lizzette,  Teacher  of  German,  McKinley  High 
School,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR    1907.  IxxiX 

House,  Ralph  Emerson,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  University 
of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Houston,  Percy  Hazen,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Illinois, 
Champaign,  111.  [412  E.  Green  St.] 

Howard,  Albert  A.,  Professor  of  Latin,  Harvard  University,  Cam- 
bridge, Mass.  [12  Walker  St.] 

Howard,  William  Guild,  Instructor  in  German,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [25  Conant  Hall.] 

Howe,  George  Maxwell,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages  and 
Literatures,  Colorado  College,  Colorado  Springs,  Col.  [1623 
N.  Tejon  St.] 

Howe,  Malvina  A.,  Principal,  Miss  Howe  and  Miss  Marot's  School, 
Dayton,  O.  [513  W.  1st  St.] 

Howe,  Thomas  Carr,  President  and  Professor  of  Germanic  Langua- 
ges, Butler  College,  University  of  Indianapolis,  Indianapolis, 
Ind.  [48  S.  Audubon  Road,  Irvington.] 

Howe,  Will  David,  Professor  of  English,  Indiana  University,  Bloom- 
ington,  Ind. 

Hoyt,  Prentiss  Cheney,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Collegiate 
Department,  Clark  University,  Worcester,  Mass.  [940  Main 
St.] 

Hubbard,  Frank  G.,  Professor  of  the  English  Language,  University  of 
Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis. 

Hughes,  Mrs.  Charlotte  Conde",  Director  of  French,  Moffitt  School, 
Grand  Rapids,  Mich.  [18  S.  Lafayette  St.] 

Hulme,  William  Henry,  Professor  of  English,  College  for  Women, 
Western  Reserve  University,  Cleveland,  O.  [11424  Mayfield 
St.] 

Hume,  Thomas,  Professor  Emeritus  of  English  Literature,  Univer- 
sity of  North  Carolina,  Chapel  Hill,  N.  C. 

Hunt,  Theodore  Whitefield,  Professor  of  English,  Princeton  Univer- 
sity, Princeton,  N.  J. 

Hutchison,  Percy  Adams,  Instructor  in  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass. 

Hyde,  James  Hazen,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [HE.  40th  St.] 

Ibbotson,  Joseph  Darling,  Jr.,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Ham- 
ilton College,  Clinton,  N.  Y. 

Ilgen,  Ernest,  Associate  Professor  of  German,  College  of  the  City  of 
New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Ingraham,  Edgar  Shugert,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Langua- 
ges, Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  O. 


Ixxx  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Jackson,  M.  Katherine,  Lecturer  on  English,  Bryn  Mawr  College, 
Bryn  Mawr,  Pa. 

von  Jagemann,  H.  C.  G.,  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [113  Walker  St.] 

Jenkins,  T.  Atkinson,  Associate  Professor  of  French  Philology,  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.  [488  E.  54th  Place.] 

Jessen,  Karl  Detlev,  Associate  Professor  of  German,  Bryn  Mawr 
College,  Bryn  Mawr,  Pa. 

Jodocius,  Albert,  French  Master,  Delancey  School,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
[1420  Pine  St.] 

Johnson,  Henry,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Bowdoin  College, 
Brunswick,  Me. 

Johnson,  William  Savage,  Instructor  in  English,  Yale  University, 
New  Haven,  Conn.  [361  Elm  St.] 

Johnston,  Oliver  Martin,  Associate  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages, 
Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University,  Stanford  University,  Cal. 

Jonas,  J.  B.  E.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Brown  University, 
Providence,  R.  I. 

Jones,  Everett  Starr,  Head  Master,  Allen  School,  West  Newton,  Mass. 

Jones,  Florence  Nightingale,  Instructor  in  French  and  Italian,  Uni- 
versity of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [901  W.  Green  St.] 

Jones,  Harrie  Stuart  Vedder,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of 
Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [605  W.  Green  St.] 

Jones,  Jessie  Louise,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Lewis  Institute, 
Chicago,  111. 

Jones,  Richard,  Professor  of  English,  Vanderbilt  University,  Nash- 
ville, Tenn.  [Vanderbilt  Campus.] 

Jordan,  Daniel,  Adjunct  Professor  of  the  Romance  Languages  and 
Literatures,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Jordan,  Mary  Augusta,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Lit- 
erature, Smith  College,  Northampton,  Mass.  [Hatfield  House.] 

Joynes,  Edward  S.,  Professor  Emeritus  of  Modern  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  South  Carolina,  Columbia,  S.  C. 

Kagan,  Josiah  M.,  Master  (German),  Roxbury  High  School,  Boston, 
Mass. 

Kahn,  J.  Ottillie,  Canon  City,  Col.     [925  Rudd  Ave.] 

Kayser,  Carl  F.,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Literature, 
Normal  College,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [71  E.  87th  St.] 

Keidel,  George  Charles,  Associate  in  Romance  Languages,  Johns  Hop- 
kins University,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Kellogg,  Robert  James,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  James  Milli- 
kin  University,  Decatur,  111. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOR     .907. 


Kent,    Charles   W.,   Professor   of   English   Literature,   University   of 

Virginia,    Charlottesville,    Va. 
Keppler,  Emil  A.  C.,  Tutor  in  Germanic  Languages  and  Literatures, 

College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [220  W. 

107th  St.] 
Kerlin,   Robert  Thomas,   Professor   of  English   Literature,   Virginia 

State  Normal  School,  Farmville,  Va. 
Kern,  Alfred  Allan,  Professor  of  English,  Millsaps  College,  Jackson, 

Miss. 
Kerr,   William  Alexander   Robb,   Professor   of  Romance   Languages, 

Adelphi  College,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
Keyes,  Charles  Reuben,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Lit- 

erature, Cornell  College,  Mt.  Vernon,  la. 
Keys,  David  Reid,  Associate  Professor   of  Anglo-Saxon,  University 

College,   Toronto,   Canada. 
Kinard,   James   Pinckney,   Professor   of  the   English  Language  and 

Literature,  Winthrop   College,   Rock  Hill,   S.    C. 
Kind,  John  Louis,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Wisconsin, 

Madison,  Wis.     [The  Irving.] 
King,  Robert  Augustus,  Professor  of  French  and  German,  Wabash 

College,   Crawfordsville,  Ind. 
Kingsbury,  Elizabeth,  Teacher  of  Latin  and  German,  Nebraska  Nor- 

mal College,  Wayne,  Neb.     [Box  71]. 
Kip,   Herbert   Z.,   Associate   Professor   of   German,   Vanderbilt   Uni- 

versity, Nashville,   Tenn. 
Kirchner,  Elida  Caroline,  Instructor  in  German,  Central  High  School, 

St.  Louis,  Mo.     [1127  N.  Grand  Ave.] 
Kittredge,  George  Lyman,  Professor  of  English,  Harvard  University, 

Cambridge,    Mass.     [8    Hilliard    St.] 
Klaeber,   Frederick,   Professor   of   English   Philology,   University   of 

Minnesota,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 
Klein,  David,  Tutor  in  English,  College  of  the  City  of  New  York, 

138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
von  Klenze,  Camillo,  Professor  of  German  Literature,  Brown  Uni- 

versity, Providence,  R.  I. 
Knoepfler,  John  Baptist,  Professor  of  German,  Iowa  State  Normal 

School,  Cedar  Falls,  la. 

Kolbe,  P.  R.,  Instructor  in  German,  Buchtel  College,  Akron,  O. 
Koller,  Armin  Hajman,   Fellow  in  German,  University  of  Chicago, 

Chicago,  111.     [97  Middle  Divinity  Hall.] 
Krapp,  George  Philip,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 

ture, University  of   Cincinnati,   Cincinnati,  O. 
Kroeh,  Charles  F.,  Professor  of  Languages,  Stevens  Institute  of  Tech- 

nology, Hoboken,  N.  J.  ^ 

6 


Ixxxii  MODERN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Krowl,  Harry  0.,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  College  of  the  City 
of  New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Kueffner,  Louise  Mallinckrodt,  Instructor  in  German,  Vassar  College, 
Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y. 

Kuersteiner,  Albert  Frederick,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
Indiana  University,  Bloomington,  Ind. 

Kuhns,  Oscar,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Wesleyan  Univer- 
sity, Middletown,  Conn. 

Kullmer,  Charles  Julius,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Syracuse 
University,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [505  University  Place.] 

Kurrelmeyer,  William,  Associate  in  German,  Johns  Hopkins  Univer- 
sity, Baltimore,  Md.  [Ellicott  City,  Md.] 

Lamaze,  Edouard,   Dean  of  the  School  of  Languages,  International 

Correspondence  Schools,  Scranton,  Pa. 
Lambert,  Marcus  Bachman,  Teacher  of  German,  Boys'  High  School, 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.     [5  Maxwell  Ave.,  Jamaica,  N.  Y.] 
Lancaster,    Henry    Carrington,    Instructor    in    Romance    Languages, 

Amherst  College,  Amherst,  Mass. 
Lang,  Henry  R.,  Professor  of  Romance  Philology,  Yale  University, 

New  Haven,   Conn.     [Box   244,  Yale   Station.] 
Lange,    Alexis    Frederick,    Professor    of    English    and    Scandinavian 

Philology,    University    of    California,    Berkeley,    Cal.     [2629 

Haste  St.] 
Lange,    Carl    Frederick   Augustus,    Associate    Professor    of    German, 

Smith    College,    Northampton,    Mass.     [83    Massasoit    St.] 
Langley,    Ernest    F.,    Assistant    Professor    of    Romance    Languages, 

Dartmouth  College,  Hanover,  N.  H. 
Lathrop,  Adele,  Instructor  in  English  Literature.  Wellesley  College, 

Wellesley,  Mass. 
Lathrop,  Henry  Burrowes,  Associate  Professor  of  English  Literature. 

University  of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.     [311  Park  St.] 
Law,  Robert  A.,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Texas,  Austin, 

Texas. 

Lawrence,   William  Witherle,  Adjunct  Professor  of  English,  Colum- 
bia University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
Learned,  Marion  Dexter,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages  and 

Literatures,  University  of   Pennsylvania,   Philadelphia,   Pa. 
Le  Compte,  Irville  Charles,  Instructor  in  French,  Yale  University, 

New  Haven,  Conn.     [754  Yale  Station.] 
Le  Daum,  Henry,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,   State  Univer-    . 

sity  of  North  Dakota,  Grand  Forks,  N.  D.     [6  New  Hampshire 

Flats.] 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ixxxiii 

Le  Due,  Alma  de  L.,  University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.  [4015 
Lake  Ave.] 

Lehmann,  Gottfried,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Kentucky  Uni- 
versity, Lexington,  Ky.  [181  Mill  St.] 

Leonard,  Arthur  Newton,  Professor  of  German,  Bates  College,  Lewis- 
ton,  Me. 

Leonard,  Jonathan,  Sub-Master  (French),  English  High  School, 
Somerville,  Mass.  [Sandwich,  Mass.] 

Leonard,  William  Ellery,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Wis- 
consin, Madison,  Wis.  [222  Langdon  St.] 

Lessing,  Otto  Eduard,  Associate  Professor  of  German,  University  of 
Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [906  Gregory  Place.] 

Levi,  Moritz,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University  of  Michi- 
gan, Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

Lewis,  Charlton  Miner,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Yale  Uni- 
versity, New  Haven,  Conn. 

Lewis,  Edwin  Herbert,  Professor  of  English  and  Dean  of  the  Faculty, 
Lewis  Institute.  Chicago,  111. 

Liberma,  Marco  F.,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University  of 
Cincinnati,  Cincinnati,  0. 

Lieder,  Frederick  William  Charles,  Instructor  in  German,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [46  Holyoke  House.] 

Lincoln,  George  Luther,   Paris,   France.     [42  boulevard  Raspail.] 

Livingston,  Albert  Arthur,  Instructor  in  Italian,  Smith  College, 
Northampton,  Mass. 

Logeman,  Henry,  Professor  of  English  Philology,  University  of  Ghent, 
Ghent,  Belgium.  [343  boulevard  des  Hospices.] 

Loiseaux,  Louis  Auguste,  Adjunct  Professor  of  the  Romance  Lan- 
guages and  Literatures,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Lomer,  Gerhard  Richard,  Instructor  in  English,  MqGill  University, 
Montreal,  Canada.  [150  Durocher  St.] 

Long,  Percy  W.,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [35  Trowbridge  St.] 

Longden,  Henry  B.,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, De  Pauw  University,  Greencastle,  Ind. 

Lotspeich,  Claude  M.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  University  of 
Cincinnati,  Cincinnati,  O. 

Loveland,  Helen  Isabel,  Head  of  Department  of  English,  Morningside 
College,  Sioux  City,  la. 

Lowes,  John  Livingston,  Professor  of  English,  Swarthmore  College, 
Swarthmore,  Pa. 

Luebke,  William  Ferdinand,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Miami 
University,  Oxford,  O. 

Luquiens,  Frederick  Bliss,  Assistant  Professor  of  Spanish,  Sheffield 


MODERN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Scientific   School,   Yale   University,   New  Haven,   Conn.     [595 

Orange  St.] 
Lustrat,    Joseph,    Professor    of    Romance    Languages,    University    of 

Georgia,  Athens,  Ga. 

Lutz,   Frederick,   Professor   of  Modern   Languages   and  Acting  Pro- 
fessor of  Latin,  Albion  College,  Albion,  Mich. 
Lyman,    Augustus    Julian,    Instructor    in    Modern    Languages    and 

Latin,  School  of  Music  and  Art,  Auditorium  Building,  Ashe- 

ville,  N.   C. 
Lyon,  Charles  Edward,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  Princeton 

University,  Princeton,  N.  J.     [Bachelors'  Club.] 

Macarthur,  John  Robertson,  Professor  of  English,  New  Mexico  Col- 
lege of  Agriculture  and  Mechanic  Arts,  Agricultural  College, 
New  Mexico. 

McBryde,  John  McLaren,  Jr.,  Professor  of  English,  Sweet  Briar  In- 
stitute, Sweet  Briar,  Va. 

McClelland,  George  William,  Tutor  in  English,  College  of  the  City 
of  New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

MacClintock,  William  D.,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111.  [5629  Lexington  Ave.] 

MacCracken,  Henry  Noble,  Instructor  in  English,  Sheffield  Scientific 
School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [180  East  Rock 
Road.] 

MacDuffie,  John,  Principal  of  the  MacDuffie  School  for  Girls,  Spring- 
field, Mass.  [182  Central  St.] 

McKenzie,  Konneth,  Assistant  Professor  of  Italian,  Yale  University, 
New  ]iaven,  Conn. 

McKibben,  George  Fitch,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Denison 
University,  Granville,  O. 

McKnight,  George  Harley,  Professor  of  English,  Ohio  State  Univer- 
sity, Columbus,  O. 

McLaughlin,  William  Aloysius,  Instructor  in  French,  University  of 
Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [920  Monroe  St.] 

McLean,  Charlotte  Frelinghuysen,  Head  of  the  English  Department, 
Birmingham  School,  Birmingham,  Huntingdon  Co.,  Pa. 

MacLean,  George  Edwin,  President,  State  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa 
City,  la. 

McLouth,  Lawrence  A.,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages  and  Lit- 
eratures, New  York  University,  University  Heights,  New  York, 
N.  Y. 

Macnie,  John,  Professor  Emeritus  of  French  and  Spanish,  University 
of  North  Dakota.  [2113  Bryant  Ave.,  Minneapolis,  Minn.] 

Mallory,   Herbert   Samuel,   Chardon,   O. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ixxxv 

Maloubier,  Eugene  F.,  Tutor  in  French,  College  of  the  City  of  New 
York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [139 
E.  18th  St.] 

Manley,  Edward,  Englewood  High  School,  Chicago,  111.  [5801  Lex- 
ington Ave.] 

Manly,  John  Matthews,  Professor  and  Head  of  the  Department  of 
English,  University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Manthey-Zorn,  Otto,  Instructor  in  German,  Amherst  College,  Ain- 
herst,  Mass. 

March,  Francis  Andrew,  Professor  Emeritus  of  the  English  Language 
and  of  Comparative  Philology,  Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa. 

Marcou,  Philippe  Belknap,  Paris,  France.     [28  quai  d'Orleans.] 

Marden,  Charles  Carroll,  Professor  of  Spanish,  Johns  Hopkins  Uni- 
versity, -Baltimore,  Md. 

Marin  La  Meslee,  A.,  Instructor  in  French,  Brown  University,  Provi- 
dence, R.  I. 

Marinoni,  Antonio,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  and  Germanic 
Languages,  University  of  Arkansas,  Fayetteville,  Ark.  [224 
W.  Dickson  St.] 

Marsh,  Arthur  Richmond,  Vice-President,  New  York  Cotton  Ex- 
change, New  York,  N.  Y. 

Marsh,  George  Linnseus,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111. 

Mather,  Frank  Jewett,  Jr.,  The  Evening  Post,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Mathews,  Charles  Engley,  Instructor  in  French,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J. 

Matthews,  Brander,  Professor  of  Dramatic  Literature,  Columbia  Uni- 
versity, New  York,  N.  Y.  [681  West  End  Ave.] 

Matzke,  John  E.,  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages,  Leland  Stanford 
Jr.  University,  Stanford  University,  Cal. 

Maynadier,  Gustavus  H.,  Instructor  in  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [24  Fairfax  Hall.] 

Mead,  William  Edward,  Professor  of  the  English  Language,  Wesleyan 
University,  Middletown,  Conn. 

Meisnest,  Frederick  William,  Professor  of  German,  University  of 
Washington,  Seattle,  Wash.  [4705  Sixteenth  Ave.,  N.  E.] 

Mellen,  Frederic  Davis,  Instructor  in  Rhetoric,  Mississippi  Agricul- 
tural and  Mechanical  College,  Agricultural  College,  Miss. 

Mensel,  Ernst  Heinrich,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages  and  Lit- 
eratures, Smith  College,  Northampton,  Mass. 

Mercier,  Louis  J.,  Head  Instructor  in  French,  Francis  Parker  School, 
Chicago,  111.  [199  S.  Throop  St.] 

Metzinger,  Leon,  Assistant  Instructor  in  German,  State  University 
of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la.  [319  Davenport  St.] 


Ixxxvi  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Meyer,  Edward  Stockton,  Associate  Professor  of  German,  Western 
Reserve  University,  Cleveland,  O.  [94  Glenpark  Place.] 

Meyer,  George  Henry,  Assistant  Professor  of  the  German  Language 
and  Literature,  University  of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [905  W. 
Green  St.] 

Miller,  George  Morey,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  University  of 
Cincinnati,  Cincinnati,  O.  [16  The  Westmoreland,  Mt.  Au- 
burn, Cincinnati.] 

Miller,  Raymond  D.,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Missouri, 
Columbia,  Mo. 

Milwitzky,  William,  Instructor  in  French,  Barringer  High  School, 
Newark,  N.  J. 

Minis,  Edwin,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Trinity  College,  Dur- 
ham, N.  C. 

Montgomery,  Maud,  Head  of  the  Department  of  Languages,  College 
of  Industrial  Arts,  Denton,  Texas. 

Moore,  Alfred  Austin,  Preceptor  in  Romance  Languages,  Princeton 
University,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

Moore,  Clarence  King,  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages,  University 
of  Rochester,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 

Moore,  Olin  Harris,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  Phillips  Acad- 
emy, Andover,  Mass.  [Clement  House.] 

Moore,  Robert  Webber,  Professor  of  German,  Colgate  University, 
Hamilton,  N.  Y. 

Moore,  Samuel,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Kansas,  Law- 
rence, Kas.  [112  Fayerweather  St.,  Cambridge,  Mass.] 

Morgan,  Bayard  Quincy,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Wis- 
consin, Madison,  Wis.  [1715  Adams  St.] 

Morley,  Sylvanus  Griswold,  Baldwinville,  Mass. 

Morrill,  Clarence  B.,  Instructor  in  Rhetoric,  University  of  Michigan, 
Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [Seffner,  Fla.] 

Morrill,  Georgiana  Lea,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Wiscon- 
sin, Madison,  Wis.  [251  Langdon  St.] 

Morris,  John,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages,  University  of 
Georgia,  Athens,  Ga. 

Morrison,  Frederic  William,  Instructor  in  French  and  Spanish,  U.  S. 
Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  Md.  [Hotel  Maryland.] 

Morriss,  Margaret  Shove,  Instructor  and  Reader  in  History,  Mt. 
Holyoke  College,  South  Hadley,  Mass. 

Morton,  Asa  Henry,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Williams  Col- 
lege, Williamstown,  Mass. 

Morton,  Edward  P.,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Indiana  Univer- 
sity, Bloomington,  Ind.  [6116  Greenwood  Ave.,  Chicago,  111.] 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ixxxvii 

Moser,    Lillian    Virginia,    Columbia    University,    New    York,    N.    Y. 

[415  W.  118th  St.] 
Mosher,   William   Eugene,   Professor  of   the   German   Language  and 

Literature,  Oberlin  College,  Oberlin,  O. 
Mott,  Lewis  F.,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Literature, 

College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam 

Ave.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
Moyse,  Charles  E.,  Vice-Principal  and  Dean  of  the  Faculty  of  Arts, 

McGill  University,  Montreal,  Canada. 
Mulfinger,    George   Abraham,   Professor   of   German   Literature   and 

Philology,  Allegheny  College,  Meadville,  Pa. 
Mutterer,   Frederick  Gilbert,   Head  of  the   Department  of   German, 

Indiana  State  Normal  School,  Terre  Haute,  Ind.     [650  Mul- 
berry St,] 
Myers,  Clara  L.,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  College  for  Women, 

Western  Reserve  University,  Cleveland,  O. 

Nadal,  Thomas  William,  Dean  and  Professor  of  English,  Olivet  Col- 
lege, Olivet,  Mich.  [71  Hammond  St.,  Cambridge,  Mass.] 

Nason,  Arthur  Huntington,  Instructor  in  English,  New  York  Uni- 
versity, University  Heights,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Neff,  Theodore  Lee,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  University  of 
Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Neidig,  William  J.,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Wisconsin, 
Madison,  Wis.  [435  Hawthorne  Place.] 

Neilson,  William  Allan,  Professor  of  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [2  Biedesel  Ave.] 

Nelson,  Clara  Albertine,  Professor  of  French,  Ohio  Wesleyan  Univer- 
sity, Delaware,  O. 

Nettleton,  George  Henry,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Sheffield 
Scientific  School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [339 
Prospect  St.] 

Nevens,  Charles  Freeman,  Instructor  in  French  and  German,  Buck- 
nell  University,  Lewisburg,  Pa.  [Box  541.] 

Newcomer,  Alphonso  Gerald,  Professor  of  English,  Leland  Stanford 
Jr.  University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal.  [Box  894.] 

Newcomer,  Charles  Berry,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Transyl- 
vania University,  Lexington,  Ky.  [335  N.  Broadway.] 

Newport,  Mrs.  Clara  Price,  Instructor  in  Latin,  Swarthmore  Col- 
lege, Swarthmore,  Pa. 

Newson,  Henry  Dorsey,  President  of  the  Newson  Publishing  Co.,  18 
E.  17th  St.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Nichols,  Edwin  Bryant,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Kenyon 
College,  Gambier,  O. 


Ixxxviii  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Nitze,    William  Albert,    Professor  of    Komance    Languages,    University 

of   California,   Berkeley,    Cal. 
Nix,  Amalie  Ida  Frances,  Teacher  of  German,  Mechanic  Arts  High 

School,  St.   Paul,  Minn.     [715  Laurel  Ave.] 
Noble,   Charles,    Professor    of    the    English   Language   and   Rhetoric, 

Iowa  College,  Grinnell,  Iowa.     [1110  West  St.] 
von  Noe,  Adolf   Carl,  Instructor   in  German  Literature,   University 

of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Nollen,  John  S.,  President,  Lake  Forest  College,  Lake  Forest,  111. 
Norris,  Clarence  Elnathan,  Instructor  in  German,  Brown  University, 

Providence,  R.  I.     [6   Chandler  St.,   Worcester,  Mass.] 
Northup,  Clark  S.,  Assistant  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 

Literature,    Cornell    University,   Ithaca,   N.   Y.     [107    College 

Place.] 

Ogden,  Philip,  Assistant  Professor  of  French  Literature,  Johns  Hop- 
kins University,  Baltimore,  Md. 

O'Leary,  Raphael  Dorman,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Univer- 
sity of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas.  [1106  Louisiana  St.] 

Oliver,  Thomas  Edward,  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages,  Univer- 
sity of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111.  [912  W.  California  Ave.] 

Olmsted,  Everett  Ward,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y.  [730  University  Ave.] 

Opdycke,  Leonard  Eckstein,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [117  E.  69th  St.] 

Osgood,  Charles  Grosvenor,  Jr.,  Preceptor  in  English,  Princeton  Uni- 
versity, Princeton,  N.  J. 

Osthaus,  Carl  W.  F.,  Junior  Professor  of  German,  Indiana  University, 
Bloomington,  Ind.  [4J7  S.  Fess  Ave.] 

Ott,  John  Henry,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Literature, 
College  of  the  Northwestern  University,  Watertown,  Wis. 

Owen,  Edward  Thomas,  Professor  of  French  and  Linguistics,  Univer- 
sity of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis. 

1 
Padelford,  Frederick  Morgan,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 

Literature,  University  of  Washington,  Seattle,  Wash.  [Uni- 
versity Station.] 

Page,  Curtis  Hidden,  Professor  of  the  Romance  Languages  and  Lit- 
eratures, Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Palmer,  Arthur  Hubbell,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and 
Literature,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [149  E.  Rock 
Road.] 

Palmer,  Philip  Mason,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Lehigh  Uni- 
versity, So.  Bethlehem,  Pa.  [61  Church  St.,  Bethlehem,  Pa.] 

Pancoast,  Henry  Spackman,  Germantown,  Pa.     [267  E.  Johnson  St.] 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  Ixxxix 

Papot,  Benedict,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  R.  T.  Crane  Man- 
ual Training  High  School,  Chicago,  111.  [1038  Jackson  Boule- 
vard.] 

Park,  Clyde  William,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Cincinnati, 
Cincinnati,  O. 

Patterson,  Arthur  Sayles,  Professor  of  French,  Syracuse  University, 
Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [415  University  Place.] 

Paton,  Lucy  Allen,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [Care  of  Miss  Alma  Blount, 
Ypsilanti,  Mich.] 

Payne,  L.  W.,  Jr.,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Texas,  Austin, 
Texas.  [2104  Pearl  St.] 

Pearson,  Calvin  Wasson,  Edwardsville,  Kansas. 

Pellissier,  Adeline,  Instructor  in  French,  Smith  College,  North- 
ampton,- Mass.  [32  Crescent  St.] 

Penn,  Henry  C.,  Professor  of  English,  Washington  University,  St. 
Louis,  Mo. 

Penniman,  Josiah  Harmar,  Professor  of  English  Literature  and  Dean 
of  the  College,  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Perrin,  Ernest  Noel,  Instructor  in  English,  College  of  the  City  of 
New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [Harvard  Union,  Cambridge, 
Mass.] 

Perrin,  Marshall  Livingston,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages,  Bos- 
ton University,  688  Boylston  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 

Perry,  Bliss,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [5  Clement  Circle.] 

Petersen,  Kate  O.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.     [91  Eighth  Ave.] 

Pettengill,  Ray  Waldron,  Teaching  Fellow  in  German,  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, Cambridge,  Mass.  [28  Conant  Hall.] 

Phelan,  Anna  Augusta  Helmholtz,  Instructor  in  English,  University 
of  Minnesota,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Phelps,  William  Lyon,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Yale  Univer- 
sity, New  Haven,  Conn. 

Phillips,  Marvin  William,  Instructor  in  Foreign  Languages,  Mis- 
sissippi Agricultural  and  Mechanical  College,  Agricultural 
College,  Miss. 

Pierce,  Frederick  Erastus,  Instructor  in  English,  Sheffield  Scientific 
School,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [622  Wash- 
ington Ave.,  West  Haven,  Conn.] 

Plimpton,  George  A.,  Ginn  &  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [70  Fifth  Ave.l 

Poll,  Max,  Professor  of  German,  University  of  Cincinnati,  Cincin- 
nati, 0. 

Pope,  Paul  Russel,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Cornell  Univer- 
sity, Ithaca,  N.  Y.  [Cayuga  Heights.] 

0 


XC  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Potter,  Albert  K.,  Associate  Professor  of  the  English  Language, 
Brown  University,  Providence,  R.  I.  [220  Waterman  St.] 

Potter,  Murray  A.,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Har- 
vard University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [191  Commonwealth  Ave., 
Boston,  Mass.] 

Pound,  Louise,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University 
of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb.  [1632  L  St.] 

Prettyman,  Cornelius  William,  Professor  of  the  German  Language 
and  Literature,  Dickinson  College,  Carlisle,  Pa. 

Priest,  George  Madison,  Preceptor  in  Modern  Languages,  Princeton 
LTniversity,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

Primer,  Sylvester,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages,  University  of 
Texas,  Austin,  Texas.  [2709  Rio  Grande  St.] 

Prokosch,  Edward,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Wisconsin, 
Madison,  Wis. 

Pugh,  Anne  L.,  Wells  College,  Aurora,  N.  Y. 

Putnam,  Edward  Kirby,  Acting  Director,  Davenport  Academy  of 
Sciences,  Davenport,  Iowa. 

Putzker,  Albin,  Professor  of  German  Literature,  University  of  Cali- 
fornia, Berkeley,  Cal. 

Pyre,  James  Francis  Augustine,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Uni- 
versity of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [625  Mendota  Court.] 

Quinn,  Arthur  Hobson,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Raggio,  Andrew  Paul,  Assistant   Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 

University  of  Maine,   Orono,  Me. 
Ramsay,  Robert  Lee,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Missouri, 

Columbia,  Mo. 
Rankin,  James  Walter,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [14 

Sumner  Road.] 
Ransmeier,  John  Christian,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Tulane 

University  of  Louisiana,  New  Orleans,  La. 
Raschen,  John  Frederick  Louis,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages 

and  their  Literature,,    Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa. 
Ravenel,  Mrs.  Florence  Leftwich,  Biltmore,  N.  C. 
Ray,  John  Arthur,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  U.  'S.  Naval 

Academy,  Annapolis,   Md.     [Hotel   Maryland.] 
Reed,  Albert  Granberry,  Assistant   Professor  of  English,   Louisiana 

State  University,  Baton  Rouge,  La. 
Reed,    Edward    Bliss,    Assistant    Professor    of    English    Literature, 

Yale   University,   New   Haven,    Conn.     [Yale    Station.] 
Reeves,  William  Peters,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Lit- 
erature, Kenyon  College,  Gambier,  O. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  xci 

Remy,  Alfred,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  Commercial  High 
School,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  [Box  13,  Bronxville,  N.  Y.] 

Remy,  Arthur  Frank  Joseph,  Adjunct  Professor  of  Germanic  Phi- 
lology, Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Rendtorff,  Karl  G.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Leland  Stanford 
Jr.  University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal.  [1130  Bryant  St.] 

Rennert,  Hugo  Albert,  Professor  of  Romanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, University  of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [4408 
Chestnut  St.] 

Rhoades,  Lewis  A.,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  0. 

Rice,  Carl  Cosmo,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la.  [Box  55.] 

Rice,  John  Pierpont,  Instructor  in  French,  Yale  University,  New 
Haven,  Conn.  [77  Elm  St.] 

Richards,  Alfred  Ernest,  Instructor  in  German,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J.  [14  University  Place.] 

Riemer,  Guido  Carl  Leo,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Bucknell 
University,  Lewisburg,  Pa. 

Robbins,  Fred  Oscar,  Instructor  in  French,  Yale  University,  New- 
Haven,  Conn.  [215  Livingston  St.] 

Robertson,  James  Alexander,  Historical  Editor,  State  Historical 
Library,  Madison,  Wis. 

Robertson,  Luanna,  Head  of  the  German  Department,  High  School 
of  the  School  of  Education  of  the  University  of  Chicago, 
Chicago,  111.  [Kelly  Hall,  University  of  Chicago.] 

Robinson,  Fred  Norris,  Professor  of  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [Longfellow  Park.] 

Robinson,  Grace  Louise,  Rensselaer,  N.  Y.     [14  Catharine  St.] 

Roedder,  Edwin  Carl,  Assistant  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology, 
University  of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [412  Lake  St.] 

Root,  Robert  Kilburn,  Preceptor  in  English,  Princeton  University, 
Princeton,  N.  J. 

Rosenthal,  Daniel  Crehange,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [Care  of  S.  Samuels, 
515  W.  134th  St.] 

Roulston,  Robert  Bruce,  German  Master,  Country  School  for  Boys, 
Charles  St.  Ave.,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Roux,  Louis  Alexandre,  Master  in  French  and  Latin,  Newark  Acad- 
emy, Newark,  N.  J.  [544  High  St.] 

Roy,  Rev.  James,  Niagara  Falls,  N.   Y.     [Station  A.] 

Rumsey,  Olive,  Westfield,  Chautauqua  Co.,  N.  Y. 

Ruutz-Rees,  Caroline,  Head  Mistress,  Rosemary  Hall,  Greenwich, 
Conn. 

* 


XC11  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Sachs,  Julius,  Professor  of  Secondary  Education,  Teachers'  College, 
Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

de  Salvio,  Alphonso,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Northwestern 
University,  Evanston,  111.  [Association  des  Etudiants,  43  rue 
des  Ecoles,  Paris,  France.] 

Sampson,  Martin  Wright,  Acting  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y. 

Sanderson,  Robert  Louis,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  Yale  Uni- 
versity, New  Haven,  Conn. 

Saunders,  Mrs.  Mary  J.  T.,  Professor  Emeritus  of  Modern  Languages, 
Randolph-Macon  Women's  College,  Lynchburg,  Va.  [7  Lowell 
St.,  Cambridge,  Mass.] 

Schelling,  Felix  E.,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University  of 
Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [College  Hall,  University  of 
Pennsylvania.] 

Schevill,  Rudolph,  Asistant  Professor  of  the  Spanish  Language  and 
Literature,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [Yale  Station.] 

Schilling,  Hugo  Karl,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, University  of  California,  Berkeley,  Cal.  [2316  Le  Conte 
Ave.] 

Schinz,  Albert,  Associate  Professor  of  French  Literature,  Bryn  Mawr 
College,  Bryn  Mawr,  Pa. 

Schlatter,  Edward  Bunker,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [216  Brooks  St.] 

Schlenker,  Carl,  Professor  of  German,  University  of  Minnesota, 
Minneapolis,  Minn.  [422  Union  St.,  S.  E.] 

Schmidt,  Friedrich  Georg  Gottlob,  Professor  of  the  German  Lan- 
guage and  Literature,  University  of  Oregon,  Eugene,  Ore. 
[345  E.  13th  St.] 

Schmidt,  Gertrud  Charlotte,  Head  of  the  German  Department,  Miss 
Wright's  School,  Bryn  Mawr,  Pa.  [66  Denbigh  Hall,  Bryn 
Mawr  College.] 

Schmidt,  Mrs.  Violet  Jayne,  Urbana,  111.     [903  W.  California  Ave.] 

Schneider,  John  Philip,  Professor  of  English,  Wittenberg  College, 
Springfield,  O.  [206  Ferncliff  Ave.] 

Schofield,  William  Henry,  Professor  of  Comparative  Literature,  Har- 
vard University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [101  Brattle  St.] 

Scholl,  John  William,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Michigan, 
Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [1017  Vaughn  St.] 

Schradieck,  Helen  Elizabeth,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  [535  Washington 
Ave.] 

Scott,  Charles  Pay  son  Gurley,  Editor,  Yonkers,  N.  Y.  [150  Wood- 
worth  Ave.] 

Scott,  Fred  Newton,  Professor  of  Rhetoric,  University  of  Michigan, 
Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [539  E.  University  Ave.] 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  xciii 

Scott,  Mary  Augusta,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Smith  College,  Northampton,  Mass. 

Sechrist,  Frank  Kleinfelter,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  State  Normal  School,  Stevens  Point,  Wis.  [934 
Clark  St.] 

Segall,  Jacob  Bernard,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University 
of  Maine,  Orono,  Me. 

Semple,  Lewis  B.,  Teacher  of  English,  Commercial  High  School, 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  [229  Jefferson  Ave.] 

Severy,  Ernest  E.,  Vice-Principal,  Mooney  School,  Murfreesboro, 
Tenn, 

Seymour,  Arthur  Romeyn,  Associate  in  Spanish,  University  of  Illi- 
nois, Urbana,  111. 

Shackford,  Martha  Hale,  Associate  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
Wellesley  College,  Wellesley,  Mass.  [18  Abbott  St.] 

Shannon,  Edgar  Finley,  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Arkansas, 
Fayetteville,  Ark.  [15  S.  Duncan  Ave.] 

Sharp, -Robert,  Professor  of  English,  Tulane  University  of  Louisiana. 
New  Orleans,  La. 

Shaw,  James  Eustace,  Associate  in  Italian,  Johns  Hopkins  University, 
Baltimore,  Md. 

Shearin,  Hubert  Gibson,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  Kentucky  University,  Lexington,  Ky.  [212  Rand 
Ave.] 

Sheldon,  Edward  Stevens,  Professor  of  Romance  Philology,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [11  Francis  Ave.] 

Shepard,  William  Pierce,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Hamilton 
College,  Clinton,  N.  Y. 

Sherman,  Lucius  A.,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, University  of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

Sherman,  Stuart  Pratt,  Associate  in  English,  University  of  Illinois, 
Urbana,  111.  [707  W.  California  St.] 

Sherzer,  Jane,  President  and  Professor  of  English,  Oxford  College 
for  Women,  Oxford,  0. 

Shillock,  Anna  Felicia,  Senior  German  Teacher,  East  Minneapolis 
High  School,  Minneapolis,  Minn.  [425  Twelfth  Ave.,  S.  E.] 

Shipherd,  Henry  Robinson,  Assistant  in  English,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [69  Dana  St.] 

Shipley,  George,  Editor  of  The  Baltimore  American,  Baltimore,  Md. 
[University  Club.] 

Shumway,  Daniel  Bussier,  Assistant  Professor  of  Germanic  Lan- 
guages and  Literatures,  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Phila- 
delphia, Pa. 


XC1V  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Shute,  Henry  Martin,  Instructor  in  German,  Phillips  Academy,  Ex- 
eter, N.  H. 

Sills,  Kenneth  Charles  Morton,  Professor  of  Latin,  Bowdoin  College, 
Brunswick,  Me. 

Simonds,  William  Edward,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Knox 
College,  Galesburg,  111. 

Simonton,  James  S.,  Professor  Emeritus  of  the  French  Language  and 
Literature,  Washington  and  Jefferson  College,  Washington,  Pa. 

Skinner,  Macy  Millmore,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Leland 
Stanford  Jr.  University,  Stanford  University,  Cal. 

Skinner,  Prescott  O.,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
Dartmouth  College,  Hanover,  N.  H. 

Sloane,  Thomas  O' Conor,  Consulting  Engineer  and  Chemist,  South 
Orange,  N.  J. 

Smith,  C.  Alphonso,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Dean 
of  the  Graduate  Department,  University  of  North  Carolina, 
Chapel  Hill,  N.  C. 

Smith,  Edward  Laurence,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Delaware 
College,  Newark,  Del. 

Smith,  Florence  Mary,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [418 
W.  118th  St.] 

Smith,  Frank  Clifton,  Gurleyville,  Conn. 

Smith,  Hugh  Allison.  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University 
of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [504  Madison  St.] 

Smith,  Kirby  Flower,  Professor  of  Latin,  Johns  Hopkins  University, 
Baltimore,  Md. 

Smyser,  William  E.,  Professor  of  English,  Ohio  Wesleyan  Univer- 
sity, Delaware,  O. 

Snavely,  Guy  Everett,  Registrar  and  Assistant  Professor  of  French, 
Allegheny  College,  Meadville,  Pa. 

Snow,  William  Brackett,  Head  of  the  Department  of  Modern  Lan- 
guages, English  High  School,  Boston,  Mass. 

Snyder,  Henry  Nelson,  President  and  Professor  of  English  Litera- 
ture, Wofford  College,  Spartansburg,  S.  C. 

Spaeth,  J.  D.,  Preceptor  in  English,  Princeton  University,  Princeton, 
N.  J. 

Spanhoofd,  Arnold  Werner,  Head  of  the  Modern  Language  Depart- 
ment in  the  High  and  Manual  Training  Schools,  Washing- 
ton, D.  C.  [2015  Hillyer  Place,  N.  W.] 

Spanhoofd,  Edward,  Head  of  the  Department  of  German,  St.  Paul's 
School,  Concord,  N.  H. 

Speckmann,  Wesley  Nast,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Kansas 
Wesleyan  University,  Salina,  Kas. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOB    1907.  XCV 

Speranza,  Carlo  Leonardo,  Professor  of  Italian,  Columbia  Univer- 
sity, New  York,  N.  Y.  [120  E.  86th  St.] 

Spingarn,  Joel  Elias,  Adjunct  Professor  of  Comparative  Literature, 
Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [9  W.  73d  St.] 

Stathers,  Madison,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  West 
Virginia  University,  Morgantown,  W.  Va. 

van  Steenderen,  Frederic  C.  L.,  Professor  of  the  French  Language 
and  Literature,  Lake  Forest  College,  Lake  Forest,  111. 

Steeves,  Harrison  Ross,  Tutor  in  English,  Columbia  University, 
New  York,  N.  Y. 

Stempel,  Guido  Hermann,  Associate  Professor  of  Comparative  Phi- 
lology, Indiana  University,  Bloomington,  Ind. 

Sterling,  Susan  Adelaide,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Univer- 
sity of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [109  W.  Washington  Ave.] 

Stevens,  Alice  Porter,  Associate  Professor  of  German,  Mt.  Holyoke 
College,  South  Hadley,  Mass. 

Stewart,  Morton  Collins,  Instructor  in  German,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [22  Mt.  Auburn  St.] 

Stoddard,  Francis  Hovey,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  New  York  University,  University  Heights,  New 
York,  N.  Y.  [22  West  68th  St.] 

Stoll,  Elmer  Edgar,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Western  Reserve 
University,  Cleveland,  0. 

Stowell,  William  Averill,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Randolph- 
Macon  College,  Lynchburg,  Va. 

Strauss,  Louis  A.,  Junior  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Michi- 
gan, Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [900  Lincoln  Ave.] 

Stroebe,  Lilian  L.,  Instructor  in  German,  Vassar  College,  Pough- 
keepsie,  N.  Y. 

Strong,   Caroline,  Portland,  Ore.     [46  N.   22d  St.] 

Sturtevant,  Albert  Morey,  Instructor  in  Germanic  Languages,  Uni- 
versity of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kas.  [931  Louisiana  St.] 

Sutton,  S.  Helena,  Principal,  Haverford  Friends'  School,  Haverford, 
Pa.  [Bryn  Mawr,  Pa.] 

Swearingen,  Grace  Fleming,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and 
Literature,  Olivet  College,  Olivet,  Mich. 

Swiggett,  Glen  Levin,  Profesor  of  Modern  Languages,  University  of 
the  South,  Sewanee,  Tenn. 

Sykes,  Frederick  Henry,  Professor  of  English  and  Director  of  Ex- 
tension Teaching,  Teachers'  College,  Columbia  University. 
New  York,  N.  Y. 

Sypherd,  Wilbur  Owen,  Professor  of  English  and  Political  Sciences, 
Delaware  College,  Newark,  Del. 


XCV1  MODERN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Tatlock,  John  Strong  Perry,  Junior  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

Taylor,  George  Coffin,  Professor  of  the  English  Language,  University 
of  Colorado,  Boulder,  Col.  [542  Arapahoe  St.] 

Taylor,  Joseph  Russell,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Ohio  State 
University,  Columbus,  O. 

Taylor,  Lucien  Edward,  Boston,  Mass.     [839  Boylston  St.,  Suite  3.] 

Taylor,  Marion  Lee,  Albany,  N.  Y.     [362  Clinton  Ave.] 

Taylor,  Robert  Longley,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  Dartmouth 
College,  Hanover,  N.  H. 

Telleen,  John  Martin,  Assistant  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English, 
Case  School  of  Applied  Science,  Cleveland,  O. 

Thayer,  Harvey  Waterman,  Preceptor  in  German,  Princeton  Univer- 
sity, Princeton,  N.  J. 

Thieme,  Hugo  Paul,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  University  of 
Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [1209  E.  University  Ave.] 

Thomas,  Calvin,  Professor  of  the  Germanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, Columbia  University,  New,  York,  N.  Y. 

Thomas,  May,  Instructor  in  German,  Ohio  State  University,  Colum- 
bus, 0.  [162  Fourteenth  Ave.] 

Thompson,  Elbert  N.  S.,  Instructor  in  Rhetoric,  Yale  University, 
New  Haven,  Conn.  [732  Elm  St.] 

Thompson,  Guy  Andrew,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Maine,  Orono,  Me. 

Thorndike,  Ashley  Horace,  Professor  of  English,  Columbia  University, 
New  York,  N.  Y. 

Thurber,  Charles  H.,  Ginn  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass.     [29  Beacon  St.] 

Thurber,  Edward  Allen,  Instructor  in  English,  University  of  Mis- 
souri, Columbia,  Mo. 

Tibbals,  Kate  Watkins,  Instructor  in  English,  Vassar  College,  Pough- 
keepsie,  N.  Y. 

Tilley,  Morris  Palmer,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University  of 
Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.  [924  Baldwin  Ave.] 

Tisdel,  Frederick  Monroe,  President  of  the  University  of  Wyoming, 
Laramie,  Wyoming. 

Todd,  Henry  Alfred,  Professor  of  Romance  Philology,  Columbia  Uni- 
versity, New  York,  N.  Y. 

Todd,  T.  W.,  Professor  of  German,  Washburn  College,  Topeka,  Kas. 

Tolman,  Albert  Harris,  Associate  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Tombo,  Rudolph,  Jr.,  Registrar  and  Adjunct  Professor  of  the  Ger- 
manic Languages  and  Literatures,  Columbia  University,  New 
York,  N.  Y. 


PROCEEDINGS   FOE    1907.  XCVii 

Tombo,  Rudolf,  ST.,  Instructor  in  German,  Alcuin  School,  New  York, 
N.  Y.  [321  St.  Nicholas  Ave.] 

Toy,  Walter  Dallam,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages  and  Litera- 
tures, University  of  North  Carolina,  Chapel  Hill,  N.  C. 

Trent,  William  Peterfield,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Columbia 
University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [The  Churchman,  Lafayette 
Place.] 

Trueblood,  Ralph  Waldo,  Instructor  in  German  and  Science,  Grant 
High  School,  Cranford,  N.  J.  [114  Vernon  Ave.] 

Truscott,  Frederick  W.,  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages,  West 
Virginia  University,  Morgantown,  W.  Va. 

Tufts,  James  Arthur,  Professor  of  English,  Phillips  Academy,  Exeter, 
N.  H. 

Tupper,  Frederick,  Jr.,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, University  of  Vermont,  Burlington,  Vt. 

Tupper,  James  Waddell,  Assistant  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa. 

Turk,  Milton  Haight,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  the  English  Lan- 
guage and  Literature,  Hobart  College,  Geneva,  N.  Y.  [678 
Main  St.] 

Turrell,  Charles  Alfred,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  University 
of  Arizona,  Tucson,  Arizona. 

Tuttle,  Edwin  Hotchkiss,  Modern  Language  Master,  Boys'  Latin 
School,  Baltimore,  Md.  [217  Mansfield  St.,  New  Haven,  Conn.] 

Tweedie,  William  Morley,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature,  Mount  Allison  College,  Sackville,  N.  B. 

Tynan,  Joseph  Lawrence,  Tutor  in  English,  College  of  the  City  of 
New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [1781  Sedgwick  Ave.] 

Umphrey,  George  Wallace,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance  Langua- 
ges, University  of  Cincinnati,  Cincinnati,  O. 

Underwood,  Charles  Marshall,  Jr.,  Assistant  Professor  of  Romance 
Languages,  Simmons  College,  Boston,  Mass.  [Felton  Hall, 
Cambridge,  Mass.] 

Upham,  Alfred  Horatio,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Lit- 
erature, Miami  University,  Oxford,  O.  [314  E.  Church  St.] 

Utter,  Robert  Palfrey,  Instructor  in  English,  Amherst  College,  Ain- 
herst,  Mass. 

Vaughan,  Herbert  H.,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  University 

of   Michigan,   Ann  Arbor,   Mich. 
Viles,  George  Burridge,  Associate  Professor  of  Germanic  Languages 

and  Literatures,  Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  O. 

7  • 


XCV111  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Vogel,  Frank,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Massachusetts  Insti- 
tute of  Technology,  Boston,  Mass.  [95  Robinwood  Ave.,  Ja- 
maica Plain,  Mass.] 

Vos,  Bert  John,  Professor  of  German,  Indiana  University,  Blooming- 
ton,  Ind. 

Voss,  Ernst  Karl  Johann  Heinrich,  Professor  of  German  Philology, 
University  of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [218  W.  Gilman  St.] 

Vreeland,  Williamson  UpDike,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
Princeton  University,  Princeton,  N  J. 

Wahl,  George  Moritz,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Litera- 
ture, Williams  College,  Williamstown,  Mass. 

Wallace,  Malcolm  William,  Lecturer  in  English,  University  College, 
University  of  Toronto,  Toronto,  Canada./ 

Walter,  Hermann,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  McGill  University, 
Montreal,  Canada. 

Walz,  John  Albrecht,  Assistant  Professor  of  the  German  Language 
and  Literature,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [13% 
Billiard  St.] 

Warren,  Frederick  Morris,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Yale 
University,  New  Haven,  Conn. 

Wauchope,  George  Armstrong,  Professor  of  English,  University  of 
South  Carolina,  Columbia,  S.  C. 

Waxman,  Samuel  Montefiore,  Instructor  in  Romanic  Languages, 
Syracuse  University,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  [21  rue  Valette,  Paris, 
France.] 

Weber,  Hermann  J.,  Instructor  in  German,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [43  Lexington  Ave.] 

Weber,  William  Lander,  President  and  Professor  of  English,  Cen- 
tenary College  of  Louisiana,  Shreveport,  La. 

Webster,  Kenneth  G.  T.,  Instructor  in  English,  Harvard  Univer- 
sity, Cambridge,  Mass.  [19  Ash  St.] 

Weeks,  Raymond,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  University  of 
Illinois,  Urbana,  111. 

Weill,  F61ix,  Instructor  in  French,  College  of  the  City  of  New  York, 
New  York,  N.  Y.  [153  E.  88th  St.] 

Weiss,  Henry,  U.  S.  Government  Interpreter  and  Translator,  Port 
Townsend,  Wash.  [Box  63.] 

Wells,  Edgar  H.,  Secretary  for  Appointments,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [9  University  Hall.] 

Wells,  John  Edwin,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Hiram  College, 
Hiram,  O. 

Wells,  Leslie  C.,  Instructor  in  French  and  Spanish,  Collegiate  Depart- 
ment, Clark  University,  Worcester,  Mass. 


PROCEEDINGS    FOB    1907. 

Wernaer,  Robert  Maximilian,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [8  Prescott  St.] 

Werner,  Adolph,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Literature, 
College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [339 
W.  29th  St.] 

Wesselhoeft,  Edward  Karl,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Uni- 
versity of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  [College  Hall, 
University  of  Pennsylvania.] 

West,  Henry  Skinner,  Assistant  Superintendent  of  Schools,  Balti- 
more, Md. 

West,  Henry  Titus,  Professor  of  German,  Kenyon  College,  Gambier,  O. 

Weston,  George  Benson,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [2  Gannett  House.] 

Weygandt,  Cornelius,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Weyhe,  Hans,  Associate  in  German,  Bryn  Mawr  College,  Bryn  Mawr, 
Pa. 

Wharey,  James  Blanton,  Professor  of  English,  George  Peabody  Col- 
lege for  Teachers,  Nashville,  Tenn.  [200  24th  Ave.,  S.] 

Whitaker,  Lemuel,  Principal,  Southern  Manual  Training  High  School, 
Broad  and  Jackson  Sts.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Whitcomb,  Rupert  Henry,  Director  of  Music,  Cathedral  School  of 
St.  Paul,  Garden  City,  N.  Y. 

White,  Alain  C.,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [51  E.  57th  St.] 

White,  Horatio  Stevens,  Professor  of  German,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass.  [29  Reservoir  St.] 

Whitelock,  George,  Counsellor  at  Law,  Baltimore,  Md.  [1407  Con- 
tinental Trust  Building.] 

Whiteside,  Donald  Grant,  Instructor  in  English,  College  of  the  City 
of  New  York,  138th  St.  and  Amsterdam  Ave.,  New  York, 
N.  Y. 

Whitman,  Charles  Huntington,  Associate  Professor  of  English,  Rut- 
gers College,  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.  [189  College  Ave.] 

Whitney,  Marian  P.,  Professor  of  German,  Vassar  College,  Pough- 
keepsie,  N.  Y. 

Whittem,  Arthur  Fisher,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [23  Woodbridge  St.] 

Whoriskey,  Richard,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  New  Hampshire 
College,  Durham,  N.  H. 

Wiehr,  Josef,  Instructor  in  German,  University  of  Illinois,  Urbana, 
111. 

Wightman,  John  Roaf,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Oberlin 
College,  Oberlin,  O. 


C  MODERN    LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Wilkens,  Frederick  H.,  Assistant  Professor  of  German,  New  York, 
University,  University  Heights,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Wilkins,  Ernest  Hatch,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages,  Harvard 
University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [58  Shepard  St.] 

Wilson,  Charles  Bundy,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and 
Literature,  State  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  la. 

Winchester,  Caleb  Thomas,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Wes- 
leyan  University,  Middletown,  Conn. 

Winkler,  Max,  Professor  of  the  German  Language  and  Literature, 
University  of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

Wolff,  Samuel  Lee,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.  [Livings- 
ton Hall.] 

Wood,  Francis  Asbury,  Assistant  Professor  of  Germanic  Philology, 
University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

Wood,  Henry,  Professor  of  German,  Johns  Hopkins  University,  Bal- 
timore, Md.  [109  North  Ave.,  W.] 

Woods,  Charles  F.,  Instructor  in  Modern  Languages,  Lehigh  Uni- 
versity, So.  Bethlehem,  Pa.  [22  S.  High  St.,  Bethlehem,  Pa.] 

Worden,   J.   Perry,   American   Consul,   Bristol,   England. 

Wright,  Arthur  Silas,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Case  School 
of  Applied  Science,  Cleveland,  O. 

Wright,  Charles  Baker,  Professor  of  English  Literature  and  Rhetoric, 
Middlebury  College,  Middlebury,  Vt. 

Wright,  Charles  Henry  Conrad,  Assistant  Professor  of  French,  Har- 
vard University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [8  rue  Bucaille,  Honfleur, 
Calvados,  France.] 

Wylie,  Laura  Johnson,  Professor  of  English,  Vassar  College,  Pough- 
keepsie,  N.  Y. 

Young,  Bert  Edward,  Associate  Professor  of  Romance  Languages, 
Vanderbilt  University,  Nashville,  Tenn. 

Young,  Karl,  Assistant  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Wiscon- 
sin, Madison,  Wis. 

Young,  Mary  V.,  Professor  of  Romance  Languages,  Mt.  Holyoke  Col- 
lege, South  Hadley,  Mass. 

Zdanowicz,  Casimir  Douglass,  Instructor  in  Romance  Languages, 
University  of  Wisconsin,  Madison,  Wis.  [1804  Madison  St.] 

Zembrod,  A.  C.,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Kentucky  State 
College,  Lexington,  Ky.  [456  W.  4th  St.] 

[871] 


PEOCEEDINGS  FOR    1907.  ci 


LIBRARIES 

SUBSCRIBING  FOB  THE  PUBLICATIONS  OF  THE 
ASSOCIATION. 


Albany,  N.   Y.:    New  York   State  Library. 

Amherst,  Mass.:    Amherst  College  Library. 

Ann  Arbor,  Mich.:  General  Library  of  the  University  of  Michigan. 

Aurora,  N.  Y.:   Wells  College  Library. 

Austin,  Texas.:   Library  of  the  University  of  Texas. 

Baltimore,   Md.:    Enoch    Pratt    Free    Library. 

Baltimore,  Md. :  Johns  Hopkins  University  Library. 

Baltimore,  Md. :   Library  of  the  Peabody  Institute. 

Baltimore,  Md. :   Woman's  College  Library. 

Beloit,  Wis.:  Beloit  College  Library. 

Berkeley,  Cal:  Library  of  the  University  of  California. 

Berlin,  Germany:  Englisches  Seminar  der  Universitat  Berlin.     [Doro- 

theenstrasse   5.] 

Blacksburg,   Va. :    Library  of   the  Virginia   Polytechnic   Institute. 
Bloomington,  Ind.:    Indiana  University  Library. 
Boston,  Mass.:  Public  Library  of  the  City  of  Boston. 
Bryn  Mawr,  Pa.:   Bryn  Mawr  College  Library. 
Buffalo,  N.  Y.:  Buffalo  Public  Library. 
Burlington,  Vt.:    Library  of  the  University  of  Vermont. 
Cambridge,  England:  University  Library. 
Cambridge,  Mass.:   Harvard  University  Library. 
Cambridge,  Mass.:   Radcliffe  College  Library.  -, 

Chapel  Hill,  N.  C.:  Library  of  the  University  of  North  Carolina. 
Charlottesville,  Va. :   Library  of  the  University  of  Virginia. 
Chicago,  111.:   General  Library  of  the  University  of  Chicago. 
Chicago,  111.:  Newberry  Library. 
Cincinnati,  Ohio:  Library  of  the  University  of  Cincinnati.     [Burnet 

Woods  Park.] 

Cleveland,  Ohio:  Adelbert  College  Library. 
Collegeville,  Pa.:    Ursinus  College  Library. 
Columbia,  Mo.:    Library  of  the  University  of  Missouri. 
Concord,  N.  H.:  New  Hampshire  State  Library. 


Cll  MODERN   LANGUAGE   ASSOCIATION. 

Decorah,  Iowa:   Luther  College  Library. 

Detroit,  Mich.:  The  Public  Library. 

Easton,  Pa.:   Van  Wickle  Memorial  Library,  Lafayette  College. 

Evanston,  111.:   Northwestern  University  Library. 

Giessen,  Germany:   Die  Grossherzogliche  Universitats-Bibliothek. 

Graz,  Austria:    K.  K.   Universitats-Bibliothek. 

Greensboro,  Ala.:   Library  of  Southern  University. 

Halifax,  Nova  Scotia:    Dalhousie   College   Library. 

Hartford,    Conn. :    Watkinson   Library. 

Iowa  City,  Iowa:    Library  of  the   State  University  of  Iowa. 

Irvington,  Ind. :   Butler  College  Library. 

Ithaca,  N.  Y.:  Cornell  University  Library. 

Knoxville,   Tenn.:    University   of   Tennessee   Library. 

Lincoln,  Neb.:  State  University  of  Nebraska  Library. 

Lyons,  France:  Bibliotheque  de  1'Universite".  [18  quai  Claude  Ber- 
nard.] 

Madison,  Wis.:   University  of  Wisconsin  Library. 

Madrid,  Spain:  Junta  para  Ampliacion  de  Estudios  en  el  Estranjero. 
[Plaza  de  Bilbao  6.] 

Middlebury,   Vt.:    Middlebury   College   Library. 

Middletown,  Conn.:  Wesleyan  University  Library. 

Minneapolis,  Minn.:  University  of  Minnesota  Library. 

Munich,  Germany:   Konigliche  Hof-  und  Staats-Bibliothek. 

Nashville,  Tenn.:   Library  of  the  Peabody  College  of  Teachers. 

Nashville,  Tenn.:  Vanderbilt  University  Library. 

New  Haven,  Conn.:  Yale  University  Library. 

New  York,  N.  Y. :    Columbia  University  Library. 

New  York,  N.  Y.:  New  York  Public  Library  (Astor,  Lenox,  and 
Tilden  Foundations).  [425  Lafayette  St.] 

Oberlin,  O. :    Oberlin  College  Library. 

Painesville,  O.:  Library  of  Lake  Erie  College. 

Peoria,  111.:  Peoria  Public  Library. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.:  University  of  Pennsylvania  Library. 

Pittsburg,  'Pa. :  Carnegie  Library. 

Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y.:   Vassar   College  Library. 

Princeton,  N.  J.:  Library  of  Princeton  University. 

Providence,  R.  I.:  Library  of  Brown  University. 

Providence,  R.  I.:   Providence  Public  Library.     [Washington  St.] 

Reno,  Nev. :  University  Library. 

Rochester,  N.  Y. :  Library  of  the  University  of  Rochester.  [Prince  St.] 

Rock  Hill,  S.  C.:  Winthrop  Normal  and  Industrial  College  Library. 

Sacramento,   Cal.:    State  Library  of    California. 

St.   Louis,  Mo.:    Library  of   Washington   University. 


PKOCEEDINGS   FOB   1907.  ciii 

Seattle,  Wash.:    University  of  Washington  Library. 

South  Bethlehem,   Pa.:    Lehigh  University  Library. 

Stanford  University,  CaL:   Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University  Library. 

Swarthmore,  Pa.:    Swarthmore  College  Reading  Room. 

Syracuse,   N.   Y. :    Library   of    Syracuse   University. 

Urbana,    111.:    Library    of   the   University    of    Illinois.     [University 

Station.] 

Wellesley,    Mass.:    Wellesley    College    Reading    Room    Library. 
West  Point,  N.  Y.:   Library  of  the  U.  S.  Military  Academy. 
Williamstown,  Mass.:   Williams  College  Library. 
Worcester,  Mass.:  Free  Public  Library. 

[80] 


CIV  MODERN   LANGUAGE  ASSOCIATION. 


HONORARY  MEMBERS. 


K.  VON  BAHDEB,  University  of  Leipsic. 

HENBY  BBADLEY,  Oxford,  England. 

ALOIS  L.  BBANDL,  University  of  Berlin. 

W.  BBAUNE,  University  of  Heidelberg. 

KONBAD  BUBDACH,  University  of  Berlin. 

WENDELIN  FOEBSTEB,  University  of  Bonn. 

F.  J.   FUBNIVALL,   London,  England. 

GUSTAV  GROBER,  University  of  Strasburg. 

OTTO  JESPEBSEN,  University  of  Copenhagen. 

FB.  KLUGE,  University  of  Freiburg. 

EUGEN  KUHNEMANN,   University  of  Breslau. 

MARCELINO  MENENDEZ  Y  PELAYO,  Madrid,  Spain. 

PAUL  MEYEB,  Ecole  des  Chartes,  Paris,  France. 

W.  MEYER-LUBKE,  University  of  Vienna. 

JAKOB  MINOB,  University  of  Vienna. 

JAMES  A.  H.  MUBBAY,  Oxford,  England. 

ABTHUB  NAPIER,  University  of  Oxford. 

FBITZ  NEUMANN,  University  of  Heidelberg. 

ADOLF  NOBEEN,  University  of  Upsala. 

H.  PAUL,  University  of  Munich. 

Pio  RAJNA,  Florence,  Italy. 

AUGUST  SAUEB,  University  of  Prague. 

J.  SCHIPPEB,  University  of  Vienna. 

H.  SCHUCHABDT,  University  of  Graz. 

EBICH  SCHMIDT,  University  of  Berlin. 

EDUABD  SIEVEBS,  University  of  Leipsic. 

W.  W.  SKEAT,  University  of  Cambridge. 

JOHAN  STOBM,  University  of  Christiania. 

H.  SUCHIEB,  University  of  Halle. 

HENBY  SWEET,  Oxford,  England. 

ANTOINE  THOMAS,  Sorbonne,  Paris. 

ADOLF  TOBLEB,  University  of  Berlin. 

RICHARD  PAUL  WULKER,  University  of  Leipsic. 


PROCEEDINGS  FOB   1907.  CV 


ROLL  OF  MEMBERS  DECEASED. 


J.  T.  AKERS,  Central  College,  Richmond,  Ky. 

GBAZIADIO  I.  ASCOLI,  Milan,  Italy.     [1907.] 

T.  WHITING  BANCROFT,  Brown  University,  Providence,  R.  I.     [1890.] 

D.  L.  BARTLETT,  Baltimore,  Md.     [1899.] 

GEORGE  ALONZO   BARTLETT,  Harvard  University,   Cambridge,  Mass. 

[1908.] 

W.  M.  BASKERVILL,  Vanderbilt  University,  Nashville,  Tenn.     [1899.] 
ALEXANDER  MELVILLE  BELL,  Washington,  D.  C.     [1905.] 
A.  A.   BLOOMBERGH,  Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa.     [1906.] 
DANIEL  G.  BRINTON,  Media,  Pa.     [1899.] 
SOPHUS   BUGGE,  University  of  Christiania.     [1907.] 
FRANK  ROSCOE  BUTLER,  Hathorne,  Mass.     [1905.] 
CHARLES  CHOLLET,  West  Virginia  University,  Morgantown,  W.  Va. 

[1903.] 

HENRY   COHEN,   Northwestern  University,   Evanston,   111.     [1900.] 
WILLIAM  COOK,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [1888.] 
SUSAN  R.   CUTLER,  Chicago,   111.     [1899.] 

A.  N.   VAN   DAELL,  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology,  Boston, 

Mass.     [1899.] 

EDWARD  GRAHAM  DAVES,  Baltimore,  Md.     [1894.] 
W.  DEUTSCH,  St.  Louis,  Mo.     [1898.] 

ERNEST  AUGUST  EGGERS,  Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  0.  [1903.] 
FRANCIS  R.  FAVA,  Columbian  University,  Washington,  D.  C.  [1896.] 
L.  HABEL,  Norwich  University,  Northfield,  Vermont,  [1886.] 

B.  P.  HASDEU,  University  of  Bucharest,  Bucharest,  Rumania.    [1908.] 
RUDOLF  HAYM,  University  of  Halle.     [1901.] 

RICHARD  HEINZEL,  University  of  Vienna.     [1905.] 

GEORGE    A.    HENCH,    University    of    Michigan,    Ann    Arbor,    Mich. 

[1899.] 
JOHN   BELL  HENNEMAN,  University  of  the  South,   Sewanee,  Tenn. 

[1908.] 

RUDOLF  HILDEBBAND,  Leipsic,  Germany.     [1894]. 
JULES  ADOLPHE  HOBIGAND,  Boston,  Mass.     [1906.] 
JULIAN    HUGUENIN,    University    of    Louisiana,    Baton    Rouge,    La. 

[1901.] 
ANDREW  INGBAHAM,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [1905.] 


CV1  MODERN   LANGUAGE  ASSOCIATION. 

J.  KAEGE,  Princeton  College,  Princeton,  N.  J.     [1892.] 

GUSTAF  E.  KAESTEN,  University  of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111.     [1908.] 

F.  L.  KENDALL,  Williams  College,  Williamstown,  Mass.     [1893.] 

PAUL  OSCAR  KEEN,  University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.     [1908.] 

EUGEN  KOLBING,  Breslau,  Germany.     [1899.] 

J.  LEVY,  Lexington,  Mass. 

AUGUST  LODEMAN,  Michigan  State  Normal  School,  Ypsilanti,  Mich. 

[1902.] 

JULES  LOISEAU,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL,    Cambridge,   Mass.     [1891.] 
J.    LUQUIENS,    Yale   University,   New   Haven,    Conn.     [1899.] 
ALBERT  BENEDICT  LYMAN,  Baltimore,  Md.     [1907.] 
THOMAS  McCABE,  Bryn  Mawr  College,  Bryn  Mawr,  Pa.     [1891.] 
J.   G.   R.   MCELROY,   University  of  Pennsylvania,   Philadelphia,   Pa. 

[1891.] 

EDWARD  T.  MCLAUGHLIN,  Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn.  [1893.] 
EDWARD  H.  MAGILL,  Swarthmore  College,  Swarthmore,  Pa.  [1907.] 
Louis  EMIL  MENGER,  Bryn  Mawr  College,  Bryn  Mawr,  Pa.  [1903.] 
CHARLES  WALTER  MESLOH,  Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  O. 

[1904.] 
SAMUEL  P.  MOLENAER,  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

[1900.] 

JAMES  O.  MURRAY,  Princeton  University,  Princeton,  N.  J.     [1901.] 
ADOLF  MUSSAFIA,  University  of  Vienna,  Vienna,  Austria.     [1905.] 
BENNETT  HUBBARD  NASH,  Boston,  Mass.     [1906.] 
C.  K.  NELSON,  Brookville,  Md.     [1890.] 
W.  N.  NEVIN,  Lancaster,  Pa.     [1892.] 
WILLIAM  WELLS  NEWELL,  Cambridge,  Mass.     [1907.] 
CONRAD  H.  NORDBY,  College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

[1900.] 
C.   P.   OTIS,  Massachusetts   Institute   of  Technology,   Boston,  Mass. 

[1888.] 

GASTON  PARIS,  College  de  France,  Paris,  France.     [1903.] 
W.    H.    PERKINSON,    University    of    Virginia,    Charlottesville,    Va. 

[1898.] 

HERBERT  T.  POLAND,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass.  [1906.] 
SAMUEL  PORTER,  Gallaudet  College,  Kendall  Green,  Washington,  D.  C. 

[1901.] 

F.  YORK  POWELL,  University  of  Oxford,  Oxford,  England.     [1904.] 
KENE  DE  POYEN-BELLISLE,  University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111.     [1900.] 
THOMAS  R.  PRICE,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y.     [1903.] 
HENRY  B.  RICHARDSON,  Amherst  College,  Amherst,  Mass.     [1906.] 
CHARLES  H.  Ross,  Agricultural  and  Mechanical  College,  Auburn,  Ala. 

[1900.] 


PEOCEEDINGS   FOE   1907.  cvii 

M.   SCHELE  DE  VEBE,  University  of  Virginia,   Charlottesville,  Va. 

[1898.] 
0.    SEIDENSTICKEB,    University    of    Pennsylvania,    Philadelphia,    Pa. 

[1894.] 
JAMES  W.  SHEBIDAN,  College  of  the  City  of  New  York,  New  York, 

N.  Y. 

MAX  SOHRAUER,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

F.  R.   STENGEL,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
H.  TALLICHET,  Austin,  Texas.     [1894.] 
HIRAM   ALBERT   VANCE,   University   of   Nashville,   Nashville,   Tenn. 

[1906.] 

E.  L.  WALTER,  University  of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich.     [1898.] 
KARL  WEINHOLD,  University  of  Berlin.     [1901.] 
CLARA  WENCKEBACH,  Wellesley  College,  Wellesley,  Mass.     [1902.] 
HELENS  WENCKEBACH,  Wellesley  Cpllege,  Wellesley,  Mass.     [1888.] 
MARGARET  M.  WICKHAM,  Adelphi  College,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.     [1898.] 
R.  H.  WILLIS,  Chatham,  Va.     [1900.] 

CASIMIR  ZDANOWICZ,  Vanderbilt  University,  Nashville,  Tenn.  [1889.] 
JULIUS  ZUPITZA,  Berlin,  Germany.     [1895.] 


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