{"1": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS", "height": "3937", "width": "2636", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "V", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nTO\\nTHE STUDY OF ENGLISH\\nLITERATURE\\nv..\\nBY\\nVIDA D. SCUDDER, A.M.\\nASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE\\nAT WELLESLEY COLLEGE\\nGLOBE SCHOOL BOOK COMPANY\\nNEW YORK AND CHICAGO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "1\\nTHE LIBRARY OF\\nCONGRESS,\\nTwo Copies Received\\nMAY, 11 1901\\nCQPYfWGHT ENTRY\\nCLASS (XxXc. N\u00c2\u00bb.\\nCOPY 8.\\nCopyright, 1901, by\\nGlobe School Book Company.\\nENTERED AT STATIONERS HALL, LONDON.\\nM. P. I.\\nMANHATTAN PRESS\\n474 WEST BROADWAY\\nNEW YORK", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "PREFACE\\nIt is no light matter to present within five hun-\\ndred and fifty pages the story of the imaginative life\\nof a nation as found in its literature. No one can\\nhope for absolute success in such a task. The excuse\\nfor adding to the already long list of histories of\\nEnglish literature is that the subject is inexhaustible.\\nThe point of view of each new narrator must bring\\ninto relief fresh aspects of the great story, and sug-\\ngest, at least in detail, new lines of approach for the\\nstudent.\\nThis book aims, like all modern text-books, not to\\nsupplant, but to accompany the direct and copious\\nreading of texts. The Suggestions for Class Work\\nand for Talks from the Teacher are not merely theo-\\nretical they may in some cases appear at first too\\nadvanced, but they have been well tested in a prac-\\ntical experience of over ten years in the class-room.\\nTheir application in detail will of course depend on\\nthe grade of the class. If the teacher of literature\\nis not prepared to give certain lectures, a teacher\\nof history or of art in the same school may well be\\nasked to do so. Occasional interchange of appoint-\\nments among the different departments is indeed\\na very salutary thing it checks the student s often\\ninveterate instinct to hold different forms of national\\nor individual expression in distinct water-tight com-\\n3", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "4\\nPKEFACE\\npartments of his mind, as if they had nothing to do\\nwith one another.\\nNo attempt has been made to outline work for the\\nadvanced scholar of college or university. On the\\nother hand, the book is beyond the scope of gram-\\nmar schools. It seeks to meet the needs of the high\\nschool and of the younger classes in college.\\nAny short history of literature must of course\\nproceed on a strictly selective principle. Many in-\\nteresting people and sundry not unimportant phases\\nof literary development must remain unnoticed. The\\nmethod here chosen has been to present a fairly full\\noutline of authors, their works, and contemporary\\nevents in Tables arranged for easy reference, and, so\\nfar as possible, to disencumber the text of details\\nwhich the young student is sure to forget. Each\\npart of the book opens with a brief chapter of gen-\\neral statements, picturing the period to be treated,\\nor describing its characteristics this has been done\\nin the belief that a few sound introductory generali-\\nzations help to start the student right in his personal\\ninductive study of any period. Emphasis is placed\\non the greatest or most significant figures, to each\\nof whom a chapter, or a long section in a chapter,\\nhas been allotted. Authors of secondary impor-\\ntance, however fascinating, have been relegated to\\nthe background, and grouped to illustrate the char-\\nacteristics of their periods. The time for close and\\nloving study of figures less than the greatest will\\ncome later but the young student needs to gain first\\na sense of the great movements of national life as\\nexpressed in literature, and a clear picture of the\\nMasters. Perspective has to be carefully considered", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "PREFACE\\n5\\nif these ends are to be attained. Too many facts\\nconcerning authors not to be known at first hand\\nsimply deaden the mind.\\nMore stress has been placed than is customary in\\nbooks of this kind on the period before Chaucer.\\nThis is in accord with the modern tendency which\\nis bringing into ever clearer light the significance of\\nour origins and the imaginative achievement of the\\ngreat mediaeval centuries, and is recognizing more and\\nmore that some knowledge of these things is essen-\\ntial to a right understanding of English literature.\\nIf specific references to history are few in these\\npages, it is because the study of literature and of\\nhistory should always go on side by side, and no one\\nbook can treat both subjects. Literature bears only\\nindirect relation, however, to dynasties and wars,\\nwhile it bears direct relation to that life of the whole\\npeople whence it proceeds. This life, in its varying\\nmanifestations and in its onward movement, the\\nbook tries constantly to suggest to the student s\\nconsciousness. Instead of enumerating a series of\\nunconnected facts, it seeks to tell a consecutive\\nstory.\\nFor chronology, the book leans in the main,\\nthough with occasional rectifications, on Ryland s\\nChronological Outlines of English Literature and\\nNichol s Tables of European History, Literature,\\netc. Leading authorities are not constantly re-\\npeated in references in the text, but no work would\\nbe possible unless the elaborate treatment of sepa-\\nrate periods by modern scholars had led the way.\\nAmong books frequently used may be mentioned\\nthe Encyclopaedia Britannica, the Dictionary of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "6\\nPREFACE\\nNational Biography, Traill s Social England,\\nGreen s Short History of the English People,\\nSaintsbury s Short History of English Literature,\\nCourthope s History of English Poetry, Ten\\nBrink s English Literature (3 vols.), Stopford\\nBrooke s English Literature from the Beginning\\nto the Norman Conquest, Henry Morley s Eng-\\nlish Writers, Jusserand s Literary History of the\\nEnglish People, Periods of European Literature\\n(Series, edited by Saintsbury), Saintsbury s Eliza-\\nbethan Literature, Gosse s History of Eighteenth\\nCentury Literature, Stephen s History of English\\nThought in the Eighteenth Century, Saintsbury s\\nHistory of Nineteenth Century Literature, Har-\\nford s The Age of Wordsworth, Stedman s Victo-\\nrian Poets, Introductions to the Warwick Li-\\nbrary and the Athenaeum Press Series.\\nFor the tables on different periods and the Index,\\nI am indebted to my friend and former pupil,\\nFlorence Converse, B.S. The tables on Chaucer,\\nShakespeare, Milton, were prepared by my friend,\\nLucy H. Smith, A.B.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nPART I\\nTHE SOURCES\\nPAGE\\nIntroduction 17\\nCeltic Literature 20\\nAnglo-Saxon Literature 28\\nNorman Literature 44\\nLiterature in Latin 48\\nPART II\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nCHAPTER I\\nGeneral Conditions\\nI. A Period of Expansion 53\\nII. Literary Conditions 56\\nIII. Mediaeval Life Pictured 58\\nIV. Governing Forces 62\\nCHAPTER II\\nThe Chief Phases of Medleval Literature\\nI. Chivalry and Catholicism their Literary Results 65\\nII. Literature of Chivalry 67\\nIII. Literature of Catholicism 74\\n7", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "8\\nCONTENTS\\nCHAPTER III\\nLiterature produced in England\\nPAGE\\nI. Work in French and Latin on English Soil .78\\nII. The Growth of the English 80\\nIII. Literature in English 84\\nCHAPTER IV\\nGeoffrey Chaucer\\nI. Chaucer s Writings a Summary of the Middle Ages 100\\nII. Chaucer s Personality 103\\nIII. Chaucer s Work 108\\nIV. Chaucer s Art and Place 116\\nCHAPTER V\\nThe Contemporaries of Chaucer\\nI. Lesser Writers of the Fourteenth Century 130\\nII. Langland and the Social Revolt 133\\nIII. Wyclif and the Religious Revolt 144\\nCHAPTER VI\\nThe Mediaeval Drama 149\\nCHAPTER VII\\nThe Fifteenth Century\\nI. Chaucerian Imitators 156\\nII. Scotch Literature 158\\nIII. Ballads 160\\nIV. The Decadence of the Middle Ages .162", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nPART III\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nCHAPTER I\\nPA(\\nThe Rebikth 1(\\nCHAPTER II\\nLearning and Poetry under Henry VIII\\nI. The New Learning 11\\nII. The New Art li\\nCHAPTER III\\nOutlines of Elizabethan Literature .11\\nCHAPTER IV\\nSir Philip Sidney 1(\\nCHAPTER V\\nGeneral Literature\\nI. Elizabethan Prose 2(\\nII. Elizabethan Translations 2(\\nIII. Elizabethan Lyrics 2(\\nCHAPTER VI\\nEdmund Spenser\\nI. Spenser s Life 2.\\nII. The Eaerie Queene 2.\\nCHAPTER VII\\nThe Early Drama\\nI. Development 229\\nII. Types 230\\nIII. The Predecessors of Shakespeare 232", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "10\\nCONTENTS\\nCHAPTER VIII\\nWilliam Shakespeare\\nPAGE\\nI. The Elizabethan Stage 235\\nII. Shakespeare s Life 236\\nIII. Shakespeare s Work 239\\nIV. Shakespeare s Art 251\\nCHAPTER IX\\nThe Decline of the Drama\\nI. Grouping and Chronology 257\\nII. Ben Jonson 258\\nIII. The Romantic Dramatists 261\\nCHAPTER X\\nVerse and Prose of the Later Renaissance\\nI. Historical and Literary Conditions 265\\nII. Seventeenth-Century Poetry 267\\nIII. Seventeenth-Century Prose 271\\nCHAPTER XI\\nJohn Milton\\nI. Milton s Life and Early Work 287\\nII. Paradise Lost 292\\nIII. Last Work and Death .296\\nCHAPTER XII\\nThe Literature of Puritanism\\nI. Puritan Literature 302\\nII. Satires on Puritanism 306", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\n11\\nPAET IV\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nCHAPTER I\\nThe Change in Taste\\npage\\nI. The New Temper 311\\nII. Periods of the Age of Prose 312\\nIII. Characteristics of the Age of Prose 314\\nCHAPTER II\\nThe Age of Dryden\\nI. Revival of Classicism 320\\nII. John Dry den 321\\nIII. Other Literature of the Restoration 327\\nCHAPTER III\\nThe Age or Queen Anne its Poet 333\\nCHAPTER IV\\nProse of the* Age of Queen Anne\\nI. The Rise of Prose 342\\nII. Jonathan Swift 343\\nIII. Daniel Defoe 347\\nIV. Addison and Steele 348\\nCHAPTER V\\nThe Rise of the Novel\\nI. Samuel Richardson 357\\nII. Henry Fielding 360\\nIII. Other Novelists 362\\nIV. Reasons for the Rise of the Novel 363", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "12\\nCONTENTS\\nCHAPTER VI\\nJohnson and his Times\\nPAGE\\nI. Samuel Johnson 365\\nII. Oliver Goldsmith 4 .372\\nCHAPTER VII\\nThe Intellectual Movement\\nI. Literature of Art 378\\nII. Literature of Thought 379\\nIII. The Trend of Thought 382\\nCHAPTER VIII\\nThe Romantic Revival\\nI. The Return to Nature 386\\nII. Quickening of the Imagination 388\\nIII. Literary Revivals 392\\nIV. The Methodist Movement 394\\nPART V\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nCHAPTER I\\nThe Heralds Burns and Blake\\nI. The New Notes 403\\nII. Robert Burns 404\\nIII. William Blake 407\\nCHAPTER II\\nThe New Democracy\\nI. Review of Forces making for Democracy 411\\nII. The French Revolution and Literature 412\\nIII. English Poets of the Revolution 417", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\n13\\nCHAPTER III\\nFrom Wordsworth to Keats\\nPAGB\\nI. Lyrical Ballads, Character and Significance 420\\nII. Wordsworth, Coleridge, South ey 422\\nIII. Byron, Shelley, Keats 429\\nIV. General Characteristics 440\\nCHAPTER IV\\nProse till 1830\\nI. Fiction .445\\nII. Essay 450\\nCHAPTER V\\nConditions of Victorian Literature\\nI. The Forces at Work 459\\nII. The Decade of Origins 464\\nCHAPTER VI\\nVictorian Fiction\\nI. Charles Dickens 468\\nII. William Makepeace Thackeray 472\\nHE. Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot) 477\\nIV. Other Novelists 482\\nCHAPTER VII\\nVictorian Essayists\\nI. Thomas Babington Macaulay 486\\nII. Thomas Carlyle 487\\nIII. John Henry Newman 492\\nIV. John Ruskin 493\\nV. Matthew Arnold 498\\nVI. Later Essayists 502", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "14\\nCONTENTS\\nCHAPTER VIII\\nVictorian Poetry\\nPAGE\\nI. Minor Schools 505\\nII. Alfred Tennyson 512\\nIII. Elizabeth Barrett Browning 516\\nIV. Robert Browning 516\\nV. Conclusion 520\\nINDICES\\nI. Books and their Authors 527\\nII. Bibliographical References 537\\nTABLES\\nThe Pre-Chaucerian Period, 1066-1350 90\\nChaucer s Works 120\\nThe Period of Chaucer s Influence, 1350-1500 .124\\nThe Early Renaissance, 1500-1579 192\\nShakespeare s Plays 256\\nThe Later Renaissance, 1579-1650 277\\nMilton s Life and Works 298\\nThe Age of Dry den, 1660-1702 330\\nThe Age of Pope and Swift, 1702-1744 354\\nThe Age of Johnson, 1744-1789 375\\nThe Revolutionary Period, 1789-1830 456\\nThe Victorian Writers, 1830-1900 523", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "PAET I\\nTHE SOURCES", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO ENGLISH\\nLITERATURE\\nINTRODUCTION\\nENGLISH literature is the literature produced\\nby the English race,. It belongs not merely to\\nthe people who live in the British Isles, but also to\\nus here in America, and to all other people who use\\nthe English tongue. In studying, as we are to do,\\nthe great books produced on English soil, we must\\nfeel, not that we are trying to understand something\\nforeign and alien, but that we are entering into pos-\\nsession of our birthright.\\nWhen we wish to understand any one, we ask two\\nimportant questions Who were his parents and,\\nWhat have been his surroundings Inheritance and\\nenvironment are as important to a nation as to a\\nman. Now up to the time of Chaucer we have to\\ntrace the heredity, to watch the ancestors, of our\\nEnglish literature. After that time the literature is\\nborn, a fresh power in the world, and we watch what\\nhappens to it under different masters the influences\\nthat play upon it from other nations France, Italy,\\nSpain, Palestine, Rome, and Greece. These influ-\\nences modify and affect it very much, for it is sen-\\nsitive but they cannot change its nature that is\\ndetermined by its inheritance. This inheritance we\\nwill now begin at once to study.\\n17", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "18\\nTHE SOURCES\\nFew nations have had a nobler heritage few a\\nheritage so complex. Some peoples are simple in\\norigin ours is composite. A variety of elements\\nwent to its making and on this account English\\nliterature seems, at least to us English-speaking folk,\\nthe more interesting, expressive, and rich.\\nThe life of three great races has passed into our\\nliterature, and can be traced there, from century to\\ncentury, even when distinct racial existence has long\\nbeen lost in the wider personality of the nation.\\nThese three are the Celtic, the Anglo-Saxon, and\\nthe Norman.\\nThe Celts were in England first. Of their ori-\\ngin we do not know much, except that, like all the\\npeoples who live in modern Europe, they travelled\\ntoward the western shores long before history began.\\nOur first knowledge finds them established in what\\nare now England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and\\nalso across the sea, in the fair, wide land of France.\\nIn the first century of our era the masters of the\\nworld, the Romans, invaded and partially subdued\\nthe British Isles and through the Romans, Chris-\\ntianity came to Britain. Early in the fifth century\\nthe Roman legions were withdrawn, to defend the\\nmother-city from the invasion of the Teutonic bar-\\nbarians.\\nLater in this century these same barbarians, great\\nhordes from the Northlands of Germany and Scandi-\\nnavia, whom we call Anglo-Saxons from the name\\nof their two most important tribes, bore down upon\\nthe British like a flood, submerged them completely\\nin England, and took and held for hundreds of years\\npossession of the land. These Anglo-Saxons, how-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\n19\\never, left Ireland, Scotland, and Wales mainly Celtic,\\nas they are to this day. Nor were the Celts as fully\\nexterminated even in England as used to be sup-\\nposed. Not only Celtic place-names, but a Celtic\\nquality which the English have never lost, show that\\nthe Celts must have blended their traditions with\\nthose of their successors. This subtle Celtic spirit\\nsurvived even the Norman invasion.\\nFor the Anglo-Saxons did not stay masters. In\\nthe eleventh century came the Normans, and con-\\nquered in their turn. They had been, to begin with,\\ncousins of the Anglo-Saxons, these Normans but\\nthey had lived a long time in what is now France,\\nand intermarried there and the old Latin civiliza-\\ntion had affected them and taught them grace and\\npower. So it came to pass that they became in their\\nturn the masters of England, and for the time checked\\nall native expression on English soil. During sev-\\neral centuries it seemed as if literature in England\\nwere to be only a pallid reflection of that across\\nthe Channel. But this was not true. The litera-\\nture of England was to become mighty and original.\\nAnd when its great music at last made itself heard,\\nthe strains from three races clearly blended in its\\nharmony.\\nEach of these races had a literature of its own\\nbefore they came together. It is necessary to glance\\nat them separately, if we would understand what\\nhappened when they were united.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "20\\nTHE SOURCES\\nCELTIC LITERATURE\\nCeltic literature is almost all made up of stories.\\nThere is a great deal of it for the Celts were, at\\nleast in Ireland, a civilized and even a learned peo-\\nple, centuries before the stronger Anglo-Saxons\\nthrew them into the shadow. Much of their litera-\\nture reflects an earlier period when they were still\\nliving in a Pagan, primitive, heroic sort of way\\nbut this literature was carefully preserved and\\nwritten down it had been at first chanted, not\\nwritten after Celtic Britain became Christianized.\\nThe bard had always held among the Celts a su-\\npremely honorable position he was regarded with\\nmystic reverence, and when the monks sprang up\\nin vast numbers in Ireland after the introduction of\\nChristianity, they constituted themselves the loving\\nprotectors of the bards, and wrote down probably\\nfrom their lips all they could glean of the old poetry\\nof the nation. Moreover, they added to it a large\\namount, Christian in inspiration. Inedited manu-\\nscripts enough to fill twelve or fourteen hundred\\noctavo volumes of print are said to exist in Ireland\\nalone.\\nSome of this literature is prose, some poetry, but\\neven the poetry is usually founded on tales. The\\nCelts were great story-tellers; and their literature is\\nstill a great treasure-house of delight for children,\\nand for those grown-up people who are as wise as\\nchildren.\\nThis love of story-telling means that the strongest\\nquality in the Celt was imagination the fertility of\\ninvention and play of fancy in Celtic literature is", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "CELTIC LITERATURE\\n21\\nastounding. Next to imagination, sentiment was its\\nchief note it was as easy for the old Celt as it is\\nfor the modern Irish to touch the springs of tears\\nand laughter in swift succession. In no primitive\\nliterature is the purely poetic appeal so strong. We\\nyield ourselves as we read to a fairy world, full of\\nbewildering magic, lovely images, strange events,\\nand delicate or fierce emotions. Reason and the\\nmoral sense seem far away and for the time we do\\nnot miss them in the least.\\nThe Celt saw the world bathed in glamour with\\neyes sensitive to beauty and color, whether in nature,\\nin costume, in building, or in the human form. He\\nfelt an eager delight in the detail of landscape\\nBright are the tops of the brakes gay the plumage\\nOf birds the long day is the gift of the light.\\nBain without, the fern is drenched\\nWhite the gravel of the sea; there is spray on the\\nmargin. 1\\nTo find nature-touches delicately truthful as these\\nin any other primitive literature would be hard\\nindeed. Description broadly handled, or pervaded\\nby a spirit of gloom or unrest, is less natural to the\\nCelt yet no one could impart more vividly than he,\\nwhen he chose, the thrill of imaginative terror and\\nmystery. Above the head of the hero in his par-\\noxysm of battle-fury was formed, we are told,\\nA magic mist of gloom resembling the smoky pall\\nthat drapes a regal dwelling, what time a king at night-\\nfall of a winter s day draws near to it. 2\\n1 The Four Ancient Books of Wales. Edited by W. F. Skene.\\n2 The Cuchullin Saga, edited by Eleanor Hull, p. 175.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "22\\nTHE SOURCES\\nThe sense of strange enchantment suggested by\\nwords like these broods over all Celtic literature.\\nThe recognition of cause and effect is almost wholly\\nabsent, and the supernatural may at any moment\\nbreak in upon us. Fairy maidens lure the heroes\\naway to far lands of youth beyond our human ken\\nadventures indescribably fantastic or grotesque are\\nthe order of the day. Yet despite the frequent ab-\\nsurdity, the chief note of the Celtic fairy-lore is\\npoetic beauty\\nGraceful and beautiful was the flock of birds. There\\nwere nine times twenty of them, yoked together two and\\ntwo by a chain of silver at the head of each group\\nflew two birds in varied plumage. 1\\nIn this supernatural world move the heroes of Celtic\\nstory, and they are human only by the strength of\\ntheir passions. These are fierce indeed. When Cu-\\nchullin s battle-fury is satiated, he plunges into three\\nbaths for refreshment. He heats the water of the\\nfirst bath till it boils, the water of the second be-\\ncomes too hot for hand to bear, while the water of\\nthe third is tepid. We gain little sense of moral\\nuplift in reading about him and his compeers. They\\nare voluble, bragging, jealous, and even their personal\\nbeauty and their prowess are so exaggerated as to\\nturn into grotesque. But one must not take them\\nas human beings they are rather semi-mythological\\ncreatures, descendants of sun-myths, maybe, and true\\nprogenitors of fairies and giants. Their lives are\\nmade up of a wealth of disconnected incidents, in\\nwhich the extraordinary inventiveness of the Celt\\n1 The Cuchullin Saga, p. 15.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "CELTIC LITERATURE\\n23\\nhas free play, but which move as a rule to no great\\nend of epic achievement. They fascinate us for a\\ntime but by and by we weary of them, we weary of\\nall the brilliant, incoherent enchantments of Celtic\\nliterature, and we long to return to the world of\\nreality, where reason and conscience have a fuller\\nshare in the determination of fate.\\nSeveral of our illustrations have been taken from\\nthe old Irish epics these are perhaps the most\\nimportant monuments of Celtic literature. There\\nwere three cycles, each binding together many\\nseparate stories. The first was about a semi-super-\\nnatural people called the Tuatha-De-Danann they\\nprobably represent some race of ancient gods in\\nwhom the Celts may have believed before their\\nmigration. The second, of later origin, gathers\\naround the great king Conchobar and Cuchullin,\\nhis comrade. In the story of the Tragical Death of\\nthe Sons of Usnach, which belongs to this cycle,\\nCeltic emotion is more marked than Celtic extrava-\\ngance it is full of pure poetry and tragic passion.\\nBut the third cycle has become the most famous.\\nIts events are placed as late as the third century\\nA.D., but it is purely Pagan still. It tells of Finn\\nthe mighty, of Oscar, and above all of Ossian, the\\npoet-warrior, most typical figure of Celtic song.\\nThese Ossianic poems were first gathered from oral\\ntradition in Scotland and given to the world in\\ngarbled version by Macpherson, in the eighteenth\\ncentury. Later they were discovered, and in fuller\\nform, in Ireland also. People were well puzzled, and\\ncontroversy raged high first, whether Macpherson s\\nOssian were not an invention of his own then, later,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "24\\nTHE SOURCES\\nwhether Ireland or Scotland were the native land of\\nthe legends. But we know now that the story is\\ntruly ancient, however strangely Macpherson trans-\\nformed it, and that it came into being when Ireland\\nand Scotland were all one country and shared their\\nliterature. Nothing more strikingly evinces the\\nunity of Celtic Britain than this common posses-\\nsion of ancient tales.\\nThese old epics with their Pagan spirit are linked\\nin an interesting way with the Christian literature of\\nthe Celts. The king Conchobar, so runs the legend,\\nwas born on the same day with Christ. Another\\nlegend unites the Ossianic story with St. Patrick.\\nThe saint was busy converting Ireland, and the sound\\nof church bells was heard in the land. One evening\\nhe and his gentle monks saw approaching a noble look-\\ning man, majestic of stature, dazed and mournful in\\naspect. This was Ossian, last of Finn s warriors, who\\nhad long been magically detained in fairy-land, and\\nreturned at last to find the heroes dead and the\\nsaints replacing them. Patrick bent himself to the\\nconversion of Ossian, and curious poems tell of the\\ncolloquies between the puzzled but courteous old\\nhero and the Christian saint. Ossian obediently\\ntried to understand this strange, tame, unheroic new\\nfaith, and used his great strength as Patrick bade to\\ncarry stones for a church but he yearned for his old\\nfreedom, and the religion of humility seemed strange\\nindeed to his Pagan soul. He loved to exchange\\ntales about the mighty Finn for Patrick s rhapsodies\\non the New J erusalem. His great longing was that\\nhis dear comrades should inherit this new Paradise\\nUnknown to Heaven s king, he cries, bring thou", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "CELTIC LITERATURE\\n25\\nin the Finns. 1 When Patrick says that God would\\nfind him out and be angry, Ossian retorts, not\\nwithout force How different Mac Cumhail, the\\nFinns noble king All men, uninvited, might enter\\nhis great hall. On the whole, we feel that he can-\\nnot have been an entirely satisfactory convert.\\nBut the Celts in general seem to have accepted\\nChristianity with ease, and to have found in it, almost\\nfrom the first, elements congenial to their national\\ncharacter. Celtic Christianity, as the monuments\\nwhich have come down to us would seem to show,\\nwas steeped rather in Christian sentiment than in\\nChristian principle. Many of the Celtic Christian\\nstories, the Voyage of St. Brandan, the lives of\\nSt. Patrick, St. Bridget, and, above all, of St.\\nColumba, are full of rare and exquisite beauty.\\nThey have the same imaginative qualities as the\\nPagan Celtic literature, even to the frequent incon-\\nsequence and delightful disregard of logic; but the\\nold fierceness has been replaced by a wistful and\\ngentle note of Christian mysticism. Sometimes, as\\nin the curious Welsh triads, little poems of three\\nlines each, such as we have quoted above, the Celts\\ntook to moralizing after they were converted but\\nthey never made much of a success at this, and the\\ndistinctive quality of their religion can be found in\\nlovely legends, such as were produced from the\\nearliest times, and may still be heard, in long winter\\nevenings, recited around the hearth-fire in the High-\\nlands of Scotland.\\nFor the Celtic spirit lives on. Arthur the Celt,\\n1 The Book of the Dean of Lismore. Introduction by William\\nF. Skene.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "26 THE SOURCES\\nnot Beowulf the Teuton, is the chosen hero of dreams\\nto the English race. They have a strange old legend\\nin Wales about Merlin, most mystic figure among the\\nwizards of the world. He was befooled in his old\\nage by a fair woman, for she persuaded him to tell\\nher the Secret of the Prison of Air and no sooner\\nhad she learned it than she spoke the magic spell he\\ntaught and shut up the aged enchanter then she fled\\nmocking through the forest, and he remains forever\\nenclosed, helpless in his air dungeon, invisible to\\nman. But every now and then, from the clearness\\nof empty space, a voice will be heard, singing won-\\ndrous songs or uttering strange wisdom, always with\\nan undernote of wailing sorrow. It is the voice of\\nMerlin, who can never die. For many centuries\\nafter the Anglo-Saxon conquest the Celts seemed to\\nvanish the Normans recked nothing of them great\\ncivilizations arose that knew them not and to this\\nday they have never resumed their place among the\\nnations. But their voice, the music of their song,\\ncan still be heard by him who listens, sounding from\\ncentury to century, as the great history of England\\ngoes on. This voice, this music, will never pass\\naway.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGeneral References. Matthew Arnold, On the Study of\\nCeltic Literature. Jusserand, Literary History of the English\\nPeople, Ch. I. Morley, English Writers, Vol. I, Bk. I, Chs.\\nI-III Influence of the Celt on English Literature, in Clement\\nMarot, and Other Essays. William Sharp, Lyra Celtica, Intro-\\nduction. Montalembert, The Monks of the West.\\nIrish Literature. Douglas Hyde, The Story of Early Gaelic\\nLiterature a Literary History of Ireland. Montalembert,\\nThe Monks of the West, esp. Bk. IX, St. Columba. Standish", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "CELTIC LITERATURE\\n27\\nO Grady, History of Ireland, Essay on Early Bardic Literature in\\nVol. II. Eugene O Curry, Lectures on the Manuscript Materials\\nof Ancient Lush History On the Manners and Customs of the\\nAncient Irish. Douglas Hyde, Beside the Fire a Collection\\nof Irish Gaelic Folk Stories. Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy\\nTales More Celtic Fairy Tales The Book of Wonder Voy-\\nages Alfred Tennyson, The Voyage of Maeldune. Joyce,\\nOld Celtic Romances. Standish O Grady, Finn and his\\nCompanions The Coming of Cuculain. Eleanor Hull, The\\nCuchullin Saga. Kuno Meyer, The Voyage of Bran. Stokes\\nand Windisch, Irische Texte (for the scholar, giving original\\ntexts, with translations, English and German).\\nScotch Literature. Skene, Celtic Scotland; The Dean of\\nLismore s Book. J. F. Campbell, Popular Tales of the West\\nHighlands.\\nWelsh Literature. Stephens, The Literature of the Cymry,\\nJIontalembert, The Monks of the West, Vol. II, Bk. VIII.\\nCh. II, The Saints and Monks of Wales. Skene, The Four\\nAncient Books of Wales. Lady Charlotte Guest, The\\nJlabinogion. Sidney Lanier, The Boy s Mabinogion. P. H.\\nEmerson, Welsh Fairy Tales.\\nModern Celtic Literature. During the last ten years\\nthere has been a revival of enthusiasm for Celtic subjects and\\nmanner. Some of the leaders in this neo-Celtic movement are,\\nor were, Aubrey de Vere, James Clarence Mangan, William\\nYeats, Katharine Tynan, William Sharp, Patrick Geddes, Fiona\\nMacleod, Robert Buchanan, Sebastian Evans, Ernest Rhys.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nNearly all the books mentioned above, especially Montalem-\\nbert s Monks of the West, 1 and the numerous volumes of\\nstories, are delightful reading. As the aim in this introductory\\nwork is rather to become sensitive to the peculiar Celtic element\\nin our literature than to acquire a fund of information, wide\\nand swift reading is recommended. It is pleasant and profita-\\nble to let every member of the class tell the whole class a\\nCeltic fairy tale, selected either by himself or by the teacher,\\nand point out all the special Celtic characteristics which he can\\ndiscern in the story. Also, the students may bring to class\\npassages from their reading illustrating Celtic love of color,\\nCeltic feeling for nature, Celtic humor, inconsequence, love", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "28\\nTHE SOURCES\\nof mystery, poetic sentiment, passion, impetuosity. The stories\\nsuggested furnish ample and obvious materials for this induc-\\ntive study.\\nSpecial topics may be presented by more mature students on\\nsuch subjects as Pagan Celtic Heroes Cuchullin, Finn, Ossian,\\nMaeldune Christian Celtic Heroes St. Columba, St. Bridget,\\nSt. Patrick The Supernatural in Celtic Literature The Deco-\\nrative Sense of the Celt in Architecture and Costume. Any of\\nthe subjects suggested for the whole class may also be treated\\nin this way.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nInteresting lectures, to which any boy or girl would like to\\nlisten, can be given by the teacher. A few are here suggested,\\nwith authorities from which they can be prepared Early\\nCeltic Christianity. See Montalembert Standish O Grady,\\nSilva Gadelica, Vol. II Whitley Stokes, Tripartite Life\\nof St. Patrick Aubrey de Vere, Legends of St. Patrick.\\nMythologic Traits in Celtic Literature. See John Rhys, Lec-\\ntures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated by\\nCeltic Heathendom, Studies in the Arthurian Legend. The\\nStory of Deirdriu. See Stokes and Windisch, Irische Texte\\nSigerson, Bards of the Gael and Gall. Hull, The Cuchullin\\nSaga. Old Welsh Poetry. See Stephens, Literature of the\\nCymry Skene, Four Ancient Books of Wales Sharp,\\nLyra Celtica. The Celtic Bard. See Sigerson, Bards of\\nthe Gael and Gall Rhys, Literary History of Ireland\\nO Curry, Manners and Customs. The Modern Celtic Re-\\nvival, see ante.\\nANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE\\nThe Anglo-Saxons were a people strangely different\\nfrom the Celts. Reason and the moral sense, the\\nqualities in which the Celt was weakest, were strong,\\nalmost controlling, factors in their nature. They\\nwere a serious people and often melancholy, not after\\nthe emotional fashion of the Irish, whose smiles and\\ntears chase each other like sunshine and shadow\\nover a green Irish meadow, but with a settled", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE\\n29\\ngravity which conceived of human life as a strenu-\\nous and sober thing. No other race which went to\\nthe making of England gives so strong an impression\\nof moral nobility.\\nWhen first we know of them, they with many\\nkindred tribes inhabit the vast forests which cover\\nNorthern Europe, a drear and solemn land, where\\nonly here and there by the seacoast a strip of country\\nis reclaimed and a little village established. The sea is\\nmore available for their highway than the forest, and\\nthey are a sea-loving people, at home on the gray\\nNorthern ocean, with its wild storms and sunless\\nwaves. They are at times savage, cruel, and revenge-\\nful, with no trace of the gentleness sometimes evinced\\neven in the Pagan literature of the Celts. But they\\nhold women in reverence they are faithful even to\\ndeath to the oath of comradeship sealed by strange\\nrites by mingling their blood in their footprints\\nthey respect and practise the truth. For religion,\\nthey believe, so far as we can tell, not in Odin and\\nThor and V alhalla, a faith which their cousins of\\nScandinavia developed at one period, but in the\\ngreat earth-mother, in the mystic ritual of sacrifice,\\nand in the worship of ancestors.\\nThey pushed their way across the sea and came to\\nEngland. There they won the day still heathen\\nover the Christian Celts, throughout the better\\nland. They cultivated the country they established\\na great civilization which lasted till the Norman con-\\nquest and they produced a large literature, much of\\nwhich has come down to us intact.\\nAlthough this civilization lasted so long, it is a\\nlittle difficult to trace development in it or to distin-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "80\\nTHE SOURCES\\nguish its periods. The same thing is true of the\\nliterature. It has strength, force, depth, this litera-\\nture it must of course always be profoundly signifi-\\ncant and interesting to us. But it lacks charm,\\nexcept when it blends with the Celtic. This blend-\\ning often happened. It probably happened in very\\nancient times in the strange little country of Iceland,\\nwhence we receive the most imaginative poetry that\\nthe Teutonic peoples have bequeathed to us it hap-\\npened in England also, for from Northumbria, where\\nthe Celtic people mingled with the Anglo-Saxon\\npopulation, the best and most enjoyable Anglo-\\nSaxon work proceeds.\\nThere are a certain number of stories in Anglo-\\nSaxon, as there are sure to be in any primitive lit-\\nerature, but not nearly so many in proportion as\\namong the Celts. Nor do they show the same power\\nof invention. Most of them are poetic paraphrases\\nof the Bible, or legends of saints. They move\\nslowly, pausing often for comment, more interested\\nin their sentiment than in their narrative. There\\nare moral sayings and proverbs also in Anglo-Saxon\\nliterature, there are scientific treatises and chroni-\\ncles, there are above all a portentously large number\\nof sermons. These forefathers of ours loved to\\nmoralize. But whatever the defects of this litera-\\nture, it is full of deep feeling for human life. At\\ntimes it has a wonderful way of searching into the\\nsoul and revealing it. What we call the subjective\\nor introspective habit that is, the habit of watch-\\ning what happens in one s own mind is developed\\nto a surprising degree in Anglo-Saxon poetry.\\nPeople talk sometimes as if this habit were a modern", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "a;n t glo-saxon literature\\n31\\ninvention, but neither Wordsworth nor Tennyson\\never wrote a poem in which self-revelation was\\nclearer than in the Dream of the Rood, nor does\\nthe poetry of Shelley reveal a more individual tem-\\nperament than that of the great poet Cynewulf.\\nIn his own way, the Anglo-Saxon had as strong a\\nfeeling for Nature as the Celt, so that his poetry is\\nnot all absorbed by human feeling. But it was not\\nfor him to note the bright detail, the color of heather-\\ntops or ash-buds, or of the plumage of a bird. He\\ncared rather for the sentiment of the scene, and this\\nto his eyes was habitually a sentiment of vastness,\\nmystery, and gloom. The gray tossing of the North-\\nern sea, with the faint lights that played across it, the\\nwide sweep of the fen-country, over which brooded\\ndank and fearful fogs, the blowing of the wind from\\nthe welkin, were what fascinated his fancy.\\nIn literature which expresses the life of the Anglo-\\nSaxons before they were Christianized, by far the\\nmost important thing is the precious old epic of Beo-\\nwulf. Everyone ought to read this poem through.\\nIt is not very long, it is accessible in good translations,\\nit is a very noble thing, and it is in a peculiar sense\\nthe beginning of our national literature. Yet, though\\nit may first have been written down in England, the\\nAnglo-Saxons must have brought it with them in\\ntheir hearts when they came doubtless they had\\nchanted portions of it at many a rude battle-feast\\nacross the sea. For the life the poem shows us is\\nthat of a period when the Teutonic peoples had not\\nyet gathered themselves into nations, but were estab-\\nlished in little settlements or colonies here and there\\nalong the sea-coast of Northern Europe, We can", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "32\\nTHE SOURCES\\nlearn much from the poem of the civilization, the\\nmodes of life and thought of our forefathers.\\nIf we compare this epic with the Celtic epics, we\\nnote first of all that it is consecutive and coherent,\\nnot inconsequent and fantastic. Its action is sim-\\nple it tells a single story, and tells it directly and\\nwell. Then we notice that, despite a strong and\\nweird supernatural element, the story is conceived\\nas real. We have passed from a mythical to an he-\\nroic atmosphere. The hero, Beowulf, is an actual\\nman, a moral being, as Finn and Cuchullin were\\nnot. He is an interesting figure, splendid of aspect\\nas he comes over the sea in his foamy-necked ship,\\nlikest a bird, and leaps to land arrayed in shining\\nbattle-burnie, lofty in character as he speaks and\\nfights manfully against awful foes. Beowulf is of\\ncourse first of all a warrior but a striking point\\nabout this first old English hero is that his best\\nfighting is done not for himself but for others.\\nThe poem falls into two parts. In the first, Beo-\\nwulf comes with his thanes over the sea to help\\nthe aged king Hrothgar, whose great, shining hall,\\nthe pride of the Danes, is ravaged night after night\\nby a terrible monster, a mighty moor-stepper,\\nnamed Grendel. Beowulf gives the monster his\\ndeath-wound, and follows him and his horrible mother\\nto the deep sea-caves, their grim abode, where he\\nslays the dam also. In the second part of the poem,\\nthe hero is an aged man he is king over his\\npeople, and he goes forth, knowing well that he\\nshall fall, to his death-fight with a great fire-drake,\\nor dragon, that is laying waste the land. He kills\\nthe dragon, is killed himself, and dies exulting almost", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 33\\nwith his last breath that he has saved his people,\\nand won for them the mystic golden treasures hidden\\nin the creature s lair.\\nThe supernatural element in the poem is impres-\\nsive and terrible. It is born of mist and darkness.\\nGrendel and his mother in constant night hold the\\nmisty moors. Shadow-goers, the old poet calls\\nthem, Spirits of Elsewhere, and his shudder comes\\nto us through the ages. There is no sign of humor,\\nof grace, of bright fancy, as with the joyous fairy\\nbeings who lure the Celtic heroes away from earth.\\nThese Anglo-Saxon monsters are probably an imper-\\nsonation of the powers of nature, and it is a nature\\nintensely feared, less for its practical dangers than\\nfor its malign suggestion of dark mysteries.\\nIn the direct descriptions, especially of the sea,\\nthere is a note of fear mingled with a note of exulta-\\ntion. The treatment is often wild and fine. We\\nsee a race of bold sea-rovers, at home on the waves,\\ndelighting in them, yet fearful too of their fierce\\npower. The very spirit of the sea breathes through\\nBeowulf s tale of his swimming match, or through\\nthe great description of the approach to the dwelling\\nof Grendel. This dark, sad nature is in tune with\\nthe whole poem The mists droop low over its men-\\ntal as over its physical landscape. The fundamental\\nspirit is a grave recognition of an inevitable Fate, in\\nthe presence of which human life goes softly. Yet\\nblended with this, in the illogical union always to\\nbe found in the English race, and source of much of\\nits power, is a stern sense of personal duty. Weird\\ngoeth ever as it must exclaims Beowulf yet\\nFate often preserves an undoomed earl, if his cour-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "34\\nTHE SOURCES\\nage is good. The poem reveals to us many of the\\nsources of the future power of the English it shows\\nus a race that can dream as well as fight, a race per-\\nmeated by the instinct of moral responsibility, a race\\nthat can compass much, but that cannot compass\\nlight-heartedness.\\nOne more point must be mentioned about Beo-\\nwulf it connects us with the great epic of the Ger-\\nmanic peoples, the Story of the Volsungs, which,\\nin its latest and most famous form, became the Nie-\\nbelungen Lied. The earliest mention of the Sieg-\\nfried myth, which is the heart of this great epic, is\\nfound in our Anglo-Saxon poem, and the dragon-\\nfight of Beowulf himself has many points of contact\\nwith the greater story. It is pleasant to be able to\\nrealize in this way our common heritage with a sister-\\nnation.\\nBeowulf, as it comes to us, has been copied by\\na Christian scribe, and abounds in interpolations.\\nThe same thing is true of all the Anglo-Saxon litera-\\nture which seems to bear internal evidence of Pagan\\norigin. We must be on our guard against ascribing\\nthis literature to an earlier date than the Christian\\nliterature in Anglo-Saxon. Nevertheless, whatever\\nmay be the period of final writing, there is so wide\\na difference in spirit between Beowulf and a\\nhandful of allied poems, and the rest of old English\\nliterature, that we must consider this literature in\\ntwo groups.\\nFor Christianity came and profoundly modified\\nthe characteristics of the race. The moral serious-\\nness of the Anglo-Saxon found satisfaction and trans-\\nfiguration in the faith of Christ, as the exquisite", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 35\\nemotional sensitiveness of the Celt had done. Not\\nthat the Christianizing of Teutonic England was\\neasy it was a long drama with many uncertainties\\nin its progress. It began in 597, when Pope Greg-\\nory sent a band of Italian monks, headed by one\\nAugustine, as missionaries to the savage distant\\nisles. The Anglo-Saxons treated the monks with\\ngrave courtesy and, with relapses, tried their re-\\nligion, worshipping the White Christ or their wild\\nold gods, as mood or season impelled them. But\\nthe powers of Christianity were reenforced from the\\nisland itself; for the native faith and the tradition\\nof St. Columba were lingering still and, as the land\\nbecame more peaceful, new saints ventured forth,\\nof the old Celtic race, and devoted themselves with\\nhumblest devotion to furthering the cause of Christ.\\nThe Italian monks were full of administrative genius.\\nThey built great churches and monasteries, they\\ndeveloped ecclesiastical government, they brought\\nChurch music and Greek learning to the British\\nIsles. The Celt had none of these things. His\\nkingdom was not of this world. Simple, poor, un-\\nlearned, his heart was that of a child. It was\\nnot strange that the time soon came when the two\\nforms of Christianity clashed. The Italian party\\nwon the day, in a full conclave held at Whitby in\\n664, a conclave whose nominal subject was the date\\nof the observance of Easter; and for hundreds of\\nyears English Christianity was governed from Rome.\\nBut the native strain, touched to peculiar grace and\\nmystery, can long be heard in the legends of the\\nEnglish saints.\\nIt is very wonderful to watch the new spirit of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "36\\nTHE SOURCES\\nlove and fraternal peace striving with the old warrior\\nzest of the infant nation. At first, the new ideas\\nslip constantly into the old forms of expression, with\\nstrange effect. The conception of the Hero is shift-\\ning from the fighter who slays his thousands and seeks\\nthe lust of life, to the hermit who accepts insults\\nwith gladness, and mortifies the flesh in preparation\\nfor heaven but Guthlac the eremite is described in\\nthe same language as Beowulf the warrior, and his\\nstruggles against sin are treated in the old heroic\\nmanner. A martyr is strangely described as a\\nbeast of battle, and a poem on the Apostles be-\\ngins with the exclamation What We have heard\\nof twelve, heroes under heaven, warriors gloriously\\nblest. Christ is the joy of iEthelings, the Vic-\\ntory-Son of God, and the legends of saints, of Apos-\\ntles, the story of the Lord of Love Himself, are\\nchanted in the lofty strains of the Saga. I trem-\\nbled through all my limbs, says the Cross in another\\npoem, when the young Hero that was Almighty\\nGod, embraced me.\\nBut as we read on we become aware that a great\\ntransformation has been wrought, not only in the\\ncharacter but in the imagination of the race. The\\nmists that hung low over the old Pagan world have\\nlifted, and the imagination gazes far afield, to hori-\\nzons definite indeed, but almost infinitely remote, to\\nthe Day of Creation on the one hand, on the other\\nto the great Day of Judgment to be. The story of\\nthe Bible so possesses men that they can think of\\nlittle else. Anglo-Saxon Christian poetry is still\\ngrave and sad, with the melancholy which seems\\na natural part of the race-inheritance but it has a", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE\\n37\\nnote of hope unheard before, and, at times, as in\\nthe beautiful poem of the Phoenix, the wintry-\\nnature familiar to these men of the Northlands is\\nreplaced by the vision of a heavenly country, blos-\\nsoming and bathed in light. The hostile supernatu-\\nral forces in which our forefathers had believed,\\nwere retained by the new faith, changed into those\\ndemons who haunted the imagination all through the\\nmiddle ages but Christianity added another super-\\nnatural of light and joy, a lore of the angels, and of\\nsweet miracles of love and healing.\\nWe may distinguish two schools in Christian\\nAnglo-Saxon poetry. The first, produced in North-\\numbria toward the end of the seventh and the\\nbeginning of the eighth century, gathers about the\\nname of Csedmon; the second, belonging to the end\\nof the eighth century, centres in the name of Cyne-\\nwulf. Behind these names we may see two person-\\nalities, great, though dim. Both groups of poems\\nare avowedly Christian. But the Csedmonian poems\\ndraw their inspiration from the Old Testament. The\\nstory of Csedmon, told by the Venerable Bede, is too\\nbeautiful to omit. Connected in some menial capac-\\nity with the great Abbey of Whitby, he was in the\\nhabit of leaving the hall sadly when all present were\\nin good old fashion called upon to sing for the gift\\nof song had been denied to him. But on one even-\\ning when he had care of the cattle, he fell asleep in\\nthe stable and One stood by him, and saluting him\\nsaid, Csedmon, sing me something. And he an-\\nswered, I know not how to sing, and for this reason\\nI left the feast. Then the other said, 4 Nevertheless,\\nyou will have to sing to me. What shall I sing", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "38\\nTHE SOURCES\\nCsedmon replied. 4 Sing, said the other, 4 the begin-\\nning of things created. Whereupon he immediately\\nbegan to sing in praise of God, the world s Upbuilder,\\nverses which he had not heard before. The gift re-\\nmained with him all his lifetime and the Csedmo-\\nnian poems in which we trace surely his tradition if\\nnot often his hand, paraphrase Genesis and Exodus\\nwith abrupt passion and fierce battle-ardor, chanting\\nthe Creation, the Fall of Man, and the dark fate of\\nLucifer, after an imaginative fashion which may well\\nhave given suggestions to the great epic of Milton.\\nThey chant, too, the savage and triumphant exploit\\nof Judith, a saga-woman, a true Germanic Princess,\\nas they conceive her they chant the Story of Daniel.\\nIn the second group of poems, which shelters itself\\nunder the name of Cynewulf, we feel the touch or\\ninfluence of a true poet. A Celtic strain may ac-\\ncount for the wistful beauty of some of this work\\nbut the strong tendency to self-analysis and the pro-\\nfound religious experience it reveals are Saxon. The\\nwarrior-flame still leaps up at times through the\\neven movement of the poetry, yet subjects are now\\nfrom the New Testament rather than from the Old.\\nWe find also a treatment of various legends of\\nthe Church: the tale of the finding of the true\\ncross by the Empress Helena, the legend of St.\\nGuthlac, and that of the Apostle Andrew. And\\nwe find a wonderful personal note in a poem like\\nThe Dream of the Rood, which tells how the\\nwriter, apparently a wild, sinful, Pagan man, was\\nconverted to Christ by the midnight vision of a\\ngreat Cross, jewelled, streaming with blood, upsoar-\\ning to the sky. If Cynewulf wrote this poem, which", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE\\n39\\nis not certain, he was the first great poet of the\\nspiritual life in England. That he was of a deeply\\nreligious nature, we know from his signed poems\\nfor four poems, Christ, Juliana, Elene, and\\nthe Fates of the Apostles, besides some little lyrical\\nRiddles, he signed in a curious way, by inserting\\nthe letters of his name here and there through the\\nverse. Feeling, in all the work of this school, the\\nunion of intense love of nature with high imagi-\\nnation and religious passion, we are well assured\\nthat we are indeed on the track which leads to\\nWordsworth and Shelley, to Tennyson s In Memo-\\nriam, and to Browning s Saul.\\nThe great period of Anglo-Saxon poetry was then\\nthe seventh and eighth centuries. All this poetry\\ncomes down to us in the West Saxon dialect. In\\nform it was based on the principle of alliteration.\\nThat is, instead of rhyming the ends of lines, as we\\ndo, the mysterious instinct for harmony of sound was\\nsatisfied by words in the body of the verse beginning\\nwith the same sound two in the first half of the line,\\none in the second. There was no fixed number of\\nsyllables, but each line had normally four beats, or\\naccents. Modern English poetry retains alliteration\\nfor ornament, as any one can see by opening a page\\nof Swinburne, but discards it as an essential to struc-\\nture. It is possible, however, though not easy, to\\ntrain the ear to understand how pleasurably the old\\nuse of it affected our forefathers. Anglo-Saxon\\npoetry has more metaphors than similes, and it is\\ncharacterized by a habit of repetition or paraphrase\\nlike the parallelism of ancient Hebrew poetry.\\nAlmost all this poetry came, probably, from North-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "40\\nTHE SOURCES\\numberland. In the ninth century, after the Danish\\ninvasion had laid the Northern kingdom waste, we\\nmeet with a development of Anglo-Saxon prose in the\\nsouthern kingdom of Wessex, under the fostering\\ncare of King Alfred. This prose, however, calls for\\nbrief comment only, unless one is studying linguistics.\\nLike all primitive prose, it lacks the sense of art, and\\nit is very dry and dull. The original part consists\\nof a large number of sermons and homilies; but\\nmore interesting than these are a number of transla-\\ntions from historical, scientific, or religious books in\\nLatin, made or commanded by the pious and learned\\nking. The most important are a translation of the\\ngreat work on Church discipline by Pope Gregory,\\ncalled Pastoral Care, an adaptation of a volume\\nof travel and geography by the Spaniard Orosius,\\nand an expansion of the work On the Consolations\\nof Philosophy, by the Latin Boethius. We have,\\nalso, and it is the most interesting monument of\\nAnglo-Saxon prose, the Anglo-Saxon chronicle, a\\nhistory carried on by the monks, which is our chief\\nsource of information till a period after the Nor-\\nman conquest. This is invaluable for the study\\nof old English history but it has no literary\\nquality.\\nTaking it as a whole, one cannot fail to pause in\\nrespect before Anglo-Saxon literature. It is the\\nexpression of a strong and noble race. Yet with all\\nits solemn force, it leaves one unsatisfied. Had this\\nrace retained possession of England, neither the\\nCanterbury Tales nor the Faerie Queen nor\\nKing Henry Fifth could have been produced on\\nEnglish soil.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE 41\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\n1. Anglo-Saxon Literature.\\nTen Brink, English Literature to Wyclif. A valuable and\\ntrustworthy reference book. Dry reading.\\nStopford Brooke, History of Early English Literature:\\nThe best popular study of Anglo-Saxon poetry. English\\nLiterature from the Beginning to the Norman Conquest.\\nA condensation of the earlier book, with additional chap-\\nters on Anglo-Saxon prose.\\nMorley, English Writers, Vol. I, II.\\nJusserand, Literary History of the English People. Bk. I,\\nChs. II-IV. A remarkable combination of scholarship\\nand charm.\\nPowell and Vigfusson, Corpus Poeticum Boreale. A de-\\nlightful collection of old Icelandic poetry, which is the\\nbest representative extant of the poetry of the Germanic\\npeoples.\\n2. Anglo-Saxon Civilization.\\nSharon Turner, History of the Anglo-Saxons. A stand-\\nard work, though no longer modern.\\nJ. R. Green, The Making of England; Short History of\\nthe English People, Ch. I.\\nGummere, Germanic Origins.\\nStubbs, Constitutional History of England, Vol. I.\\nFreeman, The Norman Conquest, Vol. I.\\nMontalembert, The Monks of the West. This fascinat-\\ning book tells with utmost vividness the story of the\\nChristianizing of England.\\nBright, Early English Church History. Clarendon Press,\\n1878.\\nThe Venerable Bede, Ecclesiastical History. Translated\\nby Giles. Bohn s Library. After all, more can be learned\\nabout our Anglo-Saxon fathers from Bede than from any\\nmodern author, and in a more interesting way.\\nPowell and Vigfusson, Corpus Poeticum Boreale, Vol.\\nII, Excursus I The Beliefs and Worships of the Ancient\\nNorsemen. This is a fine study of the Pagan religion of\\nour fathers before they became Christianized.\\nSocial England, edited by H. D. Traill (Cassell, 1893),\\nCh. I.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "42\\nTHE SOURCES\\nThomas Wright. The Celt, the Roman, and the Teuton,\\nChs. XV, XVI.\\nGrant Allen, Early Britain Anglo-Saxon Britain. S. P.\\nC. K., 18.\\n3. A classified enumeration of Anglo-Saxon literature will be\\nfound in Stopford Brooke. The standard text of Anglo-Saxon\\npoetry is in Grein s Bibliothek der Angelsachsischen Poesie,\\nedited by Wulker.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nRapid reading in translations is very feasible and interesting.\\nThe class should at least read selections from the Beowulf.\\nTranslations by Kemble, Garnett, Hall.\\n1. Outline for Study of the Beowulf.\\nTheories of date, origin, authorship. (These can of course\\nbe skipped with young students.)\\nThe scenery and the feeling for nature in the poem.\\nThe social life of our ancestors as shown in it.\\nThe ideal of the hero it conveys.\\nThe poetic art and imagination of the poem.\\nThe ethical ideal and attitude.\\nComparison of spirit and method with the epics of the\\nclassic world, Homer and Virgil. (This is possible and\\nsuggestive with a class that is reading Greek or Latin in\\npreparation for college.)\\n2. Suggestions for Other Work.\\nWith fairly advanced classes, special reading might well be\\nassigned to certain students, and short reports made in-\\nformally on poems like the Judith, the Elene, the\\nDream of the Rood, or the Riddles of Cynewulf.\\nTranslations of Cynewulf s Christ by Gollancz of\\nJudith by Cook and Garnett. See Gurteen s Epic\\nof the Fall of Man for comparative study of Csedmon\\nand Milton.\\nThe students, even the youngest, should be encouraged\\nto give their impressions of the general characteristics of\\nAnglo-Saxon genius. What sort of people were our an-\\ncestors V What kinds of poetry did they like best? What\\ndid they think of the sea What were they afraid of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE\\n43\\nWhat did they admire? Were they a happy people?\\nDid they make good jokes Did they have strong feel-\\nings, and of what kind? What were their chief pleas-\\nures? etc. All the answers should be illustrated by the\\nstudents from then- reading one cannot begin real in-\\nductive work too soon.\\nTalks from the Teacher.\\nAn ordinary class can give very little time to Anglo-Saxon\\nliterature, and that time would better be spent on reading\\none or two texts. But broader illustrative talks from the\\nteacher might increase very much the interest and value\\nof the work. A few possible and desirable subjects for\\nsuch talks are suggested here. The references already\\ngiven suggest plenty of material from which the talks\\ncould be prepared.\\nThe Way our Ancestors Lived.\\nSee references on Anglo-Saxon civilization. Also Powell\\nand Yigfusson.\\nThe Religion of our Ancestors while Heathen.\\nSee besides Stopford Brooke, etc., Powell and Vigfusson,\\nexcursus on The Beliefs and Worship of the Ancient\\nNorsemen. Also Gummere, Germanic Origins.\\nOld Germanic Poetry Parallel to that of the Anglo-Saxons.\\nSee, in particular, the Story of the Volsungs, Camelot\\nedition, translated by Morris and Magnusson. Also\\nMorris s magnificent poem Sigurd the Volsung.\\nAlso, in Powell and Vigfusson, Book V, The Latest\\nEpics. This lecture should introduce the students to\\nthe great epic of the Northern peoples, which is a most\\nprecious part of our heritage.\\nThe Christianizing of England.\\nMontalembert, Bright, and The Venerable Bede will give\\nample material for this interesting story, which should\\nbe presented mainly by anecdote. See also Aubrey de\\nVere, Legends of the Saxon Saints.\\nThe Treatment of Nature and of the Sea in Anglo-Saxon\\nPoetry. Beowulf, and the poems of Cynewulf. Stopford\\nBrooke treats the subject fully and lovingly. It is rich\\nin interest.\\nThe Poetic Art of the Anglo-Saxons.\\nSee appendix to Bright s Anglo-Saxon Reader.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "44\\nTHE SOURCES\\nNORMAN LITERATURE\\nWhile the Celt dreamed in fairy-land and the\\nAnglo-Saxon brooded on Fate, the Norman rode\\nforth with vigor, audacity, and good cheer, to the\\nconquest of the world. He was a practical person.\\nHe knew how to build magnificent churches and\\nabbeys and castles which are still the wonder of\\nmen he knew how to govern. He was very reli-\\ngious too, when we first know him he was Chris-\\ntianized, but he took his religion simply, regarding\\nfighting as his chief duty, if he could persuade him-\\nself, as he always did, that he fought on God s side.\\nSo he became the master of England, and ruled it,\\nwell for the most part, till from this mingling of\\nraces the English race was gradually formed.\\nThere is one splendid poem in which we can read\\nthe character of the Normans when they came to the\\nBritish Isles. This is the Song of Roland. It binds\\nus to the French as Beowulf, with its relation to the\\nNiebelungen Lied, binds us to the Germans for it\\nis the chief glory of old French literature. Yet we\\nmay claim it too for the Normans rode to the battle\\nof Hastings with an early version of its stirring\\nstrains upon their lips, the poem very likely took\\nfinal shape in England after the conquest, and the\\nbest manuscript of it was certainly written by an\\nAnglo-Norman and is preserved at Oxford. It is\\nfine to think that there was a time when all Europe\\nshared its great inspirations perhaps that time will\\nsome day come again. It is fine, also, to an English-\\nspeaking man, to think of England as a meeting-\\nplace of races, and this she emphatically was.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "NORMAN LITERATURE\\n45\\nThe Song of Roland is a poem not of brooding\\nthought nor of lovely fancy, but solely of noble\\ndeed. It has a stern tale to tell with inexorable\\nswiftness it tells it. The Celt may pause in his\\nfiercest battle ardor to bid us note how the shields\\nof the warriors fighting by firelight gleam like the\\nwhite wings of birds the Anglo-Saxon will pause\\nto point a moral. The Norman story never pauses.\\nIt is a story of failure, but of failure more glorious\\nthan victory. It tells how the mighty king Charle-\\nmagne, the Christian monarch, with his long white\\nbeard, has been fighting the Paynim hosts of Spain\\nhow, deceived by fair promises, he withdraws his\\nhost homeward, through the defiles of the Pyrenees,\\nleaving the rear to be guarded by the heroes Roland\\nand Oliver with a small company how, betrayed by\\na jealous French noble, this rear-guard is cut off and\\nencompassed by numberless foes how Roland and\\nOliver and the rest fight magnificently, desperately,\\nhopelessly and how, when all his friends are slain,\\nand he has himself received his death-wound, the\\ndying Roland winds at last that mighty horn whereof\\nthe echoes, which were to sound through all history,\\nfirst recall, not to assistance but to vengeance, the\\narmy of Charlemagne.\\nThis poem is obviously much later than Beowulf\\nor the epic cycles of the Celt. The spirit of the\\nCrusades is in it, and the hosts of Christian Europe\\nare opposed to the hated Paynim hordes. It shows\\nus a feudal society, governed by new laws of honor\\nand courtesy suggesting the chivalry to be a race\\nthat can ride forth gayly with songs upon its lips\\nto fight a losing battle. The hero no longer fights", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "46\\nTHE SOURCES\\nalone, or for such causes as his fancy may direct he\\nis one of a fellowship, and loyalty to king, to coun-\\ntry, to comrades, and to God, sustains life and glori-\\nfies death. The conscious belief that a Paradise\\nawaits the knights of God nerves the arm and cheers\\nthe heart of every French warrior. The archbishop\\nTurpin, himself a warrior-priest, blesses the French\\nhosts as they go forth to a combat known by them\\nall to be against fatal odds. Here is his speech to\\nthem\\nLords, we are here for our monarch s sake\\nHold we for him, though our death should come\\nFight for the succor of Christendom.\\nThe battle approaches, ye know it well,\\nFor ye see the ranks of the infidel.\\nCry Mea Culpa, and lowly kneel\\nI will assoil you, your souls to heal.\\nIn death ye are holy martyrs crowned/\\nThe Franks alighted and knelt on ground\\nIn God s high name the host he blessed,\\nAnd for penance gave them, to fight their best. 1\\nAll the temper of the Norman is there militant,\\ndevout, stern, yet touched with a certain lightness in\\nthe apprehension of life. When the archbishop him-\\nself is in his death-agony, his last prayer is for the\\nsouls of his comrades, his last thought for the Em-\\nperor whom we shall never see again. He prays\\nThat G-od in mercy your souls may give\\nOn the flowers of Paradise to live\\nMine own death comes, with anguish sore,\\nThat I see mine emperor never more.\\n1 The Song of Roland translated by Colonel J. O Hagan.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "NORMAN LITERATURE\\n47\\nReading the Song of Roland, we can well un-\\nderstand how the Norman vanquished the Saxon, as\\nthe Saxon before him had vanquished the yet more\\nineffective Celt.\\nYet the vanquished in the end were victors. The\\nNormans were, it is true, a great race England\\nwould never have been what she is without them.\\nBut when all is said, the Anglo-Saxon is the domi-\\nnant type of the composite English people. The\\npractical genius of the Norman lends them energy\\nindeed something of his gayety makes them less\\nponderous, more elastic, than their German cousins.\\nThe poetic sensitiveness of the Celt, on the other\\nhand, his power to dream, his ready sentiment, impart\\nat times to English character and English poetry a\\ndelicate mystic charm far from the clear sparkle which\\ncharacterizes the pure Latin races. But the earnest-\\nness of the Anglo-Saxons and their profound sense\\nof moral responsibility are the controlling English\\ntraits.\\nThe Song of Roland by no means illustrates all\\nthe factors contributed by the Norman to the Eng-\\nlish nation we shall find others in the copious\\nliterature of the Anglo-Norman period, to which we\\nshall soon turn.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nFreeman, Norman Conquest, Vol. I, Ch. IV Vol. V, Ch.\\nXXV. See also articles on Normandy and The Normans in\\nEncyclopaedia Britannica. Roemer, The Norman in Gaul.\\nSarah Orne Jewett, The Story of the Normans. Matthew\\nArnold, Celtic Literature. O Hagan, translation of the Song\\nof Roland (Kegan Paul, Trench Co.), has excellent Introduc-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "48\\nTHE SOURCES\\ntion on the epic. Fine sketches of Norman character in appo-\\nsition to the Saxon are found in Kingsley s Hereward the\\nWake.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nO Hagan s spirited translation of the Song of Roland\\nshould be read rapidly through, and discussed by the class.\\nContrasts between this poem and Beowulf, in respect to the\\nideal of heroism, the feeling for nature, the poetic method, etc.,\\nshould be pointed out. Questions based on the text, and other\\ncritical reading, may review Norman characteristics but this is\\na point where a clear and simple impression is better than a\\ncomplex one, and further understanding of the French element\\nin our literature may be put off till the Anglo-Norman period\\nis familiar.\\nLITERATURE IN LATIN\\nCelt, Saxon, and Norman are, then, the ancestors\\nof the English race, and in studying them we have\\nstudied the heredity of the nation and of its litera-\\nture. But even before the literature grew up and\\nlearned to speak in its own tongue, there was one\\nother influence which did not enter into its organic\\nbeing, but did, nevertheless, affect it very much.\\nThis was the Latin of the Church. It was a deca-\\ndent tongue, in which little that was vital was pro-\\nduced, but it formed a medium through which many\\nof the ideals of the ancient world, as well as the\\nideals of Christianity, were applied to the young and\\nprimitive peoples. Celts, Anglo-Saxons, Normans,\\nall, when they became civilized and were fired with\\nliterary ambition, learned Latin and wrote in Latin.\\nThis habit continued through the middle ages\\nmediaeval Latin literature is vast in bulk, and was,\\nof course, held in common by the whole of Europe.\\nEven in the Christian centuries just preceding the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE IN LATIN\\n49\\nNorman conquest an enormous amount of literature\\nin Latin was written. It came almost entirely,\\nas was natural, from the Church, from monks and\\npriests and it was almost wholly of a religious\\ncharacter. It consisted of sermons, homilies, moral\\ntreatises, and lives of saints. It was a literature of\\nlearning and of edification for the Church had by\\nthis time a great tradition of her own, proceeding\\npartly from Rome and partly from the East. The\\neffect of this imposition of decadent language and\\nmodes of thought upon immature races was not\\nwholly happy. Much of this literature is dreary in\\nthe extreme. The thought-life of Europe could not\\nbe understood without discussing it, but in a book\\nwhich is to emphasize art-values we can pass it over\\nlightly. Now and then, however, a book of enduring\\nimportance and beauty was produced in Latin, as was\\nnatural when we remember how much of the idealism\\nof these centuries was shut away in monasteries, and\\nsought to express itself through the Church and her\\naccredited mediums. Of such books, in the period\\nof which we are treating, one is highly significant\\nif we would understand the English race. This is\\nBede s Ecclesiastical History, and a delightful\\nbook it is, and a noble monument of English letters\\nalthough not written in English. Composed in the\\neighth century, it seems strangely modern in its\\nsweet reasonableness and real critical and historic\\nsense it begins the long and honorable list of the\\nproducts of the Christian scholarship of England.\\nIt deals, despite its title, not only with Church mat-\\nters, but with all English life. Nowhere can the\\ntransformation of the savage Pagan race we see in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "50\\nTHE SOURCES\\nBeowulf to a peaceful Christian nation be so pleas-\\nantly traced as through Bede s charming stories of\\nold kings and saints, and the revelation of his own\\ngentle spirit.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nBede s Ecclesiastical History, tr. in Bonn s Antiquarian\\nLibrary: G. F. Browne, The Venerable Bede.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "PAET II\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER I\\nGENERAL CONDITIONS\\nTHE middle ages lasted, broadly speaking, from\\nthe beginning of the Christian era through the\\nfifteenth century. This long period falls into two\\nclearly marked divisions. Rather more than the first\\nthousand years are usually known as the Dark Ages.\\nDuring the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a great\\nchange took place and it is the subsequent period,\\nwhich in England may be said to begin with the\\nNorman Conquest, that we are now to study.\\nAs people grow older, the great words that de-\\nscribe different epochs or civilizations become so\\ncharged with meaning that they cannot be heard\\nwithout excitement. We say antiquity, and at\\nonce our soul is living in a special world, full\\nof emotions, interests, and sights that are all its\\nown. We say the Renaissance presto! we have\\ntravelled into another planet. Great epochs have\\ncome, have passed like shadows, in human history;\\nbut they are not dead. Not only have they be-\\nqueathed to us the heritage, inward and outward,\\nthat makes us what we are they all live forever in\\nthe Imagination, where, as an English poet has told\\nus, all things exist.\\nI. A Period of Expansion\\nBut we must have lived eagerly and long in the\\nwider life of the race as well as in our own tiny\\n53", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "54\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\naffairs before such words yield up their full content.\\nA little book like this can introduce the great periods\\nonly by a few hints. We must think of the later\\nmiddle ages as differing from the Dark Ages which\\nhad immediately preceded them by a passion for ex-\\nperiment, by a new fulness of life. Conditions had\\nlong been stationary in Europe. Unswerving law\\nprevailed. The stiffness of Byzantine painting, the\\nsolemn majesty of Romanesque architecture, had\\nexpressed, at least in Northern Europe, the spirit of\\nthe time. Two influences in particular, cooperating\\nwith less tangible causes, led the middle ages into a\\nlarger air: the Crusades, and the establishment of\\nUniversities.\\nThe The Crusades began at the very end of the eleventh\\nCrusades. cen t ur y^ anc l as ted through the thirteenth. They\\nwere undertaken from a passionate religious desire\\nto rescue the tomb of the Saviour from paynim hands.\\nBut they accomplished something very different from\\ntheir conscious aim for they set Europe in motion.\\nThey drew all the Christian nations together, in\\nfellowship and common knowledge, and brought\\nthem in contact with the marvels of the East, with\\nOriental luxury, learning, romance.\\nMediaeval Of course all this wonderfully stimulated men s\\nSes Versi imaginations. At the same time, the great mediae-\\nval universities were giving a new impetus to men s\\nminds. Until the eleventh century, education and\\nscholarship had been wholly in the hands of monks.\\nThe monasteries had rendered a noble service, too\\nbut now the secularizing of education came, and\\nassuredly widened human thought. During the\\ntwelfth century, the Universities of Bologna, Paris,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CONDITIONS\\n55\\nOxford, sprang into power. The rediscovery a little\\nlater, through contact with the East, of certain works\\nby the philosopher Aristotle hitherto unknown, pro-\\nduced a real intellectual revolution, and stimulated\\nthat scholastic philosophy which was an immense\\npower in its day in the world of mind. Eagerly the\\nhosts of scholars who thronged these universities dis-\\ncussed and debated everything within their horizon\\nand a democratic and critical spirit reigned among\\nthem, and spread abroad through all classes of\\npeople.\\nThe universities were, however, still closely con- The\\nnected with the Church. They concerned themselves jjirit? val\\nwith logic, grammar, rhetoric, jurisprudence, but j^^and\\nwith theology first and last. We must never forget freedom,\\nthat the whole life of the middle ages was profoundly\\nChristian and Catholic, and that we rightly call them\\nthe ages of faith. Yet within the limits of an estab-\\nlished and unquestioned faith, there was plenty of\\nroom for the imagination and minds of men to move\\nabout. During the mediaeval centuries there was\\nmovement in both life and art: there was noble and\\nstirring development; but there was little change of\\ndirection. The middle ages ended when a principle of\\nyet more untrammelled freedom came in with a rush:\\nwhen a spirit of general challenge and scepticism, a\\nlonging for literally universal knowledge, invaded\\nthe world. Then the old order of religion, society,\\nliterature, broke up completely in a confusion from\\nwhich we have hardly yet emerged. Compared with\\nwhat went before, the middle ages were centuries of\\nfreedom; compared with what came after, they look\\nto us like centuries of law.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "56\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nII. Literary Conditions\\nEnglish\\nnot yet\\nmature.\\nEuropean\\nliterature\\nheld in\\ncommon.\\nThe middle ages were most splendid when they\\nwere young, and the twelfth and thirteenth centuries\\nwere their time of greatest glory. But at this time,\\nfor special reasons, English literature did not yet exist.\\nThe English nation was not yet born. For more\\nthan two centuries after the Norman Conquest, Nor-\\nmans and Saxons struggled in England for mastery\\nin speech, not realizing that each was to find victory\\nand defeat at once by union in one race, greater than\\neither. Meanwhile, three languages were spoken on\\nEnglish soil. The court and the gentry talked\\nFrench; the monks and priests liked their inter-\\ncourse in Latin; and the unlettered throngs used still\\nthe despised Saxon. It was not till the fourteenth\\ncentury that the English nation was ready for self-\\nexpression. We cannot pass at once to this century,\\nhowever, for during all this time the growing nation\\nshared the life of Europe and was formed by it.\\nIn a broad sense, we may claim all that Northern\\nEurope produced during this period of intense vital-\\nity as part of our English heritage. England and\\nFrance were practically one country; and, indeed, no\\nnational boundaries were as yet very clear. Medi-\\nseval Europe almost realized Matthew Arnold s ideal\\nit was for intellectual and spiritual purposes one\\ngreat confederation, bound to a joint action and\\nworking to a common result. Poems and stories,\\nstarting no one quite knew where, wandered from\\nland to land, chanted by minstrels in the castle court,\\ntranscribed by clerks in the monasteries, passing\\nfrom language to language, gaining detail and chang-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CONDITIONS\\n57\\ning form as they went, till to-day it is often impossi-\\nble to tell where they came from or what the original\\nform might have been.\\nA vast amount of literature was produced during Literature\\nthe middle ages in this impersonal, anonymous fash- aryimpor-\\nion. But there is one thing that we must realize tance\\nbefore we begin to discuss it that is, that the mid-\\ndle ages could express themselves in many other\\nways better than through books. Nowadays books\\nhave become the most natural and universal means\\nof sharing ideas. It was not so before the invention\\nof printing. If a man wanted to share an idea, or\\na story, or an emotion, he was not likely to write it\\nout laboriously in a manuscript which only a few\\npeople would ever see, and a great many could\\nnot read even if they had the chance: he would\\npaint it, or carve it, or build it. Men learned\\nalmost everything then from the graphic arts. The\\nvisible world was alive for them with expressions\\nof beauty, or solemnity, or fun. If great abstract\\nideas, even, came into their minds, they would trans-\\nlate them, as Giotto did at Padua, into a painted\\nseries of symbolic figures. If they wanted to tell a\\nstory from the Bible, or the life of their patron saint,\\nit was easy to carve reliefs above the church door.\\nIf they wanted to explain a genealogy, they could\\ndesign a Tree of Jesse, and put it in a stained glass\\nwindow. If they had a great emotion, they lifted\\nthe solid stone heavenward, pierced it with light,\\nplaced a sanctuary at its heart, and lo! a cathedral!", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "58\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nIII. Medieval Life Pictured\\nWe can only understand a period of this sort,\\nwhich lived in sights, if we can contrive to see it.\\nAnd we can see the middle ages if we will. We\\nhave two gifts which unseal our eyes, each useless\\nwithout the other, scholarship and imagination.\\nScholarship gives us the requisite knowledge, imagi-\\nnation turns it into sight. Even through books,\\nwhich are all that most of us here in America have\\naccess to, we can learn a great deal, if we will take\\npains, about the aspect of those wonderful times. 1\\nEndless records we can find of processions, of pag-\\neants, of gay tournaments, of ceremonies within and\\nwithout the churches. Even the common daily life\\nof mediaeval people was one great changing, moving\\npicture. Everything they touched became pictu-\\nresque, expressive, symbolic. The literature of the\\nVisualiz- time constantly, as the phrase is, visualizes. We can\\ninstinct. learn from it all about the clothes of people, their\\nlooks, the country they lived in, the sort of landscape\\nthey liked. The works of Chaucer alone, for instance,\\nare a perfect picture-gallery. Watch the procession\\nof pilgrims in the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales\\nif you would know how a motley, ordinary set of\\npeople in the fourteenth century really looked; study\\nthe dainty descriptions of allegorical persons in the\\nRomance of the Rose if you want to find the medi-\\naeval ideal of beauty.\\n1 Read, for instance, Froissart s account of the entrance of Queen\\nIsabel into Paris, Chronicles of Froissart, Vol. II, p. 383, Globe\\nedition.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CONDITIONS\\n59\\nFrom such descriptions and from mediaeval art we ideal of\\ncan learn just what personal types were most attractive beauty\\nto the middle ages. They had an entirely different\\nideal of beauty from that of the Greeks. They cared\\nfor masculine beauty, indeed, more than we do, and\\ntheir men dressed almost as gayly as the women; but\\nthey placed an emphasis upon feminine loveliness\\nwhich the world before the days of chivalry had\\nnever dreamed of. They liked blondes a slender\\nneck, long fingers, delicately arched eyebrows, eyes\\nd fleur de tete, as the French say; full foreheads,\\nflowing yellow hair garland-crowned, a rippling nose,\\nwide, thin, mysteriously smiling lips, this was\\nwhat seemed the highest beauty to mediaeval eyes,\\nthis was probably the aspect of Guinevere as imagined\\nby the age that created her.\\nAs for costume, it was delightfully varied and Costume\\ninteresting in the middle ages. One can look at a\\nmodern crowd and learn very little about the people\\nfrom their clothes but one would know all sorts\\nof things about the men and women in a mediaeval\\ncrowd. One could tell just what a man did,\\nfor instance, from his dress for while costume\\nwithin the limits of a class was more uniform than\\nwith us, it differed wholly from class to class. It\\nmust have been a pleasant sight, that mediaeval\\nthrong, with the bright colors, the graceful cut of\\nthe garments, the clearly marked types of knights,\\nand squires, and merchants, and lawyers, and friars.\\nLife was much more interesting to the eyes then\\nthan now.\\nIt is harder to find out about mediaeval buildings Architec-\\nthan about mediaeval people from the books that", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "60\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nhave come down to us. But fortunately many of\\nthe buildings themselves are left, so that we know a\\ngreat deal about them. Anybody who likes can\\nstudy in beautiful photographs what kind of castles,\\nand houses, and churches the middle ages loved to\\nbuild. Like everything in the middle ages, the archi-\\ntecture of the times was picturesque, and inter-\\nesting, and different from anything else before or\\nsince. It was, of course, what is technically called\\nGothic, and the first impression it presents is one of\\nmassive force contrasting with extreme delicacy, of\\nmysterious use of shadow, of vast wealth in decora-\\ntive detail. The very stones of a great Gothic build-\\ning appear to live. 1\\nLandscape. Mediaeval landscape we can easily, again, repro-\\nduce for ourselves. We know what men loved; we\\nknow what they habitually saw about them. The\\ncountry was still in large tracts wild and savage,\\novergrown with vast forests like those through\\nwhich the knights in mediaeval romance perpetually\\nwander. Even so late as the time of Elizabeth, we\\nknow that one-third of England was unreclaimed\\nwaste land. Here and there the grim castle of a feu-\\ndal lord, its thick walls and frowning turrets wit-\\nnessing to the military character of the age, would\\nbreak the monotony but hardly relieve the terror of\\nthe woods. Or, again, the sweet sound of unseen\\n1 See, for a summary of Gothic characteristics, Ruskin s Stones\\nof Venice, Vol. II, Ch. I On the Nature of Gothic. (Reprinted\\nby William Morris at the Kelmscott Press.) To my mind, and I\\nbelieve to some others, this chapter will in future days be\\nconsidered one of the very few necessary and inevitable utterances\\nof the century. Morris s preface.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CONDITIONS\\n61\\nbells would draw the traveller to some spot where\\na little lowly hermitage or a stately abbey spoke\\nof the mighty power of the Church. Of course,\\nwide regions even apart from the towns were by this\\ntime subdued to human use and smiling fertility;\\nyet the general character of scenery during the mid-\\ndle ages must have been wild and fierce. Men are\\ngoverned by desire for contrast. We in our peaceful\\ndays crave precipice and savage height and raging\\ntorrent, and take our holiday pleasure in the wildest\\nregions we can discover. It is, then, no wonder that\\npeople in the middle ages loved and sought in land-\\nscape all which was gently ordered, even, and serene.\\nThe mediaeval idea of beauty is a garden-close.\\nFlowering trees bend above its symmetrical walks,\\nroses bloom there forever, and clear fountains softly\\nsplashing join in the melody of birds. In this gar-\\nden pace fair damsels, a faint, perpetual smile in\\ntheir gray eyes. Young squires and pretty pages\\nmove in attendance, and all take their joy together\\nin the fresh sweet morning air of an undying May.\\nRocks and mountains cause abhorrent shudder to the\\nmediaeval mind. Dante s spirits in purgatory climb\\nfor their penance a lofty height; but because they\\nare blessed, though once sinful, the mountain is laid\\nout for them in neat terraces, and when they reach\\nthe top they will find that the peak has been\\nsmoothed away, and a delightful level garden\\nplanted for their refreshment. The wild primeval\\nsense of fellowship with the stormy sea, which\\nmarked in so striking a way the rude literature of\\nour Saxon forefathers, has also vanished. Nature\\nis loved in the middle ages, but loved not for her", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "62\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nspiritual power, but for her fertility and peace. The\\ntreatment of landscape in mediaeval art and literature\\nis conventional and formal; it has no range of obser-\\nvation nor depth of insight, though it almost always\\npossesses a charm of its own.\\nIV. Governing Forces\\nSociety, during the middle ages, was shaped by two\\ngreat forces, feudalism and Catholicism. As we\\nwatch the mediaeval world, two figures strike with\\nincreasing vividness upon our vision, and become\\nThe more and more evident as the centres of the scene.\\nand the They are the figures of the Knight and the Monk.\\norder! They represent these two powers: the nobility and\\nthe Church. Each influences the other, yet they\\never remain apart. Nearly all the literature of the\\nmiddle ages, romantic or religious, proceeds from\\nthem or is written for them. Far in the back-\\nground, indeed, we may discern another figure,\\nthat of the Laborer. He too has his word to say,\\nand by and by we must listen to it; but for the\\npresent we will disregard him, as his own age dis-\\nregarded him, and fix our sight on the literature\\nrelated to those two more brilliant figures in whom\\nthe dominant forces of the age, chivalry and mysti-\\ncism, found supreme expression.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nIt is of great importance that the student should be able to\\nsee in his imagination what the middle ages looked like, and to\\nget a little idea of mediaeval life. Readings from the following\\nbooks will help to this end\\nGeneral Mediaeval Life. Rashdall, The Universities of\\nEurope in the Middle Ages, esp, Ch. XIV Student Life in the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CONDITIONS\\nG3\\nMiddle Ages. Green, History of the English People, large\\nillustrated edition. Jusserand, English Wayfaring Life in the\\nMiddle Ages. T. Wright, Domestic Manners and Sentiments\\nin England during the Middle Ages. Traill, Social England,\\nVol. H.\\nCostume. F. W. Fairholt, Costume in England. Planche,\\nCyclopaedia of Costume. Georgiana Hill, A History of Eng-\\nlish Dress, Vol. I.\\nLandscape. Ruskin, Modern Painters, Vol. III. F. T.\\nPalgrave, Landscape in Poetry from Homer to Tennyson.\\nArchitecture. Corroyer, Gothic Architecture. C. E.\\nNorton, Cathedrals and Cathedral Builders Church building\\nin the Middle Ages. Ruskin, On the Nature of Gothic (re-\\nprint from The Stones of Venice George Allen) The Seven\\nLamps of Architecture Social England, Vol. II. Ch. V.\\nPopular novels are helpful to read e.g., Scott s Ivanhoe,\\nVictor Hugo s Notre Dame de Paris, Morris s Dream of\\nJohn Ball Conan Doyle s The White Company. Num-\\nberless admirable photographs are now readily accessible, and\\nshould when possible be freely used by the teacher.\\nBooks of the period itself are better than critical authorities\\neven young students can read with pleasure, if guided, in the\\nworks of Froissart and Chaucer. These are a storehouse of\\npictures and so are all the mediaeval romances, such as can be\\nfound in the publications of the Early English Text Society,\\nin Weber s Metrical Romances, and elsewhere so is Lang-\\nland s Piers Plowman, though teacher can handle this more\\neasily than scholar.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nTwo or three hours can be pleasantly spent in presenting\\nexamples of landscape, costume, buildings, on the lines given\\nin the text and at the end of the time a clear though rude\\npicture of the times can be left in the student s mind. Special\\nreports should be given, on material assigned with more or less\\ndetail according to the maturity of the class. Older students\\ncan be referred simply to a book, younger to especial passages.\\nOne can be asked to describe a knight, another a nun, another\\na mediaeval forest, etc. or, the different figures in Chaucer s\\nPrologue, in the Romaunt of the Rose, or in some romance,\\ncan be assigned to different members of the class. Popular\\nnovels can if desired be treated in the same way, and so can\\nphotographs.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "64\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe teacher may expand lectures on these same lines from a\\nwider range of reading. Some special lecture subjects which would\\nhelp a class to see the middle ages, are A day in a mediaeval\\nMarket-place, The life of a mediaeval lady, The mediaeval\\nCathedral and what went on in it.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER II\\nTHE CHIEF PHASES OF MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE\\nI. Chivalry and Catholicism: their literary\\nRESULTS\\nAROUND the knight gathers all the great litera-\\nture of the middle ages inspired by the spirit of\\nchivalry: love-songs, romances in verse or prose, a\\nwealth of fantastic tales. It is a literature de-\\nlightful as it is abundant. From the figure of\\nthe monk, all the religious literature of the mid-\\ndle ages seems to proceed, and this, too, is vast in\\nbulk. Much of it preaches or discusses theology,\\nand mediaeval theology is a great monument of\\nhuman thought but much of it is born of feeling\\nand fancy, and the legends of the saints are as rich\\na storehouse of imaginative treasure as the romances\\nof chivalry.\\nRomance and allegory are the distinctive forms Literary\\nin which mediaeval imagination finds freest play, ronmnce\\nand they are the outcome of this double spirit Juegory\\nof chivalry and Catholicism. Often the twofold\\ninspiration appears in the same poem, and a compel-\\nling charm springs from the union. Often, however,\\nthe two are at odds. A zest for life in its freedom,\\na passion pushed at times beyond all restraining\\nbounds, pervades the literature of chivalry the lit-\\nerature of the Church, austere and ascetic, centres\\nin the cold theme of renunciation.\\n65", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "66\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nThe Yet, even when most widely separate, all phases\\ntemper! \u00c2\u00b0f mediseval literature witness fundamentally to a\\ncommon temper. It is a temper of wondering\\nexpectation, of quick sensitiveness to marvel, natural\\nor spiritual. This was the temper with which the\\nknight rode forth into the greenwood, eager for\\nadventure, whether with mysterious fair lady or\\nloathsome dragon this the temper with which the\\nnun or hermit, in lowly cell, scourged the flesh till\\nthe heavens opened and revealed vision of Madonna\\nor angels to the longing, watchful eyes. This temper\\nwe technically call Romantic, and, because of its prev-\\nalence, the middle ages are habitually known as the\\nages of romance.\\nThe mind of the child helps us to understand the\\nmind of the middle ages. A child is not scientific.\\nHe does not care to be accurate, he does not care to\\nanalyze. His reasoning powers are undeveloped,\\nand feeling and imagination lead him. He is likely\\nto be betrayed into extravagance and unreason, yet\\nat times he sees more, perhaps, and more truly, than\\ngrown-up people do. It was just so with the middle\\nages. Men s souls were filled with wonder then\\nwonder at earth, at heaven, and at hell. In\\nwonder begins the soul of man, says a wise critic,\\nin wonder it ends and investigation fills up the\\ninterspace.\\nAll the conditions of the time increased this sense\\nof mystery which brooded over the world. The rude\\nand uncertain social state was full of surprises. The\\nCrusades brought men close to the strange, fantastic\\ncivilizations of the East. Men s dim knowledge of\\nthe classic past enhanced the power which it exer-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "PHASES OF MEDIEVAL LITERATURE 67\\ncised over their imaginations, and turned the great\\npoets of antiquity into clerks and magicians in their\\nminds. Finally, we must not forget that at every\\nturn they were met by the majestic presence of the\\nvisible Church, with its ceaseless witness to mys-\\nteries of a world unseen mysteries of light and\\ndarkness, of salvation and of loss. It is no wonder\\nif, over all the literature of the middle ages, what-\\never its specific character, the breath of the Spirit\\nof Romance has passed.\\nOf very little in this great mediaeval literature can\\nwe say that it was actually produced in England.\\nBut it was all known there. It helped determine\\nthe tone, shape the manners, and establish the\\nstandards, of the growing nation. And, before the\\nmiddle ages were over, much of it made its way\\ninto English translations, and sometimes found its\\nnoblest expression in them.\\nII. Literature of Chivalry\\nLet us glance now it can be only a glance\\nat the great literature of chivalry. When the Nor-\\nman came to the battle of Hastings with the Song\\nof Roland on his lips, he was a stern and military\\nperson, caring little for the arts or graces of life, less\\nfor its tenderer emotions. But during the twelfth\\ncentury he softened much. He cultivated good man-\\nners he became not only a fighter, but a lover he\\ndeveloped a taste for the arts. Love-songs began to\\nbe written then gallant trifles, filled with fresh\\nfeeling for springtime and for the girls who em-\\nbodied it. Little tales in prose, full of the same", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "68\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nlyric spirit, broke now and then into song, and\\nbecame what we call the chante-fables, a literary\\nform of which a lovely specimen has survived, to our\\ngreat joy, in the Story of Aucassin and Nicolette.\\nWe see in songs and tales how a new spirit of\\ncourtly fantasy was replacing the old zest for battle.\\nBut, far greater than this movement, interesting\\nthough it is, is the epic development leading into\\ntechnical romance, of the Anglo-Norman period.\\nEpic There were four great cycles of mediaeval romance\\ncvcIgs*\\ndeveloped in France, and therefore familiar to Eng-\\nland. They took shape in the twelfth century. It\\nis proof of the dominance of the Normans that the\\nBeowulf story, with its Germanic affiliations, was\\nforgotten in England, and the Niebelungen Lied\\nhad no vogue among the people who had first chanted\\nof Sigurd. But these other cycles, branching out as\\nthey did into innumerable tales, often loosely con-\\nnected with the central theme, had matter enough\\nand to spare to feed the imagination.\\nCharie- The first of these epic cycles was the cycle of Char-\\nmagne. lemagne and his Twelve Peers. The Chanson de\\nRoland, the earliest poem of the cycle, we already\\nknow a certain magnificent and valorous audacity\\nis ever the keynote of the tales. The second cycle\\ncentred in the story of Alexander the Great. It\\nAlexan- was presumably of Eastern origin, and it is full of the\\nder element of fantasy or magic. The third cycle came\\nfrom the classic world it was the ancient Tale of\\nTroy, strangely transformed indeed in the telling\\nThe sympathy of the middle ages was with the\\nTroy. Trojans. Troy became a quaint, walled, turreted\\ntown, such as may be seen in the background of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "PHASES OF MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE 69\\nmediaeval illuminations. The element of romantic\\nlove was what most impressed the mediaeval mind in\\nthe great story, and the most interesting result of\\nthe Troy cycle is Chaucer s winsome telling, after\\nBoccaccio, of the hapless loves of two personages all\\nbut unknown to Homer, Troilus and the coquette\\nCressida. The last great story which held the\\nmediaeval heart was the story of King Arthur of Arthur,\\nthe knights of the Table Round of Lancelot and\\nGuinevere of Tristram and Iseult and of the\\nQuest of the Holy Grail. Differing in origin, all\\nthese stories were drawn into the one tale. In\\nArthurian romance, all the motifs of mediaeval story\\nmeet and blend. Here is the perfect ideal of Chris-\\ntian valor; here the glamour of enchantment, Celtic\\nand semi-Pagan at first in the tale of Merlin, Chris-\\ntian and Catholic later. Here chivalric love, alike\\nin its nobler and in its baser aspect, finds immortal,\\nif tragic, expression in the mournful, brilliant figures\\nof Lancelot and Guinevere, of Tristram and Iseult.\\nHere, finally, the mystic spiritual passion which\\nthrobbed at the heart of the middle ages glows for-\\never in the veiled chalice of the Holy Grail.\\nAs the middle ages go on, we can watch the great Decline of\\nstories change in the telling. Slowly, imperceptibly, romance,\\nthe rude epic strains gain color and sentiment, gain\\nalso an immense number of incidents and of details,\\nbut replace a primitive grandeur by an interminable\\nprolixity and an absence of singleness of aim. Epic\\nhas changed into romance, and as romances finally\\nwe know and quote the stories. Sure proof at once\\nof popularity and of decay, these stories early began\\nto be parodied. Even in the twelfth century, the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "70\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nso-called beast-epics, especially the tale of Reynard\\nthe Fox, present a travesty of the serious work, and\\nin an allegorical satire attack, under the form of\\ndifferent animals, all the powers of Church and\\nState. Direct burlesques of the romances are later\\nnot unknown, as witness Chaucer s Sir Thopas.\\nYet, during four hundred years, undeterred by ridi-\\ncule or by the coarse realism which is also to be found\\nin mediaeval art, the mighty spirit of romance contin-\\nued to overarch and to inspire the medieval mind.\\nArthurian Of all these cycles of romance, the greatest, that\\nof King Arthur, is the one in which England had\\nmost share. Thence in all probability it started\\nwhen the middle ages were young thither for its\\nperfect form it returned as they were dying. Far in\\nthe dim twilight of Celtic legend we catch glimpses\\nof an heroic figure, partly mythological, partly per-\\nhaps historical, who bears the name of Arthur. In\\nthe Latin history of the Anglo-Norman, Geoffrey of\\nMonmouth, who wrote in the middle of the twelfth\\ncentury, we meet for the first time a developed\\nForms and Arthurian legend. From English Geoffrey it passes\\nsources. e Frenchman Wace. Early in the thirteenth\\ncentury, back again to England it travels and re-\\nceives the fullest treatment yet, and the first in the\\nEnglish tongue, from Layamon, a priest living on\\nthe river Severn. Meanwhile, in France the story\\nhas been growing fast and finding form in long\\nromances. It has added to itself the branch which\\ntells of Lancelot, the branch which tells of Tristram,\\nthe branch which tells of the Holy Grail. Thus\\nenriched, Arthurian romance travels all over Europe\\nto Italy, to Germany finds shape in many tongues", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "PHASES OF MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE 71\\nbut returns at last to England, where, in the end of\\nthe fifteenth century, all the different branches of\\nthe story are condensed to one-tenth of their original\\nbulk, brought into epic unity, and told in language\\nof wonderful purity and romantic beauty, by Sir\\nThomas Malory.\\nIt is most interesting to watch the great story Deveiop-\\ngrow. In Geoffrey of Monmouth we have few ment\\ntraces of the Arthur we know. We are introduced\\nto a warrior chief, who fought twelve battles with\\nthe Saxons and the Romans. Merlin is in the story,\\nand, briefly treated, Guinevere but we have no\\nknights, no Table Round, no Holy Grail, and dreary\\nrecords of fighting fill the bulk of the tale. In Wace,\\nthe spirit of chivalry is evident, and the Table\\nRound is added. Layamon surrounds the birth and\\npassing of Arthur with fairy enchantments, and thus\\nadds that glamour of mysticism and magic which is so\\nlarge a factor in the charm of Arthurian romance.\\nBut it is only with the entrance of Lancelot, in the\\nFrench romances, which were perhaps written by\\nan Englishman, Walter Map, that the crude fight-\\ning retires into the background, and the ill-starred,\\nunhallowed love of Lancelot for Queen Guinevere\\nfurnishes the dramatic motif which is to the middle\\nages what the tale of Helen was to the ancient world.\\nThe wild story of Tristram and Iseult, with its Celtic\\nmagic, its Celtic sympathy with nature, its Celtic\\nfierceness of emotion, enhances and emphasizes the\\npresentation of the tragedy of lawless passion which\\ndestroys the Arthurian court. Then comes the story\\nof the Holy Grail, bathed in purest moonlight, silver-\\nwan, in contrast to the flood of hot sunshine which", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "72\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nseems to beat upon us in the Tristram story. Here\\nspiritual passion, never in the middle ages far from\\nthe greatest excesses, finds full sway, in the mystic\\nquest for the Holy Thing, wherein all the knights\\nengage the semi-Pagan figure of Merlin is lost to\\nsight, and a Christian supernatural element appears,\\ncreated by the ceremonial and the sacramental faith\\nof the Catholic Church. Asceticism struggles with\\nthe terrible force of human passion, seeking to\\nexpiate and to redeem. Routed in Lancelot, it con-\\nquers in Galahad, his son, the youthful knight, fairest\\nproduct of the purely Christian imagination, in whom\\nthe two forces of chivalry and mysticism blend at\\nlast in a union of surpassing beauty. But Galahad\\nis borne far over the sea to the spiritual city of\\nSarras, there to reign and die the Holy Grail van-\\nishes with him earthly passion resumes its sway\\nand through deepening shadows the story moves\\nmajestically onward to the death of Arthur, Guine-\\nvere, and remorseful Lancelot, and the disruption of\\nthe Table Round.\\nCharacter. Through many centuries the story grew, but grew\\nunconsciously, into an imaginative unity far more\\nmarvellous than had it been the product of any one\\nman. It is the epic of mediaeval humanity, and all\\nof natural and spiritual passion which the middle\\nages contained are summed in it. Sin-stained and\\nsmitten to a tragic close, the story still purifies and\\nexalts. In its entirety, it presents with inexorable\\ngrandeur, severe as that of Greek drama, the slow\\nretribution which attends on broken law. As it\\nprogresses, it enshrines, more fully than any other\\nmediaeval work, the very ideal and image of perfect", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "PHASES OF MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE 73\\nknighthood. Reading the pledge to which all the\\nknights of the Round Table are sworn, we realize\\nhow altered and enriched is the ideal of heroism since\\nthe days of Beowulf, or even of Roland\\nThen the king stablished all his knights, and them\\nthat were of lands not rich he gave them lands, and\\ncharged them never to do outrage nor murder and always\\nto flee treason. Also, by no means to be cruel, but to give\\nmercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of forfei-\\nture of their mercy and lordship of King Arthur for ever-\\nmore and alway to do ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen\\nsuccour upon pain of death. Also, that no man take no\\nbattles in a wrongful quarrel for no law nor for world s\\ngoods. Unto this were all the knights sworn of the\\nTable Round both old and young. And every year were\\nthey sworn at the high feast of Pentecost. 1\\nLove and loyalty toward women courtesy mod-\\nesty the code of honor even in mortal combat\\nabove all, a compassion for the weak and the con-\\nquered hardly conceivable by the Pagan mind, all\\nthese things have entered the conception of a perfect\\nmanhood. Much remains to be done, as we shall see,\\nwatching the growth of the nation, before the ideal\\nof absolute heroism as we hold it to-day shall be\\nformed yet in some ways it is a question whether\\nwe moderns have surpassed, or even equalled, the\\nideal of Arthurian chivalry and we still thrill with\\na large and pure admiration as we listen to that sum-\\nming up of all chivalry, the words pronounced over\\nthe dead body of Lancelot by his brother, Sir Hec-\\ntor\\nAh, Launcelot, he said, thou were head of all Chris-\\ntian knights and now I dare say, said Sir Hector, thou\\n1 Malory, Morte D Arthur, Book III, Ch. 15.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "74\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nSir Launcelot, there thou liest, that thou were never\\nmatched of earthly knight s hand and thou were the\\ncourtliest knight that ever bare shield; and thou were\\nthe truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse\\nand thou were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever\\nloved woman and thou were the kindest man that ever\\nstrake with sword j and thou were the goodliest person\\never came within press of knights and thou was the\\nmeekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among\\nladies and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal\\nfoe that ever put spear in the rest. 1\\nIII. Literature of Catholicism\\nThe Romances of the Holy Grail are perhaps the\\nnoblest imaginative expressions of the religious ideals\\nof the middle ages. But there exists, as we have al-\\nready said, an immense amount of literature from these\\ncenturies, produced or appropriated by the Church.\\nIt is mostly in Latin, the Church language it con-\\nsists in sermons, moral treatises, and the like, but\\nit also consists in stories, for to gain the mediae-\\nval ear it was obviously necessary to have a tale to\\ntell. The two most important collections of these\\nreligious or quasi-religious stories are the Golden\\nLegend and the Gesta Romanorum. It seems\\nstrange to rank the Gesta Romanorum with reli-\\ngious literature, for the book is simply an immense\\ncollection of tales with all sorts of origin, Oriental,\\nclassic, as well as mediaeval, often far from edifying,\\nand hard to reduce to a moral. But the times did\\nnot shrink from the task, and each story is followed\\nby an allegorical interpretation, deducing lessons of\\ni Malory, Morte D Arthur, Book XXI, Ch. 13.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "PHASES OF MEDIAEVAL LITERATURE 75\\nChristian faith and morals from the most unlikely\\ndetails. Probably most readers skipped the morals\\nbut at all events they stand there, a warning for all\\ntime to the lover of allegory, and a witness to the\\naudacity of the Church in sanctioning what people\\nwere bound to have whether she would or no.\\nThe Golden Legend is a collection of a very\\ndifferent character it is almost wholly occupied\\nwith the legends of saints, some of them of great\\nbeauty, others puerile and tedious, and it is a perfect\\ntreas are-house still to any one who wants to under-\\nstand the play of Christianity on men s minds. It\\nwas, of course, far more read than the Bible, for we\\nmust remember that neither in England nor else-\\nwhere was the Bible read by the laity at this time\\nand the religious ideas of the middle ages were\\nprobably more formed by this collection of tales than\\nby any other influence.\\nWe cannot stop to enumerate other productions\\nin religious mediseval literature, but we must men-\\ntion what is in some ways the greatest of all,\\nthe hymns in Latin, the 44 Dies Irse, the Stabat\\nMater, St. -Bernard s Rhythm of the Celestial\\nCountry, and the rest. They are the noblest lyric\\nworks of the middle ages. In them we can see the\\nold prosody of the classic age gradually breaking\\nup, yielding to a new music necessary to express a\\nnew range of experience and feeling. They have\\nwhat is too often denied to the vast literature of the\\nmiddle ages conciseness and beauty of form they\\nhave an exaltation and delicacy of passion which\\nputs them among the great poems of the world.\\nThe literature produced during these centuries in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "76\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nEnglish, and the growth of the language in which\\nShakespeare was one day to write, we must study in\\nthe next chapter.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nSaintsbury, The Flourishing of Romance and the Rise of\\nAllegory. W. P. Ker, Epic and Romance. Mills, History of\\nChivalry. The Accolade, by Helen Gray Cone, in Oberon\\nand Puck, is a poem which tells with power of the initiation\\nof the young knight, and his dedication to his ideals.\\nMalory s Morte D Arthur, scholar s edition, with full criti-\\ncal apparatus, edited by Oskar Sommer. Popular editions,\\nThe Temple Classics, Dent, 4 vols. Library of English Classics\\n(Macmillan), ed. by A. W. Pollard, 2 vols. John Rhys,\\nStudies in the Arthurian Legend. Newell, King Arthur and\\nthe Table Round (chiefly translations from Chretiens de\\nTroie). Sebastian Evans, The High History of the Holy\\nGrail (translation from twelfth century French romance).\\nThe Early History of the Holy Grail, Early English Text\\nSociety. Syr Perceval, Thornton Romances, ed. by Halli-\\nwell-Phillips, also in Kelmscott Press publications. Peredur,\\nGeraint, in the Mabinogion, tr. by Lady Charlotte Guest.\\nThe Prose Merlin (fifteenth century), Early English Text Soci-\\nety. Arthurian books in Geoffrey of Monmouth. Alfred\\nNutt, Studies in the Origin of the Holy Grail. G. V. Harper,\\nThe Holy Grail (Modern Language Association), Vol. VIII,\\np. 77. The Golden Legend, Temple Classics Selections, ed. by\\nH. D. Madge (E. P. Dutton). Tristram and Iseult, tr. by\\nJessie Weston (Nutt).\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe majority of the books mentioned above are popular and\\nattractive to young people. An ordinary class would better\\nspend all the time it can give to the literature of chivalry in\\nreading Arthurian romance, including the legends of the Holy\\nGrail. A good introduction is to learn by heart Tennyson s\\npoem, Sir Galahad. It is suggestive to compare the treat-\\nment of one episode, as the story of Elaine, or the passing of\\nArthur, in Malory, and in the Idylls of the King. A vivid\\nidea of the meaning of chivalry should be aimed at. To this", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "PHASES OF MEDLEY AL LITERATURE 77\\nend let each student follow the fortunes of one knight, as Per-\\nceval, Gawain, Palamides, Lancelot, Gareth. Show how each\\nillustrated the ideal of chivalry how he failed. Compare, in\\nclass discussion, the knight as hero with the Pagan warrior,\\nBeowulf, Siegfrid. Show how the ideal of heroism is develop-\\ning. Have we to-day advanced beyond this ideal Bring to\\nclass, if possible, copies of Abbey s Grail frescoes in the Boston\\nPublic Library.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\n(See references above.) Mythological Elements in Ar-\\nthurian Story. Origin and Early Forms of Arthurian Romance.\\nThe Epic Development of the Morte D Arthur. The Education\\nof a Knight. A Day in a Knight s Life. The Legends of the\\nHoly Grail (see translation by Jessie Weston of Wolfram von\\nEschenbach s Parzifal The Influence of the Worship of the\\nMediaeval Church on the Imagination.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER III\\nLITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND\\nI. Work in French and Latin on English\\nSoil\\nIT is strange to pass from the copious literature\\nproduced in French and Latin during the early\\nmiddle ages to the silence of the English. For\\nthree hundred years after the Norman Conquest,\\nnothing very great or beautiful, nothing, we may\\ndare to say, which, from the point of view of art,\\nhas much power to interest us, was written in the\\nEnglish tongue.\\nWe must not think, to be sure, that the barren-\\nness of literature in English is quite the measure of\\nthe production of the nation during these centuries.\\nIn the great European confederation, bound to a\\njoint action and working to a common result, it is\\nimpossible to determine exactly the share taken by\\nEngland but we do know that certain of the most\\ninteresting books written during this period in\\nFrench or Latin were produced either on English\\nsoil or by men of English birth. Geoffrey of Mon-\\nmouth has been already mentioned. He was a Welsh\\nbishop and his Latin History of the Kings of\\nGeoffrey Britain, written nearly a hundred years after the\\nmouth (d. Conquest, witnessed to the deathless vitality of the\\nH54). Celtic spirit, and became to the world for hundreds\\n78", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 79\\nof years, indeed till after the time of Shakespeare, Historia\\nthe very well-head of Romance Lear and Cymbe- Irftan-\\nline are met in this book, as well as Arthur. A little mae 1147\\nbefore Geoffrey s day, more sober historians, of whom\\nthe chief was William of Malmesbury, escaped at wmiamof\\ntimes the dry manner of the mere chronicle, and Jury^d\\nachieved something of that breadth of view and\\nlnminousness of handling which makes history a\\nbranch of true literature. The Gesta Romano-\\nrum, that vast story-book, was probably compiled\\nin England toward the end of the thirteenth cen-\\ntury. In French, the Lais of Marie de France, Marie de\\nwho, despite her title, spent much of her life in last half\\nEngland, are among the most important examples of century,\\nthe light verse-story. High in rank at the court of HeSJ/ii\\nHenry II, lived a brilliant, elusive, interesting person\\nnamed Walter Map. He, too, was a Welshman and Walter\\nsince he wrote the curious medley of satire, story, (cLmo).\\nand fun called De Nugis Curialium, he must have\\nbeen one of the cleverest men of the middle ages.\\nBut perhaps he was a great deal more than this, for\\nto Walter Map many critics assign the authorship of\\nsome of the noblest mediaeval romances, the Romance\\nof Lancelot, and certain of the Romances of the Holy\\nGrail. If Map wrote these romances, he was a very\\ngreat man, and England possesses an author second\\nonly to Dante in fervor of imagination, large inven-\\ntiveness, and spiritual passion, though, of course, far\\nbelow Dante in power of utterance. But whether\\nMap really wrote any or all of these Romances, we do\\nnot know. That some of the Romances, however,\\nwere shaped by Anglo-Normans, it is safe to assume.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "80\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nII. The Growth of the English\\nThe Eng- But most, if not all, of these writers came from the\\nsilence. new French strain in English life and the native\\nSaxons were strangely unrepresented in letters. A\\nfew sermons, homilies, paraphrases of the Scriptures,\\nlegends of the saints, a harvest of lyrics, charming\\nindeed, but late and slender, this is all the Eng-\\nlish-speaking people have to show during this long\\ntime. For three hundred years is a very long time,\\nlonger than our whole American national history.\\nDuring a longer time than English-speaking folk\\nhave possessed the American soil, the voice of Eng-\\nlishmen was stilled.\\nSome writers talk as if the Norman Conquest were\\nresponsible for this long stretch of silence. They talk\\nas if the best traditions of our literature were in the\\ndays of Csedmon and Cynewulf, and as if we moderns\\nshould do well to return thither alone for inspiration.\\nHow false this point of view is becomes evident if once\\nwe reflect that the Norman Conquest by no means\\nchoked or suppressed a flourishing literature. Since\\nthe time of Alfred, the Anglo-Saxon race had had\\nlittle or nothing to say since the eighth century, it\\nhad felt no impulse to great creative poetry. For\\nsome reason its development seemed to be arrested,\\nand we may believe with M. Jusserand that, had the\\nNormans never come to England, the English might\\nhave been as slow in producing a literature as their\\nGerman cousins, whose national life did not blossom\\ninto imaginative expression till modern times. Prob-\\nably in the long run the Norman Conquest really", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 81\\naccelerated and stimulated, if, indeed, it did not\\ncreate, the power of self-expression in England.\\nBut, of course, for a time not much literature could Formation\\nbe written in English, because the English language language,\\ndid not yet exist. To shape that language, to pre-\\npare an instrument for Shakespeare, for Milton, for\\nWordsworth, was an achievement worthy to en-\\ngross the activities of many a generation. The old\\nAnglo-Saxon was dying, the English was not yet\\narisen. Meanwhile, the conditions were unfavorable\\nfor literature. The chief value of the scanty literary\\nmemorials of this period which we possess is for lin-\\nguistic study their chief interest is the light they\\nthrow on the different stages in the gradual growth\\nof English speech.\\nWhen the Anglo-Saxons conquered the Celts, they The\\nconquered their language, and only a few Celtic process\\nwords found their way into our modern speech.\\nWhen the Normans conquered the Anglo-Saxons,\\njust the opposite thing happened, For about two\\nor three hundred years, the French language re-\\nmained superimposed upon the English the upper\\nlayer slowly infiltrated the lower, was absorbed, and\\ndisappeared in transforming it. But this was the\\nwork of centuries. 1 The process is most interest-\\ning to follow. The nobles, the ruling class, spoke\\nFrench, the poorer, simpler people, Saxon. But as\\ntime went on, the lowe men, the rustics, wanted\\nto learn French too, both from social ambition and\\nfor convenience sake. Their efforts had a remark-\\nable result, precisely for the reason that they never\\nsucceeded in speaking pure French, and that in their\\n1 Jusserand, Literary History of the English People, p. 116.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "82\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nill-cleared brains the two languages were never kept\\ndistinctly apart. The nobles, cleverer men, could\\nspeak both idioms without confounding them; but\\nso could not these rurales, 1 who lisped the master s\\ntongue with difficulty, mixing together the two\\nvocabularies and the two grammars, mistaking the\\ngenders, assigning, for want of better knowledge,\\nthe neuter to all the words that did not designate\\nbeings with a sex, in other words, strange as it may\\nseem, creating the new language. It was on the\\nlips of 4 lowe men that the fusion first began they\\nare the real founders of modern English. 2\\nThe result. The Anglo-Saxon had been an inflected language;\\nthat is, the words had changed their form, to show\\ntheir relation to the thought and to other words in\\nthe sentence. Our modern English has cast off\\ninflections, for the reasons that M. Jusserand sug-\\ngests in the quotation just given inflections were\\ntoo confusing to manage when two languages were\\nblending their different forms. English shows the\\nrelation of words and the part they play in the sen-\\ntence by putting them under the control of other\\nwords, which seems to us much the simpler and better\\nway. But, putting aside inflections, the structure of\\nEnglish is Anglo-Saxon, not French. Nearly all the\\nhomely words which do the heavy work, the servant-\\nwords, like auxiliary verbs, articles, pronouns, con-\\nnectives, which are repeated over and over again in\\nany page of writing, are Saxon. But if the structure\\nof our language is Germanic, the vocabulary, the em-\\nbroidery upon the plain tissue, became to a surprising\\n1 Country people.\\n2 Jusserand, Literary History of the English People, p. 236.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 83\\ndegree French, and through the French it gained\\nmuch of the rich expressiveness of the old Latin.\\nNo other modern language draws its power of\\nexpression from so many racial sources as the Eng-\\nlish. Counting word for word, our debt to the\\nFrench and Latin tongues is the heaviest. English\\ncontains twice as many words drawn from these\\nlanguages as from the Germanic though, of course,\\nin any given passage, this proportion would probably\\nbe more than reversed, because the Saxon words are,\\nas we have said, those which have to be repeated\\nagain and again, and because many of the words of\\nFrench-Latin origin are seldom used. If we study\\nour vocabulary we may get a vivid picture of the\\nstate of society while our language was forming\\nfor the words of the arts and graces, the pastimes\\nand intellectual pursuits of life, are usually French,\\nwhile the words of humble practical toil and of family\\nbonds and affections are mostly Saxon. Often, in\\nthe strife of tongues, the old Saxon word would be.\\nrouted and disappear thus courteous or polite\\ndrove out hende, brave drove out frek, and\\nthe like sometimes the Latin word is the more\\ncommon, as is the case with color and hue,\\nuse and wont, but this is rare. In a strife of\\ntongues like that which we are watching, our sym-\\npathy almost inevitably goes sometimes with those\\nthat fall and we cannot help regretting some\\nof the strong, simple, old English words that have\\nbeen worsted in the fight. They have a direct\\nand homely dignity quite different from the orna-\\nmental, many-syllabled stateliness of the French\\nand Latin derivatives. The Againbite of Inwit", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "84\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nwill seem to many of us a more expressive thing\\nthan The Remorse of Conscience, though the two\\nmean exactly the same. Wanhope touches the\\nheart-strings with a sadder note than despair\\nwhile blee for complexion, fere for companion,\\nferly for marvellously, dree for endure, gryl\\nfor horrible, stour for conflict, gram for indig-\\nnation, foreward for covenant, wort for vege-\\ntable, have the strength of brevity. Most of these\\nold words are gone past recall. Some lingered late,\\ncherished by poets and simple provincial people,\\none remembers Milton s rathe primrose. Many\\nhave become degraded, as ghost, of which the orig-\\ninal meaning of spirit still lingers in the phrase\\nHoly Ghost, and silly, of which the original\\nmeaning was innocent and so blessed. Some\\npeople are trying to revive certain of these racy old\\nwords to-day mirkness, thews, croft,\\nleachcraft, stead, and the like. Perhaps they\\n.will succeed. But, however much one may love the\\nold Saxon, no sane man can regret the enrichment\\nof English by the countless words of French ex-\\ntraction which the growing nation needed for its\\nself-expression and took to its heart. Think away\\nfrom any long passage of Shakespeare or Tennyson\\nall the words of French origin, and we see at once\\nwhat grace, variety, expressiveness, flexibility, the\\nEnglish owes to the graft of the Norman-French\\nupon the Saxon.\\nIII. Literature in English\\nNow let us tell the short story of English letters\\nduring these three centuries, from the middle of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 85\\nthe eleventh century to the middle of the fourteenth,\\ndwelling for a moment on the few interesting\\nworks. We must remember that there was no uni-\\nform English yet, and that they were all written\\nin some local form, or dialect. There were three\\nprincipal dialects, of which Chaucer was to exalt one,\\nthe Midland, to the rank of English. To the end of\\nthe twelfth century, that is for half the period, there\\nis really nothing worth mentioning here. A long\\nPoema Morale corresponds to its name it is a Poema\\nrhymed, didactic poem, in the old elegiac religious possibly\\nstrain of mournful brooding, familiar to the Anglo- reign of\\nSaxon. At this time, the Normans were writing ^00-1135\\nlove-songs and romances The victor sings, the\\nvanquished prays. But at the beginning of the\\nthirteenth century we meet a really delightful and\\nimportant book. This is Layamon s Brut. We Laya _\\nhad a little to say about it when we were talking mon s\\nJ T Brut,\\nof Arthurian romance. It is not, in one sense, about 1205.\\nan original work. After the frank fashion of medi-\\naeval good-fellowship which claimed common own-\\nership for all men in a good thing, Layamon\\nborrowed his story of the legendary history of Eng-\\nland from Wace. But he tells the story very well,\\nwith many poetic additions. He was a priest, living\\non the Severn, not far from the borders of Wales,\\nand the Celtic enchantment is in his work. He\\nwrote in a style strongly Saxon, which recalls the old\\nhero-sagas only fifty French words are to be found\\nin his whole poem, and his metre is alliterative, with\\nonly occasional rhymes. Yet the French influence is\\nstrong in him, showing itself in a certain gay court-\\nliness, in magnificence of description, in a spirit of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "86\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nHorn,\\nabout\\n1250, and\\nHavelok,\\n1270-80.\\nThe\\nOrmu-\\nlum,\\nabout\\n1215-1220.\\nLyrics,\\nlast half\\nof 13th\\ncentury.\\nchivalry and romance which pervades the whole.\\nThus he was sensitive to all three elements which\\nentered the life of the completed nation, and his\\nBrut may almost be called the first poem of the\\nwhole English people.\\nOne or two romances probably of Danish origin\\ntook shape during the thirteenth century the stories\\nof King Horn, and of Havelok the Dane. They got\\ninto the English forms we know, however, through\\nFrench originals, and show marks of their passage.\\nA good deal of writing, religious in inspiration, both\\nverse and prose, was also produced in this century\\nsermons, homilies, lives of saints, paraphrases of the\\nScriptures. One of the most important of these\\nworks, and extremely interesting for linguistic study,\\nis the Ormulum, a collection of paraphrases of the\\ngospels for the day, interspersed with comments and\\nallegorical interpretations, written by the priest-\\nmonk Orm. Only one-eighth of it has come down\\nto us, but that eighth extends to ten thousand lines.\\nAnother interesting book, in prose, is the Ancren\\nRiwle, a kindly but severe book of instructions for\\nthe guidance of three young anchoresses.\\nThe French romances of the preceding century\\nbegan to get into English versions during the thir-\\nteenth century. But the one really beautiful and\\ncharming thing which this century produced was\\na little group of lyrics. They can be read in the\\nfourth volume of the publications of the Percy Soci-\\nety. The freshness of the young life of the nation\\nis in them. They are the first poems in English\\nliterature to evince the instinct for pure loveliness\\nof form. Despite their quaint archaic language,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 87\\nthey sing themselves to us as they must have done\\nto their first readers\\nLenten 1 is come with love to town,\\nWith blosmen 2 and with briddes 3 roune,\\nThat all this blisse bringeth j\\nDayes-eyes in the dales,\\nNotes sweete of nightingales,\\nEach fowl song singeth.\\nThe first line of this poem might serve as motto for\\nthe whole group. Spring has indeed come with\\nlove to town, and spring and love and the fairness\\nof sweet ladies form the burden of these little songs.\\nThey sing, also, with the same grace and music, in a\\nstrain of tender adoration of Christ and Mary and\\nthey sing of these great sources of mediaeval feeling,\\nlove mystical and chivalric, in words which\\nblend three languages in naive reflection of the\\nstrange state of things in the nation\\nScripsi hasc carmina in tabulis\\nMon ostel est en mi la vile de Paris\\nMay y sugge 4 namore, so wel me is\\nYf hi deye for love of hire, duel 5 it ys.\\nSo trills the poet, with a little sense of mischief and\\nsaucy defiance and again, in gentler and reverent\\nmood\\nMayden moder milde,\\noiez eel oreysoun\\nFrom shame thou me shilde,\\ne de ly malfeloun.\\nThere is but a handful of these lyrics, and every\\none is worth reading. One of them has a lovely\\nrefrain\\n1 Spring. 2 Blossoms. 3 Birds. 4 Say. 5 Devil.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "88\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nBlow, northerne wynd,\\nSend thou me my suetyng.\\nBlow, northerne wynd, blow, blow, blow\\nHere, says Mr. Saintsbury, is Tennysonian verse\\nfive hundred years before Tennyson. The cry of\\nEnglish lyric is on this northern wind at last and\\nit shall never fail afterwards.\\nMoving down the generations, we have reached\\nthe fourteenth century. It was a time when the\\nmiddle ages were a little over-ripe in Europe, and\\nthe first flush of creative power had faded. Archi-\\ntecture, costume, politics, social life, all showed a\\ntendency toward that exaggeration and intensity\\nwhich is a symptom of decay. But in England\\nthe times had not yet come to their own, and the\\nnation was yet waiting its poet. For over half\\nthe century expression was still denied. Books\\nmultiplied, indeed, but they were on the old lines.\\nReligious homilies and legends in verse and prose,\\nsome very genuine in the devout meditative\\nearnestness which had from the first marked the\\nMundi, English, one collection, the Cursor Mundi, a\\nabout 1300. treasure house of legendary lore; a handful of\\nLaurence political poems by one Laurence Minot an increas-\\naSout 1360 num b er of translations and paraphrases, these\\nare all that meet us till the second half of the four-\\nteenth century is passed. Almost, it seemed that\\nthe land of England was to lie fallow all through\\nthe great experiences of the middle ages, producing\\nnothing of note. But so it was not to be. For\\nhundreds of years secret forces had been moving in\\ndarkness toward creation. The new people, as soon\\nas it had achieved unity, as soon as it was ready to", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "LITERATURE PRODUCED IN ENGLAND 89\\ntake its place among the nations, was to find a voice\\nand at last, in the second half of the fourteenth cen-\\ntury, we meet with the first great English poet, the\\nmaister deere and fadir reverent of all who were\\nto come after, Geoffrey Chaucer.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGeoffrey of Monmouth. J. A. Giles, Six Old English\\nChronicles. William of Malmesbury. J. A. Giles, ed.,\\nBonn s Edition.\\nLayamon s Brut, edited, with translation, by Sir Frederick\\nMadden.\\nMorris and Skeat, Specimens of Early English, I, II.\\nGives selections from most of the English works mentioned in\\nthe text.\\nT. R. Lounsbury, History of the English Language. A. C.\\nChampney, M.A., History of English. G. P. Marsh, Lectures\\non the English Language The Origin and History of the\\nEnglish Language. Jens O. H. Jespersen, Progress in Lan-\\nguage, with special reference to English.\\nThe publications of the Early English Text Society afford\\nample material for the study of the most interesting monu-\\nments of the language.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nReadings from Geoffrey of Monmouth and from Layamon\\nare profitable and interesting. Much or little language study\\ncan be done. A valuable exercise is to select a good passage\\nfrom Shakespeare, Milton, Charles Lamb, Matthew Arnold, or\\nany other good author, and make the students track the words\\nto their origin by the help of the Century Dictionary, studying\\nthe proportion and character of the words from each linguistic\\nsource.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "o .53\\nai\\nw\\nCJ O g .3 g\\nOh a\\n\u00c2\u00a9J fqS g --3\\n.52 a r-=!\\np^ flftS\\n2 GO\\nf-i 0\\n03 t\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\\n\u00c2\u00abJ s CQ d\\nS,o a d d o S p\\nh P\\nja O cq 3\\nCO ,f\u00c2\u00ab w\\nIII\\nfl T3\\no\\n1-3\\nss\\n\u00c2\u00a33\\no\\nt3\\nd fli\\ng 3in\\nW\\nd\\nid\\na -rH\\n\u00c2\u00a9T3\\nif\\nd 13\\n3\\nc3\\n.a g\\n5^\\no\\nd\\nOS\\n\u00c2\u00a72\\n\u00c2\u00abH d\\n\u00c2\u00a9P\\nw d\\ns\u00c2\u00a9\\nft\\nW e8\\nco\\nCJ CO\\nco\\nd\\na d\\nW\u00c2\u00a9\\n05\\n03\\nd\\na gs^a \u00c2\u00a7n\\n^1\\nQ PI\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0a\\n.a\\n1-3\\n3\\no d\\n2\\nsi-\\nSO\\n00 Os\\nO O\\n1 1? J\\n111 1\\n02 1 I\\n?fll!2:.\\nd 0\u00c2\u00a3h -l v. +3 +j\\nra 6\\nf-i\\n-A\\ne o\\n\u00c2\u00b0.2\\nd\\n-a\\n03\\nco 3\\nT co\\n-a\\ns xi-\\nWW M\u00c2\u00a3\\nd\\nh 3\\nfa H 1\\n3\\n1113 a\\ne- d\\n2 g\\ntM h co a,\\nO ci w +5\\na c\u00c2\u00ab -g es .a\\n\u00c2\u00abMCC W ,2\\n\u00c2\u00ab3 g eS\\n.t.\\nZ be\u00c2\u00a9 o\\no\\nd\\nWD\\neS d\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0H\\nd o\\nCO\\nCO\\no", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "d\\n53 .S\\n\u00c2\u00a943\\nf-l\\n^3\\no 3\\nrH\\nIN\\n42\\na\\nCO\\nP4\\nCO\\no \u00c2\u00a33\\nU\\nA ii\\ni3 W\\nSd TJ\\n38 III\\ncoeq 43\\n*o co\\n51 5\\nSna .-S3 \u00c2\u00abg 3 S gW\\n1 GO\\nK\\n42\\nco p3\\nH co\\nfljr-j\\n5 s\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2\u00c2\u00a7.2\\n42 W)\\nit 1 1-1\\nJi4\\na\\nb\\nI \u00c2\u00a33\\ni\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i\\nfl o\\n\u00c2\u00a9XI Ed\\nCO 45\\n_ X)E3t3\\nH c3 1\\nSi\\nOS\\na a\\nc3\\nCO\\nO 3\\nSo \u00c2\u00aba\\nw o-\u00c2\u00a33\\n5 fl 3 o\\nps\u00c2\u00a9 a 1-9 Si\\nS3\\n3 I\\nCd 1-\\n43.2\\n?3\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2-.2\\na o\\n1\\n2 ft\\nI?\\nCO\\nsi 43\\ng ft-\\nM g.2\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2\u00c2\u00a72\\ne8\\no I\\n\u00c2\u00a32\\n43\\nOS\\nEd O\\nffl\\nag\\nMM\\nEd\\np Ed\\nltd\\n\u00c2\u00a94^\\n4j^.42 ij-^ 1 t^\u00c2\u00a9\\nEd Ttn\\nCO i-i\\n2^\\n\u00c2\u00a73\\na 3\\na-\\nCO CO\\n3 \u00c2\u00bbd\\n*t\u00c2\u00a7 a\\n4^.2\\nCO\\nCO CO\\nh\\nO\\nx?\\nEd\\nO\\na ss\\na v sd _o\\ntm Ed\\n\u00c2\u00abm o e\u00c2\u00ab\\nq *0\\nav^ w\\nh Ed\\n3\\nEd\\n1\\n.4, c3 O\\nid o: \u00c2\u00bbo\\n42 CO\\n13 Pl, .s .24:^\u00c2\u00a9\\nCO 2 Wifl g H cj\\nM O o\\ns .a g 5 j\\n\u00c2\u00a7a II IB I sS\\nar\\nCO\\nslC\\nH CO\\nC5 w CO c\\nrH 1\\ncq-\\nv a\\nco Ed sd- e\\n^43 Ed- v\\ncjo cS 43 J CO\\n4h\\ncri =3\\n.s\\n-p\\n-OS\\nT-H ft\\n-.2 m\\nco +s bJO co\\n55 cS o\\nEd ftQ\\n42 a\\nxi- a^\\nn Ed\\nEd a\\nUs\\n5\\ns...s|i\\nO I CO\\ng \u00c2\u00a9Oh Ed\\n^.s -2 a\\noo r .2\\n\u00c2\u00aer4\\na\\na. 9\\nEd\\nEd b\\nfl \u00c2\u00aea\\n.2-2\\n3 fd\\n4d tH\\n4d Ur\\nB\u00c2\u00a9\u00c2\u00ab IsNl^s\\nCO\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2^43-\\na\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2a 43", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "oo\\nW P\\nest- J\\npPhthcc\\n-\u00c2\u00a700\\nrj I 05 OS 3\\nSo g w\\ngrH P^\\nP 02\\nbe\\nflH\\nSCO\\nt3 co\\np g\\ncp h3\\n00 ~r\\nO OH\\nh JH\\n25\\n=S a o 53 o -co ^_co 5io\\nflO-^CS^OrO +s r-1 grH CS iH\\n02 Ph\\nP M\\n5\\nCD\\n.2 CD\\n6\\n9\\nOS* H 2\\n|i \u00c2\u00a3o1\\nH CM\\nPh^\\ng p\\ncdPh\\np p\\nM cS\\na\\np\\nM P\\nH\\n1\u00c2\u00b0:\\nS 03 0Q\\ncs cd\\n.2 a p\\nCO Q\\ncm\\no\\ncS\\nP S\\ns\\ni-3\\n\u00c2\u00a9tHtH\\nOS WW\\nn\\nP P\\n1\\nO d-\\ncp a\\niH\\n.5 j qj s sp\\n03 o\\ncS^\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2SPh\\nS 03\\n\u00c2\u00abH\\no-\\n^CO P\\nSo\\nt^I 03\\nTH p 03\\nis 1\\neS\\nS\\nCP O\\ncS CO co b\\ng s H\\nPh\\nP^ 73\\n1^ Is\\nOh tu O\\ncp^\\n2 bfl-\\ncS- o-\\nS Ph\\nII\\ncp\\nP)\\nH\\n.a\\n3\\nCM S\\ntH d-i P\\n8\\ncS\\nP\\ngP\\na. 2\\ncS\\ncsScsS w g\\np\\np 9 _r*c rt r\\n8 41\\ns s\\nIs\\np\\na\\n2^ 2\\ncS\\n.2 cp:\\n\u00c2\u00bba\\no\\nTs\\np\\np\\nm\\nP\\nc^^pS,,\\n.8 2 *t\\n;^^o|p\\no\\n03 P g\\na\\n\u00c2\u00bbX D r-\\n+9 1? 03 o +3", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "o\\nP\\n.9\\noC3\\nsOO\\nC Ph\\nP\\n5 -2\\ncr 1 e4\\nergs\\n.s i a\\nII a 2\\np.S a a 3 g\u00c2\u00a3\\nEh\\nE3\\n11\\n5\\n81 51 Si\\nHJS cS^ *rH\\nU CO\\nrj lO\\no-d\\n4) O\\nH\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0rH 03 j^rH\\no fl^cq\\nrt-rirH\\nt* t-\\na a a n \u00c2\u00abs g g\\nHH .ph o\\nbe\\nCO\\nflUrH\\nP\\n^3 s\\nI h 0D S\\nN w ^3\\nlill\\n2 5\\nd Cu so\\nW CM\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u00941 CM\\nd ,H\\ns a\\n*G ON\\nsh w\\no\\nPQ PQ O\\nO D\\na-\\nO\\nEm\\n.8 a\\no\\nA ft \u00c2\u00a3j ft.3\\nsis\\nrH -*J\\nO\\nII I\\nad-\\no\\n2\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0d-\\na\\nS\\nQ grH 1 flO\\na\\nS 5D\\nSr2\\nP.2W\\nfe S\\nbC=0\\nf-i a 2\\nJS 43 H 5.\\na .a -96\\nO\\nc6 O\\n5^\\ns-2\\nl 2\\n2 50 3\\nCO PQ Oh\\no\\n8\\nCsl", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "It\\n.a\\n.3\\no\\nPh w\\npq\\no\\nm\\n.a s\\nd\\nd 23\\n.a\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a073\\ncs pq\\ns 9\\nPh\\n.g\\nIf\\nrH rQ\\n35 O\\n1=1\\npq\\nO 0)\\nMi\\no\\nce\u00c2\u00a9\\nCO\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0a \u00e2\u0080\u00a2\u00e2\u0096\u00a03\\na s\\no 1 d 35\\nco e3 cS\\n2^ a\\nP 05 h 5j\\n2 n\\no\\nco\\nO be\\np\\nW bC\u00c2\u00a9\\nf?P P-P\\nt/5\\n3\\no S\\nW co\\nS\\nbKrt\\nh ,d\\nS3 cStJ If\\nM fH H\\nW GO e8 e3\\nO O e6\\nS 2 5i2\\n05 J w\\npj co\\nS3\\np3\\nd\\n5 S\\nSPm O\\nPh\\nO bJO\\nd\u00c2\u00a3\\nd\\nCO O\\n=3 p\\nEll\\nO (3\\nco P r\\nd 55\\n2 53\u00c2\u00ab\\n,11 4J CO d\\nw .a\\niiiii\\nt .3\\nO p\\ncS c3 4-5\\n\u00c2\u00abH i-H CO\\no\\ne3 \u00c2\u00a9,2 d\\n75 rd c3 ^-d\\n.dH p\u00c2\u00b0fe H\\na b\\n8", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "\u00c2\u00bb8\\n9 9\\n14\\no\\n-a\\nII\\nto\\nCO\\nsSS gg sis a\u00c2\u00a7\\nco p h-l pq PL, ft\\no\\n\u00c2\u00ab*H CN\\na\\nHa\\n-sis\\n00 03 O g\\n2\\noocm +2 3 2 S\u00c2\u00bb\\n\u00c2\u00a900 S g ^\u00c2\u00a9OO\\nrir-l 03 q^ 1-1\\nr CO\\na\\n05\\npqr-H o\\nft I\\nM 5\\nS3\\n-sil\\nB g ,fi O CO\\n2^\\non ^i, r2\\n22\\n\u00c2\u00a7ss\\n5 8 ,PH\\n00 03 +a\\nS 03\\nbeg Mb\\nm q\\nI ll\\nf-i CD\\nO\\nw 5\\no c\\nW g\\nGO ffi\\na^\\n1-3 2\\n8\\n5h\\nfa\\no3 O\\nO\\na\\nCD\\ncs a\\na\\n-,q g\\ng\\nO W co\\n5 a\\no\\nft\\nfl CD\\nO\\nS c^ 1\\nD^\\nf-,^* q\\nw O\\n2 Ht H H CD\\npS- ft\\nCD\\ns\\nCD 02\\n+a .2\\n+-3\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0rt CD\\nr*1 JJ\\no\\n\u00c2\u00abH OS t\u00c2\u00bb\\no +j q \u00c2\u00a9^4\\n03 a -co\\nOS ft\\n=g q Sq iJ-\\nfi s", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "PI w\\nO\\n.9\\nUS\\nO \u00c2\u00ab2\\n^g -3 3\\nS h Q\\n.HO MCO\\no d\\nJ M1 -si\\nPQ\\nW\\nO SB\\n3\u00c2\u00abS pq-\\nt3 s\\nh ICS or-\\n.s\\nJjj d d u -g d\\nH pq\\nr\u00c2\u00b0- 9\\njd g-* \u00c2\u00a3teo\\n5Q W\\n11\\n.9 g\\ns\\n3\\no\\nJ a rfl-\\nm\\n.2 a\\noH\\nCJ -rH\\nPh .13\\nr* rH\\n-9 fs\\nCO g 08\\n-03^ Q\\n03\\n02\\nO^ O\\nO-rt 1\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a253 -gH\\nh ca PH\\n3 d X -2\\nI ^Ph*\\nO eg\\nO\\nO\\nrH\\nrH CD\\n2 bB 09\\n9 -5\\nSj.2 M S\\n\u00c2\u00abp 2 o\\nO o^ 2 o\\n\u00c2\u00a9S C3\\nr* d\\ngo\\na 8\\n.s\\nd\\nbJD O\\nPQ\\n03\\n\u00c2\u00a9Pm\\n\u00c2\u00abM\\nd o.2\\n6 -t! w\\nd 03.2\\nbio\u00c2\u00a9\\nd *h\\nq_, H\\nS\\nt_S\\n\u00c2\u00a9W\\npo\\n22 i\\nrig\\nrd\\nd\\nv\\nft\\no \u00c2\u00a9Pm\\n5 ^Sh\\nd\\nd\\nW\\nw PL| v\\n1 jd\\ni T3 fH\\niPq\u00c2\u00abM\\nS t -e \u00c2\u00ab8S?-\u00c2\u00a7S\u00e2\u0080\u009e.g.s\\nO C6\\nd\\n03 fe-\\ns I\\n-d-~\\nCO q\\nc3 d\\n.2 03\\n-1-5 I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\\n\u00c2\u00a9o\\nd\\nja\\n-P o\\nd \u00c2\u00ab2\\n.rH\\n03 p-h\\nd^J\\nsa^", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": ".2\\n2 \u00c2\u00a9o\\ne li O\\nx\\nS-5\\n\u00e2\u0080\u009eU2fi d\\nH H 5\\n08 .a\\nSo\u00c2\u00ae\\no\\nO\\nfl.fl\\n73 a\\n\u00c2\u00a9=2 llH\\no d\\nd-d cs\\n3 J\\nW ,fl\\nH\\nN\\no a\\n88 S3\\n5\\nte-\\no a\\n2^\\np\\na\\nN\\nsa\\no\\nCO\\npq\\nM 03\\n2^\\nSo\\no\\nOO .g\\nd o\\nS a gHfiH d- fa\\n,a\\no w r/ r\\na J-fJa\\nw n S a\\n__, f\u00c2\u00ab J O .rH\\na \u00c2\u00b03-d^\\n2 Sea -d\\nv- a\\nP flu\\n-2 s 33 d\\ncs H So\\n.d d\\no JL fl d\\n5 o g\\n.^-2\\njf \u00c2\u00ab3 j oph 3", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "3\\nu\\n3\\n~S\\nS\\n6\\nI\\no\\no\\n3\\n3\\np\\n4\\nW\\no\\nPh\\nw\\nW\\nH\\nO\\nPQ\\nH\\nh-3\\n3\\nO\\nM\\no\\no\\no\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0I S\\nlib\\nW\\n13\\nPI PI\\nFh .15\\n.a\\n15-\\no3\\nn\\nCD\\nj\\n2$\\n\u00c2\u00a3ga\\nfct.2\\nEl o\\no-S o a\\nPQ\\n|S55\\nw CO\\nft\\nrH T -1\\na h t\\nIT a\\nyA\\nas 03\\nf-i Sh\\n05 03\\n03 A\\no o\\no\\nto\\nd 03\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2r-C\\n.2 h\\nS|\\nd\\nd\\n0)\\no\\nd\\n03\\na\\nOS\\n,d\\ngo *o\\nIs\\nt\u00c2\u00bb 03 i\\n.d\\nt\\nLi r\\n.2\\nd 03\\nd\\n03\\no3\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2d .d\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2d ia\\nd 03\\n03 fH\\n03 03 o\\nCo\\na 2\\nH -d\\n03\\no.2\\nh\u00c2\u00a3 d\\nT3 Ph\\na a x\\n03 03\\n03^ 2\\n03 O\\n32\\nPi\\nO W)\\n_T 03\\n3^\\no\\nSH 03\\n03 fd\\n03.S s_, c3\\n^03 M-=\u00c2\u00a92\\nnil\\n03 53 .5\\nH 53 +3^3\\nJ 03 PI\\nJh e3\\nL_i 03\\nCO PI\\n03 2 03\\nPS\\n03\\na\\n53^\\nf- PI\\n\u00c2\u00a3H\\nfl\\n0).rt\\n^3 0D\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2W 03\\nH M f\\n03 03 If y\\n2 \u00c2\u00a92\\n1 e8 03\\no-^^ \u00c2\u00a9*S\\n\u00c2\u00ab3 03 C3 f? O\\n2 d\\n03\\n3, g\\nji^H II II II II\\nCfl ,D\\nS\\no\\n+H 03 M 2J d rt\\n\u00c2\u00a913 03 B \u00c2\u00a75\\n03\\nd !h\\n03\\nd bD\\ns a\\n03 d a M kT t\u00c2\u00bb\\n\u00c2\u00a33 O c5 b.\u00c2\u00ab2\\n5Q\\n53\\n03 W\\nd 03\\ns.s dT3\\n03 d ,rt 03\\nO \u00e2\u0080\u009er\\nel a 2 o g\\n03\\n9 03\\na3\\n2\u00c2\u00b01\\n03\\n03 U g ^3 O -ft\\n^^,22-sas-c^\\n\u00c2\u00a9gg^gge^H\u00c2\u00a9\\nH .-58\\n03 f-i\\n03 03\\nd -p 3\\nM 2\\n03\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0d/03\\n.+3\\n03\\n03 O .rH CO +s\\no a\\n^2d\\nOS\\n8^.2\\nSal\\nd J", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IV\\nGEOFFREY CHAUCER\\nTHOUGH the middle ages were old in the four- Geoffrey\\ntV t Chaucer,\\nteenth century, the English nation was young about\\nit was only just born. And Chaucer, the first poet\\nof the great united English race, has a heart as fresh\\nas a child. His work is bathed in the pure sunlight\\nof a May morning it is dewy like the dayes-eye,\\nto which he used to pay happy visits, watching its\\nlittle petals awake and unfold at dawn. We have\\nleft our long study of origins and ancestors, of a\\nnation struggling for expression, behind we reach\\na time when all that had been given by Saxon, by\\nNorman, and by Celt, blended into one national\\ntemperament and just at this time the mysterious,\\nunaccountable, heaven-sent light of genius, shining\\nthrough the soul of Chaucer, showed the world what\\nthat union meant.\\nAny one who wishes can read Chaucer,\\nDan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,\\nas his disciple Spenser rightly called him. He is\\nthe first author we have met whose work can be\\nunderstood without study. There is no need to be\\nmaster of archaic forms or strange grammar to catch\\nthe essential charm of his poetry. The new lan-\\nguage, the English we all talk, slips musically off\\nhis tongue, disguised a little, to be sure, by quaint\\n99\\nLrfC.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "100\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nold spelling, and presenting, now and then, an\\nunfamiliar word, but, on the whole, wonderfully-\\nmodern and simple. It is well worth while to take\\nthe slight trouble necessary to enjoy him. Of\\ncourse, there is a scholar s knowledge which lies\\nbeyond, and cannot be gained without further effort\\nbut any ordinary person, after an hour or two of\\npreliminary practice, can feel the poet s spell, and\\nreceive much of the best and most delightful that he\\nhas to give.\\nI. Chaucer s Writings a Summary of the\\nMiddle Ages\\nAll the literary types which the middle ages de-\\nveloped and enjoyed Chaucer made his own and\\ntouched with his sweet, peculiar charm. These\\ntypes can really be studied to more advantage in\\nhis writings than anywhere else. Let us look for\\nthem there.\\nAiiegori- In the first place, Chaucer had the mediseval\\nca poems. k nac k dreading. Several of his most important\\npoems are in the form, so dear to the mediaeval\\nmind, of allegorical visions. He likes to tell how\\nhe would pore over olde bokes, his delight, till\\nhe fell asleep in a maze, and waked in vision into\\na wonderful temple or the clear air of a spring wood-\\nland, and met marvellous persons, and had strange\\nexperiences. All these allegories, this visionary\\nwork, show that Chaucer belonged to the same cen-\\ntury as Dante.\\nSaint Chaucer could write a saint legend too, as tenderly\\nlegends. fervently as any monk witness the Lyf of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n101\\nSeinte Cecile, put into the mouth of the Second\\nNun in the Canterbury Tales, and the Prioresse s\\ntouching story. But our poet is more at home in\\nchivalry than in mysticism, though he likes a poetic\\nmiracle very much. His Knight s Tale is the\\nmost delightfully told of any mediaeval romance. Romances.\\nHe could turn around when it pleased him, though,\\nand make fun of romances, as we see in his amusing\\nparody, The Rhyme of Sir Thopas, which he in-\\nsisted on droning out to the Canterbury Pilgrims till\\nthe Host cut him short.\\nAgain, Chaucer took his full part in the mediaeval\\npastime of telling over again, in a way to please his\\nown generation, the famous stories of the classic Classic\\nworld. His poems are steeped in all the classical retold,\\nlore of which the middle ages could boast. Some-\\ntimes he got his stories direct from Ovid or\\nYirgil, sometimes they came to him through the\\nItalian. Wherever Chaucer touches the classics,\\nand he touches them frequently, he shows the\\nquaint, uncritical confusion of the mediaeval mind,\\ndressing the person, the feelings, and the speech of\\nhis characters in the garb of his own day.\\nIn poems like The Parlement of Foules, and Animal\\nthe Nun s Priest s Tale, Chaucer clearly shows fabliaux,\\nhis indebtedness to those great animal epics which,\\nas we have said, were immensely popular all through\\nEurope during the middle ages. No one can make\\nthe creatures talk and play an allegorical role in\\nsatire and fun with more composure than he. The\\nfarmyard story of the Nun s Priest is indeed simply\\nan offshoot, and a very enjoyable one, from the great\\nReynard tale. Chaucer also owed obviously a great", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "102\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\ndeal to the Fabliaux the light, colloquial folk-tales\\nwhich the Normans liked so well, often coarse,\\nusually humorous, dealing with the manners and\\ncustoms of daily life. The fabliaux were a very\\ndemocratic form of literature, quite different from\\nthe knightly romances, or the fine allegories dear to\\nthe court and the tales told by the common folk on\\ntheir way to Canterbury, by the Miller, Reeve, and\\nShipman, and others, are fabliaux translated into\\nterms of English common life,\\nother We have not exhausted yet the various literary\\ntypes to be found in Chaucer, though perhaps we\\nhave mentioned the most important. Chaucer could\\ngive strings of versified examples of the fates of\\nillustrious men or women, or their misfortunes,\\nafter a fashion which the middle ages seem, curiously\\nenough, to have enjoyed this he did, for instance,\\nin The Monk s Tale. He could write a sermon\\ntoo, not a bad one, though as dull as any priest\\ncould preach and for Chaucer to be dull was\\nreally a triumph of art over nature. He could write\\na scientific treatise for 44 litell Lowys, my sone.\\nThere seemed to be no end to his versatility, in\\nform and matter. Allegory, romance, saint-legend,\\nanimal-epic, fabliau, Chaucer knew them all, drew\\non them all.\\nChaucer rarely invented a story. He wandered\\nfor his originals all over Europe, from east to west.\\nYet there is a great deal in Chaucer, and it is what\\nmakes him immortal, that no 44 olde bokes could\\ngive him. All his borrowings do not prevent him\\nfrom being a great original poet. This is because\\nhe managed to do what few of his predecessors had", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n103\\ndone get his own personality into his work. At\\ntimes, he turned away from his literary traditions\\nand inheritance, deserted his books, and drew from\\nlife then he is at his very best. The Prologue of\\nthe Canterbury Tales is drawn from no literary\\ntradition, but is all his own. Even when his material\\nis derived or copied, he reveals himself through his\\ntreatment. And a humorous, healthy, childlike,\\ntender personality it is, at once sensible and sensi-\\ntive, that the poems show us.\\nII. Chaucer s Personality\\nWe have a portrait of Chaucer which is probably\\nauthentic, painted reverently from memory by order\\nof his disciple Hoccleve. We gain various hints also\\nof what the poet looked like, and quite full informa-\\ntion about his tastes, from his poems. The Host in\\nthe Canterbury Tales tells us that he was big\\nand stout round the waist that he kept staring on\\nthe ground, as if he would find a hare that he Traits,\\ndid dalliance to no wight, meaning, probably, that\\nhe kept rather quiet and by himself; and that he\\nwas of an elvish countenance. One can see the\\nshy yet kindly man, with his downcast looks, moving\\nunobtrusively among the noisy pilgrims.\\nIn spite of his shyness, Chaucer must have been a\\nsociable person, who liked his fellow-men and min-\\ngled much with them he could not have described\\nthem with such inexhaustible sympathy otherwise.\\nBut he was a great bookman, too, and that meant\\nmore in those days, when books were rare and hard\\nto find, than it does to-day. He makes amusing", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "104\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nblunders in his scholarship sometimes, but like\\nShelley and other great imaginative men, he had\\nin him the root of the matter a keen delight in\\nthe intellectual inheritance of the race.\\nThough he liked books so well, however, there was\\none thing he liked better, and that was, out-of-doors.\\nHe cared enough for nature to get up early to enjoy\\nthe freshness of the day, and that is more than can\\nbe said of most people nowadays. His special love\\namong flowers was the daisy, and he tells us\\nIn my bed there daweth me no day\\nThat I nam up and walking in the mede,\\nTo seen this floure agein the sonnen sprede,\\nWhen it upryseth early by the morrow,\\nThat blisf ul sighte sof teneth al my sorrow. 1\\nThe nature that Chaucer liked was not wild nature,\\nmountains and cataracts and tossing seas, such as we\\ngo far to seek to-day. He probably felt about such\\nthings in the way that one of his characters, Dorigen,\\nin The Frankleyn s Tale, does about rocks though\\npoor Dorigen, to be sure, had a special reason\\nEterne God, that through thy purveyaunce,\\nLeddest the world by certain governaunce,\\nIn idle, as men seyn, ye nothinge make\\nBut, Lord, these grisly, fiendly rockes black,\\nThat semen rather a foul confusion\\nOf werk, than any fair creatioun\\nOf such a parfit wise God, and a stable,\\nWhy have ye wroght this werk unresonable 2\\n1 The Legende of Good Women, II, 46-50.\\n2 The Frankleyn s Tale, II, 865-872.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n105\\nHe liked what all mediaeval men liked sweet spring\\nmornings, as that on which Palamon and Arcite first\\nsee Emelye well-ordered gardens and tidy woods,\\nWher every tree stood by himselve,\\nFro other wel ten feet or twelve.\\nHe dearly loved green grass,\\nas thicke y-set\\nAnd softe as any veluet,\\nespecially when dotted with fragrant flowers. Some-\\ntimes on a morning like this a vision would visit\\nhim, perhaps of the God of Love himself, arrayed in\\ngreen embroidered silk, with a fret of red rose leaves,\\nthe freshest since the world was first begun some-\\ntimes he had to content himself with hearing,\\nThe smale briddes singen clear\\nTheir blisful swete song pitous,\\nas lovely as the song of angels spiritual. His joy in\\nnature is that of a child delighting in bright detail\\nof form and color, yet sometimes curiously inaccurate\\nin observation. We feel as we read his fresh poetry\\nthat here, at least, blossoms forever the springtime of\\nthe world.\\nChaucer had his clear preferences, in-doors as well\\nas out. Everybody likes to imagine a pretty room\\nfor himself, but not all of us can even dream of one so\\nbeautiful as Chaucer s, which had painted windows,\\ngay with the whole pictured story of Troy, and fres-\\ncoes beside on the walls, painted with colors fine,\\nboth text and gloss, and all the Romaunt of the\\nRose. He was a man of the fourteenth century,\\nand so the best of life came to him through his eyes.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "106\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nHe was full of wonderful powers of perception and\\nof fresh sensibility, and he had a well of melody in\\nhis soul but when he began to reflect he was more\\nthan ever like an earnest child.\\nBiogra- It is quite time that we should turn to a review of\\nhis life and work. Chaucer was probably born in\\n1340, six years before the battle of Crecy, and he\\nwas not, like so many mediaeval authors, connected,\\neven remotely, with the Church nor did he belong\\nto the high order of knighthood, though he lived\\nnear the bright chivalry of the court. His father\\nwas a vintner, a plain man of business. Neverthe-\\nless, Chaucer had all the instincts of the aristo-\\ncrat. He was at seventeen attached to the family\\nof Lionel, third son of Edward III, and we know, by\\nthe way, that he had a pair of red and black breeches.\\nDespite his broad sympathies, this early training de-\\ntermined largely the point of view which he never\\nlost, that of the man of culture, the man of the\\nworld. Later, John of Gaunt, a great nobleman,\\nanother son of Edward III, became his patron and\\nhe married, probably before he was thirty years\\nold, a girl named Philippa, who also was markedly\\nunder the protection of the court. But earlier than\\nthis Chaucer had some stirring experiences for he\\nwent to France with Edward III and fought an\\nunlucky campaign when he was about nineteen\\nyears old, was taken prisoner by the French, and\\nransomed by the king himself. The young page\\nmust have become a person of some consequence.\\nWe find signs a little later of the favor in which\\nhe was held at court. He was valet of the king s\\nchamber he received a pension he was appointed", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n107\\nto honorable and profitable positions, such as comp-\\ntroller of customs and clerk of the king s works.\\nThey were business positions, these last, and we\\nhave evidence that Chaucer took them seriously,\\nand made a shrewd, honest, competent business man,\\ndespite his dreamy habits. But perhaps the most\\nimportant influence which his relation to the court\\nbrought into his life was that of Italy. To this fair\\ncountry he was sent by the king two, perhaps three,\\ntimes between his thirtieth and his forty-fifth year\\non diplomatic missions. He must have been a man\\nto trust. Wonderful things were happening in Italy\\njust then. The middle ages were older far than in\\nEngland they were disappearing fast. In their\\nplace a new world was arising, a world full of en-\\nthusiasm for the great learning and letters of an-\\ntiquity, full of a new passion for art and beauty.\\nAncient Greek and Roman statues were being dis-\\ncovered at Pisa, and quickening a new ideal in the\\nminds of artists. Giotto s Campanile at Florence,\\none of the most beautiful buildings in the world,\\nwas almost new, and Chaucer must have gazed on\\nit. Dante had died more than fifty years ago, but\\nthe two other great men of the fourteenth century\\nin Italy, Boccaccio and Petrarch, were both living,\\nand Chaucer may have met them both. From the\\ntime of these Italian journeys dates the real ripening\\nof his genius, and his debt to the great Italians is\\npatent in all his poems.\\nChaucer s fortunes declined in his later life. At\\none time, after his wife s death, he was even, it would\\nappear, in great straits for money, and miserable and\\nunhappy therefore. A half-humorous, half-pathetic", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "108\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nCompleynt to his Purs seems to have softened the\\nheart of the king, Henry IV, who in 1399 granted\\nhim a small pension. But Chaucer did not need the\\npension long, for in 1400 he died, and was buried in\\nWestminster Abbey, first of the great line of poets,\\nto Tennyson and Browning, whose bodies lie there\\nsleeping. With him died the childhood of England.\\nOn the whole, his must have been a happy life\\nfull of color, interest, privilege, of contact with the\\nbest people and the most delightful things the\\ntimes could offer. It is a proof of Chaucer s great\\nheart and great genius that he became, not the poet\\nof the court, as he might so easily have been, but\\nof the whole English people. We should need no\\nother evidence, indeed, of the depth of his English\\nsentiment than the bare fact that, while all his com-\\npeers at the court were using French, he chose to\\nwrite in the tongue of the plain people.\\nIII. Chaucer s Work\\nFrench While he was still young and under French influ-\\nence, Chaucer translated the poem which had more\\nvogue than any other in mediaeval Europe the\\nFrench Romaunt of the Rose. Most of Chaucer s\\nRose is probably lost to us. There is a charm-\\ning poem, a translation of part of the French poem,\\nbound in with the editions of his works but critics\\ntell us that none of it can be his, except, perhaps,\\nthe first 1705 lines, and just possibly the conclu-\\nsion. A few other poems have come down to us\\nfrom what is known as Chaucer s French period\\nthe most important, The Deth of Blaunche the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n109\\nDuchesse, or, as it is sometimes called, The Book\\nof the Duchess. This poem was composed to\\nlament the death of the young wife of Chaucer s\\npatron, John of Gaunt. It is full of prettiness, of\\nsentimental grace, of the mannerisms then popular\\nbut through its conventional phrases we can see a\\nreal sorrow, and it contains a lovely, carefully\\nwrought description of ideal womanhood. All the\\nwork of this period is delicately serious, it is full of\\nechoes it has no touch of the delightful humor\\nand the direct observation that Chaucer afterward\\ndeveloped.\\nAfter he had travelled under Italian skies, and T a ^J\\nbreathed airs from the past and the future, Chaucer s\\ngenius deepened. His heart, which had lingered in\\nsentiment, began to master the secrets of passion,\\nand his imagination learned to soar into a region\\nfar loftier than he had yet explored. Troilus and\\nCressida, which he wrote at this time, adapting\\nand improving from Boccaccio s epic, the Teseide,\\nis more than a charming and exciting story it is\\na study in character and feeling. We know all the\\npeople in it the bewitching Cressida, the melan-\\ncholy Troilus, and the fat, garrulous, kindly, low-\\nminded old Pandarus, Cressida s uncle, who brings\\nthe lovers together. Chaucer s large modernness of\\nmanner and his humorous understanding of character\\nappear for the first time in this poem.\\nChaucer wrote, during this same period, The\\nParlement of Foules, a sprightly, pretty allegory\\nof bird life, in which he returns to the French art-\\ntradition he wrote also The Legende of Good\\nWomen, interesting as an attempt to put a number", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "110\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nof separate tales together in a sort of dramatic set-\\nting. It has a lovely prologue, but Chaucer found\\nthe stories monotonous and left the poem unfinished.\\nHe wrote now also what is perhaps the loftiest flight\\nof his imagination, The Hous of Fame. It is a\\nsplendid thing, a very vision. And yet, through it\\nall, though it sweeps us up into the sky, Chaucer s\\nimagination does not really leave the earth. Life\\nearthly, not life spiritual, preoccupies him. The\\ncritics say that Chaucer was profoundly influenced\\nby Dante, and there is evidence in his poems that\\nhe read and honored the great Florentine. But his\\nHous of Fame is neither in hell nor heaven, nor\\non the steep purgatorial mount it abides in the free\\nsky of pure fantasy. The humane and literary influ-\\nences of Italy played upon his genius, not its strange\\nmystic fervor. He is brother in spirit to Boccaccio,\\nnot to Dante.\\nEnglish During all these earlier years of his life, Chaucer\\nwas writing from time to time a story which he\\nafterward worked into the framework of the Can-\\nterbury Tales. And now he turned away from\\nmasters, and found himself the first great English-\\nCanter- ma n to show us the new England. The Canter-\\nbury\\nTales. bury Tales were the work of his ripened genius,\\nin the last fifteen years of his life. The poem tells\\nhow a company of pilgrims rode together in the\\nApril sunlight to the shrine of St. Thomas a Becket\\nat Canterbury, telling stories by the way, and chat-\\nting to one another. It was quite the fashion to\\nfind some setting, in this way, into which a number\\nof stories could be fitted. The other most famous\\nexample comes from Italy it is the Decamerone", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n111\\nof Boccaccio, and it tells how a company of gay\\nyoung men and women fled from plague-stricken\\nFlorence once upon a time, and in the rose-\\ngardens on the hill forgot that sorrowing city,\\nwiling away their time with love-making, romance,\\nand song. Something of Italian intensity, some-\\nthing of frivolity too, is in that scheme. Chaucer s\\nis more English, happier, more healthful. It gives\\nus the pleasant sense of onward movement we feel\\nthe jogging, leisurely advance of the horses as the\\nmotley crowd pass between the April hedgerows,\\nentertained by the incidents of the way, and listen-\\ning to one story after another. Pilgrimages played\\nan important part in mediasval life. They might be\\na means of mortification, and an expression of spiritual\\npassion they might be a delightful social function,\\na way of enjoying the pleasures of travel. Chaucer s\\npilgrims were sincerely religious, but they were also\\nhaving a splendid holiday. Who can blame them\\nAll England was in a holiday mood just then, full\\nof zest for adventure and experience.\\nThe pilgrims, gathered together by chance, met\\nfirst of an evening at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark,\\nLondon and a mixed assemblage they were. There\\nare nine and twenty of them, and Chaucer is of the\\ncompany, and goes about making friends so vigor-\\nously that before bedtime he knows them all. So\\ndoes the Host of the inn, a merry man and a fair\\nburgess. He it is who is the godfather of the\\nCanterbury Tales, for his is the proposition that\\nthey should tell stories on the morrow as they ride,\\nand that the best story-teller be rewarded by a sup-\\nper at the common cost on their return from pil-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "112\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\ngrimage. He was a sly innkeeper, mine host we\\nmay be sure that the supper would not have been\\ngood cheap. Meanwhile, he will ride forth with\\nthem on the morrow, and show them the way and\\nin the fresh morning light forth starts the company.\\nAs we watch them, mediaeval England passes be-\\nfore us. It is impossible to help talking about these\\npeople as if they were real, so vivid has Chaucer\\nmade them. We notice the Knight first. It is exactly\\nlike meeting a knight in real life after knowing him\\nin romance, and we are glad to find that he is a very\\nperfect gentle knight, valiant and courteous, a gen-\\ntleman and a peacemaker, quite worthy to be a Fellow\\nof the Table Round. His son is with him, a curly-\\nhaired young squire, beautifully dressed in fresh\\nembroidered clothes he can sing and play the flute\\nand write poetry and dance he can make love, too,\\nand hotly, otherwise his education would be incom-\\nplete, and his pretty head is full of romances he is\\ncourteous, lowly, and serviceable, and deferential to\\nhis father, as he ought to be.\\nThen there is a yeoman, dressed in green, with a\\nbrown face and close-clipped hair and a Lady Pri-\\noress, a most delicate person, a little affected, very\\ncourtly and well-bred a real fine lady. She sings\\nthrough her nose, though, Chaucer tells us, and\\nthe French she speaks so fluently is not Parisian, as\\nwe are slily informed; she has another nun and\\nthree priests with her. Then comes a monk. He\\nis a pleasant, vigorous gentleman, but not especially\\nunworldly the bells on his bridle as he rides are\\nmore agreeable to him than the bells of a chapel;\\nhe enjoys a fat roast swan, and is devoted to hunt-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n113\\ning. Various churchmen ride on Chaucer s pilgrim-\\nage, and he gives us a very unpleasant picture of\\nthem. We would like to think that he picked out\\nbad specimens, in his Friar, his Summoner, and his\\nPardoner we are glad to remember, as we read\\nabout them, that Wyclif was preaching about this\\ntime. But all these painful studies are redeemed\\nby the beautiful picture of the poor parish priest,\\nwho rides with the pilgrims, silent for the most part,\\nbut protesting humorously when the Host grows over\\nprofane. It is an exquisite study of simple, loving\\nconsecration, of Christian poverty and love\\nChriste s lore and his apostles twelve\\nHe taught, but first he followed it himselve,\\nsays Chaucer.\\nSundry professional people are in the company\\nfor instance, a clerk or scholar of Oxford, who looks\\nhollow and soberly, and is in threadbare clothes. He\\ndid not care, Chaucer tells us he spent every penny\\nhe could get in books and learning. There is a law-\\nyer, a busy man, but one who seemed busier than he\\nwas and a doctor whose study, alas, was full little\\non the Bible. There are men of business, a mer-\\nchant, a reeve or bailiff, a manciple or steward, and a\\nFranklin, a good, vigorous man from the country,\\nwith a complexion as fresh as a daisy. And min-\\ngling with the fine people are a number of common\\nfolk with quite shocking manners, who seem hail-fel-\\nlow-well-met with every one on this happy holiday\\na miller and a cook and a sailor and a carpenter, and\\nother working people, and a Wife or woman of Bath,\\nwhom it is really remarkable that the Prioress could", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "114\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\ntolerate, though our loss would have been irreparable\\nindeed if she had not gone on that pilgrimage. Then\\nthere is the jolly stout Host, with his bright eyes.\\nAnd finally, a demure, quiet-looking man named\\nGeoffrey Chaucer.\\nIt is in the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales\\nthat we are told all about these people, and this\\nPrologue, with its broad, loving, merry descriptions\\nof the world he saw, is Chaucer s best title to\\nimmortality, better than all the sweet and graceful\\nromancing of his early years. But now come the\\nstories, linked together by little dramatic interludes.\\nThe pilgrims are having a beautiful time. No one\\nis in a great hurry to arrive at the shrine. This is\\ntheir holiday, and when they get back there will be\\na supper. The stories that they tell are immensely\\nvaried, and in almost all cases fit exactly the char-\\nacters who tell them. They alternate in a rough\\nand ready fashion, from serious religion and romance\\nspoken by the gentry, to tales of broad rough humor\\ntold by the more common folk. Some are better\\nthan others, and some we hardly care to read to-day\\nbut we need to take them all together if we would\\nunderstand mediaeval England. We can mention\\nonly a few of the stories here.\\nThe Knight tells the first tale and a noble\\nstorie it is, as all the pilgrims agree, a story of\\nlove, and war, and honor. It tells how Palamon and\\nArcite saw from their prison, and loved, the fair\\nEmelye as she walked in her garden, and of all the\\nsorrows and adventures that thence befell. The\\nstory is taken from Boccaccio, and Chaucer had\\nalready told it once, in a version lost to us, but this", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n115\\ntime he has told it supremely well. The Miller and\\nthe Reeve follow the Knight, and their coarse sto-\\nries, though they can give no one pleasure to-day,\\nare wonderfully well told. It is difficult to see\\nwhy the Man of Law should tell the story of\\nConstance, except that Chaucer had the story by\\nhim, and wished to insert it somewhere. On the\\nother hand, the story of the little singing martyr\\nboy is excellently put into the mouth of the Prioress,\\nwho joins with modest pleasure in the tale-telling,\\nwhen timidly and awkwardly invited by the Host.\\nAs for Chaucer himself, it is with sly humor that\\nhe represents himself as telling first the parody on\\nRomances, Sir Thopas, and then, when the Host,\\nbored beyond endurance, interrupts him, the little\\nthing in prose, the interminable Tale of Meliboeus.\\nThe Nun s Priest must have been a merry man, for\\nhe tells the delectable tale of Chaunteclere the Cock\\nand his wife, Dame Pertelote and Chaucer s humor\\nnever found more gay expression than in the descrip-\\ntion of the strutting cock with his splendid comb\\nand resplendent legs, and the hen whose beauty he\\nadores, she is so scarlet red aboute her eyen.\\nThe tales of the Friar and some of the others are\\nfar from pleasant, but so are the speakers. As for\\nthe Wife of Bath, with her scarlet stockings and her\\nbold face, riding astride her horse with her large\\nhips, she is an immortal picture and her candid\\noutpouring of confidence in the prologue to her\\ntale is the most living evidence we have of what\\nlife meant in the fourteenth century to a hearty,\\nvulgar Englishwoman of the middle class. We are\\na little surprised, after her revelation of herself, that", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "116\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nshe tells a charming story of fairy lore but, after\\nall, she comes from just the class where such lore\\nlingered longest. The Clerk of Oxford tells the fa-\\nmous, tender story of Patient Griselda. The Squire\\nis only twenty years old, and he loves marvel and\\nsentiment, and tells but his story is unfinished\\nthe tale in the name of which Milton sought to\\nsummon Chaucer from the dead\\nThe story of Cambuscan bold.\\nThe Second Nun has a fervid religious legend, the\\nLife of Saint Cecilia a Yeoman who joins them in\\nthe most dramatic interlude of the poem has, not a\\nstory, but a bitter outpouring of anger against his\\nwhilom master, a Canon who practised alchemy and\\ncheated the unwary. Finally, as the pilgrims come\\nnear Canterbury their mood sobers, and the last Tale,\\nas the series stands, is no tale at all, but a long, sim-\\nple, devout sermon, preached by the Parson, which\\nwe will hope edified the drunken Miller, the Cook,\\nand the Wife of Bath, as well as the Clerk and the\\nKnight, and prepared them all for their devotions.\\nSo the series, not half finished, comes to an end.\\nChaucer had meant, at first, to have each character\\ntell two tales on the way out and two going home.\\nNot half that number was written.\\nIV. Chaucer s Art and Place\\nChaucer s We said that it was the revelation of his own\\npersonality that gave undying charm to Chaucer s\\npoetry. Perhaps it is only another way of saying", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n117\\nthe same thing to say that his charm is due to his\\nperfect art. For art is personality set free. Of the\\nsubstance of his work and its spirit we have perhaps\\nspoken enough; but we ought to say a little more\\nabout the great work that he did in producing his\\npoems in beautiful form. His strength lies, of course,\\nin his power to tell a story. Chaucer had an art\\nwhich the middle ages before him had rarely pos-\\nsessed; he knew what to leave out. Mediaeval\\nromances trail along with insufferable prolixity from\\nincident to incident, and often move to no particu-\\nlar end. Chaucer had the instinct for unity and for\\nbrevity. He selected only the significant, and he\\nstopped when he got through, which is one of the\\ngreatest arts in the world. There are, for the true\\nlover of poetry, few superfluous lines or words even\\nin the Canterbury Tales. And then Chaucer\\ncould get the music in his soul into his verse. Like\\nhis own Friar, he could make his English sweet\\nupon his tongue. He brought into the new lan-\\nguage all the daintiness and lightsome grace of the\\nFrench. He discarded the heavy dignity of the old\\nalliterative line, and used rhyme. He tried various\\nstanza forms and handled them with a harmony all\\nhis own, though they were often borrowed from con-\\ntemporary French writers but he was most at home\\nin the rhyming ten syllable couplet, which ever since\\nhis day has been one of the favorite instruments\\nof English verse. His music is light, sweet, fault-\\nless, very pure. No one since has quite caught his\\nmagic, though William Morris has pleasantly imi-\\ntated it in some of the poems of his Earthly\\nParadise.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "118\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nChaucer s We call Chaucer our best representative of the\\npast and middle ages yet his work is full of subtle sugges-\\ntions of a civilization still to dawn. In many points\\nhis temperament was not that of his own day. There\\nwas nothing of the mystic in him; his romance was\\nsuperficial, not ingrained; only when he reaches\\nthe broad and kindly realism of the Prologue is he\\nreally and fully at home. His feet never started\\nupon the Quest of the Grail, nor was he visited by\\neven a fleeting vision of the holy thing. Spiritual\\nmysteries did not attract him; he was not troubled\\nby speculations about the next world.\\nHis spirit changed house and wente there,\\nAs I cam never, I can not tellen where. 1\\nThese brief words, in which he dismisses the soul of\\nthe dying Arcite, sum up his theology; it is not the\\ncommon attitude of his time, which, though not\\nalways speculative, was sensitively conscious of a\\nspiritual world pressing very near the world of\\nmatter. But Chaucer was a child of this earth, and\\nhe saw it as very good. He loved the homely human\\nqualities cheerfulness, loyalty, honor. He had a ten-\\nder heart even for people who practised very few of\\nthe virtues, on the simple score of their humanity.\\nIn this love of the earth, in his responsiveness to\\nbeauty, in his enthusiasm for learning, in the slightly\\ncritical tone which tinges his work, and finally in his\\nunerring instinct for perfection of form, he suggests\\nthe characteristics of the time that was to come.\\nEvening star of the middle ages, morning star of the\\nRenaissance all honor to him, best of English\\ni The Knighte s Tale.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n119\\nstory-tellers, first Englishman who combined imagi-\\nnative vision with beautiful English speech.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nW. Skeat, Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, 7 vols.\\nStudents Edition, 1 vol. A. W. Pollard, Ed., The Works of\\nGeoffrey Chaucer, Globe edition.\\nA. W. Pollard, Primer of Chaucer. John Saunders,\\nChaucer s Canterbury Tales, annotated and accented, with\\nillustrations of English life in Chaucer s time. Ward, Life of\\nChaucer, English Men of Letters Series. Lowell, My Study\\nWindows, essay on Chaucer. Minto, Characteristics of English\\nPoets. Lounsbury, Studies in Chaucer, 3 vols. Mrs. Haweis,\\nChaucer for Schools.\\nClarendon Press edition of Prologue and Knight s Tale,\\nSonne s Preste s, Prioress s, Monk s, Clerk s, Squires s Tales, the\\nRhyme of Sir Thopas, and many of the minor poems.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe more that can be read of Chaucer the better. The Pro-\\nlogue, The Knight s Tale, The Nun s Priest s Tale, are best\\nfor beginning, with selections of biographical interest from\\nthe minor poems. Close consecutive discussion of text is the\\nbest method to draw near to a great author. Chaucer s humor,\\nChaucer s feeling for nature, Chaucer s sentiment, Chaucer s\\ncharacterization, Chaucer s vocabulary, Chaucer s rhythms,\\nChaucer s attitude toward the Church and churchmen, and\\nvarious other topics, may be made the themes of special dis-\\ncussions.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "120\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nCHAUCER S WORKS\\nIt may be broadly stated that the sequence of Chaucer s writings, as\\ngiven below, finds general acceptance, though many individual dates\\nare doubtful. It is also generally agreed that Chaucer s work falls\\ninto three periods, the first that of his apprenticeship, when his life\\nat court brought him under the influence of French models the middle\\nperiod, when his diplomatic missions had brought him strongly under\\nItalian influence the third period, that of the Canterbury Tales, in\\nwhich Cbaucer has clearly become master of his own English style.\\nThe middle period will contain all the longer works previous to the\\nCanterbury Tales. Some critics, who consider that the Canterbury\\nTales were finished within a comparatively few years, count the last\\ndecade of Chaucer s life, which would then show but a few minor\\npoems, a period of decline.\\nOf the existing\\nversion, the part\\nknown as A is\\nheld by many to\\nbe of Chaucer s\\nearly work.\\nUsually placed\\nbefore 1369, and\\ncalled the first\\noriginal work ex-\\ntant. Yet some\\nhigh authorities,\\n1369-1371.\\nAbout 1369.\\nTen Brink, 1374.\\nTheRomaunt of\\nthe Rose. See\\ntext.\\nThe Compleynte\\nunto Pite.\\nThe ABC.\\nEarliest example of the\\nfamous Chaucer stanza, or\\nrime royal.\\nAn alphabetical prayer to\\nthe Blessed Virgin based\\nupon a similar A B C in a\\nbook by Guillaume de De-\\nguilleville, a French Pil-\\ngrim s Progress of the\\nfourteenth century.\\n(In regard to the three poems above, there is little agreement among\\nauthorities as to date, whether they are to be placed before or after the\\nDethe of the Duchesse.\\nSoon after 1369.\\nAbout 1374, per-\\nhaps earlier.\\nThe Dethe of\\nBlaunche the\\nDuchesse.\\nLyf of Seint\\nCecyle.\\nOpening incident, Ceyx\\nand Alcione, from Ovid s\\nMetamorphoses, Whole\\nform of the poem French.\\nLater assigned to the Sec-\\nond Nun in the Canterbury\\nTales Invocation partly a\\nparaphrase from Dante.\\nStory from Legenda Aurea.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n121\\nAfter return\\nfrom first Italian\\nmission, 1373.\\nToward the\\nclose of the decade\\n1369-1379.\\nToward the\\nclose of 1369-1379.\\nProbably just\\nafter the return\\nfrom the second\\nItalian mission,\\n1379.\\nDifficult to date.\\nSome authorities\\nsay shortly after\\n1373-1374; others,\\nabout 1380.\\nDifficult to date.\\nProbably about\\n1380.\\nAbout 1381.\\nAbout 1381-\\n1383.\\n1382.\\nThe Troilus\\nperiod.\\nThe Troilus\\nperiod, perhaps as\\nlate as 1385.\\nPerhaps begun\\nsome years before\\n1383, laid aside,\\nand taken up\\nwhen Troilus\\nand Criseyde\\nwas finished, 1383-\\n1384.\\nStory of Gri-\\nselde.\\nStory of Con-\\nstaunce.\\nTwelve Trage-\\ndies of Great\\nMen and Women.\\nThe Compleynt\\nof Mars.\\nA Compleynt to\\nhis Lady.\\nAnelida and\\nArcyte. (Unfin-\\nished.)\\nBoece.\\nTroilus and\\nCriseyde.\\nThe Parlement\\nof Foules.\\nTo Eosemounde.\\nChaucer s Words\\nunto Adam his\\nOwne Scryvene.\\nThe Hous of\\nFame. (Unfin-\\nished.)\\nClerk s Tale. An Eng-\\nlish version of Petrarch s\\nLatin version of a tale by\\nBoccaccio.\\nMan of Law s Tale.\\nFrom the Anglo-French\\nChronicle of Trivet.\\nThe first part of the\\nMonk s Tale whose trage-\\ndies fall into two distinct\\ngroups.\\nThe story is founded on\\none told in Ovid s Meta-\\nmorphoses, with which\\nChaucer combines the popu-\\nlar astronomy of the day.\\nA series of fragments in\\ndifferent metres, partly\\nwritten in Dante s terza\\nrima.\\nAbout a fifth of the poem\\nis based upon Boccaccio s\\nTeseide and Statius s\\nThebais.\\nA prose translation of Boe-\\nthius s De Consolatione,\\none of the most popular books\\nof the fourteenth century.\\nBy far the longest of\\nChaucer s single extant po-\\nems, the striking achieve-\\nment of the middle period.\\nBased upon Boccaccio s II\\nFilostrato.\\nCelebrates the winning\\nand wooing of Anne of Bo-\\nhemia by Kichard II. Uses\\nmaterial taken from Cicero,\\nfrom Boccaccio, and from\\nAlain de l lsle.\\nA charming little ballade\\nof three stanzas.\\nA playful rating of his\\nscribe for mistakes in copy-\\ning Boece and Troilus\\nand Criseyde.\\nWith this poem we leave\\nthe period of the poet s fin-\\nished work. From this time\\non his plans were far more\\nambitious but the Hous\\nof Fame, the Legende of\\nGood Women, and great-\\nest of all the Canterbury\\nTales were none of them\\ncompleted.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "122\\n1385.\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nAbout 1385\\n(when probably\\nChaucer himself\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2went on pilgrim-\\nage to Canter-\\nbury) possibly as\\nlate as 1387. The\\nwriting of the\\ngreat body of the\\nTales, repre-\\nsenting one-half of\\nChaucer s extant\\nwork, was proba-\\nbly included\\nwithin the next\\nsix or seven years,\\nthough it is possi-\\nble that he may\\nhave continued\\nwriting them up\\nto the end of his\\nlife.\\nAfter 1382, and\\nprobably before\\n1390.\\n1391.\\nThe Legende of\\nGood Women.\\n(Unfinished.)\\nThe plan of\\nthe Canterbury\\nTales.\\nThe Prologue,\\nthe Talks by the\\nWay, and a large\\nproportion of the\\nTales.\\nThe Former\\nAge.\\nFortune.\\n(Called in the\\nMss. Balades de\\nvisage sans pein-\\nture.)\\nTruth.\\nGentilesse.\\nLak of Stedf ast-\\nTreatise on the\\nAstrolabe.\\nThe poem was intended\\nto consist of a Prologue, the\\nstories of nineteen women\\nwho have been true to love,\\nand the legend of the crown\\nof womanhood, Queen Al-\\ncestis. Only nine of the\\ntwenty legends were written.\\nThe sources were Ovid, Vir-\\ngil, Boccaccio, and Guido\\ndelle Colonne.\\nFor about one-third of the\\nTales no original, prop-\\nerly so called, is known to\\nexist, but from the far East,\\nor from France, Italy, or\\nGermany, stories with sim-\\nilar plots have been un-\\nearthed which show that the\\nidea was already in existence\\nand only waited for Chaucer\\nto develop it. Among\\nknown sources of definite\\noriginals are Boccaccio,\\nOvid, Livy, Jacobus de Vo-\\nragine, Nicholas Trivet, Jean\\nde Meung.\\nA pleasant rhapsody upon\\nthe good old times.\\nA triple ballade with a\\nsingle envoy in praise of the\\nfriend of the unpainted\\nface who is faithful in ad-\\nversity.\\nTruth and Genti-\\nlesse show Chaucer in his\\ngravest mood. Lak of Sted-\\nfastnesse is chiefly notable\\nfor its envoy to Richard.\\nThe last five poems all\\nshow the influence of Boe-\\nthius, and in several of them\\nthere are suggestions from\\nthe Roman de la Rose.\\nProse translation of the\\nLatin version of a treatise\\nby Messahala, an Arabian\\nastronomer of the eighth\\ncentury.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "GEOFFREY CHAUCER\\n123\\nAbout 1393.\\nDifficult to date.\\nProbably about\\n1393.\\n1396,\\n1399. (Perhaps\\nearlier.)\\nEnvoy\\ngan.\\nCompleynt of\\nVenus.\\nEnvoy to But-\\nton.\\nCompleynt to\\nhis Purs.\\nA playful reproach to his\\nfriend Henry Scogan, with a\\nserious request for help,\\nwhich may have brought the\\npension of 1394.\\nThree ballades, transla-\\ntions more or less free, from\\nthe famous Savoyard poet,\\nSir Otes de Granson.\\nThis bitter-sweet ballade\\ntouches marriage, and is\\nquite characteristic of the\\npoet.\\nA sadly humorous poem,\\nperhaps the last from the\\npoet s pen.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "aTco\\nH rH\\nco o 1-1 bsj^\\nO CD CO d CD\\nB d\\no\\nc? eS\\n\u00c2\u00a3.3\\nPh Ph J\\n-8\\nt srH\\na\\na\\nu\\no\\nD\\n+3\\nfl\\nCJ CO ?2 CO CO\\nrH .g rH rH\\na\\nPh\\nS fL\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0p o r 1\\nc^CO 5\\nPh\\nn 43\\nrrH m\\np-jco\\nrH\\nS3\\nO\\n3\\ncfl\\nPh\\nW Ph\\nco- co\\ng CO CO\\n2 rH r/i rH\\nS\\nO fe\\n03\\nfH rj\\n5 o.Jj\\n;h Sctf\\n03\\n.3 O\\no\\nr w 03\\nJ2 g\\n9? fa o\\nn 03\\n-rH 5\\n-as\\ng\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00ba3 o\\nCO\\no\\nPh\\n5CD g\\nH (O l\\nC3 OCOCOrD\\nSo 9 I t\\n.2 +T+a", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "bcSja fid\\nts S a 2\\ngo-2 S\\nJs-S OS \u00c2\u00abK\\nS3\\nt3 a:\\n5 null\\nHo\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2IS\\no \u00c2\u00a33\\nIS\\nco 00\\nC3 CO\\n9 s\\nCO\\nfH CO\\n8 E\\nS3 xl O\\nSI S*\\n2 D\\n^CO pjO H\\nis\\nJ I*\\nW Ph 02\\n2o o\u00c2\u00a9 ci\\nIn\\n-CO\\n-+J o\\nP3 Ph\\nm 2 ft\\nm\\na ft 9\\n8 S\\nft\\n\u00c2\u00a71 si\\n.\u00c2\u00a743\\nCO\\nC3 CO W)\\nPh Sh tH 03\\na.\\nO c3\\na\\nP\u00c2\u00bb 3 S3\\nco\\ngo\\n59 9 S3\\nd\\nO Oh\\n2\\nCOwO flO H h(\\na 42 .2 g 3 ft 1\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2rt H 03 02\\no a\\n4\u00c2\u00ab5 m \u00c2\u00abp ^gg^\\n1-5\\na\\nO\\na S\\n^5\\nSo\\nd\\n03\\nftr\\nS3o0\\nCO\\nd\\nCO t-4\\neats 5 d J\\nas^\\nc3 a2\\nfl^J d\\n+3 M +-5\\n\u00c2\u00bbQ a\\no\\nH 2\\n_ a\\n1 ^4\u00c2\u00abh2\\nd\u00c2\u00a9\\nJ\\nw d 02\\nra -\u00c2\u00bb5 5S*tjeo\\nco \u00c2\u00abs d OS\\n(D CD O CO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "-co o\\n*0 8\\n,2 00 rH\\no\\ni\\nCO\\nCP\\nns\\n141\\nCol\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2lea\\nO\\nW W S 33\\n-^2\\n5 M\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a073 I CD\\no o S\\ncufT H\\ntig CD N\\no o\\n3^ s\\nn a g\\nH t=\\nH", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "M\\n3\\n5 I\\ne\u00c2\u00ab g\\nCO CO 9S\\nCO [*o \u00e2\u0080\u009eso\\n-hd I, rfi\\nV CD r-\\n3 c3\\nO +i Fh\\n1-5 CQ\\nCD t\u00e2\u0080\u0094 jt\\nla*? p^\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2S fe\\ne3 t*i\\n\u00c2\u00a3\u00c2\u00a7i.po\\ns .2 i 1 S\\n_G ri -P\\no s\\no\\nJ^^s g\\na-.\\nCD\\ntip\\np c8-\\nP F -r* P cd\\np\\nCS Ph\\na ft -^S^-p\\n^5 CD CD\\nCDr* 1 Sr*\\nA\\nCD\\nSp\\n33\\n\u00c2\u00a32\\nC8 CD\\n\u00c2\u00b0S CD 1\\nj 1.3 S\\nP P 5\\npW Si\\n\u00c2\u00ab4 S:\\nP\\na5\\nCD\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2gag\\nPQ\\nPh\u00c2\u00a3\\nD O\\nC3 u\\no3~\\nP- CD\\n-P\\np\u00c2\u00b0ii\\n5 ft\\npq\\nrs a\\nn\\n5-P^^^\\nsi m .2 CD\\np 2\\nbe\\nP P CD CD\\n5 P U -2 CD\\nH O CD +5 S3\\n1\\n^3 CD tJ\\nCDrPl-p\\nIstS 33\\nS .9 ^5 fl\\n^5 cs g\\nCD73 og-^ a\\n|p\u00c2\u00b0^\\nt CD\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2P j COJ CO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "%}0\\n5 s\\nH .3HH s_*-rH\\n13\\nO 03\\n.2 ft\\nSao\\ng too\\nco Ph\\no o;\\n\u00c2\u00a38\\no 3\\nCO\\no\\npq\\n1! II I\\np3 pq m\\n.2\\n-a eg eS\\nH Pm co\\n.a i\\nO rH\\nC3 fl\\nrH O\\ncoPm\\n1-1 S\\n3d,\\n3 3\\no\\n-T m i-r 1\\nO\\nco O\\nK5 1C\\nrH o\\nW 2\\n.Or! Si cT-a\\n2S^l.aH ef s\\nPm g fn pq\\nCO\\nCO\\ncs o\\nO O-h S!\\nCO u\\na 2 c3\\nUS 2\\ns s\\n.8 1*3\\n9 -co\\nr o\\n03\\nO 03\\nIII\\nCO ft\\n9 03 o ea\\npSrSTj Stf ft\\na\\n_^ o\\nft\\nO\\no\\no kt cj:\\na\\n.a s 1 1\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0a o\u00c2\u00ab|w\\n3 03^-2 O\\n8 d\\nft 03\\nwas\\nO 03 rCj\\n5 bC^ O So\\nS\\nLO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "OS C5 rH\\nP\\na\\nH O t\\na \u00c2\u00ab8\\no\\nSo\\nr 3 10 r 3\\np jl\\noS u\\ni p\\na o\\no \u00c2\u00a9is\\n\u00c2\u00bbC OS\\no a^-N\\na o\\nC\\\\a\u00c2\u00a3\\n5 t\u00c2\u00bbC\\nI \u00c2\u00a95.2^\\nS 1\u00e2\u0080\u00941 -3 03\\nH m .iH\\n10 .3\\nr-irj O ai o\\n~G0\\nGO\\n03\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2s g:gs\\na o _\\nH 5 S -2\\nO as\\nrH CO 03\\na\\ne 3 03 p o\\nO e3\\n+3 ,a\\ncsO\\no o\\na S3\\n03 03\\nc\\nQ\\na\\nrH ^3 O CS\\nH\\na\\nQ Q3 03 C3 03 OS\\nrH t~ H P\\n-t^ o O 03\\nfliofl.H c3 -P\\na a.H\\n03 a\\n,a\\nP3\\nS S\\n03 eS\\nrH OS pp\\nC$ OS\\nV\u00c2\u00a7\u00c2\u00a3\u00c2\u00a9\\no C\\ncsp5 S a\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2h os -t-2\\n03^ c3\\ns.pp\\na\\na^\\n\u00c2\u00bb03-S^\\nIlH\\n03 03\\nAS\\nO\\na o\\n03 60\\nr J 3\\n03 =2 C3\\na 03 pq\\n02 a o\\nos o\\n1 JT*\\na s--h\\n03 a\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2So 10 bp-d\\nc3 a\\nr4 03\\nc3 03\\na Sr 03\\na n\\n03 9\\n_2 03 O\\nH 03\\n03 O ,_\\nOS\\n03\\no\\n03\\n-5\\n03 CS +S\\n0) (jp\\nfH rj\\n43 03 .S\\nos d\\n03 S3\\nw a\\na. 2\\no2o\\nfc \u00c2\u00bbi 2\\n2 ,rtr d a S-S\\nCS g W) g rO\\nW g O g 03\\nn o\\n2^ O S 3 M\\n=\u00c2\u00a7\u00e2\u0080\u00a2012211 5\\n3 3oS C 3 f- w\\nH 03 ffi M^ OS S\\nes a^3^ o o os a\\n.^f U ri i\\n\u00c2\u00a9-si^^S^-\\n^a-J^o^\\n.SPta J\\ngrQ.g.2 a\\n.a 03 2 ri 5 s\\n\u00c2\u00ab2 H ^22^^o\\n03 p\\n03\\n3 2 03 h o\\niS0.Srgg.\u00c2\u00a9\\nbe\\n+3", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER V\\nTHE CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER\\nI. Lesser Writers of the Fourteenth Century\\nTHERE were other noteworthy people writing in\\nEngland during that late flowering season of the\\nmiddle ages, the last half of the fourteenth century,\\nthough there were no others so great as Langland\\nand Chaucer. It is well worth while to look back\\nnow and then as we pursue our long journey over\\nthe road that we have travelled, and to get propor-\\ntions at a glance. If we do this now, our imagina-\\ntion reviews a long stretch of almost barren centuries,\\nbeginning before the Normans came to England\\nthen suddenly it comes into this little region of blos-\\nsom, these fifty years when men were mysteriously\\nimpelled to speech and song. We wonder if the peo-\\nple who lived then realized what was happening.\\nSir John Prose usually develops more slowly than poetry,\\nvifie d i4th an( little prose interesting for its art values was pro-\\ncentury, duced in this period; but there is at this time one\\nprose book in our language which we must certainly\\nnot pass over. This is The Voyages and Travels,\\npurporting to have been enjoyed and recorded by one\\nSir John Mandeville, Knight. There never was any\\nSir John Mandeville. After centuries, during which\\nthe public has taken him seriously, we must now re-\\nluctantly send that worthy knight into the world of\\n130", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 131\\nshades, to keep company with Crusoe and Gulliver.\\nBut although he has vanished, to our great loss, the\\nbook remains, to our great profit and though it was\\nfirst written in French, the English version is so racy\\nin style as well as so delightful in matter that it has\\nreal importance. It began in English the literature\\nof imagined adventures which has always been popu-\\nlar and Defoe himself cannot tell us with a graver\\nair of conviction the extraordinary doings of Crusoe\\nthan the author of Mandeville shows, in describing\\nthe people whose one foot is so great that it serves\\nas a parasol, and the country where there are many\\nserpents because of the heat and the abundance of\\npepper, and the lake of tears wept by Adam and\\nEve when driven out of Paradise, and the pearls\\nat the bottom thereof. Here and there, mingled\\nwith legend and invention, are curious echoes of\\nfact, doubtless traditional from some real traveller.\\nThe book shows better than anything else that has\\ncome down to us how people thought of the world\\nthey lived in, more than a century before the sailing\\nof Columbus.\\nNothing else of importance meets us in prose. But Revival of\\nin verse, the fourteenth century produced one devel- tiveverse.\\nopment full of interest. A little before Chaucer\\nwrote, certain poets made an attempt to recall poetry\\nfrom French levity to Anglo-Saxon soberness and\\nsubstance, and revived for the time the old alliter-\\native line. Apart from Langland, of whom we shall\\ntalk presently, the most important poems of this kind\\nthat have come down to us may have been the work\\nof one man if so, he was a man of genius so pene-\\ntrating and tender as to rank almost with Chaucer and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "132\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nSir\\nGawayne\\nand the\\nGreen\\nKnight,\\nabout\\n1360.\\nThe\\nPearl,\\nabout\\n1360.\\nJohn\\nGower,\\nabout\\n1330-1408.\\nLangland. u Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight,\\nan Arthurian romance, two didactic poems, Clean-\\nness and Patience and finally the first religious\\nelegy in English, an exquisite poem which we call\\nu The Pearl, are the works ascribed to him. They\\nare written in the West-Midland dialect, are harder\\nto read than Chaucer or even Langland, and are pro-\\nbably somewhat earlier but they have grace and\\ncharm, and they reveal a temperament as individual\\nand lovable as Cynewulf s or Wordsworth s. Sir\\nGawayne is a fine story, finely told. The Pearl\\ntells how the author mourned the death of his little\\ndaughter, and how a vision of her came to bless him.\\nThe poem has a reality, both in the religious and in\\nthe human feeling, which few mediseval visions pos-\\nsess. It is indeed a pearl, a beautiful thing born out\\nof sorrow. There was joy among lovers of poetry\\nwhen this poem was recently discovered and Ten-\\nnyson bade it welcome in four charming lines.\\nDuring all the Chaucerian period, there lived and\\nwrote copiously one John Gower. There is every-\\nthing in Gower that there is in Chaucer, except\\ngenius. His poem, like the Canterbury Tales,\\nis a collection of stories these stories reflect the\\ntastes and interests and sentiments of the middle\\nages just as Chaucer s stories do; they are just as\\ngood stories, in one or two cases they are the same.\\nOnly they are told, with one or two exceptions, with-\\nout wit, or charm, or poetic feeling, or melody. We\\nrealize, as with a sense of relief we put Gower s\\npoetry aside, that he has taught us one thing: genius\\nmay and does owe a great deal to inheritance and\\nenvironment its mode of working and the material", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 133\\nwhich it handles, much even in its spirit, may be\\nderived from its age yet in its essence it is no prod-\\nuct of present or past, but a heaven-sent mystery.\\nIt is only fair to the moral Gower, as Chaucer\\ncalled him, to say that the Confessio Amantis was\\nthe work of his old age. He was perhaps older than\\nChaucer by ten years, but his long poem was not\\nwritten till 1393, long after the Canterbury Tales\\nhad been started. Gower had written two other long\\npoems before this the Vox Clamantis in Latin,\\nand the Speculum Meditantis in French. Pos-\\nsibly he did not have sense or spirit to trust himself\\nto the new, rude, uncourtly tongue till Chaucer\\nshowed him the way. He is the last English author\\nof importance, however, to compose in French and\\nfrom now on we can, with one or two exceptions,\\nignore books by English authors written in any lan-\\nguage but their own.\\nII. Langland and the Social Revolt\\nIt is strange to think how many things are always\\ngoing on at once in the world, and how differently\\nlife may look at the same time to different people.\\nChaucer saw an England in good spirits, an Eng-\\nland of holiday mood, full of romance and color and\\nthat England really existed. But another England\\nexisted by its side, throbbing with discontent and\\nwith sorrow and this second England also had its\\npoet. He was a man of a great soul, this poet. He\\nwrote only one long poem, but it was worthy to be\\nthe work of a lifetime, and he rewrote it with utmost\\ncare three times. He called it, The Vision of Will-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "134\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\niam Concerning Piers the Ploughman his own\\nname we suppose, though we cannot be quite certain,\\nto have been William Langland.\\nwuiiam Langland was not so great a genius as Chaucer,\\nabout a i332 an( P eo pl e do not remember him so well to-day.\\ntoa-bout The world likes to remember happy people best, and\\nLangland was not very happy. Besides, he threw in\\nhis lot with the poor, and did not have much to do\\nwith the gay new French fashions in literature. He\\nchose for his verse the old alliterative swinging line,\\nwhich recalls to us the cadence of Cynewulf. It is\\nhard for us to catch music in this form of poetry\\nor to understand how it pleased people s ears but\\nits revival shows what a hold it had on the love of\\nEnglishmen. To-day, we cannot read most of Lang-\\nland for verse-beauty. He is dull indeed who does\\nnot read Chaucer with pleasure but one has to love\\nthe middle ages and be much in earnest about living,\\nto enjoy Langland. Nevertheless, if any reader has\\npatience to linger with him and puzzle out his mean-\\ning, his sad spirit comes and dwells beside that reader,\\nand becomes a brother beloved.\\nWe said at the beginning of the first chapter of\\nthis part that the most representative and important\\nliterature of the middle ages was inspired by one of\\nthe two great forces, Catholicism and Chivalry.\\nBut we said also that far in the distance could be\\ndiscerned another figure beside that of Knight and\\nMonk, the figure of the Laborer, and that his time\\nfor speech would come. It has come now and the\\npoet of the Laborer is William Langland.\\nWe do not know nearly as much about Langland s\\npersonality as we do about Chaucer s. He was not", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 135\\nattached to the court, a gentleman of importance,\\nwhose name is found on public records; he was a\\npoor, lank, obscure man, Long Will, they called\\nhim. He used to wander over the Malvern Hills\\nsometimes, where the air is high and pure, and fall\\na-dreaming there but for the most part he lived in\\nLondon, with his wife Kitty and his daughter Kalote.\\nWe must not think of London in the fourteenth cen-\\ntury as if it were the portentous smoky city of our\\nown day we must,\\nForget six counties overhung with smoke,\\nForget the snorting steam and piston stroke,\\nForget the spreading of the hideous town\\nThink rather of the pack-horse on the down,\\nAnd dream of London small and white and clean,\\nThe clear Thames bordered by its gardens green,\\nWhile near the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer s pen\\nMoves over bills of lading. 1\\nBut, quiet as the place would seem to. us, it was\\nalready the centre of England. It witnessed already\\nfierce pitiful contrasts between poverty and wealth.\\nHere Langland, who was a tonsured clerk apparently\\nin minor orders in the Church, used to pick up his\\nliving by singing dirges for the repose of souls.\\nHere, if we may trust his own story, he even at times\\nhad to beg his dinner, so poor was he. But he did\\nnot try to ingratiate himself with the rich perhaps\\nhe was not very polite to them. He says that he was\\nloath to reverence lords or ladies when he met them\\non the street, or to say God save you to sergeants\\ndressed in fur with pendants of silver and that,\\n1 William Morris Prologue to the Earthly Paradise.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "136\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nbecause of these glum manners of his, people often\\ntook him for a fool. We can see him slipping\\nthrough the gay thoroughfares, his gaunt figure\\nslightly bent, a frown upon his brow. He was a\\nvery different person from the pleasant, sunny\\nChaucer. He was a social malcontent there have\\nbeen plenty of others since his day. And Langland,\\nlike many of the same class, had a tender heart of\\nhis own when it was rightly appealed to.\\nSocial He had some reason for the mixture of sorrow and\\nperplexity with which he looked out on the world.\\nFor the England which he saw with those honest\\neyes of his was not Merrie England it was a land\\nCondition devastated by war and pestilence. The last part of\\nlaboring the fourteenth century was a time of great distress\\nclasses. f or Coring classes in England. The long Hun-\\ndred Years War with France was going on all this\\ntime, and the court and the gentry were absorbed in\\nturn by a festive, brilliantly ordered life at home, and\\nby the great foreign campaigns. But the common\\npeople had other things to think of. It was they\\nwho fell in greatest numbers on the battlefield it was\\nthey who were swept off the face of the earth in yet\\ngreater numbers by the horrible scourge of the Black\\nDeath. And then, when they were just recovering\\nthemselves, would come severe laws, and taxes which\\nseemed to them most cruel and unjust. The burden\\nof such laws pressed heaviest upon the agricultural\\nlaborers in the country, for the workers in the towns\\nwere partially protected by the strong mediaeval trade\\nguilds. It was a dreary life for the most part, that\\nof the workers in the fields. They toiled hard,\\nthey knew cold and hunger. Alas, says Langland,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 137\\nwith an outburst of indignant pity, alas for the\\npoor folk in cots, charged with children and chief\\nlords rents What they may spare from their spin-\\nning, they spend in house-hire, and in milk and meal\\nto make messes of porridge to satisfy their children\\nwho are greedy for food. And they themselves\\nalso suffer much hunger, and woe in the winter -time\\nwith waking o nights to rock the cradle. They card\\nand comb and patch and wash, they rub and peel\\nrushes, so that it is ruth to read or to show in rhyme\\nthe woe of these women who dwell in cots. And\\nin many another passage he gives us pictures equally\\nsad and equally convincing.\\nIt was no wonder that during the fourteenth cen- Spirit of\\nrevolt\\ntury the spirit of revolt was abroad. This spirit religious\\ntook two directions; it was social, it was religious. andsocia\\nAnger against the Church which preached poverty\\nand practised luxury, anger against the privileged\\nclasses these two impassioned impulses found omi-\\nnous expression before the century closed. The\\nreligious rebellion expressed itself in the Lollard\\nmovement inaugurated by Wyclif the social, in the\\nPeasant Revolt, which took place in 1381, some\\nyears after Langland had given to the world the\\nsecond version of his poem. These matters belong\\nto history and are best studied there but the life of\\nthe nation and its literature are bound together, and\\nit is in the prose of Wyclif and the poetry of Lang-\\nland that we can best catch the spirit which drove\\nmen to these movements of protest.\\nThere is a beautiful book by a man who has carried\\non in our own day the literature of social revolt\\nwhich Langland began in the fourteenth century", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "138\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nWilliam Morris. It is called The Dream of John\\nBall, and it tells with much vividness part of the\\nstory of the great uprising of the- peasants. The\\nspirit of that uprising was well expressed in the\\nrough couplet which at this time began to run about\\nfrom mouth to mouth\\nWhen Adam delved and Eve span,\\nWhere was then the gentleman\\nThe queried the couplet. It was the spirit of democracy\\nRevolt, which spoke, over four hundred years before democ-\\nracy was consciously realized by the Christian world.\\nThere is no doubt that Langland s poem was one of\\nthe powerful instruments in stirring up this new\\nspirit his Piers (or Peter) the Ploughman became\\na symbolical figure, the typical hero of the laboring\\nman.\\nAnd yet Langland himself was not a revolutionist.\\nHe was a thinker and dreamer. His great Visions\\nare full of wistful passion, of spiritual insight. They\\nwander far and wide, surveying the manifold woes\\nand puzzles of life but always they come back to\\none central thought, and a true and beautiful thought\\nit is\\nFor there that Love is leader, ne lacked never grace.\\nLangland s heart went out most earnestly to the\\nvision or allegory from which he named his whole\\nThe aiie- poem the Story of the Ploughman. And a strange\\nthe y f story it is, different from anything else which we\\nman gh mee in the middle ages a sort of Pilgrim s Prog-\\nress of the fourteenth century. We can compare it\\npoint by point with Bunyan s immortal dream only,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 139\\nwe shall find one great difference, that while Bun-\\nyan s hero is occupied with saving his own soul,\\nLangland s is occupied with leading toward salva-\\ntion the whole of society.\\nLangland has his pilgrimage as well as Chaucer,\\nand it is interesting to put the two together. Lang-\\nland opens his eyes when his vision begins on a field\\nfull of folk. There are more than there were at the\\nTabard on that memorable April morning. There\\nare ploughmen who played full seldom hermits\\nand jugglers and merchants beggars enough and\\npilgrims and friars, and bakers and brewers, and\\nbutchers and masons and miners, and cooks going\\nabout crying Hot pies, hot Good pigs and\\ngeese go dine, go dine All the middle ages\\nare there. And there is one named Repentance,\\npreaching to them all a heart-searching sermon. So\\nwell does he preach that they are converted, every\\none yes, even the Seven Deadly Sins, whom Lang-\\nland describes so vividly that we see them as clearly\\nas we do Chaucer s Wife of Bath. The whole assem-\\nbly falls on its knees and takes a vow, as most people\\ndid then when smitten in conscience they will go\\non pilgrimage.\\nBut it is a strange pilgrimage that they under-\\ntake A pilgrimage to Truth. Reason recommends\\nit to them\\nu Ye that seek Saint James and saints of Rome\\nSeek Saint Truth, for he may save you all.\\nI will seek Truth first ere I see Rome, says one\\nof the penitents. So off they all start, and in such a\\nhurry that the Pardoner, a personage whom Lang-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "140\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nland evidently despises as much as Chaucer, is left\\nbehind.\\nWhat a company it is Very different from\\nChaucer s pilgrims, ambling along good roads on\\ntheir comfortable horses, chatting and laughing in\\nthe April sunlight. They are dead in earnest, Lang-\\nland s people. They bluster forth as beasts over\\nbanks and hills, till late it was and long, for there\\nwas no wight so wise as to know the way to Truth,\\nand there appeared to be no travelled road leading\\nto his shrine. Nor could they find any wayfarer to\\ngive them direction. Even a very wise and travelled\\npilgrim whom they meet, whose hat is plastered all\\nover with holy images, treats them with great scorn\\nwhen they ask him the way to St. Truth. He never\\nheard of anybody who wanted to go to that shrine\\nbefore, he says.\\nSo the pilgrims are terribly discouraged, and stop\\nin pure bewilderment. Then all of a sudden some\\none pipes up, and they look around and see that it is\\na very common, vigorous-looking man, Peter the\\nPloughman. Why, do you want to learn the way\\nto Truth says Peter. Well, I can tell you. I am\\nan intimate friend of Truth s. I have been his ser-\\nvant these fifty winters. I dig and I delve, I sow\\nand I thresh, I understand tinker s craft and tailor s\\ncraft, I can do all Truth tells me to. He is the\\npromptest payer poor men know. I can tell you the\\nway to get to him.\\nThe pilgrims are delighted and want to pay him\\nfor his instructions. But Piers will not take a\\nfarthing. Truth would love him the less a long time\\nthereafter, he says, if he did. And he tells them", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 141\\nexactly how to go. But alas It is a very compli-\\ncated journey. They are all sure that they cannot\\nfind the way alone, and they beg Piers to serve as\\nguide. But this, he says, he cannot do, because he\\nhasn t ploughed his half -acre Truth would not\\nlike him to leave his work undone besides, if he did,\\npeople would starve. He has a great deal of honest\\ncommon sense, has Piers.\\nIt is a perplexing situation, but the pilgrims find\\na way out. They all exclaim, it is a fine lady\\nto whom the thought seems first to come, and a\\nknight seconds her, that they will turn to and\\nhelp Piers do his work quickly, and then he will\\nbe free and they can set off together. This pleases\\nPiers very much. He receives authority over all\\nthe pilgrims, and sets them to work, giving them\\nthe sort of things to do for which they are best\\nfitted. This part of Langland s poem is profoundly\\noriginal. No one before him had thought of the\\nworking-man, for Piers, as is seen from his mani-\\nfold occupations, is more than merely a ploughman,\\nas possible leader of the industrial community,\\nexalted over knights and professional men and the\\nChurch itself.\\nPiers makes a very good governor, though he has a\\ngreat deal of difficulty with some lazy people who\\nwon t work, but want to sit on the fence all day with\\ntheir legs hanging and sing How trolli lolli He\\nhas to call in Hunger to help him before he can settle\\nthem. As a rule, however, the pilgrims seem to enjoy\\ntheir work very much. We do not hear any more\\nabout the pilgrimage. Probably when they all get\\nprofitably busy in carrying on with honest intent the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "142\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nnecessary labor of the world, they find that the shrine\\nof Truth is not in a very far country. Indeed, Piers\\nhimself has promised them that the end of their quest\\nwill be that each will find truth sitting in his heart\\nin a chain of charity, as if he were a child.\\nBut the story of the Ploughman does not stop\\nthere. Langland sees in his vision that God the\\nFather sends Piers a bull of pardon, by which he\\nbecomes the spiritual, as he is already the economic,\\nhead of the community. Presently a priest comes\\nalong, who objects to this, wants to see the Bull\\nwhich forms Piers credentials. And behold it is\\nno formal pardon at all, but only a promise that, if\\nmen will do well, God will save their souls. The\\npriest is not at all satisfied with this, and he begins\\nto reason and to quarrel noisily, and the Dreamer\\nwakes.\\nSince, however, the pardon has been promised to\\nthose who do well, it is very important to find out\\njust what doing well involves and so Langland falls\\nasleep again, and dreams many visions bearing on\\nthis point. It takes him a great while to reach his\\nend, and he passes almost every phase of life in\\nmusing review but he learns to understand at last\\nthe three stages of the perfect life. To Do Well is\\nto do what law teaches to be true of one s tongue,\\nand earn one s livelihood by the labor of one s\\nhands to be trusty, and to grieve no man. Beyond\\nthis is another ideal, which to practise is to Do Bet-\\nter, and this is, to love both friend and foe, to be\\nhumble and courteous, to lend readily, and to resist\\nnot evil. Beyond this is the highest ideal of all, and\\nthat is to Do Best. Only in the Life of the Ascended", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 143\\nChrist and of His Church does Langland find a full\\nexample of this great thought. Do Best is no longer\\npassive to Do Best is to go forth into the world, to\\nheal and to redeem to cast down the wicked, to\\nhave authority in judgment.\\nThose cantos of the poem which give a poetic study\\nof the Passion of Christ, are the most beautiful and\\nimpassioned that Langland ever wrote. One in par-\\nticular is a very great poem it is the eighteenth\\ncanto in the B text, and describes with wonderful\\nfervor a scene on which the middle ages loved to\\ndwell Christ s Harrowing of Hell, or his descent\\ninto Hades on the evening of Good Friday, and his\\nrelease of the spirits of the just held in prison there.\\nThese cantos reintroduce, in a most interesting way,\\nthe figure of the Ploughman. He is no longer\\nmerely the honest laborer, the only person who knows\\nthe Secrets of Truth in a bewildered generation\\nnor is he merely the industrial head of the commun-\\nity, startling as may seem to us this exaltation of the\\nworking-man. His figure becomes surrounded with\\na mystic radiance the poet speaks of him, not with\\nthe hearty fellowship of earlier cantos, but with\\nreverence, almost with awe. Peter the Ploughman\\nis manifest to us as the representative on earth of\\nChrist Himself and we see him coming in with a\\ncross before the common people with the marks of\\nthe Passion upon him Christ the Conqueror, Christ\\narisen.\\nSo begins the literature of social revolt in Eng-\\nland, rooted deep in the heart of Christianity.\\nThrough many and devious phases has it passed\\nsince then many more, perhaps, await it. But still", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "144\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nLangland s earnest spirit of love toward God and\\nman, of reverence for poverty and faithful toil, holds\\nfor many seekers a golden key to some of our\\ngravest problems.\\nIII. Wyclif and the Religious Revolt\\nThe religious and the social awakening went on\\ntogether indeed, the spirit of religious revolt was\\nthe first abroad in the land. It was no wonder that\\nthis spirit arose for the Church, once the protector\\nof the poor and the witness to unworldliness, had\\nallowed abuses and corruptions unnumbered to defile\\nher purity. In particular, the venal and degraded\\nlives of many of the begging friars, Franciscans and\\nDominicans, were a hideous travesty upon the ideals\\nof St. Dominic and St. Francis. Charity once walked\\nthe earth, to be sure, in a friar s robe, says Langland,\\nbut that was long ago in St. Francis s time. What\\nhis order had become we may best learn by the\\nscathing studies in Chaucer of the Friar and the Par-\\ndoner. Langland s invective is equally scornful,\\nmore indignant. Against such degradation of the\\nGospel the native Anglo-Saxon integrity and hon-\\nesty arose in vehement protest. That strain of sim-\\nple Christianity, which as we saw was strong in the\\nBritish isles before the work of Augustine and Wil-\\nfrid emphasized and established Italian and papal\\ndominion there, reasserted itself after many cen-\\nturies. The man through whom it spoke was\\nWyclif, a sturdy Saxon, if one ever breathed.\\nIt is not for a history of literature to trace the\\nearly phases of the Reformation in England. We", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 145\\nconsider Wyclif here, as the father of English John\\nprose. He is like many other authors whom we about\\nshall meet, whose greatness is chiefly in the world 1324-1\\nof action and thought, who hold only a secondary\\nimportance from the point of view of art, yet even\\non that ground cannot be wholly ignored. Wyclif\\nwas a great thinker, doctor of divinity, and master\\nof an Oxford college. He was the last of the medi-\\neval schoolmen. And he was honored and famous\\nlong before the impulse of reform seized him. He\\nwrote Latin treatises at this time in his career but\\nit was not long before he awoke to the keen recog-\\nnition of the needs of the common people, and, turn-\\ning to them, began to address to them homilies,\\nsermons, tracts, in their own mother tongue. Very\\nlikely the remarkable influence of Langland s poem,\\nin its early version, suggested to him that he write in\\nEnglish. He trained up followers to do likewise\\nhis poor priests tramped the country, preaching\\nafter a new fashion the simplest gospel truths\\nappealing, not to imagination, as the Catholic lit-\\nerature of the middle ages had largely done, but ex-\\nclusively to reason and conscience. Much of this\\nWyclifite literature has come down to us. It has\\nlittle grace or harmony of style on the other hand,\\nit is written in a prose that goes straight to the\\nmark, nervous, crisp, telling, and clear. We feel the\\ngenius of Wyclif in it all but we feel that genius\\nyet more in another work of his, for which the Eng-\\nlish-speaking race owes him undying gratitude. For\\nWyclif it was who first had the Bible translated into\\nEnglish, doing much of the work himself, and who\\nthereby put into the hands of the nation the book", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "146\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nwhich, apart from its higher influences, did more than\\nany other one thing to create for centuries our prose\\nstyle. When we think that the laity had up to this\\ntime derived their knowledge of the Bible from pic-\\ntures, images, Church ceremonies, and miracle plays,\\nwe can see how marvellous was the gift which Wyc-\\nlif gave them in the simple gospel.\\nThe language of Wyclif s translation is strange to\\nus to-day. He translated from the Vulgate, or\\nLatin version of St. Jerome, and his work is not\\nthe foundation of our Authorized Version. That\\ncame later. Meanwhile, these early, stammering,\\nawkward versions of what we know so well have a\\ntouching charm and a grave interest. Here is Wyc-\\nlif s version of the Beatitudes\\nBlessid be pore men in spirit for the kyngdom of\\nhevene is herun. Blessid ben mylde men: for thei\\nschulen weelde the erthe. Blessid ben thei that mournen\\nfor they schal be coumf ortid. Blessid be thei that hung-\\nren and thirsten rigtwisnesse for thei schal be f ulfillid.\\nBlessid ben merciful men for thei schal gete mercy.\\nBlessid ben thei that ben of clene herte for thei schulen\\nse God. Blessid ben pesible men: for thei schulen be\\nclepid goddis children. Blessid ben thei that suffren per-\\nsecucioun for rightwisnesse for the kyngdom of hevene\\nis hern.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nCassell publishes a cheap edition of Mandeville, with mod-\\nernized spelling. Gollancz has a charming edition, with trans-\\nlation, of the Pearl. Sir Gawaine and the Greene Knight,\\ntranslated by Jessie Weston, is in a dainty volume published\\nby David Nutt. Gower s Confessio Amantis is most accessible\\nin the Carisbrooke Library, edited by Henry Morley.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "CONTEMPORARIES OF CHAUCER 147\\nSkeat s edition of Langland. 2 vols. Also, first seven passus,\\nClarendon Press. Translation, of same. Kate Waeeen.\\nJ. JusseranDj Piers Plowman, A Contribution to the His-\\ntory of English Mysticism. V. D. Scudder, Social Ideals in\\nEnglish Letters, Part I. Ch. I. Elizabeth Dertng Hanscom,\\nThe Argument of the Vision of Piers Plowman, Modern Lan-\\nguage Association, Yol. IX.\\nGreex. History of the English People, Chap. VI, Sec. IV.\\nTeaill. Social England, Vol. II. Jessop, The Coming of the\\nFriars. Cutis, Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages\\nParish Priests and their People in the Middle Ages in England.\\nWelliam Morris. The Dream of John Ball.\\nBosworth and Warixg, Translations of the Gospels, in-\\ncludes Wyclifs. English Works of Wyclif, ed. by T. Arxold.\\nBy J. D. Matthew-Penxesgtoist, J. Wyclif, his Life, Time,\\nand Teaching. Beedexsieg, John Wiclif, Patriot and Re-\\nformer. G. V. Lechler, John Wyclif, and his English\\nPrecursors.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nIt is not only entertaining, but profitable, to have stories\\ntold from Mandeyille in class, for various inferences can be\\ndrawn concerning the state of knowledge in the middle ages,\\nand concerning mediaeval habits of thought. Ruskin alludes to\\nMandeville in a charming way in the Ethics of the Dust.\\nGoliancz s edition of the Pearl M is a pleasure to handle, and\\nportions of the poem should be read. The teacher might here\\nlecture on the Elegy as an art-form, or suggest comparisons with\\nother great elegies. Any one would enjoy owning and reading\\nJessie Weston s pretty edition of Sir Gawaine. Gower may\\nbe taken by the young on trust.\\nYoung students can read Langland only in short extracts or\\nin translation. Enough work, however, to give an idea of his\\nflavor, his racy vocabulary, his quaint use of symbolism and\\nfigure, his pathos and moral earnestness, may well be done.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThis is a point where interesting lectures may profitably be\\ngiven. The social conditions of England may be pictured.\\nLangland may be compared in his social teaching with Words-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "148\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nworth, with Carlyle, with Ruskin, with Tolstoi. His pictures of\\ncontemporary life may be made vivid to the class, and his sym-\\nbolic impersonations, like his figures of the seven deadly sins,\\nmay be compared with others of the same general type, as\\nSpenser s in the first book of the Faerie Queene, Giotto s in\\nthe Arena chapel at Padua. A lecture on St. Francis, and the\\nmediaeval idea of the relation of poverty to Christianity, would\\nnot be out of place, and would be helpful in understanding the\\ninfluence of Wyclif. A lecture on Wyclif is needed to expand\\nthe slight treatment of the text, and the teacher might spend\\nan hour in reading to the class from Wyclif s Bible, while the\\nstudents compared his rendering with the Authorized Version.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VI\\nTHE MEDIAEVAL DRAMA\\nTHE middle ages had its epics, its lyrics, its prose\\nit had also its drama. No other drama ever\\nheld the public so long. For nearly five centuries\\nit was in its rude way a living force only three\\ncenturies separate us from Shakespeare.\\nThe mediaeval drama is not, in the strict sense,\\nliterature for it was never meant to be read, and we\\nmust not turn to it for literary values. Neverthe-\\nless, it is of great importance, for it prepared the\\nway for Shakespeare. It trained the dramatic in-\\nstincts of the people from whom was to spring the\\nElizabethan drama, and the Elizabethan drama is the\\ngreatest imaginative self-expression of the modern\\nworld.\\nNo drama was ever so audacious in subject as this; Biblical\\nfor it began with the creation of the world, and only t?on Ua\\npaused with the day of judgment. All heaven and\\nall hell it brought upon the scene angels and\\ndevils the Lord of Life Himself, and the lord of\\nsin. Between these two mighty opposing forces\\nit placed the greatest of all protagonists, Man.\\nMediaeval drama was part of mediaeval religion.\\nThere are, to be sure, traces of secular drama in\\nthe middle ages, but they are comparatively insig-\\nnificant and, though in Europe many plays were\\nfounded on the lives of saints, we are not sur-\\n149", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "150\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nprised to find that the drama of the race which had\\nproduced Csedmon and Cynewulf was almost wholly\\nBiblical.\\nDevelop- The dramatization of the great story was indeed\\nsure to come among people who persistently visual-\\nized all the mysteries of faith. It grew, this religious\\ndrama, in a way that seems strange to us moderns.\\nThere were no theatres in the middle ages. The\\nearliest theatre was a church, and not only a church,\\nbut the stage or scene was the holy place around the\\nhigh altar. Here, on the great feast days, white-\\nrobed choristers representing the Christmas shep-\\nherds or the Easter angels detached themselves from\\nthe rest of the choir or clergy, and, with special\\nchants, with gestures, later with more pronounced\\naction, made visible to worshippers who could under-\\nstand religion best through their eyes, the central\\nfacts of the Gospel story. In time this nascent drama\\nmoved from choir to nave, became more and more\\nseparate from the religious service, and gained new,\\nindependent subjects. A great step was taken when\\nit left the church and passed into the open air of\\nthe square outside; a greater, perhaps, when it defi-\\nnitely abandoned Latin, and talked in the tongue\\nunderstood of the people. In time, secular actors\\ntook the place of the clergy and finally, the drama,\\nfully developed, took to wandering at will through\\nthe town, the fullest expression we have of the\\nrude, childish, generous heart of the mediaeval\\npeople.\\nCharacter. For the people created, possessed, acted, this mam-\\nmoth, anonymous drama. Different acts in the\\nstory came to be assigned to the different trade", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "THE MEDIAEVAL DRAMA\\n151\\nguilds, the Fishermen, for instance, taking the\\nFlood, the Bakers the Last Supper. Each owned a\\ncar, or travelling stage, devoted to this act, and\\nprided itself on its full equipment in properties and\\nactors. The car was built in tiers, of which the\\nlower could serve as green-room, or as a second stage\\nto represent the earth, while the upper was some-\\ntimes reserved for heaven. Whatever the arrange-\\nment, a great feature of the mediaeval stage was a\\nmonstrous pair of jaws, sometimes worked to open\\nand shut, which represented that spot so real to the\\nmediaeval fancy, the jaws of hell, ever yawning to\\nreceive unhappy mortals. On festival days, espe-\\ncially the Feast of Corpus Christi in midsummer,\\nthese lumbering cars would roll one after another\\nthrough the thronged holiday streets, and at each\\npause would be enacted the pageant of the guild.\\nAll through a summer s day, through several days\\nsometimes, these pageants would pass by, and the\\nfamiliar streets would be to the populace no longer\\nthe scene of petty everyday life, but of the Drama\\nof Redemption.\\nNothing daunted the audacity of the mediaeval\\nplaywrights. The Deity Himself they put upon the\\nstage, with primitive simplicity which appears strange\\nto our modern mind. Paid for a pair of gloves for\\nGod, twopence, is an item in an old account of the\\ntheatre. The first act of the drama was the Fall of\\nLucifer. The arch-fiend and his attendant angels\\ntumbled literally from the upper stage into hell-\\nmouth, whence they emerged, sprightly if hideous\\ndemons. Then came the pageant of the Creation of\\nMan, followed by successive scenes from the Scrip-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "152\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nture story Cain and Abel, the Flood, the Sacrifice\\nof Isaac, the long row of Prophets foretelling the\\nbirth of the Saviour. More intense and eager would\\ngrow the feelings of the audience as the pageants of\\nthe New Testament drew near. How tenderly they\\nwould follow the rude grace and touching childish-\\nness with which were depicted all the exquisite\\nstories of the birth and infancy of the Lord With\\nwhat awed and aching hearts would they watch the\\npageants which set forth with unsparing, piteous\\ndetail the scenes of His Passion and Death Then\\ncame the Harrowing of Hell, full of dramatic action\\nbetween the wrathful devils, routed in the moment of\\ntheir triumph, and the Christ, victorious through His\\nvery agony. The Resurrection and Ascension thrilled\\nwatchful hearts with adoring joy and from Whit-\\nsunday the drama advanced rapidly to the Day of\\nJudgment, where not all the primitive setting could\\nlessen the awe with which simple souls heard pro-\\nnounced the words of doom and mercy and saw the\\nsouls of the blessed in their little white coats ris-\\ning into heavenly glory, and of the others, dark with\\nagony, seized and dragged into the fiery mouth of\\nhell by gibbering, horny devils.\\nValues. As far as poetic values go, this old drama is rude\\nin the extreme. The verse is usually mere doggerel\\nthere is little idea of dramatic movement or arrange-\\nment. Yet it has a certain power and pathos, de-\\nrived, if from nothing else, from the majesty of the\\ntheme. It is very touching, too, to see how the old\\nplaywrights conceived of the Holy Story as if it had\\nhappened in Lancashire or London. They do not\\nhesitate to introduce into the sacred tale the rough", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "THE MEDIAEVAL DRAMA\\n153\\nmanners, the characters, the humor, which they knew\\nin daily life. In the Old Testament plays, the pag-\\neant of the Flood was particularly devoted to this\\nkind of humor, and Noah s Wife, a character ben\\ntrovata, was own cousin to Chaucer s Wife of Bath.\\nShe wouldn t go into the ark. She didn t believe it\\nwas going to rain. She was angry because Noah had\\nnot told her what he was doing in all the hundred\\nyears he had been building that boat. The Merry\\nWives of Windsor, we may surmise, come from her\\ntribe. There is less broad farce, but equal humor,\\nin the charming, absurd, Nativity Plays. Here hon-\\nest English rustics, who like Ely s ale, and bear such\\nnames as Tudde, Hancken, and Trowle, indulge in\\njokes, quarrels, horse-play grumble at the weather,\\nWhew Golly How cold it is exclaims one\\nare not at all awed by the Gloria-angel, whom they\\nfall to mimicking but do lay aside their roughness,\\nfilled with tender adoration, at the sight of the Holy\\nChild. Very touching in realism are the gifts these\\nshepherds bring him a brooch with a tin bell, for\\ninstance two cobble nuts on a ribbon a horn spoon\\nthat will hold forty pease and the like. In one set\\nof plays, little shepherd boys follow their masters,\\nand give, they too, of their substance.\\nTo pull down apples, pears, and plums,\\nOld Joseph shall not need to hurt his thumbs\\nI give thee here my nut-hook/\\nsays one little lad. There is much real beauty, also,\\nabout the other scenes in the Nativity Pageants,\\nnotably those where speaks the Mother-Maid, gazing", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "154\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nin brooding worship, blended with gentle mother\\nlove, upon her mysterious Child\\nSon, as I am simple subject of thine,\\nVouchsafe, sweet son, I pray thee,\\nThat I may take thee in these arms of mine,\\nAnd in this poor weed to array thee.\\nGrant me this bliss,\\nAs I am thy mother chosen to be\\nIn soothfastness.\\nThat Joseph swears by the Trinity and Herod by\\nMahomet does not seem, however absurd the anach-\\nronism, to alter the essential truth of human feeling\\nin the naive old dramas.\\nWhen the dramas draw near to the more solemn\\nor tragic portions of the story, however, their fail-\\nure is more obvious and, despite an occasional touch\\nof beauty, the puerility and feebleness become so\\ngreat that sympathy almost ceases. But we must\\nlook, not at execution, but at conception, if we would\\nrealize the power of this drama in the poetic educa-\\ntion of the English race. And the conception has a\\ntitanic grandeur which assuredly prepared the way\\nfor the greater art of the future. Elizabethan\\ntragedy, with the careless strength of a young giant,\\nshook off the troublesome conventions of the stage,\\nunity of time, unity of place. Was not England\\nreared upon dramas that embraced heaven, earth, and\\nhell within their limits, that encompassed all of time\\nthat had been and yet should be 1 Not only in\\nbreadth of scope, but in rough truth to human life,\\nin a frank realism that alternated with conventional\\niRatherine Lee Bates, The English Eeligious Drama, p. 183.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "THE MEDLEY AL DRAMA 155\\ntypes, in the blending of tragedy and comedy, the\\nmediaeval stage prepared the way for Shakespeare.\\nMoreover, these old plays developed an insatiable\\ndesire for dramatic representation. They made\\nEngland a nation of actors, a nation of theatre-\\nlovers, a nation of deep dramatic cravings, who\\nwould be content with no such learned and elegant\\ntrifling as amused the court and university, but cried\\nout for range, for earnestness, for life. To follow\\nthe history of feudal England through a series of\\nplays was little for those whose grandsires had fol-\\nlowed the history of mankind. Londoners had\\nlooked already on a more heart-moving tragedy\\nthan Hamlet. 1\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nJ. M. Manly, Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama.\\n(Athenaeum Press Series.) A. W. Pollard, English Miracle\\nPlays, Moralities and Interludes. K. L. Bates, The English\\nReligious Drama.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nIt will probably be found best for students to read only a\\nfew selected passages here and there from tins rough old drama.\\nBut certain of the plays have been presented lately by student\\ncompanies, with as close a reproduction as possible of the\\nmediaeval setting, to the delectation alike of actors and audi-\\nence. The shepherd plays and some of the pageants of the\\nOld Testament lend themselves particularly well to such repre-\\nsentation.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThere is material here for a series of valuable lectures. The\\ndramas could be considered and described by cycles, or the\\ntreatment could be topical, discussing the humorous elements\\nin the mediaeval drama, the poetry, the dramatic structure, the\\nillustrations of contemporary life, the relation to the ritual of\\nthe Church, etc.\\n1 Ibid., p. 200.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VII\\nTHE FIFTEENTH CENTURY\\nI. Chaucerian Imitators\\nIN some countries there are seasons when autumn\\nand spring meet, so that the year is dying and be-\\ning born at the same time. Something like this\\nhappened in England in the fifteenth century. To\\nall outward seeming, that century looked like a period\\nof death and sterile decay but, before its end, little\\nseeds that were to mean a wondrously fair growth\\nwere sprouting, unsuspected by men, beneath the\\nsurface.\\nSo far as actual achievement above ground goes,\\nhowever, our eyes rest on decay alone. Almost noth-\\ning original was produced in English letters. People\\nhad been much, and rightly, impressed with Chaucer\\nand they took to imitating him, and went on doing\\nso till their works became the shadow of a shadow.\\nChaucer looked straight at life but they looked at\\nChaucer, and their fate is a warning. They did not\\ncatch his freshness and humor and keen observant\\npower they copied his more conventional aspects,\\nhis mannerisms, and allegories. These things had\\nbeen a real expression of men s spirit once. They\\nwere fading away when Chaucer revived them, and\\nwhen his imitators kept them up they grew fainter\\nand fainter.\\n156", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY\\n157\\nIt must not be supposed that there was no merit\\nin any of these followers of Chaucer if there were\\nnothing greater awaiting us, we might find pleasure\\nin lingering with them but it is better to learn\\nabout supremely great things first, and then to\\nreturn, if one will, to the second-rate.\\nLydgate, Hoccleve, and Hawes were the chief of John\\nthese Chaucerian imitators. Lydgate was a good- aboufilVo\\ntempered, pleasant monk, quite in earnest about his bout\\nreligion, but without what one would call a spiritual\\nvocation. He may have been a little like Browning s\\nFra Lippo Lippi but he solaced himself for his\\nmonastic confinement with writing, not with paint-\\ning, and he did not have so much genius as Lippi.\\nHe must have enjoyed his work, though, for he kept\\non writing hymns and ballads and fables and saint\\nlegends and telling old stories over again, till he had\\nproduced an average of five thousand verses a year,\\nand left behind him over a hundred and thirty thou-\\nsand. Virgil, M. Jusserand reminds us with a sigh,\\nwrote in all his life only fourteen thousand. His\\nwork is not disagreeable. His Troy Book, his\\nStory of Thebes, his Fall of Princes, are well\\nenough told but there is nothing vital in them,\\nnothing significant. One feels that if he could only\\nonce get down to the truth of his own nature, he\\nmight do something really fine. But this he never\\ntook the trouble to do. The best way perhaps to\\nappreciate Lydgate is to read Hoccleve for Hoc- Thomas\\ncleve was even duller than Lydgate. The best thing ^\u00c2\u00b0out eVe\\nabout him was that he loved Chaucer, whose verse ^out 69 10\\nhe knew well. His verse is very didactic, rather 145\\nmournful, and there was a great deal of it.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "158\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nSo poetry went on, sterile, imitative, and depress-\\ning. Meanwhile, not much original work was doing\\nin prose. The most important prose writer in Eng-\\nlish was a curious man, Reginald Pecock. He at-\\ntacked Wyclifism and defended the Church, but\\nwith such strange weapons that the Church resented\\nhis championship, and forced him to burn his books\\nand to make recantation. Pecock was an interesting\\nand original person the man whom all parties\\ndread and discard usually is.\\nII. Scotch Literature\\nBut to find anything in literature worth lingering\\nover, one must travel away from weary and battle-\\nbeset England, and take refuge in the Kingdom of\\nthe North. Scotland had been silent all this time\\nonly, in the fourteenth century, Barbour s Bruce\\nhad sung of the national conflict against England,\\nand as the fifteenth century wore on some other\\npatriotic poetry was produced. But now a number\\nof voices arise. They sing, they scold, they laugh\\nthere is life in them, and real feeling.\\nJames I, The first of these is the voice of a king, a real king,\\n1394-1437.\\nwho seems to belong in a story-book James I, of Scot-\\nland. It is a courtly voice it belongs to a lover, a sen-\\nsitive, dreamy man of finest culture. He sings over\\nagain what had been imagined before him, but the won-\\nder is that in his case it has all come true. He was in\\nprison, like Palamon and Arcite in the Knight s\\nTale, and he saw from his window another Emily\\nwalking in the garden Ah, sweet, are ye a worldly\\ncreature, or heavenly thing in guise of nature he", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY\\n159\\nexclaimed in marvelling admiration. She was an\\nearthly creature her name, Jane Beaufort his love\\nfrom that moment, later his loving wife and the\\nromantic story of his courtship and many other\\nthings he wrote in his poem, The King s Quair,\\nor King s Book. The poem is modelled after\\nChaucer, but it has real experience in it it is\\nwritten in a seven line stanza, which Chaucer had\\nused, but which has taken since the name of rhyme\\nroyal, from the kingly author. Those who wish to\\nknow more of the tragic fate of this poet-king of\\nromance may read it in Rossetti s noble ballad,\\nThe King s Tragedy.\\nThe other Scottish poets are not so courtly. They Robert\\nare real Scotchmen by and by they will have a ^^500)?\\nyounger brother named Burns. Robert Henryson,\\na schoolmaster, can write, to be sure, a Testament or\\nWill for Chaucer s Cresside, but he can also put\\niEsop s Fables into sparkling, spirited, entertaining\\nverse. William Dunbar, a stronger soul than Hen- William\\nryson, had a wild, exuberant character. In the U60-1530.\\npoems that he imitated from Chaucer, The Thistle\\nand the Rose, and The Golden Targe, his pic-\\ntures are so gorgeous and his colors so intense that\\nwe feel that the mark of decay is upon them. His\\nlyrics are charged with a reckless, grotesque, sombre\\npassion his Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins and\\nhis Lament for the Makars come, as all may feel,\\nfrom the country of Tarn o Shanter. Finally, in\\nthis roll of Scottish poets, advances a grave bishop,\\nnamed Gavin Douglas. Scott knew him well, as Gavin\\nMarmion can testify. Douglas translated the i^lSfe.\\niEneid, and the work was important but he di-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "160\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nvided the poem by little interludes of his own, describ-\\ning different aspects of nature, and these are more\\nimportant still. We escape in them from the eternal\\nMay of the fourteenth century we no longer pluck\\nroses and violets at the same season. We watch the\\nwild storms of the Scottish winter, and the details of\\nthe bleak Scotch landscape are studied with loving\\ncare.\\nIt is Celtic, this revel of wild nature all this\\nScotch poetry is obviously of Celtic inspiration, the\\npassion for color that is in it, the humor, now sly,\\nnow coarse, the mingling of fun and horror which\\none gets in Dunbar, the curious power with which\\nthe supernatural note is struck. These things are\\nseldom to be found in the poetry produced in Eng-\\nland while the Norman influence was supreme and\\nnew. They serve to remind us of the third great\\nracial element which, before the sixteenth century is\\nover, will fully have reasserted itself in English\\nverse.\\nIII. Ballads\\nWe may as well pause here as at any other point\\nto glance at something which has been going on for\\na long time ballad-making. For printing is on\\nthe way, and ballads will cease. A ballad is a shy\\nthing. If you try to catch and print it, it is likely\\nto run away, and to leave a poor imitated concern in\\nits place. Neither does it like to be asked questions\\nabout date or authorship or dry matters of that\\nkind; it knows how to evade very sharp examina-\\ntions on these lines. So we would better not press\\nmany inquiries about the ballads; but if we open", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY\\n161\\nour eyes and ears almost any time from the four-\\nteenth century to the eighteenth, if we slip away\\nfrom the learned world and play with simple folk\\nand listen, there the ballads we shall find. They\\nseem to appear as mysteriously as fairies in a ring\\non midsummer eve. Where did they come from?\\nNobody knows, though a good many are of Scotch\\ndescent, as one can tell from their garment of words\\nand from their feelings. Only one thing is clear\\nthey have no relation to the great literary tradition\\nwhich we have been following from the twelfth cen-\\ntury down. They spring straight from the hearts\\nand lips of the common people no one can ascribe\\na ballad to a single author they were sung before\\nthey were said. While we read them, we are no\\nlonger in the graceful garden close nor in a feudal\\nhall nor a cathedral we are in the good green wood,\\nwith Robin Hood and his merry men, or on the\\nmoorland country, under the wide sky where Percy\\nand Douglas fight; or we stand with true Thomas\\nat the spot where three roads meet the road to\\nheaven, the road to hell,\\nAnd see ye not that bonny road,\\nWhich winds about the femie brae\\nThat is the road to fair Elfland,\\nWhere you and I this night maun gae.\\nDown this last road, the road to Fairyland, again\\nand again the ballads lead us. These ballads of\\nsuperstition come mostly from Scotland, and the\\nCeltic magic is in them. Then we have ballads of\\nborder warfare, of domestic story, of pure romance,\\nand, above all, ballads of the wild outlaw life of the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "162\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nforest. Red blood runs through the veins of the\\npeople in the ballads. They move in no conven-\\ntional world of vision, no pretty sphere of artificial\\nsentiments and graceful manners. Their feet are\\non the solid earth, and the verse that tells of their\\nloves and fates goes directly to the point\\nShe turned her back unto the room,\\nHer face unto the wa\\nAnd with a deep and heavy sigh\\nHer heart it brak in twa.\\nWe are among primeval experiences, elemental pas-\\nsions great is the relief with which we turn to\\nthem after the monotonous echoes of the lettered\\nworld in the fifteenth century.\\nIV. The Decadence of the Middle Ages\\nBut why should the literature of the fifteenth\\ncentury have been monotonous and sterile Why,\\nafter that brief glory of Chaucer s time, should\\nsilence fall In other countries, notably in Italy,\\nthe fifteenth century was an age of fervid creation,\\na climax in the imaginative power of the race. Why\\nnot in England\\nLiterature in England was apparently dying,\\nbecause other things greater than literature were\\ndying too.\\nThe Wars of the Roses were the last struggle\\nof feudalism. Knighthood, from a grim or noble\\nreality, was becoming a plaything. The great baro-\\nnial houses were being swept away. The Peasant\\nRevolt, to be sure, had been suppressed, and silent", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 163\\nmisery had once more fallen upon the poor yet,\\ndespite the seeming victory of the powers that were,\\nthe doom of the great feudal nobility had been pro-\\nnounced. The whole fabric of mediaeval society was\\nundermined and crumbling away. A new social\\norder was approaching.\\nThe religious situation was tragic. In the first\\nhalf of the century the Lollards had been ruthlessly\\nsuppressed, and their leader, Sir John Oldcastle,\\nburnt to death. The Roman Catholic Church\\nseemed wholly triumphant. But not the satire of\\nChaucer nor the appeals of Langland nor the in-\\nvective of Wyclif had made her purify her abuses.\\nThe stress on imagination and feeling had been\\noverwrought; superstitious excesses had crept in;\\nreligion, to a people that had lost all power to follow\\nor understand the offices in Latin, and saw the\\nunworthy lives of throngs of clergy, came to seem\\nlike an outworn sham.\\nIt must have been mournful to live in the fifteenth\\ncentury, to feel the fabric of Church and State crum-\\nbling around, yet to have no clear vision of better\\nthings to be. The mood of such a period is likely\\nto be tragic, fevered, charged with gloom. Even\\nthe imitators of Chaucer have little of his bright\\nspirit, but are addicted to melancholy wails. Ex-\\ntravagance and hysteria mark the last phases of the\\nAges of Romance. Costume becomes fantastically\\nabsurd. Gothic architecture is dying with the mid-\\ndle ages, dying in extravagance on the Continent, in\\nformalism in England. People feel a sense of pro-\\nfound discouragement and exhaustion. At times,\\nreaction from conventionality produces eccentric,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "164\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nburlesque work, such as that of the curious poet,\\nJohn Skelton. A fiercely satirical temper is met\\nagain and again the figure of Folly seems with her\\ncap and bells to dominate the scene. A popular\\nDutch poem, translated by one Barclay, illustrates\\nthis temper the name of the poem is The Ship of\\nFools, and it moves to a dreadful climax in the\\nchapter entitled The Universall or General Ship or\\nBarge, where we see all nations helter-skelter, all\\nsorts and conditions of men, the rich, the poor, labor-\\ners, merchants, soldiers, explorers, women, children,\\nall wearing the livery of Folly, and the aspect of\\nthe insane.\\nBeside the form of Folly, another, yet more terri-\\nble, dominated the fifteenth century this was the\\nform of the Skeleton. The age w^as morbidly given\\nto meditation on decay and death. The Art and\\nCraft to know well how to Die was one of the first\\nbooks issued from Caxton s press. Homilies on the\\nDay of Judgment, on the Four Last Things, meet us\\nat every turn. Natural enough, then, is the appear-\\nance of the skeleton, the physical symbol of the Lord\\nof Terrors. He peeps as an ornament from the illu-\\nminated borders of Books of Hours he is carved in\\nthe woodwork of the cathedrals frightful pageants\\nare held in his honor, pageants of which the famous\\nDanse Macabre gives the suggestion. Finally, the\\ngreat artist Holbein sums up the spirit of the time\\nin his famous woodcuts of The Dance of Death.\\nThe grim figure is everywhere present leans out\\nbehind the preacher in the pulpit, touches on the\\nshoulder the ploughman in the field, watches the\\nmiser count his gold, draws the child from the era-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 165\\ndie, is, unseen, the lord of the human race. There\\nis in Holbein s pictures a solemn and eternal truth\\nthere is also a special truth for his own day and\\ngeneration. This weird apparition had effectively\\ntouched the middle ages on the shoulder, and sum-\\nmoned them to their doom.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGood selections from the Chaucerian imitators are found in\\nWard s English Poets. Selections from the Scottish poets are\\nin Mediaeval Scottish Poetry, Glasgow, 1892. The Romance\\nof a King s Life, by J. J. Jusserand, tells vividly the story\\nof James I, and Rossetti s ballad, the King s Tragedy, is a\\nnoble version of his death.\\nOn ballads, the great authority is Child s monumental work,\\nEnglish and Scottish Popular Ballads. A good short collec-\\ntion, with admirable introduction, is that by Gummere, in the\\nAthenaeum Press series. See, also, Percy s Reliques, J. Rit-\\nson s Ancient Songs and Ballads, K. L. Bates s Ballad Book\\n(Sibley Ducker).\\nFor general character of period, socially and politically, see\\nDenton, England in the Fifteenth Century.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nIn this period ballads are the most rewarding study for\\nyoung students. Great ballads, like Sir Patrick Spens, The\\nWife of Usher s Well, portions of Chevy Chase, and the\\nRobin Hood ballads, may be learned and repeated in class.\\nSpecial discussions may be held on outlaw life as shown in\\nthe ballads, on nature in the ballads, on the supernatural in the\\nballads, on the difference between the English and Scottish\\nballads also on the art of the ballads, their versification, their\\nfigures of speech, their narrative power, their range of feeling,\\netc.\\nIf Holbein s illustrations of The Dance of Death can be\\nshown to the class, the last part of the chapter will be far more\\nvivid.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "166\\nTHE MIDDLE AGES\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nA lecture on the nature element in the Scottish poets would\\nbe quite worth while, recalling the class to a line of interest\\nwhich should have been started in the study of Anglo-Saxon\\nand Celtic literature, and may be in danger of being forgotten\\nby this time. Or a lecture on Dunbar and Henryson, comparing\\nthem with Burns, would be interesting.\\nThe Origin of Ballads is a subject rather out of the range\\nof high-school scholars, but a talk by the teacher drawn from\\nChild and Gummere could make the important subject lucid\\nand intelligible. Ballads and folklore in other countries might\\nbe compared with those of England, or the class might be told\\nabout European forms of ballads found in our own tongue. A\\nlecture on the social and political conditions of the century\\nwould be of service.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "PAET III\\nTHE RENAISSANCE", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER I\\nTHE REBIRTH\\nTHE word renaissance means rebirth, and it is\\nnot too strong a word for what happened to the\\nnations of Europe when the middle ages were ex-\\nhausted. However great they were, these middle\\nages, they were bound to pass away sooner or later.\\nEvery order of civilization has its term. Men are\\nalways forgetting this, and thinking that the order\\nin which they live is final. Most people think this\\nto-day about our industrial democracy so people in\\nthe fifteenth century believed that feudalism and the\\nRoman Catholic Church could never lose their hold\\non the English race. They had lasted so long, these\\nmighty powers longer than the memory of men s\\ngreat-great-grandfathers When symptoms of decay\\nbegan to appear in them, people became frightened.\\nThey fell into those moods of lethargy or reckless-\\nness which we described in the last chapter, they\\ntook to fearing that Death reigned supreme.\\nThey were right in thinking that the old was\\ndoomed, but they did not know what great new\\nthings were to come. Even in literature, the no-\\nblest and most beautiful achievements of the race\\nwere yet to be. Think of the state of English litera-\\nture in 1500. There was no Shakespeare, no Milton,\\nno Spenser, no Bacon, no Tennyson, nor Wordsworth,\\nnor Carlyle, nor Dickens. Chaucer was the only\\n169", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "170\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nThe Re-\\nnaissance\\nand the\\nReforma-\\ntion.\\nSeparate\\nin Europe.\\nUnited in\\nEngland.\\nauthor of the first order of importance who had yet\\nappeared.\\nThe new experience which was to come to England\\nhad already taken brilliant form in Italy. Strictly\\nand literally speaking, we call it the Renaissance.\\nThis was a secular movement it meant an enlarged\\nhunger for learning and knowledge, a quickened\\nsense for beauty and for art. Meanwhile in Ger-\\nmany a little later a religious movement, not wholly\\ndifferent from the Renaissance in cause, produced a\\nvery different result the Reformation.\\nThe Renaissance and the Reformation were at\\nbottom from the same source, the new craving\\nfor inward freedom. But they were strangely dif-\\nferent in manifestation, and as a rule they appealed\\nto different races. The interesting thing about the\\nearly phases of the new life in England was that the\\ntwo impulses were combined. In Italy the Renais-\\nsance tended to irreligion in Germany, the Refor-\\nmation did little or nothing to foster art or letters.\\nThe English, a race at once Teutonic and Latin,\\nseemed for a time to hold the two forces in a noble\\nharmony. Later the two currents, even in England,\\nseparated. One set toward Puritanism the other\\ndrove men back within the horizons of earth, and\\nfixed their eyes on its seductions and their hearts on\\nits desires with results that we shall see. For a long\\ntime, however, the friendly interplay of the forces\\nmaking toward religious and toward secular free-\\ndom, toward reformed faith on the one hand and\\nenlarged learning on the other, produced conse-\\nquences in England such as were not to be found\\nin any other country. And, to the end, the ethical", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "THE REBIRTH\\n171\\nclassics.\\nGermanic strain in the sturdy English, race pre-\\nvented them from falling into the excesses of the\\nlater Renaissance, that disfigured the alluring but\\ncorrupt Italy of the Borgias.\\nThe rediscovery of the classic past was the chief The Re-\\ninspiration of the Renaissance. Suddenly, the world\\nawakened to knowledge of the literature and art of\\nGreece and Rome. In 1453, the fall of Constantinople\\nsent the Greek scholars who had gathered there,\\nflying with their precious manuscripts to Italy, where The\\nthey received a warm welcome. George Eliot s the\\nRomola gives a fine picture of the eager delight\\nwith which the new study was welcomed at Florence.\\nGreek had hardly been known at all in Western\\nEurope during the middle ages, and, indeed, many of\\nthe greatest of the Latin writers also had become\\nmerely names to conjure with. It was not long\\nbefore this enthusiasm for Greek spread from Italy\\nto England. Soon all men and many women of\\nintellect were thirstily imbibing the new knowledge.\\nForgotten poets, orators, historians, philosophers,\\nresumed their rightful place as intellectual leaders\\nof the race. Aristotle had been known throughout\\nthe middle ages, and had absolutely controlled medi-\\naeval thought. Now Plato was discovered, and was\\nhenceforth to affect men s spiritual moods, if not\\ntheir intellectual systems, more profoundly than ever\\nAristotle had done. People were no longer to think\\nof Virgil as a mighty magician they were to try\\ntheir hand at translating him. They were to read\\nHomer, the Greek tragedians, the Latin moralists, all\\nthe spokesmen of the past. The arts of the ancient\\nworld, now first revealed, afforded standards for a", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "172\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nperfection of form, for a clearness of thought, of\\nwhich the middle ages had never dreamed. The\\nglorious achievement of men who had shaped laws,\\ncivilizations, creeds, quite different from their own,\\nwas made clear to them. Only in a wise knowl-\\nedge of the past has clear progress ever been made\\ntoward the future. No wonder that the generation\\nto whom this knowledge first came leaped suddenly\\ninto maturity.\\nThe dis- To strengthen this expansion of men s thoughts\\nthe New* came the discovery of America. It is almost im-\\nWorid. possible to realize to-day the state of mind of people\\nwho lived and died in contented ignorance of the\\nsize and shape and contents of this great home of\\nours. But people had all been so busy thinking of\\nheaven and hell that they had not troubled their\\nminds much about the shape of the visible earth.\\nThey knew the Mediterranean and the countries\\naround it. Far away, beyond, were mysterious lands\\nwhere people were black, or had one eye, perhaps, or\\ncarried their heads beneath their shoulders. They\\nwere very rich, some of these lands, and full of en-\\nchantments. So dim reports of Asia and Africa\\nfloated in the air but of our whole great America,\\nnot an inkling did men have. And this was only a\\nlittle more than four hundred years ago\\nThen began the great voyages of which we know\\nthe voyages of Columbus, of Cabot, of Americus\\nVespucius, and the rest. Every one knows Colum-\\nbus s date, whatever else he may forget it was only\\nthirty years after, in 1522, that the globe was con-\\nquered, circumnavigated for the first time. Nor\\ndid these events end the Era of Discovery long", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "THE REBIRTH\\n173\\nafter this, till the last of the sixteenth century,\\nthrough the days of Drake and Raleigh, lasted the\\nstirring romance of adventure and exploration. 1 At\\nfirst, people, in the weary, satirical mood of the\\nfifteenth century, failed to kindle with any enthu-\\nsiasm at the opening of the new lands. We find\\nBarclay, in the Ship of Fools, explaining that\\nFerdinand, king of Spain, had discovered many new\\nregions of late, very far away and the moral he\\ndraws is, So you may see how foolish it is to devote\\none s self to the unsure and vain science of geog-\\nraphy, since none can know the earth s surface per-\\nfectly. It was not long, however, before men grew\\nashamed of such discouraged sentiments, and deduced\\nmore inspiriting conclusions. The spirit of Odin the\\nWanderer, the god of their fathers, seized them and\\nwhether they pushed out themselves to brave perils\\nunguessed, to win distant lands, to explore and to\\nconquer, or whether they stayed at home and awaited\\nreports from those who sailed, we must think of\\nthem for a hundred years as constantly a-quiver with\\na great expectation. At no other time has there\\nbeen just this situation. The facts about the world\\nwere actually known in outline people realized that\\nthis whole earth was theirs, their very own, to explore\\nand subdue at will. And yet, concerning the de-\\ntails of this their earth-heritage they knew nothing.\\nThey had not unlearned yet the old belief in the\\nsupernatural. The Fountain of Youth might ever\\nlie behind the next mountain-range in some unsus-\\npected isle in far-off seas might be waiting the\\n1 Copernicus, who first taught the true relation of our world to\\nthe starry universe, died in 1543.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "174\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nEarthly Paradise. Alas we know better now, nor\\ndo we expect that any Arctic explorer will find the\\nGarden of Eden at the Pole, the one unconquered\\nspot that still remains.\\nSo men discovered, within one short fifty years,\\nthe past of their own race, and the present of the\\nworld around them. The effect of this double dis-\\ncovery was of course to fix their attention and their\\nenthusiasm upon this actual earth on which we live.\\nThey turned away from the dreams and visions so\\ndear to the middle ages. They turned to this\\nvery world: which is the world, so Wordsworth\\ntells us, wherein we find our happiness, or not\\nat all. An immense desire for knowledge took pos-\\nsession of people an impulse toward an universal\\ninquiry, a longing to explore the great new worlds\\nwaiting discoveries in the sphere of thought, as well\\nas in the solitude of tropic seas. A revolt set in\\nagainst restraint, convention, authority, in every\\ndirection.\\nThe Kefor- This movement of expansion was greatly strength-\\nmation. eneo an( j ennobled in England by the Protestant\\nReformation. Here is not the place to dwell on it.\\nThe efforts after religious freedom in the time of\\nWyclif had been suppressed in the late fifteenth\\ncentury, the spirit rose again and proved itself im-\\nmortal. But not without a struggle. Through the\\ntimes of Henry VIII and Edward VI, through the\\nlurid age of Queen Mary, on into the age of Eliza-\\nbeth, the Reformed Church was winning its way.\\nThe mediaeval ideal of asceticism was rejected a\\nnew emphasis was placed on the freedom of individ-\\nual conscience. The dominion of Rome was driven", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "THE REBIRTH\\n175\\nback inch by inch, and English Christianity became\\nonce more independent of foreign control.\\nAnd so the zest for living came back to men at The inven-\\nfirst slowly, then with a mighty rush. At the end printing,\\nof the fifteenth century appeared a new art to help\\nthe new spirit the art of printing. It revolutionized\\nletters it all but revolutionized the intellectual life.\\nIt was a mechanical thing, but one of those mechani-\\ncal things that helps to set free the human spirit.\\nMere mechanical help So the hand gives a toss\\nTo the falcon, aloft once, spread pinions and fly,\\nBeat air far and wide, up and down and across\\nMy Press strains a-tremble whose masterful eye\\nWill be first, in new regions, new truth to descry\\nKi Far and wide, North and South, East and West, have\\ndominion\\nO er Thought, winged wonder, Word Traverse\\nworld\\nIn sun-flash and sphere-song Each beat of thy pinion\\nBursts night, beckons day once Truth s banner\\nunfurled\\nWhere s Falsehood? Sun-smitten, to nothingness\\nhurled 1\\nIt was sometime between 1470 and 1480 that William\\nCaxton.\\nCaxton, a good Englishman who had long sojourned\\nin the Low Countries and had learned this strange\\nnew trade there, set up his press in London. Print-\\ning had already been known on the Continent for\\nover thirty years. They are strange-looking objects\\nto us to-day, these early books which issued from the\\nfirst presses heavy, enormous, ungainly volumes,\\nprinted in black-letter, which is often beautiful but\\n1 Browning, 4 Fust and his Friends.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "176\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nvery hard to read. Almost every library lias fac-\\nsimiles if not originals of some of these old books\\nand one feels very thoughtful as one gazes at them\\nor lifts them, thinking what the printed book has\\nmeant to the world. At first, as was natural, the\\nnew art served old affections, and the list of books\\nwhich issued from Caxton s press reads almost like a\\nreview of mediaeval literature. But whatever their\\nsubject, these old volumes speak more of the future\\nthan of the past or present for their very existence\\nproves that the modern world was born.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nJ. A. Symonds, The Renaissance in Italy, the standard his-\\ntory of the most important phase of the Renaissance also\\nSymonds article on the Renaissance in Encyclopaedia Britan-\\nnica, ninth edition. Jacob Burckhardt, The Renaissance in\\nItaly.\\nWilliam Blades s Life and Typography of William Cax-\\nton contains numerous facsimile cuts also, shorter 1 vol. work,\\nThe Biography and Typography of William Caxton. G. H.\\nPutnam, Books and their Makers during the Middle Ages.\\nA. W. Pollard, Early Illustrated Books.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nIt would be valuable here, if practicable, to illustrate the\\nchange that was passing over Europe by brief, simple talks\\non the painting and architecture of the Renaissance as com-\\npared with those of the middle ages. To show a class photo-\\ngraphs from Cimabue, Giotto, Botticelli, and Raphael, with\\nsimple comments, makes the great development far more vivid\\nthan any mere discussion of literature can do.\\nA lecture on the history of printed books, with something\\nabout the great early printers, is as interesting as a romance,\\nand would help to awaken in students enthusiasm for the beau-\\ntiful bodies of books.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER II\\nLEARNING AND POETRY UNDER HENRY VIII\\nI. The New Learning\\nTHE Universities had a great part to play in the Thework\\nEnglish revival of learning. Oxford and Cam- versities.\\nbridge had become rather arid and dusty places at\\nthis time. They had betaken themselves to repeat-\\ning intellectual conventions it is a way Universities\\nhave. But now a new spirit stirred in them, spread\\nfrom them, and sent a quickening thrill through the\\nlength and breadth of England. This, too, occasion-\\nally happens in an academic centre and a great\\nhome of learning must always live in hopes of a\\nvisitation of this kind.\\nThe introduction of the study of Greek was the\\nchief influence that re-created English scholarship.\\nThe students, wrote an eye-witness at Oxford in\\nthe early sixteenth century, rush to Greek letters.\\nThey endure watching, fasting, toil, and hunger, in\\npursuit of them. It was still earlier, in 1497, that\\nthe famous Dutch scholar Erasmus, going to Oxford Rasmus,\\nbecause he was too poor to visit the goal of his long-\\nings, Italy, found himself amazed and delighted at the\\nintellectual enthusiasms and sound scholarship of the\\nplace. His soul, an-hungered for Greek learning, met\\nthe full gratification of its desires. I have found\\nin Oxford, he writes, so much polish and learning\\n177", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "178\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nthat now I hardly care about going to Italy at all,\\nsave for the sake of having been there. When I\\nlisten to my friend Colet, it seems like listening to\\nPlato himself. Who does not wonder at the wide\\nrange of Grocyn s knowledge What can be more\\nsearching, deep, and refined than the judgment of\\nLinacre When did nature mould a temper more\\ngentle, endearing, and happy than the temper of\\nThomas More? A close and tender bond of\\npersonal friendship sprang up among these eager\\nscholars, who felt themselves united in as high a\\nquest as were ever the knights of old the quest\\nfor spiritual and intellectual light, the campaign\\nagainst that worst of dragons, Ignorance. The\\nrecords of the affectionate, witty, earnest intercourse\\nof the little group are fascinating reading. All of\\nthem were men who left their mark on their genera-\\ntion. All blended, in a rather unusual fashion, the\\ntemper of the reformer and the scholar, of the keen\\ncritic and the devout believer.\\nColet brilliant work of Erasmus does not belong to\\nDean of the story of English letters. Among the English-\\nSt. Paul s, i ..i, i a\\n1502. men, we must not pass by, without one loving word,\\nthe beautiful figure of John Colet. He afterward\\nbecame the Dean of St. Paul s, and by his establish-\\nment of grammar schools on a new system, laid the\\nfoundations for a sound education for the people at\\nlarge. Lift up your little white hands, wrote\\nColet to his young scholars, for me which prayeth\\nfor you to God. Colet was one of that long and\\nhonorable line of English Churchmen who have com-\\nbined a passion for sound learning with devout faith,\\nwith simplicity and love. He was a true descendant\\nof Bede.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "LEARNING AND POETRY\\n179\\nBut of all these first men of the modern world, Sir\\nthe most interesting and attractive is undoubtedly More,\\nSir Thomas More, one of the noblest Englishmen, 1480-1\\nstatesmen, dreamers, Christians, that have ever lived.\\nHis great book, the Utopia, shines like a beacon\\nlight at the entrance to the new life of the nation.\\nHe was a man placed high in distinction. From a\\ngracious boyhood passed in the household of a great\\nChurch dignitary, he went to the University. Thence\\nhe passed to a steadily rising eminence in a legal\\ncareer; till the young king, Henry VIII, himself\\none of the most ardent patrons of the New Learning,\\nsingled him out for favor, and finally made him Vice-\\nChancellor of England, as well as his own close per-\\nsonal friend.\\nMore carried his honors serenely. His joy was\\nin his friends, his books, his family life he was a\\nmost lovable, humorous, kindly, clear-thinking man.\\nSweetness and light, the qualities so -praised by\\nMatthew Arnold, serve perfectly to describe his\\ncharacter and his work. He lived in soberness, too,\\nnear to the thought of God. He was a devout\\nRoman Catholic, with no sympathy for the new\\nfaith. It is strange to think of an exponent of the\\nNew Learning and an enthusiast for Greek letters\\nwearing, unknown to any, a hair shirt next his skin.\\nMore s life presents another strange paradox. He\\nwas a radical social dreamer yet he was high in the\\ncounsels of kings. No one was more alive to this\\nparadox, and the insecurity it implied, than he and\\nhe could not have been much surprised when the\\nsunshine of the royal favor deserted him. His con-\\nscience could not accept the claims of the king to be", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "180\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nHead of the visible Church, and to divorce a wife when\\nit pleased him. He was pursued with the demand\\nfor an oath he could not take, disgraced, imprisoned,\\nand, in 1535, beheaded. He died, martyr at once to\\nfaith and to freedom the Roman Church did well\\nwhen, in 1886, she added him to her list of the\\nsaints.\\nMore s writings came in his early life, before the\\nstorms of his career as a statesman. His Lives\\nof Edward V and of Richard III may be said to\\nmark the beginning of modern history, and their\\nfine and dignified manner certainly promises a new\\ndevelopment of English prose. But the book by\\nwhich he lives, the epitome of the best intuitions\\nand aims of the New Learning, was no story of\\nwhat is it was a vision of what might be, the\\ntale of the land of Utopia.\\nThe The book dates from 1515 and 1516. It was writ-\\ni5]U3 t0pia en n Latin, still the language of scholarship\\nbut before half a century was over, one Ralph Robin-\\nson had put it into rich and nobly cadenced English,\\nand in this form, as well as in more modern trans-\\nlations, it is accessible to us all. The Utopia, like\\nso many books in the middle ages, is a dream but\\na dream of how new an order For it tells, not of\\nsaints or angels, or monsters or devils, but of happy,\\nlaborious, natural men and women, living in a region\\nwhich is indeed mysterious, non-existent if you\\nwill, but which, if it were to exist anywhere,\\nwould exist here on this earth. The Utopia is\\nthe romance of an ideal society, and audacious was\\nthe man who dared to dream of it The speculative\\nfreedom, the longing for a human blessedness, fos*", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "LEARNING A2sD POETRY\\n181\\ntered by the Renaissance, had entered More s spirit\\nand they enabled him to show us a new earth to\\nbehold the first, though not the last vision seen by\\nmodern Europe, of a perfect social state. The bitter\\ninjustice which he saw all about him has yielded in\\nhis dream to a universal sharing of happy work and\\nsimple life. Men have made the earth at last a\\nhome, not of luxury for some, but of comfort for all.\\nProbably the part of the Utopia which to More s\\ncontemporaries seemed most preposterously impossi-\\nble was that in which he told them that in Utopia\\nevery man was free to worship God according to his\\nown conscience, without compulsion or persecution.\\nRoman Catholic as he was, More put forth in this\\npart of his book a ringing manifesto for religious\\nfreedom. Many fires were to burn, the anguish of a\\ngreat exile was to be suffered by our own forefath-\\ners, before his prophecy should be fulfilled. But\\nfulfilled it is. We cannot say so much for the part\\nof the book that describes industrial and social free-\\ndom. Not yet. Some people like Utopia; some do\\nnot. Some tell us that the name of the country will\\nalways be Utopia, which means Xowhere some\\nagree with a punning contemporary of More s, who\\nsays that the real name of the land is and shall be\\nEutopia, the land where life is blessed.\\nThe Utopia is the greatest among all the books\\nof imaginary travels written during the Renaissance.\\nIf we compare it with the Travels of the pseudo-\\nMandeville, so dear to the middle ages, we shall see\\nhow the mood of men has changed. It has changed\\nfrom the hunger for marvels to the hunger for\\njustice. The book is the first expression, after", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "182\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nLangland, of the passion for a social ideal. Plenty\\nof such books have followed it. In modern times,\\nwe have regained a little the spirit of hope; and\\nvarious people, both Americans and Englishmen,\\npoets, novelists, economists even, have travelled to\\nUtopia and brought back fresh tidings of the coun-\\ntry. But none have told about it so delightfully as\\nSir Thomas More.\\nII. The New Art\\nSir\\nThomas\\nWyatt,\\n1503-1542.\\nHenry\\nHoward,\\nEarl of\\nSurrey,\\n1517-1547.\\nThe\\ninfluence\\nof Italy\\non the\\nEnglish\\nRenais-\\nsance.\\nThe Renaissance brought to England an enlarged\\nlearning and a quickened thought it brought a new\\nliterary art as well. This new art found its first\\nexpression in the earlier half of the sixteenth cen-\\ntury, during the latter part of the reign of Henry\\nVIII. Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Henry Howard,\\nEarl of Surrey, were the men who practised it first.\\nIn Italy, long before in the fourteenth century, the\\nspirit of the Renaissance had already been at work,\\nand the poets, especially Petrarch, had felt all these\\nthings. Now, at last, England as a whole began to\\nrespond to Italian influence; and from this time all\\nthrough the age of Elizabeth, this influence is to be\\nin manifold phases dominant, quickening, mighty.\\nHenry VIII was certainly an unattractive person\\nin some of his aspects and he put Sir Thomas More\\nto death. But he was always a polished gentleman\\nwho loved art and learning. Wyatt and Surrey\\nwere both noblemen attached to this court. They\\nwere courtiers, lovers, and only incidentally poets as\\nwell. Both of them wrote love-poems in the Italian\\nfashion. Wyatt, who was fourteen years older than", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "LEARNING AND POETRY\\n183\\nSurrey, wrote in a manner distinctly more archaic,\\nbut at times with a certain seriousness and weight\\nwhich are impressive. Surrey, the more musical\\nversifier, seems to have been also the sweeter nature.\\nThe poetry of neither, however, has very great in-\\ntrinsic beauty but it is highly significant because\\nin it is caught the first note of a new music\\nCalm is the sea, the waves work less and less\\nSo am not I, whom love, alas doth wring,\\nBringing before my face the great increase\\nOf my desires, whereat I weep and sing. 1\\nThat is not much in itself, perhaps, but listening to\\nit we realize that in another fifty years we shall be\\nlistening to Shakespeare. The music is a little un-\\ncertain and faint, but it is surely there.\\nWe must remember that by this time the language\\nof Chaucer was as different from ordinary speech as\\nit is to-day, and that people had not our knowledge\\nof how to read his verse. Neither had they any\\nidea of measure or prosody. The poets had really\\nno English models. All their work was of necessity\\ntentative and it was only the sentiment and the\\nexquisite melody of Italian models, especially the\\nlyrics of Petrarch, that enabled them to write grace-\\nfully at all.\\nIn both Wyatt and Surrey, the melancholy and\\nthe aptitude for religious and social meditation of\\nthe Teutonic race play strangely through the Italian\\ngrace and sweetness. Wyatt writes in his later life\\ngrave satires Surrey translates the Book of Eecle-\\nsiastes and paraphrases the Psalms. Each had a\\n1 Surrey. From a sonnet in Tottel s Miscellany. 1", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "184\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nWork of romantic life, on which we may only touch. Several\\nSurrey. and of Wyatt s poems gain a personal interest and pathos\\nfrom the belief of some critics that they commemorate\\nhis hopeless passion for Anne Boleyn. The autobio-\\ngraphical note is yet clearer in Surrey, and it is a\\nnote rarely indeed heard in older poets. But Surrey s\\ntragic end casts a shadow for us over his most light-\\nhearted pages like so many others in those days he\\nwas accused of treason, and, in 1547, executed, like\\nMore, on the block.\\nIt was Wyatt who first introduced sonnets into\\nEnglish verse, and the gift to us was a great one.\\nSurrey also wrote sonnets, not confining himself to\\nthe Italian form used by Wyatt, but experimenting\\nwith that freer movement of quatrains and a final\\ncouplet, which was to be glorified by Shakespeare.\\nBut to Surrey alone belongs the great honor of intro-\\nducing to England that poetic form which was to be\\nthe instrument of its noblest writers, blank verse.\\nThis he did in his translation of two books from\\nVirgil s iEneid. Since the old alliterative line\\nhad died, there had been no dignified standard line\\nin English. No one could guess from Surrey s use\\nof blank verse the harmonies which it was to yield\\nin the hands of Shakespeare and Milton yet to be\\nthe first technically to use such an instrument is to\\nhave valid claim to a place in English letters.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGreen, Short History of the English People, Ch. VI, Sec. IV,\\nThe New Learning. Ten Brink, Vol. Ill, Book VI, Sec. IV.\\nSeebohm, The Oxford Reformers. J. A. Froude, Life of\\nErasmus, esp. Chs. Ill, VI, VII. Emerton, Life of Erasmus.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "LEARNING AND POETRY\\n185\\nEeasmus, The Praise of Folly; Pilgrimages of St. Mary of\\nWalsingham and St. Thomas of Canterbury, ed. by J. G.\\nNichols. Lives of Jehan Yitrier and John Colet, tran. by J. H.\\nLupton. Annie Manning, The Household of Sir Thomas More\\n(a charming story). V. D. Scudder, Social Ideals in English\\nLetters, Ch. II. More s Utopia, Camelot edition, with Introduc-\\ntion by Maurice Adams, and Life of More, by his son-in-law\\nRoper. In Ideal Commonwealths, ed. by Henry Morley ed.\\nby William Morris, with short Introduction, of great value,\\nin the Kelmscott Press; scholar s edition, by J. H. Ll t pton,\\nwith Latin text and Robynson s translation. See also More s\\nLife of Pico della Mirandola, an Italian scholar and Christian\\nof the Renaissance, ed. J. M. Rigg. Wyatt and Surrey are well\\nhandled in the last volume of Ten Brink. Selections from\\ntheir works will be found in Ward s English poets, Vol. I, and\\nin Tottel s Miscellany, reprinted by Arber.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nFree summary and discussion is most valuable on the Uto-\\npia. 1 If Morris s News from Nowhere and Bellamy s Look-\\ning Backward can be read, so much the better. More s noble\\npersonality should be brought home to the class, as can easily\\nbe done through the abundant biographical material.\\nWyatt and Surrey can be lightly passed over, with readings\\nperhaps from the extracts in Ward s English Poets. Lovelier\\nlyrics are waiting.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nLife in Oxford during the Revival of Learning; Plato s\\nRepublic and its Influence on More Modern Social Dreams,\\nsimilar to the Utopia Petrarch and his Influence on the\\nEnglish Lyric.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER III\\nOUTLINES OF ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE\\nThe time /^\\\\NE would have supposed that after More and\\npause, Wyatt and Surrey, the new impulse in art and\\nthought would have produced a new literature at\\nonce. But this did not happen. Political and reli-\\ngious distractions prevented. The short reign of\\nEdward VI. produced one noble monument of Eng-\\nlish prose, the first version of the Book of Common\\nPrayer, and one rude, homely voice, the voice of\\nLatimer, was uplifted in accents that recall Wyclif\\nand Langland. Then came the reign of Queen\\nMary, and small wonder is it that the most popular\\nbook it produced was Foxe s Book of Martyrs, in\\nits early Latin dress. Men in England could hardly\\nwarble madrigals while they knew that other men\\nwere burning at the stake.\\nEven after the accession of Elizabeth, the terrified\\nhush that had fallen upon the nation continued. It\\ntook twenty years for England to rally. Elizabeth\\nbecame queen in 1558 it was not till 1579 that the\\nElizabethan era of English literature is usually said\\nto begin, with the publication of a series of delicate\\npastoral poems, Spenser s Shepherd s Calendar.\\nBefore this time, there had been faint attempts and\\npromises, but nothing for which a book of this scope\\nneed pause.\\nBut when this literary period once began, it soon\\n186", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE\\n18T\\nbecame, not only the most wonderful period that The\\nEngland has yet known, but one of the most won- bethan\\nderful ever known by any country. The victory of age\\nthe Reformed Faith was assured. The young nation\\nwas at peace within, enjoying a new commercial expan-\\nsion and prosperity abroad, she was measuring her-\\nself in heroic warfare against Spain, an heroic foe.\\nMen looked away from the heavens, but beheld with\\na thrill of freedom the horizons of earth ever widen-\\ning, receding, beckoning, and felt themselves, with\\nPuck, able to clap a girdle round the earth in forty\\nminutes. Come softly for we are approaching the\\ndays of Shakespeare. They are the days of Spenser\\ntoo, of Sir Philip Sidney, of Bacon, Hooker, Raleigh,\\nBen Jonson, the days of the sweetest lyric England\\nhas ever heard, of a noble reflective and imaginative\\nprose, of a supreme drama.\\nThe literary activity under the great queen began,\\nas we have seen, in 1579. To discuss the quarter\\ncentury that followed, we shall need as much space\\nas for all the mediaeval centuries put together. The\\nnation, in this short time, passed through nearly all\\nthe experiences of human life, from youth to man-\\nhood and before we study its literary expression in\\ndetail, we will glance briefly at the different phases\\nof experience, or different moods, which underlay the\\nliterature.\\nAt first, when toward the beginning of Elizabeth s Pre-Dra-\\nreign the mysterious impulse toward artistic expres- p^o^\\nsion began to stir, men did not take it very seriously. 1579 1590\\nThey toyed with life and art, poetry and prose.\\nThey were empassioned, to use a fine word of\\nSpenser s, with felicity of phrase they tried count-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "188\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nless literary experiments. But through these experi-\\nments, often childish enough, breathed inspiration.\\nA youthful delight in life pervaded the nation.\\nThis early Elizabethan literature was not profound\\nnor comprehensive. It proceeded mainly from\\nthe court and the gentry it was aristocratic, and\\nbeset by little affectations. And yet, it has a joy-\\nous, eager magic, never to be forgotten.\\nA wealth of lyrics is the most notable and delight-\\nful product of this period. Nothing has ever equalled\\nthe marvellous lyrical development of those days\\nwe have had many noble lyrics since, which have\\nadded glory to our race, but we have never been\\nable to recapture that first fine careless rapture. At\\nthe same time, many other literary forms were\\nappearing, with the same strange mixture of experi-\\nment and inspiration. Criticism in prose sprang up\\nart-prose was feeling its way. The great Eliza-\\nbethan translations began, and prose of adventure\\nand patriotism started with a splendid impetus.\\nThis period of romance, of poetic experiment, of\\nkeen enthusiasm for adventure and for learning,\\nmoved to its climax in a great romantic epic, in\\nwhich all these elements blend, and are transfigured\\nby the inward radiance of imagination. The first\\nElizabethan period begins with the publication of\\nSpenser s Shepherd s Calendar, in 1579 it may\\nbe said to close with the publication of the first three\\nbooks of his Faerie Queene, in 1590.\\nDramatic Now the mood of the nation was to alter it was\\nPeriod,\\n1590-1602. to play with life no longer. The literature of the\\nnext period was to express an overwhelming reality\\nThe rise of a\\nthe drama, of experience and of passion. Soon, m three or tour", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE\\n189\\nyears at latest, will be acted Romeo and Juliet,\\nand that means that one poet, at least, has power to\\nlay bare the depths of passion already, in 1587,\\nMarlowe s Dr. Faustus had struck a solemn tragic\\nnote, like a warning bell. The day belongs to a new\\nart and during all the rest of Elizabeth s reign, and\\nthrough the reign of her successor, the chief imagi-\\nnative energies of the English race are absorbed in\\nthat great creation, the romantic drama.\\nNot that other literary forms are superseded. The\\nlyric production goes on unchecked, changing its\\nmood, but if anything increasing in beauty as it presses\\nthrough self-conscious art closer and closer to the\\nheart of experience. Translations multiply, and\\npatriotic prose is glowing still. Reflective prose\\nrises in Hooker, and finds a different but equally bril-\\nliant adept in Bacon. But the drama overshadows\\nall, and that is because it is the fullest expression\\nof life. It is not necessarily written by gentlemen,\\nor courtiers, or saints. Far behind us are the days\\nwhen all literature proceeded from chivalry or from\\nthe Church. It slowly escapes from mannerism and\\nconvention, and grows stronger as it goes on.\\nMeanwhile, after 1590, during the preponderance\\nof the drama, we may trace various phases of\\nexperience. The nation shook off its affectations,\\nemerged from experiment, and gained a wonderful\\ngift of self-expression, personal or sympathetic. For\\na time, the joy of life and the marvel thereof was\\nstill what Elizabethan literature chiefly rendered.\\nBut the sense of power and pleasure did not last.\\nA deeper quality and a sadder crept in spontaneity\\nfaded. The effort after form was not so marked as", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "190\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nin the first period, but an effort in thought became\\nevident. Men began to record less, to philosophize,\\nto meditate, more. Suddenly, tragedy is with us;\\na great tragedy, before which we bow our heads,\\nthe tragedy of Hamlet. All these phases can be\\nfollowed by any sensitive person who scrutinizes year\\nby year the output in prose and poetry during the\\nlast twelve years of the queen s reign. The first\\nEssays of Bacon, published in 1597, may be said to\\nusher in the later mood or better still, the sonnets\\nof Shakespeare, of which we know that some at least\\nwere in existence by 1598. Indeed, the work of\\nShakespeare completely covers and represents all\\nthis development.\\nExperience did not stop here it went straight on\\ninto new phases. But we have reached the end of\\nthe reign of the great queen. It was presumably in\\n1602 that Hamlet was acted, and from the\\nShepherd s Calendar to Hamlet is a long\\nenough journey for one chapter to review at a\\nglance, though any one who likes can follow the\\nstory without break to the death of Shakespeare.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nHistorical. Green, History of England, Ch. VII, Sees.\\nV-VIII. Froude, History of England. Traill, Social\\nEngland, Vol. III. Thornbury, Shakespeare s England;\\nCreighton, The Age of Elizabeth. Goadby, The England of\\nShakespeare. W. B. Rye, England as seen by Foreigners in\\nthe Days of Elizabeth and James. Harrison s England (the\\nbest contemporary description, from Holinshed s Chronicle.\\nReprinted in the Camelot series). Walter Scott, Kenil-\\nworth. Charles Kingsley, Westward Ho\\nLiterary. Saintsbury, Elizabethan Literature. David\\nH ann ay, The Later Renaissance. Morley, English Writers,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE\\n191\\nVols. IX, X, XL TaIx\\\\e, English Literature, Bk. II. Court-\\nhope, History of English Poetry, Vol. II. Jusserand, The\\nEnglish Novel in the Time of Shakespeare.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe dry facts of Elizabethan literary chronology should be\\naccurately learned in outline by the student the outline will\\nbe filled in with the study of later chapters. It is important,\\nas this great period is approached, that it should be made, so\\nfar as possible, a living reality to the student. Readings from\\nHarrison, from trustworthy novels, as well as from standard\\nhistories, may lead to topics on such subjects as Elizabethan\\ncostume, building, cooking, manners and customs, town life,\\ncountry life, etc.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nIf students are unfamiliar with the history of the period, an\\noutline lecture on it is highly desirable, for politics and litera-\\nture are more closely connected in the age of Elizabeth than\\nin many periods of our literature.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "tH H fi H\\n05\\nll\\nbC 05^\\na H tx\\nft J\\n\u00c2\u00b0.4T\\nM^CO\\n03 a O\\n03 CO\\n05\\n05 S3\\n.3 a\\na oa\\no\\n05 O\\nft\\n43\\no 05\\n53 03\\nCO -2\\n_ m\\na 05\\na a\\n3 8S S 8\\n^3 a\\ns 1*\\n5 a\\no o\\nO 05\\n-2\\n05 O\\n5 3\\nMOO -^rH\\n+s +5 1-1 rK rt\\no3 w j3\\n05 05 05\\n03 43 C\\nf-l C5 d\\n03 43 a\\nS a? a \u00e2\u0096\u00a0s\\no\\n42 _\\na 05\\n2 a\\nPh\\n4-5\\nCO\\nIs\\n03 io\\nCO o C5 w t-^ CJD-H\\n1Q\\ni-i 05 (M rM\\nft\\n2 .2\\no\\na\\n03\\n4JH-J\\n4hT3\\noo\\no\\nd CO\\n|w2\\na a^~\\n^ft^a\\n03 CO\\nai2\\n03 \u00c2\u00a3?CO 5\\nO m (3\\n05 QQ\\nJh 05\\nft\\na +3\\nCO\\ntH tH ~rH w\\n\u00c2\u00a3lO\\n05 M\\n53\\na:\\n05 ^3\\no s\\n03 OrH\\nO 43 M\\ntf go\\n7^ 43\\nH 05\\n0)\\na g\\ncs a\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2a\\na a\\ne3 c3\\nIhI\\nis H\\na\\nd S\\n^43\\n05^\\nJ", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "00 03\\n10 42 10\\n10 10\\na\\nCO o\\na\\nis*\\ns 3\\n9 fl B\\no s 4J\\nilf 9\\nCD CS Sh\\nP4 JO\\nN CO 102\\nCO CO 50\u00c2\u00ab\\nlO lO lOtf\\nCo\\nOH pj g\\nF f*n g w bo\\nr-l tf 1 --1-=\\n.2 .2 cs H 2\\nio io a to\\na\\n42\\nCD\\nd 43\\na^\\nl\\n73 73\\nOr?\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0\u00c2\u00a71\\na\\n+j -rH CD S3 CD\\n43 +s a _\\nen e8\\nft O Ph O\\nft-\\n1\\nlO\\n\u00c2\u00abco\\no\\nS 2 2\\n85 if\\nJO 03 rt\\nCD O\\n7a a\\n73 O\\na +3\\nflS\\nlO o\\nio a\\n(M O i\\nas:\\nio o\\n7-S\\nth -i J!\\nCO CD CO\\nrH fl O U\\n\u00c2\u00a3co\\nCD 73\\n.a 2\\na o H ce a o\\ntCw if .15\\ng cD^fg H\\n43-\\nan\\nJ o\\n+j 1-1 43\\nco\\n10CS42\\n73\\nU CD tH\\ncs d-#\\na in\\nh a oh\\n73 o\\nS^43l\\n22 ^co\\nfaC CD\\n1 a\\nc8 ft\\nI J-fa 3\\ng OS 42\\nM\\n5 J CD\\nII ill\\nt/i C3 (D ^5 i\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\\no", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "02\\nt-i CO\\n\u00c2\u00a39\\nt ,5 o\\n6\\nCO\\na 02 c3\\n^CO Tj!\\na?\\ngo cSAh\\nft CO\\n\u00c2\u00a9CO 1-1 M\\n.2 3\\na\\nH\\nO 1\\n02\\n2\\n1=1 A*\\nlO\\nCD\\nI s 3 111\\nsi a j2\\ni M\\nTO Fh\\n00\\nbe\u00c2\u00a9\\na .2\\n3\\no\\nHcO\\na\\nlMo\\nSrH^O\\nf-i O^\\nO WW co\\nS OH\\n2-S\\nIf\\nCO\\na o\\na\\no\\n.9 of\\n10 P\\n1 a\\nO .^H\\n3 Orl\\nis\\nH 1-1", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "a a\\n42\\n03 +j\\noa a J, -pti co\\n8^.\\nCD\\na,a~.\\na q. co\\nas!\\na 2 \u00c2\u00ab8\\no =o\\n\u00c2\u00a7.2\\nCO -O\\n-S3,\\n.2\\nbe o\\n7j\\n2-5\\nCO CO\\n?H S\\nm 2\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0S A Eh\\nO o 13\\nH w\u00c2\u00ab2\\nfl 2\\n-2 co S\\ns-i co\\nO P-i e8\\n\u00c2\u00a7ts.-s\\nS3 Ofe c3 2\\nco co co o\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a243 t\u00c2\u00bb\\na\\n03\\nco o\\nII\\no\\n?a\\no o\\nc3 X\\ns a\\no\\nM a\\n2\\n03 45\\n|-2\\nCD\\na S 33\\nn o S\\nS 2\\n03 a\\nC3\\nas\\n33 2 2", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "o\\nH\\nW o\\nw\\no\\nPS\\no\\nEH\\n02\\nW O\\nEH\\nW H\\n02\\nH\\nH 3\\nO D\\n.2\\no o\\na\\nCO +3\\nO\\n\u00c2\u00a93\\nla\\nS a\\nw +3\\n50\\nw S \u00c2\u00b12 ja tr3 73\\nn _ \u00c2\u00abw ,a ,a\\nfl^J W 0 a\\nMa S,2m^I o\\nH.a \u00c2\u00bba a o a\\na\u00c2\u00a3M 8", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IV\\nSIR, PHILIP SIDNEY\\nF I THE literature of the Renaissance differs from sir Philip\\nthat of the middle ages. It is no longer an i5^f^ 86\\nanonymous, collective matter, expressing the passion\\nof many; it comes straight from the heart of indi-\\nviduals. These men are often known to us in his-\\ntory; they reveal themselves in their works; and we\\nmay make friends of them if we will.\\nLet us try to make a friend of Sir Philip Sidney. Sidney s\\nIf we do so, we shall learn to know a noble and character\\nmatchless gentleman, as a contemporary calls him,\\nand we shall fully understand the temper and\\nachievement of the early Elizabethan age for his\\nshining figure gathers into itself all the light of that\\ngreat dawn. Sidney was born in 1554, of high and\\nglorious lineage and well he became his birth.\\nEven as a child, he was singularly attractive,\\nwith such staidness of mind, writes a dear, life-\\nlong friend, lovely and familiar gravity, as carried\\ngrace and reverence above greater years. His talk\\never of knowledge, and his very play tending to\\nenrich his mind. He grew up no prig nor pedant,\\nbut a brilliant young nobleman, the chief ornament\\nof the radiant court. He had, in common with\\nmany of the choice spirits of his day, a genius for\\nfriendship. A sweete attractive kind of grace\\nshone we are told, from his countenance. Foreign\\n197", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "198\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\ntravel, during which he visited Venice, where the\\nmagnificent art of Veronese was in full play, com-\\npleted his education; and he returned to England,\\nto be the darling both of court and people, and to\\nbe sent abroad, while still a mere youth of twenty-\\ntwo, on important diplomatic missions. His career\\nand his reputation rose higher and higher but not\\nfor long. For in 1586 he died of a wound received\\nat the battle of Zutphen. He had fought valiantly\\nas he had lived nobly but he is remembered and\\nhis name has become a household word, less from his\\ncourage than for the sweet courtesy and unselfish\\nthought for others that marked him in his mortal\\nagony. Thy necessity is greater than mine, said\\nSidney, yielding to a wounded soldier, ghastly cast-\\ning up his eyes at the bottle, the water which he was\\nraising to his own parched lips.\\nSidney summed up all that his time held dear.\\nHe was courtier, nobleman, statesman, warrior,\\ngentleman. He was a lover, too, and he was also\\na critic, a novelist, and a poet. In his literary work,\\nwe see all the characteristics of the period its affec-\\ntations and experiments its high romantic temper,\\nits lyrical impulse, its intellectual eagerness, its\\nidealism as yet unsullied by worldliness, though the\\nworld lies perilously near. The secret power of the\\nElizabethan age is revealed in the last line of\\nSidney s first sonnet. Trying by dainty device of\\nliterary art to celebrate his love after the fashion\\nof poor Petrarch s long deceased woes, a Power\\noutside himself pulled him up short\\nBiting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,\\nFool said my muse to me, look in thy heart, and\\nwrite.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "SIR PHILIP SIDNEY\\n199\\nHe obeyed the Muse and Elizabethan poetry fol-\\nlowed. Sidney s lyrics, with all their quaintness,\\nare the very first to give us in the full modern man-\\nner a direct revelation of the personal life of the\\nheart.\\nSidney s critical work is a short essay, called An Sidney s\\nApologie for Poetrie. It was written about 1580, prose\\nin answer to a stupid attack on poetry made by one\\nStephen Gosson. We are glad of the attack, for it\\ncalled out this noble answer, which we may fairly\\nclaim as the first serious piece of English criticism. Criticism.\\nIt is with the spirit of a knight that Sidney springs n ogie\\nto the defence of his beloved art. He does not criti- for\\nPoetrie.\\ncise nor analyze in cold blood he chants a splendid\\npaean of praise. From his Apologie, light seems\\nto flash, annihilating time, on Shelley s beautiful\\nDefense of Poetry, and back again the two great\\nspirits, passionate lovers, both of that unseen\\nand everlasting beautie to be seen by the eyes of the\\nmind only cleared by faith, hailing each other\\nacross the centuries. It is true that Sidney makes\\nsad blunders. He defends the classical Unities,\\nlittle foreseeing the magnificent art of Shakespeare\\nand it is strange to hear the contemporary of Spenser\\nlamenting the absence of poetic inspiration in his\\nday, and questioning why England should bee\\ngrown so hard a step-mother to poets. But it was\\nno more granted to Sidney than to another to foresee\\nthe future and his own high passion for poetry, as\\nfor all that could help to make the too much loved\\nearth more lovely, is the best answer to his pessi-\\nmism and the best earnest of what is to come.\\nSidney s Arcadia was a pastoral and heroic", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "200\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nRomance.\\nThe\\nCountess\\nof Pem-\\nbroke s\\nArcadia,\\n1590.\\nSidney s\\npoetry.\\nAstro-\\nphel and\\nStella,\\n1591.\\nromance, shaped on Spanish models, and written to\\nplease his sister, the Countess of Pembroke. The\\nbook has all the redundance and extravagance of the\\nRenaissance. It bewilders one because there is so\\nmuch story, so lavish a style, such a confusion of\\nexalted sentiments. Sidney has not yet mastered\\nthat supreme charm of the Pastoral, simplicity,\\nthe secret of which Shakespeare so exquisitely caught\\nin As You Like It. His Arcadia, moreover, is\\nmuch farther from life than is the Forest of Arden.\\nYet there are still those who like to wander in that\\ncountry, to watch the series of sumptuous pictures\\nreminding one of the great Venetian art which Sid-\\nney knew, to revel in the free and fearless union of\\nsensuous beauty with perfect purity, and to feel,\\nthrough all childishness of art, the impact of a lofty\\nspirit upon our own.\\nBut it is above all through his lyrical work that\\nwe recognize in Sidney a great soul and a true poet.\\nWe feel in his sonnets the warm flame of emotion,\\nburning away all the light affectations and unreali-\\nties with which he could play as well as another.\\nHe first, in his Astrophel and Stella, told the\\ninner story of his heart in a series of sonnets and\\nsongs. It were sufficient glory for him that Shake-\\nspeare and Spenser, Rossetti and Mrs. Browning,\\nhave been among his followers. Sidney s was an un-\\nhappy story. We cannot follow it here. He tells\\nit, in the main, excellently well. We see in these\\nsonnets the man of action, the courteous and admired\\ngentleman, the scholar, as well as the lover. If any\\none would like to picture the bright Elizabethan\\ncourt, with its pleasure parties on the Thames, its", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "SIR PHILIP SIDNEY\\n201\\nplay tournaments, its polite gossip and graceful\\nbadinage, if any one would reconstruct the manners\\nof the time, here let him look. But he will find\\nbetter than this a rare felicity in poetic phrasing;\\nbetter again, the revelation of a great love and of a\\nnoble though tempted heart\\nSoule s joy, bend not those morning stars from me,\\nWhere Virtue is made strong by Beautie s might\\nWhere Love is chastness, Paine doth learn delight,\\nAnd Humbleness grows one with Majestie.\\nSuch poetry should not be forgotten.\\nSidney abjured his love at last. He cried, in\\npiercing tones\\nLeave me, Love, which reachest but to dust\\nAnd thou, my mind, aspire to higher things\\nGrow rich in that which never taketh rust\\nWhatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.\\nThen farewell, world thy uttermost I see\\nEternal Love, maintain Thy life in me.\\nThis deep religious note completes our knowledge Sidney as\\nof his character. He was rightly the beloved of thei6th\u00c2\u00b0\\nEngland, and it is not surprising that all the English centur y-\\npoets wrote elegies upon him after his death. Sid-\\nney is the typical hero of the new age. We have\\nhad glimpses of the Hero from the dawn of history.\\nAt first, he embodied little save the primitive pas-\\nsion for fighting. As the centuries went on, he\\nadded many traits a wider, less selfish aim in his\\nbattles a code of honor the service and the love\\nof womanhood a sincere religious feeling. But the\\nold knights, noble as they were, lacked much that\\nwe demand from our heroes to-day. They fought", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "202\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nand loved and prayed, but they were ignorant and\\nunthinking. Sidney is what they were, and more.\\nThe spirit of chivalry lives in him, undying. But\\nhe adds to the arts of war the graces of peace. He\\nis a knight indeed he is also a poet, a scholar, and\\na thinker, this hero of the Renaissance. In a word,\\nhe is the perfect gentleman.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nThe standard edition of Sidney is by Alexander Grosart.\\nA charming little volume of his lyrics is published by Ernest\\nRhys in the series The Lyric Poets (Dent). The Apologie\\nfor Poetrie is in the Arber reprints also in Rhys, Literary\\nPamphlets, Vol. I. A. D. Pollard has edited Astrophel and\\nStella. Ruskin, in Fors Clavigera, expresses delightfully\\nhis enthusiasm for Sidney, and his Rock Honeycomb, Yol. II,\\nof Bibliotheca Pastorum, is an edition of Sidney s versified\\nPsalms, with copious comments.\\nSee also H. R. Foxbourne, Sir Philip Sidney (Heroes of the\\nNations Series) Symonds, Life of Sidney (English Men of\\nLetters).\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nAstrophel and Stella can be swiftly read, and one or two\\nsonnets, including the sonnet on the Highway (84), and that\\non Sleep (39), can be learned by heart. Sidney s exquisite ear\\nmakes his verse a treasure-house for the study of verse forms.\\nA class always enjoys making a study of Elizabethan court life\\nfrom the picturesque material offered by the sonnets. The\\npersonality of the man is, however, what students should above\\nall be made to feel. Some of the elegies written after his\\ndeath, a number of which can be found in the Globe Spenser,\\nmay well be read, for the impression he made on his contem-\\nporaries.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER V\\nGENERAL LITERATURE\\nI. Elizabethan Prose\\nROMANCE, criticism, and lyrics, these three,\\nso delightfully represented in the brief achieve-\\nment of Sidney, are, apart from the romantic epic,\\nperhaps the most important phases of early Eliza-\\nbethan literature.\\nThere was a large output of prose at this time,\\nbut it need not detain us long, for it was subordi-\\nnate to the poetry, though it has a quaint charm\\nof its own. It has a great deal of interest, though,\\nfor literary students for we see it slowly shaking\\noff the tyranny of Latin style, and learning a har-\\nmony of its own. Even in the reign of Henry\\nVIII, Roger Ascham had announced in the intro- Roger\\nduction of his book, the Toxophilus, I have 1515-1568,\\nwritten this English matter in the English tongue lu^is^\\nfor English men yet this book, and his later\\nwork, the Schoolmaster, read as if he were trans- The\\nlating in his own mind from Latin into English, master,\\nBut the book which first stormed the affections of 1570\\nthe Elizabethan court was of a very different order\\nthis was the Euphues, or the Anatomie of Wit,\\nof John Lyly it was published in 1579, the same JohnLyiy,\\n1553~1606\\nyear with the Shepherd s Calendar, and was\\nalmost immediately followed by a second part, 44 Eu-\\n203", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "204\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nEuphues,\\nor the\\nAnatomie\\nof Wit,\\n1579.\\nEuphues\\nand his\\nEngland,\\n1580.\\nOther\\nwork in\\nromance.\\nLodge s\\nRosa-\\nlind,\\npub. 1590.\\nphues and his England. It enjoyed an immense\\nvogue traces of its influence may be found for\\nthirty years afterward its name has given a word,\\n44 euphuism, to our speech. But to us this story\\nfor it is a kind of story seems portentously dull.\\nIts style is affected and self-conscious to a degree,\\nall made up of antitheses and far-fetched conceits.\\nAt the same time, the book has in substance a cer-\\ntain significance, for it is perhaps the first attempt\\nin English at realistic fiction. The hero is neither\\na knight nor an outlaw he is an ordinary young\\ngentleman of good manners, to whom nothing\\nhappens more exciting than a trip to Italy and\\nsundry flirtations. The quaint book is only a liter-\\nary curiosity to-day. Perhaps some modern popular\\nnovels will seem just as queer, in two or three hun-\\ndred years.\\nMany other stories were written in Elizabeth s time.\\nOften they got lost, like the Euphues, in a maze\\nof affectations, sometimes, as in Sidney s Arcadia\\nor Lodge s Rosalind, they reached, under Spanish\\nor Italian guidance, a land of pure romance.\\nThe Rosalind, from which Shakespeare took the\\nplot of As You Like It, is one of the best of these\\nbooks. These early novels have at times a good\\ndeal of charm, but they had not laid hold on reality,\\nand so they could not live.\\nCritical prose flourished for a time quite vigorously.\\nSidney s Apologie for Poetrie is the most impor-\\ntant book of prose of this kind. Webbe s Discourse\\nof English Poetrie reads as if the author were\\ninterested in what he wrote, though he made some\\ncurious blunders. Puttenham s Art of English", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LITERATURE\\n205\\nneous\\nprose.\\nPoesie is more like a formal rhetoric. These Critical\\nbooks are interesting because they illustrate a new prose\\nliterary type but they have little real worth, and\\nthe critical impulse died away as creative power\\nrose. Criticism cannot be great, as poetry can, at\\nan early point of literary development.\\nThere is other work on which it would be inter-\\nesting to linger, if so many other greater things did\\nnot await us. The eager spirit of adventure that\\nmarks the time finds expression in much spirited\\nprose, especially in the delightful series of Hakluyt s\\nVoyages. Again, this rich period poured forth a Misceiia-\\nlarge number of books inspired by patriotism. Some\\ndealt with history and legend, like that treasure-\\nhouse of the dramatists, Holinshed s Chronicle.\\nSome celebrated the glories of a present England,\\nlike the Voyages of Drake, and Sir Walter Raleigh s\\nLast Fight of the Revenge, a magnificent piece of\\neloquence, on which Tennyson has based a stirring\\nballad. Patriotism was one of the strongest pas-\\nsions of the sixteenth century. It was so strong\\nthat it flowed over from prose to verse, and long\\npoems were composed, like Daniel s Civil Wars be-\\ntween Lancaster and York, or Drayton s Poly-\\nolbion, dealing with the history of England or even\\nwith its geography.\\nThe emotional life of the time ran more naturally Prose of\\ninto poetry than into prose. The best Elizabethan reflectlon\\nprose was the prose of reflection. In the last decade,\\nthe Essays of Francis Bacon, and the Ecclesias-\\ntical Polity of Richard Hooker, show us that the\\nyoung nation has begun to think. Hooker s work Richard\\nillustrates in prose, as we shall find Spenser illus- SsJieioo.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "206\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\ntrating in poetry, the characteristic English union\\nof the forces of the Reformation and of the Renais-\\nsance. It is the first conscious intellectual expression\\nof the Anglican Church and Hooker s conception\\nof the law of God, revealed to man through three\\ngreat channels, the Bible, the Church, and human\\nreason, has been an inspiration to philosophical reli-\\ngious thought ever since his day. His stately style,\\nwith its elaborate structure and musical cadences, is\\nshaped on classical models but it founded the first\\ndefinite school of English prose, and its tradition\\ncontinued till nearly the end of the seventeenth\\nFrancis century. Bacon s incisive, epigrammatic style,\\nF56i-i6 Q 6 though in itself very telling, founded no school.\\nHis amazing and brilliant essays represent the secu-\\nlar side of the life of the Renaissance. They embody\\nin admirable form the immense advance made by the\\ntimes in the understanding of character and society.\\nThere is no idealism in them and they cherish no\\nillusions, though fully appreciating that illusions are\\nuseful. They express, often with startling sincerity\\nof phrase, the most subtle wisdom of this world,\\nwhich is an interesting and noteworthy thing, though\\nit could not have written Shakespeare s plays.\\nII. Elizabethan Translations\\nDuring all this time the work of translation went\\nmerrily on. Even before 1579, Virgil, Ovid, Cicero,\\nDemosthenes, and other classic authors had been\\ntranslated. In 1579, the year of the Shepherd s\\nCalendar and Euphues, appeared North s noble\\nversion of Plutarch. The Italian poets, Ariosto and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LITERATURE\\n207\\nTasso, were soon presented to Englishmen in the\\nfamous translations of Harrington and Fairfax and\\nin 1598 appeared the earlier part of the crowning\\nachievement of Elizabethan translation, Chapman s\\ngreat version of Homer. We see in Spenser and\\nShakespeare the result of this impact of foreign and\\nclassical genius upon the English mind. It is note-\\nworthy that all the important influences of the time,\\nwhether ancient or modern, set from the Latin races\\nfrom Rome, Spain, France. Almost it seems as if,\\ndespite the Norman Conquest, the native force of the\\nTeutonic stock was in constant danger of overpow-\\nering other elements in the English race, unless a\\nconstant play of fertilizing forces from other direc-\\ntions were brought to bear on it.\\nWe must not think that the ideal of translation in\\nthe Renaissance was what it is to-day. Chapman s\\nHomer, for instance, is a great Elizabethan poem on\\nthe basis of the Greek poet; it is not a literal render-\\ning of Homer, although Chapman wished to make it\\nso. In the middle ages, people treated the classic\\nauthors exactly as they pleased, altering them quite\\nat pleasure. In the Renaissance, they had learned\\nmore respect, and they really translated their great\\npredecessors, but they were quite incapable of\\ngiving the actual effect of the original. They\\nlooked at antiquity through colored Renaissance\\nglasses, and it never occurred to them to take these\\nglasses off.\\nIII. Elizabethan Lyrics\\nWe turn now to linger a little, with rejoicing\\nhearts, in the Elizabethan garden of song. It is a", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "208\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\ngarden, not a woodland. These lovely sixteenth-\\ncentury lyrics, inevitable and careless as they seem,\\nhave not the wilding charm of ballad or folk-song.\\nTheirs is no unpremeditated art they are the\\nproduct of culture, though culture would avail little\\nif they were not rooted in the warm earth of human\\nexperience, and nourished by the free, potent sun-\\nshine of imagination. They are artificial with that\\nbest kind of art which becomes part of the life of\\nnature\\nFor nature is made better by no mean\\nBut nature makes that mean/ 7\\nas Shakespeare says.\\nEarly Many of the earlier lyrics of the period show in a\\nme^ts in curious way this tentative, conscious, experimental\\nmetres character. What, the poets asked themselves, was\\nthe right way of writing English verse Should\\nthey copy the quantitative, unrhymed movement of\\nthe classics Yes answered for a time some of the\\nbest critics, including for a brief moment Spenser\\nhimself. Strange and absurd though this answer\\nappear to us, we cannot wonder that it was given\\nthen. For the perfect dignity, beauty, and finish of\\nclassic metres fell fresh on people s ears, and of Eng-\\nlish models they had few or none. So they set to\\nwork to concoct hexameters, sapphics, what you will,\\nand extraordinary work they made of it. But the\\nlovely, new-born muse of English song laughed at\\ntheir pedantry and her laughter echoed in their\\nears and rippled through their veins like music, and\\nin spite of themselves these would-be learned poets\\nbegan to sing. Soon they became intoxicated", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LITERATURE\\n209\\nand no wonder with their own words. They did\\nnot approve of rhyme, but rhyme they did, with\\ndelicate ease and abundance. They wanted to write\\nserious quantitative verse, and melodies infinite in\\nvariety and charm rose unbidden to their lips.\\nThey made a virtue of necessity, yielded themselves\\nto the spell, and added a fine artistic sense to the\\nimpulse of nature. Conscious experiment melted,\\nalmost at once, into spontaneous inspiration.\\nWhat caused the whole nation to break forth sud-\\ndenly into music? Who can tell? The more we\\nstudy, the more old song-books and miscellanies\\nyield up their treasures, the more amazed we grow\\nat the singing quality that was in the Elizabethan\\nair. Numerous anthologies published during this Anthoio-\\nperiod attest the strength of the lyrical impulse. gies\\nFirst of these was Tottel s Miscellany, which came\\nout as early as 1557. It contained much work of\\nSurrey and Wyatt and of other lyrists as well and\\nthough some of it seems rough to our finer ears, the\\nlittle book gave strong impetus to the lyrical move-\\nment. The very names of many of the other antholo-\\ngies of the time are redolent of beauty and sweetness:\\nThe Paradise of Dainty Devices, A Gorgeous\\nGallery of Gallant Inventions, Britton s Bower of\\nDelights, The Phoenix s Nest, 44 The Passionate\\nPilgrim, England s Helicon, 44 Davison s Poetical\\nRhapsody.\\nThe blending of artifice with nature is especially Pastorals,\\nevidenced by the pastoral spirit, popular in the early\\nElizabethan lyrics, as in the romances and the drama.\\nWe do not write pastorals any longer perhaps we\\nshall never write them again. All the more reason", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "210\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nwhy we should return now and then and rejoice to\\nroam through this singing world of exquisite breed-\\nThemes of ing without formality, where we may enjoy the\\nthe lyncs. ru g c i v iii za tion without its pains. Of course,\\nmany of the lyrics are not pastoral, but nearly all of\\nthem express in somewhat a like manner pure ecstasy\\nof joyous grace. They sing of love, of springtime,\\nof blossom, they voice the rapturous praise of beauty\\nand again return to their refrain, youth and love,\\nlove and youth. All moods of delicate courtship are\\nin them, gay, tender, plaintive, frolicsome, only\\nthe depths of passion they seldom or never sound.\\nThis lyrical revel goes on unchecked into the age\\nof King James. In the midst of it, before long, a\\nmore serious note is heard, and lyrics of a different\\ncharacter begin to appear. All this development is\\nso marvellously rapid that to mark stages in it is\\ndangerous if not impossible yet we shall be safe in\\nsaying that in the decade between 1590 and 1600,\\nthere appears a tendency to sincerer, graver, self-\\nrevelation, and at the same time to lyrical forms a\\nlittle less ebullient in rapture, a little quieter and\\nSonnets, more elaborated. This is par excellence the decade\\nof the sonnet, and of all lyrical forms practised by\\nthe Elizabethans the sonnet is that which has re-\\ntained the most enduring place in English literature.\\nSidney s Astrophel and Stella, though written\\nearlier, was not published till 1591 and the follow-\\ning decade saw the writing of Spenser s Amoretti,\\nand of some at least of those final glories of the Eliz-\\nabethan lyric, the sonnets of Shakespeare. Lesser\\npoets of distinction Constable, Drayton, Daniel\\njoined the ranks of sonneteers, and sonnet-sequences", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LITERATURE\\n211\\nbecame the order of the day. So powerful was the\\npoetic instinct abroad in the world that often a man\\nof temperament naturally rather dry and ordinary\\nwould produce perhaps one sonnet of enduring\\nbeauty, like the little poem of Drayton, Since\\nthere s no help, come let us kiss and part. But\\nthe best sequences, as wholes, are of course by the\\ngreat men, Sidney, Spenser, and Shakespeare.\\nThese three sets Sidney s Astrophel and\\nStella, Spenser s Amoretti, and the sonnets of\\nShakespeare well illustrate not only the possible\\nrange of sonnet expression, but also various types in\\nform which the sonnet may assume.\\nA sonnet has fourteen lines. This length, arbi- o| r t c e tu\\ntrary as it seems, appears to have a certain psy- sonnet,\\nchological correspondence with the length of time\\nduring which the mind finds exclusive absorption\\nin one feeling, or mood, possible. Sidney s sonnets\\nfollow in the main Italian usage. This divides the\\nsonnet into two parts with a slight break in the\\nt middle the first eight lines, called the octave, and\\nthe second six lines, called the sestet. The octave\\nhas only two rhymes. They run abbaabba, so that\\nthe first end- word rhymes with the last. There may\\nbe either two or three rhymes in the sestet, arranged\\nwith more freedom only, in the strictest form of\\nItalian sonnet, the final couplet is not used. The\\nreason for this is that the emotion is diffused through\\nthe whole sonnet like a heaving wave on the surface\\nof the ocean, rising to greatest height in the middle,\\nand subsiding at the close into quietude. Spenser\\nwrote some Italian sonnets, but more often he illus-\\ntrated the passion of his day for experiment in verse-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "212\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nforms, for he evolved a type of his own, of which\\nthe rhymes run ababbcbccdcdee. This, in his use, is\\noften very lovely, but it has seemingly not com-\\nmended itself, for it has not been used by later\\npoets. The Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand,\\nholds in our language a place side by side with the\\nItalian, equally honored. Shakespeare did not invent\\nit, but he glorified it. It consists of three quatrains\\nrun on three sets of rhyme, and a final couplet and\\nin this form we have still a wavelike movement, only\\nit is no longer the movement of a billow that surges\\nupward, and then draws home again silently into the\\nboundless deep, but of a breaker that crashes with\\noverwhelming force and impetus of feeling upon the\\nshore. These types still endure and sonnets, from\\nElizabeth s day to our own, have remained the most\\nbeloved form of lyrical expression in England.\\nFurther and interesting developments awaited the\\nlyric of the Renaissance. We shall discuss them\\nlater. For the present, we leave the lyric here in\\nmid-career, and turn to the man to whom belongs,\\neven more than to Sidney, the representative place\\namong early Elizabethan poets Edmund Spenser.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nEuphues, Ascham s Works, Raleigh s Last Fight of the\\nRevenge are in the Arber reprints. A first edition of Hak-\\nluyt s Voyages (1589) is in the Boston Public Library. Voy-\\nages of the Elizabethan Seamen to America (selections from\\nHakluyt), Clarendon Press.\\nThe chief editor and critical authority for Bacon is James\\nSpedding. Excellent Life, by Dean Church, in English\\nMen of Letters. Essays, in Golden Treasury Series. See arti-\\ncle in National Dictionary of Biography, and Introduction to", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LITERATURE\\n213\\nClarendon Press edition of Essays. Macaulay s Essay is a\\nclassic in its way.\\nChief editor and critical authority on Hooker, John Keble.\\nSee Introduction to Clarendon Press edition of Ecclesiastical\\nPolity, Bk. I, by Dean Church. Izaak Walton s charming\\nLife should be read.\\nElizabethan Criticism. See, for good discussion of the de-\\nvelopment of criticism, Introduction, by C. E. Vaug-han, to the\\nvolume English Literary Criticism in the Warwick Library.\\nElizabethan Translation. See the Tudor Translations, ed.\\nby W. F. Henley. Excellent Introduction to North s Plu-\\ntarch, by G. Wyndham. Chapman s noble Homer can be\\nobtained cheaply in Morley s Universal Library. His Iliad,\\nmodernized, is found in the Knickerbocker Nuggets Series.\\nElizabethan Lyrics. These have of late been made generally\\naccessible in various attractive collections. See A. H. Bullen s\\nreprints of Davison s Poetical Rhapsody and England s\\nHelicon also his collections of Lyrics from Elizabethan Song\\nBooks (two series or one condensed volume) Lyrics from\\nElizabethan Dramatists, Lyrics from Elizabethan Romances.\\nFelix Schelling s Elizabethan Lyrics, in the Athenaeum Press\\nSeries, is, with its admirable Introduction, the best collection\\nfor students to own. A charming little edition of Campion\\nis in the series The Lyric Poets (Dent). Carpenter, English\\nLyric Poetry (1500-1700), Warwick Library. Pastorals, in\\nWarwick Library. Tottel s Miscellany, in Arber reprints.\\nFor minor sonnet-cycles, Drayton, Daniel, Constable, see edi-\\ntion by Martha Foote Crowe. For criticisms on the sonnet,\\nsee T. Watts, article in Encyclopfedia Britannica J. Ash-\\ncroft Noble, The Sonnet in England William Sharp, In-\\ntroduction to Sonnets in the Canterbury Poets Hall Caine,\\nSonnets of Three Centuries. See, for study of verse forms,\\nGummere s Poetics.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe material treated in this chapter would give scope for\\nthe study of years. Free, rapid, copious reading of as much\\nof this noble literature as may be found possible is more\\nimportant than close analytical work for the young student.\\nSelected lives from North s Plutarch, Raleigh s magnificent\\naccount of the Fight of the Revenge (in connection with\\nwhich Tennyson s Ballad may be learned by heart), readings", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "214\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nfrom Hakluyt and Harrison, are quite as thrilling reading\\nas Henty for young people, and far more profitable. Lyrics\\nshould be freely learned by heart and recited in class. The\\nelement of drill may be supplied by close study of verse-forms,\\nand this is the point where the different feet, metres, stanzas,\\netc., most familiar in English poetry may best be discussed.\\nThe sonnet in particular should be well understood, and exam-\\nples of the Italian and the English sonnet read or repeated in\\nclass. Sonnets on the sonnet are especially charming to learn\\nWordsworth, Scorn not the sonnet Theodore Watts, Yon\\nsilvery billows breaking on the beach D. G. Rossetti, A\\nsonnet is a moment monument R. W. Gilder, What is a\\nsonnet? tis the pearly shell. J. R. Lowell (Letters, II, 36),\\nYou order me, dear Jane, to write a sonnet.\\nA topical discussion of the lyrics is attractive. Nature in\\nthe lyrics, love, classical influences, patriotism, all that consti-\\ntutes the fascination of this gay literature, may be brought home\\nto the imagination by instances found by each student for him-\\nself.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nWhat England meant to Spenser and Sidney; Early Experi-\\nments in the Art of writing Verses (a study of the experiments\\nin classical metres, and the abandonment of them) Homer, as\\nElizabeth s Day saw him (a lecture on Chapman) Italian\\nInfluences in Elizabethan Lyric and Romance Spanish Influ-\\nences in Elizabethan Lyric and Romance; How the Eliza-\\nbethans treated the Classics; Pageantry in the England of\\nElizabeth Pastorals, from Greece to England. These can all\\nbe studied and prepared in the references given.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VI\\nEDMUND SPENSER\\nSPENSER wrote what Sidney lived. Just as\\nChaucer s poetry expressed, with charming ease\\nand transforming grace, the imaginative life of the\\nmiddle ages, so the poetry of Spenser gathers into\\nitself the imaginative life of the Renaissance, and\\nflashes it forth to us in myriad forms and hues of\\nbeauty.\\nPoetry, to Spenser, was no mere accomplishment,\\nno interlude in an active career, as it was to Wyatt\\nand Surrey and Sidney it was the serious pursuit\\nof his life. This is a significant fact; it is one of the\\nfirst indications of the development of a profession\\nof letters. Not that Spenser expected to support\\nhimself with his pen the dawn of that idea was far\\naway. He had an active career apart from litera-\\nture but poet he was, first and foremost, through-\\nout his life.\\nI. Spenser s Life\\nSpenser was born in London in the year 1552. He 1552-1590.\\nwas almost an exact contemporary of Raleigh, Sidney,\\nand Hooker; he was twelve years older than Shakes-\\npeare. His University was Cambridge, and there he\\nsurely formed connections which led him straight into\\nall the eager questioning and critical inquiry that\\nmarked the early portion of the queen s reign. Also,\\n215", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "216\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nat the University he heard a great deal of vigorous\\npreaching, and echoes of the theological controver-\\nsies of the day are in his early work.\\nThis work began soon after he left Cambridge;\\nhe was living in the north of England at the time,\\nand was enamoured of a fair country lass, his Rosa-\\nlind, who spurned his suit. His love, his sorrow, his\\nenthusiasm for the queen, his interest in the religious\\nparties of his day, his facility in literary experiments,\\nand his sensitiveness to the aesthetic influences that\\nwere abroad, were all illustrated in his first poem,\\nsiSp 6 S ne P ner d s Calendar, published when he was\\nherd s twenty-seven years old. The poem is a series of\\ndar, pastoral eclogues. They are a little affected, a little\\nself-conscious, like the most early Elizabethan work,\\nbut they show a lyrical grace and an ear for music\\nsuch as no other writer then in England, except possi-\\nbly Sidney, possessed. The poem was dedicated to\\nSidney, and Spenser was at one time under the pat-\\nronage of Sidney s uncle, the famous Earl of Leices-\\nter. He lived with the choicest and noblest spirits\\nof that great age so much we could guess from his\\npoems, though we had no external evidence.\\nNevertheless, a large part of his life was passed in\\nexile; for in 1580 we find that he went to Ireland,\\nwhere, in one capacity or another, he remained till\\njust before his death in 1599. He was secretary to\\none of the sternest statesmen of Elizabeth s reign,\\nArthur, Lord Grey, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,\\nwhom he celebrated in his Faerie Queene as\\nArthegall, the knight of Justice. His business as\\nsecretary was faithfully performed, and we have a\\nprose treatise from him, A View of the State of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "EDMUND SPENSER\\n217\\nIreland, which shows admirable political insight.\\nIreland was a dreary country, and that Spenser\\nkeenly felt his enforced absence from the rich and\\nbrilliant life of England is pretty clear. Yet per-\\nhaps he dreamed all the better for his solitude.\\nOnce at least that solitude was broken, when in\\n1590 he received a visit from one of the most strik-\\ning men of the day, Sir Walter Raleigh, and,\\npersuaded by Raleigh, returned to England for a\\nbrief time, bringing with him the first three books\\nof the Faerie Queene. His charming poem,\\nColin Clout s Come Home again, tells us some-\\nthing about this journey, and about his gracious\\nreception at court.\\nIn 1591 Spenser published a collection of short Minor\\npoems, of which the most important are a playful i59i? S\\nallegorical fantasy about a butterfly, called Muio-\\npotmos, and a delightfully colloquial poem called\\nMother Hubbard s Tale, which shows that our\\ngentle poet could be satirical when he liked, and\\nthat the seamy side of court life was not concealed\\nfrom him. He must have enjoyed his Irish life better\\nas time went on: for he forgot at last the cold Rosa-\\nlind of his youth, and when he was over forty wooed\\nand won a fair Irish girl named Elizabeth. It was in\\nJune, 1569, that he married her. We are very glad\\nof his love, and its happy ending; for it has given\\nus some of the sweetest love-poetry in the language,\\nthe Amoretti, and that noble marriage hymn, the Amo-\\nEpithalamium. This great ode, with its perfect Epi tnaia-\\npurity of passion and the interwoven sweetness of its J^\u00e2\u0084\u00a2\\nharmonies, marks the highest level of the Elizabethan\\nlyric.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "218\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nThe brief remainder of Spenser s life must have\\nbeen happy. Two sons were born to him. In 1595\\nhe published the second three books of the Faerie\\nQueene, and he was now known as the leading poet\\nof England. In 1596 he published Four Hymns in\\nHonour of Love and Beautie. Two of these had\\nbeen written earlier the others were now added. All\\nbreathe a spirit of ecstatic rejoicing in beauty, natu-\\nral and divine. The Prothalamium, another wed-\\nding ode written in honor of two noble ladies in this\\nsame year, is the last poem of his that we have.\\nFor his happiness was not to last. In September,\\n1597, the half -savage Irish attacked Spenser s house,\\nand burned it to the ground Ben Jonson says that\\na baby child of the poet s perished in the flames.\\nSpenser escaped to London and there, some say in\\nextreme poverty, assuredly in a state of shocked dis-\\ntress over the terrible scenes he had witnessed, the\\npoet of the Faerie Queene died in the month of\\nJanuary, 1599. The end of his life was like a\\ndreary adventure from his own great poem. Some\\nsay that the last six books of the poem had been\\nwritten, and were burned in the fire but this is\\nnot likely. His work and his life were left incom-\\nplete he was only forty-six years old.\\nSpenser s We learn far more than mere outward facts about\\ncharacter. gp enser f rom hi s poetry for he was one of the men\\nwho reveal themselves, not like Shakespeare one of\\nthe men who conceal themselves, in their work.\\nThese minor poems alone tell us much about his\\ntemperament, his tastes, his convictions. They show\\nus clearly that he was a gentleman and aristocrat\\nand a man of culture they show that he had lived", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "EDMUND SPENSER\\n219\\nnear great affairs, though if we are shrewd we shall\\nsuspect that he was rather the observer than the\\nactor. There can be no question, however, that the\\nman was a devoted and pure-hearted lover, filled with\\nthe chivalrous spirit of worshipful devotion to women,\\nexquisitely sensitive to beauty, a man of pure soul\\nand deeply religious temper. He was an idealist and\\na dreamer and finally, the Epithalamium and\\nsome cadences in the Shepherd s Calendar would\\nsuffice to tell us that in all that wonderful genera-\\ntion there was no other ear so sensitive to hear and\\ncatch a magical music that seems borne from the\\nland of dreams.\\nThis was the man who wrote the great romantic\\nepic of England, the Faerie Queene.\\nII. The Faerie Queene\\nThe object of the Faerie Queene was, as Spenser\\nhimself tells us in his introductory letter to Raleigh,\\nto fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous\\nand gentle discipline. He who had known Sidney\\nwas well competent to this great task. The poem\\nwas to have been in twelve books, but as only six\\nwere written, the framework is incomplete. We\\nknow, however, that one figure was to have domi-\\nnated the whole that is, the figure of Prince Arthur.\\nIt is our old friend, King Arthur of the Table Round, General\\nbut quite differently conceived, for Spenser invents the poem,\\na wholly new legend to suit the new age. His Arthur,\\nlike Shelley s hero in his Alastor, has while yet a\\nyouth been visited in sleep by a woman exquisitely\\nfair. Waking into a barren and lonely world, he", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "220\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nhas vowed never to rest till he has found and won\\nthis lady of his dreams. She is a true lady, no\\nmere shadow of the night her name is Gloriana,\\nand she is the Faerie Queene from whom the poem\\nis named. All through its bewildering sequences\\nArthur goes seeking her. Again and again, we\\ncatch glimpses of his radiant, wistful figure flashing\\nby, clad in golden armor, with shield of diamond,\\nand rainbow plumes nodding on the helmet crowned\\nwith the dragon of the great pendragonship, as\\nTennyson puts it. Gloriana holds her court afar.\\nArthur often meets and helps her knights at some\\npoint of desperate need, but the Faerie Queene her-\\nself, within the compass of the books that have come\\ndown to us, he never finds.\\nIt is a wondrous country through which Prince\\nArthur wanders an enchanted land indeed, where\\nmysterious perils beset on every hand the knights\\nof Faerie. Yet as we read on, through all the\\nglamour of the magic, there seems to gleam on us\\na world strangely familiar. The Faerie Queene\\nis an allegory fairy-land is England in disguise\\nfurther than this, it is the spiritual world of human\\nexperience. Sometimes the allegory is historical, and\\nGloriana stands for Queen Elizabeth, while Prince\\nArthur s features are those of Spenser s great patron,\\nthe Earl of Leicester; more often it is moral and\\nspiritual, and Gloriana represents the ideal of spiritual\\nglory which noble manhood has seen in a vision, and\\nmust forever seek through the wide and mysterious\\nworld. Thus conceived, the allegory is true to\\nSpenser s deepest thought with his master Plato\\nhe firmly believed that there existed a spiritual", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "EDMUND SPENSER\\n221\\nideal, no mere delusion of the human mind, but an\\neternal reality. The soul of man, which has beheld\\nthis ideal, but beheld it in vision alone, is on earth\\na wanderer, ever pursuing a quest forever unfulfilled.\\nIt is by an accident that the poem is incomplete, but\\nan accident hardly to be regretted for there is truth\\nin the incompleteness, which leaves the soul a pilgrim\\nstill, as does the earlier poem of Langland.\\nArthur, although the hero of the poem, is seen but\\nseldom. The different books record the adventures\\nof different knights of Gloriana, who represent the\\ndifferent virtues of which Arthur, Magnificence,\\nrepresents the sum. They form a fellowship akin\\nto the Table Round, these knights of Faerie, or, as\\nwe may call them, the knights of the ideal. Their\\nhome is the court of the Faerie Queene, thence they\\nsally forth, as good knights should, as Raleigh and\\nDrake and Sidney and other great men of the day\\nwent forth from the court of Elizabeth, to subdue\\nthe enemies of their great queen, to aid the helpless,\\nand to establish the reign of purity, honor, and truth.\\nIt is not necessary to care for Spenser s allegory\\nin order to enjoy the poem indeed, some of the\\nbest critics encourage us to disregard the allegory,\\nand simply to revel in the beautiful pictures pre-\\nsented and the delightful stories told. The best\\nuse of the Faerie Queene, says Lowell, is as a\\ngallery of pictures. At the same time, though it\\nis better not to puzzle over the allegory, at least for\\nthe first reading, the power and beauty of the poem\\nrise and fall with the depth of the spiritual meaning,\\nand when this meaning grows thin or vanishes, as\\nsometimes happens, the poetry is likely to cloy.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "222\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nSummary The first book is the most famous. It tells the\\npoem. story of St. George the Red-Cross knight, and of the\\nBook i. Lady Una, and a lovely story it is, one of the love-\\nliest in the whole world. St. George in the allegory\\nis the knight of Holiness Una is Truth, as her name\\nimplies. There is an ecclesiastical allegory, too, and\\nan historical, for whoever cares to follow them. We\\nmay think of Una as the pure reformed Church, and\\nDuessa as the Roman Catholic communion if we will\\nor, Duessa may mean to us Mary Queen of Scots.\\nBook II. The second book deals with the ethical virtue,\\nthe virtue of the natural man, Temperance. Tem-\\nperance means a more positive thing in Spenser and\\nthe Renaissance, than it usually means with us it\\nis far more than mere negative abstinence, it is\\nthat noble power of self-mastery without asceticism\\nwhich antiquity so prized, and which was just re-\\nawakening the enthusiasm of the world. Its cham-\\npion Spenser names Sir Guyon. His enemies are\\nexcess, in every form of violence or worldliness or\\nwicked beauty. The second book does not tell so\\ncomplete or thrilling a story as the first, but it is\\nfull of fine pictures, and of splendid contrasts of\\nlight and shade.\\nBooks in The third and fourth books tell, in more discursive\\nthough charming fashion, the stories of the two\\nknights of Friendship, and of Britomart, the virgin\\nknight of Chastity. It is significant that Spenser s\\nrepresentative of chastity should be no cloistered\\nhermit, but a maiden knight, who with a burning\\nlove in her heart seeks over the world the man who\\nshall be her husband. The days of asceticism are\\nover and the Renaissance has no more charming", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "EDMUND SPENSER\\n223\\nstory to tell than that of Britomart, her friend\\nAmoret, and her lover, the brave Arthegall.\\nArthegall is the knight of Justice, and his adven- Book v.\\ntures occupy the fifth book. It is a very stern book,\\nfor Spenser shared the political sternness of his age.\\nOne often feels in the Faerie Queene how he\\nshrank from the savage life of Ireland, and con-\\ntrasted it with the magnificent order and tranquillity\\nwhere Elizabeth made her sway prevail. The admi-\\nration for the queen expressed by all the poets of\\nthat time seems fulsome and absurd to us sometimes,\\nbut we must remember against what background\\nthey saw her court and her person. Spenser believed\\nin keeping order with a strong arm, and his stalwart\\nArthegall is a noble and vigorous figure.\\nIn striking contrast to the fifth book is the exqui- Book vi.\\nsite grace and charm of the sixth, which narrates the\\nadventures of the young Sir Calidore, the knight of\\nCourtesy, and of his love, the fair shepherdess, Pas-\\ntorella. It is characteristic of that courtly age that\\nCourtesy should have an important role among the\\nvirtues, and there is a sweet playfulness in this book\\nwhich serves as real relief after the moral strenuous-\\nness of much that has preceded.\\nSir Calidore is the last of the knights of Faerie.\\nThey form a splendid, shining group, clearly differ-\\nentiated, as was seldom the case with the knights in\\nthe old romances. Beside them is a group of women,\\nUna, Belphcebe, Amoret, Britomart, Florimel, Pas-\\ntorella, and these women are Spenser s sweetest\\ncreation. His attitude toward them blends some-\\nthing of the mystic reverence of chivalry with the\\naesthetic feeling of the Renaissance, while he seems", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "224\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nCharacter\\nof the\\npoem.\\nThe\\nstanza.\\nThe rela-\\ntion of the\\npoem to\\nat times to suggest in their stories a little of that\\ntender purity of domestic life, that romantic devo-\\ntion not only in courtship but in marriage, which\\nbelongs more distinctively to the modern world.\\nThe first impression of the Faerie Queene is\\none of dazzling, almost confused beauty. In sensuous\\nequipment no poet was ever richer than Spenser, and\\nit is hard to tell whether one is more affected by\\nthe appeal to the eye or to the ear, by his harmonies\\nor his pictures.\\nThe poem is written in a perfect stanza, which was\\nSpenser s own invention, and is one of the noblest\\ngifts that English literature has ever received. Its\\nbeauty and expressive power have been proved, if\\nproof were needed, in the use made of it by later\\npoets, Byron, Keats, Shelley, to say nothing of the\\nSpenserian imitators of the eighteenth century. It\\nis a long stanza of eight pentameter iambic lines\\nfollowed by an Alexandrine at the end, bound\\ntogether in an intimate unity by the rhyme-scheme:\\nababbcbcc. It is probably the longest stanza possible\\ncompatible with swiftness of narration. It lends\\nitself marvellously to descriptions, whether of beauty\\nor of gloom and in Spenser s hands it is unri-\\nvalled in melodious variety, dignity, and sweetness.\\nSpenser s nature was responsive and receptive\\nbefore it was original; and his poem reflects every\\ninfluence that was playing upon its age.\\nIn the first place, the bright afterglow of the\\nmiddle ages is in it. Nowhere, not even in the\\nMorte d Arthur do we find so unstained and complete\\nan image of what chivalry would fain have been, of\\nthe perfect ideal of knighthood. Some critics have", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "EDMUND SPENSER\\n225\\nthought that the past was dearer to him than the Mediaeval\\npresent: He loved obsolete words, and phrases with\\nthe flavor of the past. That world which as it\\nreceded, kissed hands to him alone, had for him\\nmore charm than the world that proffered her ungar-\\nnered spoils to the new settlers, said Aubrey de\\nVere. Certainly, the whole framework of the poem\\nis taken from mediaeval romance; and not only the\\nframework but much of the spirit. Or rather, let\\nus say that Chivalry has risen again in the poem of\\nSpenser, and risen in the body of the Resurrection.\\nYet Aubrey de Vere is mistaken if he means that Classic\\nSpenser was indifferent to his own day and its inter- temporary\\nests. Hearsay of fruitfullest Virginia quick- influence\\nened his power to imagine fairy-land: and no genius\\nof the Renaissance was more enriched than his by the\\nrecovery of classic literature. The influences of this\\nliterature, especially of Virgil, are patent in the\\nFaerie Queene. They do not affect the framework,\\nbut they determine the ornament; and there are little\\nmyths of Spenser s own, like the charming story of\\nthe birth of Belphcebe and Amoret, which show how\\nhe had caught the fashion of the later classical\\nwriters.\\nThe third great influence, to be found in the Italian\\nFaerie Queene, beside that of the middle ages\\nand the classics, is that of Italy. There first the\\nRomantic Epic was perfected, in the work, not long\\npreceding Spenser, of Ariosto and Tasso. This\\nepic was in a way a development from the mediaeval\\nromance, but it was more self-conscious and liter-\\nary. The influence of both these poets, especially of\\nTasso, the graver and more sentimental of the two,\\ninfluence.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "226\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nis all-pervasive alike in the scheme and detail of the\\nFaerie Queene. The rich coloring of Italy is in\\nthe poem.\\nAll these different influences blend in Spenser s\\nworks as they blended in the Renaissance. Some-\\ntimes the result is amusing, as when Parnassus is\\njumbled up with the Mount of Olives, or an angel\\nis seriously compared to Cupido on Idsean Hill.\\nYet one feels no incongruity in the poem. One\\nyields, enchanted, to the very lavishness and opu-\\nlence of beauty, to the wealth of exquisite pictures\\npresented to the inner eye.\\nOf course, in one way this very lavishness is a\\nfault. The poem seems to many people diffuse, and\\nthere is no denying that Spenser gets entangled some-\\ntimes in his own manifold inventions. But, all ad-\\nmissions made, we can only be grateful for this\\nwondrous work of art.\\nSpenser s Best of all, this seemingly unrestrained luxuriance\\nof delights may be enjoyed without qualm or scruple\\nof conscience. Often the beauty of this visible\\nworld has inspired good men with terror. It terri-\\nfied the monk who was before Spenser s day, and the\\nPuritan who was to come after. In a way, monk\\nand Puritan are right. That the world of sense is\\nfraught with danger to the spirit no one can study\\nthe development of the drama in the century which\\nfollowed Spenser and deny. Spenser knows this\\nwell. He can show us the seductive loveliness be-\\nhind which lurks temptation life must be militant,\\nhe tells us his knights are ever on their guard, and\\nfairy-land is one great battle-field. Yet his imagina-\\ntion, pure and healthful as it is sensitive, revels in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "EDMUND SPENSER\\n227\\nthe beauty of this visible universe, the beauty of\\nnature, art, and humanity, unchecked by fear. This\\nhe can permit, because, filled with love of this earth,\\nhe is filled with love of heaven too, and visible beauty\\nis to him a symbol or a sacrament of an unseen\\nbeauty beyond. The Faerie Queene, with all its\\nclassic adornments, is profoundly Christian Spenser\\nis a son of the Reformation as well as of the Renais-\\nsance. Perhaps this happy union could not long\\nendure. On the one hand, the Jacobean drama was\\nto follow, with its sad revel of the senses on the\\nother, the harsh literature of Puritanism. But we\\nmay at least rejoice that, before this parting of the\\nways, we possess one great poem which knows the\\nactual world, yet glorifies it, and in which a passion-\\nate love of a visible and of an invisible loveliness\\nmeet for once without strife, in serene harmony.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nThe standard edition of Spenser is by Alexander Grosart.\\nClarendon Press edition of first two books of the Faerie\\nQueene. Edition of same books by Perceval, with notes of\\ncharacter more literary, less linguistic, than the Clarendon\\nPress. Globe edition, complete works. The Shepherd s Cal-\\nendar, introduced and edited by C. H. Herford. Life of\\nSpenser, Dean Church, English Men of Letters. Illuminat-\\ning essays on Spenser will be found in Aubrey de Vere s\\nEssays, chiefly on Poetry in Edward Dowden s Transcripts\\nand Studies and in Lowell s Among my Books.\\nThe Shepherd s Calendar and the Faerie Queene have\\nbeen illustrated in a delightful way by Walter Crane.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nA student loses what can never be had again who fails to\\nread while young at least the first two books of the Faerie\\nQueene. In class adopt Lowell s recommendation, and treat", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "228\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nthe poem as a gallery of pictures. Let each student show the\\nclass one figure piece, one landscape, one composition, one bit\\nof pageantry. If any members of the class have travelled, and\\nknow the Italian art of the Renaissance, it is fascinating to\\nascribe different scenes in Spenser to different artists, as the\\ndescription of Belphcebe to Botticelli, of Charissa to Titian,\\nof Mammon to Rembrandt or Tintoretto. The student who\\nhas learned to visualize his Spenser has learned to love him.\\nStudy next Spenser s appeal to the ear the melody of the\\npoem, the Spenserian stanza analyze watch treatment in\\nother hands Thomson, Byron, Shelley, Keats; study the use\\nof alliteration, of tone color, the pause melody in its variations,\\nthe scope and the limitations of the stanza.\\nAfter the appeal to the eye and the ear, take the appeal to\\nthe imagination. Follow the conduct of the narrative, the\\nvarious impersonations, etc. Finally, consider the appeal to\\nthe spiritual sense, study the allegory, and note the noble\\nethical passages.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nSpenser s Debt to Tasso and Ariosto Spenser s Debt to the\\nMiddle Ages Spenser s Debt to the Classics Reflection of\\nContemporary English Life in the Faerie Queene The\\nInfluence on the Poem of Spenser s Irish Life Spenser s Ideal\\nof Heroism The Later Books of the Faerie Queene (a lec-\\nture on each, if possible, presenting a summary of story and\\nspiritual conception) Spenser the Aristocrat The Symbolism\\nof Spenser.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VII\\nTHE EARLY DRAMA\\nI. Development\\nWE left the drama still in the form of miracle\\nplays, a servant of the Church, though some-\\ntimes rather a boisterous servant. We find it again,\\nin the latter part of the sixteenth century, and it has\\nbecome thoroughly secular. How did this happen\\nIt happened essentially because the temper of the\\nnation was changed. But we can find links between\\nthe religious drama of the middle ages and the sec-\\nular drama of the Renaissance. Such links are fur-\\nnished by the Moralities and Interludes, which Moraii-\\nflourished from the reign of Henry VI on into Eliza- ties\\nbeth s reign. The Moralities were dramatized alle-\\ngories they brought such characters as Mankind,\\nFolly, Mercy, Perseverance, upon the stage. They\\nwere very dull, but they trained invention in a\\ncertain way, for they forced their writers to make up\\na story instead of simply adapting the stories of the\\nBible as the miracle plays had done. The Interlude Jnter-\\n1 J ludes.\\nhad less plot than the Morality, but in the hands of\\nJohn Heywood, who wrote for the court of Henry\\nVII between 1520 and 1540, the characters were\\ndrawn from real life and were sometimes very amus-\\ning, and the dialogue was vivacious. The most\\nfamiliar of Heywood s interludes is one called The\\n229", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "230\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nFour P s, in which a Pardoner, a Palmer, a Pedler,\\nand a Potecary try in an entertaining manner who\\ncan tell the biggest lie.\\nLove Moralities and Interludes formed a sort of intel-\\neantry. lectual prelude to the drama. Meanwhile, the\\nimpassioned liking for pageantry and representa-\\ntion which possessed the country in its young pros-\\nperity prepared the way on another side. Never was\\nthe splendor of visible beauty more eagerly craved\\nand realized by the imagination. We may see the\\nresult of this impulse in such ceremonies as marked\\nthe queen s reception at Kenilworth, or in the\\nnumerous lord mayor s shows. But there is little\\nuse in dwelling on these things. It is evident that\\nthe drama had to come the force and feeling of the\\nnation at large had to press outward and reproduce\\nthemselves, through an art form more free, more sen-\\nsitively varied, more rich, than any that had hereto-\\nfore been known. Even before 1590, even before the\\ndrama rose to overmastering glory in Shakespeare,\\nthere was already a lusty dramatic development\\nwhich gave promise of nearly all the phases of\\ndramatic expression that were to follow.\\nII. Types\\nChronicle 1. The new patriotism, for instance, expressed\\nplays. itself in a series of chronicle plays that put roughly\\nbut vividly before the people the course of English\\nhistory. These plays were epic rather than dramatic\\nin character they had not much plot or structure\\nthey were simply a visible presentation of great per-\\nsonages and great events. The English historical", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "THE EARLY DRAMA\\n231\\nplays of Shakespeare several of which are written\\nin collaboration with other authors take up and\\ncontinue this tradition.\\n2. Comedy of a rude and homely type appears Comedies,\\neven before the time of Elizabeth. Ralph Roister Ralph\\nDoister, the first English comedy, was written by ^\u00c2\u00b0\\\\f t ev\\nNicholas Udall, probably about 1550. It reflects a printed\\ncurious blending of influences from the New Learn-\\ning, and from native English life. The plot and the\\ntypes of character are derived from Latin comedy,\\nbut the effervescent fun, the vigorous dialogue, and\\nthe setting are full English. Gammer Gurton s Gammer\\nNeedle is another interesting early comedy. Its Needle.\\nrollicking humor and vulgar realism present us with\\na capital picture of scenes of village life.\\n3. Tragedy soon begins to feel its dark way. Tragedies.\\nSometimes it is stately and frigid, modelled after the\\nLatin dramas of Seneca, consisting rather of decla-\\nmation than of action. This is the type of Gorbo- Gorbo-\\nduc, the first tragedy in our tongue, written in acted in\\npart by Sackville, a poet whose introduction to the before the\\ncollection of poems called the Mirror for Magis- i ueen\\ntrates is perhaps the best poetry produced during\\nthe first twenty years of Elizabeth s reign. Again,\\nbreaking loose from all restraint of canons of art or\\ntaste or propriety, the drama raised a cry of almost\\nincoherent horror, as in the so-called Tragedy of\\nBlood, of which Kyd s Spanish Tragedy is the\\nbest instance. Shakespeare s supreme tragedies owe\\nmuch to the tragedy that has gone before. They\\nturn horror itself into beauty, and leave the spirit\\npurified, though aghast yet Hamlet is but a\\ntragedy of blood transformed.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "232\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nCourt 4. Almost all these dramatic forms belonged to\\nplays. 1\\nthe people, and were presented to the great Eliza-\\nbethan public at large. But the court had a special\\ndrama of its own. Elizabeth dearly loved a play\\nfifty-two plays were acted at court between 1568 and\\n1570, and the Children of the Queen s Chapel, young\\nboy choristers, were organized into a regular com-\\npany of players who acted not only before her Maj-\\nesty, but elsewhere. These court dramas are, so far\\nas they have come down to us, much what their name\\nimplies. They have much literary delicacy often,\\nas in Peele s charming Arraignment of Paris, they\\npartake more of the character of a masque than of\\nserious drama. The prettiest that we have and\\nvery pretty some of them are are written in prose\\nby Lyly, the author of Euphues. Shakespeare\\nowes much to these, as to all the other dramatic\\ntypes that preceded him. Some of his favorite mo-\\ntifs are found in Lyly; Benedick and Beatrice, Rosa-\\nlind and Celia, would talk with less grace and sparkle\\nhad not Lyly shown the possibilities of charm in\\nwhat we may call the drama of good society.\\nVerse As to verse forms, the drama during this period\\nwas trying all kinds of experiments it was written\\nsometimes in fourteen syllable lines, like intermina-\\nble ballads, sometimes in doggerel, and again some-\\ntimes in the ten-syllable, unrhymed verse, which was\\nfinally, by a process of natural selection, to prevail in\\ndramatic work.\\nIII. The Pbedecessobs of Shakespeabe\\nThe Uni-\\nversity-\\nwits.\\nThe names of some of the chief dramatists who\\npreceded Shakespeare were Peele, Greene, Lodge,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "THE EARLY DRAMA\\n233\\nKyd, Nash, and Marlowe. Interesting men they all\\nwere, though here we can only suggest them by a\\nstring of names. They were University men, masters\\nof arts, and gentlemen but they flung away, most of\\nthem, from decorum and law of all kinds, lived a\\nwild Bohemian life in the vivid London of the\\nRenaissance, and in several instances died in misery\\nor even crime while they were still young. Their\\nwork is confused, uneven, and tentative, but strange\\ngleams of genius shine through it. We understand,\\nas we learn of them, how the profession of playwright\\nand actor was in evil repute, and already stigmatized\\nby the grave Puritan spirit which was rising in Eng-\\nland.\\nThe greatest of all these men, the only one pos- Christo-\\nsessed of a high genius, was Christopher Marlowe. Marlowe,\\nMarlowe was one of those poets snatched away 1564-1 93\\nwhen they have given the world only preludings\\nof their music, for he was killed in a tavern when\\ntwenty-nine years old. He was just the age of\\nShakespeare, and it is not irreverent to say that\\nShakespeare at twenty-nine had not achieved so\\nmuch. For Marlowe had a great, a soaring spirit,\\nand he could express it in what Ben Jonson rightly\\ncalled a mighty line. The noblest blank verse\\nbefore Shakespeare is his. He left us a few poems,\\nand five tragedies, all written within six years\\nTamburlaine, Dr. Faustus, The Massacre at\\nParis, The Jew of Malta, and Edward II.\\nThese dramas are, with the exception of Edward\\nII, crude and formless they break into the bom-\\nbastic or the grotesque in a surprising, disappointing\\nmanner, yet they leave one out of breath from the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "234\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nsense of power they convey, and the yearning they\\nsuggest for an unattainable beauty and knowledge.\\nFor Marlowe s was a soul\\nStill climbing after knowledge infinite,\\nAnd always roving as the restless spheres. 1\\nHis drama is one of marvellous promise, not yet of\\nfulfilment. The age that could produce a Marlowe\\nneeded a Shakespeare, and Shakespeare came.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nManly, Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama, Athe-\\nnaeum Press Series, Vol. II. An excellent edition of Marlowe\\nis in the Mermaid Series. A. W. Ward, History of English\\nDramatic Literature (ed. 1899), Vol. IX, Ch. III. J. A.\\nSymonds, Shakespeare s Predecessors. Fleay, Biographical\\nChronicle of the English Drama. J. R. Lowell, The Old\\nEnglish Dramatists. Dictionary of National Biography.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nIt is profitable for a class which is to take up Shakespeare\\nto read two or three of the plays in Manly s Specimens.\\nClass analysis should dissect these plays, showing their depar-\\nture from the canons of classic art, their attempts at dramatic\\nstructure and passion, their crudity, their promise. A play of\\nMarlowe might next be read, to show the genius and power\\nlatent in the nation, and the class will then be prepared to un-\\nderstand something of Shakespeare s art in relation to his\\ntimes.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nAny dramatic types or dramatists mentioned in this chapter\\nmay be made the subject of a separate lecture.\\ni Tamburlaine, Act II, Sc. VII.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VIII\\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\nI. The Elizabethan Stage\\nE must not think of the theatre in Elizabeth s\\ntime as if it had been like our own. The\\ntravelling drama of the middle ages did indeed give\\nplace to a regular theatre in separate permanent build-\\nings before the end of the queen s reign there\\nwere eleven such buildings licensed in London.\\nCompanies of professional actors were also gradually\\nformed. But the conditions of the stage Were primi-\\ntive in the extreme. The public theatres were roofed\\nover only in part the stage projected into the yard,\\nand was surrounded on all sides by spectators, while\\nthe favored gentlefolk and courtiers actually sat upon\\nit, forming part of the show. Scenery was rough\\nthe actors were aided by no illusion of distance or\\nperspective, but were simply a raised group in the\\nmidst of the audience. Costumes, sometimes very\\nhandsome, were always of the style of the day, and\\nit is curious to imagine Shakespeare s ancient Romans\\nin Elizabethan ruffs. No women acted, and all the\\nwomen s parts were taken by boys. These were the\\nconditions under which were presented 44 The Mid-\\nsummer Night s Dream, 44 Romeo and Juliet, 44 King\\nLear. They would seem strange, ludicrous even,\\n235", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "236\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nto-day. But after all, what did scenery matter\\nThe alchemy of Shakespeare s imagination was worth\\nmore to show the essential truth of things than illu-\\nsions produced by plaster and paint, and his public\\nshared something of his power. An Elizabethan\\naudience was probably the most imaginative that\\nhas ever existed except in ancient Greece. Who\\nwould not gladly abandon our large stages with\\nretreating scenes, our play of artificial lights, our\\nrealism of setting, if we could as a nation reach that\\nfervor of imaginative passion out of which a Shake-\\nspeare might arise\\nII. Shakespeare s Life\\n1564-1616. We know about Shakespeare s life as much as we\\nknow about that of many of his contemporaries,\\nthough not nearly so much as we should like to know.\\nHe was a country boy, not city-bred like Spenser,\\nand his only university was the big world. Strangers\\nto-day, visiting his birthplace, Stratford-on-Avon,\\nmay still pray in the church where he is buried, a\\nchurch quite recent in his day, see with their own\\neyes what the town as he saw it looked like, and\\nwander through the region which he knew. It\\nis a rich, pleasant, level country that lies around\\nStratford the natural home and background for\\nhuman life, with no surprising beauty nor grandeur\\nto arrest or absorb the mind. Such as it was, Shake-\\nspeare knew and loved it well this we know from\\nmany touches in his plays, and also because he\\nreturned thither when his fame was won, to live\\nand die.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n237\\nShakespeare s father was a respected tradesman of\\nStratford, and at one time mayor of the town. It\\nis interesting to notice that during his year of office\\nthe corporation for the first time entertained actors\\nat Stratford but William was only four years old\\nat this time. The family fortunes seemingly con-\\ntinued good till he was a boy of about thirteen, but\\nafter that time they declined and the family sank\\ninto debt. The one thing we know for certain about\\nhis life at this time is that when he was only eighteen\\nyears old he married a woman named Anne Hatha-\\nway, eight years older than himself, and that before\\nhe was twenty-two three children were born to him.\\nWhen he was about twenty-three years old, he left\\nStratford and his wife and little family, and went\\nup to London to try his fortunes.\\nShakespeare attached himself to the stage, at first,\\nif tradition speaks true, as a call-boy or even in a\\nlower capacity. But very soon he became an actor,\\nand continued to act till late in life, being one of the\\ncompany appointed king s players at the accession\\nof James I. We all long to know the parts that\\nShakespeare acted, but as far as tradition tells us\\nthey were very minor parts the Ghost in Ham-\\nlet, for instance, and old Adam in As You Like\\nIt. Just when he began to make plays we do\\nnot know, but by 1592 the references of a jealous\\nrival show that he was already known as a drama-\\ntist. For a while, however, he probably wrote noth-\\ning wholly his own, but was employed, after the\\nfashion of the time, in furbishing up old plays. By\\nthe time he was thirty-four we find references which\\nprove him to have been a respected and fairly pros-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "238\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nperous man, and we have various indications that he\\nrestored the fortunes of his house, bought property\\nat Stratford, and was a shrewd man of business. His\\nearly love for Stratford he apparently never lost, for\\nto the little town he returned when he was about\\nforty-five years old, and lived there as a country\\ngentleman till his death, in 1616. His daughters\\nsurvived him his only son, Hamnet, had died when\\neleven years old.\\nThis is a dry record. And yet Shakespeare s life\\nwas really one of the most varied and eventful ever\\nknown by man. For within the compass of his mind\\nwere lived out the experiences of Falstaff and Mac-\\nbeth, of Lear and Beatrice, of Titania and Cleopatra,\\nof Juliet, Prospero, and Hamlet. Their jests, their\\njoys, their agonies, their anxieties, their passions, were\\nall explored by him, and he doubtless knew much about\\nthem all which he never saw fit to tell. The inner\\nworld is, when we come to think of it, the only real\\nworld for everybody. But it is to be questioned\\nif any other man ever lived in an inner world where\\nsuch marvellous things happened as in Shakespeare s.\\nWe dare to feel that we draw near to Shake-\\nspeare s own personal experience as we follow the\\nline of development in his dramas. To attempt\\nthis is indeed somewhat precarious, for the drama\\ndeliberately veils personality instead of revealing it,\\nas the lyric claims to do. Yet a man s character and\\nexperience may be partly judged by the society he\\nchooses, and Shakespeare was assuredly not in the\\nsame mood when he lived in his dreams with Titania\\nas when he lived with King Lear.\\nLet us follow his works in order, remembering", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n239\\nthat the detail of the chronology is often debatable,\\nbut that critics are fairly well agreed to-day on the\\nmain divisions or groupings of the plays.\\nIII. Shakespeare s Work\\nBy the time Shakespeare was twenty-nine he had First\\nproduced seven plays and two long poems. This poems and\\nwas no inconsiderable achievement yet had he died\\nat twenty-nine, like Marlowe, we should not have he\\nregretted his loss keenly, for this work, though shop.\\nclever in the extreme, was not immeasurably above\\nthe average level of the day.\\nVery likely Shakespeare himself cared more for\\nthe poems than for the plays. The names of them\\nwere Venus and Adonis and The Rape of\\nLucrece. They show the literary tastes of the\\ntime the fastidious choice of phrase, the quest for\\nsweetness in movement, the classic sentiment, often\\ncaught at second-hand. They are not so poetic,\\nnot so powerful, as a youthful poem of Marlowe s,\\nHero and Leander. Almost the only promise of\\nthe great dramatist in them is in an occasional con-\\ncreteness and freshness of style, as in a famous de-\\nscription of horses found in Venus and Adonis, a\\ndescription which at once shows the author to be a\\nman who could look straight at fact.\\nThe probable plays of the period are Titus\\nAndronicus, a tragedy of blood Henry VI, a\\nhistorical chronicle play in three parts Love s\\nLabor s Lost, a bright society comedy, after the\\nfashion of Lyly The Comedy of Errors, modelled\\nupon a Latin play of Plautus and The Two Gen-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "240\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\ntlemen of Verona, a romantic comedy from an\\nItalian source, in which Shakespeare s power in\\ncreating character first clearly appears. Several of\\nthese dramas were probably old plays which Shake-\\nspeare touched up and the mere list shows how\\nmodestly he was learning his trade, making available\\nmaterial more effective for the stage, and following\\non the conventional dramatic lines. The dramas of\\nthis time show a growing command of style, and a\\nsurprising versatility and facility in dramatic ex-\\nperiments.\\nSecond It is quite different with the next group, written\\nTnThe when Shakespeare was between twenty-nine and\\nworld. thirty-six years old. Here the great genius appears,\\ngreater in knowledge of the human heart and in\\ncommand of poetry than any other Englishman of\\nhis age. Shakespeare had found himself. A Mid-\\nsummer Night s Dream, Romeo and Juliet, Rich-\\nard III, Richard II, King John, The Merchant\\nof Venice, Henry IV, in its two parts, Henry V,\\nThe Taming of the Shrew, The Merry Wives of\\nWindsor, As You Like It, Much Ado About\\nNothing, and Twelfth Night, are the dramas\\ncommonly assigned to this period. They comprise,\\nas will be seen, six historical plays, one tragedy, and\\nseven comedies.\\nThe historical plays of this group are the most\\nnotable expression of her national consciousness\\nthat England has ever had. Some of them have\\narchaic elements derived from the old chronicle\\nplays they seem to us at times operatic, or lyrical\\nrather than dramatic. But from these elements the\\nlater plays, notably Henry IV, and Henry V,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 241\\nescape into the large air of reality. They manifest\\ntriumphantly the breadth of Shakespeare s knowledge\\nof men. At his touch, living persons rise up from\\nthe dry records of history. We no longer listen to\\nmoral harangues, or didactic lessons drawn from the\\nfates of nations, as in Gorboduc we move about\\neasily, in the tavern, on the battlefield, in the coun-\\ncil chamber, face to face with our fellow-men.\\nIt was a joyous and warmly human heart which\\ndiscovered Falstaff it was a heart that thrilled\\nresponsive to the image of grave heroic nobleness,\\nwhich divined in history and made live forever that\\nsplendid English picture of manhood charged at once\\nwith energy and humility, King Henry V. Yet in\\nthe remaining dramas of this time we find a still\\ngreater treasure. Two of these dramas are rather\\nboisterous comedies, and incite us less to joy than\\nto laughter The Merry Wives of Windsor and\\nThe Taming of the Shrew. Those that remain\\nA Midsummer Night s Dream, Romeo and\\nJuliet, The Merchant of Venice, Much Ado\\nAbout Nothing, As You Like It, and Twelfth\\nNight are of a different type. They manifest to\\nus the fullest beauty consistent with an actual hu-\\nmanity that our literature knows. They are radiant\\nwith happy grace, with sparkling wit, with feeling\\ntender, gay, and pure. The world they show us is\\na world in which we may rejoice, and the characters\\nthey make known are people who endear human\\nnature. Shakespeare wrote at this time only one\\ntragedy, and in Romeo and Juliet, the beauty of\\npoetry and feeling overpowers pain. We leave the\\ntomb over which the bereft fathers clasp their hands", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "242\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nin reconciliation, grieving indeed, but exulting also,\\nin a loveliness sealed eternal by death.\\nFive of these six dramas are placed in Italy, the land\\nof romance. Almost all the chief actors are young\\nage when it appears is only a foil, and the world is\\nto youth and love. However the plot tangles, we\\ntrust that joy will follow that lovers bewildered by\\nfairy pranks will straighten out their sentiments in\\nthe morning, that maidens will escape their exile in\\nstrange lands, lay aside their masculine costume, and\\nwin at last their hearts desire, that slanders will be\\ndisabused, and a way found to avoid all the tragedy\\nthat threatens. For threats of tragedy these dramas\\ngive, just enough to impart zest to merriment and\\ncharacter to bliss. A grim figure like Shylock may\\nat rare intervals pass across our vision, but he serves\\nonly to enhance the revel of sumptuous joy and gen-\\nerous friendship. Sorrow is in this world of Shake-\\nspeare s early comedies, because it is in the world of\\nreal human life but harmony is their outcome. They\\nreflect and glorify the earlier mood of the Eliza-\\nbethan age the ecstasy in living, the light-hearted\\nrecognition of a blessedness at the heart of the\\nworld.\\nTransi- But here we must stop for a little. Twelfth\\nNight, the last play of this period, was acted in\\n1601 and probably written in 1600. It is a delight-\\nful and masterly summary, as it were, of all the\\nmotifs and the dramatic elements of which, in the pre-\\nceding dramas, Shakespeare had discovered the\\ncharm. The queen had only three more years to live.\\nShakespeare himself was now thirty-six years old,\\nand a man married at eighteen does not feel young", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n243\\nat thirty-six. We should know without being told\\nthat Much Ado About Nothing and Twelfth\\nNight were the work of an older man than A\\nMidsummer Night s Dream. A little graver note\\nis creeping in, a touch of irony at times, almost a\\nstealthy shadow. We long to know what was hap-\\npening to the man himself as these bright plays\\nflowed from him.\\nIt is a great temptation to think that we can tell. The son-\\nFor at this time, and perhaps during the following\\nyears, Shakespeare was writing a series of sonnets.\\nSonnets are lyrics, and lyrics purport to be self -reveal-\\ning. They were the literary fashion of the time, yet\\nwe know that, under some of the sonnet-sequences,\\nas under Spenser s, there was a real story. Whether\\nor not there was such a story here we cannot tell.\\nCritics wrangle about it, and not only critics but\\npoets.\\nWith this key,\\nShakespeare unlocked his heart/\\nsays Wordsworth and Browning retorts\\nDid Shakespeare If so, the less Shakespeare he.\\nIf we take the sonnets at their face value and in\\ntheir commonly accepted order, they seem to pass\\nfrom light, elaborate, literary exercises into poems\\nof grave and deep passion. The first series, of 126,\\nis addressed to a young man, Shakespeare s dear and\\ncherished friend the second series, of 27, to a\\nwoman. Who this woman is, we do not know, and\\nconcerning the identity of the friend of the first\\nseries, there has been much discussion. We know", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "244\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nthat Shakespeare had by this time won the patron-\\nage of the Earl of Southampton, a brilliant noble-\\nman, nine years younger than himself, to whom he\\nhad dedicated his narrative poems and most critics\\nagree on him as the friend to whom the sonnets\\nwere addressed. We can easily see how the beauti-\\nful nobleman for Southampton s portrait shows\\nhim to have possessed great beauty may have fasci-\\nnated the poor player. But the story of the sonnets\\nis sad; for Shakespeare s mistress seems to have\\nbetrayed him for his beloved friend, and he was left\\ndoubly desolate. Spenser s love story ran melodi-\\nously smooth Sidney faced indeed sharp tempta-\\ntion, but looked upward at least to his beloved,\\nrejoiced in her virtue, and was purified by her pur-\\nity. Shakespeare, if we may trust the sonnets, knew\\nthat bitter experience a love that does not aspire\\nbut stoops, a passion for one unworthy.\\nWhether the story of the sonnets is literally true\\nor not does not after all so much matter. What they\\nincontrovertibly tell us is that Shakespeare, in mid-\\ndle life, whether through personal or imaginative\\nexperience, had plunged his plummet into the tumul-\\ntuous depths of human agony and sin. The thought\\nthat beauty, life, even loyalty itself, are mutable and\\nvanish into darkness, wrings the poet s heart and\\nthe one consolation to which he desperately clings is,\\nnot that there is another country where decay enters\\nnot, but that even human love can rise triumphant in\\nconstancy over faithlessness and change\\nLove is not love\\nWhich alters when it alteration finds\\nOr bends with the remover to remove", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n245\\nno it is an ever fixed mark\\nThat looks on tempests and is never shaken\\nIt is the star to every wandering bark\\nWhose worth s unknown although his height be taken.\\nThis is the highest habitual level reached by the\\nsonnets they reveal a mental state which none of\\nthe moods of cheerful or sentimental feeling that\\nShakespeare had so far expressed in his dramas\\ncould comfort or relieve.\\nOut of the Depths is the heading given by Mr. Third\\nDowden to the next great group of plays. They in- Out of\\nelude three dark and ironical comedies, quite differ- depths.\\nent in tone from the comedies that preceded, All s\\nWell that Ends Well, Measure for Measure, and\\nTroilus and Cressida and the great tragedies\\nJulius Caesar, Hamlet, Othello, Lear,\\nMacbeth, Antony and Cleopatra, Coriolanus,\\nTimon of Athens. All these plays were written\\nwhen Shakespeare was between thirty-six and forty-\\nfour years old between 1600 and 1608. His worldly\\nfortunes were improving at this time; he was part\\nowner from 1599 of the Globe Theatre, and we\\nhave evidence that he did not neglect practical\\naffairs. But what must his inner life have been\\nNone of these plays are from English history\\nthree are drawn from the stern annals of Rome,\\nwhich Shakespeare knew through North s noble\\ntranslation of Plutarch. The comedies are all sad-\\nder if possible than tragedy. The tragedies comprise\\nthe greatest tragic work, apart from the dramas of\\niEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, that the world\\nhas ever seen.\\nIt is almost impossible to discuss Shakespeare s", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "246\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\ntragedies. One wishes to bow before them, awe-\\nstruck into silence for they reveal the mysterious\\ndepths of life. Such depths are sometimes, perhaps,\\nsounded in youth, but not often the persons in\\nthese dramas have advanced farther on their life s\\njourney than in those of the last period. The plays\\nas a rule disregard the shallow law of unity in time,\\nand cover a wide sweep of years, showing us the\\ngreater unity that binds together in phases of one\\nexperience, crises of youth, of middle life, of age.\\nHamlet is young, though not so young as Romeo,\\nbut it is the sin of mature man and woman that\\ndrives him to a madness only half simulated. Mac-\\nbeth, when the drama opens, is beset by that tempta-\\ntion of middle life, ambition and his way of life is\\nfallen into the sere, the yellow leaf, before the story\\nreaches its tragic end. Othello himself tells us that\\nhe is declined into the vale of years. Cleopatra\\nis no novice in winning the hearts of men. And\\nLear, finally, is the supreme and naked tragedy of\\ndeserted old age.\\nThese dramas face steadily the worst that man can\\nconceive of sin and shame. They show us tragedy\\ndeeper far than that of Shakespeare s early story\\nof the star-crossed lovers, the helpless brightness of\\nwhose youth and love was overtaken by the swift\\nshadow of death. For here we contemplate moral\\nwreck rather than material disaster character is\\ndestiny, character how often weak, passionate, per-\\nverse, and all the sorrow to which the dramas\\nmove springs direct from human folly, wilfulness, or\\nsin.\\nThe first two tragedies, Julius Caesar and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n247\\n4 4 Hamlet, have been called the tragedies of thought.\\nThey reveal a new Shakespeare, a man who has re-\\nflected profoundly and gravely, though the philo-\\nsophical element, strong in both dramas, is merged,\\nas it ought to be, in concrete human experience. Sad\\nthough these dramas are, they uplift us because\\neach shows a protagonist whom we may love and\\nhonor. Yet Brutus and Hamlet both fail in fulfilling\\ntheir appointed task. Noble as they are, a profound\\ninner weakness makes it impossible for either to be\\nan adequate instrument in the restoration of a broken\\nharmony. Their failure, not their death, is the\\ntragedy of these plays.\\nIn the other dramas of this period, we trace the\\ntitanic ravages of passion; we are called upon to\\nwatch, not weakness only, but sin. Dark characters\\nappear, such as the bright imagination of the younger\\nShakespeare never could have conceived an Iago, a\\nRegan, a Goneril. The main characters never pass\\nout of the pale of our sympathy while we condemn\\nMacbeth and his wife, Othello, Lear, we do not cease\\nto love them yet we recognize how the terrible\\nsorrow, which they both inflict and bear, springs from\\ntheir own wrong-doing. In all these dramas, holy\\nhuman ties are wrenched asunder by selfish passion,\\nleaving a world in ruins. In Macbeth, these are the\\nties that hold a subject loyal to his king in Othello,\\nthe bonds of marriage in Lear, the tender bonds of\\nkindred, violated first by the wilful king, then, in\\nretaliation inevitable though fearful, by his unnatural\\ndaughters. The theme in Antony and Cleopatra\\nand Coriolanus is in general the same, for the claims\\nof country are subordinated to the insistent demands", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "248\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nof personal desire. Law thus is disregarded, and we\\nsee exposed the elemental forces of wild passion,\\nmaking their fierce way toward chaos. We skirt the\\nborders of madness and in the moral gloom that\\nhangs over these great tragedies, strange visitants,\\nwitches and ghosts, gather out of the shadow.\\nWhy is it a greater happiness than pain to know\\nthese heart-breaking dramas Why do we love to\\nsee them on the stage, to read them in our closets\\nThe answer would lead us far into the whole phi-\\nlosophy of art and its relations to life. The truth is\\nthat we all crave to know what life really is, whether\\nthe knowledge make us glad or not, for life, even at\\nits darkest, is sacred. And there is one reassuring\\nthing about these storm-tossed dramas of Shake-\\nspeare s. Never for one moment does he let us\\nlose sight of the difference between good and evil.\\nThe actors may lose sight of it may cry in weari-\\nness and horror that all best things are now con-\\nfused to ill all the persons in the play may be\\nbewildered, invaded by the worst of evils, moral\\nconfusion not we. There is indeed little vision of\\nthe heavens suggested by these dramas such vision,\\nin Shakespeare, we never find. But the moral values\\nremain august and intact, and the Law of Right,\\ninexorable, terrible, yet awfully luminous, shines\\nthrough their earth-born murkiness with a lustre\\nnever darkened nor dimmed.\\nFourth During this period, we must notice, the whole\\nr on P the aspect of English literature had changed. The\\nheights. queen had died; James I was on the throne. Silent\\nwere Shakespeare s early contemporaries Marlowe,\\nGreene, Peele, and Lodge. Others were rising to", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n249\\ntake their place: Ben Jonson, Dekker, Heywood,\\nMidclleton, Beaumont and Fletcher, Webster, and\\nTourneur. The nation was at the height of\\nimaginative power and production, but a shadow\\nwas invading it the lyric was becoming thought-\\nfreighted, often grave and sad philosophical prose\\nwas developing. Shakespeare s tragedies are by no\\nmeans the darkest expression of life which was to be\\nproduced by the literature of the Renaissance for\\neven when they lead us into a gloom of midnight,\\nthe eternal stars shine out, and with almost no excep-\\ntion they end with a hint of a new dawn. Yet their\\nsadness is part of a general mood of sadness, which\\nwas succeeding in England the ecstasy, the sponta-\\nneous and light-hearted joy, of the early Renaissance.\\nBut in sadness Shakespeare s mighty spirit did not\\npermanently dwell. It skirted madness and despair,\\nbut passed them by, and emerged into a noble sanity.\\nThe plays of his last period prove this this period\\nlasts from 1608 to 1616, the year of his death. It\\nincludes two inferior plays, probably written in col-\\nlaboration with some one else, Timon of Athens,\\nand Pericles, and these seem to express exhaustion\\nof creative power, and a sort of helplessness rare in\\nShakespeare but during these last years he gave\\nus also three dramas illumined with fair and peace-\\nful light Cymbeline, The Tempest, and The\\nWinter s Tale. It is probable that these plays were\\nwritten at Stratford, where, during the later years of\\nhis life, he seems mostly to have lived. There is no\\nrecord directly connecting him with theatrical life\\nafter 1609, but there are various traces of his presence\\nin the country.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "250\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nThe dramas of this time including Henry VIII,\\nof which Fletcher probably wrote a large portion\\nshow the master craftsman yet there is in them\\nsomething that makes us feel the author withdrawn\\nfrom the stage. They gain less from acting, more\\nfrom reading, than the earlier plays. Shakespeare\\nwrites no longer tragedies of passion, of ambition,\\njealousy, voluptuousness, or the ravings of madness\\nhe reverts to the serener themes of high romance.\\nThere is less richness of imagination and fancy, less\\nspontaneous poetry, than in the comedies of his eager\\nyouth; but, reading these plays, we rejoice with\\nWordsworth in years that bring the philosophic\\nmind, feeling with him that, though the first splendor\\nof life s fresh dawn soon fades, there is compensation\\nin the sober colors of the clouds that gather round\\nthe setting sun. Once more Shakespeare writes of\\nyouth youth not now self-sufficiently absorbing the\\nscene, but interpreted by a loving age, that touches\\nits bright beauty with hands of tender benediction.\\nPerdita among her flowers, Miranda on her desert\\nisle, true-hearted Imogen in her high mountain refuge,\\ndo not fascinate us with charm, sweet or baleful, like\\nthe earlier heroines from Juliet to Cleopatra they\\nare described with a spirit of tender and touching\\naffection, but it is the spirit of the father and the\\nsage, rather than that of the lover.\\nOver all these dramas rests an exquisite calm.\\nThey have been called the dramas of reconciliation,\\nfor as the plays of the preceding period deal with\\nties torn asunder, these in every case deal with ties\\nrenewed and harmony restored. We are glad that\\nit was on such pictures as these that the last thoughts", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n251\\nof Shakespeare dwelt. One of these dramas, The\\nTempest, is in particular of peculiar beauty. It\\nis a symbolic poem, baffling, yet alluring us with\\nsubtlest hints of hidden spiritual meaning and it\\ninterests us profoundly as the one important excur-\\nsion of our greatest realist into the realm of mys-\\nticism. At the very outset of his artistic career,\\nShakespeare had written another fairy drama, and\\nwe see all he had learned about life if we compare\\nThe Midsummer Night s Dream and The Tem-\\npest. On the whole, it is fair to conclude that\\nhe had gained, not only in insight, but in abiding\\njoy. In the early poem humanity is quite at the\\nmercy of fairy sport and play, helpless to direct\\neven its emotions, bewildered and befooled at every\\nturn in the later, Prospero, the great and wise\\nmagician, governs with serene power the elemental\\nforces, and bends their freakish wills at his pleasure\\nto beneficent human service. Manhood has become\\nto Shakespeare s older eyes more potent and august\\nthan to his youth. This play, and all the plays of\\nthis period, are on the heights indeed, knowing, but\\nknowing from above, the passions of earth. So closed\\nthe work of Shakespeare and his last recorded mood\\nwas a mood of large sanity and hard-won peace.\\nIV. Shakespeare s Art\\nShakespeare s dramas are, next to our authorized\\ntranslation of the Bible, the crowning glory of the\\nEnglish tongue. And yet, of what we sometimes\\nmean by originality they have but little. The\\ngreat dramatist continued in every respect the tra-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "252\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nditions that had preceded him, the forms of tragedy,\\nhistory, comedy, that earlier dramatists had evolved.\\nHis plots were almost all borrowed from some well-\\nknown source. Love s Labor s Lost and The\\nTempest are, according to present critical knowl-\\nedge, the only stories which he probabty invented as\\na whole. More than this, he not only followed earlier\\nwriters with docility, he took up many popular motifs\\nof his day. A ghost crying revenge, for instance,\\nwas a stock character of the Elizabethan stage;\\nShakespeare introduced him in Hamlet and again\\nin Julius Caesar. Nor was he contented with\\ncopying other people he continually copied himself,\\nand when he had found an episode, like a heroine\\ndisguised in boy s clothes or a case of mistaken\\nidentity, pleasing to his public, he fearlessly used the\\nsame thing over and over.\\nHisorigi- And yet, what does all this matter? It simply\\ngoes to prove how the individuality of the greatest\\ngenius is rooted in that of the race. But the pecu-\\nliar power of the genius is that he raises the dead to\\nlife. Shakespeare breathed into these old stories,\\nand men and women, in their habit as they lived, arise\\nand walk before us. What though Viola repeat the\\nsituation of Rosalind? She is not Rosalind, but a\\nnew creation, fresh with an immortal morning. How\\ndid Shakespeare make his people live? That is\\nhis secret. The daring temper of exploration that\\nmarked the Renaissance was in him turned full\\nupon the world of men and women and wonderful\\nwas the result of his search. How did he know that\\nDesdemona breathed out her soul in a lie to exoner-\\nate her husband, murmuring, when asked to name", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\\n253\\nher murderer, Nobody I myself farewell\\nHow did he know that Lady Macbeth, not yet guilty,\\nstarted at the innocent word of the messenger, The\\nking comes here to-night, with the strange cry,\\nThou rt mad to say it How did he know that\\nLear sighed, in the midst of his dying, remorseful\\nsorrow over the corpse of Cordelia, Prithee, undo\\nthis button He knew because he was Shake-\\nspeare. He did not try, like Dante, to penetrate\\nspiritual mysteries, though he keenly felt their pres-\\nence he was content to discover and record the\\nactual contents of the consciousness of men.\\nThe verse of Shakespeare follows with exquisite His\\nfitness the changes in his ethical mood and dramatic\\nmethod. His style is always concrete that is, he\\nwrites with his eye, not on his idea of the object,\\nbut on the object itself. At first he uses frequent\\nrhyme, his verse is delicately finished, each line is\\nend-stopped or complete in itself it is a style fitted\\nto render with artificial perfection the fulness of\\ncharm and grace. As he goes on his manner changes.\\nRhyme becomes less and less frequent. Weak and\\nlight endings give variety to the blank verse, and, as\\nit flows onward, the force of thought presses unnot-\\ning over such small barriers as the ends of lines, and\\nwe have what is called overflow verse. The move-\\nment is stronger, freer, more broken in cadence, and\\nthe verse falls into larger harmonic groups indepen-\\ndent of the line division, and reading at times like\\nnoble prose. The style is charged and weighted with\\nmeaning to the point of obscurity, pressing nearer\\nand nearer to thought, till it seems at times strug-\\ngling to reveal the consciousness that lies below all\\npower of speech.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "254 THE RENAISSANCE\\nShake- If Shakespeare s work does not seek to penetrate\\nclimax of* spiritual mysteries, it is none the less wholly\\ndrama! 10 noble. He dares to show us a world shaken and\\nswept by temptation and sorrow, but it is a world in\\nwhich the moral proportions are sound. His work\\nis never morbid, unless in one or two inferior\\nplaj^s like Troilus and Cressida and Timon of\\nAthens it is never shallow. The great roman-\\ntic drama vindicated in him its claim to freedom.\\nFor romantic art rejected all those safeguards of\\nsanity and order afforded by the canons of classic\\ndrama it claimed a right to obey its own free im-\\npulse and to roam unchecked throughout the universe.\\nAgain and again, in lesser men, both before and after\\nShakespeare, liberty degenerated into license, and the\\nresult was an art painfully uneven, full of flashes of\\npower and beauty, but often sesthetically extravagant\\nand morally unsound. Not so in the drama of Shake-\\nspeare. There, romantic art developed an inner\\nstrength, a moral harmony and poise, that make it\\nhealthful as it is free, inspiring as it is profound.\\nWe rise from Shakespeare s dramas assured that\\nhuman life is a greater thing and more worth living\\nthan ever we have realized before.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nThe Globe Shakespeare. The Temple Shakespeare (single\\nplays, in compact, attractive form). Furness s Variorum\\nShakespeare, in publication. Rolfe s edition, Clarendon Press\\nedition, single plays edited for students. Edward Dow-\\nden, Shakespeare Primer; Shakespeare, His Mind and Art.\\nSidney Lee, Life of Shakespeare. Barrett Wendell, Will-\\niam Shakespeare. Halliwell-Phillips, Outlines of the Life\\nof Shakespeare. H. W. Mabie, Life of Shakespeare. Cole-\\nridge, Notes and Lectures on the Plays of Shakespeare. G.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 255\\nBrandes, William Shakespeare, a critical study. Abbott,\\nShakespearean Grammar. G. L. Craik, The English of Shake-\\nspeare. Swinburne, A Study of Shakespeare. Carlyle,\\nHeroes and Hero-Worship. W. Hazlitt, Characters of Shake-\\nspeare s Plays. K. Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic\\nArtist. Bennett, Master Skylark. Black, Judith Shake-\\nspeare.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nIt is better to read Shakespeare than to criticise him. If\\nthree plays are read, let one be historical Julius Csesar,\\nHenry V one a comedy The Merchant of Venice, As\\nYou Like It one a tragedy Macbeth, King Lear\\nPart reading in class is almost always enjoyable, and students\\nabove the age of twelve can learn by heart, and act simply,\\nwith or without costume, various scenes, if not entire plays.\\nOf course an infinite number of questions for discussion come\\nup during the reading, and it is better to let them arise natu-\\nrally than to attempt a formal plan of work.\\nCHRONOLOGY OF SHAKESPEARE S PLAYS\\nThe exact chronology of Shakespeare s plays is very uncertain.\\nCritics, however, are coming to agree about the general order and\\ngrouping of the dramas, with a few marked exceptions. The table\\ngiven below is based on the authority of Sidney Lee. It will be\\nseen that in several cases, notably in the case of Titus Androni-\\ncus, of Romeo and Juliet, of Midsummer Night s Dream,\\nof All s Well that Ends Well, the order is different from that\\nsuggested in the text, where the more common, but less recent,\\ntheory of Edward Dowden is followed. The general line of treat-\\nment in the text is not, however, affected by these changes.\\nThe first folio, published in 1623, is the first trustworthy author-\\nity for the text of many of the plays, and contains all the plays,\\nexcept Pericles. The quartos are in some instances merely\\nactors copies surreptitiously printed, though of course they have\\ntheir value.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "256 THE RENAISSANCE\\nShakespeare s Plays\\nuate 01\\nPublication of\\nTitle\\nComposition\\nFirst Quarto\\n1591\\n1598\\nLove s Labor s Lost\\n1591\\nThe Two Gentlemen of Verona\\n1592\\nComedy of Errors\\n1592\\n1597\\nRomeo and Juliet\\n1592\\n1, 2, 3, Henry VI\\n1593\\n1597\\nRichard III\\n1593\\n1597\\nRichard II\\n1593\\n1600\\nTitus Andronicus\\n1594\\n1600 (2 editions)\\nThe Merchant of Venice\\n1594\\nKing John\\n1594-5\\n1600 (2 editions)\\nMidsummer Night s Dream\\n1595\\nAll s Well that Ends Well\\n1595\\nThe Taming of the Shrew\\n1597\\n1598\\n1 Henry IV\\n1597\\n1600\\n2 Henry IV\\n1597\\n1602\\nThe Merry Wives of Windsor\\n1598\\n1600\\nHenry V\\n1599\\n1600\\nMuch Ado about Nothing\\n1599\\nAs You Like It\\n1600\\nTwelfth Night\\n1601\\nJulius Caesar\\n1602\\n1603\\nHamlet\\n1603\\n1609 (2 editions)\\nTroilus and Cressida\\n1604\\n1622\\nOthello\\n1604\\nMeasure for Measure\\n1606\\nMacbeth\\n1606\\n1608 (2 editions)\\nKing Lear\\n1607\\nTimon of Athens\\n1608\\n1609 (2 editions)\\nPericles\\n1608\\nAntony and Cleopatra\\n1609\\nCoriolanus\\n1610\\nCymbeline\\n1611\\nA Winter s Tale\\n1611\\nThe Tempest\\n1611\\nHenry VIII (with Fletcher)\\nThe Two Noble Kinsmen (a few\\ntouches are Shakespeare s)", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IX\\nTHE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA\\nI. Grouping and Chronology\\nSHAKESPEARE overtops all his companions yet\\nhis work is only the richest expression of the\\ndramatic impulse that was controlling England.\\nHe had contemporaries and successors only less won-\\nderful than himself. Upward of seven hundred\\nplays were acted in England before the end of the\\nreign of King James, and a surprising proportion\\nof those that have come down to us have some\\nmark of genius.\\nWe can tell exactly when the last ripple of this\\ndramatic upheaval died away for in 1642, when the\\nCivil War broke out, the theatres were closed.\\nPuritan England had other interests than play-\\nacting, and other matters whereon to exercise her\\nimagination. The drama of the Renaissance ran its\\ngreat course in about fifty years.\\nThe chief dramatists who wrote during the first\\nquarter of the seventeenth century were Ben Jon-\\nson, Chapman, Dekker, Heywood, Beaumont and\\nFletcher, Webster, Tourneur, Middleton, Ford, Mas-\\nsinger, and Shirley. As we follow them, we take a\\nshort journey in time but a long one in spirit for\\nwe pass from the gay mood and careless art of the\\nElizabethan dramatists to the grave and often mor-\\n257", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "258\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nbid attitude, the more conscious art, that marks the\\nJacobean period of English Literature. It is much\\nthe same journey that we have just pursued with\\nShakespeare, from the Midsummer Night s Dream\\nto King Lear, only it explores further reaches of\\ndarkness, and does not emerge, as does the drama of\\nShakespeare, into light and peace.\\nNone of these men began to work till the last five\\nyears of the sixteenth century, yet some of them\\nseem, in their loose technique and free joyous spirit,\\nto belong rather to the Elizabethan than to the\\nJacobean period. Such are especially Dekker and\\nHeywood. Others, though not really so much\\nyounger, belong to another generation. Such, for\\ninstance, is Beaumont, who died at the age of thirty-\\none, in the same year with Shakespeare, yet presents\\nan art, despite its beauty, far advanced toward decay.\\nThe brevity of the whole development is patent when\\nwe find Dekker, who represents its first stage, writ-\\ning a drama, the Virgin Martyr, in collaboration\\nwith Massinger, who is a dramatist of its very close.\\nIt is best to group all these men under the title of\\nthe Jacobean dramatists.\\nII. Ben Jonson\\nBen The first name that we meet in this great group is\\n1573-1637. that of rare Ben Jonson, Shakespeare s junior\\nby only nine years, leader of a rival school. Jon-\\nson, a sturdy recalcitrant from romance just when\\nromance was scoring its greatest triumphs, did his\\nbest all through his life of sixty-four years to\\nestablish and maintain in England the classical school", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA 259\\nof dramatic art. No one can read Ben Jonson with-\\nout being amazed at the weight and force of his\\nintellect imagination and passion are conspicuous\\nby absence. The only light his famous comedies\\nand his stately Roman plays kindle in the mind is\\nadmiration, a sort of Aurora Borealis, that illumines\\nbut does not warm. They proceed from analysis,\\nnot from sympathy. The title of the first was,\\nEvery Man in His Humour, and Jonson s art\\nalways gave humors, not men, personified traits set\\nmoving on the stage rather than complex men and\\nwomen. His work reminds one of the method used\\nlater in the seventeenth century by Moliere in\\nFrance, and it is good for us to remember that\\nsome keen foreign critics prefer the art of Moliere\\nto that of Shakespeare.\\nEvery Man in His Humour, Every Man out Dramas,\\nof His Humour, Volpone or the Fox, The\\nSilent Woman, The Alchemist, Bartholomew\\nFair, are the names of some of Jonson s best come-\\ndies. Of these, Volpone and The Alchemist\\nare the finest, and there is a kind of splendor and\\nan amazing vigor to them. Bartholomew Fair,\\nthough not so well constructed, is nearer to life,\\nand affords a rich and entertaining study of man-\\nners. Jonson s two Roman tragedies, Sejanus\\nand Catiline, are nobly hewn by sheer force out\\nof the bed-rock of his learned mind but they are\\ndifficult to read from their lack of human warmth.\\nJonson posed as a moralist in the drama, which\\nShakespeare never did but his labored works re-\\nveal hate and scorn of vice rather than love of\\nvirtue, and hence are not a moral force in the same", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "260\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nfull sense as the loving, unconscious work of Shake-\\nspeare.\\nMasques By one of the most curious paradoxes in literature\\nand lyrics. mags ve g en i us was a i so ^h e au thor of some of\\nthe daintiest, most charming trifles that the welter\\nof time has borne down to us. In connection with\\nInigo Jones, the architect and decorator, he invented\\nmasques to amuse the court of King James. Simply\\nto read the splendid stage directions for these\\nmasques stimulates the imagination. Jonson wrote\\nother little lyrics too, and we have also a collection\\nof his vigorous table-talk. His genius may have\\nmellowed as he grew older at least, he left unfin-\\nished at his death a pastoral drama, The Sad Shep-\\nherd, which has a delicate aerial tenderness hard\\nto reconcile with his other dramatic work.\\nIn his later years Jonson became a literary oracle.\\nYounger poets and wits all gathered about his\\nburly figure as he sat in state at the Mermaid\\nTavern, and listened delightedly to the jokes he\\ncracked and the wisdom he dispensed. We hear of\\nthe tribe of Ben as we never heard of the tribe\\nof Will. And yet, admired autocrat as he was, the\\ndrama would not follow him. The great romantic\\nimpulse was too strong. He tried to stem it in mid-\\ncurrent and failed. Had he lived half a century\\nlater, when the stream flowed more weakly, it might\\nhave been different. For the time came we are\\nto reach it soon when the principles Jonson\\ndefended prevailed for a season, and people were\\nfilled with enthusiasm for law and set rules in writ-\\ning. But while he lived, the day was still to free-\\ndom and romance.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA 261\\nIII. The Romantic Dramatists\\nWe return then from Jonson to the romantic\\ndrama and we shall have to look at it in its mass\\nand movement rather than in detail, only touching\\non some authors who illustrate most forcibly its vari-\\nous phases. At the outset of the seventeenth cen-\\ntury we find that this drama still expresses the\\ndelight in life, unsubdued and compelling, of the\\nearly Renaissance. The charming, careless, sponta-\\nneous plays of Dekker, especially his Old Fortuna- Thomas\\ntus and Shoemaker s Holiday, are bubbling over ^boiS^\\nwith fun and alit with pure poetry the work of 1570 163\\nHeywood, even when tragic, has the simplicity and Thomas\\nnatural sweetness that bespeak rather closeness to S8i(?)- d\\nlife than intimacy with stagecraft and these drama- 1640\\ntists are, like all the best Elizabethans, thoroughly\\nwholesome even when too outspoken for our modern\\ntastes.\\nBut before long, a taint seems to creep over the Francis\\ndrama even while its beauty deepens. This is most f586 l 1 nt\\nevident in Beaumont and Fletcher, the twin drama- }ohn and\\ntists whose fame in their own day almost eclipsed that ^\u00c2\u00a3^25\\nof Shakespeare. Their work has many delightful\\nqualities. They have interesting plots, and under-\\nstand the secret of effective dramatic construction;\\nthey control real passion and pathos, and can impart\\nwith careless ease that thrill of emotion which Jon-\\nson s brilliant labored art can never arouse. Above\\nall, they write poetry of an enchanting sweetness.\\nYet with all this, theirs is the drama of decadence. Its\\ndefects are not those of the undeveloped drama of\\nMarlowe, but those of an art in decay. They lack", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "262\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nlarge sanity and healthfulness their work is subtly\\noverwrought. They sentimentalize, and on their\\nfairest creations rests too often the stigma from\\nwhich the work of Shakespeare is so nobly free,\\nthe grave stigma of impurity.\\nThe Jacobean drama shows decline in another way\\nyet more clearly that is, in the terrible gloom that\\ninvades it, in its fascinated dwelling on crime and\\nhorror, in the tone which it often reflects of fatalism\\nand despair. Shakespeare s most sorrowful tragedies\\nnever leave humanity, as do these later plays, helpless\\nand hopeless in the presence of an overmastering fate,\\nthe passive prey to its own passions. Outraged old\\nGloster in King Lear may cry aloud, As flies to\\nwanton boys are we to the gods they kill us for\\ntheir sport but we all know that his sorrows are\\nself-inflicted, that man is man and master of his\\nfate. But when a character in Webster s Duchess\\nof Malfi exclaims bitterly, We are merely the\\nstars tennis balls, struck and bandied which way\\nplease them, we feel that he expresses the soul of\\nthe dramatist himself.\\nJohn Webster and Cyril Tourneur were past\\nmasters in this drama of horror, and the chief ex-\\namples of the type are Webster s Duchess of\\nMalfi, and his powerful play, The White Devil,\\ni7th rneur an d- the inferior and almost appalling dramas of\\nTourneur, The Atheist s Tragedy and The Re-\\nvenger s Tragedy. These plays are lineal descend-\\nants of the old Tragedy of Blood but that\\narchaic drama presented its terrors with a sort of\\nlusty zest, while the work of Webster and Tourneur\\nsprings from a mind diseased and burdened with\\nJohn\\nWebster,\\n16th and\\n17th\\ncenturies.\\nCyril\\n17th\\ncentury", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "THE DECLINE OF THE DRAMA 263\\nanguish. The Duchess of Malfi is the most\\nattractive and human drama of this group, and it is\\na heart-breaking story of torments heaped on the\\nhead of a sweet and unoffending woman, and of the\\nremorse, even to death and madness, visited on her\\ntormentors. Intolerable pathos is almost the only\\nthing that relieves the riotous pageant of evil in\\nthese dark plays.\\nThe last of the significant and powerful dramatists Philip\\nof the Renaissance were Massinger and Ford and ^lEim\\nin reading them we feel that the stream of inspira-\\ntion is running dry. Ford is a great poet, however. John Ford,\\nHe has sincerity of feeling, though not always of orTater*\\nperception, and an impassioned sensitiveness that\\nreminds one of Shelley. In his best drama, The\\nBroken Heart, he renders, in a manner worthy of\\nthe Sparta where the scene is laid, a high and intense\\nendurance which retains its noble calm in the very\\npresence of despair. But Ford s work is all over-\\nstrained, and spoiled by an insufferable morbidness\\nof theme. Massinger, on the other hand, is no dis-\\neased victim of his own feelings he is manly, digni-\\nfied, and moral but his copious work shows another\\nevil quality of a dying art, for, though excellent in\\nmechanical construction, it is, even when comic, dry\\nand hard.\\nSo the drama of the Renaissance slowly died and The fate\\nits doom was just. It had burnt itself out. It had drama,\\nturned away from the heavens, and sought for the\\nfull gratification of life in experience of all the joys\\nwhich this world offers it found itself confronting\\ndeath, in a world which mocked desire with satiety\\nor despair. Its gifts of imagination and passion, its", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "264\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\npower of poetry, availed nothing and the closing\\nof the theatres by an outraged Puritan England was\\nonly a righteous check from without upon an art\\nwhich was already languishing from mortal disease\\nwithin, and dying, like Webster s heroes, in a\\nmist of doubt, decay, and pain.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nSee Ch. VTI. The Mermaid Series, with excellent Introduc-\\ntions, gives good text of selected plays. Gosse, The Jacobean\\nPoets. Ward, Vols. II, III. Hazlitt, Dramatic Literature of\\nthe Age of Elizabeth. Charles Lamb, Selections from the\\nOld Dramatists. Fleay, Biographical Chronicle. Dictionary\\nof National Biography. Swinburne has critical studies on\\nmany of these men, especially an elaborate monograph on Ben\\nJonson.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThis chapter in our literary history would better be passed\\nover by young students lightly. Readings may be assigned, or\\ngiven in class by the teacher, from Ben Jonson s Masques,\\nor selected scenes from the dramas, as, for instance, the scenes\\nbetween the child and his uncle in Bonduca, the prentice\\nscenes in The Shoemaker s Holiday, or the burlesque scenes\\nfrom The Knight of the Burning Pestle. Lyrics of Fletch-\\ner s and Webster s may be taught.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER X\\nVERSE AND PROSE OF THE LATER RENAISSANCE\\nWE dropped the study of non-dramatic literature\\nwith the death of the queen in 1603 we re-\\nturn now to take a brief survey of that literature\\nfrom the accession of James I in 1603 to the Restora-\\ntion in 1660.\\nI. Historical and Literary Conditions\\nThose were stirring times in English history. The The\\ndrama of national life was more mighty by far than struggle,\\nthat presented on the stage, for it determined the\\ncivil and religious destiny of the nation. In the\\nsixteenth century, the Anglican Church had faced\\nthe Roman Catholic, and had prevailed in the\\nseventeenth, it faced the Puritans, and was tempo-\\nrarily worsted. At the same time, the great strug-\\ngle was going on between the feudal idea of an abso-\\nlute monarchy, valorously maintained by the unhappy\\nrace of the Stuart kings and their devoted followers,\\nand the larger idea of political freedom toward which\\nthe whole nation had for centuries been moving.\\nDuring the reign of James, this double struggle,\\nthough threatening, was quiescent. It rose to a head\\nin the times of Charles I, and the Civil War led to a\\nking s death on the scaffold, and to a Puritan Com-\\nmonwealth. The Commonwealth endured until the\\n265", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "266\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nPhases of\\nseven-\\nteenth-\\ncentury\\nliterature.\\nThe spirit\\nof the\\nRenais-\\nsance.\\nThe\\nPuritan\\nspirit.\\nThe\\nclassical\\nspirit.\\ntemporary reaction in the latter part of the century\\nrestored to the throne a degenerate Stuart and to the\\nnation a set of political ideas from which the real life\\nhad fled.\\nThese heart-searching agitations affected litera-\\nture, but did not subdue it. During the last period\\nof civil strife, the Wars of the Roses, the Muses had\\nfled from England during this period, their singing,\\nthough faint at times, was constantly heard over the\\ncries of battle. They had gained in confidence.\\nThe expression of personal life through art had\\nbecome a necessary and permanent factor in national\\nexperience and the seventeenth century produced\\na copious literature both in prose and poetry.\\nWe may distinguish three phases in this literature\\nof the seventeenth century\\nFirst, it is a wonderful witness to the vitality of\\nthe spirit of the Renaissance that this spirit continues\\npotent till near the end of the century, producing\\nboth poetry and prose in the hostile and heated\\natmosphere of the civil war and of the Common-\\nwealth.\\nSecond, we find a scanty but extremely significant\\nliterature which expresses that phase of national\\nlife which was for the time victorious and compel-\\nling the literature of Puritanism.\\nThird, toward the end of the century, after the\\nRestoration, literature entered into a new allegiance,\\nand an entirely new literary period began. This\\nperiod, of so-called classical literature, will occupy\\nthe next book. In this book we have still to trace\\nthe last literature of the Renaissance, to study the\\nliterature of Puritanism, and to discuss the work of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "VERSE AND PROSE\\n267\\none of our greatest poets, John Milton, in whom\\nthese two currents, strangely united, meet the new\\ncurrent making for classicism in art.\\nII. Seventeenth-century Poetry\\nThe literature of the later Renaissance is quite\\ndifferent in tone from that of the early. It has the\\nsame imaginative fervor and feeling, but it is much\\ngraver and more conscious. Its passion often\\nleaves the earth, to lose itself in the sky, revert-\\ning to the religious preoccupation so natural to the\\nAnglo-Saxon race, but so markedly absent during\\ncertain phases of the earlier Renaissance.\\nIn Jacobean times, we meet several pleasant Minor\\nminor poets, whose work entitles them to a place in poets! ean\\nthe history of letters. Thomas Campion, a belated Thomas\\nElizabethan in spirit, with a more sustained art, ^j^^\\nscattered through various books of airs little\\nlyrics of ravishing melody which sing themselves\\nin a magical way even when divorced from their\\nmusic. William Drummond of Hawthornden is a William\\ngentle scholar in verse, with a sense for beauty. Son?\\nMichael Drayton s powerful but unillumined mind 1585 1649\\nproduced, in 1613, a massive English geography Drayton\\ninverse, called the Polyolbion. Much of Dray- 1563-1631.\\nton s work belonged to the Elizabethan age, but his olSonj\\nbest sonnet is Jacobean, and so is the noble ode, 1613 1622\\nThe Battle of Agincourt. For the sake of these\\nand a few other short poems we forgive him the\\nPolyolbion. William Browne, a writer of pastoral William\\npoems, of which the most important is called Bri- 1590-1645.\\ntannia s Pastorals, has by some critics been compared", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "268\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nPhineas\\nFletcher,\\n1582-1650.\\nGiles\\nFletcher,\\n1588-1623.\\nJohn\\nDonne,\\n1573-1631.\\nCaroline\\npoets.\\nto Keats, but he is a Keats turned very languid.\\nTwo brother imitators of Spenser, Phineas and Giles\\nFletcher, cousins of the dramatist, had more original\\npower. Phineas Fletcher s poem in Spenserian\\nstanzas, The Purple Island, is a long allegory of\\nthe human body, and despite its unpromising physi-\\nological subject shows real sense for beauty in de-\\nscription. This poem suggests the new interest in\\nscience and in semi-philosophical thought which\\nwas invading poetry the poem of Giles Fletcher,\\nChrist s Victory and Triumph, opens with dignity\\nand imagination the religious poetry of the seven-\\nteenth century.\\nMore important than any of these men, however,\\nwas the paradoxical figure of John Donne, Dean of\\nSt. Paul s. He began to write long before the death\\nof the queen he was Dean of St. Paul s under\\nJames I, and esteemed the most powerful preacher\\nin England. His poems were apparently not pub-\\nlished till 1631, after his death, but they exercised\\nlong before this time a profound, obscure influence\\nover younger men, something like that of Browning\\nand Rossetti in our own age. He lounded the\\nlast school of poetry in the Renaissance, for he in-\\naugurated the style which marks the decadence of\\nromantic art a style of obscure allusion and fan-\\ntastic metaphor, showing almost in a diseased way\\nthe quest for strangeness so characteristic of the\\nromantic temper.\\nAn interesting group of poets belongs to the time\\nof Charles, or to the Commonwealth. Let us enu-\\nmerate them George Wither, Francis Quarles,\\nGeorge Herbert, Thomas Carew, Richard Crashaw,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "VERSE AND PROSE\\n269\\nWilliam Habington, Sir John Suckling, Henry\\nVaughan, Sir Richard Lovelace, Robert Herrick.\\nDonne had sung his experience as sinner and as The reii-\\nsaint with equal energy. In this group of men, two poets,\\ntendencies appear, the secular, and the religious.\\nThe work of the stronger of them, of Herbert, Cra-\\nshaw, Yaughan, and at times of several others, is\\nsuffused with a glow of spiritual feeling. They\\nwere deeply religious, but not in the austere and\\nargumentative fashion of the Puritanism current\\nin their day. They belonged to the Anglican tra-\\ndition some of them were, some of them became,\\nRoman Catholics. They brought grace, imaginative\\npassion, and instinctive love of symbolism, even a\\nsort of chivalrous loyalty, into their life of faith.\\nThey were of the monarchical party, and their gaze,\\nwhen not turned upward and inward, often seems\\nto us to be directed backward but they had rich\\nnatures, and their poetry pulsates and shines. Theirs\\nis the red afterglow of the great Renaissance day.\\nMr. Shorthouse s beautiful novel, John Inglesant,\\ngives the best idea of the spirit and character of\\nthese seventeenth-century men.\\nSaintly George Herbert, with his collection of George\\npoems called The Temple, is the most famous of 1593^1633.\\nthese poets, and his work has a quaint, sincere, un-\\ndying charm. But another of the group, Henry Henry\\nVaughan, equally saintly, was the more original S22-I695.\\nspirit. Vaughan s poems, of which the best are in\\nthe collection he named, in the fantastic fashion of\\nthe day, Silex Scintillans, strike distinctly a new\\nnote. He had a far-darting imagination, and he\\nknew the soul of man. He lived among the Welsh", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "270\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nThe secu-\\nlar poets.\\nRichard\\nLovelace,\\n1618-1658.\\nSir John\\nSuckling,\\n1609-1641.\\nRohert\\nHerrick,\\n1591-1674.\\nhills, and to find any parallel for his feeling toward\\nnature, we must travel back to Cynewulf and the\\nWelsh bards, or forward to Wordsworth, who in his\\nOde on the Intimations of Immortality distinctly\\ncaught his inspiration from Vaughan. The life of\\nthe Church and the life of nature are fused in his\\nwork with daring sacramental passion.\\nThe other men of this group, among whom\\nVaughan was perhaps the most surprising genius,\\nhad each a temperament and a word all his own no\\nset of minor authors better deserves study. One likes\\nto feel that the music of the Renaissance died away\\nin their work rather than in the loose, though gay\\nand sweet melodies of the reckless so-called Cava-\\nlier poets. Yet we could ill afford to miss the spir-\\nited little songs of those gallant, ill-starred gentlemen,\\nLovelace and Suckling, in whom the mood of adven-\\nture leaped into a last bright flame. They have left\\nus but a handful of lyrics, the swan song of chiv-\\nalry and loyalty in the Renaissance.\\nOne of these poets, however, is of higher rank\\nHerrick, the festive, pagan-souled clergyman, who\\nthrough times of stormy national disaster lived in\\nhis country parsonage, and sang with a gayety\\nworthy of an earlier day of Julia s silk attire, of\\nharvest homes and Mayings, of daffodils and gilly-\\nflowers, and all the bright detail of the country.\\nBut let him give us his own programme\\nI sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,\\nOf April, May, of June and July flowers,\\nI sing of Maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,\\nOf bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "VERSE AND PROSE\\n271\\nI sing of Hell I sing, and ever shall,\\nOf Heaven, and hope to have it after all. 7 1\\nIt is a hope that his every reader echoes for Her- Hes-\\nrick endears himself to them all. But the Noble ie 8 des\\nNumbers, in which he sings of divine and lofty Noble\\nthemes, are less delightful to us than the little lyrics j^g 11\\nof the Hesperides, wherein the first part of his 1648\\npromise is so well fulfilled. These dainty, often\\nminute poems, seem to catch the last fine echo of the\\nsweet laughter of the Elizabethan dawn. With Her-\\nrick it may almost be said that we bid farewell to\\nspontaneity, to pure joyousness, to lyrical ease, till\\nwe are greeted by them again, a century and a half\\nlater, in the poems of Robert Burns.\\nIII. Seventeenth-century Prose\\nProse, in the seventeenth century, had become at\\nlast a well-accredited and dignified instrument, with\\nan assured literary tradition. In style, as in substance,\\nit continued on the lines established by Bacon and\\nHooker. The chief work of Bacon, indeed, belongs Francis\\nto the seventeenth century. The first ten Essays Lorofst.\\nwere printed in 1597, but the last complete author s ^^i^\\nedition, in which the number was enlarged to fifty-\\neight, did not appear till 1625, the year before Bacon s\\ndeath. The majestic Advancement of Learning\\nappeared in 1605 in 1620 came the Latin Novum\\nOrganum. Bacon first taught people to try to dis-\\ncover the truths of nature and natural law instead of\\ninventing them he started in England that induc-\\n1 Herrick, first poem in the Hesperides.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "272\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nEdward\\nHyde,\\nEarl of\\nClarendon,\\n1608-1674.\\nReligious\\nprose.\\ntive method which has revolutionized thought and\\ngiven us modern science. It is indeed a worthy\\npart of the achievement of the Renaissance to have\\nstarted men on the quest for the realities of nature\\nas well as the realities of character. The unfinished\\nNew Atlantis, published in 1627, completed Bacon s\\nwork with a dream of a new world inhabited by men\\nwho, having mastered the forces of nature, shaped\\nlife almost as they would.\\nHistory reached a dignified success in Lord Claren-\\ndon s History of the Great Rebellion, which was\\nactually begun while the Civil War was in progress,\\nand also in his autobiography. But most of the prose\\nproduced during the reigns of James and Charles\\nand during the Commonwealth, was of a religious\\ncharacter. Much of it, naturally enough, consider-\\ning what was happening at the time, was controver-\\nsial but the breath of controversy withers art, and\\nthis extensive pamphlet literature, except when writ-\\nten by a man like Milton, so great that even contro-\\nversy can scorch his work only in spots, does not\\ninterest the pilgrim of beauty. It is otherwise, how-\\never, with some great and living books of the seven-\\nteenth century with Bishop Andrewes s sermons\\nand devotions, Richard Burton s Anatomy of Mel-\\nancholy, the very name of which suggests the\\ntemper of the times Fuller s Holy and Profane\\nState and his Worthies of England and the\\nworks of Jeremy Taylor, of Izaak Walton, of Sir\\nThomas Browne. These books breathe an ampler\\nair than that of theological discussion. They com-\\nmand rich harmonies of style; they have a quaint\\nstateliness, a fervor, an eloquence, that is all their", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "VERSE AND PROSE\\n273\\nown. The thought and style of Jeremy Taylor are Jeremy\\nborne upward by the wingy mysteries of divinity, i6^\u00c2\u00b0i667.\\nand his 44 Holy Living and Holy Dying still\\nhold their own on many tables beside the Imita-\\ntion of Christ. Reading these books, or the devo-\\ntions of Lancelot Andrewes, we realize the intense\\nreligious experience that in this strange century of\\ncontrasts coexisted with the mood which produced\\nthe dramas of Ford.\\nThere is a sweet meditative earnestness about the izaak\\nLives of Izaak Walton; his Compleat Angler 1593^1683.\\ntakes us, in delightful company, into cool nooks\\nbeside the running streams of rural England. Like\\nmany seventeenth-century writers, Walton becomes\\nto us a very vivid and distinct personality. But\\namong all these delightful men, there is none whom\\none would more eagerly call friend than that most\\nsympathetic of physicians, Sir Thomas Browne. It sir\\nis in his Vulgar Errors, his Urn Burial, above Browne,\\nall in his 44 Religio Medici, that he reveals to us his 1605 1682\\nlovable personality a personality full of quaint and\\nkindly humor, of large charity, of mingled intelli-\\ngence and superstition. His English is the nobly\\nmodulated and glowing prose of which the secret,\\nafter the seventeenth century, was lost till Lamb\\ndiscovered it once more. Far more than Bacon, Sir\\nThomas Browne deserves the title of our English\\nMontaigne.\\nWe cannot talk of the prose literature of England The\\nand omit the Book which is the greatest glory of i?bie Sh\\nEnglish prose in its first power and freshness which\\nhas entered more fully than any other book, more\\nfully even than Shakespeare, into the blood and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "274\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nsinew of the English race the Authorized Version\\nof the Bible, which was issued in 1611.\\nMany versions had preceded it. After the trans-\\nlation of Wyclif in the fourteenth century, made\\nfrom the Latin Vulgate, came the long age of arrest,\\nduring which people were no more alive to the Scrip-\\ntures than to other high matters. But with the\\nNew Learning the desire for a Bible that could be\\nunderstanded of the people grew swiftly clamor-\\nous. Thrilling is the story of the disinterested\\nlabors given to this great cause. The famous New\\nTestament of William Tyndale, printed in 1526,\\nwas only the first of numerous translations of either\\nthe whole or part of the Bible, published before\\n1539. All this work was done by private men, but\\nin 1539 appeared the noble Bishop s Bible, under the\\nauspices of Cranmer and sanctioned for public use.\\nThe Prayer-book version of the Psalter, still in use,\\nis from this Bible, which was the basis of all later\\ntranslation. After this time Bibles multiplied but\\nthe language was in flux, and the times were perhaps\\nhardly ripe for a permanent version until, in 1604, a\\nyear after the death of Queen Elizabeth, the most\\ngodly and learned men of the Renaissance at its\\nprime gathered together at the summons of King\\nJames, to produce, working on the basis of their\\npredecessors, the version which is in all our hands\\nto-day.\\nNo moment could have been more fortunate from\\nthe point of view of letters. Only men of strong\\nChristian faith could have produced the Book, only\\nmen of learning. The necessity of clinging to the\\noriginal Hebrew and Greek rescued the style from", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "VERSE AND PROSE\\n275\\nthe extravagance and prolixity which were the dan-\\ngers of the time, while the rich vocabulary, the color\\nand movement, the uplifted harmonies and poignant\\ncadences, that marked the best seventeenth-century\\nprose find their culmination here.\\nWith marvellous swiftness the Book took posses-\\nsion of England, and the style of our best authors\\never since has been formed upon it. To instance\\nonly moderns, what would the prose of Carlyle, of\\nRuskin, of Newman, of Matthew Arnold, be without\\nthe influence of the Scriptures We may note at\\nonce, during the seventeenth century, two literary\\nresults from its appearance. It became the book of\\nthe common people it reached a public which no\\nother English book had ever reached and it was\\nthus a uniting force, making for intellectual and\\nspiritual democracy. Then, it emphasized immensely,\\nthough of course it did not introduce, the influence\\nof the Hebrew race over the English people. Greece\\nand Rome, France, Italy, Spain, and Germany, have\\nall had their respective parts to play in shaping the\\nEnglish; but no national influence has struck so\\ndeep or has so penetrated the vital regions of Eng-\\nlish personality as the influence of Palestine, felt\\nthrough the Hebrew Scriptures.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nFor the history of the times, S. R. Gardiner, The First\\nTwo Stuarts and the Puritan Revolution. Green s History,\\nCh. VIII.\\nGosse gives a good account of many of the poets treated in\\nthis chapter in his Jacobean Poets. Extracts from all are\\nfound in Ward s English Poets, II. Attractive editions of\\nHerrick, Donne, Vaughan, are in the Muses Library (Charles", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "276\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nScribners). Herbert s Temple has been reprinted in fac-\\nsimile, with a Preface by John Shorthouse. Bacon s New-\\nAtlantis is found in Morley s Ideal Commonwealths. Clar-\\nendon is accessible in Selections by the Very Rev. G. D. Boyle,\\nClarendon Press. Walton s Compleat Angler can be had in\\nCassell s Universal Library. Browne s Religio Medici is in the\\nCamelot Series. Craik s English Prose Selections, II, gives\\nextracts from the prose writers here treated.\\nMasson s Life of Milton, I, Ch. VI, describes admirably the\\nstate of literature in 1630. Masterman s The Age of Milton\\ncovers the period.\\nTraill, Social England, Vol. IV.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe authors treated in this chapter are among the most\\ninteresting minor figures in English letters. But until the stu-\\ndent knows something of the great men, Chaucer, Shakespeare,\\nSpenser, Milton, he would better take these on trust. A few\\nhours may, however, well be spent in pure, unanalyzed enjoy-\\nment of Herrick and Herbert, and little appreciations of these\\npoets may be prepared as compositions. Walton and Browne\\nshould be introduced, so that the few who are born their\\nfriends may enter as soon as may be into the rich privilege\\nof their friendship. The rhythm and fervor of the Authorized\\nVersion of the Scriptures should be studied in carefully chosen\\nextracts.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe Historical Background of the Times Bacon s New\\nAtlantis compared with More s Utopia Literary Influence\\nof the English Bible.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "o\\nm\\nOH\\nd\\n00 CQ tH\\nCO 03 CO\\n0 lO\\n53\\na. 2 M\\n4, V\\n5 ip\\nrO ICS\\n03 rH\\n73\\nCO\\niii co\\nH rH\\nO\\n+3 .d\\n3 ,d~ rj\\nd\\nrH TO r-l\\nd\\nd\\n+j o3\\neg d\\n03 CO\\nra CO\\nd\\nas\\nd\\nOS 6 -2\\n5 c\u00c2\u00abP?d\\npq\\nd\\nd oo\\nhe\\n..03\\nIs\\nEh\\n3 g -rjQ 3Q i\\nd o3\\nd\\nO\\nO 4f\\no3\\nd d\\n15\\nco\\nlO\\nOo\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0a\\n4-\u00c2\u00bb\\ngo\\n3\\nC3 g\\nPh 2\\nrd\\n5\u00c2\u00b0 So\\ngdSfe\\nd d a) 2 s\\nrt B\\ns W J3 7 Ph s W\\n7 1 OS\\nCO 00\\nlO o\\n00 !H\\nas c3\\ni2Pn\\noo\\nd co\\n03 O\\nJO\\nI rH fl r C3 m 8\\nd\u00c2\u00a3\\n3^\\nwill\\n3\\nrH\\nPrj\\nO\\n0)\\na\\n03 io\\nBo\\nGO\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0OS\\n1 H\\n3\\n^^-vrH rH\\ni 1 Si CD\\nft 3 g\\nrS -3^ 03^\\nfossil\\nd w ^lrQ 03\\n-oil\\nCD O", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "c? s CB\\nid lO IC\\nW o\\nd\\no t s\\ns\\ns2\\n.3 C\u00c2\u00ab 73\\nM h\\n03 03\\nCP\\n73 05 OS\\nS3 Z*\\nS d -13 \u00c2\u00ab2\\n03 o 2 .h B\\nOS gS 3\\n.a rtbi s\\nUS\\ne8\\n2 S H\\no2.s\\n^a^g\\ng^.\\nEn\\nO C5\\nCO\\nCO lO\\n2 W\\nC5 \u00c2\u00a75 j\\nio \u00c2\u00bbo T\\n33fc\\nd\\nd\\nSo\u00c2\u00a9\\nS S d\\na\\nco\\nrrt *H CO\\nCP CPC5\\na ts o\\nbJOO\\nd 03\\nd\\no-\\na\\n.go\\n2^\u00c2\u00b0\\ne3,d w\\nIs\\nQ\\n.So-\\nr-.i\\ncn O 73\\nd P\\nGO pO\\n_^t a\\n8 a 8 w\\na\u00c2\u00a3 a\\nft O cp: Ci\\na So.\\no o| o \u00c2\u00a3o 5f\\nCD O\\nfc\u00c2\u00bb OS\\nLO LO\\no o\\nai\\nLO CO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0080\u00a2So fei\\nII Si\\nc3 PU\\n\u00c2\u00a3\u00e2\u0096\u00a03\\nEl\\ncs bp\\nft 2\\na\\n\u00c2\u00a93\\nfl s a\\n.2 a .3 r-i\\nwSTSW a\\nH 3 J/- 1 r3\\n\u00c2\u00ab1 \u00c2\u00ab3 W Ph \u00c2\u00ab1 M\\n05\u00c2\u00a9\\nLOCO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "o\\nH\\nSo\\no\\n1\\n\u00c2\u00a33\\nc3\\nSh\\nH\\nSi\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2h o t H s3\\n^3 fe 03 CO S\\nLOCO\\nO LO\\no eg\\nCO CO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "o\\nft\\nA 55\\n3 3\\n0? 3\\nT3 03\\nh O\\na s\\nSi\\nIs\\n\u00c2\u00a32\\nk \u00c2\u00ab5\\no o\u00c2\u00a3\\nSIS?\\nJ3\\na\\njo\\n73\\n+s\\ng ft\\n.2\\n1-1\\no O\\n3\\n3\\nN\\n-d\\nO c3\\nfts.2\\n1 09 _\\n03=\\no 2\\nCO\\n3d\\njr\\n2 2 ,82 a\\n2 ft\\na _\\no3 \u00e2\u0080\u00943\\na 2\\na h 0^3\\nft\\nT 1 p3\\n111\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a23 51!\\no _\\na -t^ as\\nS\\na 03\\nw\\np a\\n..00\\n3 S\\n03\\n-3\\no3o^ 1:3\\nH\\na ft^\\nt\u00c2\u00bb\\nEG\\n2S\\nCO J\\nl\u00e2\u0080\u0094l ej_|\\n00 a\\n2 .3 -3 O o3\\n5 OH o3ffl\\nO \u00c2\u00a92\\n0)\\n-3\\nP\\n\u00c2\u00a9g\\nS o\\nM\\no\\nuo o\\ncq lo\\nCO CO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "a\\no\\nH\\nCQ\\nI\\nU I\\ns a\\n.d TSfLi\\n8\\nCO as\\nT 1 r\u00c2\u00ab\\nN N M\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2a\\nPh S\\neS o\\n_\\nd\\no CO\\nCN\\nCO CO\\nrH CO\\n00 CD\\nc3 bo\\n\u00c2\u00a7a\\nJS\u00c2\u00bb co\\n.2 H\\n1-9\\nft*\\nCD\\n5= wqpq5\\na a .2\\n5\\nWr gco\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2111 2\\n2\\no S\\n,Pho2 too d S5\\nO 2\\na\\na\\nJill\\nd i cd-d\\n,2 PL, gH O\\n-Ph\\na\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00ba.a\\n2 a\\n5 i\\nS d\\nM\\nPh\\ntoo\\neg 10\\ncoco", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "i bo o\\nCD 02 o\\n5 S S\\nI -.Ill\\n3 o g o\\n\u00e2\u0080\u009e00 O rJH flH\\ngrH tH tfrH sgiH\\nd n\\nS3 -2\\n7; d\\np a\\n\u00c2\u00a33\\na, 1\\n5\\naa t\\n_r d\\nd d\\no ea\\nS\\no d\\n1 J0\\nfl5\\n73\\n--On\\nIs\\nd\\nE\\n^3 rH\\n00\\noo\\n05 CM\\ns s H\\nCD\\nCD 1i h \u00c2\u00a3i S.H\\n\u00c2\u00a73 .1\\nW h h o\\nCO 1\u00e2\u0080\u00941\\nft ^5\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2sis\\n5 d a a qo\\nO-H h Si!\\no 55\\nO ChPh\\nd\\nOh\\nSi\\nft CC t/T\\nW CD\\ntwo\\n\u00c2\u00abPhPh3\\nW\\nrH 50\\n00 CD\\nr? a\\no\\neg\\nrH CO\\n1-1 oi\\nEft*\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0gffl\\nO CD\\nCm .d\\nrd- W\\n(0 M\\nCD c\\n1-9 8\\nr^HO\\nCD CD\\n5 o o\\nSrH SOh\\nH Cm\\nLO O\\nCD CO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "Wo\\n,_ EH\\nT\\n9\\no\\ni S J)\\na) H\\nI 2 2\\nc3 M M\\nWWW\\n.5 a\\nw d 2\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0Si \u00c2\u00ab3q\\nO o o\\nLOO\\nCMLO\\nCOCO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "-5\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2g\\n0\\n3-\\nO\\ni SO\\n-fa\\nO\\n1\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0s a\\n3^\\neg\\na\\n\u00c2\u00a9.2\\nO \u00c2\u00a33 03\\ni 2-\\n3 Lid\\nLOO\\ncoco\\n5\\nll\\n8 a\\na c$ O 3\\nHtfcoH\\nb\\nWW coco\\ng\u00c2\u00a3\u00c2\u00a3a\\nHill\\no a\\n2 _2\\nd a o\\nw h s \u00c2\u00ab3\\n-a^^ a\\n\u00c2\u00ab3\\na\\na\\ni\u00c2\u00b0\\na\\nO q\\n0Q o\\ns\\n9 a\\n2-a\\n-a o\\nmil\\n5 2\\nU\\naffi .3\\n-a h\\nes.a\\na\\nJ\\na- 2\\ncu 3 a\\nQ.a ft\\nIJ\\n5 2\\ni fH 00 o\\n.2 ,3\\n\u00c2\u00ab\u00c2\u00ab-a\\n,3 i c3 Q\\ncs .2 g a a\\nIgJJJ\\nQ\\nI\\na\\n.5 w 5?\\n-^\u00e2\u0080\u00a2a-a \u00c2\u00a3S t,a a\\n(3\\na\\n,e9.\u00c2\u00a9\\noa a\\nA a cs\\n.a d s\\nCO\\n.a b\\na (a\\n\u00c2\u00a33\\n173 a\\n2\\nila\\ns\\no E\\na a a a a\\nofl22a:2^a3\\noi-aasc^ t^o\\na\\na\\no\\nCO a3\\nft )K\\n03\\na on\\njaco a\\nco a co\\na\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0COH", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER XI\\nJOHN MILTON\\nTHE men of the seventeenth century are singu-\\nlarly interesting, but as a rule, every man stands\\nfor one of the forces of that complex age. Milton\\ntowers above them all. He is the greatest spirit of\\nthe age, for he is the most comprehensive.\\nIt is in times of spiritual transition that great\\nimaginative leaders most often appear. They stand\\nat a parting of the ways. If we gaze earnestly into\\ntheir minds, we shall see there the past and the fu-\\nture meet. Such was the case with Dante, Chaucer,\\nSpenser. But there is no English writer in whom\\nmore currents unite than in John Milton. In the\\nquality of his imagination, and in his poetic art,\\nespecially through his early work, he is the last son\\nof the Renaissance in the whole body of his intel-\\nlectual and moral convictions he is Republican and\\nPuritan in the character of his emotion, and in a\\ncertain sustained self-mastery and dignity of style,\\nhe foretells, especially through his later work, the\\ncoming revival of classical standards.\\nTwo words sum up the temper of Milton s life\\nand of his work lofty purity. His life is a high\\nromance in reading of it, his own youthful words\\nagain and again recur to us My mind gave\\nme, he wrote in 1642, that every free and gentle\\nspirit ought to be born a knight. He who would\\n286", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n287\\nnot be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in\\nlaudable things, ought himself to be a true poem.\\nI. Milton s Life and Early Work\\nMilton was born in London, eight years before Milton s\\nthe death of Shakespeare. Compared with Shake- i608 h\\nspeare, he was a child of privilege and convention.\\nHis father was a Puritan gentleman in whom re-\\nligious severity had not exiled the arts, in particu-\\nlar the art of music. Milton went to Cambridge\\nUniversity, where he spent seven years, and received, a nd y^nlth.\\nas befitted a young English gentleman, a scholar s\\ntraining. He was very beautiful in his youth, and\\nwas given the nickname of the lady of Christ s, Ca m\\nhis college, because of his curling long auburn hair 1625-1632.\\nand delicate face. Leaving the University a master\\nof arts, he spent five years and nine months in retire-\\nment at his father s country home at Horton. Then\\nhe went to Italy, after the fashion of young men of Italian\\nthe Renaissance, made many friends, saw the blind 1638-1639.\\nGalileo in his tower, and became at every point a\\ncourtly and accomplished gentleman.\\nNo fairer training can be imagined for a poet and a\\npoet Milton had already shown himself to be. In these\\nyears, before he was thirty years old, he had written\\nthat group of minor poems which would in themselves\\nhave set him above all other poets of his age. The\\nmost beautiful of these poems are the Ode on the\\nMorning of Christ s Nativity, written while he was\\nstill at college L Allegro and II Penseroso,\\ncompanion pieces, breathing of his literary studies and\\nrural wanderings at Horton the two poems in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "288\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nwhich the literary masque of the Renaissance passed\\naway, glorified in its death, Arcades, and more\\nimportant, Comus and Lycidas, a pastoral elegy\\non the death of his college friend or acquaintance,\\nEdward King.\\nThe manner of the Renaissance reigns supreme in\\nthese poems inspires the delicate fashioning of the\\nverse, the quest for felicity of phrase, the pervading\\nsense of art and beauty. Yet a temper more austere\\ngives their sweetness strength, the temper of high\\nmoral idealism, compelling and complete. We feel\\nthe rich sensuous equipment of the poet, we respond\\nto his appeal to the eye, to the ear, to the imagina-\\ntion but thrilling through all these, the soul of\\nthem all, is the clear call of the appeal to con-\\nscience. L Allegro and II Penseroso are, for\\ninstance, quite unethical in purport. They are poems\\nof youth they express those fleeting moods of joy\\nor pensiveness which seem to youth so fraught with\\nsignificance. Yet even here it is a youth almost as-\\ncetic in the inmost trend of its nature, however sen-\\nsitive to beauty, that speaks to us we feel that\\nMilton s feet are more at home pacing alone the\\ndry smooth-shaven green, or the studious cloister s\\npale than in the haunts of innocent gayety.\\nIn Lycidas, Milton s great elegy, the double\\nforces that at this time controlled his nature show\\nin a way almost startling. It is, like most of the\\nelegiac work so popular in the Renaissance, a pol-\\nished piece of literary art, carefully based on classic\\nmodels. But Edward King had been destined for\\nthe Church and this fact wakens Milton s soul.\\nHe pours out his fiery indignation against ecclesi-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n289\\nastical corruption in a famous passage. The harsh\\nHebraic and Puritan passion breaks with strange\\neffect against the mellifluous classicism of the con-\\nventional pastoral strain and only the serene and\\neven dignity of Milton s marvellous style, for\\nalready the gift is his to find the inevitable word,\\nreconciles us to the abrupt transition and carries us\\nwithout shock from the one world into the other.\\nIn Comus, the most important poem of this\\nperiod, we feel with especial clearness that we have\\nentered a new imaginative region. The masque,\\npresented before the Earl of Bridgewater at Ludlow\\nCastle by his own children, shows us a lady separated\\nfrom her two brothers and wandering lost in a wood.\\nDeceived by the arts of an evil magician, Comus, son\\nof Circe, she yet resists his spells and is finally found\\nand rescued by her brothers, aided by an attendant\\nspirit in the guise of a shepherd, and the river\\nnymph, Sabrina. In the poetic presentment of this\\ntheme, we have the changing charm of beautiful\\nlandscape, of fair human figures, of dance and feast,\\nof grotesque revel and pastoral sweetness we have\\nall this wedded to most melodious measures. But\\nif we put Comus beside the masques of Jonson\\nor Campion or the Faithful Shepherdess of\\nFletcher, we are amazed at the contrast for here all\\narts of pleasing, present in perfection, are subordi-\\nnate to another aim.\\nMortals that would follow me,\\nLove Virtue she alone is free.\\nIn these early poems, the style of Milton already\\nshows its individual and choice distinction a surety", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "290\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nPolitical\\nactivities.\\nLatin\\nSecretary,\\n1649-1660.\\nProse\\nwork.\\nof selective principle, a cool firmness of workman-\\nship which the Renaissance rarely reached. Milton s\\nyouthful feet, like those of his compeers, strayed in\\nfields full of blossoms but theirs were the lush\\nmeadows of the lowlands, his the high pastures close\\nbeneath the everlasting snows. The light of the\\nupper air is in the cool brilliance of the flowers he\\ntenders us.\\nNo man ever took his poetic vocation with more\\nseriousness than Milton. He had consecrated him-\\nself to it in the spirit of a knight. Then came the\\ncall of an alien duty and without hesitation his\\nyoung manhood turned away from his chosen task,\\nand leaped to this new labor.\\nHe was still in Italy when the news of the break-\\ning out of the Civil War reached him. Instantly\\nhe changed his plans, dropped his ties, and made his\\nway homeward, to put himself at the service of his\\ncountry. Through twenty years poetry was not\\nfor him. He was not needed on the battlefield\\nbut he devoted his powers to the war of ideas by\\nwhich, quite as much as by the fortunes of battle,\\nthe destinies of the time were decided. From 1649\\nto 1658 he was Latin Secretary to Cromwell, our\\nchief of men, as he addressed him in a noble sonnet.\\nHe held the office nominally till the Restoration.\\nWe sigh when we think that we have from Milton\\nonly the poems of youth and of old age, not of his\\nmanly prime. The prose on which he lavished his\\nefforts was, like most of the controversial prose of the\\nday, acrid and harsh. He fought the foes of the Lord\\nwith any weapons that came to hand, whether abstract\\nargument or personal abuse. The result is not pleas-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n291\\nant reading. Still, one looks at this prose with rev-\\nerence for it was all written in the cause of liberty,\\nliberty political, civil, social. At times, Milton s true\\nself and his great imagination broke forth, as in the\\nAreopagitica, his finest pamphlet, which was written\\nin defence of intellectual liberty, the freedom of the\\npress.\\nMilton had married during these years, unhappily\\nand hastily it seems, a young girl of a Royalist\\nfamily. After a separation and reunion, she died,\\nleaving him three daughters, and some time later he\\nmarried again a woman whom he tenderly loved.\\nShe was shortly taken from him, and he mourned\\nher loss in a sonnet of exceeding beauty. The one\\npoetic legacy of these years, indeed, is a series of\\nsonnets. They are personal outbursts inspired by\\npassing events, usually political. Milton uplifted\\nthe sonnet to the uses of patriotism\\nIn his hand\\nThe thing became a trumpet, whence he blew\\nSoul-animating strains, alas too few. 1\\nHis sonnets were written in a manner of his own\\nwith the Italian rhyme-scheme, but frequently with\\nno break between the octave and the sestet.\\nOne of these sonnets tells us with high and beauti-\\nful pathos of the final sacrifice that Milton laid upon\\nthe altar of his country s freedom. It was the sacri-\\nfice of his sight. For in 1652 Milton became blind.\\nHe had overstrained his delicate eyesight in the hasty\\ncomposition of a pamphlet which he thought it his\\nimmediate duty to write. At times he was con-\\n1 Wordsworth Scorn not the sonnet.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "292\\nTHE KENAISSANCE\\nsumed under his affliction with restless pain, even\\nwith self-reproach, at the thought of that one talent\\nwhich is death to hide lodged with me useless\\nbut he was comforted by the thought God doth\\nnot need either man s work or his own gifts they\\nalso serve who only stand and wait, and also by the\\nconsciousness that his eyes had been lost in Lib-\\nerty s defence, my noble task. We can see that he\\nbore his deprivation with magnanimity and faith.\\nLater But a worse evil than loss of sight was to befall\\nhis spirit. After the death of Cromwell, that reli-\\ngious republic for which Milton had given eyesight\\nand the best years of his life crumbled and fell.\\nThe nation abjured Puritanism a corrupt Stuart\\nreturned to power. Blind, lonely, sad, Milton lived\\non into the days of the Restoration and then it was,\\nwhile Charles and his courtiers revelled in coarse\\ngayety, like Comus and his crew, that Milton lifted\\nup his soul into a lofty calm, and unsealed the eyes\\nof his spirit to behold the counsels of the Most High,\\nthe vast shades of Pandemonium, and the vision of an\\nunfallen humanity dwelling on an earth unblighted.\\nII. Paradise Lost\\nThe Paradise Lost was the work of Milton s\\nlater years. He wrote it between 1658 and 1665.\\nWe like to think of the solitary man, sitting in his\\neternal darkness, listening to the harmonies which\\nthe Muse, he tells us, nightly whispered in his ear.\\nMilton had always meant to write a great poem. In\\nhis youth he had dallied with the subject of the\\nnational hero, King Arthur we do not wonder that", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n293\\nhe changed his plan, and we see how only the theme\\nof Paradise Lost could satisfy the sorrowful Puri-\\ntan, fallen on evil days and evil tongues.\\nPerhaps no one reading the great poem is likely\\nto regret the choice yet the defects of the subject\\nfor epic treatment are obvious. It is doubtful at the\\noutset whether a great heroic epic can ever be written\\nsave in the childhood of the race, though the way is\\nalways open to a romantic narrative like Spenser s.\\nM Paradise Lost, moreover, has a technical defect\\nthere is no hero. Is Adam the hero He is quite\\ntoo passive, acting in one point alone, where he yields\\nto the temptation offered by the serpent through the\\nwoman. Messiah has been called the protagonist\\nbut not all Milton s glorious verse can reconcile us\\nto this Personality who discusses theology with the\\nEternal Father, and in harsh warfare drives the rebel\\nangels over the battlements of Heaven. Remains the\\nDevil and, despite all arguments to the contrary, he\\nis surely the figure on whom our interest centres, and\\nwho gathers to himself the sympathy of our impulse,\\nthough not of our conviction. Milton the repub-\\nlican let his imagination play fascinated on this\\nmightiest of rebels from an autocratic Power, though\\nMilton the theologian doomed him to an eternity of\\ncrime and withering woe.\\nBut there is a deeper criticism to be passed on\\nParadise Lost it is impossible to handle the\\nScriptures imaginatively in such a way as to satisfy\\nmany generations. The mysterious Story of the\\nFall in Genesis comes to us out of the solemn twi-\\nlight of the first morning of the race to take that\\ngreat Story into the hard light of a weary noon, to", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "294\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\ntranslate it into the theological terms of one s own\\ntime, is audacious and unwise. There is little re-\\nsemblance between the version in Genesis and the\\nelaborated epic of Milton. To apprehend the poem\\naright, we must disregard its relation to the Scrip-\\ntures, and regard it simply as what it is, a stu-\\npendous imaginative invention.\\nEven from this point of view it has its disappoint-\\nments. Milton s Heaven is a dull country, too\\ndefinitely laid out. He imparts to us no sense of\\nthe mystery of spiritual things as Dante does nor\\ndoes he give us the sense which Dante so solemnly\\nimparts of the holiness of the Most High. His\\ntreatment of Heaven is anthropomorphic, not sym-\\nbolic; hence it is open to the charge of irreverence.\\nBut detraction is poor business in the presence of\\none of the great poems of the English tongue.\\nRemembering the work of Csedmon, so strangely\\nprophetic, we can believe that the impulse to create\\nan epic on this theme was due to no temporary\\ncauses, but was deep-rooted in the race. What other\\ntheme could be so mighty All epic lives by the\\nconsciousness of battle where else is a battle like\\nthis, the contest of the forces of eternal good and\\nundying evil for victory over the human race If\\nMilton s treatment of the Divine seems to dwarf\\ninfinitude, no conception was ever grander than that\\npresented by his poem of the rebel hosts, and of\\nLucifer, who leads them with faded splendor\\nwan. Dante s devil sticks in the centre of the\\nworld, grotesque, earth-bound, the very concrete\\nincarnation of impotent Death. Milton s, less logical\\nit may be as an impersonation of evil, is far more", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n295\\nmagnificent. With dignity unimpaired he convenes\\nhis vast demon hosts, finely conceived as the\\nfalse gods of the nations to be, or wings his way\\nthrough the profound gulfs of Chaos, or pours forth\\nhis agony in the marvellous soliloquy on Mount\\nNiphates. Powerful is the study of his faint com-\\npunctions, for in him at the outset much of the\\narchangel lingers yet, and of the final Doom, when,\\nthe deed accomplished and the ruin of man achieved,\\nhe returns to his gloomy shades.\\nNor would one ignore the lovely descriptions of\\nthe bowery loneliness of Eden, nor the splen-\\ndid picturing of the angels. Not mystically fair\\nlike the significant spiritual presences in Dante, these\\nangels are yet glorious creatures one feels in them\\nthe dying effort of the opulent imagination of the\\nRenaissance to conceive supreme beauty. And it\\nwere hard to dwell too much on the grand sweep\\nand scope of the intellectual conception of the poem,\\nmoving logically as it does from creation to redemp-\\ntion.\\nAll this great action is presented in uplifted\\nverse which it would be an impertinence to praise.\\nNo one has ever drawn from blank verse the deep\\ninward music of Milton. Tennyson s words are best\\nabout it\\nmighty -mouthed inventor of harmonies,\\nskilled to sing of time or eternity,\\nGod-gifted organ-voice of England,\\nMilton, a name to resound for ages", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "296\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nIII. Last Work and Death\\nPara- Milton did not stop writing with Paradise\\ngained, Lost and we are glad that his spirit did not pause\\n1671\\nwith considering temptation victorious over Eve,\\nbut went on to consider temptation conquered by\\nChrist. But the poetry of the Paradise Regained\\nhas never held men, like the Paradise Lost. One\\nmore great and worthy poem the old man was to\\nSam- write, however Samson Agonistes. We feel\\nSstesf that no subject could have expressed with a nobler\\n1671, pathos the mood of his latter days. Righteousness\\nis worsted, humbled, in the toils yet dying it\\nconquers, and the victory of faith is assured. In\\nart, the poem like Lycidas, is the offspring of the\\nmingled Hebraic and Hellenic elements in Milton s\\nnature for the Old Testament story is treated like\\na Greek tragedy. But the two elements are fused\\nat last, and are no longer, as in Lycidas, in sharp\\nand questionable juxtaposition. The drama has been\\ncalled the last expression of the noble dramatic\\nimpulse in the England of the Renaissance it has been\\ncompared to a fortress rock, the last outpost of a\\nchain of Alpine heights, standing alone in its plain.\\nMilton s Samson Agonistes was probably written after\\ndeath, 1667 Milton lived till 1674. Then his great and\\n1674. 5 _ _ _ _\\npure spirit passed into that unseen world where his\\nimagination had loved to dwell.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nDavid Masson, The Life of John Milton also standard\\nedition, in three volumes, of Milton s works. J. H. B. Mas-\\nterman, The Age of Milton. Stopford Brooke, Milton.\\nLife, by Richard Garnett, Great Writers Series. Life,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n297\\nby Mark Pattison, English Men of Letters. Life, by Dr.\\nJohnson, in his Lives of the Poets. Masson s Three Devils;\\nLuther s, Milton s, and Goethe s. Essays on Milton, by Macau-\\nlay Edmond Scherer, in Essays on English Literature\\nMatthew Arnold, in Essays in Criticism, Series II and\\nEdward Dowden, Transcripts and Studies.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nClose, line by line, analysis of the minor poems of Milton\\nis one of the best means English literature affords for train-\\ning the ear to appreciation of lyrical beauty, and the mind\\nto the understanding of poetic expression. Study of metrical\\nstructure, of choice of epithet, of metaphor, of pause melody,\\netc., should be as full as time allows. Kecitations in class\\nshould be encouraged, and Lycidas, L Allegro, and II\\nPenseroso, made permanent possessions.\\nParadise Lost may be read more rapidly, though the\\npower of the blank verse should be brought home to the stu-\\ndent in every possible way. But substance should here engage\\nas much attention as style. The portions of the poem referring\\nto Satan always prove most stirring to a class, and the great\\ncharacter should be studied stage by stage, in its majesty, in\\nits pathos, in its terrible moral decline.\\nSpecial topics may, of course, be given to great advantage\\nby advanced students on such topics as The Greek Elegies on\\nwhich Lycidas is founded, Milton s Possible Debt to Caedmon,\\nMilton s Sonnet Structure, Milton s Treatment of the Gods of\\nthe Ancient World compared with Spenser s, etc.\\nBut the student must clearly feel that the work on Milton\\nin any general course is only an introduction to what deserves\\nlifelong study.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe comparisons with Dante suggested in the text may well\\nbe carried further. Since few classes can read the Paradise\\nLost through, lectures on the poem as a whole, with read-\\nings, and presentation of the intellectual scheme and structure,\\nare very desirable. Lectures on the political history of the\\ntimes, with special references to the Puritan type of character,\\nare also helpful.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "298\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nMILTON S LIFE AND WORKS\\nTear\\nLife and Works\\nGeneral English\\nHistory-\\nLiterary History\\n1608\\n1611\\n1612\\n1613\\n1615\\n1616\\n1618\\n1619\\n1620\\n1622\\n1623\\n1625\\n1626\\n1628\\n1629\\n1630\\n1631\\n1632\\nMilton born.\\nLived in his father s\\nhouse in London\\nfor sixteen years.\\nSt. Paul s School.\\nCambridge.\\nOn a Fair Infant.\\nExer-\\nVacation\\ncise.\\nB. A. Nativity\\nOde.\\nThe Circumci-\\nsion. On\\nTime. At a\\nSolemn Music.\\nEpitaph on\\nShakespeare.\\nEpitaph on the\\nMarchioness of\\nWinchester.\\nSong on May\\nMorning.\\nM. A., Cambridge;\\nSonnet I.\\nFifth year of James\\nI s reign.\\nFirst permanent\\nEnglish settle-\\nment in America.\\nFirst Puritan emi-\\ngration to Amer-\\nica.\\nCharles I, king.\\nLaud, bishop of\\nLondon.\\nCharlesdissolveshis\\nthird Parliament.\\nNo new Parlia-\\nment until 1640.\\nKing Lear pub-\\nlished.\\nThomas Fuller born.\\nAuthorized Version\\nof Bible.\\nSamuel Butler born.\\nJeremyTaylorborn.\\nRichard Baxter\\nborn.\\nShakespeare and\\nBeaumont died.\\nAbraham Cowley\\nborn.\\nBen Jonson poet\\nlaureate.\\nHenry Vaughan\\nborn.\\nThe First Folio of\\nShakespeare pub-\\nlished. Fletcher\\ndied.\\nBacon and\\nAndre wes died.\\nJohn Bunyan born.\\nDrayton and Donne\\ndied.\\nDryden born.\\nJohn Locke born.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "JOHN MILTON\\n299\\nLife and Works\\nBeginning of six\\nyears at Horton.\\nSonnet II.\\nArcades (per-\\nhaps 1631).\\nL Allegro and\\nn Penseroso\\n(at about this\\ntime)\\nComus acted.\\nM. A., Oxford.\\nLycidas. Co-\\nmus published.\\nContinental jour-\\nney.\\nItalian Sonnets.\\nTo London. Epi-\\ntaphium D a-\\nmonis.\\nFirst notes for\\nParadise Lost.\\nControversial pam-\\nphlets on episco-\\npacy and Church\\nreform.\\nBeginning of prose\\nperiod of about 20\\nyears. Sonnets\\nand poetic trans-\\nlations through-\\nout this period.\\nFirst marriage.\\nTracts on Di-\\nvorce, Edu-\\ncation, and\\nnotably, the\\nAreopagitica\\non the liberty of\\nthe press.\\nCollected edition of\\npoems, English,\\nItalian, and Latin.\\nLatin Secretary.\\nPoliticalpamphlets,\\nwritten at inter-\\nvals.\\nGeneral English\\nHistory\\nLaud, archbishop of\\nCanterbury.\\nDiscontent in Eng-\\nland.\\nWar with Scotland.\\nLong Parliament\\n(1640)\\nExecution of Straf-\\nford.\\nCivil War. Battle\\nof Edgehill.\\nBattlesofChalgrove\\nand Newbury.\\nHampden and\\nPym died.\\nBattle of Marston\\nMoor. Use of\\nPrayer Book pro-\\nhibited by Par-\\nliament. Laud\\nexecuted. Battle\\nof Naseby.\\nCharles I surren-\\nders to the Scots.\\nSecond Civil War.\\nExecution of\\nCharles and of\\nmany of his ad-\\nherents.\\nLiterary History\\nGeorge Herbert\\ndied.\\nGeorge Chapman\\ndied.\\nDekker and- Ben\\nJonson died.\\nFord and Massinger\\ndied.\\nPublication of\\nBrowne s Re-\\nligio Medici.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "300 THE RENAISSANCE\\nYear\\n1649\\n1652\\n1653\\n1656\\n1657\\n1658\\n1660\\n1661\\n1664\\n1665\\n1666\\n1667\\n1669\\n1671\\n1672\\n1673\\n1674\\n1824 or\\n1825\\nLife and Works\\nMilton became\\nblind.\\nDeath of first wife.\\nSecond marriage.\\nAndrew Marvell\\nass t secretary.\\nDeath of second\\nwife.\\nThird marriage.\\nParadise Lost\\npublished: the\\nwriting, except\\nfor earlier notes,\\nbegun in 1658, and\\ncompleted at lat-\\nest in 1665. Pub-\\nlication delayed\\nby Great Plague\\nand Fire.\\nHistory of Eng-\\nland.\\nParadise Re-\\ngained pub-\\nlished: begun\\nprobably in 1665,\\nfinished in 1666.\\nSamson Agonis-\\ntes published,\\nwritten probably\\nafter 1667.\\nArtis Logicse.\\nOf True Religion,\\nHeresy, and\\nSchism.\\nMilton died.\\nTreatise on Chris-\\ntian Doctrine\\ndiscovered and\\npublished writ-\\nten after the Res-\\ntoration.\\nGeneral English\\nHistory\\nAbolition of mon-\\narchy and House\\nof Lords by Par-\\nliament.\\nLong Parliament\\ndissolved. Pro-\\ntectorate.\\nDeath of Cromwell.\\nThe Restoration.\\nGreat Plague.\\nGreat Fire of Lon-\\ndon.\\nLiterary History\\nWebster died.\\nFuller died.\\nCowley and Taylor\\ndied.\\nSwift born.\\nSeveral of Dryden s\\nworks appeared.\\nSteele born.\\nAddison born.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER XII\\nTHE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM\\nTHIS will be a short chapter. Puritanism could\\nbe a potent factor in a great genius like Mil-\\nton s, but left to itself it did not produce much\\nliterature. It had other ways of manifesting itself,\\nand its importance in seventeenth-century England\\nis out of all proportion to its literary product.\\nThe Puritan was the result of an entirely neces-\\nsary reaction from the revel of the senses that\\nmarked the later Renaissance. In the sixteenth cen-\\ntury the Renaissance and the Reformation blended\\nharmoniously in the seventeenth, they sprang\\napart. The Puritan was the child of the Reforma-\\ntion alone, and the Reformation carried to an ex-\\ntreme. He was unaffected by the sweetness and\\nlight, the love of learning and beauty, in a word\\nthe Hellenism of the Renaissance he turned aside\\nfrom it with scorn and hate, nourished himself on\\none Book only, though that the greatest, and became\\nHebraic in every fibre. He gave strange Scriptural\\nnames to his children his conversation was a curi-\\nous medley of Scriptural phrases. He had a noble\\nmoral strength, but he was often unlovely in aspect\\nand manner, and intolerant and narrow. He enjoyed\\ntheological abstractions, and was always trying to\\njustify the ways of God to man. His asceticism\\nwas of a different type from that of the middle\\n301", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "302\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nages less compatible with the free play of the im-\\nagination, which likes images better than abstrac-\\ntions, more distrustful of beauty and of all that\\ngives life charm,\\nI. Puritan Literature\\nIt is easy to look at the unpleasant aspects of the\\ngreat forces that were pulling men toward this\\nworld and away from it. We have seen the riot of\\nsensuousness in the worldly literature of the Renais-\\nsance on the other hand, Puritanism presents us\\nwith a literature often marked by an insufferable\\nits weak- asperity. The mere titles of some of the Puritan\\ntracts for the times illustrate this temper A\\nPleasant Purge for a Roman Catholic, The Un-\\nloveliness of Lovelocks, Sighs from Hell, A\\nDeclaration of the Vile and Wicked Waies of the\\nCruell Cavaliers.\\nits Puritanism militant is not attractive. But when\\nstrength. turn away from the Puritanism that was fighting\\nthe ungodly world, to the Puritanism that was seek-\\ning with solemn consecration of mind and spirit for\\npersonal holiness, we enter into the secret strength\\nof the great Power in which our own Republic was\\nfounded, and bow in reverence before it. Of the\\ndeep spiritual fervor, of the passion for freedom, of\\nthe intellectual force, which showed themselves in\\nPuritan character and theology, English literature,\\nstrictly speaking, holds no full expression. That\\nexpression is found in confessions of faith, and insti-\\ntutions which, even though they be partially out-\\ngrown, must remain a monument to one of the most", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "THE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM 303\\nstrenuous and impressive efforts ever made by the\\nhuman race to uplift itself into the comprehension of\\nthe nature and the will of God. When we think\\nwhat the real aim of the Puritans was, all criticism\\ndwindles, and we cease to wonder at their indiffer-\\nence to beauty.\\nOne does not turn to the religious books which\\nPuritanism copiously produced for the joy which art Richard\\nmust engender. Now and then, however, one of m5-i69i.\\nthese books becomes literature. Such a book is The\\nSaints\\nBaxter s Saints Everlasting Rest. It is written Everiast-\\nwith an ardor, a purity, an eloquence, which give it lefo. eS\\nan enduring hold on the hearts of men.\\nBut there is one book in which all the harshness\\nof Puritanism is turned to fragrance a book which John\\nis still cherished next to the Bible by thousands of f628-i688.\\nsimple folk. This is Bunyan s Pilgrim s Progress.\\nIt is the only book, missionaries tell us, apart from The\\nthe Bible, which bears translation without change Progress,\\ninto Oriental languages and reaches the heathen 1678 1684,\\npeoples with instant appeal. We put it in our\\nthought beside the poems of Milton, when we\\nwish to sum up the contribution of Puritanism to\\nletters.\\nThe Pilgrim s Progress is the work, if not of\\nan unlettered, at least of an uncultured man. There\\nis absolutely no trace in it of the humanizing influ-\\nences of the Renaissance, of love of classical learning,\\nor of ornament for its own sake. One influence, and\\none alone, has formed its style and thought and\\nimagery the influence of the Bible. Yet it is as\\nintensely imaginative a work as the English genius\\never produced. It is the great symbolic romance of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "304\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nthe seventeenth century, and bears the same relation\\nto Puritanism that Langland s poem bears to the\\nmiddle ages, and Spenser s to the Renaissance. In\\nspirit, it reminds us more of Langland than of\\nSpenser. But Bunyan differs from both Langland\\nand Spenser in that he cares not one whit what\\nmay happen to the world around him. That is\\ngiven over to the devil the duty of the Pilgrim is\\nwith eternity and his own soul alone.\\nThe book is a book of the plain people, not, like\\nso much of the literature of the Renaissance, a book\\nof the aristocracy. The immense influence of Puri-\\ntanism in preparing the way for democracy is evi-\\ndent in it. Christian, the hero, is no courtly knight\\nhe is a simple burgher of the middle class, a pedler\\nwith a pack on his back. His journey is a spiritual\\none, as he flees from the City of Destruction, and\\nplods his weary way toward the heavenly Jerusalem\\nbut it is through seventeenth-century England that\\nhe passes, along its dusty, narrow roads, through its\\nwicket gates, past its sweet meadows, its turnstiles,\\nits country places, its occasional feudal castles, where\\nthe giants of the old romances might still well abide.\\nThe life of that middle class, which was just rising\\ninto prominence in the seventeenth century, is no-\\nwhere so graphically pictured for us as in the Pil-\\ngrim s Progress.\\nOf the depth of spiritual experience shown in the\\nbook, one does not need to speak. Its theology has\\nsome elements not universal nor permanent, but its\\nfaith springs deep from the heart of Christendom,\\nand will speak to that heart as long as there is any\\nreality left to belief in God s love and in His justice,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "THE LITERATURE OF PURITANISM 305\\nin the mystery of sin and the mystery of redemption.\\nIt is a stern book. It starts with the watchword,\\nFlee from the wrath to come, and the path of the\\nfleeing Pilgrim is beset with many perils vividly\\ndescribed yet it has at times an exquisite tender-\\nness and beauty. Of the style it is enough to say\\nthat it is not unworthy of its model, the English\\nBible. Bunyan gave Puritan England what it\\nneeded a book expressing, not the theology and\\nintellectual conceptions which Milton had so nobly\\nrendered, but the secrets of its hidden life.\\nThe book was begun in Bedford jail, where Bunyan\\nspent twelve years of his life. He had been a tinker\\nbut after his conversion he became an itinerant\\npreacher, and was imprisoned under the Restoration\\nbecause he would not give up his delivery of his mes-\\nsage. Bunyan wrote other books besides the Pil-\\ngrim s Progress. The finest of these are: 44 Grace Grace\\nAbounding, the autobiography of his spiritual life, i n g,\\na book of singularly naive power and candor 44 The 1666\\nLife and Death of Mr. Badman, a grim bit of real- Life and\\nistic fiction, almost in the manner of Defoe; and Mr^Bad-\\n44 The Holy War, an allegory which would be Jjgg\\nthought very fine had not the greater allegory\\novershadowed it. All these books are the work of\\na man of genius, all show Puritan faith at white\\nheat yet Bunyan lives by the one book, 44 The\\nPilgrim s Progress.\\nBunyan was twenty years younger than Milton,\\nand he lived till 1688. 44 The Pilgrim s Progress\\nwas published in 1678, four years after Milton s\\ndeath. By this time the Restoration was in full\\npossession a spirit wholly new had taken possession", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "306\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nof art and letters. That new spirit we must take a\\nnew book to describe.\\nII. Satires ok Puritanism\\nOverbury,\\nCharac-\\nters,\\n1614.\\nJonson,\\nThe\\nAlche-\\nmist,\\n1610.\\nBartholo-\\nmew\\nFair,\\n1614.\\nIt is no wonder if some of the most vivid litera-\\nture that Puritanism called forth was in the line of\\nantagonistic satire. The facile, graceful, gallant\\ncavaliers attached to the court, their brilliant per-\\nsonality still irradiated by the sunshine of the Re-\\nnaissance, were incapable of appreciating the religious\\nstrenuousness and intellectual force of the Puritan.\\nFor his devotion to the cause of freedom of con-\\nscience they cared nothing. To them he seemed\\nsimply irritating and absurd and all through the\\nseventeenth century are to be found caricatures of\\nPuritanism. Some of these are very funny. Such\\nare certain sketches by Sir Thomas Overbury, in his\\nbook of Characters, written early in the century\\nsuch are Ben Jonson s irresistible pictures of the\\nsanctimonious Brethren in The Alchemist, or of\\nRabbi Zeal -of -the -Land -Busy, in Bartholomew\\nFair. Urged by a group of the faithful to visit\\nthe riotous delights of the Fair, nay to eat roast pig\\ntherein, the Rabbi snuffles\\nIn the way of comfort to the weak, I will go and eat.\\nI will eat exceedingly, and prophesy. 1\\nHaving accordingly gone, and eaten exceedingly,\\nthe Rabbi is forthwith seized with a saintly wrath\\nagainst the merriment of the Fair, and kicks over the\\npedler s basket of gingerbread and in the racket\\n1 Bartholomew Fair, Act I, Scene I.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "THE LITERATUKE OF PURITANISM\\n307\\nthat ensues, his voice is loudest of all as he bellows\\nto the officer who seeks to stop his noise.\\nThou canst not tis a sanctified noise. I will make\\na loud and a strong noise, till I have daunted the profane\\nenemy. 1\\nAnother satirical picture of Puritanism, more\\nfamous, and even more unjust, is that given by\\nButler, in his 4 Hudibras, a curious, clever, doggerel Butler,\\npoem, in octosyllabic couplets, written toward the end bras/ 1\\nof the century, when the Puritans had proved them- 1663 16\\nselves vigorous fighters. He laughs at the Puritans\\nas sanctimonious prigs, and pictures them as argu-\\nmentative, wrong-headed, quarrelsome people who\\nWith more care keep holy-day\\nThe wrong, than others the right way,\\nCompound for sins they are inclined to\\nBy damning those they have no mind to\\nStill so perverse and opposite\\nAs if they worshipped God for spite.\\nBather than fail, they will defy\\nThat which they love most tenderly,\\nQuarrel with minced-pies, and disparage\\nTheir best and dearest friend, plum-porridge\\nFat pig, and goose itself, oppose,\\nAnd blaspheme custard through the nose. 2\\nHis poem had an immense vogue but the picture is\\nso overdrawn as to be ridiculous, and in some respects\\nit is wholly false.\\n1 Act in, Scene L\\n2 Hudibras, Part I, Canto L", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "308\\nTHE RENAISSANCE\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nButler s Hudibras, over which an entertaining hour may\\nbe spent, is in Morley s Universal Library. Selections in\\nWard. Editions of the Pilgrim s Progress are too numer-\\nous to mention. Grace Abounding is in the Clarendon\\nPress edition. Lives of Bunyan are by J. A. Froude (English\\nMen of Letters) and Edmund Venables (Great Writers).\\nJ. Tulloch, English Puritanism and its Leaders Cromwell,\\nMilton, Baxter, Bunyan. Macaulay s Essay on Milton gives\\na famous panegyric on the Puritan, while Matthew Arnold,\\nin his Literature and Dogma, and Culture and Anarchy,\\ndiscusses the Puritan type from a less favorable point of view.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nStudy the influence of the Bible on Bunyan s style. What\\ndid he gain, what lose, by being an ignorant man Compare\\nhis allegory in some detail with that of Spenser, of Langland.\\nDescribe seventeenth-century England as it is seen in his book.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "PART IV\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER I\\nTHE CHANGE IN TASTE\\nI. The New Temper\\nTMAGINATION and passion had been the great\\nforces that governed English literature from\\nthe beginning. Other forces had, to be sure, been\\ncooperating with these during the last one hundred\\nand fifty years the desire for facts, such as we see\\nillustrated in the works of Bacon the desire for defi-\\nnite principles in art, such as we see in the works of\\nJonson. But these instincts, though present, had\\nbeen subordinate. It was the romantic temper that\\nproduced Arthurian romance, the works of Chaucer,\\nthe Faerie Queene, and, blending with the knowl-\\nedge of experience, the dramas of Shakespeare.\\nThe romantic temper loves freedom it loves vari-\\nety. It works best under excitement it is in a con-\\nstant attitude of expectant wonder. It loves beauty,\\ntoo, but beauty, as has well been said, touched\\nwith strangeness. This temper, indulged without\\nrestraint, had led to strange excesses; and it came\\nto pass in time that men wearied of it. The seven-\\nteenth century had been full of sensations we have\\nbeen able only to hint at its violent extremes. Now\\na great reaction set in. People were exhausted by\\nall these shocks. They did not want to press into\\nnew regions of thought and emotion they wanted\\n311", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "312\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nto understand what they had, to tabulate, to arrange.\\nThey craved uniformity, placidity, monotony even.\\nImagination and passion, both a little weary, with-\\ndrew from sight into the inmost recesses of men s\\nnatures withdrew so far that they seemed lost for-\\never. Reason and intelligence salutary powers\\nalways, essential at that juncture assumed exclu-\\nsive command. A love of science arose, illustrated\\nby the foundation, in 1660, of the Royal Society, the\\npurpose of which was the investigation of natural\\nRise of phenomena. And prose, which had always led a\\nprose subordinate, though an increasingly distinct, exist-\\nence, became before long the dominant form of art.\\nII. Periods of the Age of Prose\\nThis Age of Prose in English literature is often\\ncalled the Classical Age. The reason is that people\\nat this time first began to read the classic authors,\\nnot so much with the childlike delight of the Renais-\\nsance in the discovery of a new world of beauty and\\nwisdom, but with the aim of imitation. The theory\\nwas followed that to copy the ancients was the one\\ngoal of modern art. Moreover, there were certain\\npoints of real affinity between the Greek and Roman\\ntemper, especially the Roman, and the temper of the\\neighteenth century. The distaste for mystery, the\\nstress placed on reason, sanity, and clearness of\\nthought, the desire for law and order rather than\\nfor freedom and variety, are all real marks of the clas-\\nsic spirit as distinguished from the romantic. At\\nthe same time, it is an obvious misnomer to apply", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "THE CHANGE IN TASTE 313\\nto the work of Pope and Dryden the same adjective\\nthat one applies to Homer and iEschylus and Vir-\\ngil. If we use the term classic at all, we should\\nput a modifying adverb before it, and call this the\\nPseudo-Classic Age. But the term, Age of Prose,\\nseems, all things considered, more satisfactory.\\nWhatever we call the period, it is an absolutely\\ndistinct one. It lasted about one hundred and\\ntwenty-five years, and it falls naturally into three\\ndivisions\\n1660-1702. The first division opens with the Res- The Age of\\ntoration. It was the Stuart dynasty that was Dryden\\nrestored, though before the period was over the\\nRevolution of 1688 placed William of Orange, who\\nhad married a Stuart princess, on the throne. In\\nliterary study, we may most conveniently remember\\nthis as the Age of Dryden for Dryden was the com-\\nmanding man of letters of the time. He wrote both\\npoetry and prose, and his prose was at least as sig-\\nnificant as his poetry.\\n1702-1744. The first part of this period is most The Age of\\nconveniently named from the reigning monarch, the\\nAge of Queen Anne. In 1714, the House of Han-\\nover was established on the throne. No one author\\ndominated the world of letters. Pope (d. 1744)\\nwas the most notable writer of verse, but the prose\\nessayists, especially Addison and Swift, were yet\\nmore representative.\\n1744-1789. During this period, the Georges, dull The Age of\\nj Johnson.\\nand unpicturesque monarchs, continued to reign.\\nThe end coincides with no event in English history,\\nbut with the Fall of the Bastille in France. In\\nliterature, the period was dominated by the massive", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "314\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nfigure of Samuel Johnson. Johnson is remembered\\nalmost solely as a prose writer. By 1789 America\\nwas a free country and the modern world was born.\\nIII. Characteristics of the Age of Prose\\nThe best way to realize the change in taste that\\nmarks this period is through illustrations. A cur-\\nsory examination of the books of the time shows what\\nniustra- words were in the ascendant. Admirable, judi-\\ntaste\u00c2\u00b0 f cious, elegant, graceful, polite, are the favor-\\nite adjectives enthusiastic is a frequent term of\\nreproach. We hear of invention, of imitation\\nof passion or imagination never. Nature is a term\\noften invoked but, to use the words of Pope, tis\\nnature still, but nature methodized. Above all,\\nwit, by which men then meant cleverness and intelli-\\ngence, is the word that recurs a dozen times on every\\npage, the final summary of all that seems most desir-\\nable in life and art. To chase this word through\\neighteenth-century literature is perhaps as good a\\nway as can be found of feeling the prevailing instinct\\nof the age. Another good way is to note the atti-\\ntude of the time toward the great poets of earlier\\nages, the Masters of Romance.\\nThis is easy to do, especially in Dryden s time\\nfor that vigorous writer set to work to improve\\nboth Shakespeare and Milton.\\nDryden on Milton was of course Dryden s contemporary and\\nthe new writer, in the flush of popularity, asked the\\nblind neglected bard for permission to turn Para-\\ndise Lost into an opera. We may imagine the\\nstate of mind with which Milton consented. Dry-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "THE CHANGE IN TASTE\\n315\\nden did the thing. He translated Milton s organ\\nverse into neatly turned rhymed couplets he ar-\\nranged the whole poem, or the leading portions of it,\\nin operatic scenes. A specimen will suffice. Adam,\\nfresh from the hand of the Creator, awakens upon a\\nflowery bank. He wonders at himself, but proceeds\\nto argue his own existence, I think, therefore I\\nam, with Cartesian precision then, looking about\\nhim, immediately exclaims, How full of ornament\\nis all I view in this well-ordered scene. Pres-\\nently, we find ourselves in the presence of Eve,\\ncoquetting with her reflection in a fountain. Adam\\ndraws near, and wooes her with due decorum of com-\\npliments she is inclined to him, yet, with inimitable\\ninstinct for the etiquette of the occasion, murmurs\\nSome restraining thought, I know not why,\\nTells me you long should beg, I long deny.\\nIf, even with Milton, we hardly felt ourselves in the\\nactual presence of primitive humanity, where are we\\nnow\\nBut the opera found warm admirers and certain\\ninstructive verses by one of these are after the fash-\\nion of the times prefixed to it\\nFor Milton did the wealthy mine disclose,\\nAnd rudely cast what you could well dispose.\\nHe first beheld the beauteous rustic maid,\\nAnd to a place of strength the prize conveyed\\nYou took her thence to Court this virgin brought,\\nDrest her with gems, new-weaved her hard-spun\\nthought\\nAnd softest language, sweetest manners taught. 1\\n1 Nathaniel Lee, the dramatist.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "316\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nExactly And Milton s muse, brought to the\\ncourt of Charles II, is a noteworthy object indeed.\\nEqually suggestive was the treatment of Shake-\\nDryden on speare. Dryden rewrote two of Shakespeare s plays\\nspeare. Antony and Cleopatra, which he shaped into the\\nstrongest of his own dramas, and renamed, All for\\nLove and the Tempest, which he manipulated\\nin collaboration with a minor dramatist of the time,\\nSir William Davenant. Let us see what they made\\nof that most magical, mystical, and profound of plays.\\nBut a glance at the scenery is enough the curtain\\nrises on Three walks of cypress trees each side\\nwalk leads to a cave, in one of which Prospero keeps\\nhis daughters, in the other Hippolito. The middle\\nwalk is of great depth and leads to an open part of\\nthe island. As implied, here, Miranda has been\\nsupplied with a twin sister and, to provide two\\npair of lovers, the happy thought occurred of match-\\ning the girl who had never seen a man with a man\\nwho had never seen a woman. This is Hippolito,\\nwho, although confined in an adjacent cave for twenty\\nyears, has never laid eyes upon his fair fellow-island-\\ners. Not content with this, Caliban is presented\\nwith a twin sister named Sycorax, and Ariel has a\\ngentle spirit called Milcha for his love. Surely\\nthe passion for symmetry could no farther go.\\nAddison on A little later, we find a boyish poem of Addison,\\nCii\u00c2\u00a3iuc\u00c2\u00a9r\\nand Spen- on the Muse-possessed, valuable because it reflects\\nthe taste of his day, though for no other reason.\\nThis is how it speaks of Chaucer and Spenser:\\nBut age has rusted what the poet writ,\\nWorn out his language, and obscured his wit.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "THE CHANGE IN TASTE\\n317\\nIn vain he jests in his unpolished strain,\\nAnd tries to make his readers laugh in vain.\\nOld Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage,\\nIn ancient tales amused a barb rous age,\\nBut now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore,\\nCan charm an understanding age no more.\\nWe may conclude these illustrations of the taste\\nof the age of prose by a quotation of a critic of some\\nrepute in his day, Thomas Rymer. In the neigh-\\ning of a horse, says Rymer, or in the growling\\nof a mastiff, there is more meaning, there is as lively\\nexpression, and may I say more humanity, than many\\ntimes in the tragical flights of Shakespeare.\\nWe must not think that this was a stupid period. The worth\\nNot at all it was an age of unusual cleverness, temper?*^\\nThe very awakening of the critical instinct, what-\\never blunders accompanied it at first, was in itself\\na most important fact. Once before, at the begin-\\nning of the Elizabethan age, this instinct had stirred\\nfaintly but it had shrunk back, overborne by the\\ngreat tide of creative energy. Now, the day was its\\nown, and it did an essential work. Fortunately,\\nEnglish life was not to be stirred again till the end\\nof the eighteenth century by any great or searching\\nstruggle, and in the comparative quietude people\\nwere to enter into fuller self-knowledge and fuller\\nmastery over the means of expression. Emphasis\\nwas to change from substance to style correctness\\nwas to be more sought than originality. If the\\nresultant literature seems a little tame to us, we\\nmust remember that to seek positive standards of\\nexcellence in style is a quest of high importance.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "318\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nIt is a task that could only be attempted when\\npassion burned low to watch the stages of its\\naccomplishment is an occupation full of interest.\\nThe influ- The foreign influence under which this work was\\nFrance. carried on, was, next to the classics, the literature of\\nFrance. During the Renaissance, from the days of\\nChaucer, indeed until the days of Ford, England\\nhad turned for inspiration to Italy. Next to Italy,\\nSpain had been in most vital relations with her.\\nNow all this was changed. It was still a Latin\\nrace which was, during the next hundred years,\\nto affect her most profoundly, but a race in which\\nthe instincts of logic were stronger than those\\nof imagination, a race always marked by a subtle\\nfeeling for perfection of form. The seventeenth\\ncentury was, we must remember, the blossoming\\ntime of French literature the age of Moliere and\\nCorneille and Racine, of Bossuet, of Boileau. It is\\neasy to exaggerate the direct influence which the\\nFrench had over English letters but a strong\\nconnection is indisputable, from the time when the\\ncourt of Charles II returned from France, to the\\nFrench Revolution at the end of the eighteenth cen-\\ntury.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGeneral authorities for the Age of Prose Gosse, From\\nShakespeare to Pope (traces the gradual change in taste\\nthrough the seventeenth century) Eighteenth Century Litera-\\nture. Perry, Eighteenth Century Literature. Taine, Bk. III.\\nSaintsbury, Short History of English Literature, Bks. VIII\\nand IX. W. C. Sydney, Social Life in England from the\\nRestoration to the Revolution; England and the English in\\nthe Eighteenth Century. Lecky, History of England in the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "THE CHANGE IN TASTE\\n319\\nEighteenth Century. Leslie Stephen, History of English\\nThought in the Eighteenth Century. See Macaulay s His-\\ntory of England, Vol. I, Ch. Ill, for famous description of the\\ncondition of England on the accession of Charles II.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe best way to make the change in taste vivid is to bring\\nshort, sharply contrasted passages from the romantic and the\\nAugustan literatures before the class for analysis. For instance,\\nSpenser s description of Belphoebe, Faerie Queene, Bk. II,\\nCanto III, may be compared with Pope s description of Be-\\nlinda in the Rape of the Lock the description of the voyage\\nof Cleopatra in Shakespeare s Antony and Cleopatra may\\nbe set against that given by Dryden in All for Love. A\\nsatirical portrait like Dryden s Zimri or Achitophel, or Pope s\\nAtticus, may be compared with Shakespeare s presentation of\\nHenry V or Macbeth, and a general discussion may be aroused\\non the new point of view, and new method in studying human\\nlife, signified by the rise of satire. In prose, single sentences\\nfrom Milton or Browne or Jeremy Taylor should be opposed to\\nbrief passages from Dryden or Addison. The more detailed\\nthis work is, the more instructive it will be found, and after an\\nintroductory drill of this kind the student can go on quietly\\nand intelligently with the study of the consecutive literary his-\\ntory and the chief personalities of the time.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe brief treatment in the text could well be supplemented,\\nif time permits, by a study of the gradual approach of the\\nclassical spirit and the first attempts in the new style in Waller,\\nCowley, etc. A lecture on the seventeenth-century literature of\\nFrance in its relation to that of England would also be useful.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER II\\nTHE AGE OF DRYDEN\\nI. Revival of Classicism\\nEdmund\\nWaller,\\n1605-1687.\\nSir John\\nDenham\\n1615-1668.\\nAbraham\\nCowley,\\n1618-1667.\\nAndrew\\nMar veil,\\n1621-1678.\\nIT would be interesting, had we time, to go back\\nand trace the beginning of the new impulse.\\nThe men in whom it appeared were minor writers,\\nbut significant ones. The chief were Edmund Wal-\\nler, who as early as 1623 was writing heroic couplets\\nas even as Pope s, and Sir John Denham, who pub-\\nlished in 1642 a dull topographical poem, Cooper s\\nHill, in couplets of the new cadence. Two very\\ninteresting men, Abraham Cowley and Andrew Mar-\\nveil, seem in parts of their work belated Elizabethans,\\nvisited by flashes of living imagination, and at other\\ntimes frigid though expert practitioners in the new\\nfashion. Cowley produced, besides lyrics of the fan-\\ntastic type of the later Renaissance, and couplets\\npredicting the age of prose, a species of elaborated\\nodes which he called Pindaric, which found many\\nimitators. Marvell was Milton s secretary, a real\\npoet at heart.\\nBut no sooner had the gay court of Charles II\\nreturned to England, than the new spirit became\\nwholly dominant. One man, of rare intellectual\\nvigor, gave it the impetus that it long retained.\\nThis was John Dryden. He towered above all the\\n320", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF DRYDEN\\n321\\nother writers of his age. It is better to spend our\\ntime on him than to discuss minor authors.\\nII. John Dryden\\nDry den was born in 1631, and grew up during 1631-1700.\\nstirring times. His family connections leaned to\\nPuritanism, and his first poem was a lament on the\\ndeath of Cromwell. But he did not mix his politics\\nwith ideals like the men of the preceding generation,\\nand his next significant poem was a courtly welcome\\nto Charles II, Astrsea Redux. He was about thirty\\nyears old at this time twenty-three years younger Review of\\nthan Milton. From now on he was an indefatigable\\nand most versatile writer, and in variety of scope\\nand vigor of handling his work thoroughly expresses\\nthe tastes, standards, interests, of his age. Yet if Discussion\\nwe put him in our minds between Pope and Shake- of Ms\\nspeare, we perceive that he is in a way a figure of\\ntransition. There is a rush, a fervor, an energy,\\nabout his work, which one does not find in the more\\nhighly polished writings of the next generation we\\nmay discern in this the last stir of the retreating\\ntide of life that marked the Renaissance. In the\\nvariety of forms which he attempted we note the\\nsame transition. Sometimes he presses into quite\\nnew modes of artistic expression sometimes he\\nclings to the old.\\nDuring eighteen years Dryden worked chiefly as a Dramat i C\\ndramatist and produced twenty-two plays. In 1642, period,\\nat the outbreak of the Civil War, Puritanism had\\nclosed the theatres. Now the spirit of this world,\\nreturning to power, opened them again. Women", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "322\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nWork\\nshowing\\ninfluence\\nof the\\nRenais-\\nDramas.\\nThe Wild\\nGallant,\\n1663.\\nThe\\nIndian\\nEmperor,\\n1665.\\nThe Con-\\nquest of\\nGranada,\\n1670.\\nAureng-\\nzebe,\\n1675.\\nAll for\\nLove,\\n1678.\\nwere introduced as actors for the first time, the\\nballet appeared, scenery was much developed the\\nold primitive traditions were replaced by the modern\\nstage. Dryden catered to the lively hunger of a\\npeople dramatically starved for twenty years. The\\ntime arrived, however, when he wearied of drama,\\nand abandoned it, until the Revolution which placed\\nWilliam and Mary on the throne so injured his\\nprospects that he returned, for the sake of making\\nmoney, to a little unimportant play-writing.\\nLet us look at his plays. The next period was to\\ndiscard drama almost altogether. Dryden wrote\\nplays with a certain zest, but tried to write them by\\nrule. He put a great deal of careful, energetic\\nthinking upon the true principles of dramatic art.\\nHe produced comedies, like The Wild Gallant,\\nand tragedies like The Indian Emperor, The\\nConquest of Granada, and Aurengzebe. These\\nplays were what is called Heroic. They were in\\nrhymed couplets, and Dryden mastered his instru-\\nment upon them. But after a time he tired of coup-\\nlets, and deliberately disencumbered himself of\\nrhyme, in All for Love, his adaptation of Antony\\nand Cleopatra. Now the heroic plays try to handle\\nthe high themes of passion and action loved by the\\nfree drama of the Renaissance but self-conscious\\nart supplants impulse, invention rules instead of\\nimagination, and violence is mistaken for intensity.\\nThe result is a cold absurdity such as the most ex-\\ntreme of the Jacobean dramatists was never guilty\\nof. We feel that the whole thing is reasoned out\\nbeforehand and, indeed, the inveterate habit of\\ndispute invades even the most impassioned mo-\\nments", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF DRYDEN\\n323\\nHave I not answered all you can invent,\\nEven the least shadow of an argument\\nqueries a distracted lover of his lady in the crisis\\nof his fate. The Duke of Buckingham wrote a\\nparody of heroic plays, called The Rehearsal,\\nwhich is still one of the most entertaining things in\\nEnglish literature. It practically killed them.\\nDuring his dramatic period Dryden had also been Lyrics,\\nwriting lyrics, and had produced one brilliant poem, Mirab-\\nthe Annus Mirabilis, inspired by contemporary igg^\\npolitics and by the great fire of London. His affin-\\nity for the Renaissance is shown in the very fact\\nthat he wrote lyrics for the next generation dis-\\ncarded lyrics with drama, and disliked all manipula-\\ntion of verse except the heroic couplet. The Ode\\non St. Cecilia s Day and that on Mrs. Anne Killi-\\ngrew are his most famous lyrics, and they are fine\\nthings. Eloquence, rhetoric, studied workmanship,\\nreplace inspiration. These poems retain forever a\\nplace in English letters but they are hardly the\\nstuff of pure poetry.\\nIn his remaining writings, Dryden advanced to his Work of\\ngreatest success. He gave up reworking exhausted era.\\ninspirations, and perfected with his strong and fertile\\nmind new forms of expression, which delighted the\\nworld for over a century. Critical prose, satire, and\\ndidactic verse were distinctive art forms of the new\\nera. Here Dryden s keen intelligence moved easily\\nin the world familiar to him making no effort to\\nexplore an ideal realm, or the kingdoms of romance,\\nbut contented with the artificial and polished society\\nof the seventeenth century.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "324\\nTHE AGE OF PKOSE\\nProse\\ncriticism.\\nSatirical\\nand didac-\\ntic verse.\\nAbsalom\\nand Achit-\\nophel,\\n1681.\\nThe\\nMedal,\\n1682.\\nMac-\\nFleck-\\nnoe, 1682.\\nSatires.\\nDryden s prefaces to his plays are really more im-\\nportant than the plays themselves, for they mark\\nthe beginning of modern prose criticism. He is\\nnot a man who has strayed into prose by mistake,\\nas we are tempted to think was the case with Mil-\\nton or Sir Thomas Browne he writes in this me-\\ndium con amove. His prose possesses a freedom\\nfrom inversions and involutions, a clarity of diction\\nand sentence structure, such as we have not found\\nbefore. It is full of strong common sense, and its\\nsincere interest in literary matters is very pleasing.\\nIt is of no use to turn to Dryden, however, for\\nany deep insight into critical principles. He goes\\nas far as clear intelligence can carry him, but he\\nhas slight, if any, perception of the more elusive\\nqualities that are out of the range of conscious in-\\nvention and composition.\\nDryden s splendid satires, Absalom and Achit-\\nophel, The Medal, and MacFlecknoe, were\\ncalled forth by the party politics and the literary\\ndissensions of his day. A new kind of realism is\\nfound in them. It is not the Shakespearean kind,\\nfor it starts, not with sympathy, but with analysis,\\nbut it does dissect the tissues nearest the skin with\\namazing keenness. Every person sketched was un-\\nmistakable, and each one was defined by his greatest\\nweakness. The workmanship of these poems was\\nbrilliant it is still an intellectual joy to read the clear,\\nscathing lines in which every word brings out into\\nsharper relief the personality of Achitophel-Shaftes-\\nbury, or Zimri-Buckingham. There can be no ques-\\ntion that contempt and distaste the natural ani-\\nmus of satire can carry one a certain distance in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF DRYDEN\\n325\\nthe understanding of character just how far, is\\nmatter for debate.\\nEqually clever were his argumentative poems. Reiigio\\nThe first of these, Reiigio Laici, is an argument J^. 1\\nfor the Church of England. It sounds quite con-\\nvincing, till one reads Dryden s other theological\\npoem, The Hind and the Panther, which is a yet The Hind\\nabler plea for the Church of Rome. Dry den had p^her\\nbecome a Roman Catholic in 1686, on the accession 1687,\\nof the Romanist king, James II, and there is some-\\nthing entertaining in the cheerful alacrity with\\nwhich he argues for his new faith. Milton had died Religious\\nbefore these poems were written one wonders what didactic\\nhe would have thought of them. His religion had verse\\nbeen cold and austere, but it controlled the inmost\\nsprings of life and conduct. Dryden s was a purely\\nintellectual matter. It bore no relation to emotion\\nor experience. Very likely, he was quite sincere in\\nhis change of church. If he was convinced of the\\ntruth of a set of arguments in favor of a new creed,\\nhe adopted them with no inward struggle. He saw\\nno impropriety in presenting churches under the\\nallegorical disguise of animals. We listen to the\\nneatly turned couplets in which the beasts who repre-\\nsent the Roman and the Anglican Churches, the Hind\\nand the Panther, discourse. We admire, and rub our\\neyes, wondering whether what is going on is actually\\na discussion of one of the most solemn themes in the\\nwhole world.\\nIt is characteristic that some of Dryden s best Transia-\\nwork was in the form of translations. These show\\nthe lively interest in literary matters taken by the\\nage. The time felt its own mission to be the work-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "326\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nverse.\\ning over of material already accumulated into better\\nand more correct form. Dryden s versions of Chaucer\\nand Boccaccio contain some of his best writing. His\\nVirgil, most important work in this line was, however, his\\nconscientious and praiseworthy translation of Virgil.\\nFables, The handling of the measure, and in a way the\\nandMod- conduct of the narrative, in these poems, is de-\\nem, 1700. serving of much praise. Like the greater part of\\nDryden s Dryden s work, they are written in couplets and\\nhere, as elsewhere, feeling the splendid ardor of\\nmovement, the energy divine of his verse, we un-\\nderstand the lines of Gray in the next century allud-\\ning to the couplet, where, putting Dryden next to\\nMilton, he exclaims\\nBehold where Dryden s less presumptuous car\\nWide o er the fields of glory bear\\nTwo coursers of ethereal race,\\nWith necks in thunder clothed and loud resounding\\npace.\\nResounding pace vigor, clearness, sincerity, modera-\\ntion, these are the characteristics of the genius of\\nDryden. They are admirable qualities they had\\nbeen too much ignored, and were exactly what our\\nliterature at the time most needed. But they are\\nthe qualities of prose, and, although most of Dryden s\\nwork was in verse, it was as the inaugurator of the\\nage of prose that he is most justly remembered.\\nIn 1700 Dryden died. His private life had not\\nbeen unhappy. He had been healthily and heartily\\npre-occupied with the interests of the visible world\\naround him for many years before his death he had\\nheld a commanding place in English letters, and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF DRYDEN\\n327\\nhad been looked up to by the young writers of the\\nrising generation somewhat as Ben Jonson had been\\nin his day. He never suffered as Milton suffered\\non the other hand, he possessed no world of ideal\\nimaginings, such as Milton could withdraw into when\\nhe would.\\nIII. Other Literature of the Restoration\\nWe shall dwell but briefly on the other literature Comedy,\\nof this period. There was a strong dramatic devel-\\nopment apart from Dryden two tragedies of his\\ncontemporary, Thomas Otway, are still acted but,\\nso far at least as comedy was concerned, the less\\nsaid about the drama the better. In the hands of\\nEtherege, of Wycherley, of Congreve, of Farquhar,\\nof Vanbrugh, it pandered to the very worst ele-\\nments in the society of the time. It reflected with\\nsingular accuracy the fashionable world around it\\nscintillated with gayety, sprightly grace, and wit\\nit is forgotten. The Jacobean drama had been fear-\\nless in speech and theme to a degree intolerable to\\nour modern ears and taste but sincerity of pas-\\nsion and imaginative insight always kept it from\\nbeing wholly ignoble. The comedy of the Restora-\\ntion is deadened by its own indecency. It repre-\\nsents the only moment when English literature has\\nyielded itself wholly and without reserve to the do-\\nminion of the senses and the senses, when they\\nhave had, as here, their perfect work, kill poetry.\\nThe sturdy Puritanism still extant in late seven-\\nteenth-century England rose at last to deal this de-\\npraved drama its death blow. A good old divine,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "328\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nRise of\\nMemoirs.\\nJohn\\nEvelyn s\\nDiary,\\n1641-1697.\\nSamuel\\nPepys s\\nDiary,\\n1660-1669.\\nJeremy Collier, was its instrument, and it is re-\\nfreshing still to read the honest indignation of his\\npamphlet, A short View of the Immorality and Pro-\\nfaneness of the British Stage. The characters,\\nsays Collier, in describing this superlatively scan-\\ndalous stage, The characters do all forget them-\\nselves extreamely. It is really unnecessary to say\\nanything further.\\nOne other significant matter is to be noted in the\\nliterary world the rise of those often delightful\\nrecords of private lives and daily doings which we\\ncall Journals or Memoirs. They suggest the grow-\\ning interest in the affairs of simple ordinary life.\\nThe most famous writers of this kind were John\\nEvelyn and Samuel Pepys of these, Evelyn was\\nthe more estimable character, but he is not so good\\nreading as the graceless Pepys, whose journal, writ-\\nten in cipher for his private delectation, is one of\\nthe most frank revelations of personality ever vouch-\\nsafed to an astonished world. History too at this\\ntime is very like memoirs, but we shall not mention\\nthe historians. Neither shall we discuss the men of\\nscience, nor the philosophers, like Hobbes and Locke,\\nwho were such great intellectual forces in the seven-\\nteenth century. For the time is come when the\\nharvest of books is so rich that at least in an ele-\\nmentary work we can pause to treat only of those\\nwhich directly and obviously, through their pre-\\nsentation of life in the concrete and in beautiful\\nform, belong to literature as an art.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF DRYDEN\\n329\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nThe standard edition of Dryden is Scott s, ed. by Saints-\\nbury. Globe edition of the non-dramatic works. Garnett,\\nAge of Dryden. Saintsbury, Life of Dryden. William\\nStrunk, Dryden s Essays on the Drama. Margaret Sher-\\nwood, Dryden s Dramatic Theory and Practice. Lowell,\\nessay on Dryden in Among my Books. Johnson, Life of\\nDryden, in Lives of the Poets. Macaulay, Essay on Dryden.\\nThe Rehearsal, found in the Arber reprints, is one of\\nthe most instructive parodies in English literature. Charles\\nLamb, on the Artificial Comedy of the Last Century, in Essays\\nof Elia, has a brief criticism of distilled excellence.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThis should be almost wholly on Dryden. The selections\\nin Ward s English Poets are enough to illustrate his lyric,\\nhis didactic verse, and his satire. A running series of ques-\\ntions should elicit the distinctive characteristics of all this\\nverse, and the difference between Dryden and the great masters\\nof romance should be constantly pointed out, and the student\\nbe encouraged to discover his preferences. From now on it\\ncan be the aim of the teacher, far more distinctly than in the\\nearlier periods of our literature, to develop in the student that\\ntrue critical instinct which can only be formed when standards\\nof comparison are established. Until the eighteenth century\\nthe chief aim in the study of literature is to quicken delight,\\nappreciation, and sensitiveness now another aim should be\\nadded the formation of sound judgment.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nAs the class will hardly have time to read an heroic play,\\nthe teacher might well analyze and summarize one, say The\\nConquest of Granada. To omit quotations from the burlesque\\npassages in The Rehearsal would be to miss an opportunity.\\nA lecture on the daily life of the times, constructed from\\nPepys, with copious quotations, would be quite worth giving.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "N\\nPS\\no\\nH\\nM o\\nEH\\nH\\nI\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\\nW\\nP3\\no\\nPh\\n3 s\\nS o\\na)\\nft\\nbeg\\nO CO\\nII\\nas\\n3\\n\u00c2\u00a3fe gd* 2H\\nt\u00c2\u00ab .a\\ne8 OT\\nJ Ph CO\\nCD 00\\nco\\nCO\\nCO\\nCO\\n05\\n8 3\\nCO CO\\nI, H\\nCL- rO\\nm.2 Si", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "g\u00c2\u00a33 S 3\\noo Ts ftcc rh\\n.2 do S 2\\na co\\n13\\n\u00c2\u00a32 s$S\\n00\\np CO\\n03\\nF d\\nOJD\\nBO w\\n3 9 CO L\u00e2\u0080\u0094 T-b- rrj t-\\n-i-H gH CCH CH Si- 1\\n.13\\n2 h so\\nm .9\\no \u00c2\u00abw ft\\n^jd occ Q\\ncs g\\none;\\nt\u00e2\u0080\u0094 00 00\\nCO to to\\nw\\nlO\\nco o\\n2 a\\no M\\n05 i-5\\nS to\\ncS to\\nto co hi cd to\\nv\\n2\\nI -SB\\n03 3\\nCD 55\\n2 w\\n09 Q\\nGO M\\no-\\npq\\nb- d\\nCM\\nft\\no\\nCD OS\\nd-d rn j^.13\\n-S^Crfc- tT H oo\\ng co.S fe 3d", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "O 1-1\\nO\\nca\\n\u00c2\u00abH 73\\nM\\nre-\\nm\\no\\nO 03 03\\n^2 O\\ns a\\nso\\nj H O)\\nrH\\nfcT\\ns ^a\\n\u00c2\u00abW 03\\nTO\\n03\\nre\\na\\nO ^Q3\\nft\\n\u00c2\u00a75\\nSi\\n03 fcJO\\nv o a\\nM re\\nH CO ffl\\no\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u00941 tH\\n\u00c2\u00a7.S\\nre\\no a\\nre g\\n03 H 73\\n\u00c2\u00a33 a a\\n^a|a\\n03 -O\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2a 2^ w\\nf 3 03 re\\na S 5P a\\nO 03\\n03\\nas O\\n\u00c2\u00a703\\n03-^\\ncm\\no\\nCW u\\nK\\nas 03\\n03\\n03 t\\n03\\ng.2 5\\n\u00c2\u00bbH3\\nOS 03\\n.E o\\nft\\n.a\\nt\\nw 03;\\ni 03\\nSo a\\n^3 d\\n0 03 o\\n93 2\\nCD\\n3^", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER III\\nTHE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE; ITS POET\\nONE day, when Dry den was sitting in state at\\nWill s Coffee House in the later years of his\\nlife, a sickly little lad, with large, dark, shining eyes,\\npaid the place a visit and gazed reverently at the\\ngreat man. His name was Alexander Pope, and\\nthis visit was a great event to him, for already he\\ncared more about books and writers than about any-\\nthing else in the world. This boy was to be Dry-\\nden s successor. He was to carry to perfection the\\nliterary methods of Dryden s time, and the kinds of\\nwriting that Dryden inaugurated he was to be the\\nmost important writer of verse in the age of Queen\\nAnne.\\nPope was born in 1688, the year of that Revolution Alexander\\nwhich determined that the country should be per- 1688-4744.\\nmanently Protestant. But his parents were Roman\\nCatholic, and this meant that Pope always lived a\\nlittle apart from the run of society and politics in\\nhis day. At all events, a puny, suffering body would\\nhave doomed him to a life of seclusion. All his best\\ninterests were in literature to study his works is to\\nstudy his biography.\\nPope was one of the most precocious of English Pope s life\\nand work.\\nauthors. When he was twelve years old, he com-\\nposed two thousand heroic couplets on a certain\\nPrince Alcander, and it is significant that in the ze-\\n333", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "334\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nnith of his powers many years later he inserted some\\nof these very couplets in his great work, The Dun-\\nciad. There was, in truth, almost no development\\nin Pope s style. He was still a lad of sixteen when\\nhe wrote certain poems which at once secured him\\nPasto- recognition in literary circles, a series of Pasto-\\n1709. rals. In these poems, the couplet already rings\\ndelicately true. They are a cold mosaic from Theoc-\\nritus, Virgil, and Spenser. But they are surprising\\nwork for a boy.\\nEven before the Pastorals were published, Pope\\nhad begun to form literary connections. He had\\nadmired, helped, probably quarrelled with, the old\\ndramatist, Wycherley and he had received from a\\nminor critic of the day, William Walsh, advice which\\nhe never forgot. Other English poets, Walsh told\\nthe young aspirant, had been great but no great\\npoet had ever been correct. To correctness, there-\\nfore, Pope set his efforts. It was Walsh also who\\nemphasized to him the idea that the best and only\\nhope for modern verse is the imitation of the an-\\ncients this idea, too, which Pope clearly enunciated\\nin the preface to his Pastorals, he never disavowed,\\nthough instinct was sometimes too strong to allow\\nhim literally to follow it.\\nIn 1709, the Pastorals were published; and\\nthe period from this year till 1715, when the first\\nvolume of the Iliad came out, may be considered\\nthe first period of his work. His private life during\\nthis time and later was uneventful. He formed and\\nbroke sundry literary and personal connections, and\\nlived quietly with his parents in the country not far\\nfrom London.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE\\n335\\nShortly after the Pastorals/ Pope wrote several\\nother minor poems, the most important being The\\nMessiah, and Windsor Forest. The Messiah The\\nT Tr i T Messiah,\\nis a mosaic 01 passages from Isaiah and Virgil. It 1712.\\nhas fine rhetorical ring, and part of it has passed into Windsor\\na familiar hymn, Rise, crowned with light, imperial 1713.\\nSalem, rise but it has not much to do with either\\nChristianity or poetry. Pope s boyhood was passed\\nnear Windsor Forest, and he might have given us a\\nfine poem on its mighty shade, but he did not. He\\nwas interested in the forest, not for its beautiful\\nmystery, but for its literary and political associations,\\nand for the opportunities it offered to the sportsman.\\nHis first poem of great significance, was the Essay Essay on\\non Criticism. Here he polished, till they shone, the 1711.\\ncritical maxims which he found in Boileau s Art\\nPoetique and elsewhere, and the conclusions of his\\nown common sense. The poem has little continuity,\\nbut it admirably expresses the general critical stand-\\nards and methods of the time.\\nA little longer treatment must be given to the The Rape\\ndaintiest trifle that ever came from Pope s pen, Lock 6\\nThe Rape of the Lock. It is a mock-heroic ^12-1714.\\npoem in five cantos. A pretty society girl, Miss\\nArabella Fermor, was vexed because a young gentle-\\nman, Lord Petre, had cut off one of her curls.\\nHoping to restore her to good humor, Pope, with\\nscintillating wit and grace and neatness, though\\nwith a constant ripple of delicate satire, described\\nthe occasion, and incidentally the social life of the\\ntimes. When he rewrote the poem, he added a\\nmachinery of fairy beings sylphs, who are, as he\\ntells us, the disembodied presences of the coquettes", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "336\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nTrans-\\nlation of\\nThe\\nIliad,\\n1715-1720.\\nTransla-\\ntion of\\nThe\\nOdyssey,\\n1723-1725.\\nof the past, whose function it is to tend the fair,\\nwhile they hover around the scenes of their old tri-\\numphs. It is clever invention The Rape of the\\nLock has justly been called the imaginative epos\\nof the age of Queen Anne. To put Pope s fairies\\nbeside Shakespeare s in the Midsummer Night s\\nDream and The Tempest, to compare their\\ntastes and functions, is a highly instructive and\\nentertaining occupation. The poem as a whole is\\ncharmingly playful, if one does not shrink from the\\nscorn of women and of society that gleams through\\nits graceful raillery. The art of belittling was\\nnever carried further than in its whole treatment,\\nnor was the anti-climax ever more effectively used\\nthan in many of its details.\\nIn 1715 Pope published the first books of his\\ntranslation of The Iliad by 1725, he had com-\\npleted this, and had also produced, with the collabo-\\nration of others, a translation of The Odyssey.\\nThis was the work that brought him widest fame\\nand greatest fortune. Milton had received X10\\nfor the first edition of Paradise Lost Pope was\\npaid for his Homer, over X8000. We are shocked at\\nthe discrepancy, yet we may be glad of the indication\\nof a growing interest in letters and of a public that\\nbought books. Pope translating Homer is a curious\\nspectacle. The pseudo-classic age thought it admired\\nthe ancients very much, but Pope is enough to show\\nus that it had remarkably little idea what the ancients\\nwere really like. It is a pretty poem, Mr. Pope,\\nbut it is not Homer, said Bentley, a critic in advance\\nof his time, to the proud little author and the dic-\\ntum has never been improved upon. Pope gives us", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE\\n337\\nresounding and spirited verse, but the effect of the\\ntranslation is as if Hector and Paris and Achilles\\nfought in periwigs. The poem had, however, genu-\\nine fire and movement, and, hybrid thing as it was,\\nit proved, and has remained to this day, immensely\\npopular.\\nThere is no object after this in following Pope s\\nwork chronologically, for his manner at fifty was\\nmuch what it was at twelve, and it is more interest-\\ning to see the different sorts of things he liked to Ess fy on\\nwrite. He very much enjoyed composing didactic 1732-^1734.\\nverse and his Moral Essays and Essay on Man Moral\\nremain the best examples our literature affords of ^32-5.736.\\nthis kind of work. The eighteenth century liked\\nmoral abstractions and general truths indeed, it\\nrelished nothing better than a series of truisms\\nneatly put. This Pope gave it. He did not pre-\\ntend to originality in these poems he simply versi-\\nfied the deistic philosophy of his friend, Bolingbroke.\\nAnd with so perfect a felicity of concise and epi-\\ngrammatic expression did he do this that he bestowed\\non this philosophy a far longer life in the general\\nmind than it deserved.\\nBut the native air of Pope was satire. This is\\nalready evident in The Rape of the Lock, where\\nhe tries, as it were, to breathe the air of pure fancy,\\nand fails. His best, most characteristic, and most\\nenduring work, that where he really attains a great\\naim of the artist and sets his own personality free in Dunciad,\\neffective form, is satirical. His Imitations of Hor- 17 2 1743\\nace, his Epistles, his Dunciad, are work of this (t Imita _\\nclass and they are all masterpieces. Pope s satire tions of\\nwas not political, like that of Dryden it was nearly 1733-1737.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "338\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nall, one regrets to say, levelled against his personal\\nenemies; and in the art of wounding he was certainly\\npast master. Such a description as the famous por-\\ntrait of Addison, under the name Atticus, sticks\\nlike a burr to the memory of that amiable man.\\nBut even if we find Pope ill-natured, we can-\\nnot fail to admire the splendid ease of his satirical\\nverse, the keenness of his wit, and his penetrat-\\ning eye. He belonged to a time that was inclined\\nto satire, because it looked at men with the eyes of\\nreason rather than of love, and he shared its attitude.\\nWe are glad that his greatest satire of all has a\\nwider than personal application. This is the Dun-\\nciad, written doubtless under the influence of the\\nlarger nature of Swift. The Dunciad is an attack\\non Dulness, modelled somewhat on Dryden s Mac-\\nFlecknoe, but with a stinging power all its own.\\nIt is perhaps the masterpiece of the verse of the\\nperiod an attack on Dulness was exactly the work\\nwhich the age of Queen Anne was best fitted to\\nachieve, for whatever else may be said about that\\nage, dull it was not. The special writers whom\\nPope singled out for ridicule in this poem are for-\\ngotten, but this does not matter. There are always\\nplenty of the tribe of Dunces left. We may almost\\nsay that any person must belong to the tribe who\\nfails to enjoy the biting wit of this poem, and the\\ngreat final picture of the whole universe crumbling\\naway while chaos returns to reign.\\nThe heroic We have now passed in review the principal phases\\ncouplet. of pope g wQrk Qf U S51 lineg produced by him?\\nexcluding translations, all but 1,468 are in heroic\\ncouplets. The chief excellence and capacity of the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE\\n339\\ncouplet is in neat epigram, clever antithesis, in con-\\ndensation, brilliancy, point. Pope used it for all\\nimaginable purposes. He condemned Spenser for\\nintroducing a variety of meters in the Shepherd s\\nCalendar. Did he himself wish to express the\\ngraceful simplicity of rustic life He used the\\nrhymed couplet. Was his theme the throbbing\\npassion of a cloistered woman, torn by remorse and\\ndesire It was in rhymed couplets that her laments\\nreached his ear. Was it the flutter of fairy beings\\naround the form of a lovely maiden Their very\\nflutter was in antithetical beats. Was it the clash\\nand clang of arms in the primitive warfare of heroes\\nTheir blows were symmetrically measured. All this\\nseems very strange to us but no other metrical\\nmovement pleased the ear of Pope s contemporaries.\\nWe feel in only one department of his writing that\\nthe couplet is exactly adapted to what he wishes to\\nconvey this is, of course, in his satires. Here each\\nline stabs, and leaves no ragged edges to the wound.\\nCriticism, translation, ethical treatises in verse, Literary\\nsatires, these are Pope s subjects. They were the condltlor\\nstaple subjects of his age. We do not find literature\\nin the eighteenth century seeking to pursue and cap-\\nture the retreating vision of the winged ideal it is\\npedestrian, realistic, haunted by no glamour of illu-\\nsion. In such a period personal interests are sure\\nto become very important in men s minds. Men of\\nletters were preoccupied, not with great dreams nor\\nwith great causes, but with little contemporary affairs.\\nLiterature had become more than ever before a dis-\\ntinct profession; but the literary world was a narrow\\none; it centred in London, which was still quite a", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "340\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nsmall town. All the authors of the day, therefore,\\nknew one another, and met at the clubs which were\\nbecoming a feature of the times. Literary history\\nbecomes largely a record of their intrigues, animosi-\\nPope s ties, and friendships. In all these, Pope took his\\nperson-\\nality. part. He was not strong enough to share much in\\nclub life, but at his little villa at Twickenham, where\\nhe had methodized nature to his heart s content,\\nhe enjoyed the converse of his friends. We may know\\na great deal about his private life if we will; his\\nfriendships, often breaking into feuds, with Addison,\\nwith Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, with Swift, with\\nBolingbroke, with Gay, and others; the queer tricks\\nto which he resorted to raise his reputation the or-\\nnaments with which he decked the damp little arti-\\nficial grotto on his grounds which was his great\\ndelight. He was an irascible, sickly, oversensitive,\\nintensely human man. He was often spiteful, and\\nhis clever pen enabled him to make his small spites\\nimmortal. But we must also remember to his credit\\nthat he was a devoted and tender son, who soothed\\nwith truest filial devotion the last years of his aged\\nmother that he loved some of his friends, like Swift\\nand Gay, with constant loyalty, if he quarrelled with\\nothers that to one woman friend, Martha Blount,\\nhe showed the most delicate and faithful affection\\nand that he dedicated his whole life, with unswerving\\nenthusiasm, to the cause of literature.\\ndeath 5 When Pope was fifty-six years old, he escaped\\nfrom what he himself calls that long disease, my\\nlife. His deathbed was touching. His friends,\\nwho loved him well, had gathered around him.\\nWhat is that said he, waving his skinny arm", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE\\n341\\nabove the counterpane; then, sinking back on his pil-\\nlows with a smile of wonderful sweetness Twas\\na vision The clever little man had not seen many\\nvisions in his lifetime; we are glad if one came to\\nhim when he was dying.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGlobe edition of Pope. Letters of Lady Mary Wortley\\nMontagu. Life of Pope, by Leslie Stephen, English Men\\nof Letters Series. Dennis, The Age of Pope. Life, by John-\\nson, edited by Kate Stephens. Lowell, essay in My Study\\nWindows. Leslie Stephen, Hours in a Library, Pope as a\\nmoralist.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe Rape of the Lock, the first canto of the Essay on\\nMan, a few aphorisms from the Essay on Criticism, the\\nsatirical portrait of Addison in the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot,\\nand the conclusion of the Dunciad should be read. Recita-\\ntions of epigrams from Pope, selected by the student, will help\\nto make the chief merits of his style appreciated. A special\\ntopic may be given by a student who reads Homer, showing\\nhow Pope altered Homer. Pope s friendships also afford oppor-\\ntunity for a pleasant special study, and Pope s quarrels for one\\nless pleasant but not uninstructive.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe range of Pope s ethics would probably better be handled\\nby the teacher than by the class. Leslie Stephen s analysis in\\nthe books referred to above, and also in the History of Eng-\\nlish Thought in the Eighteenth Century, is admirable. Ruskin\\nhas also, in Fors Clavigera, an interesting tribute to the\\nEssay on Man.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IV\\nPROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE\\nI. The Rise of Prose\\nA LL the good qualities of Pope s poetry appear\\nto equal advantage in contemporary prose.\\nThe fact is significant. In the seventeenth century\\nsome noble prose had been written, more fervid and of\\nricher harmonies than any we find in the eighteenth.\\nBut, in exact reverse to what happens now, the\\nqualities that make the prose of Sir Thomas Browne\\nor Jeremy Taylor delightful, are qualities shared\\nwith poetry. In the time of Dryden prose began to\\ndevelop standards and virtues of its own; in the time\\nof Addison and Swift it perfects these virtues, and\\nbecomes, what England had not possessed before, a\\nthoroughly suitable instrument for conveying that\\nwide range of everyday experience which deserves\\nto get into literature, but is not fittingly expressed\\nthrough poetry. No single life, it is to be hoped, is\\nall prose none certainly is all poetry. A nation,\\nlike a person, needs both means of expression.\\nA new reading public was rapidly forming during\\nthe age of Queen Anne. Education was getting\\ndiffused, the great middle class was becoming intel-\\nligent as well as powerful, books were multiplying.\\nThere had been a time when literature addressed\\nitself chiefly to the court, or to chosen scholars,\\n342", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 343\\nwhen the visible drama which men could hear or see\\nwas the popular art form. Now all this was changed.\\nThe new public craved a new kind of books. We\\ncan imagine how it rejoiced in a prose that was clear,\\nsupple, conversational, while yet possessed of a polish\\nand purity which made it quite different from mere\\nwritten talk. Such was the prose given by Swift,\\nAddison, and Steele. Let us look at these three\\nmen.\\nII. Jonathan Swift\\nTo many people, Swift seems the greatest spirit of 1667-1745.\\nhis time, and the most interesting. This is because\\nhis strong, sad nature was torn by inward conflict, and\\nwas never quite at home, as the natures of most of\\nhis contemporaries were, in the social ceremonials\\nand party strifes that preoccupied the age. Swift\\npassed much of his life in Irish exile, far from Lon-\\ndon, the one intellectual centre of his day. Under-\\nstand him aright, and we shall see that he was from\\nfirst to last an exile in spirit. He had lost memory\\nor hope perhaps of a better country, but he was not\\ncontent with what he knew.\\nSwift was twenty-one years older than Pope, for Early life,\\nhe was born in 1667. Before the seventeenth cen-\\ntury ended he had written some of his most brilliant\\nbooks. He was a relative of Dryden Cousin Swift,\\nyou will never be a poet, or as another version has\\nit, a Pindaric poet, said the great man to the greater,\\non one occasion. He was also a relative of Sir Will-\\niam Temple. Temple was a retired statesman, him-\\nself a pleasant essayist and patron of men of letters", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "344\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nand in his household Swift passed several years as\\nsecretary. It was here that he wrote his first note-\\nworthy books, The Battle of the Books, and The\\nTale of a Tub, both in 1697.\\n^Battle of The Battle of the Books is a clever allegory,\\nBooks, bearing on the controversy then in vogue concerning\\n1697, pub- the relative merits of the ancients and the moderns.\\ni704. d 1^ i s nere that occurs the famous phrase, sweetness\\nand light, which Matthew Arnold was to adopt.\\nThe Tale But The Tale of a Tub is of wider interest. It is\\nof a Tub,\\nwritten a satirical allegory describing the religious parties of\\npublished England under the names of Peter, who represented\\nthe Church of Rome, Jack, who stood for the Cal-\\nvinistic sects, and Martin, the type of the Anglican\\nand Lutheran Churches. The characters and adven-\\ntures of the three brothers are described with much\\ncleverness, but the book is not reverent; and, though\\none is sorry for Swift, one cannot wonder if The\\nTale of a Tub hindered his advancement in the\\nChurch.\\nFor to the Church this sardonic young man be-\\nlonged. He was, according to his lights, a perfectly\\nhonest clergyman. He admired the liturgy of the\\nPrayer-Book, and he conscientiously defended the\\nAnglican position against the Deists, who were be-\\ncoming popular in his day. But his weapon of\\ndefence was almost always satire, as in the case of\\none of the ablest satirical pamphlets ever written, his\\nArgument against abolishing Christianity, the\\nsmooth scathing irony of which seems far indeed\\nremoved from the method and spirit of the Gospels.\\nAbout 1710 Swift threw himself with energy into\\nthe political strife of the day. He had originally", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEX ANNE 345\\nbeen a Whiff, but he now identified himself with Political\\nactivity.\\nthe Tories, and did vigorous pamphleteering on\\ntheir behalf. They gave him their personal friend-\\nship, and for a time he had much political influ-\\nence. But he never received the preferment which\\nhe seemingly desired. In 1713 he was made Dean\\nof St. Patrick s in Dublin, a position which was Dean of St.\\nPatrick s\\nvery far from satisfying his ambition. The death Dublin,\\n1713\\nof the queen, however, in 1714, threw the Tories\\nout of power, and destroyed all further hopes for\\nSwift.\\nThe rest of his life, accordingly, he spent in Ireland,\\nand he became a great Irish patriot, which was better\\nthan being a church dignitary in England. He put\\nhis powerful pen at the service of 44 that most distress-\\nful country. Her sufferings drew from him at one\\ntime the brilliant series of 44 Drapier s Letters, argu- Letters\\ning against the introduction of a currency which jfrapie^\\nwould, as he believed, injure the national interests 1724 1725\\nat another time, he poured from his indignant soul Modest\\none of the most amazing pieces of restrained irony r r \u00c2\u00b0pre- al\\nin our own or any language, his 44 Modest Proposal J\u00c2\u00a3? cSfid-\\nfor preventing Children of Poor People from being p e r of\\na Burden. The Irish became passionately devoted People\\n-i i \u00c2\u00bbn from\\nto him, and his name is still revered among their being a\\nBurden,\\npeasantry. 1729.\\nIn 1726 and 1727 we find Swift in London pay-\\ning pleasant visits to Pope, to whom he was warmly\\nattached, at Twickenham, and helping to found\\nthe Martinus Scriblerus Club, organized for the\\nexpress purpose of waging war against stupidity.\\nIt certainly did good service toward its end, for it is\\nconnected, not only with Pope s 44 Dunciad, but with", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "346\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nTravels\\nof Lemuel\\nGulliver,\\n1726.\\nDirec-\\ntions to\\nServants,\\nwritten\\nbefore\\n1738, pub-\\nlished,\\n1745.\\nPolite\\nConversa-\\ntion,\\n1745.\\nVerse.\\nanother great book, which was pretty certainly sug-\\ngested by its meetings. This was Swift s masterpiece,\\nGulliver s Travels. The book, as every one knows,\\nis a story about the imaginary journeyings of one\\nLemuel Gulliver. It is one of the saddest satires on\\nhuman life ever written, and it has had the curious\\nfate of becoming a classic for children. This is due\\nto the fertility of its invention, and to the sober\\nrealism, suffused with a delightful sense of fun,\\nwith which the life of the tiny people and the big\\npeople and the nation of horses are described to us.\\nBut if we think closely, we shall see how sad the\\nbook is. There is no illusion about it, there is little\\nimagination, properly speaking. Swift looks first\\nthrough the little, then through the big, end of a\\ntelescope, but the instrument points straight all the\\ntime at the world he knew, and it is not an attractive\\nworld. Gulliver s Travels has been compared\\nwith More s Utopia we may also put it beside the\\ngreat allegories of human life in the sixteenth and\\nseventeenth centuries, the Faerie Queene and the\\nPilgrim s Progress. Any one who cares to pursue\\nthese comparisons will feel the difference between\\nthe vision of the idealist and of the realist.\\nOther clever things Swift wrote, notably certain\\nsocial satires sparkling with wit. He was also skil-\\nful in writing light, bright, society verse. We enjoy\\nSwift s easy octosyllables, and the relief they afford\\nfrom the all but unbroken run of the heroic couplet.\\nOn the whole, however, we must accept Dryden s\\ndictum. Swift is no poet it is enough for him to\\nbe our greatest English satirist. His melancholy\\nspirit, so clear-sighted in one way, so blind in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 347\\nanother, belongs rather to the family of Rabelais\\nthan to any English group.\\nSwift s mind gave way at last, and during the Death,\\nclosing years of his life his condition was tragic. He\\ndied in 1745 at his home in Dublin.\\nThe nearer one presses to Swift, the more interest-\\ning he becomes. There was a fund of tenderness\\nhidden under his savage ways. He was a man\\nwhom women loved, often passionately, sometimes\\nto their great sorrow. He seemed to have loved one\\nonly Esther Johnson, whom he had known from\\nher childhood, and whom he has made the world\\nknow under the name of Stella. She lived near\\nhim in Ireland; and when Swift was in London, he\\nwrote her a journal, in a little language of endear-\\ning playfulness, which remains a singularly touching\\nand intimate thing. Perhaps he married Miss John-\\nson we cannot tell there is a mystery here. At\\nall events, it seems to have been her death that has-\\ntened his last, long, painful illness.\\nIn person, Swift was a tall, powerful man, with a\\nrather dull face, illuminated by very singular and\\nflashing blue eyes. One shrinks from the great\\nDean a little; but one gives him admiration, and\\ndeep compassion.\\nIII. Daniel Defoe\\nIn some ways the contemporary writer with whom 1661-1731.\\nSwift had the strongest affinity was Daniel Defoe,\\nwho was six vears his senior. Defoe wrote Robin- Robinson\\nJ Crusoe,\\nson Crusoe, and this immortal work, like Gulliver s 1719, 1720.\\nTravels, derives its charm from its knack at con-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "348\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nvincing us that the impossible is the most natural\\nthing in the world. This is what the realistic art\\nof the eighteenth century can accomplish. Defoe\\nwrote other books, and was also one of the pioneers\\nof modern journalism. But he did not belong to\\nthe accredited literary circles of his day. If the\\ntruth must be told, he was a time-server and a\\ntramp but he knew a good many things about\\nhuman nature, and there was sweetness and whole-\\nsomeness somewhere in him, or he could not have\\nwritten Robinson Crusoe. It is a little remark-\\nable that the book, as well as all his other books\\nof value, was written when he was well on in years,\\nover fifty years old.\\nIV. Addison and Steele\\nAddison and Steele are the leading essayists of the\\neighteenth century. We do not shrink from them\\nas from Swift, but neither do they give us the same\\nimpression of greatness. We know them well, as we\\nknow all these men, in a pleasant, familiar, modern\\nway. We grow fond of Irish, extravagant, right-\\nfeeling, wrongdoing Steele as our temperaments\\nmay decide, we are attached to his kindly, reason-\\nable friend, or just a little bored by him.\\nSir Rich- It will be noted that all these prose writers were a\\n1671-1729 6 good deal older than Pope, though the precocious\\nlittle poet got into the life of letters almost as soon\\nas they did. Addison and Steele were boys together\\nat the Charter House School in London and their\\nbest work in after life was done together. But their\\ncareers were very different. Steele was always in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUE EX ANNE 349\\ndebt, always in scrapes. He left the University\\nwithout a degree, to tnrn soldier he wrote a reli-\\ngious book called The Christian Hero, to which The\\nhe plaintively remarked that he found it hard to Hero,\\nlive up he wrote also a number of forgotten dramas. 1,0L\\nHe married for love, he was warmly and loyally\\ndevoted to his friends, he was a blundering, lova-\\nble man of genius. Addison, on the other hand, Joseph\\nwent through life with sweet, unimpeachable grav- 1672-1719.\\nity and correctness. A parson in a tye-wig,\\na friend called him. He was always decorous,\\namiable, cultured, dignified, usually most kind and\\ngenerous. He had good principles which he felt\\nno temptation to deny, and tastes which were a\\ncredit to him. He was of an academic turn of mind\\nand type of person. He wrote as a young man well-\\nturned verse in the fashion of the day, some of which\\nmade a political hit and secured him a pension he\\nalso wrote a tragedv, Cato, which showed little Cato,\\ni P t t nn acted 1713.\\nexcept that the age of Queen Anne did well not to\\nattempt drama. But Addison might never have\\nbeen a great name in English letters had it not been\\nfor an enterprise into which Steele drew him.\\nThis was the Periodical Essay. Everything was The peri-\\nready for it. All London, we may almost say, was essay,\\nwaiting for the appearance of a new literary form.\\nNearly two thousand coffee-houses were sharpening\\nthe wits of the men, promoting clever talk and eager\\ninterest in all the topics of the day. The rise of\\nwomen in social importance, on the other hand, was\\ncreating a clamorous demand for the introduction of\\nthe social graces into the intellectual life. Society\\nwas limited enough to share most of its interests in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "350\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nThe\\nTatler\\nApril 12,\\n1709, to\\nJan. 2,\\n1711.\\nThe\\nSpectator,\\nMarch 1,\\n1711 to\\nDec. 6,\\n1712, and\\nagain in\\n1714.\\nThe\\nGuardian.\\ncommon, and large enough to welcome a new medium\\nof communication. To meet the needs of society,\\naccordingly, we might go further, and say to meet\\nthe needs of the town, the periodical essay arose.\\nIt belonged, in origin and character, to what we\\ndescribe as occasional literature but so charmingly\\nwas it handled by Addison and Steele, that their\\ndaily journals have become classics of the language.\\nThe last years of the seventeenth century had\\nbeen feeling toward something of the kind Defoe\\nin particular had published a political paper called\\nthe Review. But it was under the auspices of\\nSteele, and perhaps with the inspiration of Swift,\\nthat the periodical first achieved high success. For\\nin April, 1709, appeared the first number of the\\nTatler, a delightful miscellany on politics, literature,\\nand art, which came out three times a week. Steele\\nstarted it. Addison did not begin to write till the\\neighteenth number, and of the 271 numbers which\\nappeared in all, Steele wrote 188 to Addison s 36.\\nBefore long, the Tatler was abandoned, and was\\nfollowed by its famous successor the Spectator, which\\nappeared daily. Addison wrote rather more, Steele\\nrather less, than half the Spectator, and there were\\nother contributors, among them Pope, whose Mes-\\nsiah appeared as one of these daily numbers. The\\nGuardian succeeded the Spectator, but did not have\\nthe same success.\\nPerhaps Steele was a little more inventive than\\nAddison. Not only was the whole scheme his, but\\nhe also was the first creator of the immortal Sir\\nRoger de Coverley, the character who did so much\\nto make the Spectator famous. But it is Addison of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 351\\nwhom people in general think when the Spectator\\nis mentioned, and not unjustly, for his powers were\\nboth more versatile and better sustained than\\nSteele s. The mind and character of Addison are a\\nperfect expression of the best ideals of the age.\\nGrace, urbanity, timeliness, marked the daily\\nessays that made up the Spectator. Now the editors Charac-\\ntcristios\\nwould treat their audience to a bit of character\\ndrawing, gently humorous though never unkind, as\\nin the delightful series on Sir Roger de Coverley\\nnow there would be a discussion of Italian opera,\\nnew in those days, as Wagner was not so very long\\nago. Now a coquette s heart would be dissected,\\nor a lady s library described with delicate raillery\\nit is surprising how large a proportion of the Spec-\\ntator is addressed to the fair sex. Now, discreetly\\nintroduced, we find admirable moral reflections, or\\nit may be a paper of literary criticism, commending\\nwith moderation Paradise Lost, or half -apolo-\\ngetically confessing to a weakness for old English\\nballads. No one can fail to be pleased with the\\ncheerful good humor, the sweet reasonableness, the\\nagreeable style, of the whole Spectator. Addison s\\naim was distinctly that of a censor of manners and\\nmorals. To enliven morality with wit, and to\\ntemper wit with morality, he announced as his\\nplan. He certainly succeeded, and this tempered\\nunion continued for several generations to satisfy\\nEnglish instincts.\\nIt was distinctly a morality for polite society. Ethics of\\nNo cries from Swift s miserable Irish penetrated its spectator.\\ncharmed circle. The frivolous occupations of the\\ntown and the lightness of its manners won at times", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "352\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\na gentle rebuke from its self-appointed critic but\\nhe offered it few suggestions of higher interests\\nor larger desires. The times were complacent\\nand self-satisfied, assured of their own finality,\\npursued by no haunting sense of a future different\\nfrom themselves toward which they might press.\\nIt is impossible, wrote Addison, for us who live\\nin the latter ages of the world to make observations\\nin Wit, Morality, or any Art or Science, which have\\nnot been touched upon by others. We have little\\nleft us but to represent the common Sense of Man-\\nkind in more strong, more beautiful, or more uncom-\\nmon Lights. 1 What would Addison have thought\\nhad he been confronted with the poetry of Shelley\\nThe other writers of the period we have no time\\nto discuss, though Shaftesbury, Arbuthnot, and\\nothers are interesting minor figures. The great\\nBerkeley, the idealist philosopher of a matter-of-fact\\nage, lies in any case outside our scope. We have\\nalready illustrated all the characteristic phases of\\nAugustan literature as the literature of this age is\\nsometimes called. Its strength lay in its rational\\ndelineation of the life around it, and this delineation\\nwas always tinged with satire. Sometimes the satire\\nhad a spiteful, personal animus, as in Pope some-\\ntimes it was courteous and cheerful, glancing at\\nmanners rather than at passion, as in Addison. In\\nSwift it took a wider sweep, assumed a fiercer cast,\\nand allied itself less to jest than to tragedy. But\\nsatire, in one form or another, is rarely far away in\\nthe age of Queen Anne. Its prevalence points to the\\none essential, fundamental fact, in the attitude of\\n1 Addison on The Essay on Criticism, Spectator, No. 253.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "PROSE OF THE AGE OF QUEEN ANNE 353\\nthis period this is the fact that the Understanding\\nhas supplanted the Imagination as the governing\\nprinciple in life.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nAshton, Social Life in the Age of Queen Anne.\\nThackeray s Henry Esmond gives the best picture of the\\nage of Queen Anne taken as a whole which we possess. See,\\nalso, Lecky s History of England in the Eighteenth Century,\\nVol. I, Ch. IV, and Sydney s England in the Eighteenth Cen-\\ntury. H. Williams, English Letters and Letter-writing in the\\nEighteenth Century.\\nAddison, see Courthope s Life, in English Men of Letters\\nMac aul ay s Essays. Swift, Selections by Stanley Lane\\nPoole Life, by Leslie Stephen Thackeray, English Hu-\\nmorists Scudder, Social Ideals in English Letters, Ch. III.\\nSteele, Life, by Austin Dobson; Thackeray, English\\nHumourists.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS- WORK\\nA picture of the social and literary life of the age of Queen\\nAnne is one of the great things to be aimed at. To this end no\\nmeans is so good as copious reading from the Spectator. The\\nrange of manners and morals should be carefully noted by in-\\nductive work, never simpler than here. Country life, as shown\\nin the Sir Roger papers town life, of the clubs, of the drawing-\\nrooms, of the home the interests of women the daily life of\\nan average citizen all these can be studied in this first\\nliterature of absolute realism.\\nIt is instructive to turn from the graceful society studies of\\nthe Spectator to Swift s picture of the state of Ireland. But if\\nthis seems too cruel a transition, Gulliver s Travels shows\\nthe general, deliberate estimate of civilization, formed by the\\nstrongest, though not the sanest, intellect of the time. The\\nbook should be read, not only for its marvellous art, but for\\nthe intellectual concept behind it, and should be put beside the\\nsocial pictures of an imaginary society found in earlier and\\nlater times the absence of any social idealism in it should be,\\nnot only suggested, but accounted for.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "o\\nE-i\\nW O\\n5\\no 3\\no\\nCO fl\\nH\\nhH\\nCO\\nQ\\nW\\nPw\\nO\\nPh\\no\\nw\\no\\nj\\nw\\nw\\nH\\n2 3 \u00c2\u00abh 9\\nfl\\n43 o\\n\u00c2\u00abS fl o fl\\nSS Eg s l\\nPS\\n3\\nd\\no 3\\ng\u00c2\u00a3\u00c2\u00a9\\nt;\\no s s\\nfl\\nH\\no\\nfl,\\nps .2\\nO 03\\n3\u00c2\u00a7\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2S3\\nII\\no o\\na 1-8\\nOfl\\nfl +2\\n03 fl d\\n\u00c2\u00a95 03\\nb a cs\\nft te 2\\nPfl\\n\u00c2\u00bb0 fl g,q\\n\u00c2\u00a3\u00c2\u00a9flS\\ns a fl\\nS3 -i o i\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i\\nO rt.fl.q:-\\na j8\\nS3\\nft~\\no\\n-h S3\\nO\\n3\\nP\\n\u00c2\u00a9H-\\nM\\no\\n152\\ne\\nQ 3 03\\n3 5 g", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "to\\n5 O\\nu s\\nbJO\\nO 03\\n\u00c2\u00ab3\\nles An-\\n1728\\nr48-1771\\na\\nKlopstock\\nMessias\\n00 3 C 1 OC CCq 00 ,\u00c2\u00a32 N CO\\nQ gt\u00c2\u00ab t- 1^ t- t- -u t- t-\\na. ifl \u00e2\u0080\u009403 ^-^^0^+^ j j h g\\nfcjf |o\\nsiwi=? i in m ivshU aim\\n^J3rtJ3 33 O 33 O S ^3 .l^cc.^^O M 0 if i-h 2 ctf Ol?\\ni-j J M l-s W tl Ha", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "O\\nm\\nw w\\nH\\nCO\\nu t-\\n1 s\\nPI\\nI I\\n(4 U S\\nCO +-s rrH\\no\\n2.2\\n|S\\nS\u00c2\u00ab J\\nrl O\\no 3\\n.2(3 o\\n\u00c2\u00bbQ rt ^3 CO\\n2^-\\n00\\n\u00c2\u00ab2 o\\ni\u00e2\u0080\u0094 0}\\nE3 O\\nCO\\nIS? fe c\u00c2\u00a3 a\\nw 2J t\u00c2\u00bb\\n3 Op SZ 1\\n-.3 .8 12", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER V\\nTHE RISE OF THE NOVEL\\nEVEN while Addison was saying that nothing\\nnew was ever to be expected in literature, an\\nentirely new thing of much importance was on its\\nway. The middle years of the eighteenth century\\nwitnessed the rise of the novel. Already, as Addi-\\nson s own work shows us, literature was trem-\\nbling toward it. The romantic narratives of Defoe\\nand Swift gained their power from their realism of\\ndetail writing like the Sir Roger de Coverley pa-\\npers, and, still more, the little airy, sparkling sketches\\nof episodes in social life, and the short, sentimental\\ntales frequent in the Spectator, pointed yet more\\nplainly to real modern novels.\\nI. Samuel Richardson\\nIn 1740, accordingly, the first actual novel ap- 1689-1761.\\npeared. Its name was 44 Pamela its author, Sam-\\nuel Richardson, a stout, sentimental little printer,\\nfifty years old.\\nThe occasion of Pamela was curiously acci- Pamela,\\ndental for a book that was to inaugurate so vast a virtue Re-\\nliterary development as modern fiction. People at ^4o ded\\nthat time cared a great deal for good letter-writing\\nindeed, no age has ever produced so many witty,\\ndelightful letters as the eighteenth century. But\\n357", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "358\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nClarissa\\nHarlowe,\\n1748.\\nSir\\nCharles\\nGrandi-\\nson, 1753.\\nnot every one who wanted to write letters properly\\nknew how to do so, and there grew up a demand for\\nthe sort of books of direction and example that used\\nto be called The Polite Letter- writer. Now the\\nprinter Richardson loved to write letters, and he had\\nso pleasant and facile a flow of language that young\\nwomen used to get him to compose their love letters\\nfor them. A certain bookseller got wind of this gift\\nof Richardson s, and invited him to write for publica-\\ntion a set of model letters. Richardson was pleased\\nto accept he began the series they were to be from\\na young servant girl to her parents in the country.\\nHe named her Pamela, and as he went on he thought\\nthat it would be a good plan to connect the letters\\nso that they should tell a story. He wrote on and\\non, and by and by a complete novel was before him,\\nand Pamela had married her master\\nOver the adventures of this young woman the town\\nwent wild. Richardson, having discovered his power,\\nwas not slow in following this book with others\\nClarissa Harlowe, and Sir Charles Grandison.\\nThese are all the books he wrote, but they are enough.\\nThey are immensely long, and they are all written\\nin series of letters, which everybody in the book\\nwrites on the slightest provocation to everybody\\nelse. The characters must have spent so much time\\nin letter-writing that we hardly see how there was any\\ntime left for the things they write about to happen.\\nBut though it is easy to laugh at these queer old\\nbooks, they have a power of their own. As a picture\\nof the social life of the eighteenth century, nothing\\nequals them. Romances enough had been written\\nbefore. In the seventeenth century volumes of inter-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "THE RISE OF THE NOVEL\\n359\\nminable adventure, heroic and amatory, were in\\nvogue. Pope laughs at them when he tells us how\\nthe Baron had built an altar to Love in his room,\\nOf twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. But\\nthese romances were of a wholly different type from\\nthe minute description of contemporary manners and\\ndissection of contemporary feelings in the books of\\nRichardson.\\nClarissa Harlowe is the best of these books.\\nIt tells of the long persecution to which a young\\ngirl is subjected at the hands of the villain Lovelace,\\nof her protracted sufferings and exceedingly delib-\\nerate dying. The pathos is prolix and self-conscious,\\nand as we watch Clarissa designing the device for her\\nown tombstone, we are seized with an impatient recol-\\nlection of Ophelia in her simplicity and Desdemona in\\nher reticence but though Richardson s pathos is not\\nShakespeare s, the only people who deny its heart-\\nbreaking reality are those who have never read the\\nbook through. The close descriptions, moreover, of\\nfamily life, and the intricate, subtle, painstaking\\nanalysis of character, give the book enduring value.\\nWe do not wonder that Rousseau, across the ocean,\\ndrew inspiration from it for his own greater work, the\\nNouvelle Heloise. As for Sir Charles Grandi-\\nson, the book has less real value, but it remains a\\njoy forever to those who relish it at all. Richardson\\nwrote it to show what he thought a perfect man\\nshould be. Spenser had done a similar thing in the\\nsixteenth century, but it is a far cry from the Fae-\\nrie Queene to Sir Charles Grandison. For Sir\\nCharles is a terrible prig He is great, says the\\nFrench critic Taine he is generous, delicate, pious,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "360\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nirreproachable he has never done a mean action\\nnor made a wrong gesture. His conscience and his\\nwig are unsullied. Let us canonise him and stuff\\nhim with straw. We have seen something of the\\nideal heroes of the English race, from the old days\\nof Beowulf through those of the noble knights of\\nromance to Sir Philip Sidney. It is a significant\\nfact that Sir Charles Grandison is the ideal hero of\\nthe eighteenth century.\\nII. Henry Fielding\\n1707-1754.\\nThe\\nAdven-\\ntures of\\nJoseph\\nAndrews,\\n1742.\\nThe imagination of the times produced another\\nhero, not ideal his name was Tom Jones. Even the\\npublic which welcomed the novels of Richardson so\\ngladly, laughed at the primness of Sir Charles. The\\nperson who laughed most effectively was Richard-\\nson s rival novelist, Henry Fielding. Fielding was\\none of the Bohemian men of letters who were\\nbecoming common at this time he had written a\\ngood deal of more or less acceptable occasional\\nliterature, and some rather poor dramas. But\\namusement at Pamela and desire to parody it\\ninspired him to write his first really great novel,\\nJoseph Andrews. The book was intended to\\nshow the adventures of Pamela s brother Joseph, as\\ngreat a prig of a boy as Pamela was a prig of a girl.\\nThe caricature was forgotten before the book had\\nprogressed far, however, in Fielding s delight at the\\npure, racy, independent comedy that grew under his\\nhand. Parson Adams, one of the characters of this\\nbook, is as immortal as Falstaff. Having begun to\\nwrite fiction, Fielding liked it well enough to go on.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "THE RISE OF THE NOVEL\\n361\\nHe was thirty-five years old when The Adventures\\nof Joseph Andrews was published in the follow-\\ning year he followed it by a book, possibly however\\nwritten earlier, 44 Jonathan Wild the Great in 1749 Jonathan\\nappeared the greatest of Fielding s books and one of Great,\\nthe greatest of all English novels, Tom Jones, and 1743\\nin 1751, already in failing health but with genius tory of\\nundiminished, though tending to a graver and more Jo^\\npathetic art, his last story, Amelia. Fielding died im\\nat Lisbon, whither he had gone in search of health, i75i? elia\\nin 1754.\\nRichardson was a sentimentalist he shows us what\\nthe eighteenth century liked to consider itself\\nFielding was a realist he shows us what the\\neighteenth century probably was. The prevalent\\ncoarseness of manner, the prominence of animal\\ninstincts, and at the same time the honesty and\\nhearty good-temper that marked the nation as a\\nwhole, all find perfect expression in Tom Jones.\\nThe book is the product of a vigorous intelligence.\\nIt had, what Richardson quite lacked, a strong sense\\nof humor, not always of the most refined kind\\nand, like all Fielding s books, it is written with the\\nauthor s eye fixed straight on the objects he describes.\\nThe book takes us out of the drawing-room and the\\nclub, where so much of the literature of the century\\nholds us, into the good fresh air of the road and\\namong the plain people of everyday England. We\\nare interested to see what these people are like, and\\nwe discover many good qualities in them neverthe-\\nless, it is impossible to deny that one would have\\nstrong objections to living in the society which\\nFielding depicts.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "362\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nIII. Other Novelists\\nTobias\\nGeorge\\nSmollett,\\n1721-1771.\\nThe\\nAdven-\\ntures of\\nRoderick\\nRandom,\\n1748.\\nThe\\nAdven-\\ntures of\\nPeregrine\\nPickle,\\n1751.\\nThe\\nExpedi-\\ntion of\\nHumphrey\\nClinker,\\n1771.\\nLaurence\\nSterne,\\n1713-1768.\\nThe Life\\nand Opin-\\nions of\\nTristram\\nShandy,\\n1759-1767.\\nSenti-\\nmental\\nJourney\\nthrough\\nFrance\\nand\\nItaly,\\n1768.\\nLater fic-\\ntion of the\\neighteenth\\ncentury.\\nInto the path broken by Richardson and Fielding\\nothers were not slow to follow. Two other novelists\\nof the central years of the century, Smollett and\\nSterne, are only less famous than these. Smollett s\\nchief works were Roderick Random, Peregrine\\nPickle, and, twenty years later, the last of the great\\neighteenth-century novels, born out of due time,\\nHumphrey Clinker. Smollett wrote history too\\nand a translation of Don Quixote shows his liter-\\nary affinities. The type of his novels is suggested by\\nthe so-called Picaresque novels of Spain, stories of\\nscapegrace adventure, of which the most famous is\\nGil Bias.\\nThe work of Sterne is Tristram Shandy and\\n44 The Sentimental Journey. They are wandering\\nbooks, full of good character sketching and whimsical\\nmeditation on life. Sterne illustrates better than any\\nother of these novelists one phase of the eighteenth\\ncentury an extreme, almost affected, sensibility of\\nfeeling. This sensibility was sometimes real and\\ntouching, but it was often self-conscious, and we\\ncannot care for it much, except perhaps as a literary\\nflavor, when we see it combined, as it is in Sterne,\\nwith a coarseness of moral sense.\\nThese novels were long, and they seem serious\\nreading to a generation nourished as ours is on short\\nmagazine tales. But they were the lightest and\\nmost readable things the world had known, and\\ntheir popularity was immense. When anything so\\ndelightful as the novel was discovered it was sure\\nto multiply fast; and we cannot follow its prog-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "THE RISE OF THE NOVEL\\n363\\nress. Yet it is strange how few really great novels\\nwere produced between these pioneers and Sir\\nWalter Scott. All these books, except Humphrey\\nClinker, had appeared within about twenty-five\\nyears. Johnson and Goldsmith, a little later, both\\nmade incursions into the new realm. Miss Burney,\\na maid of honor at the court of George III, carried\\non, in her Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla, the\\ntradition of Richardson. Mackenzie s Man of\\nFeeling shows him under the influence of Sterne.\\nBut the invigorating realism with which modern\\nfiction had started on its way was not to be sustained\\nwithout break and we shall soon have to note the\\nextravagant absurdities of early romantic fiction.\\nIV. Reasons fou the Rise of the Novel\\nThe accidental way in which the novel seemed to\\nenter literature was only apparent. Looking deeper,\\nwe can see that its advent was a philosophical neces-\\nsity. With the new public that read, it took the\\nplace that the drama had held with the old public that\\nsaw. For the public always needs an art form that\\nshall present to it, not discussion about life, but life\\nitself. The new instrument was in some ways of\\nwider range than the drama. The novel reflects life\\nindeed, but it also admits the element of critical\\ncomment which the drama excludes so it suits the\\nmodern world, which will always be criticising even\\nwhile it is creative. Moreover, the drama can only\\npresent the crises of life, but a great deal determines\\nlife besides crises. The novel can show people alone,\\nwithout resorting to awkward soliloquy it can show", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "364\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nwhat nature means to them. Above all, the novel\\ndiffers from the drama because of its more habitual\\ninterest in homely, everyday people and in homely,\\neveryday doings. It is the art form of the new\\ndemocracy, and with the rising democracy it arose.\\nThere are other ways, too, in which it differs from\\nthe drama these it is interesting for every one to\\nthink out for himself.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nW. L. Cross, Development of the English Novel, Ch. II, III.\\nSidney Lanier, The English Novel and the Principle of Its\\nDevelopment. Raleigh, the English Novel. Traill, The\\nNew Fiction, and Other Essays. Samuel Richardson, The\\nNovel of Manners. Austin Dobson, The Life of Fielding,\\nEnglish Men of Letters. Stephen s Hours in a Library. Vol. I,\\nEssay on Richardson; Vol. II, Essay on Fielding. Taine is\\nvery entertaining on this fiction.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nClass-discussion on the scope of the novel as compared with\\nepic and drama may inaugurate the study of fiction. School\\nlife being limited in extent, American students cannot enjoy\\nthe privilege of following in detail the history of Miss Byron s\\nheart or Tom Jones s wanderings. Selected scenes may be\\nread, as the deathbed of Clarissa, or a part of it, \u00e2\u0080\u0094the pro-\\nposal of Sir Charles, etc. With older classes, topics like The\\nEighteenth-century Heroine, The Eighteenth-century Villain,\\nThe Eighteenth-century Hero, Home Life in the Eighteenth\\nCentury, etc., can be handled. It is salutary to carry out the\\ncomparison suggested in the text, and place Sir Charles beside\\nthe great heroes of the earlier world. An analysis of the pathos\\nof Richardson and Sterne, compared with the pathos of Shake-\\nspeare, is good training.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VI\\nJOHNSON AND HIS TIMES\\nI. Samuel Johnson\\nTN 1738, six years before Pope died, an ungainly 1709-1784.\\nJ- young man from the country presented to the\\ntown a satirical poem called, after it, London. Pope\\nliked the poem and tried, though in vain, to help\\nSamuel Johnson, the struggling author. He could not\\nknow that Johnson was to become his successor, the\\nliterary dictator who should rule with a rod of iron\\nthe town he had mournfully satirized. But so it\\nwas. Johnson s burly figure, in the last half of the\\neighteenth century, dominates all others. The age\\nof democracy and division was coming in literature\\nas everywhere else all honor to the last undisputed\\nMonarch of the World of Letters\\nJohnson s writings, if the truth must be told,\\nsometimes bore us a little, but his personality inter-\\nests us immensely. Fortunately, this personality we\\nknow in every detail through one of the most re-\\nmarkable biographies in the world, his u Life,\\nwritten by his disciple, James Boswell. Johnson\\nhimself did a great deal to lift biography into a dig-\\nnified literary form, through his admirable Lives\\nof the Poets and people in the modern world have\\ngrown to care for it more and more as interest in\\nindividuals, in the happenings of every day, and in\\nthe intimacies of character, has become keener. But\\n365", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "366\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nperhaps no biography has ever so perfectly revealed\\nits subject, as Boswell s Johnson. Boswell, a\\nsomewhat insignificant and fatuous person, the son\\nof a good Scotch family, was in a way a very small\\nman but he had the grace to recognize and love a\\ngreat one, and this grace enabled him to write an\\nimmortal book.\\nPersonal J ohnson was very ill with scrofula when he was a\\nchild and perhaps he was one of the last children in\\nEngland to be taken by his mother to be touched for\\nthe king s evil, as this disease was then called. But\\nthe touch of Queen Anne did not cure him, and all\\nhis life was affected by the illness. From one eye he\\ncould not see at all his face was scarred, as well as\\nplain and heavy. He had a great clumsy body which\\nhe rolled awkwardly about, he was untidy in his dress\\nand his wigs, and he very much liked a large din-\\nner. His curious impulses and tricks bewildered his\\nfriends. I have not had a roll for a long time,\\nsaid the great lexicographer one day, when standing\\non the tip of a little hill and he deliberately placed\\nhis large body on the ground, and rolled over, and\\nover, and over, to the bottom. His manners were\\nuncouth. You may observe, he said to Boswell,\\nthat I am well-bred to a degree of needless scrupu-\\nlosity, but few people would have agreed with him.\\nHe had a terrible way of snubbing people, and a sav-\\nage veracity. Moreover, he was often unjust, wholly\\ndevoid of tact and of the arts and graces that make\\nlife pleasant. Yet despite his eccentricities, few\\nmen have been more loved than Johnson, and few\\nhave deserved it better. He had the most forceful\\nmind of his generation, he had also a large and tender\\nheart and a devout religious spirit.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES\\n367\\nJohnson s early life, like that of most literary men Early life,\\nof the day, was filled with struggles and poverty.\\nSomehow, it is not quite clear how, he got to Ox-\\nford; but he left the University without a degree.\\nA little later, having, as Mr. Leslie Stephen re-\\nmarks, no money and no prospects, Johnson natu-\\nrally married. His wife, the dear Tetty of his\\nconstant affections, was twenty-one years older than\\nhimself, very fat, and far from attractive to other\\npeople J ohnson, however, loved her deeply, and\\nmourned her intensely during the thirty years that\\nhe survived her. Writing of her death many years\\nafterward, he said I have ever since seemed to\\nmyself broken off from mankind a gloomy\\ngazer on a world to which I have little relation.\\nMeanwhile, having tried in vain to support him- Johnson in\\nself by keeping school, he came to London, with, as i7\u00c2\u00b037 don\\nhe afterward declared, two pence halfpenny in his\\npocket, to seek his fortune. A pupil of his, David\\nGarrick, later the famous actor, was with him and\\na hard time the two had of it. Literature was not condi- 17\\nyet, properly speaking, a profession Johnson him-\\nself was to do more than any one man to lift it into\\nan honorable rank. Things were even worse than\\nin the days of Queen Anne, when letters had been\\ncomparatively popular and prosperous. So intense\\nwas the misery and discomfort of the poor authors\\nwho then and earlier lived in Grub Street, a wretched\\nquarter of London, that the name of the street has\\nbecome a sort of metaphor. The only way to suc-\\nceed was to secure the patronage of some great or\\ndistinguished person by dedicating a work to him,\\na most uncertain method, to say nothing of its\\ntions.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "368\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nunpleasantness. Johnson, who was of a finely inde-\\npendent temper, practically dealt this system of pat-\\nronage its death-blow, in one of the most scathing\\nepistles ever written, his 44 Letter to Lord Chester-\\nfield, published some years later in connection with\\nhis Dictionary. I thought, growled Johnson, con-\\ncerning this nobleman, that he had been a lord\\namong wits but I find he was only a wit among\\nlords. But the Dictionary at this time was un-\\ndreamed of, and J ohnson struggled and suffered with\\nthe rest. Many years later, he burst into tears in\\nspeaking of the wretchedness of this time.\\nLondon, Somehow or other, however, by any hackwork he\\ncould secure, Johnson eked out a living. 44 London\\nmade rather a hit and gave him something of a name\\nto start with. Ten years later, his dull tragedy of\\nacted n ik9. I ren e was acted, through the influence of Garrick,\\nwho had rapidly risen in his profession, and Johnson\\nmade quite a little money by it. In the same year\\nVanity appeared his 44 Vanity of Human Wishes, another\\nof Human rr J\\nWishes, satirical poem, stronger and finer than 44 London.\\nBoth of these poems were imitated from Juvenal,\\nfor whose sardonic genius Johnson had much affinity.\\nAt about this time, he also tried his hand at periodi-\\nTh cal essays after the fashion of Addison and the\\nRambler, Rambler and the Idler had a certain success and\\nThTldier i ncrease( l his reputation, though we find it hard to\\n1758-1760. enjoy them to-day.\\nary^of \u00c2\u00b0the s Dictionary of the English Language is\\nEnglish Johnson s most important achievement. He planned\\nguage, it in 1747, finished it in 1755 and it was a great work.\\ni747, n pub- It takes a vigorous and courageous mind to plan a\\ni755. d dictionary, and to put it through, as Johnson did,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 369\\npractically by himself. Of course a dictionary is\\nnot literature, and is soon superseded; but it ren-\\nders a great service to literature, and nothing better\\nillustrates the growth of sound critical instincts in\\nthe eighteenth century than the demand for such\\na work.\\nThe publication of the Dictionary gave Johnson a Rasse-\\ncommanding position in the world of letters, and\\nsoon placed him above want. Not at once, however,\\nfor, in 1759, we find him writing with great rapidity\\nhis philosophical romance of Rasselas, to defray\\nthe expenses of his mother s funeral. This became\\nthe most popular of his works, and one may meet\\ntranslations of it all over the world. It describes\\nthe search for happiness of a certain Prince and\\nPrincess, and moves to a suggestion that this search\\ncan never be fulfilled. Says the Eastern sage, Imlac,\\nHuman life is everywhere a state in which much\\nis to be endured and little to be enjoyed. This\\ngrave conclusion is doubtless Johnson s own.\\nAfter this time Johnson did not write much, until iyes of\\nin his ripe old age he produced, as prefaces to an f^ffrgj\\nedition of the poets, those 44 Lives which are really\\nhis best and most living works. But we cannot call\\nhim idle. For many years he devoted himself to a great\\nneglected art, the Art of Conversation. Several other\\nfamous Englishmen have excelled in this art, notably\\nBen Jonson and Samuel Taylor Coleridge but surely\\nJohnson was the greatest talker of them all. When\\nhe wrote, his style was pompous, though solid and\\nweighty he used a great many big words and Latin-\\nized inversions, so that a Johnsonian style has\\nbecome a proverb. But when he talked, the fertility", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "370\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nof his mind was amazing, and he had an alarming\\ngift for going directly to the point. His understand-\\ning was singularly powerful in all regions which it\\nwas competent to enter, and, as we read the happily\\nabundant records of his words, we feel that he was\\nindeed a masterly critic of society and life.\\nJohnson in It was during these years that Boswell, to our\\nadvantage and the regret of his lady, attached\\nhimself to the footsteps of the great man I have\\nseen a bear led by a man, sighed Mrs. Boswell,\\nbut I never before saw a man led by a bear.\\nThe bear, however, was the friendliest of creatures.\\nSurely, never can there have been more delightful\\nand memorable converse than that held at the Club\\nwhich he frequented. There met with him nearly\\nall the distinguished men of the day. Garrick, kind-\\nhearted beneath all his affectations, was a member\\nso were Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great artist, Burke\\nthe statesman and orator, C. J. Fox, Boswell, and\\nOliver Goldsmith. We have scant time in our hur-\\nried age for such leisurely, rich intercourse as that\\nthis group enjoyed even to think of it stimulates\\nthe imagination.\\nJohnson s The more we study Johnson, the more we appre-\\ncharacter.\\nciate his extraordinary vigor of mind and character.\\nToward the end of his life he suffered much, and on\\none occasion his organs of speech were paralyzed in\\nthe night this is how he described the experience\\nto a friend I was alarmed, and prayed God that,\\nhowever He might afflict my body, He would spare\\nmy understanding. This prayer, that I might try\\nthe integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin verse.\\nThe lines were not very good, but I knew them not", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 371\\nto be very good. I made them easily, and concluded\\nmyself to be unimpaired in my faculties. The man\\nwho could take such an experience in such a way\\nhad sanity of nature. There are times when noth-\\ning is more salutary to us than Johnson s sincere\\ncommon sense. His estimates are full of discern-\\nment. He thinks justly, but he thinks faintly,\\nsays Johnson of some one and that whole mind is\\nknown to us.\\nJohnson disavowed all false emotion and hated sen-\\ntimentality. Yet never was there a tenderer heart.\\nThe man who would snub a literary upstart with\\nincredible savageness, would, in his nocturnal ram-\\nbles round London, gently tuck pennies into the fists\\nof little sleeping ragamuffins, pleased to think of\\ntheir surprise in the morning. He filled his house\\nwith a queer set of dependents a blind old lady,\\na negro servant, and others, who squabbled with one\\nanother and grumbled at him and not only did he\\nbear their presence with resignation, but he actually\\nloved them with loyal, uncritical affection. Despite\\nhis gruffness, he was a warm and faithful friend.\\nAnd we respect Johnson most of all when we learn\\nthat under his kindliness and his social good cheer\\nthere lay a profound constitutional melancholy so\\ndeep that it was what doctors to-day call melan-\\ncholia. His ceaseless depression, borne with Chris-\\ntian courage and equanimity, makes him, when\\nrightly understood, a profoundly pathetic figure.\\nOpinions are often rather an unimportant part\\nof a personality but Johnson s opinions were very\\nmuch a portion of him. He was an extreme Tory\\nand a High Churchman. He liked the Stuarts,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "372\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nthough in rather a whimsical fashion it was a\\ngreat event to him, however, when king George sum-\\nmoned him to a talk. He fasted always on Good\\nFriday, and observed the discipline of the Church\\nwith scrupulous, solemn devotion. His religion was\\nintensely real to him. This is somewhat remark-\\nable, for Johnson did not have the great help of an\\nimagination in being religious. He was the sum-\\nmary of his age at its best and highest he embod-\\nied both its limitations and its strength.\\nII. Oliver Goldsmith\\n1728-1774. Goldsmith is the one author of the age to dispute\\nwith Johnson the position of literary preeminence\\nand there are many to whom the disreputable, ugly,\\nsoft-hearted Irishman seems a more engaging, if less\\nhonorable, figure than the great Doctor himself.\\nOliver Goldsmith, the son of an Irish clergyman,\\nreceived his education at Trinity College, Dublin.\\nHe led a wandering life, for some years, mainly on\\nthe Continent but, in 1756, he settled in London,\\nand picked up a living as he could by miscellaneous\\nhackwork in literature. Like many men of letters\\nat the time, he led a reckless, unconventional, pov-\\nerty-stricken, but, on the whole, light-hearted sort\\nof existence. He was continually in debt but this\\nwas largely because he was so generous to his friends,\\nand, even when we disapprove of him the most, we\\nfind him distinctly lovable. He died, unmarried, in\\nhis forty-sixth year.\\nThe Apart from the large body of his occasional and\\nier, i764. miscellaneous work, Goldsmith produced a surpris-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 373\\ning amount of permanent value. His two serious The\\npoems, The Traveller and The Deserted Vil- wake-\u00c2\u00b0 f\\nlage, are in Pope s metre, the heroic couplet; and 1756.\\nthey were submitted to Johnson for criticism, and, The\\nDeserted\\nperhaps, for revision. But they have a sincere feel- Village,\\ning and a sweetness of melody that we do not find in 177\\nPope, and a simplicity of art and emotion unknown\\nto Johnson. They are the last great work of the\\nartificial school in poetry. The Vicar of Wake-\\nfield is a story of undying charm. It is an idyl of The\\nsimple English country life, preposterous enough in ^tured\\nplot, but sparkling with delicate realism in the treat- JJjg\\nment of character. Humor and sentiment blend \u00c2\u00abske\\ninimitably in it. In Goldsmith s two comedies, conquer/\\nThe Good-natured Man and She Stoops to Con- 1773\\nquer, the cleverness of the drama of the Restora-\\nRichard\\ntion seems revived but the merry spirit is purer Brmsley\\nand tenderer. With the brilliant society dramas of 175^1816.\\nSheridan, The School for Scandal and The\\nRivals, they constitute the most important dra-\\nmatic work of the eighteenth century. Goldsmith s\\nwritings, as a whole, reveal a sensitive, emotional\\ntemperament; not assertive enough to escape the\\nliterary conventions around him, but strong enough\\nto manifest itself even through acquiescence in these\\nconventions. They have a grace, an ease, a gift of\\nhumor and tenderness, unknown to Johnson and\\nhis type of writers. Yet Johnson was the larger\\nman and Goldsmith, like most of his contempo-\\nraries, was submissive to the massive dictatorship of\\nthe great lexicographer.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "374\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nBoswell s Life of Johnson, ed. by Augustine Birrell.\\nTemple edition, Selected Essays of Johnson, ed. by George\\nBirkbeck Hill. Rasselas, ed. by George Birkbeck Hill,\\nClarendon Press. The Johnson Club papers, London, 1899,\\nCarlyle s Essay on Johnson. Macaulay s Essay on John-\\nson. Life of Johnson, Leslie Stephen (Acme Biography\\nSeries).\\nLife of Goldsmith, Austin Dobson (Great Writers Series)\\nbibliography at end. William Black (English Men of Letters).\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nBoswell should be read as much as time permits. It is\\ninstructive to read the Lives of the Poets, especially those\\nwhich treat of authors familiar to the class, and to discuss\\nJohnson s estimates. The critical standards and methods of\\nthe age of prose become well understood in this way. Simple\\ncapping of anecdotes about the great man may seem frivolous,\\nbut it is worth while.\\nOf course, The Vicar of Wakefield should be read entirely.\\nIt is a book to read rather than to analyze, however.\\nPersonal character sketches are in order at this point of our\\nliterary history. It is useful for the students to make them,\\nand literary gossip is more enticing perhaps, and more valu-\\nable here than at any previous point, because the material for\\npersonal knowledge of Johnson s famous contemporaries, espe-\\ncially of the members of the Literary Club, is so full.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nAn hour may be spent in a reproduction of an evening at\\nJohnson s club. A sort of story could be made of it, with\\nsketches of the distinguished people present, and little biogra-\\nphies of them.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "I\\nEH\\n02\\nU d\\n_ EH\\nft W\\ns\\n-CO -lO\\nfee jo a 10\\nOb O b-\\nO e3\\nPh\\no\\nEH\\nw w\\n02\\nM\\nft\\nw\\nc8\\nS3 iH\\nO Q 0 JO CM\\nCO rH\\na\\ncflrQ\\nP\\ngrH\\ncp,a c:\\n-^3\\no\\nCO\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a03 2-\\nI \u00c2\u00a7.s a\\nC/2 t-s 1 W\\na\\nft\\nSi\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2a a\\n_i 1\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I rH\\n\u00c2\u00a725\\n35 to\\n|1\\nPh\\na O\\no c3-.\u00c2\u00a3\\nM a g:3\\n8 s 5\\nN g^\u00c2\u00a3\\nCP\\no-\\nO\\ncm\\nb-\\n1 t-\\naV\\ncp co\\n02\\na\\na\\na-\\nv 3\\nFh re\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2rH\\nC3 CO\\nCO\\nu\\nO O bi\\n5 5 .9\\ns S\\nCP CP m\\nn n h3\\nCO\\nCO\\nb- b-\\nP r 1 o\\nr-H CO CO\\n^b- a\\n\u00c2\u00a7.s Si\\nS3 r 1 s s\\ni 3 S*\\nC3- O\\na 1\\nao\\n=3\\n^3 s3 .2\\nO H H 5\\no CO\\na\\no\\na\\nCP CO H\\nq CP CP\\nS o\\na spas\\nis\\ntH b-\\nI\\nb-^\\nCI CO\\nCO b-\\nb- tH\\ncp C\\no\\na g\\nci o\\n00 M Ob H CP\\na\\n1-5\\nCP\\na\\nCO\\nGO\\n^3 CP\\nCP o\\n63\\nO\\nCO", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "o\\nH\\nCO\\nP o\\no\\n2\u00c2\u00a75\\not-\\nP3\\nS3\\nbflrH CD\\nd\\nCO\\n.2\\nCD--I\\nas\\nIS\\n\u00c2\u00ab3\\ns\\nCD flo M\\nI 5 m I\\nCD\\nrH J2\\nf s\\nurn\\nr CD\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a23 d\\nCD O\\nII\\n!?3\\nCD d\\nJ\\ngPn\\nd-\\nd\\nS-2\\n2\\nrd f-l\\n8\\nCO\\no\\nCD CD\\n03 jli\\njl\\nt\u00e2\u0080\u0094 o\\nd j2\\nO rd\\nJD o 00\\nI- H\\n8g\\nt- 03\\n1?\\nCD\\n.d\\nO\\n.s\\n021-1\\n03^\\n3", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": ",ogg\\n05 GUI u\\nIS IS\\n3 as fei\\nUN\\n1 1\\no S3\\nA\u00c2\u00a9\\na*\\n00 j3\\n00 Ci\\nt\u00e2\u0080\u0094 t~\\n00\\n2 tf\\no \u00c2\u00abs\\nu\\nh 1\u00e2\u0080\u00941 .a 1-1 r\\nC5 oo\\nt- t-\\no\\niH t- HHt\\n5\\nCO\\n*s a*i StS^s\\nCO\\nS i 75 -2 5 .a\\n53 g\\no I\\nsi\\n22 w a\\na -2 s a\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0a a\\nII\\ngsn\\nO a O\\n03\\n*3\\nbe\\n-a --2\\n2 2 a\\nc3 C S-i\\nl\u00c2\u00bb fH\\n2 S 5\\no o\\nHO\\nS 3 3.2", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VII\\nTHE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT\\nI. Literature of Art\\nSTRANGE thing happened to the brilliant lit-\\nerature of the eighteenth century the curse\\nof stupidity fell upon it.\\nThere is a certain irony about this fate. The\\ncentury had aimed before all things at polish, lucid-\\nity, sparkle. In the pursuit of these it had for-\\ngotten all other matters and its desires had largely\\nbeen attained. The wits of Queen Anne s day had\\nbrought into literature the grace of the best society.\\nEvery one applauded, every one thought that new\\nstandards of correctness and of charm had been\\nestablished for all time. But it was not so. The\\ndelightful play on the surface of life which pleases\\nus in the age of Queen Anne ceases before the cen-\\ntury is half over. At times a little of it lingers, as\\nin the witty comedies of Goldsmith and Sheridan\\nbut on the whole, the literature of the latter half of\\nthe century is very serious reading, and, if the truth\\nmust be told, often it is extremely dull.\\nThe truth is, that new ways of saying things can\\ncharm us only a short time, unless there is some-\\nthing to say. When people prefer decorum to origi-\\nnality, they get either frivolous or tedious and an\\n378", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 379\\nage which aims at form alone soon exhausts itself.\\nThe eighteenth century was emphatically such an\\nage. Propriety, respectability, prevail in the litera-\\nture produced under the Georges and in the pres-\\nence of this proper and respectable literature, we feel\\nan irresistible desire to yawn.\\nEdward Young, for instance, who was a clever Edward\\nman, reclaimed an infidel in several books of rhymed ^1^795\\narguments, which he called Night Thoughts. Night\\nBefore we are half through, we feel a depraved 174T1745!\\nsympathy for that unfortunate Infidel. Blair s Robert\\nu The Grave and Akenside s Pleasures of the 1699-1746.\\nImagination are other books of this class. It is The\\npossible to discover merits in both, particularly in 1743.\\nAkenside, but no one is likely to do so unless he is Mark\\nobliged to read them. As for the sermons and 1721-1770!\\ndidactic work, of which a large amount was pro- Pieas-\\nduced in prose during the latter part of the century, Imagina-\\nonly the stinging pen of the author of the Dun- 1744*\\nciad could do it justice. Johnson s Vanity of\\nHuman Wishes and his Rasselas are probably\\nthe best work of this kind that the age produced.\\nThere is real power in them, for they are the work\\nof a strong mind but they are not enlivening\\nto read. Even the men of lighter temper, with\\ninstincts of the pure artist in them, feel the con-\\ntagion Goldsmith, in his most sensitive poetry,\\npauses to moralize and preach.\\nII. Literature of Thought\\nCharm and refreshment are as a rule far to seek in\\nlater eighteenth-century literature. Yet the times\\nwere not dead they did a solid, important work.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "380\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nRise of\\nhistory.\\nDavid\\nHume,\\n1711-1776.\\nHistory\\nof Eng-\\nland,\\n1754-1762.\\nSmollett s\\nA Com-\\nplete His-\\ntory of\\nEngland,\\n1757-1765.\\nWilliam\\nRobertson,\\n1721-1793.\\nEdward\\nGibbon,\\n1737-1794.\\nThe His-\\ntory of the\\nDecline\\nand Fall\\nof the\\nRoman\\nEmpire,\\n1776-1788.\\nPhiloso-\\nphy and\\ntheology.\\nIt was just the kind of work which one would expect\\nfrom an age which had placed itself under the rule\\nof the understanding. Art values are slight in it,\\nbut thought values are great; and the achieve-\\nment of the unemotional, vigorous minds of that\\nday had a large share in making the nineteenth\\ncentury what it was. We must dismiss this in-\\ntellectual work, too briefly for its importance, but\\nit must at least be mentioned.\\nIn the first place, as we run our eyes down the\\ncentury, we notice, shortly after 1750, a very impor-\\ntant appearance that of modern history. Within\\nabout twenty-five years, a significant group of histo-\\nrians appears. The first is Hume, a great name\\nwhom every one knows then Smollett, the novel-\\nist, who continued Hume s History of England\\nthen Robertson, a Scotchman, as Hume was and\\nfinally, the greatest of all, Gibbon, whose Decline\\nand Fall of the Roman Empire belongs strictly to\\nliterature proper, so magnificently is it written, so\\ntruly is it a product of the synthetic imagination as\\nwell as of the constructive intellect.\\nHistory had of course existed in England before\\nthis time, but it had been chiefly in the form of con-\\ntemporary memoirs and chronicles. The new interest\\nin actual life of the eighteenth century created and\\ndemanded more than this. Of course, the historians\\nof that time had not the great help offered to their\\nsuccessors by modern evolutionary methods we are\\nall the more filled with admiration for them when\\nwe see what substantial, and in some cases abiding,\\nwork they accomplished without this help.\\nEven before history is fairly under way, we notice", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 381\\na strong, significant development of philosophical\\nand theological writing. Here, too, the rationalist\\nmethods of the age had a great though partial work\\nto do. Butler s Analogy was published nearly Joseph\\n_ _ *1 _ \u00c2\u00b11 J Butler,\\nten years betore rope s death. b rom this time, Bishop of\\nthrough the philosophical writings of Hume, to iS\u00c2\u00a3r752.\\nPaley s Evidences, we have a number of books, Analogy\\nsome among them of almost the first importance, ligion,\\ndealing, from an orthodox or a radical point of 1736\\nview, with religious and philosophical matters. Paiey, m\\nThis new activity, this variety of thought, is yet 174 18()o\\nmore evident when we come to the next group, Evidences\\nthe political and economic writings of the times. \u00c2\u00a34Sty\\nSpeculations of this order became especially promi- 1794\\nnent during the closing years of the century we Political\\nmight say, after 1775. Doubtless our affairs here in nomfc 0-\\nAmerica had something to do with this quickening wntm s s\\nof thought on political lines. We meet among\\nwriters in this group some of the same names as\\nthose in the other lines, for men of vigorous thought\\npass easily from history to politics, and from meta-\\nphysics to social philosophy. Also, we meet some\\nnew names. We find, as in religious discussion,\\nmany shades of opinion represented. We have the\\nnoble conservatism of Burke, the great statesman, Edmund\\nthe orator supreme in eloquence, author, apart ^799^1797.\\nfrom his great and glowing political speeches and\\npamphlets, of the first important essay on aesthetics,\\nin our literature. We have the instinct of radical\\nsocial speculation in Adam Smith and Bentham. d\\nWe have also the writings, of less intellectual 1723-1790.\\nworth, but with more power to make intellectual ere \u00e2\u0084\u00a2y\\ntheories dynamic, of Thomas Paine. Finally, we 1748-1832.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "382\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nThomas nave Godwin s Political Justice, published in\\n1737-1809. 1794; this may be taken as the last work of this\\nWilliam class during the century, and with Paley s Evi-\\nn56-i836 fences concludes the period.\\nIII. The Trend of Thought\\nCurrent\\nconserva-\\ntism.\\nLatent\\nradical\\ntenden-\\ncies, reli-\\ngious and\\nsocial.\\nTo discuss this large work in history, theology,\\nphilosophy, politics, and sociology would be out of\\nour scope. But the student of letters should realize\\nits importance. As we look back down the vista of the\\nages, these books, in the last half of the eighteenth\\ncentury, stand out as an achievement. They were\\npreparing the way for a revolution in art and life.\\nConservatism was the order of the day in the\\neighteenth century. The violent challenge of ex-\\nisting authorities and institutions in which the\\nseventeenth century had spent its force had grown\\nrepugnant to men. The Church became the accred-\\nited champion and guardian of the existing order,\\na strange enough role for her to play, when one\\nthinks of it. Politics had sunk largely into party\\nstrife for personal ends. People were all in a quiet\\nframe of mind. They anticipated no grave changes,\\nthey had settled down into a pleasant loyalty to the\\nconstitutional monarchy and the Established Church.\\nReassured in this way, men began to let the intel-\\nlect travel where it liked, and it travelled into strange\\nregions. Safe within the pale of outward conformity,\\ndeveloped slowly an immense speculative ardor. It\\nstarted in England as far back as the times of Hobbes\\nand Locke it continued in the feeble but significant\\nmovement of the English deists during the closing", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT 383\\nyears of the seventeenth and the beginning of the\\neighteenth century. From England it journeyed to\\nFrance, where two great men, Voltaire and Rousseau,\\ncarried it much farther toward scepticism in social\\nand religious lines than sober England had done\\nVoltaire, in particular, pursuing his inquiries wher-\\never they led with a keen audacity at which men held\\ntheir breath. Then, from France, it came back again\\nto England Hume is, at least, as great a sceptic as\\nVoltaire, and Godwin and Tom Paine carry the\\nmovement of inquiry to alarming if logical extremes\\nin their social speculations.\\nSo, if we look below the surface, we see that this The chai-\\np i n lenge of\\nmost conservative 01 ages was also one 01 the most authority\\nradical. Lulled by a false security, quickened by all\\nthe influences of a period which laid strong emphasis\\non clear and vigorous wits, men formed brand-new,\\nstartling theories of the state and of society. They\\nchallenged all authority, religious and social. It in-\\nterested them to do this they took a hearty, placid\\nenjoyment in it. Their speculation does not seem\\nparticularly to have affected their practical relation\\nto the system around them. Voltaire, the arch-\\nsceptic, built a little church at Fernex, where the\\ndevout peasants still revere his memory. We find\\nHume, the adversary of Christianity, and Paley, its\\ndefender, both advising young men of free-thinking\\ntendencies to take holy orders. Pope, the Roman\\nCatholic, wrote uncriticised Iris deist Essay on Man,\\nIn social theory the incongruity was equally great.\\nThe strange thing is that, whenever any definite\\ncontroversy arose, the conservative forces were likely\\nto get the best of the argument, yet these forces", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "384\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nthemselves were becoming unconsciously suffused\\nwith the scepticism they meant to controvert.\\nSo it came to pass that, while the Town played\\ncards and flirted, and the Wits flavored their tea\\nwith personal satire, and the Moralists droned, the\\nThinkers were quietly putting up a row of question\\nmarks on the horizon. By and by the eyes of all\\nmen would be uplifted to that horizon, and then\\nstrange things might happen. Beneath all frivolity\\nand outward stagnation new forces were seething.\\nAs yet, they appeared in the literature of thought\\nonly, not in the literature of art but a touch of\\npassion, and they would become active. Amazed\\nenough would the thinkers have been could they\\nhave foreseen the near results of their intellectual\\nfreedom and their critical temper. But they could\\nnot foresee the nineteenth century, any more than\\nthe nineteenth was able to foresee the twentieth.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nLeslie Stephen, History of English Thought in the Eigh-\\nteenth Century, esp. Vol. II, Ch. IX. Huxley, Life of Hume,\\nEnglish Men of Letters. Lecky, Life of Gibbon. Morley,\\nBurke.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nA little reading should be done in the extremely dull authors\\nmentioned in the first of the chapter, to give the students an\\nadded appreciation of the literature of the awakening that is to\\nfollow. The extracts in Ward s English Poets would suffice.\\nThe philosophical, historical, and sociological books discussed\\nin the latter part of the chapter can hardly be attempted in\\nclass, though selections from Hume and Gibbon in Craik s\\nEnglish Prose might be read, and Burke is available and\\nvaluable reading for young people.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT\\n385\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe hasty study in the text of the intellectual forces leading\\nup to the Revolution might well be supplemented by a lecture\\nwhich should trace more fully the growth of social theories\\nduring the eighteenth century. Stephen s History, as given\\nabove, Morley s Burke, Diderot, Rousseau, Royce s\\nSpirit of Modern Philosophy, will give ample material for\\nsuch a lecture or series of lectures.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VIII\\nTHE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\nFORCES of intellectual revolt had then been\\nsilently gathering all through the eighteenth\\ncentury. But forces of emotional revolt had been\\ngathering too, and by and by these two would meet.\\nWe trace these forces of emotional revolt through\\nwhat is known as the Romantic Revival.\\nThe classic ideal is restrictive it instinctively or\\ndeliberately adopts certain limits within which art is\\nto aim at perfection. In this sense, the eighteenth\\ncentury was really classic, for it was a restrictive\\nperiod. The romantic ideal on the other hand is\\nexpansive, and in this chapter we are to trace the im-\\npulses making, even in this restrictive age, for free-\\ndom, and preparing the way for that great outbreak\\nof romantic feeling in which the modern world was\\nborn. Passion, faith, wonder, had, as we know, been\\nreplaced by candor and common sense it is their\\ngradual return which we are to watch.\\nI. The Return to Nature\\nThe first step in this process was the turning away\\nfrom civilization to Nature. In the age of Queen\\nAnne men s thoughts had centred wholly in the\\nsophisticated society of the town the marvel and\\nbeauty of the natural world were quite sealed to their\\n386", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\n387\\neyes. Pope, in the Preface to his Pastorals, con-\\ndemned Spenser s Shepherd s Calendar because it\\ngave a separate lyric to each month the months\\nwere so much alike, said Pope, that the poet could not\\npossibly find enough variety in them to inspire him.\\nThings were not much better later in the century.\\nWe find Dr. Johnson snubbing Boswell, who had\\nused some admiring adjective concerning a moun-\\ntain they saw together in Scotland. Sir, said the\\nlexicographer, it is a considerable protuberance.\\nThe proper study of mankind is Man was the pre-\\nvailing sentiment, and the climax of such study was\\nundoubtedly, in further words of Pope, To catch\\nthe manners living as they rise.\\nBut just at the turn of the second quarter of the James\\ncentury, a poet appeared who began to show people r7W^i748.\\nthat the country was worth looking at. His name\\nwas James Thomson. It is curious to note that he\\nwas a Scotchman, when we remember that the last\\nconsiderable development of the poetry of Nature had\\nbeen with the Scottish poets of the fifteenth century.\\nThomson s Seasons were a new departure in form, Winter,\\nfor Thomson used blank verse instead of the all- 726\\nprevalent heroic couplet. They were a yet greater mer,\\ndeparture in substance, for they contained much de- 172/\\nliberate description of Nature in her different aspects. ii2S. mg\\nThomson s descriptions deal a great deal in enumera- The\\ntion unfused with personal passion he shows little including\\nselective instinct for what is beautiful. He dwells a nda Umn\\nmore on Nature s use to man than on her beauty. Mature 11\\nHe shares the mechanical idea of his day, which 173\\nregarded the universe not as a living whole, but as a\\ngreat system or order of nicely adjusted parts, wit-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "388\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nnessing by the ingenuity of its plan to the wisdom and\\nbeneficence of the Creator. But if Thomson s work\\nis heavy it is truly felt. He really loved the country\\nand looked straight at it, and that is more than any\\nother man was doing at the time.\\nLib- Thomson was a young man, under thirty, when\\ni73\u00c2\u00a3i736. he wrote The Seasons. He grew duller as he\\ngrew older. His long poem, Liberty, was so\\nuninteresting that even the eighteenth century and\\nhis personal friends found it hard reading and his\\nTragedies, of which he wrote several, were also\\npoor. But in 1748 appeared a poem, written fifteen\\nyears earlier, which showed even more genius than\\nThe The Seasons. This was an imitation of Spenser,\\nindo- 6 f called The Castle of Indolence, a dreamy, roman-\\n1748? ^ic, allegorical narrative full of charm. It has lines\\nlike these\\nA wood\\nOf blackening pines, ay waving to and fro,\\nSent forth a sleepy horror through the blood,\\nlines which sound like a fragment of Tennyson,\\nwandering forlorn in the age of Johnson.\\nII. Quickening of the Imagination\\nIn the second quarter of the century, the new\\nforces found more varied and significant ex-\\nponents than Thomson, in William Collins and\\nThomas Gray. The impulse of Thomson was\\ntoward observation and reflection the impulse of\\nthese two greater poets was purely imaginative.\\nThey were lyric poets in an age of prose and sing-\\nsong; and while the seesaw of the heroic couplet", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\n389\\nwent on, melodies of intricate and studied\\nloveliness formed on their lips. They were men of\\na feeling for Greece finer and more sincere than\\nthat of the other writers of their day, yet they\\nwere both driven by an imperious inward stress to\\ndwell upon the wild, remote, and gothick dreams\\nof the visionary ancestors of their race. They wrote\\nclassic odes, therefore, with exquisite instinct for\\nlucidity and precision of form, but we find Collins\\nproducing also an Ode on the Superstitions of the\\nWest Highlands, full of the thrill of mystery which\\nthe taste of his day so disliked and Gray turned, in\\nhis later years, with the ardor of a mystic to the\\ngrim unknown mythology of the North. The whole\\nachievement of Collins and Gray, slight as it is in\\nbulk, is full of contending influences, and it has,\\ntherefore, a psychological interest which we do not\\noften find in eighteenth-century verse.\\nOne is sorry for both these men. One feels that William\\nthe air of the eighteenth century stifled them and 1721-1759.\\nindeed the very smallness of their product would\\nimply that their powers were choked at the source.\\nCollins wrote even less than Gray, and his life was\\ntragic. He was educated at Oxford, and printed a\\nlittle volume of Persian Eclogues, when he was\\nstill an undergraduate; when he was twenty-five\\nyears old, appeared a tiny pamphlet, every poem of\\nwhich, had the public only known, was of pure gold.\\nHere is the famous Ode to Evening, and The\\nPassions, and the exquisite lyric, How sleep the\\nbrave who sink to rest. The book, at the time,\\nfailed to sell, and Collins destroyed the edition. He\\nwas to give the world little more. His feeling for", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "390\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nThomson found expression in some charming elegiac\\nverses in 1749 the great Ode on the Superstitions\\nof the Highlands was written. But terrible melan-\\ncholy, which travel proved hopeless to dispel, was\\ngaining on Collins in 1751 he became hopelessly\\ninsane, and his death found him almost forgotten\\neven by his friends.\\nThomas It is a sad story, yet hardly sadder than the more\\nini-mi. quiet story of the life of Gray. For Gray spent\\nover thirty years of his life in shrinking seclusion\\nat Cambridge, a prey to depression, which, if milder\\nthan that of Collins,, yet cast a dim shadow over\\nhis days. He was a man of a tender and sensi-\\ntive nature, devoted to his mother and his aunt,\\nardent if at times exacting in friendship, and one\\nof the most modern men in the whole temper of his\\nmind that the eighteenth century shows. He never\\nspoke out, says Matthew Arnold. Gray s product is,\\nif we except Collins s, the smallest from any English\\npoet of the first quality, or even of the second, and\\na poet of at least the second quality we must recog-\\nnize in the writer of an Elegy in a Country Church-\\nyard. He is probably the most important poetic\\nfigure in our literature between Pope and Words-\\nworth.\\nGray received his education at Eton and Cam-\\nbridge. He formed a friendship with Horace Wal-\\npole, a dilettante man of letters of the day, and a\\ngood-hearted, if rather frivolous, person. With\\nWalpole he spent three years travelling in France\\nand Italy, at the end of which time he quarrelled,\\nthough only temporarily, with his friend, and re-\\nturned to settle down at Cambridge for the rest of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL 391\\nhis life. Gray is the most purely academic of all our\\ngreat poets, and his natural nicety of ear was fostered\\nby strict classic studies. He wrote while still young\\na few short lyrics, which he called odes, poems full\\nof delicate art, but somewhat frigid and conventional.\\nIn 1750, he finished the Elegy, begun eight years Elegy in\\nbefore. Another lapse of years, marked only by church- try\\ntrifles, and we find him producing two Pindaric odes {^if\\nwhich are probably the noblest poems of this precise\\nclass in the language, The Progress of Poesy and\\n44 The Bard. The splendid harmonies of these poems\\ndoubtless prepared the way for the lyrics of Coleridge\\nand Shelley. Still a few years, and Gray had become\\npossessed with the ancient poetry of the North, par-\\nticularly of Iceland, and was versifying poems from\\nthe 44 Edda, with the same sort of enthusiasm that\\nWilliam Morris has shown in our own day. Though\\nstudy without genius could never have produced\\nGray s poems, genius without study would have been\\nequally incapable. This is just as true of the\\n44 Elegy, despite its careful simplicity in style and\\ntheme, as of the poems upon the more scholastic sub-\\njects. All Gray s poetry is exquisitely wrought in\\ndetail; in tone it is subdued, although at times very\\nlofty. It has a truly classic sense for style, and a\\ntruly romantic choice of subject.\\nGray s Letters and Journal are as charming as his\\npoetry, and show even more clearly how susceptible\\nhe was to the new, delicate feeling for Nature. Some\\nof the descriptive phrases in his letters are worthy of\\nShelley. Gray s whole work is prophetic of what is\\nto be but it is more than prophecy, it is a trium-\\nphant, if limited, achievement.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "392\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nIII. Literaey Revivals\\nWilliam\\nShen-\\nstone s\\nThe\\nSchool-\\nmistress,\\n1737, 1742.\\nJames\\nBeattie s\\nThe\\nMinstrel,\\n1771, 1774.\\nBallads.\\nThomas\\nPercy,\\nBishop of\\nDromore,\\n1728-1811.\\nReliques\\nof Ancient\\nEnglish\\nPoetry,\\n1765.\\nThomas\\nChatter-\\nton, 1752-\\n1780.\\nThe third quarter of the century was barren of\\nany new creative work but as it went on, a reviv-\\ning tide of life from the romantic past began to creep\\nover the arid minds of the day. There were three\\ncurrents in it. The first showed in the numerous\\nimitations of Spenser. The Castle of Indolence\\nbore witness, in quite another way than that we have\\nnoted, to the indestructibility of the romantic tradi-\\ntion, for it was written in the Spenserian stanza, and\\nin direct imitation of Spenser. This reversion to\\nthe prince of romance means a great deal. For half\\na century Waller, Denham, and Cowley had been the\\npoetic authorities most constantly cited now, the\\nspell of Faerie Land began to assert itself once more.\\nShenstone s Schoolmistress was another imitation,\\nand later in the century, in 1771, Beattie s Min-\\nstrel gave in Spenser s stanza a touching picture of\\nthe life of a young poet. There were other less im-\\nportant poems of the same class.\\nThe second current flowed from the enthusiasm for\\nold English ballads. Addison had liked ballads and\\ndefended them, but against the taste of his time.\\nNow, in 1765, the publication of a volume of Re-\\nliques of Ancient English Poetry, a collection made\\nby Bishop Percy, fairly brought the ballads back into\\npopular favor. The most interesting consequence to\\nfollow at once in the world of letters was the work of\\nThomas Chatterton, a boy of genius, who tried to\\npalm off his own productions on the public as the\\nwork of a mediaeval monk named Rowley. Chatter-\\nton committed suicide when only seventeen years old,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\n393\\nand later poets have never ceased to lament the fate\\nof The sleepless soul that perished in his pride, as\\nWordsworth called him.\\nStill more searching and pervading at this time\\nwas another influence, the strangest that could pos-\\nsibly be conceived as invading the eighteenth cen-\\ntury. It was that of the wild old Celtic epic of\\nFinn and Ossian. In 1T60, and again in 1762 and Ossianic\\n1763, a Scotch schoolmaster, James Macpherson, as- revivaL\\ntonished the world with what he claimed to be trans- Macpher-\\nlations from the ancient Ossianic poems. They were i796. 1738\\na new flavor to the jaded appetites of the day, and\\nthey gained notoriety at once. Soon the genuine-\\nness of the poems was called in question, and people\\nin England and Europe came almost to blows over\\nthe question. The whole story of Macpherson s Macpher-\\nOssian is one of the most romantic episodes of ^ossian,\\nliterary history. Of course, we know to-day that 1762\\nhe did not invent the whole thing that there was,\\nboth in Scotland and Ireland, a cycle of poems about\\nFinn and Ossian of which he doubtless possessed\\nsome knowledge. But we know also that the primi-\\ntive old epic motifs look strangely when translated\\ninto the bombastic, misty, sentimental language which\\nMacpherson adopted, and that his version, if version\\nit may be called, is a curious hybrid thing, which has\\nlittle value for us now that we have so many original\\ndocuments in our hands. Even diluted, however,\\nthe Celtic magic proved immensely powerful in help-\\ning to transform the mood and taste of the eigh-\\nteenth century, in Europe as well as in England.\\nThe vogue of Spenserian imitations, of old ballads,\\nand of Macpherson s Ossian were by no means the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "394\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nThe\\nGothic\\nrevival.\\nHorace\\nWalpole,\\nEarl of\\nOrford,\\n1717-1797.\\nThe\\nCastle of\\nOtranto,\\n1764.\\nonly symptoms that a new spirit was stirring. Gray s\\nfriend Horace Walpole, built himself a country house\\nat Strawberry Hill where all the bizarre absurdities\\nof a half-understood imitation Gothic held merry riot.\\nHe also bequeathed a more enduring monument of\\nthe change of taste, in a romance called the Castle\\nof Otranto, which he presented in 1764 to the be-\\nwildered world. This extraordinary little book, which\\nreads like a burlesque on a mediaeval novel of Scott s,\\nvaliantly set at defiance the virile tradition of realism\\nin fiction which Fielding and Smollett had by this time\\nestablished. Its aim was the improbable, its delight\\nthe preposterous and mammoth helmets, clanging\\narmor, and ghostly voices made up a sort of chari-\\nvari of pleasing and wholly unmotived horrors.\\nThe type proved popular, and was followed after a\\nmilder and slightly more rational manner by Mrs.\\nRadcliffe in her Mysteries of Udolpho and Chil-\\ndren of the Forest, and by other authors of less\\nrepute.\\nIV. The Methodist Movement\\nWe have seen how poetry was turning, for its in-\\nspiration, away from the town and the present to\\nNature and the past. But another power greater\\nthan these was at work in England. It was the\\npower of spiritual passion, bringing with it the love\\nfor men. Strangely blind as educated England\\nseemed in these days to all but worldly issues, the\\nEnglish race is profoundly religious at heart, and in\\nthe most sterile times of her experience the Spirit\\nhas never been without witnesses. Such a witness", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\n395\\nwas William Law, whose Serious Call to a Devout William\\nand Holy Life, published in 1729, was a strange i76i 1668\\noutburst of earnest feeling in a frivolous age. But Serious\\na profound spiritual movement sprang up soon after Devout a\\nLaw s day, and ran its great course apart from the Life^\u00c2\u00b0 ly\\nkeen wits and the Established Church of the time. im\\nWhile the deists and their clever orthodox oppo-\\nnents combined to prepare the way for modern scep-\\nticism, the Methodist movement, led by the Wesleys, John\\nwas keeping Christianity warm and living at the 1703-1791.\\nnation s heart. Charles\\nMethodism did not have at once much visible in- no\u00c2\u00a3i788.\\nfluence on literature, though the fervent hymns of\\nthe Wesleys are among the few genuine lyrics of\\nthe age but its indirect effect in softening the\\nhearts of the nation and preparing the way for the\\ntender sense of brotherhood among all men cannot\\nbe estimated. And the last harbinger of the modern\\nworld among the eighteenth-century poets reflects\\nin his work this spiritual movement, with its social\\ncorrelate. William Cowper is one of the most pa- William\\nthetic, endearing, and tragic figures of English let- n^isoo.\\nters. He was not a man of so much imagination as\\nGray or Collins his was the poetry of a sensitive\\nand tender heart, and it marks the return of true,\\nsimple feeling into our literature.\\nCowper adds yet another to the many writers of\\nthe century whose lives were miserable. The num-\\nber of these unhappy men is appalling. Genius does\\nnot necessarily render unhappy. One is sure that\\nShakespeare, Spenser, Sidney, loved to be alive, how-\\never deep they might at one time or another plunge\\ninto anguish. Nor would one dare to call Milton", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "396\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nunhappy, remembering what lofty idealism sustained\\nhim. But neither Swift nor Collins nor Chatterton\\nnor Cowper loved to be alive Johnson and Gray,\\nthough their fate was of a less tragic order, suffered\\nfrom what would to-day be considered pathological\\nmelancholia; the same thing is true of various\\nminor men. It is a strange comment on the craving\\nfor equanimity and hatred of extremes of that com-\\nplacent age, that its most sensitive sons were pur-\\nsued by madness.\\nCowper s Cowper was a contemporary of Blake and Burns\\nbut there was enough of the pedestrian gait of the\\neighteenth century in his work to justify us in treat-\\ning him first, before we come to those winged ones.\\nIt was not till youth was over, and he had known an\\nexperience of deep agony, that he became a poet.\\nThe first attack of the terrible mental malady, from\\nwhich he suffered all his life at recurring intervals,\\ncame upon him in 1763, as a result of his horror at\\nthe ordeal of an examination which he was expected\\nto pass. His illness then, as ever, took the form of\\ndespair of the mercy of God. It was impossible\\nhereafter for him to know an active life his friends\\narranged for him to live in the country. In little\\nvillages near the river Ouse, Cowper spent, from this\\ntime, a life of religious and domestic seclusion with\\ndear friends at his side. There were many gentle,\\nhappy days in the intervals of his malady and, like\\nmany melancholy people, he could be a charming\\nand sunshiny and humorous companion, as his lines\\non John Gilpin, and his letters about his pet hares\\nand other diversions abundantly testify.\\nHymns. Cowper s first poems were certain hymns which he", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\n397\\ncontributed to the little volume of Olney Hymns,\\nwritten by himself and by his pastor and spiritual\\nguide, John Newton. Oh, for a closer walk with\\nGod and God moves in a mysterious way are\\nthe most familiar. Two or three years later he\\nbegan to compose didactic and satirical pieces in\\nthe fashion of the day. These are not without\\nmerit, but they are quite thrown in the shade by his\\nlonger poem, The Task. This, with a handful of\\nshort poems, of which the Lines written on Receipt\\nof My Mother s Picture is the most beautiful, form\\nhis title to fame.\\nAt times The Task seems to us as didactic The\\nand heavy and prosy as any poem the eighteenth 1^5/\\ncentury produced, and we are tempted to lay it\\ndown in weariness. But something makes us con-\\ntinue, and the longer we read the more aware we\\ngrow that in this wandering poem are the notes of\\na new era.\\nIn the first place, it is one of the first poems in\\nwhich we have a simple, intimate self -revelation, such\\nas gives charm to so much of the poetry of the nine-\\nteenth century, from Wordsworth s Prelude to\\nTennyson s In Memoriam. Most of the verse of\\nthe eighteenth century is impersonal, but Cowper\\nlets us into his confidence and allows us to feel the\\npersonality behind the verse.\\nThen, the poem is full of a feeling for Nature, far\\nmore tender and modern than that of Thomson.\\nCowper does not care for wild nature. He gives\\nus no rushing cataracts like those loved by Words-\\nworth, but the sluggish little river Ouse, near which\\nhe lived no up-leaping mountains, but wide, placid", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "398\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nEnglish fields, such as stretched around his cher-\\nished Olney no mystery of enchanted woodland, but\\na garden and greenhouse in which the cucumbers are,\\none feels, as great a pleasure to him as the syringas\\nor the roses. We are forced to confess that he is\\nutilitarian at times. But this homely, quiet Nature\\nhe loved and described with close fidelity, and at\\ntimes with a true poetic touch. There are three\\ngreat relations that man can hold the relation to\\nGod, to Nature, to his fellow-men. We feel assured\\nin reading The Task that the second of these re-\\nlations is at last for the first time fully apprehended\\nas a poetic subject.\\nThe third relation also is conceived, though faintly,\\nin a new way by Cowper. His landscape has single\\nfigures in it, the poor, wandering woman, the post-\\nman, the thresher, that are quite in the later man-\\nner. Moreover, his poem breathes, with its strong\\nreligious passion, a love for humanity and for free-\\ndom wholly alien to anything to be found, let us say,\\nin Pope. Even inferior creation, the animal world,\\nis treated by Cowper with a loving sympathy such\\nas had never been known before. There is nothing\\nvery vivid in The Task the fulness of life and\\nbeauty, so soon to be revealed in Nature and humanity,\\nit was not given to Cowper to feel. All his work is\\na twilight piece, but its gentle sweetness and true\\ninsight endear it to us, and give it a permanent\\nplace in English letters.\\nTransia- Cowper attempted one more long piece of work,\\nHomer a translation of Homer. He tried to be more faith-\\n1791 ful than Pope, and succeeded but he did not master\\nthat elusive secret of Homer which has baffled all", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0402.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL\\n399\\ntranslators. He lived till 1800, surviving the dear\\nold friend, Mrs. Unwin, with whom he had lived in\\ndomestic comfort for many years, and whose gradual\\ndecline he had watched with the tender sorrow which\\nfinds touching expression in the lines To Mary.\\nHis last days were sorrowful, yet we need not think\\nof sorrow when we think of Cowper we may think\\nof one of the most winning, most tender, and sweetest\\nnatures that our literature has known.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nW. Phelps, Beginnings of the English Romantic Movement.\\nBeers s English Romanticism, eighteenth century. Gosse s\\nedition of the prose and verse of Gray. Editions of Gray, Col-\\nlins, Cowper, in the Athenaeum Press Series, with Introductions.\\nGosse, Life of Gray. Essays on Gray, Matthew Arnold,\\nLowell. Cowper, Life, by Goldwin Smith. Introduction to\\nselections in Golden Treasury Series, by Mrs. Oliphant. Life\\nof Horace Walpole, by Austin Dobson. See esp. the descrip-\\ntion of Strawberry Hill. Centenary edition of Ossian s Poems,\\ned. by William Sharp (Patrick Geddes, Edinburgh). Percy s\\nReliques. Stopford Brooke, Theology in the English Poets,\\nhas interesting treatment of Cowper.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThis is perhaps a time when the historic estimate (see Mat-\\nthew Arnold, on the Study of Poetry is more important\\nthan the real estimate, for it is a period of promise and transi-\\ntion, less great in itself than periods which precede and follow,\\nbut extremely significant in literary evolution. Readings from\\nThomson, Gray, Collins, Cowper, should be carried on with\\nthe aim of sensitiveness to the romantic elements in their work,\\nwhether new or revived. Also the respects in which their work\\nconforms to the tastes and standards of their times should be\\nnoted. The awakening feeling for Nature should be traced.\\nThe influence of the Greek at first hand should be noted in\\nGray and Collins, and the advance toward full romanticism", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0403.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "400\\nTHE AGE OF PROSE\\nfollowed. One poem, preferably the Elegy in a Country\\nChurchyard, should be exhaustively studied, stanza by stanza,\\nwith notice of epithet, pause melody, sentiment, and all detail.\\nSpecial topics may be given on Cowper s pets, on Gray s feeling\\nfor Nature.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nIf time permits, a lecture on any one of these men individ-\\nually is full of value. The aim should be to trace in their work\\nthe interplay of old and new, and also to interest the students\\nin their personalities.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0404.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "PART V\\nMODERN ENGLAND", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0405.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0406.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER I\\nTHE HERALDS: BURNS AND BLAKE\\nI. The New Notes\\nOf a the airts the wind can blaw\\nI dearly like the west,\\nFor there the bonie lassie lives,\\nThe lassie I lo e best.\\nThe moon like a flower\\nIn Heaven s high bower\\nWith silent delight\\nSits and smiles on the night.\\nWhere do these voices come from, with their\\nsweet and tender melody From the fourteenth\\ncentury? No, surely. From the sixteenth? The\\nanswer hesitates a little, but dares not quite say\\nYes. From the seventeenth? Hesitation still.\\nFrom the eighteenth? Probably the reply sounds\\nclear, No, not from the eighteenth, not from the\\ncentury of Pope and Johnson, of satire, reason, and\\nprose.\\nYet these two poems were both written within the\\nlast quarter of the eighteenth century. The author\\nof the first was a Scottish yeoman named Robert\\nBurns the author of the second a poor artist of\\nLondon, William Blake. The work conies to the\\ntraveller through the cheerless air of the eighteenth\\n403", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0407.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "404\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\ncentury with a fresh, delightful surprise. These are\\nthe heralds of a new order song-birds of the dawn,\\nproclaiming the rise of a new day.\\nWhat makes the poetry of these two men so dif-\\nferent from what had gone before Let us look at\\nthem and see.\\nII. Robert Burns\\nBurns s Robert Burns was born in a cottage built by his\\n1759-1796. father s hands in Ayrshire, Scotland. He had little\\nschooling, and was when a boy farm laborer on his\\nfather s farm poor all his life, with a poverty that\\nsadly deepened toward the end. Not much need be\\nsaid of his biography it is written in his poems.\\nHe was of an emotional temperament, too emo-\\ntional, and few grave duties or high imaginings\\ncame in his way to satisfy his passions and prevent\\nthem from feeding on crude self-indulgence. But\\nhis nature was rooted firm in sincerity and honor.\\nHe won his first fame when he was twenty-seven\\nyears old by a volume of poems for which he re-\\nceived twenty pounds he was feted in Edinburgh,\\nand the false taste of the times spoiled some of his\\nverses but he was always simple at heart. He mar-\\nried one of his many early loves, Jean Armour, and\\nsettled down into the life of a farmer but failing to\\nsucceed was appointed exciseman, and moved to the\\ntown of Dumfries, where he died, worn out by dis-\\nsipation and anxiety, in 1797. He had lived thirty-\\nseven years, and dowered Scotland with immortal\\nstore of song.\\nSo we see that Burns s life was all lived within", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0408.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "THE HERALDS\\n405\\nthe limits of the eighteenth century, but apart from\\nits conditions. In his work the Celt appears once\\nmore in our literature, bringing with him the pre-\\ncious gift which he always proffers sensitive emo-\\ntion, tremulous melody, natural magic. He sings of\\nthe elementary realities of life, which the school of\\nartifice had well-nigh forgotten. Open his poems Bums s\\nand note his range of subject. Here two dogs, subfect*\\ninimitably described, chat about the affairs of their\\nmasters; here the wee, sleekit, tim rous, cowerin\\nbeast ie, frightened by the plough, scampers away\\nwith a panic in her breastie here we are introduced\\nto the auld mare Maggie, or to Mailie, the dying\\nsheep. Again, we turn with relief from Thomson s\\npolyanthus with unnumbered dyes to a wee crim-\\nson-tipped daisy. On Saturday night we watch the\\npeasant family gathering after the healthy labors of\\nthe week for an evening of affection and rest. Or we\\nfind ourselves with a little shock in a less decorous\\ngathering, among the Jolly Beggars in a deserted\\nbarn, and hear them troll out their lawless melodies.\\nWe see poor Tarn o Shanter, riding post-haste on his\\nold gray horse, while a rout of witches chase him in\\nthe Scottish twilight. Even the devil is not excluded\\nfrom this sociable democracy of feelings; the devil of\\nfolk-lore, mediaeval in origin, a malicious but not\\nwholly unattractive companion.\\nPrince Chief of many throned powers\\nThat led th embattled Seraphim to war\\nso had Milton apostrophized his melancholy, majestic\\nSatan", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0409.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "406\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nThou whatever title suit thee,\\nAuld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,\\nresponds Burns, with cheerful and unparalleled au-\\ndacity, and ends the poem with a wistful hint of\\nfriendly compassion.\\nFinally, we find in Burns s poems the loveliest\\nlyrics since the great days of the sixteenth century.\\nLittle, tender, unelaborated things they are, written\\nto match the old melodies of the land, and they sing\\nthemselves into the heart and nestle there. They\\nare spontaneous in feeling as the lyrics of the Re-\\nnaissance, but they have a more human passion.\\nTreating mostly of love, some of them yet thrill\\nwith patriotic ardor or with convivial pleasure, with\\ndefiance of the rich, it may be, or better, with a new,\\ndeep instinct, half realized, for freedom and brother-\\nhood.\\nSignifi- This poetry of Burns, in its dialect of lowland\\nBurns? Scotch, is the full outpouring of the warm, super-\\npoetry, stitious, homely life of the peasant people. It has\\ndefects enough, and grave ones, the same defects\\nthat stain the life of the poet. His ardent nature\\nwas not fed much by knowledge or by art he did\\nnot think very much, any more than the people for\\nwhom he sang, and the spiritual values of life were\\nunknown to him. Burns is a beast, with splendid\\ngleams, wrote Matthew Arnold. But surely this\\nis too harsh a verdict. What we value in Burns\\nis the revelation of the worth of the primitive\\nexperiences common to all men, the natural passions,\\nthe consciousness of a life lived, not sentimentally\\nbut substantially close to the heart of Nature. He", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0410.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "THE HERALDS\\nfirst demonstrates that these common experiences\\nare the stuff of poetry for he sings them in verse\\nof irresistible charm. We love Burns also for the\\nspirit of democracy that pervades his work. Al-\\nthough sometimes he strikes the note of class antago-\\nnism in a painful way, now and again this spirit\\nfinds ringing, direct expression\\nThe rank is but the guinea s stamp,\\nA man s a man for a that.\\nThe sentiment is trite enough to-day, yet it still\\nstrikes home to our hearts, because it came so freshly\\nfrom the heart of Burns.\\nIII. William Blake\\nBurns brought our poetry back from artifice and 1757-1827.\\ndecorum to the warm and homely life of earth.\\nBlake escaped from this world almost altogether\\ninto the free air of spiritual mysticism. Burns\\nrestored passion to the lyric Blake summoned to its\\ninspiration the long-exiled imagination. All things\\nexist in the human imagination, was a strange, brief,\\npregnant saying of his. People called William Blake\\ninsane so perhaps in a sense he was but there are\\nthose who think that his madness knew more truth\\nthan the sanity of his age.\\nBlake was a little London boy and his father, Blake s\\nwho was a hosier, gave him small education beyond ai7ty\u00c2\u00b0 n\\nreading and writing. But the child had no lack of\\nexperiences. Once he came home from his walk\\nand told his parents that he had seen a tree full of\\nangels. His father whipped him, but he would not", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0411.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "408\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nPoetical\\nsketches,\\n1783.\\nSongs of\\nInno-\\ncence,\\n1789.\\ntake it back. All his life long he was haunted by\\nvisions. When the sun rises, said some one to\\nhim, 44 do you not see a round disk of fire something\\nlike a guinea Oh, no, no, he replied 44 1 see\\nan innumerable company of the heavenly host, cry-\\ning, 4 Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty.\\nWe are led to believe a lie\\nWhen we see with, not through, the eye,\\nhe says again, and those who know what he means\\nin this couplet will understand his poetry.\\nIt was natural that this vision-seeing boy should\\nhave turned to the arts that render beauty visible.\\nHe was fascinated by painting and by Gothic archi-\\ntecture, and became himself an artist, though most\\nof his work was in the unambitious branch of en-\\ngraving. Blake s work in art was valued more\\nhighly by the nineteenth century than by his con-\\ntemporaries. Some of it, like his illustrations for\\nthe Book of Job, has an imaginative power at times\\nsublime.\\nMost of the poems of Blake which we care for\\nto-day are in two little volumes, the 44 Songs of Inno-\\ncence and the 44 Songs of Experience. He printed\\nthem himself, as he did nearly all his books, and they\\ncan still be seen at the British Museum and else-\\nwhere. Sunset colors flush across their pages, and\\nthey are full of melodies, sweet as those of Burns,\\nbut with more elfin undertones. The 44 Songs of\\nInnocence is a book of verse about children. Chil-\\ndren had not interested the eighteenth century, but\\nthey interested Blake. It seems as if he had caught\\nand translated for us the first tremblings of con-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0412.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "THE HERALDS\\n409\\nsciousness in a baby s soul in some of these verses\\nin nearly all we feel that he has given us the true\\nspiritual secret in the heart of the child. What a\\njourney from Gray s Pindaric odes to these little\\nsongs Yet they are not so far separated in time.\\nThe Songs of Experience correspond to the Songs songs of\\nof Innocence, but where the first give the fair light, Jjence\\nthese give the shadow. We have the tiger for the 1793\\nlamb, we have sorrow for joy, and instead of inno-\\ncence a shuddering perception of sin throbs through\\nthe verses.\\nBlake also wrote what he called his Prophetical Prophet-\\nBooks, a series of extraordinary visions in strange, Books:\\nrhythmical prose. These books are for the most f j erusa\\npart unintelligible to the ordinary reader, but every Jem,\\nnow and then a passage flashes out, of profound Marriage\\nbeauty or meaning. When we do not understand and Hell,\\nBlake, the fault may often be ours rather than his. Unzen\\nFor he was a deep and audacious thinker. He was\\nfilled with a passionate longing for true social free-\\ndom and justice. He has no thrilling democratic\\nmanifesto like Burns s defiant A man s a man for\\na that, but a sweeping phrase of his, Everything\\nthat lives is holy, proclaims with power that has\\nnever been excelled the central spiritual truth on Blake\\nwhich democracy rests. The misery of the poor\\nwas heavy on his heart\\nThe beggar s rags fluttering in air\\nDo to rags the heavens tear,\\nhe exclaims. He is perhaps the first English poet to\\nbe filled with the social idealism that looks for the\\ncoming of God s kingdom on earth four lines of\\ndemoc-\\nracy.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0413.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "410\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nhis have been taken for the motto of a modern\\nsocialist paper\\nI will not cease from mental fight,\\nNor shall my sword sleep in my hand,\\nTill we have built Jerusalem\\nIn England s green and pleasant land.\\nBlake s Despite his speculative ardor and audacity and his\\ndefiance of law, Blake was a man of intense faith.\\nIf the sun and moon should doubt,\\nThey d immediately go out,\\nhe naively tells us. All things to him were charged\\nwith spiritual meaning the emblems or symbols of\\nmysterious forces. To quote his own words for the\\nlast time, he can teach us\\nTo see a world in a grain of sand\\nAnd a heaven in a wild flower,\\nHold infinity in the palm of your hand,\\nAnd eternity in an hour.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nThe Cambridge Burns, edited by Henley. Selections from\\nBurns, Athenaeum Press Series. Life of Burns, by Shairp\\n(English Men of Letters), by Blackie (Great Writers Series).\\nEssays on Burns by Carlyle and Stevenson.\\nSelections from Blake, edited by Wm. M. Rossetti. Selec-\\ntions, Canterbury Poets. Life, by Gilchrist. Monograph, by\\nSwinburne, Wm. B. Yeats, Ed., with Memoir and interpre-\\ntation.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nIf possible, let Burns s songs be sung to the class. Study the\\nlife of peasant Scotland as inferred from his poetry the new\\ndemocracy, as expressed by him; the noble and ignoble ele-\\nments in his genius. Compare his lyrics with those of the six-\\nteenth century with the poetry of Pope.\\nLet the class see any of Blake s drawings that are accessible.\\nThe Songs of Innocence and the Songs of Experience are\\ndelightful to read with a class.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0414.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER II\\nTHE NEW DEMOCRACY\\nI. Review of Forces making for Democracy\\nrriO explain the poetry of Blake and Burns, we have\\nhad to use a great word which we have rarely\\nneeded before. It is the word democracy. With-\\nout that word we cannot go a step farther, for\\nthrough the power of democracy nearly all the litera-\\nture of the last century was developed.\\nWe have glanced at the forces that all through the\\neighteenth century were making for a new order.\\nThe novel has shown us how people were coming to\\ntake as much interest in the lives of ordinary men\\nand women as in those of kings and queens and\\nheroes. The poetry of the romantic revival has sug-\\ngested how deep was becoming the restiveness under\\nrestraint and convention and we have found, now\\nand then, a sensitive person who begins to draw away\\na little critically from civilization, and to find his\\npleasure in simple life lived close to the heart of Na-\\nture. Meanwhile, the thinkers, both in France and\\nEngland, have begun to challenge authority of all\\nkinds in the Church and in the State and before\\nthe end of the century, a definite theory, daring in\\nthe extreme, has been put forth. It is the theory\\nthat all men have equal rights, to life, liberty, and\\nthe pursuit of happiness that simple manhood is in\\nitself a sacred thing. As early as 1776 the Declara-\\n411", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0415.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "412\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\ntion of Independence was signed in Philadelphia, and\\nthe new ideal for, trite though it seems to us\\nto-day, men hailed it then as new had entered the\\narena of action. But it still took some time for\\ndemocratic theory to possess with full force the\\nworld of letters. When this happened, it re-created\\nliterature.\\nLiterature needed quickening badly enough, for\\nall the old motives and inspirations seemed ex-\\nhausted. The enthusiasm for perfection of form\\nhad, as we have seen, worn itself out realism was\\ndeclining upon conventionality. The truth is, and\\nit is a truth which critics of the school of Addison\\nnever surmised, literature cannot live long unless\\nit is nourished by great ideals. Such ideals the\\neighteenth century could not supply, nor did it sus-\\npect that any were in reserve.\\nII. The French Revolution and Literature\\nYet all the time, an ideal as great as any that the\\nChristian world has ever known was silently on its\\nway the love of humanity and of freedom, and the\\nbelief that these shall one day transform the earth.\\nThat the new passion and faith were astir in people s\\nhearts before any outward events wakened them is\\nevident from the poetry of Blake and Burns for\\nthe genius of both these men had declared itself\\nbefore 1789, when the fall of the Bastille in Paris\\ngave the signal of a general quickening. But\\ndemocratic ardor was stimulated and freed more\\nthan we can estimate by the great outbreak of the\\nFrench Revolution. The eighteenth century ended", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0416.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "THE NEW DEMOCRACY\\n413\\nin the most dramatic passage of history that the\\nworld had seen for many a hundred years. And\\nout of that great drama of death and birth arose\\nthree noble words: liberty, equality, fraternity.\\nThis is the revolutionary formula, the revolutionary\\ncreed. It has taken men more than a century to un-\\nderstand those words, and we have not finished learn-\\ning our lesson yet.\\nPoor France was too occupied by the swift and\\namazing events which followed each other through\\nthe last decade of the century to express in poetry\\nthe new forces that were shaking her to her centre.\\nBut the English on their island had sufficient detach-\\nment to translate experience into art. Revolutionary\\nthought and passion permeate all the countries of\\nEurope in the early nineteenth century, but perhaps\\nthere is no literature which is so wholly possessed by\\nthem as that of England.\\nWe can study the progress of the revolutionary The Revo-\\ndrama in a poem by one of the great English seen 11\\npoets of this period: The Prelude, by William $3 _ h\\nWordsworth. worth s\\nPre-\\nThe very form of the poem is suggestive of the lude.\\nnew interest in the individual which democracy\\nbrought with it for it is a long autobiography in\\nverse. The Prelude is much like Cowper s\\nTask in some ways but it lets the personal\\ninterest, which in the Task slips in surreptitiously,\\nfrankly be the centre of the poem. Moreover, it has\\nmore passion and enthusiasm than the Task\\nand at times it soars into a higher poetic heaven\\nthan the gentle muse of Cowper ever entered. It is\\na Task with wings.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0417.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "414\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nWordsworth opens The Prelude with some\\nbooks of very great beauty, in which he describes his\\nchildhood among the lakes and hills of Cumberland,\\nthe English lake district. Then he tells us of his\\nEnglish education at the University of Cambridge\\nthen how he went to France during the revolutionary\\nperiod, a shy, mountain-bred boy and step by step\\nhe traces the effect of the great national drama of\\nthe Revolution on his spirit. A few glimpses of the\\nRevolution through the mind of Wordsworth will\\nmake us understand better what was happening to\\nall the men of his age.\\nEarly When Wordsworth first visited France, the Revo-\\ntionary lution was well under way, and it was in its earliest,\\nidealism. happiest gtage _\\nEurope at that time was thrilled with joy,\\nFrance standing on the top of golden hours,\\nAnd human nature seeming born again.\\nFor there was a brief period at the beginning when\\nit really seemed as if the Goddess of Justice had\\nreturned to earth again as the old myth promised,\\nand as if brotherly love were going to rule this old\\nearth. Wordsworth, a lad of twenty at this time,\\nmade his way across a pleasant France, noting how\\nbright a face is worn when joy of one is joy for tens\\nof millions, joining in dances of Liberty and happy\\nfeasts in the villages, and finding benevolence and\\nblessedness spread everywhere like a fragrance. The\\nwhole country throbbed with an ecstatic sense of\\nescape.\\nBliss was it in that dawn to be alive,\\nBut to be young was very Heaven,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0418.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "THE NEW DEMOCRACY\\n415\\nsighs the poet, remembering those fair days. Indeed,\\nthe spirit of a mighty hope had taken possession of\\nthe world no less a hope, Wordsworth tells us, than\\nto realize on earth a perfect society. The whole\\nearth seemed to him at that time, he says, a new-\\nfallen inheritance, all his own, which he studied\\nwith a delight that was glad to note even the worst\\nand most unhappy things in society, because it would\\nbe such joy to watch them suddenly disappear.\\nIt was a wonderful dream so wonderful that\\nEurope has not forgotten it to this day, and there\\nare some who still hold it prophetic. But in the\\nworld of fact it did not last. The people, long op- Eeaction:\\npressed by the nobles in France, had begun at last to o^Terro?\\nrealize their power restraints had been removed,\\nand reverence for the past had been shaken. From\\na period of ideal optimism, the Revolution in France\\npassed, suddenly it seemed to Europe watching\\naghast, into the wild excesses of the Reign of Terror.\\nCrimes were perpetrated in the name of liberty and\\njustice. The forces of destruction latent in that\\nyoung democracy had it all their own way. It took\\nEurope more than one generation to recover from\\nthe nervous shock of those days. Other great and\\ndreadful events followed wars devastated Europe\\nEngland was hurried into the vortex; and finally,\\nrevolutionary France, rent, tossed, lawless, fell under\\nthe military despotism of the first Napoleon. The\\nFirst Empire, with its emphasis on physical power,\\nits thirst for material dominion and for glory of con-\\nquest, seemed to most thoughtful people a tragic\\nanticlimax after that so recent cry, liberty, equality,\\nfraternity.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0419.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "416\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nWordsworth shared deeply the suffering, the\\nshock, the moral disillusion of the time. Full of com-\\npassion for the abject multitude, he had believed\\nthat their sorrows would be ended when the absolute\\nrule of a monarch should be abolished, and the peo-\\nple should have a strong hand in framing their own\\nlaws. But when that time came, the people proved\\nunworthy of his trust in the fevered politics of the\\nday the issue between right and wrong seemed\\nobscured. A sense of horror overwhelmed him as\\nhe brooded over the crimes and violence of Paris;\\nthe city, hushed and silent at midnight, yet seemed\\nto him a place defenceless as a wood where tigers\\nroamed and his sleep was haunted by dreams of\\ninnocent victims in their agony.\\nHe used to wonder at this time so simple did\\nthe matter still appear to childlike minds if he\\nhimself, a youth, a foreigner, unknown and obscure,\\nmight not turn the tide once more to righteousness\\nDisillusion if he plunged into the arena of politics. But he was\\nspair de not allowed to try his wai/plan. He returned to Eng-\\nland and there events as they developed toward the\\nEmpire yet further afflicted his spirit, and he passed\\ninto a dejection so profound that not only his social\\nidealism and his republicanism, but his faith in God\\nand man, seemed swept away.\\nWe cannot stop to trace the process by which his\\npure, sensitive spirit recovered its sanity and its\\nbelief that belongs to his story, not to the story of\\nthe Revolution. Recover them he did in a measure,\\nthough a glory had left the earth, never to return.\\nBut we have been dwelling on his experience up to\\nthis point because it is typical. All the great poets", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0420.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "THE XETV DEMOCRACY\\n417\\nwho were his contemporaries grew up in the presence\\nof the astounding drama with which the nineteenth\\ncentury opened. In every one may be discerned the\\nplay of its clashing forces and contending ideals.\\nThe Revolution knew three phases. First, an ardent summary,\\nand generous hope for the freedom of all men and the\\nestablishment of the perfect state on earth thrilled\\nthrough the nation. Then came a sudden reaction,\\nand the avenging wrath of the people leaped upward\\nlike a conflagration, destroying the old world as by\\nfire. Finally came, so far as thoughtful people were\\nconcerned, a collapse into exhaustion and discourage-\\nment, while the early revolutionary ideals translated\\nthemselves into a lust for material power under the\\nhand of Napoleon. All Europe watched this drama\\nbreathlessly, and every writer of the first third of the\\ncentury was. according to his temperament, imbued\\nwith the lofty hopes, the lawless passion, or the dis-\\ncouragement experienced by the nation.\\nIII. English Poets of the Revolution\\nThe revolutionary poets in England fall into\\nthree groups, and the tone of their thought is at\\nleast partly determined by their relation in time to\\nthe historical Revolution.\\nFirst came Blake and Burns. We have called Group i.\\nthem the heralds of the dawn. They did not need Burns and\\nthe historic Revolution to set their spirits free. They\\nsympathized with it each in his way. but Blake was\\nthirty-two. Burns thirty, when the Bastille fell in\\n1789. Both poets were clearly formed in the pre-\\nrevolutionary period.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0421.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "418\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nGroup II.\\nWords-\\nworth,\\nColeridge,\\nSouthey.\\nGroup III.\\nByron,\\nShelley,\\nKeats.\\nThere are three names in the next group: Will-\\niam Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Robert\\nSouthey. They were boys at the most sensitive age,\\nfrom nineteen to fifteen years old, when the Bastille\\nfell in 1804, when Bonaparte became emperor,\\nWordsworth was thirty-four, Coleridge thirty-two,\\nand Southey thirty. Thus they grew to manhood\\nwhile the great drama went on. We can imagine\\nthe passion of delight with which all these young\\npoets would respond to the young ideals of hope\\nand freedom. We can easily understand, also, how\\nterrible the later phases of the Revolution would be\\nto them, and how they all, with Wordsworth, would\\nsuffer a shock of disillusion. It is not strange if\\nwe find them all reacting more or less in different\\nways from the uncritical enthusiasm of their youth,\\nand developing in middle life a conservative bent\\nwhich made them seem to certain ardent spirits of\\nthe younger generation lost leaders indeed. Yet\\nwe should be surprised if, despite all changes in polit-\\nical views and in the temper of thought, men of poetic\\nfeeling who had once known the rapture and uplift of\\nthose great moments ever walked wholly in the light\\nof common day and, indeed, to the last, the work\\nof Wordsworth and Coleridge is visited, though with\\ninconstant glance, by the spirit of an ideal faith. 1\\nGeorge Gordon Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley,\\nand John Keats, form the last group of poets of this\\ngreat period. They were literally children of the\\n1 Perhaps we should include in this group Scott, who was almost\\nan exact contemporary of Wordsworth, being one year younger\\nbut Scott s fame as a prose writer has so eclipsed his fame as a\\npoet, that it is better to reserve our study of him.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0422.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "THE NEW DEMOCRACY\\n419\\nRevolution Byron was born in 1788, just before it\\nbroke out, Shelley and Keats during its progress,\\nthe first in 1792, the second in 1795. To all these\\nthe earlier phases of the Revolution would be not\\neven a personal memory, though they lay so close\\nbehind in the past of the race. The environment of\\nthese poets was that of the Europe of the Empire.\\nHow differently these young heirs of the historic\\nrevolution were affected by the conditions around\\nthem we shall see as we turn to closer study of the\\nmarvellous development of poetry in England be-\\ntween 1798 and 1830.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nDowden, Studies in Literature The French Revolution and\\nLiterature. Royce, The Spirit of Modern Philosophy, traces\\nin an interesting way the relations between German philosophy\\nand the revolutionary movement. Stopford Brooke, Theology\\nin the English Poets note in particular a fine analysis of The\\nPrelude. Mrs. Oliphant, Literary History of England. Han-\\ncock, The French Revolution and the English Poets. The Pre-\\nlude, edited by A. J. George. Shelley s Prefaces to The\\nRevolt of Islam and Prometheus Unbound show how the revo-\\nlutionary movement appeared to a poet of the second generation.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nBook VI, Books IX-XI of The Prelude, with selections\\nfrom the later books, gives a class a vivid idea of the inner\\ndrama that accompanied the Revolution. Wordsworth s politi-\\ncal sonnets and Coleridge s Ode to France may also be read.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nAn historical lecture would here be much in place also lec-\\ntures on German, French, Italian literature, inspired by the\\nRevolution.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0423.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER III\\nFROM WORDSWORTH TO KEATS\\nTHE poetry of the eighteenth century is at best a\\ntwilight-piece. Collins s Ode to Evening,\\nor the fine apostrophe to Evening in the Task or\\nthe opening of Gray s Elegy seem to catch its\\nspirit. The great poetry of the revolutionary period\\nglows with the hues of a new day. Sunrise studies,\\nlike the exquisite opening of the second act of Shel-\\nley s Prometheus Unbound or the noble passage\\nin the first book of the Excursion, come to one s\\nmind when one tries to describe it. It is a poetry\\nof renewed youth, of expectancy, of marvel the\\nlight that shines in it seems to discover a new earth\\nand to promise a new heaven.\\nI. Lyrical Ballads, Character and\\nSignificance\\nIn 1798 a modest little volume appeared, called\\nLyrical Ballads. Two young men were the\\nauthors, William Wordsworth and Samuel Tay-\\nlor Coleridge. The two had met after Words-\\nworth s return from France, and the friendship of\\nColeridge had been one of the powers that restored\\nWordsworth s troubled mind to sanity and peace.\\nThe devotion between the two poets was deep and\\nvital; out of their happy intercourse sprang this\\n420", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0424.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 421\\nlittle book, born from a summer wandering over\\nthe Quantock hills.\\nThe plan was that Wordsworth should write\\npoems which should show the poetry in common\\nthings Coleridge was to treat strange, supernatu-\\nral subjects in such a way that they should appeal\\nto the general heart. The poets kept their promise\\nrealism and romance, the two great forces that were\\nto re-create modern literature, are in full play in this\\nsmall volume. Here are short poems of peasant life\\nby Wordsworth, pure as dewdrops they reveal the\\nsecrets of those little ones of the earth whom the\\nworld had long despised. Here is a ballad-poem by\\nColeridge, the 44 Ancient Mariner it takes us over\\nperilous seas in fearsome company, thrilling us with\\nimages of horror and supernatural beauty, and we\\nfeel that the romantic impulse, dim though present\\nin Gray and Collins, has conquered at last. Here,\\nfinally, Wordsworth s great poem, the 44 Lines written\\nabove Tintern Abbey, lifts the feeling for Nature,\\nseen in Thomson and Cowper, into a higher realm,\\nand throbs with the impassioned mystical recognition\\nof a life in Nature kindred to our own.\\nThe little book was greeted with derision, and\\nWordsworth wrote a preface for the second edition,\\na kind of manifesto of the new principles, which\\nevery one should read. He breaks formally in this\\npreface with the eighteenth-century literary conven-\\ntions about poetry, both as to style and as to subject.\\nHe demands that poetry use a selection of the actual\\nlanguage of men. When Cowper wants to describe\\na man smoking, he says 44 the sturdy churl stops for\\nnothing", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0425.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "422\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nBut now and then with pressure of his thumb\\nTo adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube\\nThat fumes beneath his nose. 1\\nWordsworth would have mentioned the pipe right\\nout. Then Wordsworth pleads that poetry occupy\\nitself no longer with the artificial life of society,\\nwith what separates man from man, but with the\\naffections common to all, the primal, elemental expe-\\nriences that bind the poor and the rich in the bond\\nof a common humanity. This preface is a memorable\\nthing in English critical prose.\\nII. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey\\nWords- Wordsworth spent his life and wrote his poems in\\n1770-1850. loyalty to his faith. He loved the country, and he\\nlived in one of the fairest regions of England, among\\nthe mountains and lakes of Westmoreland, which he\\nhas endeared forever to all who care for his poems.\\nLife. His sister Dorothy lived with him, a woman of a\\nbeautiful soul. He married a cousin named Mary\\nHutchinson, and the tender depth of his feeling for\\nher shows in many of his poems. During his early\\nyears he was very poor, but in later life he was ap-\\npointed controller of stamps, and had money enough\\nto live with frugal comfort. It was a life of deep\\nretirement, of contemplation, and of peace and out\\nof it came a poetry which speaks to the heart with\\nstrange, penetrating purity.\\ni The Task, Book V.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0426.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 423\\nThe central passion of the democratic thought Subjects,\\nwhich was entering the world shows itself in Words-\\nworth, not in excited dreams of a new social order,\\nbut in reverent interpretation of the lives of the\\nlaboring poor. Ladies fair and lovely knights had Human-\\nup to this time peopled the world of the imagina- especially\\ntion great personages and clever personages and the poor\\nleaders of society and people to whom extraordi-\\nnary things happened had moved there. Words-\\nworth introduced into this world, where life can\\nnever die, people of a different kind an old shep-\\nherd grieving for his son, moving among the mists\\nto his sheepf old a highland girl reaping long rows\\nof grain and singing to the movement of her scythe\\na little cottage maid with tangled curls, who knew\\nbetter than any philosopher that death is shadow,\\nlife the only truth. The leech-gatherer, the sailor,\\nthe beggar, the pedler, the wood-cutter, and many\\nmore simple folk meet us in Wordsworth s poetry.\\nThey are not people of elegant leisure, occupied with\\ntheir pleasures or their passions; they work with\\ntheir hands, helping in the fruitful labor of the world.\\nPoet of humanity, Wordsworth was also the poet Nature,\\nof Nature. The two were never separate in his\\nthought. He tells us in the Prelude that the\\nfirst men who pleased him were shepherds, seen\\nfrom afar in the mountains, uplifted against the\\nsunset sky; his characters always move in wide\\nreaches of light under the open heavens. When he\\nturns to Nature, she gains new glory in his eyes from\\nher fellowship and kinship with man. Wordsworth\\ndid not simply admire Nature as the eighteenth cen-\\ntury did. He loved her because she was alive with", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0427.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "424\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\na life full of joy and mystery. The time of heavy,\\ncold, descriptive poetry is past Wordsworth makes\\nus know Nature, not by careful enumeration of parts,\\nbut by the emotion she kindles in his mind. The\\nPrelude tells us the slow process by which the sen-\\nsitive child grew to feel in all her ministries a revela-\\ntion of the very life of God. There came to him\\nA sense sublime\\nOf something far more deeply interfused\\nWhose dwelling is the light of setting suns,\\nAnd the round ocean and the living air,\\nAnd the blue sky and in the mind of man\\nA motion and a spirit that impels\\nAll thinking things, all objects of all thoughts,\\nAnd rolls through all things. 1\\nPoetic Most of Wordsworth s best poetry was written\\nquality. between 1798 and 1806 it is made up chiefly of\\nlyrics, sonnets, and of short narrative poems, but it\\nincludes also his noble autobiography in blank verse,\\nthe Prelude. These poems are the result, to use\\nhis own fine phrase, of emotion recollected in tran-\\nquillity. A certain hush broods over them, and we\\nrealize, as we read, that out of great sorrow and\\nsearching of heart the poet s spirit has found peace.\\nSometimes his theory leads him astray, and he drops\\ninto prose simplicity becomes flatness in lines like\\nthese\\nWho weeps for strangers Many wept\\nFor George and Sarah Green\\nWept for that pair s unhappy fate,\\nWhose grave may here be seen. 2\\n1 Lines written above Tintern Abbey.\\n2 George and Sarah Green.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0428.jp2"}, "429": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 425\\nBut the same poem rises into purest poetry a little\\nlater\\nNow do these sternly featured hills,\\nLook gently on this grave,\\nAnd quiet now are the depths of air\\nAs a sea without a wave.\\nBut deeper lies the heart of peace\\nIn quiet more profound,\\nThe very heart of quietness\\nIs in this churchyard bound.\\nAnd from all agony .of mind,\\nIt keeps them safe, and far\\nFrom fear and grief, and from all need\\nOf sun or guiding star.\\nColeridge s criticism on Wordsworth is the best\\nand most penetrating that has ever been written,\\nthough many have written well of a poet who has\\nin singular degree the power to draw to himself the\\nhearts of men. The chief merits of Wordsworth s\\npoetry are, says Coleridge, first, an austere purity of\\nlanguage second, a weight and sanity of thought\\nthird, the curiosa felicitas of diction, the sinewy\\nstrength and originality of single lines fourth, the\\nperfect truth to Nature in his images and descrip-\\ntions fifth, a meditative pathos, a union of deep and\\nsubtle thought with sensibility and last, the gift\\nof imagination in the highest and strictest sense of\\nthe word.\\nIn Wordsworth s later life, though he still occa- Later\\nsionally wrote a fine poem, his inspiration flagged.\\nHis long epic, The Excursion, has strong passages,\\nbut it is weighted down with moralizing in his", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0429.jp2"}, "430": {"fulltext": "426\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nshorter poems, the vision splendid has faded into\\nthe light of common day. His genius no longer\\nstartles and waylays. He had become less happy\\nthe conditions of national life did not satisfy him\\nhe noted with intense regret the encroachments,\\nalready beginning, of the modern factory system on\\nthe lives of the rural poor. He took to preaching\\nand pleading, and his natural magic of utterance\\nfailed. In 1843 he was made poet laureate in 1850\\nhe died.\\nSamuel We turn to the study of Wordsworth s brother in\\nColeridge, spirit, Coleridge. He was not a country boy, steeped\\n1772-1834. j n profound love of Nature, as Wordsworth was,\\nhe was city-bred. He had been a classmate of the\\ngentle essayist, Charles Lamb, at the Bluecoat\\nSchool in London, and then had gone to Cam-\\nbridge shortly after Wordsworth had quitted it.\\nHe did not know or love the real world so well as\\nWordsworth, but the passion for freedom and the\\nquickening impulse of love for all things living\\nwhich the new democracy brought with it entered\\nthe inner world of high romance in which his spirit\\ndwelt. His career, however, was broken and clouded,\\nLife. and the promise of his youth overcast. Unstable,\\ndespite his genius and warmth of nature, he fell\\nunder the dominion of the opium habit, and though\\nthe force of the habit was largely overcome during\\nhis later years, partly by his own efforts, partly by\\nthe ministries of devoted friends, it left him shat-\\ntered, a wreck, though a noble wreck, of what he\\nmight have been.\\nWork. The poetry of Coleridge belongs to his youth\\nthere is very little of it, but that little is of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0430.jp2"}, "431": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 427\\npurest gold. The Ancient Mariner, of which we The An-\\nci.6nt; IVXcir\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nhave already spoken, is his most important poem, and iner.\\nwonderful it is. It shows, in its use of the irregular\\nold ballad form, as well as in other ways, that impulse\\nto return to the past for inspiration which blends so\\ncuriously in the poetry of the first of the nineteenth\\ncentury with the forces making toward the future.\\nIts romanticism strikes the chord not only of surprise\\nat outward marvel, but of wonder in the presence of\\nspiritual mystery, dimly understood.\\nChristabel is, next to The Ancient Mariner, Christa-\\nbel.\\nColeridge s most important poem but, like most of\\nhis best poetry, it is unfinished. It is a mediaeval\\ntale of unholy magic weaving its spells over innocence\\nand faith. It has the high mystical beauty, the en-\\nchantment of style, of which only Coleridge is master.\\nThe most decrepit vocable in the language, says\\nLowell, throws away its crutches to dance and sing\\nat his piping.\\nColeridge produced also a translation of Schiller s other\\nWallenstein, and several dramas but the body poetry\\nof his poetic writing is small. Nearly all the best\\nof it is the result of the brief, happy time which\\nhe spent in intimate relations with Wordsworth and\\nhis sister Dorothy. When we find him in middle\\nlife rescued at last, after years of weakness, and re-\\nstored to tranquillity, the poet has vanished and a\\nphilosopher has taken his place. This is not wholly\\nloss. Coleridge was not only an inspired poet he was Prose,\\na thinker of rare depth and power of spiritual insight, andphiio-\\nHis prose works are fragmentary, for he was a broken s \u00c2\u00b0P hlcaL\\nman when he wrote most of them but they are full\\nof suggestion. His Biographia Literaria contains", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0431.jp2"}, "432": {"fulltext": "428\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nthe most pregnant literary criticism that England had\\nthen seen it is largely occupied with a discussion\\nof the poetry of Wordsworth, but it has also much\\nvaluable treatment of general critical principles.\\nHis Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare dealt a\\ndeath-blow at the eighteenth-century custom of dis-\\nparaging our greatest Englishman, and his Aids to\\ninfluence Reflection well justifies its title. It was as a talker,\\nconvef- h however, that Coleridge, like Dr. J ohnson before him,\\nsation. exerted his greatest power over the rising genera-\\ntion. He sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, near\\nLondon, where friends had offered him a refuge, and\\npoured forth the treasures of his mind for whosoever\\nwould hear. It was a mind nourished on the recent\\nidealist philosophy of Germany, which had put a\\nwholly new face on philosophic thought. Coleridge\\nused philosophy of this order to feed his Chris-\\ntianity, for he was a profoundly Christian man; and\\nhe became a quickening force in the spiritual life of\\nthe rising generation. The deeper Christianity of\\nthe Victorian age, represented by such men as Car-\\ndinal Newman, and Frederick Denison Maurice, owes\\nmuch to him.\\nYet, after all, it is as a poet that Coleridge is\\nremembered best. His intellectual and spiritual\\npower passed into the minds of other men, and was\\nfertile there his imagination gave us works which,\\nif few, are immortal. They hold us spellbound, as\\nthe Ancient Mariner held the Wedding Guest, but\\nwith a lovelier spell\\nA sealike sound the branches breathe,\\nStirred by the breeze that loiters there,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0432.jp2"}, "433": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 429\\nAnd all that stretch their limbs beneath,\\nForget the coil of mortal care\\nStrange mists along the margin rise,\\nTo heal the guests who thither come,\\nAnd fit the soul to reendure\\nIts earthly martyrdom.\\n1 Not much need be said about Robert Southey, the Robert\\nthird member of this older group of poets. He was 1774-^843.\\npoet, not by right divine as were the other two, but\\nby virtue of the contagious fervor of the times.\\nWhen a young man, he shared the democratic pas-\\nsion of Coleridge, and planned with him a socialist\\ncommunity called the Pantisocracy on the banks of\\nthe Susquehanna but an early marriage he and\\nColeridge married sisters turned his thoughts to\\nthe realities of life. He settled in the Lake country\\nand became an industrious, exemplary man of letters.\\nHe poured forth various volumes of verse, 44 Tha-\\nlaba, 44 The Curse of Kehama, 44 Roderick, con-\\ncocted to meet the rising craving for romantic tales\\nhe produced also some very good prose, the best of\\nwhich is the 44 Life of Nelson. He was an excellent\\nexample of a conscientious literary man without\\ngenius, and England made him poet laureate. He\\nheld the office till his death, in 1843, when the\\nlaurel was placed on the worthier brows of Words-\\nworth.\\nIII. Byron, Shelley, Keats\\nGeorge Gordon, Lord Byron, was the eldest of the George\\nI Gordon,\\nyounger group 01 revolutionary poets his stormy Lord\\nlife and work heave with the unrest that marked 1788-1824.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0433.jp2"}, "434": {"fulltext": "430\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nthe subsiding passion of the Revolution. The spirit\\nof revolt is in them, the assertion of the unlimited\\nclaim of the individual on the universe. They are\\nfull of pride and pain.\\nLife. Byron belonged by birth to the English aristoc-\\nracy Haughty and passionate from his childhood,\\nhe was brought up by an erratic mother with a vio-\\nlent temper, from which he suffered many things.\\nHe was superbly handsome, despite a lameness that\\nembittered his life. He won early fame by the publi-\\ncation of the first cantos of Childe Harold, but the\\nEnglish public turned against him because of quar-\\nrels in his domestic affairs, and he resented their\\ncriticism intensely. He moved thereafter through\\na life, on the Continent, marred by recklessness and\\nself-indulgence, to a noble death for he died of a\\nfever contracted in Greece, whither he had gone to\\nhelp the Greeks in their war of independence.\\nPerson- Byron s strong nature found nothing in the world\\nallty so interesting as his own passions and sorrows and\\nbecause he was so interested in them, and because\\nhe had that strange force we call genius, all Europe\\nwas interested in them too. The world has come a\\nlittle to doubt the value of a vociferous outpouring\\nof rebellion and grievance such as Byron -gave us in\\nhis large rhythmic harmonies\\nWhat boots it now that Byron bore\\nWith haughty pain that mocked the smart\\nThrough Europe to the iEtolian shore\\nThe pageant of his bleeding heart\\nThat Europe counted every groan,\\nAnd England made his pain her own 1\\n1 Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0434.jp2"}, "435": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 431\\nqueries Matthew Arnold. But for the time, the dark,\\nromantic, self-willed figure seemed the controlling\\ngenius of the age, and Byron is still known through-\\nout Europe better than any other English author\\nexcept Shakespeare.\\nThe work that insured Byron s popularity was a Work,\\nseries of wild romances in verse The Giaour,\\nThe Bride of Abyclos, The Corsair, Lara, Romances\\nJ in verse.\\nParisina. They had force and fire, and they told\\nmore or less stirring tales, but their sound and fury\\nsignify little to modern ears. Childe Harold, Chiide\\nbegun in 1812, finished in 1818, is a greater work. 1812^1816,\\nThe last cantos were written under the gentle and 1818\\nennobling influence of Shelley, with whom Byron\\nspent some time by the beautiful lake of Geneva.\\nThey give scope for splendidly phrased descriptions\\nof Nature, and for eloquent and vivid descriptions\\nof the monuments of the past. In these Byron\\nshowed that strong historic sense which was one of\\nthe best features of his intellectual equipment.\\nManfred and Cain are poems of still another Man-\\ncharacter in them Byron tried to handle wild ^rr!\\nsupernatural motifs, something after the fashion J^\u00e2\u0084\u00a2\\nof Goethe in Faust, and, despite occasional pas-\\nsages of sombre beauty, he must be accounted to\\nhave failed. His lyrical power was crude and inter-\\nmittent, and he was never really at home when he\\nleft the world of visible reality. It is in Don Juan, Don\\nByron s masterpiece, that his genius found itself fully isS-isat.\\nat last. The brilliant, mocking poem is wholly of\\nthe earth, earthy. Hero, story, setting, style, all\\nperfectly reflect the cynical disillusion, the unre-\\ndeemed worldliness, of the post-revolutionary period", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0435.jp2"}, "436": {"fulltext": "432\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nCharacter-\\nistics.\\nPercy\\nBysshe\\nShelley,\\n1792-1822.\\nRelation\\nto the\\nRevolu-\\ntion.\\nin which Byron lived. Its easy movement passes\\nwith perfect facility from sensuous passion to bitter\\nsatire, and these two aspects represent the range of\\nthe poem. It is significant and interesting for it\\nshows how a man who, despite the romantic storm\\nand stress of his youth, was at heart a realist, un-\\nvisited by any far-reaching vision of spiritual hope,\\nlooked out on the chaotic society and the shattered\\nfaiths that followed the Revolution.\\nByron wrote various other poems, including several\\ndramas of mediocre value. The moment he begins\\nto reflect, said Goethe, who nevertheless admired\\nhim greatly, u he is a child. His imagination had\\nlittle power to penetrate or to soar. His style was\\ncareless in the extreme, full of lapses from taste and\\nmelody but it was also full of easy eloquence, and\\nit gave a refreshing sense of power. We admire\\nByron s genius most in Don Juan but we like\\nbest to remember him when, with firm touch and\\nwith his eye on the object, he describes some great\\nthing, charged with historic associations, which he\\nknew in the actual world, or when, as in the Pris-\\noner of Chillon, he gives a truly felt presentation of\\nthe fate of a martyr to liberty.\\nByron s poetry is full of the forces of revolt and\\nof self-assertion. But there were nobler forces at\\nwork in the Revolution, impulses not of personal\\ndesire, but of a great love, yearning toward justice\\nand social peace. These impulses in their purity and\\nintensity are expressed in the work of the greatest\\nEnglish lyric poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley. Shelley\\nwas the son of a stiff-necked English baronet. Like\\nByron, he belonged to the aristocracy, and grew up", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0436.jp2"}, "437": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 433\\nin the period of shattered faiths that followed the\\nRevolution. But the conventions of class and rank\\nwere nothing to him, and through all the reactionary\\ndeadness of the times his spirit caught the light of\\nthe new democracy and shone with that light like\\nthe clear morning star. While still a schoolboy,\\nthere came to him, as he tells us in the Ode to\\nIntellectual Beauty, a vision of ideal loveliness.\\nHe followed that gleam through the world. He is\\nthe eternal seeker, and his voice is the melody of one\\nwho watches in hope.\\nShelley s passion for freedom controlled his life. Life and\\nIt led him into touching, amusing attempts at reform amy\u00c2\u00b0 n\\nin his early years. It shaped his practical destiny.\\nHe was expelled from his University, Oxford,\\nbecause of a crude pamphlet he had written On\\nthe Necessity of Atheism. He made a hasty and\\nunhappy first marriage because of his desire to set\\na schoolgirl free from the tyranny of her school.\\nLater, he set the laws of marriage at defiance, and\\nlived in self-appointed exile in Italy, with Mary, who\\nlater became his second wife. She was the daughter\\nof William Godwin, who had been the intellectual\\ninspiration and guide of Shelley s youth. Shelley\\ndied while he was still young, only thirty years old,\\ndrowned in the beautiful bay of Spezia.\\nIn Shelley s personal life there is much to regret\\nyet one cannot read the testimony of his contem-\\nporaries, Byron, Hogg, Trelawney, without being\\nstruck by the impression of ardent purity, gentleness,\\nhonor, which he made upon them. One and all\\nhailed him as the rarest spirit they had ever known.\\nIndeed, his whole being vibrated with love for", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0437.jp2"}, "438": {"fulltext": "434\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nWork.\\nQueen\\nMab,\\n1813.\\nAlastor,\\n1816.\\nLaon and\\nCythna\\nor, The\\nRevolt of\\nIslam,\\n1818.\\nNature, for the ideal principle of beauty, for free-\\ndom, and for his fellow-men. Unlike Sir Thomas\\nMore, who rather wished than hoped to see Utopia\\nin England, Shelley had so strong a faith in human\\nnature, in its intrinsic goodness and power, that he\\nbelieved that the day would come when men would\\nactually see and realize their ideal. He may have\\nbeen right or wrong but his renovating vision has\\nthrilled many hearts from his day to our own. In\\ncommon with most revolutionary thinkers of his\\ntime, he believed that worn-out governments and\\ncreeds must be discarded before the new society\\ncould be formed. So he was an iconoclast, as the\\nphrase goes that is, he believed in the overthrow of\\nauthority and law. But his best poetry chants not\\nof battle nor of destruction, but of the Vision behind\\nthe veil and of a hope that cannot die.\\nAs we follow Shelley s writings through the scant\\nfive years of his literary maturity, we can see how\\nhis genius ripens and gains in patience and in\\nactuality. His first long poem was Queen Mab, a\\nboyish production, full of crude speculations. Next\\ncame, when he was twenty -four years old, Alastor,\\nand here Shelley found himself. The poem renders\\nthe experience of a lonely soul, that pursues through\\nall the universe its haunting vision of beauty, soothed\\nby the solemn ministries of Nature alone. In motif,\\nAlastor recalls the Faerie Queene.\\nShelley s next important poem was the Revolt of\\nIslam. It is a romantic epic in Spenserian stanza,\\nall about a great struggle for Freedom, led by a\\nyouth, Laon, and a maiden,^ Cythna, of surpassing\\nbeauty. There is a gloomy shadow of a Tyrant,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0438.jp2"}, "439": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS\\n435\\nthere are wars and famines and images of horror,\\nthere are Southern seas and skies in the end the\\nlovers, martyrs, yet triumphant in defeat, join after\\ndeath the sacred company in the Temple of the Spirit.\\nIt is all told in verse of ardent, daring melody one\\nfeels the soul of Shelley and of youth itself in the\\npoem but it is too far from reality to be great.\\nThis is not true of the next long poem, written in Prome-\\n1819. The Prometheus Unbound is the supreme bound/ 11\\nexpression of Shelley s genius and of revolutionary 1819,\\nfaith. It may seem strange to attribute a sense of\\nreality to this lyrical drama, for the poem deals\\nwith no possible earthly story, but with a great\\nprimeval myth. But the myth is real to Shelley.\\nHe takes the old story from iEschylus, about Prome-\\ntheus the Titan, who stole fire from heaven to benefit\\nthe race of men, and who was therefore doomed by\\nJupiter to hang in torture for endless ages on the\\nprecipices of Mt. Caucasus. In Shelley s mind, the\\nRebel has become the Hero, who endures in awful\\npatience, the representative of a humanity tortured,\\nyet purified through its pains. The Prometheus\\nUnbound, in its mysticism, will always remain to\\nmany a sealed book but even those who care noth-\\ning for the intellectual conception can delight in the\\nlyric beauty, and in an imagery and an interpreta-\\ntion of Nature unrivalled in English verse.\\nEven while Shelley was producing the Prome- The\\ntheus, he turned aside from this drama of the upper 1819\\nair to write swiftly and fervently a drama of solid\\nearth. 44 The Cenci is firm as sculpture in its out-\\nlines it has more dramatic power and terror than\\nany tragedy since the seventeenth century. It shows\\nus a wholly new side of Shelley s genius.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0439.jp2"}, "440": {"fulltext": "436\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nEpipsy- This list of Shelley s longest poems by no means\\nI82i!\u00c2\u00b0 n exhausts, it only suggests, his creative energy.\\nAdo- Others, less long, hardly less great, crowd on the\\n1821. memory: Hellas, Epipsychidion, Adonais.\\nHellas, The Adonais, Shelley s elegy on his brother poet,\\nTh T Keats, ran ks with the great elegies of the English\\numph of tongue, with Lycidas and In Memoriam. It has\\nfinished)? not the Christian note of clear faith as these others\\nhave; Shelley s intuition of spiritual things was vague\\nand pantheistic, and the inner truth of Christianity\\nhe was always unable to discern through the tradi-\\ntions of his day. But spiritual insight of its own\\norder the Adonais surely possesses. No other\\nelegy so palpitates with the sense of the mystery of\\nlife, and its unity in man and Nature through the\\nwhole creation.\\nLyrics. But Shelley is greatest of all perhaps in his minor\\nlyrics. They soar like his own skylark in the free\\nheaven of idealism. Some of them are as elabo-\\nrate in structure as the odes of the eighteenth cen-\\ntury, but they give quite a different impression of\\nmovement and freedom. Others penetrate the soul\\nwith a poignant simplicity of phrasing. They sing\\nof the changing phases of the life of Nature, of the\\nbeauty that dies as it is born, of the darkness that\\nforever blends with the dawning light; in like man-\\nner, they sing of the swiftly changing passions of\\nthe soul of the poet, and through all change they\\nseek, but never find, the beauty that shall endure.\\nIn all Shelley s work glows such an intuition of spir-\\nitual loveliness, so intense a faith in a nobler future\\nfor this old world, that we must hail him, not only as\\npoet, but as prophet. He died in youth, nor can any", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0440.jp2"}, "441": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 437\\none guess what he might have achieved had he lived\\nto fuller manhood. As it is, he seems like the very\\nembodiment of the new youth of the world. A few\\nlines of his own give the secret of his power\\nWithin a cavern of man s trackless spirit\\nIs throned an Image, so intensely fair,\\nThat the adventurous thoughts that wander near it\\nWorship, and as they kneel tremble and wear\\nThe splendor of its presence, and the light\\nPenetrates their dreamlike frame\\nTill they become charged with the strength of flame.\\nJohn Keats, the last of this group of poets, and John\\nthe youngest, was not, like Byron and Shelley, of 1795-1821.\\nnoble birth his father had been in youth a hostler,\\nand later owned a stable in London. The boy went\\nto a good school, and was apprenticed to a surgeon.\\nTill his love of letters brought him into literary\\nsociety, his connections were unpoetic. He lived in Life and\\nLondon, which was, however, more accessible to the ai5y\u00c2\u00b0 n\\ncountry then than now, until, with a wasting dis-\\nease upon him, he went to Italy, there to die when\\nhe was only twenty-four years old.\\nIt does not seem to matter much where poets are\\nborn, or how they are brought up. This poor boy,\\nwho had so little of beauty or wonder in the outward\\ncondition of his life, really lived in a world which\\nany one of us might envy. The other day, he\\nsaid to a friend when at the medical school, during\\nthe lecture there came a sunbeam into the room, and\\nwith it a whole troop of creatures floating in the\\nray and I was off with them to Oberon and fairy-\\nland. From fairy-land, one is tempted to say, he\\nnever returned.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0441.jp2"}, "442": {"fulltext": "438\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nPoet of the\\nartistic\\nrevolt.\\nWork.\\nEndym-\\nion, 1819.\\nHype-\\nrion,\\n1819.\\nLamia,\\n1819.\\nKeats took refuge from a sordid present in a world\\nof dreams. He cared nothing for political or social\\nfreedom his poetry shows no trace of the passion\\nof brotherhood, almost no trace of human feeling.\\nOnly through his art do we recognize in him a child\\nof the Revolution. His early poem, Sleep and\\nPoetry, marks the entire breaking away from the\\ntraditions of the eighteenth century. Keats took\\nthe rhymed couplet, which had been so stiff and\\nsmart in the hands of Pope, ran over the ends of\\nlines at his will, let it fall as it would into irregular\\nmelodic units, gave it freedom, variety, sweetness.\\nNo matter what form he chose as his work went on,\\nblank verse or lyric ode, his grace and richness of\\nutterance were constant. He set poetry free from\\nmeasured rule, and let it beat close to the rhythmic\\nheart of life.\\nIn subject, also, Keats showed how the romantic\\ntemper had conquered at last. He revelled in all\\nmarvel and in all beauty. In his Endymion and\\nin the noble fragment, Hyperion, his mind sped\\nback to that ancient world of myth where fair and\\ndivine forms meet an innocent humanity only less\\nfair, in the green dusk of the woodlands or the cav-\\nerns below the sea or he seeks the abode where\\nmighty Titans bemoan with the large utterance of\\nthe early gods their vanished glory, recognizing to\\ntheir sorrow that the day is to those younger deities\\nwho, first in beauty, must therefore be first also in\\nmight. Lamia, also, and the exquisite short Ode\\nto a Grecian Urn, breathe the classic inspiration.\\nAgain, as in The Eve of St. Agnes, the unfinished\\nEve of St. Mark, and the ballad, 44 La Belle Dame", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0442.jp2"}, "443": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 439\\nsans Merci, Keats turns to the middle ages for\\ninspiration, as Coleridge did in Christabel, and\\nfinds there a beauty less charged with mysticism\\nthan did Coleridge, but aglow with color and feel-\\ning. The same romantic temper controls his shorter\\npoems, especially the handful of immortal odes, J^9\u00c2\u00b0 des\\nTo a Nightingale, To Psyche, To Autumn,\\nTo Melancholy, On a Grecian Urn. By these\\nalone, even had he left nothing else, we should know\\nthat a great poet had been with us.\\nBeauty is truth, truth beauty this is all\\nYe know on earth, and all ye need to know\\nso Keats formulated his creed and he said the same Distinc-\\nthing in prose, when he wrote What the imagina- p^wer.\\ntion seizes as beauty must be truth whether it\\nexisted before or not. I have loved the principle\\nof beauty in all things, he said in his last days.\\nIt is as high priest of beauty that he is immortal.\\nWe can notice with more delight the return of the\\nsense of beauty to our literature in his work than in\\nthat of his contemporaries, because there is less to\\ndistract us from it.\\nSometimes the beauty which he reveals to us is The appeal\\nsensuous, sometimes imaginative. Keats s senses t0 the eye\\nwere perhaps more delicate and intense than those\\nof any other among our poets. Color was an ecstasy\\nto him, and he makes it an ecstasy to us. He was\\nmore sensitive than even his master, Spenser, to the\\nappeal of sound, from the solemn tenor and deep\\norgan tone of the speech of the Titan woman to\\nA little noiseless noise among the leaves, To the ear.\\nBorn of the very sense that silence heaves.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0443.jp2"}, "444": {"fulltext": "440\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\npromise.\\nTo the Fragrance and even taste are noted again and again\\nimagina- verse. Yet his poetry, though responsive\\nfrom first to last to the charm of the senses, recog-\\nnizes constantly a nobler appeal. This is the appeal\\nof the imaginative past. It is the sense that we are\\nmade free of the whole realm of the beautiful, opened\\nby the human race from the beginning of time, that\\ngives breadth and power to a poetry into which the\\nair of the actual world is seldom indeed allowed to\\nenter.\\nKeats s There are indications in Keats s poetry and also in\\nhis letters that had he lived he hoped to emerge from\\nhis dreams and to throw the light of his imagination\\nupon the world of men. But this was not vouch-\\nsafed him. The year 1819 was the annus mirabilis\\nof his genius. In this year he produced The Eve\\nof St. Agnes, Hyperion, and his great odes. It\\nwas the year of the Prometheus Unbound, a nota-\\nble year indeed in the annals of English poetry The\\nnext year he sickened, and in 1821 he died. Matthew\\nArnold says, quoting from one of his letters No\\none else in English poetry save Shakespeare has in\\nexpression quite the fascinating felicity of Keats, his\\nperfection of loveliness. 4 1 think, he said humbly,\\nI shall be among the English poets after my death.\\nHe is he is with Shakespeare.\\nIV. General Characteristics\\nWe have passed the great poets of the first of the\\ncentury in rapid review. Widely different though\\nthey are, their achievement, when we look at it\\nbroadly, yet shows a certain unity. It has been said", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0444.jp2"}, "445": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 441\\nto express the renascence of wonder. And indeed The renas-\\nthe sense of wonder rests on all of it, whether evi- wonder,\\ndenced in the crude excitements in which Byron\\nrevelled, in the contemplative awe of Wordsworth,\\nin the darting spiritual intuition of Shelley, or in\\nthe quest for remote delights of Coleridge and Keats.\\nBut the renascence of beauty is as strong as the\\nrenascence of wonder beauty, which had fled the Of beauty,\\neighteenth century, abides forever here, whether she\\ndwells in deep retreats as in Wordsworth, or\\nflashes glory on us wherever Ave may gaze, as in the\\nwork of Keats and Shelley. Again, and here we The new\\nmeet what is rather a new birth than a rebirth, the democ-\\nexultant impulse of freedom and brotherhood is almost racy\\nwithout exception the informing spirit of this modern\\nsong. Sometimes this spirit shows itself in tender\\nbrooding over the lives of the individual poor, some-\\ntimes in enraptured distant vision of a regenerate\\nworld but always it comes from the quickened\\nsense of the sacredness of humanity. And with this\\nnew feeling comes an awakened sense of loving kin-\\nship with the great visible world which is, at least\\nwhile he is on pilgrimage, the home of man. Noth- The love\\nc xt of Nature.\\nmg like the passionate love of Nature shown by\\nthese poets had been seen in our English literature\\nsince the days of Cynewulf nothing like it has\\nbeen seen since. The delighted interpretation of\\nher language, the joy in her beauty, the sympathy\\nwith her life, enriched our race with a neglected\\nheritage, and the Return to Nature is a great watch-\\nword which is not yet exhausted.\\nThe quest for wonder, for beauty, for freedom\\nand brotherhood, for fellowship with Nature, play", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0445.jp2"}, "446": {"fulltext": "442\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\ninto one another till cause cannot be distinguished\\nfrom effect in all this poetry. But the great words\\nwhich remain in our mind as we turn away are\\nSummary, two Romance and Democracy. Romance and de-\\nand de- mocracy Many will say that as the century has\\nmocracy. a{ j vance( i they keep pace with each other no longer\\nand indeed democracy seems unromantic enough in\\nsome of its aspects to-day. But it is well, perhaps,\\nfor us to remember that the two blended and en-\\nhanced each the other in the great burst of song that\\naccompanied the advent of the modern world.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nGeneral. Saintsbury, History of Nineteenth Century Lit-\\nerature. Mrs. Oliphant, Literary History of the Nineteenth\\nCentury. Dowden, Studies in Literature Transcripts and\\nStudies. Herford, The Age of Wordsworth. Matthew\\nArnold, Essays in Criticism. Shairp, The Poetic Interpreta-\\ntion of Nature Aspects of Poetry. Bagehot, Literary Studies.\\nLowell, Among my Books.\\nWordsworth. Globe edition, Introduction by John Mor-\\nley. Selections, ed. by Matthew Arnold. Life, by Myers\\n(English Men of Letters). Knight (3 vols). Essays, by Ar-\\nnold, Hutton, Bagehot, Aubrey de Vere, Pater, Low-\\nell (3 essays), Leslie Stephen. Knight, Through the\\nWordsworth Country.\\nColeridge. Globe edition, Life, by Campbell. Life, Traill\\n(English Men of Letters), Caine (Great Writers Series).\\nEssays, Pater, Swinburne, Arnold, Lowell. Selections\\nfrom prose writings, H. A. Beers. Brandl, S. T. Coleridge\\nand the English Romantic School.\\nByron. Cambridge Byron, ed. by Paul Elmer More.\\nLife, Nichol (English Men of Letters), Noel (Great Writers\\nSeries). Essays, John Morley, Macaulay, Swinburne\\nWordsworth and Byron Arnold, Trelawney.\\nShelley. Centenary edition, Woodberry (6 vols.). Selec-\\ntions, Stopford Brooke (Golden Treasury Series). Life, Ed-\\nward Dowden (2 vols.), Symonds (English Men of Letters),\\nGarnett (Great Writers Series), William Rossetti. Essays,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0446.jp2"}, "447": {"fulltext": "WORDSWORTH TO KEATS 443\\nby Bagehot, Huttox, Arnold, Dowden. Scudder, Intro-\\nduction to the Prometheus Unbound. Publications of the\\nShelley Society.\\nKeats. Cambridge Keats, ed. by H. E. Scudder. Life, by\\nColvin (English Men of Letters), Rossetti (Great Writers\\nSeries). Essays, Lowell, Arnold.\\nSee, also, articles on all these men in Dictionary of National\\nBiography.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThis chapter offers material for a year s study. Hints of\\nminimum reading may be given. From Wordsworth, Arnold s\\nSelections from Coleridge, The Ancient Mariner and\\nChristabel from Shelley, the Adonais and the Lyrics\\npublished with Prometheus Unbound. From Byron, The\\nPrisoner of Chillon, and selections from Childe Harold\\nfrom Keats, The Eve of St. Agnes, the great odes.\\nWordsworth. Take Coleridge s analysis, and let the class\\nfind illustrations of every point he makes, favorable and un-\\nfavorable. Let the Ode on the Intimation of Immortality,\\nthe Ode to Duty, and some of the sonnets, be learned by\\nheart, and thoroughly discussed. Subjects for study Words-\\nworth s Treatment of Humanity. What kind of people? where\\nplaced? what happens to them? Wordsworth s Treatment of\\nNature. Compare with Cowper. Wordsworth s Poetic Theory\\nand Practice. Wordsworth s Spiritual Attitude. Special topics\\nWordsworth s Sonnets compared with Milton s, Bird-life in\\nWordsworth, Wordsworth s Children.\\nColeridge. The Ancient Mariner should be read with\\nconsecutive analysis. Watch the pictures, follow and interpret\\na little the symbolism, be sensitive to the verse movement.\\nSpecial topics Compare The Ancient Mariner with old bal-\\nlads of shipwreck and the supernatural Coleridge s Feeling for\\nNature compared with Wordsworth s.\\nShelley. Reconstruct Shelley s personality from his lyrics.\\nTreatment of Nature compared with Wordsworth favorite\\ntype of landscape, method of interpretation. The meaning of\\nfreedom to Shelley. Why could not Shelley draw a character\\nas Shakespeare could? Analyze the metrical structure of\\nthe Ode to the West Wind, the Ode to Liberty, the cho-\\nruses to Hellas. Special topics The Adonais compared\\nwith Lycidas, The Debt of the Adonais to the Greek", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0447.jp2"}, "448": {"fulltext": "444\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nElegies, Shelley as a Color ist, Shelley s Defence of Poetry com-\\npared with Sir Philip Sidney s.\\nByron. Illustrate with photographs, if possible, Byron s de-\\nscriptions of statues, architecture, scenery, as, for instance,\\nthe Dying Gladiator, the Niobe, the Lake of Geneva.\\nCompare the sources of discontent in Byron, Wordsworth, and\\nShelley. Compare their enthusiasms. In what points does Byron\\nsurpass Shelley Special topic Byron s Handling of the Spen-\\nserian Stanza in Childe Harold studied in Comparison with\\nShelley s in Adonais, Keats s in Eve of St. Agnes.\\nKeats. Compare the romanticism of Keats with that of\\nScott, of Coleridge, of Byron. Illustrate from Keats s poems\\nthe sensitiveness of his eye, of his ear, of his touch, of his taste,\\nof his smell. Describe some of the pictures from the world\\nin which his imagination moved. Special topics Compare\\nstyle and substance in Keats s Sleep and Poetry and Pope s\\nEssay on Criticism compare the treatment of Greek my-\\nthology in Keats and Shelley.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe work of the class should be detailed, devoted chiefly to\\nclose study of a few poems, and to the enjoyment of one poet\\nafter another. A few talks from the teacher on more general\\nlines could make more vivid the whole character of the period\\nSocial Ideals in Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley The Relation of\\nNature to Humanity in Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats\\nThe Spiritual Outlook of the Revolutionary Poets.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0448.jp2"}, "449": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IV\\nPROSE TILL 1830\\nI. Fiction\\nTHE spirit of prose, which had so fully controlled\\nthe literature of the eighteenth century even\\nwhen that literature happened to be written in\\nverse, slipped once more into the background during\\nthe thirty years after the revolutionary movement.\\nDelightful and important prose was written at this\\ntime but as a whole the prose had neither the scope\\nnor the significance of the poetry.\\nThe prose of the period is, as we should expect,\\ntouched with the instinct of romance, and its great-\\nest name is that of a novelist, Sir Walter Scott.\\nScott, like Coleridge, wrote in both verse and prose\\nbut we put Coleridge into the last chapter because\\nhe was poet in the depths of him, and we put Scott\\nhere because, while his tales in verse are full of fire\\nand facile grace, the entire breadth and force of his\\nnature found no outlet till he turned to prose.\\nScott was an almost exact contemporary of Words- Sir Walter\\nworth but he was not bound to the little group of 1771-1832.\\nthe older revolutionary poets by any personal ties.\\nHe was a Scotchman, and his first and last passion\\nwas for the romantic history and legend of his native\\nland. We know as we read him that many of his\\ninstincts were Celtic, though the sturdy Saxon sense\\n445", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0449.jp2"}, "450": {"fulltext": "446\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nfor facts controls his ardent romantic impulses. The\\ncombination is a good one, for a writer of fiction the\\nnineteenth century was to see it again in later years\\nin Robert Louis Stevenson.\\nScott s Scott gained popularity more easily than his greater\\npoetry. contemporaries of the South. His first original work\\ntook the public by storm. This was a series of\\nspirited romances in verse, The Lay of the Last\\nMinstrel, Marmion, The Lady of the Lake, and\\nothers not so good as these. To this day there are no\\nstories better told in English verse than Scott s. But\\nhis poetry had no profound imaginative quality like\\nthat of his contemporaries. He could dream dreams,\\nbut he could not see visions. Nor had he magic of\\nutterance, though he had sincerity and fire. He used\\nthe rapidly moving couplet of four beats, which is the\\nbasal measure of Christabel but if we put the\\nLay of the Last Minstrel beside Christabel, we\\nfeel instantly how Coleridge is beyond calculation\\nthe master in imparting those undertones and over-\\ntones, those subtle variations in pause and accent,\\nthat give enchantment to the music of verse.\\nThe poetry of Scott was just the kind to have\\ngreat vogue for a time and then to fall into neg-\\nlect. Byron began to pour forth his early romances,\\nfar more fervid and surprising than those of Scott,\\nthough less healthy and to-day less interesting\\nfickle readers turned to the new voice, and it seemed\\nas if Scott s day were over.\\nScott s Then, in 1814, appeared an anonymous novel called\\nWaverley. It was full of adventure, humor, and\\ncharm. We must remember that there were very\\nfew good novels in those days the art of fiction", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0450.jp2"}, "451": {"fulltext": "PROSE TILL 1830\\n447\\nhad fallen from the strong hands of Richardson\\nand Fielding into the grasp of inferior people. The\\nmystery of the authorship of the book enhanced its\\npopularity. Soon others, no less delightful, followed\\nin quick succession Guy Mannering, The An-\\ntiquary, 44 Old Mortality, Rob Roy, 44 The Heart\\nof Midlothian, 44 The Bride of Lammermoor,\\n44 Ivanhoe, 44 The Abbot, 44 Kenilworth, 44 Quentin\\nDurward, 44 Redgauntlet, twenty-nine all told.\\nIt was not long before the secret leaked out the\\nauthor of these novels was Sir Walter Scott. He\\nhad come to his true power at last.\\nThe Waverley novels and Scott s second series,\\nthe 44 Tales of My Landlord, form one of the treas-\\nures of English literature. Seventeen of them are\\nhistoric and they are on the whole the most impor-\\ntant expression we have of that enthusiasm for the\\npast, especially for the middle ages, which has\\nstirred so strongly in the quickened modern imagi-\\nnation. Scott s scholarship is not always so accurate His revi-\\nas that of later times, but he made an honest effort torj? f hls\\nto project himself into the periods of which he\\ntreats, and he had the great help of an eye that could\\nsee the past clearly. He really created historical\\nromance in England as a worthy art form. The\\ngreat novel of the eighteenth century had derived\\nits power from its realism. It had been followed by\\na feeble romantic school in fiction, that turned too\\nfar away from reality to live. Now came Scott,\\nand he took this weak romantic impulse, and\\nthrilled it into life. His romances have helped us\\nall, more perhaps than we realize, to make our inward\\npictures of the times of which they treat.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0451.jp2"}, "452": {"fulltext": "448\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nHis real-\\nism.\\nScott s\\nlater\\nyears.\\nJane\\nAusten,\\n1775-1817.\\nBut if Scott is a great master of historical fiction,\\nit is because he has an intense feeling for reality.\\nAnd after all, his truest and deepest power is not in\\nhis famous portraits, like those of Queen Elizabeth\\nand Mary Queen of Scots and Richard Cceur de\\nLion, fine though these are, but in his keen under-\\nstanding of the homely Scotch people whom he met\\nall around him. Characters like Jeanie Deans and\\nDandie Dinmont are his greatest triumphs. It is in\\nhis sympathetic and humorous rendering of the life\\nof these simple folk that Scott, half unconsciously\\nto himself, draws power from the democratic feeling\\nof his age it is here that his work touches Words-\\nworth s, and here, and here only, do his method and\\nhis genius suggest Shakespeare.\\nThe end of Scott s life was mournful. He had\\nmade large sums of money by his books, and he had\\nbuilt for himself at Abbotsford a Gothic mansion,\\nwhich visitors still flock to see. In 1825 the failure\\nof a business firm for which he held himself respon-\\nsible threw him into heavy debt. He was a man\\nof high spirit and splendid honor he set himself to\\nremove that mountain of debt by the labor of his pen.\\nHe undertook, not only novels, but hackwork of\\nvarious descriptions he wrote furiously, copiously,\\nand, at last, badly. Even his valiant and fertile\\npowers failed before the Herculean task was achieved.\\nHis last novels show traces of mental wreck, and\\nScott died at the age of sixty-one, worn out in\\nmind as in body. It is an heroic, pitiful tale.\\nSooner or later excellence wins its way. Half a\\ndozen modest and unobtrusive novels, the first of\\nwhich had to wait fifteen years for a publisher, have", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0452.jp2"}, "453": {"fulltext": "PROSE TILL 1830\\n449\\nquietly slipped into a place beside the work of Scott\\nand of the other great revealers of life through fic-\\ntion. They were written by Jane Austen, the\\ndaughter of a country clergyman. Compared with\\nthe novels of Scott, they seem like dainty miniatures\\non porcelain beside large historical paintings.\\nJane Austen was a witty and pretty woman, and\\nshe wrote her books on the sly, in the intervals of a\\nproper feminine career, seemingly occupied by the\\nclaims of family and society. Her stories describe\\nexactly the life she knew, that of placid villages and\\ncountry houses, where leisure and decorous manners\\nprevailed, where the range of interests was still that\\nof the eighteenth century, and nothing ever hap-\\npened more exciting than a clandestine engagement.\\nPerhaps Miss Austen never realized that she was\\nreviving the tradition of close realism in the English\\nnovel, and doing this with a delicacy and minuteness\\nof observation before unknown. But this is what is\\nreally accomplished by her six stories, 44 Pride and Sense\\n-in -t -vr an( Sensi-\\nPrejudice, Sense and Sensibility, 44 .Northanger biiity,\\nAbbey, 44 Mansfield Park, 44 Emma, and 44 Persua- 1811\\nJ Pride\\nsion. We feel in these books the expression of and Pre ju-\\nthe special sort of fine pleasure felt by a clever and 1812\\ncheerful woman in the everyday drama of social life. Mans-\\nThey show, as the 44 Vicar of Wakefield showed, Park,\\nbut as the eighteenth-century fiction in general did 1814\\nnot show, what delightful humor, untinged by coarse- isie.\\nness, is afforded by the gentle, commonplace play of North-\\nfinder\\ncharacter on character. Jane Austen is not the first Abbey,\\nwoman novelist in England women from the first 1818\\nPersua-\\ntook to novel-writing more readily than they had sion,\\ntaken to any other literary work Miss Burney, and\\n1818.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0453.jp2"}, "454": {"fulltext": "450\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nin a way Mrs. Radcliffe, were already respected\\nnames. But she was the first to take a leading\\nplace. Her province was the novel of manners\\nsome of her successors, like Charlotte Bronte in\\nEngland, and George Sand in France, were to excel\\nin the novel of passion others, like George Eliot,\\nin what we may call the novel of conscience. No\\ngreat novel of action has ever yet been written by\\na woman.\\nII. Essay\\nApart from the novel there was at this time a\\nsignificant development of critical prose. More im-\\nThe great P or tant perhaps than the work of any one author\\ncritical was ^he establishment of several great critical re-\\nreviews.\\nviews for from these have proceeded the maga-\\nzines of our own day, which have so large a share in\\nshaping the intellectual life of the public. First\\nof these was the Edinburgh Review, founded in\\n1802 by Sydney Smith, Francis Jeffrey, and other\\nclever young men, as an organ of the Liberals. The\\nEdinburgh has the proud distinction of having in-\\ntroduced Macaulay and Carlyle to the public. In\\n1808, the Quarterly was established, as the organ of\\nthe Tories, and in 1817, Blackwood s, in which ap-\\npeared the charming work of Wilson (Christopher\\nNorth). These were all Scottish. In 1824, was\\nstarted the Westminster, the first important review in\\nEngland.\\nCriticism gained a chance to expand and experi-\\nment in these organs. At first it was autocratic in\\ntone, and it made some memorable blunders, as when", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0454.jp2"}, "455": {"fulltext": "PROSE TILL 1830\\n451\\nJeffrey denounced Wordsworth, or the Quarterly\\nsneered at Keats. But slowly critics learned that\\nour minds live more truly by admiration than by\\ncontempt, and that good criticism must always spring\\nfrom sympathy before it can venture on judgment.\\nWe may follow in these reviews and their successors\\nall the phases through which the great art of criticism\\npasses between Johnson and Arnold.\\nAmong the individual essayists of this period, the Charles\\ndearest to us is assuredly Charles Lamb. There is ittSism.\\nno more lovable figure in all our long story than this\\ngentle friend of Coleridge. We love the man for\\nhis quaint and sweet essays, and these essays gain\\nnew charm for us when we know his brave, pathetic\\nlife. Lamb was a schoolmate of Coleridge at the\\nfamous Bluecoat School. A tragedy threw its shadow\\noi~er him when he was young his sister Mary, a\\nspirit hardly less rare than his own, killed her mother\\nin a fit of insanity. Charles devoted his life to this Life,\\nsister, whose days were clouded by recurrent attacks\\nof the malady. They were never rich. Lamb, for\\nthirty- one years a clerk in India House, passed his\\ndays in bondage and controlled only his evenings.\\nStill, this brother and sister were not unhappy.\\nThey both had active minds and keen powers of\\nenjoyment, they were endeared to a large circle of\\nfriends, and they had the deep comfort of serene,\\nunassuming, religious faith. Lamb found his de-\\nlights, perforce, not, like the great poets his comrades,\\nin nature or in travel, but in the world of books and Work,\\nmen. These delights he has recorded for us in a\\nfascinating way in his Essays of Elia, and in the mund\\nfine introductions to his Selections from the Drama-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0455.jp2"}, "456": {"fulltext": "452\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nJohn\\nWoodvil,\\n1801.\\nMr. H.,\\n1807.\\nTales\\nfrom\\nShake-\\nspeare,\\n1807.\\nSpeci-\\nmens\\nfrom the\\nDramatic\\nPoets,\\n1808.\\nof Elia,\\n1822, 1824,\\n1833.\\nWilliam\\nHazlitt,\\n1778-1830.\\nLeigh\\nHunt,\\n1784-1859.\\nThomas\\nDe\\nQuincey,\\n1785-1859.\\ntists. Lamb was steeped in the Elizabethan drama,\\nand in the essayists of the seventeenth century, and\\nhis writings are a joy to the cultivated ear, partly\\nbecause, with all their individuality, they are vocal\\nwith echoes of past delights. The pleasurableness\\nof the literature of our latter days is largely due,\\noften, to its power of quickening associations, as the\\nfresh singing of a young girl sometimes makes her\\nhearers start in response to the tones of her mother.\\nLamb wrote, besides his essays, a little tale, u Rosa-\\nmund Gray, and two dramas, a comedy, Mr. H.,\\nand a tragedy, John Woodvil. With his sister,\\nhe wrote the Tales from Shakespeare, which have\\nbecome a classic in their way. He died in 1834, sur-\\nviving by only a few months Coleridge, whose friend-\\nship had formed the romance of his life.\\nWilliam Hazlitt was a vigorous critic of the day.\\nWe remember him best because, with Lamb and\\nColeridge, he helped to revive intelligent enthusiasm\\nfor Shakespeare. Leigh Hunt, friend of Shelley and\\nKeats, and editor of a literary periodical, the Exam-\\niner, was a pleasant essayist of good literary tastes,\\nthough a little too much inclined to sweets. But\\nwe pass rapidly on to two more important names\\nThomas De Quincey and Walter Savage Landor.\\nIn Landor and De Quincey we find again the con-\\nstantly recurrent expression of the two forces that\\nare always striving for control in literature and art\\nclassicism and romanticism.\\nThomas De Quincey was born in 1785. He was\\na precocious and dreamy boy, master of Greek at\\nfifteen, an enthusiast in the accumulation of all kinds\\nof knowledge. At his University, Oxford, he spent", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0456.jp2"}, "457": {"fulltext": "PROSE TILL 1830\\n453\\nseveral years of recluse life. He had a romantic\\ndevotion for Wordsworth, and settled for a time in\\nthe Lake country, to be near his idol. He spent his\\nlater life in or near Edinburgh. Unfortunately, for\\nhimself, but fortunately, perhaps, for English litera-\\nture, he fell under the influence of the opium habit,\\nand his most remarkable work, The Confessions of\\nan Opium-Eater, is a kind of autobiography telling\\nthe extraordinary experiences of his disease. His\\nwritings were all in the form of contributions to\\nperiodicals some of them are called Suspiria de\\nProfundis, Murder as One of the Fine Arts, The\\nFlight of a Tartar Tribe.\\nAs might be inferred from these titles, De Quincey s\\nwork shows the strength and the weakness of roman-\\nticism carried to an extreme. The thrill of the un-\\nusual is the chief impression that it gives. It recalls\\nthe work of our American Poe. He loved to impart\\nto prose harmonious cadences hitherto undreamed of,\\nand to fill the mind with strange images of beauty,\\nmystery, or terror. A series of majestic visions\\npasses before the inner sight as we read the record\\nof his opium dreams. But although the power of\\nDe Quincey s prose is unquestioned, it is a bad\\nmodel. His style is frequently extravagant and over-\\nwrought, his very stateliness is so self-conscious that\\nit wearies, and he too often confuses the imaginative\\nwith the fantastic.\\nThe style of Walter Savage Landor, on the other waiter\\nhand, was one of chiselled purity. Landor was a Landor,\\nGreek born out of his due time. His very passion 1775 18(i\\nfor liberty was of the classic rather than of the revo-\\nlutionary stamp. Few modern men care much about", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0457.jp2"}, "458": {"fulltext": "454\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nPoems,\\n1795.\\nGebir,\\n1798.\\nCount\\nJulian,\\n1812.\\nImagi-\\nnary\\nConversa-\\ntions,\\n1824-1853.\\nPericles\\nand As-\\npasia,\\n1836.\\nPentam-\\neron,\\n1837.\\nLast\\nFruit off\\nan old\\nTree.\\n1853.\\na belated Greek, and Landor will never be popular.\\nBut lie has had a strong and abiding influence on\\nother literary artists and to certain readers, his\\nImaginary Conversations, his Pericles and\\nAspasia, will always offer a place wherein to take\\nrefuge with eternal beauty and calm wisdom. Lan-\\ndor showed as strong an historical sense as Scott, but\\nin a different way. In his Imaginary Conversa-\\ntions he would sketch a dramatic setting briefly,\\nsometimes exquisitely, and then he would set the\\npeople of the past to talking about things that inter-\\nested him, and that might have interested them.\\nThere is a cool, high intellectual power about these\\ndialogues there is at times a rare felicity of style,\\nalluring from its very reserve.\\nLandor wrote verse also a blank verse poem,\\nGebir, a drama, Count Julian, and certain lyrics.\\nHis verse is lofty, pure, reserved, like his prose.\\nRarely competent to move, it has yet at times a pathos\\nenhanced by its dignity. We may sum up Landor s\\nlife as he saw it, in his own words\\nI strove with none, for none was worth my strife\\nNature I loved, and next to nature, art.\\nI warmed both hands before the fire of life\\nIt sinks, and I am ready to depart.\\nHe lived fourteen years after he wrote these noble\\nlines, and died, eighty-nine years old, in Florence.\\nIt is curious to know that the author of books so\\nsevere and serene was a very choleric man. Legends\\nof his peculiarities of temper and disposition still\\nlinger. His life is interesting, not only for itself, but\\nfor his many literary connections; he is a link be-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0458.jp2"}, "459": {"fulltext": "PROSE TILL 1830\\n455\\ntween the generation of Southey, who was the friend\\nof his youth, and the generation of Browning, who\\ntended the lionlike old man with the devotion of a\\nson in his lonely and troubled old age.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nLife of Scott, by Lockhart by Hutton. Essay on Scott,\\nLeslie Stephen. Scott s Journal. Ruskin, in Fors Clavi-\\ngera, has charming fragments of a biography of Scott. Life of\\nJane Austen, Goldwin Smith (Great Writers Series). Life of\\nLamb, Ainger (English Men of Letters). Page, Life and\\nWritings of De Quincey. Essay on De Quincey, Leslie\\nStephen. Landor, Selections, by Sidney Colvin, with excel-\\nlent introduction (Golden Treasury Series). Selections, Athe-\\nnaeum Press Series. Life, Sidney Colvin.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nScott s poems, especially Marmion and the Lady of the\\nLake, form admirable preparation for the greater romantic\\nwork of his contemporaries. Study of the novel as an art\\nform may be begun with Scott better than with any other\\nnovelist, for his art is at once sound and obvious, a rare com-\\nbination. Plot development, character presentation, dramatic\\ncontrast, etc., can be missed in his work by no one who looks\\nfor them. Jane Austen may well be studied immediately after\\nScott, to point a contrast.\\nIt is a pity to analyze Charles Lamb. The influence of\\nseventeenth-century prose upon the style should, however, be\\ncarefully noted. Landor and De Quincey may well be read to-\\ngether, in short extracts, for the sake of contrast. Reading of a\\nfew selected early reviews is profitable as a warning against\\ncritical blunders, and a point of departure from which the\\nevolution of modern criticism can be traced.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nThe Personality of Scott of Charles Lamb Early Modern\\nCriticism, its Strength and its Weakness the Classical and the\\nRomantic in Prose Style The Art of Jane Austen.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0459.jp2"}, "460": {"fulltext": "s\\no\\nH\\nU2\\nhH\\nM o\\ncb\\ni\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i\\nH\\nP=i\\no\\n-as\\ntH CO\\na\\no\\niO H rH (M It-\\nOS 53 o n oo \u00c2\u00a33\\na s\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0ah\\nI 1\\nc ft a)\\n,a ,a\\nH H\\nS o\\n03\\n^2 a\\nill\\nc3 cp\\nO i-3 PQ\\n(N CO 1Q\\no o o\\nCO CO CO\\nJ a -a\\n,a\\nu c3\\nPQ j\\ntH IO B N\\nO O IO O CO\\nCO CO CO CO CO CO\\n:o3\\na p\\na\\nCP *CP M\\na 5\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2\u00e2\u0080\u00a2IJq *s -a\\n=tS\\na-\u00e2\u0080\u009e\\nCP\\ncp\u00c2\u00b0\\nc3\\n.as\\no\\na\\ncu\\nn ,a\\nCP\\n9^\\no\\n,23.\\nIs\\nL79G.\\nOi\\n1\\nL836,\\nL\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n.2\\nCO rj\\na f 3\\nCP ~t~ CP\\n8 o\\na ,o a\\n.a\\na o\\n11\\nO CO\\ncp CO\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0si\\na a\\na w\\nCO 4\\na. 2\\nCP rf\\nM i\\na\\nCP CP", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0460.jp2"}, "461": {"fulltext": "O tO X OS -r\\noo co oo oo oo 3g2,\\na,- o ti m o\\nv. cc ^t- 43\\n1 55 5 S\u00c2\u00a3 f g\\no 1 I\\n\u00c2\u00bbs i 2 2 g\\nj= 2 fl .2\\n2 5 2\\nH P OQ ffi H H\\n5\\nT\\na\\na\\n2? Cl ON CM\\ngn h\\n02\\n2\\n73\\n2\\nM\\nsis\\n2\\noo co poo\\na: CO SO\\nX 00\\n:c\\ncq\\noo\\n3\\nCJ3 O\\n.5\\nr3 O C\u00c2\u00a3\\no .2\\nh\\ngod\\noo oo oo oo\\nT3 3\\no\\nOQ\\n.go\\n2 iS\\nJ3 EC 09 JS\\n.S !_, -r a,\\n\u00c2\u00a9\u00c2\u00a93 StsjS^:\\nfl\u00c2\u00abpq |o\\n.5 O\\no\\n5 S\\nM CO\\n00 X\\nCD IQ\\niH\\n2^T\\n2 c\\n5 S\\no\\nas\\nil\\n2 W\\ns\\nc\\nCD\\nDO\\nbJO\\n3 Ph\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0S P\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a25- \u00c2\u00b0sZJ o\\n1 5\\nW x\\nx t-\\nO rH\\nX X\\nSJ 02\\n4i CO CQ\\n2\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nt!\u00c2\u00ab2 \u00c2\u00a9^a 5\\n2\\n5 \u00c2\u00abe\\nj\u00c2\u00bb\\n03 M\\n2\\nS\u00c2\u00a3 ft", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0461.jp2"}, "462": {"fulltext": "o\\nEn\\n02\\nh\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\\na\\no\\nFh\\no\\nE-i\\nw w\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1\\n.2 C so ^oo 00\\nO eS\\nu d\\n\u00c2\u00a7a\\n.2 o\\n0\\nd a -+j\\nee\\n00 \u00c2\u00bbo\\nCM CO\\n00 00 00\\na\\ni CO a W l^HOIS\\n\u00c2\u00a7e g\u00c2\u00ae,\\nW H S\\n10\\n00\\nrH,q tH n\\nft\\ndo _\u00e2\u0096\u00a0--\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a23 15 \u00c2\u00a70\\nd d\\n2 dn\\nd\\ns O c3\\n31 oa\\na\\nw O\\n-d bJO\\nP P\\noa d\\n-2.9\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a23 So\\nft\u00c2\u00a3\\n\u00c2\u00a7.a\\nSa\\n5t\\n.2\\nn -d\\nP c3\\nCN CO\\n1 1 I\\nft 5\\nP o\\n5*a^g\\n\u00c2\u00abM D\\n\u00c2\u00b05 -3\\\\\\nCO g\\n0:=\\np 2-d^\\n^2;\\n\u00c2\u00a9\u00c2\u00a3.2\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0d t,\\nfa P n\\nlill", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0462.jp2"}, "463": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER V\\nCONDITIONS OF VICTORIAN LITERATURE\\nFTER the short but great literary period which\\nfollowed the revolutionary upheaval, England\\nfell once more for a brief time into silence. Once\\nmore it seemed as if all the stories had been told\\nand all the songs sung, as if the last inspiration had\\nworn itself out. And then once more the spiritual\\nforce in the nation rose and pressed forth through\\nnew channels, prepared for it by new conditions.\\nWe have reached the period which has only just\\nclosed. We are so near to it that many of the forces\\nwhich controlled it are yet imperfectly understood.\\nBut of one thing at least we may be fairly sure\\nlife grows richer as it goes on, not poorer, and there\\nwas never a period when that beautiful utterance of\\nlife which we call literature had more vitality, vari-\\nety, and expressiveness than during the last seventy\\nyears of the nineteenth century.\\nThe conditions under which Victorian literature\\nexpanded were so complex that we feel timid in\\nattempting to describe them yet a few stand out\\nso clearly that they must at least be suggested.\\nI. The Forces at Work\\nFirst, we all recognize, of course, man s conquest\\nof material forces. This conquest seemed accom-\\n459", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0463.jp2"}, "464": {"fulltext": "460\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nplished in the Renaissance, when men discovered the\\nshape and size of this earth, and its relation to the\\nstarry universe and we all know how these discov-\\nAppiied eries quickened the imagination. But they were no\\nscience. more startling than the discoveries made in our time,\\nwhich have brought already under human control\\nsuch forces as steam and electricity. We do not yet\\nbegin to know all that this new dominion of ours\\nis to mean. But already it has given the earnest,\\nthough not the fulfilment, of the partial release of\\nhumanity from the heavy burden of material labor,\\nand it has bound the nations into one and enabled\\nus to evade, even more swiftly than Shakespeare s\\nAriel could do, the harsh tyranny of space. Peoples\\nno longer live in remote isolation each from each;\\nthey share from day to day their daily life. Rail-\\nroads, telegraphs, telephones, and the rest are not in\\nthemselves ends in which we can glory, and it is a\\nmistake so to regard them but they are means for\\nthe conquest of the world of matter by the world\\nof mind, and they quicken and liberate the imagina-\\ntion.\\nBut the triumph of mind over the material world\\nachieved by natural science, sinks into insignificance\\nbeside the transformation of the world of thought by\\nscientific theory. It was in 1859 that Darwin s Ori-\\ngin of Species, probably the most epoch-making book\\nof the modern world, was published. From this\\ntime on and even earlier, the great principle of evo-\\nlution began to make its way. Slowly men realized\\nthat the knowledge of this principle brought a new\\nrevelation of the method and significance of natural\\nlaw, and of the past history of the visible world", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0464.jp2"}, "465": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN LITERATURE\\n461\\nmore slowly yet they became aware that it had pro-\\nfound, almost revolutionary significance in almost\\nevery sphere of thought. The infusion of evolu-\\ntionary method and evolutionary conceptions into\\nreligion, ethics, sociology, criticism, was the chief\\nintellectual achievement of the nineteenth century.\\nAs a mere theory of process and relations in the\\nnatural world, evolution would not concern us here\\nas a principle of interpretation applied more and\\nmore in every department of human activity, it has\\npervaded and profoundly modified our literature.\\nThe social situation, in the presence of which The social\\nmodern authors have written, has been one of absorb- ment.\\ning and dramatic interest. We saw how profoundly\\nEurope was stirred at the end of the eighteenth cen-\\ntury by the new cry for brotherhood and freedom\\nwe saw how, despite the unconquerable idealism of\\nthe poets, society succumbed to a conservative reac-\\ntion. There was little democratic passion or hope\\nstirring in English hearts when Victoria came to\\nthe throne. Yet an ideal, once seen by the race,\\nnever quite vanishes. Democracy during the nine-\\nteenth century has advanced, often by ways un-\\ndreamed of. But it has met with serious checks\\nand unforeseen dangers. The aristocracy of birth has\\nbeen growing gradually weaker over Europe our\\ngreat American civilization has been built up with-\\nout it. But a new aristocracy threatens us, even\\nworse, because more ignobly devoid of appeal to the\\nimagination, the aristocracy of money. Again,\\nthe revolutionary leaders trusted that freedom and\\njoy were close at hand for the great company of the\\npoor and the unprivileged, but modern life has", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0465.jp2"}, "466": {"fulltext": "462\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nseemed to consign the poor to a new bondage.\\nWhile the middle classes have risen to prosperity\\nand power, the working classes have remained in\\nmaterial and spiritual need. Political freedom has\\nas yet availed them little. At the end of the eigh-\\nteenth century an industrial revolution as important\\nas the political, though less noted at the time, substi-\\ntuted machine labor for hand labor. Putting the\\nmachines in the hands of the employing class, this\\nrevolution threw the laboring people, by whose daily\\nwork society subsists, into a sharply defined class by\\nthemselves, and into conditions in some ways pecu-\\nliarly painful and degrading. All these things\\nmodern literature has noted. The cry of the toilers\\nmakes itself ever more clearly heard through our\\nnoblest books. Our authors have turned from\\nvisions like Shelley s to observation and experi-\\nment they have believed in evolution rather than\\nin revolution. Hope of a nobler social order has at\\ntimes seemed far away, but it has never died. Social\\nstudy and social passion are among the most dis-\\ntinctive features of Victorian literature, especially of\\nVictorian prose.\\nThe re- The period of experiment on which men entered\\nmove? a ne en( ^e eighteenth century did not confine\\nment. itself to social matters it invaded the religious\\nworld also. People were driven to question their\\nrelations to God as well as their relations to their\\nfellow-men. The authority of the Church was as\\nmuch weakened as that of the old idea of the State.\\nUnfortunately, during the searching experience of\\nthe Revolution, the Christian Church had sided with\\nthe party of privilege and wealth rather than with", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0466.jp2"}, "467": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN LITERATURE 463\\nthe people, or with the cause o\u00c2\u00a3 freedom and this\\nchoice of hers had sadly loosened her hold, not only\\non the working classes, but on many of the pure\\nspirits who made a religion of humanity. We can\\nnot wonder that the Church chose in this way, when\\nwe remember the condition of Christianity in the\\neighteenth century; but all Christian people must\\nregret it, for the effect of this false step is still felt\\nto-day. Many other reasons weakened the hold of\\nhistoric creeds and the nineteenth century, in every\\nEuropean country, has been a time of doubt and of\\nspiritual striving. Perhaps on this very account it\\nhas been a time of intense spiritual earnestness.\\nThe torpor of assurance, to use a phrase of\\nBrowning s, has been well shaken from our creed.\\nA little after the middle of the century came the\\ngreat expansion due to the introduction of evolu-\\ntionary theory. This theory affected religious con-\\nceptions very powerfully, strengthening at first the\\nforces that made for denial and scepticism, and later\\ntransforming many of the outlying and more mechan-\\nical modes of religious thought. All this ferment of\\nreligious inquiry, this exultant pleasure in escape\\nfrom narrow dogma, this lament for dead faith, this\\njoy in faith reconquered, all the phases of profound\\ninterest in the life of the soul which characterize\\nmodern life, are expressed in Victorian literature,\\nespecially in Victorian poetry.\\nMany other forces have of course found expression The ses-\\nin modern literature. The nineteenth century knew e c\\na great movement toward beauty, which poets and ment\\nprose writers did as much as artists to foster; it\\nknew a quickened desire to penetrate the secrets of", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0467.jp2"}, "468": {"fulltext": "464\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nNature with loving heart and mind. These things\\nand others we shall watch as we come to read the\\nauthors who have interpreted for us the last stages\\nof that great story which we have followed from the\\nbeginning the story of the imaginative life of the\\nEnglish race as shown in English letters.\\nII. The Decade of Origins\\na back- It is rather arbitrary to call a literary period by\\nglance. the name of a sovereign, but the last period of our\\nEnglish literature does almost exactly coincide with\\nthe reign of Victoria although it begins a few years\\nbefore she ascended the throne. It is strange to see\\nhow many of the great men of the revolutionary\\nperiod had been swept away before her accession.\\nKeats, Shelley, Byron, had all died, in the inverse\\norder of their ages, before 1825. Another decade,\\nand the older men, Hazlitt, Scott, Coleridge, and\\nLamb, were hushed, while Wordsworth s work as a\\npoet, though not as a man, was practically over.\\nThe silent air waited for new voices, and in the ten\\nyears between 1830 and 1840 new voices made them-\\nselves heard.\\nSocial and This is one of the most significant and interesting\\nsfgmfi- US decades in our literary history a birth-decade, in\\nwhich we see the first appearance of the two great\\nforces that, as we have said, stand out as most com-\\npelling in the confusion of modern life the force of\\nsocial unrest, the force of religious inquiry. At the\\nbeginning, the movement culminating in the Reform\\nBill definitely placed political power in the hands of\\nthe middle class at the end we are confronted with\\ncance.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0468.jp2"}, "469": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN LITERATURE\\n465\\nChartism, the first effort, significant if feeble, at self-\\nassertion on the part of the working class. Reli-\\ngiously, this was the period of that strong spiritual\\nmovement, led by J ohn Henry Newman and his col-\\nleagues, which stirred England to the depths, with its\\nappeal for a return to strict self-renunciation and to\\nthe faith and practice of the primitive Church. Un-\\nder the inspiration of John Stuart Mill and his fel-\\nlows a strong sceptical movement was also gathering\\nforce, after its fashion as true a witness to moral ear-\\nnestness as the Catholic revival and at the same\\ntime men of the type of Frederick Denison Maurice,\\nformed by the influence of Coleridge, were begin-\\nning to feel their way toward a Christianity which\\nshould be the home at once of faith and of freedom.\\nThe first books of Tennyson and of Browning were First ap-\\npublished in this decade with these, Victorian poetry P^ arance\\nbegan. Victorian essay opened significantly with Browning\\nCarlyle s Sartor Resartus, the book which more 5hack nS\\nthan any other one struck the key-note of the new eray,\\nage, and with such of the Tracts for the Times Newman,\\nas were written by Newman and Pusey. It is worth\\nwhile to remember one special year, 1833, for Tenny-\\nson s first poems of importance, Browning s earliest\\npoem, Pauline, the first of the Tracts for the\\nTimes, and Sartor Resartus, were in this year all\\ngiven to the world. One short year later, and Vic-\\ntorian fiction gave promise, in Dickens s Sketches\\nby Boz, of its long and brilliant career, and the\\nPickwick Papers in 1836, and Oliver Twist in\\n1837, showed that the career was fairly begun in\\n1837 the great name of Thackeray, whom we couple\\nwith Dickens as we couple Browning with Tenny-\\nson, appears with the Yellowplush Papers.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0469.jp2"}, "470": {"fulltext": "466\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nDifficul-\\nties of\\njudgment\\nin modern\\nliterature.\\nVictorian fiction, Victorian essay, Victorian poetry,\\nthen are well on their way before this decade has closed.\\nWe shall stndy these three in successive chapters.\\nWhich has been the greatest it is difficult to say. Re-\\nmembering the copiousness, flexibility, and power of\\nmodern prose, the expressiveness of our novels, the\\nforce and beauty of our essays, we are ready to ex-\\nclaim that prose is the characteristic art form of\\nmodern life but the words hesitate on our lips, as\\nthe incommunicable grace of a lyric from Tennyson,\\nthe imagery of a sonnet from Rossetti, some poig-\\nnant phrase from Browning, or some haunting mel-\\nody from Swinburne, float reproachfully through the\\nmind. The truth would seem to be that at last the\\ntwo great instruments of literary expression are\\nequally mature, and that they hold their own in har-\\nmonious and balanced power. Assuredly there seems\\nto be need of both of them, adequately to render the\\neager and varied life of the Victorian age.\\nIt is well for us to remember, as we approach this\\nliterature, so full of special interest to us, the caution\\nof Matthew Arnold. He warns us that there are\\nthree possible estimates of literature the historic,\\nthe personal, and the real. Of these the real be-\\ncomes more and more difficult to obtain as we come\\nnear to our own days, the historic and the personal\\nbecome more alluring. We can learn to know the\\nmovement of life in the times just preceding our\\nown better through the study of Victorian literature\\nthan in any other way. We can also find personal\\nfriends who will help us in the inner life of mind\\nand soul, more readily perhaps among modern authors\\nthan among any others. Both these things it is right", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0470.jp2"}, "471": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN LITERATURE\\n467\\nand well for us to do only we must not confuse\\nproportions, and we must avoid dogmatism. It is\\nunwise to make assertions about the absolute and\\npermanent value of modern books.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nTraill, Social England, Vol. VI. Saintsbury, History of\\nXineteeth-century Literature. Gosse, Modern English Litera-\\nture. Justin McCarthy, History of Our Own Times. Dow-\\nden, Studies in Literature The Scientific Movement and\\nLiterature; Transcripts and Studies, Victorian Literature.\\nFrederic Harrison, Victorian Literature.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nIt would be helpful if the services of other departments\\ncould be engaged at this point for one or two general talks\\non the Political and Social History of the Victorian Age, the\\nScientific Movement and its Reaction on Literature, the Modern\\nArtistic Movement and its Relations to Literature, the Oxford\\nMovement in its Literary Connections.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0471.jp2"}, "472": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VI\\nVICTORIAN FICTION\\nRealism of /^iNE of the best ways to understand modern Eng-\\ni!tera- ian land is to read the great Victorian novels for\\nture the novel, in these latter days, has pressed nearer\\nand nearer to life. We have had, it is true, some\\nstrong writers of romance but on the whole the fic-\\ntion of the great masters has reverted to the realistic\\ntradition of the eighteenth century. Realism in art\\nis sure to be the cry of an age possessed like ours\\nwith the desire for knowledge of all kinds, in particu-\\nlar for self-knowledge and the novel, though it has\\nsome conventions, lends itself to realism more easily\\nthan does any other art form.\\nCuriously enough, it is the very hardest thing for\\nart to do, to show life exactly as it is. Art must\\nmove toward realism as far as it can, the farther the\\nbetter, so long as it does not quite arrive. As soon\\nas it wholly arrived it would cease to be art. We\\ncan watch this gradual penetration into reality in a\\nvery interesting way through Victorian fiction.\\nI. Chahles Dickens\\n1812-1870. Dickens is the first revealer of modern life in fic-\\ntion and what a revelation it is His realism is of\\njust the type that we should expect early in a liter-\\nary development, for it is realism of sight. No other\\n468", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0472.jp2"}, "473": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n469\\nmg.\\nEnglish novelist has had such power to make us see\\nthe world he watched. Analyze a chapter of Dickens,\\nand note how largely it is made up of visual images. His real-\\nThe great presence of London is around us as we\\nread him we tread its streets, watch its darkly flow-\\ning river, penetrate its foulest haunts. Or, we are\\nin the fresh country, and the old life of the inn and\\nthe coach slips gayly along before our inner eyes.\\nPeople, too, throng upon our vision the plain, often\\nthe poor, people of the Victorian world. We see\\ntheir clothes, we note their gestures we should\\nknow them anywhere.\\nDickens had the best sort of training to make his His train-\\nimagination a mirror in this way. He never had any\\ntime to think about life he was too busy looking at\\nit. His father (whom he sketched in Mr. Micawber)\\nand his mother (whom he sketched in Mrs. Nickleby)\\nseem to have been rather irresponsible about their\\noffspring at least, when Mr. Dickens, who was a\\npoor clerk in the Navy Office, fell into debt, his\\nsecond son Charles, a sensitive little fellow eleven\\nyears old, was tossed into the mselstrom of London,\\nthere to fend for himself and pick up a living by\\npasting labels on blacking bottles in a big ware-\\nhouse. He was a dreamy child; before this time\\nhe had fed his mind on the strong fiction of the\\neighteenth century, which he found in an attic. His\\nexperience in the warehouse he has described for us\\nin David Copperfield. It did not last long, and\\nhe was better taken care of afterward but his only\\nuniversity and to develop his unique genius the\\nbest he could have had was the London streets.\\nWe find him at fifteen in an attorney s office, a little", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0473.jp2"}, "474": {"fulltext": "470\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nlater a reporter, always haunting the theatre and\\nintimate with the life of the stage, and picking up\\nin all these experiences the material for his novels.\\nHis work. Fame came to him early. All England laughed\\nover the Pickwick Papers, published in monthly\\nPickwick\\nPapers, instalments when he was twenty-four years old.\\nThey were a series of humorous character sketches,\\nin the good old English tradition of very broad fun,\\nbut free from the coarseness which had disfigured\\nthe fun of the last century. It was enough to make\\nthe book immortal that here Sam Weller made his\\nbow to the English public. The next year Dickens\\nbrought out in the same fashion his first real novel,\\nOliver Oliver Twist. This was a glaring melodrama,\\n1837? 1 with an impossible plot, very little humor, and\\nmuch bad pathos it showed how much false roman-\\nticism still clung to the author, but it contained\\ndescriptions of the life of London thieves and out-\\ncasts startling in vividness and truth. Melodrama\\nand farce, with which Dickens thus introduced him-\\nself to the public, continued to be the controlling\\nNicholas types of his work. Nicholas Nickleby came next,\\nNickieby, rever ti n g to the type of Pickwick, but less farcical.\\nIt was a story of roving adventure, loosely strung\\ntogether, bubbling over with delightful fun and sym-\\nOid pathy. Then, for nearly thirty years, the fecund\\nShop/ ,lty genius of Dickens continued to pour forth books\\n1840. that delighted the English public. They were all\\nChuzzie- novels of plot or of adventure, though sometimes he\\nwit, 1843. com ki ne( the two. Those in which adventure domi-\\n^Chnst- na t es are f ar the best. Dickens never compassed\\n1843 01 realism in plot, though he could construct a fairly\\ningenious melodrama the power of his work is in his", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0474.jp2"}, "475": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTIOX\\n471\\ngift of reproducing the aspect of life, and in his Dombey\\nirresistible humor. It is humor of the simplest, genial, i846. S n\\ninfectious, and we treasure it because it makes us for- David\\nget that life has any moral problems. No one can fieM/ 1\\nthink of problems while Mr. Micawber is making a 1850\\nspeech. Dickens was supposed in his own day to be House,\\nmaster of the pathetic also, but his pathos is usually 18o2\\nof the self-conscious kind started by Richardson, and Times,\\nit rings a little false to-day. ^Little\\nThe best of these novels of adventure is David Don-it,\\nCopperfield surely a book to live as long as kindly Tale of\\nEnglish folk still read their mother tongue. One Two\\ngreat plot novel also Dickens wrote, which stands 1859.\\ncuriously apart from his other work. It is the Our\\nTale of Two Cities, a story of the French Revo- Friend,\\nlution, conceived under the inspiration of Carlyle. 1864,\\nThe terror of the time gathers visibly before our\\neyes as we read.\\nDickens s highly nervous organization wore itself\\nout early. He took to imitating himself in his later\\nbooks they are often mannered, and the humor is Dickens s\\nforced. He added to the strain of writing the ex- deatn\\ncitement of lectures and public readings, in England\\nand America, and he died when only fifty-eight\\nyears old.\\nDickens s strongest moral impulse is his compassion\\nfor the poor. He never discovered the world of\\nmanual workers, though he tried to treat it in\\nHis scope\\nHard Times, but the whole world of lower trade and spirit,\\nand poverty in London lives in his pages. Some-\\ntimes the reformer spoils the artist, yet we love\\nDickens the better for his unfailing compassion\\ntoward suffering children in workhouses or streets,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0475.jp2"}, "476": {"fulltext": "472\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\ntoward prisoners, toward victims of the cruelty of\\nman, and for his efforts to right abuses. Better than\\nany special crusade, however, is his spirit of sympathy\\nfor all sorts and conditions of men, except indeed,\\nfor the very rich, whom he disliked too much to\\ndescribe them well. Dickens has many crude and\\nobvious faults. He lacks the psychological insight\\nof later novelists he has no spiritual vision he cari-\\ncatures and distorts till we feel in reading him that\\nwe are looking at life indeed, but at life reflected as\\nit were in a convex mirror. But it is impossible to\\nlive with Dickens and not feel our sympathy for our\\nfellow-men quickened and broadened. What better\\nthing can a novelist do for us\\nII. William Makepeace Thackeray\\n18U-1863. Thackeray took English fiction into precisely the\\nregions which Dickens could not enter. He had\\njust the sort of antecedents and training to make\\nthis possible for him. He was a gentleman born.\\nHis mother married for her second husband an\\nAnglo-Indian officer said to be the original of\\nHis train- Colonel Newcome. Thackeray was sent home from\\nIndia to be educated, and studied at the famous\\nCharter House school, and then at Cambridge Uni-\\nversity. He had Bohemian tastes, however, and\\ndrifted to Paris, where he studied art for a while.\\nIt is interesting that Dickens s leaning, apart from\\nliterature, was toward the stage, Thackeray s toward\\nart. He saw more or less of various phases of Euro-\\npean life, an opportunity never given to Dickens,\\nmost useful to a novelist of society.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0476.jp2"}, "477": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n473\\nThackeray was a kindly, shy, immensely clever\\nman. He began to write when still very young, but His work,\\nhe did not win fame early, like Dickens, though his\\nlovers to-day delight in every word of his early\\nhumorous sketches. He was thirty-six when his\\nfirst great novel, Vanity Fair, was published. p^\u00c2\u00b0 ity\\nThis was a story of English society at the time of 1847.\\nthe battle of Waterloo; it centres in the amazing\\nfigure of Becky Sharp, the adventuress, who passes\\nthrough all social grades like a rocket, and then falls\\nlike a rocket into the mire. The next great novel\\nwas Pendennis, in 1850 this dealt with strictly p\\n7 J nis, 1850.\\ncontemporary life. In 1852 came Thackeray s novel Henry\\nof the eighteenth century, Henry Esmond it is Esmond,\\nconsidered by many the best historical novel in Eng- The\\nlish. In 1854 The Newcomes gave a picture of New-\\ncomGS\\nmodern life, sweeter in tone than any Thackeray had 1854.\\nbefore presented, though very sad. The Virgin- The Vir-\\nians, another historical novel, is inferior to Es- fs57 ans\\nmond, and Thackeray is not at his best in his other Philip,\\nlong finished novel, Philip. 1861,\\nThackeray wrote lectures as well as novels in par-\\nticular, The English Humourists and The Four English\\nHumour-\\nGeorges, dealing with that eighteenth century ists, i853.\\nwhich he knew and loved so well. His private life The Four\\nGeorges,\\nwas clouded with sorrow. His one longing was for i860,\\nsimple domestic tenderness, and his wife, early in\\ntheir marriage, became insane. He was a lonely\\nman, but cheered by the love of friends and later\\nof his daughters. He lectured in England and in\\nour own country, though not so much as Dickens.\\nHis life was really in his books, which were wonder- J^g\\nfully real to him. In 1863 he died. death", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0477.jp2"}, "478": {"fulltext": "474\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nThackeray s plots are not so much in evidence as\\nDickens s, and it is almost possible to read him with-\\nout realizing that his books have any plot at all.\\nYet when we come to think we shall see that in\\nsome, at least, of his books, as Vanity Fair and\\nu Henry Esmond, he tells his story in the main very\\nwell, though he sometimes loses sight of proportions\\nand has to crowd it at the end. But Thackeray s\\nHis art. ar t is always unobtrusive. The same thing is em-\\nphatically true of his style. It is a delightful style,\\nquite different from that of Dickens, and far more\\ncharming. His books seem to slip along with the\\nease and sparkle of well-bred conversation, but their\\napparent simplicity is really the highest art, as any\\none will see who tries to write like them. Thackeray\\npauses a great deal in his narrative for discursive\\ncomment, and this habit of his might be tedious were\\nhis style not so perfect as it is, his digressions are\\na great charm. Prose has never had a truer, a more\\nlegitimate, melody of movement than he imparted\\nto it.\\nIt is fortunate that he has a more subtle style\\nthan Dickens, for he had to describe more subtle\\npeople. Dickens begins with the inhabitants of\\nthe city slums, and moves easily among poor and\\nsimple folk till he reaches the merchant class; his\\nstudies are never successful when he goes higher.\\nBut Thackeray moves upward, quite out of the\\nHis social world of trade, among the intellectual and profes-\\npictures. s ona classes, and the aristocracy. He does not\\nvisualize his world as Dickens does he notes less\\nthe outward aspect of men, than their manners, their\\ninterests, their relations. He sees the mind, and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0478.jp2"}, "479": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n475\\nshows us the play of motives in it, conscious and\\nunconscious.\\nIt is not a very cheerful picture that he gives us.\\nDickens s unthinking classes are sound and kindly\\nat heart, though they live on a level not so very\\nmuch above the animal. But Thackeray s polished\\nand educated people are usually worldly through and\\nthrough. They have learned how to make, exter-\\nnally, a fine art of life, but they are heartless under-\\nneath. We cannot help feeling that the society\\nwhich Thackeray describes is almost hopelessly\\nmaterialized. Money is of paramount importance\\nin it. His people are consumed by that sort of per-\\nsonal ambition which has free play under our modern\\nconditions, where men are no longer born into classes\\nin which they have to stay, but can make their way,\\nif they are clever enough, from class to class. A\\nspirit of pushing unrest pervades Thackeray s world.\\nNo one reverences simple goodness, innocence, rec- His\\ntitude, more than Thackeray does no one describes ann\\nthem with more winning penetration and sympathy.\\nBut he does not see them very often. He can draw\\na noble hero, to be sure, which Dickens never could\\ndo a Dobbin, a Henry Esmond, and, dearest of all,\\nthe old soldier with the heart of a child, Colonel\\nNewcome. But unluckily most of the good people\\nin his books are a little dull. This is not true of\\nHenry Esmond, his hero of the eighteenth century,\\nbut it is true of the characters in his other books.\\nHis good people live apart from the rush and push\\nof life they never enter Vanity Fair at all, far less\\ndo they dwell there, as some of Bunyan s pilgrims\\ndo, and try to help the inhabitants of the place. No,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0479.jp2"}, "480": {"fulltext": "476\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nno, Thackeray seems to say, do not draw near to that\\nFair. It is a fascinating place, to be sure all the\\nwit of the world is there, and the intelligence, and\\nthe interest and the charm but if you enter it you\\nare lost. Better stay outside and be a little stupid\\nif necessary, but keep your heart fresh.\\nOne reason why Thackeray shows us so few ideals\\nis that, even more than Dickens, he reflects the ten-\\ndency of our democratic times to fasten attention on\\nthe average. Shakespeare and his compeers sought\\nthe ideal and the heroic. Thackeray and his fellows\\ndeliberately took life as they found it and they\\nlived at a time when idealism in society was at low\\nebb. If we were to infer the interests, occupations,\\nand aims of society at the early Victorian period\\nfrom the novels of the time, we should certainly be\\na little discouraged. It is true, as a keen critic has\\nrecently said, that we suffer in reading Thackeray s\\nworks from an absence of noble expectation.\\nYet it would be a great mistake to call Thackeray\\na cynic, as has sometimes been done. He certainly\\ndoes not inspire his readers with a militant desire to\\nconquer evil his tone is half playful, half melancholy,\\na little fatalistic. Nor do his books make for definite\\nreforms like those of Dickens. But he develops a\\nfastidious disgust for hypocrisy and materialism, and\\na delicate taste for all things sweet and pure. His\\nkeen humor always casts ridicule in the right place.\\nHis pathos is true and profound, never to be for-\\ngotten springing, not like that of Dickens from\\nmaterial accidents, like the death of children or the\\nsufferings of the feeble-minded, but from deeper\\nsources. And in Henry Esmond, where he", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0480.jp2"}, "481": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n477\\nescapes from the depressing atmosphere of the mod-\\nern world, he gives us a picture of life, not idealized\\nnor sentimentalized, but full of attraction.\\nIII. Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot)\\nWe turn to George Eliot, the only novelist of 1820-188I.\\nmodern England who can to-day claim a fairly\\nassured place beside Thackeray and Dickens. We\\nhave seen how sweeping were the views of life which\\nthese earlier writers gave us. Their works are a Realism of\\nn -1 1 ^th the inner\\ngreat panorama of modern society. I heir canvases iif e\\nare crowded by figures, in one of Dickens s novels\\nthere are seventy-five characters, in one of Thack-\\neray s over sixty they show us people, always in\\nsocial groups, in varied relations with their fellow-\\nmen. Of that large part of life which is lived in\\nsolitude they tell us little. But modern realism was\\nto press nearer to the individual heart and conscience,\\nto the hidden places of experience, than these great\\nmasters had done.\\nMary Anne, or Marian, Evans, better known by Her life,\\nher pen name, was the daughter of a carpenter who\\nafterward became land agent she was born in\\nWarwickshire, the beautiful county of Shakespeare.\\nShe did not know city life in her childhood as Thack-\\neray and Dickens did she grew up in the sweet,\\nrural, old-fashioned England which was to furnish\\nsubjects and setting for her earlier books.\\nAs a little girl, the strongest fact in her life was\\nher intense devotion to her brother she has told us\\nabout it in a pretty series of sonnets, Brother and\\nSister. Her affections were always profound. Her", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0481.jp2"}, "482": {"fulltext": "478\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nmother died while she was very young, and a little\\nschool life and solitary years of keeping house for\\nher father made up her girlhood. She was fervently\\nevangelical at this time, and had serious scruples\\nabout reading novels. But when she was twenty-\\ntwo years old her father and she moved to Coven-\\ntry here she became intimate with some clever\\npeople of radical views, and slipped with remarkable\\nease away from her early faith. She never regained\\nit but the problems of the ethical life continued\\nalways to be the most important things in the world\\nto her. She translated at this time a famous radi-\\ncal German book, Strauss s Life of Jesus. Her\\nchange of faith was a great grief to her father, but\\nthe two became reconciled, and she cared tenderly for\\nhis last years.\\nAfter her father s death, Miss Evans spent a winter\\nin Geneva, for rest, and returned to London as an\\neditor of the Westminster Review, the Liberal organ.\\nThis was an honorable position for a woman; she\\nmust already have made her mark as a person of in-\\ntellect. In London she met the most interesting\\npeople of the time; not the people of Dickens s\\nworld, nor of Thackeray s, but the leaders of thought\\nand art. She formed two relations which proved\\nmost significant to her. One was a close friendship\\nwith Herbert Spencer, the philosopher of the new\\nschool of evolutionary thought. George Eliot be-\\ncame an ardent evolutionist, and eagerly attempted\\nduring all the rest of her life to apply evolutionary\\nprinciples to the moral life of the race. The other\\nrelation was with George Henry Lewes, a brilliant\\nman of letters, author, among other things, of the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0482.jp2"}, "483": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n479\\nstandard life of Goethe. She defied the laws of mar-\\nriage to unite her fortunes to those of Lewes and\\nshe now knew happiness for the first time, though\\nnot an unmixed happiness. They studied, thought,\\nand travelled together. It was a shock and surprise\\nto her friends when after his death, in 1878, she mar-\\nried a young man, much her junior, J. W. Cross.\\nBut she was happy for a few months in this second\\nunion. She died, however, very soon.\\nTill she was thirty-seven years old George Eliot\\nshowed no sign of creative power. It was Lewes s\\nardent belief in her that first called this power out.\\nVery timidly she wrote her first stories, Scenes of Her work.\\nClerical Life, and sent them under the pseudonym Scenes\\nsince so famous to BlacJctvood s Magazine. They Life, i858.\\nwere accepted, and encouraged by their success\\nshe wrote her first novel, Adam Bede, a story Adam\\nof rural England at the end of the previous century. 1859.\\nAll the world, reading this book, knew that a great\\nnew novelist had appeared. Dickens was one of the\\nfirst to divine that the book was written by a woman.\\nSoon the veil was dropped, and George Eliot, with a\\ntremulous sense of responsibility toward the gift so\\nunexpectedly discovered, devoted her life to writing\\nfiction.\\nThe Mill on the Floss held in the first and best The Mill\\non the\\npart charming reminiscences of her own eager child- Floss,\\nI860.\\nSilas\\nhood, and was again a story of country life. Silas\\nMarner is perhaps the most perfect idyl in English. Marner,\\nRomola was a more ambitious book; it is George\\nRomola,\\nEliot s historical novel, and treats of the Florence of 1863.\\nthe Renaissance. Felix Holt, her weakest novel, ^VF\\nm Holt,\\nis a story of the radical movement at the time of the 1866.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0483.jp2"}, "484": {"fulltext": "480\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nMiddle-\\nmarch,\\n1872.\\nDaniel\\nDeronda,\\n1876.\\nThe\\nSpanish\\nGypsy,\\n1868.\\nHer scope.\\nEarly\\nbooks.\\nLater\\nbooks.\\nReform Bill. Then came the last great novels,\\nMicldlemarch and Daniel Deronda, both deal-\\ning with the modern English life of the upper class,\\nbut adding in Daniel Deronda a strong contrast in\\nthe careful study of the modern Jews. The Spanish\\nGypsy, a drama in verse, and certain other poems,\\nand a series of essays, Impressions of Theophras-\\ntus Such, complete George Eliot s literary output.\\nWhere Thackeray and Dickens study the phenom-\\nena of society, George Eliot studies those of the\\nsoul. Her early books treat, with no touch of melo-\\ndrama or satire, but with refreshing simplicity and\\ninsight, the great primal normal passions which shape\\nthe life of all men. Hardy has followed her in this\\nrich field. Most people prefer these early books to\\nthe later ones, and they certainly have more charm.\\nThey are full of humor, of sympathy we escape\\nfrom city streets and drawing-rooms to the fragrance\\nof fertile lowlands, and the wide unfevered light of\\nthe sky. These books strengthen our sanity. Adam\\nBede in particular, though it tells a tragedy, is a\\nstory full of rest. Adam himself, probably the first\\nworkman hero in fiction, and Dinah Morris, that fair\\ntype of spiritual womanhood, enrich our life by their\\nfriendship.\\nRarely, however, does George Eliot show us a\\nnormal and peaceful society. Already, in The\\nMill on the Floss, the modern forces of unrest\\nhave begun to stir, and the wistful, passionate figure\\nof Maggie stands out in strange relief against the\\nidyllic and humorous background. George Eliot\\nin her later books moved farther and farther away\\nfrom the life known to her childhood. In Romola", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0484.jp2"}, "485": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n481\\nthe Florentine setting but slightly disguises the\\nintellectual and spiritual conditions of modern Eng-\\nland. Middlemarch and Daniel Deronda deal\\nwith the special moral strivings of thoughtful mod-\\nern men and women. Just on this account they will\\nprobably not live as long as the earlier books.\\nMoreover, they have less free play of humor, less\\nbeauty of setting. But if we may surmise their real\\nvalue to be less, their historic value at least is\\ngreater. Nowhere else have we an intellect in which\\ncreative and critical instincts are so finely balanced,\\nshowing us the experience of the modern world, just\\nwaking to self-consciousness. The society which\\nGeorge Eliot gives as her background is essentially\\nthe same as that pictured by her predecessors, but\\nagainst it she delineates individuals whose minds and\\nconsciences are vibrating to new forces.\\nThe outcome in Middlemarch is melancholy.\\nThe best people in the book beat in vain against\\nthe conventions that surround them, and make fail-\\nures of their lives. Daniel Deronda is a far more\\ncheering picture. Here George Eliot has done what\\nmodern fiction has rarely attempted, drawn for us\\na true hero. Many think that she has failed, but the\\nconception is well worth study. If we put it beside\\nSir Charles Grandison, we see that the ideal of hero-\\nism in England is rising again, though it is strangely\\ndifferent from what it was in the old days of Beowulf\\nand Roland. George Eliot s hero, however, has at\\nleast discovered again that incentive for lack of which\\nheroism perishes some great aim to strive for.\\nAll these books of George Eliot s are full, not Her social\\nonly of observation, but of reflection. She had been phy.\u00c2\u00b0 s", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0485.jp2"}, "486": {"fulltext": "482\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\ntrained as thinker and scholar before she began to\\nwrite, and the results are clearly evident. Some\\nthink they enrich her work, some think they deaden\\nit. She is possessed by a large conception of life as\\nan organic whole, by a sense of the power and the\\nconsequent claim of heredity and environment. Her\\neffort is to derive a religion from this philosophy\\nto show how the ethical values of life may be main-\\ntained, Christianity being tacitly put out of sight.\\nHers is the religion of humanity her books instil\\nat every turn the truth that peace can only be won\\nby renunciation, by yielding the claims of personal\\ndesire to the good of a larger whole. They are\\nstern books and sad, when rightly read, but every-\\nwhere noble.\\nIV. Other Novelists\\nOf the bewildering output of novels only less\\nexcellent than those which we have discussed, we\\nhave no time to speak. Had we more space, many\\nan author would call for full treatment. We\\nshould dwell on Charlotte Bronte and her sister\\nEmily, women whose fervid lonely passion burns\\nthrough their troubling books on Anthony Trol-\\nlope, a more copious and less brilliant Thackeray,\\nnovelist of manners, of political, domestic, and\\nreligious life; on Charles Reade, one of the best\\nconstructors of plots, and no mean delineator of\\ncharacter; on Charles Kingsley, most sympathetic\\nof writers, author of many books, from fairy tales to\\nhistorical novels, that have not yet lost the freshness\\nof their charm nor their power to lift men into finer", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0486.jp2"}, "487": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n483\\nmanhood; on George MacDonald, novelist of Scot-\\ntish life, dowered with the spiritual insight and\\npoetic imagination of the Celt; on the most recent\\nof them all, loved so well that one would not\\ncharacterize him, so near us that one could not if\\none would, that other Scotchman of heroic temper,\\nRobert Louis Stevenson. Before he died he had Robert\\ntaken his place as master of a very perfect prose g\u00c2\u00b0 e nson\\nstyle, and his essays individual and charming in 1850-1894.\\ntheir own way as those of Lamb are perhaps his\\nmost finished achievement. Stevenson was a leader\\nin the modern romantic reaction, and gave promise\\nof pressing into the front rank among novelists. His\\nromanticism includes not only the simple and obvious\\nnovel of adventure, such as 44 Treasure Island, but a\\nmore subtle and psychologic type, as in The Master\\nof Ballantrae, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.\\nMore significant, perhaps, than any one of these Thomas\\nare Thomas Hardy and George Meredith. Hardy s islo- y\\nbooks confine themselves to one small section of\\nEngland, the ancient kingdom of Wessex here he\\nstudies with rich humor, tragic intensity, and poetic\\nfeeling, the characteristics of a population rooted to\\nthe soil. He is the most pessimistic of English nov-\\nelists. His impassioned love for the ancient earth,\\nand for the sacred ties that bind man to it, are the\\nonly wholesome elements in a view of life limited,\\nsombre, charged with pain.\\nMeredith, on the other hand, takes us into the George\\nmost intellectual society presented by any Victorian i828- dlth\\nnovelist, a society where both men and women think\\nkeenly and talk almost too brilliantly. Not fearful\\nof tragedy, as Beauchamp s Career and Richard", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0487.jp2"}, "488": {"fulltext": "484\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nFeverel may witness, Meredith finds in comedy his\\nmost native sphere. His best and happiest people\\nescape from convention on the one hand, and wilful\\nself-assertion on the other, into harmonious relation\\nto the larger facts of life. Richard Feverel,\\nMeredith s first great novel, was published in 1859,\\nthe same year as Adam Bede. Like Browning,\\nhe waited long for his audience, but won it at last.\\nHis work is mannered and lacking in large simplic-\\nity but for those who can receive it, it is singularly\\ninvigorating.\\nBoth Meredith and Hardy are powerful in their\\ndelineation of life, but behind the delineation one\\nfeels theories and large questionings, such as are\\nabsent from Scott and Dickens. Steeped in evolu-\\ntionary thought, the spirit of the age of search has\\ndescended upon them. But if the last word of\\nHardy is Fate, the last word of Meredith is a disci-\\nplined freedom.\\nLooking at Victorian fiction as a whole, we see in\\nit an art-form that becomes constantly more expres-\\nsive. It presents moreover a series of social docu-\\nments of the highest significance. All classes have\\nbeen adequately studied in it except the working\\npeople, and they are to-day coming to the front more\\nand more. We see in it a significant witness to the\\ngrowing power of analysis and to the extension\\nof human sympathy that mark our modern times.\\nWhether we see also books that will hold their own\\namong the permanent imaginative treasures of the\\nrace, it is impossible to say. Probably English fiction\\nis inferior in artistic power and in the large grasp of\\nhuman experience to the fiction of France and Russia.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0488.jp2"}, "489": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN FICTION\\n485\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nLife of Dickens, Forster (3 vols.). Ward, English Men of\\nLetters. Marzials, Great Writers Series. Life of Thackeray,\\nTrollope, English Men of Letters. Introductions by Mrs.\\nRitchie to Biographical Edition. Life of George Eliot,\\nW. Cross (told in extracts from her own letters), O. Browning\\n(Great Writers Series). George Cooke, George Eliot a Criti-\\ncal Study. M. Blind, George Eliot. Essays on Thackeray and\\nDickens in Bagehot s Literary Studies, in Andrew Lang s\\nLetters to Dead Authors, in Masson s British Novelists and\\ntheir Styles. Essay on George Eliot, Dowden; Studies in\\nLiterature, Hutton, Modern Guides, etc. Sc udder, Social\\nIdeals in English Letters, Part H, Chs. IV, V, VI.\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nDickens would best be approached through A Tale of Two\\nCities and David Copperfield. The first offers fine oppor-\\ntunities for studies of plot structure, the second for studies in\\ncharacter drawing. Henry Esmond and The Newcomes\\nare the most desirable books from Thackeray for young stu-\\ndents. It is interesting to treat Dickens and Thackeray in\\nparallel, comparative work, placing side by side their social\\nscope, their style, their methods in humor and pathos, their\\nconception of heroism, etc. Drill in writing brief character\\nstudies special topics on child life, on the ideal for women, on\\nthe methods in description, etc., can be multiplied ad libitum.\\nThe best single novel of George Eliot s for beginners is Silas\\nMarner, though it illustrates only part of her powers. It shows,\\nhowever, her delicate touch, her interest in regions of personality\\ncontrolled by conscience, her sympathy with rural life, with child\\nlife, etc. Romola, if added, affords varied material for study.\\nBeside analysis of the book in itself, the story may instructively\\nbe put beside A Tale of Two Cities and Henry Esmond.\\nShow why our great Victorian novelists chose three so different\\nfields for their three historical novels. Compare their choice\\nwith that of Scott, and explain why none of them returned, as\\nhe did, to the middle ages.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nTalks on the personality of the different novelists, and on\\ntheir entire product, would be very valuable.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0489.jp2"}, "490": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VII\\nVICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\nI. Thomas Babikgton Macaulay, 1800-1859\\nWE can see from the writings of Thomas Bab-\\nington Macaulay just what life looked like\\nto an honest Englishman of vigorous intellect in\\nthe pause between the revolutionary idealists and\\nthe Victorian seekers. Macaulay s career, personal,\\npolitical, and literary, was most honorable. He\\nserved his country well. He was a Whig that is,\\nhe believed, guardedly, in a gradual advance toward\\nconstitutional freedom, and in liberty of thought.\\nHis ideal for society was a free field in which every\\nman might push his way as far as he could. He\\nwas full of admiration for the material prosperity,\\nthe applied science, the intellectual enlightenment\\nof his own day. That the next generation could\\nbe stirred to any deep discontent with things as they\\nwere, would have been inconceivable to him.\\nAn essay on Milton, published when Macaulay was\\nonly twenty-five years old, decided him on a literary\\ncareer. He followed it by a series of powerful\\nessays on political, literary and historical subjects,\\npublished in the Edinburgh Review. These seemed\\nat the time the last word of criticism, and they are\\nstill good reading, from their clear common sense,\\ntheir hearty and healthy interest in all sorts of sub-\\n486", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0490.jp2"}, "491": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n487\\njects, and their vigorous if somewhat mechanical\\nstyle. Meanwhile, he was in the House of Commons\\nfor several years, and his speeches, which produced\\na great impression on those who heard them, are\\nperhaps still his best work. There is no imagination\\nin Macaulay s prose, nor in his spirited verse, The\\nLays of Ancient Rome, but there is much fine\\nrhetoric.\\nHis most important work is his History of Eng-\\nland, undertaken on his return from several years\\nin India. It was planned to extend from the acces-\\nsion of James I to a time within the memory of\\nmen now living, but Macaulay did not live to com-\\nplete the task beyond the death of William III.\\nHis ambition was to do for real history what Scott\\nhad done for imaginary history and he nearly real-\\nized it. His history is a sort of triumphant presen-\\ntation of the gradual victory of liberal views, but he\\nmakes us see his period vividly, and holds our inter-\\nest from first to last. The book inaugurated the\\nliterary histories of the Victorian age, the work of\\nFroude, of Freeman, of Gardiner, of Green.\\nMacaulay died in 1859. He had reaped his full\\nharvest of appreciation in his lifetime. He is hardly\\na characteristic author of the Victorian age he\\nbelongs, as we have said, to the interregnum.\\nII. Thomas Cablyle\\nThomas Carlyle, probably the greatest force in 1795-1881.\\nEnglish letters during the first half of the Victorian\\nage, was five years older than Macaulay but he was\\nthe prophet of the next generation. It was given", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0491.jp2"}, "492": {"fulltext": "488\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nhim to lead men into a spiritual region far different\\nfrom any that Macaulay ever entered.\\nParentage Carlyle, like Burns, was a Scotchman. He was\\nand early ^crn in the little village of Ecclefechan, into a life\\nlike that described in The Cotter s Saturday\\nNight. His father was a mason Carlyle said, in\\nlater life, that if he could write his books as well\\nas his father had built his houses, he should be\\nwholly content. His mother was a rugged, igno-\\nrant, deeply religious woman, who taught herself to\\nwrite that she might write to her son, and whom\\nthat son all his long life loved more tenderly than\\nhe did any one else in the world.\\nLike many poor Scottish lads, young Carlyle went\\nto the University of Edinburgh he did much think-\\ning there, if little learning; passed through a profound\\nspiritual experience of religious struggle and doubt,\\nending in hard-won faith of his own kind and\\nfound that his convictions would not allow him to\\nfulfil his parents desires by becoming a minister. He\\ntried his hand therefore at teaching, at tutoring, at\\nhackwork in literature fell under the spell of the\\nromantic literature of Germany, translated Wilhelm\\nMeister and wrote a Life of Schiller and made\\nhis way into the Edinburgh Review with a series of\\nremarkable, though little noted, critical essays.\\nMeanwhile, he married a Scotch girl of genius hardly\\nless than his own, J ane Baillie Welsh and, after a\\nshort time in Edinburgh, moved with his young wife\\nto a property of hers called Craigenputtoch, on a\\nlonely Scottish moor. There he brooded and searched\\nhis spirit, cheered once by a visit, as out of the\\nskies, from a young American named Ralph Waldo", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0492.jp2"}, "493": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n489\\nEmerson, till at last in that solitude the fire kin-\\ndled, and Carlyle spake with his tongue. This first\\nutterance was Sartor Resartus, a strange book,\\nsemi-autobiographical, presenting with extraordinary\\neloquence, though in seeming medley, audacious\\nthoughts concerning the religious and social condi-\\ntions of the modern world.\\nCarlyle was thirty-seven years old at this time. Work.\\nFame did not come to him easily or soon. He had\\nserved a hard apprenticeship of strife with doubt,\\npoverty, and despair. And no wonder for thoughts\\nbelonging to a new order were seething in his mind.\\nSartor had to struggle for recognition, and it was Sartor\\nfirst published in book form in America. But slowly Jgf! XtUS\\nthe men of the rising generation found in it what\\nthey wanted, and made a kind of Bible of it. Car-\\nlyle soon moved to London, and the history of his\\nlife became chiefly the history of his writings. The The\\nFrench Revolution seemed to him the most tremen- RevokL\\ndous event in centuries a time of death and birth. JggJ\\nIn 1837 appeared his history of the time, a book\\nwhich is still unique. His emotional imagination\\ncaught the vibrations of the great revolutionary\\ndrama which were still in the air, and he did not\\nso much write a regular history as transmit to all\\nposterity the images and the emotions that accom-\\npanied those great years when democracy was born.\\nPast and Present and Latter Day Pamphlets Chart-\\ncontinued the line of thought of The French Revo- J\\nHeroes\\nlution, and applied it to modern life. Carlyle s andHero-\\nWorship,\\nsense of the social dangers of our time burns clear and 1841.\\nhot through these prophetic books. His edition of Past and\\nPresent\\nCromwell s Letters and Speeches, and his monu- 1843.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0493.jp2"}, "494": {"fulltext": "490\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nCrom-\\nwell s\\nLetters\\nand\\nSpeeches,\\n1845.\\nLatter\\nDay\\nPam-\\nphlets,\\n1850.\\nLife of\\nSterling,\\n1851.\\nHistory\\nof Fred-\\nerick II,\\n1858-1865.\\nCarlyle s\\ndeath,\\n1881.\\nCarlyle s\\nmental History of Frederick the Great, though\\nthey represent the indefatigable work of many weary\\nyears, are less full of true force and fire. A course of\\nlectures on Heroes and Hero Worship, embodying\\nhis favorite idea of the strong man as the saviour of\\nthe world, has proved one of his most popular works,\\nand his life of his friend, John Sterling, is a tender\\nbiography. The old giant lingered till 1881, heart-\\nbroken during the later years by the death of his\\nwife since his death, his copious letters and jour-\\nnals, sometimes injudiciously edited, have given us\\na strangely complete knowledge of his character, a\\nstrong character, full of the best if also of certain\\nless fine traits of the peasant.\\nCarlyle was profoundly discontented with his own\\ntime. It seemed to him plunged in materialism or\\ndilettanteism, denying God and oblivious of the suf-\\nfering of men. The misery of the industrial classes,\\nabove all, filled him with a fierce rage not so much\\ntheir physical misery, for poverty had few terrors for\\nthis hardy son of Scotch peasants, but the misery of\\ntheir souls, deprived of their spiritual heritage.\\nThat there should one man die ignorant who had\\ncapacity for knowledge, he cried, this I call a\\ntragedy, should it happen twenty times to the min-\\nute, as by some computations it does. 1 Social in-\\njustice Carlyle traced back to religious unbelief.\\nHimself far from the creed of his fathers, he, never-\\ntheless, worshipped with profound faith the right-\\neous law of the indwelling God.\\nIn his youth he tried to bring the age the message\\nit needed by Germanizing the public. Later he\\n1 Sartor Eesartus.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0494.jp2"}, "495": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n491\\nturned from criticism to direct invective and appeal.\\nIn opposition to the prevalent utilitarianism, he dwelt\\nawestruck on the Divine Mystery in all things. In a\\nsociety where the freedom of each man to do as he\\nliked was considered the highest possible ideal, he\\nwas never weary of preaching man s absolute need\\nto find some heroes to govern him. He pleaded for\\ntruth, reality, escape from cant above all, he preached\\nthe gospel of work, till the shadows should fall.\\nHis perturbation, his scorn, his sorrow, his hope, g t y^ yle\\nhe poured forth in a style absolutely individual. It\\nis a dangerous style to imitate, but in his hands\\nit is full of power. Carlyle always thought in pic-\\ntures. When he writes history, no one sets people\\nand events before us so vividly as he does when he\\ndeals with ideas, his style is as full of pictures as\\never, for he translates everything he wants to say\\ninto a metaphor. It is a style charged with emo-\\ntion, ironical, impassioned, eloquent. It is full of\\nsurprises but it makes the reader think for himself,\\nand suggests far more than it says. It was much\\ninfluenced by Carlyle s German studies, and it is in\\nthe fullest sense a romantic style.\\nCarlyle was stronger in denunciation than in con- Carlyle\\nstruction. He could tell men their faults more readily signifi-\\nthan he could tell them what to do. That is because\\nhe was a pioneer, pushing his own way in much be-\\nwilderment through shadowy paths. His power over\\nthe men of his day was largely due to the fact that\\nhe expressed the confusion of their own minds, yet\\nclung firmly to eternal principles of truth and justice.\\nHe gives the impression of one who lives in the\\nwilderness he is the John the Baptist of a new", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0495.jp2"}, "496": {"fulltext": "492\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nera, lifting up his voice with the note of the fore-\\nrunner.\\nIII. John Henry Newman\\n1801-1890. xhe voice of Carlyle reached those outside the\\nChurches who had lost hold of the historic creeds,\\nand gave them something to cling to still the voice\\nof John Henry Newman drew men back within the\\nfold of the Church of Christ. We cannot here\\nspeak of Newman s work as a theologian, of the pro-\\ncess that led the leader of the Catholic revival in\\nthe Anglican Church to the Church of Rome, nor of\\nhis wonderful personality. We can note only, and\\nthat too briefly, his quality as a writer. No figure\\ncould be in stronger contrast with that of Carlyle\\nthan that of this other great spiritual guide, so\\nnearly his contemporary and so one with him in\\naversion to the prevalent liberalism and individual-\\nism of the day. Despite his study at the University\\nof Edinburgh, Carlyle was a self-made man. The\\nstrong personality of Newman had received all the\\nflexible grace, the suavity, the keen logical power,\\nwhich an academic life can impart. Newman s style\\nis classical in its lucid ease, its subtlety and simplic-\\nity combined, its perfect melody and finish. It is\\nperhaps the best model of any modern prose style.\\nThe rare persuasiveness, so impressive to his hearers,\\nlingers in the printed page. It is impossible to\\nLoss and read his autobiography, the Apologia, his two\\nnovels, Callista, and Loss and Gain, his Idea\\ni852 UlSta a University, his great sermons, or above all his\\none long poem, the Dream of Gerontius, without\\nGain\\n1848", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0496.jp2"}, "497": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n493\\nfeeling his almost irresistible sway. This is clue Apologia\\npartly to his literary art, but far more to his keen suaji864.\\nmind, and most of all to his stern, uplifted, holy I T7\\nj Verses ou\\nspirit. Carlyle was the exponent of the storm and q^\u00c2\u00b0 us\\nstress of the nineteenth century Newman was a sions,\\nman of the thirteenth century strayed, almost it\\nmight seem by mistake, into the modern world.\\nIV. John Ruskin\\nIn John Ruskin we find again a man essentially I819-1900.\\nthe product of his age, and one of its noblest leaders.\\nRuskin was the greatest disciple of Carlyle but\\nhis early life and work were singularly different\\nfrom those of his master. He was a son of privilege;\\nhe interpreted the beauty of nature and art to a\\ndelighted public till he was forty years old. Then a\\ngreat change passed over his spirit, and for thirty\\nyears he sought to give his countrymen a fuller\\nunderstanding of justice. It is a significant and\\ndramatic career, as if Spenser had suddenly turned\\ninto Wyclif, poet into reformer. Perhaps the two\\nare not so far away from each other as people think.\\nRuskin was the only child of a rich wine-merchant. Parentage\\nHe grew up near London in a house with a big gar- life,\\nden, in perfect security, solitude, and peace. The\\nfamily took its pleasure in driving all over England\\nand Scotland, and later France, Switzerland, and.\\nItaly so Europe was his university. He received\\nalso a good academic education at Oxford, but this\\nwas of less importance to him. He was a singu-\\nlarly sensitive and chivalrous nature, and, when\\nstill hardly more than a boy, he took up his weapons", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0497.jp2"}, "498": {"fulltext": "494\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nin behalf of a great neglected landscape painter,\\nTurner. The work grew on his hands it became\\nthe first volume of Modern Painters, The public\\nreceived the book with enthusiasm Ruskin had\\nfound his vocation. In 1860 the fifth volume\\ncrowned a noble achievement.\\nModern Modern Painters, said Ruskin in his old a^e,\\nPainters\\n1843-1860. taught the claim of all lower nature on the hearts\\nof men. He therefore put the interpretation of Na-\\nture first, as the most important achievement of the\\nbook but this was not its ostensible object. Two\\nWork as other things it accomplished it vindicated the land-\\ncritic of\\nart. scape art of English painters, especially of Turner\\nand it revealed to an indifferent world the power\\nand beauty of the early religious art of Italy.\\nThese volumes do not represent all Ruskin s prod-\\nuct between 1840 and 1860. He wrote during these\\nyears two other books of importance The Seven\\nSeven Lamps of Architecture, a treatise on the spiritual\\nLamps of\\nArchitec- and structural principles of Gothic art, and The\\n1849. Stones of Venice, a history of the decline of Venice,\\nStones of studied through the degeneration of her arts under\\n1851-1853. the influence of the Renaissance. These books mark\\nthe culmination of that enthusiasm for the Gothic\\nwhich springs from some deep region in the modern\\nmind. It had begun, superficially, in the eighteenth\\ncentury Scott had given it picturesque romantic\\nexpression the Oxford movement had consecrated\\nit to ecclesiastical uses. Now Ruskin penetrated\\nin an illuminating way its spirit, function, and\\nhistory.\\nThese studies in art and nature, written in a fasci-\\nnating style, opened new forgotten worlds of joy to", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0498.jp2"}, "499": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n495\\nthe public, and of course the public liked them. The transit\\nBut it was not to like the sequel so well. Already,\\nin the last volume of Modern Painters, we find a\\nnew tone of sadness and disappointment. Ruskin\\nfelt that people, while applauding the beauty of his\\nlanguage, had not really been stirred to any true ap-\\npreciation of Turner, and other broader matters were\\ndistressing him. Another revolutionary movement\\nhad passed over Europe in 1848 it had touched\\nEngland but lightly, yet it had awakened men even\\nthere to a fresh sense of the wretchedness of the\\npoor. Ruskin, in his own line, had been trying to\\nrevive the arts in England. He found, through ex-\\nperiments in art education and art production, that\\nworkmen were so made into machines, and kept so\\nconstantly anxious about bread and butter and rent,\\nby modern industrial conditions, that it was hope-\\nless to look to them for any creative power such\\nas had been practically universal in the middle ages.\\nThis discovery led him to scrutinize more widely\\nthe conditions of modern life. He became filled\\nwith profound sorrow and dissatisfaction. He could\\nnot increase the pleasure of the classes that live\\ndaintily, by writing about art any longer, while the\\nmyriads were starving in soul as well as in body.\\nSo it came to pass that the high priest of beauty\\nturned social reformer.\\nIn 1860 Ruskin published in the Cornhill Maga- work as\\nzine the successive chapters of his book Unto This s^ety*\\nLast. It was a passionate, but for the most part\\nsternly reasoned, arraignment of the injustice of the Unto\\nmodern industrial system. It treated the technical Last,\\nproblems of economics in a literary manner that is, 1860r", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0499.jp2"}, "500": {"fulltext": "496\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nit showed their concrete human significance and\\nbrought them within the range of sympathy. The\\npublic was amazed and angered by the audacious\\noriginality of the thought. Thackeray, the editor,\\ndared not continue the series, and it closed abruptly.\\nNothing daunted by this reception, Ruskin con-\\ntinued for the rest of his life to present to an irate\\nand mocking public his ideas of the true principles\\nwhereon a righteous state must rest. People begged\\nhim to go on with art criticism. You must get\\nyour country clean and your people lovely, he re-\\ntorted, before you can have any true art at all.\\nThe filth, and hideousness of modern English cities\\npointed his application. Now he wrote for the privi-\\nleged classes, trying to rouse them to their respon-\\nsibilities now he addressed himself to working-men.\\nFors ciavi- Fors Glavigera, a monthly publication to which he\\n1870-1878. devoted much energy in his later years, is a rich\\ntreasure-house of his teaching. It would be an\\nunusual working-man who would care for this beau-\\ntiful medley, but for an educated reader it is full\\nof charm and suggestion.\\nRuskin s versatile powers did not confine them-\\nselves, however, to one line. He reverted often to\\nhis early interests, and treated them in the light of\\nhis new convictions. In 1870 he was appointed Pro-\\nfessor of Fine Arts at Oxford, and he devoted him-\\nself most earnestly to his duties as he conceived them.\\nLater life. His Inaugural Oxford Lectures seemed to himself\\none of his most important works. He did much to\\nquicken social passion as well as artistic feeling\\namong the young sons of privilege at the University.\\nThe university settlement movement, among other", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0500.jp2"}, "501": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n497\\nthings, owes its first impetus to his teaching. But\\nat last the continued scorn and indifference of the\\npublic to truths he believed vital, proved too great a\\nstrain. Ruskin became a victim to successive attacks\\nof mental malady, and his faculties slipped at last\\ninto a state of gentle decay. In 1900 his weary\\nspirit found release he had given away his large\\nfortune, inherited and made by his books, but he\\nretained a lovely home, Brantwood, in the Lake\\ncountry, and here the last years of his life were Death,\\npeacefully spent. 1900\\nRuskin s art criticism has led the way to a further\\ndevelopment which has in some respects superseded\\nhis own work his social writings, at first discredited,\\nare exerting a more and more potent influence in our\\ngeneration. His great principle, There is no wealth\\nbut life, is transforming our political economy. In\\npursuance of this principle, Ruskin pleads that we Ruskin s\\nshould be Christians just as much when we are\\nbuying clothes or hiring workmen as when we are\\nsaying our prayers. This principle sounds simple,\\nbut the world does not like to admit it, and if ad-\\nmitted it carries us a long way, quite outside the\\npale of the present social and industrial order.\\nRuskin s treatment of the ethics of consumption and\\nproduction is searching and audacious indeed.\\nLike his master, Carlyle, Ruskin never accepted\\nevolutionary thought. Like Carlyle, also, he had a\\nhorror of democracy, which as he saw it meant a\\nstate of things where each individual was free to\\ngrab all he could get. His ideal social state, which\\nhe sought, vainly, to realize through his experiment\\nin St. George s Guild, was a sort of socialism com-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0501.jp2"}, "502": {"fulltext": "498\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nbined with rigid class distinctions. But whatever\\nlimitations or mistakes may seem to us to inhere in\\nRuskin s social teaching, we must revere in him one\\nof the noblest and the most heroic spirits of the\\nEnglish race and we may brood long over one sen-\\ntence, which may be said to sum up the convictions\\nof his life, Life without industry is guilt industry\\nwithout art is brutality.\\nV. Matthew Arnold\\n1822-1888. Matthew Arnold, like Ruskin and Newman, was\\nan Oxford man he was three years younger than\\nRuskin. His father, Thomas Arnold, was the famous\\nheadmaster of Rugby, one of the greatest of English\\neducators, a man of fine intellect, a liberal Christian\\nafter the school of Coleridge.\\nParentage The serene influences of Wordsworth were upon\\nfife. early Matthew Arnold s early life, for his family lived much\\nat Fox How, near the home of the old poet. After\\nhis Rugby days, which he shared with his friend\\nArthur Hugh Clough, Arnold went to Oxford. The\\npower of Newman was at its height, but his father s\\nmode of thought preserved him from its attractions.\\nThe University, however, put its stamp upon him\\nhe is the most academic of our essayists.\\nMatthew Arnold was born a poet, and his poetry\\nwe shall discuss in another chapter. It belongs to\\nhis youth, for the cares of practical life soon sub-\\nmerged him. He held the laborious position of\\nInspector of Schools, and toiled at his task inde-\\nfatigably. But Arnold s energy and efficiency were\\ngreat, and his working standard high. He was by", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0502.jp2"}, "503": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n499\\nnature critic as well as poet, and he produced a con-\\nsiderable volume of criticism perhaps finer in quality\\nthan anything that England had possessed.\\nCarlyle had lifted criticism from the spirit of carp- Literary\\ning and prejudice that disfigures the early reviews j cism.\\nhe had treated such subjects as appealed to him with\\nreverence and sympathy. Arnold lifted it higher\\nyet, for he added to sympathy, discrimination, and a\\ndelicate power of psychological analysis. His Lec-\\ntures on Translating Homer, his Essays in Criti- OnTrans-\\ncism, his Celtic Literature, comprise his literary Homfr,\\ncriticism and they are the best things of their kind 861\\nthat England possesses, though much good criticism cffticfsin,\\nhas been produced since his day. He chose his sub- 8 1888,\\njects, with no insular prejudice, from various non- Study\\nEnglish countries, with a preference for France he Litera- 10\\ntreated them with a breadth that always deduced\\nsomething of wide general interest from the sub-\\nject in hand, yet with a fineness that interpreted the\\nsubtle phases of personality. Arnold believed that\\nthe special function of modern life was rather criti-\\ncal than creative that we should get clearer ideas\\nof the value and relations of the treasures we have,\\nbefore we tried to advance into new regions. He also\\nbelieved that criticism itself, if sensitive and intelli-\\ngent enough, might be a kind of creation, and his\\nown work goes far to prove his claim.\\nArnold was more than a critic of literature he Religious\\nwas a critic of life. Religious and social conditions C ism~.\\nfound in him more scathing analysis than in any st. Paul\\nother modern thinker. His chief book of social estant- 0t\\ncriticism is called Culture and Anarchy his more lsm 1870\\nimportant writings on religious subjects are God", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0503.jp2"}, "504": {"fulltext": "500\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nLitera-\\nture and\\nDogma,\\n1873.\\nGod and\\nthe Bible,\\n1875.\\nSocial\\ncriticism.\\nCulture\\nand Anar-\\nchy, 1869.\\nMixed\\nEssays,\\n1879.\\nand the Bible, Literature and Dogma, and St.\\nPaul and Protestantism.\\nThese last books were perhaps the most talked of\\nin Arnold s lifetime, but he is not at his best in them.\\nHis fundamental assumption is that faith in super-\\nnatural Christianity is dead he seeks to find a sub-\\nstitute in morality touched by emotion, as he\\ndefines religion, and he tries to prove that the eter-\\nnal value of the Bible is intact, though the belief in\\na personal God be abandoned. This seems a some-\\nwhat paradoxical attempt. Still, there is much that\\nis beautiful and helpful in Arnold s religious criti-\\ncism, and we must not forget, though we are some-\\ntimes tempted to by his manner, that his real aim\\nwas always reverent, and that he wished to further\\nthe life of the spirit, not to hinder it.\\nArnold s social criticism is interesting and signifi-\\ncant. He is not an emotional writer, like Carlyle\\nand Ruskin. Cool intellect is to the fore with him,\\nand he habitually writes in a quiet, lightly ironical\\nmanner, quite different from their method of elo-\\nquent appeal. Nor is he moved, as they are, by the\\ncondition of the working classes. But neither Car-\\nlyle nor Ruskin is more deeply dissatisfied with his\\nown time than is Arnold. They castigated our\\nmoral defects, he dissects our intellectual weakness.\\nNot lack of justice, but lack of culture, in society,\\ntouches him most profoundly by culture he means\\nthe harmonious understanding of life which is potent\\nto make reason and the will of God prevail. Till\\nmen get more of this quality, he thinks that they\\nwould better let reforms alone. The class with\\nwhich he came most in contact was the middle", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0504.jp2"}, "505": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n501\\nclass, dominant in an industrial democracy and his\\nattacks on the stupidity and prejudices of this class\\nattacks which we may all take to ourselves are\\nnot only sound, they are highly entertaining.\\nArnold did not distrust democracy, as Carlyle and\\nRuskin did. He belonged in thought to a younger\\ngeneration, and he knew that it was inevitable. Aris-\\ntocracies were, he saw, for epochs of concentration,\\nnot for epochs of expansion like ours their day was\\nover. But he felt as strongly as his predecessors\\nthe grave dangers that beset democracy as it is\\ndangers of materialism, of selfish laisser-faire. He\\nbelieved that unless we succeed in spiritualizing the\\ndemocracy, we shall all make shipwreck; and he\\nthought that culture was the best means to do this,\\nbecause it lifted us above our ordinary selves to our\\nbest selves, and showed us the image of a right\\nsociety. He emphasized as much as Carlyle or Rus-\\nkin the idea of authority, and he believed, as they\\ndid, in an extension of the powers of the State.\\nSome people like Arnold s style very much others Arnold\\nfind it patronizing, flippant, and at times a little smart. style\\nIt is always clever and graceful, and when he allows\\nhimself to be serious it is at times noble. He does\\nnot admit many figures, and he does not attempt the\\ncadence of poetry but his prose has a purity of move-\\nment all its own. It has one peculiarity, the con-\\nstant use of felicitous phrases to sum up an idea,\\nphrases which Arnold repeats like a motif in music.\\nOften these phrases are borrowed from some one\\nelse, sometimes he invents them but many of them\\nhave become almost proverbial from familiarity.\\nSuch are sweetness and light, sweet reasonable-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0505.jp2"}, "506": {"fulltext": "502\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nness, the definitions of English classes as Barba-\\nrians, Philistines, Populace, the famous statement\\nthat our inequality materializes our upper class,\\nvulgarizes our middle class, brutalizes our lower\\nclass the definition of religion already given, and\\nthe definition of God as a stream of tendency not\\nourselves that makes for righteousness. Arnold s\\nstyle appears to be easy and loosely woven, even col-\\nloquial at times but when one watches, one finds\\nhim to be perhaps more severely logical in the devel-\\nopment of thought than any other modern essayist.\\nIt is the style of a keen thinker who is also a man\\nof the world, and who might be a poet if he would\\nlet himself.\\nVI. Later Essayists\\nWalter\\nPater,\\n1839-1895.\\nMar i us\\nthe Epicu-\\nrean,\\n1885.\\nWilliam\\nMorris,\\n1834-1896.\\nA Dream\\nof John\\nBall,\\n1888.\\nNews\\nfrom\\nNowhere,\\n1890.\\nWe have left ourselves no space in which to speak\\nof the later Victorian essay; it is as well, for this\\nessay is quite too near for us to judge. Two names\\nstand out with peculiar clearness during the last\\ntwenty years of the nineteenth century the names\\nof Walter Pater and William Morris. They were\\nboth Oxford men, but of most different destinies.\\nPater, all his life long a recluse in the University,\\nsought refuge and peace in an aesthetic philosophy\\nhe produced essays critical in scholarship and ex-\\nquisitely fastidious in style, and one remarkable\\nhistorical romance, Marius the Epicurean, all sedu-\\nlously remote from the din and stress of our modern\\nconflict. Morris, equally antagonistic by nature to\\nmodern conditions, was yet driven by imperious in-\\nward stress on the same path Ruskin had followed,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0506.jp2"}, "507": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN ESSAYISTS\\n503\\nonly farther, away from art to the active propaganda\\nof socialism he produced, as his finest prose work,\\nessays instinct with modern social passion, and two\\nbeautiful romances that pulsate with the hopes of a\\nnew day. Other essayists, critics of literature and\\nlife, have obtained excellence if not eminence. But\\nthe four whom we have treated tower above all others,\\nwith only Pater and Morris visible at their side.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nMacaulay, Life, by Trevelyan by Cotter Morison (Eng-\\nlish Men of Letters). Essay, by Bagehot, Literary Studies.\\nCarlyle, Life, by Froude Garnett (Great Writers Series)\\nNichol (E. M. L.). Letters and Reminiscences, ed. by C. E.\\nNorton, Essays by Lowell, Morley, Stephen (Dictionary of\\nNational Biography). Newman, Life, by Hutton; Apologia\\npro Yita Sua. The Oxford Movement, Dean Church. Selec-\\ntions, ed. by Lewis Gates. Buskin, Life, by Colllngwood\\nPrseterita (his fragmentary but charming autobiography) Mrs.\\nBitchie, Becords of Tennyson, Buskin, and Browning. Essays,\\nWaldstein, The Work of John Buskin. V. D. Scudder,\\nIntroduction to the Writings of John Buskin. Hobson, John\\nBuskin, Social Beformer (an admirable book). Mrs. Mey-\\nnell, John Buskin. Arnold, Letters, ed. by G. W. E. Bussell\\nLife, by Salntsbury. Essays, Gates, Introduction to Selec-\\ntions. Whipple, Becollections of Eminent Men. General\\nreferences, Bayne, Lessons from My Masters, Carlyle, Buskin,\\nArnold. Scudder, Social Ideals in English Letters, Part EL\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nAs we approach our own times, no two teachers will agree\\nin interpretation or emphasis. Moreover, the selections made\\nmust depend wholly on the age and character of a class. Young\\nstudents, for instance, would better approach Carlyle through\\nHeroes and Hero- Worship. Sartor Besartus is far more\\nstimulating for those a little more mature. In carefully chosen\\nextracts from the French Bevolution and Past and Present,\\nBook II, all students can be trained to appreciate Carlyle s\\nnarrative and descriptive power and the peculiarities of his", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0507.jp2"}, "508": {"fulltext": "504\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nstyle. Selections from Newman, such as are given by Gates,\\nor passages from the Idea of a University, serve to point\\nthe always useful contrast between classical and romantic styles.\\nThe more emotional portions of Newman s work cannot be\\nappreciated by the immature.\\nMuch in Ruskin s early writings and in his charming minor\\nbooks, such as Sesame and Lilies and the Ethics of the\\nDust can be enjoyed early. Selections illustrating his word\\npainting, his interpretation of nature and art, his simpler ethical\\nteaching are arranged in order in Scudder s Introduction to the\\nWritings of John Ruskin. It is also pleasant and useful to\\nstudy in the concrete, by means of photographs, Ruskin s inter-\\npretation of art in pictures. The whole series of frescoes in the\\nSpanish Chapel at Florence, for instance, can be secured, and\\nstudied with the help of the delightful little volume, Mornings\\nin Florence. Ruskin s method in art criticism should be criti-\\ncised as well as expounded by the teacher, in the light of\\nmethods more recent.\\nIn Arnold, the Essay on Celtic Literature, especially the\\nlatter portion, can be made to serve as a sort of review of the\\nwhole sweep of English literature, the class being encouraged\\nto trace the three great racial elements in their interplay through\\nthe more important books that have been read together. Such\\nof the critical essays of Carlyle and Arnold as treat of authors\\nfamiliar to the class should be read.\\nBut care must be taken in this period not to force young\\nminds beyond the point of perception natural to them, by any\\nattempt to present comprehensive analysis of authors who will\\ngive stimulus and inspiration all along the pathway of life.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nBiographical lectures would here be in order, interesting the\\nclass in the personality of each of these great men. Ample\\nmaterial for a talk, sure to be enjoyed, on the Childhood of\\nSome Great Men, is offered by Carlyle s Reminiscences and\\nSartor Resartus, Ruskin s Praeterita, Newman s Apolo-\\ngia, and Hughes s Tom Brown at Rugby. (The latter gives\\na vivid picture of the conditions surrounding the childhood of\\nArnold and Clough.) Also Criticism, from Jeffrey to Arnold\\nWhy do Artists turn Reformers? (illustrated by Ruskin and\\nMorris)", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0508.jp2"}, "509": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VIII\\nVICTORIAN POETRY\\nTHE early work of Tennyson and Browning\\nstruck an entirely new note. Tennyson s fairy\\nfineness of phrase obviously, indeed, owed much to\\nKeats, while Pauline was the work of an avowed\\ndisciple of Shelley but there was a delicate con-\\nscious artistry in this work of Tennyson, different\\nfrom the spontaneous onrush of music in his prede-\\ncessors, while Browning in Pauline valiantly\\nassayed a new art-form, the dramatic monologue,\\nand showed a new absorption in the scenery of an\\nindividual mind other than his own.\\nThese two greatest of the Victorian poets, as they\\nbegan first, continued longest in the field. During\\ntheir prolonged careers, two minor schools of poetry\\nrose and fell. Let us glance at these before we\\nturn to the masters.\\nI. Minor Schools\\nThe spiritual wistfulness of the Victorian age ts of\\nfound searching and melodious expression in the\\nwork of Matthew Arnold and Arthur Hugh Clough. Matthew\\nWe have already spoken of Arnold s prose. The ^\u00c2\u00a31888\\npoetry of his youth gives us the clew to that under-\\nwoof of feeling of which a sensitive reader is con-\\nscious through all the persiflage and argument of\\n505", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0509.jp2"}, "510": {"fulltext": "506\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nhis later years. Not that his poetry is impassioned\\nit is strictly self-controlled, and thrills us chiefly\\nthrough its exquisite reserve. But it is full of the\\nmelancholy sense of spiritual incertitudes we feel\\nin it the expression of a soul\\nPoems,\\n1855.\\nMerope,\\n1858.\\nArthur\\nHugh\\nClough,\\n1819-1861.\\nWandering between two worlds, one dead,\\nThe other powerless to be born.\\nAn elegiac strain pervades it and indeed the best\\nand most finished work in this highly wrought verse\\nare the avowedly elegiac poems. Arnold s theory\\nof poetry was that it should deal with noble action,\\nshould draw its themes from the heroic past, should\\nbe universal in its appeal. He tried these theories\\noccasionally, and the result, Sohrab and Rustum,\\nBalder Dead, is fine but a little cold. But as a\\nrule he disregarded his theory, and he has given us\\npoetry which, in its rendering of those subtle emo-\\ntions that spring from the life of thought, could\\nnever have been written before the nineteenth cen-\\ntury, and appealed only to the few in its own age.\\nFor these few, however, its charm is compelling, and\\nshows no trace of lessening as the years go on. A\\nlofty self-dependence, resignation, courage, this is,\\nafter all his spiritual striving, the mood in which\\nArnold seeks to rest.\\nArthur Hugh Clough, the friend of Arnold, was\\nof a more robust genius. His training and tradition,\\nat school and University, were the same as Arnold s,\\nbut we seem to feel in him a more direct relation to\\nthe life of action as well as to the life of thought.\\nHe was intensely interested in the social problems\\nthat were coming to the fore in 48, as well as in the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0510.jp2"}, "511": {"fulltext": "VICTOEIAN POETRY\\n507\\nreligious questions that affected his own soul his\\nlong narrative poems, The Bothie of Tober-na- The\\nVuolich, Amours de Voyage, Mari Magno, ^Jgjf of\\nna-\\nshow this double interest, and his most characteristic v lich\\npoem, Dipsychus, a sort of latter-day Faust, is full\\nof both. Still, the most important thing in his con-\\nsciousness is man s relation to unseen realities. Like\\nArnold, he was powerfully drawn to Christianity, yet ^-^ar-\\nsmitten by doubt concerning it, and the poems which 1849.\\nexpress this mood, like Easter Day, and The New\\nSinai, express with less delicate finish than Arnold,\\nbut with a poignant sincerity, his sense of loss, his h Di Pfy-\\nhope, his spiritual courage. Clough died at Florence 1862.\\nin 1861. Like many modern men touched with the\\nHamlet-temper, we feel that his nature never found\\nfull utterance. But few truer notes than his have\\nbeen struck in the poetry of the century.\\nOh not unowned, Thou shalt unnamed forgive,\\nhe cries. His refuge is not, like Arnold s, in self-\\ndependence, but in faith that clings to a Truth\\nunseen.\\nQuestions concerning religious creeds did not dis- 2. Poets of\\ntress the second school of minor Victorian poets.\\nWe may call them the poets of art, as we called\\nArnold and Clough the poets of doubt. The eldest,\\nDante Gabriel Rossetti, is the greatest name the\\nothers of the group are Algernon Charles Swin-\\nburne, and William Morris.\\nIt shows the tendency of this group that two of General\\nthem, Rossetti and Morris, were not only poets but\\nartists. They were closely associated in friendship,\\nmoreover, with certain painters, notably Millais, Hoi-\\nArt.\\ntendency.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0511.jp2"}, "512": {"fulltext": "508\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nman Hunt, and Sir Edward Burne-Jones, who have\\nlargely helped the renaissance of beauty in England.\\nAll these men carried further the movement toward\\nbeauty which Ruskin had begun, and on lines that\\nhe approved. They are often called Preraphaelites\\nbecause they drew inspiration from the religious\\nfeeling and the effort after minute truthfulness to\\nnature, of the Italian painters who precede Raphael.\\nAll of them, to use a phrase dear to their school,\\nbelieve that life might be made perfect by the love\\nof visible beauty and the habit of thinking in\\npictures, so that the most passionate emotion imme-\\ndiately passes into the concrete symbol, is the distin-\\nguishing mark of their poetry. In a way they\\nderive from Keats, but there is a subconsciousness\\nof sordid modern life in their work which we do not\\nfind in his. They force their way violently into that\\nworld of dreams wherein he was tranquilly born.\\nOne of them at least, Morris, could not stay there,\\nbut was drawn forth by the voices of the world s sor-\\nrow to join the socialist propaganda a thing which\\nwe cannot imagine happening to Keats.\\nDante Dante Gabriel Rossetti was born of Italian\\nRossetti, parents, settled in London. We are constantly re-\\n1828-1882. m i nc e( 5[ i n reading him that he is really an Italian\\nwriting in English. Italian influence had been\\nslight in England since the time of the later Renais-\\nsance. The Victorian age opened a sensitive sur-\\nface to almost every influence from abroad and,\\namong others, Italy affected it, through Rossetti\\nand the Brownings.\\nThe instinct to paint was stronger than that to\\nwrite in Rossetti. In 1848, he started, with other", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0512.jp2"}, "513": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n509\\nyoung men, the Preraphaelite Brotherhood of artists.\\nIt was the revolutionary year; dough s Amours de\\nVoyage, Carlyle s Latter Day Pamphlets, Kings-\\nley s Alton Locke, the Christian socialist move-\\nment started by Kingsley and Frederick Denison\\nMaurice, and Mrs. Browning s Aurora Leigh\\nwere to express part of the feeling it generated in\\nEngland. But the fate of the people did not inter-\\nest these young men, who withdrew themselves into\\nan ideal world of poetry, beauty, and feeling. In\\ntheir significant little organ, the Germ, appeared\\nsome of the loveliest of the early verse of Rossetti,\\nincluding the Blessed Damozel. But he seems to\\nhave thought lightly of his verse in comparison with\\nhis painting, and he continued to be chiefly an artist.\\nHis poetry, however, produced from time to time\\nand privately circulated, came to exert a strong\\ninfluence in certain circles. His charming transla-\\ntions of Dante s Vita Nuova, and of other early ^he^\\nItalian poetry, helped to make him better known. tal j an\\nFinally, in 1870, and again in 1881, volumes of his 1861.\\npoems appeared. They gave in words the emotions Poems,\\nof his paintings. Many of them were of strange and\\nsingular beauty: ballad poems, numerous lyrics, and and Son-\\na series of love sonnets called The House of Life, i88i!\\nwhich have taken their place in our many sonnet-\\ncycles, beside Shakespeare s sonnets and Mrs. Brown-\\ning s Sonnets from the Portuguese.\\nRomanticism, from which English fiction was at\\nthis time straining away, holds full sway once more\\nin the work of Rossetti. Beauty touched with\\nstrangeness exactly describes its charm. His poetry\\nis charged with the sense of mystery, natural and", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0513.jp2"}, "514": {"fulltext": "510\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nAlgernon\\nCharles\\nSwin-\\nburne,\\n1837.\\nRosa-\\nmund,\\n1861.\\nAtalanta\\nin Caly-\\ndon, 1864.\\nChaste-\\nlard,\\n1865.\\nPoems\\nand\\nBallads,\\n1866-1889.\\nSongs\\nbefore\\nSunrise,\\n1871.\\nSongs of\\nthe Spring-\\ntide,\\n1880.\\nTristram\\nof Lyon-\\n1882.\\nspiritual far from wishing to penetrate the truth\\nwhich the mystery hides, as Arnold does, and Clough,\\nhe exults in the mystery itself. He is not truly\\nspiritual, and, needless to say, he has no large vision\\nof the actual world; but all he writes is full of a\\npassion that is serious and very pure, and to express\\nthis passion he finds again and again some strange,\\nhaunting, inevitable phrase.\\nIn some ways, no English poet has ever had a\\nfiner endowment than Algernon Charles Swinburne.\\nHe is past master of versification and melody. Un-\\nfortunately, his verse has not sufficient intellectual or\\nmoral substance to correspond to its marvellous form.\\nHis poetry is full of enthusiasm, indeed, for political\\nfreedom, but Odes to Liberty, which were genuine\\nin Shelley s day, sound like an academic echo in\\ndays that have learned how little political liberty\\nmeans taken by itself. The senses have too large a\\npart in the inspiration of Swinburne the world of\\nthought seems far away, and the world of spiritual\\nvision is quite unguessed. He is at his best, and it\\nis a splendid best, when writing of Nature, especially\\nof the sea. Besides a marvellous wealth of lyrics,\\nSwinburne has produced, among other things, a\\ngroup of long dramas. They are fine in their way,\\nbut destitute of humor and of wide and varied\\npower in character delineation. His two Greek\\nplays, Atalanta in Calydon, and Erectheus,\\nalthough early work, are as beautiful as anything\\nhe has written, and contain choruses supreme in\\nlyrical modulations. Swinburne s most interesting\\nmood is one of violent rebellion, hatred of Christian-\\nity with its doctrine of suffering, exaltation of un-\\ntrammelled humanity as the lord of creation", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0514.jp2"}, "515": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n511\\nGlory to man in the highest for man is the master of Rosa-\\nthings. gggd\\nBut this vehement agnosticism, though magnifi-\\ncently expressed at times, has as he words it too\\nlittle philosophical basis to be really great. Swin-\\nburne has, however, fine positive enthusiasms, as\\nshown not only in his verse, but in his copious criti-\\ncal prose, which lacks balance and discrimination,\\nbut evinces an enviable power of admiration.\\nWilliam Morris, who became during his later life William\\na great force in England, revived for us through his ig^isge.\\ndelightful work in verse many of the imaginative\\npleasures of the past. He most clearly shows the\\ntendency of this school of poets to revert to earlier The De-\\nand simpler times for that rest and beauty which Guene-\\nthe modern world does not furnish. The Earthly ifjf\\nParadise is a collection of tales admirably told,\\ndrawn now from classic stores, now from med- Lif ea d\\nDeath of\\niseval lore, and recalling by the studied grace of Jason,\\nhandling the manner of the early Renaissance. The\\nDefence of Guinevere, Morris s earliest volume, The\\nholds a series of Arthurian studies. Jason is a Earthly\\nfine version of the familiar classic story; while dise,\\nSigurd the Volsung, Morris s noblest work in 1868 1870\\nverse, is a glorious retelling of the old hero-saga, and gj gur( i\\nthe finest result yet of the enthusiasm for the wild the v 1_\\nJ sung,\\nmyths of our Celtic and Germanic forefathers. Only 1870.\\na part of Morris s wonderful versatility went into\\npoetry\\nWhen the gods asked him for one deed, he ever gave\\nthem twain,", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0515.jp2"}, "516": {"fulltext": "512\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nas he says of his Sigurd. After he turned socialist,\\na few lyrics were all that he produced in verse but\\nhis prose romances are the work of a true poet.\\nII. Alfred Tennyson\\n1809-1892. We turn to the masters and we see that in quan-\\ntity of work and in breadth of scope, no less than in\\nquality, they show natures richer and larger than\\nthose of the other modern poets. Tennyson does\\nnot appeal perhaps to any individual temperament\\nso strongly as Arnold appeals to one, Rossetti to\\nanother but in the sensitiveness and varied range\\nof his tranquil work, no less than in his artistic per-\\nfection, we recognize that he was the representative\\nEnglish poet of the Victorian age. His whole career\\nbefits the poet of an epoch of peace, of constitutional\\nprogress, of scientific advance and it was in this\\naspect that the Victorian age appeared to Tennyson.\\nThere was, to be sure, another aspect this, in his\\nsingularly sheltered life, he never adequately realized.\\nLife. Alfred Tennyson was the son of a clergyman he\\nwas educated at Cambridge, and always cherished\\nthe memory of his college days. He won recognition\\nearly, but was not pressed into too hasty work. His\\nlife, unstirred by unusual incidents, but marked by\\nhigh converse with the leading men of his time, was\\nspent in fair and quiet places. Queen Victoria loved\\nthe man and his poetry, and after the death of\\nWordsworth, in 1850, the laurel was placed, unques-\\ntioned, on his brow. In this year he married. His\\nhonored years led to a quiet death.\\nWork. The volume of 1830 was one of delicate preludings.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0516.jp2"}, "517": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n513\\nIn that of 1833 were many of the poems still dearest\\nto the public, including The Lady of Shalott, A\\nDream of Fair Women, The Palace of Art,\\nThe Two Voices. For the next ten years he pub-\\nlished nothing, but revised with exquisite care what\\nhe had already written and wrote new poems slowly Poems\\nand quietly as inspiration came. In 1842 a volume Brothers\\nof revised selections from his earlier work appeared, 182/\\nand also a new volume, which revealed the full power p ems,\\nof his art. This is the volume of the Morte\\nd Arthur, earliest member of those blank verse\\ntranscriptions of Arthurian legend which were to\\nconstitute the most ambitious work of his life.\\nIn 1847 appeared The Princess, a playfully The\\nromantic poem on the woman question. A later f 8 r cess\\nedition contained some of Tennyson s most magi-\\ncal work in the form of interspersed lyrics. So far,\\nTennyson s work had expressed no deep personal\\nexperience, though a poem like The Two Voices\\nshowed a nature sensitive to the spiritual drama of\\nthe time. His inspiration had been literary and de-\\nrived, and his poems had shown perfect workmanship\\nand fine imagination, but not much passion. In\\n1833, however, an experience had come to him which\\nstruck deep. This was the death of his dear friend,\\nthe betrothed of his sister, Arthur Hallam. We are\\nglad of this great sorrow, for it has given us one of\\nour great treasures, the crowning expression of the\\nelegiac instinct so strong in the Anglo-Saxon race,\\nIn Memoriam. Here English elegy escapes at\\nlast from the beautiful but conventional setting of\\nclassic elegy, used in different ways by Milton, Shel-\\nley, and Arnold. It faces Grief directly, till at last in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0517.jp2"}, "518": {"fulltext": "514\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\n1855\\nGrief s eyes it sees reflected the light of an eternal\\nMemo- hope. In Memoriam is not a poem of spiritual\\n1850 1 triumph so much as of spiritual search the search\\nof a modern man, conscious of all the obstacles pre-\\nsented to faith in immortality by the natural order\\nand by philosophic doubt, yet moving to belief that\\nthe undying instinct of the heart is witness to a life\\nthat cannot die. After long and loving work the\\npoem was published in 1850 it is in more senses\\nthan one the central poem of the century to English-\\nspeaking men.\\nMaud, In 1855, appeared Maud, a monodrama telling a\\nrather morbid story of passion and sorrow. Tenny-\\nson s genius was mature, and his work came swiftly\\nidylls of now. The Idylls of the King on which his mind\\nthe King, _ J\\n1858-1886. dwelt for many years, grew gradually on his hands,\\nfrom a series of separate studies to a complete poem\\nwith something like epic unity. They are based on\\nMalory, and nowhere can the changes wrought by\\nthe modern spirit be more effectively studied than in\\nTennyson s handling of his original. The old story\\nhad a great moral of its own Tennyson gives it a\\nnew one, to suit the nineteenth century. Some prefer\\nthe decorous modern version, some like the passion,\\ntruth, and mystery of the wild old tale but all must\\nagree that narrative blank verse was never handled\\nwith more perfect mastery than in the Idylls of the\\nKing.\\nOther Tennyson wrote a large number of narrative poems,\\ndealing with English life, of which Enoch Arden\\nis perhaps the best. In his later years he attempted\\nthe drama, and added a group of three patriotic\\ndramas from English history to those Shakespeare\\nwork.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0518.jp2"}, "519": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n515\\nleft. But his dramatic work, though dignified, is\\nnot a marked success. If he lives he will live\\nsupremely as a lyric poet, and the lyrical inspiration\\nwas his last as it had been his first.\\nTennyson expresses his age in its more obvious Tenny-\\naspects, especially in the enlargement of thought and relation\\nthe social conditions that followed on applied scien- t0 hls a|\\ntific inventions and on the rise of evolutionary\\ntheory. His poetry is soaked with scientific terms\\nand ideas his central faith is in the gradual uplift\\nof the race to a higher and fuller life. He constantly\\nseeks spiritual conviction, but with a keen conscious-\\nness all the time of the point of view of the doubter.\\nHe was keenly aware of the modern struggle with\\nmaterialism, and threw all the resources of his art\\non the side of an idealist philosophy. The social\\nunrest and the social evils of his time, however, he\\nnever understood, though they caused him distress\\nand perplexity, especially in his later years he was\\nnever in direct contact with them. He was per-\\nfectly content with England as he saw it, with\\nEnglish homes, those haunts of ancient peace,\\nwith English men and English girls the England\\nknown to him was the secluded England of the\\naristocracy, not Dickens s seething England of the\\nmiddle class. He seems insular to continental criti-\\ncism, and his outlook certainly has marked limita-\\ntions but his quiet idyls of English life present a\\npicture of which we cannot fail to feel the beauty.\\nHis art is studied and exquisite, lovely in every Tenny-\\ndetail; his poetry is of that literary order, just sonsar\\nbelow the highest, which delights us more by the\\nassociations and memories it arouses, than by the", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0519.jp2"}, "520": {"fulltext": "516\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nnew thought or passion it quickens. His work\\nrarely excites, like that of his predecessors, or like\\nthat of his contemporary, Browning but in our\\nordinary and habitual moods it satisfies.\\nIII. Elizabeth Barrett Browning\\n1809-18G1. Robert Browning would wish us to place before\\nhis own name, the name of his beloved wife, Eliza-\\nbeth Barrett and indeed the thought of one of\\nthese wedded lovers will always suggest the other.\\nMrs. Browning is the greatest woman poet of Eng-\\nland, though some think the work of Christina\\nRossetti, narrower in range though it be, more likely\\nto live because of its more sustained art power. Mrs.\\nBrowning s poetry is marred by carelessness her\\nimpulsive passion and imagination need the check of\\njudgment. She was an invalid for many years, and\\nher work is that of a woman of naturally wide\\nand intense sympathies shut in upon herself. Her\\ngenius, however, no one can deny. The soul of\\nmelody was in her, as many of her lyrics attest\\nAurora Leigh, her long novel in verse, is a fine\\nexpression of the social ferment in the central years\\nof the century of her personal love poems, the\\nSonnets from the Portuguese, one must speak softly,\\nwith deep reverence for this throbbing revelation of\\na beautiful heart, given us in beautiful verse.\\nIV. Robert Browning\\n1812-1889. In Robert Browning we have one of the most\\nparadoxical figures of the Victorian age. Only", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0520.jp2"}, "521": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n517\\nthree years younger than Tennyson, it was his fate\\nto see fame, lavishly bestowed on his brother poet,\\nlong elude him. His production was more copi- His repu-\\nous than Tennyson s but his successive volumes,\\napplauded by the few, were ridiculed by the many\\nas obscure, unintelligible, and out of the true range\\nof art. His spirit was never daunted and in his old\\nage the tide turned. He lived to see societies estab-\\nlished for the interpretation of his work, and to enjoy\\na popularity almost ludicrous in its suddenness. It\\nis too soon to know what Browning s final place will\\nbe we can at least see that he was not a poet to\\nexpress, like Tennyson, the common consciousness of\\nthe educated classes. He expressed, as no one else\\nhas done, some of the more occult forces at work\\nbeneath the surface of modern life, and so, in the\\nfulness of time, he became, not only an exponent,\\nbut a leader.\\nBrowning s life had practically no events, except Life,\\nhis marriage with Miss Barrett. He was a Lon-\\ndoner, with no university education. Italy was\\nmy university, he said. He had comfortable means,\\nso that he could devote his life to literature. In\\n1845 he met Miss Barrett, an invalid confined to\\nher room he persuaded the frail shadowlike woman\\nto marry him, secretly, for fear of family opposi-\\ntion, and to fly with him to the Continent. There,\\nin Florence mainly, they led an enchanted life, till\\nher death in 1861. After that the surviving poet,\\ntaking his sorrow bravely, as befitted the author\\nof poems vibrating with faith in immortality, lived,\\nnow in London, now in Italy, though not in Florence,\\ntill, in 1889, he died in Venice.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0521.jp2"}, "522": {"fulltext": "518\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nWork.\\nPauline,\\n1833.\\nPara-\\ncelsus,\\n1835.\\nSor-\\ndello,\\n1840.\\nDramas,\\n1837-1846.\\nMen and\\nWomen,\\n1855.\\nDramatis\\nPersonse,\\n1869.\\nBrowning s first work showed the sweep of his\\npower. He began, not with short lyrics, but with\\nthree long poems, Pauline, Paracelsus, and Sor-\\ndello. The first two were practically dramatic mono-\\nlogues, though Paracelsus was nominally a drama.\\nSordello was a long narrative poem, excessively\\nobscure, though full of beautiful detail. In all these\\npoems, Browning is profoundly influenced by Shelley.\\nThe series of Bells and Pomegranates followed, and\\nit showed the essentially dramatic turn of his genius\\nfor it included the great group of dramas, Pippa\\nPasses, The Return of the Druses, A Blot on\\nthe Scutcheon, Colombe s Birthday, Luria, A\\nSoul s Tragedy, and others. But if his genius\\nwas dramatic, it was not so in the sense that the\\nShakespeareans were dramatic. Browning liked to\\nget into another consciousness, but he did not like\\nto do this for a great many people at once his\\ninterest centred in individuals. He found his true\\nart form in the brief dramatic monologue. Such\\nmonologues were the best and largest element in the\\ntwo collections, Men and Women and Dramatis\\nPersonse. These collections contain the best loved\\nof Browning s work, and remarkable they are.\\nPoetry has here come down from the heights to\\nthe cities it moves among men, close to their\\nbusiness and bosoms, at home with any nationality\\nor period, Hebrew, Greek, French, Italian, English.\\nIt seeks to penetrate men s secrets, to note their\\nmotives, those seeds of act, God holds appraising\\nin His hollow palm. In closeness of condensed\\nportraiture, the Victorian age has no greater work\\nthan this. The non-dramatic or slightly dramatic", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0522.jp2"}, "523": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n519\\npoems of this period, like Saul, Christmas Eve\\nand Easter Day, Rabbi Ben Ezra, and Abt\\nVogler, are the most positive expressions of spiritual\\nfaith that Victorian poetry has reached.\\nBrowning s masterpiece is The Ring and the ^The\\nBook. It is our modern English epic we have SeSook,\\n1868\\ntravelled far indeed from the days of Beowulf. The\\npoem combines in a way the advantages of epic and\\ndrama, for it is a series of dramatic monologues,\\ntelling the same story from different points of view.\\nThis story is the record of an obscure murder case\\nof the late seventeenth century in Rome which\\nBrowning found in a yellow parchment book. Out\\nof this unpromising material Browning has evolved\\na marvellous study of sin, purity, and struggle,\\nshown not only as they affect the main actors, but\\nas they serve as touchstones to reveal the char-\\nacter of the bystanders and critics. To one who\\ncares only for the story, The Ring and the Book\\nis insufferably tedious to one who cares for events\\nas they create and display character, it is an illumi-\\nnating poem. It sounds depths of vileness and in-\\niquity, but the study of the woman-child Pompilia\\nand of the wise old Pope Innocent are the fullest\\nexpression of the power of the spiritual to transform\\nthe natural that Victorian poetry possesses.\\nAfter The Ring and the Book, Browning s gen- Later\\nius passed into another phase. He indulged his keen ork\\n,111 i Poems of\\nintellect by the creation of a series of paradoxical casuistry.\\n1871\u00e2\u0080\u00941876\\npoems of casuistry, Fifine at the Fair, Aristoph-\\nanes Apology, Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, LaSai-\\netc. These poems are stimulating, but imagination ^s.\\nand beauty seem a little far away, as indeed they do", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0523.jp2"}, "524": {"fulltext": "520\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nDra-\\nmatic\\nIdyls,\\n1879^1880.\\nAso-\\nlando,\\n1889.\\nBrown-\\ning s\\nspirit.\\nin much of Browning s later work. The lyrics of\\nhis later life, and of his very last volume, show, how-\\never, that the old fire had not abated, and that the\\nold faith still burned clear.\\nAnything that expresses life, however grotesque\\nand ugly it be, seemed to Browning fit subject for\\nart. His quest, like that of many modern artists,\\nwas less for the beautiful than for the significant.\\nLife, moreover, seemed to him something not finished,\\nbut in the making. His poetry thrills with the\\nsense of development through struggle, of the glory\\nof the imperfect. It is splendidly militant. All\\nto the very end is trial in life, and the crises of trial\\nwherein the destiny of souls is decided he delights\\nto show us. He chants no pensive elegies over the\\nprevalence of doubt he voices exultation in a faith\\nall the stronger because won out of the shadows.\\nYou call for faith,\\nI show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.\\nThe more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say,\\nIf faith o ercomes doubt. 1\\nBrowning strikes the most triumphant note of the\\nVictorian period his creed is Christian, and his in-\\nterpretation of life is pervaded by his Christianity.\\nV. Conclusion\\nVictorian poetry dealt, not like that of the preced-\\ning age, with Nature and humanity, but with human-\\nity alone. It penetrated the heart and soul of man,\\nand feared nothing that it should find there. It saw\\nfew visions the mark of search was on it, as on all\\n1 Bishop Blougram s Apology.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0524.jp2"}, "525": {"fulltext": "VICTORIAN POETRY\\n521\\nthe literature of the modern world. For the litera-\\nture of the nineteenth century was one, not of ex-\\nultant discovery like that of the Renaissance, not\\nof placid formulae, like that of the eighteenth cen-\\ntury, but of experiment and doubt. It was marked,\\nmore than the literature of any other age, by a pro-\\nfound discontent, by a sense of the unity with which\\nthe destiny of the whole race is bound together, by\\nan eager pressing toward the future. It yearned\\ntoward a nobler society, toward a clearer vision of\\nspiritual truth. Like the last group of prophets\\npainted by Sargent in the Boston Public Library, the\\nfaces of the men of imagination and vision in the\\nlast century were turned longingly to the East. The\\ngood queen, who gave her high prophetic name to\\none of the great eras of literatures, passed away\\nin the fulness of her years beloved of all the\\nworld. The nineteenth century and the Victorian age\\nwent out together. We leave the great literature of\\nthe English race, with new horizons opening around\\nit, new questions forming on its lips. What answer\\nwill the literature of the twentieth century bring\\nWhat fair, unknown countries will it explore We\\ncannot tell we watch, and wait, and trust the future.\\nREFERENCE BOOKS\\nStedman, Victorian Poets. Walker, The Age of Tenny-\\nson. Oliphant, Victorian Age of English Literature. Scud-\\nder, The Life of the Spirit in the Modern English Poets.\\nEssay on Arnold as a Poet, R. H. Hutton (Literary Essays).\\nEssay on Clough, Bagehot (Literary Studies). Life of Ros-\\nsetti, Knight (Great Writers Series). Sharp, D. G. Rossetti.\\nWilliam M. Rossetti, D. G. Rossetti, as Designer and Writer.\\nMorris, Life, by Mackail (2 vols.), one of the best and most\\nabsorbing of modern biographies.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0525.jp2"}, "526": {"fulltext": "522\\nMODERN ENGLAND\\nTennyson, Life, by his Son (2 vols.)- S. A. Brooke, Ten-\\nnyson His Art and Relation to Modern Life. Van Dyke,\\nThe Poetry of Tennyson. Waugh, Lord Tennyson. Essays\\nby Dowden, F. W. Myers, Hutton. Mrs. Ritchie, Records\\nof Tennyson, Ruskin, and Browning. Article, by Ainger, Dic-\\ntionary of National Biography.\\nBrowning, Life, by Mrs. Sutherland Orr (2 vols).\\nSharp (Great Writers Series), Browning Society Papers;\\nPapers of the Boston Browning Society. Handbook, Mrs.\\nSutherland Orr. Introduction to the Study of Browning,\\nArthur Symons. Introduction, Corson. Berdoe, The\\nBrowning Cyclopaedia. Essays by Bagehot, Hutton, J. J.\\nChapman (Emerson and Other Essays).\\nSUGGESTIONS FOR CLASS-WORK\\nThe young student would best study short chosen poems,\\nas Arnold s Forsaken Merman, Balder, Sohrab and Rus-\\ntum Rossetti s King s Tragedy and White Ship stories\\nfrom Morris s Earthly Paradise the Idylls of the King,\\nEnoch Arden, the Princess, short lyrics, from Tennyson;\\nthe Flight of the Duchess, Herve Riel, Andrea del Sarto,\\nAbt Vogier, Rabbi Ben Ezra, from Browning. Each one\\nmay be dwelt on by itself, and the temperament and art of the\\npoets should become familiar. It is also possible to make cer-\\ntain modern poems the occasion of a review. Morris s Sigurd\\nthe Volsung may thus be compared with Beowulf and the\\nVolsung Saga Rossetti s Ballads with genuine old Ballads\\nThe Idylls of the King with Malory. In more advanced\\nclasses it is valuable to do with one poem, as, for instance,\\nIn Memoriam, all that can be done. Study it in itself, for\\nbeauty, structure, thought movement, etc. Relate it to the\\nother work of the author. Relate the poem, and incidentally\\nthe author s other work, to the general products and tendencies\\nof his time. Broaden out and compare this poem with poems\\nof similar motif or subject in all the earlier periods of our\\nliterature.\\nTALKS FROM THE TEACHER\\nHere, again, biographical talks are the most valuable. The\\nPreraphaelite Movement in Art, illustrated by photographs\\nHow Science is Affecting Poetry The Spiritual Outlook of the\\nModern Poets.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0526.jp2"}, "527": {"fulltext": "o\\nW\\nPi\\nH\\n4J JO\\na co\\ncd oo\\na 3\\ncd a;\\nPS W\\n.55\\n3\\nlO rH CO O O\\nCO O CO\\n00 C2 00 00 00\\nEb cd\\n-a\\nft \u00c2\u00abt?\\nA\\nOX) ft\\na\\n3 33\\n00 00\\nH LJ H\\nJ PLH ft\\ncd o\\nCD Q\\nbX)\\nd d\\nS\\nO\\n_\u00e2\u0096\u00a0\\nl_3 d\\n5 efS\u00c2\u00a7\\n02 .S oo oo\\nft\\nft\\nft\\no\\nC3 00 00\\nft 3\\ne\u00c2\u00ab\\nPh-~ V,\\nf u ft\\nft o\\nso \u00c2\u00ab8 3\\nf\u00c2\u00ab co\\nftw\\nPh\\nft ce\\nCD\\nPh Q\\n03 S\\nd\\ni\\n-H Cj\\nr 03 d\\nft ft M\\nCO\\n09\\npq\\n5%\\nCM d\\no\\n56 .g\\n2ft\\ncS\\ne\\nIII\\ni ft 7\\ntH CD O\\n00 CD\\nco^3\\nrH a\\nP\\no g o\\nft w rrH W\\nSo\\na 7 d\\n00 CO\\nd\\n\u00c2\u00a71\\n^2\\n00 .^CO CD\\n7j CO 02\\nCM H rH\\nQ cj\\n.s i\\ncd .2\\nd S\\nc3 e3 cd\\nCD^\\nCM lO\\nt- lfj\\n00 00\\nS S S Wc9\\nd\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0+-5 +3\\n02 eS\\np\\n-g CD rn CD CD\\n+a HH +j 02\\nO -rH MH .jH\\n^0j02CJ ^TlSft CDT\\n3 5 w j\\nlO CD\\nrH O U rH rH rH\\nCM CC\\n00 CD\\n00 00\\nJO o\\n00 00\\n:cp\\nJ3 :cd\\nA is\\ni. !Tj en i-i\\nCD r\\ns a\\nl H O\\n00\\noo\\nrH fl rH rH\\nSS*L ci\\n\u00c2\u00abCO H Oo C55\\na\\nS g\\no\\nO o\\n03\\npq\\nO\\nCM\\n05\\n00\\nd c;\\nrH\\nn\\nd\\nOi OS lO\\n-00 00\\n00 00 00\\nCD rH rH rH\\nSo 00 00\\n:?rH rH C5\\n00 CO t-\\nO\\no W\\ncs a\\ni2\\nCO CO\\n00 00\\nCD rH rH\\na rH CD CM\\nS\\nd ft\\no\\nCD o\\n00\\noo -r 1 3\\nh a cd\\n2\\nW H 3\\na\\noo tg a\\nCO ^2\\nrH 3 ro \u00e2\u0080\u009erH\\nO c3\\nO\\n15 OS", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0527.jp2"}, "528": {"fulltext": "o U\\n.S o o\\n5 g\\nan\\nti gco\\n00 O so\\n\u00c2\u00a38\\n00 00\\n03 CM\\n03\\nft\\na\\no\\no\\nci\\nO\\nIS\\nS3 W\\nc3\\nM o 3\\no w i-a\\nco ci\\nCI\\nCtH\\no\\n.CI\\no\\no\\no\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00baa\\n4l O CO\\nCI CO CM\\nCO CO CO\\nCI CS ro\\n00\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Si\\n\u00c2\u00a31\\n/3 03\\no\\nc\\n1 I l S|\\n03 03 a\\nHO WO\\n03\\n03\\nCdO^\\n00 CO CO CO\\ni eg\\no\\nW 3\\nCO 03\\ni\\no\\nH Ha\\ne\\n\u00c2\u00a3co\\nOQ\\n*1\\nco c3^-v\\ntH fl\\nI 03\\nO so Sh\\na\\n\u00c2\u00abM O\\n66\\nO\\n03 CO\\ntH\\n3 CO\\no co co 35 00\\nCO \u00c2\u00a753\\n03\\nQC 03 S\\no.-So\\nCO\\n03\\nr\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 K\\n3 00 o\\nU CO M\\nfl 03\\nS-l\\n0Q", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0528.jp2"}, "529": {"fulltext": "O CO\\nt~ OS\\n00 CO\\n44\\nC 00\\no oo\\n00 00 00\\nh-1 H\\nS 2\\nn\\n1 I\\nDO\\nQ pq\\ni\\ngoo H\\nGQ -g\\nt\\n.2\\n5\\n00 00\\n00 c 00 o\\n_\\nx-S S a\\n02\\n5 e\\n5 13\\nox;\\niS 5\\ni-T So\\nD so\\nd 6o sh f- oa\\n5*1\\nill\\n^3 w\\n3\\na\\n^3\\naft\\n5 g\\na 3", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0529.jp2"}, "530": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0530.jp2"}, "531": {"fulltext": "INDEX I\\nAUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS\\nA\\nAbelard, Peter, 90.\\nAbsalom and Achilophel, 324, 331.\\nActa Sanctorum, 283.\\nAdam Bede, 479, 480, 484.\\nAddison, Joseph, 313, 316, 319, 338, 340, 342,\\n343, 348-354, 392, 412.\\nAdonais, 436, 443, 444.\\nAdvancement of Learning, 271, 280.\\n.Eliric, 90.\\nMneid, The, 129, 159, 184, 194.\\n^schylus, 245, 313, 435.\\nsFsop s Fables, 96, 159, 510.\\nAgainbite of Inwyt, The, 83, 97.\\nAkenside, Mark, 375, 379.\\nAlastor, 219, 434.\\nAlchemist, The, 259, 280, 306.\\nAlexander the Great (Epic Cycle) 68, 90,\\n95, 98.\\nAlfred (King), 40, 80, 91.\\nAllegro L 287, 288, 297.\\nAll for Love, 316, 319, 322.\\nAll s Well that Ends Well, 245, 255.\\nAmadis de Gaul, 124.\\nAmis and Amiloun, 96.\\nAnalogy of Religion, 344, 381.\\nAnatomy of Melancholy, The, 272, 282.\\nAncient Mariner, The, 421, 427, 443.\\nAncren Riwle, The, 92, 93, 97.\\nAndrew of Wyntoun, 126.\\nAndrewes, Launcelot, 272, 273, 283.\\nAngelico, Fra, 127, 129.\\nAngelo, Michael, 192.\\nAnnus Mirabilis, 323.\\nAnselm, 90.\\nAntony and Cleopatra, 245,247, 316, 319,\\n322.\\nApologia pro Vita Sua, 492, 504.\\nApologie for Poetrie, 179, 204, 279, 444.\\nAquinas, Thomas, 93.\\nArbuthnot, John, 352.\\nArcades, 288.\\nArcadia, The, 128, 199, 200, 204, 279.\\nAreopagitica, 291.\\nAriosto, 192, 206, 225, 228.\\nAristotle, 55, 171.\\nArnold, Sir Edwin, 524.\\nArnold, Matthew, 56, 89, 179, 275, 344, 390,\\n406, 431, 440, 451, 466, 498-502, 504-507,\\n510, 512, 513, 522, 524.\\nArnold, Thomas, 523.\\nArraignment of Paris, 232, 277.\\nArthur (Epic Cycle and Romances), 25,\\n69-74, 76, 77, 79, 85, 91, 92, 98, 124, 219,\\n292.\\nAscham, Roger, 194, 203.\\nAs You Like It, 200, 204, 237, 240, 241, 255.\\nAtalanta in Calydon, 510.\\nAthelard of Bath, 90.\\nAucassin and Nicolette, 68, 91.\\nAurora Leigh, 509, 516.\\nAusten, Jane, 448-450, 455, 457.\\nAyala, Pedro Lopez, 124.\\nAytoun, William Edmonstoune, 523.\\nB\\nBach, Johann Sebastian, 382.\\nBacon, Francis (Lord Verulam) 169, 187,\\n189, 190, 205, 206, 271-273, 276, 280, 281,\\n311.\\nBacon, Roger, 92, 125.\\nBaillie, Joanna, 457.\\nBalder Dead, 506, 522.\\nBallads, 127, 160, 161, 162, 166.\\nBarbauld, Anna Letitia, 376.\\nBarbour, John, 125, 158.\\nBarclay, 164, 173.\\nBarons Wars, The, 279.\\nBartholomew Fair, 259, 280, 306.\\nBattle of the Books, The, 344.\\nBaxter, Richard, 285, 303.\\nBeattie, James, 376, 392.\\nBeaumont, Francis, 249, 257, 258, 261, 281,\\n285.\\nBede, The Venerable, 37, 43, 49, 50, 178.\\nBeethoven, 456.\\nBehn, Aphra, 330, 332.\\nBentham, Jeremy, 381, 456.\\nBeowulf, 26, 31-34 36 42-45, 48, 50, 68,\\n73, 77, 360, 481, 522.\\n527", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0531.jp2"}, "532": {"fulltext": "528\\nINDEX\\nBerkeley, George, 352.\\nBernard, St., 75, 90.\\nBerners, Dame Juliana, 127.\\nBerners, Lord, 193.\\nBesant, Sir Walter, 524.\\nBestiary, The, 93.\\nBible, The, 30, 36, 57, 75, 113, 125-127, 145,\\n146, 148, 150, 192-196, 206, 229, 251, 273-\\n276, 282, 301, 303, 305, 308, 489, 500.\\nBiographia Literaria, 427.\\nBlack, William, 524.\\nBlackmore, R. D., 524.\\nBlackwood s Magazine, 450, 457, 479.\\nBlair, Robert, 375, 379.\\nBlake, William, 396, 403, 407-412, 417, 456.\\nBlind Harry, 127.\\nBoccaccio, 69, 96, 98, 107, 109, 111, 114, 126,\\n195, 326.\\nBoethius, 40.\\nBoiardo, 128.\\nBoileau, 318, 331, 335.\\nBoke to an Ankoresse, 97.\\nBoke to Phyllip Sparowe, 128.\\nBook of Martyrs, 186, 195.\\nBossuet, 318, 331.\\nBoswell, James, 365, 366, 370, 374, 377, 387.\\nBotticelli, 128, 176, 228.\\nBrahe, Tycho, 310.\\nBrandan, St., Voyage of, 25.\\nBrandt, Sebastian, 128.\\nBreton, Nicbolas, 281, 285.\\nBritannia s Pastorals, 267, 282.\\nBritton s Bower of Delights, 209.\\nBroken Heart, The, 263, 283.\\nBronte, Anne, 523.\\nBronte, Charlotte, 450, 482, 523.\\nBronte, Emily, 482, 523.\\nBrooke, Arthur, 275.\\nBrowne, Sir Thomas, 272, 273, 276, 284,\\n319, 324, 344.\\nBrowne, William, 267, 282, 285, 319.\\nBrowning, Elizabeth Barrett, 200, 509, 516,\\n517 523.\\nBrowning, Robert, 39, 108, 157, 175, 243,\\n268, 455, 463, 465, 466, 484, 505, 516-523.\\nBruce, The, 125, 158.\\nBrut, 85, 86, 92.\\nBunyan, John, 138, 139, 303-305, 308, 330,\\n475.\\nBurgh, Benedict, 192.\\nBurke, Edmund, 370, 376, 381, 384.\\nBurne- Jones, Sir Edward, 508, 524.\\nBurney, Fanny (M me d Arblay), 363, 377,\\n449.\\nBurns, Robert, 129, 159, 165, 271, 396, 403-\\n407, 409-412, 417, 456, 488.\\nBurton, Robert, 272, 282.\\nButler, Joseph, 344, 381.\\nButler, Samuel, 307, 330.\\nByron, Lord (George Gordon), 224, 228,\\n418, 419, 429-433, 437, 441, 443, 444, 446,\\n457, 464.\\nC\\nCsedmon, 37, 38, 42, 80, 150, 294, 297, 376.\\nCalverley, C. S., 524.\\nCalvin, John, 193.\\nCambrensis, Giraldus, 91.\\nCampbell, Thomas, 458.\\nCampion, Thomas, 267, 281, 285, 289.\\nCanova, 456.\\nCanterbury Tales, 40, 58, 101, 103, 110-119,\\n126, 132, 133.\\nCapgrave, John, 126.\\nCarew, Thomas, 268, 283, 285.\\nCarlyle, Thomas, 148, 169, 275, 450, 465,\\n471, 487-493, 497, 499, 500, 501, 503, 504,\\n509, 523.\\nCastle of Indolence, The, 388, 392.\\nCastle of Otranto, The, 375, 394.\\nCatullus, 128.\\nCaxton, William, 164, 175, 176, 192.\\nCellini, Benvenuto, 193.\\nCenci, The, 435.\\nCervantes, 279.\\nChapman, George, 207, 214, 257, 280, 285.\\nCharlemagne (Epic Cycle) 44, 45, 68, 90,\\n98.\\nChateaubriand, 456.\\nChatterton, Thomas, 377, 392, 396.\\nChaucer, Geoffrey, 17, 58. 63, 69, 70, 85,\\n89 99-136, 139, 140, 144, 153, 156, 157,\\n159, 162, 163, 169, 183, 215, 276, 286, 311,\\n316, 318, 326.\\nChesterfield, Earl of, 376.\\nChestre, Thomas, 127.\\nChilde Harold, 430, 431, 443, 444.\\nChrist, The, 39, 42.\\nChrist s Victory and Triumph, 268, 282.\\nChristabel, 427, 439, 443, 446.\\nChronicles, 40, 59, 91, 97, 116, 126, 193,\\n195, 196, 205, 281.\\nCibber, Colley, 332.\\nCicero, 206.\\nCid, The, 92, 98, 282.\\nCimabue, 93, 176.\\nClarendon, Earl of (Edward Hyde), 272,\\n354.\\nClarissa Harlowe, 358, 359.\\nCleanness, 124, 132.\\nClough, Arthur Hugh, 295, 498, 504-507,\\n509, 510, 523.\\nColeridge, Hartley, 523.\\nColeridge, Samuel Taylor, 369, 391, 418-\\n422, 425-429, 439, 441, 443-446, 451, 452,\\n456, 464, 465, 498.\\nColet, John, 178, 192.\\nCollier, Jeremy, 328, 332.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0532.jp2"}, "533": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n529\\nCollins, William, 344, 388-390, 395, 396, 399,\\n420, 421.\\nCollins, William Wilkie, 523.\\nComedy of Errors, A, 239.\\nCompleat Angler, The, 273, 285.\\nComas, 288, 289.\\nConchobar (Celtic hero), 23, 24.\\nConfessio Amantis, 125, 133.\\nConfessions of an Opium Eater, 453.\\nCongreve, William, 327, 332.\\nConsolations of Philosophy, On the, 40.\\nConstable. Henry, 210, 279, 285.\\nCook, Eliza, 523.\\nCopernicus, 173, 193.\\nCoriolanus, 245, 247.\\nCorneille, 282, 318, 331.\\nCornhill Magazine, The, 495.\\nCoverdale, Miles, 193.\\nCowley, Abraham, 283, 285, 319, 320, 392.\\nCowper, William, 377 395-400, 413, 421,\\n443.\\nCrabbe, George, 377.\\nCraik, Dinah Muloch, 524.\\nCranmer, 193, 194, 274, 301.\\nCrashaw, Richard, 268, 269, 283, 285.\\nCuchullin (Celtic hero) 21-23, 28, 32.\\nCursor Mundi, 88, 96.\\nCymbeline, 79, 249.\\nCynewulf, 31, 37, 38, 42, 43, 80, 132, 134,\\n150, 270, 441.\\nD\\nDaniel Deronda, 480, 481.\\nDaniel, Samuel, 205, 210, 279, 285.\\nDante, 61, 79, 95, 98, 100, 107, 110, 253, 286,\\n294, 295, 297, 509.\\nDarwin, Charles, 460, 523.\\nDavenant, Sir William, 283, 285, 316.\\nDavid, 456.\\nDavid Copperfield, 469, 471, 485.\\nDavisoyi s Poetical Rhapsody, 209.\\nDe Quincey, Thomas, 452, 453, 455, 458.\\nDe Stael, Madame, 456.\\nDe Yere, Aubrey, 225.\\nDecameron, The, 96, 98, 110.\\nDecline and Fall of the Roman Empire,\\nThe, 380.\\nDefense of Poetry, A, 199.\\nDefoe, Daniel, 131, 305, 347, 348, 350, 353.\\nDekker, Thomas, 249, 257, 258, 261, 280,\\n282, 285.\\nDemosthenes, 206.\\nDenham, Sir John, 283, 285, 320, 392.\\nDescartes, 283.\\nDeserted Village, The, 373.\\nDeth of Blaunche the Duchesse, The, 108.\\nDickens, Charles, 169, 465, 468-480, 485,\\n515, 523.\\nDisraeli, Benjamin, 523, 524.\\nDivine Comedy, The, 96.\\nDobson, Henry Austin, 524.\\nDoctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, 483.\\nDodgson, C. L. (Lewis Carroll), 524.\\nDomesday Book, 90.\\nDon Juan, 431, 432.\\nDon Quixote, 279, 362.\\nDonatello, 127.\\nDonne, John, 268, 269, 282, 285.\\nDouglas, Gavin, 129, 159.\\nDowden, Edward, 245, 525.\\nDrapier s Letters, 345.\\nDrayton, Michael, 205, 210, 211, 267, 279,\\n285.\\nDream of Gerontius, The, 492.\\nDream of John Ball, A, 138, 502.\\nDream of the Rood, The, 31, 38, 42.\\nDrummond, William, 267, 282, 285.\\nDryden, John, 313, 314, 316, 319-333, 337,\\n338, 342, 343, 346.\\nDu Maurier, George, 524.\\nDuchess of Malti, The, 262, 263, 282.\\nDunbar, William, 129, 159, 166.\\nDunciad, The, 334, 337, 338, 341, 345, 379.\\nDiirer, Albrecht, 192.\\nE\\nEadmer, 90.\\nEarthly Paradise, The, 117, 135, 511, 522.\\nEcclesiastical History of England, An, 48.\\nEcclesiastical Polity, The, 205, 279.\\nEdda, The, 90, 92, 391.\\nEdgeworth, Maria, 457.\\nEdinburgh Review, 450, 457, 486, 488.\\nEdward II., 233, 277.\\nEikon Basilike, 284.\\nElegy in a Country Churchyard, An, 375,\\n390, 391, 400, 420.\\nElene, 39, 42.\\nEliot, George, 171, 450, 477-483, 485, 523.\\nEmerson, Ralph Waldo, 489.\\nEndymion, 438.\\nEngland s Helicon, 209.\\nEnglish Humourists, 473.\\nEpithalamium, 217, 219, 279.\\nErasmus, 177, 178, 192, 193.\\nEschenbach, Wolfram von, 92.\\nEssay on Criticism, 335, 341, 356, 444.\\nEssay on Man, 337, 341, 383.\\nEtherege, Sir George, 327, 330, 332.\\nEuphues, 203, 204, 206, 232, 277.\\nEuripides, 245.\\nEvelina, 363, 377.\\nEvelyn, John, 328, 330.\\nEvidences of Christianity 381, 382.\\nExaminer, The, 452.\\nExcursion, The, 420, 425.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0533.jp2"}, "534": {"fulltext": "530\\nINDEX\\nExeter Book, 90.\\nExodus, 94.\\nF\\nFaerie Queene, The, 40, 148, 188, 216-228,\\n278, 311, 319, 346, 359, 434.\\nFairfax, Lord, 207.\\nFaithful Shepherdess, The, 281, 289.\\nFall of Princes, The, 126, 157, 195.\\nFarquhar, Sir John, 327, 332.\\nFates of the Apostles, The, 39.\\nFaust, 277, 431.\\nFaustus, Dr., 189, 233, 278.\\nFenelon, 332.\\nFerrex and Porrex (Gorboduc), 195, 231,\\n241.\\nFielding, Henry, 344, 360-362, 394, 447.\\nFinn (Celtic Cycle) 23, 24, 28, 32, 393.\\nFitzgerald, Edward, 523.\\nFletcher, Giles, 268, 282, 285.\\nFletcher, John, 249, 250, 257, 261, 264, 281,\\n285, 289.\\nFletcher, Phineas, 268, 283, 285.\\nFloire et Blancheflor, 93, 95.\\nFlorence of Worcester, 90.\\nFord, John, 257, 263, 273, 283, 285, 318.\\nFors Clavigera, 496.\\nFortescue, Sir John, 127.\\nFox, C. J., 370.\\nFoxe, John, 186, 195.\\nFreeman, 487, 524.\\nFrench Revolution, The, 489, 503.\\nFroissart, Sir John, 58, 124.\\nFroude, 487, 524.\\nFuller, Thomas, 272, 284.\\nG\\nGaimar, Geoffrey, 90, 91.\\nGainsborough, 376.\\nGalileo, 281, 287.\\nGammer Gurton s Needle, 231.\\nGardiner, 487.\\nGarrick, David, 344, 367, 368, 370.\\nGascoigne, George, 195.\\nGaskell, Elizabeth, 523.\\nGaioayne (Sir) and the Green Knight,\\n124, 132, 147.\\nGay, John, 340.\\nGenesis, 94.\\nGentleman 1 s Magazine, The, 344.\\nGeoffrey of Monmouth, 70, 71, 78, 79, 89,\\n91.\\nGeoffrey of Vinsauf 96.\\nGerm, The, 509, 523.\\nGerusalemme Liberata, 277.\\nGesta Romanorum, 74, 79, 93.\\nGibbon, Edward, 376, 380, 384.\\nGil Bias, 354, 362.\\nGiorgione, 192.\\nGiotto, 94, 107, 148, 176.\\nGladstone, William Ewart, 525.\\nGodwin, William, 382, 383, 433, 456.\\nGoethe, 375, 377, 431, 432, 456, 457.\\nGolden Legend, The, 74, 75, 95.\\nGoldsmith, Oliver, 363, 370, 372-375, 378,\\n379.\\nGorboduc (Ferrex and Porrex), 195, 231,\\n241.\\nGorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions, A,\\n196, 209.\\nGosson, Stephen, 199, 277.\\nGower, John, 125, 132, 133, 147.\\nGrandison, Sir Charles, 358-360, 481.\\nGray, Thomas, 326, 375, 388-391, 394-396,\\n399, 400, 409, 420, 421.\\nGreene, Robert, 232, 248, 277, 285, 487.\\nGreuze, J. B., 375.\\nGrimm (the brothers), 457.\\nGrocyn, 178, 192.\\nGrostete, Robert, 92.\\nGrotius, Hugo, 281.\\nGrub Street Journal, The, 344.\\nGuardian, The, 393.\\nGudrun, Epic of, 91.\\nGuizot, 457.\\nGulliver s Travels, 131, 346, 347, 353.\\nGutenberg, 126.\\nH\\nHabington, William, 269.\\nHakluyt, Richard, 205, 214, 277.\\nHales, Alexander, 92.\\nHallam, Henry, 458.\\nHamlet, 155, 190, 231, 237, 245, 247, 252.\\nHandel, 344.\\nHandful of Pleasant Delights, 277.\\nHandlyng Syime, 98.\\nHarding, John, 126.\\nHardy, Thomas, 483, 484, 524.\\nHarrington, 207, 279.\\nHarrison, 191, 214.\\nHavelok the Dane, 86, 90, 95.\\nHawes, Stephen, 128, 157.\\nHaydn, 376.\\nHazlitt, William, 452, 457, 464.\\nHegel, 456.\\nHeine, 457.\\nHemans, Felicia, 458.\\nHenry IV., 240.\\nHenry V., 40, 240, 241,255, 319.\\nHenry VI., 239.\\nHenry VIII., 250.\\nHenry Esmond, 473, 474, 476, 485.\\nHenry of Huntingdon, 91.\\nHenryson, Robert, 127, 159, 166.\\nHerbert, George, 268, 269, 276, 283.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0534.jp2"}, "535": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n531\\nHeroes and Hero Worship, 490, 503.\\nHerrick, Robert, 269-271, 276, 284, 285.\\nHesperides, 271, 284.\\nHey wood, John, 19o, 229.\\nHeywood, Thomas, 249, 257, 258, 261, 281,\\n285.\\nHigden.R., 96,124.\\nHind and the Panther, The, 325.\\nHobbes, Thomas, 285, 328, 382.\\nHoccleve, Thomas, 103, 125, 157.\\nHogarth, 355.\\nHogg, 433.\\nHolbein, Hans, 164, 165, 193.\\nHolinshed, 196, 205.\\nHoly Living and Dying, 273, 284.\\nHoly Maidenhood, The, 94.\\nHoly and Profane State, The, 272.\\nHomer, 42, 69, 171, 207, 214, 280, 313, 336,\\n341, 377, 398.\\nHomilies, 97.\\nHood, Thomas, 523.\\nHooker, Richard, 187, 189, 205, 206, 215,\\n271, 280.\\nHorn, King, 86, 91, 95.\\nHous of Fame, The, 112.\\nHudibras, 307, 330.\\nHughes, Thomas, 504, 524.\\nHugo, Victor, 57, 457.\\nHumboldt, 457.\\nHume, David, 344, 380, 381, 383, 384.\\nHunt, Holman, 508.\\nHunt, Leigh, 452, 524.\\nHyperion, 438, 440.\\nI\\nIdler, The, 368.\\nIdylls of the King, 76, 514, 522.\\nTl Penseroso, 287 288, 297.\\nIliad, The, 334, 336.\\nImaginary Conversations, 454.\\nImitation of Christ, The, 125, 273.\\nIn Memoriam, 39, 397 436 513, 514,\\n522.\\nIngelow, Jean, 524.\\nJ\\nJames I. (Scotland), 125, 126, 158.\\nJameson, Anna, 524.\\nJeffrey, Francis, 450, 451, 458, 504.\\nJohn of Capua, 93.\\nJohn of Oxenedes, 93.\\nJohn of Salisbury, 91.\\nJohn of Trevisa, 124.\\nJohnson, Samuel. 313, 314, 363, 365-377,\\n379, 387, 388, 396, 403, 428, 451.\\nJones, Inigo, 260, 282.\\nJonson, Ben, 187, 218, 233, 249, 257-261,\\n264, 280, 285, 289, 306, 311, 327, 369.\\nJoseph of Exeter, 92.\\nJudith, 38, 42.\\nJuliana, 39.\\nJulius Csesar, 245, 246, 252, 255.\\nJusserand, J. J., 80, 82, 92, 157.\\nJuvenal, 368.\\nK\\nKant, 377.\\nKeats, John, 224, 228, 268, 418^20, 429,\\n436-441, 451, 452, 457, 464, 505, 508.\\nKeble, John, 524.\\nKempis, Thomas a, 125.\\nKing John, 240.\\nKing s Quair, The, 126, 159.\\nKing s Tragedy, The, 159.\\nKingsley, Charles, 482, 509, 523.\\nKipling, Rudyard, 525.\\nKlopstock, 344.\\nKyd, Thomas, 231, 233, 278, 285.\\nL\\nLa Fontaine, 330.\\nLa Rochefoucauld, 330.\\nLady of the Lake, The, 446, 455.\\nLamartine, 456.\\nLamb, Charles, 89, 273, 426, 451, 452, 455,\\n456, 464.\\nLamb, Mary, 451, 452.\\nLand of Cockayne, The, 100.\\nLandor, Walter Savage, 452-456.\\nLanfranc, 90.\\nLang, Andrew, 525.\\nLangland, William, 124, 125, 130-145, 147,\\n163, 182, 186, 221, 304, 308.\\nLatimer, Hugh, 186, 193, 194.\\nLatini, Brunetto, 92.\\nLaw, William, 395.\\nLay of the Last Minstrel, The, 446.\\nLayamon, 70, 71, 85, 89, 92.\\nLays of Ancient Rome, 487.\\nLear, King, 79, 235, 245, 246, 255, 258, 262.\\nLee, Nathaniel, 315, 331, 332.\\nLegende of Good Women, A, 106, 111.\\nLegends of the Saints, 100.\\nLeibnitz, 382.\\nLeopardi, 457.\\nLessing, 375.\\nLever, Charles, 523.\\nLeviathan, 285.\\nLewes, George Henry, 478, 479, 524.\\nLife of Johnson, 365, 377.\\nLinacre, 178, 192.\\nLindsav, Sir David, 193.\\nLippo Lippi, Fra, 127, 149, 157.\\nLivy, 130.\\nLobeira, 124.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0535.jp2"}, "536": {"fulltext": "532\\nINDEX\\nLocke, John, 328, 332, 382.\\nLodge, Thomas, 204, 232, 248, 279.\\nLovelace, Sir Richard, 269, 270, 284, 285.\\nLove s Labor s Lost, 239, 252.\\nLowell, James Russell, 221, 227, 427.\\nLuther, 192.\\nLycidas, 288, 296, 297, 436, 443.\\nLydgate, John, 125, 157, 195.\\nLyly, John, 203, 232, 239, 277, 285.\\nLyrical Ballads, 420-422, 456.\\nLytton, Bulwer, 523.\\nLytton (the younger), 524.\\nM\\nMacaulay, Thomas Babington, 450, 486-\\n488, 523.\\nMacbeth, 245, 255, 319.\\nMacdonald, George, 483, 524.\\nMacFlecknoe, 324, 330, 338.\\nMachiavelli, 193.\\nMackenzie, 363.\\nMacpherson, 23, 24, 375, 393.\\nMaid s Tragedy, The, 281.\\nMalebranctie, 331.\\nMalory, Sir Thomas, 71, 73, 74, 76, 192,\\n514, 522.\\nMalthus, 457.\\nMandeville, Sir John, 124, 130, 131, 147,\\n181.\\nMannyng, Robert, 96.\\nMap, Walter, 71, 79, 91.\\nMargaritone d Arezzo, 93.\\nMarie de France, 79, 92.\\nMarius, the Epicurean, 502.\\nMarlowe, Christopher, 189, 233, 234, 239,\\n248, 261, 277 285.\\nMarmion, 159, 446, 455.\\nMarryat, Frederick, 523.\\nMarston, John, 281, 285.\\nMartineau, Harriet, 523.\\nMarvell, Andrew, 320.\\nMassinger, Philip, 257, 258, 263, 282,\\n285.\\nMaurice, Frederick Denison, 428, 465, 509,\\n523.\\nMeasure for Measure, 245.\\nMerchant of Venice, The, 240, 241, 255.\\nMeredith, George, 483, 484, 524.\\nMerivale, Charles, 524.\\nMerry Wives of Windsor, The, 153, 240,\\n241.\\nMeung, Jean de, 95.\\nMichael of Northgate, 97.\\nMichael the Scot, 92.\\nMiddlemarch, 480, 481.\\nMiddleton, Thomas, 249, 257, 281, 285.\\nMidsummer Night s Dream, A, 235, 240,\\n241, 243, 251, 255, 258, 336.\\nMill on the Floss, The, 479, 480.\\nMill, John Stuart, 465, 523.\\nMillais, 507, 524.\\nMilton, John, 38, 42, 81, 84, 89, 116, 169,\\n184, 267, 272, 276, 284, 286-301, 303, 305,\\n314-316, 319-321, 324-327, 336, 376, 395,\\n405, 486, 513.\\nMinot, Laurence, 88, 98.\\nMirrour for Magistrates, A, 195, 231.\\nMirrour of Life, The, 125.\\nMitford, Mary Russell, 458.\\nModern Painters, 494, 495.\\nMoliere, 318, 330, 331.\\nMonstrelet, 125.\\nMontagu, Lady Mary Wortley, 340.\\nMontague, Charles, 331.\\nMontaigne, 273, 277.\\nMontesquieu, 382.\\nMoore, Thomas, 457.\\nMore, Hannah, 457.\\nMore, Sir Thomas, 178-182, 184-186, 276,\\n346, 434.\\nMorley, Henry, 525.\\nMorley, John, 525.\\nMorris, Lewis, 524.\\nMorris, William, 117, 135, 138, 391, 502-\\n504, 507, 508, 511, 512, 522, 523.\\nMorte d Arthur, 224.\\nMozart, 376.\\nMuch Ado About Nothing, 240, 241, 243.\\nMysteries of Udolpho, The, 394.\\nMystery of the Ten Virgins, 90.\\nN\\nNash, Thomas, 233, 278, 285.\\nNeale, J. M., 524.\\nNeckham, Alexander, 92.\\nNew Atlantis, The, 272, 276, 280.\\nNewcomes, The, 473, 485.\\nNewman, John Henry, 275, 428, 465, 492,\\n493, 498, 503, 523.\\nNews from Nowhere, 180, 502.\\nNewton, Sir Isaac, 331.\\nNicholas Nickleby, 470.\\nNicholas of Guildford, 94.\\nNiebelungen Lied, 34, 44, 68, 91, 98.\\nNight Thoughts, 344, 379.\\nNorth, Christopher, 450.\\nNorth, Sir Thomas, 206, 213, 245, 277.\\nNovum Organum, 271, 280.\\nO\\nOccam, William of, 96.\\nOdyssey, 336.\\nOliphant, Mrs., 524.\\nOliver Twist, 465, 470.\\nOlney Hymns, 397.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0536.jp2"}, "537": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n533\\nOrdericus Vitalis, 91.\\nOrlando Furioso, 192, 279.\\nOrm, 86, 92.\\nOrmulum, 86, 92.\\nOrosius, 40.\\nOssian, 23-25, 28, 393.\\nOthello, 245.\\nOtway, Thomas, 327, 331, 332.\\nOverbury, Sir Thomas, 282, 306.\\nOvid, 101, 206.\\nOwl and the Nightingale, The, 94.\\nP\\nPaine, Thomas, 381, 383, 456.\\nPaley, William, 381-383, 456.\\nPamela, 357, 358, 360.\\nParadise Lost, 292-297, 300, 314, 330, 336,\\n354.\\nParadise of Dainty Devices, The, 196, 209.\\nParadise Regained, 296.\\nParlement of Foules, The, 103, 111.\\nPascal, 330.\\nPaston Letters, The, 126.\\nPastoral Care, 40.\\nPater, Walter, 502, 503, 524.\\nPatience, 124,132.\\nPauline, 465, 505, 518.\\nPearl, The, 124, 132.\\nPecock, Reginald, 126, 158.\\nPeele, George, 232, 248, 277, 285.\\nPendennis, 473.\\nPepys, Samuel, 328-330.\\nPercy s Reliques, 375, 392.\\nPericles, 249, 255.\\nPericles and Aspasia, 454.\\nPersian Eclogues, 389.\\nPerugino, 128.\\nPetrarch, 96, 98, 107, 182, 183, 185, 198.\\nPhillips, Kate, 330.\\nPhoenix, The, 37.\\nPhoenix s Nest, The, 209.\\nPickwick Papers, The, 465, 470.\\nPiers Plowman, The Vision concerning\\n124, 133-144.\\nPiers Plowman s Crede, 125.\\nPilgrim s Progress, The, 138, 303-305, 330,\\n346.\\nPlato, 171, 178, 185, 220.\\nPlautus, 239.\\nPleasures of the Imagination, 375, 379.\\nPlutarch s Lives, 206, 213, 245, 277.\\nPoe, Edgar Allan, 453.\\nPoema Morale, 85, 91.\\nPolychronicon. 98, 124.\\nPolyolbion, 205, 267, 279.\\nPope, Alexander, 313, 314, 319-321 333-343,\\n345, 348, 350, 355, 359, 365, 373, 381, 383,\\n387, 390, 398, 403, 410, 438, 444.\\nPorter, Jane, 457, 458.\\nPrayer Book, The, 186, 194, 196, 274, 347.\\nPrelude, The, 397, 413-417, 423, 424.\\nPrick of Conscience, The, 97.\\nPrior, Matthew, 331.\\nProcter, Adelaide A., 523.\\nProcter, Bryan Waller (Barry Cornwall)\\n523.\\nPrometheus Unbound, 420, 435, 440, 443.\\nProthalamium, 218, 278.\\nProverbs of Hendyng 96.\\nPunch 523\\nPurple Island, The, 268, 283.\\nPusey, 465, 523.\\nPuttenham, George, 204, 278.\\nQ\\nQuarles, Francis, 268, 283, 285.\\nQuarterly Review, The, 450, 451, 457.\\nR\\nRabelais, 193, 347.\\nRacine, 318, 330, 332.\\nRadcliffe, Mrs. Anne, 394, 450, 456.\\nRaleigh, Sir Walter, 173, 187, 205, 213, 215,\\n217, 219, 221, 277, 279.\\nRalph Roister Doister, 193, 231.\\nRambler, The, 368.\\nRamsay, Allan, 383.\\nRape of Lucrece, The, 239.\\nRape of the Lock, The, 319, 335-337, 341.\\nRaphael, 176, 192.\\nRasselas, 369, 379.\\nReade, Charles, 482, 523.\\nRehearsal, The, 323, 329, 331.\\nReligio Laid, 325.\\nReligio Medici, 273, 284.\\nRembrandt, 228.\\nRepublic, The, 185.\\nReynard the Fox (Beast epic), 70, 91, 95,\\n101 129.\\nReynolds, Sir Joshua, 370, 376.\\nRicardo, David, 457.\\nRichard II.. 240.\\nRichard III., 240.\\nRichard Feverel, 483, 484.\\nRichard of Bury, 96.\\nRichard the Redeless, 125.\\nRichardson, Samuel, 344, 357-364, 447.\\nRing and the Book, The, 519.\\nRivals, The, 373, 376.\\nRobbia, Luca della, 126.\\nRobert of Gloucester, 96.\\nRobertson, William, 380.\\nRobinson Crusoe, 131, 347, 348.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0537.jp2"}, "538": {"fulltext": "534\\nINDEX\\nRobinson, Ralph, 180, 192.\\nRoger of Hovedeu, 92.\\nRoger of Wendover, 92.\\nRoland, The Song of, 44-48, 67, 68, 73, 90,\\n481.\\nRolle, Richard, 97.\\nRomance of the Rose, The, 58, 63, 93, 105,\\n108, 129.\\nRomeo and Juliet, 189, 235, 240, 241, 255.\\nRomuey, 376.\\nRomola, 171, 479, 480, 485.\\nRosalind, 204, 279.\\nRossetti, Christina, 516, 524.\\nRossetti, Dante Gabriel, 159, 200, 268,466,\\n507-509, 512, 522, 523.\\nRousseau, 359, 375, 383.\\nRowe, Nicholas, 332.\\nRowley, William, 282, 285.\\nRubens, Peter Paul, 281.\\nRuskin, John, 147, 148, 275, 493-498, 500,\\n501, 504, 508, 524.\\nRymer, Thomas, 317, 331.\\nS\\nSackville, 195, 231.\\nSaints Everlasting Rest, The, 285, 303.\\nSaintsbury, 88.\\nSamson Agonistes, 296.\\nSanazzaro, 128, 129.\\nSand, George, 450.\\nSartor Resartus, 465, 489, 490, 503, 504.\\nSavonarola, 128, 129.\\nScenes of Clerical Life, 479.\\nSchelling, 456.\\nSchiller, 377, 427, 456.\\nSchool for Scandal, The, 373, 376.\\nSchoolmaster, The, 194, 203.\\nSchopenhauer, 457.\\nSchubert, 457.\\nScott, Sir Walter, 159, 363, 394, 418, 445-\\n449, 454, 455, 457, 461, 485, 494.\\nScotus, Duns, 93.\\nSeasons, The, 387, 388.\\nSeneca, 231.\\nSentimental Journey, The, 362.\\nSettle, Elkanah, 331, 332.\\nSeven Lamps of Architecture, The, 494.\\nShadwell, Thomas, 330, 332.\\nShaftesbury, 352.\\nShakespeare, William, 76, 79, 81, 84, 89,\\n149, 155, 169, 183, 184, 187, 190, 199, 200,\\n204, 206-208, 210-212, 215, 218, 230-262,\\n273, 276, 279, 281, 285, 287, 311, 314, 316,\\n317, 319, 321, 336, 359, 364, 395, 431, 440,\\n443, 448, 452, 476, 509, 514.\\nShe Stoops to Conquer, 373.\\nShelley, Mary, 433, 457.\\nShelley, Percy Bysshe, 31, 39, 104, 199,\\n219, 224, 228, 263, 352, 391, 418-420 429,\\n431-437 441, 443, 444, 452, 457, 462, 464,\\n505, 510, 513, 518.\\nShenstone, William, 344, 392.\\nShepherd s Calendar, The, 186, 188, 190,\\n203, 206, 216, 219, 277, 339, 387.\\nSheridan, Richard Brinsley, 373, 376, 378.\\nShip of Fools, The, 164, 173.\\nShirley, James, 257, 285.\\nShoemaker s Holidaij, A, 261, 264, 281.\\nShorthouse, John Henry, 269, 524.\\nSidney, Sir Philip, 187, 197-204, 210-212,\\n214-216, 219, 221, 244, 279, 285, 360, 395,\\n444.\\nSilas Marner, 479, 485.\\nSilex Scintillans, 269, 284.\\nSimeon of Durham, 91.\\nSkelton, John, 128, 164.\\nSmith, Adam, 376, 381.\\nSmith, Sidney, 450.\\nSmollett, Tobias George, 362, 375, 380, 394.\\nSongs of Experience, 408-410.\\nSongs of Innocence, 408-410.\\nSonnets, 178, 179, 189, 190, 198, 200, 202,\\n209-212, 217, 243-245, 279, 290-292, 509,\\n516.\\nSophocles, 245.\\nSordello, 93.\\nSoules Ward, The, 93.\\nSouthey, Robert, 418, 429, 455, 456.\\nSpectator, The, 350-353, 357, 458.\\nSpeculum Meditantis, 125, 133.\\nSpencer, Herbert, 478, 524.\\nSpenser, Edmund, 148, 169, 186-188, 195,\\n199, 200, 205, 207, 210-212, 214-228, 236,\\n244, 268, 276, 278, 285 286, 293, 297, 304,\\n308, 316, 317, 319, 334, 339, 359, 387, 392,\\n395, 439, 493.\\nSpinoza, 330.\\nStanley, Arthur Penrhyn, 525.\\nStatius, 117.\\nSteel Glass, The, 195.\\nSteele, Richard, 343, 348-353, 395.\\nStephen, Leslie, 367, 525.\\nSterne, Laurence, 362-364, 375.\\nStevenson, Robert Louis, 446, 483, 524.\\nStoiies of Venice, 494.\\nStowe, John, 281.\\nStrauss, 478.\\nStrickland, Agnes, 523.\\nSuckling, Sir John, 269, 270, 284, 285.\\nSurrey, Earl of (Henry Howard) 182-186,\\n194, 195, 209, 215.\\nSwedenborg, Emmanuel, 375.\\nSwift, Jonathan, 313, 338, 340, 342-348,\\n350-353, 357, 396.\\nSwinburne, Algernon Charles, 39, 466, 507,\\n510, 511, 524.\\nSymonds, John Addington, 525.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0538.jp2"}, "539": {"fulltext": "INDEX 535\\nT\\nTaine, 359.\\nTale of a Tub, The, 344.\\nTale of Two Cities, A, 471, 485.\\nTales from Shakespeare, 452.\\nTalleyrand, 457.\\nTamburlaine, 233, 234, 277.\\nTaming of the Shrew, The, 240, 241.\\nTask, The, 377, 397, 398, 413, 420, 422.\\nTasso, 194, 207, 225, 228, 277, 278.\\nTate, Nahimi, 331.\\nTatler, The, 350, 354.\\nTaylor, Jeremy, 272, 273, 284, 319, 344.\\nTempest, The, 249, 251, 252, 316, 336.\\nTemple, Sir William, 331, 343.\\nTemple, The, 269, 283.\\nTennyson, Alfred, Lord, 31, 39, 76, 84, 88,\\n108, 132, 169, 205, 213, 220, 295, 388, 397,\\n465, 466, 505, 512-517, 522, 523.\\nThackeray, William Makepeace, 472-478,\\n480, 482, 485, 523.\\nTheatre of Voluptuous Worldlings, A, 195.\\nTheocritus, 334.\\nTheologia Germanica, 97.\\nThistle and the Rose, The, 129, 159.\\nThomas of Ely, 90.\\nThomas of Ercildoune, 95, 125.\\nThomas of Hales, 94.\\nThomson, James, 228, 344, 387, 388, 390, 399,\\n421.\\nThornton Romances, The, 126.\\nThorwaldsen, 457.\\nTillotson, John, 331.\\nTimon of Athens, 245, 249, 254.\\nTintoretto, 228.\\nTiptoft, John, 192.\\nTitian, 193, 228.\\nTitus Andronicus, 239, 255.\\nTolstoi, 148.\\nTom Jones, 361.\\nTottel s Miscellany, 183, 194, 195, 209.\\nTourneur, Cyril, 249, 257, 262, 282, 285.\\nToxophilus, 194, 203.\\nTrelawney, 433.\\nTristram Shandy, 362.\\nTrivet, Nicholas, 96.\\nTroilus and Cressida, 111, 128, 245, 254.\\nTrollope, Anthony, 482, 523.\\nTroy Cycle, The, 68, 69, 92, 98, 105, 124,\\n125, 175.\\nTuatha-De-Danann (Celtic Cycle), 23.\\nTupper, Martin Farquhar, 523.\\nTwelfth Night, 240-243.\\nTivo Gentlemen of Verona, 239.\\nTyndale, William, 193, 274.\\nTyndall, J., 525.\\nU\\nUdall, Nicholas, 193, 231.\\nUhland, 456.\\nUtopia, The, 179-182, 185, 192, 276, 346.\\nV\\nVanbrugh, Sir John, 327, 332.\\nVandyck, 284, 317.\\nVanity Fair, \u00c2\u00b1T6, 474.\\nVanity of Human Wishes, The, 368, 379.\\nVaughan, Henry, 269, 270, 284, 285.\\nVelasquez, 285.\\nVenus and Adonis, 239.\\nVeronese, Paul, 198, 277.\\nVicar of Wakefield, The, 373, 374, 449.\\nVilliers, George (Duke of Buckingham),\\n323, 330, 332.\\nVillon, Francois, 126.\\nVinci, Leonardo da, 128.\\nVirgil, 42, 101, 129, 157, 171, 184, 206, 225,\\n313, 326, 334, 335.\\nVisio Pauli, 94.\\nVita Nuova, La, 96, 509.\\nVolksbuch, 277.\\nVolpone, 259, 280.\\nVolsungs, Story of the, 34, 43.\\nVoltaire, 375, 383.\\nVoragine, Jacobus de, 95.\\nVox Clamantis, 125, 133.\\nW\\nWace, 70, 71, 85, 92.\\nWagner, 354.\\nWaller, Edmund, 284, 285, 319, 320, 392.\\nWalpole, Horace, 375, 390, 394.\\nWalsh, William, 334.\\nWaltheof Saga, The, 91.\\nWalton, Izaak, 272, 273, 276, 285.\\nWard, Mrs. Humphry, 524.\\nWarton, Thomas, 376.\\nWatteau, J. A., 354.\\nWatts, G. F., 524.\\nWatts, Isaac, 383.\\nWaverley Novels, The, 446, 447.\\nWebbe, 204.\\nWeber, 457.\\nWebster, John, 249, 257, 262, 264, 281,\\n285.\\nWesley (the brothers), 344, 395.\\nWestminster Revieio, The, 450.\\nWhistler, J., 525.\\nWilliam of Lorris, 93.\\nWilliam of Malmesbury, 79, 91.\\nWilliam of Nassington, 125.\\nWilliam of Poitiers, 90.\\nWilliam of Shoreham, 97.\\nWilliam of Waddington, 96.\\nWilliam Wallace, 127.\\nWinter s Tale, A, 249.\\nWireker, Nigel, 92.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0539.jp2"}, "540": {"fulltext": "536\\nINDEX\\nWither, George, 268, 283, 285.\\nWogelweide, Walther von der, 91.\\nWooing of Our Lord, The, 93.\\nWordsworth, William, 31, 39, 81, 132, 147,\\n169, 174, 243, 250, 270, 291, 390, 393, 397,\\n413-429, 441, 443-445, 448, 451, 453, 456,\\n464, 498, 512.\\nWyatt, Sir Thomas, 182-186, 194, 195, 209,\\n215.\\nWycherley, William, 327, 331, 332, 334.\\nWyclif, John, 113, 125, 137, 144-148, 163,\\n174, 186, 274, 493.\\nY\\nYonge, Charlotte M., 524.\\nYoung, Edward, 314, 379.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0540.jp2"}, "541": {"fulltext": "INDEX II\\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES\\nAbbott, E. A.: Shakespearean Grammar,\\n255.\\nAdams, Maurice: Introduction to Utopia\\n(Camelot Edition) 185.\\nAinger, Alfred Life of Lamb, 455; Ten-\\nnyson, 522.\\nAllen, Grant Anglo-Saxon Britain, 42\\nEarly Britain, 42.\\nArber Reprints, The, 185, 202, 212, 213, 329.\\nArnold, Matthew: Culture and Anarchy,\\n308; Essays in Criticism, 297 399,442,\\n443; Literature and Dogma, 308; On\\nthe Study of Celtic Literature, 26, 47\\nSelections from Wordsioorth, 442.\\nArnold, Thomas English Works of Wy-\\nclif, 147.\\nAshton, John: Social Life in the Age of\\nQueen Anne, 353.\\nB\\nBagehot, Walter: Essays, 442, 443, 485,\\n503, 521, 522; Literary Studies, 442.\\nBates, Katherine Lee Ballad Book, 165\\nEnglish Religious Drama, 154, 155.\\nBayne, Peter: Lessons from my Masters,\\nCarlyle, Ruskin, 503.\\nBede, The Venerable Ecclesiastical His-\\ntory, 41, 43, 50.\\nBeers, H. A. A History of English Ro-\\nmanticism in the Eighteenth Century,\\n399; Coleridge, Prose Extracts, 442.\\nBellamy, Edward: Looking Backward,\\n185.\\nBennett, John: Master Skylark, 255.\\nBerdoe, Edward: Browning Cyclopsedia,\\n522.\\nBirrell, Augustine BoswelVs Life of\\nJohnson, 374.\\nBlack, William Judith Shakespeare, 255\\nLife of Goldsmith, 374.\\nBlackie, J. S. Life of Burns, 410.\\nBlades, William: Biography and Typog-\\nraphy of William Caxton, 176 Life and\\nTypography of William Caxton, 176.\\nBlind, M. George Eliot, 485.\\nBos worth and Waring Translation of\\nthe Gospels, 147.\\nBoyle, G. D. The Great Rebellion, 276.\\nBrandes, G. William Shakespeare, A\\nCritical Study, 255.\\nBrandl, Alois: S. T. Coleridge and the\\nEnglish Romantic School, 442.\\nBright, William: Anglo-Saxon Reader,\\n43; Early English Church History, 41,\\n43.\\nBrooke, Stopford, 41, 42, 43: English\\nLiterature from the Beginning to the\\nNorman Conquest, 41 History of Early\\nEnglish Literature, 41 Milton, 296\\nSelections from Shelley, 442; Tenny-\\nson, His Art and Relation to Modern\\nLife, 522; Theology in the English\\nPoets, 399. 419.\\nBrowne, G. F. The Venerable Bede, 50.\\nBrowning, O. Life of George Eliot, 485.\\nBroioning Society Papers, 522.\\nBuchanan, Robert, 27.\\nBuddensieg, Rudolf John Wyclif, Patriot\\nand Reformer, 147.\\nBullen, A. H. Davison s Poetical Rhap-\\nsody, 213; England s Helicon, 213; Lyr-\\nics from Elizabethan Dramatists, 213;\\nLyrics from Elizabethan Roma)ices,\\n213 Lyrics from Elizabethan Song\\nBooks, 213.\\nBurckhardt, Jacob: Renaissance in Italy\\nThe, 176.\\nCaine, Hall: Life of Coleridge, 442 Son-\\nnets of Three Centuries, 213.\\nCampbell, J. F. Popular Tales of the West\\nHighlands, 27.\\nCampbell, J. D. Life of Coleridge, 442.\\n537", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0541.jp2"}, "542": {"fulltext": "538\\nINDEX\\nCarlyle, Thomas, 374, 410; Heroes and\\nHero-Worship, 255 Reminiscences, 504\\nSartor Resartus, 504.\\nCarpenter, F. I. English Lyric Poetry,\\n213.\\nCentury Dictionary, The, 89.\\nChampney, A. C. History of English, 89.\\nChapman, J. J. Emerson and Other Es-\\nsays, 522.\\nChild, F. J.: English and Scottish Popu-\\nlar Ballads, 165, 166.\\nChurch, Dean R. W. Introduction to\\nClarendon Press Edition of Ecclesias-\\ntical Polity, 213; Life of Bacon, 212;\\nLife of Spenser, 227 Oxford Movement,\\nThe, 503.\\nColeridge, S. T. Notes and Lectures on\\nthe Plays of Shakespeare, 254.\\nCollingwood, W. G. Life of Ruskin, 503.\\nColvin, Sidney: Life of Keats, 443 Life\\nof Landor, 455 Selections from Landor,\\n455.\\nCone, Helen Gray: The Accolade, in Obe-\\nron and Puck, 76.\\nCook, A. S. Translation of Judith, 42.\\nCooke, George: George Eliot, a Critical\\nStudy, 485.\\nCorroyer, E. T. Gothic Architecture, 63.\\nCorson, Hiram: Introduction to Brown-\\ning, 522.\\nCourthope, W. J. History of English Po-\\netry, 191 Life of Addison, 353.\\nCraik, G. L. English Prose Selections,\\n276; English of Shakespeare, The, 255.\\nCrane, Walter Shepherd s Calendar (il-\\nlustrated) 227.\\nCreighton, Mandell Age of Elizabeth,\\nThe, 190.\\nCross, J. W. Life of George Eliot, 485.\\nCross, W. L. Development of the English\\nNovel, The, 364.\\nCrowe, Martha Foote: Minor Sonnet\\nCycles, 213.\\nCutts, E. L. Parish Priests and their\\nPeople in the Middle Ages in England,\\n147; Scenes and Characters of the\\nMiddle Ages, 147.\\nD\\nDe Vere, Aubrey, 27: Essays, Chiefly on\\nPoetry, 227, 442; Legends of St. Pat-\\nrick, 28 Legends of the Saxon Saints, 43.\\nDennis, John: Age of Pope, The, 341.\\nDenton, William: England, in the Fif-\\nteenth Century, 165.\\nDictionary of National Biography, 212,\\n234, 264, 443, 503, 522.\\nDiderot, 385.\\nDobson, Austin Lives of Fielding, 364,\\nGoldsmith, 374, Steele, 353, Walpole,\\n399.\\nDowden, Edward, 443, 485, 522; French\\nRevolution and Literature, The, 419;\\nLife of Shelley, 442; Scientific Move-\\nment and Literature, The, 467 Shake-\\nspeare, his Mind and Art, 254, 255;\\nShakespeare Primer, 254; Studies in\\nLiterature, 419, 442, 467; Transcripts\\nand Studies, 227, 442 Victorian Litera-\\nture, 467.\\nDoyle, A. Conan: The White Company,\\n63.\\nE\\nEarly English Text Society Publications,\\n63, 76, 89.\\nEliot, George Romola, 171.\\nEmerson, P. H. Welsh Fairy Tales, 27.\\nEmerton, Ephraim: Life of Erasmus, 184.\\nEncyclopedia Britannica, 47, 176, 213.\\nEvans, Sebastian, 27 High History of the\\nHoly Grail, The, 76.\\nF\\nFairholt, F. W. Costume in England,\\n63.\\nFleay, F. G. Biographical Chronicle of\\nthe English Drama, A, 234, 264.\\nForster, John Life of Dickens, 485.\\nFoxbourne, H. R. Sir Philip Sidney, 202.\\nFreeman, E. A. The Norman Conquest,\\n41, 47.\\nFroissart, Sir John Chronicles, 58, 63.\\nFroude, J. A.: History of England, 1\u00c2\u00a7Q);\\nLives of Bunyan, 308, Carlyle, 503,\\nErasmus, 184.\\nFurness, H. H. Variorum Shakespeare,\\n254.\\nG\\nGardiner, S. R. The First Two Stuarts,\\netc., 275.\\nGarnett, J. M. Translation of Beowulf,\\n42; Translation of Judith, 42.\\nGarnett, Richard: Age of Dry den, The,\\n329 Lives of\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Carlyle, 503, Milton, 296,\\nShelley, 442.\\nGates, Lewis Essays, 503 Introduction to\\nSelections from Arnold, 503; Selections\\nfrom Newman, 503.\\nGeddes, Patrick, 27.\\nGeoffrey of Monmouth Historia Regum\\nBritannise, 76, 89.\\nGeorge, A. J. Wordsworth s Prelude, 419.\\nGilchrist, Alexander: Life of Blake, 410.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0542.jp2"}, "543": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n539\\nGiles, J. A: Geoffrey of Monmouth, 89;\\nWilliam of Malmesbury 89.\\nGoadby, Edwin England of Shakespeare,\\nThe, 190.\\nGolden Legend, The, 76.\\nGollancz, Israel: Translation of the\\nChrist, 42.\\nGosse, Edmund Eighteenth Century\\nLiterature, 318; From Shakespeare to\\nPope, 318; Jacobean Poets, The, 264,\\n275; Life of Gray, 399; Modern Eng-\\nlish Literature, 461 Prose and Verse of\\nGray, The, 399.\\nGreen, John Richard History of the Eng-\\nlish People {illustrated) 63 Making of\\nEngland, The, 41 Short History of the\\nEnglish People, 41, 147, 184, 190, 275.\\nGrein, C. W. M. Bibliothek der Angel-\\nsachsischen Poesie, 42.\\nGrosart, Alexander Sidney, 202; Spenser,\\n227.\\nGuest, Lady Charlotte Mabinogion, The,\\n27, 76.\\nGunimere, F. B. Ballads, 165, 166;\\nGermanic Origins, 41, 43; Poetics, 213.\\nGurteen, S. H. Epic of the Fall of Man,\\n42.\\nH\\nHall, John L. Translation of Beowulf,\\n42.\\nHalliwell-Phillips, J. O. Outlines of the\\nLife of Shakespeare, 254 Syr Perceval,\\nThornton Romances, 76.\\nHancock, A. E. French Revolution and\\nthe English Poets, The, 419.\\nHannay, David: Later Renaissance, The,\\n190.\\nHanscom, Elizabeth Dering: Argument\\nof the Vision of Piers Plowman, 147.\\nHarper, G. V. Holy Grail, The, 76.\\nHarrison, Frederic Victorian Literature,\\n467.\\nHarrison, William: England (fromHolin-\\nshed), 190, 191.\\nHaweis, Mrs. Chaucer for Schools, 119.\\nHazlitt, William: Characters of Shake-\\nspeare s Plays, 255 Dramatic Litera-\\nture of the Age of Elizabeth, 264.\\nHenley, W. F. Bums, 410; Tudor Trans-\\nlations, 213.\\nHerford, C. H. Age of Wordsworth, The,\\n442 Shepherd s Calendar, The, 227.\\nHill, George Birbeck: Rasselas, 374; Se-\\nlected Essays of Johnson, 374.\\nHill, Georgiana History of English Dress,\\nA, 63.\\nHobson, J. H. Johyi Ruskin, Social Re-\\nformer, 503.\\nHughes, Thomas Tom Brown at Ruqby,\\n504.\\nHugo, Victor: Notre Dame de Paris, 63.\\nHull, Eleanor Cuchullin Saga, The, 21,\\n22, 27, 28.\\nHutton, R. H. Essays, 442, 443, 521, 522\\nLives of \u00e2\u0080\u0094Newman, 503, Scott, 455;\\nModern Guides, 485; Studies in Litera-\\nture, 485.\\nHuxley, Thomas Life of Hume, 384.\\nHyde, Douglas: Beside the Fire, 27; Lit-\\nerary History of Ireland, A, 26; Story\\nof Early Gaelic Literature, The, 26.\\nJ\\nJacobs, Joseph Book of Wonder Voyages,\\nThe, 27; Celtic Fairy Tales, 27; More\\nCeltic Fairy Tales, 27.\\nJespersen, Jens O. H. Progress in Lan-\\nguage, etc., 89.\\nJessop, Augustus Coming of the Friars,\\nThe, 147.\\nJewett, Sarah Orne Story of the Nor-\\nmans, The, 47.\\nJohnson Club Papers, 374.\\nJohnson, Samuel Lives of the Poets, 297,\\n329, 341.\\nJoyce, P. W. Old Celtic Romances, 27.\\nJusserand, J. J: English Novel in the\\nTime of Shakespeare, The, 191; Eng-\\nlish Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages,\\n63 Literary History of the English Peo-\\nple, A, 26, 41, 81, 82; Piers Plotoman,\\n147 Romance of a King s Life, The, 165.\\nK\\nKeble, John: Hooker, 213.\\nKemble, J. M. Translation of Beowulf,\\n42.\\nKer, W. P. Epic and Romance, 76.\\nKingsley, Charles: Hereivard the Wake,\\n48 Westioard, Ho 190.\\nKnight, William: Rossetti, 521; Words-\\nworth, 442.\\nL\\nLamb, Charles: Essays of Elia, 329;\\nSelections from the Old Dramatists, 264.\\nLang, Andrew: Letters to Dead Authors,\\n485.\\nLangland, William Piers Ploioman, 63.\\nLanier, Sidney: Boy s Mabinogion, The,\\n27 English Novel and the Principle of\\nits Development, The, 364.\\nLechler, G. T. John Wyclif and His Eng-\\nlish Precursors, 147.\\nLecky, W. E. H. History of England in", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0543.jp2"}, "544": {"fulltext": "540\\nINDEX\\nthe Eighteenth Century, The, 318, 353;\\nLife of Gibbon, 384.\\nLee, Sidney Life of Shakespeare, 254, 255.\\nLockhart, J. G. Life of Scott, 455.\\nLounsbury, T. R. History of the English\\nLanguage, The, 89; Studies in Chaucer,\\n119.\\nLowell, J. R. Among my Books, 227,\\n329, 442; Essays on\u00e2\u0080\u0094Carlyle, 503, Cole-\\nridge, 442, Gray, 399, Keats, 442, Words-\\nworth, 442; My Study Windows, 119,\\n341 Old English Dramatists, 234.\\nLupton, J. H. Lives of Jehan Vitrier and\\nJohn Colet, 185; Scholar s Edition of\\nUtopia, 185.\\nM\\nMabie, H. W. Life of Shakespeare, 254.\\nMacaulay, T. B. Essays, 213, 297, 308, 329,\\n353, 374, 442 History of England, 319.\\nMackail, J. W. Life of Morris, 521.\\nMacleod, Fiona, 27.\\nMadden, Sir Frederick Layamon s Brut,\\n89.\\nMadge, H. D. Selections from the Golden\\nLegend, 76.\\nMalory, Sir Thomas: Morte d Arthur, 73,\\n74, 76.\\nMangan, J. C, 27.\\nManly, J. M. Specimens of the P re-\\nShakespearean Drama, 155, 234.\\nManning, Annie Household of Sir Thomas\\nMoore, The, 185.\\nMarsh, G. P. Lectures on the English\\nLanguage, 89.\\nMarzials, F. T. Life of Dickens, 485.\\nMasson, David: British Novelists and\\ntheir Styles, 485: Life of Milton, 276,\\n296 Three Devils, 297.\\nMasterman, J. H. B. Age of Milton, The,\\n276, 296.\\nMatthew-Pennington, J. D. J. Wyclif,\\nhis Life, Time, and Teaching, 147.\\nMcCarthy, Justin: History of Our Own\\nTimes, A, 467.\\nMediaeval Scottish Poetry, 165.\\nMeyer, Kuno Voyage of Bran, The, 27.\\nMeyuell, Mrs. John Ruskin, 503.\\nMills, Charles History of Chivalry, .4,76.\\nMinto, William: Characteristics of Eng-\\nlish Poets, 119.\\nMontagu, Lady Mary Wortley: Letters,\\n341.\\nMontalembert, Count de: Monks of the\\nWest, The, 26-28, 41, 43.\\nMore, P. E. Cambridge Byron, The, 442\\nMorison, J. Cotter: Life of Macaulay\\n503.\\nMorley, Henry Clement Marot and other\\nEssays, 26: English Writers, 26, 41,\\n190; Ideal Commonwealths, 185, 276;\\nUniversal Library, 213, 308.\\nMorley, John Burke, 384, 385 Gower, 146.\\nMorris, William, 135; Dream of John\\nBall, A, 63, 147 News from Nowhere,\\n185 Prologue to Earthly Paradise, 135\\nSigurd the Volsung, 43.\\nMorris and Magnusson Story of the Vol-\\nsung s, The, 43.\\nMorris and Skeat: Specimens of Early\\nEnglish, 89.\\nMoulton, Richard: Shakespeare as a\\nDramatic Artist, 255.\\nMyers, F. W. Essay on Tennyson, 522\\nLife of Wordsworth, 442.\\nN\\nNewell, W. W. King Arthur and the\\nTable Round, 76.\\nNewman, J. H. Apologia pro Vita Sua,\\n503, 504.\\nNichol, r J. Lives of Byron, 442, Carlyle,\\n503.\\nNichols, J. G. Erasmus, The Praise of\\nFolly, and Pilgrimages, etc., 185.\\nNoble, J. A. Sonnet in England, The, 213.\\nNoel, R. B. W. Life of Byron, 442.\\nNorton, C. E. Cathedrals and Cathedral\\nBuilders, 63; Church Building in the\\nMiddle Ages, 63 Letters and Reminis-\\ncences of Carlyle, 503.\\nNutt, Alfred Studies in the Origin of the\\nHoly Grail, 76.\\nO\\nO Curry, Eugene: Lectures on the Manu-\\nscript Materials of Ancient Irish His-\\ntory, 27, 28.\\nO Grady, Standish Coming of Cuculain,\\nThe, 27 Finn and his Companions, 27\\nHistory of Ireland, 27 Silva Gadelica,\\n28.\\nO Hagan, Colonel John Translation of\\nthe Song of Roland, 46-48.\\nOliphant, Mrs. Introduction to Selections\\nin Golden Treasury Series, 399 Liter-\\nary Histories of England, 419, The\\nNineteenth Century, 442, The Victorian\\nAge of English Literature, 521.\\nOrr, Mrs. Sutherland Handbook of\\nBrowning, 522; Life of Browning, 522.\\nP\\nPage, H. A. Life and Writings of De\\nQuincey, 455.", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0544.jp2"}, "545": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n541\\nPalgrave, F. T.: Landscape in Poetry\\nfrom Homer to Tennyson, 63.\\nPater, Walter, 442.\\nPattison, Mark: Life of Milton, 297.\\nPerceval: Fserie Queene, Bks. I. and II.\\n227.\\nPercy s Reliques, 165, 399.\\nPerry, T. S. Eighteenth Century Litera-\\nture, 318.\\nPhelps, W. Beginnings of the Romantic\\nMovement, 399.\\nPlanche, J. R. Cyclopozdia of Costume,\\n63.\\nPlato Republic, The, 185.\\nPollard, A. W. Astrophel and Stella, 202\\nEarly Illustrated Books, 176; English\\nMiracle Plays, Moralities, and Inter-\\nludes, 155; Malory s Morte D Arthur,\\n76; Primer of Chaucer, 119; Works of\\nChaucer, 119.\\nPoole, Stanley Lane: Selections from\\nSwift, 353.\\nPoweil and Vigfusson Corpus Poeticum\\nBoreale, 41, 43.\\nPutnam, G. H. Books and their Makers\\nduring the Middle Ages, 176.\\nR\\nRaleigh, W. A. English Novel, The, 364.\\nRashdall, Hastings Universities of Eu-\\nrope in the Middle Ages, The, 62.\\nRhys, Ernest, 27 Literary History of\\nIreland, 28: Literary Pamphlets, 202;\\nSidney s Lyrics, 202.\\nRhys, John: Lectures on the Origin, etc.,\\nof Religion, as illustrated by Celtic\\nHeathendom, 28 Studies in the Ar-\\nthurian Legend, 28,76.\\nRichardson, Samuel: Novel of Manners,\\nThe, 364.\\nRigg, J. M. More s Life of Pico delta\\nMirandola, 185.\\nRitchie, Mrs. Introductions to Bio-\\ngraphical edition of Thackeray, 485;\\nRecords of Tennyson, Raskin, and\\nBrowning, 503, 522.\\nRitson, J. Ancient Songs and Ballads,\\n165.\\nRoemer, Jean: Norman in Gaul, The (in\\nOrigins of the English People and the\\nEnglish Language) 47.\\nRolfe, W. J. Shakespeare, 254.\\nRoper, William Life of More (in Camelot\\nedition of Utopia) 185.\\nRossetti, D. G. King s Tragedy, The, 165.\\nRossetti, W. M. D. G. Rossetti as De-\\nsigner and Writer, 521; Livesof Keats,\\n443, Shelley, 442; Selections from\\nBlake, 410.\\nRousseau, J. J., 385.\\nRoyce Josiah Sjririt of Modern Philoso-\\nphy, The, 385, 419.\\nRuskin, John: Bibliotheca Pastorum,\\n202; Ethics of the Dust, 147; Fors\\nClavigera, 202, 341, 455 Modern Paint-\\ners, 63; Praeterita, 503, 504; Seven\\nLamps of Architecture, The, 63 Stones\\nof Venice, 60, 63.\\nRussell, G. W. E. Letters of Matthew\\nArnold, 503.\\nRye, W. B. England as seen by For-\\neigners in the Days of Elizabeth and\\nJames, 190.\\nS\\nSaintsbury, G. E. B., 88; Elizabethan\\nLiterature, 190; Flourishing of Ro-\\nmance, etc., 76; History of Nineteenth\\nCentury Literature, 442, 467 Lives of\\nArnold, 503, Dry den, 329; Short His-\\ntory of English Literature, 318.\\nSaunders, J.: Chaucer s Canterbury\\nTales, 119.\\nSchelling, Felix: Elizabethan Lyrics, 213.\\nScherer, Edmond: Essays on English\\nLiterature, 297.\\nScott, Sir Walter: Ivanhoe, 63 Journal,\\n455; Kenilworth, 190.\\nScudder, H. E. Cambridge Keats, The,\\n443.\\nScudder, V. D. Introduction to Prome-\\ntheus Unbound, 443; Introduction to\\nWritings of John Ruskin, 503, 504 Life\\nof the Spirit in the Modern English\\nPoets, The, 521 Social Ideals in English\\nLetters, 147, 185, 353, 485, 503.\\nSeebohm, Frederic: Oxford Reformers,\\nThe, 184.\\nShairp, J. C. Aspects of Poetry 442;\\nLife of Burns, 410; Poetic Interpreta-\\ntion of Nature, The, 442.\\nSharp, William, 27; Centenary Edition\\nof Ossian s Poems, 399; D. G. Rossetti,\\n521 Introduction to Sonnets (in Can-\\nterbury Poets), 213; Life of Browning,\\n522; Lyra Celtica, 26, 28.\\nShelley, P. B. Prefaces, 419.\\nShelley Society Publications, 443.\\nSherwood. Margaret P.: Dryden s Dra-\\nmatic Theory and Practice, 329.\\nShorthouse, J. H. Facsimile of The\\nTemple, 276.\\nSigerson, George: Bards of the Gael and\\nGall, 28.\\nSkeat, W. Complete Works of Chaucer,\\n119; Langland, 147.\\nSkene, W. F. Book of the Dean of Lis-", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0545.jp2"}, "546": {"fulltext": "542\\nINDEX\\nmore, The, 25, 27; Celtic Scotland, 27;\\nFour Ancient Books of Wales, The, 21,\\n27, 28.\\nSmith, Gold win Lives of Jane Austen,\\n455, Cowper, 399.\\nSommer, Oskar: Malory s Morte D Ar-\\nthur, 76.\\nSonnets on the Sonnet, 214.\\nSpedding, James: Bacon, 212.\\nStedman, E. C. Victorian Poets, 521.\\nStephen, Leslie, 442, 455, 503; History\\nof English Thought in the Eighteenth\\nCentury, 319, 341, 384, 385; Hours in a\\nLibrary, 341, 364; Lives of Johnson,\\n374, Pope, 341, Swift, 353.\\nStephens, Kate: Johnsori s Pope, 341.\\nStephens, Thomas: Literature of the\\nCymry, The, 27, 28.\\nStevenson, R. L. Essay on Burns, 410.\\nStokes, Whitley: Tripartite Life of St.\\nPatrick, 28.\\nStokes and Windisch Irische Texte, 27, 28.\\nStrunk, William Dryden s Essays on the\\nDrama, 329.\\nStuhbs, William: Constitutional History\\nof England, 41.\\nSwinburne, A. C, 442; Monographs, 264,\\n410; Study of Shakespeare, J., 255.\\nSydney, W. C. England and the English\\nin the Eighteenth Century, 318, 353;\\nSocial Life in England from the Res-\\ntoration to the Revolution, 318.\\nSymonds, J. A. Article on Renaissance (in\\nEncyc. Brit.), 176; Lives of Sidney,\\n202, Shelley, 442; Renaissance in Italy,\\nThe, 176; Shakespeare s Predecessors,\\n234.\\nSymons, Arthur: Introduction to Study\\nof Browning, 522.\\nT\\nTaine, H. A. English Literature, 191,\\n318, 364.\\nTen Brink, Bernhard, 184, 185: English\\nLiterature to Wyclif, 41.\\nTennyson, Alfred Idylls of the King, 76\\nSir Galahad, 76 Voyage of Maeldune,\\nThe, 27.\\nTennyson, Hallam Life of Tennyson, 522.\\nThackeray, W. M. English Humorists,\\n353 Henry Esmond, 353.\\nThornbury, G. W.: Shakespeare s Eng-\\nland, 190.\\nTraill, H. D. Life of Coleridge, 442 New\\nFiction, The, 364; Social England, 41,\\n63, 147, 190, 276, 467.\\nTrelawney, E. J. Essay on Byron, 442.\\nTrevelyan, Sir G. O. Life of Macaulay,\\n503.\\nTrollope, Anthony: Life of Thackeray,\\n485.\\nTulloch, J. English Puritanism and its\\nLeaders, 308.\\nTurner, Sharon History of the Anglo-\\nSaxons, 41.\\nTynan, Katherine, 27.\\nV\\nVan Dyke, H. J. Poetry of Tennyson,\\nThe, 522.\\nVaughan, C. E. Introduction to English\\nLiterary Criticism, 213.\\nVenables, Edmund Life of Bunyan, 308.\\nVirgil Mneid, 175.\\nW\\nWaldstein, Charles Essays, Ruskin, 503.\\nWalker, Hugh: Age of Tennyson, The,\\n521.\\nWalton, Izaak: Life of Hooker, 213.\\nWard, A. W. English Poets, 165, 185,\\n264, 275 308 History of English Dra-\\nmatic Literature, 234 Lives of Chau-\\ncer, 119, Dickens, 485.\\nWarren Kate: Translation of Langland,\\n147.\\nWatts, T. Criticism on the Sonnet, 213.\\nWaugh, Arthur: Lord Tenny son, 522.\\nWeber, Metrical Romances, 63.\\nWendell, Barrett: William Shakespeare,\\n254.\\nWeston, Jessie: Translation of Sir Ga-\\nwayne and the Green Knight, 146, 147\\nTranslation of Tristram and Iseult, 76;\\nTranslation of Wolfram von Eschen-\\nbach s Parzifal, 77.\\nWhipple, E. P.: Recollections of Eminent\\nMen, 503.\\nWilliams, H. English Letters and Letter\\nWriting in the Eighteenth Century, 353.\\nWoodber ry, G. E. Shelley, 442.\\nWright, Thomas Celt, the Roman, and\\nthe Teuton, The, 42; Domestic Manners\\nand Sentiments in England during the\\nMiddle Ages, 63.\\nWyndham, G. Introduction to North s\\nPlutarch, 213.\\nY\\nYeats, W. B., 27: Edition of Blake with\\nMemoir and Interpretation, 410.\\nW 42", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0546.jp2"}, "547": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0547.jp2"}, "548": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0548.jp2"}, "549": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3510", "width": "2389", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0549.jp2"}, "550": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3855", "width": "2459", "jp2-path": "introductiontost00scud_0550.jp2"}}