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Modern Language Association 








pububhxd by the asbooiation 
Feinted bt John Murpht & Company 




l.—Fmuto, A Gaacho Poem. By F. M. Paos, .... 1 

U.^Warmpth. By C. H. Grandgent, fiS 

UI.—Fiction as a College Stodj. Bj Bubb Pkbby, ... 76 

' I v.— The Phonology of the Spanish Dialect of Mexico City. By 

C. C. Mabden, 86 

V. — ^The Cbmparatiye Stndy of Literature. By A. B. Mabbh, - 151 

VI. — John Wesley's translations of German Hymns. By Jameb 

Taft Hatfield, 171 

YIL— Notes on Macbeth. By Albert H. Tolicak, - - - 200 

VIIL— The Nibelungenlied and Sage in Modem Poetry. By GuEVAV 

Gbxteneb, 220 

IX. — Histcrie von einem RUter, me er buetnt. By F. G. G. ScHMiDTy 258 

X. — tjber Goethe's Sonette. By J. Schiffeb, .... 275 

XI. — IVoihu and CrtMeyde: a study in Chaucer's method of narratiye 

construction. By Thomas R. Price, .... 307 

XII.— The Dialect of the Hildebranddied. By Frakgis A. Wood, 823 

Xm. — The origin of the rule forbidding hiatus in French yerse. 

By P. B. Maroou, 381 

XIV. — Antwurt ynd Elag mit Entschuldigung Doctor Mumere wider 

Bru^'der Michel Stifel. By Ernst Voes, ... 386 

XV.— Marco Polo and the SquM$ Jhle, By John Matthews 

Manly, 849 

XVI. — Shakespeare's Present Indicative «-Endings with Plural Sub- 
jects: a study of the grammar of the First Folio. By C. 
Alfhonso Smith, 868 

XV IL — ^Elizabethan Translations from the Italian : the titles of such 

works now first collected and arranged, with annotations. 

By Mart AuoxTSTA Scott, 877 

• •• 

iv 00KTENT3. 



ProoeedingB of the Thirteenth Annaal Meeting of the Modem 
Language Association of America, held at New Haven, Conn., 
Deoemher 26, 27, 28, 1895. 

Beport of the Secretary, iii 

Beport of the Treasorer, ........ iii 

Appointment of Committees, ....... iy 

Communication from the Central Modem Language Conference, ▼ 

1. The origin of the rule forbiding hiatus in French verse. Bj P. 

B. Mabgou, vii 

2. Marco Polo and the Squier^$ Tale, By John M. Mainly, - yii 

8. GK>ethe's attitude toward contemporary politics. By Bobebt 

N. CoBWiN, -- vii 

4. Ueber G^oethe's sonette. By J. Schiffer, .... yii 

6. The conventions of the Drama. By Brandeb Matthews, - vii 

6. The Nibdwigetdied and Sage in modem poetry. By Qubtav 

Gbueneb, vii 

7. Notes on John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester. By Henby S. Pan- 

coast, yii 

8. A Wilhelm Tell ballad in America. By M. D. Leabned, - ix 

9. Warmpik: a study of the development and the disappearance of 

a stop between nasal and spirant in American English. 

By C. H. Gbandoent, x 

10. Notes on Ben Jonson's quarrel with Marston. By Josiah H. 

Penndcan, X 

Address of welcome. By Timothy Dwioht, ... - x 

Address of welcome. By T. B. Lounbbuby, .... x 

Address by the President of the Association, James Mobqan 

BLabt. Subject : English as a Living Language, - - xi 

11. The physical characteristics of Dante's landscapes. By Oboab 

L. EuHKS, xviii 

Besolution relating to the action of the Faculties of Paris, - - xviii 
Besolution on the death of Professor J. Zupitsa, ... xviii 

12. The significance of Pastoral Poetry. By Homer Smith, - 



13. A study of the poetry of John Donne. By M. Q. Bbum- 

BAUOH, xix 

14. The Seeffe of Trcyt^ a Middle English romance. By C. H. A. 

Waoeb, xix 

15. John Wesley's translations of (German Hymns. By James 

T. Hatfield, xix 

16. The Comparatiye Study of Literature. By Abthub P. 

Marsh, xix 

17. The relation of Wolfila's Alphabet to the Gothic Futhork. 

By Gbobgs a. Hench, xix 

18. The etymology of Proyen9al eatra and Old French esbre. By 

H. R. Lano, XX 

19. The chansons of La Chidvre, French poet of the twelfth oen- 

tary. By A. B. Simonds, xx 

Commnnication to the Central Modem Language Conference, - xx 

20. Bichardson and Rousseau. By Benjamik W. Wklls, - xxi 

21. A study of the Nature of Rhythm. By Miss M. A. Haarib, xxi 

22. The home of Walter von der Vogelweide. By H. S. Whiter xxv 

23. Chaucer's development in rime-technique. By Gsobgs 


24. A phonetic transcription of a Louisiana Folk-Lore tale. By 

AlC^ FoRTI£B, --- XXV 

25. Conjectural restoration of the so-called Oarmm Qoihieum, By 


26. Elome unpublished poems of Feman Perez de Guzman. By 

Hugo A. Rennert, xxv 

27. The Italian naveUcu By Maby Auoubta Soott, ... xxvi 

Election of Officers, xxx 

Vote granting assistance to the Secretary, . - - - - xxxi 

Selection of place of meeting, xxxi 

28. ''Dis junge Deutschland" in America. By T. S. Bakxr, - xxxi- 

29. The sources of the dramaturgical ideas of Lenz. By Max 

W1NKI.ER, xxxi 

90. Two parallel studies in sociology: a comparison of certain 
features in a drama by Shakespeare and one by Ibsen. 
By C. B. Wmoht, xxxi 

81. aVoHuB and Oriaeyde : a study of Chaucer's method of narrative 

construction. By Thomab R. Price, ... - xxxiii 




82. Some features of Chanoer's yene. By Mokton W. Easton, xxziii 

33. Fiction as a College Study. By Bliss Perry, ... zxxiy 

34. Overlapping and multiple indications. By Andrxw Ikora- 

HAM, -.-..-.--. xxxiv 

35. The place of Schleiermacber and Fichte in the development 

of Geiman Bomantidsm. By Ettno Franckx, - - xzzv 

36. Hab^eke Higtorie von einem RtUer wie er buaaet : a manuscript 

of the fifteenth century. By F. 6. G. Schmidt, - - xzxv 

37. Notes on the use of cases after certain prepositions in Anglo- 

Saxon (Alfred, JBlfric, and the Ckronide). By H. M. 

Bkldsn, xxxvi 

38. Win Old Norse. By P. Groth, xxxvi 

Final vote of thanks, xxxvi 

List of Officers, xxxvii 

List of Members, --..-..-- xxxviii 

List of Subscribing Libraries, - - xlix 

Honorary Members, U 

Boll of Members Deceased, lii 

The Constitution of the Association, liii 


Proceedings of the First Annual Meeting of the Central Division 
of the Modem Language Association of America, held at 
Chicago, 111., December 30, 31, 1895, and January 1, 1896. 

Beport of the Secretary of the Conference, Iviii 

Beport of the Treasurer of the Conference. .... Ixii 

Appointment of Committees, Ixii 

1. Some features of Modem French criticism. By Fdouard 

BAHiLOT, Ixiii 

2. La Odettina: the question of authorship and position in Spanish 

literature. By C. A. Egoert, Ixiii 

3. Malay Words in English. By R. Clyde Food^ ... Ixiii 

4. Lenau's Nature Sense. By C. yon Elenze, .... Ixv 
Appointment of Committee on Organization, .... Ixvi 
6. Modem High German t for Germanic p. By Gsoboe Heicfi^ Ixvi 

■ • 



6. The emploTment of the Foreign lAngnage in the ClasB-room. 

By CARii Obthaus, Ixvii 

7. Shakespeare's Present Indicative «-ending with plural subjects. 

By C. Alphonso Smith, Ixvii 

8. Thought and Sentence in disagreement: selections from lec- 

tures on correspondence of thought and sentence. By 

Edward F. Owen, Ixvii 

9. On the Old High German HildthranMied, By F. H. WiL- 

X£N8, ---------- Ixvii 

10. Notes on Syllabication — its importance in teaching French 

pronunciation. By Atkinson Jenkins, - . . ixix 

11. Nasalis and Liquida Sonans in Indo-European. By G. E. 

Karsten, Ixxi 

12. A physiological criticism of the Sonant Theory. By H. 

Schmidt-Wartenbero, Ixxi 

13. Steinmar von Klingnau. By G. L. Sytiogett, - . . Ixxi 

14. The dialect of the HUdebranddied, By Francis A. Wood, Ixxii 

15. At what age should Foreign Languages be studied? By 

Paul Grummann, Ixxii 

16. Romance Allegory ftt>m Chaucer to Spenser. ByMrs.VioiiA 

Price Franklin, - Ixxii 

17. Omissions, additions, and mistakes in the Old French transla- 

tions of Pope Gregory on Etekiel. By Eugene Leber, Ixxii 

18. Studies in Mojcheth. By Albert H. Tolman, - - . Ixxiii 

Beport of the Committee on Organization, Ixxiii 

Constitution of the Central Division of the Modem Language 

Association of America, .-..-. Ixxiii 

Beports of Committees, --. Ixxiv 

Election of Officers, Ixxv 

Vote of Thanks, --. ixxv 

19. The language of Carlyle as affected by the German. By 

l^ERCY B. Burnett, Ixxvi 

20. The laws of hiatus -i in Ghillic Popular Latin. By 'Rvst de 

Poten-Bellisle, Ixxvii 

21. JEToffiuueu/iM. By A. Gerber, - Ixxvii 

22. Goethe's Philosophy. By Lawrence Fobsler, - - - Ixxvii 

23. Gothic ^. By George A. Hench, Ixxvii 


OF '^HE 



Vol. XI, 1. New Series, Vol. IV, 1. 


It is ever a source of regret to anyone interested in the 
glorious Argentine, lying under the Southern Cross, that its 
name cannot be mentioned, even casually, without its suggest- 
ing revolutions, uprisings, financial distress and ruin. It is 
an association accepted without question. To speak of that 
land and not touch upon revolutions, would be like airing one's 
impressions oi Hamlet without mentioning the noble Dane him- 
self. This comparison is somewhat venerable, to be sure, when 
one considers its three hundred winters and as many summers, 
but it is singularly suggestive with regard to La Plata, since 
it points to something being decidedly " rotten in the State." 
The latter thought, however, is not apt to disturb the equa-* 
nimity of the average Argentine mind. To the native of that 
favored country a revolution is no more out of the normal 
order of things than is a cyclone to our own Western people. 

A different condition of affairs, on the other hand, is always 
a source of much disquietude. During the long interr^num 
that preceded the very justifiable revolution of 1890 in Buenos 


2 F. M. PAGE. 

Ayres, the people of the Argentine became very uneasy over 
the uninterrupted reign of peace and tranquillity ; a couple 
hitherto unknown in those regions. Every one felt as if a 
cataclysm might unexpectedly disrupt the country beyond re- 
pair. It was like standing upon a mine of untold dimensions 
with its fatal match burning, no one knew where. The mine 
did explode in the course of time, but judge of the general 
relief when it turned out to be nothing but a plain, ordinary 
uprising, accompanied by the joyous sound of cannon and 
musketry^ the same familiar old tune, to which from father 
to son^ Argentines had danced for the last seventy years. 

The outside world might as usual have shrugged its shoul- 
ders with more or less good-nature and muttered trite jokes 
about the peculiar methods adopted by South American coun- 
tries to keep their blood and paper money in circulation. But 
it soon became evident that this was not one of the ordinary 
perennial expressions of public feeling in the Argentine; it was 
something requiring consideration ; it was ^* le grand bouquet/' 
one might say, of rioplatense revolutionary pyrotechnics; one 
that precipitated a volcanic financial crisis which shook the 
foundations of the world's monetary circles and shattered the 
edifice of Argentine credit. The world therefore stood aghast, 
almost terrified by the resounding crash of money sinking with 
the wreck of vast enterprises^ and its admiring respect for 
Argentina rose in proportion to the depth of the hole made 
in its own finances. 

That the world at large should be amazed by anything of 
the sort, is in reality a source of wonderment to anyone even 
slightly acquainted with the domestic history of countries 
where — " every day they make new loans and holders whistle 
for coupons; where Red and Whites fight every day and 
foreigners the piper pay." Be this as it may, Europeans are 
not easily discouraged, for European capital and European 
emigration continue to flow into La Plata ; and why ? Not 
only because of the ordinary human being's innate belief, an' 
it please messires the pessimists, in the ultimate righting of 


things, but also because of the marvelous recu[>erative power 
of a country, which justifies this confidence in its future by 
the most solid of all arguments, irreputable %ures. Not 
to speak of other greater industries, the country which thir- 
teen years ago imported 6,000,000 bushels of wheat from 
the United States, has this year with only one-twentieth of 
its 1,100,000 square miles area under cultivation, nearly 
60,000,000 bushels for export demand, or 50 per cent, more 
than the quantity exported in the year just closed.^ It is very 
much a custom to draw invidious comparisons between the 
English and Spanish Americas, and speculate upon the great 
things that might have been, had the latter been settled by 
the Anglo-Saxon. People of this race feel much contempt 
and little sympathy for nations who have retarded their own 
oivilization and material progress by a too thoughtless indul- 
gence of individual opinion. 

There are two characteristics, indeed, which draw a broad 
line of separation between the Anglo-Saxon and the so-called 
Neo-Latin races peopling this American Continent. The 
former possess to an admirable degree that modest spirit of 
calculation which prevents one from seeking anything higher 
than numl)er one, and it may be this consideration alone 
which keeps them, good fighters as they are, from fighting for 
the mere fun of the thing. With their fellow Continentals of 
Neo-Latin origin this is, unfortunately perhaps, not the case. 
As to whether or not they can always distinguish what is 
truly to their advantage, is a matter of serious doubt ; but as 
to whether they fight for the fun of it, involves no question ; 
the evidence is strongly in favor of the affirmative. No 
one will deny them the noble qualities of a noble race, or 
claim they are not as patriotic, as heroic, and oftentimes as 
patient and as long-suffering as the Anglo-Saxon, but it is a 
matter of regret, that they should lack the latter's solid, stolid, 
sturdy qualities, love of order, and that innate aptitude for 
aelf-government which is a characteristic of English-s})eaking 


4 F. M. PAGE. 

people. Thus, racial temperament inflaenoed by environment 
and not favored by circumstances, may have much to do with 
the proverbial unsteadiness of Spanish- American settlements. 
But without appealing to mere speculation, the actual causes 
of this state of affairs are well known ; their name is ten 
legions, and it is the combination of them which militates so 
fatally against the progress of our Southern neighlx)rs. 

Many of the evils which retarded their early development 
and perpetuated the baneful influence which still exists, can 
be attributed, in a great measure, to two prime causes. First 
of all, the ruinous Colonial system instituted and kept up for 
centuries by the mother country, and secondly the fatal absence 
of clear-headed statesmenship at periods most important to the 
colonies' future. Since their independence from Spain the young 
Republics have produced many notable men, but none super- 
naturally qualified to perform miracles and conjure fatal tenden- 
cies that only time and favoring circumstances can counteract. 
It is impossible now to fix a date for this consummation, so 
desirable to all the Spanish-speaking republics of this Conti- 
nent. Even in Argentina, one of the most progressive of them 
all, the provinces are still thinly populated, loosely bound 
together and often badly governed. They are continually 
exposed to the capricious fretfulness of private ambition-, local 
dissatisfaction, or what not ; numberless causes, big or small, 
which all merge into one great effect — revolution, and lead 
but to one end — ruin. 

This paper does not pretend to unravel such tangled ques- 
tions as the causes of tardy development in La Plata. A few 
historical facts, however, must be cited to justify, if possible, 
the rather grave indictment, that Spain's narrow Colonial 
System contributed more than anything toward keeping her Rio 
de la Plata Dependencies almost stationary for two centuries, 
and by excluding emigration, originated a condition of affairs 
not liable to perpetuation in more thickly populated countries. 

The history of Spanish South America reveals a singular 
parallelism existing between the discovery^ conquest and early 


settlement of the regions stretching East and West of the 
Andes. The very same year, 1515, that an expedition started 
down the Pacific coast to find the extremity of the American 
Continent and landed upon the Isle of Pearls, another expedi- 
tion under Diaz de Soils with a similar object in view, dis- 
covered the river Plate. Pizarro had no sooner established 
himself in Peru, than Cabot upon the banks of the Parang 
raised the fort of Sancti Spiritus (1527). The same year 
(1537) saw the foundation of the cities of Buenos Ay res and 
Lima; and later (1573), when the conquerors of Peru made 
an establishment at Cordoba del Tucuman, the pioneers of the 
fliture Argentina built the first houses of the city of Santa F6. 
Not long after this, the two human currents turned in their 
course; one pressing East and the other West, met unex- 
pectedly at Sancti Spiritus, thus establishing overland con- 
nection between the two Oceans. 

There the comparison stops; there is nothing in common 
between the Peruvian and Argentine civilizations, except their 
common origin. Actuated at first by the same motives, they 
each found their destinies shaped by the nature of the countries 
into which circumstances had led them. Peru was for its 
conquerors a realization of El Dorado. They found a docile 
race, bending easily under a feudal yoke, and the wildest 
dreams of wealth and power were more than verified by 
actual experience. This was not so for the settlers in the 
East. Nothing justified the name given to the Silver River, 
unless it were the sheen of the silver moon playing upon its 

The sturdy adventurers of old Spain, who sailed up the 
many tributaries of Argentine's great estuary, eager to repeat 
the exploits of Cortez in Anahuac and reap such golden 
harvests as Pizarro's followers in Peru, were doomed to bitter 
disappointment. They had from the first to dispute the soil 
with numerous savage tribes, and depend for subsistence upon 
what they owed to the sweat of their own brows. It was thus 
a struggle against man and nature, hunger and poverty, and 

6 P. M. PAGE. 

what was worse, a battle for existence against^ the mother 
country who did her worst to smother in its cradle a colony 
which only saved itself from an early death, thanks to its own 

Old Spain, indeed, showed the proverbial "Raben-mutter'^ 
love for its young offspring. The short-sighted system of 
monopolies adopted by that country with regard to America 
in general, fell with crushing weight upon the river Plate. 
The statesmanlike (?) provisions of such an enactment, aimed 
not only against the establishment in. America of industries 
that might compete with Spain, but it centralized monopoly 
at the single port of Seville. This place alone had the privi- 
lege of the colonial export and import trade. 

Evidently fearing this policy might not sufficiently tighten 
the lines around the colonies, Spain further restricted them 
from having commercial relations among themselves. But 
even this was not satisfactory to the sapient Tariff* jobbers at 
home. They evolved the scheme of concentrating at Porto 
Rico and Panama the entitle traffic of Spain with its colonies. 
At these two ports were held bi-annual fairs, where for forty 
days the unfortunate American Dependencies of the Pacific 
coast did all their buying and selling, while the still more 
wretched Provinces of the Rio de la Plata had to transact 
their business at Potosf, where they furnished themselves with 
the necessaries of life at a premium of from 500 to 600 per 
cent upon the original price.' 

When the forty days grace was over, Spain clamped its 
valves together like a monstrous oyster, which no human 
power could open. This insane policy lasted till 1737 and 
had as a natural corollary the promotion of a brisk smuggling 
trade, with the result of scattering the New World's gold and 
silver into the lap of all the other maritime nations of Europe. 
In spite of this partial alleviation, the Rio de la Plata con- 
tinued to suffer most from the policy of monopoly, because it 

* Mitre, Vida dtl Oeneral Bdgrano, * Mitre. 


had to provide itself with what it needed at the most expen- 
sive market in South America, and was, moreover, hardened 
with monetary restrictions, that were it not for indisputable 
documentary evidence of existence, would seem too ridiculous 
for belief.^ 

It was only in 1777, through the bold action of the viceroy, 
ZeballoB, and the independent movement of the Cabildo of 
Buenos Ayres, that an act was passed removing the intoler- 
able restrictions upon the commerce of the Rio de la Plata. 
One of the most important results of the establishment of 
*'free trade" was the generous influx of emigration. The 
population of Buenos Ayres (then including the Banda Ori- 
ental, Entre Rios, Corrientes and Santa F^) swelled in twenty- 
two years from 37,000 souls to 1 70,000.* 

But as &r as the mother country was concerned, the evil 
was done. It had accomplished all that misguided policy 
can do to alienate the affections of the children beyond the 
seas, and through the levelling influences of universal poverty 
had implanted in their hearts a feeling of equality and de- 
mocracy, which, in a very few years more, was to make it 
easier for them to stand together in the common cause of 

Greneral Mitre, in his great history of the Argentine hero, 
Belgrano, claims that the first settlers who came to the Rio 
de la Plata were superior to the ordinary Spanish adventurers, 
in that they partook more of the character of emigrants and 
came mostly from the vanguard regions of Spain ; that is, the 
Basque Provinces and Andalusia. They had, therefore, in 
their ^' ethnological temperament the qualities of two superior 
races," differing in every respect except in excellence of quali- 
fications peculiarly their own. It is more than probable, how- 
ever, that under the smothering, rather than the fostering care 
of Spain, the colony would have dragged out a consumptive 

^ReeopUacUm de Leyes de las India$f Lib. viii, Tit. xrv. 

8 F. M. PAGE. 

existence for some years and then died for lack of vivifying 
element, had it not been for a r^uerating force found upon 
the conquered soil itself. 

The nomadic tribes scattered over the vast regions of La 
Plata did not offer such fierce opposition to the intruders as 
the Araucanians in Chili. They quickly assimilated with the 
Spaniards, and from the union sprang a race which forms at 
present the bulk of, at least, the rural population. It is not 
without justice, Greneral Mitre complacently remarks, that 
the conquest of the Rio de la Plata does not offer the spec- 
tacle of those human hecatombs which have stained with 
blood the rest of America. From where the head waters of 
the Pilcomaiyo lie still hidden amidst the virgin forests 
of Bolivia to the disputed Patagonian line; from the Atlantic 
to the foot of the Andes, every indigenous tribe that once 
wandered over that vast extent, has contributed to the origin 
of the pastoral population of Argentina, and has impressed 
upon feature, speech and character, the peculiar stamp of its 
individual personality. 

As those broad limits enclosed tribes that represented nearly 
every type found in savage life, their descendants present 
divergences from one another, more or less accentuated in pro- 
portion to geographical location. Thus, with a homogeneity 
due to the very character of the life they lead, the Graucho 
population, thinly sprinkled over thousands and thousands of 
square miles, differ essentially in physical, mental and moitil 
attributes. And this is not due so much to fortuitous circum- 
stances having approached some more than others to civilized 
centres or to the degree of admixture with the aborigines ; 
their individuality can be traced more directly to the ethno- 
logical temperament of the tribe from which they have sprung. 
Apart from minor considerations their mental and physical 
training is the same. Nature has spoken many a word for 
them ; man has seldom opened his mouth for their betterment. 
Fate has placed the home of these people upon extensive flat 


or rolling sur&oes seamed by numberless rivers with banks 
lined by woody growths unknown to other regions ; they are 
thus from their birth brought face to face with a luxurious 
nature, that revels in its liberty and impresses upon the simple 
minds of the inhabitants one single idea ; that of personal 

From that great confused chorus of nature, nothing speaks 
to them of restraint, law and order, nor do they ever hear the 
blessed advantages of this trinity extolled by the voice of 
man, much less by that of ^Mi vilains corsus et ossus,'' who by 
virtue of might or will power, lifis himself into leadership 
whenever occasion offers. Thus, all the iufluences that tend 
to divorce one's spirit from law and order, are instilled drop 
by drop into the nature of the " Criollos." Their individual 
independence in itself has isolated them so as to hinder them 
from concerted effort for self-preservation ; they thus fall an 
easy prey to the revolutionary schemer who wishes to employ 
their brute force to further his purposes. 

Measured by the yard-stick of civilization, the mixed race 
that developed under a regime of almost unbridled savagery, 
must necessarily fall short of prescribed dimensions. As to 
what they might become under beneficent influences, it is 
hard to say, because the experiment of bringing their free 
limbs within the tight garments of civilization has never been 
attempted systematically. This much may be said never- 
theless; wherever they have come in contact with superior 
influences, they have shown a marked improvement. As they 
are now, or at least were a few years ago, the descendants of 
the early settlers and their Indian wives, the Grauchos of the 
Plains have little reason to be thankful to the ruling spirits 
in their country. Their's is a sad destiny ; it's as if they 
atoned in themselves for the sins of the whole nation. No 
one has shown more poignantly how circumstances, neglect 
and nefarious influences have worked upon these fine types of 
manhood, than the poet Hernandez, who, in the picturesque 

10 F. M. PAGE. 

language of the Graiichos, speaks as they themselves often 
speak where few hear them : ^ 

Vive el aguila en sn nido, 
£1 tigre vive en la selva, 
£1 zorro en la cueva agena, 

Y en su destino incostante 
Solo el Gaucho vive errante 
Donde la suerte lo lleva. 

£b el pobre en su horfand& 
De la fortuna el desecho — 
Porqtie naide toma 6, pechos 
£1 defender & su raza — 
Debe el Gaucho tener casa, 
Escuela, Iglesia j derchos. 

Y han de concluir algun dia 
£8tos enriedos malditoe— 
La obra no lo facilita, 
Porque aumentan el fandango 
Los que estan como el chimango 
Sobre el cuero dando gritos. 
Mas Dios ha de permitir 

Que este llegue & mejorar — 
Pero se ha de recordar 
Para hacer bien el trabajo, 
Que el fuego pa calentar, 
Debe ir siempre por abajo. 
£n su ley esta el de arriba, 
Si haoe lo que le aproveche 
De sus favores sobpeche, 
Hasta el mesmo que lo nombra — 
Sierapre es dafiosa la sombra 
Del arbol que tiene leche. 
Al pobre al menos descuido 
Lo levantan de un sogazo — 
Pero vo coraprlendo el caso 

Y esta consecuencia saoo — 
£1 Gaucho es el cuero flaco 
De los tientos para el lazo. 

No social distinctions of caste ruffle the smooth surface of 
personal intercourse among these children of the plains. A 

^La Vudta de Martin Fierro, 


democratic ^' camaraderie " exists between the Graucho lord 
with broad acres and the unfortunate *' rotoso " with nothing 
to his name but a rag of old Spanish dignity and self-esteem 
which comes to him by right of birth. No class differences 
chill the warm current of sympathy that passes perennially 
over the Pampas. Perfect freedom of intercourse is only 
tempered by an innate courtesy and native grace peculiar to 
the South Americans, so that often the '' barbarian " in that 
wild society is the foreigner from across the seas, who could 
learn more than one thing that adorns life from the humblest 
of Gauchos in his tattered poncho and smoky rancho. 

Contrary to popular belief, the Grauchos are no fonder of 
revolutions than the foreign settlers. It requires no profound 
sophistry to prove to them that in revolt, they have nothing 
to gain and everything to lose, their own skins included. 
They are swept into action, not by any dominant idea, but 
by some scheming chieflet, and in the absence of concerted 
opposition, they can offer no other protest but flight, which 
in itself means personal ruin. 

" hay que callar o es claro que lo quebran por eleye — parese 
que el Gaucho tiene algun pecado que purgar." ^ 

These so-called popular outbursts, moreover, are of such 
frequent recurrence, that one is apt to consider them very 
much like the inevitable spells of sickness that come in regu- 
lar rotation, during childhood. Very unfortunately the good 
qualities of the Gauchos make of them ideal material for 
revolutions. Ready at a moment's notice; moving with tre- 
mendous celerity, either in attack or retreat ; with no com- 
missariat perplexities to vex them, and living ^^& la gracia de 
Dios," that is, plundering enemies and friends with indis- 
criminating impartiality; indefatigable, impetuous, daring 
everything when well led, halting at nothing and never per- 
plexed unless some misfortune sets them on foot. Even thus, 
converted into despised bipeds, they have been known to 
attack, knife in hand, more than one intrenchment, manned 

^ Hemandex, Martin Fierro, 

12 p. M. PAGE. 

by Brazilians. Their own kindred, the Paraguayans, indeed, 
onoe captured and held for a time several Brazilian iron-clads, 
thus emulating that body of French Cavalry, which, in the 
old Republican fighting days, bagged a Dutch squadron. 

The Graucho is a Homeric feeder when he sits down to 
demolish a churasco (roast), but he will work, fight or run all 
day, as the case may be, with no stronger stimulant under his 
belt than a ''mate amargo'^ (tea). Cold and rain do not seem 
to afiect either his spirits or his body. The present writer 
has seen, on more than one chilly night, some poor fellow 
crouched face downward, his knees drawn up to his chin, 
sound asleep, with no heavier covering than a thin sheet of 
frost the merciless night had spread over him. 

In time of peace, although his sturdy 1^ carry him right 
briskly around in the varied work of the cattle corral or 
sheep-pen, the Graucho's true place is upon a horse. The Cen- 
taur is then realized. As to whether he is a better horseman 
than our own cow-boy, I cannot venture to say, 'but he has to 
deal with a larger and better looking specimen of the equine 
race, than those bits of india-rubber, called Texas ponies, and 
he is decidedly more picturesque than his North American 
brother. Whether engaged in breaking a "potro,'' lassoing, 
cutting out cattle, whirling and twisting in all the evolu- 
tions of a parting, or in holiday attire, with silver trappings 
and gaudy poncho, the child of the Pampas is a sight to 
see, which is worth more than a Sabbath day's journey. 
One must have observed him in all these aspects, or turn 
to his own poetry to know what thoughts fill his heart and 
mind, as he bounds over the tawny prairies, the golden sun- 
light glinting from his gear, his horse's feet skimming over 
the wild heliotrope, the scarlet verbena and dark mio-mio, 
with the grasshoppers skipping merrily right and lefl, and 
the swallows dipping around him. 

Next to such amasements as horse-taming, lassoing and 
gambling, the Gaucho loves nothing better than to give himself 
up to the simple means of mental distraction within his reach. 


When seated near the camp-fire, with the glow of the 
^' fogon " lighting up his swarthy face and the splutter of his 
individual ^'asao'* singing a tune to his appetite, he invaria- 
bly indulges with his companions in interminable reminis- 
cences, seasoned with a profusion of sez I's" and '^sez he's." 
On such occasions he outbrags the heroes of Troy and " out- 
gabs '^ the Paladins of Charlemagne. 

But it is at horse-races, tournaments and pericon dances 
where the Chinitas assemble to give themselves up to social 
delights, that another page is added to the history of Argentine 
rural life. At such gatherings one hears the wild melodies and 
fluent improvisations that are peculiar to that region and life. 

Like the troubadors of old the " native " poet, whether 
owner of unnumbered herds or the most " rotoso de los rotos" 
(the raggedest of the ragged), by viltue alone of super-excel- 
lent talent, finds himself thrust to the front, head and shoulders 
above his fellows. And doubtless, in direct line of descent 
from those Charmers of the Middle Ages, there has ever been 
in all Gaucho communities, some favored singer and ^'guitar- 
rero," musician and poet in one, who has produced in his 
songs and verses ^' treasures of original inspiration and faith- 
ftd pictures of the nomadic life of those plains.'' 

His compositions sometimes have a wide range, varying 
from the simple " d^ima de amor " to the " dansa'' (pericon) 
song-dance and the more complicated '^ canto por cifra de 
oontrapunto,*' which reminds one of the old "tensos" and 

A favorite composition is a laudatory exposition in verse 
of the manifold virtues of some distinguished guest. In the 
coarse of this, the latter is liable to find himself compared to 
a whole flower-garden, a starry sky ; to almost everything in 
fact, in earth below and the waters under the earth. There 
is nothing sordid in the mind of the singer; at most, he may 
expect a simple word of thanks, or perhaps a cigar as token 
of good-fellowship. 

With regard to the vocal part, it cannot be said that the 
Gaache payador '^ sings as the birds sing." The singing is 

14 F. M. PAOE. 

spontaneous enough, but here the bird analogy stops. On 
hearing that high falsetto, with a long sighing whine at the 
end of each verse, one is inclined to say with Mickey Free : 

"Arrah ! Misther Pedhro, av that's yez singin' phwhat may 
jez croin' be loike?" 

But if one's ear is wounded by the sound and one is apt to 
subscribe to what he says himself: — 

Ganta el pueblero j es pueta; 
Canta el Gaucho, j, ay Jesus ! 
Lo miran como avestroz — 

Still more is one's feeling heart touched by what follows : — 

Su inorancia los asombra 

Mas sieppre sirren las sombras 

Para distingoir la luz. 

It may be contended that the best known bards of the 
Pampas are not Grauchos, but men who in birth, breeding 
and education, rank on a par with the best of any land. 
Very true, but they are nearer in every respect to the Grauchos 
than Joel Chandler Harris or Thomas Nelson Page to the 
"coloured gemmen" they portray so inimitably. The Argen- 
tine poets, moreover, have an added advantage over these 
dialect writers. They have not only been born and bred 
among the people whose joys and sorrows they relate, but 
they have lived the Gaucho life, have studied their models in 
war times and peace, have been their leaders in the one, their 
employers, companions, friends in the other. Their types, 
consequently, are not ideals, but living, breathing realities, 
standing out against a background as vividly pictured and as 
true to nature. Thanks to Hidalgo, Ascasubi^ Hernandez 
and del Campo, the romantic land of the Silver River stands 
revealed in all its wild beauty and the poor Graucho's woes 
and joys, trials and temptations shall be known to the world 
long after the Pampa grass waves over the unknown grave 
of the last of the race. 


Although the works of Hernandez and Ascasabi are better 
adapted to the purposes of linguistic investigation, because of 
their broader range and their dealing more intimately with 
Graucho life, it was thought, that for an initial text, the Fausto 
would be of more general interest.^ 

This Fausto, as the title shows, is not adapted from the 
great Grerman poem, nor is it expounded after the style of 
that master critic. Prof. Kuno Fischer. It is simply a humble 
Argentine Graucho^s impressions of Gounod's opera. It is 
gratifying to notice, however, tliat Marguerite makes the same 
impression upon him as upon all, whether kings or peasants, 
" who have their hearts upon the left side.'* She is as pure 
when the curtain falls as when Faust first meets her. Anas- 
tasio el Polio, who tells the story to a friend, is a Gaucho 
of superior type ; he lived in Bragado, a department of the 
province of Buenos Ayres and consequently was brought 
frequently in contact with refining influences. 




En un overo rosao,' 
Flete nuevo y parejito, 
Caia ' al bajo, al trotecito, 
Y lindamente sentao, 

* Sometime daring the present year I expect to publish in (Germany an 
attempt at a Comparative Study of the Oaucho dialect 

' Literally " a rose coloured piebald ; " one of the numerous ** horse 
ooloars" to be found among the wild horses of the Pampas. 

*to oome down. 

• • • 

16 F. M. PAGE. 

Un paisano ^ del Bragao * 
De apelativo La^una^ 
Mozo ginetaso \ ahijana ! 
Como creo que no hay otro, 
Capaz de llevar un potro ' 
A sofrenarlo ^ en la luna. 

; Ah criollo ! * si parecia 
Pegao en el animal, 
Que aunque era medio bagual,^ 
A la rienda obedecia, 
De suerte, que se creeria 
Ser no solo arrocinao/ 
Sino tambien del recao^ 
De alguna moza pueblera : 
; Ah Cristo! jquien lo tuviera! 
; Lindo el overo rosao ! 

Como que era escarciador, 
Vivaracho y coscojero,* 
Le iba sonando al overo 
La plata que era un primor ; 
Pues eran plata el jiador^^ 
Pretcd^^ espuelas," virolas, 
Y en las cabezadas*' solas 
Traia el hombre un potosf : " 
iQu6! ... Si traia, para mi, 
Hasta de plata las bolas ! ^^ 

* gaucho= native. • County in the Province of Baenos Ayres. 
•wild-horse. *pull him up. ^native. 

* wild-horse. ^ gent le. " g^ucho-saddle. 

* " bit-champer." *° part of native bit. ** breast-plate. 

" rings. *• head-stall. '* mine of wealth. 

^^ Boleadoras ; three wooden or stone balls covered with raw-hide and 
connected by twisted thongs 1^ yards long. Used for catching wild horses; 
thrown from a distance, they twist around the animal's hind legs and hobble 


En fin: — oomo iba d oontar, 
Laguna al no lieg6y 
Contra una tosca ^ se api6 

Y empez6 d desensiUar. 
En esto^ dentF6 d orejiar ' 

Y d resollar el overo, 

Y ju6 que vido un sombrero 
Que del viento se volaba 

De entre una ropa, que estaba 
Mas alldy contra un apero.^ 

Di6 guelta 7 dijo el paisano 
— / Vaya Zi.FiRO 1 ^ qui es esot 

Y le acarici6 el pescueso 
Con la palma de la mano. 
Un relincho soberano 
P^6 el overo que via 

A un paisano que salia 
De la agua, en un colorao/ 
Que al mesmo overo roeao 
Nada le desmerecia. 

Cuando el flete relineh6y 
Media guelta di6 Laguna, 

Y ya peg6 el grito : — ] Ahijuna! 
^No es el polio? 

— Polio, n6, 
Ese tiempo se pas6, 
(Contest6 el otro paisano), 
Ya soy jaca * vieja, hermano. 
Con IzspwoB^ como anzuelo, 

Y d quien ya le ni^a el suelo 
Hasta el mas remoto grano. 

1 boulder. * prick op his ears. ' horne-gear. 

^ lixhlFbaj horse. * cock. * spu rs. 


18 F. M. PAGE. 

Se api6 el Polio 7 se p^ron ^ 
Tal abrazo oon Laguna, 
Que 8U8 dos almas en una 
Acaso se misturaron. 
Cuando se desenredaron, 
Despues de haber lagrimiao, 
£1 overito roeao 
Una oreja se rascaba, 
Visto que la refr^aba 
En la din del oolorao. 

— Velay^ tienda el oojinillo' 
Don Laguua, sientes^, 

Y un ratito aguardem6 
Mientras maneo ^ el potrillo : 
Vaya armando un cigarrillO| 
Si es que el vicio no ha olvidao : 
Alif tiene contra el recao 
Cuchillo, papel y un naco/ 
Yo siempre pico el tabaoo 
Por no pitarlo aventao.* 

— Vaya amigo, le har6 gasto 

— iNo quiere maniar su overo? 

— Dejel6 d mi parejero ' 
Que es como mata de pasto. 
Ya una vez, cuando el abasto,' 
Mi cuflao se de8may6 : 

A los Ires dias volvi6 
Del insulto/ y crea amigo, 
Peligra lo que le digo : 
£1 flete ni se movi6. 

^ to give. ' exclamation ^ ve lo alii, contracted, 

'doth, sheep or goat-akin, forming part of recado. 
* hobble. *"plug" of tobacca 'dry. 

'race-home. ^oommirisary. 'illnesB (attack). 


— i Bien aiga gaucho embustero ! 
^Sabe que no me esperaba 

Que soltase una guayabd^ 
De ese tamafiO| aparcerot^ 
Ya colijo que su overo 
Estd tan bien ensellao, 
Que si en vez de desmayao 
£1 otro hubiera estao muerto, 
Al fin del raundo^ por cierto. 
Me lo encuentra allf parao. 

— Vean como le busc6 

La giielta'. . . ] bien aiga el Polio !^ 

Siempre larga todo el rollo^ 

De 8u lazo. . . . 

— ^Y c6mo no? 
^O se ha figurao que yo 
Asina no mas las trago? 
I Hdgase cargo ! . . . 

— Ya me bago. . . . 

— Prieste el juego. . . . 

— Tomel6. 

— Y aura, le pregunt6 yo, 

I Qu6 anda haciendo en este pago ? 

— Hace como una semana 
Que he bajao d la ciudd, 
Pues tengo necesidd 

De ver si cobro una lana, 
Pero me andan con maflana, 
O no hay plata y venga luego. 
Hoy no mas cuasi le pego 

' slaDg, " whopper." 'partner in love-affair = *• iiard.'* 

' find the weak spot. * *' devil take the chicken." 

^ coil of the lassa ' lasso-ring. 

20 F. H. PAGE. 

Aun gringo que aunque es de embiolla 
Ya le he maliciao el juego. 

— Con el cuento de la guerra 
Andan matreros ^ los cobres. 
— ^Vamos d morir de pobres 
Los paisanoB de esta tierra. 
Yo cuasi he ganao la sierra 
De puro desesperao. • . • 

— ^Yo me encuentro tan cortao,' 

Que d veces se me hace cierto. 

Que hasta ando jediendo d muerto. . . . 

— Plies yo me hallo hasta empefiao^ 

— iVaya un lamentarse ! j ahijuna! . . .* 

Y eso es de vicio, aparcero ; 
A ust6 lo ha hecho su ternero 
La vaca de la fortuna. 

Y no llore, don Laguna, 
No me lo castigue Dios : 
Sino comparemos]6s 

Mis tientos' eon su chapiao/ 

Y asi en limpio habrd quedao, 
El mas pobre de los dos. 

— jVean si es escarbador' 
Este Polio ! i Vlrgen mia ! 
Si es pura chafalonia. . . .^ 

— Eso si, siempre plntor!^ 

— Se la gan6 d un jugador 
Que vino d echarla de gueno.^^ 


* shy. ■«) pinched for money. • '* at my uncle^B.* 

* Exclamation. — Contraction of: Ah I hijo de una gran p — I expresses 
surprise, admiration, anger, etc., according to the intonation. 

* raw-hide straps on cantle of the saddle, 
"silyer-mounted horse-gear. ^ '' a scratcher." 

* plated-ware. • in this sense, " humbug.'' '® " cock-sure." 


Primero le gan6 el freno 
Con riendas 7 cabeiadaSy 

Y en otras cuantas jagadas 
Perdi6 el hombre hasta lo ageno. 

^Y sabe lo que deoia 
Coando se via en la mala? 
El que me ha pelao la chala ^ 
Debe tener brujerfa. 
A la caenta se creeria 
Que el diablo 7 70. . . . 

— Calle86 
Amigo ! I no sabe usted 
Que la otra nocbe lo he visto 
AI demonio? 

— I Jesucristo! • . • 

— Hace bien^ santigues^. 

— Pues no me he de santiguar I 
Con esas cosas no ju^o ; 

Pero no importa^ le ruego 

Que me dentre d relatar 

El c6mo 11^6 d topar 

Con el mcUo* ; Vlrgen Santa 1 

Solo el pensarlo me espanta. . . . 

— Gueno^ le V07 d contar 
Pero antes V07 d buscar 
Con que mojar la garganta. 

EI Polio se levant6 

Y se ju6 en su oolorao, 
Yen el overo rosao 
Laguna d la agua dentr6. 
Todo el bafio que le di6 
Ju6 dentrada por salida, 

*■ ** hosked mj corn "= stripped me. * deril. 

22 F. M. PAGE. 

Y d la tosca coDsabida 
Don Laguna se volvi6, 
Ande d Don Polio lo haI16 
Con un frasoo de bebida. 

— L&rguese al suelo cufiao 

Y vaya haci^ndose cargo. 
Que puede ser mas que largo 
£1 cuento que le he ofertao : 
Desman6e el colorao, 
Desate su maniador/ 

Y en aficas* haga el favor 
De aoollararlos. . . .' 

— Al grito: 
^ Es manso el coloradito ? 

— J Ese es un trebo de olor ! 

— Ya estto acollaraditos. . . . 
— Dele un beso d esa gifiebra : * 
Yo le hice sonar de una hebra^ 
Lo menos diez golgoritos.' 
— Pero esos son muy poquitos 
Para un criollo oomo ust^, 
Capaz de prendersel6 
A una pipa de lejfa. . . . 

— Hubo un tiempo en que solla. 
— ^Vaya amigo, largues4. 


— Como d eso de la oracion. 
Aura euatro 6 einco noches 

' lariat, used for "staking out a horse ''=: tethering him. 

"'on the crupper of that'*=aAer that. 

^fasten two horses together bj the neck or halter and let them grace. 

* ** give a kiss "=s a drink. ' " one swig." • gargles. 


Vide ana fila de coches 
Contra el tiatro de Colon.^ 

La gente en el corredor, 
Como hacienda * amontonada. 
Pujaba desesperada 
Por Uegar al mostrador.' 

Allf i, juerza^ de sudar^ 

Y d punta de hombro 7 de codo, 
Hioe, amigaso, de modo 

Que al fin me pude arrimar. 

Cnando compr6 mi dentrada ' 

Y di gtielta. . . . j Cristo mio ! 
Estaba pior el gentlo ' 

Que una mar alborotada. 

Era d casa de una vieja 
Que le habia do ' el mal. • . .^ 
— Y si es chico ese corral 
^A qu6 encierran tanta oveja? 

— Ahl verd : — por fin, cufiao, 
A juerza de arrempujon,* 
Sail como mancarron ^^ 
Que lo sueltan trasijao." * 

Mi betas nuevas quedaron 
Lo propio que picadillo," 

Y el fleco " del calsoncillo 
Hilo d hilo me sacaron. 

' old opera-honse in Baenoe Ajres. ' horned-cattle. 

* counter in a shop. * faerza. * ticket 

'crowd. ^dado. ^ have a fit * pushing. 

•• ** old plog.'' ^ tottering = done-up. " chopped tohacco. 

>' Fringe of the emhroidered drawers worn hj the gauchos under the 
chiripd, the doth which with them takes the place of trousers. 

24 F. M. PAGE. 

Y para oolmo, oofiao, 
De toda esta desventura^ 
El pafial^ de la cintura. 
Me lo babian re£dao.^ 

— Algun gringo oomo lius 
Para la ufia, ha de haber sido- 
— {Y no haberlo 70 sentido I 
En fin, ya le hice la cruz. 

Medio cansao 7 triston 
For la p^rdida, dentr6 ' 

Y una escalera trep6 
Con dento 7 an escalon. 

Llega6 d on alto, finalmente, 
Ande vd la paUanadaJ 
Que era la tiltima camada 
En la estiva de la gente. 

Ni bien me babia sentao 
Ilompi6 ^ de golpe la banda. 
Que detr& de una baranda 
La babian aoomodao. 

Y 7a tambien se corri6 
Un lienzo grande, de modo. 
Que d dentrar con flete 7 todo 
Me aventa, creamel6. 

Atr6a de aquel cortinao, 
Un Doctor apareei6. 
Que asigun oi decir 76, 
Era an tal Faiulo^ mentao. 

^dipped. 'entrd. "gsachoa. *<<1niBtoat'' 


— I Doctor dice ? Corond 
Be la otra banda/ amigasoy' 
Lo conozco d ese criollaso ' 
Porque he servido con 61. 

— ^Yo tambien lo conod 
Pero el pobre ya miiri6 : 
I Bastantes veoes mont6 
Un saino ' que 70 le df ! 

Dejel6 al que est^ en cielo. 
Que es otro Fausto el que digo, 
Pues bien puede baber, amigo, 
Dos burros del mesmo pelo.^ 

— No he visto gaucho mas quiebra* 
Para retrucar ] ahijuna ! 

— Dejem6 haoer, don Laguna, 
Dos gdrgaras ' de Ginebra. 

Pues oomo le hiba diciendo 
£1 Doctor apareci6, 
Yf en ptLblicOy se quej6 
De que andaba padeciendo. 

Dijo que nada podia 
Con la cencia ^ que estudi6 : 
Que €1 i una rubia queria^ 
Pero que d 61 la rubia n6. 

Que al fiudo' la pastoriaba* 
Dende el nacer de la aurora, 

^ ** of the other side "= Banda Oriental. ' angmentatiTes. 

* dark-ba J hone. ^ in senae of colour. * in sense of ^ smart,"— quick. 

* ** g^*S^^ " = gvdpe. ^ ciencia. ' aselesslj. 

* tend cattle while grazing — that is, when they are formed into " troops'' 
for elanghter at the aaladeroe. 

26 F. M. PAGE. 

Pues de nocbe y d toda bora, 
Siempre tras de ella Iloraba. 

Que de mafiana d ordefiar 
Salia muy curnUaca^^ 
Que €i le maniaba' la vaca^ 
Pero pare de oontar.* 

Que cansado de sufrir, 
T cansado de llorar, 
Al fin se iba 6 envenenar 
Porque eso no era vivir. 

£1 hombre alll ^ ren^, 
Tir6 contra el suelo el gorro, 

Y por fin, en su socorro, 
AI mesmo Diablo llam6. 

{ Nunca lo hubiera llamao ! 
I Viera sustaso por Cristo ! 
I Ahf mesmo, jediendo d misto ^ 
Se apareci6 el condenao ! ' 

Hace bien : persinesS 
Que lo mesmito hice y6, 
— ^Y o6mo no di8par6? 
— ^Yo mesmo no sS porqufi. 

jViera al Diablo ! Ufias de gate, 
Flacon, un sable largote/ 
Gorro con pluma, capote, 

Y una barba de chivato.' 

Medias hasta la verlja,* 

Con cada ojo como un charco, 

* sweet, pretty. ' hobble. ' in sense of, '' Bat, pshaw I '' 

* in sense. of ''swearing." * anj kind of inflammable mixture. 
'deviL *big. "goat * withers. 


Y cada oeja era un arco 
Para correr la sortija. 

'^ Aquf estoy & sii mandao 
Cuente con un servidor." 
Le dijo el Diablo al Doctor, 
Que estaba medio asonsao*^ 

" Mi Doctor no se me asuste, 
Que yo lo vengo d servir : 
Pida lo que ha de pedir 

Y ordene lo que guste." 

El Doctor medio asustao 

Le contest6 que se juese . . .* 

— Hizo bien no le parece ? 

— Dejuramente,* cufiao. 

Pero el Diablo comenz6. 
A alegar gastos de viaje, 

Y d medio darle coraje 
Hasta que lo engatuzd. 

— ^No era un Doctor muy projundo? 
^C6mo se dej6 engaflar? 

— Mandinga * es capaz de dar 
Diez giieltas d medio mundo. 

El Diablo volvi6 d decir : — 
" Mi Doctor no se me asuste, 
Ordenem6 en lo que guste 
Pida lo que ha de pedir." 

'^ Si quiere plata tendrd ; 
Mi bolsa siempre est a llena, 

^foolish. 'sefiiese. 'aegaramentei ^ devil. 

28 F. M. PAGE. 

Y mas rioo que ADchorena^ 
Con decir quierOf serd." 

No es por la plata que lloro^ 
Don Fausto le oontestd : 
Otra 006a quiero 76 
Mil veoes mejor que el oro. 

'' Yo todo le pnedo dar^ 
Betrao6 el Bey del Infiemo, 
Diga: — jQuiere ser Oobiemof* 
Pues no tiene mas que bablar/' 

— No quiero plata ni mando, 
Dijo don Fausto, 70 quiero 
El corazon todo entero 

De quien me tiene penando. 

No bien esto el Diablo 076, 
Solt6 una risa tan fiera,' 
Que toda la noche entera 
En mis orejas 8on6. 

Di6 en el suelo una patada, 
Una par^ se parti6 

Y el Dotor, fulo, mir6 
A su prenda idolatrada. 

— j Canejo !*.... ^Serd verdi? 
^Sabe que se me haoe cuento? 

— No crea que 70 le miento : 
Lo ha visto media ciudd. 

^ the Jay Qoold of Buenos Ayree. 

'oommon term for governing power of anj kind in the state. 

* ogly. * one of the man j sabstitatee for an oath. 


{Ah Don Laguna I { si viera 
Que rubia I • . . . Creamel6 : 
Cref que estaba viendo y6 
Alguna virgen de oera. 

Vestido azuly medio alzao, 
Se apareci6 la muchacha : 
Pelo de OTOf oomo hilacha 
De chodo ^ reoien oortao. 

Blanca oomo una cuajada, 

Y celeste la poUera. 

Don Laguna, si aquello era 
Mirar d la Inmaculada* 

Era cada ojo un lucero, 
Sus dientesy perlas del mar, 

Y un clavel al reventar 
Era su boca aparoero. 

Ya enderez6 como loco 
£1 Doctor cuanto la vi6y 
Pero el Diablo lo ataj6 
Diciendol6 : — " Poco d pooo : 

Si quiere, hagamos un pato:^ 
Uste su alma me ha de dar 

Y en todo lo he de ayudar : 
iLe pareoe bien el trato?" 

Como el Dotor consintid, 
£1 Diablo sac6 un papel 

Y lo hizo firmar en 61 
Cuanto la gana le di6. 

> new-corn. ' the Virgin. ' compact (duck ) . 

30 F. M. PAGE. 

— I Dotor, y haoer ese trato ! * 

— i Qu6 quiere hacerle, cufiao. 
Si se top6 ese abogao 

Con la orma de su zapato? 

Ha de saber que el Dotor 
Era dentrao en edd, 
Asina' es que estaba yk 
Bichoco ' para el amor 

Por eso al dir ^ d entregar 
La contrata consabida 
Dijo : — I ELabrd alguna bebida 
Que me pueda remozar ? 

Yo no se que brujeria 

Misto, mdgica 6 polvito 

Le ech6 el Diablo y . • . i Dios bendito ! 

I Quien demonio lo creeria I 

I Nunca ha visto ust^ d un gusano 
Volverse una mariposa ? 
Pues alll la mesma cosa 
Le pas6 al Dotor paisano. 

Canas, gorro y casacon ^ 
De pronto se vaporaron,* 
Y en el Dotor ver dejaron 
A un donoso moceton, 

— ?Que dice? . . . ; barbaridd! . . . 
i Cristo padre ! . . . ^Sera cierto ? 

— Mire : — Que me caigamuerio 
Si no es la pura verdd. 

* lawyers bear the title of doctor. ' asf . 

'horse^s hoof grown too long =^ a stumbler.'' 

^ al ir. * long coat. * went off in smoke. 


£1 Diablo entonoes mand6 
A la rubia que se juese/ 

Y qae la par6 se uniese, 

Y la oortina cay6. 

A juersa de tanto hablar 
Se me ha secao el garguero : ' 
Pase el frasco compafiero. . . . 
— j Pues no lo he de pasar ! • 


— ^Vea lo8 piDgos . . .* 

— J Ah hijitos! 
Son do8 fietes Roberanos. 

— iComojueranhermanos 
Bebiendo la agua juntitos ! 

— I Sabe que es linda la mar 1 

— {La viera de raafiauita 
Cuando agatas ^ la puntita 
Del sol comienza d asomar ! 

Ust^ v6 venir d esta hora 
Roncando la marejada, 

Y ve en la cspuma encrespada. 
Las colores de la aurora. 

A veces^ con viento en la anca 

Y oon la vela al solsito^ 
Se ve cruzar un barquito 
Como una paloma blanca. 

* 86 fnese. • literally, " the gargler = throat." 

» •* 1 should saj bo." * fine horee. * scarcel j. 

32 F. M. PAGE. 

Otras, ast6 ve, patentes, 
Venir boyando un islote, 
T es que trai & un camalote^ 
CabreBtiando * la oorriente. 

T oon an campo quebrao 
Bien se puede oomparar, 
Coando el lomo empieza & hinchar. 
El no medio alterao. 

Las holas chicas, eansadas, 
A la playa agatas vienen, 

Y alli en lamber se entretienen 
Las arenitas labradas. 

Es Undo ver en Ice ratos 
En que la mar & bajao, 
Caer volando al desplayao 
Gaviotas, garsas y patos. 

Y en las toscas, es divino, 
Mirar las olas quebrarse, 
Como al fin viene & estrellarse 
El hombre con su destino. 

Y no s6 que d^ el mirar 
Cuando barrosa y bramando, 
Sierras de agua viento alzando 
Embravecida ' la mar. 

Parece que el Dios del cielo 
Se amostrase retobao/ 
Al mirar tanto pecao 
Como se v6 en este suelo. 

^ floating ialmnd. ' lead bj the h&lter. 'angered. ^angered. 


T 66 ooea de vendecir 
Cuando el Sefior la serena, 
Sobre ancha cama de arena, 
Oblig&ndola & dormir. 

T es muy lindo ver nadando 
A flor de agua algun p6soao : 
Van, oomo plata, cufiao, 
Las escamas relumbrando. 

— J Ah Polio ! Ya comen26 
A meniar taba ' : ^y el caso? 
— Dice muy bien amigaso : 
Seguir^ oont&ndol6. 

El lienzo otravez alzaron 
Y apareci6 nn bod^on,' 
Ande se arm6 una reunion ' 
En que algunos se mamaron/ 

Un Don Valentin, velay, 
Se ballaba alii en la ocacion 
Capitan, muy guapeton,' 
Que iba d dir al Paraguay.* 

Era hermano, el ya nombrao, 
De la rubia, y convcrsaba 
Con otro niozo que andaba 
Viendo de hacerlo cufiao/ 

^ perorate, literallj, " plaj with the knackle-bone "= a popular gambliDK 

* tATem. * " a crowd gathered." * to get drank. 

* aagmentatiye of " gnapo^s: brave. 

'allofioD to the Paraguayan war, then (1866) in progreas. 
V «< tiTiiig to become hb brother-in-law." 


34 F. M. PAGE. 

Don SUverio, 6 ooea asf , 
8e llamaba este individuo, 
Que me pareci6 medio ido ^ 

sonso cuanto lo vi. 

Don Valentin le pedia 
Que ^ la rubia la sirviera 
En 8U ausencia. . . . 

— I Pues sonsera! 

1 El otro que mas queria ! 

— El capitan, con su vaso, 
A los presentee brind6 
T en esto apareci6y 
De nuevo el Diablo, amigaso. 

Dijo que si lo almitian 
Tambien echaria un trago. 
Que era por no ser del pago 
Que alll no lo conoeian. 

Dentrando' en conversacion 
Dijo el Diablo que era brujo : 
Pidi6 un ajenco' y lo trujo 
El mozo del bodegon. 

" No tomo bedida sola/' 
Dijo el Diablo : se subi6 
A un banooy y vf que le ech6 
Agua de una cuarterola. 

Como un tiro de jusil^ 
Entre la copa son6 
Y d echar llamas comenz6 
Como si juera un candil.^ 

^ " half a fool or drank/' ' entrando. ' absinthe. 

* foaiL ' a light, made with grease and a big wick. 


Todo el mnndo recnI6 ; 

Pero el Diablo sin turbarse 

Les dijo : — '^ no hay que asostarse/' 

T la copa se empin6.^ 

— j Que buohe 1 * i Dioe soberano I ^ 

— Por no parecer morao * 
El Capitan^ jue, cufiao, 

Y le di6 al Diablo la mano. 

Satanas le r^istr6 

Los dedos oon grande afan, 

Y le dijo : — " Capitan 
Pronto muere, creal6." 

El Capitan, retobao 
Pel6* la lata y Luzbel 
No quiso ser menos que 61 

Y pel6 un amojosao.* 

Antes de cruzar su acero. 

El Diablo el suelo ray6 : 

I Viera el fu^o que 8ali6 1 . . . . 

— j Que sable para yesquero ! • 

— J Qu6 dice ? 1 Habia de oler 
El jedor que iba largando 
Mientras estaba chispeando 

El sable de Lucifer. 

No bien & tocarse van 
Las hojaS; creameld. 
La mitd al suelo cay6 
Del sable del Capitan. 

> pour down. *draw bis sword. 

'giusle. ' a rusty blade. 

» *^ut out.'* « flint and steeL 

36 F. M. PAGE. 

'^ I Este 66 el Diablo en figara 
De hombre ! el Capitan grit6/' 
Yal grito le presentd 
La cmz de la empufiaduia.^ 

^Viera al Diablo retoroerse 
Como colebra, aparoero ! 
— lOiganli/\ . . . 

— Mordi6 el aoero 
T oomeDz6 & estremeoene. 

LfOB otroB se aprovecharon 

Y se apretaroD el gorro : • 
Sin duda & pedfr sooorro 
O k dar parte dispararon/ 

En esto Don Faosto entr6 

Y oonforme al Diablo vido^ 

Le dijo : — " i Qu6 ha suoedido ? '* 
Pero 61 86 desentendid. 

El Dotor volvi6 & clamar 
Por 8U mbia^ y Lucifer, 
Valido de su poder, 
Se la yolvi6 & presentar. 

Paes que golpiando en el saelo 
Eki nn baile apareci6, 

Y don Fausto le pidi6 

Que lo aoompafiase & un ddo.* 

No bubo forma que bailara : 
La rubia se encaprieh6 ; 
De valde el Dotor clam6 
Por que no lo desairara : 

»hUt •= whoop I 

' " pall their cape tighter ''^ take to their heels. 
* cidi the police. * " a heayen," a natire dance with •cog. 


Gansao ya de redetirae ^ 
Le oont6 al Demonio el caso ; 
Pero 61 le dijo : — " amigaso 
No tiene porqa£ afligirse : 

Si en el baile no ha alcanzao 
El poderla arrocinar^ 
Deje : le hemos de buscar 
La gaelta por otro lao. 

Y mafiana i mas tardar. 
Gozari de sua amores. 
Que i otras mil veoes mejores^ 
Las he visto cabrestiar.'' 

] Balsa jeneral ! grit6 
El ' bastonero mamao : 
Pero en esto el oortinao 
Por s^nnda vez cayd. 

Armemos ' nn cigarrillo 
Si le pareoe. . . . 

— I Pues no ! 
— Tome el naco piquel6, 
Ust^ tiene mi cuchillo. 


Ta se me quiere cansar 
El flete de mi relato • . . 
— Priendal^ guasca otro rato : * 
Beden oomienza i sudar. 

1 deretine as melt himself. ' make. 

' leader of the dance. ^give it another cat with the whip. 

38 F. M. PAGE. 

— No 86 apure : aguarde86 : 
^C6mo anda el firasoo? 

— Tuavia 
Hay con que hacer medio dia : 
Ahi lo tiene, priendal&^ 

— i Sabe que este gifiebron 
No es para beberlo solo ? 

8i advierto traigo an chicholo 
O un cacho' de salohichon. 

— ^Vaya, no le ande aflojando 
Dele trago 7 domel6, 
Que' ^ reiz de las carnes 76 
Me lo e8to7 aoomodando. 

£Qu£ tuavia no ha almorcao? 
— Ando en a7una8 Don Polio 
Porque f,& qu6 oontar un hollo 
T an cimarron ^ aguachao ? 

Tenia hecha la intencion 

De ir ii la fonda de un gringo 

Despues de baflar el pingo . . . 

— Pues vamonos del tiron.* 

— Aunque ando medio delgao 
Don Polio no le permito 
Que me merme ^ ni un chiquito 
Del cuento que ha comenzao. 

^fletuptoit. 'literally, "dose to m J flesh.'' 

' a piece of saiuage. 

^A mat^ — sort of tea made with "serba" and sacked from a soard 
through a metal tube. 
* immediately. * cat. 


— Paes entonoesy alU yi : 
Otra ves el lienzo alzaron 
T hasta mis ojos dudaron, 
Lo que vi . . . ] barbaridi I ^ 

i Qu6 quinta ! iVirgen bendita I 
] Viera amigaso el jardin ! 
All! se via el jazmin^ 
El clavely la margarita. 

El toroDJil^ la retama 
T hasta estatuas compafiero^ 
Al lao de esa era un chiquero* 
La quinta de Don Lezama.* 

Entre tanta maravilla 

Que allf habfa^ y medio & un lao, 

Habian edifieao 

Una preciosa casilla. 

AUi la rubia vivia 
Entre las flores como ella. 
Allf brillaba esa estrella 
Que el pobre Dotor seguia. 

Y digo pobre Dotor 
Porque pienso, Don Laguna, 
Que no hay desgracia ninguna 
Como un desdiehao amor. 

— Puede ser ; pero amigaso, 
Yo en las cuartas no me enriedo 

Y en un lance, en que no puedo, 
Hago de mi alma un cedaso. 

^ exclamation of admiration or surprise. 

* sheep-pen. * well4Enown rich man. 

40 F. M. PAGE. 

For hembras 70 no me pierdo : 
La que me empaca ^ su amor 
Pasa por el cernidor 
Y . . » gitevi^nome acwardo? 

Lo demasy es calentarse 
El male al divino fiudo. • . .' 
— I Felis qnien tenga ese escado 
Con que poder resgaardarse ! 

Pero ii8t£ habia, Don Lagana 
Como un hombre que & vivido 
Sin haber nnnca qaerido 
Con alma 7 vida i ninguna. 

Cuando un verdadero amor 
8e estrella en una alma ingrata, 
Mas vale el fierro que mata 
Que el fuego devorador. 

Siempre ese amor lo persigue 
A donde quiera que v^ : 
Es una fatalidii 
Que ^ todas partes lo sigue. 

Si ust^ en sn raneho se queda, 
O si sale para un viage, 
Es de valde : ^ no ha7 parage 
Ande olvidarla ust6 pueda. 

Cuando duerme todo el mundo 
Ust^ sobre su recao, 
Se d& gfkeltas^ desvelao, 
Pensando en su amor projundo. 

1 UtenOly, " bidks in her love." 

'oommoD MTiiig, '*If I ever saw jou before, I don't remember." 

' '' warming jour if% for nothing.'' ^ oflelees. 



T si el viento hace sonar 
8a pobre techo de paja 
Cree ust6 que es ella que baja 
Bus l^rimas i, secar. 

T si en alguna lomada ^ 
Tiene que dormir, al raso,* 
Pensando en ella, amigaso, 
Lo hallari la madrugada. 

AIll aoostao sobre abrojo : ' 

entre cardos, Don Laguna 
Verd su cara en la luna, 

T en las estrellas sus ojos. 

1 Que habri que no le recuerde 
Al bien de su alma querido, 

Si hasta cree ver su vestido 
En la nube que se pierde ? 

Asina snfre en la ausencfa 
Quien sin ser querido quiere : 
Aura ver& oomo muere 
De su prenda en la presencia. 

Si en frente de esa deidd 
Eki alguna parte se halla, 
Es otra nueva batalla 
Que el pobre corazon d&. 

Si oon la luz de sus ojos 
Le alumbra la triste frente, 
Ust^, Don Laguna, siente 
El corazon entre abrojos. 

> hilL ' open air. 

' troableiome burr which gets into the wool of a sheep. 

42 F. M. PAGE. 

Su sangre oomienza i alzarse 
A la cabeza en tropel/ 
Y cree que quiere esa cra^ 
En su amargura gozarse. 

T si la ingrata le nf^a 
Esa ligera mirada, 
Qneda su alma abandonada 
Entre el dolor que la aniega. 

T ust6 firme en su pasion. . . • 
T van los tiempos pasando, 
Un hondo suroo dejando 
En su infeliz oorazon. 

— Gueno* amigo : asi serfi, 
Pero me ha sentao el cuento . . .* 
— I Que quiere ! Es un sentimiento . 
Tiene razon : alU v^ : — 

Pues sefior, con gran misterio, 
Traindo en la mano una sinta^ 
8e apareci6 entre la quinta 
El sonso de Don Silverio. 

Sin duda alguna 8alt6 
Las dos zanjas de la giierta/ 
Pues esa noche su puerta 
La mesma rubia cerr6. 

Rastridndolo' se vinieron 
El demonio y el Dotor^ 
T ti*as el drbol mayor 
A aguardarlo se escondieron. 

' in a scurry. * huerta. 

> baeno. ^ on his trail. 

' stopped. 


Con las flores de la guerta 
T la dnta, an ramo arm6 
Don Silverio, y lo dej6 
Sobre el umbral de la puerta. 

— I Qae no oairle una oentella ! 
— i A qui^n ? Al sonso ? 

— ]Pue8 digol . . • 
] Venir & obsequiarla^ amigo, 
Con las mesmas flores de dla! 

— Ni bien acomod6 el gaucho, 
Ya * rumbi6 . . . 

— I Miren que hazafia I 
Eso es ser mas que lagafia 

Y hasta dd rabia, carachol* 

— EI Diablo entonces sali6 
Con el Dotor, y le dijo ; 

'^ Esta vez prende de fijo 
La vdcuna^ creal6." 

Y el capote haciendo ^ un lao^ 
Desenibain6 alii un baulito^ 

Y ju6 y lo puso juntito 
Al ramo del abombdoJ^ 

— No me hable de esa mulita : * 
I Qu£ apunte para una banca ! 

I A que era mdjica blanca 
Lo que trujo en la cajita? 

— Era algo mas eficaz 
Para las hembras, cufiao^ 
Verd si las ha calao 

De lo lindo Satan^ ! 

* cleared out. 

'polite sabetitate for flomething "painful, freqneDt and free." 

' heifer. ^ a fool. ^ a sort of armadillo sa fool. 

44 F. M. PAGE. 

Tras del &rho\ se esoondieron 
Ni bien cargaron la mina, 
T mas que nunca, divina, 
Venir & la rabia vieron. 

La pobre, sin advertir. 
En un banco se 8ent6y 
T nn par de medias sac6 
T las oomenz6 ^ surcir. 

Cineo mf nutoe, por junto. 
En las medias trabaj6| 
Por lo que calculo j6 
Que tendrian solo un punto. 

Dentr6 & cspulgar d un rosal, 
Por la hormiga oonsumidoi 

Y entonces ju6 cuando vido 
Caja y ramo en el umbral. 

Al ramo no le hizo caso, 
Enderez6 ^ la cajita, 

Y 8ac6 . . . 2 Virgen bendita I . . . 
I Viera que oosa, amigaso I 

I Qu£ anillo ! i Qu£ prendedor I 

I Qu6 rosetas soberanas I 

I Qu£ collar I | Qu6 carabanas I ^ 

— iVea al Diablo tentador ! 

— iNo le dije Don Laguna? 
La rubia allf se colg6 

Las prendas, y apareci6 
Mas platiada que la luna. 



En la caja Lucifer 
Habia puesto un espejo. . . . 
— i Sabe que el Di&blo, cango^ 
La oonooe ^ la mujer? 

— Cuando la rabia gastaba 
Tanto mirarse, la luna, 

8e apareci6 Don Laguna 
La vieja que la cuidaba. 

I Viera la cara^ cufiao, 
De la vieja, al ver brillar 
Como reliquias de altar 
Las prendas del oondenao ! 

^^^Diaonde * est^ lujo sac&s ? " 
La vieja, fula, decla, 
Cuando grit6 : — ^^Avemariat'^* 
En la puerta, Satan&s. 

— ^^Sinpeoaol^ j Dentre sefior !*' 
—"No hay perros?"— "Ya loe ataron'^ 

Y ya tambien se colaron 
El Demonio y el Dotor. 

El Diablo alii oomen26 
A enamorar d la vieja, 

Y el Dotorcito ^ la oreja 
De la rubia se peg6. 

— I Vea al Diablo haciendo gancho I * 

— El caso ju6 que logr6 
Seducirla, y la llev6 

A que le amoetrase un chancho. 

^ deadonde. 

> oommon salatatioD on approaching a hoose on the plains. 

* the answer to Aye Maria ! or else, Biyese ^ dismount I 

* literally, " hooking-on/' 

46 F« M. PAGE. 

— iPor supuestOy el Dotorcito 
8e qaed6 allf mano ^ mano ? 

— Dejuro, y ya Yerk hermano 
La Hendre^ que era el modto. 

Coroobi6 la rubiecita, 
Pero al fin se sosegd, 
Cuando el Dotor le oont6 
Que £1 era el de la cajita. 

AsigUD * lo que presume 
La' rubia aflojaba laso, 
Porque el Dotor^ amigaso, 
Se ^ le queria ir al humo. 

La rubia lo malici6 

T por entre las macetas, 

Le hizo unas cuantas gambetas 

Y la casilla gand. 

El Diablo tras de un rosal, 
Sin la vieja apareci6. 

— {A la cuenta la larg6 
Jediendo entre algun maizal * 

— La rubia, en vez de acostarse, 
Se lo pas6 en la ventana, 

Y allf aguard6 la maflana 
Sin pensar en desnuddrse. 

Ya la luna se escondia, 

Y el lucero se apagaba, 

Y ya tamien comenzaba 
A venir clariando el dia. 

'sharp. 'se^n. 

'allDmon to an animal when lassoed, getting tired of backing and running. 

^ take hold. * corn-field. 


I No ba visto ust^ de un yesquero 
Loca una cbispd salir, 
Como dos varas seguir 

Y de ahi perderse, aparoero ? 

Pues de ese modo, cufiaO| 
Caminaban las estrellas 
A morir, sin quedar de ellas 
Ni un triste rastro borrao. 

De los campos el aliento 
Como sabumerio venia/ 

Y al^re ya se ponia 

El ganao en movimiento. 

En los verdes arbolitos 
Grotas de cristal brillaban 

Y a I saelo se descolgaban 
Cantando los pajaritos. 

Y era, amigaso, un contento 
Ver los junquillos doblarse 

Y los elaveles eimbrarse 
Al soplo del manso viento. 

Y al tiempo de reventar 
El boton de alguna rosa, 
Venir una mariposa 

Y comenzarlo d chupar. 

Y si se pudiera al eielo 
Con un pingo comparar, 
Tamien podria afirmar 

Que estaba mudando el pelo.^ 

1 mllasioD to a hone's shedding his winter coat in spring. 

48 F. M. PAGE. 

— { No sea b&rbaro, caDejo ! 
i Qu6 oomparancia tan fiera ! 

— No bay tal : paes de saino^ qae era 
Se iba poniendo azulejo.' 

Cuando ha dao on madrugon 
No ha visto uBtA, etubelesao, 
Ponerse blanoo-azulao 
El mas n^ro fiubaroD ? 

— Dice bien, pero su caso 

8e ha hecbo medio empacador. . . . 
— Aura* viene lo mejor. 
Pare la oreja amigaso. 

El Diablo deDtr6 6 retar 
Al dotor J entre el respoDso 
Ledijo: — **i8abe quees sodto?" 
i Pa* qa6 la dej6 escapar ? 

^'Ahi la tiene en la ventana : 
Por suerte no tfene reja, 

Y antes qae venga la vieja 
Aproveche la mafiana." 

Don Faasto ya atropell6 
Diciendo : — '^ j basta de ardiles ! " 
La ^ caz6 de los euadriles 

Y ella .... tamieu lo abraz6 ! 

— I Oiganl6* 6 la dura ! 

— En esto. . . . 
Bajaron el cortinao : 
Alcanoe el frasco cufiao. 
— Agatas le queda un resto. 

^ dark hone. 'ahora. ^ catch hold. 

' a ** blaeish-wiiite " hone. * para. * gee-whis f 



— Al rato el lienzo 8ubi6 

Y deshecha y lagrimiando, 
CoDtra una mdquina hilando 
La nibia se apareci6. 

La pobre dentrd 6 qaejarse 
Tan aniargamente alii. 
Que yo & mis ojos sent! 
Dos l&grimas asomarse. 

— I Que verguenza ! 

— Puede ser : 
Pero, amigaso, oonfiese 
Que & uBi6 tambien lo entemeoe 
El llanto de una mujer. 

Cuando 6 uste un hombre lo ofende, 
Ya sin mirar para atr&s, 
Pela^ el flamenco y {sas! |trfis! 
Dos pufialadas le priende. 

Y cuando la autorid^ 
La par€tda * le ha soltao 
Ustfi en su overo rosao 
Bebiendo ' los vientos v&. 

Naides ^ de ust6 se despega 
Porque se aiga desgraciao,' 

Y es muy bien agazajao 

En cualquier rancho 6 que Uega. 

^ knife. ' oouDtry-poUce. ' lit, ** drinking the winds.*' 

^ nadie. ^ means here, to kill a man. 


50 F. M. PAGE. 

Si es hombre trajadori 
Ande ^ quiera gana el pan : 
Para eso oon ast^ vaD 
BolaSi lazo y maniador. 

Pasa el tiempo, vuelve al pago, 

Y cuanta mas larga ha sido 
Su ausencia, uste es recibido 
Con mas gusto y mas halago. 

Engafia ast^ & una infeIiZ| 

Y para mayor verguenza 
V6 y le cerd&i la trenza* 
Antes de hacerse perdiz.' 

La ata, si le d& la gana. 
En la cola de su overo 

Y le amuestra al mundo entero 
La trenza^ de fia Julana. 

Si ella tabiese un hermano 

Y en su raneho miserable 
Hubiera colgao un sable, 
Juera otra eosa, paisano. 

Pero sola y despreciada 
En el mundo ique ha de hacer. 
^ A quifin la cara volver? 
I Ande llevar la pisada. 

Sol tar al aire su queja 
Serd su solo consuelo, 

Y empai)ar^ eon llanto el pelo 
Del hijo que ustS le deja« 

^ adonde. ' lit, " cut off her plait ** =r don't keep a promiae. 

'take to year heels. * the plait. ' wet 


Paes ese dolar projundo 
A la rubia la secaba, 

Y por eso se quejaba 
Delante de todo el mundo. 

Aura, confiese cufiao, 

Que el oorazoD mas calludo, 

Y el gaucho mas entrafiudo.^ 
Alii babria lagrimiao.' 

— ^Sabe que me ha sacudido 
De lo Ifndo el corazon ? 
Vea sino el lagrimon' 

Que al oirlo se me ha salido. . . . 

— jOiganl^! 

— Me ha derrotao : 
No guarde rencor amigo. . . . 

— Si es en broma que no le digo. . . . 

— Siga su cuento, cufiao. 

La rubia se arreboz6^ 
Con un pafluelo ceniza ; 
Diciendo que se iba 6 misa 

Y puerta ajuera* sali6. 

Yerea U8t6 lo que guste 
Porque es cosa de dudar. . . . 
I Quien babia de esperar 
Tan grande desvarajuate!^ 

Todo el mundo estaba ajeno 
De lo que allf iba & pasar, 
Cuando el Diablo hizo sonar 
Como un pito de serenoJ 

> hard-hearted gaacha ' crj. * big tear. 

« wrapped herself ap. * Aftiera. * disaster. ' policeman's whistle* 

62 F. M. PAGE. 

Dna iglesia apareci6 

Ed menos qae canta ud gallo* . • . 

— I Yea si dentra 6 caballo I 

— Me larga creamel6. 

Creo que estaban alzando ^ 
En ana misa cantada, 
Cnando aqaella desgraciada 
L1^6 k la paerta llorando. 

Allf la pobre cayd 

De rodillas sobre el suelo, 

Alz6 lo6 ojoe al eielo 

Y caatro credos rez6. 

Nunca he sentido mas pena 
Que al mirar 6 e^a mujer : 
AmigO| aquello era ver 
A la meBma magalena.' 

De aquella mbia rosada 
Ni rastro abia quedao : 
Era un clavel marchitao 
Una roea deshojada. 

Su frente, que antes brill6 
Tranquila, como la luna, 
Era un cristal, Don Laguna. 
Que la desgracia enturbi6. 

Ya de sus ojos hundidos 
Las Idgrimas se secaban, 

Y entre temblando rezaban 
Sus l&bioB desooloridos. 

' elevation of the Hoet. ' the weeping Magdalen. 


Pero el Diablo la afia afila, 
Cuando est& desocapao, 
Yalli estaba el ooDdenao 
A una vara de la pila.^ 

La rubia quiso dentrar 
Pero el Diablo la ataj6, 

Y tales cosas le habl6 
Que la oblig6 disparar. 

Cuasi le di el acidente * 
Cuando 6 su casa llegaba. 
La suerte que le quedaba 
En la vereda de enfrente. 

Al rato el Diablo deDtr6 

Con Don Fausto, muy del braso.' 

Y una guitarra, amigaso 
Abi mesmo desenvain6. 

— iQufi me dice amigo Polio? 
— Como lo oye, eompafiero : 
El Diablo es tan guitarrero 
Camo el paisano ^ mas criollo. 

El sol ya se iba poniendoi 
La claridd se ahuyentaba, 

Y la noche se acercaba 

8u negro poncbo^ tendiendo. 

Ya las estrellas brillantes 
Una por una salian, 

Y los montes parecian 
Batallones de gigantes. 

* holy-water font * a fit 

* ** rerj mooh ann in arm." * ** out and oat native." 

* There is a great variety of ponchos : the common '* Brammagem " striped 
irticle^ the oostlj vicnfia, and the heavy blue-doth ; the gancho^s umbrella 
^nd blanket 

54 F. M. PAGE. 

Ya las obejas balaban 
En el corral prisionerasi 

Y ya las aves caseras, 
Sobre el aiero ganaban. 

El toqae ^ de la oraeion 
Triste los aires rompia 

Y entre sombras se movia 
El crespo saaoe lloron. 

Ya sobre la agaa estancada 
De silenciosa laguna, 
Al asoDiarse la luna, 
Se miraba retratada. 

Y hadendo un estrafio ruido 
En las hojas trompezaban, 
Los p&jaro6 que volaban 

A guareperce ' en sn nido. 

Ya del sereuo' brillando 
La hoja de la higuera estaba, 

Y la lechuza pasaba 

De trecho en trecho chillando. 

La pobre rubia sin duda, 
En llanto se desbacia, 

Y rezando& Dioe pedia 
Que le em prestase su ajuda. 

Yo presumo que el Doctor, 
Hostigao por satan&s, 
Queria otras hojas mas 
De la desdicbada flor. 

^erening Angelas. 'huddle. 'dew. 


A la ventana se arrima 

Y le dice al oondenao : — 
** Dele no mas sin cuidao 

Aunque reviente la prima." ^ 

£1 Diablo agcistaa too6 
Las clavijas y al momento 
Como una arpa el instramento 
De tan bien templao son6. 

— Tal vez lo traiba templao 
For echarla de baquiano. . . } 

— Todo puede ser hermano, 
Pero I oyese al oondenao I 

Al principio se flori6 
Con un lindo bordoneo, 

Y en ancas de aquel flor^ 
Una decima cant6. 

No bien ll^aba al final 
De su canto, el oondenao, 
Cuando el Capitan, armao, 
Se apareci6 en el umbral. 

— Pues yo encampafia lo hacia. . . . 

— Daba la casnalid^ 
Que llegaba & la ciudd 
En comisioUy' ese dia. 

— Por supuesto bubo fandango. . . .* 

— La lata ahi no mas pel6, 

Y al infierno le avent6 

De un cintaraz6 el changango,^ 

> the £ string. 'special seryice. igniter. 

• like a maftter. * ** there was a row." 

66 F. M. PAGE. 

— I Lindo el mozo ! 

J Pobrecito 1 . . . .^ 

— i Lo mataroD ? 

— Ya ver4 : 
Pel6 un oorbo ' el DotorcitOi 

Y el diablo . . . . ] barbaridi ! 

De8envaiD6 una espadita 
Como an viento, lo eDbasd, 

Y alii DO mas ya cay6 
El pobre. . . . 

— I Anima bendita I 

— A la* trifiilca y al ruido 
Ed moDtoD la geDte vino. • • . 

— iYel Dotor y el asesiao? 

— Se habiaD escabullido.^ 

La rubia tamien baj6 

Y viera aflicioni paisano, 
Cuando el cuerpo de su hermano 
Bafiao en sangre mir6. 

Agatas medio alcanzaron. 
A darse ana deepedfda, 
Porqae en el cielo, sin vida, 
Sus dos ojos se clavaron. 

Bajaron el oortinao, 

De lo que yo me al^r& . . . 

— Tome el frasco, pri^ndale, 

— Sirvas^ no mas cuflao. 

*"gondboyI" »fuM. 

* a sabre. ^ *' cut and ran." 



— J Pobre rabia ! Vea ust^ 
Cuanto ha venido & safrir 
Se le podia decir 
j Qui6n te vido y quien te v6 1 * 

— 2 Ansi es el mando, amigaso : 
Nada dara, Don Lafi^uDa, 
Hoy DOS rie la fortuna 
Mafiana Doe dA an gaascaso.' 

Las embrasy en mi opinion. 
Train an destino mas fiero, 

Y si quiere, compafiero, 
Le har6 ana comparacion. 

Naoe una flor en el saelo, 
Una delicia es eada hoja, 

Y hasta el rocio la moja 
Como un baatismo del cielo. 

Alii estll a&na la flor 
Linda, fresca y olorosa : 
A ella v6 la mariposa, 
A ella vuela el picaflor. 

Hasta el viento pasajero 
Se' prenda al verla tan bella, 

Y no pasa por sobre ella 
Sin darle an beso primero. 

I Ldstima causa esa flor 
Al verla tan consentida I 
Cree que es tan larga su vida 
Como fragante su olor. 

1 *' who would hare thought it ! " 'a cut. ' fall in loTe. 

58 F. M. PAGE. 

Niinca vi6 el rayo que raja 
A la reD^rida Dube 
Ni v6 al gusano qae sube, 
Ni al fuego del sol que baja. 

Ningun temor en el seno 
De la pobrecita cabe, 
Pues que se amaca^ do sabei 
Eutre el fu^o y el veueno. 

Su8 tiernas hojas despli^a 
Sin la menor desoonfianzai 

Y el gusano ya la alcanza. . . . 

Y el sol de las dooe ll^a. . . . 

So v& el sol abrasador, 
Pasa & otra planta el gusano, 

Y la tarde .... encuentra, hermano 
El cadaver de la flor. 

Piense en la rubia eufiao 
Cuando entre flores vivia, 

Y diga si presuniia 
Destino tan desgraciao. 

Ust6 que es alcanzador ' 
Afijes^ en su memoria, 

Y diga : ^ es igual la historia 
De la rtibia y de la flor ? 

— Se me hace tan parecida 
Que ya mas no puede ser, 
— Y hay mas : le falta que ver 
A la rubia en la crujida.' 

* hoyen. • " clear-headed "=" a readier." ' prbon. 


— i Qu6 me cuenta ? { Desdiohada 1 

— Por tiltima vez se alz6 
El lienzo, y apareci6 

En la c&rcel enoerrada. 

— i Sabe que yo no oolijo 
£1 p6rqae de la prision 

— Tanto penar ; la razon 
Se le ju^j y lo mat6 al hijo. 

Ya la babia sentenciao 
A muerte, & la pobrecita, 
Y en una n^ra camita 
Dormia un suefio alterao. 

Ya redoblaba el tambofi 
Yel cuadro^ ajuera formaban, 
Cuando al calaboso entraban 
El Demonio y el Dotor. 

— I Veanl6 al Diablo si larga 
Sua presas asf no mas ! 

I A que anduvo Satanas 
Hasta oir sonar la descarga?' 

— Esta vez se le chingd ' 
El cude y ya lo verd. . . . 

— Priendali al cuento que ya 
No lo vuelvo d tajar yo. 

— Al dentrar hicieron ruido, 
Creo que con los cerrojoe ; 
Abri6 la rubia los ojos 
Yalli contra ella los vido. 

^ let, ** formiDg the aqaare." 

* In Argentina, death-penalty is bj shooting, althoogh the old style of 
exfxmtion, throat-cutting, still obtains in the provinces. 
'let, <<the rocket fizzled.'' 

60 F. M. PAGE. 

La infeliz ya trastornada, 
A causa de tanta herida, 
Se enoontraba en la cnijida 
Sin darse caenta de nada. 

AI ver venir al Dotor, 
Ya oomeD26 i disvariar, 

Y hasta le qaiso cantar 
Unas ^ dteimas de amor. 

La pobrecita sofiaba 
Cod 8U8 antiguos amores, 

Y creia mirar sas flores 
Eu los fierros qae miraba. 

Ella creia que oomo antes, 
Al dir 6 regar su guerta, 
Se encontraria an la paerta 
Una caja con diamantes. 

Sin ver que en su situacion 
La' caja que le esperaba, 
Era la que redoblaba. 
Antes de la ejeeucion. 

Bedepente' se afij6 
En la cara de Luzbel : 
Sin duda^ al mcUo vi6 en d, 
Porque allf muerta cay6. 

Don Fausto al ver tal desgracia, 
De rodillas cay6 al suelo, 

Y dentr6 & pedir al cielo 

La recibiese en sugracia. 
' lore-dittj. 

'Plaj on the word "caja," box, and also "dram," i e^ the roll of the 
dram amiounciog the execotion. 
' de repente. ^ devil. 


Allf el hombre arrepentido 
De tanto mal que habia hecho, 
Se daba golpes de pecho 

Y lagrimiaba aflijido. 

En dos pedazos se abri6 
La par6 de la crujida, 

Y n6 es eosa de esta vida 
Lo que allf se apareci6. 

Y DO crea que es bistoria : 
Yo vi entre una nubecita, 
La alma de la rubiecita, 
Que se subia 6 la glorfa. 

San Miguel) en la ocasion, 
Vino entre nubes bajando 
Con su escudo y revoUando 
Un sable tirabuzon. 

Pero el Diablo, que mir6 
El sable aquel y el escudo, 
Lo mesmito que un pdudo ^ 
Bajo la tierra gaud. 

Cay6 el lienzo finalmente 

Y ahf tiene el cuento contao. . . . 
— Priede el pafiuelo cufiao : 

Me est& sudando la frente. 

Lo que admiro es su firmeza 
Al ver esas brujerias 
— He andao cuatro 6 cinoo dias 
Atacao ' de la cabeza. 

> kind of armadillo. ' " with my head in a whirl." 

62 F. M. PAGE. 

— ^Ya es gueno dir ensillaudo. . . • 
— Tome ese tiltimo traguito 

Y eclie el frasco d ese pocito ' 
Para que quede boyando. 

Cuando los dos acabaron 
De ensillar sus parejeros, 
Como guenos oom))afieros, 
JuntoB al irate agarrarcn} 
En una fonda se apiaron 

Y pidieron de cenar : 
Cuando ya iban k acabar, 
Don LAGUNA 8ac6 un rollo* 
Diciendo : — " El gasto del POLLO 
De aquf se lo ban de oobrar." 

F. M. Page. 

little hole. '''strike a trot." 'a roll of paper monej. 


Among the many interesting phenomena of speech-life are 
the disappearance and the development of a py by t, d, k, or g 
between two consonants. The mppreasum of the stop seems 
to be usaally due to a general tendency to simplify consonant 
groups, whenever such reduction facilitates utterance and does 
not interfere with intelligibility ; thus Vulgar Latin oompto 
becomes conUo and then conto. The growth of a consonant 
between two others appears to be occasioned either by a lack 
of simultaneousness in the action of different organs, as in 
English Hampton from Hamtony or by an unconscious effort 
to bridge over a difficult transition, as in Old French eatre 
from esre; sometimes, perhaps, as in Greek avSpo^, it is 
brought about by a combination of these causes. 

En modem English, under the tyrannical sway of our tradi- 
tional orthography, these natural developments of language 
can make but little progress; but in unstudied speech we still 
find some examples of phonetic change, which serve to indicate 
the direction of present tendencies. It is hardly necessary to 
say that cases of omission are far commoner than those of 
insertion. We are all familiar with such forms as hdl-^dj 61 
moBUy las TuiUy mva gd} Sweet suppresses p in Hasmfb and 
1on9vmf9nj d in kdlblodid and 61 gr^ rod, t in btdijjUa t9, has 
dauuj mis di9repy9t9blf pa^ twdv^fan tel, etc. In the common 
form dd n6 both t and n are lost. In porjjhin the p is gone 
and the nasal is assimilated to the k; similar alterations are 
shown by Sweet's d6rj ^diand karj kom. 

Bell says, in his JEsaaya and Poatsoripta (p. 18): '^Few 
speakers accomplish the distinction clearly between maat and 

^ The systein of tranBcription I nse is that of the American Dialect Society. 




masked, mart and marked, iavght and talked. . . . The plural 
.... aeele few persons dietiDguish phouetically from the word 
MX." I have often heard sek» for tekts, and someUmee mad 
for maxhl, but the coafusion of mart and markt, tot and tokt 
has never come to my notice. With r^ard to BjUables in 
which a voioelees stop is preceded by a nasal and followed by 
another voicdeaa stop, Miss Soames observes : * " Though we 
try to sound p in jumped and k in thatiied, there is no escape 
of breath before I, as e. g. in French actif, and neither can the 
p and k be heard in closing, when preceded by tn or n, ao I 
believe neither sound can be made audible." This is certainly 
true of ordinary speech ; and yet we have the impression of 
makii^ and of bearing the p and the k. We probably do form 
them after a fashion ; that is, after the nasal buzz has oeased, 
we hold the m and the «i positions a moment, and the t-etop a 
moment longer, theaooustic result being a double pause between 
the voiced nasal and the final voiceless explosion. 

Some two years ago, in a circular which I shall presently 
describe, I submitted to 140 correspondents seven examples 
of the loss of p, t, and k. The percentages of those who omit 
these stops are given, in round numbers, below : 




jim(t) like.-... 





■ QaoMd b; Storm, ^Mr'i'cAt i^UWo^W) woood ediUoD, p. 44S. 


A glance will show that the suppression is commonest in 
Boston and in the South. The American nsage^ taken as a 
whole; would seem to be much more conservative than the 
South English described by Sweet. Northern Englishmen, 
on the other hand^ if Lloyd is a fair representative, are even 
more intolerant of reduction than we; in Die neueren SpracheUy 
in, 6 (p. 307), he makes the following assertion : " The only 
pronunciation of this kind which I have heard from good 
(generally Southern) speakers is dat for dskt.'^ 

It is, however, in a series of words not yet examined that 
the stop most easily drops out — namely, those in which it 
stands between a nasal and a spirant, as in hnsDmpfm and 
sendz. This, too, is almost the only situation in which we 
perceive, in our actual speech, an interconsonantal stop com- 
ing into existence. The development of such groups will 
form, then, the special subject of this paper. Let us consider 
first the cases of loss. 

In such words as bumptious, consumption, Hampshire,' Simp^ 
son * we have a p between m and for s. Cents shows the com- 
bination nts. In fiiuls, sends, etc., d stands between n and z. 
Anonous, distinction, function furnish instances of k preceded 
by fj and followed by/. The disappearance of this p, t, d, or 
k simply means that the soft palate, which is lowered for the 
nasal, is not raised until the other organs have assumed or are 
assuming the position for the final spirant. 

In the circular already mentioned I attempted to ascer- 
tain the frequency of omission among educated speakers. 
The results appear in the following table, where the figures 
show the number per centum of speakers who suppress 
the stop: 

^ Id words like Hamjuhirt^ Hampatead, Sampton, SimpsoUy Thompwn, where 
the p appeared early enough to be recognized in the regular spelling, anj 
omission of this consonant must, I think, generally be considered as an 
example of suppression. In the case of Sampson and Thompaon the influence 
of the fo^ms Scamon and TAomson Is perhaps of some importance. 





































^,^{r^ :;:::;:: 



It wilt be Been that the fall of the stop is tolerably general 
in eonaumption, cenis, Jinde, and tends, extremely common in 
anxiety (if this is a case of fall), and comparatively rare in 
the other words. Here, again, the South and Boston take the 
lead. I do not know how far English osage accords with 
onus. Sweet has, as we have noted, Hamjit and kmgomjtn. 

The groups vtj and twfj require separate mention.' I see 
no good reason to doubt that the ch and the " soft g " in sach 
words as bench, inches, lounge, danger formerly had their usual 
values oftf&ud d^. In the England of our own day, how- 
ever, this t and this d seem to have disappeared from the 
speech of the greater part of the people. Lloyd says, in Die 
neueren Sprachen, in, 5 (p. 306) : " I know the pronunciations 
fiUf, Frenifj only from the works of Southern phoneticians, 
never having heard them, even in the South." Miss Soames, 
on the other hand, gives us, on page 77 of her Itiiroduction to 
the Study of Phonetics, the forms bentj, cetii/ar, bold^,jnnd^ (but 
mUf) ; and in Phonetische Sludien, T (p. 231), she avers that 
"the combinations Itf, ni/ in words Iike_^&A, French are still 

'All that u Hud of these combinstioDi appliee slw Utltf,m 
4iiii to Ms, M in bulge, mMier. 



in use. I always use them myself/' she oontiDues^ ^'and indeed 
was greatly surprised when I first learnt that they could be 
pronounced otherwise." Sweet has only nj or nj in nearly all 
cases, but in century his practice appears to be variable.^ Of 
this word Murray remarks:' "Nobody says s'en/ari (when 
sober), so far as I can hear : it is universally scouted, com- 
pared to a tipsy man's qaesKn for qaedion. I hear, according 
to care, s'entitiri, s'entytlri, s'ent/'tlri, s'ent/dri, but always if 
present. I say the first, so do all my family." He observes, 
further, concerning nge:^ "Perhaps always nj when final : I 
seem to touch the d in kingCy change^ lounge, but many people 
do not feel that they do, and acoustically it is very difiScult to 
decide. When medial, I certainly touch the d; and I hear it 
in most people, when they sing for me dan-ger to two long 
notes ; but it is difficult to detect it in speech." In the New 
English DictUmai^ the stop appears to be omitted only in final 
nif: thus we find benfj but cedverdfdrj ^ndjrf, tf^nd^. 

What is the treatment of these groups in America? The 
Century f the Intenwiional^ and the Standard dictionaries retain 
the stop everywhere, and in this they doubtless represent the 
usage of Professors Whitney, Porter, and March, who had 
charge of the pronunciation in these works.' Professor Sheldon 
generally has ntf and ndj^, as in bunch and strange, but, curi- 
ously enough, says aenjdri} Professor Weeks has put himself 
on record for 9rhid^ and frentfj^ Dr. Menger, on the other 
hand, pronounces, according to his own notation,/rcn/'and ton/".* 
In the New York dialect described by Professor Emerson, the 

* In the first editioD of his EUmeniarbueh he gives both »entf9ri and amfm; 
in the third edition, only serUfiri, 

'Qaoted by Storm, Engliaehe PhUologiey second edition, p. 442. 

' I know, from their own testimony, that this is true of Professor Whitney 
and Professor Porter. 

^Dialect Notet, ii, p. 36. 

*MaUrephonitique^ Nov., 1894, p. 178. 

^MaUrephonitiquCf Dec., 1893, pp. 168, 169. 


stop is preserved in all cases.' I always keep it, and I think 
this is the practice of most American speakers whom I hear. 
Mj circular was not at all successful in eliciting reliable infor- 
mation on this point. From the answers to mj inquiries con- 
cerning bunchy century^ venture, bulge, strange, stranger, and 
from the marginal notes that were often added^ it was evident 
that most of the testimony on this subject was of very little 
value. The cause of this failure seemed to be the popular idea 
that English ch and ''soft ^" always represent simple sounds — 
a fallacy that is still upheld by some orthoepists and spelling 
reformers. Wishing^ nevertheless, to make the most of the 
materials I had collected, I hit upon the following plan : I 
examined the roll of my correspondents and picked out those 
whom I knew to be competent, through their acquaintance 
with phonetics, to analyze their consonant-groups ; while mak- 
ing my choice, I took pains not to look at the replies, and I 
was careful not to select anyone with whose pronunciation of 
these words I was already familiar. The result was a list 
of twelve men, seven from the East, one from the West, and 
four from the South. The figures below indicate how many 
of the twelve omit the t or the d in each word : 

bunch, century, 3 ventare, 1 

bulge, 2 strange, 4 stranger, 3 

The difference between bunch and drange is very striking. 
Noteworthy, too, are the facts that two persons have t in ven- 
ture but not in century,* and that one has d in strange but not 
in stranger. There is no trace of dialect division on geo- 
graphical lines. 

We come now to the case of the development of a stop between 
nasal and spirant. Sense, comfort, and length are examples of 

^Dialtct NoUif iii, pp. 1S8, 169. On p. 16S we find even eenture and mm' 
Hon with a L 

' It is hardly necessary to say that not one of the twelve has the entirely 
artificial pronunciation tentyuri, verUyur, 


combinations in which the spirant is voiceless. In such words 
there are three possibilities: (1) the first consonant may retain 
its voice and its nasality until the spirant begins, as in « + 6 
+ fully voiced n -f «; (2) the latter part of the nasal may, 
while retaining its nasality, become unvoiced, as in « + e + 
voiced n -|- voiceless n + s; (3) both voice and nasality may 
cease before the tongue or lip-position of the first consonant is 
abandoned, as in 8 -\-e-\-n -\-t -\- a. The first of these three 
pronunciations is, I think, rarely used :« + «-[- fully voiced 
n -f ^ would be understood as sends rather than as sense. But 
the second and third are in common use, and are not always 
easily distinguished. Tf the spirant is voiced, there are only 
two varieties: (1) the nasal is immediately followed by the 
spirant, as in p + e + n + z; (2) the nasal quality ceases before 
the spirant begins, as in p + e + n + d -[- «. It should be said 
here that if the spirant is final, it is regularly whispered instead 
of voiced, whether a non-nasal stop is formed or not. 

In November, 1893, acting in behalf of the Phonetic Sec- 
tion, I sent out to nearly all parts of the United States a list 
of variable words. I received 140 replies, representing six 
states west of the Mississippi, and all the states east of that 
river, except New Jersey, Georgia, Florida, and Alabama. My 
.correspondents are all highly educated persons, a large propor- 
tion being college professors. The pronunciation indicated by 
each writer is supposed to be (as far as he can determine it) 
that of his ^^ own unstudied speech.^' An amusing feature of the 
answers was the hostility manifested by many correspondents 
toward any peculiarities that did not belong to their own dia- 
lect: a man who pronounced loormpy wondered whether it was 
possible for a human being to say svmpyir), while one who 
was partial to sompyir) expressed by three exclamation points 
his contempt for toormpy. Nevertheless, I feel sure that nearly 
every writer described his own usage, in the main, intelligently 
and faithfully, although he may occasionally have been misled 
by the printed forms. 


Id the following table the figures show the percentage of 
speakers who develop a stop betweeo the nasal and the spirant: 






















































































In the first two columns the contrast between the easj-gomg 
speech of the citj and the careful utterance of the country is 
very marked. The pronunciation of rural Xew England and 
of Pennsylvania appears to be highly artificial. Notice the 
great difierence between Pennsylvania and Xew York State 
in the case of warmth. The extreme rarity ofpendz, considered 
in connection with the popularity of faiiui and senz (as shown in 
a preceding table), naturally leads to the supposition that, were 
it not for orthographic influences, the combination ndz would 
be very uncommon ; it is, I think, entirely foreign to my own 

To obtain a rough estimate of the prevailing practice 
in the United States, I have averaged the figures in all 
the foregoing tables (except the first), giving, however, 
three times as much importance to the North as to any 
other division : 



I. Omission. 

homfigf . . 

. . 15 

hniomfin, , 

. . 30 

k€Bm/9rt . . 

. . 17 

nnun, . • 

. . 17 

hmf, . . . . 

. . 

tenf9rif . . . 

. 25 

tens, . . . 

. . 26 

venfrr, . . . 

. . 8 

bDmpf98f ... 85 
hniamj>l^ . 70 
hannpfir, ... 83 
nmptnf ... 83 
btrntf, ... 100 
M7i(/m, ... 75 

senU, 74 

Wfnif9Tf .... 92 

faifUf 29 

8enz, 30 

sir^T^f .... 33 
8trSn^9r, ... 25 
(BTi2(n9H^ ... 72 

CBTlfiSf .... 12 
dMrffinf . . 11 
jOrififif .... 7 

. . • 

faindij . . 
strindj^f • 

fDnkf9n, . 


II. Insertion. 


. 80 

oempsl9rdcemy 20 

CBTUlfr, . 

. . . 79 

cmtti^f . . 

. . 21 

ncciiifiTy • . 

. 79 

kcempfoTf ... 21 

/^rtfiK . , 

. . 36 

/drrtn/J», . 

. . . 64 

kofi^rty . . 

. 91 

kDmp/9rt, . . 9 

aena, . . . 

. . . 74 

8€ntSf . . , 

. . . 26 

tcenuYiy . . . 

. 64 

soBMptrij . . . 36 

pent, . . . 

. . 96 

ittik\», . 

. . . 4 

tom^iiy . . 

. 79 

stfmpHrit • • • 21 

/ei?>, . . . 

. . . 21 

. . . 79 

iionii|>| ... 

. 54 

ttormpj*, ... 46 

«<mj>, . . 

. . . 28 


. . . 72 

One fact seems to be indicated by these numbers, namely, 
that a non-nasal stop is developed more readily before ]? than 
before the other spirants. Compare something , wamUhyfour^ 
teerUhy length,^ strength^ with Amsterdam, camphor y comforty 
answer^ sense. It should be noted, however, that in all the 
words in the first series, except something^ the spirant is final, 
whereas in the second list the consonants are followed, in 
every case but sense, by an atonic syllable. The presence of 
this unaccented syllable probably interferes with any lengthen- 
ing of the preceding consonant group, and so, perhaps, renders 
more difiScult the development of a plainly audible py t, or k. 
We may explain in this way the difference between something 
and the other examples of );.' Sense, on the other hand, shows 
only a few more insertions of t than answer. The prevalence 

^From leri\f and 8treri\f, without k, come, I suppose, the forms leni> and 
ttren)^, which are occasionallj used by educated speakers. 

* Possiblj a consciousness of the component parts of something tends to 
check the introduction of a p in this word. 


of j) in Samson is doubtless due in part to the influence of the 
name Sampson. 

On merely theoretical grounds, a philologist would perhaps 
have supposed that every speaker would incline either to develop 
or to suppress the non-nasal stop throughout — that persons who 
said cemsterdasm would pronounce hcemJ^Ty and that those who 
pronounced bvmpf^ would say kmapfdri. According to this 
supposition, sense and cents would always be confounded, some 
speakers omitting and some using the t in both words.' In 
actual speech, however, the influence of spelling plays an ex- 
tremely important part, and tends to make the spoken word 
correspond as closely as )X)8sible to its written symbol. In 
such cases as cenJts and raiUs^ moreover, the presence of t in 
some other form of the word (ce/i/, rant) must be taken into 
account. Furthermore, the evidence I have obtained seems to 
indicate that even without the agency of spelling and analogy 
the dialect of the individual speaker might be anything but 
consistent.' Among the 140 persons consulted, eight use k in 
length but not in strenffthy while two use it in strength but not 
in length; several have k in function but not in distinction; the 
p of consumption is omitted twice as oflen as that of bumptious^* 
and p is twice as common in camphor as in comfort.^ For the 
different treatment of the x in anxious and in anxiety there is 
doubtless some historical reason.* To one who is in the habit 

* In point of fact, about 50 per cent, of mj correspondents confound cenU 
and aenaCf half of them by dropping the t from eenU, and half by inserting it 
in MfiM. 

' I found in my replies nothing like consistency in the usage of any one 
person or of any one state. In New York and Pennsylvania there seemed 
to be somewhat less confusion than elsewhere. 

'This word may be affected by the analogy of 6ump, from which it is per- 
haps derived. I do not undenitand, however, why eoruumption should loee 
its p so much oftener than Hampshire, 

* I suspect that the pronunciation of camphor is somewhat affected by the 
presence of a printed p, although here this letter is of course only a part of 
the digraph ph=/. 

* For these two words the pronunciations given by the dictionaries, cetikfin 
and cBfiMOii, prove to be in accordance with the practice of the minority of 


of r^arding phonetic laws as operating inexorably and uni- 
formly^ all these facts are rather surprising. But if we look 
at the matter in the light of every-day experience, we can 
easily understand the existence of countless inconsistencies. 
A child, for instance, may learn length from someone who 
sounds the k, and strength from somebody who leaves it out, 
and then fail to assimilate these two words. It is, in fact, 
only when we examine, classify, and compare the pronuncia- 
tions of a large body of people, that we arrive at anything 
approaching regularity ; then, and then only, we b^in to 
comprehend the principles that are determining speech- 

Can we, now, viewing our results as a whole, draw from 
them any general inferences? We may, at least, hazard a con- 
jecture. The tables have siiown, on the one hand, a strong 
tendency to insert, and a weaker tendency to omit a stop 
between a nasal and a voiceless spirant. On the other hand, 
we have observed that nz almost never becomes ndz, while the 
opposite development is very general ; we have seen that in 
the group ndj the d appears to be falling out ; we may, too, 
note the fact that the growth of a 6 between m and z (as in 
timeSy crimson) or a d between n and v (as in anvily envelope) is 
practically unknown. These facts seem to point to the follow- 
ing conclusions : 1st, living American English is averse to 
the combination of nasal -f ^^op -|- voiced spirant, which it 
strives to reduce and does not allow to develop; 2d, with 
regard to the group nasal + stop + voiceless spirant, there are 
at present two contrary tendencies, one — the stronger — work- 
ing to create and to preserve it, the other laboring to destroy 
it and to prevent its formation. All of these movements are 
held in check by the conservative influence of spelling. 

What are the special causes of these two conflicting inclina- 
tions — the fondness for the stop before voiceless, and the hos- 
tility to it before both voiceless and voiced spirants ? One is 
perha])s tempted, at first sight, to ascribe them both to defective 
perception. A child, thinking he hears wormppf when the 


speaker really says vx>rmy, may adopt the former proDUDcia- 
tion, and keep it through life. It is, however^ important to 
remember that we are studying the dialects of cultivated men, 
to whom the printed word is, on the average, fully as familiar 
as the spoken one. In fact, a great many — possibly most— of 
the words in our list must have been first learned from books. 
We musty therefore, look elsewhere — in the operations of the 
vocal organs themselves — for a probable explanation. At this 
point it would be of great advantage to us to make a series of 
experiments with an instrument composed of Professor Weeks's 
soft palate explorer ^ and Rousselot's voice indicator.' This I 
have been unable to do; and until it is done, we must base our 
speculations on data obtained without artificial aid. 

In attempting to find some physiological reason for our 
phenomena^ we must bear in mind that the stop^ in any case, 
is barely audible, so that neither its presence nor its absence 
has any marked efiect on the intelligibility of speech. This 
being understood, we may perhaps attribute the faU of the 
consonant to a certain sluggishness of the velum: in order to 
form a clear j), t, d, or ky the soft palate must be promptly 
raised ; and the speaker, vaguely aware that these sounds are 
not necessary, is naturally disposed to lift the veil in a leisurely 
way, sparing himself the effort of a sudden movement, and 
allowing the nasality to extend unnoticed into the following 
spirant. But how shall we explain the coming of a stop? 
There is in English (and in other languages as well) a general 
inclination to anticipate voicelessuess — ^to devocalize the latter 
part of a sonant that precedes a surd or a pause : the v of have 
and the z of rose are examples of the loss of glottal vibration 
before a pause ; and we have already seen that a nasal stand- 
ing before a voiceless spirant, as in comforiy aenaef lengthy is 
partly unvoiced. Now, it seems to me that the formation of 
a py ty or k under these latter conditions may be due to an 

^Harvard Notes and Studies^ II, p. 213. 
^Retme de$ paloia gaiUHromana, Na 14-15, p« 79. 


unooDsdous impalse to make the retraction of the soil palate 
ooincide with the opening of the glottis. But whether thia 
impulse is the result of a habit of associating the movements 
of these two organs, or of some unknown principle of eoonomyi 
or of a different and wholly unsuspected cause, I shall not 
venture even to guess. 

C. H. Grandgent. 


A good deal has been said^ in recent years, about the 
importance of prose fiction. The vogue which the modem 
novel undoubtedly enjoys^ its immediate and unquestionable 
influence over multitudes of readers, has contributed much to 
the prevalent impression as to the value of fictiou^ yet a more 
significant factor has been the incre&sing self-consciousness of 
fiction writers. They seem to feel a distinct assurance that 
at last they are going to get seats nearer the head of the 
table. Compared with the solemnity with which they dis- 
cuss in public the responsibilities laid upon practitioners of 
their art, Harry Fielding's prefaces about his stem duty as a 
historian of human nature seem frivolous indeed. If this 
conviction of the greatness of the art were producing, or 
tending to produce, greater artists, one could scarcely quarrel 
with it, but among the day's distinguished names the great 
artists are unfortunately as few as ever. Wide-spread as is 
the present interest in fiction, it is at least debatable whether 
the English novel is much more intrinsically important, when 
compared with other types of literature, or even when tested 
by the proportion of fiction to the entire literary output, than 
it has been at a half dozen other periods in the last two hun- 
dred years. 

Nevertheless, though the gain in quality and quantity of 
fiction in English is often exaggerated, it is true that the 
importance of the novel is indisputable, and this importance 
is not lessened by the fact that the novel did not win its place 
in literature yesterday or the day before. The study of fiction 
in preparatory schools and colleges is a recognition, though a 
somewhat tardy one, of the value of the art. It attests the 
significance of the mass of observations, thoughts and feelings 
which that art has recorded for us, and indirectly gives wit- 
ness to the desire of teachers of English to bring their work * 


into relation with life, to make it bear upon the actual read- 
ing and thinking of their pupils. Wherever courses in fiction 
have been made a part of the college curriculum, they have 
attracted the interest of students, and to some extent the notice 
of outsiders. These courses are altogether likely to be main- 
tained, and probably increased in number in the immediate 
future. At any rate, they have carried the experiment of 
teaching fiction sufficiently far to justify one or two observa- 
tions upon its educational value. 

In the first place, when contrasted with other types of im- 
aginative literature, such as poetry and the drama, prose fiction 
has for many pupils the virtue of more readily stimulating 
the attention. That attention is the basis of any successful 
mental effort the common sense of teachers and the experi- 
mental psychologists agree in affirming. A chapter of firstrate 
fiction arrests a boy's attention at countless points; it provokes 
his interest, awakens his curiosity, challenges comparison with 
his own experiences, quickens his flagging intentness by the 
constant shifting of focus within the field of mental vision, 
and even while it is energizing his imagination, concentrates 
it. Poetry touches a boy at a higher level, it is true, — pro- 
vided it touches him at all, — ^yet though fiction ^^ finds '' him 
upon a lower level, it has the advantage of finding him at 
more points. Its appeal is more universal ; it captivates the 
youth who cares mainly for facts, as well as the youth whose 
heart is set on fancies. Poetry is a finer art than fiction, but 
for that very reason there are many undergraduates who can- 
not come under the domination of poetry. They have no 
natural ear for its music, and at twenty or twenty-two they 
find themselves or think themselves too old to learn the 
notes. But the scope of prose fiction is so vast, it is so varied 
in its different provinces, its potency to attract and to impress 
is so indubitable, that the undergraduate who makes no intel- 
lectual response to it, whose powers may not be developed by 
means of it, must be insufferably dull. 


In the second place, the educational value of fiction consists 
not merely in its content, in the significance of the ideas which 
it conveys to the mind, but also to a considerable extent in 
the form in which those ideas are clothed. In the best fiction 
that form is singularly perfect. The study of expression as 
such, the cultivation of the feeling for style, is inseparably 
associated with a well selected course in fiction. The special 
treatises in narration and description, for instance, which many 
teachers of rhetoric are now using, draw their readiest and 
aptest illustrations from the novelists. The range of ex- 
pression, the force and beauty with which ideas are uttered 
by the masters of English fiction, is unquestionable. It is 
hard to see how any coU^ boy can come away from a dose 
study of Thackeray or Hawthorne, without a new appreciation 
of form, a standard of workmanship ; without learning once 
for all that imagination and passion may co*exist with a sense 
of proportion, with purity of feeling, with artistic reserve. 
These last are what we agree to call the classic qualities. We 
send boys to Greek and Latin literature in the hope that they 
will catch something of the secret of them, but if boys cannot 
or will not read Greek and Latin, they need not necessarily 
be unfamiliar with works composed in the classic spirit In 
a time like ours, when everybody writes " well enough," and 
few try to write perfectly, it is no small thing that college 
students may be taught through fiction to perceive the presence 
of style, the stamp of distinction. That sound Latinist and 
accomplished musician, Henry Nettleship, wrote once to a 
friend a passage about Wagner which is not without its bear- 
ing upon literature. ^' Wagner tries to make music do what 
it cannot do without degrading itself — namely, [>aint out in 
very loud colours certain definite feelings as they arise before 
the composer. The older musicians seem to me to aim rather 
at suggesting feeling than at actually exhibiting it, as it were, 
in the flesh. I think much of Wagner would vitiate my 
taste, but perhaps my head is too full of the older mtisio to 
take in strains to which my nerves are not attuned.'' Professor 


NettJeship may have been right or wrong about Wagner, bat 
is there a better service which the teacher of fiction can render 
a pupil> than to make his head so full of the noble cadences 
of Scott and Thackeray, Eliot and Hawthorne, that there 
shall be no room there for what has been succinctly described 
as '' the neurotic, the erotic, and the Tommyrotic,'' and all the 
other contemporary varieties of meretricious and ignoble art ? 
The methods to be followed in the college study of fiction 
depend naturally upon the size and proficiency of the classes, 
the extent to which the lecture system is adopted, the library 
facilities, the temperament and training of the individual 
teacher. At the same time there are certain general modes of 
instruction between which a choice must be made at the outset. 
For instance, the English novel may be treated historically. 
Its origins and the main tendencies of its development are 
not difficult to trace, and a course of lectures and required 
reading may thus be laid out without departing from the 
sequence of history. The advantages of following the histori- 
cal method in studying the literature of a particular people are 
too obvious to be insisted upon, but after all, so far as fiction 
is concerned, this method is not without its drawbacks. Very 
few college libraries contain much material dating back of the 
middle of the eighteenth century, or representing more than a 
handful of novelists from that time to the time of Scott. Even 
were the material at hand, the temptation in dealing with 
minor fiction of a past generation is to content oneself with 
second-hand opinion, and it is precisely this indolent fashion 
of handing along a received opinion which used to bring the 
teaching of English literature into disrepute. A pupil must 
get the books into his hand — how often does that need to be 
said — if he is to receive much benefit from his professor's de- 
liverances about them. Of course a boy who studies English 
fiction at all ought to know something of the lines of its pro- 
gress in the past, — say as much as Professor Raleigh's little 
book on The English Novel will help him to acquire, — but 
whether anything more than such a general sketch as is there 


attempted, can be saocessfully presented under ordinary class- 
room and library conditions, is doubtful. With advanced 
students and adequate library apparatus, investigation of the 
historical development of fiction will naturally take care of 
itself. ♦ 

Again, the direct criticism of contemporary fiction has been 
proved to be attractive and stimulating. Such a method of 
instruction takes pupils where they are, endeavors to make 
them clear as to their own preferences, traverses the immense 
field of latter-day fiction, and selects for analysis and judg- 
ment striking examples of this and that literary tendency. 
From the standpoint of pedagogy, much may be said for this 
method, which has its foundation in an interest already pres- 
ent, which requires little or no preparation on the student's 
part, and which puts the teacher on a level with his pupils, 
man to man, forcing him to see more truly and to express 
himself more clearly than they, upon books that have not yet 
won a permanent place in literature and consequently have 
not become a part of the professorial stock-in-trade. Never- 
theless the method has its dangers. It may tempt the teacher 
to popularize, in the bad sense ; to say cleverer things than 
the newspapers are saying about the novel which happens to 
be the latest ^^ fad ; '' to recognize in his choice of current 
fiction the market valuation and thus to impress the market 
value standard upon the very young men who most need to 
be taught the fallibility of that standard. It certainly tempts 
the student to criticize, — that is, to perform the most delicate 
of mental operations, — ^before he is in possession of any canons 
of criticism ; it tempts him to mistake literary gossip for liter- 
ary culture. Furthermore, it does not follow because a young 
fellow likes to read Trilby — let us say — that the analysis of 
the essence of Trilbiness is the best task that can be assigned 
him. The English historian's famous sneer, upon the propo- 
sition to introduce courses in English literature at the uni- 
versities, was that the study of Shelley would end in men 
being coached in ** the Harriet problem." But the Harriet 


problem is iDnocent and edifying material for the dass-room, 
compared with the themes of some of the most widely-read 
English novels of the past five years. If these books are to 
be disenssed at all, they should be discussed frankly, but the 
teacher's desk gains nothing in dignity by being turned into 
a clinic one day and a pulpit the next. If a man thinks 
he can teach literature, then, for his pupils' sake, as well as 
his own, he should stick to his trade. Finally, this emphasis 
upon contemporary fiction reinforces a tendency among under- 
graduates which needs correction rather than encouragement 
These young fellows are so contemporaneous already as to 
be the despair of their friends. Most of them have about as 
much sense of perspective as a Sunday paper. Their memo- 
ries scarcely reach beyond Treasure Island. It is therefore 
advisable for them to discover that good style did not begin 
with Stevenson, and that plot development is somewhat older 
than Conan Doyle. Fascinating as is the criticism of con- 
temporary novels in the cl&ssroom, a course of fiction-study 
might nevertheless be arranged which should fulfil every 
reasonable requirement, and still meet the test which the late 
Dr. Shedd is said to have applied to his last volume of 
theology. " It's good," he is reported to have exclaimed 
earnestly ; " it's good ; there isn't a modern thing in it." 

While every method has no doubt the defects of its qualities, 
it seems to me, as the result of more or less experiment, that 
the method least open to objection is that which, assuming 
that prose fiction is an art, devotes itself to the exposition of 
the principles of that art. It takes for granted that there is a 
** body of doctrine " concerning fiction, as there is concerning 
painting or architecture or music, and that the artistic princi- 
ples involved are no more incapable of formulation than are 
the laws of the art of poetry, as expressed in treatises upon 
Poetics from Aristotle's day to our own. They are indeed 
largely the same principles, as might be expected in the case 
of two sister arts. A student cannot begin the study of prose 
fiction more profitably than by endeavoring to grasp the rela- 


tions between this art and the art of narrative poetry. Quite 
aside from the task of tracing historically the process by which 
the prose romance grew out of the epic, there are rich fields 
for investigation in connection with such topics as the material 
common to the two arts, the qualities shared by the novelist 
and poet, and the similarity of much of their craftsmanship 
in the sphere of formal expression. This suggests a study of 
their differences in the selection of material, their varying 
attitude toward their material, and the diverging requirements 
of effective expression in the two media of prose and verse. 
Then the affiliations of fiction with the drama must be made 
clear, through a study of such questions as the general simi- 
larity in construction of the novel and the play, and the 
advantages and disadvantages of substituting the novelist's 
indirect methods of narration and description for the direct 
representation of action by means of the stage. Here the 
student may work out, in a comparatively new territory, the 
&miliar principle of Lessing, and assure himself that the real 
field of the novelist is forever separated from that of the 
dramatist by the nature of the artistic media which the two 
men employ. No professor who has the yearly experience of 
teaching fiction to classes made up in part of men who have 
studied poetics and the drama and in part of men who have 
not, will be likely to undervalue such preliminary study. 
The student may well be asked, also, to estimate the bearing 
upon fiction of the modern scientific movement, — remembering 
Lanier's remark about the novel being the meeting-ground of 
poetry and science, — and endeavoring to ascertain whether 
upon the whole fiction has gained or lost by its contact with 
the scientific spirit. After such a clearing of the ground as has 
been suggested, it is natural to pass to a detailed study of the 
content of fiction, a study, that is, of character, plot, and set- 
ting, in themselves and as inter-related. Selecting for class- 
room material some novels that have stood the test of time, 
methods of character-delineation must be observed ; stationary 
and developing characters compared ; the relation of main and 


subordinate characters noted. The nature of tragic and comic 
collisions must be analysed ; the infinitely varied ways of tang- 
ling and untangling the skein of plot reduced to some classifi- 
cation that can be grasped by the student. The circumstances 
or events enveloping the action of the story — whether it be set 
in some focal point of history or merely keyed to a quiet land- 
scape, — must be accurately perceived. Setting and plot and 
character, whether analysed separately or grasped in their 
artistic relations to one another, must further be discussed in 
connection with the personality of the fiction writer. Pupils 
should be taught to look for the mark of personality, not in 
gossip about a novelist's hour of rising and favorite breakfast 
and favorite books, but rather in connection with the creative 
processes upon which the stamp of personality is really set. 
The pupil ^ust be asked to hunt realism and romanticism to 
their lair in the mind of the artist. He must ask himself 
what is actually meant by those glib catch-words of criticism 
— ^those baffling pairs of words " real and ideal," " fact and 
truth,'' ^Mndividual and type," "nature and art." Finally 
he must study the way in which differences in the nature of 
material and differences in personality have resulted in the 
leading forms of fiction, and how these forms are capable of 
infinite modification, so that there is no end to possible inves- 
tigation of matters of technic and style. 

After some such equipment as I have briefly indicated, the 
student may profitably pass to the criticism of contemporary 
authors, if he pleases, or to some phase of the history of the 
novel. I should not wish to depreciate either of those methods 
of study, but nevertheless it seems to me that the most impor- 
tant thing to be learned about fiction at the outset is the 
knowledge of what fiction normally is ; a sense of what it 
can do and what it cannot do ; a recognition of the fact that 
in the most insignificant short story may be seen the play of 
laws as old as art itself; that Aristotle and Lessing, in short, 
wrote with one eye on Kipling and Hardy. It is true that 
there is in some quarters a suspicion of the professor of belles 


IdJtreSj with his academic rule and line, and his reverence for 
Aristotle and the unities. But in the present stage of coU^ 
instruction in fiction it is better to err on the side of formalism 
than of anarchy^ better to be a doctrinaire than to set up idols 
of the market-place. 

I have endeavored to point out the existence of a '^ body 
of doctrine^' concerning fiction. To formulate the group of 
facts and laws which constitutes this '^ body of doctrine/^ and 
to impress it upon a college class, is a task worthy of a teacher's 
best efforts. For the vast fiction-reading public into which 
these classes are so soon to merge is sceptical about the very 
existence of standards of judgment. '^ It is not that there is so 
little taste nowadays/' said someone the other day, '^ there is 
so much taste ; most of it bad." Nevertheless this lawless and 
inconstant public, craving excitement at any price, journalized 
daily, neither knowing nor caring what should be the real 
aim and scope of the novel, has the casting vote, after all, 
upon great books and little books alike. From its ultimate 
verdict there is no appeal. It is therefore no small service to 
literature that the collies perform, when they send into this 
public, to serve as leaven, men who know good work from 
bad, and who know why they know it. 

Bliss Perry. 




The material for the present study was collected during a 
residence of several months in Mexico City^ and the facts 
stated are the result of personal observation of the idiom 
ll spoken by the lower classes. In some cases use is made of 
words and expressions found in printed material, but all such 
forms have been subjected to a careful comparison with the 
spoken language, before being accepted as trustworthy. 

The language under consideration affords an interesting! 
example of speech-mixture : we have in it a combination of 
the various dialects of Spain, each of which has undergone a 
still further development since its separation from the mother 
province. Furthermore, there is a marked French and Eng- 
lish influence, especially in regard to the vocabulary. In 
addition to the elements mentioned, there is the original lan- 
guage of Mexico, which has given (ahd still continues to give) 
a strong coloring to the Spanish of the Republic. J 

In the present study an attempt has been made to show1 
firom what individual countries and provinces the Mexican 
Spanish dialect has drawn its material, and to what extent 
this material has been modified since its introduction into the 
language. In an historical study of the dialects of France, 
Italy or Spain, we naturally turn to Latin as a starting point; 
Mexican Spanish, on the other hand, has a b^inning only at 
the time of the Spanish Conquest. The language of Spain 
in the early part of the sixteenth century will therefore be 
taken as a starting point, rather than the Latin. j 


86 C. C. HARDEN. 

The amoant of dialect literature in Mexico is small. A 
few poets have made ase of the poptdar speech^ and the work 
of this class which has attained the greatest prominence is 
La Musa OaUejeray by Guillermo Prieto. There are, how- 
ever, quite a number of novels descriptive of life among the 
lower classes, and consequently containing many words and 
expressions valuable for a study of the dialect. Two of these 
novels call for special mention : Lo8 Bandidos del Rio Frio 
and Periquillo Samiento. The latter is one of the best known 
books in Mexico, and is often referred to as 'the Mexican 
Don Quixote.^ These works contain vocabularies of words 
not found in the Dictionary of the Spanish Academy. 

In addition to poetry and novels, there are several weekly 
newspapers written in the language of the people and pub- 
lished in Mexico City.^ These periodicals circulate exclusively 
among the people whose language they profess to represent, 
though in reality the peculiarities of the actual speech are 
&r from being faithfully represented in the printed pages. 
Another fact which lessens their value for dialect work is 
that they all have a very short lease of life, and the editor of 
each new attempt naturally repeats the mistakes of transcrip- 
tion committed by his predecessor. 

To the sources of dialect material, enumerated above, must 
be added a short article by F. Semeleder on '^ Das Spanische 
der Mexicaner.^'* The author confines his remarks to the 
'consonants,' and the value of his observations is greatly 
lessened by the fact that the study is not limited to some 
more definite territory, for in various parts of the Republic we 
find local peculiarities which are by no means ' mexicanisch.' 

In regard to the Indian or Nahuatl element in Spanish, 
two works are of special importance. The first in point of 
date is by Eufemio Mendoza, entitled, ApurUea para un CkUd^ 
logo razonado de las Palabras Mexicanas introdiundas al Oa8^ 
idlano} This, as the title implies, is a collection of Indian 

^ BibUog., No. 95. ' Bibliog, No. 88. • BiUiog., No. 77. 


words ''usadas en el Castellano tal como se habla en Mexico/' 
and inclades a large number of geographical names which 
owe their origin to the Nahaatl. The second treatise referred 
to above, is the Olosario de Voces CastdlancLS derivadas del 
Idioma NahuaU^ by Jesus Sanchez. Though not so exten- 
sive as the former treatise, this is much more valuable for our 
present study, since Dr. Sanchez, at the request of the writer, 
has kindly examined his Olosario for the purpose of determin- 
ing whether all the words are in actual use in Mexico City ; 
the result of his investigation is affirmative, ^^ sin exceptuar 
una sola/' 

Up to the present time no attempt has been made to estab- 
lish the laws which govern the phonetic changes in words of 
Indian origin on their passage into Spanish. In the present 
study the subject is treated as a separate chapter, since many 
of the laws governing the introduction of these elements are 
distinct from those which obtain for words of Bomanoe origin. 

The following facts concerning the colonization of Mexico 
are important. The period of Spanish influence commenced 
with the landing of Cortes in 1519, and the City of Mexico 
was captured two years later. From this time until 1821 
the country was a province of Spain; from 1821 to the 
present day Mexico has been an independent Republic, if we 
except the period from 1864 to 1867, during which Maxi- 
milian, Archduke of Austria, ruled as Emperor, having been 
placed upon the throne by the influence of the French. 

In the early days the officials in Spain kept a careful record 
of all persons who were permitted to emigrate to Mexico ; at 
one time the would-be colonist was required to have a special 
permit from the King; later, he had to bring certificates from 
his native district. It is to be regretted that these records 
have not yet been brought together in accessible form. Hubert 


88 O. C. HARDEN. 

Howe BaDcrofly Id speaking of the period of colonization^ 
remarks : ^* Those who in the early days under Cortte and sub- 
sequent leaders assisted in subduing the country^ and thereby 
retired to enjoy the reward of their toil on some encomienda, 
may be regarded as the founders of the leading ereole aris- 
tocracy — military adventurers though they were — and that of 
all grades, from hidalgo to artisan, sailor and even criminal, 
and drawn chiefly from Castile, Estremadura, and Andalusia. 
In later days the in-wanderers came principally from Vizcaya, 
Catalonia, Galicia, and the Santander mountains.^^ ^ 

The laws against foreigners were severe, so that only a few 
succeeded in gaining admission to the country. This fact is 
of importance in one respect; namely, when we find in Mexico 
a linguistic phenomenon that is common to both Portugal and 
GUicia, we can safely say that if it came into Mexico during 
the early stages of colonization, it is of Gralician origin and 
did not come directly from Portugal. The necessity for this 
discrimination will be more apparent, if we bear in mind that 
the language of Galicia is, strictly speaking, a Portuguese dia- 
lect, though the province itself is a part of Spain. Since the 
occupation of Mexico by the French, the influx of foreigners 
has steadily increased, and to-day there is in the Republic a 
number of French, English, American and Grerman citizens. 
These represent a respectable class who have engaged in com- 
mercial enterprises, and whose language has naturally intro- 
duced a number of new words into the dialect. 

A word in conclusion in r^ard to the other Spanish 
American countries. Within the last two decades, much has 
been written on idiom of the various Spanish -speaking por- 
tions of our Continent, so that at the present day we know 
something about the language of a large majority of the 
American Republics. The works on this subject, which have 
been used in the preparation of this monograph, are grouped 
together in a separate bibliography. Two of these call for 

^Hialory cf Mexieo, VoL iii, pp. 743-744. 


special mention; namely, that of R. J. Cuervo on the popular 
speech of Bogota, and that of Rudolf Lenz on the language 
of Chile. The two productions represent the high-water mark 
in the study of American Spanish. 


6 = 6 in Castilian preceptor. 
f = 6 " " preceptor. 
= ^^ " bolero. 
j) = o " " orden. 
6 = 6 « " ha6er. 
« = d " " hablado. 
'h = h " Grerman Aaben. 
A = c " Castilian caro. 
k' = palatalized k. 
\ = glm Italian gR. 
rj = ng in Qerman fin^r. 
r = voiceless r. 


f = « in French maimn. 
8 = ch in ' " cAanger. 
)? = c *' Castilian hacer. 
w = w ^' English vms. 
X=j " Castilian jovSn. 

z = g " French chan^r. 


I. General. 

1. — ^Aleman, Mateo, OrtografUi Oadellanay Mexico^ 1609. 
2. — Araujo, J., " Recherches sur la Phon6tique Espagnole/' 
in]Phonetis(^ Studien, in, v, and vi. 

90 a O. HARDEN. 

3. Edudioa de Fonitika Kaddlana, Toledo, 1894. 

4. — Blumentriit, F., Vooabular spanischF^hiUppinUcher Au9' 
driUske und Bedemarteny Leitmeritz, 1882, 1886. 

6. — Bonaparte, L., El Evangelio Begun San MaieOj iraduddo 
al dialeoto asturianoy Londres, 1861. 

6. El Evangelio segv/n San Maieo traducido al dior 

leolo gallego, Londres, 1861. 

7. — Borao, 6., Diodonario de Voces Aragoneses^ Zaragoza, 
1859. 2d ed. 1884. 

8. — ^Brugmann, K., Oomparalive Grammar of the Indo-Ger- 
manie Languages, 3 vols., Liondon, 1888-1892. 

9. — Caveda, Poesias en Dicdedo Aduriano^ Oviedo, 1887. 

10. — Coleocion de Poesias en Dialedo AsturianOy Oviedo, 

11. — Cuervo, R. J., Dicdonario de Oonstruocion y Regimen 
de la Lengua Oastellana, i, u, Paris, 1886, 1893. 

12. — Cuveiro Pifiol, J., Diodonario OaUegOy Barcelona, 

13.— Encina J. del., TeaJtro OompldOj Madrid, 1893. 

14. — Fernandez, Lacas, ^ar«a« y ^glogas, Madrid, 1867. 

15. — Foerster, P., Spanische SpraMehrey Berlin, 1880. 

16. — Gressner, Das Leonische, Berlin, 1867. 

17. — (Joldschmidt, M., Zur Kritik der AUgermanischen Ele- 
menien im Spanisoheny Lingen, 1887. 

18. — OramdUoa de la Lengua Vulgar de Espana, Loviano, 
1569. Reprint by Conde de la Vifiaza, Zaragoza, 1892. 

19. — 6r5ber, 6., Orundriss der Bomanischen Philologie, i, 
Strassbarg, 1886. 

20. — Homing, A., Zur Chschichle des Lojtdnischen C vor E 
und lim Boma/nischeUy Halle, 1883. 

21. — Joret, C, Du Cdans les Langu£s RomaneSy Paris, 1874. 

22. — Keller, A.yAltspanischesLesd)uchy Leipzig, 1890. 

23. — ^Knapp, W. I., A Grammar of the Modem Spanish 
Languagey Boston, 189-. 

24. — ^Korting, 6., Latdnischrromanisches Worierbuchy Pan- 
derbom, 1891. 


25. — lAteraJtiJurblaU Jur germanische wnd romanische PhUolo- 
gie, HeilbroDD, 1880-1895. 

26. — Marroquin, J. M., T^ralados de Ortologia y Ortografia 
de la Lengtia Ocutdlana, Mexico, 1882. 

27. — Mayans y Siscar, Originea de la Lengtta Espanola, 
Madrid, 1837. New edition by Eduardo de Mier, Madrid, 

28. — Meyer-Lubke, W., Gframmaire des Langues Roma/neSj 
I, Paris, 1890. 

29. — Michaelis, C, Studien zur Romanischen Wortsehopjung, 
Leipzig, 1876. (Wortschp.) 

30. — Modem Language Notea^ Baltimore, 1886-1895. 

31.— Morel-Fatio, A., VEspagne au XVI' et au XVJP 
SUole, Heilbronn, 1878. 

32. ** Spain (Language of)*^ in Eacydoposdia 

Britannicay Ninth Edition, xxn. 

33. — Mugica, P. de, DiaUctos OaatellanoSy MontafU8y Viz- 
oaino, AragorUa. Primdra Parte : Fon6tica, Berlin, 1 892. 
{Diai. Oad.) 

34. — Ghramdlica del Oastellano antiguOy Primera 

Parte: Fon6tica, Berlin, 1891. 

35. — ^Monthe, A.W.yArUecningar omfoUcmdlet i en trakt af 
vestra aaturienf Upsala, 1887. 

36. — Pott, A. F.y£k.ymologi8che Forechungen aufdem Qfbiete 
der Indogermaniachen S/wocAe, Detmold, 1859-1873. {Elym. 

37. — Bato y Hevia, A. de, Vocabvlario de las Palabrae y 
Fraaes Bablea, Madrid, 1891. 

38. — von Reinhardstoettner, C, Grammatik der Portuffiea' 
isehen Spra^ohej Strassbarg, 1878. 

39. — Betme Htspaniquey Paris, 1894-1895. 

40. — Rivod6, B, Voces Nuevas en la Lengua Oadellanay Paris, 

41.— iZomania, Paris, 1872-1895. 

42. — Saoo Aroe, J. A., GhramaHca Oallega, Lago, 1868. 

92 C. C. MABDEN. 

43.— Schuchardt, H., <'Die Cantes Flamencos/' in Zeilschrift 
fur Bomaniache PhUologiCj v. 

44 "Ueber das Malaiospanische der Philippi- 

nen/' in SUztmgsberichie der Wiener Akademie der Wiagenschafif 
xc, Wien, 1884. 

45. Der Vooalismtu dea VulgdrlateinSf 3 vols, 

Leipzig, 1866-1868. 

46. — Secades, F. C, Estudioa AaturianoSy Oviedo, 1886. 

47. — Storm, J., Englische Philologies 1 Abtheilung, Pho- 
netik und Aassprache, Lieipzig, 1 892. 

48. — Vifiaza, Conde de la, Bibliateea HiMrioa de la FHolo^ 
gia Oastellana, Madrid, 1893. 

49.— Wulfl; F., Un ChapUre de Phanitique Andalouaey 
Stockholm, 1889. 

60.— ZeiUohrift fur Bomanisdie Philologies Halle, 1877- 
1895. {Zt8.) 

II. American Spanish. 

61. — ^Alcedo, A. de, Diodonario geogrdfioo-higt6rioo de las 
Indiaa OceiderUaleSy 5 vols., 1786-1789. (Vol. y contains a 
vocabulary of provincial American words.) 
i 52. — ^Alonso, M. A., El Jibaroy Cuadro de Oostumbrea de la 

Isla de Porto BioOy Barcelona, 1849. 
* 53. — Blackmar, F. W., '^ Spanish American Words," in 
Modem Language Notes, Vol. vi, pp. 91-97. 

54. — Brinton, D. G., The OHeguenoey A Comedy in the 
Nicaragua Spanish Dialect^ Philadelphia, 1884. {Library of 
Aboriginal Amer. Literaiure, Vol. iii.) 

55. — Coelho, F. A., "Os Dialectos Romanicos ou Neo- 
Latinos na Africa, Asia e America," in Boletim da Sociedade 
de Oeographia de Lisboa^ 1880, 1882. 

56. — Cuervo, R. J., Apunlaciones Oriticas sobre d Lenguaje 
BogotanOy 4^ edicion, chartres, 1885. {Leng, BogoL) 

57.— Elliott, A. M., *<The Nahuatl-Spanish Dialect of 
Nicaragua," in American Journal of Philology , v. 


58. — Ghigini, C, JDiodonario de Barbdrismos y PromncialU' 
mo8 de Cogta lUoa, San Jos^ de Costa Bica, 1893. {Prov. de 

59. — Kroeh, C. F., The I^ontmeiation of Spanish m Spam 
and America^ Hoboken, 1888. 

60. — lientzner, C, Tesoro de Voces y Promndalismos HtS" 
pano-AmericanoSy Part i, Leipzig, 1892. 

61. "Observations on the Spanish Language of 

Guatemala/' in Modem Langiiage Notes^ vin. 

62. — Lenz, R., " Chilenische Studien/' in Phonetische Stur- 
dieuj in, v, vi. 

63. — "Zur Spanische-Amerikanischen Formen- 

lehre," in ZeUschrifi fur JRomanische Philotoffie^ xv. 

^ 64. — "Beitrage zur Kentniss des Amerikano- 

Spanischen/' in ZeUschrifi fur JRomanisdie Philologiey xvm. 

65. Efnsayos Filol6gico8 Americanos. I Introduo- 

don al Esludio del Lenguaje Vulgar de Chile. II Observaciones 
generales sobre el estudio de las dialectos i literaturas populareSj 
Santiago de Chile, 1894. (Reprint from Anales de la Univer' 
sidad de Chile.) 

m m 

66. " Uber die gedruckte Yolkspoesie von San- 
tiago de Chile," in Abhundlungen Herm Adolf Tobler, Halle, 

67. — Maspero, " Sur quelques singularity phonStiques de 
Pespagnol parl6 dans la campagne de Buenos Ajrres et de Monte- 
video,'' in Mimoires de la SoeieU de Linguistique de Paris j n, 
Paris, 1875. {Soo. deldng.) 

68. — MenSndez y Pelayo, M., Antohgia de los Poetas Hts-- 
paiio-AmerioanoSy Tomo J, Mescico y America Central^ Madrid, 

69. — von Name, A., " Contributions to Creole Grammar,'* 
in Transactions of the American PhUologicai Association^ 1869- 
70, Hartford, 1871. 

70. — Page, F. M., " Remarks on the (raucho and his Dia- 
lect," in Mod. Lang. Notes, viii. 

94 C. C. MABDEK. 

71. — Rios, Amador de los, ''Voces Americanas empleadas 
por Oviedo," in Oviedo y Valdes, Hutoria General de las 
Jndicw, Vol. rv, Madrid, 1855. 

72. — Rivod6, B., " Venezolanismos," in Voces Nuenas de la 
Lengua CasteUanay Paris, 1889. 


73. — Chimalpopoca-Galicia, F., Silabario de Idioma Mexi^ 
oanoj 4^ edicion, Mexico, 1883. 

74. — Gompendio de Ortdogia, escrUo por tm profeaor de 
m^uocion prirnariay 34^ edicion, Mexico, 1891. 

75. — (jarda de San Vinoente, N., Ortografia Espailola 
aoomodada d la Ptonuncia/don Megicana. Undecima edicion 
publicada por Galvan, Mexico, 1857. 

76. — Gonzalez Obregon, L., Mexioo Vigo, Noticias Hts^ 
torioaSy Uradidones, Leyendas y Oodumbres del periodo de 
1621 d 182 ly Segunda Edicion, Mexico, 1891. 
^ 77. — Mendoza, E., ''Apuntes para un Cat&Iogo de las Pala- 
bras Mexicanas introducidas al Castellano," in Botetin de la 
Sodedad Mexicana de Geografia y EstadisUoay Mexico, 1872. 
{Palab. Hex.) 

78. — Molina, A. de. Arte de la Lengua Mexicaruiy Mexico, 
1576. Reprinted in Anales del Museo Nacional de Mexico, 
IV, Mexico, 1886. {Mus. Nac.) 

79. Vocabulario en Lengua Mexioana, Mexico, 


80. — Olmos, Arte de la Lengua Mexioana, Mexico, 1524. 
Reprint, Paris, 1876. 

81. — Pefiafiel, A., Nombres Oeogrdficos de Mexico. CaJtd^ 
logo Alfabitico de loa Nombres de Lugar perlenecientes al 
Idioma Nahuatl, Mexico, 1885. {Nomb. Geog.) 

82. — Pimentel, F., Ouadro descriptive y comparaUvo de las 
Lenguas Indigenas de Mexico, 2 vols., Mexico, 1862. 

83. — Prieto, G., La Musa Oallgera, Mexico, 1884. 


84. — RincoD, A. del, Oramdtica y Vaoabulario MexicanoSy 
1575. Reprint, Mexico, 1886. 

85. — Rosa, A. de la, Estudio de la Filosofia y Riqueza de la 
Lengua Mexicanay Guadalajara, 1889. 

86. — Sanchez, J., ^' Glosario de Voces castellanas derividas 
del Idioma Nahuatl," in Anales del Mvseo Nacional de MexicOj 
Mexico, 1883. {Voces Mex.) 

87. — Sanchez Samoana, J., Modismos y LocucioTies Mexir- 
canos, Madrid, 1892. 

88. — Semeleder, F., "Das Spanische der Mexicaner," in 
Mittheilungen des deutschen Wiasenschaftliohen Vereins in 
Mexico, I, Mexico, 1890. {Wiasenschf. Ver.) 

89. — Tallichet, H., "A Contribution towards a Vocabulary 
of Mexican words used in Texas," in Dialect Notes, Parts 

IV, V. 

90. — ^Tapia Zenteno, CyArte Novisimo de la Lengua Mexir- 
mna, Mexico, 1873. Reprinted in Anales del Museo Nacional 
de Mexico, Mexico, 1885. {Mus. Nac.) 

91. — Vasquez Gkistelu, A., "Arte de la Liengua Mexicana," 
in Anales del Museo Nacional de Mexico, m, Mexico, 1885. 

92. — Zamacois, N. de,El OapUan Rossi, Mexico, 1882. 

El Mendigo, Mexico, 1882. 

93. — Los Bandidos del Rio Frio, Mexico y Barcelona (no 

94. — Periquillo Samiento, por el Pensador Mexicano, 
Mexico, 1884. 

95. — Periodicals and Newspapers published in Mexico 
City; El Valedor (1884), Nos. 1-53; El Nahual (1885), 
No. 1 ; El Hijo del Valedor (1886), Nos. 1-8 ; El Niebo del 
Valedor (1888), Nos. 3-4; El Fandango (1892), Nos. 1-18; 
Dm Pepito (1892), Nos. 1-2 ; Juan Ouerdas (1892), Nos. 1- 
8. In addition to these there are two periodicals which, 
though not primarily written in the dialect, frequently make 
use of the vulgar s^ieech for humor or satire. The publica- 
tions in question are GUI Bla>s and El Hyo ddAhuizote, 

96 C. C. MABDEN. 

Expansion and Contbaotion of Words. 

§ 1. AocenU 

As a general rule^ the position of the tonic accent is the same 
in Mexican as in Castilian ; there are, however, a few special 
cases which call for comment. 

In the first place, in r^ard to the diphthongs ai, 61, oiy and 
au. The rule of accentuation in Popular Latin was, that of 
two contiguous vowels, the more sonorous receives the accent' 
In the dialects we find a re-working of this accent law in r^ard 
to vowels which were not contiguous in Latin, but have been 
brought together by the fall of an intermediate consonant In 
Castilian, such words have retained the accent on the vowel 
which was tonic in Latin, and consequently we have a falling 
diphthong only when the first vowel of the group corresponds 
to the Latin tonic vowel. For example donArium > dondirCj 
pbobItis > probdis. On the other hand pag^nseh > paU, 
AUDfruM > oido. 

In Mexico we find a re-working of the old accent-law in 
the class of Castilian words last mentioned, and the stress is 
moved back to the preceding vowel which is the more sonor- 
ous. Hence, we have such words as 6ido (Cast. ofDo), pdia 
(Cast. PAfe), bdul (Cast ba6l) ; also por di for pob ahi, di 
di for D£ AHf. In Spanish America this law has been estab- 
lished for Bogotd' and Chile,' and Lenz remarks in regard to 
the phenomenon : ^'Aus alien spanischen landern Sudamerikas 
liegen mir beweise vor, dass aussprachen wie pdiSy UidOj bdvl^ 
6idOy nicht nur im niederen volke, sondern auch unter den 
gebildeten gebrauchlich sind."^ In Mexico, however, this 
change of accent has not taken place in the speech of the edu- 
cated classes. 

^Oram. de» Lang. Bom., p. 526 ; OrundrisB, p. 3S0, {11. 

*Leng. Bogot., { 92 e< te^. ^Phtm, StutL, vi, p. 287. *Ibid^ p. 28S. 


In ddka < da acI^ we have a case of mistaken etymology 
where the change of accent is dne to a supposed infinitive daoar 
which would r^ularly form an imperative ddoa. This im- 
perative form is of frequent use in Spain, and Mngica mentions 
it particularly in connection with the dialect of Santander.^ 
There can be no doubt that the change is due to a supposed 
infinitive daoarj since deque as an imperative is used by Lope 
de V^a: 

** Deque presto, 6 matar^la." 

(Lob loeoB de VaUneUif acto i, esc. in.) * 

Furthermore, in Quito we find a redundant form ddca aod.^ 

§ 2. Diaeimulation. 

When of two consecutive syllables of a word both contain 
the vowel t, the vowel of the first syllable (if atonic) is changed 
to e by dissimulation : visitab > bestiary pbincipal '^prfnd- 
paly Tbinidad > Trmiddy invito > pMtOy escribib > ^(srf- 
bir. medicina > meiSeeina, 

Dissimulation of e-e to «-i occurs in Old Spanish/ and the 
law is particularly striking in the North Spanish provinces of 
Vizcaya* and Aragon.* 

§ 3. MeUUheHs. 

Metathesis does not appear to be so frequent in Mexican as 
it is in the other dialects of Spain and America. The cases 
noted are pobbe > jwo5f , pebmiso > prmiaoy Gabbiel > 
Ghrapifly nadie > ndi^friy ciudad > euiM. 

Of the above forms probe occurs in Santander, Yizcaya and 
Aragon ; ^ premiso and Oraviel in Vizcaya.^ Hence, owing to 

^JHaL Out, p. 1. *Leng. BogoL^ p. 181. 

» Wien. Aka4L,y ol CV, p. 145. ^Orundrias, I, p. 700, { 33. 
*DiaL Out, p. 2. •Ibid^ p. 75. UbicLy pp. 5, 43 and 76. 

^JXaL OouLf p. 43. Schuchardt mentions the form Grabiel as corrent in 
Popolar Latin : VolhaUBmMS, ni, 5 ; cf. Leng. BogoL^ p 449. 


98 a C. MABDEN. 

the rare occarrenoe of MetatheBis in Mexico, we may sappose 
these words to have been introduced from North Spain. 

The form suidd is ased even hj the edacated classes of 
Mexico, and is also occasionally heard in Chile and Pem.^ 

Naide is the popular Spanish form, and Cuervo states that 
it is found in the writings of Santa Teresa, who died in 1582.' 
The word occurs, however, as early as 1614 in the writings of 
Lucas Fernandez.' 

§ 4. Prosthesis. 

Only a few ca^^es of prosthesis occur : figurabse > afigur- 
rarsff fusilab > afusilaVf^ begun > asigun. 

In Mexico we see preserved the intensive prefix re- which 
may be further strengthened to re4e-: reyeng (BEiJiiENo), 
regfrdOf reteyeng, reUggrdo. The prefix rd^ occurs also in 

§ 6. Epenihesis. 

In addition to the particle -te of rete, mentioned above, the 
following cases of epenthesis occur : digr^* (aire), diga (hata), 
munchg'^ (mugho), ansina (asi), lambfr^ (laheb). 

For explanation of the g in digr^y cf. remarks on palatals, 
§ 52; diga is by analogy to forms like ircUga, oaiga, etc.; 
the g occurs in all forms of the Present Subjunctive ofhaber; 
mvncho and ansina* represent the preservation of Old Spanish 
and popular forms of general occurrence in Spain ;^* lamber 
represents the r^ular Gralician form which has preserved the 
original Latin 6." 

^Phon, ShiicL, vi, p. 293. 

*Leng, BagaL, p. 449, note 8. For the final n in the Mexican fonn, cf. 
2 68. * Cf. EdieUm ^ Span. Aead., p. 141. 

^Gagini states that this word is in use in Costa Rica, and ''es corrie&te 
entre el vulgo de Espafia j de America." Pmv, de C, B., p. 23. 

^Leng, BogoL, p. 108. *Also in CosU Rica, cf. Prov. (ie C. 12., p. 80. 

^Ibid^ p. 452. *Ihid., p. 409. * See S 67. 

^^Qagini mentions camna as occorring in Astoria, and ostiia in Galida. 
iVor. iU 0. 12., p. 68. 

^^Oram. OaL, pp. 84, 48 and 118, and Dicaonario OalUgo, p. 177. 


§ 6. Epithesis. 

An s 18 added to the seoond person singular of all preterit 
forms: 'Aut^ (fuiste), man^al^ (mandaste)^ etc. Oaf is 
(plaral of cafi) forms a double plural hafe^s. Other cases 
of EpithesiB are nadie > ndi^Sfn, ASi > ansiruiy bed > rfS^. 

§ 7. Apheresis. 

The most common case of apheresis is the dropping of 
initial atonic a in verbs of more than two syllables : atba- 
8ADO > traadu, apeteceb >pf^fr> abrastrab > rcLstrar, 
ABBANCAB > rarjkary ahogab > ogar^ also ahoba > ora, 
HABfACA > malca. 

Initial atonic u of UsU (Usted) always falls when preceded 
by a word ending in a: 1 Usted > asUj MAjn>A Usted ?> 

Other cases of the fall of initial vowels are heladob > lofSj 

ILUSTBE > ludrf^ OCOTE > kotf. 

Initial d does not occur in fndf (donde) and fspasig (deb- 


Initial syllable falls in hebmano > mano^ conyebbab > 
bfrsar, conyebsacion > bfracLsifUy balastbe > kuirf^ estI 
> td* ebtjLn > ton, etc., estanque > ta/rjkf. 

The forms to (estjL), ton (estan), etc., are used only when 
the verb is followed by a predicate; for example, to wfng 
(BBTi. BUENo), but di (e)8td (AHf estI). The reason for this 
is that when a predicate follows, the verb is in an unaccented 
position in the stress group, and consequently, the unaccented 
initial syllable falls more readily ; compare in French, Lat. 
ELLAS > tonic elles, atonic lea. In Cura^oa, only the con- 
tracted forms to, ton, etc., exist.' 

^Cf. Pirop. deCB^ p. 481; ElJibaro, p. 160. 

* Cf. Dentab, { 46. ^Arner. PkiL iiat., i, p. 156. 

100 C. a MABDEN. 

§ 8. Syncape, 

The most oommon case of synoope is the fall of the d 
between a-^ and Oro: curado > kurcu) > kurdUy pelado > 
pelao > pddUj^ nada > naa > na. Medial r falls in para 
> pcui > p€L Other examples of synoope are aunque > 
ankfj E8TEABINA > fslfrina. 

§ 9. Apocope. 

The two most important cases of apocope are the fall of the 
final 8 before a word b^inning with /, r or a sibilant, and 
the aniversal faU of the final d: dob KEATiKfl > df rialfs, mas 
Bioo > ma rikg, mas labgo > ma largo, dob cientob > do 
rifntfs, also buenas noches > tc^fna njKsAfs; vebdad > bfr^Sd, 

OIUDAD > guiSd, UBTED > UStf. 

In regard to the fall of a final vowel before a word ban- 
ning with a vowel, no fixed rule can be given, since castom 
varies with the individual, and the kinds of conversation 
engaged in. In rapid or excited discourse elision is naturally 
more frequent than in careful conversation. 

Final a generally falls before initial a of a following word, 
and final e fidls before initial e of following word: esta 
AMAinx > ^amantf, este era > fdfray etc 


Tonic Vowels. 

§ 10. Tonic a. 

Tonic a, free or checked, generally retains the Castilian pro- 
nunciation : maloy paloy altoy afiOj etc. 

When tonic a is followed by the group of consonants c^, the 
falls, leaving behind an epenthetic t which forms a falling 

^Term applied to the lowest disB of dtiieiis. 


diphthong with a; for example, acto > diJtg^ cabXcteb > 
hardUfTj EXAcro > fsdUoy etc. The development is the same 
as that which takes place in loit factum > Yr.fait. A more 
detailed discussion of this change and the extent of its occar- 
lenoe in the Spanish dialects, will be found under Palatals. 

In trwxf for Cast traje, we have a preservation of the Old 
Span, and popular form. The perfect trvxf pi^hably goes 
back to an analogous m-perfect in Latin, that is, traxui 
instead of traxi; hence, we have the same stages of develop- 
ment as in habui > haubi > Iiobe > hvie. Indeed, the inter- 
mediate stage trqje is found in Old Span.^ 

Cacui (past), though seldom used, is nevertheless a good 
dassic Spanish form. 

§ 11. Tonie e. 

Tonic 6 has retained the Castilian pronunciation ; for ex- 
ample, pdfj 8^, meaa, apareaf (apabece), etc. 

§ 12. Tcmio f. 

Tonic f has generally retained the Castilian pronunciation ; 
for example, kufotay ^, homfr. 

In words of Indian origin, where tonic ^ has become final 
through the &11 of a following consonant, the e has retained 
its open sound ; for example, PopooaUipfUy>^Popooatapf. The 
same is true of English beefsteak, which, passing through a 
stage bistfky becomes bistf. 

Lenz states that it is a general rule in Chile to pronounce 
dose e (^) after palatals ; for example : muj(ery Xf^'* '^'^^ ^ 
not the case in Mexico. 

When tonic f is followed by the group of consonants ct, the 
e fidls, leaving behind an epenthetic i; the f becomes f and 
forms a falling diphthong with the following i: def^cto > 


'Foenter, Span, Spraehlehre^ p. 344; 2k9^ ix, p. 269. 
'PAon. Stud^ lY, p. 276. 

102 a C. MABDEN. 

d^6itOj BESPjpTTO > rfsp^itOf Rj^cnx) > rSUo^ etc. The epen- 
thetic i has the same explanation as that developed after a in 
the same position. 

( > i in trdiry kdir which correspond to Castilian traeb, 
OAEB. Here we have in the first place a change of accent to 
the more sonorous vowel,^ followed by a wearing ai¥ay of the 
poettonic ^ to i in the falling diphthong ; thos, trafr > trdfr 
> trdir, oapr > faffr > hdir. A peculiarity of Chile is that 
while atonic ne > ai^ tonic ae (i. e. de) remains unchanged ; 
hence we find (rairS, irairdy but trde^ trden} 

§ 13. Tomo i. 

Tonic i retains the Castilian pronunciation of close t.* primg, 
gritOy mil, etc. 

Mfpng for Castilian mismo shows a r^ularly developed e^ 
which is retained in the Old Span, mesmo} In Spain this form 
has been noted for Andalucia and Asturia/ and in America it 
is found in Guatemala' and the Argentine Republic.* 

§ 14. Tonio o. 

Tonic o retains the Castilian pronunciation: «o2ti, maJtri- 
moflg (ifATRDfONio), tomo, etc. 

§ 15. Tonio p. 

Tonic f retains the Castilian pronunciation : frSfn, ft (hot), 

In pfs (Cast. PUEs) we have a preservation of the Old 
Span, form which shows development in atonic position in 
the stress-group. Compare the Old French doublets oar and 
quer. The form po8 occurs in Andalucia, Asturia' and San- 

* For change of aootnt, cf. { 1. *Fhon. Stud^ vi, p. 286. 

^OroHL de$ Lang. Bom., i, p. 125. ^Ibid., p. 125. 

*Mo(LLang.NoU$fYni,^S4. *6l9e. <ie X^n^., n, p. 56. ^^iCt., v, p. 804. 


tander. Pu8y which is found in Bogota and occasionally in 
Andalucia and Santander/ is explained by Schuchardt as a 
further development otpues.* 

§ 16. Tmio u. 

Tonic u retains the Castilian pronunciation : purg^ ^etubg, 
chdg, etc. 

§ 17. Tanio ie. 

In the stem-accented forms of qv^er there is non-diph- 
thongication of Latin fy hence we have such forms as kfrg, 
hfrfSy kfTff h^Gy etc. The same development of qaerer is 
characteristic of Galicia,' which fact may lead us to suppose 
that the Mexican forms are of Galician origin. 

When the diphthong ie is preceded by n, the % of the diph- 
thong is absorbed by the nasal which in turn becomes fl; for 
example, nieve > fi^^j nieto > fl^^ etc. 

ie> i in DIEZ when used in combination with other numerals ; 
for example, diez y ocho > disigchoy diez mil pesos > dif- 
mil peags. The same reduction of te to i takes place in Chile, 
and here the phenomenon is not confined to diez used in com- 
bination with other words, nor even to diez used alone ; other 
examples are miedo > mio^ quien > kin. Lienz, in considering 
this change of i^ to t in Chile, remarks : '* Nicht selten tritt 
deutliche neigung hervor, bei iS den akzent zu verschieben, 
ohne dass es mir bisher gelungen ware, bestimmte bedingungen 
dafnr zu finden." ^ We must necessarily suppose a change of 
accent from Uioie before the reduction of the diphthong took 
place. In fact Lienz adds: ^'Wabrend im algemeinen die 
betonung des span. iS, \U fest zu stehen scheint, erinnere ich 
mich, einen nordspanier, er war, glaube ich, aus Zaragoza^ 
gehdrt zu haben, der immer c{i£rpOy tiempOy Biemprey tieney etc., 
betonte.^' t It is interesting to note in connection with Lenz's 

^DiaL QuL, p. 11. "JZite., v, p. 304. ^Oram. OaL, p. 107. 

^Phon. Stud^ VI, p. 292. ^Ihid., p. 293, note. 

104 C. C. HARDEN. 

location of the phenomenon, that the reduction of ie to f and 
ue to u was of frequent occurrence in the Old Span, province 
of Leon.^ In Buenos Ayres, we find an occasional reduction of 
uetoUy but no cases where ie becomes %.* 

§ 18. Tonic ue. 

Tonic U6 > € in the stem-accented forms of the verb probar; 
for example, pbuebo > j[)re6o, pbueba '^preba, pbueben > 
prAfrij etc. The reduction in the stem-accented forms of this 
verb has been noted also for Asturia ' and Porto Rico.^ 

This change of ti« to e is physiological. The u of the diph- 
thong is semi-consonantal, and consequently has a more marked 
labial element than pure vocalic u; the preceding consonantal 
combination is labial (p) -f dental (r), and as these two conso- 
nants must be pronounced with a single expiratory current, 
the tongue must necessarily anticipate the r-position while the 
lips are in the p-position ; the e of the diphthong ue is much 
nearer the r-position than is the labial u, hence u &lls and we 
have pre instead otprue. In other words, by the law of least 
action, labial (p) -f- dental (r) -f- labial (ij) -f- approximate den- 
tal position (e), is reduced to labial (p) + dental (r) -j- dental 
(e). Furthermore, in Mexico, analogy to the stem-accented 
forms h&s affected all other parts of the verb, hence we find 
prebar^ prebamf8y prebdu (pbebado), etc. 

The change of ue to e is interesting in connection with 
Modem Spanish /rente < Lat. frdntem. The Spanish form 
should hefmente which actually exists in the older language. 
The change from fruerUe to /rente is due to the law which 
changes prueba to preba in Mexico. Compare in this connec- 
tion the following remark of Meyer-Lubke's: ''En Es|)agnol 
ue est r^uit el e, sans que la loi de cette reduction ait encore 
pu 6tre formulae." * 

^ Geesner, Das Leoniaehe^ pp. 23, 24. *Soc de Ling,, n, p. 65. 

> Rato y Hevia, PMb. y Frates Babies, p. 101. *El Jibaro, p. 91. 

*Oram. des Lang, Bom,, i, p. 202. 



Atonic Vowels. 

§ 19. .Atonic a. 

Pretonio a generally remains as in Castilian ; for example, 
amafy tircidfr, fnsayoy etc. 

When pretonic a is followed by the palatal groups ct or oOy^ 
the e {=k) fiills, leaving behind an epenthetic i which forms 
a falling diphthong with the a: factuba '^fUttdray AcroB > 
diU^y aocion > distpUy etc. The development is the same as 
that of tonic a + d. 

For the fiill of initial pretonic a in ogar, maka,^ etc., cf. 
'Apheresis/ § 7. 

Posttonic a remains &s in Castilian ; for example, moZa, trata, 
rimay etc. The only exception noted is »ifnega{<^ cisnaga) 
and Gragini states : '^ Prondnciase asf en casi toda la America 
Espafiola la palabra castellana dSnagay oorrompida por infln- 
encia de la e acoentuada sobre la sflaba siguente.'' ' 

§ 20. Atonic e. 

Pretonic e generally remains as in Castilian ; for example, 
mesgnfroy pdaiia {PEh/Lixya), felisitavy eta 

Pretonic e, followed by a, o or Uy r^ularly becomes i. This 
change takes place whether the following vowel is tonic or 
atonic; also when e is final before a word beginning with a, 
o or u: BEAL > ricUy meab > miar; peon > pion, Leonora 
'^lAonfra; deuda > iiuSa; also de aquel > ^HaJc^y DE 
OTBO > diotrOy DE HULE > HtUf. The change of e to i before 
a, o is of general occurrence in Spain and America ; the rais- 
ing of € to t before u is apparently characteristic of Mexico, 

^ec oocura only before e or i, and among the educated classes of Mexico is 
pronounced ks, 
•iVw. (ie C. jB., p. 133. 

106 C. C. HARDEN. 

though a more careful study of the dialects will doubtless 
reveal its occurrence elsewhere, both in Spain and America. 
At all events the change of e to t is a natural one. The e 
before a, o, u is in hiatus, and the development into i was 
common in Old French and in certain pure Castilian words 
of " mi-savant'* origin, as criar < creare} 

Pretonic 6 > i in siflfr (< senor). Schuchardt, in con- 
sidering the occurrence in Andalucia of such forms as iy^eridf 
piscueso, asUmchey etc., remarks : '^ Wie i fur unbetontes e als 
Schwachung aufzufassen, weiss ich nicht." * 

Meycr-Lnbke mentions a similar inexplicable change of e 
to i in Asturia, BogoUL and Buenos Ayres, and for Old Spanish 
he cites examples from the Poema de Alexandro and the Fuero 
Jmgo? The examples cited by Mugica for Santander admit 
of no classification, yet the author attributes them all to the 
influence of the Leon dialect.^ Thus it is evident that no 
satisfactory explanation can be offered until a more careful 
study has been made of the Spanish dialects. 

§ 21. Atonic f. 

Pretonic f generally retains the Castilian pronunciation ; for 
example, fsposa, dfaiinoy etc. 

When pretonic f is followed by the palatal groups ct or oo^ 
the c falls, leaving behind an epenthetic i. The f at the same 
time becomes e and forms a falling diphthong with the i.** 
R^crmn) > r^a^ti, rector > rHipTy l^ocion > leisipUf etc 

Posttonic f generally retains the Castilian pronunciation ; 
for example, komfriy F^maivSfSy etc. 

Verbs of the second conjugation, whose stem ends in a, 
r^ularly change the tonic accent to the stem vowel,' and the 
infinitive ending from er to ir: caer > kdir, traer > trdir» 
The same change of ; to i takes place in all other forms of 

^Oram, da Lang, BortL, i, p. 321. *ZU^ v, p. 314. 

'Gram, da Lang. BanL, i, pp. 297-8. ^Diad. Ou^ p. 10. 

*For territory ooyered by the phenomenon, cf. { 66. *Cf. { 1. 


these verbs where the e does not bear the tonic accent; for 
example^ ciJB > kdi, tbXex > trdinf TBAEBi. > traird, etc. 
The development of f to i in the infinitive occurs only in 
Mexico ; the change of ae to ai in the stem-accented forms is 
found also in Asturia^ Andalucia/, Gralicia,* VijEcaya,' Buenos 
Ayres^ and Chile.^ Thus it is evident that the phenomenon 
is not confined to any definite locality, either of Spain or 
America. The change o{ de to di represents a natural wear- 
ing-away of unaccented e in a falling diphthongs and is the 
same phenomenon that occurs in the second person plural of 
Castilian verbs of the first conjugation ; for example^ amdUa 
> amddea > amdes > amais. 

Final atonic e has the open sound : ffraniSf, ^y frrf, etc. 
Araujo, in his study of Castilian pronunciation, transcribes it 
as close e. 

r^ (Castilian red) doubtless shows the preservation of a 
North Spanish form since the only provinces where rede seems 
to exist are Asturia * and Gralicia.^ 

§ 22. Atonic u 

Pretonio i preserves the Castilian pronunciation : mirar 
Hnaxctf kariSd, etc. 

Pretonic i > e, by dissimulation, in words which have i 
occurring in two immediately following syllables. The change 
takes place whether the second i is tonic or atonic : divtno > 
iSe&tno, MEDiciNA > me&esina. visitar > besitar. etc. Such 
a change took place in some cases in the Old Spanish period, 
for we find in the earliest monuments such forms as devino, 
eacrdnry etc. 

Posttonic % preserves the Castilian pronunciation: fdM 
(facil), rdpv&Oy etc. 

^Zu., V, 818. ^Qram. QaL, p. 247. ^DioL QuL, p. 46. 

*Soe, de Ling^ ii, p. 64. ^Phon, Stud., yi, p. 286. 

^Bilabras y Fraaea Babies, p. 106. ^Diee. OaL, p. 268. 

108 a 0. MABDEN. 

When ia, io are preceded by n, the i is absorbed bj the n^ 
which in turn becomes fi: AsTOSiA > AtUotla, matbdionio 
> matrimoflOf etc. 

ndiSfn (nadie) shows attraction. 

suiia (ciudad) shows metathesis. Schuchardt places a form 
9uida as the basis of Andalnsian mddia. 

§ 23. AUmie o. 

Pretonic o retains the Castilian pronunciation : inoKna, jxm^i 
^bispo, etc. 

In the words poema and poda the pretonic oy>u: pufma, 
pufta. The o in these cases is in hiatus before tonic e, and is 
naturally raised from o to u. A similar change takes place in 
the Philippine Islands in nuay for Castilian no hat.^ 

Posttonic o retains the Castilian pronunciation : muchg, 
pomtOy trabaxOf etc. 

When posttonic o is contiguous to tonic a through fall of 
medial d, the resulting do becomes du by the natural wearing- 
away of o in a falling diphthong ; for example, pelado > 
pddo > pddu, CUBADO > kurdo > kurdUy etc. The same phe- 
nomenon occurs in Chile.* An exception to this in Mexico is 
HELAD06 > lofs, a word used by the venders of ' water ices.' 
The ao does not become du in this word, for, being a street- 
cry, both elements are distinctly pronounced with a level stress. 

§ 24. Atonic p. 

Pretonic f remains as in Castilian ; for example, friinariOf 
kfntinuoy ^m^esUo. 

Posttonic f does not occur in Mexican Spanish. 

§ 25. Atonic u. 

Pretonic and posttonic u remain as in Castilian ; for example, 
lugaVf ohuloj diaipulg, etc. 

■ Blamentritt, VoeabidoTf s. ▼. ^Phon, Stud,, vi, pp. 288-9. 





§ 26. Pronunciation. 

The b and v in Mexican^ as in Castiliany have the sound jDf 
bi-labial fricative and are not distinguishable one from the 
other. Marroquin^ in the following passage^ extends this 
bi-labial pronunciation to the whole of Spanish America: 
''No damos r^Ia alguna que se refiera al orfgen latino de las 
voces^ ni admitimos oomo algunos autores, que la pronuncia- 
oion puede servir de norma para distinguir 7 emplear oportuna- 
mente la 0, la «, la 2, la 6 y la t; pues nadie ignora que en la 
Ameriea Espaflola es tmo mismo sonido que ae da d las (rea 
prmera, y una tambim que ,e da d las do, ultimas."' An 
exception must, however, be made to the above statement in 
the case of Cuba/ the Curagoa islands' and Costa Bica,^ where 
b has in all cases supplanted t; and is a bi-labial fricative in 

Semeleder, in speaking of the Mexican pronunciation, re- 
marks: ''Eine andere Quelle von Fehlem in die Rechtschrei- 
bung ist die besonders weiche Aussprache von B welche wie 
V(W) klingt; so wird Bazo (braun, die Milz) zu Vaso (Glas 
Oder Gefass).'* » 

Thep and /have retained the Castilian pronunciation. 

§ 27. InUial 6, v. 
Initial b and v before ue have disappeared in pronunciation : 

BUENO > Wfno, BUEY > wey, VITELA > toda, VUELTA > IDfUa, 

etc The same &11 of 6, v is found in Chile.* Remembering 

^TraladM de Ortologia, p. vn. * WorUehp^ p. 112. 

*Awur. PkiL Am., l, p. 150. ^Prw. de C, R., p. 612. 

*frisMMeV.r4r.^i,p.l6. •P%(m. SKud., VI, p. 292. 

110 0. C. MABDEN. 


that U6 is a rising diphthong (ui)^ and that the u is conse- 
quently semi-consonantal (u), the disappearance of initial b (v) 
is a natural phenomenon, due to assimilation of the 6 to the 
following u. The only difference between 6 and u is that 
the lips are slightly opened for the latter, while the friction 
is more marked for the former; hence, anticipation of the 
u-sound changes the 6 from a pure bi-labial fncative conso- 
nant to a semi-vowel u, and biieno > utfeno > toeno. This 
change of 6 to u is exactly the same as that which takes place 
in Old French for Latin words ending in -^mm before a word 
banning with a vowel ; for example, datmrn -f vok. > da^u 
> dou. Here the u of -vum is made semi-consonantal by the 
presence of the initial vowel of the following word ; the u then 
exerts an assimilating influence upon the preceding t; which 
was bi-labial in Latin.^ 

Another development which is characteristic of the rural 
districts, rather than of Mexico City, is the change of initial 
bue (mie) to gue; for example, bueno > gu/fno^ buet > guey^ 
VUELTO > gufUo, etc. The phenomenon is wide-spread among 
the lower classes of Spain ; * the extent of its occurrence in 
America is not yet determined, but it is known to exist in 
Buenos Ayres,' Bogoti,^ Costa Rica' and the rural districts 
of Uruguay and the Argentine Republic* 

This gue is simply a further development of we mentioned 
above; namely, the initial to underwent exactly the same 
change as Gothic and Arabic w which became gu in Spanish. 
Groldschmidt remarks on this subject : " Lat. v- in einer ansahl 
von worten zu gu geworden ist, und zwar meist in solchen, 
denen ein ahnliches germ, wort zur seite steht, zb. vastare > 
guastar, vulpes > golpe (cf. germ, wastan wulfs) und so k5nnte 
man wohl an ' eine deutsche schattierung rom. worte ' glauben. 
Aber man bedenke, dass sich dieser wandel auch in worten 
findet, wo kein germ, einfluss vorli^n kann, und dass er 

^Zu.f vni, pp. 382-384. *Orundn$», i, p. 702. 

*Soe, de lAng.^ u, p. 58. ^Lfng, Bogota p. 483. 

^Prov. de a A, p. 3d8. *Mod. Lang. Nota, vm, p. 28. 


sioh spontan auch nach aufhoren der germ, invasion ent- 
wickelt hat • • • • So wird im astur. jedes vu- (gleichgiltig 
ob primar oder secundar) > gu- ; bonus bneno > guSno, sp, 
[a] buelo = a8t. guelo, sp. hue8o = ast. gu§so/'^ Meyer- 
Lubke mentions a similar change in Italian : ^^v devant o, a 
pent ou bien tomber^ ou bien devenir ^, g, en passant par ^J^* 

§ 28. Initial p. 

Initial p remains as in Castilian; for extLmfle,pfna,pufrta, 
plcUa, etc. 

§ 29. Initial f. 

Latin initial/ became h in Castilian and remained aspirate 
until late in the sixteenth century. The only exception to 
this rule was before ue^ ui where Latin/ remained ; all other 
Gastilian words haying initial / show learned influence or a 
borrowing from the Gralician or Asturian dialects. In Mexico 
/ has become h even before tie, ui, and in this case it has 
retained its aspiration, while in all other cases the h has become 
silent as in Spain. Examples : fuerza >'Aufr«a, fuete > 
^huetf, fuebte '^^hufrtf, FUi '^'hui, fuimos ^^huimfs. In 
Spain this change has been noted for Andalucia, Asturia, 
Estremadura and Santander,' and in America the phenome- 
non is equally wide-spread, even including Porto Rico. In 
transcribing the popular speech of these districts, the letter j is 
generally used to represent the aspirate sound just mentioned. 
Schuchardt, after a careful study of the Andalusian dialects, 
concludes that the sound is simply an aspirate h (the h of 
Gterman tuxben), and Storm reaches the same conclusion in 
r^ard to the Spanish of Porto Rico.^ 

It is worthy of mention that in Andalucia, Estremadura 
and East Asturia, every h out of Latin/ is still pronounced, 
while in Gkilicia, Latin f has remained in all cases, giving such 

^Oerm, Elem, im Span,, p. 6. ^Oram, du Laeng, Bom,, i, 2 446. 

^DiaL OuL, p. 18. ^Bcfmomia, v, p. 179. 

112 0. C HARDEN. 

forms BsfcuxTfJijOf etc} In Buenos Ayres^ not only fue-ffui* 

^'hue-, ^hii-y but fur- >'Au-/ for example, pro^hundo (pbo- 
FUNDo), 'huM (fusil).* In Mexico one hears occasionally 
aPhombra (alfombra), o^hicio (oFicio). 

A few isolated words show preservation of the sixteenth cen- 
tury pronunciation ; for example, 'humo for Castilian (H)nMO, 
^hoyo for Castilian (h)oyo. 

§ 30. Medial b, v. 

Medial 6 (v) has the same history as when initial, that is, it 
remains as 6 except before t4«, ut, in which case there is a double 
development to t(76 or gue; for example, habeb > abfty iba 
> iba; but abuelo > awdo or agOelg^ envuelto > fntofUg or 

6 > m in bagamundo < vagabundo. This is doubtless a 
case of popular etymology, due to a confusion of the element 
-iundo with mwido, since the expression " correr el mnndo '' 
is so frequently used in connection with the vagabond. A 
confusion of the two forms of this word is by no means rare 
in Spain. 

lamber (Lat lambere) calls for explanation. The Castilian 
form is lamer y but lamber occurs in Portugal, Gkilicia' and 
Santander,^ hence we may suppose that the word came into 
Mexico from one of the North Spanish provinces, and is a 
survival from the Old Spanish. The Mexican form is found 
also in Bogotd' and Venezuela.* 

The verbs oaer and traer form an imperfect tense hdiba, 
trdiba. The first stage in this development is a change of 
accent, gaIa > kdia, tbaIa > (rdia; later there is a confusion 
with verbs of the first conjugation which regularly have an 
accented a preceding the termination. 

^Ofwn. OaLf p. 249. ^Soe, de Liing,, Ti, p. 69. 

^Qram. QaL, pp. 34, 44, etc ^DioL OuL, p. 8. 

^Leng. BogoL, p. 471. * Biyod6, Fbees Nuevtu, p. 245. 


§ 31. Medial p, /. 

Medial p and / remain as in Castilian ; for example, kapa 
(capa), xtff (jefe), etc. 

§ 32. Finak. 

The labials have not remained as finals in Castilian or 
Mexican Spanish. The only exception is Idvi < English 


§ 33. 6 + cons. 

Araujo states that 6 is not pronounced in Castilian in com- 
binations subst' and suhao-; for example, sudancuiy stiacripoion. 
In Mexico 6 of the prefix auh- falls in every case where it is 
followed by a consonant except I: substancia > sustarma^ 
SUBSCRIPCION > auskrisiffij subterraneo > sutfrraflOf SUB- 
MABINO > sumarino, subdiacono > suSiakgng. The same 
rule holds good for the prefix 06-, which, however, rarely 
occurs in Castilian except before s: observar > gsfrbar, 
OBSCURO > gskurg obtener > gtfnfr. 

§ 34. p + cons. 

The combinations pt, pa and po occur in Castilian only 
in learned or borrowed words ; in all other cases the p has 
fallen. In Mexico these learned or borrowed words have 
undergone the same reduction as original Latin words having 
the same combinations of consonants. Examples : acepto > 
cufeUg^ preceptor > presei^, eclipse > eA/i«, corrupcion 
'^kgrrusignj proscripcion > prgakrisign. Forms like aaeuto 
(acepto), conaeuto (concepto) occur occasionally and are 
probably introduced from North Spain. 

kdvsula (< capsula) shows the same development as that 
which has taken place in Castilian cautivOy bavJtiaar^ eta 


114 C. a HARDEN. 


§ 35. Initial t, 8. 

Initial t and s remain as in Castilian ; for example, ^9^9} 
sola, etc. 

§ 36. Iniiial d. 

Initial d does not occur in fnSf (Cast donde). This word 
is a survival of the Old Spanish form (< Lat. Unde) which 
has been preserved in the popular speech, both of Spain and 

With quite a large number of people in Mexico, there is 
a tendency to drop the initial d in pretonic syllables, hence 
such forms as fstruirj fspdchoy e, etc The same tendency is 
especially strong in Aragon,^ and is due to the characteristi- 
cally weak pronunciation of c2, which, from its very nature, 
may easily fall. Isolated cases may be found in Spanish- 
speaking provinces ; for example, ecir is the common form in 
Andalucia for cZeoir, diz que in Bogota has become ea que, 
which in Venezuela is still further reduced to i que.* 

On the other hand, we find inorganic initial d in Asturian' 
dalgun, and in Porto Rico ^ such forms as di&a, diban are of 
frequent occurrence. 

§ 37. Initial c (+ e, t), z. 

Initial o (followed by e and i) and z have the sound of pure 
dental sibilant a; for example, aena (cena), aielg (cielo), 
aapaio (zapato), a^rro (zoRRO), etc. 

The pronunciation of o (-|- e, i) and z in Spain before the 
eighteenth century is one of the unsettled questions of Spanish 
phonetics. It is, however, generally supposed that g repre- 
sented a voiceless a, while z indicated a voiced dental sibilant, 

^IHaL Out, p. 82. *Leng. BogoU, p. 284. 

^Pdlab, y Fhua BabU$^ p. 41. «£Z Jibaro, pp. 49, 60, etc. 


though the symbols are frequently confounded in the same 
word. In the manuscripts of the Old Spanish period, s is 
often used for z, but Baist remarks that the sign which has 
been mistaken for 8 was simply another form of writing z and 
had the voiced quality of the latter.^ However this may be, 
there is an interesting statement made in the Didlago de la 
Lengua (written, according to Ticknor, before 1536), which 
throws some light on the subject of pronunciation : 

'^ Marcio. De d6nde viene que algunos espafioles en muchos 
vocables, que por el ordinario escribfs con z, ellos ni la 
pronuncian ni la escriben ? 
Vald&. Eso es vicio de las lenguas de los tales, que no les 
sirven para aquella asperilla pronunciacion de la Zy y 
ponen en su lugar la a, y por hacer dicen haseVf y por 
razon, raaon^ y por recio, resio.'^ * 

The 8 to which Valdes refers must be voiceless, otherwise 
there would be no difference between 8 and z. And moreover, 
remembering that Valdes was a courtier at the court of Charles 
V, the force of his remarks would be lost if he were not refer- 
ring to the educated classes. In fact the word escriben gives 
a fair idea of the status of the people whose pronunciation is 
criticised. Hence we may infer that at this time (1536) there 
was creeping into the literary speech a vulgarism which con- 
fused the pronunciation of g and z and made them both voice- 
less instead of keeping the latter voiced. 

Velasco (1582), writing at the time when g and z had become 
interdental, says that they represented different sounds, the 
first being voiceless, the second voiced. Storm, after a con- 
sideration of Velasco's statement and having in mind the fact 
that f and z were frequently confounded, comes to the following 
conclusion : '^ Velasco ist wahrscheinlich durch die Verschie- 
denheit der Zeichen verleitet worden, auch eineVerschiedenheit 
der Anssprdche anzunehmen.'" Now as both voiced and 

^LUfro de la Oa^ p. 207. 

'Majrans j Sifloar, Orig, de la Leng, Eap^ p. 72. 

*Eng. PkiL, i, p. 4S. 

116 a a MABDEN* 

voiceless dental sibilant were used by the more careful and 
conservative speakers before 1536, it is more natural to sup- 
pose that in Velasoo's time (1582) there existed side by side 
both a voiced and voiceless interdental, but this pronunciation 
belonged to the conservative element of society and naturally 
represents the custom that Velasco would describe in his work. 
On the other hand, there may have existed among the majority 
of the educated classes only the voiceless interdental, since they 
knew only the voiceless dental fricative out of which the inter- 
dental was developed. 

Another point is to be noted. The Spanish c before e, i, 
and z in all positions have the sound of s in the speech of the 
educated classes of Mexico, South America ^ and Cuba/ and 
this conformity of pronunciation would argue strongly for the 
fact that the simple sibilant was the sound used in the literary 
speech of Spain at the time of the colonization of tliese terri- 

It is a very general idea with those who have written on 
American Spanish, that the pronunciation of c and z ns s 
is due to a large Andalusian element among the American 
colonists. In contradiction to this idea compare the follow- 
ing statement of Morel-Fatio: ^^In Andalusia o and z are 
seldom pronounced like s, but a feature more peculiar to the 
Andalusians is the inverse process — the softened or interdental 
pronunciation of 8 (the so-called eeceo) zeSlor (senor), etc."' 

Von Name mentions an interesting development among 
certain inhabitants of Cuba and the Cura9oa islands : '' z has 
the sound of « as has also o before e, but before % like a in 
the same position, it passes into English sh thus . . • • shdu 
{cido)y dushi (dulce), sheU (jsieUy^* These Creole words have 
of course passed through the stage aieloy c2u&e, side, and the 
modem form represents the same development that took place 
in original Latin words in the Old Spanish pronunciation; 
for example, vesica > vesiga, diant > dise, etc Lenzner men- 

^ Marroqain, Ortoloffia, p. vin. ' Forater, Span, SpraekUhre^ p. 13. 

*Ene!f, BriLt xxn. p. 361. ^Amer. PhiL A$9,^ i, p. 150. 


tions certain Indian loan-words in Guatemala which contain 
the sound s; namely, mim) (mia!to)y tapiicar {tapixcar), caoaSte 
(oaocueU),^ In Mexico there are at least three words which 
have initial d'^und ; namely, soko, iwnde and soma. The last- 
mentioned, Somtty is the name of a wooden drinking-cup and 
hence may be in some way connected with the vulgar Spanish 
ehomar ^ to drink/ 

§ 38. Medial t, 8. 

Medial t and s remain as in Castilian ; for example, roto, 
taaaj etc. 

§ 39. Medial d. 

Medial d between OnO and a-a r^ularly fiills; thus, -ado> 
-aoy -ADA > aa.. These forms are further reduced to du and 
a respectively ; for example, mamado > mamao > mamdu^ 
OOLOBADO > colorao > colfrdUf pegada > pegaa > pega^ 
KADA > naxi > na. 

The fall of d in the cases mentioned above, is general 
throughout Spain and America. The extent to which d has 
fidlen in the termination -ido has not yet been determined, 
and the opinions on this subject are widely different. Kroeh 
states that ^'This practice of dropping the d is very general 
in Spain and America when this letter is final or when it 
occurs in the endings ido and ado,^^ ' Mugica, on the other 
hand, seems to r^ard the phenomenon as characteristic of 

6i^, b%6o for Castilian vi, trto are the Old Spanish forms 
which have been preserved in provincial Spain and America. 

§ 40. Medial o (+ 6, f), z. 

Medial c (-f e, i) and 2; (+ a, o, u) have the same sound as 
when initial, that is, voiceless dental sibilant; for example, 
(Ufr (haceb), presigso (precioso;, plasa (plaza), asiU ( azul). 

^Mod, Lang. NoUm^ vin, p. 84. *Pr<mu/niaation of Spanish, p. 11. 

*Oram. de OaaL AiUig^ { 269. 

118 C. C. HARDEN. 

§ 41. Final d} 

Final d falls ; for example, usted > usU^ yerdad > bfrdd, 
VIRTUD > birta. The fall of final d is very general in Spain, 
in fact Caervo states that it is silent ^'dondequiera qne se habla 
nuestra lengna/' ' and Araujo remarks that even the educated 
of Madrid saj itaU, 

An interesting exception in Mexico is rfdfy which corres- 
ponds to Castilian red (< Lat rSe). The Mexican form is 
doubtless introduced from the Gralician dialect in which Latin 
final e is preserved ; for example, bondade, piedade^ mereede} 
Saco Aree states that tne final e of these Gralician words is 
added, but Morel-Fatio is probably correct in supposing that 
the e is the Latin posttouic which was retained in the Old Leon 
dialect.^ In fact, similar forms occur as far back as the Poema 
del cad. The Creole form of red in Cuba and Cura^oa is redo. 

Cuervo mentions a similar retention of posttonic e in Bogota ; 
namely, huespede (huesped).^ 

§ 42. Final 8. 

Final s before a word beginning with a vowel or voiceless 
consonant has the sound of voiceless dental sibilant: mfs, iraSf 
dfspti^, etc. 

Final 8 before a word banning with a voiced consonant 
(except / or r) becomes a voiced dental sibilant : tres dias > 
ir^f 'SicM, LES DiQO > Iff iigo, los borregos > Iff bfrregfs, 
i/)6 MISMOS > Iff mefmos. A discussion of this phenomenon 
will be found under ^« + cons.' § 45. 

Final 8 falls before a word beginning with Z, r or a sibilant. 
Before r: mas rioo > ma rikOf DOS reales > df rialfs, L06 
REMEDI06 > If remedifs; before I: MAS LARGO > ma largo ^ 
TODOS LOS DIAS > iodo Iff ^Uos; before a sibilant : DOS gien- 
Tos (= do8 gienlos) > do sifutfs, las sillas > la siyas. 

^ Final t does not oocor. *Leng. BogoL, 473. 'Gram. OaL, p. 20. 

^Romania, IV, p. 33. ^Leng, Bogota p. 466. 


Meyer-Lubke, in treating the final 8 in Spanish, remarks : 
'^En espagnol Va est maintenant en voie de s'assonrdir, et 
I'assoordissement a d6}i 6t6 r&ilis6 en andalous.'^ ^ Kroeh, 
speaking in a rather indefinite manner of the Spanish of Spain 
and America, states that ^' Final s is frequently dropped in 
conversation when the next word b^ins with a consonant, 
especially /, m, n, n'^ * Schuchardt states that in Andalucia 
8 before a consonant or when final has become h, that is, it has 
passed from "tonlose Enge zu tonlose Weite,'''and Cuervo 
mentions the same pronunciation in Bogota/ For Mexico 
we have Semeleder's statement that '' Die Bewohner der Ost- 
kuste, so wie die Cubaner, verschlingen das 8 am Ende der 
Worte oder verwandeln es in einem hauchenden Laut der fast 
wie / klingt. Derselbe geschieht oft sogar mit inlautendem 
«/'* The /-sound here referred to is doubtless the / before u«, 
ui, that is, 'A. 

From the remarks noted above it is evident that the fall of 
8 in Mexico City is much more restricted than in the districts 
just mentioned ; in other words, if we omit the &11 of final a 
before a sibilant (which is a case of simple reduction of two 
identical sounds) the fall takes place only before the liquids I, 
r. Brugmann* shows that the fall of 8 in Old Latin took place 
first before the consonants n, d, I. In this connection, one case 
can be cited where 8 falls before n in Mexico ; namely, buenas 
KOCHES > w^na ngcJifa. Compare also the forms dgimoh^ 
Uamimola, etc, in Costa Rica,^ and the literary Spanish forms 
vamono8y hcMamonoa, etc. In Old French, a early became 
silent before m, n, Z, r; in modern Proven9al^ we find lai, lei 
before c2, Z, m, «, but lea^ las before the consonants p, k, L* 
Thus it is evident that the fall of 8 in Mexico, though not so 
extensive as in other Spanish domains, is in harmony with the 
principles established for other languages ; that is to say, the 
break was made before the liquids and in Mexico before /, r (n). 

^Oram, de» Lang, B43m,, i, p. 509. ^Pronuneiaiion ofSparUah, p. 14. 

*&., V, pp. 319-320. ^Leng. BogoL, p. 481. 

*Wit»enadrf. Ver^ i, p. 14. 'Obmparative Orammar, i, pp. 605-^07. 

^Pirav. deCILfP. 513. ^Qram. dea Lang. Rom., i, { 627. 

120 a C. MABDEN. 

§ 43. Inorganic fined s. 

The second person singular of the preterit tense always ends 
in 8f henoe the words fstubiifs (estuvibte), tubit^ (tuviste)^ 
komUfs (oomiste), numSaifs (mandaste)^ etc. The final s is 
added by analogy to the second person singular of all other 
tenses.^ In Andalncia* and Bogota' the corresponding forms 
are comides, hablades, etc 

The noun oaf6 forms a plural kafSgfs (Cast CAFte). Cuervo 
mentions two analogous examples for Bogota ; namely, piesea 
plural of pie^ and ajises plural of aji; he mentions also 
Quindal^'s statement that such plurals are '^ inficionados de 
gitanismo."^ Now, whether the forms found in South Amer- 
ica and Mexico represent a direct borrowing from the gitanos, 
or whether they represent a parallel development in the folk- 
speech of America, the explanation of the final ea is evident, 
especially for pieses and oafeaea. There are but few words in 
Spanish which end in accented e. These words r^ularly form 
a plural by addition of «, thus making a final -is, which end- 
ing is naturally confused with the large number of words 
having -is in the singular, that form their plural by adding 
an atonic es; for example, mes meses^ eorUs corteses, Frances 
Franceses. In Spanish America the number of such words is 
greatly enlarged by the fact that -es is pronounced es, hence 
ves (vez) veses,jues (juez) jueses, etc Therefore the formation 
of a plural oafSses, pUses upon the original plural oafis^ pUs 
seems a very natural process. 

§ 44. d 4- cons. 

d followed by m r^ularly becomes I; for example, admitib 
> almitiry admirable > almirablff admikibtradob > almi- 
nistra^S^y etc. Maspero mentions similar forms in Buenos 

^Bomania, xxii, pp. 71-86. *ZU,, v, p. 320. *Leng. BogoL, p. ISi. 
*Leng. BogoL, p. 76. 


Ajres.^ This change of d to Hs a physiological one ; the sides 
of the tongue are lowered in anticipation of the following 
liquid m, thus changing the explosive d to the liquid /. 

dr^ffr in hadbe and padre, which become respectively 
magre and pagre. These forms, however, are confined chiefly 
to the Indians of the interior and are rarely heard in Mexico 
City. The word pagre is found also in Chile.* An explana- 
tion of the Mexican words may be found in the fact that r did 
not exist in the Nahuatl language, consequently the Indian, 
in attempting to pronounce the Spanish r, made it guttural, 
then, in anticipation of this guttural r, the tongue is drawn 
back from the (2- to the ^-position. 

§ 45. « + voiced consonant. 

s followed by a voiced consonant r^ularly becomes voiced : 
MISMO > mffmo, DUBASNO > iurofnoy etc. This change of 8 
to ^ is the same as that mentioned for final s before a word 
banning with a voiced consonant.' 

The extent of the occurrence of voiced f in Spain is an 
unsettled question ; for example, Kroeh ^ and Knapp ' deny 
its existence in Castilian ; Meyer-Lubke states that ^^ I'espag- 
nole en g^n^ral poss^e aucune sifflante sonore;''* Baist admits 
the voiced sound " im Auslaut und vor gj' ^ The latest opinion 
on the subject is by Araujo, whose results correspond to those 
noted for Mexico : " Kuando la a ortogr&fika ba delante de 
alguna konsonante sonora, se kontajia m^ o menos de su 
sonoridiUl." • 

§ 46. 8 + U 

The initial syllable ea- falls in ebtanque and in all forms 
of the verb estab. The fact that tanque is found in Gralicia' 

> Soc de Ling., ii, p. 62. *Ph<m, Stud,, vi, p. 160. * Of. { 42. 

*I\vnunciation of Spanish, p. 14. ^Span. Oram., p. 13. 

'Oram, dea Lang. Eam^ i, p. 3d3. ^Orundriss, J, p. 694. 

^FonHika KatUkma, p. 54. *Diee. OaL, p. 297. 

122 C. a HARDEN. 

and Asturia^ makes it possible that the Mexican form was 
introduced from North Spain. Tanque is found also in Vene- 

The fall of es- in estab takes place also in Asturia' and 
Cnba.^ The weakening of 8 before a consonant is character- 
istic of Andalucia and Bogota, and Schuchardt remarks on 
this subject: ^^Dass das spanische 8 vor consonanten anders 
articulirt wird, als zwischen Vocalen und dass dieseVerschie- 
denheit im Portngiesischen noch scharfer hervortritt^ ist oben 
schon bemerkt worden. Es ist dieses 8, welches in Andalu- 
sischen zu A wild, so : etUdybohoOymihmo,^'^ Mexico represents 
a stage of Airther development than that just quoted ; that is, 
the eh has &llen entirely and we may suppose the stages egtd 
> ehtd >^td>td. The Andalusian stage ehia has been pre- 
served in Chile* and Bogota/ where we find such forms as 
cohUif ehia, etc. 

In id <C HASTA there must have been a change of accent 
before the weakening of the 8 took place, that is, hIsta > 
haOd > a'fUd >'td>td. 


§ 47. Initial o, qu. 

Initial c (+ a, o, u) and qu (+ e, i) retain the Castilian 
pronunciation; for example, kasa, kgmg, kwna, ^^^9 idntg. 

§ 48. Initial g. 

Initial g generally remains as in Castilian; for example, 
gana, ggbifmay g^rra (guebba), giar (guiab). 

g before ua regularly disappears in pronunciation; guabda 
> warSa, guajolote > waxolgtf, guadalajaba > toada- 

^Palab. y Fhues BahUs, p. 114. Toees Nuewu, p. 245. 

*Pdtab. y FroMa Bahi^ p. 113. ^Amer, £%iL A$i, i, p. 156. 

^Zu., y, p. 319. ^PKon. Stud^ vi, p. 23. ^Lmg. BogoL, p. 481. 


laxfira, ouadalupe > toadcUupf, Other portions of Spanish 
America where the same pronunciation is found are Chile/ 
Cuba and the Cura9oa Islands.' Kroeh in his Pronunciation 
of Spanish in Spain and America remarks: ''When gua 
b^ns a word some drop the g and pronounce u like w; 
guardar = wardar.''' This statement throws no light on the 
extent of the phenomenon, and furthermore, we shall see later 
that in Mexico it is not confined to initial gxuL^ for g falls also 
in medial gua and guo. 

Since Castilian initial gv^ occurs only in words of Grermanic 
or Arabic origin, a natural supposition is that the Mexican 
pronunciation may be a preservation of the original K^o-sound. 
In support of such an explanation we should expect to find 
traces of the w in Old Spanish and in some of the modern 
dialects of Spain. But the wa does not occur in Old Spanish, 
and if it exists in the modern vulgar speech of Spain, the &ct 
has not been mentioned by any of the numerous writers on 
Spanish dialects. On the contrary, the phenomenon is found 
only in Spanish America, and even here it seems to be limited 
to Chile, Cuba, Cura9oa and Mexico. Another point against 
the supposition that Mexican wa represents the original Gothic 
or Arabic sound is the fact that it is found also in medial 
position, out of gua that goes to back Latin qua; for example, 
AGUA > aira, lOUAL > iwal. Hence we must suppose that vxi 
is a later development of gua, which took place after the 
Spanish conquest of America. 

The physiological explanation of such a change is a natural 
one; it represents an assimilation of ^ to the following semi- 
vowel ^J that is, gua > y>'^ > wa. This development has a 
counterpart in the history of the Old French development of 
Latin -cum, -^m, followed by a word b^inning with a 
vowel : fagum + vok >fai^^'>fou.^ A still closer analogy 
may be seen in Proven9al, where /aj^i^ >fau.^ In English, 

^ZU., XV, p. 519. *Atner. PkU. ^n., i, p. 151. ' loc ciL, p. 12. 

^ZU., vuiy pp. 3S5-395. *Gram. de» Lang. Bom,, i, p. 391. 

124 C. G. MABDEN. 

sUbo, there is a series of words showing a similar change to 
that found in Mexico ; namely, wait^ vHtrUon^ warranty in which 
the initial wa has its origin in French gxuiy which, in turn, 
goes back to Germanic wa. 

§ 49. Initial j\ g (+ «, i). 

Initial j and g (+«,{) have preserved the Castilian pro- 
nunciation of guttural spirant x • X^'^^^'^y XP^^ X?^f^f ^^ 

In Gralicia^ and the Philippine Islands,' j has the sound 
of iy that is^ it has preserved the sixteenth century pronun- 

§ 50. Initial ch. 

Initial ch retains the dento-palatal sound of the Castilian : 
eharla, chiko, chtdo, etc. 

§ 61. Medial c, qa. 

Medial c (+ a^ o, u) and qu {+ e, t) remain as in C^tilian ; 
for example, saJcg, tgkfy ohikitg, 

koggtf (Cast, oooote) is the preservation of a Northern 
Spanish form which is found in Vizcaya and Aragon.' 

§ 52. Medial g. 

Medial g generally remains as in Castilian ; for example, 
iidhgo, trdigo. 

Medial g before ua, uo has the same development as initial 
g before ua, that is, it disappears in pronunciation by means 
of assimilation to the following ^.« agua > a)f^ > avKiy 
CHiCHiQUA > chichiway antiguo > antiiog, etc 

Medial g has disappeared in atixfrg (agujebo), au^a 
(aguja). The Mexican form occurs also in Bogotd,^ Chile' 

^Oram, OaL, p. 13. * Wien. Akad., cv, p. 141. *DUjlL Out, pp. bO, 53. 
*Lmg, Bogota p. 4S4. ^Phtm. Stud,, vi, 289. 


and Costa Rica,^ and may possibly show a borrowing from 
the Aragonese dialect.' 

{h)diga (Cast, haya) is a survival of the Old Spanish and 
provincial form which is similar in development to Castilian 
TBAIGO < trayo. Cuervo mentions other analc^us forms for 
Bogota ; namely, crdgd (crea), leiga (lea), reiga (rea), etc.' 

digrf (Cast, aire) shows an epenthetic g which is probably 
called into existence by the velar r in the Indian pronuncia- 
tion ; compare magrey pagre, § 44. The form aigre is found 
also in Costa Bica.^ Lenz ofiers the following explanation for 
the Chilian adre: ^'Ein schdnes beispiel von ' uberentausse- 
rung * nach Gartners benennung, ist die bildung adre statt 
aire, die aber naturlich nicht popular, sondem dem mediopeU) 
(dem hall^bildeten) eigen ist; eine falsche analogiebildung 
nach der verbesserung des vulgaren pd\re zum 'gebildeten' 
padre.^^* Such an explanation cannot apply to Mexican aigre 
(cf. pagre) which is strictly popular in its use. 

§ 53. Medial j, g (+ e, i). 
Mediaiy and^ (4- e, i) remain as in Castilian; for example, 

^masana (Cast damajtjana) shows a preservation of the 
popular Spanish form. 

§ 54. Medial ch. 

Medial ch remains as in Castilian ; for example, muchg, fcha, 
Ifchfy etc. 

§ 55. Finals. 

The palatals do not occur as finals in Castilian. Final o has 
fidlen in Indian and foreign words ; for example, Cuitlahuag 
'^Kuidawdy Chapoltepec > CliapuUepf, Tehuantepec > 

*iVor. de O. -B., p. 74. •Diee. de Voces Arag., s. ▼. 

*Leng. BogaL, p. 484. *iVor. de C. R,, p. 30. 

^Phcn. Stud., YT, p. 286. 

126 G. C. HARDEN. 

TewarUep^f Huautemoo > WaiUem^; New York > JVuefta Yfr, 

BEEFSTEAK > bist^. 

English CHECK > chfkf in which a posttonic e is added to 
prevent the ooeurrenoe of a final guttural stop. 

The final J ofreloj is silent both in Spain and Mexico. 

§ 56. + cons. 

ct: Latin ct has regularly become ch m Spanish, conse- 
quently all modern Castilian words having the group ct must 
be either learned or borrowed, and it is these words that call 
for explanation. 

of the Castilian combination ct has fallen in Mexico, leav- 
ing behind an epenthetic t if the preceding vowel is a or e; 
for example, redacfor > redaitfr^ aotor > aitfr; defecto 
> defHtOj RESPEcrro > r^tito; doctor > dot^y octavo > 
gtabg; OONDUOTOR > kfndiUfr, octubre > otubrf. 

Mejer-Lubke, in treating of original Latin ct which became 
ch in Castilian, remarks : ** En Espagne, chnese rencontre plus 
dans le Nord-Ouest qui, pour d'autres traits aussi, s'eloigne du 
castilian, non plus que dans Paragonais, le navarrais et Pastu- 
rien oil nous trouvons le degr6 portugais iL Mais est-ce que 
feita .... dereyta .... feUoy etc., sont r^Uement des formes 
dialectales, ou bien reproduisent-elles le plus ancien 6tat castil- 
ian, c'est ce qui est douteux.'' ^ In connection with this passage 
compare Baist's statement: *^ct wird intervokalisch zu ch; die 
Zwischenstufe yt tritt in der Einwirkung auf den vorausge- 
henden Vokal zu Tag, hat sich im Aragonischen wie Portugie- 
sischen erhalten.'" Hence it is evident that the ct of Spanish 
words has had the same development in Mexico that Latin ct 
had in the North Spanish dialects ; the physiological expla- 
nation is the same as that of d > t^ in French. Carolina 
Michaelis speaks of the fall of c in the popular speech of Spain, 
but does not mention the development of an epenthetic i: '* Der 

^Oram, des Lang. Rom^ i, p. 416. ^Qrundrmy i, p. 706. 


vulgaire Spanier, ob er Kastilianer oder Katalane oder Valen- 
cianer, etc., ist, sagt .... fctor, protetor, efetoJ'^ 

In addition to forms like defeilOy ailor, we find oocasionally 
in Mexico defeutOy ardor j etc., but not in sufficient numbers to 
be called a characteristic of the dialect. Similar double forms 
are found in Bogota,' Buenos Ayres,' Chile/ and for Spain 
Mugica states that the twofold development occurs in San- 
tander, Andalucia, Ghdicia " y otras provincias.'' * 

CO: The development of co is similar to that of oty that is^ o 
falls, and if the preceding vowel is a or «, an epenthetic i is 
introduced ; for example, aocion > aisifn, satispagcion > 
8(di8fai8ifny JjE(xnoiSf> leisifn ; APLi(XJiON>q/?m{)n, INSTRUO- 
CION > indruMfn. Similar forms are found in Andalucia,* 
Buenos Ayres^ and Bogotd.^ 

z {ki) > »; for example, exacto > fadUoy texto > ifdo, 
INDEX > inSfs, Maximiuano > Masmiliang, 

§57. g + n. 

g &ll8 in the group gn: INDIGNO > indinoy ignobante > 
ingrardfy MAONiPioo > manijikoy Ignacio > Irumo. The 
reduction of <7n to n is very general in Spain and has been 
noted for Santander, Vizcaya,* Asturia ^® and Andalucia. In 
the latter province Schuchardt heard also i/n.^^ In Gralicia the 
resulting sound is sometimes fl {ifioraVy afU>)^ that is, it has 
the same development as original Latin gUy while in Mexico 
the g has been completely assimilated to the following n instead 
of palatalizing it. 

^ Worttehp^ p. 110. *Leng. BagoLy p. 44S. 

*Soe, d€ Ling^ ii, p. 60. ^Phon. Sivd^ vi, p. 158. 

*DiaL OauL, p. 17. ^ZU^ v, p. 311. * Sor. de Lmg^ n, p. 60. 

^Leng. BogoL, p. 472. ^Dial, Oasi^ pp. 17, 51. 

^^Falab y Fraaea BabUs, p. 70. ^^Zts,, v, p. 810. ^*€hram. Qal^ p. 20. 

128 C. C. HARDEN. 

§ 68. Initial l, r. 

loitial { and r remain unchanged ; for example, Igkoj largoy 
raroj rioy etc. 

The intensive prefix re- is of frequent occurrence and is 
often strengthened to rete- : regfrdg, rfUgfrdo^ etc. 

§ 69. Initial H 

Initial U has become y: llamab > yamar, iXBaAN> 
yegauj llevo > Uebg, etc The y-sound is characteristic of 
the higher as well as the lower classes in Mexico. The same 
pronunciation is very general in the popular speech of Spain 
and America; in Spain Baist makes an exception in r^ard to 
Aragon where 'Mas altere U bleibt/'^ in America the y-sound 
prevails in Cuba, Peru,* Chile,' Costa Rica,* Puerto Rico.* 

In Puebla (Mexico) ll > £.• lleko > zeno, lJjAMAR > 
zamar^ etc. The same pronunciation is found also in San 
Salvador and Buenos Ayres. Gaston Paris' remark in regard 
to the ll in Buenos Ayres applies to Puebla as well: '^A 
Buenos Ayres on a 6t^ plus loin, non seulement ll a paas^ a y, 
mais y a pass£ au son chuintant du fran^aisj."* That is, the 
tongue pushes forward the point of contact with the hard 
palate, thus passing from the voiced palatal to the voiced 
dento-palatal fricative ; in other words, it is the same change 
that took place in the passage of original Latin $ to Old 
Spanish z. 

§ 60. Medial I, r. 

Medial I remains : maloy aielo (cielo), muUiy etc. 
Medial r generally remains : tirar, tfrg, bora, etc 

^Orvndriw, I, p. 704. *Etym, Fonch^ n\ p. 60. 

*Ph4m, Stud,, VI, p. 81. *i¥w. tUCILfP. 612. 

^El Jibaro, pp. 49, 69, etc. ^Eomania, vxii, p. 622. 


Medial r falls in PABA>jjaa>j!)a/ and mira ubted> 
nUadS. The fall of intervocalic r takes place in isolated 
words in Andalucia, Asturia,' Santander and Vizcaya/ and in 
America similar cases are foand in Buenos Ayres/ Cuba^ the 
Cura9oa Islands,' Bogota,' Costa Rica/ and Porto Bico.^ 

Metathesis takes place in pobbe ^prgbf, pared '^padfTy 
Gabriel > Grabi^. 

Interchange of I and r is not so common in Mexico as in 
provincial Spain ; the only cases noted are galzetin > kar^ 
setin, peregrino ^pdegrino. To these may be added marina 
which in the speech of the Aztec soldiers became maJlincke? 

In Peru intervocalic r is occasionally changed to d {oavcUiedoy 
queded)y^^ a phenomenon which is also found in Vizcaya and 

Medial rr retains the Castilian pronunciation : charrfy tfrrfy 

§ 61. Medial U. 

Medial U has the same history as when it is initial, that is, 
it becomes y: calle > hay^y tortilla > tfrtiya, cavallo 
> cabayoy etc. 

In Puebla ll>z: gallina > gazinay tortilla > tfrUzay 

§ 62. Final I. 
Final I remains : fly aly mgrcUyfifly etc, 

§ 63. Final r. 

Final r has become voiceless (r), so that the only audible 
sound is a voiceless glide after the preceding vowel ; for ez- 

*Cf. Herrig, Arehio,, xxiv, p. 177. 'Zte., ▼, p. 317. 

'Did/. OcuLj pp. IS, 51. ^Soe, de Ling,, n, p. 64. 

^Amer, PhU, Asa., i, p. 151. ^Leng. BagoLf p. 478. 

^Prav, de C. R,, p. 475. ^El Jibaro, pp. 49, 69, etc. 

•Bancroft, HitL of Met^ i, p. 119. ^Etym, Forach., ii*, p. 60. 
^^Dial, QuL, pp. 61, 84. 

130 a a HARDEN. 

ample, oomeb > komfr, seI^ob > sfXfr, habTiAK > ablofy etc. 
The prooees of weakening final r has been taking place in 
other Spanish dialects, but the ultimate result is not the same 
in the various districts. Bristed speaks of ''the apparent 
n^roism prevalent in Cuba of substituting a vocalized r for 
the strongly trilled final r, e. g. amato (or something very like 
it) for amar."^ 

In Porto Bico final r is sometimes confounded with / (den/) 
but more frequently it becomes weakened to y; for example, 
cuojff mgoy, etc} In Andalucia' and Cura^oa^ final r has 
developed one stage further than in Mexico, that is, it has 
disappeared entirely; the same is true of the coast population 
of U. S. of Colombia, where are found such words as Mflo, 
muje, etc.* This wearing away of final r is well-known in the 
European languages, and in the United States it is found in 
the pronunciation of the n^roes of the South, in their familiar 
do {docr\flo (floor), matta (matter). 

§ 64. r, Z, + cons. 

r and / remain unchanged in consonantal combinations; for 
example, aJgOy abna, pifmg, arka, etc. 


§ 66. Initial h. 

Initial h is silent in Modern Castilian, except before the 
diphthong ue; in Mexico it is silent before ue, and is aspirate 
in a few isolated cases when followed by a, o, u; for example, 
HDESO > tof9o, HUEVO > wcbo ; but, 'hojfo ((h)oyo), ^htmu) 
((h)umo), ^halar ((h)axab). The conditions in Mexico are 
very similar to those in Cuba, according to the following 

^Zi9^ V, p. 317. *El Jibaro, p. 49, etc. « Zu^ v, p. 318. 

^Arner. FhiL Abb,, i, 1^ 155. ^Lmg. BogoL, p. 478. 


lemark of Von Name : *' The h is dealt with quite after the 
oookney fashion. Before the diphthong ue, where in Spanish 
it is strongly aspirated^ in Creole as also in Cuba it is silent ; 
thuSj webu (htievo), wetu (hue9o\ werfano (huerfano). Before 
other vowels it is silent in Spanish, but generally aspirate in 

The aspirate forms in Mexico are probably isolated cases 
of the preservation of the sixteenth century pronunciation, 
and this is doubtless true of the many districts of Spain and 
America where initial h is represented by the sign j, as for 
example, in Ecuador, Buenos Ayres, Chile, Costa Rica, Porto 
Bioo, Santander, Andalucia, and likewise the Philippine 
Islands. In Andalucia the process has gone one step further, 
and original Castilian j (= x) has become h; for example, iho 
{hyo)y herUe {genJte)? 

There is, in Mexico, another development of h before the 
diphthong ue; namely, hue >5ru6.' HUERO > g^fifro, HUEVO 
> g^Sieboy hueso > gueso. Similar forms are still in provin- 
cial use in Spain and a large portion of Spanish America. 
The history of the change is similar to that of sue > gue^ 
that is, the initial h becomes silent and the following u being 
semi- vocalic, the g arises as explained in § 27. 

§ 66. Medial h. 

Medial h is silent in Mexican as well as in Castilian ; as a 
graphic sign it does not prevent the diphthongization of the two 
vowels which it separates in ahog ab > aogar > dugar, etc 


§ 67. InUicU m, n. 

Initial m and n generally remain : maloy mucho, numeroy 
ncUa, etc 

^Amer. PML Au^ i, p. 151. * WnU^ Oilap. <2e Phon. Atidal., p. 41. 

132 C. C. ICABDEN. 

Initial n before the diphthong ie regalarly beoomeB n, at 
the same time absorbing the i of the diphthong : nieto > 
fl^, NiEVE>llf6fy NEBVI08 > ^{^(M (through a stage rUervoa 
which is found in Old Spanish as well as in the modem 

The stem-accented forms of the verb negar are fl^{<C 
NiEGo), flfgas (< NiEQAs), flfga (< nieqa), etc. These forms 
have exerted an influence on the initial n of all other forms of 
the verb^ hence we find fl^fgar, flfgdSg, nfffamfs, etc. 

fSti^So (Cast. NiTDo) shows the preservation of a North 
Spanish form. Mugica^ in his remarks on the dialect of San- 
tander, states that '^ La n se muda en il en nudo, tambien del 
dialecto viccaino, vocable en que se manifiesta la influencia 
asturiana como en aHudar {anudary^ Baist also regards 
ftudo as of Asturian origin.' 

§ 68. Medial m^ n^ fL 

Medial m^ n and fi generally remain : amOy wma (gima)^ 
manoy tfnffj sififr, pffla^ etc. 

Medial n before the diphthongs ie, ia, to r^ularly becomes fi, 
at the same time absorbing the i of the diphthong : AirroNio 
'^AnMlg, matbimonio > mairimoflOy aniega > afi^a^ etc 

Muncho (Cast, mucho) shows the preservation of an Old 
Spanish form which is still in use in the dialects. According 
to Meyer-Lubke the n of muncho is due to the initial nasal : 
'^ Dans beaucoup de localit6s une n et une m initial de la syllabe 
nasalisent la voyelle suivante^ cf. encore l&-dessus I'espagnol 
manzana, ninguno, mancha, muncho, etc.'" Baist restricts the 
rule as follows : ^' Anlautendes m erzeugt mehrfach vor z, ch, s, 
dr, c, ein n.''^ In other words, the n occurs before a dental 
or dento-palatal, provided the syllable b^ns with m. The 
influence of the dental upon the development of the nasal is 

WiaL QuLj p. 20. ^Qrundriu, i, p. 702. 

*Qram, de$ Lang. Bom., i, p. 519. ^OrundrisSj i, p. 707. 


seen in the Creole of Cura9oa in such forms as cominda 
{comida)y landa (nadar). 

§ 69. Finals. 

m and fl do not occur as finals in Mexican or Castilian. 

Final n generally remains: X9^f^9 komfn^ mUy etc. 

In Puebla, and occasionally in Mexico Citv^ final n > 17 ; 
for example^ gufrf (buen), bfrj (ven), p fin (en fin), etc. 
This pronunciation of final n is very common in Spain, as 
may be seen from Meyer-Liibke's statement: '^N finale est 
presque partout v^laire : n, tel est siirement le cas, en asturien^ 
en andalous et dans PEstramadure, dans la province de L^n 
et la Galice, puis dans les Canaries et & Cuba.''^ Lenz also 
mentions velar n as a characteristic of Peru.' According to 
Lentzner there is in Guatemala a '^ tendency to the nasalization 
of the final -n similar to the termination -ng; for example, 
ianJneng (pronounce tambieng-gej the last syllable being quite 
faintly sounded) instead of tambien; ieniang (pronounce teni- 
ang-ge) instead of tenian,** 

The final n of naiden (Cast, nadi^) is probably by analogy 
to oomfrim, alguim, quien, rather than the inexplicable final n 
that occurs in some of the Eastern French dialects. The 
basis of the Mexican naiden is the popular Spanish naide. 

A striking characteristic of Guadalajara (in the State of 
Jalisco, Mexico) is the adding of a n-glide after a final s: 
ABBOZ (= arroa) > arrfsny pues > pufsn. This n-glide is 
caused by lowering the velum before the «-sound is completed ; 
the tongue-position remains the same and stream of breath con- 
tinues its passage through the nose, thus producing the nasal- 
glide. Semeleder, in speaking of the inhabitants of the State 
of Jalisco, states *^ dass sie den worten ohne Auswahl einen 
nasaleden klang anhangen.'" My own observations of the 

^Oram, det Lang. Bom,, i, p. 510. 'Zito., xvn, p. 195. 

'TFtneiueV* Fb*., i, p. 14. 

134 O. C. HARDEN. 

speech of Guadalajara limit the nasal glide to words ending 
in 8 or 2. 

§ 70. n + cons. 

n, in the groups ng, no, has been drawn back to the post- 
palatal position by inflaence of the following guttural; for 
example, bfvjgg, ^vigayfanda/qgoj carraqkary etc. 

n falls in the groups ndy ngp: iNSTBUMEinx) > idrum^niOj 
iNBTAirrE>uton^,TBANSPABENTE>^cMparfn^ The same 
phenomenon is found in Ghdicia,^ Asturia,' Bogotii' and Costa 
Bica/ and is simply a re-working of the law established for 
Popular Latin. 


Phonetic Changes in Words of Nahuatl Orioin. 

A. Tonic Vowed3. 

§ 71. Aoemt. 

The Latin system of accentuation made all other syllables 
subordinate to that which bore the tonic stress. In Nahuatl, 
on the other hand, there are five accents each of which has a 
distinct character of its own ; a detailed discussion of these 
accents is, however, beyond the limit of the present work. 
Compare the following remark of Antonio del Rincon : ^^Nota 
que para la colocation del accento no se ha de mirar como en 
d latin solo un accento predominante en la diction, porque en 
esta lengua todos los aocentos que tienen las palabras se pro- 
nuncian, y asi algunas veces conforme i lo que la diction pide, 
se hallan dos y tres accentos predominantes semejantes o difer- 
entes.''* The reason of this system of accentuation is probably 
due to ihe fact that a large number of the polysyllabic words 

^Oram,OaL,p.26S. *ZCt^ xvii, p. 801. *Lmg. BogoL, p. 4»2, 

*Prov. deC.B^]p, 894. *Groiii. y Voeab. Mez^ p. S8. 


are made ap of smaller words and particles, each of which has 
retained, to a marked extent, its original force and meaning. 

All Nahnatl words which have come into the Spanish of 
Mexico are accentuated in conformity with Castilian words, 
that is, the accent is on the penult if the word ends in a vowel 
or n, and on the final if the word ends in a consonant (except 
n). Hence the number of esdrCgulos is small, in fact only two 
examples have been noted; namely, jiiara (<xiCALii),J{iaiiia 
(< zigamatl), and of these the etymology of the first is far 
from certain. 

§ 72. Vowel signs. 

Fray Alonso Molina, who was the first systematically to 
transcribe the Nahuatl language in Roman characters, uses 
five vowel signs, a, «, t, o, u.^ He remarks, however: '^Puesto 
caso que los naturales hagan poca diferencia entre la o y la u 
por quanto usan ansi de la una como de la otnu'^' Later 
grammarians have noted a similar confusion of the vowels e 
and i. When o and e have been preserved in the dialect, they 
have the open or close sound in accordance with the rules of 
pronunciation of Mexican Spanish. The orthography used in 
the following pages is that of Mendoza and Sanchez,' who in 
turn have followed Molina. 

§ 73. Ibnio a. 

Tonic a remains with the Castilian pronunciation : Ahua- 
CATL > awakatf, quauhcalli > wakcU, chinampa > chi- 
nampa^ etc. 

§ 74. T(mic e. 

Tonic e has the sound of open or close e according to the 
rules of Castilian pronunciation : ahuehuetl > atoewdfy 
oooojsetIj > kokgnetff tlapechtli > tapfaJdey etc. 

"Of. BMiograpky, No. 79. 'iftifc ^a«., iv, p. 128. 

>Cf. BiUiognipky, Nos. 77, 86. 

136 C. a HARDEN. 

§ 75. Tcmio i. 

Tonic i remains as close i: caooujtl> kakamiiff misquttl 

> mfskUf, APIPITZCA > apipiaka, etc. 

§ 76. Tonic o. 

Tonic o remains as close o .* xilotl > yilotf acoootl > 
akokotfj TZOPIIXXTL > aopilotf. Exception : touun > (ule. 

§ 77. Tonic u. 

Tonic u becomes o .* amulli > amglf^ atulu > atolfy 
CAYUTL > caygly chimctlli > chimglf. The only exception 
is uUi > ulf. A similar change has taken place in aboriginal 
words in the Spanish of Buenos Ayres; for example, kuntub 

> condor y PURUTU > poroto} 

Owing to the lack of scientific study of Nahuatl phonetics, 
the explanation of the change of checked u to o must be purely 
constructive. It seems probable that the u being in checked 
position was originally short and open, or became open on 
account of its shortness. The passage of such an ii to o would 
be the same as that which took place in Popular Latin after 
the colonization of Sardinia. 

§ 78. Diphthongs ua, ue, ui. 

When preceded by a vowel (or h) the diphthongs ua, ue, ui 
become respectively wa, toe, wi; when preceded by a conso- 
nant they retain the Castilian pronunciation ; for example, UA: 


kcLkatoatf ; tlalquazin > klahj^achg. UE : ahuehuetl > 
awewdf; motzincuepqui > machirjhj^epa. ui : chahuiztu 

> cavnaklf, chiquihuitl > chikiwitf; moyocuilli > moyo- 
kuilf rrzcuiNTU > fskuirjklf. 

^ Soc de Ling^ u, p. 82. 


B. Atonic Vowels.* 
§ 79. Atonic a. 

Initial a generally remains : ahuizotl > awisotf, ahua- 
catl > awakatfy ahuehuetl > aw^etf, etc. 

Exceptions: ahuacamolli > K^aiamofe, atzizicuilotl > 
ehichikuilotf, acoootli > kgkgtf. 

The prosthetic a in achichinar (< chichinoa) is probably 
due to a confusion with Castilian achicharrar which has the 
same meaning as the Nahuatl word. 

Pretonic a remains : tepalcatl > iepaUcat^y pinacatl > 
pinakat^y caxitl > ^a;^(. 

Final a remains : apipitzca > apipiska, chachalaoa > 
chcuihalakay chinampa > chinampa. In the termination -an, 
the consonant falls and the vowel is treated as final a; for 
example, chian > cAia, teipiloyan > klapiloya. 

huilotl should have become vnlotf, but the final e is 
changed to a in order to make the word feminine in form, 
since it corresponds to Castilian paloma. 

§ 80. Atonic e. 

Initial e remains in ecpalli > dcipal^j which seems to be 
the only example of initial e. 

Pretonic e remains : tepetatl > tepetcUf, ahuehuetl > 
awewdf, etc. Exceptions : e > i in chiltecpin > chilpikiny 
NEXCOMITL > nfskgmU; c > o in ayeootl > aygkotf. 

Final e remains : tilinque > pUink^. 

§ 81. Atonic t. 

Initial i > e .• nzcuiNTLE > fskuvrjIUey izquttl > fskitfy 
ECPALLI > ddpalf. 

^Posttonic vowels will be treated m finals, since an atonic penult ocean 
in onljT two words, /foara and jioamcu 

138 C G. MABDEN. 

Pretonio t remains : apipitzca > apipiska, ahuizotl > 
Ofurisot^ Ekoeptions : t > e in mizquitl > m^Jcit^ tequib- 
QXTTTL > tekfskUf^ HUipnJiT > toepiL 

TompiaU becomes regularly tfmpiatf, which, however, in 
literary Spanish is written tompeate. It is costomary for the 
lower classes to pronounce Oastilian ea^ eo, eu Sis ioj to, tu, 
hence the form tompiaU was supposed to be an example of 
the popular pronunciation of ea, consequently the word is 
found in the dictionaries as tompeate. 

Final t > (.* chichi > c&ic&f, mulli > motf, atolli > 
aiglf, CHILLL > ckU^ The same change of Indian t to ( takes 
place in the Spanish of Buenos Ayres.^ 

When poettonic i is followed by n, the consonant fiJls and 
the final vowel becomes (; for example, huaxik > huaxi > 
waxff TEPEHUAxm > tfpfwaxf) etc. 

§ 82. AUmio o. 

Initial o remains : ocotl> okotf, ocelotl> oadotf, otlatl 
> otatf. 

Pretonic o remains : tzopilutl > sopUotf, aooootu > aho- 
kot^y GACOMTTL > kokomitf, 

oa>ua: coatl > kucUf^ cencoatl > sfrfkuaif. 

Final o remains in wakaUco < quauhcaloo, which is the 
only example. 

§ 83. Atonic u. 

Initial and final u do not occur. 

Pretonic u > o .• mulcaxitl > moUcaxd^i mumuztli > 

§ 84. Atonic ua^ ue, ui. 

The atonic diphthongs ua^ ue, ui have the same develop- 
ment as when tonic ; for example, ahuacate > awahatf, 

^Soe, de ZAng., u, p. 62. 


AHUEHUETE > OWfWftfy HUILOTL > foilotf; but MOTZIKCnEP- 

<)ni > mcuAinkuqM, cuttlacochi > kuitlakgchf. 

§ 86. Atonic uau. 

The triphthoDg nau is redued to imi in strictly popular 
words ; for example, quauhcaloo > guakaUco > wakalkg, 

QUAUHCALLI > ffUoioUi > wokoly QUAUHCAMOTLI > woka" 

mgif. These words are often written guacalcOf gua4xUy gwioor^ 
moU, and the change from ffua to imi in the popular speech is 
the same as that noted for initial gua in words of Castilian 

C. Consonants. 


§ 86. Pronimciation, 

There is only one pure labial consonant in Nahuatl, namely, 
p. There seems, however, to have been a iMK)nsonant in the 
pronunciation of the women, and concerning this consonant 
Molina remarks : ** Los varones no usan de v consonants, 
aunqne las mugeres mexicanas solamente la usan. Y assi 
dizen ellos umeU .... que es quatro silabas, y ellas dizen 
vevetl con solas dos silabas." 

§ 87. p. 

p occurs as initial, medial and in consonantal combinations, 
and has in all cases remained with the Castilian pronunciation. 
Initial : papachoa > papachoj petlatl > peicUfy petla- 
CALLi > pdaka; medial : tzapotl > sapotf, tzopilotl > 
Mopilgtfy chapopotli >c^jx>po^; consonantal combinations: 
OHINAMPA > ehinampay tompiatl > tftnpiatfy ohilpoctu > 
chilpgklf, TECPAN > tfkpany icpalli > eldpcUf. 

140 c. c. mabden. 

§ 88. Pronunciation. 

The dental signs in NahuatI surety o(+e, i), z, iz, x {d and 
9 do not occur). 

i has the value of Castilian t} 

(+ Cy i)y z: Mendoza thus describes these sounds : ^^ La c 
suave que se pronuncia casi igual i la 8, un poco mas silbada, 
p^ando la lengua en el nadmiento de loe dientes, lo que ha 
hecho formar la opinion antes dicha, de que no debe dester- 

rarse la s del mexicano La z que poco se parece i la 

castellana, pues tiene un sonido muj semejente d la 8, que es 
el que generalmente se da en Mexico i la c suave y i la z.'' ' 
Now, knowing that ^^ o suave '' and z did not differ in sound 
from 8 in the Spanish of America, and adding to this Men- 
doza's statement that the " c suave " of the NahuatI is " un 
poco mas silbada/' we may safely say that NahuatI c (and z) 
represents an s slightly more aspirated than the Castilian «. 

tz: This sound is treated as a single consonant, and Molina 
says it is equivalent to Hebrew tzade;^ T^pia Zenteno makes 
the same statement, and adds the following description of the 
sound : ^^ En todo se pronuncia cerrando los dientes y difun- 
diendo por ellas la lengua formando un ligero silbo sin vio- 
lencia.''^ Mendoza states ^^que se pronuncia encorvando la 
lengua y peg&ndola en medio del paladar.^'^ Combining these 
two descriptions we may conclude that in giving the tz sound| 
the tongue is curved upwards toward the hard palate, and 
it is the point of the tongue that presses against the back of the 
teeth (instead of the tip as in Spanish «). 

x: The sound of this letter in the Castilian of the sixteenth 
century (until 1582) was «, consequently, the symbol x was 
used by the early grammarians in order to transcribe the 
SH90und which was found in NahuatI. Since the Snsound was 

^Namb, Oeog^ p. 33. ^Ftilab. 1/ex., p. 9. *Mub. Nac^ iv, p. 128. 

^MuB, Nac, ni ; Appen., p. 7. *Palab, ifes., p. 9. 


common to both Castilian and Nahoatl, none of the early 
grammarians call especial attention to it, consequently, the 
first mention of it must be sought in the period when Castilian 
X had passed from i to x> ^^^^ ^> when the symbol x ceased 
to represent the Nahuatl sound. Tapia Zentena (who wrote 
in 1762) makes the following remark concerning the x in 
Nahuatl : ^^ La a; 6 sigasele vocal 6 consonante, siempre se 
hallare escrita en diccion mexicana, se prouuncia distincta- 
mente diversa del Castellano y el Latin : hallase en primeras 
medial y ultimas sflabas. . . . Sabrase pronunciar bien teni- 
endo algo apartados los dientes sin U^ar d ellos la lengua y 
asentindola toda en lo inferior de la boca, bien abiertos los 
labios/' ' 

§ 89. InUiaia. 
Liitial t remains : tamalli > iamaly teoolotl > tekglgtf, 

TEZONTII > tesfrjklf. 

Initial < > /> in pUvqlc^ (< tilinqiAe), probably due to a con- 
fusion of the prefixes til- and pU-. 

Initial c {-\- e^i) and z remain as «.• cencoatl > sfrfkuatfy 

CENZONTU > SfnSfffklfy ZACATL > sakcUf. 

Initial tz occurs only before the vowels t, a, o. tzi > chi : 

TZTTZICAZILI > chichikosklf, TZILCA YUTL > chUkaj/Utfy TZIPIL 

> chipil. tea, tzo > «a, 8o: tzapotl > aapoif, tzoacatl > 
sgkcUf, TZOPILOTL > sopilgtff tzompantli > 8fmpaf)klf. The 
reason for the two developments is evident. Before t, the front 
of the tongue is raised in anticipation of the high vowel posi- 
tion, hence tzi > chi; before a, o, however, the front of the 
tongue is low, hence the tz is reduced to simple 8. 

There are, however, two exceptions found in Sanchez' 
Vocalmlario ; namely, tzotzocolli > chgchgcol^ tzahuitli 

> chaiJdf. Mendoza's etymon chiauhotli ' would explain 
the form ohaukky but no satisfactory explanation can be given 
for chochocoL 

^Mus, Nat,f ui, Appen., p. 7. *Ptiilab, Mex^ p. 23. 

142 a a MABDEN. 

Initial Xy which had the value of « in the sixteenth oentory, 
has undergone the same change as original Castilian x^ that is, 
it has become x^ xacalu > xakal, XELorii > xiiotf, xrro- 

§ 90. Medials. 

Medial t remains : totopoohtli > totopg, which is the 
only example.^ 

Medial o (-|- ^, i) and z remain as s: ahuizote > awUotf 

EPAZOTL > epa90tfy OCELOTL > OSdotf. 

Medial tz has the same treatment as when initial. TZi > 

cAi.' TLAQUATZIN > kloklfO/Jlff TZITZICAZTLI > chichikosklfy 

ATZiisicjjnxnia'^chichiki^ilotf; TZo'>8o/ quahtzontli> 
wcufffklff TETZONTLi > tesffikle. Exception : tzotzoool > 


• • • 

Mendoza states that the tz of Indian words ^^ ha desaparecido 
casi por complete para dar lugar i la z escrita, no pronunciada 
sino oomo s; algunas veces en los diminutivos se cambia en o 
suave como en Mexicaltzingo que se escribe j pronunda Mexi- 
oaUdngoJ^ ' This statement of Mendoza's fiuls to include the 
development of £si to ehi. The change of tz to o (= s) in 
MexiocUtsingo is the r^ular development in consonantal com- 
binations; cf. § 91. 

Medial x has the same history as initial x, that is, it passes 
from original i to X' taxitl > Uix^y exotl > fX9^f tepe- 
HUAXIN > tepewaxf* 

§ 91. Denials in consonatUal combinations^ 

With the exception of tl and tz, which are treated as single 
consonants, t does not occur in consonantal combinations. 

z remains as « in the groups zc, zUy m: T£Mozcalli> 
temaakalf mizquitl > f7i^/:t/f , piztli > j>i8iE^, tlaoomiztu 
> kakomisklfy cenzontu > sfnsfrjklf. 

^ Sanchei^ Voc Mez^ s. v. ' tei does not oocar in medial position. 

*Pdlab, Mex., p. 11. * Dentals do not occur in final position. 


tz ocean in the groups tzo and Uz, and remains as $: API- 
prrzoA > apipiaka, iTzcniNTU > fak^firjklf, mexigaltzingo 
> mfxHalsirfgg. 

X oconrs only in the group xhy and remains as s: tulX.-- 
GAIXXFL > haskalgtf, hexcalu > m^kaJU 


§ 92. PrimwMAaJlion. 

Cy qiij ch^ and y' occur in Nahuatl, and have the sound of 
the corresponding Castilian letters. 

§93. InUiah. 

Initial o (+ a, o, li) and qa (+ ^y i) remain as k: caoomitl > 
kakamitfy cazitl > oa^xjUf^ quimilli > Mmilj quiotl > Mot^. 

Labialized form : euir^ ^^'/^ for example, cuioo^hmkoj 
cuitlaooohe > kuitlakochf. qua* > gtia y^wa; for example, 


mote > wakamgt^. The later change of ^t^z to tMi is the same 
as that which took place in original Castilian words. In 
the Nicaragua Spanish of the sixteenth century, guaxateKo 
(< QUAHUAQUi) shows the first stage of the development 
mentioned above. 

qua- > ka- in macuahuitl > makana, amaquahuitl > 
anakawUf. Each of these words has other peculiarities which 
make their etymology doubtful. 

Initial eh remains : chichi > ehichfy chilli > ckilf, Cha- 
poltepbc > ChapuUepf. 

Initial y remains in yolozochitl > yolgsoohilf which is the 
only example. 

^N€mb, Qtog^ p. 26. 'Jfua. Nac^ m, Appen., p. 8. 

^Nofmb. Qeog,, p. 35. *eue does not oocar in initial position. 

* quo does not occur in initial position. 

144 O. C. MABDEN. 

§ 94. Medials. 

Medial c (+ a, Oy u) and qu (-f- ^y i) remain as k: aooootl 

> akokgtfy cniTLAOocHE > ki^Ulakgchf^ chiquihuitl > child- 

Medial ch remains: papachoa >j)apacAo9 cuitlagoche 

> k^Ulakochf. 

Medial y remains : ayatl > aycU^, ooyotl > cgyotf. 

§ 95. Finah. 

The use of palatals in final position is foreign to Castilian 
and Mexican Spanish. In Nahuatl, c and ch may ooear as 
final consonants, but on their passage into Spanish the conso- 
nant falls or a final e is added. 

Final o generally falls ; for example, Chapoltepec > 
ChapuUepff HuAUHTEMOC > WalemPf etc. Compare New 
YoKK > Nueba Yfr. A final e is added in a;oooc > X9^^> 
compare English check > ch^k^ 

OtAemavaoa (< Cuahnahuac) is a case of popular ety- 
mology. The form should have been kuanatca or kuanawakf, 
but owing to the similarity in sound to the Spanish words 
caema ■+■ vaoa^ the meaning of the Mexican noun was changed 
from ' a place surrounded by woods ^ to * cow-horn.' 

Final ch occurs in only one Nahuatl word that lias come 
into Spanish, and here a glide e has developed after the ch: 
liAPACH > mapdohf. Mendoza mentions the fact that a glide 
i was often developed, even in Nahuatl, in the case of words 
ending in ch.^ 

§ 96. Palatals in consonantal combinations. 

c occurs in the groups xcy zc, pc, cp, and remains as k. xo 

> sh: ZACATLAXCALLi > sakaMiskalf, mexcalli > mfskal; 
a?o > A in nexoomitl > nfskomUf; zc > sk: mizquttl > mf»- 

^Palab. Mex,, p. 9. 


Utff TEMAZCALU > tenuukoL pqui > pa in motzincuepqui 
> maohvnkifepay probably due to a substitution of cuepa for 
cuq>qui. cp'^kp: tecpan > tfkpan. 

ch occurs only in the complex oktly which is reduced to 
bU: michtlapiqui > fn^klapikf8y quapachtli > k^apaaklf. 
IHgoha < piochtli may be due to a confusion with Castilian 

Tfmachilf < TONALCHHiLi shows a change of 2 to r accom- 
panied by metathesis^ 

§ 97. PrtmwncicUion. 

The liquids in Nahuatl are l, U and U, and of these I alone 
has the same sound as in Castilian.^ 

U does not represent the Spanish U^ but according to Men- 
doza ^'sola indica un prolongacion en el sonido/'' Molina 
states that **U se ha de pronunciar como en el latin dezimoe 

U is r^arded as a single sound in Nahuatl and may occur 
in initial medial or final position. It is equivalent in value 
to the U in AtlantioOy if we consider the t and I as belonging 
to the same syllable ; thus, Atl-antioo.'^ 

§ 98. InUiaU. 

I and U do not occur at the b^inning of a word. 

Initial U > Jd: tlaco > klako, tlbmulli > klemolf, tla- 
tolli > Mdkolf. Tapia Zenteno speaks of the tendency to 
mispronounce U: *^ Kste letra se expresari abiertos los labios, 
procurando no equivocarla con la c, como los que ignoran este 
dialecto dicen daclaooUif damandif etc. en lugar de tlatlacoUi, 

^Nomb. Owg., p. 31. ^Palab, Mex^ p. 9. 

>ifiM. Nae^ IV, p. 128. *Nomb. Oeog^ p. 83. 


146 C. a ICARDEN. 

UarnxxnUiJ^ ^ The change of tf to £/ is the same as that which 
took place in Popular Latin vedus < vMvs < vetulua. 

Initial tf > Hn the following words mentioned by Sanchez : 
TLAXAMANiLLi > ioxamanilj tlapaitoo > iaparjhgy TLA- 
PECHTLI > tapfsklf,^ 

§ 99. Medials. 
Medial / remains : olotl > glotf, ocelotl > gsfht^ texo- 

LOTI-. > tfX9^9^y PAPALOTL > papoJotf. 

In j^ikara < xicalu the etymology is doubtful, for besides 
the change of / to r and the addition of a final a, we must 
also account for the change of accent. 

Medial U occurs only in the terminations -Hi and -Uin and 
is regularly reduced to /. In some cases the endings t and in 
disappear, in others they remain as e. 

-off* > -ah ACAHUALU > okauDol, OOMALLI > komaly co- 
PALLi > kopaJy CHiMALLi > chimcUy etc -offt > -afe in the 
following words : tezcalli > iekalf, zacatlaxcalli > jfco- 
klashalfy icpalu > ekipalf. The fall of the final vowel in 
the large majority of alH-wordB is probably due to the fact 
that the termination -al is of much more frequent occurrence, 
in Castilian words, than the ending -ale. The same remark 
applies in general to -illiy oUi and uUi, 

"UK > -il: HUEPILLI > wepily metlapilli > meklapUy qui- 
MiLLi > kimily TLAXAMANILLI > ia'xp/manUy etc. -iUi > -iU 
in chiUi > ckU^y tonalchilli > tfmachUf. 

-oUi > -o/.* X(XX)Yoij:ii > sgkoydy tzotzocolli > chgchg- 
koL -oUi > -o& ; ATOLLi > cUglfy tlatolu > kkUglfy pinolli 

> pinglf. 

-uUi > -o/If ; AMUi^Li > amo/f , CHIMULLI > chimolfy MULLI 

> mglf, tUli ^ule: ULLI > ufe. 

Medial tl occurs in a few words ending in -tl. In these 
words the first ^/ > ^ by assimilation to the te which regularly 
develops from final tl; for example, metlatl > metatf, pet- 
LATL > petcUfy tepetlatl > iepdatf, 

^Mua, Ao^, ni, appen^ p. 84. ' Voc, Mtx^ s. y. 


In 'petaka (< petlacalli) the ^ is by analogy to t in petaif, 
since petlacalli is a compound petlatl -|- calli. The 
words petojoa and peUde are found in Nicaragua Spanish in 
the first half of the sixteenth century.^ 

§ 100. Finals. 

Final r does not occur in Nahuatl, but is added to the fol- 
lowing verbs by analogy to Castilian infinitives which always 
end in r .• chichinoa > chichinary pepena > pepenar. 

Final / remains : tzipil > ehipily quachichil > toaohichil. 
In tfnki^ (< tencuapil) the entire final syllable has fallen. 
The three examples just cited are the only words with final I 
that have come into Spanish from the NahuatL 

Final U does not occur. 

Final U>te: xilotl > yilotf, mecatl > mekaiff ocotl 

> gkotf, coyotl > coyotf. The change of tf to ^ is due to a 
wearing-away of the final consonant to a voiceless glide ; the I 
first becomes voiceless, after which it easily passes to the front 
vowel e by influence of the t 

Final tf > Z in the following words : oyametl > oyam^j 
CEMPOALXUCHITL > sfmpasuohU, yoloxochitl > yglgsgchil. 
A possible explanation of the two last mentioned words is that 
they are by analogy to the large number of forms in -tZ < -i2K. 

§ 101. Liquids in consonantal camhinationa. 

I generally remains in consonantal combinations. Ip: CHnr- 
pocrhi > chilpgcklf ; li: Tii/rosTiA ^ piUfrjhlf ; Id: quauh- 
CALCO > toakalkg, xaltomatl > ypltgmat^. Z > r in tonal- 
chilli > tgmachUey where the change is due to a confusion 
with Spanish toma. I is assimilated to m in chilmolli > 
chimmoU > Mmglf. Entire syllable fidls in tlalcacahuatl 

> kaJcatoatf, 

^Amer, Jour, of FhiLf v, p. 63. 

148 O. C. MABDEN. 

a occurs only in combination with a preceding consonant, 
and becomes Id in M. cases. nU'^ffkl:^ cenzontli > «ffi- 
sfTfklfy rrzcuiNTLi > fakijiffhlf, tesontli > tesfi^klf ; zU> 
aid: TEPONAZTLI > tepgnasklfj piztli > piaklf; cU > kl: 
CACTTLi > kcJclf, cHiPOCrrLi > chipgklf; ckU > akl: iohtli > 
isklf, MiGHTLAPiQUi > fnfsklapikfa. 


§ 102. Pnmunoiation. 

Pefiafiel states that Nahnatl h ^^ en medio j en fin de diccion 
es aspirada. No se encuentra al principle de diccion en loe 
escritores de loe siglos xvi j xvu, snpli^dola en los dipthongos 
de la u con v. For r^la general, id principio de diccion s61o 
hiere & la u j ap^nas si hay tres 6 cuatro palabras con que 
precede & otra vocal." In the Nahnatl words that have come 
into Spanish, h occurs only before ua, ue, ui, or as final letter 
of a syllable. 

§ 103. Initial. 

Initial h falls and the following u becomes to: huaxik > 
waxff HUIPILU > toepil, huaxoi/xfl > imi%o2o^ 

§ 104. Medial. 

Medial h falls and the following u becomes to: AHUACSATL 
> awahaify cmQUiHurrL > chUdwUf.* 

§ 105. h + cons. 

h falls before a consonant: quauhoalli > wakal, quauh- 
CAJJOO > VHikalkg. 

^OLl 110. 'A does not occur in final pontion. 


§ 106. gwij gue. 

Initial and medial hua is often written and pronoonoed 
ffua among the educated olasses, such a form of writing 
and speaking being due to a mistaken etymology. The sound 
wa is foreign to Castilian^ and, therefore^ since the lower classes 
say wa for Castilian gua (cf. aoua > awa)y the educated sup- 
pose that the correct form for every folk-ira is gua; hence, 
for awakatf {ahuacate) they write agyaccUe^ for waxf (huaxe), 
guagej etc. 

In Nicaragua the aboriginal hue has become gue in the 
Spanish folk-speech; this, however, is a different phenomenon 
from the wa > gua in Mexico. The Nahuatl hue > k^ by the 
&I1 of the aspirate, this we then becomes gue just as bueko > 
weno > gu^o^ hence in Nicaragua huehue > guegue, etc.^ 

§ 107. InUiab. 
Initial m, n remain with the Castilian pronunciation : 

MECATL > fUe^^, MULLI>mo/f/ NAHUALLI > nailKl/, NO- 

PALLI > nopai. 

§ 108. Mediab. 

Medial m, n remain with the Castilian pronunciation : caco- 
MITL > kakomiify comalli > komal; pinolu > pinol, CHI- 
KAMPA > chinampa. 

§ 109. Mnak. 

Final m does not occur. 

Final n regularly falls : tollin > tulf, CHIAN > ehia, 
HUAXIN > waxff etc. A similar Ml of aboriginal final n 
takes place in Nicaragua.' 

^Amer. Jour, cf PkiL^ v, pp. 60, 62. ^Ibid., p. 62. 

150 a C. MABDEN. 

Final n remains in the following words : capolun > 
kapgliriy chapulin > chapgliriy chlltbcpin > chilpUdny qua- 
T£ZON > k]faie8fn. In NahuatI words the final syllable never 
bears a tonic accent (except in certain vocative forms in ^y none 
of which have been preserved in Spanish), hence, in the class 
of words which have preserved the final n, we must suppose a 
change of accent to the last syllable on their passage into 
Spanish, which change of accent would naturally tend to pre- 
serve the final ti. 

§ 110. Ncuak in oonsonantai oombinatiaM. 

m occurs in the groups /m, mp, and remains unchanged : 
PiLMAMA > pilmama, tilmatli > tUma ; ghinampa > chi- 
nampay tompiatl > tfmpiatfy etc. 

n occurs only in the groups nzy no and nil. U r^ularly 
becomes Id in consonantal combinations, hence in the last two 
cases just mentioned, n is followed by a guttural and is natu- 
rally changed to 17. nc > i^X;; cenooatl > afrjkualfy tla- 
PANOO > Uapa^koy TZiNCUALLi > chirfhucU. nU>nM> rfkl: 

GENZONTLI > 8fn8fr}klfy ITZCUINTLI > fskl^ffklfy TEZONTLI > 

nz>n8: cenzontu > «fn«(>i7iUf. 

Chables Cabboll Mabden. 





Vol. XI, 2. New Sebieb, Vol. IV, 2. 


No observant penson can, I think, have failed to note of 
late years a certain increasing hesitation and perplexity in re- 
gard to the true function of literature in studies. Indeed, 
there are reasons not a few for thinking that we are preparing 
for one of those revisions and restatements of the general con- 
ception of what we should try to get from literature, of which 
we have several examples in the past. I do not mean merely 
that our literary taste is changing, or that we are passing from 
one set of literary admirations to another. Such lesser varia- 
tion is incessantly going on. Classicism yields to romanticism, 
romanticism to realism, and this to something else, in an 
onbroken round of change. But these minor modifications of 
feeling and opinion about literature may easily take place 
without any material disturbance of the general estimate of 
the nature of literature or of the attitude of men's minds 
towards it. My neighbor may think that bad in books which 
I think good, and yet we may both seek in our reading to 
satisfy essentially the same needs, intellectual or aesthetic. 


152 A. B. MABSH. 

The change, however, to which I have reference, is of a far 
profdander kind. It affects the very sabstance of men's 
thought about books, substitutes for one form of promise and 
enticement to the reading of them another and quite different 
appeal, and necessarily carries with it new aims and methods 
in the study of them. I shall, perhaps, make my meaning 
clearer on this point by some brief illustration. 

It is well known that during the Middle Ages the value of 
literature, in so far as it was serious and not intended merely 
to produce joie et saulaz, joy and solace, was conceived to con- 
sist in the &ct that it served as a kind of bodying forth of a 
profounder truth than can be directly expressed in words. 
The mediaeval mind was universally and completely possessed 
by that all^orical method of interpreting the documents of 
the past, which had its earliest use on a large scale in the 
exposition of the Bible. When Hilary and Ambrose in the 
fourth century established among the Latin Christians the 
manner of ex^esis that Philo Judaeus had originated and 
that the Alexandrian fathers had elaborated, they were un- 
wittingly fixing for many centuries the form of one of the 
most important activities of the human spirit, the study of 
literature. The fourfold meaning— historical, tropological, 
allegorical, and anagc^ical — which they believed to run 
through the sacred books and which they made it their aim 
to educe and expound, became at once for their own and for 
succeeding generations of Christians the chief source of interest 
in literature in general. For a time, of course, there were 
obstacles in the way of the extension of this method to the 
profane writers. The Christian teachers had, indeed, found 
it impossible to do without Vergil and Horace and Cicero in 
their schools, as the famous decree of the Emperor Julian, 
prohibiting such use, plainly shows. A deep suspicion of 
these works of the Gentiles, however, long lingered among 
the Christian teachers, and from time to time found even 
violent expression. When, nevertheless, the Grentile part of 
society had long since disappeared, when the Christians found 


themselves the sapreme and only masters of the European 
world^ the remembrance of the old doubts and hates gradually 
died awaj. Then it came about that the works of the great 
pagan writers, whose fame was consecrated by long tradition, 
insensibly fell into the same kind of estimation that the docu- 
ments of the Christian faith enjoyed. These works, like the 
Bible, were felt to contain, beneath the veil of the outward 
form, a precious doctrine, and those that read them endeavored 
to find in in them the same fourfold adumbration of hidden 
truth as in the Gospel itself. Bernard of Chartres, the great- 
est teacher of France in the twelfth century, asserts that 
Vergil ^^ inasmuch as he is a philosopher, describes human 
life under the guise of the history of Aeneas, who is the 
symbol of the soul." Horace, Juvenal, Persius, Lucan, 
Statins are r^ularly included in the lists of the philosophers. 
Cicero is not merely, to use the phrase of Paschasius Radber- 
tus, the ^ king of eloquence ;' he is put by Alars de Cambrai 
before Solomon himself for wisdom (Romans de Urns les phUo^ 
aophes) : 

Tulles qai moult fu sages clers, 
De totes clergies plus fen 
Que tout autre maistre de pris, 
Est premiers esleus et pris. 

And, finally, Ovid, the most facile of poets in morals as in 
art, was expounded at enormous length as the profoundest of 
teachers ; and even his most scabrous works, the Are amatoria 
and the Remedium amoris^ were seriously studied as containing 
a mystic sense of deep spiritual import. So all literature, in- 
sofar as it fell within the field of the intellectual class, had 
come to mean an allegorical account of spiritual things. And 
how firmly this conception of it was held by the best intelli- 
gences may be seen in those passages in Dante's works, both 
in his Convito, and in his dedicatory letter, sent with the 
Paradiso to Can Grande del la Scala, in which he asserts the 
application of the doctrine to his own poems. 

164 A. B. MAB8H. 

Yet already in Dante there b^in to appear signs of a new 

manner of thinking and feeling about literature. In several 

cases in which he has to give an opinion about works of liter* 

arj art, his criterion is not, as we might expect, the character 

and profitableness of the doctrine enshrined within them, but 

the beauty of the style in which they are written. It is a 

certain doloe M nuovo that marks the difference between the 

group of poets to which he himself belongs and the earlier 

Sicilian poets, whose last important representative was Bona- 

giunta da Lucca. It was preoccupation with the question of 

style, of language, that prompted his treatise De mdgari elo^ 

queniia (or eloquio). And, finally, in view of Giovanni 

Yillani's characterization of Brunetto Latini, we can scarcely 

doubt that Dante refers to the tatter's rhetorical influence upon 

himself, when he addresses to him the &mous lines of the 15th 


Chd in la mente m'd fitta, ed or mi aooora, 
La cara e baona imagine patema 
Di voi, qoando nel mondo ad ora ad ora 
M'insegDAVAte oome Tuom s'etema. 

That man makes his name deathless by noble utterance, by 
eloquence — that was the lesson of Brunetto Latini to Dante. 
And, had Dante but known it, here was an idea that was to 
act as a solvent of that whole body of literary doctrine which 
had accumulated during the Middle Ages— doctrine about 
which he himself had never had a serious doubt. 

Before Dante died, the man had already nearly attained 
manhood who was to seize upon this idea, utter it in a thou- 
sand pleasing forms, impose it upon his contemporaries, and 
establish it as an indubitable truth for many succeeding gener- 
ations. This man was Francesco Petrarca, the first clear-^yed 
student of antiquity, the first of the humanists, and, as he has 
been called, the first modem man. In him was first thor- 
oughly realized that profound change in the whole conception 
and theory of the nature and object of literature, which is one 
of the best examples we have of the changes the human spirit 


must inevitablj from time to time pass through in its treat- 
ment of its dearest intellectual interests. 

It is not my purpose to dwell upon the characteristics of 
Petrarch or of the great movement which he initiated^ and 
which we have been in the habit of calling, with some exag- 
geration of pride in the modern world, the new-birth, the 
Renaissance. I desire simply to point out how distinct and 
in many ways limited a theory of literature is implied by that 
word eloqueiitiay which Petrarch so incessantly uses, and which 
he appeals to as the ultimate criterion in forming his literary 
judgments. I can think of no passage in all the books of the 
Renaissance that lights up the literary character of that move- 
ment as does Petrarch's brief discussion in his JRerum Memo- 
randarum Libri [n, p. 466] of the comparative merits of 
Plato and Aristotle — a passage in which he accounts for his 
depreciation of il maestro di color che sanno, on the ground 
that in libria tamen ejus qui ad noa venenmtj sane oerta fides 
eloquentice vestigium nullum est. We must, of course, guard 
ourselves carefully from misinterpretation of Petrarch's con- 
ception of ehqueniia. On the one hand, there certainly 
lingered in his mind not a few remnants of the mediaeval 
notion of literary form as a veil for deeper, half-disclosed 
meanings beneath. On the other hand, he cannot too often 
reiterate his faith that literature must be of profit to life, that 
it must be morally uplifting, that it must contribute to the 
development of humanitas in society. And yet it remains 
true that in his thought literature is essentially eloquentia, is 
art, is style ; and that to this quality it chiefly owes its efficacy 
for good. 

And the chief work of the humanists, of Petrarch's succes- 
sors in Italy, in the field of letters, was to establish this idea. 
It was for this that they toiled at the resuscitation of antiquity. 
It was for this that they reformed their own literary style. 
It was for this that they labored at the perfecting of the 
Italian tongue. Eloquentia alone could give immortal fame, 
and the matter of books was thought to avail little, if they 

156 A. B. MABSH. 

lacked this supreme quality of mauner. Even the most 
scabrous of subjects^ the foulest diseases, the basest scandals, 
the most indecent scurrilities, might be treated with universal 
approval and applause, bj him who had the secret of eh- 
qaentia. And when humanism passed from Italy to the rest 
of Europe, one of the earliest signs of its appearance in a new 
country was a sudden preoccupation of the writers of that 
country with style. What a place in the literary history of 
France, for example, has the question of the language. As 
one turns the pages of the &mous manifesto of the P16iade, 
the first group of French writers in whom the Renaissance 
appears triumphant — I mean, of course, Joachim du Bellay's 
D^enae et illustration de la lanffuefranfoise— one finds hardly 
any other concern than this. Is the French tongue fit for 
eloquence ? Can it be made to compare in this respect with 
Greek and Latin ? How can it be perfected in this r^ard ? 
These are practically the only questions du Bellay discusses. 
It is absolutely the same story with Malherbe. And, as for 
Boileau, even if he does lay down the fiimous rule that 

Rien n'est beaa qae le vrai, le vrai seul est aimable, 

it is still clear that the critic's interest and aim is the 6eau, 
rather than the vrai. And so it continues with the French 
critics and literary theorists of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries. So also it is with no inconsiderable part of them 
in the nineteenth. 

Nor is the case difierent with the other nations that felt 
strongly the Renaissance influence — and this means all the 
chief literary nations of Europe — Spain, Portugal, Holland, 
Germany and England. In the last two, to be sure, the sud- 
den violence of the Reformation interfered with the quiet and 
continuous development of the idea of eloquence that we see 
in France. And yet no one can study the Elizabethans with- 
out recognizing that by them too literature as such was 
conceived as largely a matter of style. In short, all over 


Europe the RenaissaDoe brought about and fixed for many 
generations one and the same general attitude of mind towards 
letters, one and the same criterion of excellenoe in them, one 
and the same estimate of the chief source of edification to be 
obtained from them. When in 1736 the excellent Archbishop 
Fontanini brought out the first biblic^raphy of Italian liter- 
ature and called it Biblioteca delP doquenza italianay his mere 
title summed up a whole great chapter in the history of literary 
study and criticism. And Bouterweck, when he named his 
well-known work Oeachiohie der Poesie und Beredtaamkeit 
(1801 S.\ affirmed the same theory of the quintessential 
quality of his material. 

So with unanimous voice the Renaissance pronounced liter- 
ature to be eloquence, just as the Middle Ages had pronounced 
it to be all^ory. The histories of literature were histories of 
eloquence in this or that tongue, the professors of literature 
were professors of eloquence, the critics of literature were 
samplers and tasters of eloquence. Nor is this view yet aban- 
doned by the expositors of literature. Not to mention those 
French critics of the Ecole Normale, whom the Germans so 
scornfully dub beUetristeny what is that " grand style " which 
Matthew Arnold tells us is the one important thing to seek 
for in literature, if not the doquefixiia of Petrarch ? 

And when this critic tells us to remember and to use as 
touchstones of poetic excellence Dante's verse : 

E la sua yolontate d nostra pace, 
and Chaucer's : 

O martTT souded in yirginit^, 

as well as those Homeric passages he loved so well, does he 
bid us approach literature in any different spirit from Clement 
Marot, when he states in the preface of his translation of 
Ovid's Metamorphoses that he haajeU VobU sur les livres latins, 
dont la gravity des senteticeSy et le plaisir de la lecture . . • 
m'ont espris mes esprUs, men4 ma main, et amus^ ma musef 

158 A. B. MABSH. 

Nsfy^ when Lowell^ in an address to this very Association but 
five years ago, spoke of genius in literature as that ^^ insoluble 
ingredient which kindles, lights^ inspires and transmits impul- 
sion to other minds, wakens energies in them hitherto latent, 
and makes them startlingly aware that thej too may be parts 
of the controlling purpose of the world " — when Lowell thus 
spoke of genius^ I say, was he not in real truth thinking of 
that ^ god in us/ imagined by the humanists as by the ancients, 
who is the inspirer of eloquence^ the suggester of the rare and 
irresistible word? 

In spite of these evidences of the persistence to our own time 
of the Renaissance conception of literature^ however^ there are 
no less certain evidences^ throughout the nineteenth century, 
of increasing hesitation to accept it as complete and final, of 
doubt whether it indicates to us the best that is to be found 
in literature. Naturally, it was Romanticism that first gave 
rise to these doubts and hesitations. No inconsiderable part 
of the romanticists, to be sure, sought in their revolutionary 
doctrine simply a new form of eloquence. Such was the case 
with the fantastic romanticists like Tieck in Grermany, and 
with the rhetorical romanticists like Victor Hugo in France. 
With others, however, the case was different. Some, like 
Uhland, sought in works of literature evidence of a more or 
less complete expression of the creative and constructive 
energies of the human spirit, and prized them accordingly. 
Romanticists of this class turned to the Middle Ages, because 
they found in this period both individuals and society as a 
whole more freely imagining new things and bringing them 
to realization, than was the case in later centuries. And to 
such critics perfection of expression, eloquence, seemed of 
quite secondary importance. Other Romanticists still found 
Uterature chi^y interesting as the utterance of racial or 
national feeling; and the mere substitution of the phrase 
' national-literature ' for ' eloquence ' in the titles of literary 
histories indicates a revolution in the method of approach to 
literature and the study of it By these innovations the 


traditional theory of the function of literature was seriously 
shaken. And as a further sign of the change the honored 
locations ^eloquence' and ^belles-lettres' began to fall into 
disuse, and gradually into contempt. 

But romanticism carried in its boeom^ unsuspected at first, 
a still more dangerous enemy of the old order of things — 
science. For the chief characteristic of science is that it con- 
cerns itself not with the manner, but with the matter of things ; 
and just in proportion as attention has been more directed to 
the matter of literature, has the Kenaissance conception of it 
as doquentia come to seem insufficient and of doubtful value. 
At first, to be sure, the new literary science busied itself mainly 
with externals. It adopted the traditional humanistic methods 
of studying literature, endeavoring only to make them more 
systematic and more precise. It constituted texts, accumu- 
lated information about books and their authors, cleared up 
doubtful points of literary history or of grammar, sought to 
obtain as large a body of facts about literature as possible. 
Above all it undertook the investigation of language upon a 
scale never before dreamed of. And in this last field it first 
b^an to realize that the traditional objects of study were 
hopelessly inadequate. To the man of the Renaissance the 
whole interest of language lay in its capacity for eloquence ; 
and when he studied it, as in his Accademia della Crusca or 
his Academic fran9aise, be was thinking only of perfecting it 
to this end. The man of science, on the other hand, found in 
language one of the most important phenomena of universal 
nature, and studied it that he might understand it as such. 
In dealing with literature itself, however, the man of science 
has been much slower in getting his bearings — slower, but 
none the less surely working towards a new point of view. 
And one of the chief signs of the coming change is the greater 
and greater reluctance he shows to deal with what is often 
called the literary side of literature. Many and harsh com- 
plaints are made about him for this, and he is chained with 
n^lecting that which alone makes the study of literature 

160 A. B. MABSH. 

worth while. But the real truth is that he is silent, because 
he does not yet know what to say. He sees the insufiSdency 
of what it has been customary to say, but he does not discern 
with clearness the sure and adequate thing that is to be sub- 
stituted for it. The conception of literature has to be trans- 
formed as the conception of language has been transformed ; 
and when this transformation has been accomplished, we may 
properly blame the man of science, if he fails to understand 
and interpret the new doctrine. 

But in the meantime, as I have before stated, we see on all 
sides signs of doubt and hesitation as to the true line of approach 
to literature, as to the most profitable method of studying it. 
On the one hand, we have the men of science, sure of their 
linguistics but uncertain of their aesthetics, treating literature 
as a corpus vile for linguistic illustration. On the other hand, 
we have the representatives (often very imperfect ones) of the 
older tradition clamoring for the so-called literary teaching of 
literature, and endeavoring to win us to aesthetic appreciations, 
the reading of which causes a weary weight of doubt and dis- 
trust to settle upon our spirits. From time to time, also, we 
have projects for a more satis&ctory method of literary study 
and criticism. Such, for example, was the essay of the brilliant 
Hellenist, Prof. Gildersleeve, entitled Orammar and AestheticSj 
published some ten years since in the PrinoeUm Beinew, In 
this essay, after speaking of what he rightly calls ^' the wide- 
spread distrust as to the ultimate value of all the aesthetic 
criticism of the day, whether sympathetic or other,*' Prof. 
Gildersleeve suggests that we return to the methods of the 
Alexandrian grammarians. ''As an art,'' he says, '^ grammar 
entered largely into antique aesthetic criticism. While we 
may consider this study tedious in itself and futile in its aim 
as a r^ulative art, there is much to be learned from the old 
rhetorical use of grammar as an organon of aesthetic apprecia- 
tion. The ancient rhetorician took into account phonetics, 
word-formation, syntax, periodology, all from a purely subjec- 
tive point of view. Now all these matters fall under the obser- 


vation of the scientific grammarian^ all are subjected to rigid 
measurement and computation. We know the proportions in 
which different vowel-sounds appear in given monuments of 
literature; we know what sequences, what combinations of 
sounds certain languages will tolerate, the emergence and the 
disappearance of such and such terminations, the growth and 
limit of case use^ tense use, the extent of section, member, and 
period ; and while it is not proposed to make a mathematical 
aesthetic on the basis of grammar, it may be possible to remove 
some part of criticism out of the range of mere sensibility and 
opulent phraseology/' Such is Prof. Gildersleeve's proposed 
method of studying literature ; and it should be added that 
something like it is already in actual use in this country and 
abroad. There are well-known teachers whose pupils are even 
now at work counting and tabulating the color-words, the 
sound-words, the nature-words employed by this or that 
poet, — to say nothing of the rhyme-varieties, and other metri- 
cal and grammatical peculiarities. 

Free from mere sensibility and opulent phraseology such a 
method of study certainly is ; and yet it seems to have a vice 
no less serious than these. It fixes our attention upon things 
we do not greatly care to know about, and leaves us in the 
dark as to all the great and vital concerns of literature. 

But this is not the only notable suggestion of a more scien- 
tific method of studying literature that we have had of late. 
Such a method has recently been proposed in France by the 
well-known critic, M. Brunetidre. And his plan is to turn 
to the natural sciences for aid, borrowing from them the con- 
ception that has in our time so profoundly affected their 
development, — ^the conception of evolution. M. Brunetidre 
is, however, not the first to seek help from the sciences of 
nature. Taine had done the same thing, striving to interpret 
the romantic doctrine of national literatures by means of the 
supposed scientific principle of determinism. But Taine's 
History of English Literature is by universal consent a failure, 
and I suppose that there is not at this moment a single eminent 

162 A. B. MAB8H. 

student of literatare in the world who is practically employing 
his method. M. Bruneti^re's suggestion^ however^ seems at 
first sight to have more to recommend it. For one thing, the 
doctrine of evolution is a much more generally accepted doc- 
trine than that of determinism, and is &r from involving such 
sweeping assumptions. But when we examine more closely 
the works in which M. Brunetidre has attempted to give a 
practical illustration of his idea, we can hardly avoid a feeling 
of disappointment and almost of deception practiced upon us. 
For his Evolution dea genres dans Phistoire de la litUratwre 
franqaise and his J^luUon de la poSsie lyrique en France an 
XIX* siMcy though indisputably they contain many excellent 
things, contain nothing about evolution except in their titles 
and introductions. Even had M. Brunetidre really succeeded, 
however, in cutting himself loose from the past of French 
aesthetic criticism, and in seriously embarking upon the pro- 
ject he so valorously announced, we may fairly doubt the 
profitableness of his results. For as yet we have no right to 
apply the doctrine of evolution to literature at all. At the 
best it is at present an analogy, and I believe a very useful 
one — ^the more so since it leads us constantly to remember that 
in literature nothing is fixed or permanent, but that every- 
thing, both materials and forms, is undergoing incessant 
change. That the law of this change, however, is the law of 
evolution we do not yet know ; nay, with that other analogy 
of language before us, we may rather doubt whether it will 
prove to be the case that it is. At any rate, it is little likely 
that the premature adoption of the doctrine, even as a working 
hypothesis, would lead to useful and permanent results. 

But there is still another suggestion of a more adequate 
method of studying and criticising literature — a suggestion 
that does not appear to have emanated from a single scholar, 
but seems rather unperceived to have embodied itself in a 
phrase, and launched itself into the world. This phrase is 
' Comparative Literature,' and when I have pronounced it, I 
have at last reached the subject which this paper purports to 


discuss. I fear I shall have seemed to many to make my 
prologue long — longer than the poem — a procedure that no 
art of poetry could be found to justify. And yet, though I 
have done this, it has been with a purpose. I have not 
wished to-day to enter into the details of the comparative 
method of studying literature, but rather to bring out with 
distinctness what I consider to be the relation of the very con- 
ception of such a method to the traditional conceptions on the 
subject^ and to other conceptions that have lately been ad- 
vanced. If I shall have done this, and if I shall have 
further briefly indicated the true and reasonable hope and 
promise of such a conception, I shall have accomplished all 
that I could wish. 

The phrase ^ Comparative Literature ' is afloat, I say, and 
indeed seems to be constantly acquiring greater currency. 
There are already journals of comparative literature; and, 
what is more significant, there are professors of comparative 
literature. And yet, if we seek for a definition of the new 
term, we shall find it amazingly difficult to obtain. No 
doubt, it was the fruitful development of the comparative 
method in the natural sciences, as in comparative anatomy, 
and in language studies, as in comparative grammar, that 
inspired the desire for a similar employment of it in the study 
of literature. But any concensus of intelligent opinion as 
to the exact manner of employing it can hardly up to the pre- 
sent time be found. There are some who appear to think 
that comparative literature means comparing literary works, 
whether in one or in many languages, with a view to 
determining their relative excellences. This view, at its 
best, is essentially the same as Matthew Arnold's, when he 
tells us that criticism is ''a disinterested endeavor to learn 
and propagate the best that is known and thought in the 
world.'' But the difficulty of this method obviously consists 
in the fact that, until we have a race of men with no moral or 
spiritual prepossessions whatever, we cannot have and ought 
not to have a disinterested estimate of the comparative excel- 

164 A. B. MAB8H. 

lenoe of what has been known and thought in the world. 
Even more open to the charge of being merely subjective in 
its application and temporary in its results, is the compara- 
tive method, imagined by others, which selects as the object 
of its investigations the creative intentions and the aesthetic 
proc&les that appear in the great monuments of literature. 

A decidedly different conception of comparative literature 
is that which gives as its task the investigation and classifi- 
cation of the different forms which literary or imaginative 
themes or motives have assumed in the literatures of various 
peoples ; as well as the study of the origins of these themes 
and of the manner of their diffusion. In this sense Benfey's 
fitmous introduction to his translation of the PantchaJtardray 
in which he studied the diffusion of the Indian beast-fables in 
the Occident, was comparative literature. So also was the 
survey of the various forms of the epic tales that gather about 
the figure of Charlemagne, which M. Graston Paris gave in 
his Histoire po&ique de Charlemagne. Comparative literature 
in this sense, though within narrower field, were the studies 
of the brothers Grimm in the popular traditions of the Ger- 
manic peoples. And here, further, we must put the investi- 
gations of Prof. Child upon the English and Scottish Ballads, 
as a monumental example of the same method. And yet it 
must be noted that all of these works, except the last, were 
produced before the notion of comparative literature had 
appeared at all, or at any rate before it had obtained real 
currency. The authors of them had not embarked upon 
investigations suggested by a general theory ; they had simply 
followed each a given material, wherever it might lead him. 

Each followed his material, wherever it might lead him— 
that is, each conformed himself to real facts in nature, and as 
a consequence attained results that at least do not sin from 
* mere sensibility and opulent phraseology.' Others, moreover, 
have followed these scholars in the same or similar fields, and 
they, too, have succeeded in producing works free from these 
defects. But still more important is the £Eict that as the 


number of these works increases^ it is gradually becoming clear 
that here are studies that are to yield us a much richer fruit 
than has hitherto been supposed^ and that are profoundly to 
modify our whole conception of the nature and function of 

Comparative literature in the sense I have just been describ- 
ing is as yet undeveloped in theory; it is still extremely 
limited in practice. Many of those who have made the most 
important contributions to it^ have done so with no clear under- 
standing of what they were really bringing to pass. Urged 
on oftentimes merely by some blind instinct of erudition^ they 
have labored at what they regarded as purely questions of 
origins^ or bibliography^ or technical literary history. And 
yet they have been cooperating to bring about a momentous 
change in the attitude of men's minds towards literature as a 

This change is exactly parallel with the change wrought by 
the comparative method in the study of language. For just 
as language ceased a generation ago to be regarded as chiefly 
interesting from the point of view of style, of eloquence, so 
now literature is ceasing to be thought of in these traditional 
terms. More and more it is coming to be seen that literature 
is one of the great provinces of universal nature, just as lan- 
guage is, and that the only really satis&ctory way to study it, 
is to study it as such. Conceived thus, the phenomena of 
literature change immediately their relative importance and 
interest, they group themselves in new ways, they become 
indicative of new principles, more trustworthy than any that 
aesthetic criticism has ever succeeded in making out. From 
this point of view the study of literature ceases to be a search 
for classic examples of excellence in style, to the end that 
these may be parted from the mass of other books and con- 
templated in and for themselves. It ceases also to be a search 
for those works that are preeminent for moral elevation, or 
intellectual energy, or any other single quality, however great 
its importance fipom the point of view of practical living. The 

166 A. R. MABSH. 

zoologist does not allow himself to be influenced in his studies 
by the popular preference for the perfected forms of life over 
the obscure and undeveloped. He studies all, and from all 
learns. The student of language^ too, derives no less light 
from the imperfect and unfixed speech of the untutored man 
than from the most eloquent discourse. In the same way, the 
student of literature b^ins to see that he also may more pro- 
fitably study the whole body of the phenomena of literature, 
great and small, eloquent and rude, noble and ignoble (for, as 
the Spanish proverb says, there are all kinds in the garden of 
the Lford) — ^he may more profitably do this, I say, than spend 
his time in subjective theoriziugs about the true and the beau- 
tiful as manifested in literary master-pieces. 

The moment one faces the study of literature in this spirit, 
he sees at once that the traditional methods of procedure are 
little calculated to serve his ends. These methods, further- 
more, imply presuppositions that are altogether uncertain, or 
even in many cases certainly false. Such, for example, is the 
fiunous hypothesis of an universal human nature, an universal 
reason, the same in all the races of men, in all ages, in all the 
regions of the earth — nature and reason which it is the busi- 
ness of true eloquence to reproduce, stripped of the temporary 
and the accidental. Take away this supposition, and what 
becomes of the critical method of Boileau and of all those who 
hark back to Boileau ? And yet in the light of the pheno- 
mena of literature in their entirety, how uncertain a principle 
does this become! What terrible limitations it requires! 
How misleading are its implications ! 

To examine, then, the phenomena of literature as a whole, 
to compare them, to group them, to classify them, to enquire 
N into the causes of them, to determine the results of them — 
this is the true task of comparative literature. But, as I can 
not too often repeat, the methods by which these processes are 
to be carried out are as yet far from being systematically 
formulated. Certain objective points, however, can already 
be discerned. It is clear, for example, that through the inves- 


tigatioD of three questions in particular, we are to be advanced 
greatly on our way — I mean the question of literary origins, 
the question of literary development, and the question of 
literary di£Pusion. Upon the first of these questions much has 
already been done, though for the most part unconsciously and 
without real appreciation of the nature of the problem. We 
cannot forget, for example, that the fi^imous question which 
for nearly a hundred years has agitated the classical scholars, 
the Homeric question, is in reality but part of this larger 
question. The classical scholars in general do not yet know 
this ; but that it is so is entirely dear to anyone who has fol- 
lowed recent investigations into the origins and history of epic 
poetry among the various peoples that have had such poetry. 
Pio Rajna, in his Origini deW epopea franceae, is in reality 
discussing the Homeric question as much as the question of 
the origin of the mediaeval Chansons de Oeste. So also are 
the students of Germanic heroic traditions, like the Grimms 
in the past generation, and Mullenhoff in ours. So also are 
the Krohns, father and son, and Comparetti in their investi- 
gations of the subject-matter of the Finnish Kalevala. Indeed, 
the time is already in sight when no one will think of uttering 
a word on the Homeric question, who has not first familiarized 
himself with the phenomena attending the birth of the Indian 
MahdbhdrcUa and Raindyanaj the Persian Schah-Nameh, the 
Germanic sages and epics, the French Chansons de OesUy the 
Finnish epic songs, the Celtic heroic poems and traditions, 
and all the lesser manifestations of epic tendency, whether in 
romances, ballads, folk-tales, or larger poems. And let it not 
be supposed that such a method of study will contribute 
merely to the settling of the traditional Homeric question. It 
is comparatively a small matter whether the Iliad and the 
Odyssey are the work of the same poet, or what are the consti- 
tuent parts of each and how put together. The important 
matter is, what is epic poetry ? What is its true function ? 
What characteristics, imaginative, ethical, and rhetorical, are 
the necessary consequences of a perfect fulfillment of this 

168 A. B. ICABSH. 

function ? For the student who appoaches the matter with 
these questions in his mind^ though it may and I believe will 
remain true for him that the Homeric poems are the most 
perfect examples of epic poetry we have, the determination 
of this judgment will rest upon grounds quite other than the 
traditional ones. And for such a student even the most 
famous discussions of epic poetry in the past, Voltaire's Essai 
9ur la poisie ipique, Boileau's remarks, Joachim du Bellay's 
treatment of le Umffue pohne, the opinions of Quintilian and 
Horace, and even the views of Aristotle himself in his PodicSy 
will seem empiric and superficial, and of slight practical or 
theoretical value. 

Similar results will attend the scientific investigation of 
both the other main questions I have suggested, that of lite- 
rary development and that of literary diffiision. By the first 
of these, I mean the process by which is gradually elaborated 
the material out of which literary masterpieces are made. 
Thus we can follow the slow amassing of the matter, both 
structural and imaginative, which the great romantic poets 
and novelists — ^Ariosto, Spenser, Cervantes, to mention only 
great names — at last found fit to their hands, — tracing it from 
the songs of the primitive Grermanic scop and Celtic bard, 
through the poems of the romance jongleur, whether brief, like 
the Spanish ballads, or long, like the Chansons de Oedej till at 
last it is ready for the masters. And as we watch the ever- 
varying forms the material takes, as we see the unceasing 
intrusion and extrusion of social and moral ideas, of types of 
poetic appeal, of artistic and rhetorical expedients, we realize 
more adequately than mere aesthetic criticism can ever make 
us, the true character of all poetic creation. 

Another example of the same process I may mention is the 
elaboration of the material and manner of the Christian heroic 
poem — ^that poem of which Milton has given us the supreme 
examples. Who can follow this from its origin in the fourth 
and fifth centuries, in the Latin poems of Juvencus, Sedulius, 
AvituB and others, through the Old English, Old Saxon, and 


Old Frankisb Bible epics, through the more numerous similar 
poems in many languages in the later Middle Ages, through 
the Renaissance poems and dramas, whether in Latin or in 
the vulgar tongues, up to Milton, and indeed on to Klopstock 
—who, I say, can do this without obtaining a wholly new 
view of the true character of the Paradiae Lost and the Paror- 
dise Regained f 

I will not dwell at length upon the results to be obtained 
from the study of the question of literary di£Pusion, though 
they promise to be no less significant. The investigations 
of scholars like M. Graston Paris upon the way in which the 
poetic traditions of the Celtic race became current among the 
other peoples of Europe, and upon the modifications thus 
caused in the literatures of those peoples, are as good proof of 
this as I can give. Brilliant essays here, also, are several 
studies upon the di£Pusion of Proven9al and French literary 
forms in other countries — for example, Gaspary's SicUianisohe 
Dickterachviej and the recent introduction to an edition of the 
lyrics of King Dionysius of Portugal, by a member of this 
Association, Prof. Lang. And, finally, what lover of English 
literature can fail to see a rich field for such study in the 
question, as yet barely entered upon, of the obligations of the 
Elizabethans to Italy, France, and Spain? 

I will not prolong the list of illustrations of the lines along 
which the comparative method of studying literature may 
hopefully and profitably be applied. No doubt, there are 
many more than I have indicated ; indeed several crowd in 
upon my mind as I speak. I shall do better, however, to 
pass them over, for the sake of making myself a little clearer 
upon a point that may well have perplexed some of my 
hearers, in connection with what I have been saying. I feel 
sure that the question must have been pressing upon some in 
this audience, whether such a method as I have been outlining 
does not after all n^lect that very real something, eUyqiientia^ 
art, style, which has hitherto been regarded as the very essence 
and inner being of literature ? Does it not without due reason 

170 A. B. ICA3SH. 

throw away the individual artiat, from whose bmin the literary 
masterpiece has proceeded ? And is this not as dangerous an 
error as to overestimate the artist and his art ? The doubt is 
a natural one, and for that reason I desire to make myself a 
little clearer on this point. I do indeed believe that no lite- 
rary masterpiece, whether as substance or as style, can be 
properly regarded as the peculiar and individual creation of 
the man that brings it to the birth ; just as I believe that no 
man's language is his own personal creation. And yet who 
can &il to see that both in language and in larger creation 
the modifying action of the individual is profound? And 
who can &il to see, further, that at all times the appeal of 
literature to men has largely consisted in that very eloqueniia, 
whose universal sway I have been trying to help bring to an 
end. Here, then, are very real forces ever at work to make 
literature such as we see it and know it^ As such they must 
be prized and studied. 

Nay, I shall go even farther, and say that in my opinion 
there can be no greater mistake than to use the comparative 
method with beginners in the study of literature, substituting 
its intellectual claims for the natural appeal of eloquence and 
beauty. We have learned that we must teach elementary 
grammar by the old empiric methods, and that comparative 
linguistic science is but a confusion to the untrained mind. 
Assuredly it is so for the student of literature. Let him, 
then, be made familiar at the start with the more accessible 
literary masterpieces, those whose greatness is attested by that 
universal feeling of men which is a safe guide in any practical 
matter. Securus judical orbis terrarumy says Augustine; and 
within limits the rule is true. But when the student has gone 
&r enough to be entitled to know what those masterpieces 
really are, how they came into being, and what the sanction 
of their greatness is, then let him approach them with all the 
appliances of the comparative method in his hands. 

A. B. MABdH. 



John Wesley's twenty-niDe traDslations of German hymns 
were originally published in five di£Perent collections, and in 
the order following : 

I. COLLECTION || op || PSALMS || and || HYMNS. || 
[Decoration.] || CHARLES-TOWN, \\ Printed by Lewis 
Timothy. 1737. || — Pp. 72. 

1. O Grod, thou bottomless Abyss, p. 15. 

8 St. of 12 1. Translation of Ernst Lange's "O Gott, da tieffe Bonder 
grand I " Original in 10 st. of 14 1. is in the Hermhat Gesang-Bach 1731, 
No. 16. Wesley omits st. 6, 9 in translation. He later altered his tr. by 
adding an iambic foot at the close of the lOth and 12th 1. in each st. This 
longer form first pabL in Hymnt and Sacred PoenUf 1739, p. 161. 

2. Jesu, to thee my Heart I bow, p 26. 

6 st of 4 1. Tr. of N. L. y. Zinzendorf 's " Reiner braatgam meiner 
seelen." Orig. in 30 st. of 4 L, in HGB. 1731, No. 982. W. omits st 2-9, 
13-15, 18-30. 

3. O Jesu, Source of calm Repose^ p. 38. 

6 st of 6 1. Tr. of J. A. Freylinghaasen's "Wer ist wohl, wie da," 
Orig. in 14 st of 6 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 42. W. omits st 2, 6, 7, 9-12, 14. 
A tr. of st 12 of the orig. is inserted as st 4 in Wesley's Hymn 8. 

4. Thou Lamb of God, thou Prince of Peace, p 51. 

6 st of 4 1. Tr. of C. F. Richter's "Stilles Lamm and Frieden-Furst" 
Orig. in 8 st of 5 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 989. W. omits st 8, 7. 

5. My Soul before thee prostrate lies, p. 56. 

12 St. of 4 1. Tr. of C. F. Kichter's " Hier legt mein sinn sich vor dir 
nieder." Orig. in 12 st of 4 L, in HGB. 1731, No. 1037. 

II. A II COLLECTION || of jj PSALMS jj and || HYMNS 
II LONDON II Printed in the Year MDCCXXXVin. || — Pp. 81. 

' Important discassions of this sabject occur in the following works : J. 
Julian, Didionary of Hfftnnology, New York, 1892 ; W. P. Burgess, WeaUffon 
Hymnologyy London, 1846 ; D. Creamer, M€tiwdiU Hymnologyf New York, 
1848 ; G. J. Stevenson, The Methodist Hymn Book^ London, [1883]. 


172 J. T. HATFIELD. 

6. Thou, Jesu, art our Kiug, p. 36. 

13 8t of 6 1. Tr. of J. Scheffler*s " Dich, Jeeo, loben wir." Orig. in 13 
St. of 6 I., in HGB. 1731, No. 149. 

7. Thou hidden Love of Grod, whose Height, p. 51. 

8 St. of 6 1. Tr. of G. Tenteegen's '^ Verborgne GotteB-Liebe da." Orig. 
in 10 St of 7 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 1088. W. omits st. ^ 5. SlighUj al- 
tered in next edition, HymnB amd Sacred Poems, 1789, p. 78. 

8. O Thou, to whose all Searching Sight, p. 55. 

6 St of 4 1. Tr. of N. L. y. Zinzendorf 's ** Seelen-Braatigam, o da Gotte»- 
Lamm." Orig. in 11 st of 6 1., in HGB. 1781, No. 743. W.'s tr. is very 
free, omitting st 3-9 of orig^ and inserting as a fourth Eng. st a tr. of st 
12 of Freylinghansen's '< Wer ist wohl, wie da." Bee Hymn 3. 

9. All Glory to th' Eternal Three, p. 62. 

6 St. of 4 1. Tr. of N. L. y. Ziniendorf 's " Schaa yon deinem thron." 
Orig. in 6 St. of 6 L, in HGB. 1731, No. 561. 

10. Shall I, for fear of feeble Man, p. 65. 

10 st of 4 1. Tr. of J. J. Winkler's ** Solt ich ans furcht for menschen- 
kindem." Orig. in 17 st of 4 L, in HGB. 1731, Na 368. W. omitB st 4, 
6^ 8-10, 16) and condenses 6, 7 into one st [4]. 

by II JOHN WESLEY, M. A. || Fellow of Lincoln College, 
Oxford; \\ AND || CHARLES WESLEY, M. A. || Student of 
Christ-Church, Oxford. \\ [Quotation, Col. iii. 16.] LON- 
DON: II Printed by William Strahan; and sold by || [etc.] 
.... II MDCCXXXix. II — Pp. 223, pref. x. 

11. O Thou, who all things canst oontroul, p. 12. 

6 st of 4 L Tr. of S. G. Gmelin's ''Ach treib aos meiner seel." Orig. in 
21 st of 6 1., in HGB, 1731, No. 601. W. omits st 7-21. 

12. Jesu, whose Glory's streaming Bays, p. 99. 

6 st of 8 1. Tr. of W. C. Dessler's ''Mein Jesu, dem die Seraphinen." 
Orig. in 8 st of 8 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 5.S5. W. omits st 7, 8. 

13. Monarch of All, with lowly Fear, p. 116. 

8 St. of 4 1. Tr. of J. A. Frejlinghaosen's ** Monarche aller ding, dem 
alle Seraphinen." Orig. in 11 st of 4 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 7. W. omits 
st 3, 4^ 8. 

14. Commit thou all thy Oriefs, p. 141. 

16 [half-] stanzas of 4 1., equivalent to 8 st. of orig. Tr. of P. Gterhardt's 
<'Befiehldudeinewege." Orig. in 12 st of 8 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 53. W. 
omits st 5, 9, 10, 11. 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 173 

16. Jesu, thy boundless Liove to me, p. 156. 

16 St. of 6 1. Tr. of P. Qerhardt's ** O Jesa Christ, mein achdostes licht'' 
Orig. In 16 St. of 9 1., in HGB. 1781, No. 37. 

16. O God, of Good th' unfathom'd Sea, p. 159. 

8 St. of 6 1. Tr. of J. Scheffler's '* Du anvergleichlichs got." Orig. in 8 
St. of 6 1., in HOB. 1731, No. 1165. 

17. Jesu, thy Light again I view, p. 179. 

7 St of 6 1. Tr. of J. Lsnge's " O Jesu, eiisses licht." Orig. in 8 st of 
8 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 619. W. omiu st 7. 

18. O God of God[s], in whom combine, p. 182. 

6 St. of 6 1. Tr. of N. L. y. ZinzendorTs " Hen der g5ttlichen nator." 
Orig. in 7 St of 8 1., in HGB. 1731, Na 114a W. omits st 7 and arranges 
in the following order: 1, 2, 3, 6, 4^ 5. 

19. IjO God is here ! Let us adore, p. 188. 

6 St. of 6 1. Tr. of G. Tersteegen's " Gott ist gegenwartig." Orig. in 8 
st of 10 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 1139. W. omits st 7, 8. 

20. O Thou, whom Sinners love, whose Care, p. 189. 

3 st of 8 1. Tr. of N. L. ▼. Zinsendorf 's " Verliebter in die sunder- 
schaft" Orig. in 4 st of 8 1., in HGB. 1787, No. 1072. W. omits st 4. 

21. Eternal Depth of Liove Divine, p. 195. 

4 St. of 8 1. Tr. of N. L. ▼. ZinzendorTs " Du ewiger Abgnind der seligen 
liebe." Orig. in 8 st of 10 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 19. W. omits st 8, 5, 6, 8. 

22. Thee will I love, my Strength, my Tower, p. 198. 

7 st of 6 L Tr. of J. Scheffler's " Ich will dich lieben, meine starcke." 
Orig. in 8 st of 6 1., in HGB. 1731, Na 1170. W. omits st 2. 

above.] || LONDON: \\ Printed by W. Strahan ; [etc] || 
.... Mdccxl. II — Pp. 207. Pref. xi. 

23. Extended on a cursed Tree^ p. 34. 

9 St. of 4 1. Tr. of P. Gerhardt's *' O Welt sich hier dein leben." Orig. 
in 16 St. of 6 1., in HGB. 1731, No. 228. W. condenses st 1 and 2 into one, 
and omits st 5, 7, 11, 12, 14, 15. 

24. I Thirst, Thou wounded Lamb of God, p. 74. 

8 St. of 4 1. Freely tr. from four originals, all of which appeared in Ap- 
pendix vii to the HGB. 1736, as follows : W.'s st 1, 2 are based on st 1, 8 
of N. L. y. ZinzendorTs *'AchI mein verwundter Furstel'' (No. 1197.) 
His St. 3-6 on st 2^ of J. Nitschmann's *' Du blutiger Versiihner 1 " (No. 
1210.) His St. 7 on St. 1, 2 of Zinzendorfs " Der Gott Yon onserm bunde" 
(No. 1201). His St. 8 on st. 14 of Anna Nitschmann's " Mein Eonig deine 
liebe" (No. 1233). 

174 J. T. HATFIELD. 

25. Now I have found the Oroand^ wherein, p. 91. 

6 St of 6 1. Tr of J. A. Bothers '* Ich habe nan den grand geftinden." 
Qrig. in 10 st. of 6 1^ in HOB. 1781, No. 532. W. omits st. 3, 7-9. 

26. Holy Lamb, who Thee receive, p. 93. 

8 81. of 41. Tr. of A. S. Dober's^'DaheiligeBkind." Orig. in 10 st of 
4 [5 ?] 1., in Appendix iii to the HOB. 1785, No. 1046. W. omits st 8, 9. 

27. High Praise to Thee, All-gracious Ood ! p. 168. 

7 St. of 6 1. Tr. of L. A. Gotter's <<8ei hochgelobt, barmherti^ger Gott." 
Qrig. in 16 st of 6 1., in HOB. 1781, No. 36. W. omito st 3, 4^ 6, 7, 9, 10, 
15^ 16, and combines st 2, 5 to make his st 2. 

' 28. Jesu, Thy Blood and Righteousness, p. 177. 

24 st of 4 L Tr. of N. L. V. Zinzendorf 's *" Christi blut and gerechtig- 
keit'' Orig. in 33 st of 4 I., in Appendix viu to HGB. 1735, No. 1258. 
W. omits st 6, 11, 13, 22, 23, 26-28, and combines st 24, 25 to make his 
8t 19. 

V. HYMNS II AND II Sacred Poems. || [Etc., as above. 
Quotation from Titus ii, 11-14.] \\ BRISTOL: Printed and 
sold by Felix Farley, \\ [etc., 5 lines]. . . . Mdocxlh. || — Pp. 
304 [Pref. 6]. 

29. High on His Everlasting Throne, p. 14. 

18 st of 8 1. Free tr. of A. G. Spangenberg's *'I>er Kdnig raht, and 
schaaet doch." Orig. in 8 st of 10 L, in Appendix i to the HGB. 1735, 
No. 1004. W.'s St. 1, 2 are expanded from st 1 ; his st. 8, 4, from st 2 ; 5, 
6, from 8 ; 7, 8 correspond to 4, 5 in the orig. ; 9, 10 are expanded from 6 ; 
11 corresponds to 7 ; 12, 13 expanded from 8. 

The beginning and progress of Wesley's interest in Ger- 
man can be closely followed. At the age of 32 he sailed with 
Grovemor Oglethorpe as a missionary clergyman of the Church 
of England for the colony of Greorgia. On board the ship was 
a group of 26 German Moravian colonists. Three days after 
embarking, namely, on October 17, 1735, Wesley b^n to 
learn German in order to converse with these people.^ Before 
the ship got away from the English coast, he began to order 
his common way of living r^ularly, usually learning German 
from 9 to 12 in the morning, and joining with the Germans in 
their public service at 7 in the evening. By January, 1736, 

^WetUifB JoumaL WeBley'a Works. N. Y.: Mason and Lane, 1840. 
m, 14. 

JOHN weblet's hymns. 175 

he was able to converse freely with these people. Febroary 
6, 1736^ they landed near Savannah^ and the next day Wesley 
met Spangenberg, tbe well-known Moravian pastor, and spent 
several days in conversing with him about his experiences, and 
aboat the Moravian church at Herrnhut. In the archives at 
Hermhut I found an interesting document/ hitherto unpub- 
lishedy John Wesley's first letter to Count Zinzendorf : 

Comiti de Zinzendorf 

Johannes Wesley 

Salutem in Christo Sempitemam 

Oraviora Tua Negotia Uteris meis interpellare non auderem, 
nisi Te crederem lUius esse Discipulura^ qui linum ardens non 
extingni vult^ neque calumum quassatum confringi. Id verd 
quum persuasum habeam, maximopere Te obtestor, ut et Tuis 
et Ecclesiae tecum peregriuantis precibus Deo commender, in 
ver& spirittls Paupertate, Mansuetudine^ Fide, ac Amore Dei 
Proximique erudiendus. Et siquando Tibi paululum otii sup- 
petat, breve illud Yotum Deo offerre ne dedigneris, quod a 
Fratribus Tuis (Utinam et meis) Savannensibus saepius obla- 
tum audivi, 

Einen Helden muth 

Der da Gut und Blut 

Gem um deinet willen hisse 

Und des fleisches liiste basse 
Gieb ihm, H5chstes Gut, 
Durch dein theures Blut ! 

Savannae Mart. 15. V. S. 1736. 

This is the first specific allusion to a German hymn (it 
is from the original of Hymn 3) to be found in Wesley's 

On October 18, 1736 (one year and one day from the time 
when he b^an to learn the language), he records in his 

iRubriclS, A, No. 17. 

176 J» T. HATFIELD. 

journal :^ ^'Finding there were several Germans at Frederica, 
who^ not understanding the English tongue, could not join in 
our public service, I desired them to meet at my house ; which 
they did every day at noon from thence forward. We first 
sung a German hymn; then I read a chapter in the New 
Testament; then explained it to them as well as I could. 
After another hymn, we concluded with prayer.'' Wesley's 
activities in Greorgia, however, were chiefly those of a ritual- 
istic English clergyman. It was doubtless during 1736 that 
he compiled the first hymn4)ook ever prepared for use in the 
Church of England. The existence of this book was unknown 
until a few years ago. Wesley's biographers had always been 
perplexed by a statement of his that he had published ^^A 
Ck>llection of Psalms and Hymns" in 1736,' that is, while 
in America. About 1882 a little book entitled '^Collection 
of Psalms and Hymns. Charles-Town, Printed by Lewis 
Timothy. 1737." was found in a Liondon book-store, and has 
since been reproduced in fac-simile.' It does not seem im- 
possible that other copies of this unique volume may be still 
in existence in the southern states. It is known that John 
and Charles Wesley went up to Charleston on July 31, 1736,* 
and it is possible that he made the arrangements for publish- 
ing the book at that time. As it contains many typographical 
mistakes, it seems probable that it was printed without Wes- 
ley's being able to read the proofs, and issued from the press 
early in 1737. The book makes no mention of its compiler, 
but the proofs of its being the work of Wesley amount to a 
complete demonstration. In this connection, it seems to have 
been entirely overlooked that among the twelve charges brought 
against Wesley at the farcical trial in Savannah, Aug. 22, 1737, 
for deviating from the principles and r^ulations of the Es- 
tablished Church, the third was that he had committed a 
grievance : 

* Work9, ni, 82. • Tyerman, i, 211. 

'CoDoerning Timothy (or Timoth^) and his press, ▼. Thomas, Higtory of 
PruUing in Ameruia, 2, 155. * Moore's Life of WeOmf, i, 285. 


" By introducing into the church, and service at the altar, 
compositions of psalms and hymns not inspected or authorized 
by any proper judicature/'^ This charge, which was ignored 
by the jurors, doubtless refers to the use of this collection and 
fixes a terminus for the time of its publication. The book 
contains 70 hymns, without mention of their authorship. 31 
are from Isaac Watts, 6 from Greorge Herbert, 10 are by 
members of the Wesley family, 5 are translations from the 
German by John Wesley, being the first of this class which he 
published. 10 I have been unable to identify, the remainder 
being by John Austin, Addison, and J. Broughton. The 
German translations make up Nos. 1-6 in our enumeration 
at the beginning of this paper. The only indication of their 
source is the superscription, "From the Grerman.'' Wesley 
left Georgia for England at the end of 1737. In 1738 he 
was a regular member of the Moravian society in Fetter Lane, 
London, and under the guidance of its members came into a 
clear experience of conversion. Probably for the use of the 
members of this society, he published in London in 1738 a 
collection of Psalms and Hymns, likewise without any men- 
tion of names. This volume is also excessively rare, only 
three copies being known to exist. It contains 70 hymns (all, 
with the exception of one from Watts, quite diflPerent from 
those in the Charleston collection), including 5 more versions 
from the German. The first of these (our No. 6) indicates 
its origin by the title "Dich, Jesu, Loben Dir" [sic]. Dur- 
ing 1738 Wesley made a journey to Herrnhut, to see in person 
" the Christians that love one another," and spent about two 
weeks among the Moravians there. In 1739 appeared the 
first edition of Hymns and Sabered Poems, published by John 
and Charles Wesley. Twelve hymns from the German appear 
here for the first time, along with a reprint of all the pre- 
viously published ten. In 1740 another independent volume, 
similarly entitled Hymns and Sacred Poems, was published 
in London, containing six new Grerman translations, and no 

' Tjerman, Life of Wesley, i, 155. 

178 J. T. HATFIELD. 

reprints. In 1742 a third independent Hymns and Sacred 
Poems appeared^ containing the last (29th) of the series, this 
being the only translation from the German in the book.^ 
After this Wesley translated no more from the German. His 
relations with the Moravians had become strained in 1739, 
and in 1740 a complete separation took place between the 
Moravian and Methodist societies in London. Daring the 
remainder of Wesley's long life, his use of German seems to 
have lapsed. The last instance of his practical employment 
of it seems to have been in preaching to German soldiers in 
their own tongue {" though I had discontinued it so long") at 
Newcastle, on November 3, 1745.* The five collections de- 
scribed have been made the basis of the present study. It 
will be proper to mention here the recent presentation, by 
Mr. William Deering, of the Jackson library of Methodism 
to the Garrett Biblical Institute, Evanston. Mr. Jackson, 
an English manu&cturer, has for a lifetime made it his chief 
avocation to secure a complete bibliography of Methodism, 
resulting, doubtless, in the most perfect collection of original 
books, tracts and prints in existence, and a£Pording au exhaus- 
tive supply of sources for the study of the Wesleyan movement 
In an essay on '^ Count Zinzendorf and the Moravians," * 
Professor F. H. Hedge referred to five of these translations 
as " the favorites of our worshipping assemblies " and ^* pre- 
cious contributions to our stock of devotional poetry," group- 
ing them all under the title ^' Moravian," and failing to give 
Wesley credit Professor Hedge is only so far right in giving 
them this title, in that Wesley became acquainted with the 
originals of all of them in Moravian collections. 24 were in 
the Herrnhut Oesang-Buch of 1731 (probably the book which 

^ There is great coDfusion in citing the three yolomes last mentioned, and 
their snbseqaent reprints. It is perfectly anillaminative, for instance, to 
refer to Hymn» and Sacred Poems^ teeond edition^ unless one knows which 
Hymn» and Sacred Poems is meant. 

' Journal of this date. 

*MaTitn Luther and other Eseays, Boston, 1888, p. 38. 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 179 

Wesley used on his voyage^ and taken as the basis for this 
paper). 4 are derived from later appendices to the Oeaang- 
Buck of 1735, one from the Qemng-Buch of 1737. The 
Moravians, however, did not altogether create their hymn- 
literature. The Moravian church of Zinzendorf was a de- 
velopment of the pietistic movement in the Lutheran church, 
and Zinzendorf drew very largely from this source. Thus, 
14 of the 29 (original) hymns are from pietistic Lutheran 
hymnists, to wit : Paul Gerhardt 3, C. F. Richter 2, Frey- 
linghausen 2, and one each from Dessler, Gotter, Ernst Lange, 
Joachim Lange, Rothe, Winkler, and Gmelin. The pietist of 
the Reformed Church (later, separatist), Terstec^n, furnished 
2, the pietistic Roman Catholic Scheffler (Angelus Silesius) is 
the source of 3. Of hymns by Moravians, Wesley took from 
Spangenberg and Anna Dober each one, from Zinzendorf, 
alone, 6 ; one of the translations is a blending of parts of two 
hymns by Zinzendorf, one by Johann Nitschmann, and one 
by Anna Nitschmann.^ Another contains an inserted stanza 
from Freylinghausen. These are the only cases of " contami- 
nation.'^ The forgoing facts confirm the proposition, which 
could be argued from other grounds, that Methodism stands 
in very close relation to German pietism, and is, in some d^ree, 
the descendant of the work of Johann Arnd and his spiritual 

In none of the multitude of hymn books published dur- 
ing Wesley's lifetime were any of the German translations 
ascribed to him. There was formerly some contention about 
the matter. The argument for his authorship is convincing, 
and rests upon the following facts : (1) All of these hymns 
appeared first in books ^'published by John and Charles 
Wesley;" (2) There is no evidence that Charles Wesley 
ever used or understood Grerman ; (3) They do not occur in 

^At the present time centos of parts of different hjmns, arranged to form 
a special connected service, are common in Moravian worship. I am 
inclined to think that Wesley made this hymn bj translating from sach a 

180 J. T. HATFIELD. 

the separate editions of Charles Wesley's hymns; (4) Charles 
Wesley's daughter averred that she had always understood 
that these versions were by her ancle; (5) John Wesley 
quotes one of these hymns in the original as early as 1736 ; 
(6) He was undoubtedly the compiler of the volume in which 
the first 5 of them appeEured in 1 737 ; (7) The letter is extant ^ 
in which Molther thanks John Wesley (1740) for having 
made, at his request, the English version of Rothe's hymn, 
beginning '^ Now I have found the Ground, wherein " (No. 
26) ; (8) In his sermon on '^ Knowing Christ after the Flesh," 
dated 1789, Wesley says incidentally, in speaking of the 
Moravians, '' I translated many of their hymns, for the use 
of our own congr^ations." The term " many " would hardly 
be applied to less than 29 hymns. 

By their universal dispersion, these hymns hold a preemi- 
nent place among such translations. Psalm-singing was intro- 
duced into England from the direct influence of the circle of 
Luther and Melanchthon. The Gospellers of the times of the 
reformation translated Grerman hymns,— chiefly Miles Cover- 
dale (1487-1569), all of whose [41] ''Goostly Psalmes and 
Spiritualle Songes " have been identified with German origi- 
nals, except five, — but we do not know that they ever became 
incorporated into the spiritual life of the people, and from this 
time the German influence ceased until Wesley drew from this 
rich source. The translations are not only used throughout 
the wide circle of Methodist adherents, but I find them in not 
less than 100 important collections, including all phases of 
religious confession, with the exception, as far as I have found, 
of the Roman Catholic. Outside of the Methodist group, the 
Church of England has made use of them in the hymnals of 
Madan, Kennedy, Maurice, Bickersteth and Thring ; in the 
Sarum, Westminster Abbey, and Rugby hymn-books ; in the 
widely-used publications of the Society for the Propagation 
of Christian Knowledge ; in the Churchman's Altar Manual, 
and many other collections ; they are represented in the stan- 

^Tyerman, I, 297. 

JOHN Wesley's htmns. 181 

dard and special oollections of the American Episcopalian, the 
Baptist, Moravian, Congregational, Swedenborgian, Lutheran, 
and Dutch Reformed churches ; they occur, I believe, in all 
standard Unitarian collections. In many English collections 
in the first half of this century they are publish^ anonymously 
or from false sources, as in those of Rippon, Montgomery and 

We proceed to notice these translations more carefully as 
r^ards form and content. 

Wesley tends to simplicity of form, and, though the Ger- 
man originals employ a great variety of meters, and these at 
times very artificial, various cadences running throughout a 
stanza, or combined with each other within its limits, with 
many combinations of masculine and feminine rhyme, and 
mixtures of very long and very short lines,^ he holds to his 
personal taste and to the genius of English hymnody, by con- 
fining himself to the strength of r^ular forms, and by using 
no feminine rhymes whatever. 24 are entirely in iambic tetra- 
meter (long meter). Hymn 1 had originally (1737) the 10th 
and 12th line of each stanza an iambic trimeter, but in the 
edition of 1739 all the lines appear as iambic tetrameter. No« 
26 is trochaic (7 sylls.) ; 14 is in short meter (iambic 3, 3, 4, 
3); Hymn 20 is in common meter (iambic 4, 3, 4, 3); Hymn 
6 combines iambic and trochaic cadences in a 6-line stanza. 
The stanzas of the originals average 6.72 lines in length,' of 
the translations 5.72. Aiming straight at the heart and sub- 
stance of the original, Wesley ignores all petty artificialities 
and mere conceits, omitting, as we should expect, the acrostic 
form upon which is constructed Grerhardt's '^ Befiehl du deine 

^ That Wesley's objection to this feature lay in his personal taste, and 
not merely in the necessities of English yerse, is shown by his rejecting 
some of Charles Wesley's hymns on the same ground. Burgess^ WetUyan 
Hynmologyf p. 73. 

*In one case, the stanza-form of the original (No. 26) is somewhat doubt- 
ful. All the hymns are printed as solid prose in German. In the estimate, 
two half-stanzas in hymn 8 are reckoned as one stanza. 

182 J. T. HATFIELD. 

Wege." His characteristic terseness and neat compactness of 
style lead him to condense his material, which cannot surprise 
us when he deals with the work of Zinzendorf, who wrote over 
2000 hymnSy at times in a style of watery diffosenesSy into 
which C. Wesley also sometimes fell in the coarse of his 
6y500. All paddingy meaningless epithets and cant phrases are 
avoided. Weaker stanzas, and those which simply repeat a 
forgoing idea, are cut out (cf. 21, 3). He abhors the broad 
amplification of a theological idea, which his prototypes so 
largely love (cf. 25). Grerhardt's "O Welt, sieh hier dein 
Leben" shrinks from 16 stanzas of 6 lines each, to 9 stanzas of 
4 lines. Only 6 of the original hymns are translated stanza 
for stanza. The average number of stanzas in the original 
is 12, in the translation 8. Only hymn 29, ''High on His 
Everlasting Throne," shows the translation longer than the 
original. This hymn is peculiar, and was the last one pub- 
lished, namely, in 1742, afler Wesley's complete separation 
from the Moravians. The original is Spangenberg's ''Der 
Kdnigruht,'' a specifically denominational hymn, which Wesley 
expanded in a manner most complimentary to the Brotherhood, 
.doubtless as a tribute of personal obligation, consciously intro- 
ducing the distinct reference : 

Deyoted to their GommoD Lord, 
True Followers of the Bleeding Lamb ; 

Bj €k>D belov'd, by Men abhor'd — 
And Hebnhuth is the FaVrite Name I 

Usually— despite the condensation — the hymns correspond 
stanza for stanza without overlapping. In only one case, I 
believe, does W. change the order of stanzas. Hymn 18 has 
for 4, 5, 6 of the original, 5, 6, 4 in translation, the 7th 
stanza of the original having been omitted entirely, and 
Wesley's treatment of v. 5 making a better ending than verse 
6. We notice omissions : — 

(a) On theological grounds. Terms and phrases relating 
specifically to the constitution of the Moravian Brotherhood 
are eliminated, as : der besUnmUm riUeraohaft, 18, 6; rich der 


JOHN Wesley's hymns. 183 

briidersohafi gebeuj 18, 7 ; der kirchcy 21, 7. On the same 
principle, in Zinzendorf 's hymn (21) the lines in stanza 4 : 


dein Geist anterricht ans bej frohlichen tagen, 
dir etwas erhorlichs von briidern zu sagen 

Thy Spirit still breathe into our Breast, 
Fountain of Peace and J07 below I 

A reference to chasing away evil spirits by the sign of the 
cross (28, 23) is omitted. Wesley is not so fond of intro- 
ducing Satan as are the German hymn-writers. Notice omis- 
sions in 15, 4; 10, 8 and 16 ; 14, 6 ; 23, 5; 3, 10. 

(6) On grounds of rhetoric and taste. Wesley had a well- 
developed British repugnance to the sensuous metaphors of 
certain forms of pietistic poetry. Long years after ceasing to 
study Grerman he speaks of his translations in a sermon,^ say- 
ing, '^ I am not sure that I have taken sufficient care to pare 
off every improper word or expression," but we can clearly 
trace this state of mind even as early as 1737. The second 
translation which Wesley published contained 30 stanzas in 
the original, but he only reproduced 6, for the obvious reason 
that the theme of Christ as brid^roora, announced in the 
opening line, *^Iteiner brdulgam meiner «eefen," is carried out 
throughout the hymn, being treated with the utmost freedom 
and familiarity, some of the stanzas being repellent. Wesley 
omits every trace of this familiarity. Stanza 11, 11. 3 and 4 
reads in the original : 

EUrte I lass mich auf die weide, 
da ich finde, was mir niitzt. 

The English has : 

All hail) thou suffering, conquering God, 
Now man shall live : for Qod hath died.'' 

Twelve years later, Wesley's feelings in regard to this type 
of hymn led him to make a public attack upon those con- 
tained in the hymn-book published by James Hutton. The 

* On Knowing Christ after the Flesh, 1789. Works* 7, 293. 


184 J. T. HATFIELD. 

MoraviaDs get most of the censure for this sort of expression^ 
and the collection of Hutton certainly oversteps all conceiva- 
ble limits of decency and sanity, but it is only fair to bear in 
mind that they found abundant warrant for it in Grerhardt and 
his prototype St. Bernhardt and that the everywhere-known 
*^0 Haupt voU Blvi und Wunden'^ is a member of a series 
which is of one piece with the most vivid Moravian imagery. 
In hymn 20, 3, the words wir kuasen deiner ndgel loch fall out 
in the English version. In 12, 4 we have for glaubenskuM^ 
" arms of faith ; " st. 2 for bratU, " love ; " 22, 5 for suaser 
mundy " enlivening voice," and similar cases without number. 
Commonplace, prosaic, trivial or coarse expressions, and over- 
loaded metaphorical language, are all foreign to the translator's 
taste, as 15, 11 : 

mich seafizen macht und heolen, 

.... am creuU als wie ein dieb 
and morder da gehangen, 15, 5. Cf. 18, 2. 

More reverent and dignified than 

da hart dir was schlechtes zam lostspiel erlesen (21, 1) 


How Tart Thy Love, how great Thy Grace I 

Cf. 15, 9 : 80 lauff ich mit den fufisen, 


So shall I run and never tire. 

14, 6 : .... dich ans der hole 

mit groesen gnaden riicken, 

is developed into : 

Thro' Waves, snd Cloods and Storms 
He gently clears thy Way. 

Wesley's hand fails him once in this respect. Being led by 
his predilection for the powerful Hebrew imagery, he gratui- 
tously introduces at the beginning of Hymn 27 a most repul- 
sive metaphor, derived from Ezek. 16, 4-6, which effectually, 
and once for all, killed the hymn for use. 

Obscure passages— common in Zinzendorf — are omitted, cf. 
28, 13. Of mixed metaphors Wesley has a decided dislike, 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 185 

as in the stanza (4, 4) where the believer is likened both to a 
lamb and a lion^ or 4^ 8 : 

da 8ol8t da mein lamniy mein licht and tempel seyn. 

A similar infelicity is avoided in : 

wir haben seiner lieb panier 
ala eine starcke festang fanden, 

by rendering, 27, 3 : 

The Banner of hk Love we see, 
And fearless grasp the starry Crown. 

Thongh very free in the cases which have been remarked, 
Wesley can be extremely literal when he chooses. Compare, 
for instance. Hymn 5, v. 9, in Grerman and English : 

In hoffnung kan ich frolich sagen : 
Gott hat der hollen macht geschlagen, 
Gott fuhrt mich aas dem kampf and streit 
In seine rah and sicherheit. 

Already springing Hope I feel ; 
God will destroy the Power of Hell ; 
€rod from the Land of Wars and Pain 
Leads me, where Peace and Safety reign. 

Considering the fact that German studies hardly existed in 
England at the time, it is remarkable that we can say of 
Wesley (what perhaps could not be said of Scott or Coleridge) 
that he never shows a flagrant misunderstanding of the text. 
In sparse cases mistakes seem to have occurred : 

Dram will die sorge meiner seelen 
dir, meinem Vater ganz b^eKUn (5, 10) 

is rendered : 

One only Care my Soal shall know, 
Father, all thy Oommanda to do. 

The word befehlen seems to have been misinterpreted, but 
the original is decidedly obscure. Other cases are : 

7, 7 : EiUdteky mein Gott, die eigenheit, 

O hide thifl Self from me. 

14, 12 : and lass hiss in den tod 

ans allzeit deiner pflege 
and trea em^ohUn seyn — 

186 J. T. HATFIELD. 

Let UB in Life, in Death, 
They stedfast truth declare, 
And pMiah with our latest Breath 
Thy Loye and Gaardian Care I 

Elsewhere the case is open to doubt, bearing in mind Wes- 
ley's freedom of treatment, the exigencies of verse, etc. (11,6): 

ich trachte aQe welt 

and was mich von dir halt 

gantzzu verflu/chen 

Far, far from me the World remove 
And all that holds me from thy Lore I 

10, 2: wie schandlich eich [das Hans Jacob] vor GK>tt ventM 

How then before Thee shall I dare 
To stand 

1, 4: oben and hie imten 

And Heaven above and Hdl beneath 

(probably for a stronger rhetorical effect). 

That which was intended for local or special application 
comes out more general, and adapted to all times and a wide 
set of religious experiences. Winkler's spirited hymn, origi- 
nally entitled '^ Eines Predigers," b^inning 

Solt ich, aas farcht fur menschen-kindem 
des geistes trieb in mir verhindem (10, 1), 

is adapted, by the omission of certain specific references to the 
ministerial office, to believers in general, and bears the suitable 
title " Boldness in the Gospel." I^mge's Morgenlied (Hymn 17) 
is made a general hymn by omitting the references to the begin- 
ning of the day. Kichter's hymn (4) compares the worshipper, 
throughout, to a lamb, with much minuteness. Wesley's trans- 
lation, though close, ingeniously eliminates this exact com- 
parison. In hymn 18 Hertz appears throughout as ^^Love." 
Wesley also prefers to omit the first personal pronoun in favor 
of a general statement {e. g.j 23, 13 ; 5, 6). 

Not inconsistent with the simplicity of Wesley's style, but 
very characteristic of the nicety which was so prominent in his 
nature, is his fondness for neatly-balanced phrases, for building 
up well-worded climaxes, the latter feature not being lacking 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 187 

in his models, Winkler (10) and Gerhardt (15), and perhaps 
somewhat due to the artificial models prevailing when he was 
so conspicuous a student at Oxford. The double epithet in 
22, 1 is an alteration for this cause : 

Ich will dich lieben, meine starcke, 
ich will dich lieben, meine zier I 

Thee will I loye, my Strength, my Tower, 
Thee will I love, my Joy, my Grown. 

Cf. 18, 2 : alles was da lebet in dir webet, 

All things in Earth, and Air, and Sea, 
Exist, and live, and moye in Thee. 

28, 2 : Das macht, ich bin schon abeolyirt, 

Und meine schold ist abgefahrt, 

Fnlly thro' these absolVd I am 

From Sin and Fear, from Guilt and Shame. 

In this spirit he adds, at the close of hymn 26, 

Sons of Earth, and Hosts of Heayen. 

Gf. 25, 4 : dem will ich mich getiost yertraun 

Here is my Hope, my Joy, my Rest. 

16, 6 : mir, dem schatten. 

In Sin conceiy'd, of Woman bom, 
A Worm, a Leaf, a Blast, a Shade. 

16, 7 : aaf dem Thron 

Soy'reign of Earth, Air, Hell and Sky. 

14, 7 : Gott sitzt im regimente, 

nnd filhret alles wohl. 

Yet HeaVn, and Earth, and Hell 
Proclaim, Qod sitteth on the Throne, 
And ruleth all things well I 

11, 1 : nnd mein so theares heyl 

mit furcht mog schaffen I 

With Joy and Fear, with Loye and Awe 
Giye me to keep thy perfect Law. 

16, 12 : mein siisser wein, mein himmel-brodt, 

My Wine to chear, my Bread to stay. 

18, 3: Hebe 

die ihr bint an uns gewandt, 


188 J. T. HATFIELD. 

Gun'st empty'd of thy (Godhead, down, 
For Us, to groAn, to bleed, to die. 

11, 4 : mil wachen und gebet 

nach dir za ringen. 

I groan, I strive, I watch, I pray. 

We notice elsewhere ingenuity of phrase, short of conceit 
or trickery, as : 

16, 3: der schnodsten schnodigkeit 

who leas 
Than nothing am. 

5, 2 : o konte doch in deiner pein 

die eigenheit ertddtet seyn. 

Griev'd with thy Qrief, pain'd with thy Pain, 
Ne^er may I feel Self-Love again. 

3, 3 : in anser fleisch versencket, 

But God with God wert Man with Man. 

5, 4 : nor ipt von der anlauterkeit 

die liebe noch nicht gantz befreyt, 

Yet vile Affections claim a part 
And thou hast only half my Heart 

The true poetic gift shows itself in creative touches, whereby 
a new and wholly individual vigor is infused into the matter 
treated, raising the product far above that dead, unreal thing, 
a mere version. There is a freshness and spirit in handling 
the original which makes these hymns masterpieces of transla- 
tion, not unworthy to l)e compared in this respect with Luther's 
versions of the Hebrew psalms. As an original poet, Wesley's 
chief trait is loftiness, majesty, the "great style" at its full 
height, never becoming florid or bombastic. Again and again 
we mark the swelling of the deep Miltonian organ-tone, where 
the original shows a much less exalted strain. This style 
speaks in Hymn 29, where the opening line, 

Der Konig ruht, und schauet doch, 

is transformed into : 

High on His Everlasting Throne, 
The King of Saints his Works surveys. 

JOHN wbslet's hymns. 189 

Such alteratioDSy though daring, and to be recommended 
with the utmost reserve, are constructivey as is also Wesley's 
universally-accepted amendment of Watts's psalm : 

Nations attend before his throne 
With solemn fear, with sacred joj, 


Before Jehoyah's awful Throne, 
Ye Nations, bow with sacred joy.^ 

We notice a heightened effect in many cases : 

1,5: Da einiger und wahrer Oott, 

da herrscher aller himmels-schaaren, 

Thou, true and onlj Gk)d, lead'st forth 
Th' immortal Armies of the Bky. 

28, 5 : Dass er die Seelen drum verliert 

Und sie der Heiland mit sich fiihrt 

To tear the Prey out of Thj Teeth; 
To spoil the Realms of Hell and Death. 

17, 6 : So bin ich wohlgeschmiickt und kostlich angethan 

Than Gold, and Pearls, more precious far, 
And brighter than the Morning Star. 

23, 4 : Ich, ich und meine sunden. . . . 

die haben dir erreget 
das elend, das dich schlaget 

My Sins have caus'd Thee, Lord, to bleed, 
Pointed the Nail and fix'd the Thorn. 

Level prose is brought into the domain of poetry, as, from 
Zinzendorfy 21, 4: 

wir haben mehr wohlthat und segen empfangen, 
als strafie wir bey dir verschuldt 

Yea, er'n our Crimes, tho' numberless. 
Less numerous than Thy Mercies are. 

13, 11 : ich jauchtse mit schon auf der erd, 

bis ich ein himmels-engel werd. 

Here as in Heaven thy Name we raise 
For where thy Presence shines, is Heay'n. 

20, 2 : in deiner Idebes-Glut vereint, 

der rauchen unsre pfannen 

»PB.and^. 1737, p. 6. 

190 J. T. HATFIELD. 

O wing with Flames of Holy Loye 
Oar living Sacrifice. 

The frequent introdaction of a vigorous apostrophe is effec- 
tive, as 25y 4 : 

Away, sad Doabt, and anxious Fear I 

5, 6 : Ich weisB mir zwar nicht selbst m raihen 

Te Sons of Men, here nought arails 

Yonr Strength, here all your Wisdom fails (cf. 19, 5). 

A felicitous dimaz replaces a superlative or a mere repe- 

3, 13 : hochstes gat, *' my Lord, my Life^ my AIL" 

25, 3 : well Christi blot bestandig schrey t : 

barmhertsigkeit I barmhersigkeit I 


While Jesa's Blood, thro* Earth and Skies, 
Mercy, free, boundless Mercy cries I 

This is quite parallel to Bayard Taylor's treatment of Faust, 


Entbehren sollst du I soUst entbehren I 

Thou shalt abstain, renounce, refrain. 

Exceptionally strong seems to me the introduction of an 
epithet at the close of hymn 15, Gerhardt's " O Jesu Christ, 
mein schonstes Licht," rendering 

Und wenn ich nach vollbrachtem streit 
mich soil zur rube l^gen, 
alsdann lass deine liebes-treu, etc, 

And when the Storms of Life shall cease, 

Jesu, in that important Hour, 

In Death as Life be Thou my Guide, etc. 

The impressiveness and metrical weight of the adjective 
'^ important" remind one of the familiar phrase from Bern- 
hard of ClairvauZy "in tremenda mortis hora!^ ^ 

Wesley's lofty style is due, more than anything else, to his 
familiarity with the English bible, which was incorporated 
into his very nature from the nursery up. The sublime tone 

^ Wackemagel, D<u deut9ehe Kirehenlied, i, 192. 

JOHN weslet's htmnb. 191 

of the Hebrew poetry pervades these translations^ and the 
great majority of essential alterations consists in the introduc- 
tion of purely scriptural conceptions^ as 

10, 11 : 8olt mein Gott mich auch nicht schutzen 

since Thoa wilt spread 
Thy shadowing WiDg around mj head (Ps. 17, 8). 

To Isaiah, 63, 1, we owe the bold rhetorical question : 

But who is This that comes from far. 
Whose Garments roll'd in Blood appear ? 

(Cf. 20, 8; 29, 8 ; 9, 4, and countless other instances.) 

It would be indiscreet eulogy to ignore the fact that the 
force of the original is at times weakened. Beside the origi- 
nal of Hymn 28, 21, the English version seems stiff and 
formal : 

Wenn nun kam eine hose Lust, 
So dankt' ich Gott, daas ich nicht mnast' ; 
Ich sprach zar Lust, sum Stols, sum Qeis : 
" Dafur hing unser Herr am Ereuts I " 

If Pride, Desire, Wrath stirred anew. 
Swift to mj suro Resort I flew : 
" See there my Lord upon the Tree I " 
Hell heard : Instant my Soul was free. 

No more her Power let Nature boast. 
But in thy Will may mine be lost I 

seems more artificial than 

brich der natur gewalt entswey, 

und mache meinen willen frey I (5, 3.) 

5, 6 : es muss durch dich gewiroket seyn, 


Thou only. Lord, supreme of Men, 

is hardly felicitous, as also the rendering of *^ mit grostem 
glimpf " (6, 9) by " Firmly, Singularly Good/' One is not 
quite satisfied with the last words of Winkler's hymn (10) 
which contain, in the original, the spirit of Hutten and 
Luther combined : 

es ist gewagt I Qott steh mir bey I 
'Tisfix'dl I can do all thro* Thee I 

192 J. T. HATFIELD. 

Philip Molther, the Moravian^ for whom Wesley made the 
magnifioeDt version of '^ Ich habe nun den grund gefunden/' 
while declaring it the best English hymn he had known, 
objected to the phrase (25, 2), 

Thy Heart still melts with Tenderaess .... 
Betuming Sinners to reoeiye, 

as being less strong than 

dem allemal das hertze bricht, 
wir kommen oder kommen nicht, 

but in such cases good taste is saved at the expense of some 
original force. y 

The subsequent history of these versions exhibits many 
variations in the text, due to different causes. Where altera- 
tions are made for confessional reasons, (as in their adoption 
by Unitarian editors), the changes are right and necessary. 
Tinkering for amendment usually suggests Bernini's setting 
up of bell-turrets on the Pantheon of jA^rippa. Unaccountable 
(except by the charitable hypothesis of a misprint) is the change 
in the standard hymnal of the M. E. church from the phrase, 
"Chase this dead Slumber from my Soul" to "dread slumber," 
especially when it represents in the original das sichre scblaffen. 
In the C. S. Robinson-cycle of hymn-books, the rendering of 
Tersteegen's Majestdtisch Weaen (19, 4) "Being of Beings" 
appears as " Lord God of Hosts ; " of heiligj heUig singen (19, 
2), "Heaven's Hosts their noblest Praises bring," as "Let 
saints their humble worship bring." "Give to the Winds thy 
Fears," an original stroke of Wesley's (14, 9) reads, "O, cast 
away thy fears," in the United Presbyterian Hymn-Book, and 
so on. One cannot seriously quarrel with the compilers of a 
recently-published American hymnal for changing (7, 5) the 
translation of was noch von unlavterkeity " nor let one darling 
Lust survive " into, " nor let one favorite sin survive," but 
when that masterly rendering of the close of Grerhardt's hymn 
(15), of which I have already spoken. 

And when the Storms of Life shall cease, 
Jesn, in that important Hour, 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 193 

In Death as Life be Thoa my Guide, 
And save me^ who for me hast died I 

18 given : 

.... in that dark, final hour 
Of death, be Thou my guide and friend, 
That I may love Thee without end, 

one feels like letting Wesley himself speak out as he did in 
the 7th paragraph of the preface to ''A Collection of Hymns, 
for the Use of the People called Methodists, 1780:'' "And 
here I beg leave to mention a thought which has been long 
apon my mind, and which I should long ago have inserted in 
the public papers, had I not been unwilling to stir up a nest 
of hornets. Many gentlemen have done my Brother and me 
(though without naming us) the honour to reprint many of our 
Hymns. Now they are perfectly welcome so to do, provided 
they print them just as they are. But I desire they would not 
attempt to mend them ; for they really are not able. None of 
them is able to mend either the sense, or the verse. Therefore 
I must b^ of them one of these two favours : either to let them 
stand just as they are, to take them for better for worse; or to 
add the true reading in the margin, or at the bottom of the 
page ; that we may no longer be accountable either for the non- 
sense or for the doggerel of other men." 

It may be of interest to add that in the fourth stanza of 
hymn 28, by Zinzendorf, is found, as far as I know, the only 
allusion to the Faust-legend in hymnology : 

Wenn er nun gleich auf meine Ehr 
Mit meinem Blut geschrieben war. 

Wesley renders less minutely, 

Tho' sign'd and written with my Blood. 

Note. — Much detailed work of investigation for this paper has been don« 
by the following members of my advanced group in German : H. S. Bassett, 
N. F. C. Bray, M. Brown, J. £. Eversz, W. D. Lane, H. A. Sinclair, F. L. 
Bpofibrd, P. L. Windsor. For the use of books and documents, I desire 
to express obligations to the Bev. Paul de Schweinitz, of Naiareth, Pa. ; 
Bev. 8. G. Ayres, of Drew Theological Seminary ; Archivist A. Glitsch, of 
Hermhut ; Bev. J. Taylor Hamilton, Bethlehem, Pa., and the authorities 
of Garrett Biblical Institute. 

194 J. T. HATFIELD. 

A Stakza-Index to Wesley's Tbansla^hons op 

German Hymns. 

The Dnmben refer to the enameration of the hjmiiB at the beginning of 

this article. The capitalisation has been modernised. 


Ahy giye me now, all-gracious Lord 28 

Ah, Lord I enlarge our scanty thought 24 

Ah, Love! thj influence withdrawn 16 

Ah no I ne'er will I backward turn.. 7 

Ah I why did I so late thee know 22 

Alarm'd at their successful toil 29 

All glory to th' eternal three.. 9 

All Heav'n thou filPst with pure desire 2 

All things in earth, and air, and sea 18 

Already springing hope I feel 5 

And well I know thy tender love 5 

And whatsoe'er thou will'st 14 

And while I felt thy blood within 28 

A patient, a victorious mind 8 

Arise, stir up thy pow'r„ 6 

Arm me widi thy whole armour, Lord 12 

As flow'rs their op'ning leaves display 19 

As incense to thy throne above 20 

Astonish'd at thy frowning brow 16 

Aw'd by a mortal's frown, shall I.. 10 

Before thy face, O Lord most high 13 

Be heaVn ev'n now our souPs abode 18 

Being of beings, may our praise 19 

Bold shall I stand in thy great day.. 28 

Boundless wisdom, power divine 26 

But 01 what offering shall I give 17 

Oamal and sold to sin no more«. 28 

Cherubs with seraphs join.. 6 

Close by thy side still may I keep 4 

Commit thou all thy griefs 14 

Dust and ashes tho' we be 26 

Each moment draw my heart away.. 7 

Efiulgence of the light divine 3 

£nthron*d above yon sky 6 

JOHN Wesley's htmns. 196 

Eternal depth of love diyine^ 21 

Eternitj thj fountain was ^ 1 

Ev'n heathens feel thj power 6 

Extended on a corsed tree ^ 28 

Far, &r above thy thought 14 

Father, thj everlasting grace \ 26 

First-bom of manj brethren thoa 24 

Ilx'd on this ground will I remain 26 

Fix, O fix mj wavering mind 26 

For this let men revile my name ^ 10 

For zeal I sigh, for zeal I pant ~ 11 

Fountain of good, all blening flows 16 

From all eternity with love 16 

From thy blest wounds our life we draw ~ 20 

Fully the quick'niug sp'rit impart 27 

Give me thy strength, O God of pow'r 10 

Give to my eyes refreshing tears ^ 22 

Give to the winds thy fears 14 

Gladly the toys of earth we leave 19 

Grace we implore; when billows roll ~ 18 


Hail venerable train 6 

Heaven's glory is thy awful throne 1 

Hell's armies tremble at thy nod ^ 16 

Hence our hearts melt, our eyes overflow 24 

He prospers all his servants toils ~ 29 

Here many a faithful soul is found 29 

High on his everlasting throne 29 

High praise to thee, all-gracious God « 27 

High-thron'd on heaven's eternal hill ~ 16 

His eye the world at once looks thro' « 29 

Holy Lamb, who thee receive 26 

How blest are they, who still abide 24 

How can it be, thou heavenly king » 24 

Howe'er I rove, where'er I turn 16 

I feel well that I love thee. Lord 6 

If in this darksome wild I stray 8 

If pride, desire, wrath stirr'd anew 28 

If rough and thorny be my way 8 

I, I alone have done the deed 28 

In darkness willingly I stray'd ~ 22 

In life's short day let me yet more 6 

In suff'ring be thy love my peace 16 

196 J. T. HATFIELD. 

In the devouring lion's teeth ^ 23 

In thee we move. All things of thee ^ 19 

Into thj gracious hands I fall 12 

I see thy garments rollM in blood 2 

Is there a thing beneath the sun ^ 7 

I thank thee, uncreated sun 22 

I thirsty thou wounded Lamb of Otod ^ 24 

Jesn, be endless praise to thee ^ 28 

Jesu, see my panting breast 26 

Jesus their toil delighted sees 29 

Jesn, thy blood and righteousness 28 

Jesu, thy boundless love to me ^ 15 

Jesu, thy light again 1 view 17 

Jesu, to thee my heart I bow » 2 

Jesu, vouchsafe my heart and will 5 

Jesu, when this light we see 26 

Jesu, whose glory's streaming rays. 12 

Leave to his sovereign sway 14 

Let us in life, in death 14 

Lo, Qod is here! Him day and night. 19 

Lo, Gh)d isherel Let us adore 19 

Lord arm me with thy spirit's might 17 

Lord Qod of armies, ceaseless praise 18 

Lord, I believe the price is paid 28 

Lord, I believe thy precious blood 28 

Lord, I believe were sinners more 28 

Lord over all, sent to fulfill 3 

Lost and undone for aid I cry 5 

Midst danger's blackest frown 6 

Monarch of all, with lowly fear 13 

More hard than marble is my heart. 15 

My health, my light, my life, my crown.. 15 

My heart from all pollution clean 9 

My life, my blood, I here present 10 

My Saviour, how shall I proclaim 23 

My Saviour, thou thy love to me 15 

My soul before thee prostrate lies 5 

Naked from Satan did I flee, « 28 

No profit can'st thou gain 14 

Now Christ in us doth live, and we 27 

Now hast thou given us thro* thy son 27 

Now I have found the ground, wherein 25 

Now then, my Qod, thou hast my soul. 17 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 197 


O draw me, Savioor, after thee ^ 15 

Of all thoo the beginning art 18 

O Father, sanctify this pain 9 

Oft have we seen thy mighty pow'r ^ 21 

O God of Qod[s], in whom combine 18 

O God, of good th* unfathom'd sea. ^ 16 

O God, thou bottomless abyss 1 

O grant that nothing in my sool ^ 15 

O guide me, lead me in thy ways ^ 9 

O hide this self from me, that 1 7 

O Jesu, full of grace I the sighs. 12 

O Jesu, source of calm repose 8 

O kill in me this rebel sin » 2 

O king of glory, thy rich grace 21 

O leave not, cast me not away 9 

O let the dead now hear thy voice 28 

O Lord, O God of love 6 

O love, how chearing is thy ray 15 

O love, our stubborn wills subdue. 18 

O love, thou bottomless abyss. 25 

O love, thy sovereign aid impart 7 

O may one beam of thy blest light. 11 

0(h) I multiply thy sower's seed 29 

One only care my soul shall know 5 

O never in these veils of shame 17 

O powerful love, to thee we bow 18 

O that I as a little child 15 

O that my heart, which open stands. 15 

O thou, to whose all-searching sight 8 

O thou, who all things canst controul 11 

O thou, whom sinners love, whose care 20 

O ye who joy to feed his sheep 28 

Parent of good, thy bounteous hand 1 

Primeval beauty I in thy sight 16 

Renew thy image Lord in me 8 

Restore my sight! let thy free grace 12 

Satan, thy due reward survey 28 

Saviour of men I thy searching eye 10 

Saviour, where'er thy steps I see 8 

See where the servants of their God 29 

See, ye sinners, see the flame 26 

Send down thy likeness from above 17 

Shall I, for fear of feeble man 10 

198 J. T. HATFIELD. 

Shall I, to 800th th' unholy throng ^ ^ 10 

Single of heart O maj I be. 11 

So ev'n in storms mj seal shall grow •— ^ 5 

So shall mj ey'ry power to thee 18 

So shall our lives thj power procUim ^ 89 

So when on Sion thou shalt stand 4 

Still heavy is thy heart ^ 14 

Still I do watch and labour still ^ 5 

Still let thy love point out my way ^ », 15 

Still let thy tears, thy groans^ thy sighs. 23 

Still let thy wisdom be my guide.. 12 

Still, Lord, from thy exhaustless store. 9 

Twke my poor heart and let it be.. 24 

The burthen for me to sustain 28 

The church through all her bounds 6 

The deadly slumber soon I feel •,,—^ 11 

The deadly writing now I see 28 

The dictates of thy soy'reign wilL 21 

Thee will I love, my joy, my crown.. — .^ 22 

Thee will I love, my strength, my tower. 22 

The holy, the unspotted Lamb 28 

The loTe of Christ does me constrain. 10 

The meek, the still, the lowly mind 28 

Then shall heaven's hosts with loud acclaim 28 

The world, sin, death oppose in vain 3 

Thine is whatever we are. Thy grace 27 

Thine, Lord, is wisdom, thine alone 1 

This spotless robe the same appears 28 

Tho* sign'd and written with my blood 28 

Thou art th* eternal light 6 

Thou errywhere hast sway - 14 

Thou for our pain didst mourn 6 

Thou God of power, thou Qod of love. - 28 

Thou hast my flesh; thy hallowed shrine. ', 17 

Thou hast overthrown the foe. 6 

Thou hidden love of God, whose height 7 

Thou, Jesu, art our king 6 

Thou Lamb of God, thou prince of peace. ...— 4 

Thou, Lord, art good, and thou alone 13 

Thou. Lord, art light: thy native ray..- ^ 13 

Thou, Lord, art love, from thee pure love. 13 

Thou, Lord, the dreadful fight hast won 4 

Thou on the Loid rely 14 

Thou Mwt our weakness, Lord 14 

Thou shin*si with everlasting rays. ^ 16 

JOHN Wesley's hymns. 199 

Thon, true and only Qod, lead'st forth 1 

Tho' waves and Btorms go o'er my head ~ 26 

Thro' thy rich grace, in Jeau's blood 27 

Thro* waves, and clouds, and storms. 14 

Thus Abraham, the friend of God.. 28 

Thy everlasting truth 14 

Thy parent hand, thy forming skill 1 

Thy secret voice invites me still 7 

'Tis mercy all that thou hast brought 7 

To dig the ground, they all bestow 29 

Too much to thee I cannot give 28 

Unwearied may I this pursue 15 

Uphold me in the doubtful race 22 

Wash out its stains, refine its dross 8 

What are our works but sin and death 24 

What can we offer our good Lord 29 

What in thy love possess I not 15 

What then is he, whose scorn I dread 10 

What tho' thou rulest not 14 

When from the dust of earth I rise 28 

When my warm'd thoughts I fix on thee 5 

When pain o'er my weak flesh prevails 4 

When rising floods my head o'erflow 8 

When thou arisest, Lord 14 

When thou shalt call in that great day 28 

Where'er the faithful workers turn 29 

Who in heart on thee believes 26 

Who points the clouds their course 14 

Who, who, my Saviour, this hath done 28 

Wide earth*s remotest bound 6 

With faith I plunge me in this sea 26 

With fraudless, even, humble mind 4 

W^ith out-etretch'd hands, and streaming eyes 11 

Yea, Father, ours thro* him, thou art 27 

Yea, let man rage! since thou wilt spread 10 

Yea, thou, true witness, spotless lamb 2 

Ye earthly loves be far away 2 

Ye sons of men, here nought avails ^ 5 

Yet nought whereof to boast 1 have. 28 

Yet still the servants of their Lord 29 

Yet while at length, who scorned thy might 1 

James Taft Hatfield. 

I. The Weird Sibtebs. 

Strangely enough the word '^ weird " has oome into modem 
English entirely from its use in Macbeth. The word occurs 
six times in this play as usually printed : five times in the 
expression " weird sisters " (I, in, 32, and v, 8 ; II, i, 20 ; 
III, rv, 133; IV, i, 136), and once in the phrase "the weird 
women" (III, i, 2). Stranger still, " weird " does not appear 
at all in the only authoritative text of the tragedy, that of the 
first folio. In that edition the word is "weyward" in the first 
three passages in the play, and " weyard" in the last three. It 
was Theobald, the "dearest foe" of Pope, who saw that Shake- 
speare must have written " weird," and that this rare word 
had been changed because of " the ignorance of the copyists." 
Modern editors accept the suggestion of Theobald ; but I be- 
lieve that the full force of the word " weird" is often unappre- 
hended, even by special students of the play. 

In Anglo-Saxon literature, " Wyrd " is the name of the 
personified goddess of fate. Wyrd is " the lord of every man," 
The word is also a common noun; each man has his own 
wyrd, or destiny. 

In Chaucer we find these lines : — 

*' But O, Fortune, executrice of wierdes *' [fates, destinies]. 

TroUuB and Oriteyde^ iii, 617. 

"TheWirdes, that we clepen [call] Destinee." 

The Legend of Oood Women, 2580 (ix, 19). 

In the second of these lines we have a personification, but 
the conception is of more than one " Wyrd." 

' Some other topics connected with this play were treated by the writer in 
the Atlantic Monthly for February, 1892, in a paper entitled "Studies in 



A passage in the Scotch translation of Vergil's JEneid, 
written about 1513 by Grawin Douglas, Bishop of Dnnkdd, 
is very striking. I give first the original Latin. 

" prohibent nam cetera Parcae 
Scire Helenum farique vetat Satumia Juno/' 

Aeneidf iii, 379-380. 
" The remanent heirof, qohat eoir be it, 
The werd sisteris defendis [forbid] that suld be wit [known], 
And eik the dochter of auld Saturne, Juno, 
Forbiddb Helenus to speik it, and crjis, ho I " 

The Thrid Buik of Eneados, Cap. vi, 23-26. 

Here "the werd sisteris" is the translation of the Latin 
"Parcae." I suppose that the Parcae and the three sister- 
Fates of the Greeks, — Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, — were 
identified in the mind of Vergil. 

Shakespeare's source for the story of IViacbeth was Holin- 
shed's Chronicles of England^ Scotland, and Ireland^ published 
in 1577. The evidence of this work is decisive in favor of 
changing " wey ward " and " weyard " to " weird." The fol- 
lowing passage from Holinshed will especially concern us : — 

"It fortuned as Makbeth and Banquho iournied towards 
Fores, where the king then laie, they went sporting by the 
waie togither without other companie, sane onelie themselues, 
passing thorough the woods and fields, when suddenlie in the 
middest of a laund, there. met them three women in strange and 
wild appareUy resembling creatures of elder vnyrld, whome when 
they attentiuelie beheld, woondering much at the sight, the 
first of them spake and said ; All haile Makbeth, thane of 
Glammis (for he had latelie entered into that dignitie and 
office by the death of his father Sinell). The second of them 
said ; Haile IViakbeth thane of Cawder. But the third said ; 
All haile Makbeth that heereafter shalt be king of Scotland. 

" Then Banquho ; What manner of women (saith he) are 
you, that seeme so little fauourable vnto me, whereas to my 
fellow heere, besides high offices, ye assigne also the kingdome, 
appointing foorth nothing for me at all ? Yes (saith the first 


of them)^ we promise greater benefits vnto thee^ than vnto 
him, for he shall reigne in deed, bat with an ynlnckie end : 
neither shall he leaue anie issue behind him to succeed in his 
place, where contrarilie thou in deed shalt not reigne at all, 
but of thee those shall be borne which shall gouern the Scotish 
kingdome by long order of continuall descent. Herewith the 
foresaid women vanished immediatlie out of their sight. This 
was reputed at the first but some vaine fantasticall illusion by 
Mackbeth and Banquho, insomuch that Banquho would call 
Mackbeth in iest, king of Scotland; and Mackbeth againe 
would call him in sport likewise, the &ther of manie kings. 
But afteinvrards the common opinion was, that these women 
were either the weird dsters^ that is (as ye would say) the god- 
desses of destiniej or else some nymphs or feiries, indued with 
knowledge of prophesie by their necromanticall science, bicause 
euerie thing came to passe as they had spoken/' — Furness' 
Variorum Maobeth, pp. 363-4. Italics my own. 

In the Scandinavian mythology, as it was preserved in Ice- 
land, '^ Urthr " was the eldest and the most prominent of the 
three Norns, or sister-Fates. The loss of an initial w disguises 
the identity of the word with the name of the Anglo-Saxon 
goddess of fate "Wyrd." Both words are to be connected 
with the Latin vertere (pronounced wertere), the German werden, 
the Icelandic vertha (pronounced wertha), and the Anglo-Saxon 
weorthan. Apparently because the name '^ Urthr" is made 
from that form of the verbal stem which appeared in the 
plural of the past tense, this goddess came to be looked upon 
especially as the &te of the past (des geuK>rc2ene8). Professor 
£. Mogk^ thinks that it was bungling word-play (junges, 
islandisches Machwerk) of the twelfth century which first 
gave to the two sisters of Urthr, the fates of the present and 
future, the names " Verthandi " (pronounced toerthandi— die 
Werdende, the goddess of that which is now coming to be — 
from the same verb as *' Urthr") and " SkuW (allied to shall, 
soil). The three Norns guard one of the three roots of Ygdrasil, 

1 Paurs Ofundriu der genn. I^Mogit, i, 1024. 


the great Ash-tree of Existence. Urthr and Verthandi, the 
Past and Present, stretch a web from east to west, '* from the 
radiant dawn of life to the glowing sunset, and Skuld, the 
Future, tears it to pieces." ^ 

The Century Dictionary says of the phrase "the weird 
sisters": "An awkward expression, literally Hhe fete sisters', 
apparently meant for 'the Sister Fates.'" That this is the 
general meaning of the phrase, I fed confident.' Schmidt's 
explanation of "weird," in his Shakespeare-Lexicon, as "sub- 
servient to Destiny," fails to bring out the dignity of the word 
both in Holinshed and Shakespeare. The weird sisters are 
not " subservient to Destiny " ; they are Destiny. 

The commentators have not noticed, I think, that the weird 
sisters speak to Macbeth and Banquo in character, as the Noms 
of the Past, Present, and Future.' This fact, which seems 
to be true in a general way of their speeches in Holinshed| 
comes out very clearly in Shakespeare. 

** Banquo. How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these 
So withered and so wild in their attire, 
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
And yet are on't? Live you? or are yoo aught 

^Anderson's Norse Mythology^ p. 209. 

' Dr. F. A. Wood, of the University of Chicago, thinks that the writer in 
the Ceniva^f Dictionary does not catch the exact force of the word ** weird." 
" In origin," writes Dr. Wood, " it is a feminine abstract noun. It seems 
better, therefore, to regard * weird,' in the compound ' weird-sisters', as the 
abstract * fate,' rather than as the goddess of fate, one of the Parcae. The 
' weird-sisters' would then mean the 'fate-sisters' or Meath-sisters ' (cf. 
Chaucer's expression, * O fatal sustren.' — TroUtu and O., lu, 733). This, I 
think, is the way Grimm regarded it in his Deuiaehe Myiholoffie, i, 337 ff., 
where similar compounds are given, ' the thre weirdsystirs' [from Tke Oom- 
flaynt of Scotland^ written 1548], 'the weirdelves' [from Warner's ^^um's 
England f printed 1616], etc. 

If we make ' weird ' in this compound the goddess, then the compound 
would mean ' the sisters of Wyrd,' and not ' the sister Wyrds.' " 

' While reading the proof of this paper, I have noticed the following 
sentence in Dowden's ShaJetpert — His Mind and Art, p. 222 : — " When they 
have given him the three hails — as Glamis,a8 Cawdor, and as King; the 
hail of the past, of the present, of the future — Mad)eth starts." 


Ton aflD. ID 

r linger Iv 
'vqa iikxilfi b« 

I. [Tefal dK Pk: ah iMiL Madbc^L! hml Vi ihim, ikmm at Gkmml 

q AR luuL Xadbcck! Id to tkn^ tfcsM of 

Ik Ffninwiwif. it is "fboEtfie 

X r:&2ikLdMFiimz«] AEhaaMjdKdLciKiUtbskz^haaAv!'' 

is mcflo plain tfaas die three aisten ^Rak mdHEKfeerni 
is aid to Baiiqiio in dfte tzagedr, but I do noC tUnk 
we fvee the m^mhig if we interpRi theae q p eerh e i in 
tke iKBie wmj as the pcevkxB cmes. 

If voa on Look inu die Mcdi of 
Aad ar wiiidi grun wiQ gxow aai wkiA wiZi 
>pcBk:bet a mci. who mi ther beg nor 
Timr £iTi3iizs nor joar hate. 
L Hjii: 

X Hal: 

L ITWPac: LoKT Hiy birt&: dial Xadbcdfc [the eoiHa of d« kii«]» 
fl^naier ja ime^ftT. i iw aiiy he las beat barboaring a 

se [a Xadadi ia <w ui " i if & pieant mark of hoaoor]. btt 

Baal. — '■#lmiT<Jr^ 

X 7^^ F iCB*^ Tlina ikils fee kin^ thoo^ Juhk ba ant: So all batl» 

■4 . 

L Bmaqwa mi Xadbak. ail kaur— L ex. .?d-«9. 

In Holinsfaed^ it is ooIt the first of the women diii 
Banqoo. and she speaks of the fbtore, ahfaot^ ber wwdi to 
Marfyth cooosn ool j the past. It mar be diat Shakespeaie^s 
exact divLsoQ of the rtles into Pa&t, Present and Fstme^ is in 
a meaaoie accidental^ being soggested bj Holinehed in the< 


of the speeches to Macbeth, and simply repeated in the words 
addressed to Banquo. It seems probable, however, that the 
careful distinction observed here between the three Norns is 
intentional. That 'Hhe weird sisters" are those '^creatures of 
elder world," the mighty goddesses of destiny, can hardly be 
questioned. They are not called witches in the play itself, 
but always "the weird sisters" or "the weird women" ; though 
one of them tells of the circumstances under which a sailor's 
wife said to her, "Aroint thee, witch (I, in, 6) I " The only 
other use of the word " witch " in the text of the play occurs 
when a " witches' mummy " is mentioned (IV, i, 23) among 
the many uncanny things which, in the cauldron, 

" Like a hell-broth boU and bubble/' 

The close connection between Scotland and Norway during 
the Middle Ages may well explain the appearance of Urthr, 
Verthandi, and Skuld in the Scotch story of Macbeth and 
Banquo. From the monastery of lona, on the west coast of 
Scotland, Christianity spread to the Orkneys and Iceland ; and 
it was Iceland that preserved the Norse mythology. Some 
of the kings of Norway were buried at lona. " Down to the 
middle of the thirteenth century," says Canon Taylor, " the 
Shetlands, the Orkneys, the Hebrides, and the Isle of Man 
were not dependencies of the Crown of Scotland, but jarldoms 
attached to the kingdom of Norway."^ The inhabitants of 
Orkney and Shetland are of almost pure Norse blood, and the 
Norse language lingered in Shetland to the close of the eight- 
eenth century. 

The word " weird," as has been said, was taken into modem 
English from Macbeth. Its significance, however, was not 
understood. The word in its present use is an adjective, and 
has a range of meaning indicated by the words ' wild, mys- 
terious, uncanny, unearthly, ghostly'; "weird" in McuAeth 
was vaguely felt to express this combination of ideas. In the 

^ Isaac Taylor, Words and Flaees, p. 112. 

206 AliBEBT H. T0IilfA9. 

Scotch dialect of English the word has not died out, and 
retains the older meaning, * fete, destbj/ The word is com- 
mon in Scott ; for example, Meg Merrilies in Ouy Mannering 
speaks often of the ** weird/' or destiny, of Harry Bertram. 

The powerftil conception of the three Fates, ''the weird 
sisters,'' is not maintained throughout the tragedy of Mcubdhj 
as every reader knows. In a portion of the opening scene of 
the play, and in that part of Scene in. Act I, which precedes 
the entrance of Macbeth and Banquo, we have simply three 
witches, — witches of exceptional power and malignancy, but 
not the great goddesses of destiny. 

In Scene v of Act III the sisters are degraded still farther 
to inferior and disobedient witches. Their queen Hecate 
reprimands them for acting without informing her and 
allowing her to play a part. This distressing scene reaches a 
climax of unfitness when Hecate suggests that Macbeth has 
pretended to be in love with the hags : — 

"-FVnrf Wiink, Whj. how now, Hecate I jou look angerly." 
**Heeate, Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 

Sancy and overbold? How did 70a dare 

To trade and traffic with Mac^th 

In riddles and affidrs of death ; 

And I, the mistress of jonr charms, 

The dose contriver of all harms, 

Was never caird to bear mj part, 

Or show the glory of our art? 

And, which is worse, all you have done 

Hath been but for a wayward son. 

Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, 

Loves for his own ends, not for you." 

Ill, V, 1-13. 

At a later point I give in outline the reasons which have 
convinced many students that Macbeth has not been preserved 
for us in the exact form in which Shakespeare wrote it. The 
evidence for this view is very strong, — I think conclusive ; 
yet no passage need be surrendered that lovers of Shakespeare 
care to claim as his. Principally because the two songs called 


for in the unfitting Hecate parts of the play — of which songs 
the opening words only are given (III, V, 33 and IV, i, 43) — 
were found in full in Thomas Middleton's play. The WUch^ 
discovered in MS. about 1779, — ^the author of the unShakespear- 
ian portions of Macbeth has been thought to be Middleton. 
Hudson takes away from Shakespeare not only the speeches 
of Hecate, but also two of the closing lines of Scene i, Act I, 
and the first thirty-seven lines of Scene ni, Act I, where the 
conception, as we have noted, is of three witches. 

What shall we say, however, about the powerful cauldron 
scene of IV, i, which precedes the entrance of Hecate? 
Hudson cannot give this up, although witches are here pre- 
sented, engaged in the practice of witchcraft. I quote his 
striking defence of the fitness and genuineness of this passage: 

^' Is there any way to account for the altered language and 
methods used in the cauldron business, without dispossessing 
the Weird Sisters of their proper character? Let us see. 

" The Weird Sisters of course have their religion ; though, 
to be sure, that religion is altogether Satanic. For so essen- 
tial is i*eligion of some kind to all social life and being, that 
even the society of Hell cannot subsist without it Now, 
every religion, whether human or Satanic, has, and must have, 
a liturgy and ritual of some sort, as its organs of action and 
expression. The Weird Sisters know, by supernatural ways, 
that Macbeth is burning to question them further, and that 
he has resolved to pay them a visit. To instruct and inspire 
him in a suitable manner, they arrange to hold a religious 
service in his presence and behalf. And they fitly employ 
the language and ritual of witchcraft, as being the only lan- 
guage and ritual which he can understand and take the sense 
of: they adopt, for the occasion, the sacraments of witchcraft, 
because these are the only sacraments whereby they can im- 
part to him the Satanic grace and efficacy which it is their 
office to dispense. The language, however, and ritual of witch- 
craft are in their use condensed and intensified to the highest 
degree of potency and impressiveness. Thus their appalling 


infernal liturgy is a special and necessary accommodation to 
the senses and the mind of the person they are dealing with. 
It really seems to me that they had no practicable way but to 
speak and act in this instance just like witches^ only a great 
deal more so." — Harvard Bhakespeare^ xvu, p. 130. 

We naturally feel that it not only d^rades the '^ weird 
sisters '' to put them before us as witches, but that witches 
make vulgar and unfitting characters at the best in a serious 
drama. Let us attempt for a moment, however, to identify 
ourselves with Shakespeare, the actor and play-wright, seek- 
ing to impress an Elizabethan audience. 

To the men of that day witches were a reality. The world 
of witchcraft was dark and mysterious, but it was real. Ifoc- 
bdh seems to have been ¥nritten about the year 1606. Nine 
years before this, King James YI. of Scotland published ^a 
learned and painful " treatise to prove that every Christian 
must necessarily believe in witchcraft, and in this work all 
the minutiae of the subject were duly expounded. In March, 
1603, he became king of England also, by the death of Eliza^ 
beth. During the first year of his reign over the double 
kingdom, and perhaps partly in compUment to his convio- 
tions and expert knowledge on the subject, a new statute 
against witchcraft was passed, which remained in force until 
1736. Listen to the solemn utterances of this law : — 

^* If any person or persons shall use, practise, or exercise 
any invocation or conjuration of any evil and wicked spirit, 
or shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or 
reward any evil and wicked spirit to or for any intent or pur- 
pose, or take up any dead man, woman, or child out of his, 
her, or their grave or any other place where the dead body 
resteth, or the skin, bone, or any part of any dead person, to 
be employed or used in any manner of witchcraft, enchant- 
ment, charm, or sorcery, whereby any person shall be killed, 
destroyed, wasted, consumed, pined, or lamed in his or her 
body or any part thereof," every such ofiender is a felon with- 
out benefit of clergy. 


In 1665y at the trial of some Suffolk witches. Sir Thomas 
Browne, the well-known author of the Religio Medioiy testified 
as an expert in favor of the reality of witchcraft. Sir Mat- 
thew Hale, afterward lord chief-justice of England, presided 
at the trial ; and io summing up the case, adduced Scripture 
in support of his own opinion that such creatures as witches 
really existed. 

Shakespeare had been dead seventy-six years when the 
witchcraft delusion of 1692 broke out in Salem village. The 
prosecutions were brought under the statute of James I. ; but 
undoubtedly the command which justified the executions in 
the minds of the colonists was JExodua, xxn, 18: ^'Thou 
shalt not suffer a witch to live." Professor Henry Ferguson 
well says : — 

'* It should always be remembered that belief in witchcraft 
was not a peculiarity of New England, and that the reason 
the colonists there have been judged so hardly for their panic 
is that men have felt that they had claimed to be superior to 
the men of their generation, and thus should be measured by 
a higher standard." ^ 

More than a hundred years after Macbeth was written, 
Addison describes for us Sir Roger de Coverley, who, though 
the leading squire of his county and a model country gentle- 
man, " would frequently have bound " poor old Moll White 
'^ over to the county sessions, had not his chaplain with much 
ado persuaded him to the contrary." 

But more illuminating for us is the opinion of Addison 
himself, who declares, after a careful and serious argument : 
^' I believe in general that there is, and has been, such a thing 
as witchcraft ; but at the same time can give no credit to any 
particular instance of it." * 

The year 1712 is sometimes given as the date of the last 
execution for witchcraft in England, and 1727 for the last exe- 
cution in Scotland. Mr. W. Henry Wills states* that in 1716 

^Es9ayi in Amerioan HiMcfy^ p. 61. ^Spedaiofr EuaySf No. 117. 

' In the notes to his edition of the De Ooverley Euaya (Harper). 


^'a Mrs. Hioks and her daughter were hanged at Huntingdon 
for selling their souls to the devil/' etc. The Enejfdopasdia 
Britannicay however^ gives as the last trial for witchcraft in Eng- 
land^ that of Jane Wenham in 1712. She was convicted, but 
not executed. The statute of James I. was repealed in 1736. 

Although the modem drama permits many conventional 
departures from actual life^ its cardinal quality is vivid 
realism. The most exalted hero of history or epic tradition 
when put upon the stage becomes completely human^ stands 
upon a level with the spectators^ and appeals to their sympathy. 
CflBsary Macbeth, Hamlet, each seems to the humblest auditor 
to be but an extension, an enlargement of his own personality, 
a second self; each appeals to him entirely by virtue of a 
common human nature. 

The sense of reality is essential to a serious drama of the 
highest type. A Mldsummer-'NighVs Dream is sportive ; but 
Richard IIL, JuUua OoBsar, Hamlet^ and Macbeth set forth 
what the spectators, for whom they were written, accepted as 
a portrayal of real life. Shakespeare in appealing to his audi- 
ences made use of the general conceptions and beliefs that 
filled their minds, just as he made use of the Elizabethan 
form of the language ; nevertheless he was careful to employ 
the agency of the supernatural, as Professor Moulton expresses 
it, only '^ to intensify and to illuminate human action, not to 
determine it'' The supernatural was not allowed to be really 
causative. Because of this wise method, his plays, which fasci- 
nated the men of his own day, appeal with equal power to us, 
who hold opinions decidedly different from theirs concerning 
supernatural manifestations. 

It must be admitted that there is a lack of harmony, even 
a decided clash, in uniting in the same persons the imperturb- 
able goddesses of destiny and malignant witches ; but if the 
weird women were to have r^les of any length, it was neces- 
sary that they be made completely real, that they be humanized 
in some form. The Greeks had a similar difficulty, though 
their drama was far less realistic than is ours. Says Freytag : — 


'^ Whenever the gods had to play a real part upon the stage^ 
and not simply to utter a command ex wMkinay then they were 
of necessity either entirely transformed into men, with all the 
pain and anger of men, as was Prometheus^ or they sank below 
the nobility of human nature^ without the poet being able to 
hinder it, down to blank generalizations of love and hate^ like 
the Athene in the prologue of AjaxJ^ ^ 

We see that^ when Mdcbdh appeared^ the entire English 
people, king and subjects, believed in the reality of witchcraft. 
The usual manner in which the emissaries of Satan actually 
did lure men to evil was thought to be known, in a general 
way. If the weird sisters were to do that work, they would 
naturally do it in that way ; they would use the apparatus of 
witchcraft. They must submit to dramatic necessity and be 
humanized ; but they were humanized as witches,— creatures 
dwelling on the very confines of humanity and holding com- 
merce with the devil, — " secret, black, and midnight hags," 
doing deeds '' without a name." Shakespeare yields to dra- 
matic necessity, but gives to the cauldron scene all possible 
poetic impressiveness ; he takes the supposed facts of witch- 
craft and raises them to the nth power. 

In view of these considerations I do not care to question 
the genuineness of any of the supernatural portions of the 
play except the r6le of Hecate and a few lines closely con- 
nected therewith. 

There is some external evidence, also, against taking away 
from Shakespeare the opening portion of I, in, which Hud- 
son rejects. Holinshed's account of the reign of King Duffe 
appears to have contributed a number of details to Macbeth;* 
and it is decidedly in favor of the following lines that they 
seem to have been suggested by the description in Holinshed 
of the mauner in which King Duffe was made to pine away 
under the influence of witchcraft : — 

^Die Technik dea Dramas, p. 52. 
*See Famess" Macbeth, pp. 356-9. 

212 AliBEBT H. TOIiMAK. 

**Firtt Witch 

I will drain him diy as hay : 
Sleep shall neither night nor day 
Hang upon his pent-hoose lid ; 
He shall live a man forbid : 
Weary se'nnights nine times nine 
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine." 

I, ra, 18-23. 

I do not believe that the ^'commonplaoe and vulgar" quality 
which Hudson finds in the opening portion of Scene in^ Act 
I, was painfully evident even to the more sensitive persons in 
Shakespeare's audiences. The passage is not his best work^ 
and may be in some d^ree a concession to the delight that 
the audience was sure to take in the witches^ but I believe it 
to be Shakespeare's. So long as witchcraft was thoroughly 
believed in, efiective use could be made of it upon the stage. 
"Killing swine" and "sailing in a sieve" were believed to be 
common occupations among witches ; probably the first of these 
opinions sprang from the account of the destruction of the herd 
of swine by the "devils/' as told in Matthew, Mark, and Luke^ 
and was felt to have some degree of Scripture authority. Such 
forms of activity naturally seem " commonplace and vulgar " 
to us ; but they would not if we believed in witches ; and 
while we are reading Macbeth we must believe in them. 

II. The Show of Eight Kings. 

Ghostly forms of the eight Scottish kings of the royal house 
of Stuart, — Robert II., Robert III., and the six Jameses, — 
are made by the witches to appear and pass before Macbeth in 
a dumb show (IV^ i). These are the descendants of Banquo, 
who are to rule over Scotland. But why is Mary Stuart 
omitted, who, between the reigns of James V. and James VI., 
was the nominal sovereign for a full quarter of a century? 
To be sure the literal promise to Banquo was, " Thou shalt 
get kings"; but Mary was a sovereign, if not a king; and 
what a fine fitness would there have been in bringing into this 


drama^ though but for a moment, her bewitching form I ifoc- 
beih is a ^^ tragedy of blood/' and in it eager female beings 
appear, earthly and unearthly, and tempt to evil deeds. Surely 
the beautiful Queen of Soots would have been a most appro- 
priate and suggestive figure in that dumb show I 

Though Shakespeare had paid honeyed compliments to 
Elizabeth, the great antagonist of the lovely Stuart queen, he 
was now, in 1606, the loyal subject of James I. He naturally 
felt, we may suppose, that it would be unpleasant and impo- 
litic to remind his sovereign and his audiences of the character 
and fate of the king's mother, the unhappy Mary. 

III. The Views Concerning the Composition of 


I will attempt to summarize in a tabular form the most 
important peculiarities of this play which have led students to 
question the complete genuineness of it in its present condition. 
So fsir as I know, attention was first called to many of these 
points by Clark and Wright. I admit that my classification 
of the material under the following heads is somewhat arbitrary. 

1. Its short and crowded character. 

(1) It is about J the average length of HanUd, LeaVy and 


(2) Only Qmolantia and Antony and Cleopatray among 

the plays of Shakespeare, have a larger number 
of scenes. 

2. Contradictions. 

(1) In Scene n, Act I, Macbeth vanquishes the Thane 

of Cawdor in single combat. In the next scene 
he knows nothing about this. 

(2) In Scene ii. Act I, Ross knows all about the treachery 

of the Thane of Cawdor, and in Scene iii he seems 
to know nothing. 


3. InequalitieB. 

(1) Scene u of Act I is inferior to the remainder of the 


(2) The speeches of Hecate are noticeably inferior. 

4. Inconsistencies. 

(1) The weird sisters appear as the three Norns, as 

vulgar witches, and as inferior and disobedient 
witches. The suggestion in III, v, 13, that 
Macbeth has pretended to be in love with them 
is a farther difficulty. 

(2) The impossibly long journey of the bleeding ser- 

geant from Fife to Forres (I, n, 42). 

5. Minor difficulties. 

(1) The fact that Macbeth speaks of himself as '^ our 

high-placed Macbeth '' (IV, i, 98). 

(2) The impossibility of fixing the time of Scene yi. 

Act III (see Daniel, Trans. New 8h. 8oe., 1877- 
79, p. 207 ; or Rolfe's ed., p. 258). 

(3) There is a double stage-direction at Y, vm, 34, as 

follows : — 

Exeunt fighting. Alarums. 
Enter fighting, and Madbeth daine. 

The second of these seems inconsistent with the 
direction at 1. 53, which reads: — 

Reenter Mojeduffe, trith Macbeth^ s head. 

(4) The jarring reference to Lady Macbeth at the close 

of the play (V, vm, 70). 
The objections made to the r6le of the drunken 
Porter do not seem to me to be valid. 

6. The relation of Macbeth to Middleton's play. The WUcih. 

(1) The songs referred to in III, v, and IV, i, are in 
The Witch. 


(2) A number of verbal oorrespondenoes between the 
two plays have been pointed oat. One of these 
concerns. III, v, 13, the line mentioned above 
under 4. (See Fumess' edition, p. 388 ff.) 

7. Rhyme-tags. 

(1) There is a larger number of these than in any other 

play of Shakespeare (though not in proportion to 
the number of the scenes). 

(2) Many of them are strikingly weak. 

8. Hecate speaks in 4-accent iambic lines. The weird sisters 

speak r^ularly in 4-accent trochaic lines. So do Puck, 
Oberon, and Titania in A Midsummer-NigkCs Dream, 
when they use 4-accent lines. 

9. Forman's testimony might seem to indicate that the play, 

as he saw it, b^an with I, iii, 38 (see Furness' edition, 
p. 384), or at least had very little before that. 
Scene in. Act IV, is much more' minutely elaborated than 
any other portion of the play. Professor Barrett Wendell 
even suggests that this scene is ^' the single remaining frag- 
ment of a more elaborate play than now remains, or else that it 
was either written in a momentary lapse of mood, or inserted 
later, when the emotional impulse which pervades Macbeth had 
subsided" ( William Shakaperey p. 303). 

Shakespeare was not such a careful play-wright that we can 
necessarily expect a play of his to be entirely free from diffi- 
culties and inconsistencies; but these are too numerous and 
important in the case of Macbeth to be attributed entirely to 
carelessness and chance. Two main theories are held concern- 
ing the composition of this drama. These may be expressed 
as follows : 

1. The play was written by Skakespeare as we have it, 
except the songs (which are only referred to), and possibly 
the speeches of Hecate. It was written in great haste, per- 
haps for some special occasion. This is, in general, the view 
of White. 


Probably the last editor of Macbeth is Mr. E. K. Chambers^ 
in the Arden ShcJcespecare. The passages which he believes to 
have been interpolated by a later hand are three : III^ v ; 
IV, I, 39-43 ; and IV, i, 125-132 (p. 164), 

2. The play has been much altered from the form in which 
Shakespeare wrote it. I specify two particular forms of this 
general theory : — 

(a). In the form in which we have it the play has been 
somewhat extensively interpolated, probably by Middleton. 
This is the view of Clark and Wright. 

(6). Fleay conjectures that the MS. of the play was burnt 
with the Globe Theatre in 1613, that the play was imper- 
fectly recovered from the actors, and that this outline sketch 
wa^ filled out by Middleton (see Fleay's article in Vol. vn of 

Although the point is not connected with my immediate 
purpose, I wish to call attention to the following passage : — 

" Before mj bodj 
I throw my warlike shield.'' 

V, vm, 32-33. 

Clark and Wright think that these words have been interpo- 
lated ; and Hudson marks them as not genuine in the Harvard 
Shakespeare. I have already expressed in these Publioaiiofis 
my opinion concerning the soundness of such a method of 
criticism.^ Many will gladly endorse the comment of Mr. 
Chambers : '^ Surely no critic can seriously persuade himself 
that he has a sense of style delicate enough to determine 
whether these words are Shakespeare's or not.'' ' 

IV. The Words op the Sleep- Wai^king Scene. 

The power of the sleep-walking scene in Macbeth is due 
primarily, it seems to me, to the impressive situation, rather 
than to the inherent fordbleness of the broken sentences which 

^VoL V, p. 264. ^Ardm Macbetk, p. 169. 


are spoken by the guilty queen. A strong drama puts before 
us vivid scenes from real life. But in real life itself^ men are 
continually masking and posing. Not only do we mask and 
pose to one another, we do it to ourselves, and that continually. 
In this powerful scene, however, more real than real life, the 
mask falls off, all disguises drop away, and that which con- 
fronts us is a naked soul. 

It is also true that the great dramatist has given especial 
potency to the words of this scene. The few and seemingly 
chance utterances of Lady Macbeth have an inspired adequacy. 
The phrases cut like a knife, — ^like the dagger that stabbed 
Duncan. Note the fitness of the simple words which come at 
the end of the second speech of the sleeping queen : 

** Tet who would have thought the old man to have had so much Uood in 

When Lady Macbeth first incited her husband to make 

away with Duncan, she willed the death of the aged king 

indeed, but not its shocking accessories. She thought not of 

them. When Macbeth comes from the murdered one, she 

urges him : 

" Gk> get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand." 

n, n, 46-7. 

But not yet does she appreciate the spectacle that the inner 

chamber has in store for her. She starts to carry back the 

daggers, saying, 

*< If he do bleed, 

m gild the faces of the grooms withal; 

For it must seem their guilt" 


With this thought If he do bleed in her mind, she enters the 
chamber, and views the startling sight which her eyes are to 
behold forever. 

The ordinary peace-loving man is as little prepared to appre- 
ciate what she saw as she was to see it. Such an one is unfa- 

218 AliBEBT H. TOIiMAK. 

miliar with the shedding of human bloody knows not how easily 
and abondantly it can flow. Even the harmless flesh-wounds 
received by German students in their duels quickly cover with 
blood the floor upon which they stand. And the woman's 
heart of Lady Macbeth was all unprepared to behold the 
streaming life-blood of the kindly old king^ pleading 

" trampet-tongaed, against 
The deep danmadon of his taking-off.'' 

The ghastly vision prints itself indelibly upon her brain; and 
all her womanly sensibilities receive a shock which only the 
long remorse of coming days and the restless torture of com- 
ing nights can adequately measure. 

But she is not the women to turn back now. She dips her 
hand in the old man's blood and smears the Aces of the sleep- 
ing grooms. The sight, the feeling of the warm blood upon 
her little hand, and the odor of it, are strange experiences to 
her. What if she should find herself unable to wash off the 
stain ? What if Heaven should doom her to carry the mute 
witness of guilt about with her forever ? At least it seems a 
terrible while to this " dearest chuck " playing a Fury's part 
before the blood is cleansed away. The dreadful memory of 
all this comes out in the troubled dream of the sleep-walker, 
in the frightened cry : 

" What, will these hands ne'er be clean?" 

Holmes, in the Autocrat of the Breakfast TabUj calls atten- 
tion to the intimate connection between the sense of smell and 
the memory. Most persons can testify that certain odors bring 
back the scenes of one's childhood with a vividness which is 
more intense than that caused by any other stimulus. It 
is largely the odors of the spring-time that bind together all 
the years of the past and the rapture of the present season. 
It is, in a great measure, these pungent odors that make 

''the soul's fresh youth with tender truth 
Still spring to the springing grass." 


Maurice Thompson sings : — 

"A breath from tropical borders, 
Jost a ripple, flowed into my room, 
And washed my face clean of its sadness, 
Blew my heart into bloom/' 

This subtle sense of smell can also summon up from the 
past that which is awful. Listen to the guilty queen : — 

" Here's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will not 
sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh I " 

After this night of horrors she will not dare again to face 
the kindly shadows that God intended for repose. She will 
give command that light be by her continually. 

Thus does Lady Macbeth once more live through, in rest- 
less dreaming, the murder of Duncan. Once more by sight 
and touch and smell has her sensitive spirit been wounded. 
Through hearing alone among the nobler senses has she 
received no shock. But hark I again that startling challenge 
comes through the darkness I 

" There's knocking at the gate : come, come, oome, give me your hand. 
What's done cannot be midone.— To bed, to bed, to bed I " 

Albert H. Tolman. 



In ED article^ entitled Nibdungenaage und Nibdungendich- 
iungefiy which appeared in the PreuasUche Jakrbuoher a little 
over a year ago (October, 1894)^ Dr. A. Schmidt^ after a 
summary of the entire Nibdungensage and a comparison of 
this Sage with the form it assumes in the Nibdrmgerdiedy 
makes the following statement : ^^ Though it would be mad- 
ness after Homer to reconstruct anew the Iliad and Odyssey in 
poetic form, aftier the medieval author it is really a religious 
duty of (jerman poets who have the interests of their nation 
at heart to recast into higher forms the imperfectly coined 
Nibdungen treasure." In these words the essayist expresses 
not merely a personal opinion, but echoes the sentiments of 
many other Grerman critics/ and above all of over forty authors 
who, with over fifty different productions in drama and epic 
poetry, have tried to recast into 'higher forms' the Nibdungen- 
sage as a whole or in part. This large number of attempts 
includes three or four dramatic sketches, but does not include 
the ' lower forms' of lyric and ballad poetry, or of prose narra- 
tive. After the clear and thorough discussion of Nibdungen 
dramas by Professor Carl Weitbrecht,^ it might seem unneces- 
sary to discuss this part of the general subject any ftirther, 
but there are certain aspects of this question which he has 
not touched upon which it is the purpose of this paper to 
consider; and, while there is complete agreement with the 
views advanced by Prof. Weitbrecht, yet the attempt will be 
made to show that his conclusions do not warrant the same 

1 Weitbrecht, Rope, Piper and others ; cf. Piper : Die Nibdungm, i. Theil 
(Korschner's DeuiKke NaHonalUtteratur. Bd. 6, Abth., n, p. 184). 

'Die Nibdungen im Modemen Drama. Eine AntrittsTorleBong (gehalttn 
den 6 Noy^ 1892, am Eidgen. Polytechnikam in Zurich). Zurioh, 1892. 



The question as to whether the treasure of the Nibdungen- 
sage has beeu^ or can be^ ^ recast into higher forms/ either of 
drama or of epic poetry, is an eminently practical one, aesthetic 
or dramaturgic theorizings can prove or establish nothing. 
The poetic value of the existing Nibelungen dramas cannot 
be determined in long philosophical discussions as to the pro- 
priety of using myths as a source of dramatical subjects, of 
the nature of ' dramatic guilt ' (Aristotle's afiapTui)^ of the 
theoretical differences between the drama and the epic, but in 
the case of each drama before us for criticism, we must simply 
ask, Has the poet in his play really mastered the difficulties 
inherent in the subject matter ; has he created a living tragedy^ 
one which, by its poetic beauty and dramatic power, carries 
away reader and spectator alike, and exacts the tribute of 
admiration from even those critics who, in their studies, would 
measure the beauties of living poetry by the canons of dead 
philosophical speculation ? And we have a right to demand 
more ; for, if we are to call any modem dramatic reproduction 
a ^higher form ' than the Ntbdungenlied^ it must rank as high 
at least in the domain of tragedy as the mediaeval Grerman 
poem does amongst the epics of the world's literature. Where 
the modern poet would rival the old epic in its own field and 
try to re-create the Sage or the Nibebmgenlied in epic form, he 
himself challenges ^ odious comparison,' and has no reason to 
complain, because he cannot pass off debased metal stamped 
with the stamp of the genuine gold, or beguile us into believ- 
ing that he is no longer a wren, because, forsooth, he has 
fluttered a little higher than the eagle, upon whose back he 
has been carried into the high heavens. 

These practical criteria simplify immensely the task before 
us. It seems an appalling labor to try to determine which of 
the forty poets has performed most successfully ' his religious 
duty to the German nation,' and which drama or epic of the 
fifty bodies forth the ' higher form ' of the Nibelungen treasure. 
But even German theorists have been able to agree upon the 
elimination of most of the forty authors and the most enthu- 


aiastic of Grerman critics^ with all their exaggerated pride in 
their national literature and their aesthetic magnifying-glasses, 
can find only four poets worthy of serious consideration^ — 
Greibel/ Hebbel' and Richard Wagner^ amongst the drama- 
tists ; and William Jordan^ who essayed the Nibdunge in two 
long epics. Nowhere does there appear even a reference to 
William Morris' Sigurd the Volsung^ in the essays of German 
writers^ but why they should utterly ignore so important a 
production is not easy to understand. For^ in poetic power 
and beauty^ both of conception and execution^ it ranks at least 
as high as any of the productions of the above named authors. 
Some of the ' modems ' would include also amongst the more 
important works based upon the Nibelu/ngenacye Ibsen's Chief" 
tains of Hdgeland^ which reveals a great deal of dramatic 
force and presents a thoroughly interesting modem realistic 
conception of the old hero-myth. Yet^ since it lacks poetic 
form and diction^ and makes no pretense to ' higher form/ it 
can hardly be ranked as a poetical production in a strict sense. 
Passing over for the present the epics of Jordan and Morris 
to apply the practical tests to the dramas of Greibel, Hebbel 
and Wagner, we still find that no very perplexing problems 
of critical acumen or literary discrimination present themselves 
to the impartial judge who possesses only a moderate amount 
of critical literary taste. The dramas of Greibel and Hebbel 

^ Bope, ▼. Math, Bulthaapt, Weitbrecht. 

'Emanuel Gkibel, Brunhiide: Eiru Tragodie am dar Nibdungm Sage, 
Stuttgart, 1857. 

' F. Hebbel, Die Nibdungen. TrauenpieL 8 Telle : I. Der gthomU SUg- 
fried; 2. Siegfried* Tod; 8. KrimhUde B(ushe, Hambarg, 1862. 

«B. Wagner, Der i2in^(2er^i6/ttii^efi: 1. Da»Bheingold; 2. DieWaikQre; 
8. Siegfried; 4. Die OoUerdammerung, Presented as a whole at Bayreath, 

^WUhelm Jordan, Die Nibelunge. 2 Theile: l^ Lied, Sigfiidnage. 
Frankfort, 1869; 2^ Lied, HUddnvnU Heimkehr. Frankfort, 1875. 

* Wm. Morris, The Story cf Sigurd the VoUung ondtheFcM of the Nibhinge. 
London, 1876. 

* Henrik Ibeen, Harmandene paa Helgdand. Christiania, 1858. G^man : 
DieNordieeheHarrfahrL Beclam 2688. 


may be a promiDent feature and take up much space in the his- 
tories of Grerman literature and in critical essays on the Grerman 
drama^ but they constitute no important part of the repertoires 
of the Grerman stage and seem to occupy but a very small place 
in the favor of the German theatre-going public.^ These plays 
are rarely presented, whilst the classic plays of Groethe, Schiller, 
Lessing, Kleist, yes even of Grillparzer and Ludwig, are being 
played all the time and in every city of importance. This state 
of affairs proves only one of two things. Either the Grermans 
are, and will remain, hopelessly unappreciative of the ^higher' 
form of the Lied as presented by these authors, or else (and 
who could fail to recognize the fact?) the iK>ets have failed in 
their attempts. As for the reading public the facts are still 
more striking.' The NibelungerUied, in the original and in a 

^ It was impossible for the writer to get approximately accurate informa- 
tion of the repertoires of the theatres in Berlin and Munich, but in the two 
years from 1887 to 1889, though following carefully the plays given in these 
two capitals, he could find no announcement of the performance of either. 
Hebbel's Nibdungen was restaged and presented last winter at Berlin, the 
first time for eight years at least, and probably for a longer period. Dur- 
ing the last eight years the writer has chanced upon only one other notice 
of the performance of these plays — GeibePs in New York, HebbePs once 
in Frankfurt, and once in Hannover. Undoubtedly they are presented 
oftener, but, if very often, one would expect to see more frequent notices of 
their production. In Vienna, HebbePs home during the last years of his 
life, his trilogy is one of the stock plays of the Burgthealer; in fact Prolas, 
one of HebbePs most enthusiastic admirers (in his OeickichU des Neueren 
DramaSf vi, 251), claims that this theatre is the only place where it can be 
properly performed — a rather dubious compliment in view of the excellent 
productions of the German classic dramas and Shakespeare in the compara- 
tively small cities of Germany. 

' Simrock's translation is one of some thirty German translations of the 
NibdimgerUied into modem German. It reached its tenth edition in 1856, 
GeibePs BrunhUd appearing in 1857 ; Simrock in 1889 was in its forty-ninth 
edition, Geibel in 1890 in its fifth. Simrock's translation passed through 
thirty-five editions while HebbePs Nibdungen was passing through three. 
The large number of editions of the original text and the repeated reprints 
of these (e. g, lAchmann's has been reprinted eleven times, Zamcke's six) 
prove still more the popularity of the Nibelungenlied amongst the German 
people. The Germans cannot, at any rate, be called indifferent to their 
great poetic treasures. 


large number of translations^ has passed through, and is still 
passing through edition after edition, while Greibel's BrwnhUdj 
the earlier of the two dramas, is now only in its fifth, Hebbel's 
Nibelungen in its third edition. It is true, beyond all doubt, 
that ^in literature excellence cannot be counted by the num- 
bering of heads,' yet when one considers the strong patriotic 
enthusiasm of the Grermans for their literature, their exagger- 
ated admiration of their native poets, the constant interest kept 
alive by the various literary cliques and cults, such bare, 
prosaic &ct8 do mean something, and have decided weight in 
estimating the literary and dramatic value of the dramas under 

The general attitude of Grerman critics is decidedly in fisivor 
of Hebbel's Nibelungen, as compared with the BrwnhUd of 
Geibel, though they allow the greater poetic beauties of the 
latter. But let any unbiased reader weigh the testimony of 
Pr5lss,' Bulthaupt,' Gottfichall,' or even of Hebbel himself in 
his introduction to the play, and judge whether they establish 
their claims and make clear that even Hebbel has really cre- 
ated a drama which will take a place and live on with the 
greatest dramas of Grerman literature; whether his drama occu- 
pies anywhere near the proud position which the Lied claims 
for itself in the literary productions of Germany. Their con- 
demnatory criticism of such defects as cannot be defended, 
their apology for the other weak points in the drama, the 
excessive warmth and unnecessary enthusiasm in their praise 
of its good features prove only too clearly how fiur below a 
successful and truly great drama they feel it to be. Or 
rather let the reader go to the plays themselves, read them 
and re-read them, if necessary, and decide for himself whether 
they approximate in the least to the simple grandeur, the 

^ Robert ProlsB, QttchichU dea Neuerm Dramoi, vi, 829. 

'Heinrich Bulthaapt, Dramaturgie dea SchauapiiU, 8id edition. 1891, 
in, p. 159 f. 

'K. V. Oottschall, Die DeiUaeKe NatumaUitteraiur dea 19^ JahrhunderU. 
1891, m, 500. 


power and the rugged beauty of the Nibebmgenliedj with all 
its imperfections. He can reach only one decision ; ^ notwith- 
standing the great ingenuity of dramatic structure, the occa- 
sionally beautiful and powerful passages, both dramas fall £sir 
below their source in poetic value and beauty. And as for 
Wagner (whose trilogy, to receive any consideration in this 
connection, must be judged as a drama pure and simple, 
entirely apart from the music) Weitbrecht's final verdict* 
seems thoroughly sound and the only correct one : " Wagner 
deserves great credit for his dramatic conception of the sub- 
ject, but he was not enough of a poet not to fall short of his 
conception in the actual poetical execution." And with Weit- 
brecht we must reach the final conclusion that the Ntbdungen- 
sage is still waiting for the coming of the poet who will give 
it its definitive form.' R5pe^ has called the Sage a Brunhild 
waiting for a delivering Siegfrid ; a beautiful metaphor and 
truer than appears on the surface, for all the weakling wooers 
in their attempts to subdue and win her met only with defeat 
and disgrace. 

Why have the German poets failed ? It is not the main 
purpose in this paper to discuss the peculiar inherent difficul- 
ties in the Lied and Sage which offer such obstacles to their 
successful dramatization, but simply to call attention to and 
emphasize those already pointed out in former discussions of 
this general subject, and then to proceed to the treatment 
of one aspect of this question which has not been touched 
upon before by any writer, and yet would seem to be of the 
highest importance. Fr. Theodor Vischer, in a short essay, 
Vorachlag zu einer Oper,^ was the first to discern and state 
clearly the first great practical difficulty in using the charac- 
ters and motives of the Sage and Lied for a drama. '^ Endow 
these men of iron, these Titan-women with the eloquence 

» Cf. Weitbrecht. ■ Weitbrecht, p. 86. * Weitbrecht, p. 87. 

^ Rope, Die Modemen Nibdungendiehlungen. Hambarfi^, 1869. 
^Kriluehe Qangt, ii, 869. Tubingen, 1844. Gf. also Prejtag : Die TeeknUc 
des Dramas (seventh edition, 1894), pp. 40 ; 248 and 244. 


which the drama demaDds, with the sophistry of passion, with 
self-introepectioD; with the capacity to analyze their emotions, 
to justify, to doubt them, which qualities are absolutely essen- 
tial to tragic characters, and they have lost their identity; 
their grandeur is to such an extent inseparable from their taci- 
turnity, their self-centred depth of character which finds no 
expression in words, their ruggedness, that they will cease to 
be what they are, and yet cannot be changed to something 
else which might please or deeply affect us.'' Every Nibelun- 
gen drama, written before or since, has confirmed abundantly 
the truth of every word of this statement. Raupach's ^ Nibe- 
Iwngen Hart shows fluency and facility, but absolutely no depth. 
In Geibel we are being oflended continually by the weak senti- 
mental and lyrical effusions of Siegfiried and Chriemhild, by 
their thoroughly modem moral and philosophical speeches and 
reflexions, beautiful in themselves, but all out of keeping with 
the background and the characters of the drama. Hebbel has 
more nearly approached the ruggedness of the original, but 
there are only too frequent discordant notes of modern senti- 
ment and thought, and the whole is marred by the mysticism 
and symbolism, unclear and confusing, even to the author him- 
self, which pervade the entire drama and detract so much from 
the naturalness and effective simplicity of the characters and 
the plot' And Wagner's ethical and philosophical views 
incorporated in his characters, in influencing their actions and 
dialogue, weaken noticeably the direct and powerful impres- 
sion made upon the spectator by the simple greatness and 
grand conception of his characters. The NibehmgerUied may 
^ show no trace of creative faculty, either in unity of purpose 
or style, the proper characteristics of literature ; ' it may ^ not 

' £. Rftapach, Der Nibelungen Hort, Hamburg, 1834. It was a very popu- 
lar stage drama at the time of its appearance and remained in the repertoire 
of the BurgtheaUr in Vienna till 1867. Gf. AUffem, Zeitung, Beilage 227, 228, 
Sept. 29 and 30, 1891. 

' Cf. Rope, Bulthaupt and others ; also R. v. Muth, EinUUung in dot Nibe- 
lungenlUd, 1877. p. 419 ff. 


have the higher charm of art/ but it is a great poem never- 
thelessy and DotwithstandiDg the severe criticisms of Lowell.^ 
And it is a great poem because of its grand simplicity ; its 
characters are great poetic characters because so one sided; 
its conflicts so overwhelmingly tragic because they are the 
conflicts of elemental passions. If a poet weaken any one of 
these features, he ruins the very essence of the beauty and 
power of the original. 

Furthermore some critics assert that Siegfried is not a 
'tragic' character as defined by Aristotle in his Poetics (Chap. 
XIII, 4). Technically such an objection is unfounded and 
practically the modern drama does allow the introduction of 
such guiltless characters — Cordelia, Desdemona, King Duncan 
and Thekla in WcUlenatein. And what are Antigone and 
Cassandra in Agamemnon of the ancient drama but ' guilt- 
less' characters?* In its essence, however, the objection is 
well-grounded, though the root of the trouble lies deeper. It 
lies in the fascination which the glorious character, of Si^- 
fried exercises over poet and public alike. It leads the poet 
to endow him with all the qualities of beauty, bravery and 
virtue which we admire in a man, and thus, unintentionally 
perhaps, to make him the dominating hero, the protagonist, 
of the first half of the tragedy, throwing out of all balance 
and perverting the entire plot. The spectators also are carried 
away by the irresistible charm of the hero, which the poet 
furthermore sets forth in his most glowing colors, that Si^- 
fried's death will seem to them either an unwarranted brutal 
murder, and therefore abhorrent; or else, a glorious trans- 
figuration and consequently untragic. The modern poet in 
dramatizing the Nibehmgenaage has the choice of following 
either the Norse or the German version, but in either form 
Siegfried is not and ought not to be made the chief hero of 

^ In his essay on Dante. 

* Gf. Gilnther, OrundxOffe der JhtgiBchen KwuL Berlin, 1886, pp. 106, 449, 
460. Batcher, AristotUa Theory of Poetry and Fine Art, Ac London, 1896^ 
p. 287. 


the resulting drama* In the old northern story the protago- 
nist is undeniably Brunhild. Onoe an immortal war-maid, 
but offending against the will of the Godfiither, because of 
human weakness, and therefore d^raded to mortality, thouf^ 
with the promise of the love of the bravest and best of men, 
she is betrayed, bartered away by her own hero for tl^e love 
of another woman. In revenge she aooomplishes the death of 
the perjured, though guiltless, lover. But his death is her's 
also, and the tragedy ends with the beautiful, all-atoning union 
in death of these two well-mated &vorites of the gods, whom 
the pitiless Norns had sundered in life. In this version of the 
plot Si^fried is only a secondary character ; like Desdemona 
in Shakspeare's Othello, he falls a victim to the conspiring 
evil powers of fiite and human intrigue. To attempt to make 
him the chief hero is to miss absolutely the tragic essence of 
the story and to expose the drama to serious dangers of struc- 
ture, of which later.^ Into this error Geibel fell. In opera 
Wagner could, without any serious risk, make Si^ried's 
character as prominent as he did ; the weakness in his drama 
is due to other causes. 

If, on the other hand, the dramatist adopts the version 
in the Nibdungenlied, he will be confronted with the same 
embarrassing difficulty, for here the leading characters are 
Chriemhild and Hagen, and the conflict between these two 
titanic embodiments of loyalty is the theme of the poem. 
The more one studies the Lied, the more prominently this &ct 
stands out, the more one appreciates the greater power and 
rugged grandeur of the second part of the epic, when these 
two Titans close for the final conflict. Si^fried's death is 
really only an episode; his part a subordinate one. The 
poetic instinct of the early German nations in their creation 
of the earliest songs underlying their national epic clearly 
recognized this fact. It may have been the wandering glee- 
men, when they attempted to put into one connected cycle the 
scattered independent songs sung among the people; or possi- 

1 Cf. Gonther, p. 107 f. ; also Batcher, pp. 288» 289, 308^ 809. 


bly the redactor of the NibdungerUiedf when he fixed its present 
form, who tried to give the various episodes their due propor- 
tion in the whole. Since, in the German Sage, ChriemhUd 
appeared as the instigator and prime-mover in the destruction 
of the Burgundians at Etzel's court, in order to avenge the 
treacherous death of her husband, the old Norse Sdge de- 
manded an artistic reconstruction. If Chriemhild was to be 
the central figure, Brunhild must give way to her and be thrast 
into the background ; the story of her early life, her rescue and 
betrayal by Si^fried must be reduced to a minimum, in order 
to palliate the wrong Si^fried had done her. Thus, by making 
his death a more unwarrantable, heinous crime, the ferocity 
and ruthlessness of Chriemhild's vengeance is more justified 
and is poetically more artistic. Yet so powerful was the beauti- 
ful myth, so deeply rooted in popular fancy was the old tale of 
the early loves of Brunhild and Si^fried, that it could not 
be entirely eradicated, it blossomed through in the new ver- 
sion, though stunted and robbed of all its former beauty and 
loveliness. In the Lied, as we have it to-day, it is an unclear, 
disturbing element ; it haunts us like a troublesome memory, 
which we cannot banish and yet the real nature of which we 
cannot fathom. As in the dramatization of the Norse Sage, 
the attempt to make Si^fried the protagonist of the drama- 
tized Lied leads to the same dramatic &ults. Either his death 
will seem untragic, or the attempt to attach to him ^ tragic 
guilt,' will prove offensive or ridiculous when presented upon 
the stage. 

Again, what is the dramatic adapter of the Lied to do with 
Brunhild after Siegfried's death? Like Si^ried she has 
served her poetic purpose, but unlike Si^fried, death has not 
taken her out of the poet's way. The epic simply drops her, 
without any further concern; Hebbel treats her even more 
shabbily, particularly in view of all the dramatic show and 
splendor of her introduction; Wilbrandt^ treats her as does 
Hebbel ; Baupach makes her drown herself to avoid capture 

^ AdoU Wdhnndt, KrimkOd. Wien, 1877. 


and diagraoe amongst the Huns. Waldmuller ^ makes Provi- 
dence kindly send down a destructive bolt of lightning for 
her and his own special benefit. In every case her fate is 
onsatisfactory from a poetical standpoint and leaves an inar- 
tistic blemish in the whole. 

If, notwithstanding these risks, the poet deliberately decides 
to grapple boldly with this danger, to make Si^fried his lead- 
ing hero, to endow him with all the manly virtues, and yet 
with guilt enough to dramatically justify his tragic ending, he 
will come upon a practical difficulty, which has proved the 
great stumbling block of every one of his predecessors in the 
same field, the invention of a dramatic episode which will not 
offend in its presentation on the stage, and yet make perfectly 
dear to the spectator Si^fried's crime against Brunhild. In 
the opera, where the music removes the whole action into the 
domain of feeling and sentiment, and, therefore, of mjrstery and 
transcendentalism, the drink of forgetfiilness is a thoroughly 
satisfactory motive even on the stage. In the drama such a 
device is not permissible when so much of the sequel depends 
upon it. Consequently the dramatizers of the Nibdungen are 
obliged to recast that part of the plot dealing with the early 
love of Brunhild and Si^fried, and, for the exciting cause of 
the former's desire for vengeance and the latter's death, to 
resort to the same incident (or one based upon it) which is 
found in the German epic, the fateful subjugation of Brunhild 
in the bridal chamber, and the theft of her girdle and ring. 
While this episode told with such ndxoM in the epic does not 
offend, on the stage it will always be unsatisfactory and offen- 
sive. The feeble substitutions of Wilbrandt, Hebbel and 
Waldmuller are really more objectionable Nor, judged by 
the morals of the times, the ruggedness, yes coarseness of 
diaracter in the old German heroes, does it seem at all incon- 
sistent with Si^fried's nobility of character to give his wife 
the girdle and ring taken in such a struggle, for no other 
reason than ' durch sinen h6hen muot' * But in none of the 

1 BoU. Waldmuller, BnnMUL Dreaden, 186S. Bedam, 511. 
* I Afihmimi, Dtr Nibehmge NoA^ g282. 


dramas, based upon the epic, has this episode been at all satis- 
factorily treated. The whole incident of Brunhild's betrayal 
seems by its nature destined ever to remain a stone of stumb- 
ling to the would-be author of a Nibelungen drama. And 
yet it cannot be omitted; it is too important a link in the 
chain of dramatic sequence.^ 

Finally, according to the consensus of all critics, no one of 
the modern poets has been able to compress successfully into 
one drama, or even into a connected series of dramas, the 
immense mass of subject-matter contained in the Sage^ nor to 
shake off entirely the restricting fetters of the old epic form. 
In discussing Greek tragedy, though the epic elements they 
retained were considerable, and the long messengers' recitals 
were even considered artistic, Aristotle nevertheless keeps 
cautioning constantly agaiast the dangers of the epic structure 
of the drama. In one passage he gives a piece of information 
which the Nibelungen dramatizer would do well to ponder 
over. He says (xviii, 5) : " The poets who have dramatized 
the whole story of the Fall of Troy, instead of selecting por- 
tions, like Euripides, or who, unlike Aeschylus, have taken 
the whole tale of Niobe, either fail utterly or figure badly on 
the stage." It is disturbing, almost painful, to see in the best 
of the Nibelungen dramas the desperate efforts of their authors 
to force into dramatic form either undramatic elements, or 
such episodes of the poem as are not presentable on the stage.* 
Only too frequent are the long epic narratives, in the form of 
dialogue to be sure, but a dialogue in which one of the characters 
is degraded to a mere interlocutor. Not less unfirequent is the 
transparent stage device of making some actor on the stage 
describe to the others on the stage and to the spectator some 
event taking place behind the scenes, which would be practi- 
cally impossible or absurd upon the stage. All dramatists, 
great and lesser, are obliged to resort to such transparent, 
mechanical devices, but only when sparingly used are they 

^ Cf. Weitbrecht, pp. 16, 17. Freytag, 2Mniik, p. 247. 
'Cf. Gunther, p. 406. 



effective ; frequently employed, they destroy all necessary illu- 
sion and kill all the dramatic interest of the spectator. 

And yet, though these difficulties have proved serious obsta- 
cles to the successful dramatization of the Nibdungenlied and 
Sagej successful being used here in the highest sense, in them- 
selves they are not insurmountable, indeed every one of them 
has been successfully solved by the one or the other of the 
authors, though no one has solved them all. There is, how- 
ever, one great difficulty, to which no one before has called 
attention, but which seems to be by far the most serious, which 
affects all the others, meets the reconstructing poet at every 
step and makes it as great an act of madness to try to ^ recast 
the Nibdungenlied and Sage into a higher form,' as it would 
be to attempt the same thing with the Iliad or the Odyaaey. 
A consideration of this difficulty is interesting and necessary 
not only in this discussion concerning modern Nibelungen 
poetry, but seems also to have a general literary interest, which 
makes a detailed treatment well worth the while. 

Forty authors, some of them poets of considerable poetic 
and dramatic power, have felt called by the Muse, but none 
has been chosen. They have reconstructed and given new 
shape to the old mythical stories and epics, but only in * figures 
of water and sand,' as Hebbel puts it. And why have they 
failed? What is the great weakness, the pervading lack of 
all the modem creations? The greatest defect of all, in a 
work of poetry, the lack of poetic inspiration, of creative 
imagination, of artistic invention. The creative phantasy, 
the ' fine frenzy ' of the poet is hemmed and restricted in its 
attempted flight, the realm of imagination is not clear before 
it, its poetic images already ' have a local habitation and a 
name.' There is nothing left for the poet to create, his charac- 
ters have all received definite shape, yes, the very thoughts in 
their minds, the words on their lips, and all the details of his 
plot are already constructed and forced upon him. The poet 
can only patch and fit together in dramatic form. He is no 
longer a poet, but simply a dramatizer, a higher kind of dra- 
matic adapter. The materials of the Nibdungenlied and Sage 


had for generations been in the workshop of the poetic phan- 
tasy of the Germanic tribes and had been shaped in their 
main outlines even before the time of the wandering gleemen. 
They, in their turn, wrought and fashioned until characters 
and incidents took even more individual forms and relations. 
Finally came the poet (or redactor ^ if you will) of the Nibelun~ 
gerdied itself^ who gathered all the poetic productions of his 
predecessors and composed (or put together) the Lied in its 
present form — with many imperfections, it may be, but in 
its conception, its outlines, its simple directness, one of the 
great poems of the world's literature. What then is left for 
the imagination of the modern poet? All distinctly poetic 
work has been done in the past ; he can combine anew possi- 
bly, but the result will never be a work of poetry in the 
highest sense, an organic whole, the product of free poetic 
creation. Hebbel, in the epilogue of IHe Nibehmgeny says of 
his own work : ^^ The task consisted only in this, to unite into 
a dramatic chain the episodes of the tragedy and to give them 
poetic life wherever it was necessary." He has performed his 
task and done it well, but that is all ; the result, however, is not 
a great drama, but an excellent adaptation, with some poetic 
power and containing some passages of distinct poetic beauty. 
This very form of poetic invention Lessing touches upon in 
the Laolcoon (Chap. xi). After discussing the definition of 
' poetic invention as applied to the plastic arts,' he proceeds to 
say : ^^ It is invention, but not invention of the whole, but 
rather of individual parts and of their mutual relations. It 
is invention of that inferior kind, such as Horace recommended 
to his tragic poet : 

Rectius Iliajcum^ ea/rmen dedueia in actus 
Quam si prqfents^ ignota indicia primw,* ^ 

^Ars Poetica, vv, 128-130. Byron (Hints from Horace^ vv. 183 £) para- 
phrases thus : 

"Tis hard to venture where our betters fail 
Or lend fresh interest to a twice told tale. 
And yet 'tis perchance wiser to prefer 
A hackneyed plot, than to choose a new and err.' 


Beoommendedy I say, but did not command. Recommended 
as being easier, more convenient, more profitable, bat did not 
command as being better and nobler in itself/' If Lessing, 
whose poetry has always been criticized chiefly because it 
seems the product of the intellect rather than of fancy, whose 
teehniquey particularly in the drama, is almost above criticism, 
speaks so disparagingly of this form of poetic invention, what 
shall we of to-day, who put phantasy and imagination almost 
at the very top of poetic qualities, say to the poet who con- 
templates the dramatization of the old German epic ? ^ 

But has not the poet the right, which really amounts to an 
obligation, to change the original, to treat his details with 
absolute poetic license, and thus to give free range to his 
imagination and phantasy? Read Waldmuller's Brtmhildj or 
plod through extravagant absurdities of Jordan's epic, due to 
their attempts to free themselves from the influence of their 
sources and to give free rein to their poetic fancy, and you 
will be able to appreciate, as in no other way, to what extremes 
of insipidity and grotesqueness, such license is likely to lead. 
There is, however, an entirely difierent aspect of the matter to 
be considered. The Nihdwngefnliedy for over a century, has 
been a highly valued, living possession of the cultured world, 
being continually brought before it in the original, in transla- 
tions, in prose paraphrases, in works of art, in the figurative 

^ This line of argument applies with equal truth to the dramatisation of 
the modem noveL* Such attempts almost never produce real dramas for 
the very same reasons ; the resulting plays are dialogised stories^ generallj 
poorer than their sources and seldom rising above the commonplace. As 
the dramatic critic, in a recent number of the OrUk (April 20, '96), said 
apropos of the dramatisation of 2Vt26y, ' nobody has ever sacceeded or is 
IDcely to succeed in really dramatising a noveL' This is as true of a great 
epic, as of the noveL Of course, the novels from which Shakspeare obtained 
his plots are so different from the modem novel that they disprove nothing 
above stated (cf. Freytag, Tecknik, p. 299). 

*Sinoe writing thia note the attention of the writer has been osUed to an enay by 
Brander Matthews, entitled The DramaHMoUon qf Ihvei$ in hia Skidiet qf the Stage (New 
York, HarpezB, 1894). nda enay dlBcaaeei this aabsleot in detail and, with the knowl- 
edge of a TnoofpalMied aathority, eatahUahes condaiiTely the tmth of the abore condailona. 


language of poetry, history and politics.^ Its story and its 
characters are so well known that almost the slightest change 
in the original will immediately excite notice. And, with the 
strong pragmatic and realistic make-up of our minds^ we either 
mentally protest at such a change, or else cannot give ourselves 
up to the full enjojrment of the poetry, while our mind is 
distracted with questions of fact. The theorist may declaim 
against such philistinism and plead the sovereign rights of 
poetic freedom, but he cannot do away with the fact. The 
ordinary spectators or readers resent any violation of what is 
to them an actuality and the cultured will find themselves in 
a constant state of indignant protest against the irreverential 
disregard of what is to them an almost sacred possession, the 
hallowed traditions and creations of the poetry of the past.* 

^And to these all moBt be added the tremendous popularity and famili- 
arity of Wagner's operas, which, as dramas pare and simple, fall far 
short of being a worthy re-creation of the old saga, but yet in which the 
composer, in the realm of another and that too of the preeminently modem 
art, music, has given the highest and worthiest modem expression to the 
pervading spirit, sentiment and passion of the old Germanic SiegfiriediOffe, 
It might be well to bear in mind also, that, of the operas constituting the 
Nibdungen tetralogy, the one generally considered the greatest and most 
effective, both musically and dramatically, is Die Wcdkwref the materials for 
which Wagner found in the crudest state. 

'A part of this paper was first read before the Modem Language Club of 
Yale University. After its reading Dr. Corwin called the attention of the 
writer to the subjoined passage in Knno Fischer*s Chethea Fauat, which is 
such a direct and complete confirmation of the position above asserted, that 
a full quotation of the passage in question hardly needs an apology. The 
quotation follows Wolcott's translation (Manchester, Iowa, 1895), p. 8. 

''There are two quite opposite ways in which it is possible to make a 
mistake in the choice of materials for poems, and thus produce works which 
have no natural relation to the people for whom they are intended. This 
is the case when materials are taken which have no previous history in the 
minds of men of the age; which have not been handed down, felt and 
lived. . . . 

'*The other and opposite way is followed when materials are chosen, 
which by no means lack a previous history in the hearts of men, which 
are, in fact, most amply possessed of this essential— subjects which for cen- 
turies have occupied the soul and imagination of each succeeding genera- 


The analogy between Nibelungen dramas and historical 
dramas is a very striking one in many respects^ but particu- 
larly in the following features, namely, the restriction of 
poetic invention in following the sources too closely ; the 
great danger at the present day of digressing from these 
sources ; and the difficulty in the dramatic representation of 

tion ; bnt which have acquired such an authentic, familiar and inviolable 
form that we cannot wean oarselves from it, nor do we care to do so ; form 
and matter have become so inseparable that the latter cannot be detached 
and transformed in the poet's workshop. A subject which has a definite and 
csUMtMhed form famiUar to the wAote world should not he remodeled and treated 
with caprice by the poeL No poet can vie with the Bible in the representa- 
tion of biblical subjects.* 

"Klopstock, when he set his hand to the composition of The Messiah 
made one of the most notable and most instructive mistakes of this sort in 
the history of our literature. Yet Klopstock was a true poet, and the spirit 
of the time was most favorable to his work. 

" With Goethe's Faust it is quite different. Here the materials had 
become familiar to the people through association, but were, at the same 
time, in a very rude form (in the original : ungestaUet und roh) as yeL The 
grand features were, it is true, here and there discernible, but thej lay 
buried in the raw maierial^ being by this restrained as though in a chrysalis." 

The following remarks by Andrew Lang in his Introductory Essay to Le 
Morte U Arthur, vol. in of Sommer's edition (London, 1891), are also to 
the point. In the beginning of the essay he speaks of the familiarity of 
Malory's Morte U Arthur to the English people and of its great popularity. 
Later, in speaking of Tennyson's Idylls of the Exng^ he says the following : 

'*The IdyUs, on the other side, have a purpose, a purpose which the 
ancient romance unavoidably suggests, but which is not of a piece with 
the legend. New wine is put into old bottles. It may be doubted whether 
a poet is weU advised when he deliberately treats the theme of another age in the 
spirit of to-day, ... Or is this feeling (t. e., of the inconsistency of modem 
versions of romance) only part of our haunting arehcDologioal pedantry which, 
content with the heroes in the garb of their day, is vexed to find them familiar 
with our own involved speech, and more involved thought f" — Pp. zxii, xxui. 
''Admirable as his (Tennyson's) words are for wisdom and music, and 
imperishable in our memories, the voice is not the voice of the Arthur whom we 
know" (p. xxiii). 

* Milton's Paradise Loii ia the exoeption whicb proves the mle. For, It is genenllj 
oonoeded, that those parts of that epic show the greatest poetic power and beautj which 
•re not based upon the biblical narrative, as the whole conception of Satan and his hoet 
with their oouhcilB and their machinations, but have been derived from Biblical ' hints, 
to which he gave such marvelous expansion.' 


well-known and popular historical heroes. Lessing, in the 
Hamburgsche Dramaturgie (chapters 23, 24, 31, 33, 34), insists 
most strongly upon the right of poetic license in dealing with 
the facts of history in the drama, though insisting equally 
vigorously upon a rigid adherence to the characters of the 
historical personages represented. Lessing's views here, as 
always, are thoroughly sound in the main, but are somewhat 
dogmatic and too sweeping ; furthermore, they have been de- 
cidedly modified, both by the development of art and litera- 
ture, and by the onward march of civilization.^ However, we 
naay deplore the fact, the Nineteenth century is scientific and 
realistic to the last degree, and demands these same qualities 
of its stage and drama. And so, while Freytag's Technik des 
Dramas does not compare in keenness of judgment, breadth 
and depth of thought, and range of critical power with the 
Dramaturgie^ while it may be a trifle mechanical, smack of 
Philistinism and lack the highest and most delicate literary 
appreciation, yet it is thoroughly representative of the Nine- 
teenth Century views and represents the sound sense of the 
large body of the best dramatic critics of to-day. Freytag 
rejects the Nibelungenlied entirely as a source of dramatic 
subjects, finds the Middle Ages particularly unsuitable for 
dramatic treatment' and, in the following quotations, seems to 
me to point out the great obstacles and difficulties which the 
poet meets when he undertakes to dramatize history. And, 
as a mere source of dramatic material, the Nibelungenlied and 
Sage are as real to both poet and public as any historical nar- 
rative, its episodes and its persons are as actual as though they 
had really occurred and lived in the past centuries ; in point 
of fact, they probably have a stronger hold on the mind and 
memory than the facts of pragmatic history. Substituting 
then Nibdungensage for the word * history' where it occurs, 
and making the other slight changes necessary, Freytag's 
following words of advice ought to be well pondered and 

^Cf. Erich Schmidt, Letting, n, 121. 

'Freytag, p. 247 f.; cf. also Vischer, Aetlhetik^Wol. m, pp. 1421, 1422. 


heeded by every aspiring poet who feels called to put another 
Nibelungen drama into the world. He says (p. 239) : '^ It is 
a matter of coarse that the poet will conserve faithfully the 
traditions of history where they serve his purpose and where 
they do not stand iu his way. For our times, so advanced in 
the knowledge of history and former social conditions, keep a 
watchful eye upon the historical training of their dramatists. 
The young poet should take care not to give his heroes too 
little of their times, nor too much that is modem and inappro- 
priate, and that modem sentiment in the characters should not 
seem to the cultured spectator contrary to the limitations and 
peculiarities of the soul-life of that olden time.'' 

In treating of the changes every poet is constrained to make 
in the historical characters of any period, he gives the follow- 
ing warning to the dramatist (p. 256) : 

** The poet will ask himself whether the changes which he 
is obliged to make in every character of the past will not 
possibly become so great, that every resemblance of his pic- 
ture to the historical period will disappear, and whether the 
ineradicable presuppositions of the plot have not become 
incompatible with a free treatment of it." Again (p. 37), 
'^ For as faith b^ins where knowledge ends, so poetry b^ins 
where history stops. Whatever history narrates ought to be 
to the poet only the frame into which he paints his brilliant 
colors, the most secret revelation of human nature ; how can 
room and inward freedom be left to him if he consumes his 
best power in the presentation of a series of historical events." 
After an un&vorable criticism of Shakspere's Henry VIIL, 
because of its too exact portrayal of the king, he reaches this 
conclusion (p. 238) : ^* For similar reasons, it is a very diffi- 
cult matter to introduce historical characters whose portrait 
has become popular, as that of Luther or Frederick the Great." 
Again on the same point (p. 299) : ^' Furthermore, the con- 
scientious poet in dealing with the not very numerous historical 
heroes who still live on in the memory of the people will dis- 
cover new difficulties, which will restrict the freshness of his 


creative powers/* And similarly (p. 62) : "The characters of 
Shakspere, Groethe^ Schiller are even worse off in the stage 
than in the novel or romance. All the worse, the more inti- 
mately their lives are known/* Bearing these precepts in 
mind and searching the Nibelungen dramas, it would not be 
a hard task to find illustration upon illustration of mistakes 
and blemishes, which resulted from not heeding the sound 
advice contained in the above cited words of warning/ It 

^It is interesting to note that Shakspere's greatest dramas are not his 
chronicle histories, bat those drawn from the simple, erode novels and 
tales, which he could shape with anrestricted poetic license (cf. Frejtag, 
p. «S8). Of his histories those are generally considered weakest and poorest 
in which he followed his historical soarces most closelj, e, ^., Henry VI. 
and Henry VIIL; those are regarded as his best in which he gave freest 
play to his creative imagination, e. g^ Henry IV., Parts 1 and 2. As Ten 
Brink said (LeelweB on Shakgpere, New York, 1895, pp. 168, 159): '<In 
reality politics and patriotism — not aesthetics alone— filled a very impor- 
tant part in the historical dramas of that time, and plays of this kind 
cannot be jadged from the point of view of strict dramatic theory. The 
necessity of paying altogether unusual regard to the underlying story, the 
refractory character of that story, the abundance of facts and figures, 
the multitude of inevitable premises — all this does not, in many ways^ 
allow the poet that symmetrical working out and transparent combination 
of motives, that intensifying of characteristics: above all, that concentra- 
tion of dramatic interest, which theory justly demands of the drama" (cf. 
also Alois Brandl, Shakapere, Berlin, 1894, pp. 59 ff., 212 ff. ; Giinther, pp. 
348, 349 ; Barrett Wendell, Willican Sha/^pere, New York, 1894, pp. 59, 
212). Apparent exceptions are the three great Roman tragedies, JtUius 
OoBsar, CoriolanuSf Antony and Cleopatra, It would not be begging the ques- 
tion, nor an evasion of the point at issue, to say simply in regard to these, 
that everything is possible to the supreme genius, such as Shakspere was. 
But that is not at all necessary. It is to be urged in explanation of these 
seeming exceptions, that the period of their composition was particularly 
favorable for the creation of the first two, as Juliua Ooesar may be but the 
poetic public expression of the national feeling of that period, and OoriokmuB 
the reflection of a great contemporaneous political event (Brandl, pp. 148, 
149; 167, 168). While Cleopatra in herself is a most grateful theme for 
dramatic treatment, so that 'she has furnished the subject of two Latin, 
sixteen French, six English, and at least four Italian tragedies' (Holfe, 
Antony and Cleopaira^ Introduction, p. 22, from Mrs. Jameson's CKaraeterii- 
lica of Women). Then it might be said, that the history of Bome is a source 
unusually rich in tragic conflicts, eminently adapted for dramatic represen- 
tation, as Vischer claims {Aetthdikf Vol. m, pp. 1421, 1422). But, entirely 


would be most wholesome for the aspiring dramatist of the 
Nibdungen to go through such a series of correcting exercises ; 
the failures of the past might deter him from plunging too 
blindly into the practically hopeless task before him.^ 

apart from even these considerations, it is to be noted that, in the first place, 
Platarch has colored his characters and incidents with a view to poetic 
and dramatic effect And, in the second place, a carefiil inyestigation and 
detailed comparison of the three dramas with their sources, woald probably 
show that manj, if not the majority, of the strongest scenes and incidents 
are those for which Shakspere found his materials in Platarch, either in 
cradest form or only hinted at Which is the case in Cbriolanus, and par- 
ticularly so in the relations between Marc Antony and Cleopatra as repre- 
sented by the poet, and in the brilliant dramatic portrayal of the latter (cf. 
Brandl, pp. 171, 187 ; also Wright* s and Roue's editions of those two plajrs 
in their Introductions). In the third place, Shakspeare has dealt freely 
with his materials, wherever it suited his purpose, unmindful of his Plu- 
tarch, and has ' thrown a rich mantle of poetry over all, which is often 
wholly his own.' Even in JuUus Oouar (notwithstanding Trench's state- 
ment, quoted in Wrighf s edition, p. XLV, that " It is hardly an exaggera- 
tion to say that the whole play .... is to be found in Platarch "), he has so 
changed his source that, e. ^., in the case of CKcero^ ' the vain senator of 
Plutarch has become in Shakspere a complete caricature, which has proba- 
bly led many a modem historian to an unjust conception of him' (cf. 
Brandl, p. 147). 

Schiller's historical dramas are peculiarly interesting in this connection. 
The greatest, WaUenaiaiii, deals with a hero whose real character and inner 
purposes are still a matter of controversy amongst historians. The same 
&ct is true of Maria Stuart; it was true of Die Jungfrau von Orleans at 
Schiller's time, as well as of Don Oarha and of FieakOf to a certain extent, 
so that Schiller, in almost every case, chose an interesting, unknown and 
really dubious character, and hence was free to shape his materials as 
suited his own fancy and dramatic purpose. Even in these, those are the 
particularly dramatic and powerful parts for which he received only the 
slightest or else no hints at all in his historic sources, e. g,, the character of 
Posa and his famous interview with Philipp; the great scene (Act III, 
scene 4) between Mary Stuart and Elizabeth, and the whole character and 
episode of Mortimer ; the episode of Thekla and Max in the Walienetein. 
For WiUielm Tell modem investigation shows that there is no historical 
foundation at all ; but, anyway, as Bellermann (SehiUei^e Dramenf Zweiter 
Theil, p. 346) says: "The power of this poetic creation lies rather in the 
individual, sublime and agreeable, affecting or overpowering pictures which 
are put before us as well as in the noble spirit which pervades and illumi- 
nates it than in the bold outline of the whole." 

^ Cf., for this entire paragraph, Gunther, p. 898. 


It might seem to some that the entire line of argument 
followed above, which is meant to decide against the practical 
possibility of a successful dramatization of the Nibelungen 
epic, is entirely refuted by the great tragedies of the Greek 
dramas — a body of dramatic literature, second to none in the 
, world, a proud position conceded by all nations, ancient as 
well as modern. It might be said : ^^ If the materials of these 
tragedies were taken to such a very great extent from the 
myths and epics of Greece, why should not our modern poets 
be able to repeat these literary achievements and create a 
modem drama or series of dramas based on a modern epic 
source, which will rank equally high?** A brief considera- 
tion of the nature of the Greek drama, of the character of 
the epical and mjrthical sources, and the use the Greek trage- 
dians made of them, and also of the history of the rise and 
decline of the classical Greek tragedy will, however, tend to 
confirm the conclusions reached above, rather than to weaken 
their validity. In the first place, a Greek tragedy represents 
a climax ^ and not a development, which means, that all the 
antecedents of the plot are known to the audience or else 
related in the prologue. Occasionally these may be embodied 
in a choral ode, in a rhetorical monologue (Rheaia), or in a 
lyrical dialogue between one of the actors and the chorus (the 
Oammoa). In any case the poet was relieved of all the diffi- 
culties of the dramatic exposition — one of the chief difficulties 
in the way of modern dramatists, particularly of the Nibdun- 
genlied. Furthermore, owing partly to the origin of the Greek 
drama, partly to the fondness of the Athenians for public 
recitals of the epic poems, and also to restrictions to movement 
and action upon the stage caused by the actor's costume, epic 
recitals of even the most important dramatic events were con- 
sidered artistic features of the drama rather than blemishes, 
such as the modern author avoids where possible. If such 
recitals were permissible on the modem stage, more than half 
the difficulty of dramatizing the Nibelungensage would vanish. 

»Cf. Butcher, p. 336 f. 


The Greek drama too represents the conflict of simple forces 
and characters ; ^ seldom do the latter, even in Euripides, em- 
body that complexity of passion and emotion which is one of 
the essential features of the modem dramatic hero. Simplicity 
of motive and passion is the distinguishing mark of the charac- 
ters of the Nibdungensage. It is in giving to these one sided . 
characters the complexity of modern individuality where the 
poet always foils. The hero of the Greek tragedy, further- 
more, appears only in one great crisis of life. While, to be 
sure, in such a situation the entire character may be epito- 
mized, yet the Greek poet was relieved almost entirely of that 
complex characterization demanded in the romantic drama, 
which places its heroes in many varying situations, in order 
to illuminate his character from every possible side. The 
dialogue of the Greek drama is in structure simple, severe and 
nnomate like Greek architecture, seldom, if ever, approaching 
the complicated, sensuously figurative and profusely orna- 
mented style of the romantic Shakspere, for instance. The 
purely poetical passages are to be found in the choral odes^ 
the lyrical dialogues of actor and chorus, or in the set rhetori- 
cal rheaia. In this feature, also, the Nibelungen playwrights 
have failed; sentimental, poetical speeches from the lips of 
the rugged characters of the old Sage always seem incongru- 
ous. Again, the moralizing reflexions on life and man, and 
on the great problem of human destiny are left to the Greek 
chorus ; the characters lack that intense consciousness of self 
and self-introspection of the modern man. Here again the 
nature of the Greek drama allowed the classical tragedians to 
avoid what is a rock of ofiense in the Nibelungen dramatiza- 
tions with their * iron-heroes' and * titanic women.' Finally, 
the sacred character of the Greek dramas, the powerful aid of 
music and the religious dance carried the whole performance 
into an exalted sphere, the region of mystery, and made many 
features efiective and dramatic which would seem unreal and 
impossible in modern tragedy. What the aid of music alone 

^ Cf. Batcher, p. 332 f. ; Gunther, pp. 86, 197, 344, 345. 


can do, how, with its mighty, entrancing power, it can carry 
us into supernatural realms and make us accept in the opera 
what in the ordinary drama the spectator would reject entirely 
as impossible or ridiculous, we can see in Wagner's Nibelungen 
Ring, in which gods and giants, water-nymphs and cloud- 
maidens, the dragon and the woodland-bird, the magic-cloak 
and the cup of forgetfulness are as real to us as they would be 
to the child in a fairy tale. 

Welcker, in Die Grriechiaohen Tragbdien mil Rucksiokt auf 
den Epiachen Oydus (Bonn, 1839), ha9 investigated the titles 
and sources of all known Greek dramas and dramatic frag- 
ments, and has shown that only a very small number were 
based upon the highly artistic Iliad and Odyssey,^ but that by 
far the most were drawn from the lesser epics and the old 
Greek family myths ;^ that is, from such sources in which were 
to be found only the crude outlines of the plots and almost nt> 
artistic development of characters and motives. They were 
practically like the novel sources from which Shakspere took 
so many of his plots. Full freedom was allowed the poet to 
create details, to fill in the outlines as the poetic demands of 
his drama required, and to vary his sources as long as no 
complete change of the main features was attempted.' The 
Greek poets had not all the details of their plot given as they 
are fixed for the modern poet in the Nibelu/ngenlied ; their 
characters were not developed to the minutest detail as is the 
case with Siegfried, Brunhild, and all the Nibelungen heroes 
and heroines. And very seldom, if ever, do they take over as 

^ Of the 7S tragedies attribnted to Aeschjlus onlj 2S are taken from the 
poems dealing with the Trojan War ; and only 3 from the lUad and the 
same namber from the Odywey. To Sophocles are attributed 86 tragedies, 
of which 44 are from the Trojan Epic Cjdey bat only one is based npon 
the Iliad and 3 upon the Odyuey. Euripides found in the Trojan cyclic 
poems subjects for 28 of his 68 tragedies; only one (1) was taken from the 
lUad and <me (1) — about which, however, there is some uncertainty — ^from 
the Odyney, 

'Cf. Aristotle, Poetics, xxni, 4; zm, 6. 

'Aristotle, ziv, 4 f. ; cf. Welcker ; Butcher, p. 331. 


a whole the speech or language of their source^ entirely unlike 
the modem Nibelungen dramatiste, who do this frequently. 
Nor^ as has already been mentioned, did they attempt to 
crowd into one drama or trilogy the entire Iliad or any entire 
cycle of myths, as our modem poets feel constrained to do 
with the story of the Nibelungen. And in addition to all 
this, it is to be remembered that the personages of the old 
Greek epics and myths, in point of development of character, 
morals and culture, were, by no means, as far removed from 
the Greeks of the fonrth century before Christ as are the 
heroes of the Nibelungenaage from the men of our own times. 
The men of Homer's time stood nearer the gods, were more 
heroic in the true sense than the Athenians of the time of 
Sophocles, to be sure, but the sacred character of the drama, 
the noble dignity and gravity of the actors, due both to con- 
vention and mechanical limitations, made such idealized tragic 
heroes necessary. But modern realism hardly endures their 
introduction even into the opera, and it requires all the genius 
of Wagner's noblest music to keep up the illusion and make 
possible the appearance of gods and superhuman characters 
upon the stage of to-day. 

The history of the rise and decline of the Greek drama 
substantiates in the main the position taken in this paper, 
namely, that a poet who attempts to recast into the same or 
a different poetic form a subject, which has been poetically 
developed before him in a form which is widely and favor- 
ably known, will generally fail of success, or will be forced 
to such changes of the original, that the identity of the latter 
is entirely lost. Aeschylus, the predecessor and guide of 
Sophocles in the exploiting of the Homeric and Cyclic poems 
for dramatic materials,^ stood much nearer in time and in 
spirit to the dithyrambic origin of the Greek drama, and, 
hence, in his dramas the religious elements were more promi- 
nent. The character in his tragedies are, as a general thing, 
not individuals, but simply representatives of man in general, 

* Welcker, p. 1. 


who in human pride and passion have offended against the 
immutable laws of the gods and &te. They possess but little 
individuality and no complexity of character.^ The plots too 
were used only to preach the great sermons of reverence for 
the gods and religion, and, as long as Aeschylus preserved 
their religious character, he felt himself free to treat the stories 
of his sources with perfect poetic license.* When Sophocles, 
^ the tragic Homer,' began working the rich mine of the old 
epics, he found them practically untouched ; Aeschylus had 
worked only the surface veins. Sophocles humanized the old 
stories and the heroes, he molded them into dramatic forms 
and characters *more suited to the new times — the wider hori- 
zon and the new standpoint for viewing and judging man.' ^ 
He gave to the plots and characters greater depth and greater 
complexity. ^ His fame rests upon his great dramatic techni- 
que and psychological poetic inventiveness.' * 

The treasures had been exhausted when Euripides entered 
upon his literary career ; he soon abandoned the epic poems 
and turned in all directions for new materials, to unexploited 
Greek myths, to those of Italy and even invented some new 
plots of his own.'^ So great were these changes, so little rever- 
ence had he for the sacred character of the old myths and 
traditions, that his tragedies are generally considered to mark 
the decline of the Greek drama and to have dealt both poetry 
and art a serious blow. He seems to have appreciated, (as it 
would be well for the modern Nibelungen dramatist to do 
also), that there was no chance for great poetic productions 
where the field was so limited, and no longer offered fresh 
materials to work with. He was a great poet, and his trage- 
dies are great poetical creations, but they are not * Homeric ' in 
any sense of the term ; nor does one of them embody any 
older epic, or any part of it, in a * higher form.' It is evident 
that he felt and tried to avoid the same limitations to poetic 

* Gunther, pp. 85, 86. • Welcker, p. 91. • Welcker, p. 92. 
*Cf. sup., 3; cf. Freytag, p. 123 f., p. 144; GuDther, p. 68. 

* Cf. Welcker, ii, pp. 469, 460. 


treatment of dramatic materials taken firom familiar qpic 
sooroes as the modem poet does in the treatment of similarly 
derived materials.^ He too was forced to make great changes 
and resort to new inventions as oar poets are, bat he was 
more fortanate, for his pablic finally lost, as he had himself, 
the respect and reverence for the old poems and myths, while 
in the modem pablic the reverence for the dignity and sacred- 
ness of the old poetic possessions is growing steadily stronger. 
We demand a closer following of the original, and thas bar 
the way to irreverent plnndering, and practically prevent the 
possibility of remodeling, into another higher or similar form, 
a subject which has already received an artistic form from an 
earlier poet whose work we have learned to love. 

This leads, finally, to the consideration of the Nibdungmlied 
and Sage in modem epic podry ; a discossion not introdaced 
before in order to avoid confosion, and because many of the 
considerations urged in regard to Nibelungen dramatisations 
apply with the same cogency, if not with greater, to the 
attempt to reconstruct from one epic poem, or cycle of epic 
poems — which, defective though it be, has yet gained a hold 
upon the hearts and imagination of the people — another with 
the same materials. Only two' sudi epic reproductions de- 
serve any consideration, Die Nibdunge of Jordan, and Tht 
Story of Siffurd the Vobu/ng by William Morris. The former 
consisting of two parts, die Sigfiridaage and HUdebranJPe Heim* 
hehry is an attempt to utilize in one long continuous epic all 
the versions of the NxbdungefMoge^ together with the old 

> Batcher, p. 332; Frejtag, p. 135; Gonther, pp. 192, 197, 215, 282. 
* It was impossible to secure for this discussion the other epics, Tiz. : 
G. Pfarrius, Ckriemkildeiit fiocAe, em enaJdanda GedidiL 
W. Wegener, Siegfried wtdChriemkad: Eme poituiAe OeitaUmuf der Nibe' 
htrngeMoge^ 1867. 

W^ner Hahn, JS>£aniU^: Bin Volkagemuig der DeuUchem. Tet,fit>m the 
hd that thej reoeire sach scanty mention, wherever they are mentioned, 
and that no mention of them at all can be foond in the standard histories 
of German literatore, it does not seem wrong to oondnde that they hardly 
deserre consideration in this discussion. 


HUdebrantaage, and to fill out with characters and incidents 
drawn from every possible corner of Germanic Sages in 
general. It is written in rhjmeless alliterative verse, more 
complex, varied and pliable than the old Grerman verse-types, 
and displays great skill and talent of versification on the part 
of the author. Jordan had traveled all through Germany, 
Austria, and in parts of America, giving public recitals and 
improvisations and, profiting by the experience and criticism 
thus gained, produced a poem which is surely popular, both 
in contents and form. It contains many passages of real 
poetic power and beauty, others of noticeable sweetness and 
delicacy, and reveals throughout great facility and a certain 
art of composition. But, in spite of these good features, it 
proves conclusively the truth of the conclusions reached above, 
it betrays on every page the futility of the poet's attempt to 
* restore ' and reconstruct the old NibelungerUied in complete 
and comprehensive form. Where Jprdan follows the Sage, 
he is weak and flippant, belittles the Sage and robs it of its 
grand simplicity. He transforms all its rugged heroic charac- 
ters into the colorless, sentimental or intriguing characters of 
a poor modern novel, though he tries to incorporate and 
symbolize in them great ethical and moral principles. He 
destroys the chief charm of every feature, its unconscious 
naturalness. The ^ modem ' features which he introduces in 
his desire to humanize and infuse ^modern culture' into the 
old myths are absurd, and even worse.^ Countless minor im- 

^An extreme criticism of Jordan's work is to be found in ▼. Math's EM^ 
iung in daa Nibelungenliedf which, with all its hamoroaslj extravagant zeal, 
does strike right at the greatest weaknesses of that production. He says 
(p. 416) : W. Jordans Nibelunge sind ein widerliches Product formgewand- 
ten Raffinements ; bedenkt man dass dieses Werk, 33000 Langzeilen lang d. h. 
4 mal so lang als der Nibelunge Not, um die Halfte langer als der Parti' 
vol oder so lang wie ein Dutzend funfactiger Tranerspiele, in einer Sprache 
und Form, die nie gesprochen und nie gebraucht wurde, ritterliche Vor- 
stellungen des xiv. und Rohheit des iv. Jahrhunderts, olympisches GK>t- 
tergeplauder und mittelalterliches Hexenwesen zu einem unertragllchen 
Gtemisch zusammen wiirfelt, so wird der affectierte Beiftdl, den es vielfach 



perfections on almost every page emphasize continually the 
vast difference between a really great poem and an ingenious 
poetical composition. And as all such attempts must result, 
Jordan has produced what Grottschall ^ characterizes as : nne 
Monslredichiung, wdche aua den erratisohen Bloeken der Vorzeit 
ihre gigantischen — and it might be added^ und grcfteaken — 6^ 
talten und Cfedanken meisselL Jordan in his Epilog speaks of 
himself as the bard who 

Emeaert das Lied von den Nibelnng^ 

Und in Sigfridnge and HildebranU Heimkehr 

Die heilige Halle des Heldenthoms 

Ana yenritterteo Beaten wieder gewolbt hat 

Zom leiteiidarchdaaemden doppelten Dom. 

The poem reminds the reader rather of one of those churches 
such as are to be found in Rome^ for the construction of which 
the old temples have been robbed of their beautiful carved 
marbles and stately pillars. We may admire the ingenuity 
and skill of the architect in utilizing his plundered materials^ 
but what there is of real beauty is the work of the ancient 
artists and builders. The spectator cannot help but regret 
that the grand old ruins have been despoiled to adorn the 
modem structure of pieces and of patches. 

gefdnden, halb unbegreiflich ; dass sein Aator Pratenaion erhebt, den Oedan- 
ken and die Form verlorener Dichtang wiedenugeben, ist lacheriich ; daas 
der alte Hildebrand yisionar von Looomotiven, Blitzableitem and Tele- 
graphen traamt, ist abgeschmackt ; dass aber die Becken der Voneit als 
modeme „ Caltarkampfer " dargestellt werden and Hildebrand der Stamm- 
▼ater des Zollemhauses sein soil, ist nicht Patriotismus, aach nicht Chauvi- 
nismus oder Wohldienerei, sondem das ist, . . . die ganze elende and gemeine 
Marktschreierei, die sich nicht entblodet Dinge and Motive, die za emsi 
sind fur solche Entwurdigang, for den immer gahnenden Greldsack aaszo- 
beaten, and die daram einmal nach Gebuhr gebrandmarkt werden soil (cf. 
also Barckhard, Aligem. ZeUung, BeiUge, Nos. 227 and 228, Sept. 29, 30» 

For a different, laadatorj criticism, cf. Bope, p. 106. In view of sach 
criticism as Bope's, Jordan woald have good reason to pray to be delivered 
from his friends. 

^DeuL NaeUUL d. 19^ JAO., VoL 3, p. 446. 


Entirely different is The Story of Sigwd the Vohwng by 
William Morris, which has been called, rather extravagantly, 
^ the greatest epic of the Nineteenth century/ Its structure 
may not be as artistic as that of Jordan's poem ; the verse is 
less flexible and light, in fact rather heavy and monotonous 
for the best effects in varying situations; the alliteration, 
which Morris employs to some extent, is not nearly as artisti- 
callv and effectively handled, but, as an organic whole, the 
poem stands far above the rhapsodizings of the German poet, 
in tone, in poetical power and in epic dignity. Nowhere does 
it descend to the triviality, the obscure disturbing mysticism 
and symbolism, the political and philosophic tendency of 
Jordan^s Nibelunge. Nor is it, like the latter, a conglomerate 
pile of epical materials appropriated from every source, though 
cleverly arranged in a massive, showy whole, but it is a noble, 
though less ambitious and ornate, structure, built on a simple 
plan, with its blocks quarried and shaped from the Vokungen- 
sagCy stately and impressive in its dignified simplicity. The 
English poet found his materials in the crude Norse Saga, 
roughly hewn, it is true, but not spoiled for his purpose and 
full of artistic potentiality. His artistic genius was almost 
unrestricted, he could practically hew and carve as he pleased, 
and give free rein to his creative phantasy. His materials 
in the rough were given him, the general plan of structure 
was prescribed, but with that material, and within that plan 
he was fi*ee to arrange and vary with entire artistic license. 
The variations from the original are comparatively few, chiefly 
of omission and condensation, though here and there the out- 
lines and connecting lines were more clearly and sharply 
brought out. 

The first three books is occupied with the story of Brun- 
hild and Si^fried, the fourth contains the story of the Fall 
of the Niblungs, which follows the more poetical and modern 
version of the Nibelungenlied. Chriemhild urges Atli on to 
the destruction of the Burgundians, but takes no active part 
herself, though, like a Goddess of vengeance, she looms up and 


hovers over it all. Her own end follows the narrative of the 
Norse Saga; after slajdng Atli and setting fire to the palace, 
she throws herself into the sea. This whole fourth book seems 
to confirm the point made in the early part of the paper, that 
whether in drama or epic, when Brunhild is made the central 
figure, Chriemhild is necessarily forced into the background 
and becomes a secondary figure. Morris does not lose the 
sense of proportion in the least, yet the reader feels that with 
Brunhild's death the story has reached its artistic end. I%e 
Fall of the Niblungs b^ins a new cycle, satisfies the curiosity 
of the reader, perhaps his sense of poetic justice, but, on the 
whole, seems an inorganic, inartistic supplement to the Brun- 
hild tragedy. The Story of Sigurd is open to criticism in other 
respects, it often palls upon the reader, is prolix and repeti- 
tious, it often shows that the poet is nodding. It is also too 
sombre and continuously gloomy ; it is pervaded with the Nine- 
teenth century WeUschmerZy for the poet has fiuled to catch the 
sunny brightness of the Si^fried story, and also that death- 
defying joyousness which marked the northern heroes in the 
midst of the most tragic situations, and which we feel all 
through the second part of the Nibelungenlied as being the 
great reconciling feature to Hagen's character. The charac- 
ters and the localities seem vague and misty, and, as the reader 
lays aside the book, there comes over him a feeling, that it all 
was not real. In other words, the poet has not been able to 
strip off his Nineteenth century culture and catch the simple 
epic spirit of the original. Yet, as a work of pure poetic 
creation, it stands above all others based upon either the Sage 
or the Lied. And, no doubt, much of its success is due to the 
fiict that the poet took for his plot the crude, simple prose tale 
of the VolsungeTisagey which gave his creative imagination full 
scope for the exercise of its powers. But it is no ^higher 
form ' of the Sage than the Nibelungenliedy it will never take 
the latter's place ; it will hardly be read to supplement the 
latter's ftiulty and unclear version of the Brunhild episode. 


It will ever remain^ what it pretends to be^ an earnest, digni- 
fied poetic version of the VoUwrigensdgey and no more. 

It would be unsatisfactory to leave this subject without 
some notice of the modem re-creations of the old Arthurian 
cycle, of which only Tennyson's Idylls of the King can claim 
attention in this connection. The analc^es between these and 
the modern reproductions of the Nibehmgensage are numer- 
ous, and will be clear to anyone who will consider the two at 
all carefully. This subject of the modem re-creation of the 
Arthurian cycle by Tennyson, touched upon by many, but by 
none exhaustively discussed, requires a far fuller and more 
intelligent treatment than this paper can hope to give ; it can 
hope to present only a few points for consideration, which, 
however, will tend to corroborate the position it is trying 
to maintain. 

In the first place, it seems an utter impossibility at the pre- 
sent time to pass any final judgment upon the value and beauty 
of the IdyUsy either as works of poetry, or as re-creations of 
the Morie DarthuTy while the critics utter such utterly contra- 
dictory opinions concerning them. The one^ says: ^In music 
of rhythm, in beauty of diction, in richness of illustration, 
they are unsurpassed ; ' while it is the opinion of Swinburne 
that ^ there is little in them beyond dexterity, a rare eloquence, 
a laborious patience of hand ; ' and he would ' deny them, not 
only epical merit, but any transcendent merit at all.' Accord- 
ing to one critic:' ^The Idylls are a poem almost perfect 
in unity of design and proportion of parts;' while another^ 
asserts that ^ Tennyson has effected this divergence (of a certain 
romance from Malory's vereion) at the sacrifice of unity, con- 
sistency and beauty.' Maceallum ^ says of Tennyson's altera- 
tions of the original : ' His alterations are not distortions ; they 

^ Van Djke, The Pbetry of Tennyson (Sid. Ed.), New York, 1892, p. 162. 
' Littledale, Essays on Lord Tennyson^s Idylls of the King, London, and New 
York, 1893, p. 11. 
'Gkirteen, The Arthurian Epic, New York, 1896, p. 307. 
^TennysofCs Idylls and Arthurian Story, New York, 1894, p. 316. 


never strike one as impertioent, they are in the right line of 
development ; ' while Stopford Brooke,^ in criticizing the epi- 
sode of Tristram and Isolt, remarks: 'Tennyson onght to 
have had more reverence for a great tale. . . • No one has a 
right to alter oat of recognition two characters in one of the 
great poetic stories of the world and to blacken them. . . • 
To make a great tale in this fashion the stalking horse of 
morality, • • . to degrade characters which are not degraded is 
an iniquiiy in art' Finally Maccallam sums np his opinion 
of the IdyUs in these words : ' ' It might even be said that 
they deliver the classic version of that story as a whole, and 
present it in the highest perfection of which it is capable; ' while 
Gurteen concludes' (almost in the very words of Weitbrecht 
in r^ard to the Nibelangen re-creations) : ' Even Tennyson 
failed to produce an epic of chivalry, and the theme awaits 
the fiishioning touch of some future poet.' But, whatever be 
our opinion of the Idylb as poetry and works of art, we must 
remember distinctly that they never pr^;ended to be an ^[nc, 
a re-creation in ' the higher form of epic poetry ' of the proee 
epic of Malory. In his choice of the name, IdyllSy Tennyson 
publicly and emphatically disavows any such desire on his 
part. His zealous, but injudicious, admirers do him a wrong 
in calling them by such an ambitious name. They may call 
them * Tennysonean,' or Mdyllic epics,' 'epics in miniature,' 
what they will, but they are not * epics ' (or an ' epic ') as the 
word has been established in meaning. Whether Tennyson 
himself recognized that ' his peculiar genius was not suited to 
the production of an epic,' as Maccallum^ says, or that, as Lang 
claims,' ' a new epic is an impossibility,' because ' the age has 
not the epic spirit ; ' or, that the poet realized the fiust that, in 
spite of all its shortcomings, Le Marie Darthur could never be 
successfully recast into a higher epic form, it is enough to 

^Stopford Brooke, Temttfrnm, New York, 1894, pp. 846, 347. 

»Cf. p. 2. »Cf. p.88. *Cf.p. 808. 

* Introdaction to Sommer'B edition of MarU Dartkurf London, 1891, m. 


know, that ^ he had contemplated an Arthurian epio and had 
abandoned U after severe labor as impracticableJ The Idylls, 
therefore, cannot and ought not be judged by the same stan- 
dards as the Nibelungen dramas and epics, for they make no 
pretense to belonging to the same class. 

But granting that the Idylls are successful poetic re-crea- 
tions of the Arthurian story, still they prove nothing in r^ard 
to the possibility of producing similar results from recasting 
the Nibelungenlied and 8a>ge; the antecedent and attendant 
conditions are so entirely different in the two cases. Con- 
sidered merely as a source for poetic materials, Malory's Morte 
Darthur is in a far cruder condition than the Nibehmgenlied. 
It is prose, in unpolished form, prolix, self-contradictory in 
parts, and confused in arrangement.^ Even Sommer ' warns 
against ' rating him (Malory) too highly. To put it mildly 
his work is very unequal.' Tennyson was more fortunate, 
then, than are his fellow poets in their Nibelungefi reproduc- 
tions, in regard to his sources at least. But not only in that 
respect, he also had the field practically clear before him. 
For, although there had been others who had gone to the 
same sources for materials, as Maccallum shows in his history 
of the story, yet their work had hardly made any impression 
upon the world and was practically forgotten when Tennjrson 
first commenced writing. How different from the state of 
things in the field of Grerman literature I And, in a third 
respect, Tennyson was more fiivorably placed. For, it is 
probably true, notwithstanding Andrew Lang to the con- 
trary, that ^ among ordinary readers Tennjrson's Idylls are a 
great deal more read than Malory's romance,' ^ and that the 
popular interest in Malory is probably due to the Idylls rather 
than that the reverse is the case, as is true of the Nibdungen 
re-creations, which owe whatever interest they arouse chiefly 
to the source from which they are drawn. 

^Cf. Maocallam, pp. 93, 94. 

' TU Soureea of Le MorU Darthur (London, 1891, m, 294). 

'MaccaUom, p. 289. 


Filially we must bear in mind^ as has already been touched 
upon before/ that the one general objection which the adverse 
critics^ Swinburne, laoigj Rhys, Brooke, Gurteen, make to 
the Idyllsy is that the poet has failed to reproduce the spirit 
of the old Arthur story, and that our enjoyment of them is 
always marred by the conflict between the modern version 
and our recollection of the old story ; that the infusion of 
modem ideas and all^orical meanings robs the old romances 
of their chief charm, their natural simplicity and naive direct- 
ness; that ^oold intellect has taken the place of creative 
emotion/ ' The beauties, on the other hand, lie in the setting 
and background which Tennyson constructs for his story, the 
creation and refashioning of certain characters where the origi- 
nal story allowed him free range to invent most freely,' besides 
in the music of the verse and ' the exquisite magnificence of 
style,' — all minor poetic qualities. If, then, the greatest Eng- 
lish poet of the Nineteenth century, whom Van Dyke places 
next to Shakspeare and Milton, fails in these crucial points 
of the poetic re-creation of a previous well-known story, what 
are the chances of success with such a peculiarly difficult and 
nnpliable subject-matter as we have seen the Nibelungen story 

What, then, is the conclusion to be drawn from this discus- 
sion ? Shall we agree with Weitbrecht and Schmidt and the 
others, and say to the poets : " Keep on with your attempts, 
keep working away at the Nibelungenaage, read and profit by 
the theoretical discussions of the question, and, finally, by your 
combined efforts you will have prepared the poetical materials 
in the Lied and Sage for some poetic genius of the future to 
mold and shape in lasting, definitive form, and who will create 
a Nibelungen drama or poem which will be the pertected 
product and crown of Nibelungen poetry 1" No. The only 
sensible advice to the poet can be : ^^ Let the subject rest, if 
you care for success, and have any feelings of reverence and 

1 Cf. above, p. 285, note 2. ' Brooke, p. 266 ff. * Brooke, p. 331. 


respect for the great poetical treasures of the past^ which ought 
to be sacred to every true poet. Do not add another to the 
many previous, irreverential and unsuccessful attempts. Rec- 
ognize the fact, that the poetical treasure of the Nibebmgenlied, 
like the Nibelungen gold, seems loaded with a curse which 
&lls upon everyone who would take it from its element and 
wrest it from its original possessor." 

It must be acknowledged, that no really great poet has ever 
attempted the re-creation of the NibelungenHed and Sage; but 
a really great poet would probably never be tempted and^ in 
this way^ prove his greatness. It must also be conceded, that 
the considerations urged by this paper and the conclusions 
reached may all be wrong. It would be the height of pre- 
sumption to be less modest than the great Lessing, who says 
(I/zokoon, Chap, rv) : ^^ How many a conclusion would seem 
irrefutable in theory if genius had not succeeded in proving 
the very opposite by an actual fact." And Michael Angelo 
took the half-hewn block of marble lying for years in the 
courtyard of the Old Palace at Florence, and carved from it 
one of the great and famous statues of the world, the David 
of the Academy at Florence. A bungling artist had seem- 
ingly ruined the unusually beautiful block ; Donatello, San- 
sovino, and even Leonardo da Vinci had refused to attempt 
to make use of it, and yet it stands to-day an overwhelming 
witness to the all-conquering power of genius. And thus a 
genius, like Shakspere, might perform the seemingly impos- 
sible task and produce the ^ reconstructed higher form ' of the 
Nibehmgenlied and Sage, Very true ; but to this there is but 
one consideration to urge. Though the world in the many 
centuries of its history has produced many artists and many 
poets of great genius, yet as amongst them all there was but 
one Michael Angelo, so there was but one Shakspere. How 
likely is it that we shall see another ? 


Works in Modern Poetry based upon the 

Lied and Sage. 

(Gf. Piper, Korachner's DemL NaL LiL, Bd. 6, Abt n, 8tattgmit» 1889» 
p. 184 f . ; also T. Math, EmUUimg im dn m^dmngnikd, P^erbom, 1877, 
p.416f.; 9}m} Z^ Jur doi dMUMXm Uidern^ Zm-wmmAm 

IHbehmgaUUieraimr tod Karl Luidmann.) 

A. Foremooen. 

1. BMrnGachB^DerkuarnmSeiiBfrM, 1657. 

2. Fr.deULUoiXe-F<mqu4, Sigurd (UrHMderNordeiu. 

(a). Sigmd dor SMiMgmiodi&r, Berlin, 1806. 
(b). Siffurd»Baehe, Berlin, 1810. 

B. Dramas baaed opon the entire Sage or IML 

8. Lodwig Uhland, Dm .^^SMhi^wi, 2 Telle. £^ Entwnrf too 
1817(Em.Uhland: L.UUaMd,euuOQbefir9emeF\r€mide^ 
1863; A. T. Keller, UkUmd aU Dramaiika', 1877). 

4. Ft. U, RenuMim, Die Nibdw%gm in S Ttiim. 

(a) Der Nibebmgm JEhrt, (b) Siegjnsd, (c) KnmkOde 
Baeke, Leipng, 1819. 

5. Chr. Fr. Eichhorn, CMaiiJUUtfiw Aid^ Qottingen, 1824. 

6. R Baapach, Der Nibehmgen Hori, Hamburg, 1834. 

7. Chr. Worm, (a) Die Nibd^mgen, (b) Siegfiriede Tod, 1839. 

8. Beinold Beimar (Adolf Glaser), KriaMUlau Baeke, Ham- 

burg, 1853. 

9. Fr. Hebbel, Die Nibehtngen, 3 Tdle, Hamborg, 1862. 

(a) Der gekSnUe Siegfried, (b) Siegfriede T6d (ct Kriem-' 

10. L. EttmuUer, i^rid, 1870. 

11. Adolf Wilbrand^i^rialliUf(i,Wien, 1877. 

12. Wilhelm Fischer, Siegfrimi: Tremenpiei, Beodnits-Leipiig 

(no date). 

13. Qeorg Siegert, (a) i»i€st/W0d» Ibd, 1887, (b) £n«miUZ(it £cu^ 


C. Brunhild Dramas. 

14. Ferd. Wachter, fmnAOd, Jena, 1821. 

15. J. A. Chr. Zamack, Siegfrieda Tod, Potadam, 1826. 

16. K Geibel, fnuUOd, Stuttgart, 1857. 

17. Bobt. Waldmuller (Ed. Duboc), Bnmkild (Draden, 1868), 

Leipzig, 1874. 

18. Beinh. Sigismund, .B^ynAtZ(2e, Budolatadt, 1878. 

19. Irmin t. Veihel-Muller, Die Nibelumgen, Ein Dramen Qfclus. 

Erster Teil : BnmkUt, Pfungstadt, 1880. 


D. Kriemhild Dramas. 

20. Joh Wilh. Muller, Chriemhildi BaeKe, Traaerapiel mit dem 


(a) Der Schmir, (b) BUdiger, (c) ChnmhiUP$ Ende, Hei- 
delberg, 1822. 

21. Aag. Kopiflch, Chrvnhild, 1830. Gteeammelte werke, Bd. 4, 

Berlin, 1856. 

22. Wm. Hoeaeus, KriemhUd, Paderborn, 1866. 

23. A. L. H. y. Liebhaber, Kriemhild (only in MB., see Goedeke, 

i', p. 908). 

24. Fried. Amd, ZrioiiAi^ Leipzig, 1875. 

25. Beinh. Sigismand, ChnemkUde, Budoktadt, 1875. 

£. Budiger Dramas. 

26. Wilh. Osterwald, BUdiger wm Bechkaren, 1849. 

27. A. L. Schenk, Markgraf BUdiger, 1860. 

28. FeL Dahn, JlfarAi^re/ i2ik<^«- wm £ee&2arel^ 1875. 

F. Attila Dramas (cf. Piper).* 

29. Joe. Nep. v. Kalchberg, Auila, 1806. 

30. F. L. Zach. Werner, Auila, Konig der Hmnen, Beriin, 1812. 

31. Herm. Bustige, Auila, 1853. 

G. Operas. 

32. Fr. Theod. Vischer, Vonchlag wa einer Oper^ 5 Akte, 1844. 

33. E. Gerber, Die Nibelvngen, Mosik Ton H. L. £. Dom, 1854. 

34. Bichard Wagner, Der Bing der Nibdangen, 1876, entire. 

(a) Dob Bheingoid, (b) DU WaikQre, (c) Siegfried, (d) Die 

35. Georg Fuchs, Dae NibdungerUied, FeeUgM (Mosik too Karl 

Pottgiesser, Aofgefuhrt in Dortmund, 1893). 

H. Epic poems. 

36. G. Pfarrius, ChriemhUdeM BaeKe (Date?), Bin ertSMendee 


37. Wilh. Jordan, Die Nibdunge, Frankfurt a/M. 

(a) Sigfridaage, 1869; (b) HUderbranes Heimkehr, 1875. 

38. W. Wegener, Siegfried und Chriemhilde, Bine poetieehe Oee^ 

i4dlung der Nibelungenaage, Brandenburg, 1867. 

39. Werner Hahn, Kriemhild (Date?), Bin Volkageaang der DmO- 


I. Works in Foreign Languages. 

40. Henrik Ibsen, Harmdndene paa Hdgdimdy Christiania, 1858. 

41. Earl Gjellernp, Brynild (Drama in Danish), 1890. 

42. Wm. Morris, The SUrry of Sigurd the Vokwig cmd iheFaU if 

the Niblung$, London, 1876. 

GusTAv Gbueneb. 

*It was impoMlble to Terlty these, except the work of Werner, wfaloh is based ni»on 
the historical acooant of Attila's last year of UHb and not npon the Ifibettmfftn»a^ 



Fbom a Manuscript of the Fifteenth Centubt. 

In the sammer of 1895 I had occasion to examine a number 
of Grerman MSS. in the library at Maihingen^ belonging to 
Prince Kbt\ of Oettingen-Wallerstein. 

Maihingen is a small village^ of about seven hundred inhabi- 
tants^ not far from the city of Noerdlingen^ in the Bavarian 
district of Schwaben-Neuburg. 

The collection of MSS. in Maihingen, numbering about 1600, 
is divided into five groups : the Oriental, the Greek, the Latin, 
die Grerman, and those of the Foreign Modem Languages 
(French, Dutch, etc.). The oldest codex among the MSB. dates 
back to the sixth century. It is a New Testament in Anglo- 
Saxon script. Wattenbach has given an account of this MS. 
in Ameiger des Qerman, MuaeumSf October, 1869. 

The importance of the Maihinger Ntbdungen MS. (codex 
Maihingensis) has been pointed out by Prof. Zamcke. A 
fragment of Notker's Psalms which is found in Maihingen has 
been published by Hattemer. Other material has been brought 
before the public by B. von Liliencron, Meyer, Quen, and 

Li the year 1862 Prof. Karl Bartsch visited his friend, the 
former librarian of Maihingen, Baron von Loeffelholtz, and 
through him became acquainted with a number of MSS. in 
this library. In Pfeiffer^a Oermaniay vni, 48 f., Prof. Bartsch 
described a number of Grerman and French MSS. seen by him. 
The present librarian, Dr. Grupp, called my attention to the 
fisict that since the year 1862 the library has been rearranged. 
The MSS. at that time were not yet catalogued. It was un- 
doubtedly this circumstance which prevented Bartsch from 
seeing the mss. of which I have given an account elsewhere. 


Most of the M88. examined by me, twentj-eight in number, 
belong to the fifteenth century, a few to the thirteenth and 
fourteenth, and some to the seventeenth. Among the mbs. 
which I have copied is the story of the knight in the chapel. 
I found the story in a small volume of octavo size, bound in 
wood with leather cover, catalogued as III. Deutsch 1, 8% 14; 
leaves 79*-95\ The story is written in rimed couplets. The 
lines are not set off, but only indicated by quotation marks. 
The volume that contains our story has no title page, but the 
first leaf has an index which I repeat here : 

Item ein hwbsche histori von siben Messen (1. 2*-10^). 

Item von den Sieben Hawptkirchen zw rome der Applas 
und wo die Heiling li^en (1. ll*-33*). 

Item der Applas im Newen Spital (1. 33*-41*). 

Item der Applas zu dem wirdigen Heiltum (1. 42*-64^). 

Item der Applas zu Sant Jacob (1. 64*-64*). 

Item der Passion am Karfreitag (1. 66'-78*). 

With this the index closes ; no mention being made of the 
knight's story. But on the last page, 1. 96^, a title is given : 
Das ist ein hwbsche histori von einem riter bie er pwsset. 

All the Mss. in this small volume are written by the 
same hand. The subject-matter does not concern our story. 
The dialect is Bavarian. Whether it was written in Nuerem- 
berg or not it is difficult to determine. The former librarian 
of Maihingen, Dr. von Loeffelholtz, frequently made notes 
on the margin of a number of M8S., while cataloguing them. 
In the case of several pieces, preceding the knight's story, 
I found ^^Numberg!" written several times at the head. 
Von Loeffelholtz was no doubt led to make these notes by 
the names of several well-known churches in Nueremberg 
(St. Sebald, St. Jacob). This circumstance gives some color 
to the belief that this MS. was written in Nueremberg. 

In the Bibliothek des lUerar, Vereina in Stuttgart^ 1853, Vol. 
XXX, A. von Keller, the editor, mentions a Munich MS. 
which seems to contain the same story, not yet printed. I 
have had no access to this MS., but my conjecture that it must 

260 F. G. G. 8CHHIDT. 

be identical with that of the Maihinger lis., finds sufficient 
basis in the lines quoted on page 1377 : 

Der ritter in der Capellen. 
Ein ritter za einen sejten was 
Der hoch of einer parg sas. 

On page 1534 of the same volume the closing lines are 
quoted : 

UdcI darccw die werde mayt 

Die ain gmntyesstt ist aller Christenhayt 

From this we may conclude that there can be little doubt 
as to the identity of these stories. 

The Munich MS. is catalogued as c^m. 714 in 4. It is a 
Paper MS. of 490 leaves, the story of the knight comprising 
only ten leaves (1. 127-137). The stories contained in this 
Munich MS. are FastiuuMspieUj Sprueche and Oedichie^ most 
of which were written by Hans Rosenblut of Nueremberg, 
with the surname Schnepperer or Schwaetzer^ who was a 
Wappendichter in the first half of the fifteenth century. Most 
of his life was spent in Nueremberg. At first one might be 
tempted to attribute the story of the knight to him^ but for a 
number of reasons BoseftbluVs authorship must in this case 
be denied. Schmeller has contended that there is no reason 
to attribute all these stories to Rosenblut. Cf. Bayr. Wb.^ 
IV, 24. 

I believe that Rosenblut would not have failed to sign his 
name, as he was in the habit of doing so. He was anxious 
to become known as Schnepperer, a name which he considered 
more of an honor than a reproach. The word is still used in 
the Nueremberg dialect, and it does not always signify a nick- 

It is true the rimes are not el^ant. They are sometimes 
impure. In an article in HaupCa Zeitachrifiy vni, 608, W. 
Wackernagel speaks especially of the " wilden Versbau *' 
of Rosenblut. It has been said by A. von Keller, Biblioth. 


dea lU, F.^VoI. xxx^ 1081, that one of the criteria of the 
authorship of Bosenblut is the circumstanoey that we fire- 
qaently find in his poems the closing rime ^^uot or iietJ* 
Another criterion is said to be the frequency of preambles. 
The story in question has nothing in common with Rosen- 
blut, at least nothing of importance. A large number of 
poems, written in the fifteenth century and not signed, have 
been attributed to him, but unjustly. They might have been 
attributed to the other authors of Fastnachtspiele just as well, 
for example, to Folz der Balwierer, Schemberg or Grengenbach. 

In a poem, entitled Memorial der Tugend, ein loblicher typruch 
von der reichastadt Numbergy 144'^} ^^^ author calls himself 
Prediger ordens Hans Rosenblut. The fact that Hans Rosen- 
blut belonged to a clerical order has never been sufficiently 
dwelt upon. On this very account many poems that pass 
under his name cannot possibly be attributed to him. So it 
seems impossible to see in Bosenblut the author of our story. 
An ecclesiastic of the time long before the Reformation would 
hardly have dared to ridicule the institution of confession. A 
clerical poet would not have allowed the knight to chaffer 
the confessor down to a penalty of only one night. In this 
feature — selling pardon of sins at any rate — and thus satiriz- 
ing priesthood, church and church law — our story differs from 
all those dealing with a similar subject. 

Being compelled to limit myself to a prescribed time,^ I 
cannot enter upon an elaborate discussion of the authorship of 
this story; a number of important points can only be hinted 
at. The author of our story was probably a gleeman, who 
found special delight in the description of knightly life in war 
and peace, or rather in describing knights who commit wicked 
deeds and make confession of them. The absence of all learned 
allusion, together with the rimes, argues for a popular poet 
who lived at a time when the age of chivalry had entered 
upon a stage of decay, perhaps the time of Duke Frederik of 

^The paper was read before the Mod. Lang. Anociation of America, 
December 29, 1895. 

262 F. G. G. SCHMIDT. 

Austria (1236-1245). Perhaps the sad events of that time 
led a popular poet to this fiction, dealing with the moral prob- 
lem of obtaining forgiveness of sins. The poem seems to 
point back to the thirteenth century; accordingly our MB. 
would be a copy by a Bavarian scribe. 

After making comparisons, I find that the story has the 
stamp of the smaller poems, Schwanke, and stories of the 
Austrian poet ** der Strieker/' an assumed name perhaps for 
a wandering minstrel. 

Little is known of the life of this poet. Karl Bartsch, in 
his edition of Karl der Cfro88e von dem Strieker^ 1857, has 
located the home of Strieker in Austria. With him agree 
Jacob Grimm, von der Hagen, Pfeiffer and others. It is only 
of late that G. Kosenhagen, in a dissertation, Untersucku/ngen 
aber Darnel vom bluhenden Thai von Strieker j 1890, made the 
attempt to locate the home of Strieker in the Eastern part of 
Franconia, but on unsatisfactory evidence, as it seems to me. 

According to Prof. Bartsch, der Strieker, a contemporary 
of Rudolf von Ems, is the founder of the shorter moral narra- 
tive, didactic poem and preamble. Many stories, found in 
collections of narratives, may be attributed to Strieker, those 
at least that deal with a moral problem. To most of his 
smaller stories Strieker has not signed his name. He usually 
avoids proper names in smaller poems that contain didactic 
and humorous elements. All this is characteristic of our story. 

The answers of the knight to the confessor remind us of the 
Pfaffe Amis who is examined by the Probst (see Wacker- 
nagel, Altdeulsches Lesebuch^ p. 794). 

On the whole the rimes are pure, especially in the matter 
of the vowels. In some places one or two verses are omitted 
and the rime-correspondence is accordingly destroyed. In 
r^ard to consonants only a few inaccuracies are noticeable. 
That the original was copied by a Bavarian, and probably by 
a Nueremberg copyist will not surprise us, if we remember 
that Nueremberg and other Bavarian cities always had some 
connection with the Austrian and Bohemian Kanzlei (see 


E. Burdach^ Vom MiUelaUer zur B^ormaJtionf Halle^ 1893, 
p. 8 f.). 

The story of the knight at a first glance reminds us of somie 
features of the legends, Robert the devUj Sir Ghwther, and of 
Oraf Richard von der Normandie, a poem by Dhland (see Sir 
Oowthevj von Karl Breul, Oppeln, 1886). According to 
Breul's investigations our story would deserve a place as a 
member of the same family of legends. Two poems of 
a similar character with that of the knight I have found in 
La88berg*8 lAedersaalfYol, m^ 71 f. and 248 f. The first, 
entitled Der RUter und Maria, recounts how a certain knight, 
having spent all his property, places himself in the hands of 
Satan, in order to receive from him what his heart desires, 
but after a time r^ret seizes him and he becomes repentant. 
In a chapel, where he meets Satan, he receives, by the help 
of Mary, the holy virgin, forgiveness of his sins, and con- 
quers Satan. In the second poem, Der RUter wid der Teufd, 
Satan is likewise deceived by a repentant knight, who goes 
to a chapel and spends a night in prayer and contemplation, but 
not without having had his faith put to trial. All these stories 
deal with the moral problem of forgiveness of sins. The 
poetic embodiment of the priest and the knight is evidently 
the offspring of that opinion so prevalent in the Middle Ages, 
and which time has mellowed into a popular adage, that '^ the 
greater the sinner, the greater the saint.'^ Whether repentance 
and atonement can effect grace and salvation was a prominent 
question in those days ; according to Du Meril it is the funda- 
mental idea of the Robert legend and of all those stories that 
deal with the problem of how to obtain forgiveness of sins. 

Ein Ritter zu einem waz 
der hoch auff einer purg sacz 
Er het veintschafil und gar vil 
furbar ich daz sprechen wil 
Er het kinder vnd ein frawen 
Er het ein sbester der dorst er wol getrawen 

264 F. G. G. SCHMIDT. 

Die kint jn wol rat geben 

wie er sidi hielt in alien seinem leben 

Er det geren nach jrem rat 

pede fra vnd ouch spat 

Doch war er gar ein buster man 

Gegen got er selden rew geban 

Vmb rawben oder vmb prennen 

Ymb kirchen preehen oder vmb rennen 

Er beswert sein arm lewt vil 

Dajs stondt recht aaf daz zil 

Daz got sein genad mit jm det 

Daz er vil selden gedacht bet 

Dez bas pei im nahent gesessen 

Ein heiliger vater so vermessen 

In einem busten walde 

Za dem gingen die Lewd palde 

Ynd erelagten sie jr schuld gar 

Des ritters gesind ging auch dar 

Ynd b^onden jm alle peichten 

Ynd ir sel von den sunden lewditen 

Do daz Gesind haim kom 

Sein hawsgesind er do her nom 

Das solt ir mich wissen Ion 

Das gesind sprach bir haben gepeicht 

Ynd vnser sel von sunden geleucht 

Das thun bir alles vmb den Ion 

Daz vns got sol genad thon 

Do gedacht der riter an sich 

Ach bie ein grosser sunder pin ich 

Ach wie selden hab ich gepeicht 

Ynd mein sel von sunden geleucht 

Sunst er vil rew geban 

Er gedacht ich wil auch zu dem Yater gan 

Der furt ein heiliges leben 

Das ich mein sundt gepust 

Waz ich halt darumb leiden muz 


Der ritter hub aich auff die vart 

Zu dem heiligen vater zart 

Er sprach lieber vater mein 

Laz dir mein sant geclagt sein 

Der ist so vil vnd genung 

Ich vil maneheD Vnfug 

B^aogen hab all mein tagen 

Das ich dir es nit kan gesagen 

Ich hab kirchen geprochen 

Vnd hab mich an meinem veinten gerochen 

Mit rawben vnd mit prennen 

Daz ich es nit alles kann genennen 

Ich Dom armen lewten daz ir 

Daz dick lutzelt frumet mir 

Das du mir vergebst mein schuld 

Vnd mich setzest in Gottes huld 

Vnd gieb pus daruber mir 

Die ich geleiden mag von dir 

Der heilig vater sprach sun mein 

Vnd wild du mir gefollig sein 

Ich gieb dir pus fur dein schuld 

Vnd setz dich in gottes huld 

Ich will dir sagen furbar 

Du solt pussen sieben jar 

Der riter sprach sieben jar 

Mag ich nit pussen tzbar 

Ein kurze frist hort ich geren 

Da mit ich mocht zu got keren 

Der heilig vater sprach das sei 

So pus gantzer jar drei 

Der riter sprach ach ich thu sein nicht 

Was mir halt darumb geschiht 

Ich pust geren ein kurtze zeit 

Das wolt ich thun an biderstreit 

Der vater sprach so pus ein jar 

Das gerewt dich nymer vmb ein har 

266 F. G. a. scHMiixr. 

Der riter sprach sein ist zu vil 

Ein jar ich nicht paessen will 

Sag mir an dem jar sturb ich 

Wer post dan die sund fhr mich 

Der heilig vater sprach so schon 

Magsta possen zwei monet 

Der riter sprach ich enmag 

Gieb mir pass auff einem tag 

Der heilig vater sprach 

In dreien monat las dir gach 

Und pus darin die sandt dein 

So wird dir got genedig sein 

Der riter sprach du solt mir sossen 

Ich mag nit drei monet pussen 

Der heilig vater aber sprach 

Ist dir zn der pus gach 

So pus nur drei bochen 

So wirt alle dein sund gerochen 

Der riter sprach ich mag nit peiten 

Ich pust geren ein kurtze zeit 

Der heilig vater sprach in zu 

So pus gantzer bochen zwu 

Der riter sprach vber meinen danck 

Mag ich nit pussen so lanck 

Der vater sprach pus ein bochen 

Wan du hast manchen feirtag geprochen 

Der riter sprach ich enmag 

Gieb mir pus auff einen tag 

Der vater docht in seinem mut 

Las ich dich an pus das ist nit gut 

Der vater sprach ich wil das wol wenden 

Du hast ein cappellen vor deiner purg stent 

Magstu darinnen peleiben ein nacht 

Mit deiner gantzen manes macht 

Das du daraus kompst nicht 

Was dir halt darumb geschiht 


Das sets idi far dein flchald 

Und gieb dir bieder gottes bald 

Der riter sprach jch ich thu es geren 

Der pus wil ich nit enperen 

Ich wil ein nacht peleiben 

lu der cappellen mein zeit vertreiben 

Und daraus komen nicht 

Wie mir halt darumb geschiht 

Der heilig vater schikt jn yon dannen 

Und lies jn aoch pannen 

Und gab in wider die cristenheit 

Wan er die sandt oSt bet geclayt 

Der riter zu seiner purge reit 

Ymb sein sund was im laid 

Do er die cappellen ansach 

Nun hort bie er zw jm selber sprach 

Man sol nit lenger peiten 

Ich wil pussen pei zeiteu 

Ich will heint in der cappelan sein 

Fur alle mein schuld und sunde mein 

Er hies die knecht heim reiten 

Und das man auch sein nit dorst peiten 

Er wolt auch in der cappellen pleiben 

Die nacht darinnen vertreiben 

Es riten heim die knecht 

Der riter pleib vil recht 

In der cappellen die nacht 

Do kom dar vil manig schlacht 

Der tewffel gar ain michel schar 

Lucifer kom auch dar 

Die huben sich alle zu der cappellen 

Lucifer sprach zu seinen gesellen 

Wir haben den riter verloren 

Seit er hat die cappellen auserkoren 

Mocht mir jn machen unstet 

Das er der pus nicht verprecht 

268 F. G. G. SCHMIDT. 

TJnd man jn precht fur das cappellen tor 

So wirt er wider onser als vor 

Do spracb ein tewfd eben 

Her luzifer wildu mir vrlaub geben 

Ich pring in fur dasB cappellen tor 

So wirt er wider vnser als vor 

Lucifer spracb hab gewalt 

Und sie was du vermagst paid 

Der tewfel der was wild 

Er nom an siecb eins menscben pild 

Der tewfel vil wol weste 

Das er vil volget ibrem rate 

Sie spracb pruder was tbust du do 

Wais du nicbt das icb pin unfrob 

Ynd alles dein gesind vnd dein lewt 

Die sind alle betrupt bewt 

Dein veint baben dein purg vmbgeben 

Eum aus der cappellen vnd ret vns das leben 

Der riter spracb swester mein 

Icb sol die nacbt jn der cappelen sein 

Das bat man mir zw pus geben 

Das will icb balten gar eben 

Die sbester spracb so gelaub mir 

Das icb nymer gerat dir 

In alien deinen sacben 

Du wolst dicb aus der Cappellen macben 

Der riter spracb icb kum binaus nicbt 

Was mir bait darumb gescbibt 

Der tewfel mocbt sein nit gebinnen 

Er fiir zu dem Lucifer bin. 

Lucifer spracb wie ist es ergangen dir 
Hastu gowonne den Ritter mir 
Der tewffel spracb er ist allein 
Herter vil dan ein stayn 


Ein stain mocht man vil ee gewinnen 

Dan man jn precht aus seinen synnen. 

Lucifer sprach auff meinen wan 

Ich pin nicht geren des ritters an 

Do sprach einer ander tewfel paid 

Lucifer gieb mir den gewalt 

Ich pring jn aus der cappellen paid 

Mit meinen Listen die ich kan 

Lucifer sprach var hin 

Vnd tracht wie das wir jn gebinnen 

Der tewfel was vil wild 

Er nom an siech des riters frawen pild 

Sam es wer die lieb hausfraw sein 

Ynd* trang zu der cappellen hinein 

Vnd furt zwei kint das ist war 

Sie liff her mit gestrewtem har 

Vnd mit zerissen gewant 

Sie sprach das ir seid geschant 

Wie liegt jr hewt jn dieser cappellen 

Vnd lat die veint vmb vnser purg schnellen 

Vnd lat vns nemen was wir haben 

Nw must ir doch selber snaben 

Kumpt heraus vnd eilt in nach 

Wan jn ist nit vast gach 

Ir erfarent sie wa noch an in 

Oder sie treibens es als hin 

Der riter sprach ich thu sein nicht 

Was mir halt darvmb geschiht 

Die fraw die sprach so will ich toden 

Ewre kind in diesen noten 

Die kinder begunden weinen 

Sie warff die kinder auff die stein 

Sie sprach wolt jr in der cappellen bestan 

So must ir den tod an ewren kinder sehen an 

Der riter sprach solest du doten kind 

Und ich kum aus der cappellen nicht 

870 F. G. G. SCHMIDT. 

MaD hat mir za pas geben 

Far mein sandiges leben 

Sol ich die nacht in der oappellen peleibea 

Vnd die nacht da innen vertreiben 

Des ander tewfiPel list die waren entwicheu 

Er kand jn pringen aas der cappellen nicht 

Er far zw lacifer anfro 

Er sprach wie hasta es gesohikt ser 

Wirt vns wider der richter 

Der mit seinem sinne ist so piter 

Der ander tewfel sprach allein 

Adamo den herten stein 

Den baikt man ee dan den man 

Ich getraw jm nicht gesigen an 

Do sprach der drit tewfel so vest 

Ich wil than das allerpest 

Herr laciffer erlaapt mir dar. 

Ich wil dich lassen werden gewar 

Ich kan mer dan mein gesellen 

Ich pring in wol auss der cappellen 

Lacifer sprach hab gewalt 

Vnd pring in aass der capellen paid 

Darumb ich dich kranen wil 

Er nom an siech eins menschen pild 

For an der seinen gesellen vil 

Der drit tewfiPel was wild 

Er schickt das noch wan 

Das es vber alien vmb die cappellen pran 

Es schlag das fewr za dem fenster hinein 

Von dem fewr ward jn der cappellen ein schein 

Do es alles vestes pran 

Do kom der teafelisch man 

Vnd sties den kopf zw der tar hinein 

Er sprach mag nymant hinnen sein 

Der riter sprach ja ich pin hinnen 

Der tewfiPel sprach wolt ir verprinnen 


Laaff ans der cappellen da werdcr man 

Ir verprint vnd solt die werit an ewcli stan 

Der riter sprach was mir jmer gescliiht 

Ich kum aus der cappellen nicht 

Der tcwfel spracli wolt jr mit willen'verpryonen 

So beschawt ir gottcs amplick nymer 

Man hat mir zu^pns gebcn manig schlacht 

Das ich in der cappellen sol sein die nacht 

Der tewficl spraeh ir solt nit vermeiden 

Arm lewt sein in gro^sen leidcn 

Vnd helft jn diesen fewr das ist not 

Vnd kumpt heraus es vodert got 

Von ewch an dcm letzten tag 

Hort ir nicht der arm lewt clag 

Der ritter spraeh ich wil peleiben 

Die nacht in der cappellen vertreiben 

Es pring benig oder vil 

In der cappellen ich peleiben wil. 

Der tewflel schwf avch nichts 

Seiner list waren alien entbicht 

Sein trngnus ward gar verloren 

Er schied von dannen mit grossen torea 

Vnd fur zn Luciffer heim 

Vnd spraeh ich hab nie mensch sin 

So stet so vest erkennet 

Als der riter ist den jr mir nennet 

Man geban ee allein 

Kisling oder die aller hertzten stein 

Die auff ertrich je sein gewesen 

Ich wolt ben er mocht wol genesen 

Vor alien tewfel aus der helle 

Vnd ir pringt aus der geschiht 

Ir tewflel ir kunnet alle nicht 

Ich kan mer dan ir all drei 

Ich wan das ich der listigst sei 

Da von lieber lucifer 

tn r. G. O. SCHMIDT. 

loh wil flchiken groesen ere 

Erlaab mir zu dem ritter gail 

Das idi besaeh meiD bail 

LfQcifer sprach auch var bin 

Vnd pring aus der cappellen jn 

Der virt teuffel so zu bant 

Nam an sicb pristerlich g§bant 

£in karock bet er an 

Er b^and in die cappellen gan 

Er trog ein puch an seinem arm 

Er gedacbt du bast nyndert kein darm 

Icb wolt jn versucben vud dureh dringen 

Ob icb dich aus der capi^ellen mug pringen 

Er spracb seit ir do ir riter 

Ewr leben ist vor got piter 

Ir bapt manig kircben gebrocben 

Das stet alles nocb vngerochen 

Darvrob so seit jr in den pan 

Ir suit aus der kircben gar scbier gan 

Icb wil mess jtzunt lesen 

Ir peniger riter ir suit dapei nit wesen 

Vnd get fur die cappellen binau3 

Von eucb wirt gebiutert das gots bans 

Wolt ir mess lesen 

Der ritter spracb 

Darzu tbu icb ewcb kein vngemacb 

Ir mugt wol roes lesen 

Icb wil in der cappellen besen 

Der tewffel spracb auflp meinera wan 

Alle kircben precber sain in des pabs pan 

Darvmb du fur die cappellen gee 

Das icb vber alder ste 

Der riter sprach man bat mir geben 

Tbu pus fur mein sundiges leben 

Das icb ein nacb sol seiu binnen 

Ir kunt micb mit nicbten binaus pringen 


Der tewfel sprach du bast recht 

Da bist doch des tewfels knecht 

Wan du wild doch gottes dienst sawmen 

Darumb du must den himel rawmen 

Sein ist genung an der posheit dein 

Ander lewt wildu auch sewmig sein 

Vnd mich an der mese mein 

Darvmb du wirst leiden pein 

Der riter sprach zu dem prister 

In dieser capeilen ist mein ger 

Vnd wil auch darinnen sein 

Vnd balden die pus mein 

Auch sprach der tewfel wie ein steter man 

Den nimant vberwinden kan 

Also die anfechtung ein ende nom 

Darait der liecbt ta^ kom 

Vnd schein vber alle land 

Der riter ging so zu hand 

Hin heim auff sein veste boch 

Sein frawen vand er schloffen noch 

Vnd sein kinder alle gesunt 

Er danckt Got zu aller stund 

Das er was peliben so stet 

Vnd des tewffels anfechtung widerstanden bet 

Er nom an siech ein heiligs leben 

Vnd begun nach Gottes huld streben 

Die wart jni auch sicherlich 

In den fron himelreich 

Des riters engel dopei was 

Do der tewfiel mit seinem has 

Den riter also ser hat angefocbten 

Vnd in nit vberwinden mocht 

Das was der engel frob 

Er fur zu dem heiligen vater do 

Vnd sagt jm frolicb mer 

Wie der riter bider bestanden ber 

274 F. o. o. SGHinixr. 

Das begand jm wolgcfallcn 

Vnd danckt got von bimdreich 

Das er so parmbertzig wil sein 

Vber sunder vnd sunderin 

Daramb so sullen wir pitten got 

Wen bir angefochten werden 

Von dem posen geist bie auff erden 

Das uns dan bcistan wol got 

Vnd uns belffen auss aller not 

Dass belff uns allermeist 

Der vater und der sun und der beilig geist 

Dansu die berd maid 

Die ist ein grundt vest der bQnnherzigkait Amen. 

Das ist ein bwbscbe bistori von 
einem riter bie er pwssct 

F. O. O. Schmidt. 





Vol. XI, 3. New Sebies, Vol. IV, 8. 


Es giebt kaum eine DichtuDgsart, deren Werth so lebhaft 
bestritten worden ist und die dennoch eine so grosse BoUe in 
der Literatur aller westeuropaischen Volker gespielt hat;, als 
das Sonett. Schou hieraus kann man schliessen, dass die Vor- 
zuge dieser poetischen Form doch nicht so gering sein kdnnen, 
wie dies oflers behauptet worden ist. Es konnte ferner aber 
auch daraus gefolgert werden, dass bald nach dem Bekannt- 
werden des Sonetts in Fran kreich -die Franzosen den Italienem 
das Verdienst^ es in die Literatur eingefuhrt zu haben, streitig 
zu machen suchten. Seit jedoch Friedrich Diez, der Begrun- 
der der romanischen Philologie, Italien als die Heimat des 
Sonetts nachgewiesen hat^ wird der italienische Ursprung des- 
selben wohl ziemlich allgemein als feststebend anerkannt. Aus 
Italien gelangte es im xvi. Jahrhundert, wie nach den ubrigen 
romanischen Landern, so auch nach Frankreich und gleichfalls 
nach England, wo es sich am eigenartigsteo, aber ohne auf die 
anderen Literaturen einen Einfluss auszuuben, entwickelt hat. 
Uberall war Petrarca das Vorbild, von dem man ausgieng, 
oder das Ideal, dem sich die Sonettendichtung, wenn sie auf 
Abwege gerathen war, in ihren edleren Bestrebungen wieder 
so viel wie moglich zu nahern suchte. Durch ihn war ja be- 


276 J. 8CHIPFEB. 

kanntlich dieee Dichtungsform sur groeetea Vollendung uod 
Populsritat gebracbt worden. 

Uod in der That 'mt diese scbone, ktinstvolle, aber audi 
schwierige poetische Form w^en ibres bftrmoniechen Baues, 
vie aticb wegeo ihree Reichthuma an Keimen fur die reflec- 
tierende Lyrik ganz besondera geeignet. Ohne auf die Ent- 
stebnng wie auf die verechiedeDen Formen and Arten des 
SonettB nither eiuKugehen, mdge niir daran eriDnert werden, 
dass die Haaptform desselben, das streng gebaute italieoiacbe 
Sonett, stets aus vierzebn el&ilbigeo oder in deutecber Nacb- 
bildang funilaktigei), klingeud, ofWs aacb Btampf eadigeudea 
jambischeo Versen besteht and in zwci, duicb die Reime, wie 
durch eine atets nothwendige Satepanse von einander getrennte 
Tbeile zerfallt, Diese beiden Haupttheile scbeiden sicb wie- 
der in je zwei, gleicb&lls durch eine Satzpause von einander 
getrennte Stropben von je vier uod je drei Versen, Quartette 
nnd Terzette genanat. Die ersteren haben faat immer die 
Reimatellung aM>a abba (selten ai>ai> abab). Die letzteren 
konnen entweder swei oder drei Keime iu veischiedener Folge 
baben, nacb dem Belieben des Dicbters. Be! ewei Reimen iat 
die Anotdnung ode dcd die haufigste, daneben kommen ancb 
odd ode, cdd doo manchmal vor. Bei dr« B«imen ist die 
Stellung ode ede besonders beliebt, doch aucb andere, wie 
namentliob ode dee, sind mancbmal, edc dee dagegen ist selten 
anzatreSen. So zeHallt also das Sonett iu vier selbetandige 
Stropben, denen aucb die innere Gedankenfolge entsprecben 
mnee, so swar, Jaae mit jeder neuen Strophe eine neue Wen- 
dung einzutreten hat. Yon dem italieniscben Tbeoretiker 
Quftdrio ist dieser It^iscbe Aufbau des Sonetts sogar dahin 
formnliert worden, dass das erste Quartett die Aufgabe habe, 
^ne Behauptnng aufzuatellen, das zweite, sie zu beweisen, das 
erate Terzett, sie zu bestStigeu, das zweite, den Schluss des 
Ganxea zu zieben. Diese rigorosen Anfordeniugea sind aber 
weder in der italieniscben, nocb auch in der deutschen nnd 
sonstigen Sonettendicbtung immer strenge beobachtet worden. 
Namentlicb die Sinn- und Satzpause nacb dem elften Verse, 

iJBER Goethe's sonette. 277 

also zwischen den beiden Terzetten, wird manchmal nicht 
eingehalten, und dadurch, dass dann diese zu eineiiiy mebr 
Oder weniger enge zusammeDhangenden Strophentheile ver- 
bunden werden^ macht in solchen Fallen das ganze Sonett^ 
wegen der gewobnlich strenge eingehaltenen Pause zwischen 
den beiden Quartetteu, eiuen dreitheiligen Eindruck. 

In dieser strengen italienischen Form wurde aber das Sonett 
anfangs nicht in der deutschen Literatur gepflegt. Vielmehr 
scheint Fischart, der in den siebziger Jabren des sechzehnten 
JahrhandertB die ersten deutschen Sonette dichtete,^ und zwar 
in viertaktigen jambischen Versen^ an franzosische Muster sich 
angelehnt zu haben. Der eigentliche Modevers des franzosis- 
chen Sonet ts war aber daraals schon der Alexandriner^ und in 
dieser Versart^ gewobnlich mit der Reimfolge abba abba cod 
eedj wurde das Sonett im 17^*^ Jahrhunderfc auch in Deutsch- 
land gepfi^ty so von Weckherlin, wenn auch dieser in der 
Reimstellung die italienische Form einfuhrte, von Opitz^ dem 
eigentlichen Forderer des Sonetts, von Simon Dach, Paul 
Fleming, Andreas Gryphius und vielen Anderen. Die Stofle^ 
die sie behandelten, gehorten den verschiedensten Gebieten an. 
Geistliche StoiFe wurden gern gewahlt^ auch kurze Charak- 
teristiken geschichtlicher Person lichkei ten in Sonettenform 
waren beliebt, ferner diente es zu Gelegenheitsgedichten ver- 
schiedener Art, vor alien Dingen aber, wie in Frankreich, 
Italien und allerwarts, dem ewig unerschopflichen Thema 
der Liebe. Im Laufe der Zeit war aber mehr und mehr der 
gediegene, tiefere G^halt, der die Sonette emes Weckherlin, 
Paul Fleming, Andreas Gryphius charakterisiert hatte, von 
der blossen Pflege der ausseren Form verdrangt worden, die 
in allerlei Reimspielereien und sonstigen Veranderungen und 
Erweiterungen zu Tage trat. 

Charakteristisch ist es, dass in alien Sprachen, die das Sonett 
pfl^ten, zu gewissen Zeiten Gedichte dieser Art auftauchten, 
welche die Entstehungsart eines solchen in der Form dessel- 

^ vk1> I^r. Heinrich Welti, OesehiehU da Sonettea in der deuUehen Dichtung^ 
Leipzig, 1884, S. 69 if. 

278 J« 8CHIFPEB. 

ben zom Gtegenstaode hattai, wie z. B. das folgende ans dem 
Ende des achtzehnten Jahrhonderts von Menke (Welti, a. a. 
O. S. 137), welches nodi dazn die Beime der Qoarteite aodi 
in den Terzetten beibeluUt : 

"Bej meiner Treol et wild mir Angst gemadit; 
Icfa loll gesdiwind dn ran Sonetgen Mgen, 

Cnd meine Kanst in Tienehn Zeilen wagen, 
BcTor idi mich anf rechlen Stoff bedacht. 
Wm reimt rich nan snf agen and aof adit? 

Dodi di idi kan mein Bdm-Begister fragen, 

Und in dem Sinn das ABC dorchjagen. 
So wild berdts der hdbe Theil beladiL 
Kann idi nan nodi aechs Verse daso tnigen. 

So darf idi mich mit keinen Grillen plagen : 

Wolan da sind schon wieder drej voUbradit ; 
Und weU nodi viel in meinem ToUen Kragen, 

So darf idi nidit am letzten Bdm yerzagen, 
Bej meiner Trea I das Werk ist schon gemacht." 

So ist es b^reiflich, dass eine Dichtungsfonn, die in eine 
blosse Spielerei ausartete, uberall in der Literator, sobald sich 
in ihr ein emsteres Streben nach Vertiefiing des Inhalts, ein 
idealer Aufschwung zu hdberen Zielen bemerkbar machte, 
von den Dichtern als der freien Entfaltung ihrer Individuali- 
tat unwiirdig verschm&ht und verfolgt wurde. So gescbah es 
in Frankreicb, wo Moli^re und Boileau das Sonett verspotte- 
ten und in Miscredit brachten, so im siebzehnten und acht- 
zehnten Jahrhundert in England, wo die einst so bluhende 
Sonettendichtung der Shakspere'scben Epoche um die Zeit 
ganz und gar der Veraehtung prei^^eben war, so auch in 
Deutschland, wo sich schon Christian Weise und Grottsched 
nnter dem Einfiuss Boileaus abtraglich uber das Sonett geaus- 
sert batten, und wo es von Dichtern wie Bodmer, Breitinger, 
Hagedorn, Klopstock, Lessing, Schiller und anderen vor und 
wahrend der Sturm- und Drang-Periode verschmaht und zum 
Theil mit Spott uberschutlet wurde. 

Indess ganzlich liess sich diese fruher so beliebte Dichtungs- 
form doch nicht mehr unterdrucken. Westermann rief es 

tJBEB Goethe's sonette. 279 

1765, wenn auch zu geschmackloser Verwendung, wieder ins 
Leben; Schiebeler, Klamer Schmidt, Gleim, Friedrich Schmit 
pfiegtea es, Gottfried August Burger aber brachte es mit seinen 
formvollendeten erotischen Sonetten, die jedoch grdsstentheils 
in funftaktigen Trochaen gesehrieben waren, aufs neue zur 
Bliithe uad fuhrte dadurch allerdings auch eine wahre tTber- 
schweromung von Sonetten herbei, die nun wieder die scharfite 
Opposition der Gegner hervorrief. 

Gleichwohl erreichte zur selben Zeit oder vielmehr ein De- 
oennium spater das Sonett den hochsten Gipfel der VoUendang 
durch August Wilhelm von Schlegel, der schon 1788 auf der 
Universitat gleichzeitig mit dem ihm befreundeten Burger sich 
der Sonett-Dichtung zuwandte, anfangs Petrarca'sche Sonette, 
zum Theil recht frei, sowohl hinsichtlich des Inhalts, wie 
auch der Form, allmahlich aber immer correcter, ubertrug 
und 1798 mit seinen '' Geistlichen Gremahlden/' Sonetten auf 
die benihmten religiosen Gemalde der Dresdener Gallerie, 
femer in seinen Spottsonetten auf Merkel und Kotzebue, 
seinen Trauersonetten auf den Tod seiner Stieftochter und 
auderen zur Vollkommenheit hinsichtlich der fruher schon 
charakterisierten, streng italienischen Form, wie auch des 
mehr und mehr vertieften Inhalts durchdrang. Denn auch 
in dieser Hinsicht hob er das Sonett aus dem engen Bereioh 
des subjectiven Liebesgefiihls, in welchem Burger es noch fest- 
gehalten hatte, zu den idealsten Aufgaben ijrischer Didaktik 

So wurde fiir das Sonett sowohl durch seine leidenschaft- 
lichen Gegner, wie auch durch seine eifrigen Vertheidiger und 
erfolgreichen Forderer zu B^inn dieses Jahrhunderts das 
hochste Interesse in der Literatur erregt. Es entbrannte aufs 
neue ein wahrer Kri^ um das Sonett, namentlich zwischen 
Joh. Heinr. Voss und den Romantikern, und dieser Sonetten- 
krieg* wurde zum Theil dadurch mit herbeigefnhrt, dass 
Goethe, der fruher, abgesehen von zwei, im Jahre 1796 ver- 
fassten Ubersetzungen der in der Lebensbeschreibung des 

» vgl. Welti, 8. 197-219. 

280 J. 8GUIPPEB. 

Benvenato Cdlini enthalteoen Sanette, kdne Gtodichte dieaer 
Art geachaffen hjUte, einige Jahre i^iter dieaer Dichtoi^s- 
fbrm nan aoch seine Tbdlnahme zawandte. 

Urn die Weode des JahrimndertB hatte Groellie mit xwo 
SpottBonetien/ die in der fur solcfae Zwecke danuds ancfa 
von Sdilegel and Tieck gebraachten italieniacben Nebenfonn 
des mmMo eodato, eines am ein drittes Ters^ verlangerten 
sogenannteii SchweifionettSy abgefiiast waren, far die Broder 
Sdilegely gegen Bdttiger, Kotsebae and Merkel ena]g;idch 
Partd genommen. Von Sdiiller wissen wir, daas das erste 
derselben ''eine bose Sensation gemacht" nnd w^en der 
Derbbeit des Aosdrncks bei den Damen Anstoss erregt babe.' 
JSb ist anthanlich, aaf diese beiden Sonette, mit denen wir zn 
tief in die literarischen Febden jener Zeit hineingeratben war- 
den, bier naher einzngehen. 

Von grosserem Interesse ibt far ans eines von xwei anderen 
Sonetten Groethes, die im Jahre 1802 erscbienen waren, nnd 
die er beide in zwei dramatiscbe Dicbtungen eingefloditen 
batte. Das eine ist das in dem Traaerspiel Die naturiiche 
Tochter in der vierten Soene des zweiten Aktes entfaaltene 
Sonett EugenienSj das andere, wichtigere, befindet sicb in dem 
znr £roflhang des Laacbstadter neuen Sdiaaspielbaases 1802 
aafgefahrten Vorspiel. Unter dem Titel NcUur und Kunst 
stdit es aucb im zweiten Bande der Gredidite, wo es das zweite 
ist in dem mit EpigrammaiUch uberscbriebenen Abscbnitt, 
wahrend das erste dieser Abtheilung die Uberscbrifl Dtu Sonett 
tragt. Diese beiden Sonette sind scbon aus dem Grande von 
bervorragendem Interesse, weil sie zu dem Sonetten-Krieg in 
directer Beziehang steben. Wabrend das zweite, Natur und 
Kundy vermuthlich im Jahre 1802, jedenfalls nicht spater, 
verfasst warde, sind wir uber die Entstehungszeit des ersten 
noeb weniger genau orientiert Gredruckt wurde es erst im 
Morgenblatt vom 5**" Januar 1807 von Haug, der es ohne 

^ OoeUiiM Werke, vi, 158, 159 (vgl. Cheihei Werke tod G. von Loeper, 
Berlin, 18S4, in, 823-325; Welti, a. a. O. 8. 184-190). 
• vgl. WelU, a. a. O. S. 189. 

tJBER qoethe's sokette. 281 

Goethes Einwilligung aus dem 1806 von ihm ed Cotta 
gesandtea Manuscript zum ersten Bande der (Jesammtaos- 
gabe entnommen hatte. Man hat daraus den Schluss gestat- 
ten woUeQy dass es erst im Jahre 1805 oder 1806 entstanden 
sei, aber schwerlich mit Recht. Im Gregeatheil, die beiden 
Sonette machen durchaus den Eindruck, dass sie bald nach- 
einander geschrieben wurden; sie verhalten sich wie zwei 
Pendants^ in denen der Dichter in objectiver Weise zuerst die 
Schattenseite und dann die Lichtseite der Sonettendiehtung 
vorfuhrt, wie aus dem Inhalt sofort ersichtlich ist. Sie stehen 
wohl beide, jedenfalls aber das erste, Das Sonett uberschrie- 
bene, zu dem ebenso betitelten, viel citierten Sonett von August 
Wilhelm von Schlegel, welches 1800 erschienen war, in enger 
Beziehung. Schlegel hatte darin das Wesen und die Bedeu- 
tung des Sonetts in mustergiiltiger Weise auseinandergesetzt 
mit folgenden Worten : 

Das Sonett. 

Zwei Beime heiss' ich viermal kehren wieder, 

Und Btelle sie, geteilt, in gleiche Beihen, 

Dass hier wie dort zwei, eingefasft von sweien, 

Im Doppelchore schweben auf ond nieder, 
Dann schlingt des Gleichlauts Eette durch zwei Glieder 

Sich freier wechselnd, jegliches von dreien. 

In solcher Ordnung, solcher Zahl gedeihen 

Die zartesten und stolzesten der Lieder. 
Den werd' ich nie mit meinen Zeilen kranzen, 

Dem eitle Spielerei mein Wesen diinket, 

Und Eigensinn die kiinstlichen Gesetze. 
Doch, wem in mir geheimer Zauber winket, 

Dem leih' ich Hoheit, Fiiir in engen Grenzen, 

Und reines Ebenmass der Gegensatze. 

G. von Loeper ist der Ansieht (Oodhea Werkey n, 464), 
und vielleicht mit Recht, dass Goethe unmittelbar nach dem 
Erscheinen der SchlegePschen Gedichte an dieses Sonett mit 
dem seinen, ebenso betitelten, angekniipfit habe, in welchem 
er aber dem unbediugten Lobe, welches Schlegel dem Sonett 
gespendet hatte, und welches Goethe ihn in den beiden Quar- 

282 J. 8CHIPP£B. 

teUen ab Vertieter der neaen Sdiule wiedeiliolen Vkae^ in deo 
Terzetten seine eigenen Bedenken gegenubenteUt. 

Dab Sovstt. 

Sich in emeatem Knostgebranch za uben, 

Ift heilge Pflicht, die wir dir Aoferl^gen : 

Dn kanoft dich Mich wie wir bettiiiimt bewegen 

Nach TriU cmd Schritt, wie ee dir yorgeachriebeiL 
Demi eben die BesciirankaDg liMi sich lieben, 

Wenn sich die Geister gar gewaldg regeo ; 

Und wie sie sich denn aach gebarden mogeo, 

Das Werk zoletzt ist doch Tollendet blieben. 
So mdcht' ich selbst in kunstlichen Sonetten, 

In sprachgewandter Biasse kuhnem Stolze, 

Das Beste^ was Gefohl mir gabe, reimen ; 
Nor weiss ich nicht mich hier bequem za betten ; 

Ich schneide sonst so gem aos ganzem Holze, 

Und mOsste non doch aach mitanter leimen. 

Wie ganz anders ausBert sich Gh)ethe uber das Wesen dieser 
Dichtungsart in dem zweiten der epigrammatischen Sonette, 
Natur und Ktmd betitelt, welches, wie gesagt, sicherlich als 
Pendant zu dem ersten anzusehen ist, sei es, dass es unmittel- 
bar danach, also vielleicht schon im Jahre 1800 entstand und 
erst spater in das Vorspiel Was wir bringen aufgenommen 
vrurde, wie man aus den Worten 

*' Im Sinne schwebt mir eines Dichters alter Sprach/' 

womit die Nymphe es einleitet, schliessen kdnnte, oder dass 
es gleichzeitig mit diesem Vorspiel, also im Jahre 1802, ver- 
fi^st wurde und des Dichters im Laufe der Zeit veranderte 
AuJBFassung wiedergab. 

Natur vvd Kunst. 

Natur and Kunst sie scheinen sich za fliehen, 
Und haben sich, eh' man es denkt, gefunden. 
Der Widerwille ist auch mir entschwunden, 
Und beide scheinen gleich mich anzaziehen. 

iJBEB Goethe's soNEfiTE. 283 

Es gilt wohl nur ein redliches Bemuhen I 
Und wenn wir erst, in abgemeesnen Stnndeny 
Mit Qeist ond Fleias ons an die Eonst gebunden, 
Mag frei Katur im Henen wieder gluhen. 

So ist's mit aller Bildong aoch beschafien : 
Vergebens werden ungebund'ne Qeister 
Nach der Vollendung reiner Hohe streben. 

Wer Qrosses will, muss sich sosammenraffen : 
In der Beschrankong zeigt rich erat der Meister, 
Und das Gesetz nnr kann ons Freiheit geben. 

Dass Goethe, nachdem er mit diesem herrlichen Gredicht 
der SonetteDdiehtung die hdchste Anerkennung gezollt hatte, 
nachtraglich doch nocli za Ungunsten derselben sich hatte 
aussprechen und gleiehwohl bald darauf die Serie der noch 
naher zu betrachtenden siebzehn Liebessonette hatte dichten 
soUen^ wie wir annehmen mussteo, wenD das erste epigram- 
matische, Das Sonett iibefschriebene Sonett 1805 oder 1806 
entstanden sein soil, ist allerdings ganz undenkbar. Zudem 
weist aber auch das zweite Gredicht mit dem Verse 

" Der Widerwille ist anch mir entschwnnden" 

aosdrficklioh auf das erste hin, denn unter dem Widerwillen 
ist nar die Ahneigung gegen das Sonett za veretehen, die 
sich in den beiden Terzetten des diese tJberschrift tragenden 
Gredichts ausspricht, und auch der Vers 

*' In der Beschrankung zeigt rich erst der Meister" 

ist nur eine Steigerung des in dem Verse des ersten Sonetts 

" Denn eben die Betchrankang lasit sich lieben" 

ausgesprochenen Gredankens, der seinerseits wohl wieder durcb 
das Schlegel'sche 

" Dem leih' ich Hoheit, Full' in engen Grenzen " 

angeregi worden ist. 

Aber auch den angeblichen fruheren Widerwillen g^eo 
die Sonettendichtung, von dem Goethe in dem zweiten dieser 


SoDette redet, und dem er in dem ersten Ausdrack gegeben 
hatte, darf man nicht allza emst nehmen. Vielmehr hat er, 
wie mir scheint, in dem ersten (Tedichte die dem Sonett so 
gem von den Gegnem desselben entg^en^haltenen Nacli- 
theile dieser Dichtungsart, die oft durch die Schwierigkeit der 
Reimordnung herbeigefuhrte Kunstelei der Diction, die ge- 
zwangenen Wendungen and Ausdrucke, mit einer liebenswur- 
digen Selbstironie, darch eine bewusste Vernaelilassigung der 
Form aufi gluckliehste and anscbaulichste illustriert. Schon 
gleich der erste Vers : 

"Sich in emeutem Eanstgebraach zu tlben" 

klingt etwas gescbraubt, namentlich aber der zehnte Vers : 
''In sprachgewandter Masse kuhnem Stolze;" 

und in dem achten Verse : 

'' Das Werk zaletzt ist doch yollendet blieben" 

gebraucht er offenbar die durch den Reim erzwungene Wen- 
dang ^'voUendet blieben'' statt des naturlichen Ausdrucks 
'Wollendet worden/' Dass Goethe mit Absicht diese ge- 
zwungenen Wendangen gewahit oder sie wenigstens, nachdem 
sie ihm aus der Feder geflossen waren, mit Bewasstsein hat 
stehen lassen, da sie ihm in vortrefflicher Weise zar formalen 
Illustration seines Themas dienten, ist mir ganz unzweifel- 
haft. Und dass er dem zweiten Gtedicht NaJtur und Kunsty 
welches mit einem Preise der Kunstpoesie in dieser verfeinert- 
sten Form beginnt, und sich im Schluss zu einem begeisterten 
Hymnus auf alle Bildung und die nothwendige Unterord- 
nung unter hdhere Gesetze fur alles Streben nach der reinen 
H5he der Vollendung — im G^nsatz zu den kunstlerischen 
und sittlichen Ausschreitungen der Romantiker aufschwingt, — 
dass er diesem schdnen Sonett auch die denkbar voUendetste 
aussere Form geben musste, ist nicht minder selbstverstand- 
lich. Diese vollkommene Harmonic aber, die zwischen Inhalt 

tJBEB qoethe's sonette. 286 

und Form in diesem Gredicht herrscht, indem die darin nieder- 
gel^en bedeatuDgsvollen, fur alle Zeit giiltigen sittlichen 
Wahrheiten in der ungezwungensten und doch kanstvoUsten 
Form and Sprache ausgedriickt sind, hat es bewirkt, dass die 
drei letzten Verse dieses Sonetts : 

" Wer Grosses will, moss sich Eosammenraffen : 
In der Beschrankung zeigt sich erst der Meister, 
Und das Gesetz nar kann ans Freiheit geben.'' 

jeder fur sich zu geflugelten Worten geworden sind. 

Nur beilaufig sei noch erwahnt, dass begreiflicherweise beide 
Parteien, die Anhanger, wie auch die G^egner der Sonetten- 
poesie, den Dichter auf Grundlage je eines dieser beiden Sonette 
als den ihrigen reclamierten. Goethe selber aber nahm den 
einzig richtigen Standpunkt in dieser Streitfrage ein, wie wir 
aus seinera Briefe an Zelter ersehen, dem er am 22. Juni 1808 
von Karlsbad aus schrieb : ''Und was soil es nun gar heissen, 
eine rhythraische Form, das Sonett z. B., mit Hass und Wuth 
zu verfolgen, da sie ja nur ein Gefass ist, in das jeder von 
Grehalt hineinlegen kann was er vermag. Wie lacherlich 
ist's, mein Sonett, in dem ich einigermassen zu Ungunsten der 
Sonette gesprochen, immer wiederkauen, aus einer asthetischen 
Sache eine Parteysache zu machen und mich als Parteygesel- 
len heranzuziehen, ohne zu bedenken, dass man recht gut 
uber eine Sache spassen und spotten kann, ohne sie deswegen 
zu verachten und zu verwerfen.^' 

Goethe, der schon im April desselben Jahres in einem 
Briefe an Cotta, den Besitzer des MorgefnblaUeSy sich gewun- 
dert, dass die Redacteure desselben '' gegen das Sonett eine so 
komische Aversion bewiesen" und den Ausruf hinzugefugt 
hatte: "Als wenn dem Genie und dem Talent nicht jede 
Form zu beleben freistiinde ! '' sah sich zu diesen Ausseruu- 
gen um so mehr veranlasst, als er nach ftinfjahriger Pause 
in der Sonettendichtung sich im Spatherbst des Jahres 1807 
derselben mit einer besonderen Zuneigung hingegeben hatte. 
Und zwar war es damals das Liebessonett, welches er mit sol- 

286 J. 8CHIPPER. 

chem Eifer pflegte, dass er in kurzer Zeit die schon erwahnte 
Serie von 17 Sonetten schnf and sioh in einem derselben. 
Nemesis betitelt^ mit der ihm eigenen^ von Riemer beson- 
ders hervorgehobenen liebenswardigen Selbstironie uber seine 
'^Sonettenwuth und Raserei der Liebe'' lustig macht. 

11. Nemebib. 

Wenn darch das Volk die grimme Seuche wuthet, 

Soil man voraichtig die Qesellschaft lassen. 

Auch hab' ich oft mit Zaadern und Verpasaen 

Vor manchen Inflaenzen mich gehutet. 
Und obgleich Amor oders mich begutet, 

Mocht' ich zaletzt mich nicht mit ihm befassen. 

So ging mir's aach mit jenen Lakrimaaien, 

Als Tier-nnd dreifach reimend sie gebrutet. 
Nan aber folgt die Strafe dem Verachter, 

Als wenn die Schlangenfackel der Erinnen 

Von Berg eu Thai, von Land zn Meer ihn triebe. 
Ich hore wohl der Genien Gelachter ; 

Doch trennet mich yon jeglichem Bednnen 

Sonettenwoth and Raserei der Liebe. 

Dafis wir es bier mit einer absichtliohen komischen Uber- 
treibung zu than haben, b*egt aaf der Hand, denn die '^ Sonet- 
tenwath/' von der der Dichter redet, tobte sich aas in der doch 
nicht so sehr grossen Auzahl von siebzehn Gredichten dieser 
Art| und die '^ Raserei der Liebe/' deren sich der damals bald 
sechzigjahrige Dichter and Greheime Rath Exoellenz von 
Goethe schaldig bekennt, redaciert sich nach den meines 
Erachtens anabweisbaren Ergebnissen neaerer Forschang aaf 
das an Liebe greuzende Wohlgefallen, welches eine anmu- 
thige Madchenerscheinung des Frommann'schen Hanses in 
Jena, in welchem Goethe, so oft er sich dort aaf hielt, viel 
verkehrte, seinem leicht erregbareu Dichtergemath einflosste, 
and, combiniert mit ahnlichen Begegnangen and Erlebnissen 
etwas fraherer Tage, in der damals gerade durch verschiedene 
Anlasse ihn lebhaft anziehenden Sonettenform seinen Aas- 
drack fand. 


KurZy die treibenden Motive fiir diesen im Jahre 1807 
entstandenen Sonettenkranz Goethes sind angedeutet durch 
NennuDg der Namen Petrarca, Zacharias Werner^ Minna 
Herzlieby Bettlna Brentano. Die beiden ersteren gaben den 
aussereu, die beiden letzteren den inneren Anlass dazu. Im 
Jahre 1806 war bei deoi Buehhaudler Frommann in Jena^ 
dem Freunde des Dichters, eine neae Ausgabe der Rime di 
Franoeaco Petraroa erschienen, und dadurch, sowie wohl noch 
mehr durch die Sonette des damals in Jena weilenden an- 
staten Dichters Zacharias Werner^ die, ebenso wie diejenigen 
Schlegels und Anderer, in dem Frommann'schen Kreise gem 
vorgelesen wurden, wurde, wie Riemer in seinen MiUhetlungen 
uber Groethe (Berlin, 1841, i, 34-36) berichtet hat, auch dieser 
aufs neue zur Sonettendichtung anger^t, und zwar war es, 
wie gesagt, das Liebessonett, dem er, in ahnlicher Situation 
wie Petrarca, der Sanger der Platonischen Liebe, sich befin- 
dend, seine Gunst zuwandte. Denn Goethe fuhlte sich damals, 
ein Jahr nachdem er seinem Bunde mit Christiane Vulpius 
die kirchliche Weihe hatte geben lassen, von der jugendlich- 
schonen, unter seinen Augen herangewachsenen Minna Herz- 
lieb, einer Pflegetochter des Froramann'schen Hauses, lebhaft 
angezogen und brachte ihr, ahnlich wie Petrarca der mit dem 
Ritter Hugues de Sade vermahlteu Laura, wenn anders die 
von dem italienischen Dichter besungene Schdne mit jener 
Dame identisch ist, seine poetischen Huldigungen dar. Doch 
sind nicht alle die siebzehn Sonette als an Minna Herzlieb 
gerichtet oder auch nur durch sie anger^ anzusehen, wenn 
es auch wohl zu weit gegangen ist, nur drei derselben, das 
zwdlfte, sechzehnte und siebzehnte, wie Diintzer will, auf sie 
zu beziehen. 

Es hat lange gedauert, bis uberhaupt Goethes Beziehungen 
zu Minna Herzlieb, die ja bekanntlich auch seiner Ottilia 
in den WafUverwandtschaJien die Ziige geliehen hat, bekannt 
geworden sind. Erst der Englander Lewis hat dies in seiner 
1855 erschienenen Goethe-Biographie enthullt, Adolf Stahr 
hat es in seinem Buche, Ooelhea FrauengestaUen (vierte Auf- 

288 J« 8CHIPPEB. 

lage^ Berlin^ 1872) weiter aufzadecken gesucht^ and neuere 
UntersuchongeD haben dessen and Hesses Ausfnhmngen/ die 
den Boden der Thatsachen in romanhafter Darstellung ver- 
lieseen^ kritisch beleuchtet. Es hat sich so schon eine nicht 
nnbetrachtliche Literatur an diese Frage angesponnen^ die 
noch verwickelter geworden ist durch die weitere Frage, in 
welcher Beziehung Bettina Brentano zu den Sonetten stehe. 

Bettina hatte bekanntlioh in ihrem 1 835 erschienenen Buche, 
GheUiea Briefwechsel mil einem Kinde einen Theil der Sonette 
^'sioh bona fide als an sie gedichtet und gerichtet angeeignet^' 
and einige derselben in ihren Briefen ''in Prosa aufgedroselt/' 
ans der man, wie Riemer a. a. O. mit Becht hervorhebt, noch 
das Silbenmass mit der Wort und Satzfolge hindurchhdrt. 
'' Groethe/' bemerkt er weiter zu den Sonetten, '' hat solche 
weder an sie noch auf sie gedichtet, wenn es auch mdglich, 
sogar gewiss sei, dass er ihr eins oder das andere gesendet 
habe/' " Der Stoff,'' fahrt Riemer fort, " ist ganz wo anders 
her und eine Menge in den Sonetten vorkommender Umstande 
kann schon dem Ort und der Zeit nach, auch gewisser Ver- 
haltnisse w^n, gar nicht auf Bettinen bezogen werden,'' und 
er bekraftigt diese Behauptung durch die Angabe, '' dass ein 
Dutzend dieser Sonette schon 1807, vom 29. Nov. Adventus 
domini an bis 16. December, in Jena verfertigt und durch seine 
Hand gegangen sei.'' 

Aber Riemer, der hiermit die ersten wichtigen Daten und 
Hinweise zur Beurtheilung der Goetheschen Liebessouette ge- 
liefert hat, ist, wie neuere Untersuchuugen erwiesen haben, in 
der Zuruckweisung Bettinens doch zu weit gegangen. Her- 
mann Grimm, der Schwiegersohn Bettinens, dem ein Theil des 
Goethe'schen Briefwechsels mit ihr handschrifiblich zu Grebote 
stand, hat das Verdienst, dies in einem geistvollen Aufsatz in 
den Preussischen Jahrbuchem (Bd. 30, 8. 591-603) nachge- 
wiesen zu haben, wenn er auch dort die romanhafte Darstel- 

^Minchm HenHub von August Hesse {JSammlung gemeinvenldruUicher 
9chqftUeher Vartrdge, heraosgegeben yon Rod. Virchow und Fr. von Holtzen- 
dorff, Heft 297), Berlin, 1878. 

tJBER qoethe's sonette. 289 

luDg Adolf Stahrs uber Goethes Liebesverhaltniss zu Minna 
Herzlieb noch einigermassen in Schutz nimmt^ welches aber 
noch der Kritik, die der erneuten, von Gaedertz herrtihrenden 
DarstelluDg desselben durch Pniower in einer onserer ange- 
sehensten germanistischen Zeitschriflen zu Theil geworden 
ist/ vollends in sich selbst zerfallt. 

Nach den jetzt wohl, so weit wie es uberhaupt za erwarten 
isty aufgedeckten Beziehungen der betheiligten Personen zu 
einander durfen wir hinsiehtlich der inneren und ausseren 
Anlfisse zu Groethes Liebessonetten^ wenn auch manche Ein- 
zelheiten und intinieren Beziehungen wohl immer in Dunkel 
gehiillt bleiben werden, folgende Punkte als im Wesentlichen 
den Thatsachen entsprechend ansehen. 

Dass Minna Herzlieb^ die schone, damals achtzehnjahrige^ 
von alien Freunden des Frommann'schen Hauses gefeierte 
Pflegetochter desselben, dem Herzen des Dichters im Winter 
1807/1808, vermuthlich aber schon friiher, nahe stand, ist 
sicher. Er selbst ausserte sich daruber in einem vom 15*^ 
Januar 1813 datierten Briefe an Zelter, der ihm den damali- 
gen Verlobten der Minna Herzlieb empfohlen hatte: "Seine 
Braut fing ich als Kind von achi Jahren an zu lieben und in 
ihrem sechszehnten liebte ich sie mehr wie billig/'* Sicher 
ist, dass er das Wesen der Minna Herzlieb in der Ottilie seiner 
Wahlverwandlschaften verkorpert hat, ebenso wie Bettina Bren- 
tano ihm als Modell diente fiir Charlottens Tochter Luciane in 
diesem Roman. Keineswegs aber sind die Situationen und 
Herzenserlebnisse, die in demselben dargestellt werden, als auf 
ahnlichen Wechselbeziehungen zwischen Goethe und Minna 
Herzlieb beruhend anzusehen. Denn es darf jetzt als erwiesen 

^Ooethes Mincheri, Auf Qrund ungedruekUr Briefe geachildert von Karl 
Theodor Gaedertz. BremeD, Miiller, 1887 ; reoensiert von Otto Pniower 
in der ZeUsehrift fiir deutsches AUerthum, Bd. 32, Anzeiger, S. 130-140. 

'Graedertz bemerkt dazu (S. 109, Anm.) : ''Goethe irrt aich ; es mafls 
heissen: als Kind von neun Jahren .... ond: in ihrem achtzehnten." 
Weshalb denn? Gerade die Angabe "in ihrem sechszehnten Jahre" wirft 
ein eigenthiimliches Streiflicht auf die WMvenoandiaehaflen and wird besta- 
tigt durch Sonett 16 {Epoehe), v. 5-8. 


angesehen werden, dass dies empfindsame Madchen, dessen 
Herz eben damals von einer hofihungslosen Liebe zu einem 
juDgen livlandischen Adligen erfullt war/ su dem '^alten 
lieben theueren Herrn/' wie sie Groethe nannte, nie ein anderes 
Gkfuhl als das inniger Verehrung gekannt hat. Aus dem 
Inhalt der Sonette auf eine Leidenschail zu schliessen, von 
der der Diohter und das junge Madchen zu einander ergriffen 
gewesen sein sollen, heisst das von dem Tone der Petrarca'- 
schen Liebessonette beeinflusste Wesen und die Entstehungsart 
dieser Gredichte vdllig verkennen. Groethe wurde, wie bereits 
erwahnt, durch die in den abendlichen Cirkeln des From- 
mann'schen Hauses im Monate November von Zacharias 
Werner und Anderen vorgelesenen Sonette angeregt, sich 
auch in dieser Dichtungsart wieder zu versuchen, der er aber 
nun, entgegen den philosophischen und didaktischen Sonetten 
Schlegels, nach dem Vorbilde Petrarcas einen mehr lyrischen^ 
erotischen Inhalt, zugleich aber auch mehr Leben, Interesse 
und Handlung zu geben trachtete. Indess erst g^en Ende 
November trat er mit einigen Sonetten hervor, und da ist es 
nun bezeichnend fur Minna Herzlieb's Stellung zu denselben, 
dass gerade das erste von Goethe gediclitete (vgl. Pniower, a. 
a. O. S. 136), welches in der ganzeu Serie jetzt als das vierte 
steht und die t)^berschriil hat ^^ Das Madchen spricht/' sicher- 
lich nicht auf ihren Einfluss, sondern auf ein Erlebniss des 
Dichters mit Bettinen, ahnlich wie es dort geschildert wird, 
zuriickzufnhren ist. Wie wir aus den Mittheilungen Riemers 
wissen, war Bettina kurz vor Groethes am ll*** November 
1807 erfolgter Abreise nach Jena zehn Tage in Weimar 
gewesen und stand uberhaupt zu jener Zeit mit Goethe in 
lebhaftem Verkehr, so dass Hermann Grimm wohl Recht 
hat, wenn er bemerkt: ^' Seine Sonette konnen sich jener Zeit 
zwischen beiden Madchen getheilt, ihnen beiden gehdrt haben, 
wie seine Zuneigung." Wir erinnem uns, dass er ja auch 
beider Wesen in den Wahlverwandtachaften verkorpert hat. 

Wgl. GaederU, a. a. O. S. 10 ff. 


Das hier in Frage kommende Sonett hat folgenden Wort- 
laut : 

4. Das Madchen bfbicht. 

Da Biehsi so emBt, Oeliebter I Deinem Bilde 

Von Mftimor hier mocht' ich dich wohl vergleichen ; 

Wie dieses giebst du mir kein Lebensseichen ; 

Mit dir verglichen zeigt der Stein sich milde. 
Der Feind verbirgt sich hinter seinem Schilde, 

Der Freand soil offen seine Stim uns reichen. 

Ich suche dich, du suchst mir zu entweichen ; 

Doch halte Stand wie dieses Knnstgebilde. 
An wen von beiden soil ich nan mich wenden ? 

SoUt* ich yon beiden Kalte leiden mussen, 

Da dieser todt and du lebendig heissest? 
Kurz, um der Worte mehr nicht zu yerschwenden, 

So will ich diesen Stein so lange kussen, 

Bis eifersiichtig du mich ihm entreissest. 

Es ist mit Recht von G. von Loeper bemerkt woiden, dass 
sich schwerlich damals weder in dem Frommann'schen Hanse^ 
uoch sonst wo in Jena eine Buste Goethes befand, und dass 
somit Bettinas Erzahlung {Tagebiich, S. 534)^ der Dichter habe 
in dem Sonett einen mit ihr in der Weimarer Bibliothek erleb- 
ten Vorfall zur Darstellung gebracht, vermuthlich richtig ist, 

t^berhaupt wird man der Ansicht Hermann Grimms zu- 
stimmen konnen, dass einige der neun Sonette, die sich in 
Bettinens Buch finden^ ihr thatsachlich von Goethe geschickt 
worden sind, andere auf von ihr in Gesprachen, Begegnungen 
oder sonstigen Beziehungen ihm gegebene Anregungen zuriick- 

Zu der ersteren Gruppe gehort gleich das erste, McuJUigea 
tJherraschen betitelt, wovon die durch Bettina mitgetheilte 
Version die alt«re ist, und wovon H. Grimm selbst das von 
Goethes Hand geschriebene Blatt unter ihren Manuscripten 
gesehen hat. Gleichwohl ist es ebenso wahrscheinlich oder 
vielleicht wahrscheinlicher, dass sich in diesem schonen Sonett 
welches, wie G. von Loeper bemerkt, "in einem durchgefuhr- 
ten Vergleich das durch die Liebesempfindung uberraschte 

292 J. 8CHIPPEB. 

Gremiith des Dichters schildert/' dessen GefUhle fur Minna 
Herzlieb wiederspi^ln, sis diejenigen fur Bettine Brentano. 

1. Machtioes Uberraschen. 

£in Strom «ntraii8cht umwolktem Felsensa&le, 

Dem Osean sich eilig za yerbinden ; 

Was aach sich spiegeln mag von Grand za Oronden, 

Er wandelt miaafhaltsam fort zu Thale. 
Damoniflch aber sturzt mit einem Male — 

Ihr folgten Berg and Wald in Wirbelwinden — 

Sich Oreas, Behagen dort zu finden, 

Und hemmt den Laaf, begrenzt die weite Schale. 
Die Welle sprdht and staunt zoruck and weichet 

Und schwillt bergan, sich immer selbet za trinken ; 

Gehemmt ist nun zam Vater bin das Streben. 
Sie schwankt and raht, zum See zaruckgedeichet ; 

(^estime, spiegelnd sich, beschaan das Blinken 

Des Wellenschlags am Fels, ein neues Leben. 

Gleichzeitig mit diesem Sonett will Bettina mit einem Briefe 
GroetheSy datiert vom 7*** Aug. 1807, ein anderes empfangen 
haben, welches sich nan als siebentes in der Sammlung befin- 
det und den Titel Abschied fuhrt. Dies scheint in der That 
viel eher den Beziehungen des Dichters zu ihr, als denjenigen 
zu Minna Herzlieb zu entstammen und mehr aus der uber- 
schwanglichen Stimmung Bettinas selber erwachsen zu sein^ 
als aus deijenigen Goethes. 

7. Abschied. 

War unersattlich nach yiel taosend Kussen 

Und masst' mit einem Kass am Ende scheiden. 

Nach herber Trennung tief empfundnen Leiden 

War mir das Ufer, dem ich mich entrissen, 
Mit Wobnangen, mit Bergen, Hiigeln, Flussen, 

So lang' ich's deatlich sah, ein Schatz der Freaden ; 

Zoletzt im Blaaen blieb ein Augenweiden 

An fernentwichnen lichten finsternissen. 
Und endlich, als das Meer den Blick omgrenzte, 

Fiel mir zaruck ins Herz mein heiss Verlangen ; 

Ich sachte mein Verlornes gar yerdrossen. 


Da war es gleich, als ob der Himmel glanzte ; 
Mir schien, als ware nichts mir, nlchts entgangen, 
Als hatt' ich alles was ich je genossen. 

Unbedenklich sind ferner wohl das achte Sonett {Die Lie^ 
bende schreibl), das neunte {Die Liebende abermais) und das 
zehnte {8ie kann nicht enden) aus den Beziehungen Goethes 
zu Bettina abzaleiten, jedoch Daturlich nicht aus ihren nach- 
traglichen prosaischen " Aufdroselungen ^' der betreffenden 
Sonette in ihrem halbimaginaren Briefwechsel mit Goethe. 
Von ihr wissen wir aber wenigstens, dass sie thatsachlich 
Briefe mit Goethe geweehselt und ihn mit ihrem gluhenden 
poetischen Liebeswerben verfolgt hat, ja einzelne Wendungen 
aus ihrem ersten, urkundlich vorhandenen, am 16. Juni 1807 
an Groethe gesehriebenen Briefe klingen in dem neunten und 
zehnten Sonett deutlich wieder (vgl. Ooethes Werke^ von G. 
von Loeper, n, S. 295/6), wahrend bei Minna Herzlieb alle 
Nachrichten dagegen sprechen, sowohl dass sie mit Goethe 
correspondiert, als auch namentlieh, dass sie ihm eine leiden- 
schaflliche Neigung gewidmet habe. 

Von diesen Sonetten scheint uns namentlieh das neunte aus 
der Wiedergabe echt Bettina'seher Stimmung Goethe gegen- 
uber hervorgegangen zu sein. Doch auch die beiden anderen 
mogen hier mitgetheilt werden. 

8. DnE Liebende schbeibt. 

Ein Blick von deinen Augen in die meinen, 
Ein Kuss yon deinem Mund auf meinem Mande, 
Wer davon hat, wie ich, gewisse Kande, 
Mag dem was andres wohl erfrealich scheinen ? 

Entfemt von dir, entfremdet von den Meinen, 
Fuhr* ich stets die Gedanken in die Rande^ 
Und immer treffen sie auf jene Stunde, 
Die einzige ; da fang' ich an za weinen. 

Die Thrane trocknet wieder anversehens ; 
Er liebt ja, denk* ich, her in diese Stille, 
Und solltest du nicht in die Feme reichen? 

Vemimm das Lispeln dieses Liebeswehens I 
Mein einzig Gliick aaf Erden ist dein Wille, 
Dein freandlicher zu mir ; gieb mir ein Zeichen ! 

294 J. scfliPPEB. 

9. Die Ldebendb abebmals. 

Wamm ich wieder zam Papier mich wende ? 
Das moflst da, Liebeter, bo bestimmt nicht frageo, 
Denn eigentlich hab' ich dir nichts za sagen ; 
Doch kommt*8 zaletzt in deine iieben EQuide. 

Weil ich nicht kommen kann, solly was ich sende, 
Mein angetheiltes Herz hiniibertragen 
Mit Wonnen, Hoffnangen, Entzucken, Plagen : 
Das alles hat nicht Anfang, hat nicht Ende. 

Ich mag Yom heat'gen Tag dir nichtB vertraaen ; 
Wie sich im Sinnen, Wunschen, Wahnen, Wollen 
Mein trenes Herz za dir hinuber wendet : 

80 stand ich einst yor dir, dich anzaschauen, 
Und sagte nichts. Was hatt' ich sagen sollen ? 
Mein ganzes Wesen war in sich yollendet. 


Wenn ich nan gleich das weisse Blatt dir schickte, 
Anstatt dass ich's mit Lettem erst beschreibe, 
Aosfulltest da's vielleicht zum Zeitvertreibe 
Und sendetest's an mich, die Hochbegluckte. 

Wenn ich den blauen Umschlag dann erblickte, 
Neogierig schnell, wie es geziemt dem Weibe, 
RisB ich ihn aaf, dass nichts yerborgen bleibe ; 
Da las' ich was mich miindlich sonst entzuckte: 

Lieb Kind 1 Mein artig Herz I Mein einzig Wesen 1 
Wie da so freundlich meine Sehnsacht stilltest 
Mit sussem Wort and mich so ganz yerwohntest. 

Sogar dein Lispeln glaabt' ich auch za lesen, 
Womit da liebend meine Seele fiilltest 
Und mich auf ewig vor mir selbst verschontest. 

Damit sind aber auch wohl diejenigen Sonette unter den 
von Bettina in ** Groethes Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde '^ 
mitgetheilten erschopft, welche auf ihre Einwirkung zuruck- 
zufuhren sind. Von den sonstigen Groethe'schen Sonetten, die 
darin noch enthalten sind, ist das erste dasjenige, welches sie 
mittheilt unter dem Titel : Soneiij im Brief an Ghethea Mutter 
beigdegt. Dieser Brief ist datiert vom 4. Mai 1808^ aber in 


dem echten Goethe'schen Briefe/ der una erhalten ist^ wild ein 
deraselben beigeschlossenes Sonett nicht erwahnt. Dies Sonett 
ist das fiinfte in der Sammlung und hat dort den Titel Wdohs- 
thum, Es ist das einzige, welches sich in Minna Herzliebs 
Nachlass, and zwar in Goethes eigener Handschrift mit der 
Unterschrift "den 13. Dec. 1807, Mitternacht,"— obwohl sie 
noch 1857 Loeper gegenuber leugnete, Sonette von Goethe 
erhalten zu haben, — vorgefunden, und von dem sie selbst dem 
namlichen Goethe-Forscher gegenuber erklart hat, es drucke 
ihr Yerhaltniss za Goethe aus, — so sei sie mit ihm als Kind 
in Jena spazieren gegangen. Es lautet folgendermassen : 

6. Wachsthtjm. 

Als kleines art'ges Kind nach Feld und Aaen 

Sprangst du mit mir so manchen Fruhlingsmoigen. 

'^ Fur solch ein Tochterchen, mit holden Sorgen, 

Mocht' ich als Vater segnend Haiiser baaen I " 
Und als du anfingst, in die Welt zu schauen, 

War deine Freude hausliches Besorgen. 

** Solch eine Schwester I und ich war' geborgen : 

Wie konnt ich ihr, ach I wie sie mir vertrauen I " 
Nun kann den Bchonen Wachsthum nichts beschranken ; 

Ich fiihl' im Herzen heisses Liebestoben. 

Umfass* ich sie, die Schmerzen zu beschwicht'gen ? 
Doch, ach ! nun muss ich dich als Furstin denken : 

Du stehst 80 schroflf vor mir eroporgehoben; 

Ich beuge mich vor deinem Blick, dem fliicht'gen. 

In diesem schoneu Sonett werden die Wandlungen der 
Grefiihle des Dichters im Laufe der Jahre g^eniiber dem 
Kinde, dem heranwachsenden Madchen und der in schonster 
Jugendbliithe prangenden Jungfrau, zugleich aber auch ihr 
eigenartiges Wesen selber in anziehendster Weise geschildert. 
Gar seltsam beriihrt es, dass verschiedene Ausleger dieses 
G^ichts aus dem letzten Terzett, beginnend mit dem Verse: 

Doch, ach I nun muss ich dich als Furstin denken, 

^ vgl. Briefe Ooethea an Sophie von La JRoche und BetHna Brentano, heraus- 
gegeben von G. von Loeper, Berlin, 1879, S. 170/1. 

296 J. scfliPP£B. 

gefolgert haben, 68 sei von Goethe an die Prinzessin Karoline 
von Weimar gerichtet, die er gleichfalls anter seinen Augen 
hatte herauwachsen sehen, aber auf diese wurden die elf 
vorangehenden Verse des Sonetts doch ganz und gar nioht 
bezogen werden kdnnen^ wahrend der Schluss sich ja nur 
figurlich auf die ^'weibliche Hobeit, jungfrauliche Herbigkeit 
und Unnahbarkeit der Minna Herzlieb" (Loeper) bezieht und 
gerade diese von verschiedenen Seiten uns verburgte Eigen- 
thumlichkeit ihres Wesens vortrefflich charakterisiert Auf 
Bettina \vurde es am allerwenigsten passen ; aiieh hat sie wohl 
kaum im Ernste Anspruch darauf erhoben, obwohl sie Goethe 
in dem betrefienden Briefe sagen lasst : ^^ Grestem schickte ioh 
meiner Mutter ein kleines Blattchen fur Dich; nimm's als 
ein baares Aquivalent fur das, was ich anders auszusprechen in 
mir kein Talent fuhle ; sehe zu wie Du Dirs aneignen kannst'' 
Ausserdem findet sich nur noch das letzte der siebzehn 
Liebessonette^ Charade betitelt, von Bettina in dem Brief- 
wechsel mitgetheilt als ihr von ihm gesandt mit dem angeb- 
lichen Zusatz: ''an dem magst Du Dich zufrieden rathen/' 
In dem letzten Briefe des ersten Bandes ihres Briefwechsels 
lesen wir, wie sie sich vergebens abmuht, die Losung zu finden. 
Begreiflich genug ! Denn diese war das Wort " Herzlieb," 
welchen Namen ubrigens auch Zacharias Werner, Riemer, 
Griesj'eder in einem Sonett, gefeiert haben. Das Goethe'sche 
ist besonders anmuthig. 

17. Charade. 

Zwei Worte sind es, kurz, bequem zu sagen. 
Die wir so oft mit holder Freude nennen, 
Doch keineswegs die Dinge deutlich kennen, 
WovoD sie eigentlich den Stempel tragen. 

£s thut gar wohl in jung- and alten Tagen, 
Eins an dem andem kecklich zu verbrennen ; 
Und kann man sie vereint zusammen nennen, 
So druckt man aus ein seliges Behagen, 

Nun aber such' ich ihnen zu gefallen 
Und bitte, mit sich selbst mich zu beglucken ; 
Ich hoffe still, doch hoff* ich's zu erlangen : 


Als Namen der Geliebten rie zu lallen, 
In einem Bild sie beide zu erblicken, 
In einem Wesen beide zu umfangen. 

Ebenso wenig, wie dieses Sonett, ist das sechzehnte der 
Sammlungy Epoche betitelt, zu Bettinen in irgend welche 
Beziehung za setzeu, obwohl es ihrem " Briefwechsel mit 
Groethe'^ in der Ausgabe von 1836 als Motto voransteht^ 
wahrend es in der Ausgabe Hermann Grimms vom Jahre 
1881 fortgelassen ist. Das Sonett ist ebenfalls erwiesenermas- 
sen an Minna Herzlieb gerichtet. Anknupfend an Petrarca^ 
der seine Liebe zu Laura von Charfreitag 1327 an datierte^ 
preist Groethe den Adventssonntag des Jahres 1807, an wel- 
chem Tage er, wie wir von Knebel wissen, Mittags bei From- 
manns und also dem geliebten Madohen nahe war, welches er 
bei seinem damaligen Besuch in Jena an dem Tage vielleioht 
zum ersten Male wiedersah oder das ihm bei der Gel^nheit 
vielleioht weniger unnahbar als friiher erschien. 

16. Efoche. 

Mit Flammenschrift war innigst eingeschrieben 
Petrarka's Brust vor alien andem Tagen 
Karfreitag. Ebenso, ich darf 's wohl sagen, 
let mir Advent von Achtzenhundertsieben. 

Ich fing nicht an, ich fuhr nur fort zu lieben 
Sie, die ich friih im Herzen schon getragen, 
Dann wieder weislich aus dem Sinn geschlagen, 
Der ich nun wieder bin ans Herz getrieben. 

Petrarka's Liebe, die unendlich hohe, 
War leider unbelohnt und gar zu tranrig, 
Ein Herzensweh, ein ewiger Karfreitag ; 

Doch stets erscheine fort und fort die frohe, 
Su£8, unter Palmenjubel, wonneschanrig, 
Der Herrin Ankunft mir, ein ew'ger Mai tag. 

Von den noch iibrigen Gediehten der siebzehn Goethe'schen 
Liebessonette ist keines in dem Buche Bettinens enthalten^ 
und wir durfen wohl schon daraus schliessen, dass sie nicht 
zu ihr in Beziehung stehen, sondern zu ihrer Jenenser Bivalin. 

298 J. 8CHIPPEB. 

Am wenigsten leicht fallt es una, mit dem zweiten^jPreund- 
Uehes Begtgnen betitelt, deren Persdnlichkeit in Zusammen- 
hang zu briugen. 


Im weiten Mantel bis axu Eonn yerhullet, 

Ging ich den Felsenweg, den schrofien, grauen, 
Hemieder dann za winterhaften Aaen, 
Unroh'gen Sinns, znr nahen Flocht gewillet. 

Anf einmal schien der neue Tag enthullet : 
Ein Madchen kam, ein Himmel anxoschaoen, 
So mnsterhaft wie jene lieben Fraoen 
Der Dichtenrelt Mein Sehnen war gestillet. 

Doch wandt' ich mich hinweg and liese sie gehen 
Und wickelte mich enger in die Fallen, 
Als wollt' ich tratzend in mir selbst erwarmen ; 

Und folgt' ihr doch. Sie stand. Da war's geschehen ! 
In meiner Hulle konnt' ich mich nicht halten, 
Die warf ich weg, sie lag in meinen Armen. 

Die Scenerie, die hier vorgefiihrt wird, der Felsenw^^ die 
winterliche Landschaft^ passt aaf die Umgebung von Jena 
and den Monat December^ in welchetn dies Sonett dort ent- 
standen sein wird. Auch das Ankampfen des Dichters g^en 
seine Neigang, der Hinweis auf die nahe Flueht zuruck nach 
Weimar entsprioht der Situation und seinen Beziehungen za 
Minna Herzlieb. Nur das letzte Terzett macht Schwierig- 
keiten. Das wurde, wenn wortlich genommen, eine wechsd- 
seitige, von beiden vergeblich bekampfte Neigung voraossetzen, 
die bei einer zufalligen B^egnung zu der von dem Dichter 
geschilderten leidenschaftlichen Umarmung gefuhrt hatte. 

Aber wir haben schon bei dem Verse des funften Sonetts^ 

Dochy ach I nun moss ich dich als Furstin denken, 

gesehen, zu welchen unhaltbaren Ausl^ungen es oft fahrt, 
wenn man ein Dichterwort in w5rtliehem Sinn nimmt. 
Goethe selbst hat in Bezug auf die Wahlverwandtachafien in 
seinen Gesprachen mit Eckermann gesagt: ^^Es ist darin 
kein Strioh enthalten, der nicht erlebt, aber kein Strich so^ 

tJBEB Goethe's sonette. 299 

wie er erlebt/' Das gilt unzweifelhaft auch ftr die Sonette. 
Und Minna Herzlieb wiederholte ofl^ wie Hermann Grimm 
berichtet, ihrer Freandin Alwina Frommann gegenuber, 
" wenn man ihr davon sprach, dass Gedichte Goethes an sie 
gerichtet gewesen seien : " £s mischen sieh da wohl viele 
Bilder." Diese beiden Ausspruche geben uns den Schlussel, 
wie zur Erklaruug der meisten anderen, so auch dieses Sonetts. 
Es ware z. B. sehr wohl moglich, dass der Dichter hier eine 
ahnliche Beg^nuDg mit Minna Herzlieb aus fruheren Jahren^ 
als sie ihra noch als harmloses Kind entgegensprang, in seiner 
Phantasie auf diese spatere, anders geartete Epoche seiner Ge- 
fnhle and Beziehungen zu ihr ubertragen habe. Jedenfidls 
ist es unstatthaft, nach den Ergebnissen der neueren Unter- 
suehungen^ dies Sonett als einen Beweis fur ein wirkliches 
Liebesverhaltniss, welches, wie man fruher meinte^ zwischen 
Goethe und Minna Herzlieb bestanden habe, heranzuziehen. 
Ganz auf dem wirklichen Verhaltniss des Dichters zu dem 
gefeierten Miidchen beruht dagegen das dritte, Kurz tmd gut 
betitelte Sonett, eines der anmuthigsten von alien, welches uns 
zugleich in weit geistvollerer Weise, als das fruher citierte 
Menke'sche Sonett, die Eutstehung eines solchen G^dichts vor- 


Sollt' ich mich denn so ganz an sie gewohnen ? 

Das wiire mir zaletzt doch reine Plage. 

Da rum versuch' ich's gleich am heuf gen Tage 

Und nahe nicht dem vielgeliebten Schonen. 
Wie aber mag ich dich, mein Herz, versoiineny 

Dass ich im wicht'gen Fall dich nicht befrage? 

Wohlan I komm her ! Wir aassem nns're Elage 

In liebevollen, traurig heitem Tonen. 
Siehst dU| es geht ! Des Dichters Wink gewartig 

Melodisch klingt die durchgespielte Leier, 

Ein Liebesopfer traulich darzubringen, 
Du denkst es kaum und sieh, das Lied ist fertigl 

Allein was nan? — Ich dacht', im ersten Feuer 

Wir eilten hin, es vor ihr selbst zu singen. 

300 J. 8CHIPPER. 

Das sechgte Sonett, Reisezehrung betitelt, schildert die Ge- 
fuhle des Dichters bei seiner bevorstehenden Abreise und 
Trennung von der Greliebten. Es scheint von dem Petrarca'- 
schen Beisesonett lo mi rivolgo indietro beeinfiiasst zu sein and 
ist wohl das am wenigsten persdnliche von alien. 

6. Rexsezehbuno. 

Entwohoeo soUt' ich mich vom Glanz der Blicke, 
Mein Leben sollten sie nicht mehr verschoDen. 
Was man Geechick Dennt, laast aich nicht venohnen ; 
Ich weiflB es wohl and trat beBtiint zuriicke. 

Nnn wnsst' ich auch yon keinem weitem Glucke; 
Gleich fing ich an von diesen und von jenen 
Nothwend'gen Dingen sonst mich za entwohnen : 
Nothwendig schien mir nichts als ihre Blicke. 

Dea Weines Glnth, den Vielgenoas der Speisen, 
Bequemlichkeit and Schlaf und sonsf ge G^ben, 
Gesellschaft wies ich weg, dasa wenig bliebe. 

So kann ich ruhig durch die Welt nun reisen : 
Was ich bedarf, ist uberall zu haben, 
Und Unentbehrlich's bring* ich mit— die Liebe. 

Das siebente (Abachied), achte {Die Liebende achrdbt), neunte 
{Die LiAende abermals) und zebnte {Sie kann nicht enden) sind 
bereits als auf Bettina'sche Anregungen zuruckgehend — wie 
vielleicht auch das erste {Mdchtiges U^berraschen) — erwahnt 
worden, und auch das elfle {Nemesis)^ in welchem der Dichter 
seine jeden&Ils auf die Jenaer Zeit sich beziehende Sonet- 
tenwuth und Raserei der " Liebe " ironisiert, wurde schon 

Das zwolfle {Christgeschenk) wird allgemein als an Minna 
Herzlieb gerichtet anerkannt. Es wurde ihr am 24. Dec. 1807 
von Weimar aus mit einer fur die Frommann'schen Kinder 
bestimmien Schachtel voll Sussigkeiten iibersandt. 

12. Chsistoebchekk. 

Mein siiases Liebchen I Hier in Schachtelwanden 
QtJT mannichfalt geformte Sussigkeiten. 
Die Fruchte sind es heiPger Weihnachtszeiten, 
G^backne nor, den Kindem auszuspenden I 

UBEB Goethe's sonette. 301 

Dir mocht' ich daon mit Biissem Redeweoden 

Poetiflch Zuckerbrod zum Fest bereiten ; 

Allein was soli's mit solchen Eitelkeiten ? 

Weg den Versuch, mit Schmeichelei za bleodeo I 
Boch giebt es ooch ein Siisses, das yom Innem 

Zum Innern spricht, geoiessbar in der Feme, 

Das kaoQ nur bis su dir hintiber wehen. 
Und fuhlst do dann ein freundliches Erinoem, 

Als blinkten froh dir wohlbekaonte Sterne, 

Wirst da die kleine Gabe nicht yerschmahen. 

Dies Sonett ist also ein Gelegenheitegedichty bei dem man 
aber aus der dichterisch freien Anrede ^'Mein susses Lieb- 
cben/' womit es beginnt, wiederum nicht etwa den Schlass 
Ziehen darf, dass sie ihm das Recht gegeben babe, sie so zu 

Wie wenig dies der Fall war, geht aufs deutlichste hervor 
aus dem dreizehnten Sonett, betitelt Wamung. 

13. Wabnuno. 

Am jiingsten Tag, wenn die Posaunen scballen 
Und alles aus ist mit dem Erdenleben, 
Sind wir verpflichtet, Bechenscbaft su geben 
Von jedem Wort, das unniitz uns entfallen. 

Wie wird's nun werden mit den Worten alien. 
In welchen ich so liebevoU mein Streben 
Um deine Gunst dir an den Tag gegeben, 
Wenn diese bloss an deinem Ohr yerballen? 

Darum bedenk', o Liebchen I dein Gewissen, 
Bedenk' im Ernst, wie lange du gezaudert, 
Dass nicht der Welt solch Leiden widerfahre. 

Werd* ich berechnen und entschuld'gen mussen 
Was alles unniitz ich vor dir geplaudert. 
So wird der jiingste Tag zum yollen Jahre. 

Wir sehen also, es waren im wesentlichen nur poetische, von 
dem kiiDstlerischen Interesse Goethes ^r die Sonettendichtung 
und seinem Wohlgefallen an der schdnen Pflegetochter des 
Frommann'schen Hauses ihm eing^bene Huldigungen, die in 
diesen auf sie sich beziehenden Gedichten zum Ausdruck ge- 


Dass daran nicht zu zweifelo ist, bezeugen noch weiter das 
vierzehnte und funfzehnte Sonett^ in denen die in dem Jenaer 
Elreise wohl 5flers aufgeworfene Frage, ob sich denn diese 
kuDstliche Dichtungsart zum Ausdruck wahrer Liebesleiden- 
schaft eigoe^ behandelt wird. 

Im vierzehnten Sonett sind es die Liebenden^ die gegenuber 
den an der Eignung des Sonetts zum Ausdruck der Liebe 
Zweifelnden dasselbe vertheidigen : 

14. Die Zweifelnden. 

Ihr liebt, and schreibt Sooette ! Weh der Grille I 
Die Kraft dee Herzens, sich sa offeDbaren, 
Soil Beime sachen, sie susammenpaaren; 
Dir Kinder, glaabt, ohnmachtig bleibt der Wille. 

Ganz angebuDden spricht des Herzens Fiille 

Sich kaum ooch aus : sie mag sich gem bewahreo, 
Dann Sturmen gleich durch alle Saiten fithren, 
Dann wieder senken sich za Nacht nnd SUlle. 

Was qnalt ihr eiich and uns, auf jahem Stege 
Nur Schritt vor Schritt den last'geo Stein za walzen, 
Der rilckwarts lastet, immer neu za miihen? 

Die LiebendeTi, 

Im Gegentheil, wlr sind auf rechtem Wege I 
Das Allerstarrste freadig anfzuschmelzen. 
Muss Liebesfeuer allgewaltig gluhen. 

In dem funfzehDten Sonett ist das Madcben die Zweiflerin^ 
und wir diirfen wohl annehmen^ die noch von der Wunde 
ihrer ungliicklichen Jugendliebe nicht geheilte Minna Herz- 
lieb selber, die sich gelegentlich mit einigen Bemerkungen an 
jenen Gesprachen betheiligt haben mag^ wahrend der Dichter 
fnr das Sonett und damit zugleich fiir die Warme der darin 
zum Ausdruck gebrachten Empfindungen eintritt. 

15. Madchen. 

Ich zweifle doch am Ernst yerschrankter Zeilen I 
Zwar lausch' ich gem bei deinen Silbespielen ; 
Allein mir scheint, was Herzen redlich fuhlen, 
Mein susser Freund, das soil man nicht befeilen. 

iJBEB Goethe's sonette. 303 

Der Dichter pflegt, um nicht zu langeweilen, 
Seio Innerstee yon Grand aus amzuwiihlen ; 
Doch seine Wanden weiss er auszukuhlen, 
Mit 2Saaberwort die tiefeten auBzoheilen. 


Schau, Liebchen, bin I Wie geht's dem Feuerwerker? 

Drauf ausgelemt', wie roan nach Massen wettert, 

Irrganglich-klug minirt er seine Griifte ; 
Allein die Macht des Elements ist starker, 

Und eh' er sich*s yersieht, geht er serschmettert 

Mit alien seinen Kiinsten in die Liifte. 

Die beiden letzten Sonette der Sammlung, das sechzehnte 
(Epoche) und das siebzehnte {Charade), sind ebenfalls schon 
als sicher auf Minna Herzlieb bezuglich, obwohl von Bettina 
in ihren angeblichen Briefwecbsel mit Goethe eingefiiochten^ 
besprochen worden. 

Wenn wir die beiden Souettengruppen, wie wir sie hier von 
einander zu sondern versucht haben, die fiinf oder sechs von 
Bettina inspirierten, namlich das vierte (Das Mddchen %prich£)y 
das siebente {Abachied), das aohte {Die lAebende schreibt), das 
neunte {Die Liebende abetTnals), das zehnte {Sie kann nicht 
enden), dazu vielleicht noch das crste {Mdchtiges Uberra^chen), 
und die ubrigen^ von Minna Herzlieb angeregten, mit einander 
vergleichen, so spiegelt sich in den ersteren unverkennbar die 
leidensehaftlicbe, impulsive Natur der Verfasserin des Brief- 
wechsels und der Groethe'schen Luciane der Wahlverwandt- 
schaften, in den letzteren^ von dem zweiteu {IVewndiiches 
Begegnen) abgesehen, das ruhige^ unaufdringliche^ zuruck- 
haltende Wesen der Frommann'schen Pflegetochter und der 
Goethe'schen Ottilie wieder. Auch durch diese allgemeine 
Charakteristik der beiden Souettengruppen werden die Bezie- 
hungen, in denen sie zu den beiden jungen Freundinnen des 
Dichters stehen, gestiitzt. 

Wenn Goethe sie spater zu einem Cyclus vereinigte^ so 
geschah dies gewiss nur mit Riicksicht auf ihre innere Ver- 


wandtschaft hinsichtlich des Stoffs und ihre gemeinsame Ange- 
hdrigkeit an eine fur ihn bedeutsame Epoche seines Lebens 
und seiner diehterischen Thatigkeit : die Entstehungszeit der 
WaMvenoaruUschaJien. Dadurch, dass das Sonett Mdchiiges 
tJberraschen den Anfang und die Charade den Schluss bildet, 
sind diese Gedichte noch enger zu einem zusammengehorigen 
Granzen verbunden worden^ welches scbeinbar mit Bestimmt- 
heit auf Minna Herzlieb hinweist. Dass die Sonette aber 
nicht auf sie allein bezogen werden konnen^ wie dies noch 
Kuno Fischer in seiner jungst erschienenen Schrift Oodhes 
Sonettenkranz (Heidelberg, Carl Winters Universitatsbuch- 
handlung, 1896) thut, und dass auch die durch sie angeregten 
nur in dichterischer Ausfuhrung als auf sie bezuglich ange- 
sehen werden kdnnen^ ist durch diese Betrachtuugen hoffent- 
lich klar geworden. 

Suchen wir aus den Sonetten mit Kuno Fischer eine wenn 
auch nur von dem Dichter poetisch erlebte Liebesgeschichte 
herauszulesen und die Gruppe 1-5 etwa als die glucklich ver- 
einten Liebenden, 6~10 als die getrennten Liebenden, 11-15 
als die uber ihre Liebe reflectierenden Liebenden und die 
beiden letzten Sonette als die Schlussglieder des Krauzes zu 
deuten^ so gelangen wir zu inneren und ausseren Wider- 
spruchen. Die Sonette 4 (Dew Mddchen spricht), ferner die 
erklarlicherweise zusammengestellten Sonette 7, 8^ 9^ 10 (Ab- 
schied und die 3 Briefe) wurden hinsichtlich der Charakteristik 
des darin uns entg^entretenden Madchens zu den nbrigen in 
einem entschiedenen G^ensatz stehen, und das zweite Sonett 
{Freundlichta Begegnen) wurde dem funflen ( Wa/ihdhum) und 
noch mehr dem dreizehnten ( TFamun^) seinem ganzen Inhalte 
nach widersprechen. 

Nur dann lassen sich diese Gredichte als zu einem zusam- 
mengehdrigen Krauze vereinigt erklaren, wenn wir sie ansehen 
als Stimmungsbilder^ die dem Dichter aus seinem Verkehr 
mit den beiden so eigenartig verschiedenen, ihn lebhaft anzie- 
henden Madchen, Bettiua Brentano und Minna Herzlieb, 

xJBEB ooethe's sonette. 305 

erwuchsen und von ihm in der kunstlerischen Form des 
Sonetts zur Darstellung gebracht warden. 

Was den dichterischen Werth dieser Sonette betriflft, so sind 
sie nicht nur von einer strenge nach Petrarcas und Schlegels 
Muster ausge^hrten Vollendung der Form^ sondem auch 
von einem Wohllaut der Sprache, einer Anschaulichkeit und 
Lebendigkeit der darin vorgefuhrten Situationen und Vor- 
gauge^ wie dies wohl keiner von Groethes Zeitgenossen und 
Nachfolgern, die mit ihm im Sonett wetteiferten^ erreicht hat. 

Ausser den bisher besprochenen Sonetten schrieb Goethe 
nur noch drei Gelegenheitssonette, namlich 1810 eins auf den 
Becher der Kaiserin von Osterreich^ aus welchem sie in Karls- 
bad den Brunnen getrunken^ 1812 eins an Herrn Abbate 
Bondi, 1813 eines an Ihro kaiserliche Hoheit die Frau Erb- 
grossherzogin von Sachsen- Weimar und Eisenach. 

Diese Gel^enheitsgedichte, auf deren eingehendere Be- 
trachtung wir verzichten konnen, sind dem anmuthigen, an 
Minna Herzlieb gerichteten Sonett Christgeschenk hinsichtlich 
der ausseren Veranlassung, wie auch in Bezug auf die geist- 
volle Diction und die feinausgefuhrte Form verwandt^ kommen 
aber den meisten Sonetten der zuletzt betrachteten Sammlung^ 
wie z. B. denjenigen^ welche die Titel fiihren Mdchiiges tlber- 
raschen, Freundlichea BegegneUy Kurz und gat, Wdchsthum, War- 
nunQj Das Madchen apricht, Abschied, Die lAAende 8chreibt, 
Die Liebende ahermala oder auch dem herrlichen Sonett Natur 
und Kund an dichterischer Bedeutuug bei weitem nicht gleich. 
Diese sind es, an welche Platen gedacht haben wird^ als er 
sein schones Gedicht Dob Sonett an Goethe dichtete^ welches 
den Schluss dieser Betrachtuug bilden moge : 

Da8 Sonett an Goethe. 

Dich selbet, Gtewaltger, den ich noch yor Jahren 
Mein tiefes Wesen witsig sah vemeineiiy 
Dich selbfit nun zahl' ich heate so den Meinen, 
Zq denen, welche meine Ganst er&hren. 

306 J. 8CHIPPER. 

Denn wer darchdniDgeo ist vom innig Wahren, 
Dem mofls die Form sich anbewusst vereinen, 
Und was dem Stumper mag gefahrlich Bcheinen, 
Das mofls den Meister gottlich offeobaren. 

Wem Kraft und Fulle tief im Busen keimen, 
Das Wort beherrscht er mit gerechtem Stolxe^ 
Bewegt sich leicht, wenn auch in schweren Beimen. 

£r Bchneidet sich des Liedes flucht'ge Bolze 
Gtewandt and sicher, ohne je su leimen, 
Und was er fertigt, ist aus ganzem Holze. 



A Study in Chaucer's Method op Narrative 


It has been among the results of Dr. LounsburT's noble 
work on Chauoer to make the mind of the poet for us, as 
never for any generation before us, discoverable in his poetry. 
Since that work appeared, each of Chaucer's poems, read now 
through the light of that illumination, seems to kindle into 
fresh meaning in its revealed association with the mind and 
purpose of the writer. And from the union of all the poems 
into one image, there seems to come a somewhat clear revela- 
tion of the poet's range of human vision and of his method 
of poetry. This revelation reaches, I think, its highest point 
of truth in that eighth chapter which forms the crown of Dr. 
Lounsbury's book, the chapter on Chauoer as Literary Artist. 
"About Chaucer's method of work," he says, " there is noth- 
ing of that blind creative inspiration, which, acting without 
reflection, characterizes, or is supposed to characterize, the poets 
of the earliest periods. He has all the self-consciousness of 
the creative genius that has mastered his art" (Lounsbury^ 
Studies in Chancery iii, 324). " He knows precisely what he 
is aiming to accomplish." Here is, I think, the true word 
spoken about Chaucer's mental character, about his poetical 
method, and, by inference, about his rank and special place 
among the classical poets. For the essence of classical poetry 
is self-knowledge and self-restraint, the artistic calculation of 
proportions, and the aesthetic calculation of effects. It is my 
purpose, therefore, to show in the TroUus and Oriseydej which 
I take to be Chaucer's most perfect poem, the evidence of Dr. 
Lounsbury's summary of Chaucer's poetical character, the evi- 
dence of deliberate and careful calculation, of cool^ self-con- 
scious, almost infallible skill. 

3 307 


For this, luckily for us, the materials that exist, the same 
materials that Chaucer had in his own hands to work upon, are 
amply sufficient to show us the poet at his labor of composi- 
tion, and even to reveal the principles on which he composes. 
We have that poem of Boccaccio from which he drew his 
characters and situations, so that we can see, at every moment, 
those changes of character and those changes of situation that 
Chaucer deemed essential to the proper conduct of his poem. 
We have besides the Latin work of Guide delle Colonne, 
from which, with subtle skill, Chaucer took or rejected what 
pleased him toward the fulfilment of his own design. Thus, 
if the final arrangement of Chaucer be studied in its careful 
sequences, we have the full proof of deliberate artistic calcu- 
lation. We can trace the steps by which, changing the traits 
of his characters, modifying the reciprocal relations of his 
characters, shifting the scenes of action, and deepening as 
well as straightening the current of ethical meaning, he has 
reared a solid structure of imagination far more elaborate, fiir 
more poetical, than Guide or even Boccaccio could ever have 

Of the noble intellectual power with which Chaucer handled 
and modified the material for his great poem, Mr. Courthope, 
in his lately published History of English Poetry^ has formed 
an estimate that is singularly lucid and penetrative. He sees 
the final meaning of those changes of character and changes 
of incident by which Chaucer has so deeply changed the situa- 
tion and purpose of Boccaccio. Chaucer has, for example, so 
developed the character of Pandar, as to make it far more 
probable and somewhat less odious. He has so heightened 
and ennobled the character of Troilus, as to make him more 
manly and heroic. But he has, at the same time, made 
Criseyde, instead of Troilus, the chief character, and made 
the poem an elaborate study of woman's fickleness in love. 
And he has so arranged all the stages of the action as to 
exhibit in the soul of Criseyde the conflict of ardent passion 
with feeble moral nature, and the ruin of human life through 


lack of moral steadfastuess. It is at this point that Mr. 
Ck)urthope sees the truth and utters it. In thus dealing with 
his characters and his situations, Chaucer was " the first of 
modern poets to tell an extended story on a dramatic plan '' 
(History of English Poetrjfy i, 307). Here, in this right use 
of the term dramatic, we have for the first time the fall great- 
ness of this poem recognized. 

It is in this way that each great work of literature, like 
each great event of history, acquires for each generation of 
students a sort of special importance, a special force of instruc- 
tion and of attraction, that it failed to have for earlier ages. 
The work remains, indeed, the same ; but it has to be studied 
afresh in its relation to the philosophic thought and scientific 
method of each new time. It shows us facts, and it estab- 
lishes principles, for which our ancestors had no feeling. It 
presents new points of view for which our forefathers were 
blind. For with each new wave of philosophic theory, with 
each new process of scientific method that passes over man- 
kind, the scope of literary criticism changes, and the great 
works of literature acquire new significance and arouse new 
interest. Think, for example, of our criticism of the Homeric 
poems, of our criticism of the sacred books of the Hebrew 
canon, as expressive of our modern interest in the specula- 
tions of anthropology and social evolution I Think of that 
new shape in which almost all original works of literature 
come to us, when studied from the point of view of Brune- 
tidre, as stages in the transformation and evolution of literary 
species and of literary forms. Thus the old work is for the 
new age instinct with a fresh life. And, while, from this 
shifting of the [loint of view, many works that seemed to the 
-critics of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries models of 
artistic creation become for us almost devoid of interest, there 
is for us, in other works that they n^lected, an interest 
aroused that stirs us to profound admiration. It is a move- 
ment of this kind that has led Mr. Courthope to do justice to 
the greatness of the Troilus and Criseydt. In our studies of 


evolution in literatare, in our newlj aroused perception of the 
fiu^ of development in literary form^ this poem of Chaucer^ 
with its exquisite play of dramatic movement and consum- 
mate skill in dramatic construction^ becomes to us, as I venture 
to think^ the most important work of English literary art that 
preceded Shakspere. 

The term 'Mramatic^' that Mr. Conrthope has used in 
describing this poem is, therefore, just the term that expresses 
its essential excellence. And yet, to be taken as true, this 
term has to be used, not in its vulgar sense, but in its true 
and scientific sense. Chaucer, in this poem, is dramatic, not 
because he allows action to dominate or run riot in his work, 
but because he deduces action, with profound psychological 
skill, from the working of emotion. He is dramatic because 
he makes his characters live before us, in their feeling and 
their thought, by minute and delicate touches of observation, 
with almost perfect dramatic force. He is dramatic, because, 
with intense realism of efiect, he has made each spoken word 
of each character, and each action of each character, however 
trivial in itself, spring as inevitable necessity, by force of 
the circumstances that he has invented, from the soul of the 
character that he has imagined. And, in the highest sense 
of all, Chaucer, in this poem is dramatic, because, in tracing 
the emotional life of his chief characters, he has led that play 
of passion to its final expression in definite action, because he 
has created a definite dramatic problem and a definite dra- 
matic solution, and because he has bound all the parts of the 
action together, with unsurpassable dramatic skill, into a defi- 
nite dramatic unity. And so, in this great poem, we have, as 
nowhere else in our literature, the evolution of literary form 
from narrative to drama. We have even the anticipation of 
principles of literary art that were for full recognition to need 
the ripening of the five coming centuries. In this sense, the 
great poem of Chaucer touches hands with the great work of 
our own time, both in romance and in the drama itself. There 
is the same cousdons and deliberate subordination of action 


to emotion. There is the same minute and realistic delinea- 
tion both of the environment of human action and of the 
characters involved. There is the same psychological study 
of human character as revealed in the supreme moments of 
emotional excitement. There is the same scornful rejection 
of the supernatural element, and the same inevitable deduc- 
tion of human action from purely human motives. And there 
is, in the grouping of the characters, and in the sequence of 
their actions, the same mastery of constructive method. Thus 
Chaucer^s poem is not only the first example in our literature of 
the story developed on the dramatic plan. It is the discovery, 
and the brilliant application, by the poet of the fourteenth 
century, of the principles of literary art that form in the drama 
and the romance alike the special glory of the nineteenth. 

It is plain, from passages in the poem itself, that Chaucer 
has pondered deeply on the artistic problem of emotion and 
action, that is, on the theory of human motives, and on the 
connected problem of artistic construction. The great passage 
of the fourth book, on free will and predestination, is, indeed, 
the chief artistic blemish of the poem ; but it has a special 
interest in showing us the settled determinism of Chaucer^s 
philosophical conception of human life. And so, in a more 
poetical passage, I, 415, the human being is floating solitary, 
without a rudder, in the boat that is driven by conflicting 
force of winds, always sure of being wafted away finally by 
the wind that is strongest. And so, in telling the story of 
human fate, it is for him the study of the emotion that gives 
interest to the study of the action. The end is to be calcu- 
lated from the b^inning. It is the end of the story that is 
the strength of the story, II, 260 ; and the real poet is he 
that calculates all in advance, and lays down, like the archi- 
tect, all the details of his structure in his constructive plan. 
^^ The man that has to build a house, does not reach out to 
begin his work 'vdth rakd hand''' (rash, unconsidered), but 
he is willing to wait a while, and '^ first of all things to send 
out the measuring-line of his spirit from his brain, in order 


to achieve his purpose,'' 1, 1065-1069. There is not, I think, 
in literature a finer image for expressing the action of the 
poef s constructive imagination. 

In this special poem, there is evidence that Chaucer has 
fulfilled his own ideal of constructive art. From beginning 
to end, with only one exception, he banishes from his action 
all that is irrelevant, and excludes all that is either unnatural 
or supernatural. He plans his scheme with absolute sym- 
metry of proportion. And he arranges his events in such 
unbroken links of cause and efiect, as to lead to the full and 
remorseless unveiling of his characters, and to the complete 
and orderly solution of his dramatic problem. 

For this purpose, Chaucer, I find, has arranged all the 
action into a sequence of fifty (60) scenes. In connecting 
these scenes, he makes use of link-passages that are either his 
own reflections on the story, or else the points of narration 
or description that are needful for the understanding of the 
purely dramatic parts. All the fifty scenes are essentially 
dramatic. In some, indeed, as, for example, the scene of the 
opening action in the temple, or the dinner-scene in the palace 
of Deiphobus, or the supper-Rcene in the palace of Pandar, 
with the pouring of the rainstorm that forces Criseyde to 
spend the night in such deadly peril, Chaucer so far indulges 
his imagination as to give us the loveliest pictures of the 
environments of action. But, in general, the mere romance 
of external situation is indicated very briefly, and all the 
force of the scene is expended upon the play of emotion, as 
revealed in the speeches and behavior of the acting persons. 
In their emotional character, these fifly scenes render almost 
every phase of human feeling. In many there is the exqui- 
site tone of high comedy ; so, for example, the scene in which 
the stiff fingers of Troilus are moved to compose his first love- 
letter, and the tricks by which Pandar wheedles Criseyde into 
receiving and answering it. And then the tone of comedy is 
kindled by the touch of intense feeling, and made serious by 
the anguish of suppressed emotion ; so the great scene in 


which heart-broken Criseyde, masking her own grief, enter- 
tains her lady-friends, and listens to their gossip, at what may 
be called a Trojan afternoon-tea. There is here an exquisite 
pathos of social comedy that reminds us of the best scenes of 
the modem stage. But in many scenes, there is the complete 
relinquishment of all comic effect, and the complete attain- 
ment of the most passionate emotion. The scene, for example, 
in which Criseyde yields herself, little by little, to the passion 
of Troilus, and the piteous scenes in which, under the pres- 
sure of hostile influences, she falls a prey to the artful and 
unscrupulous seduction of Diomede are, in their revelation of 
human feeling, of the highest dramatic force. Each scene in 
its own place has, with one exception, its own special fitness, its 
own inevitable function. Each one, in its proper sequence, 
is firmly knit with the past and with the future of the story. 
And, in their incessant shifting of emotional tone, they prove 
the power of Chaucer to deal, in dramatic fashion, with all the 
range of human feeling, with all the aspects of human life. 

Among these fifty scenes, it is remarkable to see that Chaucer 
has given to thirty-two scenes the artistic structure of the dia- 
logue, a conversation between two persons. In this point, 
also, Chaucer, by his own true feeling for the dramatic move- 
ment, has anticipated the evolution of our modern drama. 
Only in dialogue is the full revelation of human character 
possible, unchecked by the presence of any third person as 
listening or interrupting. Only in dialogue is the ftiU opera- 
tion of the human will possible, the use of persuasion by the 
one person to determine the action of the other. And thus, 
in his large use of dialogue, Chaucer has gone as far as the 
most skilful modern dramatist to develop the special force of 
the psychological drama. And it is, above all, in the man- 
agement of these thirty-two (32) dialogues that our poet has 
attained his highest dramatic effects. He holds back from all 
use of supernatural means to influence human action.^ Only 

^ The dream of Troilus, as interpreted by Oaflrandra, is not in reality, 
J think, an instance of the supernatural. 


by force of human will^ by ardor of human passion, by clever- 
ness of human contrivance or persuasion, is any character to 
be led, or to be driven, under the influence of some other 
character, to its own inevitable action. Thus, in Chaucer's 
masterly method, each stage of progress is attained as result 
of the action of mind on mind through dialogue. Pandar 
persuades Criseyde to accept the service of Troilus ; Troilus 
persuades Criseyde to requite that service with her love; 
Criseyde persuades Troilus to give up his plan of elopement 
and to let her leave Troy. These thirty-two dialogues are 
unsurpassable in skill of dramatic movement, in play of pas- 
sion, in dexterity of appeal. It is in them especially that 
Chaucer, by adapting the speech of each person to its own 
intellectual and emotional nature, has made good his claim to 
be reckoned among the great dramatic poets of the world. 

As against these thirty-two dialogues, Chaucer has thrown 
nine (9) of his scenes into the form of soliloquy, or mono- 
logue. Of these nine monologues, he assigns five to Troilus 
and four to Criseyde. The monologue, as means of revealing 
character and motive, if to be used at all, is not to be wasted 
on inferior characters, but reserved only for the most impor- 
tant. In some of these monologues, the utterance of passion 
is carried to the highest point of lyrical force. The forty-fifth 
scene, for example, V, 729-765, shows us Criseyde as she sits 
at evening, near the Greek camp, gazing on the walls of the 
Trojan city, longing for the love of Troilus, and trying, with 
her feeble courage and wavering heart, to be brave enough to 
go back into his arms. It is perhaps the scene that reveals, 
best of all, the tenderness and the weakness of the exquisite 
woman. But, as the dramatic monologue is the fiailsest of all 
forms of art, so it shows itself the most dangerous. It runs 
in Chaucer's hands, as in the hands of so many of our modern 
poets, into &tal fluency and unchecked loquacity. So the 
worst scenes in the poem, especially the thirty-sixth scene, IV, 
946, in which Troilus discusses the theory of predestination, 
result from inartistic abuse of the monologue. 


For trio-soenes, in which a third person stands by to check 
the freedom of dramatic expansion, Chaucer shows a special 
aversion. There are only two, and they are both managed 
with much comic force. The group-scenes^ made up of many 
characters, are more numerous, seven in all. They serve to 
mark the attainment of some definite stage of action, and 
to give the summary of the situation. As such scenes cannot 
well be used for psychological revelation of character, they 
are employed, with all the force of Chaucer's sensuous imagi- 
nation, to give brilliant pictures of human life and picturesque 
scenes of nature. So, for example, the scene in the garden 
of Criseyde that ends with the song of the nightingale, or 
the scene at the dinner-party of Deiphobus, or the scene in the 
Trojan council of war, in which Hector pleads so nobly against 
the surrender of Criseyde. They are all scenes that dwell 
forever in our memory as realistic pictures of that world in 
which the poet has set his human figures to suffer and to act. 

In management of scenes, the manner of Chaucer may be 
compared with the manner of Shakspere.^ There is less use 
of the group-scenes. There is far less use of the trio-scenes. 
There is the careful restriction of the monologue to the chief 
characters of the drama. And, above all^ there is the far 
larger use of the dialogue, two-thirds instead of Shakspere's 
one-third. In all the points, therefore, in which Chaucer's 
management of the dramatic scene differs from Shakspere's, 
it anticipates the practice of our modern drama. 

The sequence of Chaucer's fifty scenes is arranged, of course, 
for the purpose of introducing and revealing his characters. 
The persons that take part, small or large, in the action are 
in all fourteen, six women and eight men. Of these fourteen, 
there are ten that are introduced only in passing, to &cilitate 
the movement of the action. But, even in the single scenes 

^ For example, in Ma/ebeik 22 scenes are monologues in 107. 

34 " " dialogues " " 
19 " " trio-ecenes •* " 
32 " " group-scenes " " 


in which they show themselves, there is a foroe in Chaucer's 
manner of delineation that makes his minor characters full of 
interest, as exciting either sympathy or aversion. So, for 
example, the lightly sketched figures of Hector, of Helen, and 
of Cassandra. In Calkas, especially, as father of Criseyde, 
the sharpness of Chaucer's delineation is greatly to be admired. 
Chaucer sees in him the false and crafty priest, the villain 
that assumes a divine authority for actions of baseness and of 
treachery. In this picture, one feels that the poet is playing 
with our fashionable doctrine of heredity. The tie of nature 
that links Criseyde to Calkas is the same, with change of 
sex, that links Hamlet to Queen Gertrude. The taint of the 
mother's nature is on the son, the taint of the father's nature 
on the daughter, developing genius into depravity. 

If these ten minor characters be left out of sight, the real 
movement of the action is carried on by only four. That 
is, in the long poem of more than 8,000 lines, all complete 
delineation of dramatic character, and all full display of dra- 
matic passion, are concentrated on the study of only four 
persons. In this again there is the same anticipation by 
Chaucer of the method of our most modern school of dra- 
matists and romancers. The poet's interest is less in the 
external actions, in the romantic adventures, in the stir and 
movement of his characters, than in their motives, in the 
evolution of their emotions, in the careful study of their 
minds and hearts. And so, as he diminishes the number of 
his characters, he is able to give to each one a more subtle 
interpretation ; and by this powerful concentration of psycho- 
logical method, he reaches in the fourteenth century that full 
and remorseless discovery of the secrets of character and of 
the springs of human action which we are prone to r^ard as 
the special achievement of our nineteenth century literature. 

Of the four principal characters, Criseyde is the first to be 
brought before us, then Troilus, then Pandar, and at last, not 
before the thirty-ninth scene, Diomede himself. By his lovely 
lines of grouping, Chaucer places Troilus and Diomede before 


US in full dramatic antithesis of character. As the star of 
Troilos sinks into tragical disaster, the star of Diomede rises 
into ignoble triumph. Both men are brave, types of heroic 
knighthood, types that from the time of the Homeric poems, 
as realized in Achilles and Ulysses, have never ceased to have 
their charm for mankind. In Troilus we have that simple 
and impetuous and straightforward type of the heroic character 
which commands, iude^, the affectionate sympathy of man- 
kind, but seems forever doomed, by the pathos of human things, 
to inevitable disaster. In Diomede we have that crafty and 
deliberate and sinuous type which, while arousing distrust and 
dislike, wins by way of compensation, almost all the prizes of 
human fortune. In Chaucer's hands, the artistic opposition 
of these two characters, in all their modes of thinking, feeling 
and acting, is full of dramatic power. 

Both Troilus and Diomede are, as we have seen, in their 
different ways, types of heroic manhood. In contrast with 
both, serving by his suppleness and craftiness to make all 
human passion flow in the channel that he has planned, stands 
Chaucer's third character. Sir Pandarus. Devoid of all heroic 
qualities, he is type of the dexterous and wily courtier, whose 
pride of family and dignity of independence are lost in his 
devotion to his royal prince. Selfish in the main, loving ease 
and pleasure, skeptical of human virtue, seeing in love only 
the pleasure and the pastime of highbred men and women, 
Pandar is, as Chaucer has drawn him, half redeemed from 
shame by the loyalty of his affection for Troilus, by the sweet- 
ness of his sympathetic nature, by the perfect charm of his 
mannei*s, and the lively humor of his views of life. If this 
character has in later literature, and even by the word-use of 
our English language, been brought to utter degradation, that 
is no fault of the poet that introduced him into our English 
world. He is chief, I think, among all the humorous charac- 
ters that Chaucer has designed ; and the development of this 
character from the rude and coarse sketch made by Boccaccio 
is among the great feats of Chaucer's imagination. As there is 


in life no test of friendship so severe as for a man to listen 
with patience and wakefulness to his friend's raptures of love^ 
so, iu a certain sense, Chaucer may be said to have given in 
Sir Pandarus the picture of the ideal friend. 

This grouping of three men, each so sharply defined in 
himself, and all alike at once so individual and so universal 
as types of masculine character, forms, as it were, only the 
frame-work for Chaucer's main design, for his minute, elabo- 
rate and exquisite delineation of Criseyde. It is the woman, 
and not the man, that remains from the beginning to the close, 
the centre of the unbroken interest. Not only is she herself 
the chief character in twenty-three out of the fifty scenes, but 
even in the other twenty-seven scenes it is of her, and in 
exhibition of her, that the other speakers are made to speak. 
From scene to scene, it is Chaucer's main purpose to make us 
understand this woman, as he himself understands her, in all 
her emotional moods, from the first dawn of passion in her 
heart, on through the days of her happiness, into the pitiful 
depths of her misery and her fall. It is the delineation of 
Criseyde that binds all the parts of the story together into the 
dramatic unity of passion and of action. 

In point of construction, as we have seen, all the parts of 
the story are developed, in perfect order, in those fifty scenes 
that have been described. They form, in due sequence, all 
the five parts of the dramatic scheme. But in regulating and 
proportioning these five parts, Chaucer shows once more his 
artistic preference for what is called the psychological drama. 
It is less the action that has interest for him, than the minute 
exhibition of those motives that lead to the action. Thus, in 
constructive plan, the part of the poem that deals with the 
character, the part that is given to the minute revelation of 
motive and temperament, is extended through thirty-seven 
scenes out of fifty. The climax is given in a single scene, 
and the results of the climax, developing the moral d^rada- 
tion of Criseyde under the influence of Diomede's passion, is 
so accelerated as to be complete in only twelve scenes. That 


is, in order to give fuller space for the psychological detail in 
the study of character, the climaxnaoene of the drama is pushed 
forward firom the centre of composition to a point within one- 
fourth from the end.^ In this again, it is curious to mark, 
that Chaucer has anticipated the evolution of the modern 
drama, and the modern romance. In thus lengthening the 
first and second stages of the drama, and in thus deferring 
the decisive action of the climax, Chaucer achieves his purpose 
by the same means as the modern leaders of the French and 
Scandanavian schools. 

In the attainment of his climax, in order to make us under- 
stand the meaning and the significance of the dramatic situa- 
tion, Chaucer expends freely all the resources of his lovely 
art, as well in humor as in pathos and in imaginative beauty. 
Troilus, by the help of Pandar, and through the sensuous 
feebleness of Criseyde's own nature, has attained the full pos- 
session of the woman that he loves so dearly. Marriage, 
indeed, according to that mediaeval conception which Chaucer 
transfers so boldly to the Homeric ages, is impossible. The 
meetings of the lovers have to be secret; but in this very 
secrecy, in the tenderness and warmth of their romantic affec- 
tion, there is for both the man and the woman an intenser 
joy. In this dream of the fool's paradise of love, much time 
passes away, neither the man nor the woman escaping so long 
firom the rapturous present as to consider what is to be the 
future of their love. The story pauses midway to give, as no 
other romance has ever given so well, all the glow and ardor 
and full blessedness of triumphant love. And then, of a 
sudden, bursts the storm of fate. The Greeks have captured 
a Trojan prince, and Calkas has persuaded the Greek council 
of war, in payment of his treachery, to offer King Priam the 
exchange of this prince for his own daughter, Criseyde. To 
the Trojan council, this exchange, in spite of Hector's oppos- 
ing voice, seemed too favorable to be declined. It was decided 

^ The climax-ecene, the thirty-eighth soeiie, is IV, 1128-1701. It is pre- 
ceded bj 6,797 yerses, and followed bj 1,869. 


diat Anteoor shoald oome back to Troy, a free man to aid in 
its defense, and that the useless Criseyde, the traitor's danghter, 
should be surrendered to her &ther. Troilus, as prince of the 
royal blood, was sitting in the council, silent, in helpless misery, 
when the decision was reached. Criseyde had to hear it, in 
bitter anguish of heart, from the tittle-tattle of the gossipy 
town. On both the lovers the blow fell with equal terror, 
with equal agony of mind. The grief of Criseyde was as 
intense and as real as the grief of Troilus. For her as for 
him, so far as she was conscious, the separation meant the 
blackening of all the future, the sum of all misery. It is in 
this mood of mind that Chaucer, in that exquisite thirty-eighth 
scene which forms the climax of the poem, brings the lovers 
once more together. In this great scene, the poet poses for 
solution the dramatic problem, and, by thus posing it, brings 
to supreme revelation the character of Criseyde. All the pre- 
vious scenes have been so contrived as to place the lovers in 
this dramatic situation and to test their force of character by 
this awful juncture of fate. It is, with sexes reversed, almost 
exactly the situation and the problem of Romeo and Juliet^ 
and, although such a comparison is perilous, one cannot say 
that Chaucer, in his broader and more humorous manner, has, 
in his attainment of his dramatic effect, fallen short of the 
intensity of Shakspere's marvellous scene. Troilus, in his 
misery, is come fully to his resolve. In his heroic, simple- 
hearted and impetuous way of thinking, there is but one course 
for him to follow. For him love is more than all else. Since 
marriage is impossible, he will take the woman that he loves, 
avow his love for her, sacrifice the claims of family and ambi- 
tion, run the risk of his father's wrath and his people's indig- 
nation, and escape with Criseyde to some far-off r^on where 
in poverty, and even in shame, he can show himself true to 
her and find all happiness in her love. His blunt and manly 
eloquence, as he urges his plan upon Criseyde, his passionate 
tears, and his prophetic shuddering back from the anguish of 
separation and the shame of faithlessness, are so magnificent 


as to be the fullest and noblest revelation of his heroic character. 
But, as for Romeo, so for Criseyde, the voice of passion was 
too feeble, at the moment of fiual decision, to vanquish the 
movement of natural timidity, and the purely conventional 
respect for the world's judgment. She could not give all for 
love. She could not, even to save the man she loved, let her 
reputation perish on the tongues of the Trojan dames. There 
must, she urged, be no scandal, no shocking of conventionali- 
ties, no risk of shame for Troilus nor for herself. They must 
conceal their love and temporize with fortune. She must leave 
her Troilus for the present, b^ him to be faithful to her (here 
is Chaucer's keenest point of irony), and wait in patience for 
the time when she could steal back to him and make him 
happy once more without the sacrifice of his princely position. 
And so, by her clever pleadings, by her amorous wiles, and by 
her obstinate submission to the judgment of the world, it was 
the temporizing plan of Criseyde that triumphed over the 
courage and insight of Troilus. The problem is solved, the 
decision reached. Troilus is to remain in Troy, and Criseyde 
to let herself be surrendered to her father. In all points of 
constructive skill, if this great scene be studied, it is the full 
proof of Chaucer's mastery of the dramatic method. It is, in 
constructive plan, the result and inevitable consequence of all 
the thirty-seven s(«nes that have preceded. It is the cause 
and the source of all the actions, all the shame and sorrow 
that are to come. In force of characterization, it is the full 
and complete revelation of Criseyde's character, the psycho- 
logical exposition of the woman's subtle and complex nature. 
In ethical import, as solution of the dramatic problem, it is 
the triumph of worldly prudence and of conventional scruples 
over the ardor of i)assion and the glory of self-sacrifice. 

From the placing of the climax-scene, all the plan of Chau- 
cer's dramatic arrangement becomes at once visible. There is, 
in 266 lines, the protasis of the drama, with introduction of 
Troilus and Criseyde and full indication of the dramatic pas- 
sion. There is then, in 5,486 lines, the fully developed 


epitasisy extending from the brilliant scene in the temple, as 
opening of action, ap to the beginning of the climax-scene 
itself. Next, in 619 lines, there is the scene of climax and 
the complete solution of the dramatic problem. As result, in 
1,820 verses there is the fourth stage of action, the seduction 
of Criseyde by Diomede and the death of Troilus. Last of 
all, as closing stage of the action, in fifty lines, there is that 
lovely scene in which the soul of Troilus, taken from earth 
into the paradise of brave and faithful warriors, looks down 
with scorn upon the baseness of the earthly life. All is com- 
plete. In Chaucer's words, the strength of the tale is in its 

** In his keen ejee a certain soom 
Dwells as indignant, that a deed so mean, 
Treason so petty, woman-guile so poor, 
Should eyer stifle out this glorious breath." ^ 

Thomas B. Price. 

^ Lord de Tablej, Jad^ w. 103-4. 


As Holtzmann has shown the Hildebrandslied as we now 
have it is a copy from an older manuscript. That it was not 
written in its present form from memory is seen in the fact 
that the mistakes are those of sight. For example, HUHbrakt 
occurs six times for Hiltibrant, man for inan, unti for miU, 
etc. The errors show that the writer or writers did not fully 
understand what they were writing, and that their copying 
was mechanical. It follows that the manuscript from which 
they wrote did not differ materially from their copy, or in 
other words, that the linguistic confusion was already present. 
This confusion, however, cannot be entirely explained unless 
with Kogel we assume that at an earlier time there was a 
copy from memory. 

Several theories have been advanced to explain this mix- 
ture of dialects. Miillenhoff {MSDy p. ix) was of the opinion 
that a copyist accustomed only to High German had attempted 
to write down a Low German poem. Holtzmann {Oermania^ 
IX, 289 f.) regarded the HiUL as a copy made by a L.G. from a 
H.G. manuscript, and this manuscript he thought was proba- 
bly a Bavarian copy of a Franconian Carolingian original, t. «., 
he saw here a mixture of three dialects. K. Meyer {Oermania^ 
XV, 17 f.) thinks that it is an O.S. copy of an O.H.G. origi- 
nal, and that this original was a pure Upper German work. 
That it was not written in Alemannic is shown by the entire 
lack of t^ < d and the frequent use of oo < au. He con- 
cludes that it was written in Bavarian. Braune in the index 
of h\^Ahjd. Leaebuch sets the Hild. down as ^^a mixed dialect: 
copy of an Upper German original by Saxon writers." Herm. 
Moller {Zwr ahd. AlliUeraiionapoesief 54) declares that these 
theories are all wrong. According to him the Htld. is an E. 
Franc. Fuldic copy made in the second half of the ninth 
century from an Upper Franc. (E. or Rh. Franc) original 
4 323 


belonging to the middle, or to the third quarter of the eighth 
century. That is, the differences we $nd here are not those 
of dialect, but simply of time. 

According to Kogel (Paul's OrundrisSy ii, 174 f.) the follow- 
ing considerations show that the copyists could not have been 
Saxons. A Saxon would not have written double consonants 
in haUiy hettbiy mdttiy muottiy l^un, huitt^, harmHcco. But a 
High Grerman not accustomed to the Saxon orthography would 
naturally fall into this error in attempting to write Saxon, since 
the zz and hh in his own dialect would mislead him. The 
Saxon also would hardly write ao < aw, for this writing never 
occurs in O.S. ; nor would he be likely to write ob, ae in cmon, 
hasUiyfarlady raet, for this is seldom found in O.S. represent- 
ing O.H.G. at, 6t, and never occurs in the preterit of redupli- 
cating verbs.^ Again, the form atUisat in line 53 points to the 
H.G. scribe who had his own mdsaz in mind. 

To the above proofe we may add others. If the last copyist 
had been a Saxon, he would not have omitted or miswritten 
h before r and w; for h was well preserver! in this position 
in O.S. long afler it had disappeared in O.H.G. But our 
writer drops the h in wer, weUhheSy werdavy ringd; writes it 
correctly in hrustim, hrusti, hregilo, hutU^; but incorrectly in 
gihtieity bihrahanen, hrdmen. Scherer {Zs. /. d, A.y 26, p. 380) 
sees in helidds : ringd, of line 6, the old variation between the 
nom. and the aoc. plural. This is a variation, however, that 
is never seen in O.H.G., and must here be O.S. Now, if 
the poem had originally been H.G., a Saxon would not have 
changed hdidd to hdidda, since nominatives plural in -d also 

As we have just seen, the copyist writes U where the corres- 
ponding H.G. word has zz. But in mudin there is but one t, 
though U should be written if it is the pret. opt. of mdtian. 
Now, as Kogel has told us, this word was foreign to O.H.G. 
It is quite possible that it was misunderstood by the H.G. 

^ It is equftllj true that it does not occur in the pret. of reduplicating 
Terbs in O.H.G. 


writer, who confused it with the pret, opt. of muoen, which is 
muotin. An O.H.G. form *muozfin would never have been 
changed to muotin by one who knew how to write O.S. The 
single t of bret&n may also be explained by the fact that there 
was no corresponding H.G, word with zz to model the spell- 
ing after. If the H.G. scribe connected sceotantero with the 
H.G. verb, it seems to indicate that he would have written 

The writing of ummet tirri in line 25 is instructive. A 
Saxon that knew enough to change an O.H.G. form to O.S. 
would certainly not make ummet tirri out of unmez irri. Only 
when we start from an O.S. original, and suppose that a 
High German wrote the words as they sounded to him, do we 
find the explanation. Without doubt the Saxon spoke * ummet/ 
though he might have written Ummet;' and in pronouncing 
the two words together, the final t of ummet naturally joined 
itself to irri. The writer, therefore, wrote the words as we 
find them for the same reason that Otfrid wrote binnih for bin 
ih, slihtti for slihtiy etc. ; cf. Braune, -4Ad. Gh'am.y §§ 94, a. 1, 
127, a. 1, 161, a. 5, 164, a. 3. 

The alliteration in line 48 has been adduced in evidence 
that the poem could not have been originally Saxon. The 
verse reads : 

dcU du noh bi desemo riehe reeeheo ni wurH, 

As it stands riche and reccheo alliterate, which would not be 
possible in O.S., since reccheo would begin with w. But in 
the corrupt state of the manuscript it is easily supposable that 
the line has been changed here, perhaps unintentionally, in the 
attempt to replace an alliteration that had been lost by one 
that the writer could appreciate. Originally the line might 
have read in some such way as MoUer {Ahd. All,, 64) suggests : 

iSat iSu wreeeheo ni teurH hi iSeue waUanUi riehe. 

After bringing forward proof that the transcribers were 
not Saxons, it remains to show that the author of the HUd. 

326 FRAJSCia A. WOOD. 

was a Saxon. K5gel gives a long list of words and phrases 
that do not oocar in O.H.G. in the sense required here, or that 
are not found at all (see Paul's Grundriss, n, p. 176 f.). This 
evidence is borne out by the phonology. Let us then consider 
those sounds that have a different development in O.H.G. and 
in O.S., and see how much is on the O.S. level. 

Grer. an (before )?) > d in ddre. Qer. un (before ]?, s) > tf in 
^Aamtin,c&^ (twice), <;ddea,ii«er6. The n in cAind remains, 
as it does in O.8. kind. 

Grer. d^ > d always, as in wdri, sudsat. 

The vowel of the pret. in class I of the reduplicating verbs 
is CB in hcelti. This has its counterpart in no other O.S. or 
O.H.G. monument. It does occur, however, in the pret. of 
ablauting verbs of the first class, as arcBS. Now it must be 
remembered that the H.G. scribe, wholly ignorant of O.S. 
orthography, represented O.S. sounds in his own manner. 
The vowel that he heard in hoetti was doubtless open, and he 
therefore wrote it cb. The f of IfUun and the ae of furlaet 
may be explained in the same way. Or we may compare the 
ae of furlaet with the ei of Isidores ^rfeiz (cf. Ger, Studies, U. 
of C, n, p. 39, and Brugmann, Idg. Forach., vi, 97). 

Grer. 6 remains d, (1) in monosyllables; (2) in unstressed 
syllables, as waUAta; (3) in frdtdroyfrdte, chdnnem, gMen, mdtii, 
Mntf aUipun; (4) it becomes uo in muoHn, gistuont, giduontun, 
cnuoaleSf famidSj muottu The ilo is probably due to the H.G. 
influence, though it is also found in O.S. 

Ger. ai in the stem-syllable is represented by i in Mrdro, 
^hinay g^ru^ hdn^ Mrron wiwuri, Mremo, d6m (where it would 
also be ^ in O.H.G.); and in urhMun, tu^j uvM (w^uf^), 
htnUy MiCj Mdero. It is written f in pnariy pitgeru, a^UdanUy 
iDentils^; or in CBTum, cerist; ojt in rwd; ei in heittu, giweit, 
gileitASy cheisuringu, gimeinun, 

^ This belongs here if it is connected with O.H.G. weiMien, But it may be 
referred to Goth. wadjSn, wadjaUf as MoUer, AhdL AlLj 95 f., suggests. The 
same derivation is given bj Wilhelm Luft in a recent dissertation on Die 
ErUwickdung det Dialoget im aUen HUd., p. 28, and credited to a ' Studien- 


Of these writings ^ only does not occur in O.S. ; but all 
may well have been used to represent the open sound which 
the vowel must at that time have had. The ai of iiaiwboH 
is the only decidedly un-Saxon writing, and is probably due 
to the H.G. scribe. 

Qer. aiw > go in eo (thrice) and iieo. 

Ger. aii > d in gikdrta, fdhtmy fldh, dstar (thrice), OUiohre{s\ 
t6L Here the development is the same in O.H.G. as in O.S. 
It is ao in laoaaf -laosy aodUhJiOy and in taoc. This aOy in Uwo 
as well as in the other words, was simply the H.G. scribe's 
method of representing the open 6 of O.S., a method which he 
used in his own dialect to represent the first stage of the con- 
tracted au. The diphthong occurs once as ou in bouga, a 
writing that is also in O.S. The au of rauba is the only 
instance in which this diphthong is not easily explained from 
the O.S. view-point. The au of hauwun shows the r^ular 
O.S. development. 

Qer. euC>eo regularly in -deotf TheoMhhe, Deotrichhey soeotn 
arUero, kop. In the same position it is ^ in DHtthhe^ brUon, 
It is r^ularly iu in litdiy liviOy niuae. The diphthong iu occurs 
by secondary formation in hiutu, friurU, The eu in heutmm 
corresponds to the first sing. pret. heu of O.S. 

Oonsonanta. — As already mentioned, n falls out before a surd 
spirant, except in chind. 

Ger. p remains in werpauy acarpin, atdpun, and is assimilated 
in wambiium. 

Ger. t is represented by 6 initially, medially, and finally in 
ibu (thrice), bUrCy bam, arbeo, darbd, Mb, obana, ah, bouga, bi 
(thrice), gibu, geba, bist, vbar, hab^ (twice), buro, banun, bretdn, 
biUiu, banin, rauba, brunndno, bMero, -bort, and in the repeti- 
tions o{ 'brant in the proper names ; it is v in hevane; and its 
gemination is 66 in habbe. It is twice p initially, pHU, pist; 
twice finally, leop, gap; and once geminated, sippan. 

Grer./is always/, occurring only initially. 

^The word must be written with i<eo,M in DHrihhe, if it is oonnected 
with O.E. briotan. 


Qer. k becomes : (a) medially between vowels, and finally 
after vowels, {1) k in ik (twice) and harmUcoo; (2) h{h) in ik 
(five times), mih (thrice), dihy M (thrice), Theotrikhsy DHrihhey 
aodJtUihOj wdihhes; (3) ch in Deatricche, riche. It becomes : (b) 
initially and in similarly treated positions (1) k in cnMosleSffole 
[jji^i^^ (thrice) ; (2) it becomes oh in folche{8\ Ota>chre(s)y chind 
(twice), cAuninc-, ohuning, ohM (twice), de[n]chi8tOy cJidnn^m, 
cheUuringu, reccheo (chludtmf). 

Here there is apparently considerable departure from O.S., 
bat it is more in appearance than in reality. The treatment 
of Ger. k in (b) corresponds almost exactly to Isidores orthog- 
raphy, where the di does not stand for the afiricate. Even in 
O.8. cli is sometimes used for k. The ch in (a) is probably 
not the same, but is rather the spirant The pronouns and 
the proper names naturally took on their O.H.G. form. 

Ger. g remains throughout initiaUy and medially. Finally 
it is ^ in chuninffy and o in dincy chuninc-y wiCy sehsticy burc, 
taoCy into. 

Ger. h. We have already seen that the last copyists con- 
fused initial h before r and w. That h in this position was 
sounded in the original is seen by alliteration in hringd (6), 
hrusli (56), hregiloy hwerdar (61), huittf (66). The h is dropped 
with resulting contraction in gmMta (36), but preserved in 
gimahalta (7, 14, 45). It has been lost from ^reo, in which it 
probably stood in the original ; and has regularly disappeared 
in nivsey O.S. niusUmy O.H.G. niuseny Goth. nitJigan, In all 
other words it has remained. 

Ger. t remains in all positions, as tuhriy heUtUy furlaet. Grer. 
1J > < throughout. 

Ger. ]? is represented by th in Theotrihhey and by i in ^Sat 
(twice), HaSubranty gHIShamwa. In all other cases, of which 
there are seventy-seven, we find d initially, medially and 
finally. In the dentals, therefore, the development of Ger. % 
only is un-Sazon. 

In judging of the age of the Hild.y the most we can do is 
to fix the time when the ^ vorlage ' of the existing manuscript 


was written. The use of ai in staimborty of au in rauba, of 
cu> (= do) to represent the open 6 < aUj and of eo and never io 
points to about the middle of the eighth century. It was 
rather after than before 750 ; for uo and ei are used each five 
times. The use of ei, however, does not prove a later date 
than 750, for at this time the O.S. representative of 6er. ai 
had already reached its contracted stage. The very fact that 
so many characters are used to represent this sound — e, f, cb, 
aCf dy ai — shows that the writer was in doubt how it should 
be done. The ou of bougd and the oh for hh in richsy DeoU 
Heche are probably chargeable to the last copyist Other 
evidence for the eighth century is the survival of the dat. 
plur. ending in -m in most of the forms. 

The age of the existing manuscript is not so easily deter- 
mined. For, as we have seen, the copying was done mechani- 
cally, with no intention of making changes. Where changes 
were made, they were probably due to defects in the * vorlage/ 
or to carelessness or ignorance on the part of the transcribers. 
We may, however, set the date of the writing in the first part 
of the ninth century, with the assurance that, though it may 
have been later, a later date cannot be proved. 

It now remains to determine the dialect of the H.G. element 
of the mid. Claims have been set up for the Bavarian and 
for the Franconian. For the latter, it seems to me, the evi- 
dence is the better. The vowel-system is in the main as we 
should expect it from a Franconian in the third quarter of the 
eighth century who is writing O.S. The use of ao is more 
frequent than we should expect, and might seem to point to 
the Bavarian dialect. But this is not Bavarian, as taoo shows, 
but, as stated above, the writer's method of indicating open d. 
Perhaps instead of bougd we should read baogd — the manu- 
script is here indistinct — and thus add another example of 
this representation of open 6. The form leop is Franc, as 
distinguished from Bav. liupy though this may be explained 
as a retention of the O.S. diphthong. 


The ooDSonantSy where they have not remained on the O.S. 
level, are treated as in Franc, especially Rhine-Franc. This 
accounts for the use of p and of cA as given above. The con- 
stant A«r speaks also for the Franc. The M as given in line 
22 of Braune's text is a doubtful exception, since the manu- 
script reads heroA. We cannot be sure, therefore, that this is 
the O.8. M retained. Further evidence for the Franc, need 
not be given, as a comparison of its phonology with that of 
the £Kld, given above speaks for itself. It will be seen that 
there is nothing necessarily Bav. 

Our conclusion in the whole matter then is this: (1) the 
HUd. was originally composed in O.S. ; (2) this poem a 
Franconian in the third quarter of the eighth century wrote 
from memory or from dictation, representing the O.S. sounds 
according to his H.6. orthography ; (3) this manuscript was 
afterward mechanically copied, probably in the early part of 
the ninth century, by a writer or by writers belonging also 
to the Franc, dialect. 

Francis A. Wood. 


The rule forbidding hiatus in French verse which has been 
followed in all literary poetry since Malherbe's day may be 
thus formulated : — 

A word ending in a vowel other than an e muet cannot be 
followed within the same line by a word banning with a 
vowel or h muette. 

Where a word ends in an e muet and the following word 
begins with a vowel or an h muette, the e muet is elided and 
the hiatus thus avoided. 

For the purposes of this rule the toi dvA supposed not to 

Oui is sometimes treated as though it b^an with a conso- 

Hiatus is allowed before or after a few interjections ; also 
in certain set expressions such as pea d peu^ cd, etldy and the 

It is now generally recognized that this rule was an out- 
growth of a tendency already existing in French verse, that 
in so far it was justified, but that Malherbe did not fully 
understand the rule with which he was dealing, made his rule 
too comprehensive in one direction by forbidding many com- 
binations such SB U y tty tu €8, oh ed-Ut where there is no 
genuine hiatus, and not sufficiently comprehensive in another 
direction becaase he failed to forbid: first, the hiatus which 
results when the first word ends in a consonant which is silent 
in all cases, as hup, pied; second, the hiatus which sometimes 
results when the first vowel is a so-called nasal vowel, as in 
camp aiiglaia; and third, the hiatus liable to occur through 
the elision of an e muet preceded by a vowel, as mjoie aisive — 
je suis montSe au haiU de la muraiUe (see Lubarsch, Franzosische 
Verslehrej p. 487). 


332 p. B. MABOOU. 

The result has been to put a handicap on French poets which 
they are only b^inning now tp throw off. 

I hope to make it seem probable that the tendency imperfectly 
expressed by Malherbe's rule is a fundamental one, discernible 
throughout the growth of French speech, and depending on the 
physiological character of French utterance. 

The word hiatus expresses the unpleasant gap which occurs 
in the continuous flow of speech when two vowels follow each 
other without the interposition of a consonant or semi-vowel. 
This sense of a void seems to result, at least partly, from the 
cessation of the noise in the throat, taken in connection with 
the comparative inactivity of the mouth organs of speech in the 
enunciation of the two vowels immediately following on each 
other, and which are not pronounced together as a diphthong. 

Thus, as is pointed out in T. H. Braam's MdlherMs Hiatus 
Verbot und der HicUus in der neuframosischen Lyrikj i or ou 
plus a different vowel does not give an hiatus as a semi-vowel 

The same is true of t plus i which, at least within a word, 
is always followed by a different vowel, — nous riiona^ v<ms 

The same is true of close o. 

In this way the vast majority of hiatuses occcurring within 
modern French words are proved not to be genuine. 

These considerations go to show that modern French is a 
language in which hiatus within a word is confined to a few 
learned words such as chaos, coopirer, and the like. 

Between words, of course, what looks like hiatus frequently 
occurs in the written language, but from what we have just 
seen we should expect in the spoken language a strong tendency 
to avoid or suppress hiatus. 

Now there are three ways of suppressing hiatus between 
closely connected words. The two words may be pronounced 
together, forming a diphthong, as is done in Italian and Spanish, 
or a semi-vowel or consonant may be developed, — this is fre- 
quent in Beranger's popular verse, — or, finally, the first vowel 


may be suppressed ; this happens with mute e, with a of la, 
with i of si before t/, and in popular speech with the u and i 
of tu and qui, — i'es kite, Phomme qu^ed venu. 

The reason French does not smooth away the difficulty as 
Spanish and Italian do, seems to lie in the fact that French 
has no genuine diphthongs, t. e., diphthongs in which the first 
vowel is not essentially a semi-vowel as in oi and ii, and this, 
as I think, is due to the weak stress-accent in French, making 
it hard to pronounce two vowels in one syllable. 

In a paper read before this Association, six years ago, I 
attempted to show that the shrinking up of the post-tonic 
vowels in French was due to this same weakness of the stresR- 
accent, and the way the French have dealt with the hiatus 
seems to me another consequence of the same fundamental 
physiological principle. 

Now this strong tendency to avoid hiatus, which we find in 
modern French, is an important factor in the historical de- 
velopment of the language. 

The dropping of a consonant between two vowels in the old 
language necessarily resulted in a large number of hiatuses, 
and they had been smoothed away by the beginning of the 
fifteenth century, either by the dropping of the first pro- 
tonic vowel, as in eu, gageure, ou, Sadne, aoM, or in a few cases 
by dropping the second vowel, as in Laxm, taon, or finally 
by combining the two into one ' mischlaut,' as in chaine^ chaire. 

If now we look at Old French verse we find a correspond- 
ing state of things for hiatus between words. In the Chanson 
de Roland (see Extraits de la Chanson de Roland, by 6. Paris, 
" Observationes Grammaticales"), hiatus is comparatively sel- 
dom, as many end-consonants which afterwards dropped out 
are still heard. The harshest kind of hiatus where the first 
vowel is distinctly atonic and the second carries the stress is 
already avoided in many cases by elision. 

In ChrHien de Troyes hiatuses of the worst kind are very 
frequent between words, as they are then frequent within a 
a word, owing to the dropping out of the medial consonant. 

334 r. B. MABOOU. 

In Jean de Mean's part of the Boman de la Bose^ i. e., in the 
beginning of the fourteenth century, hiatus is still frequent. 
For instance we have Qui leg iparpUle e aune^ 6056. We are 
still in the period where the e before the tonic has not yet been 
dropped, and find dUoity cUturej viUy aconsiu. When we come 
to Villon, a century later, the change has taken place, vht has 
become vu^ and as we might expect we find in him a distinct 
avoiding of the hiatus, and from then down the avoiding of 
bad hiatuses by the poets is very marked. Ronsard distinctly 
lays down a rule to that efiect in his AH Po^tiquCy giving as 
an example to be avoided the clause — votre beauU a envoyi 
amour. This tendency has already, from Marot down, been 
recorded by philologists, but in Villon it is already very 
marked : in the whole of the Orand Testament there are not 
more than half a dozen real hiatuses, showing that we have 
here a genuine French phenomenon, and not an imitation 
of Latin models, as might be thought if the tendency first 
appeared in the Renaissance poets of the sixteenth century. 

In view of this progressive disappearance of hiatus within 
French words and of hiatus between words in later French 
verse, it may well be asked whether the t in a-irily aime^-ily 
though doubtless partly the result of the analogy of estM, voit- 
Uy is not also partly due to the tendency to avoid hiatus. The 
same query may be raised about such derived forms as bijour- 
tier^ veloiUi. 

I believe that phonetics would have taken a long step for- 
ward, if the myriad phenomena in a dialect could be shown 
to depend on one or two marked characteristics in the utter- 
ance of the speakers of that dialect; and that the varying 
intensity in difierent dialects of the word accent and the vary- 
ing intensity and frequency of the sentence accent are two 
such general characteristics through which many particular 
phenomena may be accounted for. 

It is interesting to notice the practice of modem French 
popular verse, which of course utterly ignores Malherbe and 
his rule. The avoidance of hiatus is very marked and is 


carried out partly by eliding e, u and iy partly by inserting 
^8 and fa. 

Even hiatuses allowed by Malherbe are thus avoided : 

Qnand n'7 a pas I'moindr' profit-s-i-faire 
Sor tant d' r^form^ m^oontens, 
Lea jages p't-^tr' f raient not* affidre; 
Maia I'roi n'leuz en laiase pas I'tems. 

B^ranger, Oomplavnie d^une de tn dmnoiietttt. 

Je n'suis qa'an boaqu'tidre et j'n'ai rien, 

Mais d'voe soupirs j'me lasBe, 
Monsieur Fcroqa'mort, car 11 faut bien 

Vous dir' vot' nom-z-en face. 

Id., La tHrnqMHhe et le croqu&morL 

Or take that extremely modern song of Jules JouyyOavroche 
A Boulange. 

Of oourse a very marked characteristic of this song is the 
dropping of the e muets in accordance with current Paris 
pronunciation. The vigor thus gained is very marked, and 
literary poetry will surely make a distinct gain if it concludes 
to revise its hiatus rule and its rule of counting the e muets in 
accordance with the practice we find in these popular poets. 

P. B, Maboou. 




Th, MumeTy the great opponent of Luther and one of the 
most interesting characters of the Reformation period, is unduly 
overshadowed by his great antagonist, Martin Luther, just as 
Wallenstein is by Gustavus Adolphus ; and what Schiller wrote 
about Wallenstein : "Von der Parteien Hass und Gunst ver- 
wirrt schwankt sein Charakterbild in der Geschichte/' is equally 
true of Murner. 

It is to be r^retted that Lessing did not carry out his inten- 
tion of devoting a "Rettung" to Murner in order to free him 
especially from the imputation of having written merely for 
the purpose of making money. That he di(fpot underestimate 
Mumer's importance for the study of the history of those times, 
is shown by his remark : '^ Wer die Sitten der damaligen Zeit 
kennen will, wer die deutsche Sprache in allem ihrem Um- 
£singe studieren will, dera rathe ich, die Mumerschen Gredichte 
fleissig zu lesen. Was die Sprache Nachdruckliches, Derbes, 
Anzugliches, Grobes und Plumpes hat, kann er nirgends besser 
£U Hause finden, als in ihnen " (Scheible, K/oder, rv, 579). 

For the first details about Murner's life we are indebted to 
G. E. Waldau, who published in 1775 his Nachrichten uber 
Tliomas Mumers Leben und Schrifien. 

More recently Murner has found several biographers. In 
1879 K. Gx)edeke attempted an "Ehrenrettung" Murner's in 
the introduction to his edition of Murner*s Narrenbeachwarung ; 
but, as is likely to happen in such cases, Goedeke went too far 
in his eulogy of Murner. In the same year there appeared a 
more important contribution on Murner by Charles Schmidt 
in the second part of his Hudoire de P Alsace liUSraire. In 
my opinion this is the most just and objective presentation of 
Mumer's life and works which we possess. 


Within the last few years 6. E. Kawerau has published two 
articles on Murner in the Sohriften dea Vereins fur Reformar- 
tionageachiehte (Thomas Murner und die Kirche des MiilelaUerBy 
Halle, 1890, and Thomas Murner vmd die deutsohe Reformat 
Hon, Halle, 1891). Although Kawerau has made a careful 
study of the sources, yet he himself admits that his contribu- 
tions do not afford the student of literature an exhaustive 
biography of this strange and remarkable Franciscan. Nor 
can Ernst Martin's article on Murner in the AHgemeine deutsche 
Biographie satisfy the demands of the student of literature. 

Many points, especially concerning the latter part of Mur- 
ner's life, remain obscure. Nothing, however, has been a 
greater puzzle to most of his biographers than the fact that 
this very bitter opponent of the Reformation has translated 
into Grerman Luther's most powerful attack upon the Catholic 
Church, his De Captivitate BabyUmica Ecdedoie Praeludium. 

The original edition of Mumer's translation like most of 
his works has become very rare. However, this translation 
has been embodied in modernized form in the Leipsic and 
Altenburg editions of Luther's works, and also in that of 
Walch. The new Weimar edition contains only the Latin 
original with, however, frequent references to Mumer's trans- 

Luther himself remarks about this translation in his Ant^ 
wortt deuisch Mart Luthers vff Koeiiig Henricha von Dngelland 
buchy 1522 (Weimar edition, vi, 488): "Wiewohl ich das 
Licht nicht scheu, hat mirs doch nichts gefallen dasz es ver- 
deutschet ist, aus der Ursach, dasz es mein gifliger feind than 
hat, mich zu schiinden, und gar selten troffen wird, was ich 
selb nicht verdeutsche." 

Murner alludes to this translation in his work Ob der Kunig 
v.^z engeUand ein lugner sey oder der Luther, Straszburg, 1522, 
where he remarks (ed. Scheible, 898): "Das er (Luther) aber 
sagt ich hab im die babilonisch gefencknisz verdeutschet in zu® 
schenden, daz gestand ich, ich hab aber seine wort nit gefelscht 
mit eincherlei vnwarheit, dan allein sein lateinische wort nach 

338 ERN8T V08S. 

meinem vermugen zu* deutsch gesprochen ; ist im das sdbig 
bu^'ch zu* schandeDy so hat er sich selber geschent vnd nit ich, 
dan ich seins bu^chs kein macher, sunder ein dalmetsch ge- 
wesen bin." 

This statement of Murner seems to be plain enough, but 
in spite of it we read in the last monograph on Murner by 
Kawerau {Th. Murner und die deiUsche Reformation, page 
37) : '^ Man hat bekanntlich aus dieser Thatsachc (Murner's 
translation of Luther's De Oaptitntate Babylonica) eine zeit- 
weilige Hinneigung unseres Franziskaners zur Reformation 
folgern wollen, und man darf, wie mir scheint, diese Annahme 
nicht ohne weiteres von der Hand weisen. Aber immerhin 
ist in dieser Frage manehes dunkel, so dass man iiber Vermut- 
ungen schwerlieh hinaus kommen wird/' 

Additional light is shed upon this question by another of 
Mumer's writings that has escaped his biographers up to this 
time and it is to be hoped that this will put an end to all 
further conjectures with reference to his translation of Luther's 
De Oaptivitale Babylonica Eoclesiae Praeludium. 

After ^'Bru^der Michael Styfel Augustiner von f^lingen" 
had published his pamphlet Von der Christformigen, recktge- 
ffrundten leer Doctoria Martini I/tUhers, ein uberusz sohon kunsl- 
lick Lyedy sampt seyner neben vszlegung,^ in which he glorifies 
the great Reformer by comparing him to the angel in Revda- 
tion (14y 6), Thomas Murner came out, in the spring of 1522, 
with his Ain new lied von dem vndergang des Chriatlichen gUxu- 
bens^ in which he summed up once more all that he had to 
say against the new doctrine. W. Kawerau, in his work, 
Thoniaa Murner und die deuische Reformation, comments upon 
this lied as follows : " Man spurt in diesen Versen wirklich 
etwas wie eine tiefe innere Err^ung, und er findet fur diese 
bewegte Empfindung einen so kraftvollen und lebendigen Aus- 
druck, dass hier in einer bisher von ihm nie erreichten Weise 
Inhalt und Form harmonisch zusammenklingen. Zwar wird 

^ Cf. Qoedeke, Grundria^, u, 223. 

> Cf. Scheible, Klogler, iv, 667 ff. ; Uhland's Volkdieda', u, 906 ff. 


auch hier der Eindnick durch die Ausdehnung des Gedichts 
einigermassen beeintrax^htigt, doch scheint mir immerhin dieses 
Lied ' von dem Untergange des christliehen Glaubens ' ^ mit 
das Bedeutendste zu sein, was in jenen bew^ten Tagen aus 
dem gegnerischen Lager in volkstiimlicher Form wider Luther 
und die Reformation gesagt und gesungen worden ist. Und 
vor allem ist das fur das Lied von Vorteil^ dass Murner hier 
von jeder personliehen Polemik sich freihalt Wohl ist die 
saehliche Beziehung auf jene Stiefelsche Schrift * unverkenn- 
bar, aber nirgends wendet er sich direkt gegen ihn, sondem 
giebt nur dem Ausdruck, was an Klagen und an Bef^rch- 
tungen die Herzen aller Anhanger des Alten bewegen musste/' 

Janssen also in his Oeschichte des deutachen Volkes aeit dem 
Ausgang des Mittelalters, ii, 124 f., has words of high praise 
for this publication of Murner's. No doubt Murner was 
deeply in earnest when his muse inspired him to this produc- 
tion and it shows him at his very best. 

This lied was paraphrased by Stifel in a pamphlet entitled 
Wider doctor Mumersfalsch erdicht lyed^ the tone of which, 
to use Kawerau's expression, is throughout " von unge- 
schlachter Derbheit." 

Murner found it necessary to reply to this attack and pub- 
lished in 1522 "vff den abent der geburt Marie" (Sept. 7) his 
Antwurt vnd Klag mit entsehvMigung wider bru^der M. Stifel^ 
of which, according to Groedeke, there is only one copy in 
existence, the one in the British Museum (3905, d. 106). So 
far as I can see, none of the biographers of Murner, neither 
Waldau, Kurz, Goedeke, Ch. Schmidt, nor Kawerau have 
had access to this pamphlet. This fact alone would be excuse 
enough for its republication* But it is especially valuable, 
because Murner refers in it once more to his translation of 
Luther^s De Captivitate BabyUmiea, 

' Cf. also Janssen, GescA. d deuiaeh. VolkeSf ii, 126 ff. 

' Von der Ckriatformigen^ rechtgegrundUn leer Doeioria Martini LuiherSf etc 

»Cf. Goedeke, Orundrim*, n, 223. 'Ibid., ii, 218 (39). 


340 ERNBT voes. 

His words are : ^^des bezug ioh mieh tff das bu^ch der babi- 
lomsohen gefencknia, daz ich selbs vertiUschet hob, tff das dock 
der gemdn Christ sehe moer gotz lesterung vnd schmdwng der 
heUigen saoramenL^' 

There cannot be any doubt whatever that it was not the 
intention of Murner to help the cause of the great Reformer 
by this translation, but to injure it. I therefore fully endorse 
Knaake's remark in Vol. 6 of the Weimar edition of Luther's 
works : '^ Luther sollte dem Volke, das den Gtehalt seiner Schrift 
nicht zu prufen vermochte, als Emporer wider die Kirche und 
ihre Satzungen erscheinen ; es war so in der That darauf abge- 
sehen, ^ihn za schdnden.^ '* 


Antwurt vnd klag mit entschuldigung doctor Mumers 
wider bruMer Michel stifel weyt von eszlingen daheim j vff 
das stufel bu^'ch so er wider meyn lied gemachet hat | darusz 
er des lieds den rechten thon erlemen mag. 

[Reprinted from a copy in the British Museum.] 

— Von brv!'der — 
[Aib.J 7u® alien stifelen des deutschen lands. 

T?8 verwundert mich ir wolgeschmierten vnd hochgeliderten 
"*-^ stifel des deutschen lands | daz ir mir nit zu® gu*tem ver- 
standen haben | vnd vff genumen | daz ich doch einmal fro*den- 
reich ein lied gesungen hab | vnd ich doch nie kein verdrusz 
oder miszfallen gehabt hab | ob man vch stifel zu® rosz oder vff 
dem land brucht in dem kat vnd dreck mit vch vmb zu^gon 
vnd mit namen also feindlich anrennen vnd vberfallen on all 
erlangte recht vber mich | vnd vnbewaret ewerer eren on alle 
absagung vff mich der maszen angreiffea | brennen vnd rauben | 
mit nagel | feur vnd eiszen fk. wider vermugen vnd tenor der 
guldin buUen. So ich aber in gantzer hoffiiung bin daz ir 
wolgeschmirten stifel nit alle schuld daran haben | oder discs 


— Michel stifel — 

feindlichen anlauffens antweders kein wissen tragt | oder foUen 
bericht | wil ich vch mit disem brieff den voUen handel zo? 
berichten nit vorhalten. Es hat ein vngeschmirter fischerstifel 
die bei vns zu^ den gro*bsten sein ein lied gesungen in bru^der 
veiten thon | wie es im nit vmb ein bar fel | wie der luther ein 
engel sei | vnd sein kunst stieb vber berg vnd dal | vnd hab 
doch fleisch vnd bein | als ob dy engel menschen weren auch 
wie er die gschrift nach fisierung abseiget vnd kein fledermusz 
fo*rchtet | auch >vie weit iherusalem worden sei | mit fleisziger 
bit daz in got erho*r bisz er ein gliick erschleieh | gu^e suppen 
vberkum | dan man koeh im ietz biter ko*eht | auch wie sein 
hertz mit siinden schertzet vnd sei im der riiw ein schimpf vnd 
spot I vnd wie sein seel geschwertzet [Aja] sei got sol sie im 
mit ru^n fegen oder mit besen dan ich sunst niit wiszt wamit 
man sie fegen kiint { daz ir auch des vbel geliderten stifels natur 
gantz erkennen | git er sich in obgenantem lied selbs also zu* 
erkenen | wie er sich in gu'^tem spar vnd geil sei in bo*sem | vff 
falscheit far | die warheit feil trag daz sein syn eigne wort vnd 
kuntschafl die nim ich an | vnd weiter sei sein sei gestrekt vff 
lust vnd hellisch ru®sz | vnd wie got alles gu®t verdriesz £8. 
mit fil andern worten keim menschen sunder einem stifel wol- 
geburent | lut seiner eignen hantgesohrift die noch vorhends 
ist I wie wol durchsudelt vnd geschriben in der druckerei | doch 
bei mir behalten alien stifelen zu^ gu^tem vnd zu^ eren. Nun 
het aber ich ie vermeinet | so es den stifelen erlaubt were zu* 
singen | es wer vff daz minst mir alsz einer katzen | vnd drachen | 
auch des babst geiger vnd einem narren wie mich dan diszes 
hertz liebes druts | fruntliches vnd holtseligs stifelin nennet der 
gleich zu° singen | vnd fro*lich zu® sein nit verbotten | vorab 
von denen die zu"^ eszlingen sein so weit von mir | die ich auch 
mit meinem singen nit erdo*ube | so beid mein par stifel | die 
ich von Venedig gebracht hab | vnd des besten corduanischen 
leders sein | mich taglich daz liedlin haben geho*rt in meiner 
stuben singen | vnd nie kein wort dar zu^ gesagt haben | es wer 

342 EBN8T V068. 

mir aach in mein gedanck nie kamen daz die stifel ein ver- 
drus solten daran gehabt haben | ich wil der pantoflen ge- 
schweigen | doch so er vermeint ich thu^ als ein aff waz ich von 
andern sehe daz vnderstand ich auch | gefelt mir danocht wol 
vnd kitzlet mich daz er mir den breisz gibt | das ich bas singen 
kan dan er | dan er zu^ end seins bu^'chs mein lied [A^b.] den 
meisteren beuiicht mir daz krentzlin zu^ geben | vnd ich mein 
affenspil an dem besten vszgericht hab. 1st mein fumemen | 
each wolgeliderten stifel ein bericht zu"" geben | der vnbillicheit 
80 mir von disez fischerstifel zu^gemessen wirt vnd den selben 
euch perso*nIich zu® erkennen geben | das ir weiters mit im 
wiszt zu^ handlen nach gl^enheit der sachen. 

Erstlich nent er sich bru^'der stifel | da sagt er fast war an 
dan yeder stifel hat ein bru^der | so ir doch ein par sein miiszen 
in dem sinn verstond auch in | dan wa ir in also verstunden 
. daz er sant Augustinus orden ein bruMer wer so ist es nit war | 
dan sie in veriagt haben vsz dem orden kan ich wol gedencken 
nit vmb sein vnschuld. 

Zu° dem anderen | schreibt er sich von eszlingen das ist auch 
war I dan die stat ist im verbotten darumb mu^sz er dar von 
sein vnd nit darinnen. 

Zu<> dem driten fragt er mich warum ich so blind gang in 
der heiligen geschrifl | ich mein er sei als wol ein nar als ich 
daz er nit weiszt daz es der augen schuld ist | so einer blind ist. 

Zu^m fierden bin ich schon wie er wil | ein katzen kopf so 
fahe ich doch kein musz | ein drach | so ersticht mich doch 
sant Jerg nit | ein esel I drag doch kein seek zu^ der mulin. 

Zu"" dem fiinflen fragest du mich was ich die christenheit 
heisz I wan ich lutherisch wer { so sprech ich es wer die versam- 
lung des luthers mit sampt noch zweien oder dreien die hinder 
dem ofen bellen ewangelisch sein | nut dan die warheit li^n 
vnd vffrierige freiheit ersiiftzen | wider. 31.(?) christlicher 
kunigreich { aber was ich fnr die Christenheit halt wil ich dir 
sagen als bald ich vsz der badstuben kum. 

[A^a.] Zu^ dem VL schiltest mich als ob ich nit wiszt was 
die fursten von des luthers sachen hielten ich bin nit in irem 


rat gewesen | doch haben sie ein edict zu^ wurms laszen vsz 
gon mit sampt dem keiser vnd alien stenden des reiehs was 
ieder sol vff den luther halten vod sein anhang. So hat auch 
der babst ein bull lassen vszgon | was man von seiner leer 
halten sol | aber ich find in beiden briefien wenig oder nut 
gu!*tz von dem luther | glaub auch nit das die fursten anders 
sohreiben | dan reden und halten. 

Zu"" dem vu. das der bapst | die bischo^ffj des gleichen andre 
mer geistlichen oberkeiten mit mir | die lut vber reden | durch 
vns selig zu^ werden | in darreichung ires geltz das sie in der 
massen falscher hofibung als dieb stelen | lasz ich den babst 
vnd sie selber verantwurten. Aber fur mein person I so sem- 
liche dieb bisz her nit eerlosz erkant noch gewesen sein | lasz 
ich es auch beru**wen. 

Zu^ dem yni. des babsts kron betrefien | glaub ich alsz auch 
war ist | das solche zierden nit seiner personen | sunder der 
gantzen cristenheit ist | die im solche kron nit werden lassen 
zucken on gro*szer keichen dan bisz her gewesen ist. 

Zu° dem ix. das ich gesagt hab wie Johannes, xxx. iar 
nach der vfiart Christi sein ewangelium beschriben hab | der 
vnder Domitiano dem keiszsr in pathmos ist verurteilt worden | 
vnder Nerua wider in ephesum kummen ist I bisz vff trianus^ 
zeiten gelebt hat lxyiii. iar nach dem dot Christi. Neuntzig 
iar alt worden ist | vnd der letst ist gewesen zu° schreiben | 
vnder alien ewangelisten | gang in die rechten schu^l vnd erlern 
waz ich gefelet hab | sag (Asb.) ich daz | wil ich es auch mit 
sicherheit den stifelen furhalten. 

Zu° dem x. das der babst in dem ewangelio nit erstiftet 
sei I glaub ich nit | warumb stat dan petre weid mein schaff 
vnd vff dich wil ich mein kirch ersetzen | vnd dir geben die 
schlussel des himelreichs | ia ich hab es vergessen wie ir sagen 
das petrus die gemein heiszet | ist das war | so heiszt stifel ein alt 
pantzer | dan man schlQfl auch darein als wol als in einen stifel. 

Zu"* dem xi. das ich als ein drach gifitig sei | dan ich wider 
den luther geschriben hab mit vorhaltung meines namens vnd 

^Read: traianus. 

344 EBN8T V08B. 

verboigenlich | daz ret kein firum man von mir dan ist mein 
nam nit in an&ng der buchlein gemeldet geweeen | ist ^ dodi 
za^ end angezeigt bekantlich vnserm gnedigsten herren vnd 
fursten einem biscfaoff von straszborg | betzug ich mich vff 
sein furstliche genad. 

Zu* dem xn. als ich sing wie der keiser uwerer achtung 
kein aduocat sei | meinstu daz im solch ampt der aduocation 
in krafit meins ewangeliums zu^ho*r vnd gebur | vnd nit vsz 
dem ewangelio cristi. Er schrdbt sich ein adaocaten der 
kirchen frag in darumb wa her im daz ampt kume | er wurt 
dir es wol sagen | vnd geho*rt weder stifelen noch pantoflen 
zu® I den keiser seiner empter zu^ rechtfertigen. 

Zu^ dem xm. daz ich ein ander ewangelium hab dan ir | 

daz magstu wol sagen | dan daz mein rat zu* firiden | daz vwer 

zu® vflFru^r | daz mein zu* gu*ten wercken | daz vwer allein zu* 

glauben ob schon die werck in dem werck hoff schlieffen | daz 

mein zu^ vndertho*nen der oberkeit | daz vwer dem babst sein 

reoht zu^ verbrennen | vnd nnt vff den keiser vnd alle sein 

gebot vnd (A^a.) gesatz zu^ geben daz mein glauben heilige 

vnd gemeine ehristenheit | daz vwer an wenig vffrierigen | vnd 

mit namen an den karsthansen | der den wurt zu* bern mit den 

fersen bezalet | vbereylet ward zu* burgdorff den wolfs beltz 
mu^st geben | ich geschweig des frumen vnd blinden edelmans 

von dieszbach zc. daz sein vwers ewangeliums ewangelisten | 

so des meinen sein matheus lucas marcus iohannes | die vweren 

karsthans | k^el bans gugel fiitz | zwen bauren im schweitzer 

land Sc. vnd hennen diebolt mit der leren deschen. 

Zu"" dem xuu. daz ich als ein blu'^t hund den keiser wider 

vch reitz | die ir habt geziignis des heiligen geists ( vwer blut 

hund von dem der keiser schreibt daz er wel sein hend in 

priesterlichem blu^ weschen | der luther der mag ein solcher 

anreitzer sein | dan des gleich hat kein man von mir ie geho*rt | 

das ir aber zugnis haben des heiligen geists | der richter sol 

zugknis rechtfertigen vnd nit die parthen. Quia nescit homo 

si gratia aut odio dignus sit. 


Zu!* dem xv. Ob es vnbillich sei daz der keiser dem babet 
die fusz kusze | las ich sie beid der sach eins werden | mein 
liebes Schwartzes stifelin welcher den anderen kusz vnd wa | 
der vberigen sorgen hab ich kein. 

Zu' dem xvi. ob auch die patriarchen | cardinal vnd bi- 
scho^ff I recht oder vnrecht weiden. Ich setz es vff das bo^szest 
das sie vbel weiden | vnd ir bIo*de vnd scham entdecken | sag 
an du schentlicher sun vnd bo*ser Cham | warumb verdeckestu 
nit vnd beweinest die bo*sze deins vaters mit sem vnd iaphet | 
sunder sagest daz spoHlich deinen brudern | darum wurt dir 
die verflu^chung cham zu^ teil werden. 

(A4b.) Zu"* dem xvn. sag vnd klag ich daz die gemein kein 
pfarer zu^ erwelen hat | sunder der bischoff wie paulus schreib 
Ti. 1. darumb hab ich dich zu^ Creta gelassen daz du in alien 
stetten priester ersetzest 25. aber ir lutherschen achten leider 
wenig vff die leren Pauli | nur wie fil k^els bans k^I werff. 

Zu"" dem xvni. du meinst got hab die weiszheit den gelerten 
entzuckt | vnd den kleinen die gegunet | vnd got hab vch ein 
mund geben dem all vwere siind nit mugen widersprechen das 
ist alles vff die xii. botten geret | denen ir vch vergleichen | 
ich sihe es aber weder an heilikeit noch an der leren wem ir 
gleicher sehen dan vli von stauffen | ritter peter vnd doctor 
greiffen von baszel | vnd den hurry vnd ku^ntz fucker von 

Zn^ dem xix. Fragest mich was die zierd der christenheit 
sey I sag ich ein alt wamesz [ das dannocht vch nummer als wol 
an stadt als ein niiwes. 

Zu^ dem xx. ich sing von dem glauben das der selbig sei 
der christenheit lob vnd herlicheit | so sprichstu ich mein da 
mit wie man den babst trag | drei kronen vff setz | vnd die 
fusz kiisse. Als ich sihe so bist du ein nar vnd dar zu° ein 
got das du mir sagen kanst was ich mein | wie &st ich doch 
mein meinung mit worten ^ vszdruck. 

Zu^ dem xxi. ich sing die mesz die sol niim gelten in dem 
leben noch in dem dot | fragest du mich wer das sag | gib ich 

* Text : Torten. 


tin aDtwan } dcr Lather in don hf^A (<k omn primDi ifaro* 
gBoda) Uk dm selbfg ^okz bodblm ' don aeflbtgcn dui^ ttBU 
an I da» es skh nh verwasle;. Sol die mess km opfier kb 
waram ^»raefa cri^os dam tfan^nd in memer [^A^] gwiprhmfe 
was »Jten se tfaor^ daz er det aber er opSen den sein dot 
hofnei n^ dem ■l a >^ ^ ^^nal wie der Lodier Tnd paolns ^ritkl I 
daz der dot ztf dem testament In/re. 

Zf^m XTJJ^ lefa 9ag daz ir die sacnmem sdieltai spncfast 
dn idn dieg tgIi gewalt Tnd Tniecht | ir loben sie ak sigd der 
adikeh. so wil icfa tgIi cin wider nff tbu^n [ Tnd sag daz ir ae 
nit alleiD scbelten [ sonder fonff gar ab thn^ ! Tnd zwei aOein 
den andem zn* gcbandcn laasen hiaben\dezbe:Mgiek ■»£& f# 
dot bn^eh der hahXLomMthai gefemdadi ' daz tc& ad&tf vtrtmUekd 
hab.rff'daJt doA der gaman Chrid mkt nrer goiz laUrmng md 

Za'te xxiL daz wir schmeher seyen do* go^tfichen gaduift 
gestoo wir nit | sander wir baasen tgIi allein damm daz ir vch 
der heiligen gesdirififlen miszbmchen I vnd mit venm'ditem 
leben daz from eoangelinm farwenden I vnd mit enangpliscber 
ker allea daz liegen wa mit ir vmb gond 1 als des /uAfl^ Ai^en- 
bvCeh ofienlidien anzeigt|daz ich vdi hcM. wil za* handen 

2iU*m xxm. daz wir all pfaffen sein { vnd docfa kein orden 
oder weihe haben | wie idi sing vnd der latber \saX \ knmt 
vnser lieplichs stifel ho*szIein daher vnd spridit 1 mnmar du 
meinst daz ein orden zu* sein ; so man sant franciaoen regd 
gelobt ho*rt Dur doch daz Schwartz stifelein wie es mir mein 
meiDUDg v8zlegt|ich mein wie der luther aagt wir sein all 
pfaffen vnd pfeffiD | ob wir schon die ordnnng daz selbig sacra- 
ment nit baben | dan er das far ein sacrament verwiirfl | so 
spricht stafelin ich mdn sant frandsoen orden | ich mein holtz- 
sdin* I so meiDt er stifel | doch sein sie beide ga*t in dem dreck 
mit vmb za« gon. 

(A»b.) Zu* dem xxim. fragst mich wie ich daz verstand | 
die stui ston vff den bencken | verstand ich also daz die men- 

> Should be: 7jo!^vdl.tjlxl 


schen solten reden vnd nit die wiisten stifel | der wagen vor 
dem rosz | daz verstand ich | den wagen fur die gemeinen chris- 
ten I vnd stifelin fur ein zuckro^szlin | das blitzt vmb den wagen 
wan vnd wo es wil | oder stifeli halt ich fur daz rosz da got 
selber vff sasz an dem palm tag | wie kan ich einem wiisten 
stifel gro^szer eer an thu^n (quia omnia viuentia non viuenti- 
bus proponuntur). 

Zu^ dem xxy. sprichstu man sag me von mir dan ich wene| 
ich wil mein vnschuld wa es mir geburt bekant machen | aber 
der menschen zungen hab ich nit in meinem gwalt. 

Zu"" dem xxvi. Fragst du mich ob ich nit der selbig murnar 
sei der zu^ straszburg gepredigt hat | man mu^sz daz ewange- 
lium nit weiter glaubeu dan als fer die kirch das annimpt. 
Ja ich bin der selbig nar | was wilt du mir dar vmb kromen | 
sant Augustin hat mich das gelert predigen | vff den ich mer 
halt dan vff xiii. par roter stifel. 

Zu^ dem xxvii. Als ich sing von christlicher neilikeit da 
mit die sacrament vermeinen die vns der tnrck laszt wa er 
vber vns herschet sprichst du ich mein des babst heilikeit | wer 
ist doch der schu'^macher der solchen stifel gemachet hat | der 
also eigentlich sagen kan was ich vermeine | doch mein ich 
gret miillerin iargezeit | so sagt mir stifelein von dem siiben- 
den I vnd welcher von subnen sagt der pfeifil gem zc. 

Zu^ dem xxvni. Du l^st mir zu^ | das ich glaube in ein 
heilige kirch vnd schiltest das fur ein abgo^terej. Sag ich 
das ich glaub in die heilig kristlich kirch | vnd da uszen (A^a.) 
auch I dar neben der kirchen^ | oben vnd vnden dardurch vnd 
wider hiudurch | was wilt du mir zu^ Ion darumb geben | du 
kanst mich darumb nit blaw furtzeu. 

Zu^ dem xxix. Das ich aber vnszer liebe fraw ie ein metzen 
oder ein madunnen genant hab | das hat nie kein man von mir 
ie geho^rt | vnd bezug mich des vff die mu*ter gotes an meinem 
letsten end | daz ich daran vnschuldig bin. 

Zu^ dem xxx. Alles auders so in deinem stifel buchlei stadt | 
wie ich zu^ Freiburg. Augspurg Sc. hab mussen bald entrin-* 

^Text: birchen. 

348 EBN8T y06S. 

nen|mit filen zu*gelegten vnwarheiten | das wil ich far alle 
stifel kumeD in aUem dutschen land | vnd ist es aach das sich 
deren eins | ia das minst erfint | so wil ich selber ein grober 
fischer stifel sein | wan idi scfaon ein rodt par breut schu*ch 

Wil damit mein eer verantwurt haben vor alien stifelen 
dutscher nation | das sie mit diszem stifel weit von eszlingen 
da heim | dan er numer dar kumen darff | reden | in anhalten | 
das er mich doch aneh lasz singen wan idi fro*lich bin | alsz 
wol alsz ich im gone zu^ singen von grnndt meinesz hertzen. 
Ich wolt das er mir solt in meiner kefig singen | vnd solt ich 
im schon den hanfisomen bezalen also gern ho*r ich in siugen. 
Ist er dan so gn't lutherisch vnd ewangelisch ! sol er mir bil- 
lich als seinem stifel bru^der der freuden auch gunnen | oder 
er kum zu^ mir so wellen wir stifelen vnd katzen zu^ sammen 

Doch so bit ich in das er mich nit mer einen naren heisz es 
tha^ mir wee in meim bauch j vnd gewin das krimen (A«b.) 
dar von. Damit genad dir got mejn aller liebster stifel vnd 
danck dir got deiner ewangelischen | lutherischen | vnd christ- 
lichen lereu | sie sol ob got wil wol an mir erschiessen bit dich 
dar bei | wan mein groszer liUhrischer nor zu* dir kum men wurt | 
du wollest in fruntlich empfahen | den ich im fil beaolhen hab 
von der stifel w^n dich zu^ berichten | doch wisz das ein 
grosser sterbent des vichs bei vns ist | vnd wurt das leder wolf- 
fel werden | das wurt vns stifdlen zu° gu*tem kumen zc. 

Vszgangen von doctor Murner vff den abent der geburt 
Marie in dem iar. 1522. 

Ernstf Voes. 


When the third volume of Professor Skeafs new edition of 
Chaucer appeared, it was a disappointment to find that he had 
not revised the opinion of Chaucer's indebtedness to Marco 
Polo expressed by him ^ several years ago. It is true that his 
view had been generally accepted, but the cautious manner in 
which a few prominent scholars had expressed themselves might 
have suggested a re-examination of the question. The following 
are fairly representative of the various attitudes of scholars : — 

Brandl says : '^ Ueber das gebiet des marchenhaflen hinaus 
und auf einigermassen realen boden kommen wir bereits, wenn 
wir nach der herkunft der tartarischen namen und sitten fra- 
gen. Herzberg, Canterbury-geschichten s. 631 ff., suchte sie in 
der reisebeschreibung von Maundeville. Vollstandiger decken 
sich die angaben Chaucer's mit der von Marco Polo. . . . Aus 
Marco Polo stammen mit geringen verauderungen die namen 
Cambyuskan, . . . Camballus oder Camballo . . . und Sarai ; 
die personalschilderung des Khan, seines geburtstagsfestes und 
ho&taates ; die bemerkung, dass die Tartaren manches essen, 
' that in this lond men recch of it but smal ; ' das erscheinen eines 
gesandten von einem anderen k5nig mit geschenken ; endlidi 
der bauragarten mit allerlei falken in der nahe des palastes." 
Engl. Stud., xii, 163.* 

In 1893 Pollard said : "The great Cambuscan may be traced 
ultimately to the travels of Marco Polo,*' iVim^r, p. 117; in 
1894 he had perhaps re-examined the question, for he speaks 
more cautiously : "Dr. Skeat has quoted passages from Marco 
Polo's description of Kublai Khan as the sources of some of 
Chaucer's lines, but the resemblances are not very close." — 
The Canterbury TcUea, n, 192. 

^ Eeightley had expressed the same opinion in 1834 (cf. Skeaf s note, 
lu, 4d3), but apparently without gaining a hearing. 
* I have omitted Brandl's references. 



Ten Brink's latest utterance was : ^^ Der englische Dichter 
8ch5pfte jedoch dem Anscheine nach seinen hoehasiatisehen 
Sagenstoff nicbt aus arabischen oder gar abendlandischen Bear- 
beitangen, sondem aus einer weniger abgeleiteten, sei es nun 
mundlichen oder schriftlichen Quelle, und die Uebereinstim- 
mung in der Scbilderung tartarischer Verhaltnisse, die man 
zwischen ihm und Marco Polo nacbgewiesen hat, k5nnte ihren 
Grund in der Bescbafienbeit eben jener uns unbekannten Quelle 
haben." — Oesch. d. engl. Litterajtur, n, 173. 

Lounsbury expressed no opinion on tbe subject, because, as 
I understood him to say, he felt the argument to be insuffi- 
cient, but had been unable to make a sufficient examination 
of it to reject it entirely. 

The reason, therefore, that Dr. Skeat r^arded it as unneces- 
sary to reopen the question is, probably, that all who have not 
accepted his theory have practically contented themselves with 
merely rejecting as insufficient proof the parallel passages 
adduced by him. Were the proof merely to be rejected as 
insufficient, the case might rest, but it seems possible to go 
further, and show that it is hardly credible that with any — 
even the most incomplete — MS. of Polo before him, Chaucer 
would have written of Tartary as he did. The supposition 
that he would and did carries with it the supposition that 
he treated his material after a fashion of which it would be 
hard to find another example, either in his own writings or 
in mediaeval literature. We should have to believe that he 
deliberately took a bit here and a bit there, transferred names, 
qualities and descriptions from one person to another, and even 
from a city to a person, disregarded statements lying in im- 
mediate connection with those he used, — in short, so manipu- 
lated his " author " that almost any other account of Tartar}' 
would have served his purpose just as well. This would be 
unescapable, for no one who seriously considers all the &ct8 
can for a moment entertain the opinion that Chaucer could 
have been so careless and stupid as to fall into the confusions 
ascribed to him. 


Let US examine the facts. 

It can hardly fail to arouse a slight suspicion when one 
discovers at the very start that Sarai/ the scene of Chaucer's 
story, is no more prominent in the narrative of Polo than a 
hundred other cities. Use of Yule's index and diligent search 
of the book itself bring to light in Polo the following infor- 
mation about Sarai — ^and no more : — " So they set forth from 
Soldaia and travelled till they came to the court of a certain 
Tartar Prince, Barga Kaan by name, whose residences were 
at Saba and at Bolgara.'' ' There is a good deal said about 
Sarai in Yule's notes (i, 5 and ii, 420, 424), but it is not 
mentioned again by Polo, though the Sea of Sarain is (which, 
according to Yule, is called the Sea of Sarra in the Catalan 
Map of 1375). 

Were it not for the state of the facts in regard to Sarai, it 
would be hypercritical to point out in r^ard to " Tartarye " 
that Marco Polo does not use the term, that he gives a defi- 
nite name to each of the countries he passes through, and that 
not even the most careless reader could fail to get from him a 

^Dr. Skeat says (m, 474, n. 2), "This is Chaucer's 'Sarra;'" but in 
none of the six texts of Chaucer is the name spelled Sarra, Scarcely more 
intelligible is the remark (v. 370), ''And it is easy to see that, although 
Chaucer names Sarai, his description really appHen to Cambaluc" Chaucer 
nowhere describes Sarai; one feels that it must have been a fine city, but 
Chaucer does not say so ; and if he had, why should his description apply 
rather to Cambaluc than to Kinsay, which, according to Polo, means " The 
City of Heaven" and "is beyond dispute the finest and noblest in the 
world?"— Marco Polo, ed. Yule, ii, 146. 

It is hypercritical to call attention to the fact that on " the laste Idus of 
March" Kublai, according to Polo, was never in his capital city: "Afler 
he has stopped at his capital city those three months that I mentioned, to 
wit, December, January and February, he starts ofi* on the first day of 
March, and travels southward toward the Ocean Sea, a journey of two 
days" (M. P., i, 357-8). "And when he has travelled till he reaches a 
place called Cachar Modun, there he finds his tents pitched" (lb. 359). 
" The Lord remains encamped there until the spring [the middle of May], 
and all that time he does nothing but go hawking" {lb, 361). 

'M. P., I, 4. Apparently the Polos were not at Sarai, but at Bolgara, cf. 


dear idea of the separation of the Empire of Kipchak from 
that of Oathajy under Toctai and Kablai respecti^j.' 

If Chancer learned from Polo mndi about the ravaging of 
Buflsia by the Tartars, he must have been the most carefhl^ 
or careless— of readers. All that Polo aajrs is: ^The first 
lord of the Tartars of the Ponent was Saix, a very great and 
pnissant king, who conquered Bosia and Comania, Alania^ 
Lac, Menjar, Zic, Grothia, and Gazaria'' (n, 421, cf. above, 
note^). Previously he had said: ^^ Bosia is a very great 

province lying towards the north. There are many strong 

defiles and passes in the country; and they pay tribute to 
nobody except to a certain Tartar king of the Ponent whose 
name is Toctai ; to him indeed they pay tribute, but only a 
trifle'' (n, 417-8). 

In regard to Cambyuskan Dr. Skeat says (m, 472), ^Mf 
the reader can turn to the second book of Marco Polo, he will 
soon see clearly enough that Chaucer's Cambinskan (though 
the name itself is formed from Chingis Khan), is practicaUy 
identical with Marco's Kublai Khan.'" Then follow some 

1 "And 80 I will tell yon aboat the Tartan of the Ponent and the lords 
who have reigned over them. The first lord of the Tartars of the Ponent 
was Sain, a very great and poiasant king. . . . After King Sain reigned 
King Patt, and after Pata Babca, and after Barca Mukgletemtr, and 
after Mangletemor King ToTAXAXGrx, and then Toctai the present soTer- 
eign. Now I have told joa of the Tartar kings of the Ponent, and next I 
shall tell joa of a great battle that was fooght between Alan the Lord of 
the Levant and Barca the Lord of the Ponent" (n, 421). It is true, how- 
ever, that Polo also speaks of ''that Prince whose name was Cublat Kaan, 
Lord of the Tartars all over the earth " (i, 12), and of " this Cablaj, who 
is the Lord of all the Tartars in the world, those of the Levant and of the 
Ponent included" (i, 217). 

"' . . . . whilst he [ac Chancer] fuima Gengis Khan .... his descrip- 
tion really applies to Kablai Khan, his grandson, the celebrated 'Grand 
Khan' described bj Marco Polo."— Skeat, v, 371. Bat so far as Chaucer's 
description applies to either, it applies equally well to Genghis ; cf. Maroo 
Polo, I, 209-216. 

Why, if Chaucer used Polo, he did not take Kublai as his King does not 
appear. Kublai is praised again and again by Polo ; cf., e. g., ** Cublai 
Kaan, who is the sovereign now reigning, and is more potent than any of 


quotations, which prove, at best, that Kublai, like Cambyns- 
kan, was very able and brave and ridi ; at worst they prove 
that if Chaucer had Kablai in mind, it was not Kublai as he 
was known to Marco Polo. For example, let us complete 
Dr. Skeat's first quotation about Kublai (ni, 471) ; immedi- 
ately after the sentence, '^ His complexion is white and red, 
the eyes black and fine, the nose well fi^rmed and well set 
on," — ^to which I need hardly remind you nothing in Chaucer 
corresponds — Polo continues, '' He has four wives, whom he 
retains permanently as his l^itimate consorts ; and the eldest 
of his sons by those four wives ought by rights to be emperor 
— I mean when his father dies. These four ladies are called 
empresses, but each is distinguished also by her proper name," 
<&c. (i, 318). Of course it may have suited Chaucer's purposes 
to disregard three of these ladies and the many other wives of 
Kublai mentioned elsewhere by Polo ; ^ but he cannot have 
been ignorant of them. 

In verses 23-4 Cambyuskan is described as 

Yong, fresh and strong, in armes derirous 
As any bachelor of al his hous. 

Polo says, " Up to the year of Christ now running, to wit, 
1298, he hath reigned two and forty years, and his age is 
about eighty-five, so that he must have been about forty-three 
years of age when he first came to the throne. Before that 
time he had often been to the wars, and had shown himself a 
gallant soldier and an excellent captain} But after coming to the 
throne he never went to the wars in person save once" (i, 296). 
I submit that with this passage before him Chaucer would 

the five who went before him ; in fact, if you were to take all those five 
together, they would not be so powerful as he is. Nay, I will say yet more; 
for if you were to put together all the Christians in the world, with their 
Emperors and their Kings, the whole of these Christians, — aye, and throw 
in Uie Saracens to boot, — woold not have soch power, or be able to do so 
much as this Cublay " (i, 217). 
^ Of. p. 358, below. ' Dr. Skeat quotes only the words here italicised. 


hardly have written the description just given of the king 

when he had borne his diadem twenty winters. Indeed one 

can hardly fail to see that Chaucer in his description of Cam- 

byuskan merely attributes to him the stock qualities of a model 

man ; ^ cf,, e, g., the requirements of Pertelotte in the Nun^s 

Prieses Tale: 

For certes, what so any woman seith, 

We alle desyren, if it mighte be, 

To han housbondes hardy, wyse and free, 

And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, 

Ne him that is agast of every tool, 

Ne noon avaantoor, by that god above ! (B. 4101-7.) 

There is no more reason for seeking the description of Cam- 
bynskan in that of Kublai than for seeking in Polo's elaborate 
descriptions of the palace^ the dais, the park, and the feasts of 
Kublaiy the source of the brief and undistinctive treatment in 
Chaucer of these commonplaces of mediaeval romance.^ And, 
as we have seen, if any one insists upon making the search, he 
finds more than he wants. 

In connection with the lines : — 

As of the secte of which that he was bom, 
He kepte his hiy, to which that he was sworn — 

^ It cannot be necessary to cite passages to prove that in mediaeval litera- 
ture any good person or thing is usaally described as being unsurpassed in 
any region; typical instances are: King Arthur, Ywcdn and Oawxin^ vv. 
11-14, Ottouyan, Dagabers and Marsabelle, OeUman, i, w. 26 £, 45 ff., n, 
16 ff., 781 ff., Athelwold, Havdok, 27-109, and cf. Kolbing's note on Becis^ 
A 2047. This was moreover Chaucer's own practice. 

'Polo's description of the palace and park (i, 324-7) is too long for 
quotation ; but it has several characteristic features, not one of which is 
reproduced by Chancer. On the feasts cf. below, p. 356. Brandl (see quota- 
tion, p. 349, above) speaks of '*der baumgarten mit allerlei falken in der 
nahe des palastes ; '' but, so far as we know, the only falcon in the park of 
Cambyuskan was the faucon peregryn of fremdt Umdc It therefore seems 
hardly just to lay stress, as Dr. Skeat does (iii, 474), upon the great number 
of fidcons in Cathay, or even upon the particular description of peregrine 
falcons. The falcon was no rare bird in medieval £urope ; he flies through 
most of the romances, cf. Libeaus Dnconra, passim. 


is quoted (ni^ 473) a passage* in which some soofiers at the 
power of the Cross are rebuked by Kublai. Of this nothing 
need be said. 

But if the attempt to find in Kublai the prototype of 
Cambyuskan must be regarded as a failure, the three-fold 
confusion which the use of Polo would imply is simply 
incredible. We are asked to believe that Chancer took the 
name of Cambyuskan from a bad spelling of Chinghis Khan, 
assigned to the character qualities drawn from Kublai as he 
was forty years before Polo saw him, and set the figure so 
produced, not in the place of the original Chinghis nor in 
that of Kublai, but in that of Toctai, of whose character 
and position Polo gives a clear and definite account.^ That 
Chaucer could inadvertently have fallen into such a confusion 
seems incredible; and it is difficult to imagine what motives 
could have induced him to play such a hocus-pocus knowingly. 

Before leaving this part of our subject, it may be worth 
while to remark that there are literally scores of passages in 
Polo (several are quoted by Dr. Skeat) declaring with irre- 
sistible iteration that Khan is a title, not a part of a name.' 

Cambyuskan being thus a combination of Chinghis and 
Kublai and Toctai, and the city of Sarai with its palace 
and park being really described after accounts given of Cam- 
baluc, a third confusion is assumed in regard to the feast. 
"It is not clear," we are told (v, 372), "irAy Chaucer hit upon 
this day in particular [the laste Idus of March]. Kublai's 
birthday was in September, but perhaps Chaucer noted that 
the White Feast was on New Year's day, which he took to 
mean the vernal equinox, or some day near it." Why a guess 
that New Year's Day among the Tartars fell at the vernal 
equinox should have caused Chaucer to mislocate the Kaan's 

^ Cf. quotation above, p. 352. 

' Cf. Skeat, ni, 472, 478, 474, and also, " the Qreat Kaan now reigning, 
by name Cublay Kaan ; Kaan being a title which signifieth * The Great 
Lord of Lords,' or Emperor.'' — Polo, i, 295. The Mas. appear not to have 
distinguished Khan and Kaan, 



birthday; or why, mislocating it, he hit upon a day which was 
not the equinox does not appear. But let us hear Polo : 
^^ You must know that the Tartars keep high festival yearly 
on their birthdays. And the Great Kaan was bom on the 
28th day of the September Moon, so on that day is held 
the greatest feast of the year at the Kaan's Court, always 
excepting that which he holds on the New Year's Day, of 
which I will tell you afterwards" (i, 343). A little further 
on he coutiuues: "Now I will tell you of another festival 
which the Kaan holds at the New Year, and which is called 
the White Feast. The banning of their New Year is the 
month of February, and on that occasion the Great Kaan and 
all his subjects make such a feast as I shall now describe. It 
is the custom that on this occasion the Kaan and all his sub- 
jects should be clothed entirely in white " (i, 344-6). Is it 
likely that these passages were in Chaucer's mind when he 
wrote of the birthday feast ? It may be noted here as well 
as anywhere else that in Chaucer's account of the feast there 
appears not one of the really characteristic and striking features 
of either the birthday or the New Year's feast as described by 
Polo.^ Indeed there is not a trait that is not a commonplace 
of the romances. The dais, the dinner with its swans and 
heronsewes, the minstrels after the third course, the dancing, 
are all only too familiar. The jogelours, referred to later on 
as performing their marvels " at these festes grete," belong to 
the same cat^ory. There is nothing characteristically oriental 
about any of them. 

One and only one feature of this feast is out of the ordinary. 
This is contained in the euphemistic lines : — 

^ Besides the strikmg feature of the color of the garments worn at the 
White Feast, cf. Polo's account of the cape which move as if by magic and 
serve Eablai (i, 266, 310), the presentation of 100,000 white horses (i, 846, 
quoted by Skeat, in, 474), and the general offering of presents in accord- 
ance with prescription (Polo, i, 344; Skeat, m, 473) to which the sole 
counterpart in Chaucer is the voluntary offering of "the King of Arable 
and of Ynde." 


Eek in that lond, as tdlen knyghtes olcUf 
Ther is som mete that is full dejntee holde, 
That in this lond men leoche of it but smal. 

It is true that Polo does not mention such food in his account 
of either feast, but Dr. Skeat points out one passage in which 
people not clearly distinguished from the Tartars are said to 
"eat horses, dogs and Pharaoh's rats/' and he might have 
added another in which the inhabitants of the citj of Kinsay 
are said to " eat every kind of flesh, even that of dogs and 
other unclean beasts, which nothing would induce a Christian 
to eat" (Polo, II, 147). If this trait were to be found in 
Polo alone, it would go far to establish a connection between 
it and the Squire^s Tale, notwithstanding the difficulties we 
have thus far examined. But so far is this from being the 
case that it is contained in almost every account of the Tartars 
from the time of their first contact with Europeans. His- 
torians and travelers report it, and it is not even omitted from 
the brief letters in which Hungarian bishops and princes 
plead for help against this genus iiominum moustruosum et 
inhumauum.^ Its value as proof of connection between the 
Squires Tale and Marco Polo is, therefore, like that of any 
other commonplace, nothing iu itself; though it might have 
some importance as part of a general series of resemblances 
if such could be established. 

Passing to another bit of Tartar local color, we observe 
that the family of Cambyuskan can hardly be said to be con- 
structed on the model furnished by Polo. We have already 

^"De forma vivendi dixit [«e. Petros arciepisoopus Russiae fugatus a 
Tartiiris] ; Games comedunt jumentinas, caninas et alias ahominabiles, et 
etiam in necessitate humanas, non tamen crudas, sed coctas." — ^M. Paris, ed. 
Wats, p. 648; cf. also /6., 470 and 546. '^ Rattos etiam et canes edont et 
cattos libentissime comedont/' — Vinoentii Bellovac Spec Histcr,, lib. xxiz, 
cap. Ixxvlii ; cf. lib. xxix poMim, '* Without difference or distinction they 
eat all their beasts that die of age or sickness." — W. de Rubmquis, ap. 
Pinkerton, viu, 30. '* Comednnt enim rttnas, canes, et serpentes, et omnia 
indifferentur.'' — Letter of a Hungarian Bishop, ap. M. Paris, ed. Wats, 
Additamenta^ p. 211. 


Been that Koblai has four diief wives — not to mention a mnlti- 
tade of others of whom Polo tells as ; and the least attentive 
reader of Polo woald have learned that this was the rale 
among the Tartars. As to children^ instead of the two sons 
and one daughter of GambToskan, Kablai has ^' by those four 
wives of his twenty-two male children ; the eldest of whom 
was called Chinkin for the love of the good Chinghis KbbBj 
the first Lord of the Tartars'' (i, 321). ''The Great Kaan 
hath also twenty-five other sons by his concabines " (i, 322). 

Whether the name of one of Cambyoskan's sons, viz., 
Camballo, was really suggested by some one's confused men- 
tion of CambaluCy the capital city of Kublai Kaan, I cannot 
decide. But I wish to emphasize that if Chaucer had Marco 
Polo's narrative in mind when he wrote, this adds another to 
the list of confusions or interchanges of which he was guilty;^ 
and that Cambalnc was not infrequently mentioned by other 
writers on Cathay. 

In his remarks on the name Camballo Dr. Skeat makes a 
suggestion which is very puzzling. He says, '' Kublai was 
succeeded by his grandson Teimur to the exclusion of his 
elder brothers Kambala and Tarmah. Here we might per- 
haps think to see the original of Chaucer's Camballo, but I 
suspect the real interpretation to be very difierent. It is far 
more probable that the name Camballo was caught not from 
this obscure Kambala, but from the famous word Cambaluc " 
(in, 472). But if Polo was Chaucer's authority, he could 
have known nothing about this Kambala, who is not men- 
tioned at all by Polo, though he is in one of Yule's notes (i, 
322) teased on Wass^f. 

In his search for a parallel to the '' maister tour " in which 
the swerd and the mirour were lodged for safe keeping. Dr. 
Skeat, after rejecting the two famous towers of the city of 
Mien, which formed part of a mausoleum, has recourse to the 

^Polo flays difltinctly ''his capital city of Cambalac" (i, 309), ''the capi- 
tal dty of Cathay, which is called Cambalac'' {lb. 324), cf. also lb, 831, 
362, 365, 366, 867, 370, 378, 385, 388, 399; n, I, 95, Su^ &c 


tower standing on an eminence in the city of Kinsay, and 
used as a watch-tower. "At the top of the tower," says Polo, 
" is hung a slab of wood. Whenever fire or any other alarm 
breaks out in the city, a man who stands there with a mallet 
in his hand beats upon the slab, making a noise that is heard 
to a great distance" (i, 148-9). Perhaps more to the point 
would have been another passage (n, 147): "The houses of 
the City are provided with lofty towers of stone in which 
articles of value are stored for fear of fire ; " but as good an 
origin of the tower could have been found nearer home.^ 

There remains, I believe, only the Dry Tree. It is unde- 
niable that a dry tree is mentioned by both writers; but 
Chaucer's dry tree differs from Polo's more than from almost 
any other description of the famous Arbre Sec or Arbre Sol.* 
I am far from asserting that Chaucer's dry tree was not sug- 
gested by some distorted account of this descendant of the 
tree that Seth saw in Paradise; such an assertion would be 
hazardous in the unfinished state of the Tale, especially in 
view of theories of its allegorical significance.' But if it was 
suggested by Polo's account, Chaucer has played the same 
sort of trick with it that he played with Cambyuskan and 
Camballo and the feast and the tower. Chaucer's tree, for 
example, was " fordrye, as whyt as chalk ; " Marco Polo's 
account is as follows : — " It [£. e. the Desert] also contains an 
immense plain on which is found the Arbre Sol, which we 
Christians call the Arbre Sec ; and I will tell you what it 
is like. It is a tall and thick tree, having the bark on one 
side green and the other white ; and it produces a rough husk 
like that of a chestnut, but without anything in it. The wood 

* Towers were in medlseval Europe the usual places for keeping treasures, 
cf. The Book of the Knight of La Tour-Landry (EETS), p. 191. 

'Yule's notes on the Ari)re Sec (Pbloy i, 120, and ii, 397) will furnish or 
lead to the multitudinous occurrences of the Dry Tree in medisyal literature. 

' It is to be hoped that the drj tree which Sir Bors saw in his dream 
(Morte dP Arthur, capp. Ixxii and Ixzvii) will not suggest the allegorizing 
of the one whicli Canacee found in the park, — though birds come into the 
former story too. 


is yellow like box, and very strong, and there are no other 
trees near it nor within a hundred miles of it, except on one 
side where you find trees within about ten miles' distanoe. 
And there, the people of the country tell you, was fought the 
battle between Alexander and King Darius." ^ 

It seems clear, upon reviewing the whole problem, that if 
Chaucer used Marco Polo's narrative, he either carelessly or 
intentionally confused all the features of the setting that could 
possibly be confused, and retained not a single really charac- 
teristic trait of any person, place or event It is only by 
twisting everything that any part of Chaucer's story can be 
brought into relation with any part of Polo's. To do this 
might be allowable, if any rational explanation could be given 
for Chaucer's supposed treatment of his " author," or if there 
were any scarcity of sources from which Chaucer might have 
obtained as much information about Tartary as he seems 
really to have possessed ; but such an explanation would be 
difficult to devise, and there is no such scarcity. Any one of 
half a dozen accessible accounts could be distorted into almost 
if not quite as great resemblance to the Squire^s Tale as Marco 
Polo's can. Herzberg has already pointed out some, though 
not all, of the resemblances afforded by Maundeville's Voiage. 
Almost if not quite as many could be produced from the short 
but extremely popular* narrative of Odoric of Pordenone; 
cf., e. g., Yule's Gaihay and the Way ThUher, i, 47, 54, 128, 
130-132, 135, 141, where are mentioned the Dry Tree (in a 
mosque), the tower (of Babel), wonderful mechanical devices, 
the palace (with its park containing the Green Mount, birds 
and wild animals), jesters, musicians, falcons, and a descrip- 
tion of a feast that is worth quoting in a note.' 

^Maico Polo, i> 119; in other paasages it is barely mentioned, n, 396, 

• Yule, Quhay, i, 18. 

' " Every year that emperor keepeth foor great feasts, to wit, the day of 
his birth, that of his circamciBion, and so forth. To these festivals he 
summons all his barons and all his players and all his kinsfolk; and all 
these have their established places at the festival. But it is especially at 


William de Rubruquis has already been quoted in regard to 
the food of the Tartars ; he also gives many remarks on the 
invasion of Russia, an account of Zinghis Khan, speaks of 
Sarai ^ and the palace, mentions soothsayers and falcons, and 
tells of a visit to Caracarum by the Ambassadors of a Soldan 
of India.^ Vincent of Beauvais devotes the whole of bk. 
xxix and a part of bk. xxx of the Speculum HistoricUe to the 
Tartars, see especially lib. xxix, capp. Ixix, Ixxi, Ixxiv, Ixxv, 
Ixxviii, Ixxx, lib. xxx, capp. iii, iiii, vii, viii, xiii, xxxii. 
Matthew Paris' ESstaria Major also contains a good deal of 
information about the Tartars besides that already quoted in 
regard to tlieir food ; as indeed do most chronicles that cover 
the period of their ascendency. 

the days of his birth and circumcision that he expects all to attend. And 
when summoned to such a festival all the barons come with their coronets 
on, whilst the emperor is seated on his throne, as has been described above, 
and all the barons are ranged in order in their appointed places. Now 
these barons are arrayed in divers colours ; for some, who are the first in 
order, wear green silk; the second are clothed in crimson; the third in 
yellow. And all these have coronets on their heads and each holds in his 
hand a white ivory tablet and wears a golden girdle of half a span in 
breadth ; and so they remain standing and silent And round about them 
stand the players with their banners and ensigns. And in one comer of a 
certain great palace abide the philosophers, who keep watch for certain 
hours and conjunctions ; and when the hour and conjunction waited for by 
the philosophers arrives, one of them calls out with a loud voice, saying : 
' Prostrate yourselves before the emperor, our mighty lord I * [Then the 
minstrels play.] And after this all those of the princely families parade 
with white horses. And a voice is heard calling : ' Such an one of such a 
family to present so many hundreds of white horses to the lord ; ' and then 
some of them come forward saying that they bring two hundred horses 
(say) to offer to the lord, which are ready before the palace. . . . And then 
come the barons to offer presents of different kinds on behalf of the other 
barons of the empire. [Then occur performances by singing men and 
women and mummers and jugglers.] '' 

> Sarai is mentioned by many writers ; Pascal of Vittoria, for example 
{Cathay, i, 231), and Hayton the Armenian, whose history of Tartaiy was 
written in French in 1307 (cf. Cathay , i, cxxxi). 

* W. de Rubruquis, in Pinkerton, vm, 30, 40, 43, 44^ 54, 57, 83, 84, 87, 


I do not propose these^ or any of these, be it aoderstood, 
as the source of Chaucer's iDformation — or misioformation. 
It is impossible to escape the coodnsion that if Chaucer really 
used any account of Tartary that is well known to-day, he 
used it as he used no other of his sources. 

Personally I can hardly resist the conviction that Chaucer 
found all his characters named and his scene laid in the source 
— written or oral^ — from which he derived his plot. The 
principal argument that drives me to this conclusion is the 
name Oanaoee, Only two reasons could explain his use of 
that name for his heroine ; one, that he wished to rehabilitate 
the name, — but the motive for this is hard to divine, and so 
late as the composition of the Man of Law's Head-Link he 
seems to have had no such intention ; the other, that he found 
the name in his original. 

John Matthews Manly. 

^ Brandl suggests {Engl, Studien, xn, ISS), with mach plausibility, that the 
visit of the Armenian King Leo to London in 1385-6 may have contri- 
buted to arouse Chaucer's interest in the far £ast (if Sarai can properly be 
so-called); it may even be that his knowledge of Tartary came mainly 
from the common talk connected with that event I hope myself ere long 
to publish a paper dealing, among other things, with the question of 
Chaucer's relations to some men who had traveled a good deaL 





Vol. XI, 4. New Series, Vol. IV, 4. 



I parpose in the following paper to proffer an explanation 
of such constructions as *' My old bones aches ^^ {Temped^ m, 
3), "All his successors (gone before him) hath doneH^' {Merry 
Wives, 1, 1), "111 deeds is doubled with an evil word" {Errora, 
in, 2), "As the events stamps them" (Much Ado, i, 2), "Their 
drenched natures lies as in a death " {Ma/Aeth, I, 7), " Whereon 
his brains still heating puts him thus"(-Hizmfe<, m, 1), "And 
great affections wrestling in thy bosom Doth make an earth- 
quake of nobility^' (King John, v, 2).^ 

I have based mv studv on the Folio of 1623, and have noted 
not only every occurrence of this construction, but the occur- 
rence as well of all other constructions that throw light upon 
it. It is to be regretted that the First Folio Edition of 

^ The use of a singular predicate with a oompound snbject — ''And the 
flax and the barley vcu smitten" {EaoodiviM, ix, 81) — ifi^ of coarse, an entirely 
different constmction. Though not sanctioned by good nsage to-day, wtu 
in such cases is easily explained. See 2 m. 



Shakespeare^ aptlj styled '^ the most interesting and valaable 
book in the whole range of English literature/' is not more 
accessible and familiar in its original form to all students of 
the great dramatist. 

As it is, less is known of Shakespeare's grammar than of 
Chaucer's. Abbott's Shakespearian Grammar is a collection 
merely of so-called irregularities, the attempts at comprehen- 
sive generalization being as few as they are infelicitous. And 
the editors of the Globe Edition have so wantonly tampered 
with the dramatist's language in some passages, while leaving 
the same idiom intact in others, that the grammar of the 
First Folio seems to me more consistent with itself than is 
the grammar of the Globe Edition. Nor caa the student of 
Shakespeare read even cursorily Profesfiinvpluil's masterly 
Principien der Sprachgeschickte without the conviction that in 
the Elizabethan age grammatical categories were far more 
closely iu accord with psychological categories than is the 
case with our own more formal and "correct" methods of 

Shakespeare's pages contain not a few locutions that must 
have made Lindley Murray stare and gasp. But to Lindley 
Murray language was the garb, to Shakespeare^ the incama- 
turn, of thought. 

Ever since the days of Queen Anne our language has 
suffered more and more from the arbitrary dicta of gram- 
marians who, under the lead of the classical languages^ have 
steadily divorced expi^ession from thought, the principles of 
grammar from the principles of psychology, and who, in the 
words of Sir Philip Sydney, " wil correct the Verbe before 
they understand the Noune." 

To return to the citations given^ it will be seen that there 
are two endings, functioning as plurals, that call for explana- 
tion, -8 and 'th. The latter as a plural is confined chiefly to 
doth and haih, but s, though exceptional, occurs about one 
hundred times with a plural subject. 

Shakespeare's pres. ind. is s. 365 

The explanation hitherto^ offered of this construction is 
that in -« we have a case of borrowing from the Northum- 
brian or Northern dialect of England ; that in -th we have a 
similar borrowing from the West-Saxon or Soothern dialect. 

The recourse to the theory of borrowing, as a means of dis- 
posing of syntactic or of philological difficulties, is as facile as 
it is unsafe. The history of English Philology as well as of 
Historical English Grammar, is full of instances where the 
theory of borrowing has had to give way before the results 
of more adequate investigation — investigation directed chiefly 
along the line of analogy or of phonetics. 

In the construction before us, the recourse to borrowing 
fails where its aid is most needed ; for neither Northern nor 
Southern influence, properly interpreted, can explain the ori- 
gin of is and teas as plural forms. Yet they are found here 
and there in almost every Elizabethan author. It may be 
true, as Mr. Lounsbury says,* that in some of the Northern 
dialects,' is was early used for all persons of the present singu- 
lar and plural, and was for the same numbers and persons of 
the preterite." He adds that " From that quarter is some- 
times made its way into the language of literature, especially 
in the writings of the Elizal>ethan dramatists." But is and 
wds may be found as plural predicates in the Anglo-Saxon 

^ Several months after the reading of this paper my attention was called 
to a dissertation by Statins Spekker, Uebfr die KongrueiiM dea SubjekU und de» 
PrddikaU in der Sprache SKakespearea (Bremen, ISSl), in which the author 
attempts to explain all the difficulties of concord that occur in Shakespeare 
by a simple appeal to the eonslructio ad aensum theory. The reader will 
hardly believe into what forced straits Spekker is driven in his efforts to 
apply this theory to all the recalcitrant sentences that he cites. I have 
tried to show that Shakespeare's syntax was governed more by sense than is 
the syntax of nineteenth century English. But to proffer this view as an 
explanation of all apparent incongruities of concord is to surrender oneself 
to the most palpable absurdities. So far as I know, Spekker is the only 
scholar who goes to this extreme. 

* English Lang,, n, 474. 

'But not in the literary dialect as represented by Barbour, King James, 
Henryson, Dunbar, Douglas, and Lyndesay. 


Chronicle^ oentaries before anyone has ever yet claimed 
Northern influence. 

Dr. Kellner ^ dismisses the subject even more briefly still : 
'^ Most of the irr^ularities turning up in Middle English, 
and even in the sixteenth century, may be simply accounted 
for by the fact that not only the endings "€» and -eth^ but also 
M and wdB were used both in the singular and in the plural.^' 
No one who has read a hundred pages of Elizabethan litera- 
ture can doubt the occasional occurrence of these forms as 
plurals. The only problem is to explain their origin. 

Dr. Kellner quotes Zupitza, who in his edition of Quy of 
Warwick (15th century version, East Midland dialect) affirms 
that was occurs as a plural,' nothing being said, however, as 
to the origin of the construction. 

But even if it were conceded that the Northumbrian dia- 
lect first developed is and was as plural forms, and that they 
spread thence into standard English, the question of origin 
would still confront us; for the Northumbrian dialect b^an its 
career, — as did the West Midland, East Midland, and Southern 
dialects, — with is for its third singular present and was for its 
third singular preterit. Prof. Albert S. Cook, of Yale Uni- 

^Htttorieal (hiiUnes of English Syntax, { 89. 

'Zapitza's remark is an illustration of the meaningless statements that 
are so often made about the nse of a singular predicate with a plural sub- 
ject Discussions of this subject will continue to be worthless until the 
following four sentence-types are rigidly kept apart: 

1. TA«y /tv«Aa-« (^pronominal subject). 

2. The men live here (^ substantival subject). 

3. They (or, The men) who live here (= relative pronoun as subject). 

4. Here live they (or, the men) (= inverted subject). 

Shakespeare never uses a singular predicate in No. 1 ; but in 2, 8, and 4^ 
the singular occurs with crescendo frequency. 

Zupitza {L c: Note to 1. 253), to prove that "was occurs as a plural," 
cites two sentences that fall under type 4: "There was few there so hardy; " 
and three that fall under type 8 : "All myght here, l>at was [>erynne." He 
then considers himself justified in altering "The leehe was wyse" to "The 
lechys was wyse,'' deeming a change of was to were unnecessary in view of 
the citations just made. But these dtations miss the mark, for his oonten* 
tion relates to type 2, whereas the citations relate to types 3 and 4. 

Shakespeare's pres. ind. in ^. 367 

versitj^ whose knowledge of Old Northumbrian entitles him 
to speak with authority^ writes me that ^' In the Northumbrian 
Grospels, the occurrence of forms apparently singular for the 
present indicative plural of the verb to be is wholly sporadic, 
and I regard them as mere scribal blunders. There is no is 
for plural that I know of, and no wees for toerony tvoBron. The 
Ritual has no such instances/' 

If, therefore, there has been a borrowing from the Northern 
dialect, from whence did the Northern dialect itself borrow the 
forms in question ? Is it not evident that the more rational 
explanation, indeed the only explanation, of this construction 
must be sought not in borrowing from any source whatsoever, 
but in some deeper principle of syntactic change ? 


It must be remembered that in Elizabethan times, s and 
'th were the established endings of the third person singular, 
present indicative. They were used interchangeably (though 
only 'th occurs in the King James Version of the Bible, 1611) 
by both poets and prose-writers. I shall try, then, to show 
that in t8, fvaa, ^ and -^, used with plural subjects, we have 
not instances of borrowing, but evidence rather of a tendency 
on the part of the third indicative singular, unchecked by the 
formal laws of a grammar-making age,^ to establish itself as 
the norm, and thus to usurp the place held by the indicative 
plural. I believe that this tendency, due of course to the great 
preponderance in daily usage of the singular over the plural, 
may be traced in every period of our language, more especially, 
however, in the Middle English and Elizabethan periods. 

^The prevalent ignorance of Historical English Grammar during the 
seventeenth oentary is amusingly shown in Ben Jonson's explaining have^ 
in ''It is preposterous to execute a man before he have been condemned," 
as an exception to the rule that singular nouns require singular verbs. 
And even Dryden critidses Jonson for using kU instead of it$. 


But ** If theories about the origin of things are not to be 
worthless," says Jespersen/ " they must on every point be sub- 
stantiated by analogies from processes going on nowadays, and 
capable of direct observation and control." 

Let us turn, therefore, to the language of children and of 
illiterate adults, in whose speech the influence of analogy can 
be most clearly seen. " I seed him," " I runned away," &c., 
have often been cited as examples of analogical formations due 
to the preponderance in every-day speech of weak over strong 
verbs. But it seems to me that the most interesting example 
of analogy to be found in the speech of the illiterate has been, 
so far as I know, overlooked. It is not hard, for example, to 
find children, even in educated families, whose present indica- 
tive runs thus : '^ I sees, you sees, he sees ; we sees, you sees, 
they sees." My open window has not infrequently regaled 
me with such bits of street colloquy as, "I lives here. Where 
does you live?" " We lives in the city" [New Orleans].* 

Now, what has taken place? The third singular, heard 
more frequently by the child than any other form of the verb, 
has been extended by analogy both to the plural and to the 
other persons of the singular. The same thing has happened 
in the case of is and toas. Their greater frequency of usage 
has, among the illiterate, almost banished the plurals are and 
toere. The following citations are taken from Unde Remu8, 
by Joel Chandler Harris : 

" En dar you is, en dar you'll stay twel I fixes up a bresh- 
pile and^res her up." 

" Dey goes in, an' dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on 
twel you shakes de box, an' den dey draps out." 

" Dey vmz [was] de fattes' niggers in de settlement." 

" Let 'lone w'at I is now." 

'^ Yo' mammy*ll spishun dat de rats' stummucks is widenin' 
in dis naberhood." 

" W^en de nashuns of de earf is a stanin' all aroun'." 

^Progress in Languagey p. 63. 

' Launoe ( Two Gendenun of Verona, iv, 4) says : " I . . . knew it was Crab, 
and go€s me to the fellow that whips the dog/' 

SHAK£SPEAR£'S PRE8. DO). IN -«. 369 

Scores of other examples of this principle might be given 
from humorous tales^ and from dialect stories of every locality. 
In one short paragraph of Miss Edgeworth's Dublin Shoeblack, 
there occur seven examples of this transferred third singular ; 
and almost a proportionate number may be found in the pages 
of Mark Twain^ Robt. J. Burdette^ Bret Harte, M. Quad, 
Artemus Ward, Josh Billings, and other writers who imitate 
the lingo of low life. 

But English is not the only language that furnishes illus- 
trations. A striking confirmation of the expulsive power of 
the singular when pitted against the plural is found in the 
modern dialects of Scandinavia. Dr. J. A. Lundell ^ declares 
that in these dialects the indicative plural forms are on the 
wane; that in Norway, a singular predicate is usually em- 
ployed with a plural subject; and that in the Finnish, Swedish, 
and Danish dialects, a singular predicate is invariably employed 
with a plural subject.* 

^OrunJriss der germanisehen Philologies v. 

* The natural trend of the mind seems to be toward the conception of 
unity rather than of plurality. Many words show the result of this bunch- 
ing process. Thus gaUovos was plural in Middle English, but is singular 
now, presumably because it no longer connotes the several parts composing 
the framework of a gallows, these parts being now fused by the mind into a 
single conception. The German words Ostern^ Pfingslen, Weihitiaehtenj old 
plurals, are now singulars. Latin liUerae^ meaning Utters of the alphabet 
combined into an epistle, has passed into Italian leUera and French Uttre, 
both singular. And Latin minaciae is French m^noee, Italian mtnoecio. 
Greek fiifiKia, Latin bUtlia, little books, has become singular in all modem 

Shakespeare frequently bunched his numerals : " Look where three farth- 
ings goes" {King John, i, 1). Cf. modem English, a doseUy a score, a fortnight^ 
a hundred, a thousand, in which a still suggests the Early West-Saxon singu- 
lar construction with the larger numerals. In Wiilfing's Syntax in den Werken 
Alfreds des Orossen, Pt. I (Bonn, 1894), it is shown that the larger numerals, 
being followed by the partitive genitive and regarded as collective nouns, 
could take a singular as well as a plural predicate. They could be preceded 
even by a singular demonstrative. Thus in Boethius (559, 86) we find ")ieet 
feowertig daga ser Cristes gebyrd tide, & )>8et feowertig daga sefter Pente- 
costen " = That forty (of) days, Ac 



It must not be forgotten that in Elizabethan English, as 
osed by even the most scholarly writers, any oompound sub- 
ject, however numerous its singular members, could take a 
singular predicate. It follows, therefore, that the relative 
number of third singular indicatives then employed was £ur 
in excess of the number now employed, and that consequently 
the influence of the third singular in analogical formations was 
proportionately increased.^ Thus Shakespeare writes '^My 
shame and guilt confounds me'' {TtDO Gentlemen, v, 4), ''As 
art and practice hath enriched any" {Measure for Measure, I, 
1), "All disquiet, horror, and perturbation /o/Zotcw her'' (Much 
Adoy n, 1), ''Which simpleness and merit purchaseth*^ (ii., 
ni, 1), "When his disguise and he is parted" {As You Like 
It, in, 6), "The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Properly 
ours" ( Winter^s Tale, n, 1). 

The verb is not always to be construed as agreeing with 
the last member of the compound subject, for frequently the 
separate members constitute but one psychological subject. 
There is a sentence in Hamlet that well illustrates the psycho- 
logical unity that characterizes many of Shakespeare's com- 
pound subjects. Hamlet says that the function of the drama 

^ The operation of analogy may sometimes be due simply to contigoity, 
or association. Cf, the frequent use of says I in joxtaposition with myt Ae. 

In an old poem on the Death of WashinffUmf there occor these lines ( UUUr 
Cb. OaaeUe, N. T., Jan. 4, 1800) : 

** What means that solemn diige, that strikes mine ear? 
What means those solemn sounds — ^why shines the tear? ** 

The clearest example that I find in Shakespeare is in WifUer^s TaU, iv, 4: 

''Not ... for all the sun sees, or 
The dose earth wombs, or the profound seas hides 
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath." 

It is evident that the use of the singular predicate in seas hides is doe to 
the parallelism of sun sees and earth wombs. 

Shakespeare's pbes. ind. in ^. 371 

is " To hold, as Hwere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue 
her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and 
body of the time hU form and pressure " (ni, 2). The use of 
his instead of their shows that in Shakespeare's mind ^' age 
and body'' constituted but a single idea. Other examples are, 
" Both wind and tide [= weather] stays for this gentleman " 
{Cbmedy of Errors j v, 1), " She being none of your flesh and 
blood, your flesh and blood has^ not offended the king; and so 
your flesh and blood is not to be punished" ( WirUer^s Tale, iv, 
4), " Time and the hour runs through the roughest day " (3fao- 
bdhj I, 3). 

Unfortunately, the use of a singular predicate with a com- 
pound subject, logically singular though formally plural, is 
falling into disuse. Yet Tennyson writes '^My hope and 
heart is with thee," and even Macaulay says that " The poetry 
and eloquence of the Augustan age was assiduously studied." 
The idiom was almost a mannerism with Puttenham. By 
rejecting the singular iu such constructions, modern English 
seems to me to lose in psychological truth what it gains in 
grammatical uniformity. 

But even when the members of a compound subject mean 
entirely difierent things, the predicate may, in Elizabethan 
grammar, remain in the singular, agreeing in number with 
the last member. This construction, though outlawed now, 
was very common in Elizabethan times. Thus, we find ^'Our 
master and mistress seeks you" {As You Like It, v, 1), "Your 
father and my uncle hath made motions " (Merry Wives, ill, 
4), " Thou and I am one " {As You Like It, i, 3), " Where 
oxlips and the nodding violet grows^' {JUid, N. D., n, 2). In 
the following sentence from John Hawkins' (1^ 671)9 we can 

^ Of. MaUheWf xyi, 17. In his RevUenf Engliahy Mr. Moon grows insur- 
gent and lachrymoee over " where moth and rust doth corrupt," and Tucker 
( Our Oommon Speech, p. 85) thinks a ten-year-old hoy ought to he ashamed 
of it 

'See Arber^s English Oamer, v, 334. 


dearly see that the writer is thinking of his snbject members 
not ooojointlj but separately : ^ '^ The Dake of Medina, and 
the Dake of Alva hcUhy every [= each] of them, one of the same 
pardons." On the same grounds I tdiould justify the verb in 
this sentence from the pen of a distinguished Anglo-Saxon 
scholar : ^' The literature of Old English is chiefly extant in 
West Saxon, though the poetry, and [= as well as] some of 
the prose, contains forms firom other dialects." 

With this wide extension, then, of the limits of the third 
singular, as compared with its domain in the grammar of 
more modern English, it is not surprising that the singular 
predicates showed a disposition to encroach upon the territory 
of the plural predicates. If the grammar of the day allowed 
the Elizabethan author to say " My right hand and my left 
hand hurts me," it is not to be wondered at that hurts should 
become a sort of norm, and play the part of predicate in ''My 
hands hurts me." 

That such a construction has failed to perpetuate itself in 
the standard language of to-day signifies nothing. Many 
analogical formations have suffered a similar &te. Beared 
for 6orc, choosed for chose, drawed for drew, »pinned for spun^ 
swimmed for swaniy and throwed for threw were in good use 
until about the year 1650. And not more than a hundred 
years ago, you tvas bade fair to displace you were in the 
writings even of the elect. 

^ When an Elizabethan writer wished his multiple sabject to be carried 
over as a plural to the predicate, and not broken up into its parts, he fre- 
quentlj employed the so-called redundant pronouns : 

" Virtue and grace, 
With steadfastness, 
They be the base 
Of her support." 

Puttenham, Art of EnglUh Poesy ^ p. 110. 

Tkey supplements the copulative force of and, which was weakened bj 
such constructions as "Thou and I am one." 

shakespeabe's PBES. IND. IK ^. 373 


(1). Moreover, a clear conception of the expansive tendency 
and expulsive power of the third singular, by which it came 
to be looked apon as the norm of all affirmations made in the 
tense of the present indicative, enables us easily to account for 
the seeming incongruities occurring in Shakespeare's bela- 
TIVE CLAUSES. Only a few illustrations are necessary : 

" Those criBped, snaky, golden locks, 
Which makes such wanton gambols with the wind/' 

{Merchant of Venicey m, 2.) 

The plural idea, having to pass through whichy is weakened 
before it reaches the predicate. The multiple rays reunite 
into a single ray. The predicate, therefore, reverts to, or 
rather retains, the normal form. The singularizing influence 
of relative pronouns is as marked in the popular speech of 
to-day as it is in the language of Shakespeare. It is far 
easier, for example, to find a singular predicate with a plural 
relative in Shakespeare, than it is to find a singular predicate 
with a plural noun. And the reason is obvious, for the farther 
the speaker or writer advances from his original plural (the 
antecedent of the relative), the weaker becomes the plural 
conception, and all the stronger grows the tendency on the 
part of the predicate to drop into the dominant conventional 
form of the third singular. Note this citation from Chaucer 
{Monk's Prologue, Harl. MS., No. 7334, lines 15459-'63). 
Tragedy is defined as, 

"A oerteyn storie, 
As olde booked maken us memorie, 
Of hem that stood ^ in greet prosperity 
And is 7-fallen out of heigh degr^ 
Into miserie, and etuiith wrecchedlj." 

^ Stood is either singular or plural (see Ten Brink's Chancers Spraehe und 
VerskuMt, i 193). That we cannot emend hetn to him is shown by the open- 
ing sentence of the Monies Tale, Also in the Tale of Mdibeus (Harl. MS.), 


A somewhat similar illustration is foand in JbAn, yn, 49 : 

" But this people who hnowdh not the law are cursed." ^ 

Only one more example will be given from Shakespeare : 

That tkaka not, though thej blow perpetually." 

{Taming of the SkreWf n, 1.) 

(2). Again, this view of the third singular would seem to 
suggest an explanation of certain divergencies from the con- 
cord, not only of number, but of person. These divergencies 
occur, also, most frequently in relative clauses. Thus Chaucer 

writes {Knighea Tale, lines 878-^9) : 

"It am I 
That hveih so hote Emelye the brighte." 

Here the dominant third singular has crossed the boundary, 
not of number but of person. 
A slightly different example is 

"But now ye seek to kill me, a man that haih told you the truth, which 
I have heard of God" {John, vm, 40). 

From Shakespeare we have, 

" My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 

Who hither eomee engaged by my oath." 

{Biehard IL, I, S.) 
"Thou . . . that ealU for company." 

{Toaning of the Shrew, iv, 1.) 

"To make me proud thatjeeteJ* 

{Ixm^s Laboure Loet, v, 2.) 

" For it is you thai puts us to our shifts." 

{TituB Andromeue, TV, 2.) 

"O Lord that lendt me life." 2 Henry F/., i, 1.) 

the same construction occurs : " For the lawe seith, upon thinges that newely 
bUydeth, bihoveth newe counseil." 

I have no doubt that the absence of plural endings in our relative pro- 
nouns has aided the singularizing influence that they exert upon their 

> Cf, "Ond se dsl )« Ixer aweg com wwrdon on fleame generede." — ChronieU. 
A. D. 894. 

shaeebpeabe's pbes. ind. in -9. 376 

And Mr. Swinburne writes, 

" Maiy, thai u so sweet, 
Bring us to thy Son's feet" 

^Marj, thai vnddeth land, 
Bring us to thj Son's hand." 

(A Christmas OaroL) 

(3). I should explain in the same way the genesis of Here 
isy There wdSy There has 6een, Ac., followed by plural subjects. 
Such constructions have characterized our language from the 
earliest period. The singular doubtless originated from cases 
in which the subject had not been clearly thought out in the 
speaker's mind/ the predicate assuming, therefore, the normal 
or colorless type. The third singular was used pro tern.; then, 
by frequency of usage, the singular became, as it were, the 
fixed or uninflected form in popular speech. Of. ''Exit duke 
and lords" {Mid, N. 2)., iv, 1)— a frequent use of exit in the 

I have tried to show, then, in the limited space at my dis- 
posal : 

I. That, as an historical explanation of the construction 
discussed, the recourse to the theory of Northumbrian borrow- 
ing is both insufficient and unnecessary. 

II. That these s-predicates are nothing more than the 
ordinary third singulars of the present indicative, which, by 
preponderance of usage, have caused a partial displacement of 
the distinctively plural forms, the same operation of analogy 
finding abundant illustrations in the popular speech of to-day. 

III. That, in Shakespeare's time, the number and corres- 
ponding influence of the third singulars were far greater than 
now, inasmuch as compound subjects could be followed by 
singular predicates. 

' Frequently the subject is not expressed at all : There's for thy pains" 
{Much AdOf y, 1), " Here is for thy pains'' (2Wo Oenilemen^ i, 1). 


IV. That other apparent anomalies of concord to be found 
in Shakespeare's syntax, — anomalies that elude the reach of 
any theory that postulates borrowing, — may also be adequately 
explained on the principle of the dominant third singulab. 

C. Alphonbo Smith. 




The first Italian grammar published in England, in 1650, 
written by William Thomas, clerk of the Council to King 
Edward VI. and one of the first Protestant victims of the 
succeeding reign, contains ''a Dictionarie for the better under- 
standing of Boccace, Petrarcha, and Dante.'' The title indi- 
cates that the great Italian poets of the trecento were first 
studied by English readers, and Boccaccio and Petrarch are 
here named before Dante. Indeed, after a most careful search, 
I cannot find any Elizabethan translation of any work of 
Dante. The first English translation of Dante in the British 
Museum CaJUjdogue is that of Henry Boyd, L^InfemOy in 1785, 
LalHvina Oommedia, in 1802. 

I remember that my own Italian studies began with Dante, 
and that the Infei-no was to me at once grammar, dictionary, 
literature, and history. Very naturally from this point of 
view it was a great surprise to me at the b^inning to find no 
trace of the noble poet in all the outpouring of the English 
spirit towards Italy during the reign of Elizabeth. But as 
the subject has cleared up before me the explanation seems 
self-evident. Dante is not a romantic story-teller, his story- 
telling is real. 

Life struck sharp on death. 

Dante precedes the Renaissance. Petrarch sheds a glowing 
light upon it, but belongs to the company of Dante; it is 

Copyright, 1896, by Mary Augusta Soott. 



Boccaccio who leads the way into it^ and Ariosto who is its 
poet. To pat it in another way, although the 16th century 
in English literature corresponds in a sense to the 13th in 
Italian, yet it is the Italian writers from Boccaccio to Tasso 
who produced the most profound impression on the Eliza- 
bethans. The accompanying list of translations shows that 
Ariosto was far and away the most popular Italian poet with 
the Eh'zabethans, with Tasso a close second. Of Boiardo I 
note one translation, although I am unable to say whether 
Robert Tofte's Orlando Inamorato was made from Boiaido's 
original, or, as is very likely, from Francesco Berni's rifaci- 
menU). Tofte also translated Ariosto's Satires, but I have met 
with no attempt to render into English the bonhomie and wit 
and mocking irony of what is commonly known as 'Bemes- 
que' poetry. Thomas Nash, "the English Aretine," could 
have done it best of the Elizabethans, and his. The Praise of 
the Red Herring (Lenten Stuff), is probably as * Bernesque ' as 
anything we have in English. The development of satirical 
poetry, however, requires a different literary spirit, a different 
national temper, from that of the Elizabethans. 

A more remarkable omission and one akin to Dante's 
absence from this company of poets, is the absence from it 
also of the great lyrists of the trecento, Cino da Pistoia, Guido 
Gavalcante, and Lapo Gianni, all friends of Dante and all 
lyric poets of high rank. Even of Petrarch, apart from the 
boyish work of Spenser, and the sonnet cult, represented here 
by Thomas Watson's Passionate Centurie of Loue, a series of 
poems which are not sonnets at all, it is only the Penitential 
pBolms and the allegorical Trionji that get translated. Clearly 
Italian lyrical poety of the best type did not appeal to the 
translators, in spite of the intensely lyrical quality of Eliza- 
bethan dramatic literature. Just where the Elizabethan poets 
got their singing forms, so far as they are imitative of Italian 
models, I am not prepared to say. Doubtless one source was 
the popularity of the prose>poetical romance, the oanJb^ahle^ 
like Sannazzaro's Arcadia, the prototype of Sir Philip Sidney's 


Arcadiaf Gifford's Posie of GfilloflowerSf and other collections 
of the sort. 

The baUcUe and madrigali scattered throughout Greene's 
novels are imitated from Boccaccio and Ser Giovanni and 
Sacchetti. Of these three. Franco Sacchetti was the most 
spontaneous lyrist. He wrote charming songs and some- 
times set them to music himself. One of his canzonets, 

vaghe montontiM patturdle^ 

was SO popular among all classes that it was transmitted orally 
for many generations. The poetry of Robert Greene and 
Nicholas Breton, and such anthologies as England's Helicon 
show how the Elizabethans were fascinated by the gaiety and 
sweetness of just such songs of spring-time and ring-time as 
Sacchetti and Ser Giovanni wrote. So that an even more 
fruitful source of lyric form must have arisen out of the cul- 
tivation of music at the Court, and especially of the canzonet 
and the madrigal. William Byrd and Thomas Morley, both 
organists to the Chapel Royal, were prolific composers of 
madrigals, and the numerous song-books and books of airs 
of the period attest the popularity and the excellence of this 
species of musical composition. 

On the stage, the influence of the pastoral drama must be 
taken into account, an influence which is apparent from the 
short list of translations of plays here cited. It will be seen 
that translations of the pastoral drama largely predominate. 
This may seem an odd result to arrive at, pitted against the 
&ct that the masque, however successful in the hands of Ben 
Jonson and Shirley, yet never became acclimatized on the 
English stage. But it bears out the history of the relation 
between the Italian and the English dramas. The one form of 
dramatic art that the Italians have cultivated with the most 
success is the pastoral drama, and its outcome, the opera. By 
the time of Elizabeth, the Italians in AmihUa and the Pcuior 
Fidoy had nothing more to learn in the art of pastoral poetry; 
of their kind, these two dramas are perfect. By this time 


also they had aocumnlated considerable dramatic furniture 
in both tragedy and comedy. The great names of Trissino 
and Ariosto and Maochiavelli are stamped on it^ and a good 
deal of talent and some genius undoubtedly went into its 
manu&cture. But it was and is a purely artificial drama, 
smacking everywhere of Plautus and Terence and Seneca. 
The English playwrights of Elizabeth's time had no need to 
go to the Italians for models of plays^ for they were them- 
selves conscious of having developed a nobler drama than had 
been produced in Italy. Thomas Heywood, an intelligent 
and sound critic of the dramatic art, in the Prologue to his 
ChaUenge for Beauty j says : — 

Thoee (i. t, plays) that frequent are 
In Italy or France, even in these days, 
Compared with oars, are rather j^ than plays. 

By jigs he means the love of pageantry of the Italians, their 
mixing of comedy and music and the ballet. When Lucrezia 
Borgia went to Ferrara, in 1602, as the bride of Alfonso 
d'Este, Duke Ercole I. gave a marriage entertainment of 
extraordinary splendor to the young couple. It was spread 
out over five days, and each night a different comedy of 
Plautus was presented, embellished with musical interludes 
and ballets on classical and allegorical subjects. Plautus 
with a ballet was a species of comedy that could have had no 
place at the Globe or the Blackfriars, and the tragedy of 
Oorboduc fortunately had no successors. 

What the Elizabethans took from the Italians then was not 
directly, either their lyric forms or their dramatic feeling, but 
it was ideas, passion, grace, and gusto, those spiritual qualities 
whose union in the romantic drama is so picturesque, so fine, 
and so indescribable. Together with the political sagacity of 
the English people, developing the state as a unit and creat- 
ing a single standard of taste, together with their clearer moral 
insight, these qualities produced Shakspere. 


Because then this list of Italian poets omits Dante^ because 
it omits the great lyrists his contemporaries^ because, with the 
exception of the Supposes and Jocasta, it omits the Italian 
comedy and tragedy of the cinque centOy it would be a great 
mistake to conclude that there is no vital relation between the 
Italians of the Renaissance and English peotry. So far as 
poetry fulfils the definition of Keats, 

The great end 
Of poesj, that it should be a friend, 
To soothe the cares and lift the thoughts of man, 

the list more than satisfies the test. In English poetry it 
stretches away out before the Elizabethans and long after 
them. It recalls Chaucer and Lydgate and Gascoigne and 
Turberville and Watson and Fairfax and Fletcher and Spenser 
and Shakspere and Dryden and Pope and Groldsmith and 
Byron and Keats, most of them seated with the immortals 
and all of them poets who have ' lifted the thoughts of man/ 

At the end of the bibliography of English poetry, I add 
thirteen London and Oxford publications during the period 
in Italian and Latin verse, and a few corrigenda of my first 
paper, on translations of romances in prose. Since that paper 
went to print I have met with a few more prose romances, 
making altogether seventy-three now, and my lists of both 
translators and translations have considerably increased. The 
translators now number two hundred and ten, and the trans- 
lations three hundred and thirty-five, so that the miscella- 
neous books which will form the subject of the third paper 
are about two score more in number than the prose romances 
and poetical pieces put together. 

The literature here brought together has been most care- 
fully collected from many different sources in English, Italian, 
French, German, and Latin, and although I am aware of my 
limitations, I think I may safely say that there does not exist 
anywhere so complete a presentation of this part of my sub- 
ject as I now make. Wherever possible I have given the fiill 


titleSy for the sake of accuracy and deamesSy and at all events 
all the titles are as complete as I could make them with the 
resources at my command. Every title^ in whatever language, 
has been verified, when possible, from the CaJtalogue of the 
British Museum, so far as that catalogue has as yet been pub- 
lished. Similarly such of the titles as are to be found in the 
Huth lists have been verified, and I have personally examined 
some of the books in the Library of the Peabody Institute, Bal- 
timore. The words ' British Museum,' ' Huth,' and * Peabody ' 
at the end of the colophons indicate my own verifications. The 
Bodleian lists are not accessible to me, nor the Britwell, but 
as many of these publications are extremely rare, I have 
thought it best to give all the information I have met with 
as to their present abiding-places. I do not, however, vouch 
for the correctness of the information, except as I explain. I 
should explain further that my plan has been to give the title 
of the first English edition, or first extant English edition, in 
full, and to mention the dates of all subsequent reprints and 
editions in English. Of the Italian or Latin originals, I 
give simply the first edition. The annotations are descriptive 
mainly, they are purposely as brief as possible, and wherever 
I could give over my own notes for illustrative material from 
the English or Italian poets I have been glad to do so. 

The three indexes, of titles and of authors' names, sum up 
the whole paper briefly, and will, I hope, be found useful for 
ready reference. 

a. Poetry. 

1527. Here begynnethe the boke of Johan bochas discritdnge 
the faUe of pricis princessis and other nobles; trdslated into 
JEnglisshe by J. LydgcUe, monk of Bury, begynning at Adam 
and Eve, and endyng with Kyng John ofFraunoe taJeen prisoner 
at Poyters by Prince Edwarde. [In verse.] 

B. Pynson : London. 1527. Folio. Black letter. British 
Museum title. Second edition. 


A Treatise exoeUent and compidiouSy shewing and declaring ^ 
in maner of Tragedy ej thefalles of sondry most notable Princes 
and Princesses with other Nobles^ through ye mvJtabUUie and 
change of unstedfast Fortune together with their most detestable 
& wicked vices. First compyled in Latin by the eoccellent Clerke 
BocaJtiuSj an Italian borne. And sence that tyme translated into 
our English and Vulgar e tong^ by Dan John Lidgate Monke of 
Burye. And nou)e n^wly imprynted, corrected, and augmented 
out of diuerse and sundry olde writen copies in parchment. In 
aedibus Richard! Tottelli. Cum privilegio. [Colophon.] 

Imprinted at London in Fletestrete within Temple barre 
at the signe of the hande and starre^ by Richard Tottel^ the x. 
day of September in the yeare of oure Lorde. 1664. Cum 
Priuil^io, &c. Folio. Black letter. Woodcuts. British 

In verse, containing also the Daunce of Mdchabree, trans- 
lated by Lydgate from the French into English verse. Huth 
Library title. Third edition. 

The tragedies f gathered by John Bochas, of all such Princes 
a^ fell from theyr estates throughe the muJtabilUy of Fortune since 
the creacion of Adam, until his time: wherin may be seen what 
vices bring menne to destruccionj wyth notable waminges howe 
the like may be auoyded. Trandaied into Englysh by John 
LidgatCy Monke of Burye. 

Imprinted at London, by John Wayland, at the signe of 
the sunne oueragainst the Conduite in Flete-strete. Cum 
priuil^io per Septennium. [1555]. Folio. Black letter, 
Huth Library title. Fourth edition. 

The British Museum gives the probable date as 1558. The 
first edition was printed by Richard Pynson, in 1494. 

Lydgate's book was a very popular translation of Boccac- 
cio's De Oasibus Virorum el Foeminarum lUustrium. libri IX. 
It contains Lydgate's celebrated tribute to Chaucer : 

My Maister Chaaoer with his fressh oommedies 
Is deed alas I chefe poete of Bretagne, 
That somtyme made fall pitous tragedies. 


The ' fall of princes ' he did also complayne 
As he thai was of makjDg soyerayne, 
Whom all this land of right ought preferre, 
Sithe of oar language he was the lode sterre. 

Warton's note on The Fall of Princes is, — "This work is 
not improperly styled a set of tragedies. It is not merely a 
narrative of men eminent for their rank and misfortunes : 
the plan is perfectly dramatic, and partly suggested by the 
pageants of the times. Every personage is supposed to appear 
before the poet, and to relate his respective sufferings ; and 
the figures of these spectres are sometimes finely drawn.'* 

Warton. Hidory of English Poetry. Section xxn. 

Lawrence's French translation, printed at Lyons, in 1483, 
is the original of Lydgate's poem, which consists of nine 

Phillips. Theatrum Poetarum Anglicanorum. 1800, p. 26. 

1560. The first thre Sokes of the most christid Poet Marcel- 
lus Palingenius [Pietro Angelo ManzoUi] called the jSodyake 
of Lyfe; newly translated out oflaiin into English by Bamabe 

Imprinted at London, by John Tisdale, for Rafe Newberye. 
An. Do. 1560. 8vo. Black letter. 64 leaves. 

Dedicated to the grandmother of the translator. Lady Hales, 
and to William Cromer, Thomas Honywood, and Ralph 
Heiqiund, Esquires. Second edition. 1561. 8vo. B. L. 170 
leaves. Six books. British Museunij (2 copies). Dedicated to 
Sir William Cecil, kinsman of the translator. Third edition. 
1565. 8vo. B. L. Twelve books. Biit. Mus. Also, 1576. 
4to. Brit. Mas., and 1588. 4to. B. L. 135 leaves. Brit. 

" Googe's Zodiac of Palingenius was a favorite performance, 
and is constantly classed with the poetical translations of the 
period by contemporary critics. The work itself was written 
by 6. (?) A. Manzolius, and contains sarcasms against the 
Pope, the Cardinals, and the Church of Rome." — Ellis. 


"This poem is a general satire on life, yet without peevish- 
ness or malevolence ; and with more of the solemnity of the 
censor than the petulance of the satirist/' 

Warton, History of English Poetry y Section Lix. 

Pope's well-known lines are copied from Palingenius^ proba- 
bly through Gt)oge's translation : — 

"Superior beings, when of late they saw 
A mortal man unfold all nature's law, 
Admired such wisdom in an earthly shape, 
And show'd a Newton as we show an ape." 

Essay on Man, Epistle n, 11. 81-34. 

The Latin of Palingenius reads : 

*' Simla caelicolum risusque jocusqne deorum est, 
Tunc Homo, cum temere ingenio confidit, et andet 
Abdita naturae scrntaria, arcanaque rerum ; 
Cum revera ejus crassa imbecillaque sit mens." 

Zodiaew Vitae, B. VJ, v, 186. See Palingeniui, 

[1565?]. The tryumphes of Fraunces Pebrarchej translated 
out of Italian into Englishe by Henry Parker Knyght, Lord 

{of Loue 
of ChasbUie 

1 ne iryvmpne % „ 
^ ^ (of Fame 

< of Tyme 

\ of Diuinity. 

[Colophon.] Printed at London in Powles churchyarde at 
the sygne of the holy Ghost, by John Cawood, Prynter to the 
Queues hyghnes. Cum priuil^io R^ae Maiestatis. n. d. 
[1566?]. 4to. Black letter. 62 leaves. British Museum {2 
copies), Bodleiany and Briiwell. 

Reprinted by Stafford Henry, Earl of Iddesleigh. 1887. 
4to. Roxburghe Club. 


The dedication^ ''Unto the mooste towarddy yonge gentle 
Lorde Maltraiiers, sonne and heyre apparant to the worthy 
and noble Earle of Arundel/' is subscribed, ''Dm Henry 

At the end the translator furnishes an original poem, VyrgyU 
in his Epigrames of Oupide and Dronkenesse, in 8-line stanzas, 
and his own Epitaph in Latin, with an English version. The 
Dictionary of National Biography says that John Cawood was 
printer to Queen Mary, which would date the Triumphed 
forward to at least 1653. 

Morley's translation is in irr^ular and uncouth verse, and 
is not very faithful to the original. 

Lord Morley left a number of manuscript translations, 
among them, from Italian literature : — 

lAfe of Theseus, from the Latin of Lapo di Castiglionchio, 
dedicated to Henry VIII. 

Scipio and Hannibal, from the Latin of Donate Acciajuoli. 

St. Athanasitis his Prologue to the Psalter, from the Latin of 
Angelo Poliziano. 

John de Turre Cremata's Exposition of the S6th Psalm, with 
sonnets from the humanist poet, Maffeo Vegio, dedicated to the 
Princess Mary. 

Ma^sucdo^s NoveOe, 

Paolo Giovio's Oommentaries on the Turks, dedicated to 
Henry VIII. and Queen Catherine Parr. 

1567. The JEglogs of the Poet B. Mantuan Oarmelitan, 
Turned into English Verse, & set forth with the Argument to 
euery Egloge by Oeorge Turbervile Oent. Anno 1667. 

Imprinted at London in Pater noster Rowe, at the signe 
of the Marmayde, by Henrie Bynneman. 8vo. Black letter. 
98 leaves, including a leaf of ' Faultes ' at the end. British 
Museum. Also, 1572. 8vo. Black letter. 90 leaves. 1694. 
8vo. Black letter. 90 leaves. 

Dedicated to 'Maister Hugh Bamfield Esquier,' unde of 
the translator. 


^' The said eclogues were afterwards translated bj another 
hand; but not without the help of that translation of Turber- 
vile, though not acknowledged. The person that performed 
it was Tho. Harvey, who writes himself gent." [Thomas 
Harvey, commoner of Winchester College.] 

Anthony & Wood, Athenae Oxonienaea. Wood refers to 

The Bv>oolic8 of Baptist Mantuan in ten edoguee. Trana^ 
IcUed by T. Harvey, 1656. 8vo. British Museum, 

Anthony & Wood is certainly wrong in attributing the 
eclogues to Giovanni Battista Fiera, physician and poet, and 
his assertion that the second translation is plagiarized from 
the first is unsupported, so far as I know. 

The original eclogues were written by Giovanni Battista 
Spagnuoli, called Mantuanus, and the collection is entitled, 
BucoUca seu adolesoentia in decern edogas divisa, Lyons, 
1546. 8vo, 

Giovanni Battista Spagnuoli (Mantuanus), 1448-1516, who 
was a Carmelite monk and general of his order, was very 
highly thought of as a poet in his own day, and was praised 
by Giraldi Cintio, Pontano, Pico della Mirandola, and even 
by Erasmus. His own countrymen compared him with Vergil, 
and at his death the Marquis of Mantua erected a marble 
statue to his memory by the side of that of the greater Man- 
tuan. Spagnuoli was an admirer of Savonarola, and his ninth 
Eclogue is entitled, De moribus curiae Bomanae, 

Two interesting papers discussing the Mantuan's influence 
upon Spenser are to be found in Anglia: — 

Spefnser^s Shepherd^ s Calendar und Mantuanus Eclogen. F. 
Kluge, Angliay m, p. 266, and Bemerhmgen vber Spenser^s 
Shepheards Calendar und die frukere Bukolikj Anglia^ ix, 
p. 205. 

Shakspere quotes the b^inning of the first Edogue^ in 
Lovf^s Labours Lost, rv, 2. 

Holofernes. ^^Fauste, precoTy gdidd quando pecus onme sub 
umbrd Ruminai, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan ! I 
may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : 


VeMffia, Vanegiaj 
Chi non te vede^ ei nan te pregia. 

Old MantuaDy old Mantuan ! who understand^ thee Dot, 
loves thee not/' 

Drake, in Shakspeare and his Itmes (p. 27 of vol. i), says 
that the Eclogues of Hantaan were translated before Shak- 
spere's time, with the Latin printed on the opposite page, for 
use in schools. This translation, or rather adaptation, was 
probably that made by Alexander Barclay, and contained 
in Sebastian Brant's StvJtifera Navis, The Sht^ of Folys^ the 
edition of 1570. Eclogaes I, II and III are paraphrased, 
with large additions, from the Miseriae Cariaiium of Aeneas 
Sylvius Piocolomini, Pope Pius the Second, and treat of the 
Miseryes of Courtiers and Courtes of all Princes in general; 
^^ The fourth %loge, entituled Codrus and MinalcaSj treating 
of the behavour of riche men agaynst poetes," is imitated 
from the fifth of Mantuan ; The F}ffU Eglog of Alexandre 
Barclay of the Cytezen and Uplondyshman^ printed by Wynkyn 
de Worde, is a colloquy between two shepherds, Amyntas and 
Faustus, as to the relative advantages and disadvantages of 
town and country life. See Spagnuoli. 

1576. The Schoolemaster, or Teacher of Table Philosophies 
A most pleasant and merry companion^ wel tcorthy to be toeL- 
corned {for a dayly Gheest) not onely to all mens boorde^ to 
guyde them with moderate & holsome dyei; but also into euery 
mans companie at all tymes, to recreate their mindes vrith honest 
mirth and delectable deuises: to sundrie pleasant purposes of 
pleasure and pa^t-tyme. Gaihered out of diuers, the best 
approued Auctours: and deuided into f cure pithy and pleasant 
TreaiiseSy as it may appeare by the contenies. 

Imprinted at London by Kicharde Jones : dwelling ouer- 
agaynst S. Sepulchers Church without Newgate. 1576. 4to. 
Black letter. 74 leaves. Bodleian, Huth. Also, 1583. 4to. 
Black letter. 68 leaves. British Museum, (2 copies). 


Dedicated to Alexander Nowell^ Dean of St. Paal's. 

The Schoolemader is a translation from Macrobius's SaJtwr-' 
naliorum Omviviorum Libri VII, the " Mensa Philosophica," 
and from other sources, made by Thomas Twyne. The four 

* Treatises ' are : — 

1 . Of the nature and quality of all meats, drinks, and saiLoes. 

2. Of manners, behauiour and usage in company. 

3. DeUdahle and pleasant questions and pretie problems to 
be propounded in company. 

4. Of honest jests, delectable deuises and pleasant purposes. 
Among other stock jests related by Twyne in the fourth 

* Treatise ' is a version of II Decamerone, ix, 2 ; Levasi una 
badessa in fretta. See Warner, Albion's England, Book v, 
Chapter xxvii. 

Twyne's Tah/e Philosophie is a sort of handbook of mirth 
and manners, '^ to be used among companie for delight and 
recreation at all times, but especially at meale times at the 

[1581], The 'EKaTOfjLTradia or Passionate Oenturie of Loue, 
Diuided into two parts: whereof, the first eospresseth the Authors 
sufferance in Loue: the latter, his long farewell to Loue and 
cUl his tyrannic. Composed by Thomas Watson Gentleman; 
and published at the request of certaine Oentlemen his very 

London. Imprinted by John Wolfe for Gabriel! Cawood, 
dwellinge in Paules Churchyard at the Signe of the Holy 
Ghost. [1581]. 4to. Reprinted for the Spenser Society. 1869. 
4to. British Museum. By Edward Arber {English Reprints), 
1870. 12mo. 

Dedicated " To the Bight Honorable my very good Lord 
Edward deVere, Earle of Oxenford, Vicount Bulbecke, Lord 
of Escales, and Badlesmere, and Lord High Chamberlaine of 
England, all happinesse.^' 

W^atson introduces each ' Passion ' with a brief explanatory 


note in which he carefully acknowledges his indebtedness to 
other writers, if any obtains, and sets forth what variations he 
has made in the form. The Italian poets drawn upon, besides 
Petrarch, are Messer Agnolo Fiorenzuola, Girolamo Parabosoo, 
Serafino d'Aquila (Aquilano), Eroole Strozzi, and Giovanni 
Pontano. It should be noted that, although the poems are 
sometimes called 'sonnets/ they are not sonnets strictly speak- 
ing. Each Passion consists of eighteen lines, divided into 
three six-line stanzas, a quatrain followed by a couplet. Pas- 
sions VI, Lxvi and xc are done into Latin hexameters. 

" The Authors sufferance in Loue " (Part I) is described at 
length in a wreath of eighty ' Passions/ while ^^ My Loue is 
Past " (Part II) is hurried over in the last twenty. 

Passion V. 

If 't bee not loue I feele, what is it then ? 

Except verses eleven and twelve, this Passion is translated 
from Petrarch, Sonetto 88, Parte Prima, 

S'amor non I; che drnique I qud, cK t' sentof 

Chaucer gives a version of this sonnet, in Troylus and Ory^ 
seyde. Liber primus, LVin and lix. Oantua Droili. 

Passion VI. 
Hoe si non sit amor, quod persentisco, quid ergo estf 
The same sonnet of Petrarch done into Latin. 

Passion VII. 

Harke you that list to heare what sainte I serue ? 

Partly imitated from ^^ Aeneas Silvius, who setteth down 
the like in describing Lucretia the loue of Euryalus,'' and 
partly from Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, Qmto vn, the descrip- 
tion of Alcina, 


Passion XX. 
In time long past, when in Dianaes chase 

^'In this passion the Authour being joyful! for a kisse, 
which he had receiued of his Loue, compareth the same unto 
that kisse, which sometime Venus bestowed upon Aesculapius, 
for hauing taken a Bramble out of her foote, which pricked 
her through the hidden spitefuU deoeyte of Diana, by whom 
it was laied in her way, as Strozza writeth." 

Passion XXI. 
Who list to vewe dame Natures cunning skill. 

Imitated from Petrarch, iSbne^ 190, parte primaj 
Chi vuol veder quantunqtie pud NaJtwra, 
and also from a atramboUo of Serafino, 

Chi tmol veder gr<m cose aUiere & nwme. 

Passion XXII. 
When werte thou borne sweet Loue? who was thy sire? 

From Serafino, Sonetto 127, with variations, ** to make the 
rest to seeme the more patheticall,'' 

Quando naacedi amorf qaando la terra 
8e rinueste di verde e bel colore; 

Passion XXIII. 

Thou Glasse, wherein that Sunne delightes to see 
Her own aspect, whose beams baue dride my hart. 

The figure of the burning glass in the last couplet is taken 
from Serafino Aquilano, 

Che ho vido ogni qwd vetro render foco 
Quando ^ dal 8olperoos8o in qualche parte. 


Passion XXIIIL 
Thou glasse^ wherein my Dame bath such delight^ 
Imitated still from Serafino's strambotti. 

Passion XXXII. 
In Thetis lappe^ while Titan tooke his ret^t. 
Suggested bj Eroole Strozzi's Somnium. 

Passion XXXIIIL 

Ye stately Dames^ whose beauties farre ezoelly 

Imitated from Agnolo Fiorenzuola, Sondto 2, 
A Sdvaggia, Nelle rime di me88erAgnohFiorenzuolaFu)rentino, 

Deh le mie belle donne et amorosey 

Passion XXXIX. 

When first these eyes beheld with great delight 

The second stanza of this Passion, 

^ I haue attempted oft to make complainte/ 

is borrowed from the sestet of Petrarch's Sonetto xvi, parte 


Piil voUe gid per dir le labbra aperri: 

Passion XL. 
I joy not peace, where yet no warre is found ; 

From Petrarch, Sonetto 90, parte primaj 

Pace non trovo^ e rum ho da far guerra; 

This sonnet of Petrarch's seems to have become to the Eliza- 
bethans a typical expression for the sorrows of love. TotUTe 
Miecdlany contains two translations of it, Wyatt's Description 
of the oontrarious Paedons in a Ixmer^ and a second version by 


one of the *'Unoertayne Auctores/' Then Ghtsooigne tries his 
hand in The Strange Passion of a Lover. In Richard Edwards's 
The Paradise of Dainty DevieeSf 1676, many lines of the same 
sonnet appear in a poem entitled, In Quest of my Relief hy R. 
H. (Richanl Hill.) 

Robert Southwell, the poet priest, writing in prison, What 
Jay to Live (in St. Peter^s Complaint)^ gives a spiritual signifi- 
cance to the verses ; it is of another love, of another life, that 
the Catholic martyr speaks : — 

I wage no war, yet peace I none enjoy : 
I hope, I fear, I fry in freezing cold. 

I mount in mirth, still prostrate in annoy. 
I all the world embrace, yet nothing hold. 

Passion XLIII. 

The Salamander Hues in fire and flame, 

From Serafino's strambotto, 

Se Salamandrain fiamma viue^ e infuoco, 

Passion XLVII. 

In time the Bull is broughte to weare the yoake; 
In time all haggred Haukes will stoope the Lures ; 

These two opening lines are imitated fix)m Serafino, Sonetto 


Cbl tempo el Villanello al giogo m^na 

El Tor sifierOy e si crvdo animale^ 

Cbl tempo el Falcon tfusa d mmar Vale 

E ritomare d ie chiamando d pena. 

Passion LV. 

My heedelesse hart which Loue yet neuer knew. 

Out of Serafino, Sonetto 63, 

Oome alma assai bramosa & pooo acoortaj 


Passion LVI. 

Come gentle Death ; who cals ? one thats opprest : 

The first stanza imitates Serafino's stramboUOy 

Morte: che vuoif te bramo: Eccomi appresso; 
the second stanza^ another drambotto by the same poet, 
Amor, amor: chi h gud che chiama tanlot 

Passion LXI. 

If Loue had lost his shaftes, and loue downe threw 
His thundring boltes, 

From Serafino, Sonetto 125, 

S' el gran tormento ifierjulmini aooegi 
Perduti hauessiy 

Passion LXV. 

Who knoweth not, how often Venus sonne 
Hath forced Juppiter to leaue his seate? 

The last stanza, 

' From out mj Mistres eyes, two lightsome starres,' 
is imitated from Girolamo Parabosco, 

Occhi tuoi, anzi stelle alme, AfataUy 

Passion LXVI. 
Dum coelumj dum terra tacetj ventuaque sile9cU, 

From Petrarch, Sonetto cxin, parte prima, 

Or, dufl del, e la terra, e^l vento taoe, 
which Petrarch imitated from Virgil's beautiful lines contrast- 
ing the hush of night with Dido's tumult of soul immediately 
before her suicide, 

Nox erat, et taciium carpAant fesea soporem 
Corpora per terras, eUvaeqae d mieva quiera/nt 


Aeqtwra, quum medio volvtmtur ddera lapsu^ 
Quum tacet omnia ager; 

AenddoSy Lib. iv, 622-526. 

Passion LXXI. 
Alas deere Titus mine^ my aancient frend, 

** The Authour writeth this Sonnet unto his very friend^ 
calling him by the name of Titus^ as if him selfe were 

The allusion is to BoocaceiO; II Decameroney x, 8. 

Passion LXXVII. 

Time wasteth yeeres, and month's, and howr's : 

Out of Serafino, Sonetto 132, 

Ool tempo passa gli anni, i mesi, e Phore, 

Passion LXXVIII. 

What scowling cloudes haue ouercast the skie, 

Imitated from Agnolo Fiorenzuola, 

belle donney prendam pietade^ 

Passion LXXXV (of My Love is Past). 

The souldiar wome with warres, delightes in peace ; 

From the Latin of Ercole Strozzi, 

Unda hie surU Lachrimae, VerUi su^spiriaj Remi 
Votay Error velum, Mens mcUesana Batia, 

Passion LXXXVI. 

Sweete liberty restores my woonted joy, 

Based on a letter written by Aeneas Silvius to a friend 
repenting of having '^ published the wanton loue of Lucretia 
and Euryalus.'^ 


Passion LXXXIX. 

Loae hath delight in sweete delicious fare ; 

This passion is made up of sentential verses^ mostly from 
classical authors, but the ninth verse renders Pontano's 
Si vacuum sineret perfidious amoTj 
Loue thinkes in breach of faith there is no fault. 

Passion XC. 

Me sibi ter binoa annos unumque aubegit 
Dinus Amor; 

A paraphrastic translation of Petrarch, Sonetto 84, parte 


TennemiAmor anni verUwno ardendo, 

Lieto net f 000, 

Passion XCI. 

Ye captiue soules of blindefold Cyprians boate, 

Imitated from Agnolo Fiorenzuola, 
miseri oohro, 

Che rum prouar di donna fede mai : 
Fiorenzuola had already imitated Horace, Liber i. Carmen y, 
Ad Pyrrham, 
12 IRseri, quibua 

Inteniata nites! Me tabula ea^cer 
VoUva paries indioat uvida 
16 SiAspendisse potenti 

Vestimenta maris deo. 

Passion XCIII. 

My loue is past, woe woorth the day and how'r 

The intricate poetical form of this Passion, in which the 
second and third stanzas exactly follow the first as to first 


and last syllables throughout, is copied from the Italian 

Passion XCIIIL 

I Curse the time, wherein these lips of mine 

From Serafino, 

Biastemo qtmndo mai le labbra aperai 

Passion XCIX. 

The haughtie Aegle Birde, of Birdes the best, 

From Serafino, Sonetto 1, ''<& grownded upon that, which 
Aristotle writeth of the Aegle, for the proofe she maketh of 
her birdes, by setting them to behold the Sonne. After whom 
Pliny hath written, as foloweth." {Nat, Hid.y lib. 30, cap. 1). 

Passion C. 

Resolu'd to dust intomb'd heere lieth Loue, 

Imitated from Girolamo Parabosco's Epitaph of Loue, 

In centre giace qui aepoUo Amore, 
The epilogue, ^' more like a praier than a Passion,^' 
Lugeo iam qaendus vitae tot histra perada, 
is " faithfully translated out of Petrarch,'^ S(metto 85, parte 

I td piangendo i miei paseaJti tempi ^ 

Thomas Watson was a poet of rare gifts who had the singu- 
lar fortune of being named among the first by his contempo- 
raries, and of being consigned to oblivion almost immediately 
afterwards. Three years after his early death, Spenser pays 
tribute to his memory in Oolin Clonts come home again, 1596 :— 
"Amyntas, flower of shepherds' pride forlorn. 
He, whilst he liued, was the noblest swain 
That ever pip6d in an oaten quill : 
Both did he other, which could pipe, maintain, 
And eke himself could pipe, with passing skill/' 


Nash, in Haue wUh you to Saffron Waldeuj 1596, writes of 
him, ^' for all things [he] hath left few his equalls in Eng- 
land;'' and Meres, Wit8 Treasuries 1598, says, ^^as Italy had 
Dante, Boceaoe, Petrarch, Tasso, Celiano, and Ariosto, so 
England had Matthew RoydoD, Thomas Atchelow, Thomas 
Watson, Thomas Kyd, Robert Greene and Greorge Pede." 

The Spenser Society's fine edition of the PassumaJte Oenturie 
of Loue, 1869, together with Mr. Arber's appreciative reprint 
of this and the other poems in the following year, have brought 
him once more into notice. 

Palgrave, in reviewing the Arber reprint, puts Watson in 
the first rank of the Elizabethan '^Amourists," below Sidney, 
bat above Spenser, and excepting Shakspere, always and in 
every circumstance a class by himself. 

See Thomas Watson the Poet, F. T. Palgrave, The North 
American Remew, January, 1872. 

1585. AmynUis Thomae Waisoni LondinensiSj L V. Studiosi. 
Nemini daiur amare simul et sapere. 

Excudebat Henricus Marsh, ex assignatione Thomae Marsh. 
1585. 8vo. (12mo. Hazlitt. 16mo. Arber.) 27 leaves. British 

Dedicated, ' Henrico Noello ' and ^Ad Lectorem.' 

Amyntas and Aminia£ Oaudia (1592) are Latin el^ac 
eclogues, after the manner of Petrarch in his Latin pastorals, 
and of the once famous Mantuan through whom the traditions 
of English pastoral poetry really descend. 

See Fraunce's The Lamentations of Amyntas for (he Death of 
Phillis, 1587, and The Oountesse of Pembrokes Ivychurchy Part 
II, Phillis Funeral, 1 591 ; also, The Eglogs of the Poet B. Man- 
tuan Oarmelitanj 1567. 

1586. Albums England. Or Historioai Map of the same 
Island: prosecuted from the Hues Ades and Labors of Saiume, 
Jupiter y Hercules J and Aeneas : Originalles of the Bruton, and 
Englishmen^ and oooa^sion of the Brutons their first aryvaU in 


Albion. Containing the same Historic unto the Tribute to the 
RomaineSj Entrie of the SaaoneSy Invasion by the Danes, and 
Ckmquest by the Normaines, With HidoricaU Intermixtures, 
Inuention, and Varietie proffiUiblyy briefly and pleasantly, per- 
formed in Verse and Prose by William Warner. 

Imprinted at London bj George Kobinson for Thomas Cad- 
man, dwelling at the great North-doore of S. Paules Church 
at the signe of the Bjble. [Colophon.] Imprinted at London 
by Greorge Robinson for Thomas Cadman. Anno Do. 1686. 
4to. 65 leaves. £raw?e« (First Part only). Also, 1589. 4to. 
Black letter. British Museum, HvJth. Rev. T. Oorser (First 
and Second Parts). 1592. 4to. Black letter. Brit. Mus. 
(Dedicated to Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon). 1596. 4to. 
176 leaves. Brit. Mus,, Bridgewaier House. 1597. 4to. 176 
leaves. Brit. Mus. (2 copies). 1602. 4to. 252 leaves. Brit. 
Mus. (First complete edition, in 13 Books, (2 copies)). 1606. 
4to. (A Continuance of Albions England, dedicated to Sir 
Edward Coke). 1612. 4to. Brit. Mus. (Last edition). 

Three stanzas of Book V, Chapter xxvn, of AUnon^s JEng- 
landy very unexpectedly render into English U Decamerone, 
IX, 2 ; Levasi una badessa infretta. See Twyne's The Schoole- 
master, 1576. 

1 587. The Lamentations of Amyntasfor the death of PhiUis : 
Paraphrastically translated out of Latine into English Hexor- 
meters, by Abraham Fraunce, Newelie Corrected. 

London. Printed by John Charlewood for Thomas New- 
man and Thomas Gubbin. Anno Dom. 1588. 4to. 20 leaves. 
Also, 1587. 4to. Bodleian. 1589. 4to. 1596. 4to. 

The 1 588 edition, whose title is here given, is in the Huih 
Library. The British Museum has recently acquired (1894) 
the only known copy of the 1596 edition. It was discovered 
in a collection of rare English books, chiefly of belles lettres, 
of the time of Elizabeth and James I., in 1867, by Mr. C. 
Edmonds, at Lamport Hall, Northamptonshire, the seat of 
Sir Charles Ibham Bart. — The Academy, August 10, 1895. 


The translation is dedicated to the Countess of Pembroke. 
See Thomas Watson's iimy7i^^ 1585, and Fraanoe's The Oovn- 
tease of Pembrokes Ivychurchy Part II, 1591. 

1 688. Musica Transalpirui, Alius. Madrigales transUded of 
foureyfvae and sixe partSj chosen out of diners excellent Authors, 
foith the first and second part of La VergineBay made by Maister 
Byrdy upo7i two Stans^s of AriostOy and brought to speake Eng- 
lish with the rest. Published by N. Yonge, infauour of such as 
take pleasure in musicke of voices. 

Imprinted at London by Thomas East, the assign^ of Wil- 
liam Byrd, 1588. Cum Priuil^io Regiae Maiestatis. 6 parts. 
4to. Fifty-seven songs. 

Dedicated to Gilbert, Lord Talbot, son and heir of George, 
Earl of Shrewsbury. 

"I endeavored,^' says Yonge, "to get into my hands all 
such English songes as were praise worthie, and amongst 
others I had the hap to find in the hands of some of my good 
friends certaine Italian Madrigales translated most of diem 
five years ago by a gentleman for his private delight.'' 

La Verginella. 


The fayre yong virgin is like the rose untainted, 
In garden faire while tender stalk doth beare it ; 

Sole and untoucht, with no resort acquainted. 

No shepherd nor his flock doth once come neere it : 

Th' ayre full of sweetnesse, the morning fresh depainted, 
The earth the water with all their fauours cheer it : 

Daintie yong gallants, and ladyes most desired, 

Delight to haue therewith their head and breasts attyred. 


But not soone from greene stock where it growed. 
The same is pluckt and from the same remoued ; 


As lost is all from heauen and earth that flowed^ 
Both fauour grace and beauty best beloued : 

The virgin faire that hath the flower bestowed, 
Which more than life to gard it her behowed ; 

Loseth hir praise, and is no more desired 
Of those that late unto hir loue aspired. 

La Vergindla is of more than passing interest, quite apart 
from its sentiment and grace of expression, because it is proba- 
bly the earliest English madrigal. At least I have met with 
no earlier example of this form of composition, and its being 
mentioned particularly in the title of a collection of fiftynaeven 
madrigals would seem to indicate that some special importance 
was attached to it. 

William Byrd, 1538 (?)-l 623, the composer, shared with 
Thomas Tallis the honorary post of organist to the Chapel 
Boyal. Although royal organist through the national change 
of religion, he remained a Roman Catholic, and composed 
many church services, among them the well-known canon, 
Non nobis, DominCj traditionally said to be preserved in the 
Vatican engraved on a golden plate. 

1597. Musica Tranaalpina, Oantua. The Seoonde Boohe of 
MadrigaUeSy to 6 & 6 voices: translated otU of sundrie Italian 
Authors & Newly pvhlished by Nicholas Yonge. 

At London. Printed by Thomas Este. 1597. 4to. 6 
parts. Twenty-four songs. 

Dedicated to Sir Henry Lennard, Knight. 

In the following madrigal, from the second book, the lover 
has some remnant of philosophy lefl, — 

Brown is my loue, but graceful ! and each renowned whiteness 
Matcht with thy lovely brown, looseth his brightness. 
Fair is my love, but scornfull ! yet haue I seen despised 
Dainty white lillies, and sad flowers well prised. 


Another lare-MM^ of die Mine book iBineverjmmf 

So ontfa mj £ur and betotifiil Lieoris, wlien now juid then 

Widi me of lone ; kme is a ^Mite tliit walkediy 
That 0oan and fliea, and none alioe can hold him, 
Kor toodi him, nor behold him ; 
Yet when her eyes Ae tometh, 
I tfj where he flcgoomedi ; 

Id her ejea, these he flies ; 

Bat none can touch him, 

mi on her lips he ooodi him ; 

Bat Done can catdi him. 

Till from her lips he fetch him. 

Ongura LUeraria,Yoh IX, p. 5 (Ed. 1809). 

1590. Superiw. The ford sM of Italian MadrigaOa £h^ 
Ushed, not to the sense of the original diMej but qflar the affection 
of the Noaie. By Thomas Watson^ CfenUeman. There are also 
heere inserted two exceUeni MadrigaUs of Master William ByrdSj 
composed after the Italian vaine^ at the reqtieste of the sayd 
Thomas Watson. 

ImpriDted at London by Thomas Este, the assigne of Wil- 
liam Bjrd, & are to be sold at the house of the sayd T. Este, 
being in Aldersgate street, at the signe of tlie Black Horse. 
1690. Cum priuilegio Begiae Maiestatis. Six parts. 4to. 

Each part is dedicated by Watson in Latin verse to Bobert 
Devereux, Earl of Essex, and on the back of the title there is 
another inscription in Latin verse to a musical friend, Luca 
Marenzio, the author of the harmony, which Watson, in his 
lines to Essex, describes as ^'Marenzaeos cantus." Luca 
Marenzio was the greatest madrigal writer of the time. 

The " two excellent Madrigalls of Master William Byrds '* 
are two settings, for four and six voices, of 


This sweet and merry month of May, 
While nature wantons in her pryme, 

And birds do sing and beasts do play, 
For pleasure of the ioyfull time, 

I choose the first for holy daie. 

And greet Eliza with a ryme; 

O beauteous Queene of second Troy, 

Take well in worth a simple toy. 

Another madrigal alludes to the death of Sir Philip Sidney : 

How long with vaine complayning ; 

How long with dreary teares and joyes refraining ; 

Shall we renewe his dying, 

Whose happy soull is flying ; 

Not in a place of sadness. 

But of etemall gladnes ; 

Sweet Sydney lines in heau'n. O ! therefore let our weeping 

Be tum'd to hymns and songs of plesant greeting. 

There are twenty-eight songs in all. 
Cenaura lAterariayYol. ix, p. 1 (Ed. 1809). 

1591. Orlando Furioso in English Heroical Verse, by John 
Harington [Sir John Harington], [Colophon.] 

Imprinted at London by Richard Field, dwelling in the 
Blackfriers, by Ludgate. 1591. Folio. 225 leaves. British 
Museum, (3 copies). Also, 1607. Folio. British Museum, 
and 1634. Folio. 248 leaves. British Museum. The last 
edition contains Sir John Harington's Epigrams, printed 
twice before, 1618 and 1625. 

Dedicated to Queen Elizabeth. 

Harington's translation is in the octave stanza of Ariosto, 
and is magnificently illustrated, the engraved title containing 
portraits of Ariosto and of Sir John Harington and his dog. 
The engravings, although sometimes said to be English, were 
in fact printed from the Italian plates of Girolamo Porro, of 


Padua, and had been used before in Italy. The plates are 
worn and unequal in the editions of 1607 and 1634. Stanzas 
1-50 of Book xxxiT. were translated by Francis Harington, 
younger brother to Sir John. 

Six plays may be referred to Orlando FuriaaOy five of them 
later in date than Sir John Harington's translation : 

(1) Ariodante and Oeneuoraj acted Jan. 12, 1682, before 
Queen Elizabeth and her Court. 

From Orlando Furioso^ Canto v. 

(2) The History of Orlando Furioao. 1594. 4to. Robert 

Founded on an episode in Canto xxm. This play was 
acted at the Rose in 1591, Edward Alleyn taking the part 
of Orlando. 

(3) Much Ado About Nothing. 1600. 4to. Shakspere. 

The story of Claudio and Hero is the same as that of Ario- 
dante and Greneuora in Ariosto. Shakspere may have taken 
the plot from Belleforest's Histoires Tragiqaes, vol. in, based 
on Bandello, i, 22, the tale of S. Timbreo di Oardona, but the 
personation of Hero by Margaret is probably borrowed from 
Harington's translation. 

(4) The Temped. 1623. Folio. Shakspere. 

Suggests the shipwreck of Ruggiero, the hermit's desert 
island, and the reconciliation between Ruggiero and Orlando. 
Orlando Farioso, Cantos xu. and xun. 

(5) Sioelides. 1631. 4to. Phineas Fletcher. 

Atyches rescuing Olinda from the ore imitates Orlando 
Farioao, Canto x, where Ruggiero delivers Angelica from the 

(6) The Sea Voyage. 1647. Folio. John Fletcher. 

The commonwealth of women is traceable to the Aigo- 
nautic legend of Hypsipyle on Lemnos, reproduced in Orlando 
FuriosOf Canto xx. 

1591. The Oountesae of Pembrokea Ivychurch. Oonteining 
the cfffeotionaie life and unfortunale death of PhilUs and Amyn- 


tas: That in a PaatoraU; This in a FuneraU: both in English 
Hexameters, By Abraham Fraunce. 

London. Printed by Thomas Orwyn for William Pon- 
sonby^ dwelling in Paules Churchyard, at the signe of the 
Bishops head. 1591. 4to. 48 leaves. British Museum, (2 
copies). Bodleian, Huth. 

Dedicated "To the right excellent^ and most honorable 
Ladie^ the Ladie Marie^ Countesse of Pembroke.^' 

Fraunce says, in his Dedicatory Epistle, " I have somewhat 
altered S. [ignor] Tassoes Italian & M. [aster] Watson's 
Latine Amyntas to make them one English.^' The first 
part, the Pastoral], as far as Act V, Sc. 2, is a close transla- 
tion of Tasso's ilmtnto, acted at Ferrara in 1573; the second 
part, ' Phillis Funeral,' is a reprint, the fourth edition, of 
Fraunce's older translation of Thomas Watson's Amyntas, 
called The Lamentations of Amyntas, 1587. 

The Third Part of the Countesse of Pembrokes Ivychurch: 
Entitxdedy Amintas Dale, Wherein are the mmt conceited tales 
of the Pax/an Gods in English Hexameters: together with their 
aundent descriptions and Philosophical explications. By Abra- 
ham Fraunce, 

At London. Printed [by Thomas Orwyn] for Thomas 
Woodcocke, dwelling in Paules Church-yeard, at the signe 
of the black Beare. 1592. 4to. 61 leaves. British Museum, 
(2 copies). HiUh, 

Dedicated to the Countess of Pembroke, in grandiloquent 
Latin hexameters. This work is in both prose and verse, and 
resembles in plan Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, Abraham 
Fraunce was highly esteemed as a poet by Sir Philip Sidney. 

1591. Complaints, Containing sundrie small Poemes of the 
Worlds Vanitie, Whereof the nexte Page maJceth mention. By 
Ed. Sp. 

London. Imprinted for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in 
Paules Churchyard at the signe of the Bishops head. 1691. 


4to. 91 leaves. British MiLseum, (3 copies). 1882. 8vo. 
The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Edmund Spenser, 
Vol. Ill (Grosart). 

This is a miscellaDeous collection of poems put forth by 
Spenser's publisher a year after the appearance of the first 
three books of The Faery Queene. The several poems are 
dedicated to the Countess of Pembroke, and to Spenser's kins- 
women, Lady Strange, Lady Carey, and Lady Compton and 

Number 8, The Visions of Bellay, and Number 9, The Visions 
of Petrarchy " formerly translated " from Du Bellay and Pe- 
trarch, had been printed twenty-two years before, in Van der 
Noot's A Theatre wherein be represented as wel the miseries & 
calamities that follow the voluptuoiLS WorUUingSy As also the 
greate ioyes and plesures which the faithfuU do enjoy, 1569. 
This volume is dedicated to Queen Elizabeth, and is enriched 
by sixteen engravings on wood, in illustration of the Visions 
of Petrarch and Du Bellay contained in it. Each engrav- 
ing is accompanied by verses, called Epigrams and Sonnets. 
Petrarch's Visions, a series of seven sonnets, is a translation of 
his canzone, — 

Standomi un giomo solo alia fenestra {Canzone 42, of SoneUi 
e Canzoni in iforte di Madonna Laura), 

The verses are without Spenser's name, but as they appear, 
with alterations, in the Complaints, they have been very gener- 
ally accepted as the earliest printed work of the poet, then a 
boy in his seventeenth year. The sonnets from Petrarch are 
almost exactly the same as in Van der Noot, but the Visions 
of Du Bellay are changed from blank verse to rimed sonnets. 
They are translations, fifteen in all, from a collection of forty- 
seven French sonnets entitled, — 

Antiquiiez de Rome, contenant une generate description de sa 
grandeur, et comme une deploration de sa ruine, . . . Plus un 
Songe ou vision sur le mesme subject, 

Paris. Federic Morel. 1558. 4to. British Museum, 


1592. AmirUae Gaudia^ Avihore Thomd Watsono Londi- 
nensiy Juris studioso, 

Londini: Imprimis Guilhelmi Ponsonbei. 1692. 4to. 
Bodleian. British Museum, [In Latin hexameters.] 

Dedicated, "Mariae Penbrokiae Countissae," by C. M. 
Hazlitt suggests that C. M. may have been Christopher 

George Peele, writing shortly after the early death of Wat- 
son, in 1593, says: 

Watson, worthy many Epitaphes 

For his sweet Poesie, for Amintas teares 

And joyes so well set downe. 

Ad Maecaenatum Prologua, in The Honour of the Garter, 
Francis Meres, in his Palladia Tamiay or Wits Treasurie, 
1598, says: 

"As Theocritus in Greeke, Virgil and Mantuan in Latine, 
Sanazar in Italian, and the Authour of Amyrdae Gaudia and 
Walsingham's Meliboeua are the best for pastorall.^' 

1594. Godfrey ofBulloigney or the Mecouerie of IBervsalem. 
An HeroicaU poeme wriUen in Italian by Seig. Torquato Tasso, 
and translaied into English by R, C. Esquire: And now tlie first 
part containing fiue Cantos, Imprinted in both Languages, 

London. Imprinted by John Windet for Christopher Hunt 
of Exceter. 1594. 4to. 120 leaves. British Museum, Also, 
1817. 12mo. (Fourth Book, accompanying Fairfax's trans- 
lation). British Museum. 1881. 4to. A. B. Grosart, (62 
copies only). 

A translation of the first five cantos of Tasso's La Genisa- 
lemme LiberaJUij 1580. It is more noteworthy for its faithful- 
ness to the original than for its poetry ; the verse is always 
r^ular and is set in the Italian stanza. R. C. is Richard 
Carew of Anthony, author of the Survey of OomwaU. 

II. Godfrey of BiUhigne was acted July 19, 1594, while 
Godfrey of BuUoigne, with the Qmquest of Jerusalem, was 


entered on Register By for John Danter^ June 19, 1594. 
Fleay {Chronicle of the English i)rama, Vol. n, p. 302) thinks 
this must have been the First Part of the same play, and may 
have been identical with the old play called Jerusalem, of 
March 22, 1592, retained by Henslow from Lord Strangers 

The Four Prentices of Londoriy with the Conquest of Jerusa- 
fern, by Thomas Hey wood, was acted before 1615, at the Eed 
Bull, and printed in 1615 and 1632. 

Kirkman's Catalogue, 1661, mentions a tragedy, entitled 
The Destruction of Jerusalem^ which was written by Thomas 
Legge, and acted in 1577 at Coventry. 

1596. I)iella,Certaine Sonnets, adioyned to the anu)rotisPoeme 
ofDom Diego and Oineura. By R. [ichard] L. [jfnchel Gentle- 
man. Ben balla, d chifortuna suona. 

At London, Printed for Henry Olney, and are to be sold 
at his shop in Fleetstreete neer the Middle-temple gate. 1596. 
8vo. 44 leaves. Bodleian. British Museum, (16 mo.) 

The '^ amorous Poeme of Dom Di^o and Gineura^' is taken 
from Bandello, i, 27, Don Diego de la sua Donna sprezzaio, 
ud d starsi in una Gfrotta; e come n'tMcl. The romance is 
related by Painter, PaJUice ofPlea^sure, 1 567, n, 29, Dom Diego 
and Oineura; by Fenton, Certaine TragicaU Discourses, 1567, 
No. 13,-4 toonderfuU constancie in Dom Diego; and by Whet- 
stone, Rocke of Regard, 1576, 2, The Garden of Unthriftinesse, 
wherein is reported the dolorous discourse of Dom Diego a 
Spaniard, together with his triumphe, 

Thomas Procter's A gorgious Gallery of gaJlant Inuentions, 
1578, mentions Dom Di^o in the poem, entitled The Louer 
wounded with his Ladies beauty craueth mercy. To the Tune of 
where is the life that late I led. 

1597. Canzonets. Or LUile Short Songs to foure vayces: 
cdeded out of the best and approved Italian Authors by Thomas 
Morley, Gent, of her Majesties Chappell. 


Imprinted at London by Peter Short, dwelling on Bred- 
streete hill at the signe of the Star and are there to be sold. 
1697. 4to. British Museum. 

Dedicated " to the WorshipfuU Maister Henrie Tapsfield, 
Citizen and Grocer, of the Cittie of London — I hartily intreat 
you to accept these poore Canzonets, by me collected from 
diners excellent Italian Authours, for the honest recreation of 
yourselfe and others." 

Thomas Morley, bom about 1557, died about 1604, was a 
pupil of William Byrd, organist of St. PauPs, and succes- 
sively epistler and gospeler to the Chapel Royal. He wrote 
seven books of canzonets or madrigals, 1593 to 1600; APlaine 
and Easie Introduction to PracticaU Musickcy 1597 ; and edited, 
1601, Madrigals, The Triumphs of Orianay a collection of 
twenty-five madrigals in honor of Queen Elizabeth. 

One of Morley *s airs, in The First Boohe of Aires, etc., 1600, 
is a setting of the second page's song in As You Like It, y, 3, 
^^ It was a lover and his lass,'' which is extremely interesting 
as one of the few pieces of original Shaksperean music that 
has survived. 

A single canzonet from this collection occurs in Brydges's 
Censura LiterariayYol. x, p. 298 : — 

When lo ! by break of morning. 

My love her self adorning, 

Doth walk the woods so dainty, 

Gathering sweet violets and cowslips plenty. 

The birds enamour'd, sing and praise my Flora, 

Lo ! here a new Aurora. 

A few more songs may be found in the British Bibliogror- 
pheTyWol. I, pp. 344-5, where one canzonet. 

Long hath my loue bene kept from my delighting, 

is ascribed to Felice Anerio, 1560 (?)-l 630 (?), a celebrated 
composer of sacred madrigals, and organist to the pontifical 
chapel in Rome. 


1597. Tiffo Tales, Translated out of Ariosto. The one in 
Dispraise of Men, the other in Disgrace of Women: With cer" 
tain other Italian Stames and Proverbs. By R. [obert] T. 
[ofte] Gentleman. 

Printed at London by Valentine Sims^ dwelling on Adling 
hill at the signe of the white Swanne. 1597. 4to. 16 leaves. 

1597. Virgidemiarum Sixe Bookes, First three Bookes, of 
Tooth'lesse Satyrs. 1, Poeticall. £. Academical. S. Morall. 

London. Printed by John Harison, for Robert Dexter. 

Virgidemiarum : The three last Bookes. Of by ting Satyres. 
Corrected and am/ended with some additions by J. H. [Joseph 
Hall, successively Bishop of Exeter and of Norwich], 

Imprinted at London for Robert Dexter, at the signe of 
the Brazen Serpent in Paules Churchyard. 1599. 

Certaine Worthy e Manuscript Poems, of great AntiquUie, Re- 
serued long in the Studie of a Northfoike Gentlema,n, And now 
first published by J, S. 

Imprinted at Loudon for R. D. 1597. Sm. 8vo. 

These three publications, though always found in one vol- 
ume, have different titles and signatures. The first three 
books of Satires originally appeared in 1597, the last three in 
1598. The Huth Library copy, whose title-page is here given, 
is the third edition of Books i-iii, and the second of Books 

Of the Certaine Worihye Manuscript Poems there was only 
a single impression, dedicated ''To the worthiest Poet Maister 
Ed. Spenser." 

The poems are three in number, — 

The statly tragedy of Guistard and Sismxmd. 

The Northern Mothers Blessing. 

The way to Thrifte. 

The statiy tragedy of Ouistard and Sismond is taken from 
the Decameron, rv, 1, and is a reprint of a metrical version 
of the romance made by William Walter, a poet of the time of 


Henry VII. Walter's poem, which is in octave stanza, was 
based on a Latin prose translation, Epidola Leonardi AreUm 
de amove Ouidardi, etc. [1480?], and is entitled. The amorous 
History of Guystarde and Sygysmonde, and of their dolorous 
Deth by her Father. It was printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 
1532. Roxburghe Club. 1818. 

The romance of Ghiiscardo and Ghismonda was very popu- 
lar in Italian dramatic literature, and no less than five different 
tragedies on this subject were written between 1608 and 1614. 
Three of them are called Taneredi, one La PamfiUiy while 
still another. La Ohismonda^ obtained a temporary fame by 
being attributed by its author, Silvano de' Razzi, to Tasso. 

Two Elizabethan plays carry the tragedy over into English 
literature, — 

Tancred and Gismundy a tragedy, by Robert Wilmot, acted 
before the Court, at the Inner Temple, in 1568, and printed 
in 1592, quarto. It is the oldest extant Elizabethan play 
founded on an Italian novella. 

Tancredj by Sir Henry Wotton, written at Queen's College, 
Oxford, in 1586-7, and not extant. 

Both of these plays are probably founded on Painter's prose 
translation, Gismonda and Guiscardo, Palace of Pleasure, i, 
39. Dryden versified the romance in his Fables, as Sigismonda 
and Guiscardo, 

There are two eighteenth century tragedies on the theme, 
The Oruel Gift, or the Royal Resentment, by Susannah Cent- 
livrc. 1717. 12mo., and Tancred and Sigismunda, by James 
Thomson. 1745. 8vo. 

Hogarth, 1763, painted Sigismonda weeping over the heart 
of her lover. (National Grallery, London.) 

1698. Orlando inamorato. The three first Boohes of thai 
famous Noble Gentlernan and learned Poet, Mathew Maria 
Boiardo Earle of Scandiano in Lombardie. By R. \obert'\ T. 
[q/fe] Gentleman. Parendo impero Imperando pereo. 


Printed at London by Valentine Sims, dwelling on Adling 
hil at the signe of the white Swanne. 1698. Sm. 4to. British 

*^ Orlando InamoraJto is singularly unequal; but shows famil- 
iarity with the language and dexterity of versification/' 

A. B. Grosart. OcoasUmal Issuea. Vol. xn. 

He Orlando Inamorato appeared about 1495, in three books^ 
the last incomplete. 

I do not know whether Tofle translated from the original 
Boiardoy or from one of the two rifadmenti that exist, Francesco 
Bemi's elegant poem, or Domenichi's poor one that superseded 
that. Grosart gives no information on this point, and his 
biography of Robert Tofte, in the volume of Occasional Issues 
just cited, is probably the completest account of the poet that 
we have. Blackwood's reviewer of Rose's The Orlando Inn- 
amftrato Translated into Prose from the Italian of Francesco 
Bemiy 1823, had never heard of Tofte's translation, for he 
says, *^ no English attempt whatever had hitherto been made, 
either upon Boiardo himself, or his rifaxsciatore Berni." 

Blackwood^e. Vol. xm. March, 1823. 

The story of Iroldo and Tisbina of Babylon, which is related 
to Rinaldo by Fiordelisa, Orlando Innamorato, Book i. Canto 
12, is the well-known romance of Dianora and AnsaldOj or 
the Enchanted GardeUy Decamerony x, 5, but the ^ question ' 
finds a different, and poorer, solution in the Renaissance poet. 
In Boccaccio, and after him, in Chaucer's Franklin's Tale^ the 
lover, overcome by the husband's generosity, releases the lady 
from her promise. In Boiardo, the husband and wife take 
poison in order to die together ; but the drug turns out to be 
harmless, whereupon Iroldo voluntarily quits Babylon for life, 
and Tisbina, who had just been on the point of dying for one 
husband, incontinently takes another, Prasildo. 

Leigh Hunt made a translation of the romance in his Stories 
from the Italian Poets, where it is called The Saracen Friends. 
See Philoeapo, 1567. 


1598. Alius. Madrigals to fine voyees, edeoted out of the 
best approued Italian AtUhors. By Thomas Morley Gentleman 
of hir Maiesties Royall Chappel, 

At London. Printed by Thomas Este. 1598. 5 parts. 
4to. 70 leaves. Twenty-four songs. British Museum. 

Dedicated to Sir Gervais Clifton, Knight. 

Morley says in his Dedication, — " I ever held this sentence 
of the poet as a canon of my creede ; Thai whom God loveth not, 
they love not Musique. For as the Art of Musique is one of 
the most Heavenly gifts, so the very love of Musique (with- 
out art) is one of the best engrafted testimonies of Heavens 
love towards us." 


Doe not tremble, but stand fast, 
Deare, and faint not : hope well, haue well, my sweeting : 
Loe where I come to thee with friendly greeting : 

Now ioyne with mee thy hand fast : 

Loe thy true loue salutes thee. 

Whose jeme thou art, and so he still reput's thee. 

British Bibliographer yY (A, ii, p. 652. 

1598. The Courtiers Academie: Comprehending seuen seuer^ 
all dayes discourses; wherein be discussed, seuen noble and 
important arguments, worthy by all Gentlemen to be perused. 
[i. Of Beauty; 2. Of Humane Loue ; S. Of Honour; 4^ Of 
Combate and single Fight; 6. Of NobUUe; 6. Of Riches; 7. 
Ofprecedtnce of Letters or Armes.^ Originally written in Italian 
by Count HanibaU Romei a Gentleman of Ferrara, and trans^ 
laied into English by J. [ohn"] K. \epers'\. 

[London], Printed by Valentine Sims: n. d. [1598.] 4to. 

Dedicated to " Sir Charles Blunt, Lord Mountjoy, K. G.'^ 

Interspersed with poetry, and containing also some transla- 
tions from Petrarch. 

John Kepers was bom about 1547, at Wells, Somerset. 
Anthony & Wood says that he was '^ brought up in the close 


of Welby" and WartoD that he was a graduate of Oxford in the 
year 1564^ who afterwards studied music and poetry at Wells. 

1699. OfMcariage and Wwing, An ExeeOeniypleoMniy <md 
PkUosophioal Oontroveniey betweene the two famous Tcun now 
Umngy the one Hensules the PhUogopheTf the other, Ibrqwdo the 
Poet. Dane into English by B. lober(] T. [ofte] OenOeman. 
S pts. 

London. Printed by Thomas Creede^ and are to be sold by 
John Smythicke, at his shop in Fleet streete neare the Temple 
Gate. 1599. Crown 8vo. {British Museum.) 4to. {Huth 

This is a translation, in verse, of Tasso's DelP ammogHarsi, 
piaoevole eontese Jra i due modemi Tassi, Eroole e Torquato. 
Bergamo. 1594. 4to. \_IHscorsi e DicUoghLI 

Part I. is entitled, '^ The declaration of Hercules Tasso . . . 
against marriage;" Part II./'A defence or answere ... by 
Torquato Tasso." 

1600. Godfrey ofBuHoigney or the Becouerie of Jerusalem. 
Done into English heroioaU verse, by E[dward] Fairefaz. 

Imprinted at London by Ar. Hatfield for J. Jaggard and 
M. Lownes. 1600. Folio. 200 leaves. British Museum, (2 

Dedicated, in foor six-line stanzas, ''To her High Majesty," 
Queen Elizabeth. 

The second edition, 1624, folio {British Museum), was printed 
at the express desire of King James I., and was dedicated to 
Charles, Prince of Wales. 

There have been eight subsequent editions of this excellent 
and enduring traoslatioo, besides a reprint of the third edi- 
tion ; namely, 1687. 8vo. Brit. Mus. 1726. 8vo. 2 vols. 
Brit. Mus. (Dublin reprint of third edition.) 1749. 8vo. 
Brii. Mus. 1786. 8vo. 1817. 8vo. 2 vols. BriL Mus. 
(Charles Knight.) 1817. 12mo. 2 vols. Brit. Mus. (Singer.) 
1844. 12mo. 2 vols. Brit. Mus. (Charles Knight.) 1853. 


8vo. 2 vols. BrU.Mu8. (Routledge's British Poets.) 1855. 
12mo. (American edition.) 

Fairfax's is the first complete translation of Tasso's La 
Oerusalemme lAberata. It is executed with ease and spirit, 
and with such a fine poetic feeling withal that it often reads 
like an original poem. 

'^Milton has acknowledged to me that Spenser was his 
original ; and many besides myself have heard our famous 
Waller own that he derived the harmony of his numbers from 
Godfrey of BuUoigne^ which was turned into English by Mr. 

Dryden. Preface to his Fables. 

^^ Fairfax I have been a long time in quest of. Johnson, in 
his Life of Waller, gives a most delicious specimen of him. 

" By the way, I have lit upon Fairfax's Godfrey of BuUen, 
for half-a-crown. Rejoice with me." 

Charles Lamb, Letters to Ooleridgey Jan. 5 and April 15, 

For plays on the subject of Godfrey ofBiUloigne, see CareVs 
translation, 1694. 

1 601 . Loues Martyr : or, Rosalins Complaint, AUegoricaMy 
shadowing the truth of Lotie, in the constant Fate of the Phoenix 
and Twrtk. A Poeme erUerlaced with much varietie and rariUe; 
nowfird translated oviofihe venerable Ilaiian Torqualo Ooeliano, 
by Robert Chester. With the true legend of famous IGng Arthur, 
the last of the nine Worthies, being the first Essay of a new Brytish 
Poet: collected out of diuerseAuthenticall Records. To these are 
added some new compositions, of seueraU modeme Writers whose 
names are subsoibed to their seueraU workes, upon the first sub- 
ject: viz. the Phoenix and Turtle. Mar: — MiUare dominum non 
potest liber noius. 

London. Imprinted for E. B. 1601. 4to. 

Dedicated '^ To the Honorable, and (of me before all other) 
honored Knight, Sir John Salisburie one of the Esquires of 
the bodie to the Queenes most excellent Maiestie." 


IjofUje» Martyr was reissued^ in 161 1, under an entirely new 

1611. TheAnuals of great BriUaine. Or^A Mod Excellent 
Monument, wherein may be seme aU the antiquities of this King- 
domey to the satisfaction both of the Universities^ or an^ other 
place stirred with Emulation of long continuance. Excellently 
figured out in a worthy Poem. £ pts. 

Loudon. Printed for Mathew Lownes. 1611. 4to. British 
Museum. Edited by A. B. Grosart. Oocaeional Issues. Vol. 
vn. 1878. 4to. 

The '^ new compositions/' ^' done by the best and chiefest 
of our moderne writers/' which follow the poem are signed 
Ignoto, William Shake-speare, John Marston^ Greorge Chap- 
man, and Ben Johnson. 

Grosart, in his edition of Lovers Martyr, arrives at the con- 
clusion, which is supported independently by Dr. Brinsley 
Nicholson, that the poem is allegorical of relations supposed 
to have existed between Queen Elizabeth and Bobert Devereux, 
second Earl of Essex and Ewe. According to this interpreta- 
tion, Elizabeth is the " Phoenix," and Essex the " Turtle-dove/' 
Love's martyr. Further, Grosart infers that Shakspere and 
the other '^ moderne Writers," who contributed commendatory 
verses, sided with Chester in doing honor to Essex. Be all 
this as it may, it is a noteworthy fact, that, with the exception 
of the enigmatical poem. Let the bird of loudest lay, added to 
Chester's Lov^s Martyr, Shakspere wrote no commendatory 
verses as he sought none. 

The name of the Italian poet whom Chester cites as his 
original is a combination, made up from 'Torquato Tasso' 
and ' Livio Celiano.' It is conjectured that Chester found the 
^ venerable Italian Torquato Coeliano ' in a little book, entitled, 
Rime di diversi celebri poeti deW etd nostra. Bergamo, 1587 ; 
pages 95-148 of this collection consist of poems from Livio 
Celiano, and pages 149-181 of similar selections from Tor- 
quato Tasso. 


After going over the whole matter carefully^ Grosart was 
at first of the opinion that Lowfs Martyr was not a translation 
at ally bat only said to be so to heighten the efiPect of the alle- 
gory. But he subsequently modified this judgment some- 
what : — ^' My impression is that the Dialogue between Nature 
and the Phoenix and Rosalin's Complaint and the Prayer 
which follows, are translated ; but probably in the original 
are separate poems. The ^Arthur' episode is plainly — by 
the title-page and subject — original." 

Nash and Meres speak of Celiano as one of the chief poets 
of the time, but excepting the selections in the book cited^ his 
poems (Celiano, Livio, Rime^ Pavia, 1592, Quadrio) are not 
known to be extant. 

'^ I should like to have the Academy of Letters propose a 
prize for an essay on Shakespeare's poem, Let the bird of loudest 
lay, and the Threnoa with which it closes, the aim of the essay 
being to explain, by a historical research into the poetic myths 
and tendencies of the age in which it was written, the frame 
and allusions of the poem. I have not seen Chester^s Lovers 
Martyr, and "the Additional Poems" (1601), in which it 
appeared. Perhaps that book will suggest all the explanation 
this poem requires. To unassisted readers, it would appear 
to be a lament on the death of a poet, and of his poetic mis- 
tress. But the poem is so quaint and charming in diction, 
tone, and allusions, and in its perfect metre and harmony, that 
I would gladly have the fullest illustration yet attainable." 

Emerson. Preface to Pamassua. (1875.) 

1607. JRodomontha Inf email, or The DiueU conquered. Ari- 
asto8 Conclimona. Of the Marriage ofRogero tcith Bradamardh 
his Love, & the fell fought BatteU betweene Boga^o and Rodo^ 
month the neuer-conquered Pagan, Written in fVench by Phillip 
de Portes, and Paraphrastically translaied by G, [ervase'] M. 

At London. Printed by V. S. for Nicholas Ling. [1607]. 
8vo. 30 leaves. British Museum, 


A note in Lowndes says, '^It was printed ander the tide of 
liodomont^a FurieSy in 1606^ 4to.y and dedicated to Lord Mont- 

Philippe Des Fortes published, in 1572, Roland Furieux, 
imitation de rAriosU. La Mori de Rodomont .... parUe tmi- 
Ue de VAriosUy partie de Pinveniion de Pautheur. Angelique. 
OontintLoiion du 9ujet de PAriode. Imitations de quelques chans 
de PArioste, eta 1572. 8vo. British Museum, 

In the last canto of the Orlando FuriosOj Kuggiero marries 
Bradamante, and kills Rodomonte, the pagan Knight, in single 

1 608. The Fnglishmans Doctor. Or, the Schoole of Saleme. 
Or, Physicall observations for the perfect Preserving of the body 
of Man in oontintujUl health. [ Translated, in verse, by Sir John 

Printed for J. Helme and J. Busbj^ Junior^ London, 1607, 
8vo. Also, 1609. 8yo. Both in the British Museum. 

The Schoole of Saleme, or Regimen Sanitatis Salemi, was 
a very popular work on hygienic medicine, originally com- 
piled by Joannes de Mediolano. It was frequently reprinted, 
with additions and emendations, in Latin, French, and Eng- 
lish, and in both prose and verse. The first English edition, 
in prose, by Thomas Paynell, went through seven editions 
between 1528 and 1597. Several French editions are done in 
burlesque or macaronic verse. 

1608. Ariosto^s Satyres, in seven famous discourses, shewing 
the State, 1. Of the Court, and Courtiers. £. Of Libertie, and 
the Ctergie in generall. S. Of the Romane dergie. 4- Of Mar^ 
riage. 6. Of Soldiers, Musitians, and Louers. 6. Of School- 
masters and Scholers. 7. Of Honour, and the happiest life. In 
English by Oervase Markham. 

London. Printed by Nicholas Okes, for Boger Jackson, 
dwelling in Fleet street, neere the great Conduit. 1608. Sm. 


4to. 58 leaves. Hvih. British Museum. Reprinted anony- 
mously^ in 1611^ under a new title, — 

Ariostos seven Planets Goueming Italie. Or his satyrs in 
seven Famous discourses, shewing the estate, 1. Of the Court 
and Courtiers. £, Of Libertie and the Qergy in general. S. 
Of the Romane Clergie. 4. Of Marriage. 6. Of Soldiers, 
Musitians, and Louers. 6. Of Schoolemasters and SchoUers. 
7. Of Honour, and the happiest life. Newly Correded and 
Augmented, with many excellent and note worthy notes, together 
with a new Addition of three most excellent Elegies, written by 
the same Lodovioo Ariosto, the effect whereof is contained in the 
Argument. Qui te sui te sui. 

London. Printed by William Stansby for Roger Jackson, 
dwelling in Fleete streete neere the Conduit. 1611. 

There is no difiPerenoe between the two editions of the Satires, 
except in the titles, and in the three Elegies appended to the 
second edition, with a new pagination. 

The translation is claimed by Robert Tofte in his Epistle to 
the Courteous Reader prefixed to the Blazon of Jeatousie. 1615. 

Tofle's order of the Satires is different from that of modem 
editions of Ariosto, and his titles are not transparently clear. 
The first Epistle, which is addressed to the poet's brother, 
Galasso Ariosto, treats of a proposed journey to Rome ; the 
second gives the reasons why Ariosto declined to accompany 
Cardinal Ippolito d'Este to Hungary ; the subject of the third 
is the choice of a wife ; the fourth compares the vanity of 
honors and riches with the peace of a contented mind ; the 
fiilh shows how Ariosto chafed under his uncongenial duties 
as governor of Garfagnana; the sixth explains why he declined 
to seek advancement from Pope Clement VII. ; the seventh, 
written to Cardinal Bembo, is upon the education of his son, 
Virginio, and contains an interesting account of Ariosto's own 
education and early struggles. 

All the Epistles are more or less autobiographical, and re- 
veal Ariosto as man and poet in a most attractive light, frank, 
sincere, and genially satirical. 


1608. ]lfii8ica8a4yrato8ioceVojfce8. Oomp<>9edinihe]laIian 
Umgue by GHovanni Oroce, Newly Englished. 

In London. Printed by Thomas Este^ the assigne of Wil- 
liam Barley. 1608. 4to. Huth. Britkh Museum. 1611. 4to. 

The only clue to the translator is a preface, "To the vertu- 
ous Loners of Musicke/' signed " R. H. ; " it states that the 
sonnets here set to music were written in Italian by Francesco 
Bembo^ and were so admired by Croce that he decided on set- 
ting them to music. 

In Lowndes, the title reads, Musioa Sacray the Seven Peni- 
tential Psalms to sixe voyceSf 1608, 6 pts., and a note from 
Peacham confirms the subtitle, — 

" While he [Giovanni Croce] lived, he was one of the most 
free and brave companions in the world. Nevertheless his 
compositions are all of a devout and serious kind, and of these 
his PemtentiaU Psalms, which have been printed with English 
words, are the best." 

Henry Peacham, M. A. ITie Oompleat Gentleman. Ed. 

1609. The Famous Whore, or Noble Ourtizan: conteining the 
lamentable complaint of Paulina, the famous Roman Ourtizan, 
sometime m**. unto the great Oardinall HypoHto of Est. By 
Garvis Marlcham [translated into verse from the Italian. 

London. Printed by N. 0[kes] for John Budge, and are 
to be sold at his shop by the great South gate of Paules. 
1609. 4to. 21 leaves. British Museum. 

The Famous Whore, or Noble Ourtizan, by Gervase or Jervis 
Marlcham, 1609. Edited by Frederick Ouvry. 

London. Privately printed. 1 868. 4to. Huth. 

J. P. Collier describes The Farnxms Whore, in his account of 
the Ellesmere collection {Bibliographical and Orilical Account 
of the Rarest Books in the English Language, under Markham), 
but says nothing about its being translated from the Italian, as 
Lowndes and the Dictionary of National Biography agree. 


Cardinal Ippolito of Este was the first patron of Ariosto, 
and so indifiPerent a one that all the reward the poet received 
for dedicating to him the Orlando Furioso was the question. 
Dove avete irovatOy mesaer LodovicOy tante minchionerie f ' Where 
did you find so many trifles, Master Ludovic?' Paulina quotes 
Ariosto and refers to him and his stories several times. 

1610. A MusicaU Banguet. Furnished vnth varietie of deli- 
cious AyreSy collected [by Robert Dowland] out of the best 
Authors in English^ French^ Spanish^ and Italian. 

Printed for T. Adams, London, 1610, folio. British Mu- 

Dedicated to Sir Robert Sidney, godfather to the author. 

1611. The Tragicall Death of Sophonisba. Wriitenby David 
Murray. Scotto-BriUaine. 

At London. Printed for John Smethwick, and are to be 
sold at his shop in Saint Dunstans Churchyard in Fleetstreet, 
under the Diall. 161 1. 8vo. 

Dedicated in two sonnets to Prince Henry. At the close of 
Sophonisba, occurs with a new title, — 

Coelia : containing certaine Sonets. By David Murray , Scoto- 

At London. Printed for John Smethwick, and are to be 
sold at his shop in Saint Dunstans Church-yard, in Fleet 
street, under the Diall. 1611. 8Vo. British Museum. Brit- 
well. Bridgewaier House. 

Dedicated to Richard, Lord Dingwell. 

Reprinted for the Bannatyne Club, and edited by Thomas 
Kinnear. Edinburgh. 1823. 4to. British Museum. 

Sophonisba is a long poem in seventeen seven-line stanzas 
not always smoothly constructed, although there is an occa- 
sional burst into genuine poetry, as we have so good an 
authority as Michael Drayton, in an introductory sonnet, to 


To my kinde friend, Da. Murray. 

Id new attire, and put most neatly on, 

Thou, Murray, mak'st thy passionate Queene appeare, 
As when she sat on the Numidian throne, 

Deck't with those gems that most reiiilgent were. 
So thy strong Muse her, maker like, repaires, 

That from the ruins of her wasted ume, 
Into a body of delicious ayres 

Againe her spirit doth transmigrated tume. 
That scortching soile which thy great subject bore. 

Bred those that coldly but express'd her merit ; 
But breathing now upon our colder shore. 

Here shee hath found a noble fiery spirit : 
Both there and here, so fortunate for Fame, 
That what she was, she's every where the same. 

M. Drayton. 

Ck)€lia consists of a collection of twentynsiz sonnets after 
the Italian model, a pastoral ballad called The Complaint of 
the Shepheard HarpahiSj and an ^ Epitaph on the Death of his 
Deare Cousin M. Dauid Moray.' 

The author is Sir David Murray of Gorthy, 1667-1629. 

The romance of Sophonisba appeared first in English in 
Painter's Falace of Plea^sure, where it is the seventh novel of 
the second volume, 1667. It is found in Italian in Bandello, 
I, 41, in Petrarch's Trionfi, and it is the subject of the first two 
Italian tragedies. La Sofonisba, 1 502, by Graleotto del Canetto, 
a piece in fifteen or twenty acts, r^ardless of unity of scene, 
is the earliest Italian tragedy. But the play that is usually 
associated with the beginning of tragedy in Italian — ^that with 
which '4h' Italian scene first learned to glow," is La Sofoniaba, 
by Giovan Giorgio Trissino, acted in 1616 before Pope Leo 
X. Trissino's play is written in blank verse (verso scioUo), 
instead of the ottava and terza rima of the earlier tragedies. 


MarstoD first dramatized the theme in English, in T7ie 
Wonder of Womenj or Sophonuba her Tragedy ^ 1606. 4to. 

Later two other English plays are founded on it, — 

Sophonisbay or HannibaC 8 Overthrow. 1676. Nathaniel Lee. 

Sophonisba, by James Thomson, first acted Feb. 28, 1730. 

See I. Romances, Painter^s Palace of Pleasure, 1666, and 
Bandello, 1580. 

1612. Petrarch's seven PeniieniiaU Psalms, paraphrasticaUy 
translated, WUh other Philosophicail Poems, and a Hymne to 
Christ upon the Orosse. Written by Oeorge Chapman,, [Mot- 
toes from Arrian's Epictetus."] 

London. Imprinted by Matthew Selman dwelling in Fleete- 
streete neare Chanoerie Lane. 1612. 4to. (8vo., Ebzlitt.) 50 
leaves. Bodleian. 

A translation of Petrarch's Septem Psalmi PoenUentiales. 

1615. The Blazon of leaUmsie. A Subject not written of by 
any heretofore. lirst written in Italian, by that learned Oenile' 
man Benedetto Varchi, sometimes Lord Chancellor unto the Sig^ 
norie of Venice: and translated into English, with speoiaU Nates 
upon the same, by R. \obert\ T. [pfie'\ Oentleman. 

London. Printed by T. S. for John Busbie, and are to be 
sonld at his shop in S. Dunstan's Church-yard in Fleet street 
1615. 4to. Pp. 87 + 14. British Museum. 

Dedicated ^'To Sir Edward Dymock Knight, the most 
worthy and generous champion unto the Sacred Maiestie of 
Great Britaine, etc.*' 

Tofte's marginal Notes are more interesting than his poem. 
He quotes, to illustrate his text, among other writers, — Chap- 
man : Hero and Leander and Hymnus in Oynthiam, Spenser : 
The Faery Queene, Constable : Diana, Drayton : Mortimerian 
dos, and Wither : Abuses Stript and WhipL 

The Epistle ''To the Courteous Reader ^^ praises Grascoigne 
and Turberville pleasantly, '' since they first brake the Ice for 


oor quainter Poets^ that now write, that thej might the more 
safer swimme in the maine Ocean of sweet Poesie." 

Referring to Markham's plagiarism Tofbe says, — ^'I had 
thought for thy better contentment to have inserted (at the 
end of this booke) the disastrous fall of three noble Romane 
gentlemen onerthrowne thorow jealonsie, in their loues ; but 
tiie same was (with Ariosto's ScUyres translated by mee out of 
Italian into English verse, and notes upon the same) printed 
without my consent or knowledge, in another man's name : 
so that I might justly (although not so worthily) complaine 
as Virgil did : Hos ego versieulos feci, tulit alter honores" 

The Blazon ofJealousie was first delivered by Varchi as an 
oration before the academy of the Infiammati at Padua. It 
was then published by the author's friend, Francesco Sanso- 
vino, who dedicates it *' to the no lesse noble than faire, and 
yet not more faire than learned, the Lady Gaspara Stampa," 

Of women Petrarchists, Gaspara Stampa, ^' sweet songstress 
and most excellent musician," ranks among the first. 

Benedetto Varchi was an Italian poet and historian of high 
repute, and a friend to Cosimo dei Medici, first grand-duke of 
Tuscany. He wrote the oration for the funeral of Michael 
Angelo, in 1664. 

1616. Poems: Amorous^ FuneraU, Divine, Pastorall: in 
Sonnets, Songs, Sextains, Madrigals: By W. D, [William 
Drummond], Author of the Teares on the Death of Moeliades. 

Edinburgh. Printed by Andro Hart. 1616. 4to. Also, 
1616. 4to. Second edition. British Museum. Bodleian: 
London. 1656. 8vo. Pp. 224. Brit. Mus. With portrait by 
R. Gaywood. Edited by Edward Phillips, Milton's nephew: 
London. 1659. 8vo. (duplicate of preceding). Brit, Mus,: 
Edinburgh. 1711. Folio. Brit, Mus. (Bishop Sage and 
Thomas Ruddi man: London. 1791. 8vo. Brit. Mus.: 1793. 
8vo. {Ander^on^s Poets of Chreai Britain,) Brit, Mus.: 1810. 
8vo. (Chalmer^s English Poets.) Brit, Mus.: Edinburgh. 
1832. 4to. Brit. Mus. (for the Maitland Club, by Lord 


DundrenDan and David IrviDg) : London. 1833. 12mo. 
Brit. Mu8. (Peter Cunningham): Edinburgh. 1852. 8vo. 
Brit. MuB. : London. 1856. 8vo. BriL Mus. (W. B. Tum- 

Sonnet^ of Poems. Hie First Pari, 

Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, 

The invocation is imitated firom Marini's O del SUentio 

Compare Daniel, Sonnet Liin., of Delia, 

Care-charmer Sleepe, sonne of the sable Night, 

Sonnet, of Poems. The First Part, 

Dear wood, and you, sweet solitary place, 

as well as the Sonnet, entitled The Praise of a Solitary Life, 
from Urania, or Spiriiwd Poems, 

Thrice happy he, who by some shady grove, 

are to be found in substance in the three ^Asclepiadics' sung 
by Donis at the close of the second book of Sidney's Arcadia, 

O sweet woods, the delight of solitarinesse, 

Sidney's model was Pietro Bembo, Sonetto Lrv., 

lAeta e chiusa corvtrada, o\f to rtCinvolo 
Al wigo, e tmco vivo, e meoo aJbergo 

Sonnet, of Poems. The First Part, 

Alexis, here she stayed ; among these pines. 

Compare this sonnet with Petrarch, Sonetto Lxxn., Parle 


Awenturoso piii tPaltro ierreno ' 


Drammond's dosing oouplet. 

Bat ah ! what served it to be happy so 
Sith passdd pleasures double but new woe? 

was probably recollected firom Dante's beautiful and pathdic 

story of Paolo and Francesca^ 

Nessu/n maggior ddorty 

Che ricordarsi dd tempo fdiee 

NeUa mMoria; 

Infatio. Canto v, 121-3. 

The sentiment occurs in English^ however, before Drum- 
mond, in Chancer, Uroylvs and Cryseyde. lib. iii. ocxxvi : 

For, of fortunes scharp adversity 
The worste kynde of infortnne is this, 

A man to han ben in prosperity, 

And it remembren, when it passed is. 

And also in the old play. The Misfortunea of Arthur^ by 
Thomas Hughes, 1587, 

Of all misfortunes and unhappy &tes 

Th' unhappiest seemes to have been happy once ; 

Tennyson, in Lockdey Hally has put Chaucer's four lines 
into one imperishable verse, 

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is ranembering happier things. 

Sonnet, of Poems. The Second Part, 

Sweet soul, which in the April of thy years. 

Compare with this, Petrarch. SoneUoi^XYm., Parte aeoondOf 

Dolce niio caro e prezioeo pegno 

Sonnet, of Flowers of Sum, called by Main, The Sheq^hearda^ 

O than the fairest Day, thrice fiurer Night I 


The last verse of this sonnet, 

And Springs ranne Nector, Honey dropt from Trees, 

is taken from Daniel's Pastoral, in Delia, 

O Happie golden Age ! 
Not for that Kiuers ranne 
With streames of milke, and hunnj dropt from trees ; 

Daniel translated from Tasso's Amintaj bdla dd ddP oro» 
See TorqucUo Tasso^sAminta Engliaht. 1628. 

Sonnet, of Flovoera ofSion^ To a Nightingale, 

Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, 

This sonnet is in part an echo of Petrarch. SoneUo Lxxxix. 
Parte aeconda, 

Vago augdlettOy che cantando vai, 

Compare also, Pietro Bembo, Sanetto m., 

Vago aitgdletlOj ch^al mio bel aoggiomo, 

Drummond's Italian studies, he also wrote English sestinas, 
help to explain that interesting crux, his authorship of PoUmo- 
Middinia, Carmen Maoaronicum. (1691. 4to.) This satiri- 
cal poem, considering its length and its seriousness of literary 
purpose, is the earliest imitation in English of the macaronic 
or dog-Latin verse of Folengo. There seems little doubt but 
that Drummond was the author, nor indeed is it any more 
curious that such an accomplished poet should have written a 
macaronic, than that he should have taken out a patent ^' for 
the making of military machines,'^ Thundering Kods, Shoot- 
ing Pikes, Fiery Waggons, Sea-postilions, Leviathans, and 
like engines of death and destruction. All that we know of 
Drummond of Hawthornden «how8 him a many-sided man. 


1620. The Maidens Blush: or, Joseph, . . . From the Latin 
of Fra^sastorius, trandaled .... by J. Sylvester. 

Printed by H. L.^ London. 1620. 8vo. British Museum. 
AlsO; 1879. 4to. The OompleU Works of Joshua Sylvester. 
Part XXIV. The Chertsey Worthier Library. A.B.Groeart 

The Maiden^s Blush, or Joseph, is a translation of a Latin 
poem^ in two books, entitled Joseph, by Girolamo Fracastoro. 
The subject is the story of Joseph, and Sylvester tells it, in- 
completely, in eighteen hundred pentameter lines, riming in 
couplets. The concluding couplet runs. 

Here, Death preventing Fracastorious, 
This late begun, Hee left un-ended Thus. 

1623. The Whole Workes of Samuel Daniel Esquire m 

London. Printed by Nicholas Okes, for Simon Watereon, 
and are to be sold at his shoppe in Paules Churchyard, at the 
Signe of the Crowne. 1623. 4to. British Museum. 

Brought out by the |K)et's brother, John Daniel, and dedi- 
cated '^ To the most high and most illustrious Prince Charles 
His Excellence.'^ 

In this edition of Daniel's poems, there appeared for the 
first time, A Description of Beauty, translated out of Marino 
(Giovanni Battista Marini), — 

'^ O Beauty (beames, nay flame 
Of that great lampe of light) 
That shines a while, with &me, 
But presently makes night:" etc. 

1644. The Triumphs of Love: ChastUie: Death: Translated 
out of Petrarch by Mrs. Anna Hume. 

Edinburgh. Printed by Evan Tyler, Printer to the Kings 
most Excellent Majestie. 1644. Sm. 8vo. 55 leaves. BritiA 
Museum, Huth, and Bodleian. 


Dedicated, "To the most excellent Princesse her High- 
nesse, the Princesse Elisabeth, Eldest daughter to the King 
of Bohemia." 

Anna Hume was the daughter of David Hume, of Gods- 
croft, author of The History of the House and Race of Douglas 
and Angus. (Edinburgh. 1644. Folio). She superintended 
the publication of her father's book, and was the friend of 
Drummond of Hawthornden. Drummond wrote to her as 
" the learned and worthy gentlewoman, Mrs. Anna Hume," 
and declared himself unworthy of " the blazon of so pr^nant 
and rare a wit." 

1646. Steps to the Temple, Sacred PoemSy With other De- 
lights of the Muses. By Richard Orashaw, sometimes of Pem- 
broke Hall, and laie Fellow of S. Peters Coll. in Cambridge. 
Printed and Published according to Order. 

London. Printed by T. W. for Humphrey Moseley, and 
are to be sold at his shop at the Princes Armes in 8^ Pauls 
Churchyard. 1646. 12rao. 1648. 8vo. Brit. Mus. 1670. 
Svo. BHt. Mus. (with Carmen Deo Nostro). 1858. 12mo. 
Brit. Mus. 1872. 12mo. Vol. L {A. B. GroesiTty The Fuller 
Woiihie^ Library,) 

Among Crashaw's Sacred Poems is a translation, or rather 
an interpretive expansion, of Marini's Sospetto d^Herode, the 
first canto of his Strage degli Innocently or Massacre of the 
Innocents (Venice, 1633, 4to.), while three love lyrics of 
The Delights of the Musses, * Songs out of the lialiany show how 
deeply the mystic poet of The Flaming Heart had drunk at 
the fountain-head of Italian inspiration. 

The Delights opens with the celebrated piece, entitled Jfu- 
sicJ^s Duell, which Crashaw paraphrased from the Latin of 
Famiano Strada. The pretty fable of the rivalry between the 
lutanist and the nightingale, occurs in Strada's Prolusiones d 
Paradigmata eloquentiae, published at Cologne, in 1617, and 
at Oxford, in 1631 ; it is in the sixth lecture of the second 


eomae od poedc style, where Strada introdooes h simjdj as an 
exercise in imitatioo of the style of the Boman poet Claudiaii. 
Bef(»e the appearance of Crashaw's poem, John Ford made 
Dse of the fiible in his tragicomedy. The Lomtr^t Mdamd^oh/^ 
1629. In oor own time, Francois Copp6e has osed it with 
cfaarmii^ effect in his fine little comedy, Lt iMthier de Ore^ 
atone. Scene Yn. 

6. Plays. 

1572. Suppo^a: A Otnnedie wriUem m the Babam tamffme 
by AriodOj EngVAed fry Gtor^ GrOKoygne of Oroya hme 
Eaquire^ and their presented, 1666. 

London, for Richarde Smith, n. d. [1572J. v^o. BriiiA Mu- 

Also, [1575.] 4to. BriLMm. 15*87.^0. BHLMum. 

Siqfposeg was first printed in Gasooigne's.A Hvndrelh jyn- 
drie Flowres, 1572. It is a translation of Ariosto's GH Suppo- 
titiy 1519, and is of great historic interest as the earliest extant 
comedy in English prose. Shakspere borrowed from it the 
intrigue of Lacoitio, and the quaint name, Peirochio, far The 
Taming of the Shrew. It also gave to dramatic literatore the 
ridicalons name and character of Doctor DoddipolL 

A play called The Wisdom of Doctor DoddipoU^ probably by 
George Peele, was published in 1600, as acted by the children 
of Paul's. 

1572. Jocasta, A Tragedie written in Greeke by Euripides, 
trandated and digested into Ade^ by Greorge Gfaseoygne and 
Fronds Kinwelmershe of Grayes Inne, and there by them pr^ 
senied, 1666. 

London, for Richarde Smithe, n. d. [1572]. 4to. Black 
letter. British Museum. Also, [1575.] 4to. Black letter. 
BriL Mus., and 1587. 4to. Black letter. BriL Mus. 1868- 
70. 4to. 2 vols. Ed. W. Carew Hazlitt The Boxburghe 

Like the Supposes, Jocasta was acted in Gray's Inn, proba- 
bly at Christmas, 1566, and was first published in Gascoigne's 


A hundreth Sundrie FhwreSf 1572. It is a translation of 
Lodovico Doloe's tragedy, Oioccuiaj 1549, Grasooigne translat- 
ing Acts ii, iii, and v, and Kinwelmarsh Acts i and iv. The 
Epilogue, in quatrains, was written by a third student of 
Gray's Inn, Christopher, afterwards. Sir Christopher, Yelver- 
ton. Some parts of the choral odes are original, and the 
tragedy is noteworthy as the second English play written in 
blank verse. 

Jocasta was long supposed to be a translation of the PAoe- 
niaaae of Euripides, although Warton pointed out that it was 
^' by no means a just or exact translation," but rather '^ partly 
a paraphrase, and partly an abridgement, of the Greek tragedy." 
It is now known that so far from translating from Euripides 
was Gbscoigne, that he found his original in Dolce's Oiocastaf 
which is an Italian version of Seneca's imitation of the Pkoe- 

Both Prof. Mahaffy and Mr. Symonds (ShaJcspere^e Prede- 
cessorSj Ch. Yi, pp. 221-222) call attention to the closeness of 
the English play to its Italian original. 

Prof. Mahaffy says, — " It professes to be an independent 
translation of Euripides, but I was surprised to find it really 
to be a literal translation of Dolce's Italian version, without 
any trace of an appeal to the original. Thus the iraiBar/ioyo^ 
is called the Bailo^ a r^ular Venetian title. 

Its chief literary interest lies in the loose paraphrase of 
Eteocles' speech (where he asserts that he means to hold the 
tyranny in spite of all opposition), which appears to have 
suggested directly to Shakspere the speech of Hotspur in the 
first part of Henry /F., i. 3. So far as I know, this is the only 
direct contact with, or rather direct obligation to, the Greek 
tragedy in Shakspere." 

A History of Greek Classical lAUraJbare. Rev. J. P. Ma- 
haffy, Vol. I, pp. 365-6. 

If there is here a touch between the Greek and English 
dramas, it is interesting to note it, and I give the supposed 
suggestion on his way, — 


'£70) 7^/9 ovSkv, firjrep, airoKpin^CLx; ipA* 
aoTptov av iXdotfi aldepo^ irpo^ ai/roXA? 
KoX yrj^ Sv€p0€, Swaro^ &v Bpaaai rdBe, 
rfjv 0€&v fieyioTrjv &<rT €)(€tv Tvpawiha. 

Euripides, PAoeni88a6, 503-506. 

Dal parer di codui lungo cammino, 
Madre {per dir U vero), h U mio lorUano, 
Ne^ vi voglio occuUar che^ ^io potessi 
Su nel Cielo reffnar, e giU in Inferno^ 
Non me apaverUeria faticay o affano, 
Per tUrovar al mio desio la strada 
Di give in quesio, o di aalir in qaello: 

Lodovico Dolce, Oiooasta, ii. 1. 

To say the truth (mother) this mind of mine 
Doth fleet full farre from that farfetch of his, 
Ne will I longer cover my conceit : 
If I could rule or reign in heaven above, 
And eke oommaund in depth of darksome hell. 
No toile ne trauell should my spirit abashe 
To take the way unto my restlesse will. 

Grascoigne, Jbco^to, n, 1. 

By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap 

To pluck bright Honor from the pale-faced moon. 

Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground. 

And pluck up drowned Honor by the locks ; 

So he that doth redeem her hence might wear 

Without corival all her dignities. 

Shakspere, /. Henry /F., i. 3. 

It will be seen that Gascoigne is much nearer to Dolce than 
to Euripides, and that it is a far cry from Grascoigne to Shak- 
spere. I have made a collection of Shakspere's allusions to 
his predecessors and contemporaries in the drama, and in 


almost every iDstance his way of quoting is as dear as the 
daylight. He simply takes their very words and transmutes 
them, giving them in the briefest possible space that inimita- 
ble quality that we call Shaksperean; for example, Trico's 
song in Lyly's Oampaspe, v. 1, runs, 

" Who is 't now we hear? 
None but the lark so shrill and cleare ; 
How at heaven's gates she claps her wings. 
The morn not waking till she sings.'' 

The beautiful aubade in Oymbdiney ii. 3, b^ins. 

Hark, hark ! the lark at Heaven's gate sings, 
And Phoebus 'gins arise. 

/. Henry IV. was printed eight times during the Eliza- 
bethan period, oftener than any other play of Shakspere, and 
Hotspur's grandiloquent speech must have become femiliar to 
playgoers, for we find it parodied in the Induction to Beau- 
mont and Fletcher's satirical comedy, The Knight of the Bum-- 
ingPesOe, 1613. 

1578. The Right JExcellent And Famous Bistorye Of Pro- 
mo8 and Cassandra: Diuided into Oommioai Discourses. In 
the Fyrste Parte is showne^ The wnsufferable Abuse of a lewde 
Magistrate. The vertuous Behauiowrs of a chaMe Ladye. The 
wnconirowled Leavdenes of afauoured Curtisan : And the tmcZe- 
served JEstimaiion of a pernicious Parage. In the Second Parte 
is discoursed^ The perfect Magnanimitye of a noble Kinge^ In 
checking Vice and fauouringe Vertue. Wherein is showne, The 
Ruyne and Ouerihrowe of dishonest Practices : with the Ad- 
uauncement of upright Dealing. The Worke of Oeorge Whet- 
stones Oent. Formae nulla fides. 

[Colophon.] Imprinted at London by Richarde Jhones, 
and are to be solde ouer agaynst Saint Sepulchres Church 


withoat Newgate. August 20^ 1578. 4to. Black letter. 
Bodleian. British Museum. Oapell CoU. Mr. Oorser. 

Dedicated to the author's kinsman^ ' William Fleetwoode, 
Esq.', Eecorder of Loudon. 

Each part is a play in five acts, and in verse. Shakspere's 
Measure for Measure is founded on this play whose plot comes 
from Giraldi Cintio, OH HcatommUi, Deca vni, Novella 5. 
The same story is also told by Whetstone, in prose, in his 
Septameron of Civill Discourses^ 1582, where it is entitled 
The Rare Historie of Promos and Cassandra. 

Giraldi dramatized his own novella in the tragedy, j^pt^. 

[1684?.] Fidele and Foriuna. The deceiptes in hue Dis- 
coursed in a Ommedie of ij Italyan geni![lemen], and trans- 
lated into English. 

Title-page not extant, but in Register £ it is licensed to 
Thomas Hackett, Nov. 12, 1584. 

Dedicated to John Heardson, Esq., by A. M. (Anthony 

The play is written in rhyme, and is interesting as an early 
type of a musical comedy. It contains but two songs, but at 
the end of the first act, '' the consorte of musique soundeth 
a pleasant galliard," at the end of the second, '* the consorte 
soundeth again,'' at the end of the third, '^ sounds a sollenme 
dump," and after the fourth, '^ soundeth a pleasant allemaigne.'' 


If looue be like the flower that in the night. 

When darknes drownes the glory of the skyes : 
Smelles sweet, and glitters in the gazers sight. 
But when the gladsom sun beginnes to rise. 
And he that viewes it would the same imbraoe. 
It withereth, and looseth all his grace. 
Why do I looue and like the cursed tree. 

Whose buddes appeer, but fruite will not be seen : 


Why doo I languish for the flower I see? 
Whose root is rot when all the leaaes are green. 
In such a case it is a point of skilly 
To foUowe chaunce^ and looue against my will. 
British Bibliographer yYoh n, p. 164. 

[1589?]. A certayne Tragedie wryfien fyrd in Italian by 
F, N. B.J entUuledf Freewyly and translated into English by 
jff[enry] Cheeke. 

London, by John Tysdale, n. d. [1689?]. 4to. Black 
letter. 211 pageS; besides dedication^ prefatory epistle to the 
reader, and ' faults.' 

Entered on the Stationer^ Begisier Ay May 11, 1561. 

In five acts and in prose. 

Dedicated to Lady Cheynie, or Cheyney, of Toddington, 
Bedfordshire. Cheeke says in his Dedication, " wherein is set 
foorth in manner of a Tragedie the deuylishe deuise of the 
Popishe religion whiche pretendeth holynesse onely for gayne.*' 

The original is an Italian morality play entitled Tragedia di 
F. N. [eyri] B. \assanese\ intitokUay lAbero Arbitrio, 1646. 
4to. The morality, like the translation, is in five acts and in 
prose. It is in the Library of Cambridge University, together 
with a Latin version by John Crispin, lAberum Arbitrium; 
tragoedia. . . . Nunc primum ab ipso avJthore Latine scripta d 
edita. Apud Crispvnum: [Genewti.'] 1659. 8vo. BrU.Mus. 

Fleay {Chronicle of the English Drama, Vol. n, p. 366, 
under Translators,) gives, 

"Bristowe, Francis, King Freeunlly T. 1636. MS. From 
the French, Boy Franc ArbitrCy T. 1668 ; translated from the 

The French original of this translation is Tragedie du Boy 
Franxxirbiirey nouvellement traduite d^Italierb^ [of F. Negri de 
Ba^sano'] en Francois. Chez Jean Orespin. [Gteneva.] 1668. 
8vo. British Museum. 

Jean Crespin, a French Protestant who died at (Geneva in 
1672, was an author and printer of the type of the celebrated 


Estienne family ; whether he is John Crispin, author of the 
Latin version of this morality, I do not know. 

The interlocutors of the morality are seventeen in number, 
among them the Apostles Peter and Paul, and the archangel 
Raphael, but the piece is in no sense dramatic. 

Freewyl is the son of Reason and Will, and prince of the 
province of Humane operations. The schoolmen take him 
to Rome to live, where the Pope makes him a Christian, a 
papist, and a most puissant king ; in spite of this, however, 
the 'humane operations' consist in proving the Pope to be the 
true antichrist. — British Bibliographer ^Yo\. i, p. 362. 

1 602. n PadorFido; or the FaithfuU Shepheard, trandated 
out of Italian into English. [By [Charles] Dymock.] 

London. Printed for Simon Waterson. 1602. 4to. British 
Museum. Also, 1633. 12mo. British Museum. 

Prefixed to the quarto edition are verses by Samuel Daniel 
to Sir Edward Dymock, who is called kinsman of the trans- 
lator. The duodecimo edition is dedicated to Charles Dymock, 
Esq., son of the translator. The translation, '' in spite of 
Daniel's commendatory sonnet, is a very bad one." Dyce, 
Introduction to Fletcher's The Faithful Shepherdess. 

II Pastor Udoy by Giovanni Battista Guarini, was first 
published in 1590, although written some years earlier. The 
edition of 1602 was the twentieth, so popular was this pas- 
toral. Nor did the popularity of II Pastor Fido cease with 
the author's lifetime. On the contrary, the influence of the 
drama, its sentiment and its sensuousness, made itself felt in 
the art and manners of Europe for nearly two centuries, down 
to the new order of the French Revolution. The explanation 
of this enduring quality is found in the two most striking 
characteristics of the pastoral. In the first place, // Pastor 
IMo is not a pastoral at all, in the sense that Tasso's Aminta 
is ; there is little or no real rusticity in it. Rather it is a reflec- 
tion of contemporary life and feeling, // Pastor Fido is Italy 
at the close of the Renaissance. And it was written, in the 


full matarity of his powers, by a poet who was at once a man 
of the world, like Boccaccio, and a scholarly recluse, like Pe- 
trarch. Guarini's thought is never profound, but it is always 
wise with experience, and it is expressed in language that is 
almost perfect, so contained and yet so brilliant, so popular 
and yet so classical. It is thejvMe milieu of style. 
I find three plays on the subject of // Pastor Fido. 

1. The Faithful Shepherdess, a pastoral tragi-oomedy, by 
John Fletcher, was acted about 1608 ; printed, in quarto, no 
date, 1629, 1634, 1656, 1665. Done into Latin verse by Sir 
Richard Fanshawe, oa La Fida Pastoral 1658. 

2. Pastor FiduSy a Latin drama, of unknown author and 
date, was acted at King's Coll^. Cambridge. MS. in the 
Library of the University of Cambridge. 

Z. The Faithful Shepherd. By D. D. Gent. 1633. Halli- 
well. Fleay does not mention this play in his Chrordde of the 
English Drama, 

1610. Honours Academie, Or the Famous Pastorally of the 
faire Shepheardesse, Julietta [by Olenix du Mont Sacr6, i. e. 
Nicolas de Montreux]. A worke admirable, and rare. Sen- 
terUious and grave: and no lesse profitable, then pleasa/nt to 
peruse. Wlierein are many notable Discourses, as well PhUoso- 
phicaU, as Diuine: Most part of the Seven Liberal Sciences, 
being comprehended therein: with diuers Oomicall, and Tragi- 
call Histories, in Prose and Verse, of all sorts. Done into 
English by R. [o6er<] T. [q/?e] Gentieman. 

Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede. 1610. [Colo- 

London. Printed by Thomas Creede, dwelling in the old 
Change, neere old Fishstreete, at the signe of the Eagle and 
Childe. 1610. Folio. 123 leaves. HiUh. British Museum 
(3 copies). 

Dedicated to Lady Anne Herne, wife of Sir Edward Heme, 
K. B. 

Hazlitt's queer note on this piece is, '* (Ariosto, Boiardo, 
Tasso), Tofte, whom his contemporaries christened Robin 


Redbreadj appears to have verses prefixed to Stodky's trans- 
lation of Bale's Pageant of PopesJ^ 

Honours Aeademie is ^ tedious and ill pot together. The 
verse especially is combrons and onmnsicaL" — ^A. R Griosart. 
OecasUmal Is8ues,YoL xn. 

1628. Tlarquato] Tassel's Ammia. EngKM. To this is 
added Ariadn^s OompUrinl in imiiation of AnffuiBara [6to- 
vanm Andrea ddP AnffmUara]; written by the TrandaUr of 
Tass(/s Aminta, 

Meglio e U pooo terrene ben eottuiare, ch^l molto laseiar per 
mal ffouemo nUseramenie imboschire. Sannaz*. 

London. Printed by Ang : Maihewes for William Lee, 
and are to bee sold at the Signe of the Tarkes Head in Fleet- 
street. 1628. 4to. 47 leaves. British Museum (2 copies). 

Twseo^s Aminla was acted at Ferrara, in 1573 ; it appeared 
first from the Aldine press, (Venice. 1581. Sm. 8vo.). Hal- 
liwell, possibly upon the authority of the British Museum 
Chtaloguey conjectures the translator to be ' John Reynolds,' 
bot there is entered in Register D, to William Lee, Nov. 7^ 
1627, ''A booke called 'TarquOto TassosAminia Englished' by 
Henry Seynoldes." 

Henry Reynolds has a song in each of the three parts of 
Henry Lawes's^yres and Dialogues for One, Two, and Three 
Voices, (1653, 1655, 1658. Folio). Drayton also addressed 
his epistle, Of Poete and Poesie, 1627, "To my dearly loved 
Friend, Henry Reynolds, Esq.^' 

There is a song by H. Reynolds, in Beloe's Anecdotes of 
Literature and Scarce JBoofe, Vol. vi, under the caption Poeti- 
cat Extracts from Various Uncommon Books, 

Love above Beauty. 


Lovely Chloris, though thine eyes 
Far outshine the jewelled skies. 


That grace which all admire in thee^ 
No nor the beauties of thy brest, 
Which far outblaze the rest^ 

Might ere compared be 

To my fidelilie. 


Those alluring smiles that place 
Eternal April on thy face, 
Such as no sun did ever see, 
No nor the treasures of thy brest, 
Which far outblaze the rest, 

Might ere compared be 

To my fidelitie. 

Samuel Daniel, in Delia, 1592, translated Tasso's famous 
chorus at the close of the first act of Amintaj bella eUk 
delP oro. 

Compare Drummond, Poems: Amorous, Fwnerally Dwine, 
Pastorally 1616. 

1637. Pleasant Dialogues and Dramma^Sj selected out of 
Lucian, ErasmuSy Textor, Ovid^ &e. With sundry Emblems 
extracted from the most elegant Jacobus Oatsius. As also oer- 
taine Elegies^ Epitaphsj and Epithalamions or Nuptiall Songs; 
Anagrams and Acrostics; With divers Speeches (upon severatt 
occasions) spoken to their most Excellent Majesties j King Charles, 
and Queene Mary. With other Fancies translated from Besa, 
Bucanany and sundry Italian Poets. By Tho. Heywood. [AuJt 
prodesse solenty aut delectare.'\ 

London. Printed by R. O. for R. H. and are to be sold by 
Thomas Slater at the Swan in Duck-lane. 1637. Sm. 8vo. 
152 leaves. JSuih. British Museum. 

Dedicated ''To the Right Honourable Sir Henry Lord 
Gary, Baron of Hunsdon, Viscount Rochford, and Earl of 


A collection of short dramatic pieces and poetical dialogues 
nowhere else printed. There is also a coUection of Prologues 
and Epilogues. Here is a little song quite in the spirit of 
Heywood's cheerful Good-Morrow Song; — 

A Song. 

Howsoe're the minutes go, 
Run the houres or swift or slow : 
Seem the months or short or long, 
Passe the seasons right or wrong : 
All we sing that Phoebus follow, 
8emd in anno riddApoHo. 

Early fall the Spring or not, 
Prove the Summer cold or hot : 
Autumne be it faire or foule. 
Let the Winter smile or skowle : 
Still we sing that Phoebus follow, 
Semd in anno ridd Apollo, 

British BAUoffrapherjYol. i, p. 451. 

1638. The Tragedie of Alcede and Eliza. As U is found 
in Italian^ in La Oroce racquistata^ OoUededy and transkUed 
into English, in the same verse, and number. ByFr. Br. Gent. 
At the request of the right Vertuous Lady, the Lady Anne Wing^ 
field, Wife unto thai noble Knight, Sir Anthony Wingfidd Baro- 
nd, his Majesties High Shiriffefor the County of Svffolk. 

London. Printed by Th. Harper for John Waterson, and 
are to be sold at his shop in Pauls Church-yard at the signe 
of the Crown. 1638. 8vo. 39 leaves. Bodleian. Mr. Cbrser. 
British Museum. 

1 do not know whether this piece is a tragedy, or a tragical 
history in verse. Whichever it is, it is taken from Francesco 
Bracciolini's La Oroce racquistaia, poema eroico, canti 15. 
Farigi. 1605. 8vo. Brit. Mus. Also, Venetia, 1611. 4to. 


Brit, Mvs.y and 1614. 12mo. Brit. Mua.; and Picicenza, 
1613. 4to. Brit. Mu8. 

The subject of Bracciolini's poem is the restitution of the 
true cross to the holy sepulchre. The history of this event, 
the carrying off of the cross by the Persian King Chosroes II., 
in 614, and its restitution, in 629, by the Emperor Heracliiis, 
is very dramatically told by Gibbon, in The Decline and Fall 
of the Roman Empire, Chapter xlvi, pp. 460-485. 

Many Italian critics place La Oroce racquistaia next to 
Tasso's Jerusalemme Liberaiay next but a long way after is 
Tiraboschi's cautious judgment. 

1648-47. II Pastor Fido. The faUhfuU Shepheard vnth An 
Addition of divers other Poems Oondiiding with a short Dis^ 
course of the Long dvill Warres of Roms. To His Highnesse 
the Prince of Wales. By Richard Fanshaw, Esq. Herat. 
Patiarqae vel inconsuUus haberi. 

London. Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be 
sold at his Shop at the Princes Armes in S. Pauls Church- 
yard. 1648-'47. 4to. (A second titlepage for the Pastor 
Fido alone bears the date 1647.) With portrait of Giovanni 
Battista Guarini, by J. Cross. Hvth. British Mus. Also, 
1664. 8vo. Brit. Mus. 1676. 8vo. Brit. Mus. 1677. 4to. 
1689. 4to. 1694. 4to. Brit. Mus. 1736. 12mo. British 

Dedicated to Charles, Prince of Wales, with commendatory 
verses by John (afterwards Sir John) Denham. 

Fanshawe's translation of Guarini's celebrated pastoral was 
made for the marriage of Charles Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy, 
to the Infanta of Spain. It is the best English translation of 
// Pastor Fido. The edition of 1677 (1689-1694) is Elkanah 
Settle's adaptation of the piece to the stage; that of 1736 con- 
tains plates and the original Italian of Guarini. Sir Richard 
Fanshawe's chief work is a translation of the Lusiad by hniz 
de Camoens (London, 1655), so well done that it is still a 
standard translation. 


For plays on the subject of II Pastor Fidoy see Dymock's 
translation^ 1602. 

1665. Filli di Seiro or Phillis of ScyroSy an excellent Pas- 
toraUy written in Italian by C Quid, de Bonarelli, translated 
into English by J, S. Gent. 

London. 1655. 4to. British Museum. 

A translation of FUU di Seiro: favola pastorale (in five acts 
and in verse), by Count Guido Ubaldo Bonarelli della Rovere. 
Ferrara, 1607. 4to. Brit. Mtis. With Prologue, La NotU, 
by Giovanni Battista Marini. 

''An excellent pastoral, written in Italian by C. Gindubaldo 
de Bonarelli, and translated into English by J. 8. gent. By 
some verses prefixed to this translation, it appears to have 
been made twenty years before. A translation was at the 
same time made of Pastor Fido^ but both of them were laid 
aside. Coxeter imagines that these translations were produced 
by Sir Edward Sherborne, who was then only seventeen years 
old. The initial letters seem to point out James Shirley as the 
translator." — Biographia Dramatica. 

1658. A Chaine of Oolden Poems embellished vnth Wit, 
Mirthf and Eloquence. Together with two most excdlent Oome^ 
dieSf {viz.) The Obstinate Ladyy and UrappoUn supposed a 
Prince. Written by 8^ Aston Cohayn. 

London. Printed by W. G. and are to be sold by Isaac 
Pridmore, at the Golden-Fleece near the New-Exchange. 
1658. Sm. 8vo. With portrait of the author. Hxdh. British 

This book was issued with four different title-pages : Small 
Poems of Divers SortSy 1658, A Chain of Oolden Poems j Ac., 
1668, Poems. With The Obstinate Lady, Ac., 1662, Choice 
Poems of Several Sorts, 1669. 

Trappolin supposed a Prince in an adaptation of an Italian 
tragi-comedy in prose and verse, entitled Trappolino oreduto 
Principe, as the Prologue explains : — 


*' Grallants, be't known, as yet we cannot say 
To whom we are beholding for this play ; 
But this our poet hath lieens'd us to tell. 
Ingenious Italy hath liked it well. 
Yet it is no translation ; for he ne'er 
But twice in Venice did it ever hear." 

1660. Aminta : the famous Pastoral^ wriUen in Italian by 
Signor Torqtuxio TaasOf and translated into English Verse by 
John Dancer. Together with divers ingenious Poems. 

London: 1660. 8vo. 74 leaves. 

c. Metrical Bomanoes. 

1655. The Aundent JBistorie and ondy irewe and syncere 
Oromde of the warres beturixte the Grecians and the TroyanSy 
and svAsequently oftliefyrst evercyon of the aimdent andfamouse 
Oytye of Troye, under Lamedon the King, and of the laste and 
fynali destruction of the same under Pryam; wrytUn by Daretus 
a Troyan, and Didus a Qredany both souldiourSj and present 
in aU the sayde warres; and digested in Laiyn by the lemed 
Ghiydo de Oolumpnis [^Ghiido delle Colonna, who was the com' 
piler of the work"] and sythes transkUed into englyshe verse by J. 
LydgaJte Moncke of Burye, [Edited by Robert BrahamJ] 

Thomas Marshe, London, 1555. Folio. Black letter. British 

Lydgate mainly paraphrased Guido delle Colonna's JSistoria 
de Bello Trqjano, and perhaps Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cre- 
tensis. His poem is made up of fifteen thousand heroic coup- 
lets, with prologue and epilogue. 

The poets of the Middle Ages all accepted Dares Phrygius, 
priest of Hephaestus^ as a trustworthy historian who had him- 
self been in the Trojan war. Homer, known only in a Latin 
abridgment, received scant credence, and even abuse, as a fal- 
sifier of history. The Roman de Troie, based, among other 
sources, upon Dares, comes into English in two distinct streams, 


to either of which we may be indebted for Shakspere's play of 
ISroilua and Oressida. 

Benolt de Sainte-Maure, a French trouv^re of the Court of 
Henry H., dedicated to the Queen, Alienor de Poitou, his 
Moman de Troie, of about 1160. The most important episode 
of Benolt is that of Troilus and Briseida, which in the Latin 
version of the Roman made by Guido delIe^iJ<donna, 1287, 
suggested to Boccaccio the FUostraio. Bocoacdo, through 
Chaucer {Troylus and Oryaeyde) and Lydgate, may thus be 
Shakspere's source. 

In 1464, Raoul le Fftvre's Roman de Troie^ a translation of 
Guido delle Colonna, gave to French literature a second Trojan 
cycle. Caxton's Recuydl of the hidoryea of Troye [1474 ?] is 
a translation of Le F^vre; this book went through several 
editions, and appears finally as The ancient hidorie of the de-- 
druction of Troy. . . . ^* Newly correded, and the English m%uih 
amended," by William Phiston. 1607. 4to. 

Thomas Paynell, another translator, Euglished, The fayth- 
fuU and true dorye of the Dedruction of Troy^ compyled by 
Dares Phrygiua. John Cawuod. London. 1663. 8vo. Bod-- 

Or the source of Shakspere's history may be an older play 
of the same name; Henalowe^a Diary of April 7 and 16, and 
May 30, 1699, records full payment, to Henry Chettle and 
Thomas Dekker, for "the Boocke called the tragedie of 
Troylles and creseda." 

1662. The TraffioaU Htdorye of Romeua and JtUidy written 
frd in Italian by Bandell, and nowe in EngUshe by Arlthur] 
Br[^oke']. In Aedibus Richardi Tottelli. Cum Priuil^o. 

Imprinted at London in Fletestrete within Temble [sic] 
barre, at the signe of the hand and starre, by Richard Tottill 
the XIX. day of November. An. do. 1662. Sm. 8vo. Black 
letter. Bodleian, Huth. (Kemble*s copy). Oapett Cdlledion. 


J. P. Collier. Shakeapeare^s Library. Vol. i. 1876. 8vo. P. 
A. Daniel, for New Shakspere Society. Part I. 1876. 8vo. 

This metrical paraphrase of the story of Romeo and Juliet 
was made from Boaistuaa-Belleforest's Histoirea TragiqueBj 
torn, ly based on Bandello, II. 9. It is interesting to note 
that it is the earliest translation from Bandello in English. 
But Bandello was not the original author of the talh; he took 
it from a popular novella, La OivUeUaj 1636, by Luigi da 
Porto, and there is still an earlier version, in Masuocio, II 
NoveUinOj 1476, Novella xxxiii, the tragedy of Marioito and 

Broke states that he had seen *^ the same argument lately 
set foorth on the stage ; " this fii*st Borneo and JtUiet, acted 
before 1662, must be therefore the first English tragedy on a 
subject taken directly or indirectly from an Italian novel. 

Shakspere's Romeo and Juliet is founded on Broke's para- 
phrase, although it is not improbable that he may have seen 
the lost early play. It was Broke's poem that mislead Shak- 
spere in omitting the pathetic incident of Juliet's coming out 
of her trance before the death of Romeo. This is the only 
circumstance that Luigi da Porto added to Masuccio's tale, 
and if Shakspere had known of it his dramatic instinct must 
have seized upon it at once to heighten the tragical effect of 
the parting of the lovers. The Italian tragedy on the same 
subject, Luigi Groto's Hadrianay is dramatically true in fol- 
lowing Da Porto's novella. 

Besides Painter's translation of this tale, The Palace of 
PleasurCj n, 26 (1667), The Ih'agicaU hidorie of Romeua and 
Juliet (Capell Coll.) appeared in 1687; the romance is re- 
ferred to,— 

1663. By George Turberville, in EpOapheSy etc.,uin Epi^ 
taph on the death of Maister Arthur Brooke. 

1666. By Thomas de la Peend, in The Pleasant Fable of 
HermaphrodHuB and Saimads. 

[1674.] By Barnabe Rich, in A right excelent andpleasatmt 
Dialogue J betwene Mercury and an English Souldier: etc. 


[1676.] By George Pettie, in A Petite Pallace of PeUie his 

1678. By Thomas Procter and Owen Roydon, in A gorgi- 
ous OaUery ofgaUant InuerUions. 

1679. A Poor Knight: his Palace of Private Pleasure, 

1682. By George Whetstone, in An Heptamerony The thyrd 
Dates Exetcise. 

1583. By Richard Stany hurst, in The first foure Bookes of 
Virgils Aeneisj Translated into English Heroicall Verse. . . . 
With other Poeticall deuises thereto annexed; in particular^ 
among the Poeticall deuises, in An Epitaph entituled Commune 
Defunctorum, such as our unlearned Pithmours accustomahly 
make upon the death of euerie Tom Tyler, as if it were a last 
for euery one his foots. 

1683. By Bryan Melbancke, in Philotimus. 

1684. By Clement Robinson, in -4 HandefvU of Pleasant 

SeeQu>ellenundForschungen. Heft 10. E. Koeppel. Studien 
zur Oeschichte der Italienischen Novelle. (With some correc- 

1 662. The most wonderfuU and pleasant history of Iitus and 
OisippuSy whereby is fully declared the figure of perfect frenshyp, 
drawen into English metre. By Edward Lewicke, 

Anno 1662. Imprinted by Thomas Hacket, and are to be 
solde at his shop in Lumbarde Streete. 8vo. ''Finis quod 
Edward Lewick." 

The romance of Titus and Oisippus is found in the Decor- 
meron, x, 8. J. P. Collier has shown ( The Poetical Decameron, 
vol. II, pp. 84 and 86) that Lewicke was indebted to The 
Oouemour of Sir Thomas Elyot, not only for the form of his 
narrative, but "even for some of his very words and phrases." 
Chapter xn of the Seconde Boke of The Bohe named The 
Gouemour (H. H. S. Croft's edition, 1883) is entitled, "The 
wonderfull history of Titus and Gisippus, and whereby is 
fully declared the figure of perfet amitie.'' 


It is uncertain whether Sir Thomas Elyot translated directly 
from Boccaccio, or, as is more likely, made use of a Latin ver- 
sion, by the celebrated Philip Beroaldo, whose editions of the 
classics were in great repute in the 16th century. Beroaldo's 
title reads, MUhica historia Johannis Boocaiiiy podae laureaH, 
de TUo Romano Oisippoque Aiheniensi, pkUosophiae tironibua 
ac commUiUmilma, amidtiae vim eluddanSy nuper per Philippum 
Beroaldum ex itaUco in laiinum transversa. 

No date [conjectured, Leipsig, 1495?]. 4to. Brit, Mua, 

There is also a metrical translation of TUua and Oiaippua 
printed by Wynkyn de Worde, Ye hystory of Tytus & Geayp^ 
pus translated oxd of latyn into englysche by Wyllyam Walter, 

London, n. d. 4to. By me Wynkyn de Worde. 

According to Brunet, the Latin text which Walter trans- 
lated was written by Matteo Bandello, and published at Milan, 
in 1509. Warton gives, "An exceedingly scarce book, Uti 
Romani et Hegesippi Aiheniensis Historia in Laiinum versa per 
Fr. Mattheum Bandellum Oastronovensem, Mediolaniy Apud 
Gotard de P<mte," 1509. 4to. 

A play called Titvs and Gisippus was acted at Court, Feb. 
17, 1577; it may, however, have been Ralph Radcliffe's-FWcjid- 
ship of Titus and Gh/sippus^ De Titi et GisippiAmidtia, revived 
from the time of King Edward VI., and now lost. 

The first paper in Goldsmith's short-lived periodical, 7%e 
Bee, is a prose version of lUas and Gisippus, although the 
romance is there said to be taken from a Byzantine historian, 
and the friends are called Alcander and Septimius. — Gold- 
smith's Miscellanies, The Bee, No. 1, Oct 6, 1759. 

1 565. The Historie of John Lorde Mandozze translated from 
(he Spanish by Thomas de la Peend, 

London, by T. Colwell, 1565, 12mo., 64 leaves, with one 
missing from the middle and a considerable number from 
the end. 

Dedicated, from the Middle Temple, to Sir Thomas Kemp, 
Enight, kinsman to the author. 


This curious poem, of which only a fragment, about three- 
fourths of the whole, is preserved, is written in alternate lines 
of fourteen and sixteen syllables. It is founded on Bandello, 
n, 44y Amove di Don GHouanni di Mendozzay e de la Duchessa 
di Sauoia, con varii e mirabUi acddenti che ^ intervengono. 
Painter translated the novella as The Duchesse of SauoUj Pcdact 
of Pleasure, 1, 46. Jacobs agrees with Hazlewood that Peend 
must had had proof sheets of Painter, but Koeppel finds a 
common source in Belleforest, i, 6. 

In brief, the Duchess of Savoy, falsely accused of unfaith- 
fulness, is saved from death by the opportune arrival of a 
champion in Don John of Mendozza. 

The romance is mentioned by Greorge Pettie, in his Petite 
Palacey 1676 ; by Robert Greene, in Mamillia, 1683 ; and by 
Clement Robinson, in A HandfuU of Pleasant DelUeSj 1684. 

For an abstract of the poem, see Sir Egerton Brydges, The 
British. Bibliographer y n, pp. 623-32 and 687-93. 

[1 666-6 ?] The Historie of Ariodanto and leneura, daugh- 
ter to the King ofScottes, in EnglishVerse by Peter Beuerley [of 
Staple Inn]. 

Imprinted at London, by Thomas East for Fraunces Col- 
docke, n. d. Sm. 8vo. 91 leaves. 1600. 12mo. (Warton, 
not now known.) 

Entered on the Stationers' Register A, in 1666-6, under the 
almost unrecognizable title. The tragigall and pleasaunte history 
Ariounder Jenevor, the Daughter unto the Kynge of [Skottes], 

The history of Ariodante and Oinevra is founded on a tale 
in Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, Canto v. Bandello has a novella 
on the same theme, i, 22, and also Cintio, Gli Ecatommiti^ 
L^Introduzione, Novella Nona. It was a very popular tale, 
and was used by Shakspere, in Much Ado About Nothing, the 
story of Hero, Claudio, and Don John. Spenser also tells it, 
The Faery Queens, Bk. ii. Canto rv. Stanza 17 seq. 

Sir John Harington, in the Morall of the fifth book of his 
translation of Orlando Farioso, says, of the history of Ginevra, 


^' sure the tale is a pretie oomicall matter, and bath bin written 
in English verse some few years past (learnedly and with good 
grace) though in verse of another kind, by M. Greorge Tur- 
bervil." No trace of Turberville's version has yet been found. 

The Bevels Accounts, 1582, mention, "-4 Exstorie of Ano- 
dcmie and Chneuera shewed before her Majestic on Shrove 
Tuesdaie at Night, enacted by Mr. Mulcaster's children.'' 

Mr. Mulcaster's children were the boys of the Merchant 
Taylors' School. See Orlando Farioao, 1691. 

1669. A Notable SRdorye of Nastagio and Trauersari, no 
less pUteful than pleasav/rU, Translated oiU of Balian into Eng- 
lishe verse by C. T. [Dr. Christoplier Tye]. 

8^ amor non pool a un cor ingrato & empio 
Oiovanelli timorCy e crudel scempio. 

Imprinted at Londo in Paules Churchyarde by Thomas 
Parfoote dwelling at the signe of the Lucrece. Anno 1669. 
8vo. Black letter. 16 leaves. 

This is a versification of the Decamerony v, 8, the romance 
of the spectre huntsman. 

Nasta^gio and Trauersari was also versified by Greorge Tur- 
berville, in his Tragical Tales, 1687 (which see, the first tale). 
A third metrical version was made by Dryden in his Fables, 
1700, under the title, Theodore and Honorid. 

Byron alludes to Dryden's poem in Don Juan: — 

" Sweet hour of twilight ! in the solitude 
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 

Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood. 
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, 

To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, 
Ever-green forest I which Boccaccio's lore 

And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, 

How have I loved the twilight hour and thee I " 


** The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, 

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, 
Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine. 
And vesper-bells that rose the bonghs along ; 
The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line. 

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng, 
Which leam'd from this example not to flj 
From a true lover, shadowed my mind's eye," 

Don JuaUj Canto ni, Stanxas cv, cvi. 

Christopher Tye was a doctor of music at Cambridge, in 
1545, and musical instructor to Prince Edward and probably 
to the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth. Under Queen Eliza- 
beth, he became organist to the Chapel Royal, where, in con- 
nection with Thomas Tallis, he composed many services which 
are models of sacred choral melody. Sir John Hawkins says 
he was the inventor of the anthem. 

** The Acts of the Apostles set to music by Dr. Tye were 
sung in the Chapel of Edward VI., and probably in other 
places where choral service was performed ; but the success of 
them not answering the expectation of their author, he applied 
himself to another kind of study, the composing of music 
to words selected from the Psalms of David, in four, five, 
and more parts, to which species of harmony, for want of a 
better, the name of Anthem, a corruption of Antiphon, was 

Sir John Hawkins. A General History of the Science and 
Practice of Music. Ed. Novello, 1853, p. 455. 

Christopher Tye is a character in Samuel Rowley's play, 
When You See Me, You know Me, or The Fanums Chronicle 
Hidory of Henry 8. (1 605. 4to.). A dialogue of this drama, 
between Prince Edward and his music master, gives us King 
Henry VHI's opinion of Dr. Tye in language of strong Tudor 

Prince Edward. — ^I oft; have heard my father merrily speake 
In your high praise ; and thus his highnesse saith. 


England one God, one truth, one doctor bath 
For musickes arte, and that is Doctor Tye. 
See The Forrest of Fancy y 1679. 

[1570?] A Discourse of the great enieUie of a widow towards 
a young gentleman^ and by what means he requited the same. 
Set forth in English verse by Jo: Ooluboumef} 

Imprinted at Liondon by Henry Binneman. [Colophon.] 
Imprinted at London, by Henry Binneman, dwelling in 
Enightrider Streate, at the Signe of the Mermaid. [1570?] 
8vo. Bagford Papers, 

This romance is taken from Bandello, in, 17,7/ 8. FHiberto 
ffinnamora di M. ZUia, che per un bado lo fa stare lungo tempo 
mviolo, e la uendeUa che egli aliamente neprese. It was a popu- 
lar tale, and is found in Painter, Palace of Pleasurey 1567, n, 
27, The Lord of Virle; in Fenton, Oertaine TragicaU Discourses, 
1567, No. 11, The OrueUie of a Wydowe; and in Westward for 
Smelts, 1620, No. 6, The Fishwife of Hampton. Pettie, Petite 
PatlacCy 1576, mentions Zilia and the Knight Virle. 

Two Elizabethan plays are founded on the tale, Tfie Dumb 
Knight. 1608. 4to. Gervase Markham and Lewis Machin, 
and Tlie Queeny or the ExceUenoy of her Sex. 1653. Anony- 

[1570?] A pleasant and ddightfuU History of Oalesus, 
Cymon, and Iphigenia, describing the FioJden£SS of Fortune in 
hue. Translated out of Italian into English verse by T. C. 

Di rozzo inerto, e vilyfa spesso amove 

GenerosOy et cortese^ un nobil cor. 

[Lfondon.] Printed by Nicolas Wyer, dwelling at the signe 
of 8. John Euangelist in 8. Martins parish beside Charing- 
crosse, n. d. [c. 1570.] 8vo. Black letter. 26 leaves. 

A versifying of U DecameronCf v, 1, CUmone^ amando, divien 
savio, etc. The idea embodied in the character of Cimone, the 


civilizing influeDce of love, had already been twice worked oat 
by Boccaccio, first in his prose romance, AmdOj and again in 
the pastoral, Ninfale Fiesolano. Dryden translated the romance 
of Oynum and Iphigenia in his Fables j 1700. 

Warton conjectures T. C. to be either Thomas Campion, or 
Thomas Churchyard. 

1670. The PUyfaU SRstorie of two loving ItalianSj Ghmlfrido 
and Bamardo le vayne : which ariued in the ooy/nirey of Orecey 
in the time of the noble Emperoure VaapoMan. And translated 
out of Italian into Englishe meeier by lohn Drout, of Thauis 
Irme Gentleman. Anno 1670. 

Imprinted at London by Henry Binneman, dweUing in 
Elnightrider streete, at the signe of the Mermayde. 8vo. 
Black letter. 32 leaves. 

Twenty-five copies reprinted, in black letter, for Mr. J. P. 
Collier, by F. Shoberl, jun. 1844. 4to. BrU. Mus. 

Dedicated to Sir Francis Jobson, Knight, Lieutenant of 
the Tower. 

In verse, the fourteen-syllabled metre of the time, divided 
into lines of eight and six syllables. ' The pityfull historie ' 
is pitiful indeed, for no person concerned in it escapes death. 
Part of the history relates to that of Romeo and Juliet. 

^Oalfrido and Bernardo^ is an entry in Henslowe^s Diaiy 
under date, May 18, 1696. Fleay asserts that the entry is a 
forgery. Chronicle of the English Drama, Vol. n, p. 301 . 

1576. A Most lamentable and Tragicall Historie, Oonteyning 
the outrageous and horrible tyrannic which a Spanishe gentle^ 
woman nam^d Violenta executed upon her Louer Didaco, because 
he espoused another beyng first betrothed unto her. Newly trans^ 
lated into English Meter, by T. A, [Thomas Achelley]. 1676. 

Imprinted at London by John Charlewood for Thomas 
Butter dwelling in Paules Churchyarde neere to S. Austines 
gate at the Shippe. 1676. 8vo. 39 leaves. Bodleian. 

Dedicated, in prose, '^ to the Right Worshipful Sir Thomas 
Gresham, Knight.'^ 


VioUnta and Didaoo is a metrical translation of Bandello. 
Pt. I, Nov. 42. 

1676. TragioaU TcUeSj translated by TurbervUe in time of hia 
troubUsy end of sv/ndry Baliana; with the argument and VEn^ 
uoye to ech Tale, Nocet empta dolore voluptas. 

Imprinted at London by Abell Jefis^ dwelling in the Fore- 
street without Crepelgate at the signe of the Bel. Anno Dom. 
1676, 1587. 4to. (a)llier.) 8m. 8vo. (AUibone and Haz- 
litt.) 12mo. (Warton and Oensura Liieraria, 3, p. 176.) 
Black letter. 200 leaves. Edinburgh, 1837. 4to. 50 copies. 
Bodleian, Edinburgh University Library. 

Dedicated "to the right worshipful, his loving brother, 
Nicholas Turbervile, Esq.'' 

This is a collection of ten novels, translated, in verse, hj 
Greorge Turberville. They are all from Boccaccio and Ban- 
dello, except the second one, whose source has not yet been 
discovered. It will be noticed below that six of the seven 
tales taken from Boccaccio belong to the fourth day, "Nella 
quahy BotJto il reggimento di FUostraiOy si ragiona di colorOy U 
cui amori ebbero inf dice fine." 

No. 1. Boccaccio, v, 8. Nastagio degli Onesti amando una 
dei Traversari, spende le sue ricchezze senza essere amaio. Etc. 

This tale had already been versified by Dr. Christopher 
Tye. See A Notable Historye of Nastagio and Trauersari^ 
1669; also. The Forrest of Fancy, 1679. 

No. 2. ? 

No. 3. Boccaccio, x, 4. Messer Oentil cfe* Oarisendi venvJto 
da Modena, trae deUa sepoUura tma donna amata da lui, sepel- 
lita per morta : etc. See PhUocapo, [1566 ?]. 

No. 4. Boccaccio, rv, 9. Messer Ouiglielmo Bossiglione dd 
a mangiare alia moglie sua U cuore di messer Ouiglidmo Ghmr- 
dastagno t^cci^o da lui et amato da lei : etc. 

This terrible fate is said actually to have be&llen the trou- 
badour Guillem de Cabestaing, or Cabestan. "Sa derniere 
mattresse, selon Jehan de Nostre-Dame, fut Tricline Carbon- 


ndy femme du seigneur de Seillan^ qui jaloux du troubadour, 
dout il avait fait son ^uyer, le tua, lui arracba le coeur et le 
fit manger k sa femme. Tricline dit k son 6poux, ' que, puis- 
qu'elle avait mang6 si noble viande, elle n'en mangerait jamais 
d'autres ;' et elle se laissa mourir de faim en 1213. 

'' Suivant Millot, le mari furienx contre Cabestaing se nom- 
mait Raymond de Castel-Roussillon, et son 6pouse Marguerite, 
lyapr^ an manuscrit italien, on rapporte que les parents de 
celle-ci et du troubadour, ainsi qu'un grand nombre de cheva- 
liers, k la t^te desquels se mit Alphonse, roi d'Aragon, d^mo- 
lirent le chateau de Raymond, firent de pompeuses fun^railles 
aux deux amants et les inhumdrent dans le m^me tombeau, 
qui fut plac6 dans une ^lise de Perpignan. Les chevaliers 
du Roussillon et du Narbonnais assistaient chaque ann6e ^ un 
service solennel fond6 par le roi d^Aragon pour le repos de 
Vkme de Marguerite et de Cabestaing." 

Micfaaud, Biographic UniverseUe. 

No. 6. Bandello, in, 18. Rosimonda fa ammazare il mar- 
riio, e poi ae stessa ed U aeoondo mariio awekfMLy acoecaJta da 
diaardinaio appetUo. 

The story of Rosimund furnished plots for two Elizabethan 

1. Albovine, King of the Lombards. 1629. 4to. Sir Wil- 
liam Davenant. 

2. The Witch. Printed 1788. 8vo. Middleton. 
Painter's Wife Punished, The Palace of Pleasure^ i, 57, is a 

prose translation of the romance. 

No. 6. Boccaccio, iv, 4. Oerbino contra lafede data dal re 
Guiglielmo auo avolo combaUe una nave dd re di Timisiy per 
torre una sua figUuolay etc. 

No. 7. Boccaccio, rv, 5. I frateUi deW laabetta uoddon 
Famante di lei: egli Papparisce in aogno e moatrale dove aia 
aotterato. EUa occultamente diaoUerra la testa e mettela in un 
teato di bassilico : etc. 

Isabella's story appealed to Keats in his unequal but beauti- 
ful and pathetic poem, Isabella, or the Poi of Easily 1820 ; and 


this poem inspired Holman Hunt to paint '^ Isabella and the 
Pot of Basil/' 1868. One of the early paintings of John 
Everett Millais has the same subject ; it is called, '^ Isabella/' 
or sometimes '^Lorenzo and Isabella/' and is in the Liverpool 
Gallery, dated 1849. Two of the men figures are portraits of 
Dante and William Bossetti. 

No. 8. Bandello, m, 6. Bdlissima vendetta fatta da gli 
Eliensi contra Aristotimo crtidelissimo tiranno, e la morte di 
qaello con aUri axscidenti. 

No. 9. Boccaccio, rv, 7. La Simona ama Pasqmno : sono 
indeme in uno orto: Pa^aqaino si frega ai denti unafoglia di 
salvia e muorsi : etc. 

No. 10. Boccaccio, rv, 8. GHrolamo ama la Salvestra: va 
coslretto do! prieghi della madre a Parigi: torruiy e truovala 
maritaia : etc. 

For the sources of these tales, except the first, third, fourth, 
fifth, and seventh, I am indebted to E. Eoeppel : Die engUshen 
Tasso-Obersetzungen des 16 jahrhunderts. 

Anglia. Band xni. NeueFolge Band i, 1891. 

1609. The Italian Taylor y and his Boy. By Robert Arminj 
Seruant to the Kings most eoscellent Maiestie, Res est soUiciH 
plena timoris amor. 

At London printed for T. P. 1609. 4to. Wood cuts. 
Huth, [1810.] 4to. British Museum. Reprinted in Occa- 
sional Issues of Unique or Very Rare BookSyYol. xiv. Alex- 
ander B. Grosart. 1880. Sm. 4to. Peabody. 

Dedicated to Viscount Haddington and his wife. Lady 
Elizabeth Fitz-water. 

From Straparola's Trediei Notte Piacevole, vni, 6. 

In Register C the license to Master Pavyer, Feb. 6, 1609, 
reads ^^Phastasma. The Italian Tayler and his boy made by 
master Arnim." 

Armin's poem is divided into nine cantos, each accompanied 
by an argument, and written in alternate rime. 


The prefatory Address Ad Ledoreni hio et vbiqae contains 
an interesting reference to the criticism of the time ; speaking 
of his pen, the poet says, — 

^'I wander with it now in a strange time of taxation, 
wherein every pen and inck-horne Boy will throw up his 
cap at the homes of the Moone in censure, although his wit 
hang there, not returning unless monthly in the wane : such 
is our ticklish age, and the itching braine of abondance.'' 

1639. A small Treatise betwixt AmaUe and I/aoenda, en- 
tiiukd, The eviU-intreaied lovery or The melancholy knight. 
Originally vrritten in the Oreeke tongue by an imknoum author; 
afterwards translated into Spanish [or rather written by D. 
Hernandez de San Pedro] ; after thai for the excellency thereof 
into the French tongue by N. H. ; next by B, M. \aTaffL\ into 
the Thuscany and now turned into English verse by L. \eona'rd'\ 
It. \awrence\ a well-tmsher to the Muses. [Motto from Ovid, 
De Tristibus.'] 

London. Printed by J. Okes for H. Moeley, and are to be 
sold at his shop, at the Signe of the Princes Armes in Pauls 
Church-yard. 1639. 4to. 64 leaves. British Museum. Bod- 
leiany (2 copies.) BrUwell. Huth. Bridgewater House. 

Lawrence dedicates his translation, in prose, '' To his more 
than Honoured Unckle Adam Lawrence," and, in verse, 
" To the Noble-minded Reader," and " To all Faire Ladies, 
Famous for their Vertues .... but most especially to that 
Paragon of Perfection, the very Non-Such of her Sexe, famous 
by the name of Mistris M. S." He does not mention, in his 
detailed account of the migrations of the romance, the fact that 
it had already found its way into English and was a popular 
tale. Claudius Holyband's earlier prose translation, entitled 
The pretie and wittie Historie ofAmalte and I/ucenda, came to 
four editions between 1575 and 1608. 

The French translator, N. H., is Nicolas de Herberay, 
Seigneur des Essarts, whose title runs, — 


Petit TraiU de A. d Lucenda, [by D. Hernandez de San 
PedrOy2 auUresfois traduU de lanffue Espaignole en la jPran- 
foyae & intUuli L'Amai mcU iraiii de s^amye: par le Signeur 
de8 Eaaara N. de Herberay, Paris. 1648. 16mo. British 
Museum. A French translation, with Bartolommeo Maraffi's 
Italian version, is dated 1570, — 

Petit traiti I/ucenda [by D, Hernandez de San Pe^ 
dro]. Picciol traitato d!A. & di Lacenday intUolato d'Amante 
mat trattato dalla sua amorosay muwamente per B. Maraffi, 
. . , in lingua Thoseana tradotto. French and Italian. Lyon. 
1570. 16mo. British Museum. 

Amalte and Luoenda is a tale of an over-confident lover 
and a false friend. The poet supposes himself lost in a desert, 
where after much wandering he comes upon a stately but dis- 
mal mansion. Arnalte, the melancholy owner, receives his 
guest courteously and entertains him with the story of his life. 
He was a native of Thebes, who, at the funeral of an eminent 
man of that city, had fallen in love with the grief-stricken 
daughter, Lucenda. The lady is described as a paragon of 
beauty, but unmoved by the addresses of her lover. Arnalte, 
however, hopes of success, until he is suddenly overwhelmed 
by hearing of her marriage to his friend, Yerso, the confidant 
of his love. He immediately challenges Yerso to single com- 
bat before the king, and kills him. Lucenda, heart-broken, 
retires to a convent, and Arnalte to the desert. 

For a brief account of Lawrence's poem, see the Rdrospeo- 
tiveBemew, 1821, Vol. iv, pp. 72-76. 

1640. The Pleasant and sweet History of jxxtient Orissell 
shewing how she from a poore man^s Daughter came to be a 
great Lady in France, being a pattern for oil vertuous Women. 
Translated out of Italian. 

London. Printed by E. P. for John Wright, dwelling in 
Giltspurstreet at the signe of the bible. 1640. 8vo. Black 
letter. 12 leaves. Also, [1630?] 8vo. British Museum. 
1842. J. P. Collier, for the Percy Society. 


Jl ibigfiiiiikr in devoi cfaapters, the first two and the last 
::ipcr ijt pcoee^^ the rest with some v^ bal and literal changes 
^ jnflw as a broadside called, A mod pleoBcaU BaOad of 
mHi^fU: G i rmel L To the tone of The Bride$ Good-morrow. 
iiKbpcsBfied in^RC BaOads, 1867.) 

XIk taie of Patient GriaeU is in the Decameron, the last 
QBJb v^f the last day, x« 10. It was the most popolar tale of 
Biiccsrao's in mediaeval literatnie. According to L^iand 
<FAag6Ty Fabiiaux ou Ocmles, upwards of twenty translations 
^4r it are to be found in the French prose of the 14th centarj, 
ua $Qch collections as the J/irotV des Dames, or the Exempks 
iif bcnmes ei wuxucaUes Femmes, and a secolar mystery in Fr^ach 
Y«ff^, nniqne of its kind, Le Mydlhrt de Griselidis, was repre- 
sented in Paris, in 1395. 

Petrarch was so pleased with the story that he learnt it by 
heart to repeat to his friends and then pat it into Latin prose, 
1^ De obedientia el fide uxorid Jlythologia, 1373. Daring this 
j«ar Chancer was in Italy, on his Italian embassy, and proba- 
bly met Petrarch at Padoa. Very likely Petrarch repeated the 
tale to him there, and gave him a copy of the Latin version, 
which he translated as The Clerks Tale (Canitrbury lales). 

Since Petrarch's time, in Italy, the tale of Patient Grissd 
has enjoyed enduring popularity. One of Groldoni's comedies. 
La Grisdday is founded on the subject, and the homely old 
drama is still acted in marionette theatres; cheap pictures rep- 
resenting its different scenes often decorate the cottage-walls of 
Italian peasants, while a painting attributed to Pinturicchio in 
the National Grallery, London, presents several of the most 
dramatic episodes. 

Following Chaucer, in English, Balpb Radcliffe, of the time 
of Edward VL, wrote a Latin comedy on the subject, Depatir- 
eniia Griselidis; then come half a dozen ballads recorded in 
the Staiionertf Registers and elsewhere, The Hidory ofmeke and 
pacyent Crvesell, licensed 1665, and another comedy. Patient 
Gtissel, printed in 1603, and written by Thomas Dekker, 
Henry ChetUe, and William Haughton. The quarto tract. 


in prose, of 1607; 1619, and 1674, is said to have been 'written 
first in French/ Pepys refers to the 'puppet-play' o{ Patient 
Orisael in his Diai^yy Aug. 30, 1667, and Butler, in HudibrtxSy 
couples Grissel with Job (pt. 1, c. 2, 772). (See Skeat, The 
Works of Oeoffrey CAauoer, Vol. iii. Group E, pp. 453-7.) 

Whether Boccaccio invented the story or not, is uncertain, 
but it has been said that he ought to be forgiven all the 
naughtiness of all the Decameron for having given to inter- 
national literature this pure and beautiful tale. The first 
English comedy is now lost, and the second one does not 
amount to much dramatically, but it contains one of the most 
exquisite Elizabethan lyrics, Dekker's 

Sweet Content 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 

O sweet content ! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexM ? 

O punishment ! 
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexM 
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ? 
O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content I 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 

Honest labor bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny, nonny I 

Canst thou drink the waters of the crispdd spring ? 

O sweet content ! 
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 

O punishment ! 
Then he that patiently want's burden bears 
No burden b^rs, but is a king, a king I 
O sweet content I O sweet, O sweet content I 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 

Honest labor bears a lovely &oe ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny I 



d. Italian and Latin Poetby. 

1673. £. Mantucmi . . . adoleacerUia, seu bucolicaj brembus 
Jodod Badii commentariia illvstrata. His acceaserurU Joannia 
Murmelii in singuias eclogas argumenta, num annotaiiuncuUs 
qusdem in loca cdiqaot obscuriora, Acceasit & index . . . novua 
• . . opera B, Laurentia. 

Apud T, Marshy Londini, 1573. 8vo. British Museum, 
Also, Londini, 1627. 8vo. British Museum. 

See ITie Eglogs of . . , B. Marduanj 1567. Greorge Turber- 

1574. M, Palingenii [Pietro Angelo ManzoUi] . . . Zodiacus 
vitae. Hoc est de hominis vita, studio ac moribus optima insti- 
tuendis lAbri XII. Few MS. Notes. 

T. Marshy Londiniy 1574. 16mo. Also, Londiniy 1575, 
8vo., 1579, 16mo., 1592, 8vo., and 1639, 8vo., all five edi- 
tions in the British Museum. 

See The first thre Bokes of the most christid Poet MarceUus 
PalingeniuSy 1560. Barnaby Googe. 

1581. Paraphrasis aliquot [i. e, SIS'] Psalmorum DavidiSy 
Oarmine heroico. 8. Gentili . . . Au^store. {Alcon, seu de Na^ 
tali Jesu Christiy Edogay ete.) 

T. VautroUeriuSy Londiniy 1581. 4to. British Museum. 

1584. 8. OentUis in XXV. Davidis Psaimos epicae para- 

Apud J. Wolfiumy Londiniy 1584. 4to. British Museum. 

1584. Torquay Tasso 8olymeidoSy Liber primuSy Latinis 
numeris expressus d 8cipio Gentiii. 

Londiniy excudebat Johannes Wolfius. 1584. 4to. BrU.Mus. 

8. OentUis 8olymeidos libri duo priores de T. Tassi Italiois 
expressi. 1584. 4to. British Museum, 1585. 4to. British 


ToMo^a Jerusalem. Trandated into Latin verse. 1785. 4to. 

1686. J. C. SteUae Nob. Bom. Ooltmbeidos, Libri Ftiorea 
duo. [Edited by Giaoopo Castelvetri.] 

Apud J. Woljiumy Londvai, 1585. 4to. British Museum. 

A poem on the discovery of the new world, composed at 
the age of twenty, by Giulio Cesare Stella. It won a great 
reputation for the author in Italy, but it is said to be a 
mediocre performance, and the author wrote nothing of note 

1591. II Pastor Fido: tragieomedia pastorale [in Jive ads 
and in verse"]. {Aminta, favola boscherecda del 8. Torqaaio 

Per Giovanni Volfeo, a spese di CHaoopo Oadelvetri. Londra. 
1591. 12mo. British Museum. 

This is the fourth edition of Guarini's famous pastoral, 
together with the Aminta of Tasso, edited in Italian, for Eng- 
lish readers. It appeared eleven years before the first English 

See // Pastor Fido, 1602, by Dymock, and 1647-8, 

by Sir Kichard Fanshawe. 

1595. AUo, Di Tomato Morlei H prima libro deUe Ballate 
A Oinque voei. 

In Londra. Appresso Tomaso JEste. CO. lo. xc. V. [1596.] 
4to. 15 leaves. Brit. Mus. 

1 take this to be an Italian version of Morley's, The 
First Booke of Balletts to jive voyoes. (London, 1 596. 4to. 
Brit. Mus.) For a short account of Thomas Morley, see his 
Canzonets, 1597. 

1596. Rime. Londra. 1596. 4to. 

Lodovico Petrucci, or Petruccio Ubaldini, the author of these 
verses was an Italian Protestant refugee in London, who sup- 
ported himself by teaching Italian and illuminating books. He 


was of the DoMe Togcm fkmil j of Uhaldini, aJdioi]^ for aome 
msoD he does not seem to have been kBown in Ei^hnd hj 
tibat name. Pelnioci was fint patjonixed bj Henrr, Earl of 
Amiidel and afterwards bj King Edward VI^ who took him 
into his service. Whatever his connection with the Court was, 
it seems to have been continued under Elizabeth, for the Huth 
Ldbrarj contains a Liber precum illuminated bj him and bear- 
ii^ the rojal monogram, E. B.^ surmounted bj a crown. It is 
supposed to have belonged to the Queen and to have heok 
presented to her bj the author. 

1613. Baocotta d^akune Rime dd Ckwaliere Lododoo Pe- 
iruod NobiU To9oano in piu luoghi, e tempi eampogU d e diveni 
Prendpi dedicale; eon la Sdua deOe mu> Penecuiioni. 

Farrago Poemaium Equitis Lodauid Pdrucd^ NobiHs TVis- 
eani diverms lods H temporibua eonscriptorum H ad diccrmm 
prindpeB dedicalorum una cum sylva warum penecatianum. 

Ozaniae, 1613. Sm. 4to. British Museum. 

This is a volume of Italian poems, with a Latin version of 
each, by Petnicci. It was published after his deaths and 
contains verses addressed to Queen Elizabeth, King James 
I., and other notable personages. One poem is an el^j in 
memory of Sir Thomas Bodley. 

1619. LaOaccia . . . poema heroico, nd qual si traita piena- 
mtnie delta naiuray e de gli affetti dHogni sorte di Flerey coHmodo 
di caccuirle, & prenderle. 

Appresso Oio, BilUoy Ixmdraj 1619. 8vo. British Museum. 

A poem by Alessandro Gatti. 

1637. R. P. E. Thesauri [Oourd Emmanuele Tesaun)] . . . 
Caesares; d ejusdem varia carmina: quibus acoesserunt, . . . 
NobUissimorvm OrierUis & Occidentis Pontificum elogia & varia 
opera Podica. Editio secimda emendaiiory cum audariolo. 

L. Lichfield, Impensis Oviidmi Webb, Oxonii, 1637. 8vo. 
British Museum. 



1646. Poems by Mr. John MUton, both English amd Laiin^ 
oompo^d at seoeral Times. Printed by his true Copies. The 
Songs were set in Musick by Mr. Henry Lowes, Oentleman of 
the JSing's Chappelly London. 

Printed by Kuth Baworth, for Humphrey Moeely, etc. 
London. 1646. Sm. 8vo. 2 pts. British Museum. 

The first collective edition of Milton and the first work 
bearing his name. It contains an oval portrait of the poet 
at the age of twenty-one, by W. Marshall, with a Greek 
inscription satirizing the engraver for representing a man of 
middle age. 

1673. Poems J iStc, upon several Occasions. By Mr. John 
MiUon; both English and Latin, &c. Composed at several 
Times. With a small TraxstaJte of Educaiion to Mr. Hartlih. 

London. Printed for Thomas Bring, at the White Lion. 
. . . Fleet Street. 1673. Sm.-8vo. Pp. 292. With portrait 
by W. DoUe, and considerable additions, both to the English 
and the Latin poems. British Museum. 

Accompanying the English Poems, Part I, in these two 
editions prepared for the press by Milton himself, are five 
Italian sonnets, numbered in., rv., v., vi., and yn., and a 

They relate the story of the poet's love for an Italian lady, 
whom he describes as beautiful, dark-haired, appreciative of 
poetry, and a sweet singer. Sonnet m. reveals her birth- 
place as the Vale of the Eeno, between Bologna and Ferrara. 
Warton conjectures that she was the celebrated singer Leonora 
Bonari, whom Milton heard at Cardinal Barberini's musicales 
in Bome, and to whom he addressed three pieces of compli- 
mentary Latin verse. But there is no real ground for this 
fancy, nor indeed anything to indicate definitely that Milton 
met the lady in Italy. He may have met her in London society, 
and the poems may have been written before he travelled in 
Italy. By common consent, however, they are referred to the 
time of the Italian journey, 1638-9. 


lo thice of Ike noKts ike hdtf is aJJ ie i g J fratdy/ 

l>9«Mi leggiairOj. U tmbd 

Per aria, iUimitiHoeeki^Ikmma 

fmd eke mom mam h tm&mk 

Soonet m. 

Gioeam£y pioMOj e 9emfiieeEto 
Poidkifmggir wte tieaao m dmUmo mmOf 
MadammOj a voi del wk» cmor fmmS damo 
Far^ dieoliK 

In SofUMi T^ Mihoo tmkes into hk cotiMcnce his Italiui 
fiiend, Clarks Diodad, 

JKodati {e U^l dird ccm wuTtnigKa) 
In Soonet ir^ 

Qmal im eoOe aepro, alt hmbrwnr di aorOy 

and in the camzxmey the EngliA poet excnaes himself for writ- 
ii^ in Ilaliany on the groond that the ladj had ^ pfaiaed her 
natiTe toi^;ae as that in which Love ddighted." 


Hidongi damme e giaeami amuirom 
iPaeeotiaiuiom aUormOy e "Perch^ aernt^ 
Perdu tu seriei tn lingua igmata e drama 
Veneggiamdo <f aaior, e come fodf 
Dinney 9e la tua 9pema na aiat rcrna. 


E de^ pensieri h miglior farrim/ *' 
Oost mi van burlando : " altri ripiy 
AUri lidi faspettany ed altre andej 
Nelle cui verdi sponde 
Spuniati ad or ad or aHa iua ehioma 
LHmmortal guiderdon d^eteme frondiy 
Perchh aUe spalle tue soverchia somat" 
Oanzoriy diroUiy e tu per me riapondi : 
^'Dice mia Donnaj ^l sua dir ^ il mio cuore, 
Queda ^ lingua di cui si vanta AmoreJ^ 

1 658. La Fida Pastora, Oomoedia Pastoralis, Autore F. F. 
Angh-Britanno, Addwntur nonnuUa varii argument Oarmina 
ah eodem. Dux vitae Ratio, 

Londini, Typis R. Damelia^ Impensia G. Bedell & T. Collins, 
&c. 1658. 8m. 8vo. Brit, Mue. 

The Carmina Varii Argumenti at the end occupy only 9 
leaves, including a separate title. 

The translator, F. F. Anglo-Britannus, is supposed to be 
Sir Richard Fanshawe. The pastoral is John Fletcher's The 
Faithfid Shepherdess done into Latin verse. 

e. Corrigenda to First Paper (on Romances 

IN Prose). 

[c. 1550.] [Colophon.] Thus enddh the hystorye of the two 
valyaunte brethren ValerUyne & Orson, sones unto the Iknperour 
of Chrece. 

Imprented at London ouer agaynst S. Margaretes Church 
in Lothbery be William Coplande. [circa 1550.] 4to. Black 
letter. Woodcuts. Mr. Oorser. AlsO; n. d., 4to., " be me Wyl- 
liam Copland, for John Walley.'^ 

Valentine and Orson. The Two Sonnes of the Fmperour of 
Greece. Newly Corrected and amended, with new Pictures lively 
expressing the Historie. 

MAST AvmxrTA aoorr. 

riiMiid u LoodoD hj Thomas Parfoot. An. Dom. 1637, 
hhck letter, with a large cot of the two heroes on the 
tide-page and other cots in the vohime. Bniiak MmMmmu 
Abo, 1649. 4to. Black letter. Huih : 1677. 4to. 16S2. 4lo. 
Bbck letter. With cots. Huih: 1688. 4to. Black letter. 
112 leaves. 1694. 4to. Bodkim: 1696. 4to. Black letter: 
n. JLy 4to., bj A. [kzander] M. [llboom] fcM* £. Tiacj: [c 
1690.] ([Loodoo. 1700(?)] Bri^MmM.) 4to. Roman letter: 
B.d. 4to. 12 leaves — an abridged chapbook. Nameroos other 

The printer's preface of the edition (rf^ 1649, addressed ''To 
the Beader,'' aajs, ^ The History here written, was translated 
oot of French into English above 100 years ago, by one Henry 
Watson, and since that time it hath by him been Corrected^ 
and pot into a more plysant stile, and so followed on to the 
Prease tiU this present Edition.^' 

An entry in Stationer^ Rtgider B shows that this was a 
very old romance, — ''8 Aogosti [1586] Hiomas Pnrfoote. 
Beoeaved of him for printinge the olde Booke of VaUniine 
and Orson vi'. Alwaies provided that ye campan^ shall bane 
them at his handes." 

The ballad of ValerUme and Onony entitled The Empenmr 
& the ChUdtj and of comparatively late origin, is said, by 
Bishop Percy (who rewrote it in foor-lined stanzas), to be 
foanded on ''a translation from the Frendi, being ooe of 
their earliest attempts at romance/' The earliest Frendi title 
I have met with is, HisUnre des deux nobles el vaiHans ehewMr- 
tiers Valentin el Orson, fils de FEmpereur de Gr^, el neveux 
du tr^s-chritien Roi de France PSpin, conterianl 74 chapUreB 
lesquels parlent de plusieurs el diverse maJtier^ tr^-plaisantes 
el ricriatives. 

Lyons, 1495, vn-folio, el 1590, in-odavo, el depute d Troyea, 
ehez Oudot, in-quarto. 

An Italian title in the Hath Library is of a later date, — 

Historia dei due nobilissimi el vaJerosi frateUi Valentino el 
Orsone; Ugliuoli del Magno Imperalore di GondantinopoU A 


nepoii dd Be Pipino. ... In Vendia^ appreaso Vincenzo Vol- 
grisiy & BaUemir Oodantini. 1558. Sm. 8vo. Also Brilish 

An interlade called Valentine and Orson is twice entered on 
the Stationers' books ; in Begister By May 23^ 1595, and in 
Begister C, March 31, 1600. A play on the same theme, 
written by Anthony Munday and Richard Hathway, was 
acted by the Admiral's men, at the Rose, July 19, 1698. It 
was probably foanded on the interlude. Douce refers the 
familiar lines of Hamlet's soliloquy, — 

*' The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns," — {Hamldy iii. 1) 

to an expression in Valefrdine and Orson: — 

'^ I shall send some of you here present inio such a oownJtryy 
thai you shall scarcely ever rdum again to bring tydings of 
your valour." Douce^ Illudrations of Shakspeare. Ed. 1839, 
p. 462. The thought, however, is common property, occur- 
ring in the Book of Job, in Catullus, and elsewhere. See I. 
Bomances, Palmerin d'Oliva, 1588. 

The many different forms in which the tale of Valentine and 
Orson turns up attest its abiding popularity. It is a tale of 
lost children found to princely rank and fortune, an extremely 
common motive in the old romances. 

[1566?] A Pleasant disport of diuers Noble Personages: 
Written in Italian by M. John Bocace Florentine and Pod 
Laureate: in his Boke which is entUvled Philooopo. And nowe 
Englished by H. O. 

Imprinted at London, in Pater Noster Bowe, at the signe 
of the Marmayd, [by H. Bynneman for Richard Smith and 
Nicholas England. Anno Domini. 1566?] 4to. 68 leaves. 
Black letter. British Museum (title-page mutilated). 

Dedicated to the ''right worshipfuU M. William Eioe Es- 



Thifieene mod pUoMurd and ddedabk questumSj entUuled A 
disport of diuers noble personages written in BaBan by M. 
John Bocace, Florentine and Poet Laureatey in his Boote 
named Philocopo. Englished by H. G. 

These bookes are to be solde at the Comer shoppe, at 
the North-weast dore of Paules. [Colophon.] Imprinted at 
London, by Henry Bynneman for £ycharde Smyth. Anno. 
1671. 8vo. Black letter. 88 leaves. Bodleian. Also, 1587. 
8vo. 88 leaves. CapeU OoO. British Museum. 

The Huth Library Catalogue states that there were four 
editions oi Philocopo between 1567 (1566?) and 1587. 

H. G. is commonly supposed to be Humphrey Gifford, 
author oi A Posie of CfiUoflowerSy 1580, but it has been sug- 
gested that the initials may stand for Henry Granthan, trans- 
lator of Scipio Lentulo's Batian Grammar y 1575. 

Philocopo (FUocolo) is a remodelling, in prose, of the old 
chivalric metrical romance, Floire et Blanch^lore, a fiivorite 
with the minstrels of France, Italy, and Grermany. 

Boccaccio says that he was incited to write the book by 
Maria d'Aquino, *' Fiammetta," a supposed natural daughter 
of King Robert of Naples. She is the queen of the Court of 
Love, 4th Book, which is held in a garden near Naples upon 
the road leading to the tomb of Vergil. 

Two of the * questions' of the fourth book of Philocopo were 
retold by Boccaccio in the Decameron; Questione xm, dis- 
cusses the generosity of Messer Gentil de^ Oarisendi, X, 4, and 
Questione TV, is the romance of IHanora and Ansaldo, or the 
Enchanted Garden, x, 5. Chaucer made use of the story of 
Dianora and Ansaldo^ with a variation, in the Franklin's Tale 
{Canterbury Tales), It also furnished the theme of Beaumont 
and Fletcher's moral representation. The Triumph of Honor, 
or Diana {Four Plays in One, 1647, folio), which Fleay judges 
to be the work of Beaumont only. 

In the only edition of Filocolo I have ever seen, Opere 
Vdgari di Giovanni Boccaccio^ Firenze, 1829, I find the 
'Questions' in the fourth book, although the British Museusn 


Ccdahgue and Koeppd, Studien zur Oeachickte der ItcUienischen 
Novelle, both refer them to the fifth book. 

See, for Questione xm., Turberville's TrofficaU TaleSy 1576 ; 
for Queslione iv., Philolimvs, 1583; and Orlando inamoratOy 

1568. A briefe and pleasant Discourse of Duties in Mariage, 
called the Flower of Friendshippe, 

ImpriDted at London bv Henrie Denham, dwelling in Pater 
noster Rowe at the Signe of the Starre. Anno 1568. 8vo. 40 
leaves. Two editions. Also, 1571. 8vo. B. L. Bodleian. 
1577. 16mo. Bodleian. 

The dedication to Queen Elizabeth is signed, ''Your Mais- 
ties most humble Subject, Edmonde Tilnay." Edmund Tilnaj 
was Master of the Revels from 1579 to his death in 1610; 
John Lyiy was his rival and waited in vain for the succession. 

This book is a discussion of marriage after the manner of 
the Italian Platonists. A house party is assembled at Lady 
Julia's and some of the gentlemen propose outdoor sports : 
"But M. [aster] Pedro nothing at all lyking of such deuises, 
wherein the Ladies should be left out, said that he well 
remembered how Boccace and Countie Baltisar with others 
recounted many proper deuises for exercise, both pleasant, and 
profitable, which, quoth he, were used in the courts of Italic, 
and some much like to them are practised at this day in the 
English court, wherein is not only delectable, [sic] but pleasure 
ioyned wyth profite, and exercyse of the witte." 

Pedro's proposal of the ' question ' prevails, and the com- 
pany meet every day in the garden, where, under the rule of 
a queen, they discuss marriage. On the first day, Pedro 
defends marriage against " a mery gentleman, called Maister 
Quaker of Cawne," relating a tale of a faithful husband, 
entitled, De Oonjv^gaii Charitaie: De Neapolitani regni quo^ 
dam ax:cola, Lib. rv.. Cap. vi., from Baptista Campofulgosus 
(Fregoso), Exemplorum, Hoc est, Didorum Factorumque Memo- 
rabiliumy ex certae fidei ueteribus et recefrdioribus historiarum 
probatis AutorHms, Lib. ix. 


The subject of the second day's discussion is ^^The office, or 
duetie of the married woman/' and Pedro tells a story of a 
wife's prudence in reclaiming her husband from evil courses, 
which is found in Queen Margaret's Heptameraa, Novella 48, 
Memorable chariti cCtme femme de TaurSy enuera son mary 
ptUier. It is one of the novels of Painter's Palace of Pleasure j 

The allusion to Boccaccio doubtless refers to FUocolo which 
had just been translated, 1566 (?). The Oourtyer of Count 
Baldessar Oadilio {Oastiglione) was translated in 1661 by Sir 
Thomas Hoby, and was by far the most popular Elizabethan 
translation from the Italian, judging by the number of edi- 
tions it went through. 

1573. The Garden of Pleasure: Qmtayninge most plea>sante 
Tales f worthy deeds and vrUty sayings of noble Princes & learned 
Philosophers^ moralized. No lesse delectable^ than projUable. 
Done out of Median into English, by lames SanfordCy Oent. 
Wherein are also set forth divers Verses and Sentences in 
Italian, with the Englishe to the same, for the benefit of students 
in both longs. 

Imprinted at London, by Henry Bynneman. Anno 1673. 
8vo. 116 leaves. Black letter. Oapell Coll. (imperfect). 
British Museum. 

Dedicated to " Lord Robert Dudley, Earle of Leycester." 

Houres of Recreation or Afterdinners, which may aptly be 
called the Garden of Pleasure: Containing mod pleasant Tales, 
worthy deeds & witty sayings of noble Princes & learned Philoso^ 
phers, wUh their Morals, &c. Done first out of Italian into 
Englishe, by J. S. Oent., and now by him newly perused, correded, 
and enlarged. 

Imprinted at London by Henry Bynneman, &c. 1676. 
16mo. 128 leaves. Black letter. British Museum. 

At the end of Howres of recreation are " Certayne Poems 
dedicated to the Queenes moste excellent Maiestie, by James 
Sanforde Gent" 


1578. Tarldona Tragical TreatUeSf corUaynyng sundrie die-- 
courses and prety Oonceytea, both in Prose and Verse. 

Imprinted at London bj Henry Bynneman. An. 1578. 
4to. Black letter. 

"To the right honoarable and vertous Lady, the Lady 
Fraunoes Mildmay, Richard Tarleton wisheth long life, and 
prosperous health, with happy encrease of Honor," signed, 
"Your honors most humble at commandment, Richard Tarle- 
ton, Seruaunt to the right Honourable the Lorde Chamberlaene 
Earle of Sussex." 

The only known copy of this work was found at Lamport 
Hall, by Mr. C. Edmonds, who says : — " In the Dedication 
the author expresses his fear of getting ' the name and note of 
a Thrasonicall Clawback,' which curious expression is used 
by Shakespeare in Lovers Labour Lost [v. 1, printed 1598]. 
Farmer (says Mr. C. Knight) asserts that the word (thrasonical) 
was introduced in our language before Shakespeare's time, but 
he furnishes no proof of this." Shakspere again uses the word 
in As You Like It, v. 2, acted 1599, "Csesar's thrasonical brag 
of — * I came, saw, and overcame.* " 

1 579. The Forrest of Fancy, Wherein is contein^d very prety 
Apothegmes and pleasant histories, both in meder and prose, 
Songes, Sonets, Epigrams, and Epistles, of diuerse matter a/nd 
in diuerse manner. With sundry other diuises, no lesse pithye 
then phasauni and profytable. 

Reade with regard, peruse ea^Ji point toell. 

And then give thy judgement as reason shall move thee; 

For eare thou conceive it, twere hard for to tell. 
If cause be or no, wherefore to reprove me, ^ 

Imprinted at London by Thomas Purfoote, dwelling in 
Newgate Market, within the New Rents, at the signe of the 
Lucrece. 1579. 4to. 58 leaves. A second edition, considera- 
bly augmented, came out in the same year, 1679. 4to. Black 
letter. 80 leaves. British Museum. 


The words " L'acquis Abonde, Finis, H. C," occur on the 
verso of the last leaf. H. C. has been conjectured to be Henry 
Chettle, by Ritson, Henry Cheeke, by Malone, and Henry 
Constable, by Warton. 

Of the ^' pleasant histories/' which are in prose, I note two 
from Boccaccio ; — Decameron, m, 5, Seigneor Francisco Ver~ 
geli8yfor a fayr ambling gelding , suffered one Seigneor Richardo 
Magmffico to talk with his wife, who gave him no aunswere at 
ally but he aunswering for her in such sort a^ if she herself had 
spoken Uy according to the effect of his wordes it cam^ afterwards 
to passe. (7 pages.) 

Ben Jonson makes use of this bargain in Act I., scene 3, of 
The Devil is an Ass, acted 1616, published 1631. In Jonson's 
comedy, Wittipol gives Fitzdottrel a cloak for leave to pay his 
addresses to Mrs. Fitzdottrel for a quarter of an hour. 

Decameron, v. 8. Teodoro and Violante. 

Another prose romance is taken from Straparola, Le (redid 
Pia^cevoli NoUi, 1, 1 . One named Solar d, departing from OeneSy 
cam^ to Montferat, where he transgressed three commaundementes 
that his father gave him by his last will and testamente, and being 
condemned to dye, was delivered, and retoumed againe into his 
oume countrey, (13 pages.) 

The romance of Salardo is the sixty-ninth and last piece in 
the book. Number 34 is a charming poem of thirty-two 
stanzas, entitled, 

A commendadon of the robin redde bred. 

It was so sweete a melody, 

that sure I thought some Muse, 
Or else some other heavenly wight 

did there frequent and use. 
But as I cast mine eye asyde 

on braunche of willow tree, 
A little robin redbrest then 

there sitting did I see. 


And he it was, and none bat he 

that did so sweetely sing ; 
But sure in all my life before 

I never harde the thing, 
That did so much delight my hart, 

or causde me so to joye, 
As did that little robin's song 

that there I heard that day. 

The Forrest of Fancy also mentions, — from Boccaccio 

// conte (TAnguersa, Decamerony n. 8. 

Nastagio and Traversari, Deoameronj V. 8. See, A Notable 
History e of NaMagio and Traueraari^ 1569, and Tragical Tales 
Translated by TurbervHey 1576. 

From Bandello 

Aleran and Adelaaiay n. 27. 

The Duchess of Malfy^ i. 26, naming the majordomo Ulrico, 
instead of Antonio Bologna, as in Bandello, Belleforest, and 

From Giraldi Cintio 

Fkfimia and Acaristo, yni, 10. This allusion occurs in one 
of the prose letters of the collection, of which there are not a 
few, mostly love-letters. 

Brydges, Re8tUiUa,Yol. in, pp. 456-476. 

1583. Philotimua, The Warre betwixt Nature and Fortwne. 
Cbmpiled by Brian Melbancke Student in Oraies Inne. PaJladi 
virtulis famula. 

Imprinted at London by Roger Warde, dwelling neere unto 
Holborne Conduite at the Signe of the Talbot. 1683. 4to. 
117 leaves. Black letter. Bodleian, British Museum, 

Dedicated to "Phillip Earle of Arundell.'' 

Phihtimus is an imitation of Lyly's Fuphues, quaint and 
interesting from the many old proverbs and scraps of verse it 
contains. Two of Melbancke's tales are to be found in Boc- 


caccio's FUoodOy namely^ Questione IV. The Enchanted Oarden, 
again, and QxiesHone XIL The Enforced Choice. 

Melbancke also relates a popular aneodote associated with 
the name of three different French kings. In PasquiPa Jeds 
it is ascribed to Charles V., and is called,^ deceyt of the hope 
of the cotietoua vnth a Tumep. Giraldi Cintio, Gli EccUommiH^ 
Deca Sesta, Novella Nona^ tells the story of Francesco Valesi, 
primo re di Fi'anda di tal nome, and Domenichi, Fa^cezie, MotU^ 
et Burle, di Dhiersi Signori, ofLodouioo undedmo re diFraneUi. 
Mery Tales, Wittie QuestionSy and Quiche AnswereSy xxm., Of 
Kynge Lowes of France and the husbandman, follows Dome- 
nichi. The germ of the story is said to be Arabian. 

Philatimus contains an allusion to TUus and Oisippus^ and, 
on page 53, the story of Romeo and Juliet is referred to as 
well-known and popular at that time, — 

" Nowe Priams sone giue place, thy Helen's hew is stainde. 
O Troylus, weepe no more, faire Cressed thyne is lothlye fowle. 
Nor Hercules thou haste cause to vaunt for thy swete Omphale : 
nor Romeo thou hast cause to weepe for Juliets losse,'' etc. 

The quotation contains a suggestion of Chaucer's fine ballad 
in the Prologue to the Legende of Groode Women, 

My lady comith, that al this may disteyne, 

a song which Leigh Hunt says is a strain of music fit to go 
before a queen I 

1587. The TragioaU historic ofBomeus and luliet, Oonktyn- 
ing in it a rare example of true constancie : vnth the Subtill 
Counsels and practises of an old Fryer, and their iU euenL 
Res est solliciti plena timoris amor. 

At London. Imprinted by B. Robinson. 1587. 8vo. 103 
leaves. Capell Coll. 

Cf. The TragicaU Historye of Romeus and Juliet, by Arthur 
Brooke, 1562. 

1590. The Oobler of Oaunterburie, Or An Inuedtiue Againsl 
TarUons Newes ovl of Purgalorie. A merrier lest then a 


With these Persona 


Cloumes ligge, and fitter for OenUemens humors. Published 
with the cost of a dickar of Cowe hides. 

At London. Printed by Robert Robinson. 1590. 4to. 
Black letter. 40 leaves. Bodleian. Also, 1608. 4to. Brii. 
Mus, (reprinted by Mr. Frederick Ouvry), and 1614. In 
1630, The Cobler was issaed with a new title, — 

The Itncher of Turvey, his merry Padime in his passing 
from Bittingsgaie to Graues-End. The Barge being freighted 
vnih Mirthy and Manned 

( Trotter the Tineker 
Yerker, a Oobler 
Thumper, a Smith 
Sir Rowla/nd, a SchoUer 
^ Bluster J a Seorman 
And other Mad-merry fdloweSy euery-One of them Telling his 
Tale: All which Tales are full of Delight to Beade ouer, and 
full of laughter to be heard. Euery Taleteller being Described 
in a Neate Character. The Eight seueraU Orders of OucholdSy 
marching here likewise in theyr Homed Banhes. 

London. Printed for Nath. Batter, dwelling at St. Austins 
Gate. 1630. 4to. Black letter. HuJth. Bodleian. 1859. 4to. 
(J. O. Halliwell.) 

The Cobler of Oaunterburie was attributed to Robert Greene, 
bat he denied the authorship, in his Visiony 1592-3, calling it 
"inoerti auihoris/' and speaking of it as ^' a merrie worke, and 
made by some madde fellow, conteining plesant tales, a little 
tainted with ecurilitie.^' The Catalogue of Early English 
Books enters The Cobler under the name ^^ Richard Tarlton.'' 

One of the stories of the Coblery The Smithes Tofe, is found 
both in the Decamerony vn. 7, and in the PecoronCy m. 2, of 
Ser Giovanni Fiorentino. It is Le OocUy battUy et contenty of La 
Fontaine, an extremely popular mediaeval story turning up 
repeatedly in nearly every modern language. In Elizabethan 
dramatic literature, it furnishes the underplot of Robert Daven- 
port's tragi-comedy. The City Nightoapy or Crede quod habes et 
habesy licensed 1624, printed 1661. The intrigue is also made 


use of in two comedies of the Restoration, — Love in the Darke: 
or J The Man of Bu^ness, " acted at the theatre royal by his 
Majestie's servants" — written by Sir Francis Fane, Jr., Knight 
of the Bath, 1675, and The London Cuckolds^ 1682, 4to., by 
Edward Ravenscroft. 

For an account of the whole matter, see W. H. Schofield, 
The Source and History of the Seventh Novel of the Seventh 
Day in the Deoamerony in Studies and Notes in Philology and 
Literajturey Harvard University, 1892. 

Koeppel calls attention to the fact that The Old Wiuea Tale 
mixes Decameron^ Yii. 1 and vii. 8, Monna Tessa and the 
phantom and Monna Sismonda with the string around her 

Studien zur Oeachichte der ItoMenischen NoveUe, xin. 

1596. A MargarUe of America. 

Printed for J. Busbie. [London.] 1596. 4to. Black letter. 
British Museumy (2 copies.) London. 1859. 4to. J. O. 
Halliwell. Privately printed. British Museum. 

Dedicated, ^^ To the noble, learned, and vertuous Ladie, the 
Ladie Russell," '* our English Sappho." 

A MargarUe of America is an Arcadian romance, professing 
to be the translation of a Spanish history which Lodge dis- 
covered in the Jesuits' Library at Santos, Brazil. It was 
written, he tells us, "at sea four years before (1592) with 
M. Cavendish, in passing through the Straits of Magellan." 
Many sonnets and metrical pieces are interspersed, among 
them two ^ pietate ' full of color and grace, copied from the 
Italian poet Lodovico Dolce, — 

a. If so those flames I vent when as I sigh. 

6. O desarts, be you peopled by my plaints. 

A curious series of poems imitate Lodovico Martelli and 
Lodovico Pascale, while one poem. 

With Granymede now joins the shining sun. 


is the earliest known example in English of a sestina. In the 
length of the lines^ and in the arrangement of the tomada, 
Lodge follows Dante's improvement of the original form of 
the sestina as invented by the Proven9al poet, Arnaut Daniel. 
This form, six six-line stanzas, without rimes, each stanza 
taking up the last word of the preceding one, is very rare even 
in early Italian poetry. 

1598. The Honour of Chitudrie, Set dovme in the mod 
Famou8 JHMorie of the Magnanimious cmd Heroike Prince 
Don BeUianis: Sonne unto the Emperour Don Bellaneo of 
Greece. Wherein are described, the straunge and dangerous 
Adventures that him befdl. With his hue towards the Princesse 
Florisbella: Daughter unto the SovJdan of Babylon. Englished 
out of Italian by L. A. Sed tamen est tristissima ianua nostrae^ 
Et labor est rnius tempora prima pati. 

London. Printed by Thomas Creede. 1598. 4to. Black 
letter. 1650. 4to. Black letter. Also, 1673. 4to. B. L. 
(Kirkman), and 1683, 4to., B. L. and 1703, 4to. (J. Shurley 
or Shirley). 

Dedicated " To the right Worshipful, his speciall Patron, 
Maister John Botherham, Esquire, one of the sixe Clarkes of 
her Maiesties most Honourable Court of Chauncery." 

The Huth Library possesses the only copy known. 

Don Belianis de Greda was one of the continuations of the 
famous romance ^madi8 of Qaul, It appeared first in Spanish, 
in 1547, and was written by Jeronimo Fernandez. In 1586, 
an Italian version was made; in 1598 it was translated into 
English, and in 1625 into French. Don Belianis, according 
to his veracious historian, Cid Hamet Benengeli, was one of 
the books of knight-errantry for which Don Quixote sold his 
acres of arable land. 

1652. Choice Novels and Amorous Tales, written by the most 
refined Wits of Italy. 
1652. 8vo. 


1653. Nisaena, an excellent new Romance, Englished from 
the Balia/ny by an honourable Anti-Socordist. 

London. 1663. [1652.] Svo. British Museum. 

From the Italian of Francesco Carmeni, who lived during 
the first half of the seventeenth century. Carmeni was secre- 
tary of the AccadenUa degli IncogriUiy at Venice, and wrote 
Novelle amorose de? signori a^xidemici incogniti. Cremona. 
1643. Svo. Venice. 1651. 4to. 

1654. Dianea: an eaxxUent new Romance. Written in RaKan 
by Oeo. Francisco Loredano a noble Venetian. Infoure Books. 
Trandaied into English by Sir Aston Cokaine. 

London. Printed for Humphrey Moseley, at the Sign of the 
Princes Arms in St. Pauls Churchyard. 1654. Svo. British 

Dedicated to Lady Mary Cokaine, Viscountess Cullen. 

This is a translation of La Dianea, by Giovanni Francesco 
Loredano, the Younger, to whom * The Author's Epistle ' is 
inscribed. This Epistle is dated "from Venice, 25 Oct., 
1635,'' nineteen years before the London edition, but a note 
in Anthony H Wood's Athenae Oxoniejms reads, "Oldys in his 
MS. Notes to Langbaine says there was an edition of Dianea 
in Svo., 1643." 

La Dianea is a collection of romances, published at Venice, 
in 1636, in four volumes, quarto. A French translation. La 
DianSe, was made by Jean Lavernhe, and was printed at 
Paris, in 1642, in two volumes, octavo. There is also a Latin 
translation by Michel Benuccio, and the collection is said to 
have been so popular that it was often reprinted. 

Sir Aston Cokaine writes, "My best of friends colonell 
Edward Stamford, gave me the author, and intreated me to 
teach him our language." 


Index of Titles. 
a. Poetry. 

11554 ^^^^ ^^ Princes John Lydgate. 

1560. Zodyake of Lyfe Bamabe Googe. 

[1565?] Tryumphes of Petrarcn. 

Henry Parker, Lord Morley and Monnt-Eagle. 

1567. Eglogs [of Baptist Mantaan] George TorberrUle. 

1576. The Schoolemaster Thomas Twyne. 

[1581] *EKaTOftwa0la Thomas Watson. 

1585. Amyntas. Thomas Watson. 

1586. Albion's England William Warner. 

1587. Lamentations of Amyntas. Abraham Fraunce. 

1588. MusicaTransalpina. Book I Nicholas Yonge. 

1590. Italian Madrigab... Thomas Watson. 

1591. Orlando Farioso Sir John Harington. 

1591. Countess of Pembroke's lyychnrch Abraham Fraonce. 

1591. Complaints.. Edmund Spenser. 

1592. Amintae Gaadia Thomas Watson. 

1594. Godfrey of Bulloigne Richard Carew. 

1596. Diella ..Richard Lynche. 

1597. Canzonets Thomas Morley. 

1597. Two Tales ., Robert Tofte. 

1597. Certaine Worthye Manuscript Poems J. S. 

1598. Orlando Inamorato Robert Tofte. 

1598. Madrigals to Five Voices. Thomas Morley. 

1598. Courtiers Academie John Kepers. 

1599. Manage and Wiying Robert Tofte. 

1600. Godfrey of Bulloigne Edward Fairfax. 

1601. Loues Martyr Robert Chester. 

16i7. Rodomonths Infemall Gerrase Markham. 

1607. The Englishmans Doctor Sir John Harington. 

1608. Ariosto's Satires. Robert Tofte. 

1608. Musica Sacra « R. H. 

1609. Famous Whore Gervase Markham. 

1610. A Musical Banquet Robert Dowland. 

1611. Tragicall Death of Sophonisba Sir David Murray, of Gorthy. 

1612. Petrarch's Seven Penitential Psalms Gteorge Chapman. 

1615. Blazon of Jealousie Robert Tofte. 

1616. Poems William Drummond. 

1620. The Maidens Blush Joshua Sylvester. 

1623. Whole Workes of Samuel Daniel. (A Description of Beauty.) 

Samuel Daniel. 


1644. Triamphs of Petrarch ^ Anna Home. 

1646. Steps to the Temple. Bichard Grashaw. 

6. Plays. 

[1572.] Sappoees George Ghisooigiie. 

[1672.] JocMta { ?«*8f ^^^ ^ 

K Francis Kinwelmarsn. 

1578. Promos and Gassandra. George Whetstone. 

[1584?] Fidele and Fortuna. Anthony Monday. 

[1589 ?] Freewyl Henry Cheeke. 

1602. n Pastor Fido Dymock. 

1610. Honours Academie Robert Tofle. 

1628. Aminta. Henry Reynolds. 

1637. Pleasant Dialogues. Thomas Heywood. 

1638. Tra^edie of Alceste.and Eliza Fr. Br. Gent. 

1647-8. II Pastor Fido Sir Richard Fanshawe. 

1656. Filli di Sciro J. 8. 

1658. Trappolin Supposed a Prince Sir Aston Cokain. 

1660. Aminta. John Dancer. 

c. Metrical Romancea. 

1555. Dares John Lydgate. 

1562. Romeos and Juliet Arthur Broke. 

1562. Titus and Gisippus. Edward Lewicke. 

1565. Historic of John Lord Mandozze Thomas de la Peend. 

[1565-6?] Ariodanto and Jeneura Peter Beverley. 

1569. Nastagio and TraversarL Christopher Tye. 

[1570?] Crueltie of a Wydowe John Gouboume, 

[1570?] Cymon and Iphigenia T. C. 

1570. Gaulfrido and Bamardo John Droat. 

1576. Yiolenta and Didaco Thomas Achelley. 

1576. Tragical Tales George TurberviDe. 

1609. Italian Taylor and Boy Robert Armin. 

1639. Amalte and Lucenda Leonard Lawrence. 

1640. Patient Grissel. 

d. Italian and Latin Poetry, 

1573. B. Mantuani .... adolescentia, sen bucolica. . . . 

Giovanni Battista Spagnuoli. 

1574. M. Palingenii . . . Zodiacus vitae Pietro Angelo ManzoUi. 

1581. Paraphrasis aliquot Psalmorum Davidis Scipione GentilL 

1584. S. Gentilis in xxv Davidis Psalmos epicae paraphrases. 

Scipione GentilL 


1584. Torqaato TasBo SolymeidoB „ Scipione Gentili. 

1585. J. C. Stellae Nob. Bom. Golumbeidos. Giulio Cesare Stella. 

1591. II Pastor Fido and Aminta i S'"'*""* ^^''^ *^"'^"' 

l Torqaato Tasso. 

1595. II primo libro delle Ballate Thomas Morley. 

1596. Bime ..Lodoyioo Petrucci. 

1613. Baccolta d'alcune rime Lodovico Petrucci. 

1619. La Caccia Aleasandro Oatti. 

1637. R P. E. Thesauri .... Caesares Count, Emmannele Tesauro. 

1645. Poems by Mr. John Milton. 

1658. La Fida Pastora Sir Bichard Fanshawe. 

6. Corrigenda to Mrst Paper {on Romances in Prose). 

[1550?] Valentine and Orson.. .^ Henry Watson. 

[1566?] Philooopo H. G. 

1568. Flower of Friendshippe Edmund Tilnay. 

1573. Gkutlen of Pleasure James Sandford. 

1578. Tarltons Tragical Treatises. Bichard Tarlton. 

1579. Forrest of Fancy H. C. 

1583. Philotimus Bryan Melbancke. 

1587. Tragicall history of Bomeus and Juliet. 

1590. Cobler of Caunterburie. 

1596. A Margarite of America. Thomas Lodge. 

1598. Don Bellianis L. A. 

1652. Choice Novels and Amorous Tales. 

1653. Nissena. 

1654. Dianea Sir Aston Cokain. 

Index of Tbanslatobs. 

A. L fl.l598. 

Achelley, Thomas .....fl. 1576. 

Armin, Bobert fl. 1610. 

Barclay, Alexander. 1475 (?)-l 552. 

Beverley, Peter. „ fl. 1565-6. 

*Br. Fr. Gent fl. 1638. 

Bristowe, Francis fl. 1635. 

Broke, Arthur d. 1563. 

* Perhaps Fr. Br. Gent., the translator of The Tragedie ofAleesU and Eliaa^ 
1638, from Bracciolini's La Oroee raequistatOj and Francis Bristowe, who trans- 
lated the tragedy JRoy Franc-<wbUre, 1635 (Negri's Libero ArbUrio\ are one 
and the same person. 


Byrd, William 1638 (?)-1628. 

C. H fl.1679. 

C. T « fl.1670. 

Carew, Richard 1555-1620. 

Chapman, George 1559 (?)-1634. 

Cheeke, Henry 1548 (?)-1586 (?). 

Chester, Robert 1566 (?)-1640 (?). 

Cokain, Sir ABton 1608-1684. 

Crashaw, Richard. 1612 (?)-l 649. 

Dancer, John fl. 1660-1675. 

Daniel, Samuel ^ 1562-1619. 

Dowland, Robert. fl. 1610. 

Drouty John. fl. 1570. 

Dmmmond, William ; 1585-1649. 

Dymock, ^ fl. 1602. 

Fairfax, Edward d. 1635. 

Fanahawe, Sir Richard 1608-1666. 

Fraunce, Abraham ^ fl. 1587-1633. 

G.H ^ fl.1566. 

Gaacoigne, George 1525(?)-1577. 

GKx>ge, Bamabe. 1540-1594. 

Gronboume, John fl. 1570-1594. 

H. R fl.1608. 

Harington, Sir John 1561-1612. 

Harrej, Thomas. fl. 1656. 

Heywood, Thomas d. 1650 (?). 

Hume, Anna fl. 1644. 

Eepers, John fl. 1580. 

EinwelmarBh, Francis fl. 1572. 

Lawrence, Leonard fl. 1639. 

Lewicke, Edward fl. 1562. 

Lynche, Richard fl. 1596-1601. 

Lodge, Thomas 1558 (?)-1626. 

Lydgate, John. 1370 (?)-l^l (7). 

Markham, Gervase 1568-1637. 

Melbancke, Bryan fl. 1583. 

Morley, Thomas 1557 (?)-1604. 

Munday, Anthony 1553-4-1633. 

Murray, Sir David, of Gorthy 1567-1629. 

Parker, Henry (Lord Morley and Mount-Eagle) 1476-1556. 

Paynell, Thomas. fl. 1528-1667. 

Peend, Thomas de la fl. 1566. 

Reynolds, Henry fl. 1628-1682. 

a J fl.1597. 

8. J fl.1666. 


Sandford, James 8.1675-1576. 

Spenser, Edmund 1652 (?)-l 599. 

Sylvester, Joshua 1663-1618. 

Tarlton, Richard fl. 1570-1588. 

Tilnaj, Edmund d. 1610. 

Tofte, Robert d. 1620. 

Turberville, George. 1530 (?)-l 600 (?). 

Twyne, Thomas. 1543-1613. 

Tye, Christopher fl. 1569. 

Warner, William 1558-1609. 

Watson, Henry fl. 1517-18. 

Watson, Thomas. 1557 (?)-1592. 

Whetstone. George « fl. 1576-1587. 

Yonge, Nicholas ^ fl. 1588-1597. 

Index op Italian Authors. 

Ariosto, Lodovioo 1474-1583. 

Bandello, Matteo 1480 (?)-1662 (?). 

Bdlay, Jaaehim du » 1524-1560. 

BdUforesiy Francois de 1630-1583. 

Bembo, Francesco ? 

Bembo, Pietro, Oarditwd, 1470-1547. 

Bemi, Francesco. 1498-1536. 

Boaiatuau de Launaij Pierre. d. 1566 (?). 

Boccaccio, Giovanni 1313-1376. 

Boiardo, Matteo Maria, OmmL 1434-1494. 

Bonarelli, Giudubaldo, Omni » 1563-1608. 

Bracciolini, Francesco ., 1566-1645 or 6. 

Bruni, Leonardo (Aretino) 1369-1444. 

Carmeni, Francesco fl. 1642. 

Celiano, Livio fl. 1687-1592. 

Ck)lonna, Guido delle » d. 1292. 

Desportes, PhUippe. 1545-1606. 

Dolce, Lodovioo 1508-1568 or 9. 

Domenichi, Luigi 1600(?)-1564. 

Fiorenzuola, Agnolo 1493-1545. 

Folengo, Teofilo (Merlinus Gocaius, Limemo Pitocco) 1491-1544. 

Fregoeo (Fulgoso, Campofregoso), Battista, Doge of Gknoa, 1479.. .b. 1440. 

Gatti, Alessandro fl. 1619. 

Gentili, Scipione 1565-1616. 

Giovanni, Ser (Fiorentino) fl. 1378. 

Giraldi, Giovanni BattisU (Cintio) 1504-1673. 

Guarini, Giovanni BaUista 1637-1612. 


Heriferay,NMM de, Seigneur dea EssartM d. 1552 (?). 

Le Fhfre, Baoul fl. 1464. 

Loredano, Giovaimi Francesco. ^ 1606-1661. 

Manxolli, Pietro Angelo ( Palingenios) ^ ...fl. 1537. 

Mareozio, Luca 1560(?)-1599. 

Marini (Marino) Gioyanni Battiata. 1669-1625. 

Maraffi, Bartolommeo, (Florentine) ^ ? 

Martelli, Lodovico 1499-1627. 

Mantreux, Nicolas de {OUnix du M<mi SacrS)^ fl. 1681-1608. 

N^ri, Francesco, di Bassano fl. 1637-1559. 

ParaboscOy Girolamo d. 1657. 

Pascale, Lodovioo fl. 1549. 

Petrarca, Francesco 1304-1374. 

Petracci, Lodovico (Ubaldini, Petruccio).. 1624 (?)-1600 (?). 

Pontano, Gioyanni Gioyiano 1426-1503. 

Bomei, Annibale. Qmnt ? 

Serafino, Cimino, Aquilano 1466-1500. 

Spagnuoli, Gioyanni Battista 1448-1616. 

Stella, GiuUo Cesare. 1564-1624. 

Strada, Famiano 1672-1649. 

Straparola, Gioyanni Francesco, da Carayaggio d. 1557 (?). 

Strozzi, Ercole 1471-1508. 

Taaso, Torquato 1544-1695. 

Tesauro, Emmanuele, Clmn/ 1691-1677. 

Trissino, Gioyan Giorgio 1478-1550. 

Varohi, Benedetto 1502-1565. 

Mary Augusta Soott. 


Proceedings of the Thirteenth Annual 

Meeting of the Modern Language 

Association of America, 

HELD AT New Haven, Conn., 

December 26, 27, 28, 

189 J. 




In response to an invitation extended by the Modem Lan- 
guage Club of Yale University, the Modern Language 
Association of America held its thirteenth annual meeting 
in Osborn Hall of Yale University, New Haven, Conn., 
December 26, 27, 28, 1895. 


The first regular session of the meeting was called to order 
at 11 o'clock a. m., by the President of the Association, Pro- 
fessor James Morgan Hart. 

The Secretary, James W. Bright, submitted as his report 
the published Proceedings of the last annual meeting of the 
Association. This report was adopted. 

The Treasurer of the Association, M. D. Learned, presented 
the following report : 


Balflnoe on hand December 23, 1894, 
Annual Dues from Members, and receipts 
from Subscribing Libraries : 
For the year 1892, 

$437 29 











Sale of FviUcatUms^ 



9 00 
24 00 
93 00 
869 72 
14 10 
31 50 




For partial ooet of publication of articles and 
for reprints of the same 
£. S. Lewis, 
F. Tupper, Jr., 
M. A. Scott, 
J. H. Gorrell, 
H. E. Ck)blentz, 
Kuno Francke, 

Total receipts for the year, 

91 30 

. 130 00 

59 00 

. 135 00 

77 00 

2 00 


[Its, 72 00 

• • 

11,607 62 
$2,044 91 


Pablication of Vol. X, 1, and Beprints, 
PubUcationof " X, 2, « " 
PabUcationof " X, 8» " " 
Pablication of " X, 4, " " 
Expenditures of the Secretary, . 
.« u u Treasurer, . 

Programmes, 1894, |25.00; 1895, |34.30, 


R. B. Agent, 

Total expenditures for the year, . 

Balance on hand December 26, 1895, 

1245 26 

380 54 

393 11 

264 61 

59 92 

33 75 

59 30 

32 50 

11 00 

11,479 99 
564 92 

$2,044 91 

Balance on hand December 26, 1895, 

$564 92 

The President appointed the following Committees : 

(1) To audit the Treasurer's accounts: Professors O. F. 

Emerson and M. M. Ramsay. 

(2) To nominate officers : Professors Albert 8. Cook, P. B. 

Marcou, J. M. Manly, J. B. Henneman and George 
Hera pi. 

(3) To recommend place for the next Annual Meeting: 

Professors A. M. Elliott, E. S. Sheldon, A. Cohn, 
Bliss Perry and Gustav Gniener. 


The Secretary presented the following communication from 
the Secretary of the Central Modern Language Conference : 

Chicago, III., Dee, 2l8t, 1895. 
Pbofebsob James W. Bright, 

Secretary of the Modem Language Anodaiion of AfMriau 
Dear Sir f 

The Central Modem Langaage Conference, temporarily established last 
summer, will convene between Dec. 30th and Jan. Ist, at the Uniyersitj of 
Chicago, to consider plans for a permanent organization. Through cor- 
respondence and perHonal interviews with members of the Modem Language 
Association of America, the Officers of the Central Modem Language Con- 
ference have ascertained that a cooperation between the two Societies is by 
all considered most desirable. 

To secure an expression of the sentiment of the Modem Language Asso- 
ciation, and thus prepare the ground for a fruitful discussion at our first 
regular meeting, the Secretary of the Central Modern Language Conference 
herewith begs leave to submit to the Members of the Modem Language 
Association of America the following two plans. Both propositions are 
based on the assumption that the two Societies will be united in the matter 
of publications. The first plan is intended to provide for an independent 
organization, cooperating with the Modem Language Association only in 
the publication of papers ; while the second plan provides for a closer union, 
rendering the Central Modem Language Conference a new branch of the 
older Association, with a geographically different field for its activity. 


1. The Central Modem Language Conference shall publish in the PMi- 
eoHons of the Modem Language AeaoeioHon of America such papers as may be 
selected by the editorial committee of the Central Modem Language Con- 

2. The papers are to be printed in one quarterly issue, three-fourths 
of the expenses to be defrayed by funds from the Central Modem Language 

3. Members of the Central Modem Language Conference shall be entitled 
to this quarterly number only. 

4. Members of the Modem Language Association shall receive this quar- 
terly number, toward the publication of which they pay their pro rata of 
the cost, i. e.f one-fourth. 


1. The Central Modem Language Conference, under this or any other 
name, the Members may decide upon, is to be constituted as the Western 
or Central branch of the Modem Language ^nodation of America. 


2. The Central Modern Language Conference shall elect its own Officers, 
including a Treasurer, subject to its own constitution. 

3. The fees shall be uniformly three dollars ($3.00) for each Member of 
the Central Modem Language Conference. 

4. Such papers as may be selected by the editorial committee of the 
Central Modem Language Conference shall be published in the PubHeations 
<^ the Modem Language Aaaoeiaiion of America, 

5. All publications, including the Proceedings, shall be edited by the 
Secretary of the Modem Language Association, with the cooperation, as at 
present, of an editorial committee, of which the Secretary of the Central 
Modem Language Conference shall be a member ex officio, 

6. All Members of the Central Modem Language Conference shall be 
entitled to one copy of the Publieationt of the Modem Language Astodation of 

7. The Treasurer of the Centra] Modern Language Conference shall 
semi-annually transmit to the Treasurer of the Modem Language Associa- 
tion such funds as have not been spent for current expenses of the Central 
Modem Language Conference. 

To insure an early action in the settlement of the relations of the two 
Associations, I may be allowed to suggest the appointment of a Committee, 
after a discussion in plena, with full power to act. The Central Modem 
Language Conference will appoint a similar committee. 

Hoping for an early reply, and trusting that our negotiations may lead 

to an extensive cooperation for the best interests of Modem Langoage 

work, I remain 

YouiB respectfully, 


Secretary of the CM, L, C 

In accordance with a vote of the Association^ the President 

appointed the following committee to consider this commani- 


George Lyman Kittredge, Chairman. 

James Morgan Hart^ 

James W. Bright. 

A letter from Professor A. S. Isaacs^ of the University of 
the City of New York, suggesting that the Association con- 
sider the subject of German and French in the Secondary 
Schools and of uniform College Entrance Requirements in 
these languages, was referred to the Pedagogical Section of the 


Professor J. B. Henneman offered a motion that during the 
present meeting the time allowed for the reading of each paper 
be limited to twenty minutes^ and that no one shall occupy 
more than five minutes in the discussion of a paper. 

The motion was adopted. 

The reading of papers was then b^un. 

1. "The origin of the rule forbidding hiatus in French 
verse.'' By Dr. P. B. Marcou^ of Harvard University. 

This paper was discussed by Professor E. S. Sheldon. 

2. "Marco Polo and the Squier^s lale!^ By Professor 
John M. Manly, of Brown University. 

3. " Goethe's attitude toward contemporary politics." By 
Dr. Robert N. Corwin, of Yale University. 

4. " Ueber Goethe's sonette." By Professor J. Schipper, 
of the University of Vienna, Austria. [This paper was pre- 
sented by the Secretary.] 


The second regular session was convened December 26, at 
2.30 p. m. President James Morgan Hart presided. 

5. " Tlie conventions of the drama." By Professor Brander 
Matthews, of Columbia College. 

Remarks upon this paper were offered by Professors A. H. 
Tolman and A. Cohn. 

6. " The Nibelungenlied and Sage in modem poetry." By 
Professor Gustav Gruener, of Yale University. 

7. "Notes on John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester." By 
Mr. Henry S. Paiicoast, of Germantown, Pa. 

John Tiptoft was representative of the antagonbtic tendencies in the 
England of hb time ; the England of the Wan of the Roees and the rise 

• •• 


of the ''New Learning;" of Caxton and Richard III. The stadj of his 
character and career iUominates this complex and interesting epoch. Tip- 
toft was bom at Everton, Cambridgeehire, probably in 1428. The Tiptofts 
had risen through the patronage of the Hoase of Lancaster. On his mother's 
side Tiptoft was descended from that Prince of Powjrs that Scott introdaced 
into "The Betrothed." He was educated at Balliol OoUege, Oxford; a 
College which then held a peculiarly important relation to the introduction 
of the " New Learning " into England. Three men, besides Tiptoft himself^ 
left this College during the middle years of the century, to study in Italy 
and bring back books and MSB. to their University. The fact is significant 
when we remember that Grocyn's yisit to Italy was not until about 1485, 
some thirty years later than Tiptoff s. Tiptoft was made Earl of WOToester 
by Henry VI. in 1449, but shortly after deserted the King's party for that 
of York, and in 1452 became Lord High Treasurer apparently by the Duke 
of York's influence. He held this post until 1455, when he was dismissed 
with other high officials of the Yorkist party, Henry YI. having gained a 
temporary advantage over the opposite fiiction. Hard pressed by the Court 
party, York took up arms against the King. At this critical time, Tiptoft 
appears to have abandoned his patron for a trip to Jerusalem and Italy, 
" desiring," says Bale, '' before all things, rest." After some time in Jeru- 
salem, he returned by way of Venice, Padua and Rome, making his famous 
Latin oration before the Pope and Cardinals and winning great distinction. 
" What worship had he in Rome," writes Caxton, '* in the presence of our 
Holy Father, the Pope." This Pope was Pius Second, known as Aeneas 
Sylvius, a noted humanist. Tiptoft then studied about three years (probably 
from 1458-9 to 1460-61) under Gwarino at Ferrara. Gwarino having been 
a pupil of Chrysoloras, the missionary to Italy of the " New Learning," we 
have in this succession the epitome of a great world-movement 

Tiptoft is found again in England in 1461. Two events probably indnced 
his return, the death of Gwarino in 1460, and the accession of Edward lY. 
in 1461. Although he had left the Yorkists at the outbreak of the Civil 
War, and only returned in their day of triumph, he was at once distinguished 
by the royal favor, and held numerous high posts up to the time of his death. 
A great scholar and patron of letters, his career is blackened with a cruelty 
which called forth execration even in that bloody time. Sent to Ireland as 
Lord Deputy in 1467, within a few months he brought about the execution 
of Lord Desmond, his predecessor in office, on the charge of treason. The 
Irish authorities claim that he acted under secret instructions from the 
Queen, who had a personal grudge against Desmond. This is not substan- 
tiated ; but Tiptoft's conduct is certainly open to suspicion. The matter is 
made more deplorable by Desmond's high character, and the singular £m^ 
that he too was a scholar and patron of learning. According to tradition, 
Tiptoft murdered Desmond's young sons at the same time. Hall tells the 
story in his Chronicle, and refers to it as Tiptoff s worst act of cruelty. It 
is also mentioned in the poem on " The Infamous End of the Lord Tiptoft," 
&C., in " The Mirror for Magistrates." 


In 1470, during the rising of Warwick in behalf of the Lancastrians, certain 
bratal indignities were inflicted by Tiptoft's order upon the bodies of twenty 
prisoners (Stow says, '*both gentlemen and seamen''), which he, as Lord 
High Constable, had sentenced to execution. From the savagery of this 
act, Tiptoft was called ** the butcher of England." Warkworth's Chronicle, 
after relating the occurrence, adds : *' For the which the people of the land 
were preatly displeased, and ever afterwards the Earl of Worcester was 
greatly [be] hated among the people, for these disordinate deaths that he 
used contrary to the law of the land." The wanton ferocity of this action 
brings to mind the Italian proverb, quoted by Ascham in proof of the bru- 
tab'zing effect of Italy upon the English nature : IngUae lUliamUo d un dia- 
hoio incamato. 

During the momentary triumph of Warwick, Tiptoft was taken prisoner 
while hiding in the top of a high tree, which expressed, says the Chronicler, 
** the precipice of his fortunes." He was tried before the Earl of Oxford, 
whofle father and brother had, eight years before, been beheaded by his 
command, condemned and executed on Tower Hill. Fabyan declares that 
as he was being taken from Westminster to his execution, ''the people 
pres-ied so iruportunately on him " that the Sheriffs were obliged to borrow 
jail for him that ni^ht in the Fleet. This incident is told with additions 
in '' The Mirror for Magistrates." The mob being there represented as so 
infuriated against Tiptoft that he feared they would have eaten him alive. 

Caxton*s tributes to Tiptoft are numerous and familiar. If the printer 
is to be trusted, Tiptoft was the most learned man among the English 
nobility of his time. It is generally overlooked that these tributes cannot 
be set down to personal friendship. Tiptoft is known as Caxton's friend 
and patron, but Caxton did not return to England, after a continuous absence 
of some thirty-five years, until about six years after Tiptoff s execution. 
Caxton's words are rather evidence of the high estimation in which Tiptoft's 
scholarship was held. Tiptoft reflects his age at its best and worst He 
was set at a confluence of evil influences, when civil strife following the 
Hundred years War had debauched the English nobility. Abroad he came 
close to that Italy which Machiavelli called " the corrupter of the world." 
Yet a new intellectual life was growing, and Tiptoft's career alternates be- 
tween scholarship and political intrigues. He shows ns how early the new 
spirit was astir in England, and how it was retarded; he is the "butcher" 
and "the first fruits of the Italian Renaissance." 

8. "A Wilhelm Tell ballad in America.^^ By Professor 
M. D. Learned^ of the University of Pennsylvania. 

The President called to the chair Professor Francis A. 
Marchy formerly President of the Association. 


9. " WarmpOi : a study of the development and the dis- 
appearance of a stop between nasal and spirant in American 
English." By Professor C. H. Grandgent^ of Harvard Uni- 

This paper was discussed by Professors Leo Wiener and 
Francis A. March. 

10. " Notes on Ben Jonson's quarrel with Marston." By 
Dr. Josiah H. Penniman, of the University of Pennsylvania. 


The Association convened in an Extra Session December 
26, at 8 p. m. 

Dr. Timothy Dwight, President of Yale University opened 
the meeting by a brief Address of Welcome. 

Professor T. R. Louusbury, President of the Modern Lan- 
guage Club of Yale University, welcomed the Association in 
behalf of the Club. 

The 8ize of the gathering and the character of the men who composed 
it stmck him as significant of the radical change that had taken place in 
the educational system of the country during the last quarter of a centuij. 
Thirty years before such a gathering would have been impossible ; forty 
years before no one would have believed that it ever would be possible. He 
was disposed to think that the scholars of the younger generation had very 
little conception of the difficulties encountered by the men of the older 
generation in the departments of study represented on this occasion. In 
the curriculum of forty years before the position held by all the modem 
languages was worse than unimportant, it was abject. English in particular 
had no recognized position at all. Its study is the creation of the past 
thirty years. He had himself passed through four years of a college coarse 
without once hearing from the lips of an instructor in the class-room the 
name of a single English author or the title of a single English classic. 
The onty text-book which he studied under the professor of English, when 
he was in college, was the oration of Demosthenes on the Crown in the origi- 
nal Greek. There had been nothing exceptional in this. His experience 
was essentially the same as that of all his contemporaries. It was a matter 
of supreme satisfaction that this had now all been changed : that the modem 
languages had at last taken their rightful place in the college curriculum, 
not to the exclusion or depreciation of any studies, but as contributory to 


the common good of alL In bringing about this resnlt the men who were 
here before him had been largely instrumental^ and he congratalated the 
members of the Association on the great work they had achieved in the 
past and the still brighter prospects that were opening before them in 
the future. 

Professor James Morgan Hart^ President of the Association, 
then read an address upon the subject : 

** English as a Living Language.'* 

English is a living language. At least philologists, popular orators, and 
genial newspaper editors give us that assurance. In fact I have even entitled 
this address accordingly. Yet I wish I could persuade myself that the 
assurance does not cloak a self-deception. English, we say, is a living lan- 
guage. What is a living language ? Scarcely one that transmits itself by 
merely living upon the past, that echoes in distorted shape the formulae of 
the past without respiring the vital spirit. 

English is our living language, that is, we use it for the expression of our 
daily needs, small and great But why and how do we use it ? Do we use 
it because we have really mastered it and can use it at will, this intensely 
idiomatic language, feeling ourselves truly at home in its subtleties ? Or do 
we use it merely in a blind, half>conscious manner, aware that in any other 
idiom we should express ourselves even more awkwardly ? 

Let us look at the undergraduate world ? It is a queer world. It still 
has its glamour, even for those of us who figure our undergraduate career 
with a 60 instead of a 90. There are still the college traditions and interests 
and Greek-letter fraternities, there is still the conventional conflict of 
classes, the same clannishness. Names may have changed ; the outward 
show of life has become richer. There are dress-suits now and elaborate 
suppers, etchings and oriental rugs. Is the spirit changed likewise ? In 
the matter of English, for example, do our end-of-the-century undergradu- 
ates express themselves better than the men of the sixties or the fifties ? 

Speaking for myself I would answer that the present generation is inferior 
to that of thirty years ago, much inferior. Not, of course, that every student 
now writes badly and that every student thirty years ago wrote well. I am 
speaking only of the general average of expression. This average, then, I 
believe, has fallen perceptibly in thirty years. The belief rests upon many 
grounds, but I shall mention here only two — one general and recognizable 
by all, the other more personal. 

The first ground is to be found in the Harvard reports. Every autumn 
for the past three years an intelligent public has been called upon officially, 
by the Harvard authorities, to recognize in the Harvard undergraduate a 
young man unable to spell or to punctuate, or to form a coherent sentence, 


or to do more than guess at the meanings of the words he uses, At the 
beginning of each college year the colnmns of our literary or would-be 
literary newspapers in the East are enlivened with specimens of college 
writing, with tart protests from school-teachers, and with possible and im- 
possible remedies proposed for a crying evil, — all evoked by or connected 
in some way with the Harvard report. 

We know, of course, that in this annual October explosion there is much 
exaggeration. We know that where an evil is to be remedied the first step 
sometimes is to make the evil appear worse than it really is. We do not, 
certainly 1 do not, believe that young Harvard is quite as hopeless as he 
seems. Yet, after every allowance for exaggeration has been made, the fact 
remains that our oldest and largest seat of learning, the college which has 
been most constantly and intimately associated with American literary cal- 
ture, now finds it necessary to tell the world that the great body of its 
undergraduates is without the literary sense, and that something — nobody 
seems to know precisely what — must be done. Would the Harvard of 1865 
have felt itself called upon to make such a declaration ? Did the Harvard 
of 1865 even perceive that there was an " English question ?'' 

The other ground of my belief is to be found in my personal experiences 
at Cornell. I was a member of the faculty during the first four years, from 
1868-1872. Although giving instruction at that time in the departments 
of French and German, and having no direct connection with the English 
department, I was fairly well acquainted with the writing abilities of the 
students as a body. They were not brilliant writers, certainly, though some 
were far above the average, but they wrote in a manner that was at least 
satisfactory. Even the poorest of them seemed to be aware of their imper- 
fections. Returning to Cornell, after an absence of eighteen years, to become 
responsible head of the Rhetoric department, I was startled at the change. 
There seemed to be a total absence of the choicer gifts of expression, even 
among the better writers, while the poorer ones wrote with an indifierenoe 
to the proprieties that was positively brutal. Well, we of the department 
have changed all that. We have struck hard and kept on striking, until 
we are now looked up to with wholesome respect as men who know what 
we want and will have it. 

But what a struggle it has cost to work this simple reform, and what a 
struggle it still costs to keep the reform alive 1 May 1 ask, as a man and a 
brother, why this necessity should be ? Why all this painful energy over 
the rudiments of education ? Cornell University now maintains six instmo- 
tors and assistants, at an annual expense of several thousand dollars, for 
giving English instruction, two-thirds of which could and should be given 
just as well in every good school. It is not surprising, then, that well in- 
formed foreigners condemn our American college system as wastefuL 

I have mentioned the school. It too, like the college, has its lights and 
its shades. At present the shades seem to be the more prominent. The 
school is less praised for the good it accomplishes and seldom or never < 


due scoriDg for the good it fails to do. This Aa*ociation counts among its 
members not a few school-teachers, some of whom are doubtless here present. 
But most persons whom I haye the privilege of addressing are college pro- 
fessors. To jou professors, then, let me whisper in confidence : Have you 
ever been satisfied with jour preparatory schools ? Do yon ever expect to 
be satisfied ? In a sense, I admit, educators ought never to be satisfied, for 
true education is progressive. Educators have a right to demand improved 
methods and better results. Accordingly you college professors of Latin 
and Greek, of French and German, of Mathematics and Natural Science, 
are clamorous for better trained Freshmen. The question arises : Are you 
likely to get what you ask ? I believe that you are, and sooner than you 
expect. The Committee of Ten, though they have settled nothing, have 
certainly cleared a path. All that is now needed is a precise formulation, 
on the one hand, of what the colleges conscientiously need ; on the other 
hand, of what the schools can effectively teach. 

Would that I could speak to my fellow professors of English in a like 
tone of confidence. The English question, so-called, is wider, more compli- 
cated, more subtle, than Latin or Mathematics. I said, a moment ago, that 
in order to bring about a thorough cooperation of school and college, the 
one thing needed is " a precise formulation '' of school capacities and college 
needs. In Latin, for example, this clear formulation is always possible. 
Would a college professor and a school-teacher ever seriously disagree upon 
the goodness or badness of the preparation in Latin of a given boy of 
eighteen ? I think not. Is any such clear formulation possible, at present, 
in the English preparation ? My doubts on this point are serious, perhaps 
insuperable. I do not believe that we professors have anything like a uni- 
form standard of preparation, and I am quite convinced that among the 
schools at large there is no standard at all. There are even some schools 
which ask for special consideration, on the plea that they are unable to leach 
English well enough. I have on file a letter written by a personal friend of 
mine, a trustee of one of the oldest and best known schools in the country. 
A pupil from this school had been rejected in our Cornell entrance-exami- 
nation in English. Presuming on old friendship, I sent a remonstrance to 
this trustee, asking him how his school, with its prestige, could afford to 
send up such a candidate, unable to spell or punctuate or give the slierhtest 
evidence that he had received one month's training in English composition. 
The answer to my remonstrance was friendly enough in tone, but in sub- 
stance it amounted to this : I have looked into the matter and conferred 

with our Board. Strangely enough, Professor of College 

makes the same complaint that you make. But I am constrained to say, 
regretfully, that we can do nothing. 

This, you may well exclaim, is bad enough; yet there are stiU lower 
depths. A year or two ago a young man presented himself at Cornell for 
admission. English was the only subject in which he was to be examined. 
His writing was so bad that the department recommended that he be ex- 


eluded from the Univenitj altogether. The entrance-oommittee accepted 
the recommeDdation. The young mao, hj the adyice of the principal of 
the school, appealed to the Faculty ; the Faculty confirmed unanimously 
the action of the Committee. Still unsatisfied with this unmistakable ex- 
pression of opinion, the principal foolishly imagined that he might force 
an entrance by the back door. He wrote to one of the trustees of the Uni- 
yersity, begging him to use his personal influence with the President to 
compel a reconsideration by the Faculty. It may not be wholly superfluous 
to add, as a final item, that the principal was politely but firmly ^ected. 

I mention the incident because it represents the attitude of certain schools. 
This principal could not then understand, nor does he now understand, vfhy 
a young marij ineapabU of penning two coherent sentences of Englisk, should be 
excluded from an institution of higher learning. As Hamlet would say : There's 
the rub. The issue, as I look upon it, is a yital one. Suffer me, then, to 
dwell upon it. 

On assuming, five years ago, my present office in Cornell, I discoyered in 
the university register a statement to the effect that no candidate markedly 
deficient in English should be admitted to any course. When the measure 
was adopted, I do not know. Still less do I know the occasion which led 
to its adoption. Presumably matters had come to such a pass that some- 
thing must be done of the heroic sort Yet, for all its atmosphere of brtUum 
fulmen^ the measure was a wise one, none the less wise because its wisdom 
was unconscious. Our Faculty had the good luck to stumble upon a true 
principle, one which I commend unqualifiedly to all here present, in the 
hope that you may obtain from your respective faculties the adoption of a 
like measure. But, in urging the measure, let me justify its wisdom upon 
the proper grounds. 

Take English out of the Ust of ordinary requirements and treat it as somethmg 
entering into all other studies and dominating them all. Make EngUsh your one 
general and determining lest of all training. This demand, so far from being 
unreasonable, is in truth the only rational demand, for it rests upon a basis 
at once theoretical and practical. No one has, in my judgment, formulated 
the issue more aptly than Prof. Wendell, of Harvard. Every other study, 
says Professor Wendell, is a " mystery,'' a specialty cultiyated by specialists. 
It has a method and a jargon of its own, it is esoteric, it does not exist for 
the outside world. The more advanced it becomes, the more recondite and 
unintelligible. Whereas readable English is our sole recognized mediam 
of communication upon general matters. Therefore it should possess the 
qualities essential to all circulating mediums, whether of money or of brains. 
It should be of an unmistakable standard. 

Now I do not believe that either school or college has thb standard. Am 
I justified, then, in attributing to this want of a standard the greater part 
of all that is irritating and wasteful in our educational system ? Or is it 
only a dream of mine, this suspicion that a poor writer is poor because he 
is a poor thinker? Am I a yisionary in maintaining that the ability to 


express one's knowledge, to communicate it in intelligible and readable 
shape, is an euerUial part of one* s knowledge f 

Be you the judges 1 Apply the principle as a practical test in your 
college examination-papers. Are you prepared to assert that a student is 
adequately trained in German, let us say, when he is unable to express in 
English the grammatical logic of a German sentence, the relation of dative 
and accusative, of verb and object ? Do you truly believe that a student is 
mastering history in its sequence of cause nnd effect, when he is unable to 
express this causal sequence in phrases that have grammatical sequence ? 

It would be wiser of us to admit frankly that we are all hampered in our 
work, both of instructing and of examining, by the constant necessity of 
deciphering English hieroglyphics. Our students do not understand as, we 
do not understand them, because the medium of communication is not uni- 
form and explicit To this extent, then, our professorial efforts must fail. 
Hence, I say, it is the duty of the college to protect itself by closing its 
doors upon the inadequately trained. Deficiency in Latin may not prevent 
a young man from achieving distinction in Mathematics, and vice versa. 
But defective Englbh vitiates all work in every department. It makes the 
young man a butt among his fellows and a thorn in the side of every instruc- 
tor. It prevents that culture which is supposed to be the aim of college 
life. We are already wasting time and energy enough, heaven knows, upon 
ignorance. Why should we waste a single hour upon crass incompetence ? 

If you accept all this, you define at once the relation of school to college. 
The school is to give the most thorough training in English, not merely, 
not even chiefly, because such training is needed in college, but because 
such training is the vital and informing spirit of all education. The school 
is to do its duty by allits schoLars, whether they afterwards go to college or not, 
because the ability to state on^s knowledge in dear and proper English is the one 
unfailing test of knowledge^ the one univertaUy recognized badge of scholarship. 

Why should the study of English be thus set on a pinnacle, as it were, 
dominating all other studies ? Or, in the serio-comic words of a professor 
of the classics, why should the English department have the veto-power ? 
I can answer only in the form of a paradox : the study of English should 
dominate everything else precisely because it is no( a study, but the acquisi- 
tion of a habit, of an art, of an indis|iensable gift. This acquisition cannot 
be hurried through with a year or less of special " cram ; '' it implies slow, 
patient, unremitting effort year after year, under incessant supervision and 
correction. It is emphatically anything but an easy process for the average 
scholar. It means the appreciation of synonyms in a language singularly 
rich in shades of meaning but singularly defective in the outward signs by 
which to recognize them. It means the appreciation of word-order in a 
language which has little or no syntax proper and in which word-order 
counts for nearly everything. Above all it means the implanting and cul- 
tivation of the sense of form in young persons to whom, or to the greater 
number of whom, form, that is, the saying a thing properly and effectively 
is an unknown quantity. 


ThiB obtaseness to form in English expression is unpardonable. Yet I 
am unaware of any serious and systematic attempt to remedy it. It is ao 
Anglo-American trait, but in its exaggeration is distinctively American. 
We, as a nation, have gone so far in our republican contempt of traditional 
etiquette — what we call the humbug of Old World ceremony — ^that we 
tolerate, if we do not actually encourage, in our youth a feeling of impatience 
towards all form. I have even known students to resent my correction of 
their misused words and uncouth sentences. They seemed to think that 
the blue-pencil or red-ink marks were a direct slur upon their statement 
of scientific fact. One young man, who prefaced his graduation thesis 
in Chemistry with the comfortable assurance that it was the work of a 
* promising young student," asked why I drew my pen through the phrase. 
Whereupon I asked him what the phrase meant, and was informed that it 
meant a young student who promised to do as well as he knew how. One 
of our Cornell faculty, in the course of the debate upon a resolution (finally 
adopted) authorizing the readers of examination papers to condition the 
writers for yery defectiye English, although the substance of the paper 
might be sufficiently correct, protested that it would be impossible to enforce 
such a method in his department, the subject was too technical and did not 
turn upon the use of language. It will not surprise you, then, to learn that 
the professor was once called upon to consider, in mining engineering, a 
graduation thesis in which the word ore was spelled throughout with charm- 
ing consistency oar. 

We haye not yet deyised any serious and systematic method of inculcating 
in our school children the sense of English form. In making the assertion 
I am far from overlooking the results accomplished in the last two years by 
our English committee of ten, with its five New England associates. The 
labors of the committee were patient and well directed, and the resnlt, 
namely, the adoption of a uniform entrance-examination in English for all 
the leading colleges east of the Mississippi, was a long, a very long step 
towards the goal. But we should be very unwise to treat it as the final 
step. In truth, it is only a good beginning. It substitutes for hopeless 
confusion uniformity of requirement. But this uniformity is not in itself a 
method of instruction. Our ideal method should aim at securing the art, 
the technique, the gift of English expression, in other words, English form. 
Our actual profn^mme merely prescribes certain books and an examination 
upon them. This is certainly much better than the former confusion. At 
all events it gives the college examiner the means of determining whether 
a given candidate knows how to spell, punctuate, paragraph, and use words. 
But it does not preclude the possibility of " cram " for the examination. 
And, on the other hand, it fails to indicate to the school the best method 
of teaching form. 

That cramming for the entrance-examination will still thrive, is painfully 
clear. A very bright and successful teacher writes to me : '' Our school is 
unwilling to give me more than one year for preparing my scholars for 


oollege. In this one year I must rash them through all the books." This 
school is a large and well-equipped free academy in a large city. If such 
perversity is the outcome of city enlightenment, what must we not expect 
from the back-country districts? And is it not the duty of the college to 
repress such worse than useless haste ? 

What method of instruction, then is to be recommended to the prepara- 
tory schools, and, if possible, urged upon them ? In the absence of every- 
thing like eonsenauB among the colleges on this vital question, each college 
can speak only for itself. My ideal is this. 

The English course is to extend through six years, from twelve to eighteen ; 
two years in the grammar school, four in the high school. 

In the grammar school there is to be a daily exercise, in which the child 
is taught to use simple words correctly, to form clear and correct sentences, 
and to employ with discrimination the more usual signs of punctuation. A 
b^inning is also to be made in paragraph-structure. All the exercises are 
to be very short, never exceeding twenty minutes, and are to be promptly 
corrected by the teacher and returned with the corrections in writing. But 
before the child hands in his writing he is to have a few minutes in which 
to read it over carefully and make his own attempt at correction. 

In the high school there are to be at least four exercises a week, each of 
forty minutes. The first two years are to be given to paragraphing, in all 
its varieties, the paragraphs ranging in length from sixty to two hundred 
words. The use of the subject or topic sentence, unity, and sequence should 
be enforced rigorously ; also the art of varying the length and the quality 
of sentence-structure. In the last two years the stress may be laid upon 
composition-writing ; but no composition should exceed one thousand words. 
This is ample allowance of space for exemplifying sequence of paragraphs 
and for treating successive stages or aspects of a general subject. 

In these weekly exercises, and as an integral part of them, it would be 
possible to interpret carefuUy all the books prescribed for college and per- 
haps as many more equally good, and to examine the scholar upon their 
contents in general and even in detail. I see no reason why all the required 
composition in the high school should not be directly connected with these 
books. A very apt scholar, with an evident bent towards originality, might 
be encouraged, of course, to write upon independent lines ; but my plan is 
arranged solely for the average scholar, from whom it would be worse than 
useless to expect originality. 

This high school writing, whether as independent paragraph or as longer 
composition, is to be largely in the field of description and narration. The 
young are to be taught to represent concrete objects at rest and in motion, 
before they attempt to discuss the general relations of things, t. e., to write 
in exposition. Yet, strangely enough, the greater part of the little school 
writing that is now taught is expository. The young are called upon to 

(itseuss things before they have been trained to see them. From this it 

. . 


results that thej learn neither to see nor to discuss. Their writing Ib aiml( 
and immethodicaL 

In the high school coarse, however, there is time enough for expoutiim. 
Certainly in the last two years, in connection with sach texts as Burke's 
GmcUialMn, Webster's Bunker Hillf Macaolay's Chaiham or Addimmf there 
will be no lack of subjects for expository treatment 

I haye sketched for you an ideal course. You will scarcely doubt its 
efficiency; for it consists in generous reading, plentiful writing, and un- 
limited correction. But some of you will interpose a doubt, you will say : 
Can we get such a course? Most assuredly you will not get it until you oak 
for it Have you ever asked for it? Not to the best of my recollection. 
Suppose you ask for it, demand it, and await the result 


President Hart called to order the third r^ular session 
December 27^ at 9.30 a. m. 

11. "The physical characteristics of Dante's landscapes.'^ 
By Professor Oscar L. Kuhns^ of Wesleyan University. 

Professor A. N. van Daell made the following report : 

At a committee-meeting of the Faculties of Paris^ at which he was present 
by invitation, it was determined to recommend to the French Qovemment 
methods for rendering the French Universities more accessible to foreig;n 
students, special mention being made of Americans. It was thought to 
revive the old degrees of Maltre ds Arts and Mattre ds Sciences, which, 
being purely University degrees and not conferring any State License, would 
be accessible to foreigners, and lead to the Doctorate. 

Professor van Daell then offered the following resolution, to be trans- 
mitted to Professor Michael Br^, of Paris. 

Eeaolved, That the Modem Language Association of America hereby 
expresses its hearty approval of the action of the Faculties of Paris in the 
effort to render the French Universities more accessible to foreigners. 

Professor John B. Henneman^ of the University of Tennes- 
see offered the following resolution : 

Whereas, Since the last annual meeting of this Association 
death has removed Professor Julius Zupitza (of the University 
of Berlin)^ an Honorary Member of this Association and an 
honored personal friend of many of its members^ 


Be it Besolvedf That the Modem Language Ajssociation of 
America hereby expresses and makes record of its appreciation 
of Professor Julius Zupitza's services to English scholarship, 
and laments the loss that in his death the cause of English 
Philology has sustained. 

12. "The Significance of Pastoral Literature.'' By Dr. 
Homer Smith, of the University of Pennsylvania. 

The subject of this paper was discussed by Professors A. P. 
Marsh and Henry H. Hay. 

13. " A Study of the Poetry of John Donne." By Pro- 
fessor M. G. Bnimbaugh, of Juniata CoU^. 

[This paper was not read, its author's attendance being un- 
avoidably prevented.] 

14. "The Seege of Troye, a Middle English Romance." 
By Professor C. H. A. Wager, of Center Collie. 

Remarks upon the subject of this paper were made by Pro- 
fessors G. L. Kittredge, B. W. Wells, and A. Gudeman. 

15. "John Wesley's translations of German Hymns." By 
Professor James T. Hatfield, of the Northwestern University. 

This paper was discussed by Professor Henry Wood. 

16. "The Comparative Study of Literature." By Pro- 
fessor Arthur P. Marsh, of Harvard University. 

This paper was discussed by Professors A. Cohn and J. 
M. Hart. 

17. "The Relation of Wulfila's Alphabet to the Gothic 
Futhork." By Professor Gteorge A. Hench, of the Univer- 
sity of Michigan. [Read by title.] 

Professor Albert S. Cook offered a motion that a committee 
be appointed to recommend means for supplying assistance to 
the Secretary of the Association. The following committee 


was aooordinglj appointed : Professors Albert S. Cook {Chair-- 
moi/n)y H. A. Todd^ A. Gudeman. 


The President of the Association called the fourth r^olar 
session to order at 2.30 p. m., December 27. 

18. "The Etymology of Provenjal e«bra and Old French 
estre!^ By Professor H. R. Lang^ of Yale University. 

Professor H. A. Todd offered a discussion of this paper. 

19. "The Chansons of La Chi^vre, French Poet of the 
Twelfth Century.'' By Mr. A. B. Simonds, of Columbia 

[The author was absent, and the paper was not read.] 

The Committee appointed to consider the communication 
from the Secretary of the Central Modem Language Confer- 
ence, reported as follows : 

We beg to recommend that the Secretary of this Associa- 
tion be instructed to communicate the following propositions to 
the Central Modern Language Conference, as a plan of asso- 
ciation between the Modem Language Association of America 
and the Central Modem Language Conference, in reply to the 
letter from the Secretary of the Central Modern Language 

1. The Central Modem Langaage Conference shall be a branch of the 
Modem Language Aflsociation of America. All persons elected members 
of the Centnd Modem Langaage Conference shall be ipiofaeto members of 
the Modem Langaage Association of America. 

2. All membership and other fees shall be paid to the Treasorer of the 
Modem Langaage Association of America. The Treasarer of the Central 
Modem Langaage Conference shall have aathoritj to draw apon the Treas- 
arer of the Modem Langaage Association of America for the ranning ex- 
penses of the Central Modem Langaage Conference. 

3. The Central Modem Langaage Conference shall elect its own offi- 
cers. It shall have control over its own meetings and all other matters not 


pertainiDg to the general oiganization and interests of the Modem Lan- 
guage Association of America. 

4. The PublieatUms of the Modem Language AaaodtUion cf America shall, 
as heretofore, be edited by the Secretary, with the assistance of an Edi- 
torial Committee of two, one of whom shall be the Secretary of the Central 
Modem Language Conference. 

We also recommend that the present committee be increased by the 
addition of Professor A. H. Tolman, of the University of Chicago, and that 
the committee of four thus constituted be authorized to receive and act upon 
any reply to the propositions herewith submitted that may be received from 
the Central Modem Language Conference. 

George Lyman Eittredge, Chairman, 
James Morgan Hart, 
James W. Bright 

This report was adopted. 

20. " Richardson and Rousseau.*' By Professor Benj. W. 
Wells, of the University of the South. 

This paper was discussed by Professors A. Cohn and Henry 

Professor Francis A. March was called to the President's 

21. "A Study of the Nature of Rhythm." By Miss M. 
A. Harris, of Yale University. 

If we consider rhythm as a form or manifestation of the most ftmda- 
mental activities of the mind, we shall be aided by a mass of data already 
accumulated concerning the rhythm of mental action, the periodicity of the 
power of attention, and the co-ordinating grasp which seizes the one in the 
many; or, should we consider it as to its close physical dependencies, pre- 
vious investigators will point us to the salient rhythms of the body, par- 
ticularly to the rhythm of the breath, and to the probability that these 
have fixed our ideas of rhythm in general, and in particular have deter- 
mined the conditions of our language rhythms. It is the purpose of the 
present paper to use these two views severally in testing certain indications 
respecting the direction of practical work in the further investigation of 
language rhythm. 

The rise and fall of the breath is possibly the first rhythm man notices; 
its earliest recognition may be the starting point of an appredation com- 


mon to men, and its rhTthmic sequences in later life will continue to be an 
ever present standard of measurement and comparison. Further, we may 
perhaps take it for granted that man's first long communication to his 
fellows will be upon an emotion, that it will naturally clothe itself in 
rhythm, and that this expression may record not only the thought, but also 
its physical accompaniment and consequence, an unusual breathing, — ^hur- 
ried, retarded, strong or weak, labored or held, or all in succession. 

This physical manifestation of excitement b doubtless different in differ- 
ent states of civilization, and preferred rhythms of literature will become 
more complicated a& man's emotions become less simple. Yet of the per- 
fect poem it will always be true that it will not only tell us in words what 
the author felt, but, by virtue of its rhythm, it will also reproduce in a 
sympathetic reader the thoughts' physical sign, the same alteration of the 
breath which it caused in the writer. 

By means of this double induction the imagination is excited to a re-cre- 
ation of the original passion, and the poem b treasured as a spell that can 
move the whole man. As such poems accumulate, men will attempt by 
dissecting them to obtain the charm of the form and, by classifying and 
systematizing, will find certain common laws; these are accumulated in 
treatises upon meter and versification, and an impression b given that by 
reproducing certain felicitous forms one approximates to poetry. 

Here we come to the dbtlnction between the rhythm of nature and the 
art of a set meter. " Rhythm," says one definition, " is movement charao- 
terized by regular or harmonious recurrence of stress" which, "when 
definitely measured by feet and lines of a given length, becomes meter." By 
a consideration of such definitions we are shown the true nature of the meter 
imposed upon the poet. It b the attempt to put the breath in harness, to 
make it repeat indefinitely a rhythm that once pleased, not only to measure 
but to fix it. Now while fixed and measured breathings or rhythms have 
a pleasing and soothing influence in themselves, we cannot believe that 
that poetry which b the record of rapidly changing emotion can long 
accommodate itself to a fixed form of rhythm — that b, to meter. 

Something of thb kind must have been in the mind of Poe when he 
denied the exbtence of a long poem, maintaining that there are only 
moments of poetry in a mass of verse that b unpoeticaL The facts of the 
case seem to sustain thb view, since in verses of emotion, even the best and 
the shortest, there are likely to be awkward and prosaic stanzas in whidi 
the jar between emotion and form b felt, or from which the emotion has 
altogether vanbhed. We infer therefore that the ideas which a set meter 
b best suited to record are those sometimes called the tranquil emotions^ 
peace, trust, tenderness, resignation, — the emotions of tranquil breathing, 
not the passions. 

Resting upon such convictions we hold rhythm to be an inseparable ad- 
junct of poetry, and meter a separable acyunct. Words must succeed each 
other musically but they need not succeed each other in set fashion, or in 

• •• 


lines of fixed length ; while a balance of time and a reeponsivenefis of cadence 
are neceasarj to the musical efiect which \b one of the accompaniments of 
poetic speech, a balance and a cadence remaining practically unchanged 
through the expression of quickly changing emotion is, for the reasons given, 
unnatural if not impossible, and its attempt is pleasing only in proportion 
as the thought of the poet is replaced for us by his music 

Now, leaving the view which inclines us to the study of language rhythm 
in its immediate physical relations, let us turn to the consideration of it 
from that point which assumes that our notions of rhythm in general take 
their rise from the form or manifestation of the most fundamental activities 
of the mind. 

A spontaneous efibrt of the attention — or with Wnndt '' a wave of apper- 
ception " — endures a second or more. Each strain of attention is followed 
by relief— one attends and relaxes attention. This is the rhythm in the 
attention to which reference was made above. The view taken is that only 
one undivided state of consciousness may arise during each pulse or wave 
of attention, and that the number of objects which can be grasped in that 
state must form an organic unity. Mr. Bolton after recording a number 
of tests made at Clark University concludes that* "a given number of 
auditory impressions within certain time limits, when presented in such a 
way that there is a kind of subordination among them with respect either 
to time, intensity, pitch or quality, or with respect to any two or more of 
these properties, always stands as a unit in consciousness." It follows then 
that rhythm can arise only when in the succeeding units the mind recog^ 
nizes a certain parallelism in the subordination of parts — a particular order 
or law, which dominates the structure of each member of a series of units ; 
but this order may be found in sequences of subordinations that may arise 
with respect either to time, intensity, pitch or quality, or with respect to 
any two or more of these properties; it may therefore be based upon a very 
simple or upon a very complex unit structure, only there must be an inner 
theme, a minor motion, which shall present itself easily as a unit to the 
mind in its apperceptive moment and must bear such a relation to the 
following motions or variations of the theme, that it with them may be 
coordinated and pass into the structure of a higher and more complex unity. 

It is clear that the power of perceiving rhythm ceases as soon as the 
mind loses its grasp upon the details, and can no longer find an underlying 
unity in the manifold variety. 

On the other hand the power to see wholes, the coordinating, or carry- 
ing power of the mind is a growth, and varies in diverse states of civilisa- 
tion or development, even though it be one of the first requisites to mental 
action of the simplest kind. 

In the application of these facts to poetic rhythm, an analogy is usefuL 
In music we find primitive taste confined to simple sequences, a single tone 

^Am, Journal of Pijfehology, Vol. VI. 


repeated in beats of 2-4 time seems to give real pleasure, not only to sav- 
ages and children, but to many a person whose faculties in other respects 
are far from rudimentary. Musicians, however, not only demand further 
complexity for their fullest satisfaction, but have lately gone so fiur as to 
profess a taste offended by pronounced rhythms, and gratified by the veiled 
sequences of the G^erman music, which Is still caviar to the general. 

Betuming to language rhythm, we shall find in the simple succession of 
stressed and unstressed syllables a rhythm recognized and enjoyed by very 
young children — a higher coordinating power is necessary for the eiyoy- 
ment of verse based on assonance and balanced verse sections, such, for in- 
stance, as are found in Old English poetry ; a still further coordination is 
that which finds in the English poetry of a later time still, unity in the 
complexity of the stanzas which the Elizabethans moulded on classic forma. 
Yet from this we have progressed further to the enjoyment of a rhythm 
still more involved, which introduces substituted feet and run-on-lines. In 
Shakespeare's later writings these substitutions and run-on-lines are so 
numerous that he practically escapes altogether from the limits of meter 
into a free and unclassified rhythm, which is, however, in such perfect 
accord with the thought — so fused and welded with it — that to read the 
rhythm fiUsely is to prove that one has missed the thought; this is true, 
also, of certain of the finest passages of Milton, and of Browning, and in 
some rare instances of exaltation it is true of Tennyson also. Under stress 
of a dominating thought or inspiration their verse becomes rhythmic prose. 

Taken as a whole these phenomena show that as poetic thought becomes 
more complex, it has refused to find its abiding place in the forms imposed 
upon English verse by the Latin Benaissance, no less than in those which 
sufficed in the eighth century ; and that it tends to leave the recognized 
field of meter for the larger measures of an unexplored rhythm. 

So whether we advance through the consideration of the physical rela- 
tions of rhythm to breath, or through the more abstruse consideration of 
the coordinating power of the mind dealing with phenomena presented to 
it in its pulses of attention, we find ourselves drawn to the same conclusion. 
In either case the escape from the forms known as metrical into a more 
complex rhythm seems not only reasonable but inevitable, and we are 
forced to believe that the future advance of rhythmic literature ib likely to 
be along the lines of further complexity ; since no one would be so bold as 
to affirm that we have already recognized the possible unity in complexity 
which may arise through " subordinations either in respect to time, inten- 
sity, pitch, or quality, or in respect to any two or more of these properties." 

But for the present; — ^if the increasing complexity of emotion and the 
advance in coordinating power has already developed a poetic taste which 
finds satisfaction in the sequences vaguely named as the rhythm of im- 
passioned prose, would it not be well frankly to admit that our present 
nomenclature is inexact and misleading, that to call that prose which gives 
us our highest poetic satis&ction, and that poetry which is in hd but the 


form of a past glory, is to delude oarselyes, and thoee whose opinions we 

Since the instinct of the poet has long ago recognized a harmony pro- 
fonnder than those the metriBt-critics have known, why should we of the 
laity continue to explain away and ignore the presence of a higher law in 
the music we have not yet been able adequately to measure by any rule of 
thumb ? Should we not rather turn to the serious study of the rhythm that 
speaks in impassioned prose, and seek to discover the subtle laws, which in 
the ears of our great masters have so transcended the ones discovered by 
our metrists, laws which must reveal a variety in unity much more com- 
plex than those now understood, and show us the short and simple sound 
theme replaced by one of greater length and complexity, upon which the 
variations tend to become more and more involved as the mind attains 
greater coordinating power? • 

22. "The home of Walter von der Vogelweide." By 
Professor H, S. White, of Cornell University. 

Remarks upon this paper were offered by Professor Henry 

23. " Chaucer's development in rime-technique.'' By Pro- 
fessor Ceorge Hempl, of the University of Michigan. 

Remarks upon this paper were offered by Professor 6. L. 

24. "A phonetic transcription of a Louisiana Folk-Lore 
tale." By Professor Alc6e Fortier, of Tulane University. 
[Read by title.] 

25. "Conjectural restoration of the so-called Oarmen Oothi- 
cumJ^ By Professor A. Gudeman, of the University of Penn- 
sylvania. [Read by title.] 

26. " Some unpublished poems of Fernan Perez de Guz- 
man." By Professor Hugo A. Rennert^ of the University of 
Pennsylvania. [Read by title.] 


President and Mrs. Timothy Dwight gave a reception at 
their home, 126 College Street, to the ladies and gentlemen 
of the Association, Friday evening, December 27th. 


The fifth r^alar session was called to order Saturday, 
December 28th, at 9.30 a. m. 

27. " The Italian novella.'' By Dr. Mary Augusta Scott, 
of Baltimore, Md. 

When we compare the novella with the oorresponding foim of fiction in 
English, the novel, we are at once stmck by the fact that historicallj, for na^ 
the romantic drama lies between. The novella precedes the drama and the 
novel follows it. The English novel, from Richardson to Mrs. Humphry 
Ward, implies the previous existence of the English drama ; for elaboration 
of motive and development of character, it has no other counterpart The 
novella^ on the other hand, is a drama in detdmo sesto ; it is short, sketchy, 
concentrated ; it does not, even collectively, aim at giving a well-rounded 
picture of life and manners, and individually, it has little or no personality; 
very often it Is no more than a bon mot or repartee, and the novelist, like 
Poggio or Saochetti, is but a raconteur. 

The origin of the novella in mere anecdote, together with the natural 
objectivity of the Italian mind, explains one of its most striking character- 
istics, its air of reality. All the novelists pretend that their tales were 
originally recited and then written down, and there can hardly be a doubt 
but that they were really read aloud, or improvised, on occasions similar to 
those invented by Boccacdo, Grazzini, and others. The faxit that the popular 
novella attained a permanent literary value only in Italy, the importance of 
a corresponding form of the Italian drama, the improvisations of the eoin- 
medie delP arte, and the high cultivation of acting in Italy, an art in which 
the Italians have always excelled, all go to prove that the novelUero was what 
he claimed to be, literally a storyte^. 

Recitation in its turn affected the style of the novdla; a short story that 
is told must have point, focus. So the novdliero introduces his characters 
simply by name, and very often even names are superfluous ; of the six char- 
acters in Giraldi's story of Othello, only one, Disdemona, has a name. The 
environment \b of the baldest kind, and the whole force of the narrative ia 
expended on the action, which is always consistent, the most natural out- 
come of the circumstances. But of explanation of motives, of development 
of character, of ethical intention, as in the drama and novel, the novella has 


In spite, however, of a pleasing style and an interesting picture of man- 
ners, in spite of great yarietj of incident and an extraordinary ingenaity of 
plot, the novelists with one accord are exceedingly poverty-stricken in choice 
of sabject The two main subjects are love and jests, as if life were one 
grand game of fooling. In humorous fooling, ranging all the way from 
wit to farce, the novella is very rich. Poggio's Facetiae are extremely witty 
comments on people and things, betraying the keenest observation and the 
most startling insight. A favorite type of humor is the vulgar, practical 
joke, which often degenerates into the broadest farce. Usually a sort of 
continuity is given to a collection of tales by one or two buffoons who turn 
up here and there throughout, like the clown and pantaloon of the early 
Italian comedy. Bruno and Buffalmacco are Boccaccio's jesters, and Calan- 
drino their butt, while three boon companions, Lo Sch^;gia, II Monaco, 
4uid II Pilucca, are the heroes of the comedy in II Lasca's Suppen. 

Love in the novella is not the spiritual passion of Guido Guinicelli and 
Dante ; it is love as we see it depicted in the poetry of the Troubadours, or 
rather that fantastic sentiment as it was understood by the cultivated, pleas- 
ure-loving Italians of the Renaissance. It is lovis in which refinement, 
brutality, and cruelty are strangely mixed, love full of romantic nonseoie, 
of scholastic discussions, of sensuous enjoyment Passion does not enter 
into this conception of love, nor duty, nor work, nor responsibility, nor the 
thousand quiet needs that come by sun and candlelight when Adam and 
Eve undertake to keep house together in Paradise. There is a gay, inaou- 
eiant shunning of all that is serious and moral in the lives of men and 
women. Life is too amusing to be serious, too sentimental, too piquant, 
too full of trifling incidents and gossip and chat. It is an idle world, a 
world of talk. 

An Elizabethan translator of more than ordinaiy interest was Sir Thomas 
North, who rendered into his inimitable prose the Moral! Philoiophie oj 
Doni. In the preface of DonPs book of dialogues, I Marmi^ he represents 
himself flying aloft, hovering over the marble steps of the piazza Santa 
Liberata, in Florence, listening to the talk of the young men who resort 
there in the cool of the evening. — ''And for as much as they are all fine 
wits and comely, they have a thousand lovely things to say — novels, strata- 
gems, and fables ; they tell of intrigues, stories, jokes, tricks played off on 
men and women — all things sprightly, noble, noteworthy, and fit for gentle 

The morale of the novella cannot be better presented than in this picture. 
Apart from the consideration of causes, a bare statement of fact is, that the 
novella is the literary form in which the spirit of the Renaissance expressed 
itself most naturally and most freely, and that that spirit was gay, unreflec- 
tive, optimistic and frankly sensuous. A little Elizabethan snatch, so wild 
that it almost takes your breath away, is bom right out of it and voices it 
exactly: — 


Hejy nonnj no I 
Men are fools that wish to die I 
Is't not fine to dance and sing 
When the bells of death do ring? 
Is't not fine to swim in wine 
And turn npon toe 
And sing, hej, nonny no, 
When the winds blow, and the seas flow? 

Hey, nonny no ! 

It IB the fashion to call the morality of the Renaissance ' paganism,' a 
view which does considerable injustice to the pagans. I think they are 
nearer the truth who describe it as a return to nature; it is a revolt from 
mediseval ascetism and ecclesiastical hypocrisy, which finds its boldest ex- 
pression in the Deecaneron, How wide the divergence had become between 
profession and conduct, between temperamental optimism and the actual 
conditions of life, may be seen from such a work as Valla's De VotupUUe^ 
which IB a disputation between naturalism and humanism on the one side, 
and the mediseval scheme of ethics on the other. Valla gives the argument 
to the church, but naturalism carries the day ; just so, all the great Italians 
of the Renaissance are freethinkers without ceasing to be Catholics. Puld, 
like a street singer, opens each canto of the MorganU Maggiore with an in- 
vocation to the madonna or a paraphrase of a collect; in like manner, not 
a few novdU are introduced with prayers or moral reflections utterly at 
variance with the story that follows. 

In order to be just to the wntUieri, we must first free our minds of the 
notion that they aim to instruct; they do sometimes point a moral, and 
they are almost sure to adorn their tales, but they are didactic never. To 
one who feels the long tragedy of Italian history, it is pathetic to note how 
the novelists one and all turn away from civil strife and pestUence, and 
wretched social conditions, to seek comfort in the things of mind. Sao- 
chetti's little preface reads like a litany, with a difference, for in the midst 
of 'battle, murder, and sudden death,' he thinks of 'that excellent Floren- 
tine poet, Messer Giovanni Boccaccio,' and his care-killing tales. And then, 
in a few lines, with admirable brevity of expression, Saochetti states the 
purpose of the novella, and it is not ethical at all, it is amusement, joie H 

One of the charms of the Decameron is the description of natural scenery 
which serves to introduce and connect the days. Indeed, the beautiful 
setting of the hundred tales must have added greatly to their popularity, 
not only with the Florentines, for whom the work was thus cast in the 
glamour of a familiar and lovely landscape, but with the Italians, who have 
inherited from classic times a love of the country and of country pleasures 
and sports. Many novelle are idyUs, and not infrequently a tale that offends 
all modem canons of taste is yet exquisitely set. The master emotion that 


is acting may be a proper subject of critidsm, but the feeling for nature is 
pure and genuine. It Ib not a spiritual sympathy with nature, such as we 
have come to know from our later English poets, nor has it anything of 
what Ruskin calls ''the pathetic fallacy/' that way of looking at nature 
which considers it dyed in the human emotions of which it \b the mute wit- 
ness. Rather, it is Chaucerian, a joyous, buoyant delight in out-of-doors, 
in the green of summer, in running water, in birds and flowers and sun- 
shine. Fancy Chaucer made classical and you have Boccaccio's or Ser- 
mini's treatment of nature. The fair weather aspect of nature in the noveOa 
is emphasized by the fact that the scene of the tales is often in a villa gar- 
den. Straparola's Nights gets its name from his fiction of the tales being 
told in the open of the Italian summer nights. With the Italians, some- 
thing of their gaiety and naivete of temperament seems to enter into the 
conception of nature, and they prefer to think of her as always kind. Boi- 
ardo's fawn is so sensitive to natural influences that he weeps when the sky 
is fair, because he fears bad weather, and laughs in the rain storms, because 
he knows the sun will shine again. 

But the novelliero is no philosopher withal, his view of life is entirely on 
the surface of things. Although he has abundant curiosity and an acute 
fJEunilty of observation, he makes no study of motives. He creates lago 
malignant and Portia bright and resourceful, but what these qualities have 
to do with the tragedy of the one, or the happy romance of Uie other, the 
novelist does not in the least concern himself with. It is just this poverty 
of intellectual content, associated with extraordinary diversity of incident, 
that rendered the novelle such a mine of wealth to the Elizabethan drama- 
tists. They furnished the outlines of plays which the poet could fill in at 
his pleasure. 

An interesting description of the essentially dramatic character of the 
novella is that of Federico de Roberto, the author of Vllhuione and Ennanno 
Radi, It \b in the preface to his little book of short stories called Proeesai Ver- 
bali, and is well worth note as the view of a modem Italian novelist on a liter- 
ary form in which Italy and France have so far outstript other nations. — 
'^I^rocesso Verbale,** says de Roberto, " means in common parlance a simple, 
rapid and futhful relation of an event taking place under the eyes of a dis- 
interested spectator. I call Proeeasi VerhaU tales that are the naked and 
impersonal transcriptions of little comedies, of little dramas, taken from the 
life {coUi nU viw)" 

Then he goes on to lay down the sound artistic principle that a story- 
teller should be impersonal, he should keep himself well in the background, 
he should obtrude no descriptions, no reflections, no analyses of mental 
states, at best but more or less happy hypotheses — he should do nothing, in 
short, but let hb personages speak and act for themselves. A short story is 
a little drama, a series of lively dialogues, with just enough description as 
stage direction to keep the whole moving. 

I do not know a better analysis of the freshness and crispness and lifelike- 
ness of the noveUa. 


The report of the Committee appointed to nominate officers 
was received^ and the following officers were elected for the 
year 1896. 

President : Calvin Thomas, University of Michigan. 
Secretary : James W. Bright, Johns Hopkins University. 
Treasurer : Herbert E. Greene, Johns Hopkins University. 

JExecuHve Council. 

Henry Johnson, Bowdoin College. 
C. T. Winchester, Wesleyan University. 
Hago A. Rennert, University of Pennsylvania. 
Albert H. Tolman, University of Chicago. 
Charles Harris, Adelbert Coll^. 
John E. Matzke, Leland Stanford Jr. University. 
Alc^ Fortier, Tulane University. 
W. S. Currell, Washington and Lee University. 
Charles H. Ross, Alabama Agricultural and Mechanical 

Phonetic Section. 

President : A. Melville Bell, Washington, D. C. 
Secretary : Greorge Hempl, University of Michigan. 

Pedagogical Section, 

President : C. H. Grandgent, Harvard University. 
Secretary : James T. Hatfield, Northwestern University. 

Editorial OommiUee. 

A. Marshall Elliott, Johns Hopkins University. 
H. Schmidt- Wartenberg, University of Chicago. 

The Committee appointed to audit the Treasurer's aoooonts 
reported that the accounts were found to be correct. 


The Committee appointed to consider means to give clerical 
assistance to the Secretary^ recommended that the Association 
pay annually to the Secretary the sam of two hundred dollars. 

This recommendation was accepted by a vote of the Asso- 

In accordance with the recommendation of the Committee 
appointed to designate place for the next annual meeting of 
the Association^ a motion was passed unanimously in &vor of 
Adelbert College, Cleveland, Ohio. 

Professor Albert S. Cook, first vice-president of the Asso- 
ciation, was called to the chair. 

28. " * Das junge Deutschland ^ in America." By Dr. T, 
S. Baker, of the Johns Hopkins University. 

This paper was discussed by Professor M. D. Learned. 

29. " The Sources of the Dramaturgical Ideas of Lenz." 
By Dr. Max Winkler, of the University of Michigan. 

This paper was discussed by Professor A. Cohn. 

30. " Two Parallel Studies in Sociology : a comparison of 
certain features in a drama by Shakespeare and one by Ibsen." 
By Professor C. B. Wright, of Middlebury Coll^. [Read 
by title.] 

The plajs are Ooriolanua and An Enemy of the People^ and so far as surface 
appearance goes, two dramas coold hardly be more unlike. As regards 
nature, the one is among the most pathetically tragic of Shakespeare's 
plays; the other is essentially a comedy. On the score of scene, the one 
transports us to the very center of old-world action — in its antique stern- 
ness and simplicity it is perhaps more genuinely heroic than is Antony and 
Cleopatra with its international theater; the setting of the other is of our 
own time in a little Norwegian health-resort, and amid surroundings the 
most prosaic. Lastly, the characters themselves, for all their essential 
similarity, are cast in yery different moulds ; we can prove from Shake- 
speare, as we cannot from Ibsen, that "there were giants in those days.'' 
These differences are apparent, yet, in spite of them, the plays are remark- 
ably analogous in motive, in the dramatU penonaej and in much of the action 
leading to the respective dimazes. 


1. Motive, It IB not enough to say that OorioUamB is a portrayal of the 
endless straggle between property and poverty ; that is bat one feature of 
the play and by no means the most essentiaL To call it a delineation of 
aristocracy and democracy as antagonistic social forces is to come nearer the 
truth, but even this Ib only a partial statement. The breach between Corio- 
ianus and the people was brought about not so much through any inherent 
antagonism between their classes, as through a pervading absence of politi- 
cal sanity, an inability on the part of both patricians and plebeians to see 
the interests of the commonwealth ** steadily and whole." Whether it be 
permissible or not for the artist to teach a lesson, it is certainly permissible 
for the students of art to be taught ; and the most obvious lesson to be de- 
duced from Ooriolanua is fundamental and impressive — the absolute need, 
for political stability, of the serene and steady outlook, the broad vision, 
the calm and undistorted view. 

The motive of ^n Enemy of the People would be practically identical were 
the artistic balance not weakened through the evident special pleading. 
Ibsen holds a brief for Doctor Stockmann ; as he writes, Uie retainer lies 
before him on the desk. The Doctor is eternally right, the people eternally 
wrong, and the circumstances that led to the writing show us very clearly 
why. Now Shakespeare never indulges in special pleading; he holds a 
brief for no one, unless it be Henry V. Ooriolanus does show, I think, that 
its author's inclinations were on the aristocratic side; not, however, for the 
reason commonly adduced by the critics. The hero's contempt for the pop- 
ulace, they tell us, and the abundant cause furnished by the exasperating 
unreason ascribed to them, prove it. Not at all ; the balance of unreason is 
against the patrician. It \b Coriolanus who stands condenmed rather than 
the people ; condemned, though, not through Shakespeare's hostility, but 
through his love ; tried and found wanting by the stem standard of nobUsBe 

2, DrcanoHs penonae. In a brief outline one can do hardly more than 
set over against each other the character counterparts in the two plays. 
The table is as follows: 

Coriolanus Doctor Stockmann. 

VirglLia Mrs. Stockmann. 

Volumnia Petra. 

Young Marcus Eilif and Morten. 

f Hovstad. 
The Tribunes •! Billing. 


Doctor Stockmann is a nineteenth century Coriolanus. We love them 
both, in a measure, for the enemies they make ; each is deplorably unable 
to acyust himself to surroundings. 

As to the women of the plays, it is dramatically correct that the mother 
in one and the daughter in the other should be most doeely in sympath j 



with the hero ; each time it Ib in acoordanoe with hereditary law. It Ib to 
he noted, too, that Petra shares with her father the nndiscriminating affec- 
tion of their creator. Mrs. Stockmann, on the other hand, gets more than 
she perhaps deserves of the wholesale Ibsen contempt. He has temporaiy 
relentings, bat to all intents and purposes she is one of the people, and 
Ibsen is ronning amnck. 

The tribune demagogues are fully matched in the printers of the Nor- 
wegian drama, while the populace, fickle, brainless, swayed by the ctgolery 
of their unscrupulous masters, are the same contemptible creatures whether 
in trousers or in togas. 

One looks in vain for a counterpart to Menenius. Captain Horster, 
perhaps, comes nearest. The similarity, however, lies wholly in his relation 
to the hero and not at all in personal characteristics. And small wonder ; 
Shakespeare himself has rarely drawn the equal of the old patrician, while 
Horster is at best but little more than a lay figure — a helpful wheel in the 
machinery of the actions. 

A single word should be added in this connection. The finding of surface 
counterparts in plays of different ages would not of necessity be noteworthy ; 
if the plays are built on conventional, classic lines, it could hardly happen 
otherwise. Neither of these plays, though, is conventional, and the like- 
nesses here pointed out are general rather than detailed — a proof that each 
play is an outgrowth of a common philosophy of life. 

3. AeUon, There is space to indicate but one similarity, yet a compara- 
tive study of the plays will show how vital a detail it is and how intimately 
connected with the climax of the actions. The Tribunes (CbriolaniM, Act 
ILL, Sc. 3) and the newspaper men {An Enemy of the People^ Act IV) seem 
almost to have compared notes. Their policies are identical: the crafty 
baiting of a victim too hotheaded for prudent self-restraint. 

31. ^^TroiltM and Oriseyde: a study of Chaucer's method 
of narrative construction.'' By Professor Thomas R. Price, 
of Columbia University. 

This paper was discussed by Professor James W, Bright. 

32. ^^ Some features of Chaucer's verse, especially stress and 
hiatus." By Professor Morton W. Easton, of the University 
of Pennsylvania, 

This paper was read by Dr. Homer Smith ; it was discussed 
by Professors George Hempl and James W. Bright. 

This paper, mainly statistical in content, discussed the lines in the form 
of the line in the iVofe^me, 170, 



Qinglen in a whistling wind as dere^ 


and lines of similar metrical character. ItdoeedwithadisciiflBionof hiatoSy 
also statistical, in which the author attempted to show that the peioentagea 
in the poems of Chaooer are such as to show at least a partial avoidance <^ 
As the paper is to he pahlished, farther analysis is omitted here* 

33, "Fiction as a Collie study/' By Professor Bliss 
Perry, of Princeton Qniversity. 


The sixth r^ular session of the meeting was convened at 
3 p. m., December 28th. 

34. " Overlapping and multiple indications/' By Professor 
Andrew Ingraham, of the Swain Free School. 

Two sound-series overlap each other when the meaning of the one is 
soggested by or implied in the meaning of the other. When the expres- 
sions overlap, the idea has multiple indications. The philosopher and the 
scientist avoid overlapping and multiple indications; the orator and the 
poet seek them. The ground of these manifestations is found in the ind- 
mate connection of our thoughts. The connection may he universa] and 
permanent, or local and transitory. In Elementary Geometry, for instance, 
the subject and the predicate of any proposition about parallels overlap in 
their meanings, and geometers have preferred to retain ambiguous terms 
rather than to enlarge their vocabulary. 

In the pun, the allegory, the metaphor, etc., two or more distinct realms 
of thought are put before the mind at once. Few utterances are without a 
multiplicity of significations, though serious persons attend to one only, nor 
find it worth the while to learn what other meanings a sentence may have 
outside their own province. Even ab'^e=d has one signification for the 
arithmetician, another for the logician, and a third for the vector-analyst, — 
a triplicate pun which moves like Spenser's Fairy Queen over three difierent 
regions of the mind. In overlapping we have the reverse of this, many 
difiPerent series of sounds tending to awaken the same thought. Fish^ swim 
and sea overlap one another in " Fishes swim in the sea.'' A fuller repre- 
sentation of the meaning of the one word leads to the meaning, or rather to 
some implication of the meaning of the others. Birds is a word which, in 
the minds of many unintelligent persons, overlaps much that poets have said 
about birds hitherto. ** Birds fly through the air " merely repeats what is 
vaguely present to him who hears any one of the three principal words in 
the sentence. "The ear hears the sound" and ''The ball hits the fence" 
are run in the same grammatical mould ; but the presence of intricate over- 



lappings in the former and their abeenoe from the latter show that even the 
language of science may emphasize trivial aspects, and that tranntive and 
dirtel object have little meaning, though they may be nsefol in formnlating 
roles for the goidanoe of beginners in the stadj of language. Their atten- 
tion might profitably be directed to the meanings associated with the mean- 
ings of words. Their grammar, their dictionaries, their " synonyms " even, 
their rhetoric perhaps, and, one may add, their teachers leave them without 
this introduction to semasiology, this due to the transitions in the signifi- 
cation of sounds and signs. ' 

Multiple indications are to be contrasted with non-indications, misindi- 
cations, and inconsistent indications, — ^nonsense, the oxymoron, the paradox, 
the bull, and many expressions of deep emotions or wide generalizations. 
Instances abound, as — " This garrulity of advising is bom with us ; " ** While 
Ireland was silent under her misfortunes, England was deaf to her cries ; " 
" Four-dimensional space;" "Chlorine oxidation;" "And Christ's face on 
the Cross sees only this after the passion of a thousand years." 

Multiple indications that result from overlapping must be distinguished 
from those which result from exact coincidences in the meaning of different 
parts of a sentence, though these may have been overlappings originally. 
Tif iraiHt kfi^or4p<» wapiiarnp expresses six times the fact that the boys were 
, two ; not, however, as the result of any discernible overlapping. Even the 
tersest expressions of highly civilized people exhibit this multiplicity of 
indication. "The three boys are here" contains a triple indication of 
plurality ; " He strikes me," a double indication of the object relation. Nor 
is mere tautology an instance of overlapping, though pleonasm and verbiage 
may be. They all come under multiple indications. 

Faber writes, "On earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore." 
Here earth and. fields overlap ; and so do oeeati, wave and shore, "The day 
must dawn and darksome night be passed ; " " The last faint pulse of quiver- 
ing light;" "Her writhen limbs were wrung;" "For them no more the 
blazing hearth shall bum," may serve as examples. In the last, hearth and 
bum overlap ; so do hearth and blaze. 

Better names will be found and a better exposition given ; but overlapping 
will not, I trust, be considered two unimportant a relation between signifi- 
cant sounds to deserve more than a name and an exposition. 

This paper was discussed by Professor Herbert E. Greene. 

35. " The place of Schleiermacher and Fichte in the develop- 
ment of Grerman romanticism." By Professor Kuno Francke, 
of Harvard University. 

36. " Hubsche Historic von einem Ritter wie er busset : a 
manuscript of the fifteenth century." By Mr. F. G. G. 
Schmidt^ of the Johns Hopkins University. 


37. ^* Notes on the ase of cases after certain prepositions in 
Anglo-Saxon (Alfred, JElfric, and the Chranudey By Dr. 
H. M. Belden^ of the University of Missouri. [Bead by 

38. " W in Old Norse.*' By Dr. P. Groth, of Brooklyn, 
N. Y. [Read by title.] 

Professor O. F. Emerson offered the following resolution, 
which was adopted by a unanimous vote of the Association. 

Resolvedy That the Modern Language Association of Amer- 
ica, in convention assembled, expresses hereby its hearty thanks 
to the Modern Language Club of Yale University, to Presi- 
dent and Mrs. Timothy Dwight and the Officers of Yale 
University, to the Graduate Club of Yale University, and to 
the Local Committee, for the kind, the hospitable and the 
efficient entertainment which has made this one of the most 
pleasant and successful meetings in the history of the Associa- 

The Association adjourned at 5 o'clock p. m. 

PBocEEDiNas FOB 1895. zzxvii 


Cbhmbia Unketrtiiy, New York, N, T, 

Secretary, Treatur^t 


Jokm Bcpkint UntvenU^, BaMmore, Mi. Johns MopUm Unkaeniiy, BaUimore, Md. 


(In addltioii to the aboTe-^uuned offioen.) 


Bmodofin CblUffe, Bruntwiek, Me. AdeWert QMege, Cle9ekmd, Ohio. 


WetU^fon XMnertiiyt Middleiown, Qnm, LeUmdSUu^ordJr. VMe., LekmdStai^itrd,CU, 


IMte. qf Pemneyhcmia, Philade^hia^ As. Jktlane TMoereiiyt New Orleant, La. 


UM0eniiyqfChicaffo,Ch(eago,/U. WaahingUm and Lee UnkmtUy, Lmbtglon, Va, 

AgrieuUmal and Meehanieal Cbilege, Auhmm, Ala. 


Prendenif Seeretary, 


WaehbugUm, D. C lAtioerfify qf Miehigan, Ann AHwr, Mich. 


President, Secretary, 


Marvard Vnhereiiif, Cbmhridffe, Maet. Northweetem VhioerHlyt AnmmIoimi, IU, 


Flrtt Vie^PretideHL Seemd Vic^Prettdma. 

ThMt Vie^'PreaidenL 


Jokm Hepkfne Uwieertity, BaMmore, Md. Uwieertity qf CMcago, Ckteago, IU. 



(including membebs of the Central Division of ths 


Aberaethj, Mr. J. W., 231 Lincoln Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Adams, Mr. W. A., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 
Adler, Dr. Cyras, Smithsonian Institute, Washington, D. C. 
Akers, Prof. J. T., Central College, Richmond, Ey. 
Allen, Prof. Edward A., University of Missoori, Colombia, Mo. 
Allen, Mr. Philip a, 612 Maple 8t, Station O, Chicago, HL 
Anderson, Prof. E. P., 5609 Jackson Avenue, Chicago, DL 
Anderson, Miss Maiy, Isbell College, Talladega, Ala. 
Augostin, Prof. Marie J., Sophie Newcomb Memorial College, New Orleaofl, 

Babbitt, Pro^ E. H., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 
Bader, Prof. John H., City Schools, Staunton, Va. 
Baker, Dr. T. S., 1202 Mt Boyal Avenue, Baltimore, Md. 
Baldwin, Dr. C. S., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 
Bartlett, Mr. D. L., 16 W. Monument St, Baltimore, Md. 
Bartlett, Prof. G. A., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
Baskervill, Prof. W. M., Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. 
Belden, Dr. H. M., University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo. 
Bell, Prof. A. Melville, 1625 35th St., W., Washington, D. C. 
Bevier, Prof. Louis, Butgers College, New Brunswick, N. J. 
Bierwirth, Dr. H. C, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
Bishop, Prof. Wm. H., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 
Blackburn, Prof. F. A., University of Chicago, Chicago, IIL 
Blackwell, Prof. R. £., Randolph-Macon College, Ashland, Va. 
Blau, Dr. Max F., Bryn Mawr, Pa. 
Bloomberg, Prof. A. A., Lafayette College, Easton, Pa. 
Blume, Mr. Julius, Marston's University School, Baltimore, Md. [712 Madi- 
son Avenue]. 

^ Members are earnestly requested to notify promptly both the Secxetary 
and the Treasurer of changes of address. 


Boatwright, President F. W., Richmond College, Richmond, Va. 

Both-Hendriksen, Mias L., 166 Macon St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Bothne, Prof. Qisle, Lather College, Deoorah, Iowa. 

Bonghton, Prof. Willis, Ohio State UniverBltj, Athens, Ohio. 

Bowen, Prof. B. L., Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio. 

Bowen, Dr. £. W., Randolph-Macon College, Ashland, Va. 

Boyd, Prof. John C, University of Wooster, Wooster, Ohio. 

Brandt, Prof. H. C. G., Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y. 

Br^^ Prof. C. F., 144 W. Coulter St., Germantown, Pa. 

Bright, Prof. James W., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 

Brinton, Dr. D. G., Media, Pa. 

Bristol, Mr. E. N., 29 W. 28d SU, New York, N. Y. 

Broatch, Mr. J. W., 596 Pierson Hall, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

[Canton, Ohio]. 
Bronson, Prof. T. B., Lawrenceville School, LawrenceviUe, N. J. 
Brown, Prof. A. N., Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. 
Brown, Prof. E. M., University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
Bruce, Prof. J. D., Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. 
Brumbaugh, Prof. M. G., Juniata College, Huntingdon, Pa. 
Bruner, Prof. James D., University of Chicago, Chicago, IIL 
Brush, Mr. Murray P., Columbus, Ohio. 
Brusie, Prof. C. F., Mt Pleasant Academy, Sing Sing, N. Y. 
Bryan, Ensign Henry F., Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. 
Butler, Prof. F. R., Boston University, Boston, Mass. [168 Lafayette Street, 

Salem, Mass.]. 

Cabeen, Prof. Chas. W., Oberlin College, Oberlin, Ohio. 

Cabell, Mis. W. D., 1407 Mass. Avenue, Washington, D. C. 

Caldwell, Mr. J. W., Irving Club, Knoxville, Tenn. 

Callaway, Jr., Prof. M., University of Texas, Austin, Texas. 

Cameron, Prof. A. Guyot, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

Canfield, Prof. A. G., University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas. 

Carpenter, Dr. F. I., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 

Carpenter, Prof. G. R., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 

Carruth, Prof. W. H., University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas. 

Carter, President Franklin, Williams College, Williamstown, Mass. 

Chamberlain, Prof. A. F., Clark University, Worcester, Mass. 

Chambers, Prof. H. £., Tulane University, New Orleaijs, La. 

Chapman, Prof. Henry Leland, Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine. 

Chase, Dr. Frank H., Episcopal Academy, Cheshire, Conn. 

Chase, President G. C, Bates College, Lewiston, Maine. 

Cheek, Prof. S. R., Centre College, Danville, Ky. 

Child, Dr. Clarence G., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Qaiy, Mr. S. W., 110 Boylston St., Boston, Mass. 

Cohn, Prof. Adolphe, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 


Gohn, Prof. H., Northwestern Universitj, Evanstoii, IIL 

CoggeshaU, Mias Looifle K^ 102 K 57th St New York, N. Y. 

Colin, Mrs. Alfred, Biyn Mawr College, firyn Mawr, Pa. 

CollitK, Prof. H., Bryn Mawr Collie, Biyn Mawr, Pa. 

Colyille, Mr. W. T., Carbondale, Pa. 

CoMn, Mrs. Mary Nojea, College for Women, CleTeland, Ohio. 

Conant, Prof. C. Everett, Lincoln Uniyersitj, Lincoln, 111. 

Cook, Prof. Albert S., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

Cooper, Prof. W. A., Marietta College, Marietta, Ohio. 

Corwin, Dr. Robert N., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

Crabb, Mr. W. D., University of Chicago, Chicago, IIL 

Crane, Prof. T. F., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

Crawshaw, Prof. W, H., Colgate University, Hamilton, N. Y. 

Crow, Dr. Chas. L., Norfolk, Va. [105 Bank St] 

Crow, Prof. M. Foote, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 

Crowell, Mr. A. C, German Seminar, Brown University, Providence, &. L 

Curdy, Prof. A. E., Orchard Lake, Mich. 

Corme, Prof. G. O., Evanston, 111. 

Correll, Prof. W. S., Washington and Lee University, Lexington, Va. 

Catting, Profl Starr W., University of Chicago, Chicago, IIL 

van Daell, Prof. A. N., Mass. Inst, of Technology, Boston, Mass. 

Davidson, Prof. Charles, Albany, N. Y. 

Davidson, Prof. F. J. A., Leland Stanford, Jr. University, Leland Stanfoid, 

Davies, Prof. W. W., Ohio Wesleyan University, Delaware* Ohio. 
Dawson, Pro! Arthur C, Lake Forest University, Lake Forest, HL 
De Haan, Dr. Fonger, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Deering, Prof. R. W., Woman's College, Cleveland, Ohio. 
Deutsch, Prof. W., High School, St Louis, Mo. 
Dixon, Prof. J. M., Washington University, St Louis, Mo. 
Dodge, Prof. D. K., University of Illinois, Champaign, IIL 
Dodge, Prof. P. D., Berea College, Berea, Ky. 
Dodge, Prof. R E- Neil, Brown University, Providence, R. L 
Drake, Dr. Allison, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 
Dunlap, Prof. C. G., University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas. 

Earle, Mrs. E. M., 5810 Drexel Ave., Chicago, 111. 

Easton, Prof. M. W., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 

£^, Prof. Albert E., Washington Agricultural College, PuUman, Wash* 

E^gers, Prof. K A., State Univ. of Ohio, Columbus, Ohio. 
Elliott, Prof. A. Marshall, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Emerson, Prof. O. F., Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio. 
Epes, Prof. John D., 1209 Madison Ave., Baltimore, Md. 

PHOGEEDINQ8 FOB 1895, xli 

Faust, Dr. A. B., Weslejan Univereitj, Middletown, Conn. 

Faj, Prof. C. £., Tofts College, College HUl, Mass. 

Fay, Prof. K a!, Gallaadet College, Kendall Green, Washington, D. C. 

Ferrell, Prof. C. C, Univendty of MiasiaBippi, Univermtj P. O., Miss. 

Fenen, Dr. H. M., 157 Lowrie St, Allegheny, Pa. 

Yon Fingerlin, Prof. Edgar, Fnrman University, Greenville, S. C. 

Fitigerald, Mr. John D., 57 Liberty St., Newark, N. J. 

Fisher, Prof. Chas. L., Eenyon College, Gambler, Ohio. 

Floegel, Prof. Ewald, Leland Stanford, Jr. University, Leland Stanford, CaL 

Fontaine, Prof. J. A., Biyn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. 

Ford, Prof. Joseph S., Phillips Exeter Academy, Exeter, N. H. 

Fortier, Prof. Alc^, Tolane University, New Orleans, La. 

Francke, Prof. K., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Freeman, Prof. C. C, Kentacky University, Lexington, Ey. 

Freeman, Miss L. Blackstone, 18 W. 81 st St, New York, N. Y. 

Froelicher, Prof. H., Woman's College, Baltimore, Md. 

Fruit, Prof. John P., Bethel College, Russellville, Ky. 

Fuller, Prof. Paul, P. O. Box 2559, New York, N. Y. 

Gandolfo, Mr. Paul. C, 2516 Dumaine St , New Orleans, La. 

Garner, Prof. S., Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. 

Gamett, Prof. J. M., Woman's College, Baltimore, Md. 

Gkmrett, Mr. Alfred C, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Gaw, Mrs. Balph H., 1321 Fillmore St, Topeka, Kansas. 

Gayley. Prof. Charles M., University of California, Berkeley, CaL 

GMdes, Jr., Prof. James, Boston University, Boston, Mass. 

G^ber, Prof. A., Earlham College, Richmond, Ind. 

Gk>ebel, Prof. Julius, Leland Stanford, Jr. University, Leland Stanford, CaL 

Gorrell, Dr. J. H., Wake Forest College, Wake Forest, N. C. 

Grandgent, Prof. C. H., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Green, Miss Shirley, Palestine, Texas. 

Greene, Prof. Herbert £., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 

Grossman, Prof. Edward A., 1 W. 81st St, New York, N. Y. 

Griffin, Prof. James O., Leland Stanfoid, Jr. University, Leland Stanford, 

Groth, Dr. P., 291 49th St, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Gruener, Prof. Gustav, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 
Gudeman, Prof. A., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 
Gummere, Prof. F. B., Haverford College, Pa. 
Gutknecht, Mias L. L., 6340 Wright Ave., Chicago, IlL 
Gwinn, Dr. Maiy M., Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. 

Hale, Jr., Prof. E. K, Union College, Schenectady, N. Y. 

Hall, Prof. J. Lesslie, College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Va. 

Halsey, Prof. J. J., Lake Forest Univermty, I^e Forest, 111. 


Hamburger, Prof. Felix, Pawtncket, R. I. 

Hanscom, Dr. Elizabeth D^ 83 Elm 8t., Nortbampton, Maas. 

Harper, Prof. G. M., Princeton Universitj, Princeton, N. J. 

Harris, Prof. Chas., Adelbert College, Cleveland, Ohio. 

Harris, Min M. A., Rockford College, Rockford, IlL 

Harrison, Prof. J. A., University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va. 

Harrison, Prof. T. P., Davidson College, N. C. 

Hart, Prof. C. £., S3 Livingston Avenue, New Brunswick, N. J. 

Hart, Prof. J. M., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

Harvey, Prof. J. I., West Virginia University, Morgantown, W. Va. 

Hatfield, Prof. James T., Northwestern University, Evanston, IlL 

Haupt, Profl Paul, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 

Hausknecht, Prof. Emil, Thaer Str. 21, Berlin, N. W., Germany. 

Haussmann, Dr. W. A., Burlington College, Burlington, N. J. 

Hay, Prof. Henry H., Girard College, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Heddaeus, Prof. J., 120 Hart Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Heller, Prof. Otto, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo. 

Hempl, Prof. George, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. 

Hench, Prof. G. A., University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. 

Henckels, Prof. Theodore, Middlebury College, Middlebnry, Vt 

Henneman, Prof. J. B., University of Tennessee^ Knozville, Tenn. 

Hervey, Mr. William A., Rossville, Richmond Co, N. Y. 

Hewitt, Prof. W. T., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

Hobigand, Mr. J. A., Boston School of Languages, 88 Boylston St, Bofltoiiy 

Hochdorfer, Prof. R., Wittenberg College, Springfield, Ohio. 
Hohlfeld, Prof. A. R., Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. 
Holzwarth, Prof. F. J., Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. 
Homing, Prof. L. E., Victoria University, Cobourg, Ont. 
Hospes, Mrs. Cecilia, 3001 Lafayette Ave., St Louis, Mo. 
Howe, Miss M. A., Miss Porter^s School, Farmington, Conn. 
Howell, Miss Bertha, State Normal School, Milwaukee, Wis. 
Hubbard, Rev. Chas. F., 103 Oakland Place, Bufialo, N. Y. 
Hubbard, Prof. F. G., University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. 
Hubbard, Miss Grace A., Smith College, Northampton, Mass. 
Hudnall, Mr. R. H., Brandon, Rankin Co., Virginia. 
Hull, Miss Susie H., Ferry Hall, Lake Forest, 111. 
Hulme, Prof. Wm. H., Western Reserve Univ., Cleveland, Ohio. 
Hunt, Prof. T. W., Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. 
Hoss, Prof. H. C. O., Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. 

Ing^raham, Prof. A., The Swain Free School, New Bedford, Mass. 
Isaacs, Prof. A. S., New York University, New York, N. Y. 

von Jagemann, Prof. H. C. G., Harvard University, Cambridge, Maaa. 
James, Dr. A. W., Wesleyan University, Middletown, Conn. 

PBOCEEDINOS FOR 1895. xllii 

James, Prof. E. C, Woman's College, Richmond, Va. 
Jenkins, Dr. Thomas A., Vanderfoilt Uniyersitj, Nashville, Tenn. 
Jessen, Prof. Kail D., 5463 Monroe Avenue, Chicago, HI. 
Johnson, Prof. H., Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine. 
Jones, Dr. H. P., Cornell Universitj, Ithaca, N. Y. 
Jordan, Miss M. A., Smith College, Northampton, Mass. 
Joynes, Prof. K 8., South Carolina College, Columbia, S. C. 

Earsten, Prof. Gustaf £., University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind. 

Kaufman, Mrs. J. B., High School, St. Ixtuis, Mo. 

Keidel, Dr. G^ige C, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 

Kent, Prof. Cliarles W., University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va. 

Eem, Mr. Paul O.., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 

Kerr, Jr., Mr. John £., 41 Beaver St, New York, N. Y. 

Key, Mr. W. H., Central College, Fayette, Mo. 

Kinard, Prof. James P., Winthrop Normal and Industrial College, Rock 

Hill, 8. C. 
King, Prof. R. A., Wabash College, Crawfordsville, Ind. 
Kinney, Mr. Samuel Wardwell, Rome, N. Y. 
Kittredge, Prof. G. L., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
Klaeber, Dr. Frederick, Upiversity of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn, 
von Klenze, Dr. C, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 
Knox, Prof. Charles S., St. Paul's School, Concord, N. H. 
Kroeh, Prof. C. F., Stevens Inst of Technology, Hoboken, N. J. 
Krug, Mr. Joseph, 67 Princeton St, Cleveland, Ohio. 
Kuersteiner, Mr. A. F., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Kuhns, Prof. L. Oscar, Wesleyan University, Middletown, Conn. 

Ladd, Prof. Wm. C, Haverford College, Haverford, Pa. 

Lagarde, Prof. Ernest, Mount St. Mary's College, Mount St Mary's, Md. 

Lang, Prof. H. R., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

Learned, Prof. M. D., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Lensner, Mr. H. J., Saxonburg, Pa. 

Lesinsky, Mr. A. R., 25 E. 72nd St, New York, N. Y. 

Lewis, Prof. E. H., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 

Lewis, Prof. E. S., Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. 

Littleton, Prof. J. T., 1119 Main St, Danville, Va. 

Lodeman, Prof. A., Michigan State Normal School, Ypsilanti, Mich. 

Lodeman, Dr. F. £., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

Lodge, Prof. L. D., Columbian University, Washington, D. C. 

Logic, Prof. Thomas, Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J. 

Loiseauz, Mr. Louis A., Columbia College, New York, N. Y. 

Longden, Prof. Henry B., De Panw University, Greencastle, Ind. 

Loomis, Prof. Freeman, Bucknell University, Lewisburg, Pa. 

Lorenz, Mr. Theodore, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Lnqoieiis, Prof. J., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

Lnts, Prof. F., Albion College, Albion, Mich. 

Ljman, Dr. A. R, Ljman, M<L 

Lyon, Prof. Edmund, 110 a FiUhag^ St, Bocheflter, N. Y. 

le. Prof. John, Universitj of North Dakota, UniverBitj, N. D. 
MacLean, Chancellor Q. £., University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. 
MacMechan, Prof. Archibald, Dalhoosie College, Halifax, N. S. 
Magill, Prof. Edward H., Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pk. 
Manly, Prof. John M., Brown Univerrity, Providence, B. I. 
Manning, Profl K W., De Panw University, Qreencastle, Ind. 
March, Prof. Francis A., Lafayette College, Easton, Pa. 
March, Jr., Prof. Francis A., Lafayette College, Easton, Pk. 
Maroon, Dr. P. B., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
Marden, Dr. C. C, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Marsh, Prof. A. B., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
Mather, Jr., Prof. Frank Jewett, Williams College, Williamstown, Maas. 
Matthews, Prof. Brander, Columbia College, New York, N. Y. 
Matthews, Prof. George B., Univerntj of Utah, Salt Lake City, Utah. 
Matzke, Prof. J. E., Leland Stanford, Jr. University, Leland Stanford, Cal. 
McBryde, Jr., Mr. J. M., Blacksborg, Va. 
McCabe, Prof. W. Gordon, University School, Bichmond, Va. 
McClintock, Prof. W. D., University of Chicago, Chicago, IlL 
McQampha, Prof C. F., University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. 
Mcllwaine, Prof. H. B., Hampden Sydney College, Prince Edward Co., 

McKenzie, Dr. Kenneth, Union College, Schmectady, N. Y. 
McKibben, Prof. G. F., Denison University, Granville, Ohio. 
McKnight, Dr. George H., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 
McLouth, Prof. L. A., New York University, New York, N. Y. 
Menger, Dr. L. E., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Mensel, Prof. E. H., University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. 
Merrill, Prof. Eatherine, University of Illinois, Champaign, Dl. 
Meyer, Dr. Edward, Western Beserve University, Cleveland, Ohio. [S44 

Logan Avenue J. 
Meyer, Prof. G^ige H., Lake Forest Academy, Lake Forest, IlL 
Milford, Prof. Arthur B., Wabash College, Crawfordsville, Ind. 
Miller, Mr. Chas. B., Duncannon, Pa. [University of Pennsylvama, 

Philadelphia, Pa.] 
Miller, Prof. Daniel T., Brigham Young College, Logan, Utah. 
Mikie, Mr. C. J., Bitlenhouse Qub, 1811 Wahiut St, Philadelphia, Pk. 
Mims, Prof. Edwin, Trinity College, Durham, N. C. 
Montague, Prof. W. L., Amherst College, Amherst, Mass. 
Moore, Mr. A. A., Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y. 
Mooie, Prof. B. W., Hamilton, N. Y. 


Morton, Ftof. A. H., Williams College, Williamstown, Maas. 

Mott» Mr. L. F., College of the aty of New York, New York, N. Y. [17 

Lexington Avenue.] 
Mozzarelli, Prof. A., 56 Liberty Street, Savannah, Ga. 

Nash, Prof. B. H., 252 Beacon St., Boston, Mass. 

Nelson, Miss Clara A., Ohio Wesleyan University, Delaware, Ohio. 

Newcomer, Prof. A. G., Palo Alto, Cal. 

Nichols^ Prof. Alfred B., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Noble, Prof. Charles, Iowa College, Qrinnell, Iowa. 

NoUen, Prof. John S., Iowa College, Grinnell, Iowa. 

Osthans, Prof. Carl, University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind. 

Ott, Prof. J. H., Watertown, Wisconsin. 

Owen, Prof. Edward T., University of Wisoonidn, Madison, Wise. 

Pace, Miss Ida, Arkansas University, Fayetteville^ Arkansas. 

Page, Prof. F. M., Haverford, Pa. 

Page, Dr. Curtis EUdden, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 

Palmer, Prof. A. H., Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

Pancoast, Prof. Henry S., Germantown, Pa. 

Paul, Mrs. D^Arcy, Homestead, Baltimore, Md. 

Pearoe, Dr. J. W., 723 Camp St, New Orleans, La. 

Pearson, Prof. C. W., Beloit College, Beloit, Wise. 

Pendleton, Miss A. C, Bethany College, Bethany, W. Va. 

Penn, Mr. H. C, Columbia, Missouri. 

Penniman, Dr. Josiah H., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Perkinson, Prof. W. H., University of Vii^ginia, Charlottesville, Va. 

Perrin, Prof. M. L., Boston University, Boston, Mass. 

Perring, Mr. Boy H., University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind. 

Perry, Prof. Bliss, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. 

Pessels, Dr. Constance, Austin, Texas. [1910 Whitb Ave.] 

Peters, Prof. Bobert J., Missouri Valley College, Marshall, Mo. 

Pinkham, Prof. G. B., Swanton, Vermont 

PiuUi, Miss Elise, Wells College, Aurora, N. Y. 

Poll, Dr. Max, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Pollard, Prof. J., Bichmond College, ^chmond, Va. 

Porter, Prof. S., Gallaudet College, Kendall Green, Washington, D. C 

de Poyen-Bellisle, Dr. Ben^ University of Chicago, Chicago, IlL 

Price, Prof. Thomas B., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [263 W. 

45th St] 
Primer, Prof. Sylvester, University of Texas, Austin, Texas. 
Prince, Prof. J. D., New York University, New York, N. Y. 
Putzker, Prof. Albin, University of California, Berkeley, CaL 



Bambeau, Ftof. A., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, B^d. 

Bamsaj, Prof. M. M., Colombian Univendty, Washin^n, D. C. 

Beeves, Prof. Chas. F^ University of Washington, Seattle. [Colombia, 

Beeves, Dr. W. P., Union College, Schenectady, N. Y. 
Bennert, Prof. H. A., University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 
Bhoades, Prof. L. A., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 
Bice, Prof. H. M., English and Classical School, 63 Snow St, Providence^ 

Bice, Prof. J. C, Cheltenham Academy, Ogonts, Montgomery Co., Pa. 
Bichardson, Prof. H. B., Amherst College, Amherst, Mass. 
Binger, Prof. S., Lehigh University, South Bethlehem, Pa. 
BobertBon, Miss Loanna, Morgan Park Academy, Morgan Park, Dl. 
Boss, Prof. Charles H., Agricoltaral and Mechanical College, Aobom, Ala. 
de Boogemont, Prof. A., 160 W. 120th St New York, N. Y. 
Bowland, Miss Amy F., 43 W. 47th St, New YoA, N. Y. 
Boy, Prof. James, Niagara Falls, Station A, N. Y. 

Sampson, Prof. M. W., University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind, 

Saunders, Mrs. M. J. T., Bandolph-Macon Woman's College, Lynchborg, Va. 

Saunderson^ Prof. G. W., Madison, Wise [263 Longden St] 

Scarborough, Mrs. S. B., Wilberforoe University, WUberforoe, Ohio. 

Schelling, Prof. F. K, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Fa. 

Schilling, Prof. H., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Schmidt, Dr. F. G. G., Cornell College, Mt Vernon, Iowa. 

Schmidt- Wartenberg, Prof. H., University of Chicago, Chicago, III. 

Schmitz, Mr. H. J., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 

Schofield, Dr. W. H., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Schoenfeld, Prof. H., Columbian University, Washington, D. C 

Schrakamp, Miss Josephs, 67 W. 38th St., New York, N. Y. 

Scott, Dr. C. P. G., 708 Filbert St, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Scott, Prof. F. N., University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. 

Scott, Dr. Mary Augusta, 1507 Park Ave., Baltimore, Md. 

Sechrist, Prof. F. K., Central State Normal School, Lock Haven, Pa. 

Segall, Mr. Jacob, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

Semple, Prof. L. B., Lehigh University, South Bethlehem, Pa. 

Severy, Prof. E. E., Southwestern Virginia Institute, Bristol, Va.-Tenii. 

Seward, Prof. O. P., 632 LiUie St, Elgin, 111. 

Seybold, Prof. C F., University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Sharp, Prof. R., Tulane University, New Orleans, La. 

Shefloe, Prof. Joseph S., Woman's College, Baltimore, Md. 

Sheldon, Prof. E. S., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Shepard, Dr. W. P., Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y. 

Sherman, Prof. L. A., University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. 

Shipley, Mr. George, Upperville, Va. 

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1895. xlvii 

Shumwaj, Prof. D. B., Univeraitj of Pennsylyama, Philadelpliia, Pa. 

Bimonds. Prof. W. K, Knox College, Qalesburg, 111. 

Simonton, Prof. J. 8., Washington and Jefferson College, Washington, Pa. 

Smith, Prof. C. Alphonso, Universitj of Louisiana, Baton Kooge, La. 

Smith, Mr. Herbert A., 77 W. Divinity, New Haven, Conn. 

Smith, Mr. Jostin H. (Ginn & Co.), 7-13 Tremont Place, Boston, Mass. 

Smith, Prof. Eirbj F., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 

Snow, Prof. Wm. B., English High School, Montgomery St, Boston, Mass. 

Spanhoofd, Prof. E., St Paul's School, Concord, N. H. 

Spencer, Prof. Frederic, University of North Wales, Bangor, Wales. [Menai- 

Speranza, I^f. C. L., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 
Spieker, Prof. E. H., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Spiers, Prof. J. H. R, Wayne, Pa. 

Spofford, Hon. A. R., Congressional Library, Washington, D. C. 
van Steenderen, Prof. F. C. L., University of Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa. 
Stoddard, F. H., New York Univeraity, N. Y. [27 W. 11th St] 
Stratton, Dr. A. W., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 
Strauby Prof. John, University of Oregon, Eugene, Oregon. 
Super, Prof. O. B., Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pa. 
Sweet, Miss Marguerite, Stephentown, N. Y. [ Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, 

Swiggett, Prof. Olen L., Purdue University, Lafayette, Ind. 
Sykes, Prof. Fred. H., Western University, London, Ont, Canada. 

Taliaferro, Mrs. E. F., Montgomery Female College, Christiansburg, Va. 

Taylor, Mr. Robert L., 67 Mansfield St., New Haven, Conn. 

Thomas, Prof. Calvin, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 

Thomas, Miss May, 810 University Avenue, Madison, Wise. 

Thomas, President M. Carey, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. 

Thurber, Mr. Edward, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

Thurber, Prof. S., 13 Westminster Avenue, Rozbury, Mass. 

Todd, Prof. H. A., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [720 Wert 

End Avenue]. 
Tolman, Prof. A. H., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 
Toy, Prof. W. D., University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C. 
Triggs, Dr. Oscar L., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. 
Tufts, Prof. J. A., Phillips Exeter Academy, Exeter, N. H. 
Tupper, Jr., Prof. Fred., University of Vermont, Burlington, Vt 
Tupper, Dr. Jas. W., Ill S. Fifteenth St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
Turk, Prof. Milton H., Hobart College, Geneva, N. Y. 
Tweedie, Prof. W. M., Mt Allison College, Sackville, N. B. 

Vance, Prof. H. A., University of Nashville, Nashville, Tenn. 
Vogel, Prof. Frank, Mass. Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass. [120 
Pembroke St.] 


Voe, Dr. Bert Jofan, Johns Hopkins UniyeiBitj, Baltiniore, Md. 
VosB, Dr. Ernst, 33 8. Ingalls, Ann Aibor, Mich. 

Wager, Prof. C. H. A., Centre College, Danyille, Ey. 

Wahl, Prof. G. M., Williams College, Williamstown, Mass. 

Walter, Prof. £. L., Universitj of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. 

Wanen, Prof. F. M., Adelbert College, Qeveland, Ohio. 

Weaver, Prof. G. E. H., 203 DeEalb Square, Philadelphia, P^ 

Weeks, Mr. L. F., 5700 Jackson Avenue, Chicago, Dl. 

Weeks, Prof. Raymond, University of Missouri, Columbia, Ma 

Wells, Profl B. W., University of the South, Sewanee, Tenn. 

Wenckebach, Miss Carla, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Werner, Prof. A., Coll^;e of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. 

Wernicke, Prof. P., State College, Lexington, Ey. 

Wesselhoeft, Mr. Edward, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, P^ 

Wiener, Profl Leo, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

White, Prof. H. S., Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

Whiteford, Dr. Robert N., High School, Peoria, IlL 
Whitelock, Mr. George, 10 E. Lexington St, Baltimore, Md. 

Wickham, Miss Margaret M., Leland Stanford, Jr. Universi^, TAlit»^4 

Stanford, CaL 
Wightman, Prof. J. R^ Oberlin College, Oberlin, Ohio. 
Wilkens, Dr. Fr. H., Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Willis, Prof. R. H., Arkansas Industrial University, Fayetteville, Ark. 
Willner, Rev. W., Meridian, Miss. 

Wilson, Prof. Charles Bundy, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, lowm. 
Winchester, Prof. C T., Wesleyan University, Middletown, Conn. 
Winkler, Dr. Max, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. 
Wolf, BiisB Louise, St Catherine's Hall, Davenport, Iowa. 
Wood, Mr. Francis A., 452 W. Adams St, Chicago. 111. 
Wood, Prof. Henry, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. 
Woodward, Dr. B. D., Columbia University, New York, N. Y. 
Wright, Prof. C. B., Middlebury College, Middlebury, Vt 
Wylie, Miss Laura J., Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 

Zimmermann, Dr. G. A., 683 Sedgwick St, Chicago, IlL 



Subscribing for the Publications op the 


Albany, N. Y. : New York State Library. [Stechert A Co.] 

Aurora, N. Y. : We) la College Library. 

Auatin, Texas : Univendty of Texas Library. 

Baltimore, Md.: Enoch Pratt Free Library. 

Baltimore, Md. : Johns Hopkins University Library. 

Baltimore, Md. : Library of the Peabody Institute. 

Baltimore, Md. : Woman's College Library. 

Baton Rouge, La. : Library of the Louisiana State Uniyersity. 

Boston, Mass. : Public Library of the City of Boston. 

Bryn Mawr, Pa. : Bryn Mawr College Library. 

Burlington, Vt : Library of the University of Vermont 

Cambridge, Mass. : Harvard University Library. [Chaa. W. Sever.] 

Charlottesville, Va. : Libraiy of the University of Virginia. 

Chicago, 111. : The Newberry Library. 

Chicago, 111. : Library of the English Department of the Univ. of Chicago. 

Geveland, Ohio : Adelbert College Library. 

Detroit, Mich. : The Public Library. 

Easton, Pa. : Lafayette College Library. 

Evanston, 111. : Northwestern University Library. 

Ithaca, N. Y. : Cornell University Library. 

Knoxville, Tenn. : University of Tennessee Library. 

Lincoln, Neb. : State University of Nebraska Library. 

Madison, Wisconsin : University of Wisconsin Library. 

Middlebury, Vt : Middlebnry, College Library. 

Middletown, Conn. : Wesleyan University Library. 

Nashville, Tenn. : Vanderbilt University Library. 

New Haven, Conn. : Yale University Library. 

New York, N. Y.: The Astor Library. 

New York, N. Y. : Columbia College Library. 



Paris, France: Bibliothdque de rUniverBit^ en Sorbonne. [H. Welter.] 

Peoria, El. : Peoria Public Library. 

Philadelphia, Pa. : University of Pennsylvania Library. 

Princeton, N. J.: Libraiy of Princeton University. [Prof. James O. 

Rochester, N. Y. : Library of the University of Rochester. [Prince SL] 
South Bethlehem, Pa. : Lehigh University Library. 
St Paul, Minn. : Library of the University of Minnesota. 
Wake Forest, N. C. : Wake Forest College Library. 
Washington, D. C. : Library of Supreme Council of 33d Degree. [488 

Third Street, N. W.] 
Waterville, Maine : Colby University Library. 
Wellesley, Mass. : Wellesley College Reading Room Library. 




Graziado I. AscoLi, Milan, Italy. 
K. VON Bahder, University of Leipdc. 
Alois L. Brandl, University of Strassbmg. 
Henrt Bradley, Oxford, England. 
W. Braune, University of Heidelburg. 
SoPHTJS BuGGB, University of Christiania. 
KoNRAD BuRDACH, University of Halle. 
Wendelin Forster, University of Bonn. 
GusTAv GrSber, University of Strassburg. 
Richard Heinzel, University of Vienna. 
Fb. Kluoe, University of Freiburg. 
EuoEN KciLBiNO, University of Breslau. 
Paul Meyer, College de France. 
W. Meyer-Lubke, University of Vienna. 
James A. H. Murray, Oxford, England. 
Arthur Napier, University of Oxford. 
Fritz Neumann, University of Heidelberg. 
Adolf Noreen, University of Upsala. 
Gaston Paris, Coll^ de France. 
H. Paul, University of Munich. 
F. York Powell, University of Oxford. 
Pio Rajna, Florence, Italy. 
J. ScHiPPER, University of Vienna. 
H. ScHUCHART, University of Graz. 
Erich Schmidt, University of Berlin. 
Eduabd Sievers, University of Leipsic 
W. W. Skeat, University of Cambridge. 
JoHANN Storm, University of Christiania. 
H. SucHiKR, University of Halle. 
Henry Sweet, Oxford, England. 
Adolf Tobler, University of Berlin. 
Karl Weinhold, University of Berlin. 
Rich. Paul Wulker, University of Leipdc. 



T. Whttino Bancropt, Brown University, Proyidenoe, B. I. 

William Ck)OK, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 

R G. Daves, Baltimore, Md. 

Fbancis B. Fava, Columbian University, Washington, D. 0. 

L. Habel, Norwich University, Northfield, Vermont. 

BuDOLPH HiLDEBRAND, Leipsic, Germany. 

J. Kabo^ Princeton College, Princeton, N. J. 

F. L. Kendall^ Williams College, Williamstown, Mass. 
J. L^VT, Lexington, Mass. 

JxTLES LoiBEAU, New York, N. Y. 

James Bussell Lowell, Cambridge, Mass. 

Thomas McCabk, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. 

John G. B. McElroy, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Edwabd T. McLauohlin, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 

G. K. Nelson, Brookville, Md. 
W. M. Neyin, Lancaster, Pa. 

0. P. Otis, Mass. Inst of Technology, Boston, Mass. 

O. Skidenstickeb, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Fk. 

Max Sohraubb, New York, N. Y. 

F. B. Stengel, Colombia College, New York, N. Y. 

H. Tallichet, Austin, Texas. 

Miss H^li^ne Wenckebach, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Casdob Zdanowicz, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. 

Julius Zupitza, Berlin, Germany. 





The name of this Society shall be The Modem Language 

Aasoeiaium of America, 


Anj person approved by the Executive Council may become 
a member by the payment of three dollars, and may continue a 
member by the payment of the same amount each year. 


The object of this Association shall be the advancement of 
the study of the Modern Languages and their Literatures. 


The officers of this Association shall be a President, a Secre- 
tary, a Treasurer, and nine members, who shall together consti- 
tute the Executive Council, and these shall be elected annually 
by the Association. 


The Executive Council shall have charge of the general 
interests of the Association, such as the election of members, 
calling of meetings, selection of papers to be read, and the 
determination of what papers shall be published. 


This Constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote at 
any annual meeting, provided the proposed amendment has 
received the approval of the Executive Council. 



Amendment adopted by the BtUtimore Convention, 

JDeeember 30, 1886 : 

1. The Executive Council shall annually elect from its own 
bodj three members who^ with the President and Secretary, 
shall constitute the Executive Committee of the Association. 

2. The three members thus elected shall be the Vice- 
Presidents of the Association. 

3. To this Executive Committee shall be submitted, through 
the Secretary, at least one month in advance of meeting, all 
papers designed for the Association. The said Committee, or 
a majority thereof, shall have power to accept or reject such 
papers, and also of the papers thus accepted, to designate 
such as shall be read in full, and such as shall be read in 
brief, or by topics, for subsequent publication ; and to pre- 
scribe a programme of proceedings, fixing the time to be 
allowed for each paper and for its discussion. 


Proceedings of the First Annual Meeting 

OF THE Central Division of the Modern 

Language Association of America, 

HELD at Chicago, III., 

December 30, 31, 1895, 

AND January 1, 1896. 


The first annual meeting of the Central Modern Lan- 
guage Conference (afterwards named The Central Divisio