OBIT6R O bitgr Diera DICTA FIRST SERIES

AUGUSTINE BIRRELL

C Z t O & Z S c ?

OBITER DICTA

FIRST SERIES

©bíter ÜDitta. Secónd Series. BY CONTENTS.

M i i .t o n . T h e O f f ic e o f L it e r a - AUGUSTINE BIRRELL P o p e . t u r e . J o h nso n . W orn -o u t T y p e s . B u r k e . C a m b r id g e a n d t h e T h e M use o f H is t o r y . P o e t s . C h a r l e s L a m b . B oo k-B u y in g . E m er so n .

NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 1890

Authorized Edition PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.

Tbis seems a very hitle book to intro­ duce to so large a continent. No sncb enterprise would ever have suggested The Riverside Press , Cambridge : itself to tbe bome-keeping mind of tbe Elcctrotyped and Pricted by H. O Houghton & Co. Author, wbo, none tbe less, wben tbis edition was proposed to bnn by K4cssrs. Scribner on terms honorable to tbem and grateful to bnn, found tbe notion of being read in America most fra­ grant and deligbtful. London, February 13, 1885.

CARLYLE.

T he accomplishments of our race have of late become so varied, that it is often no easy task to assign him whom we would judge to his proper station among men ; and yet, until this has been done, the guns of our criticism cannot be accurately lev- elled, and as a consequence the great- er part of our fire must remain futile. He, for example, who would essay to take account of Mr. Gladstone, must read much else besides Hansard ; he must brush up his Homer, and set himself to acquire some theology. The place of Greece in the provi- dential order of the world, and of laymen in the Church of England, 2 CARLYLE. CARLYLE. 3 must be considered, together with a an exception, nauseate their great- host of other subjects of much appa­ ness, for not being of the particu­ rent irrelevance to a statesman’s life. lar sort they most fancy. The poet So too in the case of his distinguished Gray was passionately fond, so his rival, whose death eclipsed the gaiety biographers tell us, of military histo- of polítics and banished epigram from r y ; but he took no Quebec. General Parliament: keen must be the criti­ Wolfe took Quebec, and whilst he ca! faculty which can nicely discern was taking it, recorded the fact that where the novelist ended and the he would sooner have written Gray’s statesman began in Benjamín Dis- ‘ Elegy ’ ; and so Carlyle — who pant- raeli. ed for action, who hated eloquence, Happily, no such difficulty is now whose heroes were Cromwell and before us. Thomas Carlyle was a Wellington, Arkwright and the ‘ rug- writer of books, and he was nothing ged Brindley,’ who beheld with pride else. Beneath this judgment he and no ignoble envy the bridge would have winced, but have re- at Auldgarth his mason-father had mained silent, for the facts are so. helped to build half a century before, Little men sometimes, though not and then exclaimed, ‘ A noble craft, perhaps so often as is taken for that of a masón ; a good building will granted, complain of their destiny, last longer than most books — than and think they have been hardly one book in a million ’ ; who despised treated, in that they have been men of letters, and abhorred the allowed to remain so undeniably ‘ reading public ’ ; whose gospel was sm all; but great men, with hardly Silence and Action — spent his life in 4 CARLYLE. CARLYLE. 5 talking and writing ; and his legacy and religión. I mention this variety to the world is thirty-four volumes because of a foolish notion, at one octavo. time often found suitably lodged in There is a familiar melancholy in heads otherwise empty, that Carlyle this ; but the critic has no need to was a passionate oíd man, dominated grow sentimental. We must have by two or three extravagant ideas, to men of thought as well as men of ac- which he was for ever giving utter- tion : poets as much as generals; au- ance in language of equal extrava- thors no less than artizans ; librarles gance. The thirty-four volumes oc­ at least as much as militia; and tavo render this opinion untenable by therefore we may accept and proceed those who can read. Carlyle cannot critically to examine Carlyle’s thirty- be killed by an epigram, nor can the four volumes, remaining somewhat many influences that moulded him indifferent to the fact that had he be referred to any single source. had the fashioning of his own desti- The rich banquet his genius has ny, we should have had at his hands spread for us is of many courses. blows instead of books. The fire and fury of the Latter-Day Taking him, then, as he was — a Pamphlets may be disregarded by man of letters — perhaps the best the peaceful soul, and the preference type of such since Dr. Johnson died given to the ‘ Past ’ of ‘ Past and Pre­ in Fleet Street, what are we to say sent,’ which, with its intense and of his thirty-four volumes ? sympathetic mediaevalism, might have In them are to be found criticism, been written by a Tractarian. The biography, history, politics, poetry, ‘ Life of Sterling ’ is the favourite 6 CARL YLE. CARLYLE. 7 book of many who would sooner pick íiterary handiwork — the tokens of oakum than read ‘ Frederick the his presence — ‘ Thomas Carlyle, his Great ’ all through ; whilst the mere mark.’ student of belles lettres may attach First of all, it may be stated, with- importance to the essays on Johnson, out a shadow of a doubt, that he is Burns, and Scott, on Vol taire and one of those who would sooner be Diderot, on Goethe and Novalis, and wrong with Plato than right with yet remain blankly indifferent to Aristotle; in one word, he is a mys- ‘ Sartor Resartus ’ and ‘ The French tic. What he says of Novalis may Revolution.’ with equal truth be said of himself: But true as this is, it is none the ‘ He belongs to that class of persons less true that, excepting possibly the who do not recognise the syllogistic ‘ Life of Schiller,’ Carlyle wrote no- method as the chief organ for inves- thing not clearly recognisable as his. tigating truth, or feel themselves All his books are his very own — bound at all times to stop short where bone of his bone, and flesh of his its light fails them. Many of his flesh. They are not stolen goods, opinions he would despair of prov- nor elegant exhibitions of recently ing in the most patient court of law, and hastily acquired wares. and would remain well content that This being so, it may be as well they should be disbelieved there.’ In if, before proceeding any further, I philosophy we shall not be very far attempt, with a scrupulous regard to wrong if we rank Carlyle as a fol- brevity, to state what I take to be the lower of Bishop Berkeley; for an invariable indications of Mr. Carlyle’s idealist he undoubtedly was. ‘ Mat- 8 CA1ÏLYLE. ter/ says he, ‘ exists only spiritually, the most obvious and interesting and to represent sorae idea, and body trait of Mr. Carlyle’s writing; but I it forth. Heaven and Earth are but must bring my remarks upon it to the time-vesture of the Eternal. The a cióse by reminding you of his two Universe is but one vast symbol of favourite quotations, which have God; nay, if thou wilt have it, what both significance. One from Shake- is man himself but a Symbol of God ? speare’s Tempest: Is not all that he does symbolical, a ‘ We are such stuff revelation to sense of the mystic God- As dreams are made of, and our little life given forcé that is in him?— a gospel Is rounded with a sleep ; ’ of Freedom, which he, the “ Messias the other, the exclamation of the of Nature,” preaches as he can by Earth-spirit, in Goethe’s F a u st: act and word.’ ‘ Yes, Friepds/ he ‘’Tis thus at the roaring Ioom of Time I ply, elsewhere observes, ‘ not our logical And weave for God the garment thou seest Him by.’ mensurative faculty, but our imagina- tive one, is King over us, I might say But this is but one side of Carlyle. Priest and Prophet, to lead us heav- There is another as strongly marlced, envvard, or magician and wizard to which is his second note ; and that lead us hellward. The understand- is what he somewhere calis * his ing is indeed thy window — too clear stubborn realism.’ The combination thou canst not make i t ; but phanta- of the two is as charming as it is sy is thy eye, with its colour-giving rare. No one at all acquainted with retina, healthy or diseased.’ It would his writings can fail to remember be easy to multiply instances of this, his almost excessive love of detail ; IO CARL YLE. CARL YLE. XI his lively taste for facts, simply as and mother, brothers and sisters, facts. Imaginary joys and sorrows education, physiognomy, personal may extort from him nothing but habits, dress, mode of speech; no­ grunts and snorts; but let him only thing escapes him. It was a charac- vvorry out for himself, from that great teristic criticism of his, on one of dust-neap called ‘ history,’ some un- Miss Martineau’s American books, doubted fact of human and tender that the story of the way Daniel interest, and, however small it may Webster used to stand before the be, relating possibly to some one fire with his hands in his pockets hardly known, and playing but a was worth all the politics, philoso- small part in the events he is record- phy, political economy, and sociology ing, and he will wax amazingly sen­ to be found in other portions of the timental, and perhaps shed as many good lady’s writings. Carlyle’s eye real tears as Sterne or Dickens do was indeed a terrible organ : he saw sham ones over their figments. This everything. Emerson, writing to realism of Carlyle’s gives a great him, says : ‘ I think you see as pic- charm to his histories and biogra- tures every Street, church, Parlia- phies. The amount he telis you is ment-house, barracks, baker’s shop, something astonishing — no plati- mutton-stall, forge, wharf, and ship, tudes, no rigmarole, no common- and whatever stands, creeps, rolls, or form, articles which are the staple swims thereabout, and make ali your of most biography, but, instead of own.’ He crosses over, one rough them, ali the facts and features of day, to Dublin ; and he jots down in the case — pedigree, birth, father his diary the personal appearance of 12 CARLYLE. CARL YLE. 13 some unhappy creatures he never est, or piece of Creation which this saw before or expected to see again; Emerson loves and wonders at, well how men laughed, cried, swore, were Emersonized, depicted by Emerson all of huge interest to Carlyle. Give — filled with the life of Emerson, and him a fact, he loaded you with cast forth from him then to live by thanks; propound a theory, you itself.’ * But Carlyle forgot the slug- were rewarded with the most vivid gishness of the ordinary imagina- abuse. tion, and, for the moment, the stu- This intense love for, and faculty pendous dulness of the ordinary his­ of perceiving, what one may cali the torian. It cannot be matter for sur- ‘ concrete picturesque,’ accounts for prise that people prefer Smollett’s his many hard sayings about fiction ‘ Humphrey Clinker’ to his ‘History and poetry. He could not under- of England.’ stand people being at the trouble of 1 One need scarcely add, nothing of the sort inventing characters and situations ever proceeded from Emerson. How should it ? when history was full of men and Where was it to come from ? When, to employ language of Mr. Arnold’s own, ‘any poor child women ; when streets were crowded °f nature ’ overhears the author of ‘ Essays in Criticism ’ telling two worlds that Emerson’s ‘ Es­ and continents were being peopled says’ are the most valuable prose contributions under their very noses. Emerson’s to the literature of the century, his soul is indeed filled ‘ with an unutterable sense of lamentation sphynx-like utterances irritated him and mourning and woe.’ Mr. Arnold’s silence was once felt to be provoking. Wordsworth’s at times, as they well might; his ora- lines kept occurring to one’s mind — tions and the like. ‘ I long,’ he says, ‘ Poor Matthew, all his frolics o’er, ‘ to see some concrete thing, some Is silent as a standing pool.’ Event — Man’s Life, American For- But it was better so. CAKLYLE. CARI. YLE. 15 The third and last mark to which the great and terrible ñame of Dean I cali attention is his humour. No- Sw ift; but it is the Dean with a dif- where, surely, in the whole field of ference, and the difference is all in English literature, Shakespeare ex- Carlyle’s favour. The former delib- cepted, do you come upon a more erately pelts you with dirt, as did in abundant vein of humour than Car- old days gentlemen electors their lyle’s, though I admit that the quality parliamentary candidates ; the latter of the ore is not of the finest. His only occasionally splashes you, as every production is bathed in hu­ does a públic vehicle pursuing on a mour. This must never be, though wet day its uproarious course. it often has been, forgotten. He is These, then, I take to be Carlyle’s not to be taken literally. He is al- three principal marks or notes : mys- ways a humourist, not unfrequently ticism in thought, realism in descrip- a writer of burlesque, and occasion- tion, and humour in both. ally a buffoon, To proceed now to his actual liter- Although the spectacle of Mr. ary work. Swinburne taking Mr. Carlyle to First, then, I would record the task, as he recently did, for indelica- fact that he was a great critic, and cy, has an oddity all its own, so far as this at a time when our literary I am concerned I cannot but concur criticism was a scandal. He more with this critic in thinking that Car­ than any other has purged our Vision lyle has laid himself open, particu- and widened our horizons in this Iarly in his ‘ Frederick the Great,’ to great matter. He taught us there the charge one usually associates with was no sort of finality, but only non- l6 CARLYLE. CARL YLE. 17 sense, in that kind of criticism which Zion, who have entered upon a world was content with laying down some ready to welcome them, whose keen foreign masterpiece with the obser- rapiers may cut velvet better than vation that it was not suited for the did the two-handed broadsword of English taste. He was, if not the Carlyle, and whose later date may first, almost the first crític, who pur- enable them to discern what their sued in his criticism the historical forerunner failed to perceive; but method, and sought to make us when the critics of this century come understand what we were required to be criticized by the critics of to judge. It has been said that the next, an honourable, if not the Carlyle’s criticisms are not final, and highest place will be awarded to that he has not said the last word Carlyle. about Voltaire, Diderot, Richter, and Turn we now to the historian and Goethe. I can well believe it. But biographer. History and biography reserving ‘ last words ’ for the use of much resemble one another in the the last man (to whom they would pages of Carlyle, and occupy more appear to belong), it is surely some- than half his thirty-four volumes ; thing to have said the first sensible nor is this to be wondered at, since words uttered in English on these they afford him fullest scope for his important subjects. We ought not three strong points — his love of the to forget the early days of the wonderful ; his love of telling a story, Foreign and Qucirterly Review. We as the children say, ‘ from the very have crítics now, quieter, more re- beginning;’ and his humour. His poseful souls, taking their ease on view of history is sufficiently lofty. i8 CARLYLE. CARL YLE. 19 History, says he, is the true epic teaching by examples, the writer poem, a universal divine scripture fitted to compose history is hitherto whose plenary inspiration no one out an unknown man. Better were it of Bedlam shall bring into question. that mere earthly historians should Ñor is he quite at one with the lower such pretensions, more suita- ordinary historian as to the true his- ble for omniscience than for human torical method. ‘ The time seems Science, and aiming only at some coming when he who sees no world picture of the things acted, which but that of courts and camps, and picture itself will be a poor approxi- vvrites only how soldiers were drilled mation, leave the inscrutable purport and shot, and how this ministerial of them an acknowledged secret — or conjurer out-conjured that other, and at most, in reverent faith, pause over then guided, or at least held, some- the mysterious vestiges of Him whose thing which he called the rudder of path is in the great deep of Time, Government, but which was rather whom History indeed reveáis, but the spigot. of Taxation, wherewith in only all History and in Eternity will place of steering he could tax, will clearly reveal.’ pass for a more or less instructive This same transcendental way of Gazetteer, but will no longer be called looking at things is very noticeable an Historian.’ in the following view of Biography: Ñor does the philosophical method ‘ For, as the highest gospel was a of writing history please him any Biography, so is the life of every good better : man still an indubitable gospel, and ‘ Truly T History is Philosophy preaches to the eye and heart and 20 CA A'L YLE. CARLYLE. 21 whole man, so that devils even must likely to influence their judgment, believe and tremble, these gladdest he is guilty of fraud, and, when jus- tidings. Man is heaven-born — not tice is done in this world, will be the thrall of circumstances, of ne- condemned to refund all moneys he cessity, but tbe victorious subduer has made by his false professions, thereof.’ These, then, being his views, with compound interest. This sort what are we to say of his works ? of fraud is unknown to the law, but His three principal historical works to nobody else. ‘ Let me know the are, as everyone knows, ‘ Cromwell,’ facts ! ’ may well be the agonized cry ‘ The French Revolution,’ and ‘ Fre- of the student who finds himself derick the Great,’ though there is a floating down what Arnold has called very considerable arnount of other ‘ the vast Mississippi of falsehood, historical writing scattered up and History.’ Secondly comes a catholic down his works. But what are we temper and way of looking at things- to say of these three ? Is he, by The historian should be a gentleman virtue of them, entitled to the rank and possess a moral breadth of tem­ and influence of a great historian ? perament. There should be no bit- What_ have we a right to demand of ter protesting spirit about him. He an historian ? First, surely, stern should remember the world he has veracity, which implies not merely taken upon himself to write about is knowledge but honesty. An histo­ a large place, and that nobody set rian stands in a fkluciary position him up over us. Thirdly, he must towards his readers, and if he with- be a born story-teller. If he is not holds from them important facts this, he has mistaken his vocation. 22 CARI YLE. CARLYLE. 23

He may be a great philosopher, 3 historian, and few there be who are useful editor, a profound scholar, and found able to resist it. How easy to anything else his friends like to call keep back an ugly fact, sure to be a him, except a great historian. How stumbling-block in the way of weak does Carlyle meet these require- brethren ! Carlyle is above suspicion ments ? His veracity, that is, his in this respect. He knows no reti- laborious accuracy, is admitted by cence. Nothing restrains him ; not the only persons competent to form even the so-called proprieties of his- an opinion, namely, independent in- tory. He may, after his boisterous vestigators who have followed in his fashion, pour scorn upen you for track ; but what may be called the looking grave, as you read in his internal evidence of the case also vivid pages of the reckless manner supplies a strong proof of it. Carlyle in which too many of his heroes was, as everyone knows, a hero- drove coaches-and-six through the worshipper. It is part of his mys- Ten Commandments. A s likely as ticism. With him man, as well as not he will cali you a blockhead, and God, is a spirit, either of good or tell you to cióse yourwide mouth and evil, and as such should be either cease shrieking. But, dear me ! hard worshipped or reviled. He is never words break no bones, and it is an himself till he has discovered or in- amazing comfort to know the faets. vented a hero; and, when he has got Is he writing of Cromwell ? — down him, he tosses and dandles him as a goes everything — letters, speeches, mother her babe. This is a terrible as they were written, as they were temptation to put in the way of an delivered. Few great men are edit- 2 4 CA À'L YLE. CARLYLE. 25 ed after this fashion. Were they to mood is never for long. Some gadfly be so Luther, for example — many stings him : he seizes his tomahawk ePes would be opened very wide. and is off on the trail. It must sor- Nor does Carlyle fail in comment, rowfully be admitted that a long life If the Protector makes a somewhat of opposition and indigestión, of fierce distant allusion to the Barbadoes, warfare with cooks and Philistines, Carlyle is at your elbow to teli you it spoilt his temper, never of the best, means his selling people to work as and made him too often contemptu- slaves in the West índies. As for ous, savage, unjust. His language Mirabeau, ‘ our wild Gabriel Honoré,’ then becomes unreasonable, unbear- well! we are told all about him ; nor able, bad. Literature takes care of IS Frederick let off a single absurdity herself. You disobey her rules : well 0I_ atiocity. But when we have ad- and good, she shuts her door in your mitted the veracity, vvhat are we to face ; you plead your genius : she re- say of the catholic temper, the breadth plies, ‘ Your temper,’ and bolts it. of temperament, the wide Shake- Carlyle has deliberately destroyed, by spearian tolerance? Carlyle ought to his own wilfulness, the valué of a have them all. By nature he was great deal he has written. It can tolerant enough ; so true a humourist never become classical. Alas! that could never be a bigot. When his this should be true of too many emi­ war-paint is not on, a child might nent Englishmen of our time. Lan­ lead him. His judgments are gra- guage such as was, at one time, al- cious, chivalrous, tinged witha kindly most habitual with Mr. Ruskin, is a tnelancholy and divine pity. But this national humiliation, giving point to 26 CARL Y LE. CARLYLE. 27 the Frenchman’s sneer as to our dis- he ‘ smites the rock and spreads the tinguishing literary characteristic be- water ; ’ but then, like Moses, ‘ he ing 'la brutalitél In Carlyle’s case desecrates, belike, the deed in doing.’ much must be allowed for his rheto- Our third requirement was, it may ric and humour. In slang phrase, he be remembered, the gift of the story- always ‘ piles it on.’ Does a book- teller. Here one is on firm ground. seller misdirect a parcel, he exclaims, Where is the equal of the man who ‘ My malison on all Blockheadisms has told us the story of ‘ The Dia­ and Torpid Infidelities of which this mond Necklace ’ ? world is full.’ Still, all allowances It is the vogue, nowadays, to sneer made, it is a thousand pities ; and at picturesque writing. Professor one’s thoughts turn away from this Seeley, for reasons of his own, ap- stormy oíd man and take refuge in pears to think that whilst politics, the quiet haven of the Oratory at and, I presume religión, may be made Birmingham, with his great Protago- as interesting as you please, history nist, who, throughout an equally long should be as dull as possible. This, life spent in painful controversy, and surely, is a jaundiced view. If there wielding weapons as terrible as Car­ is one thing it is legitímate to make lyle’s own, has rarely forgotten to be more interesting than another, it is urbane, and whose every sentence is the varied record of man’s life upon a ‘ thing of beauty.’ It must, then, earth. So long as we have human be owned that too many of Carlyle’s hearts and await human destinies, so literary achievements ‘ lack a gracious long as we are alive to the pathos, somewhat.’ By forcé of his genius the dignity, the comedy of human 28 CARL YLE. CARLYLE. 29 life, so long shall we continue to rank vis. Carlyle is there, and will re- above the philosophar, higher than main there, when the pedant of to- the politician, the great artist, be he day has been superseded by the pe­ called dramatist or historian, who dant of to-morrow. makes us conscious of the divine Remembering all this, we are apt movement of events, and of our fa- to forget his faults, his eccentricities, thers who were before us. Of course and vagaries, his buffooneries, his we assume accuracy and labor in too-outrageous cynicisms and his too- our animated historian ; though, for intrusive egotisms, and to ask our- that matter, other things being equal, selves — if it be not this man, who I prefer a lively liar to a dull one. is it then to be ? Macaulay, ansvver Carlyle is sometimes as irresistible some ; and Macaulay’s claims are as ‘ The Campbells are Corning,’ or not of the sort to go unrecognised in ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ He has de- a world which loves clearness of ex­ scribed some men and some events pressiori and of view only too well. once and for all, and so takes his Macaulay’s position never admitted place with Thucydides, Tacitus and of doubt. We know what to expect, Gibbon. Pedants may try hard to and we always get it. It is like the forget this, and may in their laboured oíd days of W. G. Grace’s cricket, nothings seek to ignore the author We went to see the leviathan slog of ‘ Cromweir and ‘ The French Re- for six, and we saw it. We expected volution ’ ; but as well might the pe- him to do it, and he did it. So with destrian in Cumberland or Inverness Macaulay — the good Whig, as he seek to ignore Helvellyn or Ben Ne- takes up the History, settles himself 31 3° CAI’L YLE. CARLYLE. down in his chair, and knows it is asrns were delusions, and their poli* going to be a bad time for the Tories. tics demonstrable errors. Whereas, Macaulay’s style — his much-praised of Lord Somers and Charles first style — is ineffectual for the purpose Earl Grey it is impossible to speak of telling the truth about anything. without emotion. But the world It is splendid, but splendide mendax, does not belong to the Whigs; and and in Macaulay’s case the style was a great historian must be capable of the man. He had enormous know- sympathizing both with delusions and ledge, and a noble spirit; his know- demonstrable errors. Mr. Gladstone ledge enriched his style and his spirit has commented with forcé upon what consecrated it to the Service of Lib­ he calls Macaulay’s invincible igno­ erty. We do well to be proud of rance, and further says that to cer- Macaulay; but we must add that, tain aspects of a case (particularly great as was bis knowledge, great those aspects most pleasing to Mr. also was his ignorance, which was Gladstone) Macaulay’s mind was her- none the less ignorance because it metically sealed. It is difficult to re- was wilful ; noble as was his spirit, sist these conclusions ; and it would the range of subject over which it appear no rash inference from them, energized was painfully restricted. that a man in a state of invincible He looked out upon the world, but, ignorance and with a mind hermet- behold, only the Whigs were goód. ically sealed, whatever else he may Luther and Loyola, Cromwell and be — orator, advocate, statesman, Claverhouse, Carlyle and Newman — journalist, man of letters— can never they moved him not ; their enthusi- be a great historian. But, indeed, 32 CAEL YLE. CARLYLE. 33 when one remembers Macaulay’s lim- somewhere struck a distinction be- ited range of ideas : the common- tween the historical artist and the placeness of his morality, and of his historical artizan. The bishop and descriptions ; his absence of humour, the professor are historical artizans; and of pathos — for though Miss Mar- artists they are not — and the great tineau says she found one pathetic historian is a great artist. passage in the History, I have often England boasts two such artists. searched for it in vain; and then Edward Gibbon and Thomas Carlyle. turns to Carlyle — to his almost be- The eider historian may be compared wildering affluence of thought, fan- to one of the great Alpine roadways cy, feeling, humour, pathos — his bit- — sublime in its conception, heroic mg pen, his scorching criticism, his in its execution, superb in its magni­ world-wide sympathy (save in certain ficent uniformity of good workman- moods) with everything but the smug ship. The younger resembles one commonplace — to prefer Macaulay of his native streams, pent in at to him, is Hice giving the preference times between huge rocíes, and tor- to Birket Foster over Salvator Rosa. mented into foatn, and then effecting But if it is not Macaulay, who is it its escape down some precipice, and to be ? Mr. Hepvvorth Dixon or Mr. spreading into cool expanses below ; Fronde? Of Bishop Stubbs and but however varied may be its for­ Professor Freeman it behoves every tunes — however startling its changes ignoramus to speak with respect. — always in motion, always in har- Horny-handed sons of toil, they are mony with the scene around. Is it worthy of their wage. Carlyle has gloomy ? It is with the gloom of the 3 34 CARL YLE. CARL YLE. 35 thunder-cloud. Is it bright? It is year 1819, when the yeomanry round with the radiance of the sun. Glasgow was called out to keep It is with some consternation that down some dreadful monsters called I approach the subject of Carlyle’s ‘ Radicals,’ Carlyle describes how he polítics. One handles them as does met an advocate of his acquaintance an inspector of pólice a parcel re- hurrying along, musket in hand, to ported to contain dynamite. The his drill on the Links. ‘ You should Latter-Day Pamphlets might not have the like of this,’ said he, cheerily unfitly be labelled ‘ Dangerous Ex­ patting his gun. ‘ Yes, was the reply, plosives.’ ‘ but I haven’t yet quite settled on In this matter of politics there which side.’ And when he did make were 1 ivo Carlyles ; and, as generally his choice, on the whole he chose happets in such cases, his last state rightly. The author of that noble was worse than his first. Up to pamphlet ‘ Chartism,’ published in 1843, he not unfairly might be called 1840, was at least once a Liberal. a Liberal — of uncertain vote it may Let me quote a passage that has be— a man difficult to worlc with, stirred to effort many a generous and impatient of discipline, but still heart now cold in death: ‘ Who would aglow with generous heat; full of ‘ suppose that Education were a thing large-hearted sympathy with the poor ‘ which had to be advocated on the and oppressed, and of intense hatred ‘ ground of local expediency, or in- of the cruel and shallow sophistries ‘ deecl on any ground ? As if it stood that then passed for màxims, almost ‘ not on the basis of an everlasting for axioms, of government. In the 1 duty, as a prime necessity of man ! It

mjm 36 CA A'L YLE. CA A’L YLE. 37 ‘ is a thing that should need no advo- ‘ accomplished such a conquest and ‘ cating; much as it does actually ‘ conquests ; and to this man it is all ‘ need. To impart the gift of think- ‘ as if it had not been. The four- ‘ ing to those who cannot think, and ‘ and-twenty letters of the alphabet ‘ yet who could in that case think : ‘ are still runic enigmas to him. He ‘ this, one would imagine, was the first ‘ passes by on the other side ; and ‘ function a government had to set * that great spiritual kingdom, the toil- ‘ about discharging. Were it not a ‘ won conquest of his own brothers, * cruel thing to see, in any province of ‘ all that his brothers have conquered, ‘ an empire, the inhabitants living all ‘ is a thing not extant for him. An ‘ mutilated in their limbs, each strong ‘ invisible empire ; he knows it not ‘ man with his right ann lamed ? How < — suspects it not. And is not this ‘ much crueller to find the strong soul < his withal; the conquest of his own ‘ with its eyes still sealed — its eyes ‘ brothers, the lawfully acquired pos- ‘ extinct, so that it sees not! Light ‘ session of all men ? Baleful enchant- ‘ has come into the world ; but to this ‘ ment lies over him, from generation ‘ poor peasant it has come in vain. ‘ to generation; he knows not that ‘ For six thousand years the sons of ‘ such an empire is his — that such an ‘ Adam, in sleepless effort, have been ‘ empire is his at all . . . Heavier ‘ devising, doing, discovering ; in mys- ‘ wrong is not done under the sun. It ‘ terious, infinite, indissoluble com- Tasts from year toyear, from century ‘ munion, warring, a little band of ‘ to century ; the blinded sire slaves ‘ brothers, against the black empire ‘ himself out, and leaves a blinded son ; ‘ of necessity and night; they have ‘ and men, made in the image of God, 3» CA A’L YLE. CARL YLE. 39 ‘ continue as two-legged beasts of ‘the master-workers — knows only ‘ labour: and in the largest empire 1 and sees that legislative interference, ‘ of the world it is a debate whether < and interferences not a few, are in­ ‘ a small fraction of the revenue of dispensable. Nay, interference has ‘ one day shall, after thirteen cen- ‘ begun ; there are already factory in- ‘ turies, be laid out on it, or not laid ‘ spectors. Perhaps there might be ‘ out on it. Have we governors ? ‘ mine inspectors too. Might there ‘ Have we teachers ? Hav.e we had ‘ not be furrow-field inspectors withal, ‘ a Church these thirteen hundred ‘ to ascertain how, on ys. 6¡d. a week, * years ? What is an overseer of souls, ‘ a human family does live ? Again, ‘ an archoverseer, archiepiscopus ? Is ‘ are not sanitary regulations possible ‘ he sometbing? If so, let him lay ‘ for a legislature ? Baths, free air, ‘ his hand on his heart and say what ‘ a wholesome temperature, ceilings ‘ thing ! ’ ‘ twenty feet high, might be ordained Ñor was the man who in 1843 ‘by Act of Parliament in all establish- wrote as follows altogether at sea in ‘ ments licensed as mills. There are polítics : ‘ such mills already extant — honour ‘ Of Time Bill, Factory Bill, and ‘ to the builders of them. The legis- ‘ other such Bilis, the present editor ‘ lature can say to others, “ Go you ‘ has no authority to speak. He ‘ “ and do likewise — better if you ‘ knows not, it is for others than he ‘ “ can.” ’ ‘ to know, in what specific ways it By no means a bad programare ‘ may be feasible to interfere with for 1843 ; and a good part of it has ‘ legislation between the workers and been carried out, but with next to no aid from Carlyle. 4° CA A'L YLE. CAKL YLE. 41 The Radical party has struggled But it is foolish to quarrel with on as best it might, without the results, and we may learn something author of ‘ Chartism ’ and ‘ The even from the later Carlyle. We lay French Revolution ’ — down John Bright’s Reforni Speeches, ‘ They have marched prospe/ing, not through his and take up Carlyle and light upon presence; S'·'ngs have inspired them, not from his lyre;9 a passage like this : ‘ Inexpressibly delirious seems to me the puddle of and it is no party spirit that leads Parliament and públic upon what it one to regret the change of mind calls the Reform Measure, that is to which prevented the later públic life say, the calling in of new supplies of of this great man, and now the mem- blockheadism, gullibility, bribability, ory of it, from being enriched with amenability to beer and balderdash, something better than a five-pound by way of amending the woes we note for Governor Eyre. have had from previous supplies of But it could not be helped. What that bad article.’ This view must be brought about the rupture was his accounted for as well as Mr. Bright’s. losing faith in the ultimate destiny We shall do well to remember, with of man upon earth. No more terrible Carlyle, that the best of all Reform loss can be sustained. It is of both Bilis is that which each Citizen passes heart and hope. He fell back upon in his own breast, where it is pretty heated visions of heaven-sent heroes, sure to meet with strenuous opposi- devoting their early days for the most tion. The reform of ourselves is no part to hoodwinking the people, and doubt an heroic measure never to be their latter ones, more heroically, to overlooked, and, in the face of ac- shooting them. 42 CARLYLE. CARLYLE. 43 cusations of gullibility, bribability, with rapture, at least, with equa- amenability to beer and balderdash, nimity. our poor humanity can only stand But it must not be forgotten that abashed, and feebly demur to the bad the battle is still raging— the issue English in which the charges are is still uncertain. Mr. Froude is conveyed. But we can’t all lose still free to assert that the ‘post-mor- hope. We remember Sir David tem ’ will prove Carlyle was right. Ramsay’s reply to Lord Rea, once His political sagacity no reader of quoted by Carlyle himself. Then ‘ Frederick’ can deny; his insight said his lordship : ‘ Well, God mend into hidden causes and far-away ef- ali.’ ‘ Nay, by God, Donald, we must fects was lceen beyond precedent — help Him to mend i t ! ’ It is idle to nothing he ever said deserves con- stand gaping at the heavens, waiting tempt, th'ough it may merit anger. to feel the thong of some hero of If we would escape his conclusión, qüestionable morals and robust con- we must not altogether disregard his science ; and therefore, unless Reform premises. Bankruptcy and death are Bills can be shown to have checked the final heirs of imposture and purity of election, to have increased make-believes. The oíd faiths and the stupidity of electors, and gen- forms are worn too threadbare by a erally to have promoted corruption thousand disputations to bear the — which notoriously they have not burden of the new democracy, which, — we may allow Carlyle to make his if it is not merely to win the battle exit ‘ swearing,’ and regard their pre- but to bold the country, must be sence in the Statute Book, if not ready with new faiths and forms of 44 CARLYLE. CARLVLE. 45 her ovvn. They are within her reach ternity,’ introducing a quotation from if she but knew i t ; they lie to her the 8th chapter of the 3rd book of hand: surely they will not escape ‘ Sartor Resartus,’ with the remark her grasp! If they do not, then, in that ‘ it is perhaps the most memora­ the glad day when worship is once ble utterance of the greatest poet of more restored to man, he will with the age.’ becoming generosity forget much As for Carlyle’s religión, it may that Carlyle has written, and remem- be said he had none, inasmuch as bering more, rank him amongst the he expounded no creed and put his prophets of human ity. name to no confession. This is the Carlyle’s poetry can only be exhi- pedantry of the schools. He taught bited in long extracts, which would us religión, as coid water and fresh be here out of place, and might ex­ air teach us health, by rendering the cite controversy as to the meaning conditions of disease well nigh im­ of words, and draw down upon me possible. For more than half a cen­ the measureless malice of the metri- tury, with superhuman energy, he cists. There are, however, passages struggled to establish the basis of all in ‘ Sartor Resartus ’ and the ‘ French religions, ‘ reverence and godly fear.’ Revolution ’ which have long ap- ‘ Love not pleasure, love God ; this peared to me to be the sublimest is the everlasting Yea.’ poetry of the century; and it was One’s remarks might here natu- therefore with great pleasure that I rally come to an end, with a word or found Mr. Justice Stephen, in his two of hearty praise of the brave boolc on ‘ Liberty, Equality, and Fra- course of life led by the man who 4 , —=

46 CARLYLE. CARLYLE. 47 avvhile back stood the acknowledged preacher and fault-finder reduced to head of English letters. But the his principal parts: and lo ! the main present time is not the happiest for ingredient is most unmistakably | a panegyric on Carlyle. It would be “ bile!” ’ in vain to deny that the brightness The critic, however, has nought H of his reputation underwent an to do either with the sighs of the i i eclipse, visible everywhere, by the sorrowful, ‘ mourning when a hero publication of his ‘ Reminiscences.’ falls,’ or with the scorn of the ma- i | They surprised most of us, pained licious, rejoicing, as did Bunyan’s not a few, and hugely delighted that Juryman, Mr. Live-loose, when ghastly crew, the wreckers of huma- Faithful was condemned to die : ‘ I nity, who are never so happy as when could never endure him, for he employed in pulling down great rep- would always be condemning my utations to their own miserable lev­ way.’ í ; éis. When these ‘baleful creatures,’ The critic’s task is to consider the as Carlyle would have called them, boolc itself, i. e., the nature of its have lit upon any passage indicative contents, and how it carne to be writ- of conceit or jealousy or spite, they ten at all. have fastened upon it and screamed When this has been done, there over it, with a pleasure but ill-con- will not be found much demanding cealed and with a horror but ill- moral censure; whilst the reader feigned. ‘ Behold,’ they exclaim, will note with delight, applied to the ‘ your hero robbed of the nimbus his trifling concerns of life, those extra- inflated style cast around him — this ordinary gifts of observation and 48 CARL YLE. CARL YLE. 49 apprehension which have so often and proper. Just exactly so should charmed him in the pages of history a literate son write of an illiterate and biography. peasant father. How immeasurable These peccant volumes contain seems the distance between the man but four sketches : one of his father, from whom proceeded the thirty-four written in 1832; the other three, volumes we have been writing about of Edward Irving, Lord Jeffrey, and the Calvinistic masón who didn’t and Mrs. Carlyle, all written after even know his Burns ! — and yet here the death of the last-named, in we find the whole distance spanned 1866. by filial love. The only fault that has been found The sketch of Lord Jeffrey is in­ with the first sketch is, that in it imitable. One was getting tired of Carlyle hazards the assertion that Jeffrey, and prepared to give him the Scotland does not now contain his go - by, when Carlyle creates him father’s like. It ought surely to be afresh, and, for the first time, we see possible to dispute this opinion with- the bright little man bewitching us out exhibiting emotion. To think by what he is, disappointing us by well of their forbears is one of the what he is not. The spiteful remarks few weaknesses of Scotchmen. This the sketch contains may be consid- sketch, as a whole, must be carried ered, along with those of the same to Carlyle s credit, and is a perma­ nature to be found only too plenti- nent addition to literature. It is fully in the remaining two papers. pious, after the high Roman fashion. After careful consideration of the It satisfies our finest sense of the fit vvorst of these remarks, Mrs. Oli-

4 5° CARL YLE. CARL YLE. 51 phant’s explanation seeras the true the malicious account of Mrs. Basil one; they are most of them spark- Montague’s head-dress is attributed ling bits of Mrs. Carlyle’s conver- by Carlyle himself to his wife. Still, sation. She, happily for herself, had after dividing the total, there is a a lively wit, and, perhaps not so hap­ good helping for each, and blame pily, a biting tongue, and was, as would justly be Carlyle’s due if we Carlyle telis us, accustomed to make did not remember, as we are bound him laugb, as they drove home to- to do, that, interesting as these three gether from London crushes, by sketches are, their interest is patho- far from genial observations on logical, and ought never to have been her fellow-creatures, little recking — given us. Mr. Froude should have how should she ? — that what was so read them in tears, and burnt them lightly uttered was being engraven in fire. There is nothing surprising on the tablets of the most marvellous in the state of mind which produced of memòries, and was destined long them. They are easily accounted for afterwards to be written down in by our sorrow-laden experience. It grim earnest by a half-frenzied old is a familiar feeling which prompts a man, and printed, in cold blood, by man, suddenly bereft of one whom he an English gentleman. alone really knew and loved, to turn The horrible description of Mrs. in his fierce indignation upon the Irving’s personal appearance, and the world, and deride its idols whom all other stories of the same connection, are praising, and which yet to him are recognised by Mrs. Oliphant as seem ugly by the side of one of whom in substance Mrs. Carlyle’s ; whilst no one speaks. To be angry with 52 CARLYLE. CARL YLE. 53 such a sentence as ‘ scribbling Sands quite sure, that she would have been and Eliots, not fit to compare with the first, to use her own expressive my incomparable Jeannie,’ is at once language, to require God ‘ particu- inhuman and ridiculous. This is tbe larly to damn ’ her impertinent sym- language of the heart, not of the head. pathizers. As for Mr. Froude, he It is no more criticism than is the may yet discover his Nemesis in the trumpeting of a wounded elephant spirit of an angry woman whose zoology. privacy he has invaded, and whose Happy is the man who at such a diary he has most wantonly pub- time holds both peace and pen ; but lished. unhappiest of all is he who, having These dark clouds are ephemeral. dipped his sorrow into ink, entrusts They will roll away, and we shall the manuscript to a romàntic histo­ once more gladly recognise the line­ rian. am ents of an essentially lofty cha­ The two volumes of the ‘ Life,’ racter, of one who, though a man of and the three volumes of Mrs. Car- genius and of letters, neither out- lyle’s * Correspondence,’ unfortunate- raged society ñor stooped to i t ; was ly did not pour oil upon the troubled neither a rebel ñor a slave ; who in waters. The partizanship they evoked poverty scorned wealth ; who never was positively indecent. Mrs. Car- mistook popularity for fame; but lyle had her troubles and her sorrows, from the first assumed, and through- as have most women who live under out maintained, the proud attitude of the same roof with a man of Creative one whose duty it was to teach and genius j but of one thing we may be not to tickle mankind. 54 CARL YLE. Brother-dunces, lend me your ears ! not to crop, but that I may whisper into their furry depths: ‘ Do not quarrel with genius. We have none ourselves, and yet are so constituted ON THE ALLEGED OBSCU- that we cannot live without it.’ R ITY OF MR. BROWNING’S POETRY.

‘ T h e sanity of true genius ’ was a happy phrase of Charles Lamb’s. Our greatest poets were our sanest men. Chaucer, Spenser, Shake­ speare, Milton, and Wordsworth might have defied even a mad doc- tor to prove his worst. To extol sanity ought to be unne- cessary in an age which boasts its realism ; but yet it may be doubted whether, if the author of the phrase just quoted were to be allowed once more to visit the world he loved so well and left so reluctantly, and could be induced to forswear his Elizabeth- ans and devote himself to the litera- 56 MR. BRO WA’ING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 57 ture oí the day, he would find many Dreamy and inconclusive the poet books which his fine critical facul- sometimes, nay, often, cannot help ty would allovv him to pronounce being, for dreaminess and inconclu- ‘ healthy,’ as he once pronounced siveness are conditions of thought ‘ John Buncle ’ to be in the presence when dwelling on the very subjeets o£ a Scotchman, who could not for that most demand poetical treat- the life of him understand how a ment. book could properly be said to enjoy Misty, therefore, the poet has our either good or bad health. kind permission sometimes to b e; But, however this may be, this but muddy, never! A great poet, much is certain, that lucidity is one like a great peak, must sometimes of the chief characteristics of sanity. be allowed to have his head in the A sane man ought not to be unin- clouds, and to disappoint us of the telligible. Lucidity is good every- wide prospect we had hoped to gain ; where, for all time and in all things, but the clouds which envelop him in a letter, in a speech, in a book, in must be attracted to, and not made a poem. Lucidity is not simplicity. by him. A lucid poem is not necessarily an In a sentence, though the poet may easy one. A great poet may tax our give expression to what Wordsworth brains, but be ought not to puzzle has called ‘ the heavy and the weary our wits. We may often have to ask weight of all this unintelligible world,’ in Humility, What does he mean ? we, the much - enduring public who but not in despair, What can he have to read his poems, are entitled mean ? to demand that. the unintelligibility 58 MR. BRO WNINC'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 59 of which we are made to feel the eral purport and effect, asking our- weight, should be all of it the world’s, selves, for this purpose, such qües­ and none of it merely the poet’s. tions as these : How are we the bet- We should not have ventured to ter for him ? Has he quickened any introduce our subject with such very passion, lightened any burden, puri- general and undeniable observations, fied any taste ? Does he play any had not experience taught us that real part in our lives ? When we are the best way of introducing any sub­ in love, do we whisper him in our ject is by a string of platitudes, deliv- lady’s ear ? When we sorrow, does ered after an oracular fashion. They he ease our pain ? Can he calm the arouse attention, without exhausting strife of mental conflict ? Has he it, and afford the pleasant sensation had anything to say, which wasn’t of thinking, without any of the twaddle, 011 those subjects which, trouble of thought. But, the subject elude analysis as they may, and defy once introduced, it becomes neces- demonstration as they do, are yet sary to proceed with it. alone of perennial interest — In considering whether a poet is ‘ On man, on nature, and on human life,’ intelligible and lucid, we ought not on the pathos of our situation, look- to grope and grub about his work ing back on to the irrevocable and in search of obscurities and oddities, forward to the unknown ? If a poet but should, in the first instance at has said, or done, or been any of all events, attempt to regard his these things to an appreciable ex- whole scope and range; to form tent, to charge him with obscurity is some estímate, if we can, of his gen­ both folly and ingratitude. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 61 But the subject may be pursued mon justice to them, to be at least further, and one may be called upon sometimes called the Pons Asinarum'), to investigate this charge with refe- will agree that though it may be more rence to particular books or poems. difficult to prove that the angles at In Browning’s case this fairly may be the base of an isosceles triangle are done; and then another crop of qües­ equal, and that if the equal sides be tions arises, such as : What is the produced, the angles on the other book about, i. e., with what subject side of the base shall be equal, than does it deal, and what method of it was to describe an equilateral dealing does it employ ? Is it didac- triangle on a given finite straight tical, analytical, or purely narrative ? line ; yet no one but an ass would say Is it content to describe, or does it that the fifth proposition was one aspire to explain ? In common fair- whit less intelligible than the first. ness these qüestions must be asked When we consider Mr. Browning in and answered, before we heave our his later writings, it will be useful to critical half-bricks at strange poets. bear this distinction in mind. One task is of necessity more diffi- Our first duty, then, is to consider cult than another. Students of ge- Mr. Browning in his whole scope and ometry, who have pushed their re- range, or, in a word, generally. This searches into that fascinating Science is a task of such dimensions and so far as the fifth proposition of the difficulty as, in the language of joint- first book, commonly called the Pons stock prospectuses, ‘ to transcend indi­ Asinorum (though now that so many vidual enterprise,’ and consequently, laclies read Euclid, it ought, in com- as we all know, a company has been

--i >• íg: 63 62 MR. BROWNING S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. recently floated, or a society esta- menee author ? The third, How long blished, having Mr. Browning for its did he keep at it ? The fourth, How principal object. It has a president, much has he written ? And the fifth tvvo secretaries, male and female, and may perbaps be best expressed in a treasurer. You pay a guinea, and the words of Southey’s little Peter- you become a member. A suitable kin : reduction is, I believe, made in the ‘ “ What good carne of it all at last ? ” Quothlittle Peterkin.’ unlikely event of all the members of one family flocking to be enrolled. Mr. Browning was born in 1812 ; The existence of this society is a he commenced author with the frag­ great relief, for it enables us to deal ment called ‘ Pauline,’ published in with our unwieldy theme in a light- 1833. He is still writing, and his hearted manner, and to refer those works, as they stand upon my shelves who have a passion for solid informa- — for editions vary — number twen- tion and profound philosophy to the ty-three volumes. Little Peterkin’s printed transactions of this learned question is not so easily answered ; society, which, lest we should forget but, postponing it for a moment, the all about it, we at once do. answers to the other four show that When you are viewing a poet gen- we have to deal with a poet, more erally, as is our present pligbt, the than seventy years oíd, who has been first question is: When was he born ? writing for half a century, and who The second, When did he (to use a has filled twenty-three volumes. The favourite phrase of the last century, Browning Society at all events has now in disuse) — When did he com­ assets. The way I propose to deal 64 MR. BRO WNING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 65 with this literary mass is to divide it Looking then at the first period, in tvvo, taking the year 1864 as the we find in its front eight plays : line of cleavage. In that year the 1. ‘ Strafford,’ written in 1836, volume called * Dramatis Personae ’ when its author was twenty-four was published, and then nothing hap- years oíd, and put upon the boards pened till the year 1868, when our of Covent Garden Theatre on the poet presented the astonished Eng- ist of May, 1837, Macready playing lish language with the four volumes Strafford, and Miss Plelen Faucit and the 21,116 lines called ‘ The Ring Lady Carlisle. It was received with and the Book,’ a poem which, it may much enthusiasm ; but the company be stated for the benefit of that large, was rebellious and the manager bank- increasing, and highly interesting rupt; and after running five nights, class of persons who prefer statistics the man who played Pym threw up to poetry, is longer than Pope’s ‘ Ho- his part, and the theatre was closed. mer’s Iliad ’ by exactly 2,171 lines. 2. ‘ Pippa Passes.’ We thus begin with ‘ Pauline ’ in 3. ‘ King Victor and King Charles.’ 1833, and end with ‘ Dramatis Per­ 4. ‘ The Return of the Druses.’ sonae ’ in 1864. We then begin again 5. ‘ A Blot in the ’Scutcheon.’ with * The Ring and the Book,’ in This beautiful and pathetic play 1868 ; but when or where we shall was put on the stage of Drury Lañe end cannot be stated. ‘ Sordello,’ on the 11 th of February, 1843, with published in 1840, is better treated Phelps as Lord Tresham, Miss Helen apart, and is therefore excepted from Faucit as Mildred Tresham, and Mrs. the first period, to which chronolog- Stirling, still known to us all, as ically it belongs. S 66 MR. BRO WNING'S POETRY. MR. BRO WNING'S POETRY. 67 Guendolen. It was a brilliant suc- ciety put upon its oath, we should be cess. Mr. Browning was in the surprised to find how many people stage-box ; and if it is any satisfac- in high places have not read ‘ All’s tion for a poet to hear a crowded Well that Ends Well,’ or ‘ Timon of house cry ‘ Author, author ! ’ that sat- Athens ; ’ but they don’t go about isfaction has belonged to Mr. Brown­ saying these plays are unintelligi- ing. The play ran several nights ; ble. Like wise folk, they pretend to and was only stopped because one have read them, and say nothing. In of Mr. Macready’s bankruptcies hap- Browning’s case they are spared the pened just then to intervene. It was hypocrisy. No one need pretend to afterwards revived by Mr. Phelps, have read ‘ A Soul’s Tragedy ; and during his * memorable management ’ it seems, therefore, inexcusable for of Sadlers’ Wells. anyone to assert that one of the plain- 6. ‘ Colombe’s Birthday.’ Miss est, most pointed, and piquant bits Helen Faucit put this upon the stage of writing in the language is unintel- in 1852, when it was reckoned a suc- ligible. But surely something more cess. may be truthfully said of these plays y. ‘ Luria.' than that they are comprehensible. 8. ‘ A Soul’s Tragedy.’ First of all, they are plays, and not To cali any of these plays unintel- works — like the dropsical dramas of ligible is ridiculous ; and nobody who Sir Henry Taylor and Mr. Swinburne. has ever read them ever did, and why Some of them have stood the ordeal people who have not read them should of actual representation; and though abuse them is hard to see. Were so- it would be absurd to pretend that 68 MR. BROWNING'S BOBTRY. MR. BRO WNING'S POETRY. 69 they met with that overwhelmins: sion, are presented with emphasis, measure of success our critical age and yet blended into a dramatic has reserved for such dramatists as unity and a poetic perfection, enti- the late Lord Lytton, the author of tling the author to the very first ‘ Money/ the late Tom Taylor, the place amongst those dramatists of author of ‘ The Overland Route,’ the the century who have laboured under late Mr. Robertson, the author of the enormous disadvantage of being ‘ Caste/ Mr. H. Byron, the author of poets to start with. ‘ Our Boys,’ Mr. Wills, the author of Passing from the plays, we are next ‘ Charles I.,’ Mr. Burnand, the author attracted by a number of splendid of ‘ The Colonei/ and Mr. Gilbert, poems, on whose base the structure the author of so much that is great of Mr. Browning’s fame perhaps rests and glorious in our national drama ; most surely— his dramatic pieces — at all events they proved themselves poems which give utterance to the able to arrest and retain the atten- thoughts and feelings of persons tion of very ordinary audiences. But other than himself, or, as he puts it, who can deny dignity and even gran- when dedicating a number of them deur to ‘ Luria/ or withhold the meed to his wife: of a melodious tear from 1 Mildred 1 Love, you saw me gather men and vvomen, Live or dead, or fashioned by my fancy, Tresham ’ ? What action of what Enter each and all, and use their Service, play is more happily conceived or Speak from every mouth the speech — a poem better rendered than that of ‘ Pippa or, again, in ‘ Sordello’ : Passes ’ ? — where innocence and its ‘ By making speak, myself kept out of view, reverse, tender love and violent pas- The very man, as he was wont to do.’

* 70 MR. BRO WNING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING’S POETRY. 71 At a rough calculation, there must finding it full of Shakespeare’s prin­ be at least sixty of these pieces. cipal characters! What a babel of Let me run over the ñames of a very tongues ! What a jostling of wits 1 fevv of them. ' Saúl,’ a jDoem beloved How eagerly one’s eye would go in by all true women ; ‘ Caliban,’ which search of Hamlet and Sir John Fal- the men, not unnaturally perhaps, staff, but droop shudderingly at the often prefer. The ‘ Two Bishops ’ ; thought of encountering the dis- the sixteenth century one ordering traught gaze of Lady Macbeth ! We his tomb of jasper and basalt in St. should have no difficulty in recognis- Praxed’s Cburch, and his nineteenth ing Beatrice in the central figure of century successor rolling out his that lively group of laughing cour- post-prandial Apologia. ‘ My Last tiers; whilst did we seelc Juliet, it Duchess,’ the ‘ Soliloquy in a Spanish would, of course, be by appointment Cloister,’ ‘ Andrea del Sarto/ 'Fra on the balcony. To fancy yourself in Lippo Lippi/ ‘ Rabbi Ben Ezra/ such company is pleasant matter for 'Cleon/ ‘ A Death in the Desert/ a midsummer’s night’s dream. No ‘ The Italian in England/ and ‘ The poet has such a gallery as Shake­ Englishman in Italy/ speare, but of our modern poets It is plain truth to say that no Browning comes nearest him. other English poet, living or dead, Against these dramatic pieces the Shakespeare excepted, has so heaped charge of unintelligibility fails as up human interest for his readers as completely as it does against the has Robert Browning. plays. They are all perfectly intelli- Fancy stepping into a room and gible ; but — and here is the rub — 72 MR. BRO WNING’S POETRY. MR. BRO WNING'S POETRY. 73 they are not easy reading, like the in the life of a man excites, in the estimable writings of the late Mrs. breasts of the rightminded, feelings Hemans. They require the same akin to those which Charles Lamb honest attention as it is the fashion ascribes to the immortal Sarah Bat- to give to a lecture of Professor tle, when a young gentleman of a Huxley’s or a sermón of Canon literary turn, on taking a hand in her Liddon’s : and this is just what too favourite game of whist, declared that many persons will not give to poe- he saw no harm in unbending the try. They mind, now and then, after serious ‘ Love to hear A soft pulsation in their easy ear ; studies, in recreations of that kind. To turn the page, and let their senses drink She could not bear, so Elia proceeds, A lay that shall not trouble them to think.’ ‘ to have her noble occupation, to It is no great wonder it should be which she wound up her faculties, so. After dinner, when disposed to considered in that light. It was her sleep, but afraid of spoiling our night’s business, her duty — the thing she rest, behold the witching hour re- carne into the world to do — and she served by the nineteenth century for did i t : she unbent her mind, after- the study of poetry ! This treatment wards, over a book! ’ And so the of the muse deserves to be held up lover of poetry and Browning, after to everlasting scorn and infamy in winding-up his faculties over ‘ Comus’ a passage of Miltonic strength and or ‘ Paracelsus,’ over ‘ Julius Caesar’ splendour. We, alas! must be con­ or * Strafford,’ may afterwards, if he tent with the observation, that such is so minded, unbend himself over the an opinión of the true place of poetry 1 Origin of Species,’ or that still more 74 MR. BROWNINCS POETRY. MR. EROIVNING’S POETRY. 75 fascinating record which telis us how and so, accordingly, it often happens little curly worms, only give them that some estimable paterfamilias time enough, will cover with earth takes up an odd volume of Brown- even the larger kind of stones. ing his volatile son or moonstruck Next to these dramatic pieces come daughter has left lying about, pishes what we may be content to cali simply and pshaws! and then, with an air poems : some lyrical, some narrative. of much condescension and amazing The latter are straightforward enough, candour, remarks that he will give and, as a rule, full of spirit and hu- the fellow another chance, and not mour ; but this is more than can condemn him unread So saying, he always be said of the lyrical pieces. opens the book, and carefully selects Now, for the first time, in dealing the very shortest poem he can find ; with this first period, excluding and in a moment, without sign or ‘ Sordello,’ we strike difficulty. The signal, note or warning, the unhappy Chínese puzzle comes in. We won- man is floundering up to his neck in der whether it all turns on the punc- lines like these, which are the third tuation. And the awkward thing for and final stanza of a poem called Mr. Browning’s reputation is this, ‘ Another Way of Love ’ : that these bewildering poems are, for the most part, very short. We say ‘ And after, for pastirae, If June be refulgent awkward, for it is not more certain With flowers in completeness, All petáis, no prickles, that Sarah Gamp liked her beer Delicious as trickles drawn mild, than it is that your Eng- Of wine poured at mass-time, And choose One indulgent lishman likes his poetry cut short; To redness and svveetness ; MR. BRO WNING’S POETRY. 77 76 MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. Or if with experience of man and of spider, or of Wordsworth by quoting : She use my June lightning, the strong insect-ridder ‘ At this, my boy hung down his head : To stop the fresh spinning, — why June will He blushed with shame, nor made reply, consider.’ And five times to the child I said, He comes up gasping, and more “ Why, Edward ? tell me why ? ” ’ — than ever persuaded that Browning’s or of Keats by remembering that he poetry is a mass of inconglomerate once addressed a young lady as fol- nonsense, which nobody understands lows: — least of all members of the Brown- ‘ O come, Georgiana ! the rose is full blown, ing Society. The riches of Flora are lavishly strown : The air is all softness and crystal the streams, We need be at no pains to find a The west is resplendently clothed in beams.’ meaning for everything Mr. Brown- ing has written. But when all is said The strength of a rope may be but and done — when these few freaks the strength of its weakest part; but of a crowded brain are thrown over- poets are to be judged in their hap- board to the sharks of verbal criticism piest hours, and in their greatest who feed on such things — Mr. Brown- works. ing and his great poetical achievement Taking, then, this first period of remain behind to be dealt with and Mr. Browning’s poetry as a whole, accounted for. We do not get rid and asking ourselves if we are the of the Laureate by quoting : richer for it, how can there be any ‘ O darling room, my heart’s delight, doubt as to the reply ? What points Dear room, the apple of my sight, of human interest has he left un- With thy two couches soft and white There is no room so exquisite — touched ? With what phase of life, No little room so warm and bright character, or study does he fail to Wherein to read, wherein to write ; ’ ;8 MR. ERO WNING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING’S POETRY. 79 sympathize ? So far from being the front of the interpreters of passion. rough-hewn block * dull fools ’ have The many moods of sorrow are re- supposed him, he is the most dilet- flected in his verse, whilst mirth, tante of great poets. Do you dabble movement, and a rollicking humour in art and perambulate picture-gal- abound everywhere. leries ? Browning must be your I will venture upon but three quo- favourite poet: he is art’s historian. tations, for it is late in the day to be Are you devoted to music ? So is quoting Browning. The first shall he : and alone of our poets has sought be a well-known bit of blank verse to fatbom in verse the deep mysteries about art from ‘ Fra Lippo Lippi’ : of sound. Do you find it impossible ‘ For, don’t you mark, we’re made sothat we love First when we see them painted, things we have to keep off theology ? Browning has passed more theology than most bishops — Perhaps a hundred times, ñor cared to see : And so they are better painted — better to us, could puzzle Gamaliel and delight Which is the same thing. Art was given for that — Aquinas. Are you in love ? Read God uses us to help each other so, ‘ A Last Ride Together,’ ‘ Youth and Lending our minds out. Have you noticed now Your cullion’s hanging face ? A bit of chalk, Art/ ‘ A Portrait,’ ‘ Christine,’ ‘ In a And, trust me, but you should though. How much more Góndola,’ ‘ By the Fireside,’ ‘ Love If I drew higher things with the same truth ! amongst the Ruins,’ ‘ Time’s Re­ That were to take the prior’s pulpit-place — Interpret God to all of you ! Oh, oh ! venges,’ ‘ The Worst of It,’ and a It malees me mad to see what men shall do, host of others, being careful always And we in our graves i This world's no biot for us, to end with ‘ A Madhouse Cell’ ; and Ñor blank : it means intensely, and means good. we are much mistaken if you do not To find its meaning is my meat and drink.’ put Browning at the very head and The second is some rhymed rhe- 8o MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 81 toric from ‘ Holy Cross Day’ — the Thine, too, is the cause ! and not more Thine Than ours is the work of these dogs and swine, testimony of the dying Jew in Rome : Whose life laughs through and spits at their creed, ‘ This world has been harsh and strange, Something is wrong : there needeth a change. Who maintain Thee in word, and defy Thee in But what or where ? at the last or first ? deed. In one point only we sinned atworst. 1 We withstood Christ then ? Be mindful how ‘ The Lord will have mercy on Jacob yet, At least we withstand Barabbas now ! And again in his border see Israel set. Was our outrage sore ? But the worst we spared, When Judah beholds Jerusalem, To have called these — Christians — had we The stranger seed shall be joined to them : dared 1 To Jacob’s house shall the Gentiles cleave : Let defiance to them pay mistrust of Thee, So the prophet saith, and his sons believe. And Rome malte amends for Calvary ! ‘ Ay, the children of the chosen race 1 By the torture, prolonged from age to age ; Shall carry and bring them to their place ; By the infamy, Israel’s heritage ; In the land of the Lord shall lead the same, By the Ghetto’s plague, by the garb’s disgrace, Bondsmen and handmaids. Who shall blame By the badge of shame, by the felon’s place, When the slaves enslave, the oppressed ones o’er By the branding-tool, the bloodv whip, The oppressor triumph for evermore ? And the summons to Christian fellowship, ‘ God spoke, and gaye us the word to keep : ‘ We boast our proof, that at least the Jew Bade never fold the hands, ñor sleep Would wrest Christ’s ñame from the devil’s crew.’ ’Mid a faithless world, at watch and ward, Till the Christ at the end relieve our guard. The last quotation shall be from By His servant Moses the watch was set: Though near upon cockcrow, we keep it yet. the veritable Browning — of one of those poetical audacities none ever ' -n ^°U ! ^ Thou wast He, who at mid-watch carne, By the starlight naming a dubious Ñame ; dared but tbe Danton of modera And if we were too heavy with sleep, too rash With fear — O I'hou, if that martyr-gash poetry. Audacious in its familiar Fell on Thee, coming to take Thine own, realism, in its total disregard of poe­ And we gave the Cross, when we owed the throne; tical environment, in its rugged ab- Thou art the Judge. We are bruised thus. ruptness: but supremely successful, But, the Judgment over, join sides with us ! and alive with emotion : 6

v- 82 MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 83 ‘ What is he buzzing in my ears ? 'And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas ! Now Ihat I come to d¡e, We loved, sir ; used to meet. Do I view the World as a vale of tears ? How sad and bad and mad it was ! Ah, reverend sir, not I. But then, how it was svveet! ’ ‘ What I viewed there once, what I view again, The second period of Mr. Brown- Where the physic bottles stand On the table’s edge, is a suburo lañe, ing’s poetry demands a different line With a wall to my bedside hand. of argument; for it is, in my judg- ‘ That lañe sloped, much as the bottles do, ment, folly to deny that he has of From a house you could descry O’er the garden-wall. Is the curtain blue late years written a great deal which Or green to a healthy eye ? makes very difficult reading indeed. ‘ To mine, it serves for the oíd June weather, No doubt you may meet people who Blue above lañe and wall; tell you that they read ‘ The Ring And that farthest bottle, labelled “ Ether,” Is the house o’ertopping all. and the Book’ for the first time with- ‘ At a terrace somewhat near its stopper, out much mental effort; but you There watched for me, one June, A girl — I know, sir, it’s improper: will do well not to believe them. My poor mind’s out of tune. These poems are difficult— they can- ‘ Only there was a way — you crept not help being so. What is * The Cióse by the side, to dodge Ring and the Book ’ ? A huge novel Eyes in the house — two eyes except. They styled their house “ The Lodge.” in 20,000 lines — told after the meth- • What right had a lounger up their lañe ? od not of Scott but of Balzac; it But by creeping very cióse, tears the hearts out of a dozen char- With the good wall’s help their eyes might strain And stretch themselves to oes, acters ; it tells the same story from 'Yet never catch her and me together, ten different points of view. It is As she left the attic — there, loaded with detail of every kind and By the rim of the bottle labelled “ Ether” — And stole from stair to stair, description : you are let off nothing. 84 MR. BROWNIÑG'S POETRY. MR. BROWNIÑG'S POETRY. 85 As with a schoolboy’s life at a large fond of analysis, and do not shrink school, if he. is to enjoy it at all, he from dissection — you will prize‘ The must fling himself into it, and care Ring and the Book’ as the surgeon intensely about everything — so the prizes the last great contribution to reader of ‘ The Ring and the Book ’ comparative anatomy or pathology. must be interested in everybody and But this sort of work tells upon everything, dovvn to the fací that the style. Browning has, I think, fared eldest daughter of the counsel for the better than some writers. To me, at prosecution of Guido is eight years all events, the step from ‘ A Blot in oíd on the very day he is writing his the ’Scutcheon ’ to ‘ The Ring and speech, and that he is going to have the Book ’ is not so marked as is the fried liver and parsley for his supper, mauvais pas that lies between ‘ Amos If you are prepared for this, you Barton ’ and‘ Daniel Deronda.’ But will have your reward ; for the style, difficulty is not obscurity. One task though rugged and involved, is is more difficult than another. The throughout, with the exception of angles at the base of the isosceles the speeches of counsel, eloqüent, triangles are apt to get mixed, and to and at times superb; and as for the confuse us all — man and woman matter, if your interest in human ña- alike. ‘ Prince Hohenstiel ’ some- ture is keen, curious, almost profes­ thing or another is a very difficult sional — if nothing man, woman, or poem, not only to pronounce but to child has been, done, or suffered, or read ; but if a poet chooses as his conceivably can be, do, or suffer, is subject Napoleón III. — in whom the without interest for you; if you are cad, the coward, the idealist, and the 86 MR. BROWNING’S POETRY. MR. BRO WNING’S POETRY. 87 sensualist were inextricably mixed— vince of art to do them ? The ques- and purports to malee him unbosom tion ought not to be asked. It is bimself over a bottle of Gladstone heretical, being contrary to the whole claret in a tavern in Leicester Square, direction of the latter half of this you cannot expect that the product century. The chains binding us to should belong to the same class of the rocks of realism are faster riveted poetry as Mr. Coventry Patmore’s ad­ every day ; and the Perseus who is mirable ‘ Angel in the House.’ destined to cut them is, I expect, It is the method that is difficult. some mischievous little boy at a Take the husband in ‘ The Ring and Board-school. But as the question the Book.’ Mr. Browning remorse- has been asked, I will own that some- lessly hunts him down, tracks him to times, even when deepest in works of the last recesses of his mind, and this, the now orthodox school, I have there bids him stand and deliver. He been harassed by distressing doubts describes love, not only broken but whether, after all, this enormous la- breaking; hate in its germ ; doubt bour is not in vain ; and, wearied by at its birth. These are difficult the effort, overloaded by the detail, things to do either in poetry or prose, bewildered by the argument, and and people with easy, flowing Addi- sickened by the pitiless dissection of sonian or Tennysonian styles cannot character and motive, have been do them. tempted to cry aloud, quoting — or I seem to overhear a still, small rather, in the agony of the moment, voice asking, But are they worth misquoting— Coleridge : doing? or at all events is it the pro- ‘ Simplici ty — Thou better ñame than all the family of Fame.’ 88 MR. ER O WNING'S POETRY. MR. ERO WNING'S POETRY. 89 But this ebullition of feeling is are fond, you say, of romàntic poetry; childish and even sinful. We must well, then, take dovvn your Spenser take our poets as we do our meáis — and qualify yourself to join ‘the small as they are served up to us. Indeed, transfigured band ’ of those who are you may, if full of courage, give a able to take their Bible-oaths they cook notice, but not the time-spirit have read their ‘ Faerie Queen’ all who makes our poets. We may be through. The company, though small, sure — to appropriate an idea of the is delightful, and you vvill have plenty late Sir James Stephen — thatif Rob­ to talk about without abusing Brown- ert Browning had lived in the six- who probably knows his Spen­ teenth century, he would not have ser better than you do. Realism will written a poem like ‘ The Ring and not for ever dominate the world of the Book’ ; and if Edmund Spenser letters and art — the fashion of all had lived in the nineteenth century things passeth away— but it has al- he would not have written a poem ready earned a great place : it has like the ‘ Faerie Queen.’ written books, composed poems, It is therefore idle to arraign Mr. painted pictures, all stamped with Browning’s later method and style that ‘ greatness ’ which, despite fluc- for possessing difficulties and intri­ tuations, nay, even reversáis of taste cades which are inherent to it. The and opinión, means immortality. method, at all events, has an interest But against Mr. Browning’s later of its own, a strength of its own, a poems it is sometimes alleged that grandeur of its own. If you do not their meaning is obscure because (ike it, you must leave it alone. You their grammar is bad. A cynic was ço MR. EROWNING'S POETRY. MR. ERO WNING'S POETRY. 91 once heard to observe with reference half of * Sordello,’ and that, with Mr. to that noble poem ‘ The Gram- Browning’s usual ill-luck, the first marian’s Funeral,’ that it was a pity half, is undoubtedly obscure. It is the talented author had ever since as difficult to read as ‘ Endymion ’ allowed himself to remain under the or the ‘ Revolt of Islam,’ and for the delusion that he had not only buried same reason — the author’s lack of the grammarian, but his grammar experience in the art of composition. al so. It is doubtless true that Mr. We have all heard of the young Browning has some provoking ways, architect who forgot to put a stair- and is something too much of a case in his house, which contained verbal acrobat. Also, as his witty fine rooms, but no way of getting parodist, the pet poet of six genera- into them. ‘ Sordello ’ is a poem tions of Cambridge undergraduates, without a staircase. The author, reminds u s: still in his twenties, essayed a high ‘ He loves to dock the smaller parts of speeeh, thing. For his subject— As we curtail the already curtailed cui. ‘ He singled out Sordello compassed murkily about It is perhaps permissible to weary With ravage of six long sad hundred years.’ a little of his i's and ¿>’s, but we be- lieve we cannot be corrected when we He partially failed; and the British say that Browning is a poet whose public, with its accustomed genero- grammar will bear scholastic investi- sity, and in order, I suppose, to en- gation better than that of most of courage the others, has never ceased Apollo’s children. girding at him, because forty-two A word about ‘ Sordello.’ One years ago he published, at his own 92 MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. MR. BROWNING'S POETRY. 93 charges, a little book of two hundred ‘ Ode on a Grecian Urn,’ one cannot and fifty pages, which even such of afford to let any good poetry die. them as were then able to read could But when we take down Brown- not understand. ing, we cannot think of him and Poetry should be vital— either stir- the ‘ wormy bed ’ together. He is so ring our blood by its divine move- unmistakably and deliciously alive. ment, or snatching our breath by its Die, indeed! when one recails tbe divine perfection. To do both is ideal characters he has invested with supreme glory; to do either is en- reality; how he has described love during fame. and joy, pain and sorrow, art and There is a great deal of beautiful music ; as poems hice ‘ Childe Roland,’ poetical writing to be had nowadays ‘ Abt Vogler,’ ‘ Evelyn Hope,’ ‘ The from the bookseilers. It is interest- Worst of It,’ ‘ Pictor Ignotus,’ ‘ The ing reading, but as one reads one Lost Leader,’ ‘ Home Thoughts from trembles. It smells of mortality. It Abroad,’ ‘ Oíd Pictures in Florence,’ would seem as if, at the very birth of ‘Hervé Riel,’ ‘A Householder,’ ‘ Fears most of our modern poems, and Scruples,’ come tumbling into ‘ The conscious Parcae threw Upon their roseate lips a Stygian hue.’ one’s memory, one over another — we are tempted to employ the lan- That their lives may be prolonged guage of hyperbole, and to answer is my pious prayer. In these bad the question ‘ Will Browning die ? ’ days, when it is thought more educa- by exclaiming, ‘ Y es; when Niagara tionally useful to know the principie stops.’ In him indeed we can of the common pump than Keats’s MR. BROWNING’S POETRY. 95 94 MR. BROIVN/NG’S POETRY. ‘ Discern take up Cardinal Newman’s 'Verses Infinite passion and the pain on Various Occasions,’ or Miss Chris- Of finite hearts that yearn.’ tina Rossetti’s poems, and lay them But love of Mr. Browning’s poetry down without recognising their di­ is no exclusive cult. verse charms. Of Lord Tennyson it is needless to Let us be Catholics in this great speak. Certainly amongst his Peers matter, and burn our candles at manyr there is no such Poet. shrines. In the pleasant realms of Mr. Arnold may have a limited poesy, no liveries are worn, no paths poetical range and a restricted style, prescribed; you may wander where but within that range and in that you will, stop where you like, and style, surely we must exclaim : worship whom you love. Nothing < W henee that completed form of all complete- is demanded of you, save this, that ness ? Whence carne that high perfection of all sweet- in all your wanderings and worships, ness ?’ you keep two objeets steadily in Rossetti’s luscious lines seldom fail view — two, and two only, truth and to cast a spell by which beauty. ‘ In sundry moods ’tis pastime to be bound.’ William Morris has a sunny slope of Parnassus all to himself, and Mr. Swinburne has written some verses over which the world will long love to linger. Dull must he be of soul who can TR UTH-HUNTING. 9 7 ‘ dreadfully painful ’ manner in which Kepler made his celebrated calcula- tions and discoveries ; but our young men of talent fail to see the joke, and TRUTH-HUNTING. take no pleasure in such anecdotes. Truth, they feel, is not to be had It is common knowledge that the from them on any such terms. And distinguishing characteristic of the why should it be ? Is it not notori- day is the zeal displayed by us all in ous that all who are lucky enough to hunting after Truth. A really not supply wants grow rapidly and enor- inconsiderable portion of whatever mously rich ; and is not Truth a now time we are able to spare from mak- recognised want in ten thousand ing or Iosing money or reputation,, homes — wherever, indeed, persons is devoted to this sport, whilst both are to be found wealthy enough to reading and conversation are largely pay Mr. Mudie a guinea and so far impressed into the same Service. literate as to be able to read ? What, Ñor are there wanting those who save the modesty, is there surprising avow themselves anxious to see this, in the demand now made on behalf their favourite pursuit, raised to the of some young people, whose means dignity of a national institution, are incommensurate with their tal­ They would have Truth-hunting es- ents, that they should be allowed, as tablished and endowed. a reward for doling out monthly or Mr. Carlyle has somewhere de- quarterly portions of truth, to live in scribed with great humour the houses rent-free, have their meals for 7 9S TRUTII-HUNTING. TR U 7 H-HUNTING. 99 nothing, and a trifle of money be- just as much as in fox-hunting, long sídes ? Would Bciss consent to sup~ pauses, whilst the covers are being ply us with beer in return for board drawn in search of the game, and and lodging, we of course defraying when thoughts are free to range at the actual cost of his brewery, and will in pursuit of far other objeets aliowing him some £ 3°° a year f°r than those giving their name to the himself ? Who, as he read about sport. If it should chance to any ‘ Sun-spots,’ or ‘ Fresh Facts for Dar- Truth-hunter, during some * lull in win,’ or the ‘ True History of Modesty his hot chase,’ whilst, for example, he or Veracity,’ shovving how it carae is waiting for the second volume of about that these high-sounding vir- an ‘ Analysis of Religión,’ or for the tues are held in their present some- last thing out on the Fourth Gospel, what general esteem, would find it in to take up this book, and open it at his heart to grudge the admirable this page, we should like to press authors their freedom from petty him for an answer to the followins: cares ? question : ‘ Are you sure that it is a But, whether Truth - hunting be good thing for you to spend so much ever established or not, no one can time in speculating about matters doubt that it is a most fashionable outside your daily life and walk ? ’ pastime, and one which is being pur- Curiosity is no doubt an excellent sued with great vigour. quality. In a crític it is especially All hunting is so far alike as to excellent. To want to know all lead one to believe that there must about a thing, and not merely one sometimes occur in Truth-hunting, man’s account or versión of it; to 100 TR U TH-HUN TING. TRUTH-HUNTING. 101 see all round it, or, at any rate, as he was by profession a speculator, far round as is possible ; not to be yet in that significant book, the ‘ Au- lazy or indifferent, or easily put off, tobiography,’ he describes this age or scared avvay — all this is really of Truth-hunters as one ‘ of weak very excellent. Sir Fitz James Ste- convictions, paralyzed intellects, and phen professes great regret that we growing laxity of opinions.’ bave not got Pilate’s account of tlie Is Truth-hunting one of those ac­ events immediately preceding tbe tive mental habits which, as Bishop Crucifixión. He thinks it would Butler telis us, intensify their effects throw great light upon the subject; by constant use ; and are weak con­ and no doubt, if it had occurred to the victions, paralyzed intellects, and lax­ Evangelists to adopt in their narra­ ity of opinions amongst the effects tives the method which long after- of Truth-hunting on the majorityof wards recommended itself to the minds ? These are not unimportant author of ‘ The Ring and the Book,’ qüestions. we should now be in possession of Let us consider briefiy the proba­ a mass of very curious information. ble effects of speculative habits on But, excellent as all this is in the conduct. realm of criticism, the question re- The discussion of a question of mains, How does a restless habit of conduct has the great charm of jus- mind teli upon conduct ? tifying, if indeed not requiring, per­ John Mill was not one from whose sonal illustration ; and this particu­ lips the advice ‘ Stare super antiquas lar question is well illustrated by in- vias’ was often heard to proceed, and stituting a comparison between the 102 TR UTH-HUN TING. TRUTH-HUNTWG. 103 life and character of Charles Lamb the four volumes of his ‘ Life and and those of some of his distinguished Letters ’ as with ‘ Elia.’ friends. But how does he illustrate the par­ Personal illustration, especially ticular question now engaging our at- when it proceeds by way of compa- tention ? rison, is always dangerous, and the Speaking of his sister Mary, who, dangers are doubled when the sub- as everyone knows, throughout ‘ Elia ’ jects illustrated and compared are is called his Cousin Bridget, he says : favourite authors. It behoves us to ‘ It has been the lot of my cousin, proceed warily in this matter. A ‘ oftener, perhaps, than I could have dispute as to the respective ments ‘ wished, to have had for her asso- of Gray and Collins has been known ‘ ciates and mine freethinkers, lead- to resuit in a visit to an attorney and ‘ ers and disciples of novel philoso- the revocation of a will. An avowed ‘ phies and Systems, but she neither inability to see anythingin Miss Aus- ‘ wrangles with nor accepts their ten’s novéis is reported to have proved ‘ opinions.’ destructive of an otherwise good Nor did her brother. He lived his chance of an Indian judgeship. I life cracking his little jokes and read- believe, however, I run no great risk ing his great folios, neither wrangling in asserting that, of all English au­ with nor acceptingthe opinions of the thors, Charles Lamb is the one loved friends he loved to see around him. most warmly and emotionally by his To a contemporary stranger it might admirers, amongst whom I reckon well have appeared as if his life were only those who are as familiar with a frivolous and useless one as com-

104 TRUTH-HUNTING. TR UTH-HUNTING. I05 pared witb those of these philosophers is pleasant. Coleridge is not one of and thinkers. They discussed their them. How gladly we would love the great schemes and affected to probe author of ‘ Christabel ’ if we could ! deep mysteries, and were constantly But the thing is flatly impossible. asking, ‘ What is Truth ? ’ He sipped His was an unlovely character. The his glass, shufiled his cards, and was sentence passed upon him by Mr. content with the humbler inquiry, Matthew Arnold (parenthetically, in ‘ What are Trumps ? ’ But to us, look- one of the ‘ Essays in Criticism’) — ing back upon that little group, and ‘ Coleridge had no morals ’ — is no knowing what we now do about each less just than pitiless. As we gather member of it, no such mistake is pos­ information about him from numerous sible. To us it is plain beyond all quarters, we find it impossible to re- question that, judged by whatever sist the conclusión that he was a man standard of excellence it is possible neglectful of restraint, irresponsive to for any reasonable human being to the claims of those who had every take, Lamb stands head and shoul- claim upon him, willing to receive, ders a better man than any of them. slow to give. No need to stop to compare him with In early manhood Coleridge planned Godwin, or Hazlitt, or Lloyd; let us a Pantisocracy where all the virtues boldly put him in the scales with one were to thrive. Lamb did something whose fame is in all the churches — far more difficult : he played cribbage with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘ logi- every night with his imbecile father, cian, metaphysician, bard.’ whose constant stream of querulous There are some men whom to abuse talk and fault-finding might well have io6 TRUTH-HUNTING. TR UTH-HUNTIRG. 107 goaded a far stronger man into prac- some may think, on which to feed tising and justifying neglect. the virtues ; but, however that may That Lamb, with all his admiration be, the noble fact remains, that he, for Coleridge, was well aware of dan- poor, frail boy ! (for he was no more, gerous tendendes in his character, is when trouble first assailed him) made apparent by many letters, nota- stooped down and, without sigh or bly by one written in 1796, in which sign, took upon his own shoulders he says : the whole burden of a life-long sor­ ‘ O my friend, cultívate the filial ra w. ‘ feelings ! and let no man think him- Coleridge married. Lamb, at the ‘ self released from the kind chari- bidding of duty, remained single, ‘ ties of relationship : these shall give wedding himself to the sad fortunes ‘ him peace at the last; these are the of his father and sister. Shall we ‘ best foundation for every species of pity him ? No ; he had his reward ‘ benevolence. I rejoice to hear that — the surpassing reward that is only (you are reconciled with all your re- within the power of literature to be- ‘ lations.’ stow. It was Lamb, and not Cole­ This surely is as valuable an ‘ aid ridge, who wrote ‘ Dream - Children : to reflection ’ as any supplied by the a Reverie ’ : Highgate seer. ‘ Then. I told how for seven lone o Lamb gave but little thought to ‘ years, m hope sometimos, sometimes the wonderful difference between the ‘ in despair, yet persisting ever, I ‘ reason’ and the ‘ understanding.’ ‘ courted the fair Alice W-----n ; and He preferred old plays — an odd diet. ‘as much as children could under- lo8 7 R UTH-HUNTING. TRU TH-HUNTING. 109 ‘ stand, I explained to them what sophies and Systems ’ ? Bottled moon- ‘ coyness and difficulty and denial shine, which does not improve by ‘ meant in maidens — when, suddenly keeping. ‘ turning to Alice, the soul of the first ‘ Only the actions of the just ‘ Alice looked out at her eyes with Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.’ ‘ such a reality of representment that Were we disposed to admit that ‘ I became in doubt which of them Lamb would in all probability have ‘ stood before me, or whose that been as good a man as everyone ‘ bright hair was ; and while I stood agrees he was — as kind to his father, * gazing, both the children gradually as full of self-sacrifice for the sake of ‘ grew fainter to my view, receding his sister, as loving and ready a friend ‘ and still receding, till nothing at — even though he had paid more ‘ last but two mournful features were heed to current speculations, it is yet ‘ seen in the uttermost distance, which, not without use in a time like this, ‘ without speech, strangely impressed when so much stress is laid upon ‘ upon me the effects of speech. “ We anxious inquiry into the mysteries of ‘ are not of Alice ñor of thee, ñor are soul and body, to point out how this ‘ we children at all. The children of man attained to a moral excellence ‘ Alice call Bartrum father. We are denied to his speculative contempo- ‘ nothing, less than nothing, and raries ; performed duties from which ‘ dreams. We are only what might they, good men as they were, would l have be en!' ' one and all have shrunk; how, in Godwin ! Hazlitt ! Coleridge ! short, he contrived to achieve what Where now are their ‘ novel philo- no one of his friends, not even the n o TRUTH-HUNTING. TRUTH-HUNTING. in immaculate Wordsworth or the pre­ their kindness to dependents, and in cise Southey, achieved — the living their obedience to duty. What caused of a life, the records of which are each of them the most paiu was the inspiriting to read, and are indeed recollection of a past unkindness. ‘ the presence of a good diffused; ’ The poignancy of Dr.- Johnson’s grief and managed to do it all without on one such recollection is historical; either ‘ wrangling with or accepting’ and amongst Lamb’s letters are to the opinions that ‘ hurtled in the air’ be found several in which, with vast about him. depths of feeling, he bitterly upbraids But was there no relation between himself for neglect of oíd friends. his unspeculative habit of mind and Nothing so much tends to blur his honest, unwavering Service of moral distinctions, and to oblitérate duty, whose voice he ever obeyed as plain duties, as the free indulgence the ship the rudder ? It would be of speculative habits. We must all difficult to ñame anyone more unlike know many a sorry scrub who has Lamb, in many aspects of character, fairly talked himself into the belief than Dr. Johnson, for whom he had that nothing but his intellectual dif- (mistakenly) no warm regard; but ficulties prevents him from being they closely resemble one another in another St. Francis. We think we their indifference to mere speculation could suggest a few score of other about things — if things they can be obstacles. called — outside our human walk ; in Would it not be better for most their hearty love of honest earthly people, if, instead of stuffing their life, in their devotion to their friends, heads with controversy, they were to 112 TR UTH-HUNTING. TR UTH-HUNTING. i13 devote their scanty leisure to read- ‘ Person ’ or ‘ Stream of Tendency’ ing books, such as, to name one only, are the apter words to describe God Kaye’s ‘ History of the Sepoy War,’ by ; but a steady supply of honest, which are crammed full of activities plain-sailing men who can be safely and heroisms, and which forcé upon trusted with small sums, and to do the reader’s mind the healthy convic- what in them lies to maintain the tion that, after all, whatever myste- honour of the various professions, ries may appertain to mind and mat- and to restore the credit of English ter, and notwithstanding grave doubts workmanship. We want Lambs, not as to the authenticity of the Fourth Coleridges. The verdict to be striven Gospel, it is bravery, truth and hon- for is not ‘ Well guessed,’ but ‘ Well our, loyalty and hard work, each man done.’ at his post, which make this planet All our remarks are confined to inhabitable ? the realm of opinion. Faith may be In these days of champagne and well left alone, for she is, to give her shoddy, of display of teacups and her due, our largest manufacturer of rotten foundations — especially, too, good works, and whenever her fur­ now that the ‘ nexus ’ of ‘ cash pay- naces are blown out, morality suffers. ment,’ which was to bind man to man But speculation has nothing to do in the bonds of a common pecuniary with faith. The región of specula­ interest, is hopelessly broken — it tion is the región of opinion, and a becomes plain that the real wants of hazy, lazy, delightful región it is; the age are not analyses of religious good to talk in, good to smoke in, belief, nor discussions as to whether peopled with pleasant fancies and 8 114 TR UTH-HUNTING. TR UTH-HUNTING. 115 charming ideas, strange analogies us so little affected in our own minds and killing jests. How quickly the by those of men for whose characters time passes there ! how well it seems and intellects we may have great ad- spent! The Philistines are all out- miration. A sturdy Nonconformist side ; everyone is reasonable and tol­ minister, who thinks Mr. Gladstone erant, and good-tempered ; you think the ablest and most honest man, as and scheme and talk, and look at well as the ripest scholar within the everything in a hundred ways and three kingdoms, is no whit shaken in from all possible points of view ; and his Nonconformity by knowing that it is not till the company breaks up his idol has written in defence of the and the lights are blown out, and you Apostolical Succession, and believes are left alone with silence, that the in special sacramental graces. Mr. doubt occurs to you, What is the Gladstone may have been a great good of it all ? student of Church history, whilst Where is the actuary who can Nonconformist reading under that appraise the valué of a man’s opi­ head usually begins with Luther’s nions ? * When we speak of a man’s Theses — but what of that ? Is it ‘ opinions,’ says Dr. Newman, ‘ what not all explained by the fact that Mr. ‘ do we mean but the collection of Gladstone was at Oxford in 1831 ? ‘notions he happens to have ? ’ Hap- So at least the Nonconformist minis­ pens to have ! How did he come by ter will think. them ? It is the knowledge we all The admission frankly made, that possess of the sorts of ways in which these remarks are confined to the men get their opinions that makes realms of opinion, prevents me from Ii6 TRUTH-HUNTING. TR UTH-HUNTING. 117 urging on everyone my prescription, must be allowed to iterate and re­ but, with the two exceptions to be iterate, and to proclaim that in them immediately named, I believe it would is to be found the secret of all this be found generally useful. It may (otherwise) unintelligible world. be made up thus : ‘ As much reti- The second exception is of those ‘cence as is consistent with good- who pursue Truth as by a divine ‘ breeding upon, and a wisely tem- compulsión, and who can be likened ‘ pered indifference to, the various only to the nympholepts of old; ‘ speculative qüestions now agitated those unfortunates who, whilst care- ‘ in our midst.’ lessly strolling amidst sylvan shades, This prescription would be found caught a hasty glimpse of the flowing to liberate the mind from all kinds robes or even of the gracious coun- of cloudy vapours which obscure the tenance of some spiritual inmate of mental visión and conceal from men the woods, in whose pursuit their their real position, and would also whole lives were ever afterwards set free a great deal of time which fruitlessly spent. might be profitably spent in quite The nympholepts of Truth are other directions. profoundly interesting figures in the The first of the two exceptions I world’s history, but their lives are have alluded to is of those who melancholy reading, and seldom fail possess — whether honestly come by to raise a crop of gloomy thoughts. or not we cannot stop to inquire — Their finely touched spirits are not strong convictions upon these very indeed liable to succumb to the ordi- qüestions. These convictions they nary temptations of life, and they Ii8 TR U TH-HUN TING. TR UTH-HUNTING. 519 thus escape the evils which usually unwavering, constant ; harassed by follow in the wake of speculation; distressing doubts, he carries them but what is their labour’s rewarcl ? all, in the devotion of his faith, the Readers of Dr. Newman will re- warmth of his heart, and the purity member, and will thank me for re- of his life, to the throne where Truth calling it to mind, an exquisite pas- sits in state ; living, he telis us, in sage, too long to be quoted, in which, retirement, and spending great por- speaking as a Catholic to his late tions of every day on his knees ; and Anglican associates, he reminds them yet — we ask the question with all how he once participated in their reverence — what did Dr. Newman pleasures and shared their bopes, and get in exchange for his prayers ? thus concludes : ‘ I think it impossible to withstand ‘ When, too, shall I not feel the * the evidence which is brought for ‘ soothing recollection of those dear ‘ the liquefaction of the blood of St. * years which I spent in retirement, ‘ Januarius at Naples, or for the mo- ‘ in preparation for my deliverance ‘ tion of the eyes of the pictures of ‘ from Egypt, asking for light, and ‘ the Madonna in the Roman States. ‘ by degrees getting it, with less of ‘ I see no reason to doubt the ma- ‘ temptation in my heart and sin on ‘ terial of the Lombard Cross at ‘ my conscience than ever before ? ’ ‘ Monza, and I do not see why the But the passage is sad as well as ‘ Holy Coat at Trèves may not have exquisite, showing to us, as it does, ‘been what it professes to be. I one who from his earliest days has 1 firmly believe that portions of the rejoiced in a faith in God, intense, ‘True Cross are at Rome and else- 120 TR U TH-HUN T/NG. TR UTH-HUNTING. 121 ‘ where, that the Crib of Bethlehem Oh, Spirit of Truth, where wert ‘ is at Rome, and the bodies of St. thou, when the remorseless deep of ‘ Peter and St. Paul; also I firmly superstition closed over the head of ‘ believe that the relies of the Saints John Henry Newman, who surely de- ‘ are doing innumerable miracles and served to be thy best-loved son ? ‘ graces daily. I firmly believe that But this is a digression. With * before now Saints ’nave raised the the nympholepts of Truth we have ‘ dead to life, crossed the seas without nought to do. They must be allowed ‘ vessels, multiplied grain and bread, to pursue their lonely and devious ‘ cured incurable diseases, and stopped paths, and though the records of ‘ the operations of the laws of the their wanderings, their conflicting ‘ universe ina multitude of ways.’ conclusions, and their widely-parted So writes Dr. Nevvman, with that resting-places may fill us with de- candour, that love of putting the case spair, still they are witnesses whose most strongly against himself, which testimony we could ill afford to lose. is only one of the lovely characteris- But there are not many nympho­ tics of the man whose long life has lepts. The symptoms of the great been a miracle of beauty and grace, majority of our modern Truth-hun- and who has contrived to instil into his ters are very different, as they will, very controvèrsies more of the spirit with their frank candour, be t-he first of Christ than most men can find to admit. They are free ‘ to drop room for in their prayers. But the their swords and daggers ’ whenever dilemma is an awkward one. Does so commanded, and it is high time the Madonna wink, or is Heaven they did. deaf ? 122 TRUTH-HUNTING. With these two exceptions I think my prescription vvill be found of gen­ eral utility, and likely to promote a healthy flow of good works. I had intended to say something ACTORS. as to the effect of speculative habits upon the intellect, but cannot now M ost people, I suppose, at one time do so. The following shrewd remark or another in their lives, have felt the of Mr. Latham’s in his interesting charm of an actor’s life, as they were book on the ‘Aetion of Examinations ’ free to fancy it, well-nigh irresistible. may, however, be quoted ; its bear- What is it to be a great actor ? I ing will be at once seen, and its say a great actor, because (I am sure) truth recognised by many : no amateur ever fancied himself a ‘ A man who has been thus pro- small one. Is it not always to have ‘ vided with views and acute obser- the best parts in the best plays; to ‘ vations may have destroyed in him- be the central figure of every group ; ‘ self the germs of that power which to feel that attention is arrested the ‘ he simulates. He might have had moment you come on the stage ; and ‘ a thought or two now and then if (more exquisite satisfaction stili) to ‘ he had been let alone, but if he is be aware that it is relaxed when you ‘ made first to aim at a standard of go off; to have silence secured for ‘thought abo ve his years, and then your smallest utterances ; to know ‘ finds he can get the sort of thoughts that the highest dramatic talent has ‘ he wants without thinking, he is in been exercised to invent situations ‘ a fair way to be spoiled.’ 124 ACTORS. ACTORS. 125 for the very purpose of giving effect spared, and who may consider him- to your words and dignity to your self well paid with a pound a week. actions; to quell all opposition by His utterances procure no silence. the majesty of your bearing or the He has to pronounce them as best brilliancy of your w it; and finally, he may, whilst the gallery sucks its either to triumph over disaster, or if orange, the pit pares its nails, the you be cast in tragedy, happier stili, boxes babble, and the stalls yawn. to die upon the stage, supremely Amidst these pleasant distractions pitied and honestly mourned for at he is lucky if he is heard at all; and least a minute ? And tlien, from perhaps the best thing that can be­ first to last, applause loud and long fad him is for somebody to think — not postponed, not even delayed, him worth the trouble of a hiss. As but following immediately after. For for applause, it may chance with such a piece of diseased egotism — that is, men, if they live long enough, as it for a man — what a lot is this ! has to the great ones who have pre­ How pointed, how poignant the ceded them, in their old age, contrast between a hero on the ‘ When they are frozen up vvithin, and quite boards and a hero in the streets! The phantom of themselves, In the world’s theatre the man who To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blamed the living man.’ is really playing the leading part— did we but know it — is too often, in The great actor may sink to sleep, the general estimate, accounted but soothed by the memory of the tears one of the supernumeraries, a figure or laughter he has evoked, and wake in dingy attire, who might well be to find the day far advanced, whose ACTORS. 127 126 ACTORS. guished man of letters, who years cióse is to witness the repetition of ago was wisely selfish enough to rob his triumph ; but the great man will the stage of a jewel and set it in his lie tossing and turning as he reflects own crown, has addressed to his wife on the seemingly unequal war he is some radiant lines which are often waging with stupidity and prejudice, and be tempted to exclaim, as Milton on my lips : 1 Beloved, whose life is with mine own entwined, telis us he was, with the sad prophet In whom, whilst yet thou wert my dream, I Jeremy: ‘ Woe is me, my mother, viewed, Warm with the life of breathing womanhood, ‘that thou hast borne me, a man of What Shakespeare’s visionary eye divined — Pure Imogen ; high-hearted Rosalind, ‘ strife and contention ! ’ Kindling with sunshine the dusk greenwood ; The upshot of all this is, that it is Or changing with the poet’s changing mood, a pleasanter thing to represent great- Juliet, or Constance of the queenly mind.’ ness than to be great. But a truce to these compliments. But the actor’s calling is not only ‘ I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.’ pleasant in itself— it gives pleasure It is idle to shirk disagreeable to others. In this respect, how fa- qüestions, and the one I have to ask vourably it contrasts with the three is this, ‘ Has the world been wrong learned professions ! in regarding with disfavour and lack Few pleasures are greater than of esteem the great profession of the to witness some favourite character, stage ? ’ vvhich hitherto has been but vaguely That the world, ancient and mod­ bodied forth by our sluggish imagi- ern, has despised the actor’s profes­ nations, invested with all the graces sion cannot be denied. An affecting of living man or woman. A distin- 128 ACTORS. ACTORS. 129 story I read many years ago — in that which, oddly enough, is the only elegant and entertaining work, Lem- specimen of his dramatic art that prière’s ‘ Classical Dictionary’— well has come down to us. It contains illustrates the feeling of the Roman lines which, though they do not world. Julius Decimus Laberius was seem to have made Csesar, who sat a Roman knight and dramatic au- smirking in the stalls, blush for him- thor, famous for his mimes, who had self, make us, 1,900 years afterwards, the misfortune to irritate a greater blush for Csesar. The only lines, Julius, the author of the ‘ Commen- however, now relevant are, being in- taries,’ when the latter was at the terpreted, as follow: height of his power. Cresar, casting ‘ After having lived sixty years about how best he might humble his ‘ with honour, I left my home this adversary, could think of nothing bet- ‘ morning a Roman knight, but I ter than to condemn him to take a ‘ shall return to it this evening an leading part in one of his own plays. ‘ infamous stage - player. Alas ! I Laberius entreated in vain. Csesar ‘ have lived a day too long.’ was obdurate, and had his way. La­ Turning to the modern world, berius played his part — how, Lem- and to England, we find it here the prière sayeth not; but he also took popular belief that actors are by his revenge, after the most effectual statute rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy of all fashions, the literary. He com- beggars. This, it is true, is founded posed and delivered a prologue of on a misapprehension of the effect considerable power, in which he re­ of 39 Eliz. chap. 4, which only pro­ cords the act of spiteful tyranny, and vides that common players wander- 9 I30 ACTORS. ACTORS. 131 ing abroad without authority to play, of the town. This in itself must go shall be taken to be ‘ rogues and far to rob life of dignity. A Mil- vagabonds; ’ a distinction vvhich one ton may remain majestically indiffer- would have thought was capable of ent to the ‘ barbarous noise ’ of ‘ owls being perceived even by the blunted and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs,’ faculties of the lay mind.* but the actor can Steel himself to no But the fact that the popular be- such fortitude. He can lodge no ap- lief rests upon a misreading of an Act peal to posterity. The owls must of Parliament three hundred years hoot, the cuckoos cry, the apes yell, old does not affect the belief, but only and the dogs bark on his side, or he makes it exquisitely English, and as is undone. This is of course inevi­ a consequence entirely irrational. table, but it is an unfortunate condi- Is there anything to be said in sup- tion of an artist’s life. port of this once popular prejudice ? Again, no record of his art sur- It may, I think, be supported by vives to teli his tale or account for two kinds of argument. One de- his fame. When old gentlemen wax rived from the nature of the case, garrulous over actors dead and gone, the other from the testimony of ac­ young gentlemen grow somnolent. tors themselves. Chippendale the cabinet - maker is A serious objection to an actor’s more potent than Garrick the actor. calling is that from its nature it ad- The vivacity of the latter no longer mits of no other test of failure or suc- charras (save in Boswell); the chairs cess than the contemporary opinion of the former stili render rest impos­ * See note at end of Kssay. sible in a hundred homes. 132 ACTORS. ACTORS. 133 This, perhaps, is why no man of man should be slo\v to adopt as the lofty genius or character has ever profession of a life. condescended to remain an actor. I believe — for we should give the His lot pressed heavily even on so vvorld. as well as the devil its due — mercurial a trifler as David Garrick, that it is to a feeling, a settled per­ who has given utterance to the feel- suasión of this sort, lying deeper than ing in lines as good perhaps as any the surface brutalities and snobbish- ever written by a successful player : nesses visible to all, that we must ‘ The painter’s dead, yet stili he charms the eye, attribute the contempt, seemingly so While England lives his fame shall never die ; cruel and so ungrateful, the world has But he who struts his hour upon the stage Can scarce protract his fame thro’ half an age ; visited upon actors. Nor pen nor pencil can the actor save — Both art and artist have one common grave.’ I am no great admirer of beards, be they never so luxurious or glossy, But the case must be carried far- yet I own I cannot regard off the ther than this, for the mere fact that stage the closely shaven face of an a particular pursuit does not hold out actor without a feeling of pity, not any peculiar attractions for soaring akin to love. Here, so I cannot help spirits will not justify us in calling saying to myself, is a man who has that pursuit bad ñames. I therefore adopted a profession whose very first proceed to say that the very act of demand upon him is that he should acting, i. e., the art of mimicry, or destroy his own identity. It is not the representation of feigned emo- what you are, or what by study you tions called up by sham situations, is, may become, but how few obstacles in itself, an occupation an educated you present to the getting of your- ACTORS. 134 ACTORS. *35 self up as somebody else, that settles (and this is the whole story), ‘ well, the question of your fitness for the Tom, and what art thou to-night?’ stage. Smoothness of face, mobility ‘ What art thou to-night ? ’ It may of feature, compass of voice— these sound rather like a tract, but it will, things, but the toys of other trades, I think, be found difficult to find an are the tools of this one. answer to the question consistent Boswellites will remember the with any true view of human dignity. name of Tom Davies as one of Our last argument derived from freqüent occurrence in the great the nature of the case is, that delibe- biography. Tom was an actor of rately to set yourself as the occupa- some repute, and (so it was said) tion of your life to amuse the adult read ‘ Paradise Lost ’ better than any and to astonish, or even to terrify, man in England. One evening, the infant population of your native when Johnson was lounging behind land, is to degrade yourself. the scenes at Drury (it was, I hope, Three-fourths of the acted drama before his pious resolution to go is, and always must be, comedy, there no more), Davies made his farce, and burlesque. We are bored appearance on his way to the stage to death by the huge inanities of in all the majesty and millinery of life. We observe with horror that his part. The situation is picturesque. our interest in our dinner becomes The great and dingy Reality of the lànguid. We consuit our doctor, eighteenth century, the Immortal, who simulates an interest in our and the bedizened little player. stale symptoms, and after a little ‘ Well, Tom,’ said the great man talk about Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet, and 136 ACTORS. ACTORS. 137 Di. Merriman, prescribes Toole. If the sacrifice beyond what is demand- we are very innocent we may inquire ed of saints. And if you succeed, what riight we are to go, but if we do what is your reward ? Read the we are at once told that it doesn’t in lives of comedians, and closing them, the least matter when we go, for it is you will see what good reason an ac­ always equally funny. Poor Toole ! tor has for exclaiming with the old- to be made up every night as a safe world poet: prescription for the blues ! To make ‘ Odi profanum vulgus ! people laugh is not necessarily a crime, but to adopt as your trade the We now turn to the testimony of making people laugh by delivering actors themselves. for a hundred nights together an- Shakespeare is, of course, my first other man’s jokes, in a costume the witness. There is surely significance author of the jokes would blush to in this. ‘ Others abide our question,’ be seen in, seems to me a somewhat begins Arnold’s fine sonnet on Shake­ unwortby proceeding on the part of speare — ‘ others abide our question ; a man of character and talent. thou art free.’ The little we know To amuse the British públic is a about our greatest poet has become a taslc of herculean difficulty and dan- commonplace. It is a striking tribute ger, for the blatant monster is, at to the endless loquacity of man, and times, as whimsical and coy as a a proof how that great creature is not maiden, and if it once makes up its to be deprived of his talk. that he has mind not to be amused, nothing will managed to write quite as much about shake it. The labour is enormous, there being nothing to write about as a c t o r s 138 . ACTORS. 139 he could have written about Shake- Thence comes it that my ñame receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued speare, if the author of Hamlet had 3 o what it works on, like the dyer’s hand. been as great an egoist as Rousseau. Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed.’ The fact, however, remains that he It is not much short of three cen­ who has told us most about ourselves, turies since those Unes were written, whose genius has made the whole but they seem still to bubble with a civilized world k"in, has told us no- scorn which may indeed be called thing about himself, except that he immortal. hated and despísed the stage. To ‘ Sold cheap what is most dear.’ say that he has told us this is not, I There, compressed in half a line, is think, any exaggeration. I have, of the whole case against an actor’s call- course, in mind the often quoted Unes ing. to be found in that sweet treasury But it may be said Shakespeare of melodious verse and deep feeling, was but a poor actor. He could the ‘ Sonnets of Shakespeare.’ The write Hamlet and As Yon Like It; noth begins thus : but when it carne to casting the 1 Alas ! ’tís true I have gone here and there, parts, the Ghost in the one and oíd And made myself a motley to the view, _ Gor’d my own thoughts, sold cheap what ís most Adam in the other were the best he dear, could aspire to. Verbose biographers Made oíd offences of affections new. of Shakespeare, in their dire extre- And the in th : mity, and naturally desirous of writ- 1 o for my sal

U 142 ACTORS. ACTORS. 143 thur of the stage. You will find crowded theatres, beautiful women, there, I am sorry to say, all the ac­ royal audiences; and on the other tor’s faults — if faults they can be side, a rusty gown, a musty wig, a called which seem rather hard neces- fusty court, a deaf judge, an indiffer- sities, the discolouring of the dyer’s ent jury, a dispute about a bill of lad- hand; greedy hungering after ap­ ing, and ten guineas on your brief — plause, endless egotism, grudging which you have not been paid, and praise — all are there ; not perhaps which you can’t recover — why, ‘ ’tis in the tropical luxuriance they have Hyperion to a satyr! ’ attained elsewhere, but plain enough. Again, we find Mrs. Siddons writ- But do we not also find, deeply en- ing of her sister’s marriage : grained and constant, a sense of de­ ‘ I have lost one of the sweetest gradaron, a longing to escape from ‘ companions in the world. She has the stage for ever ? ‘ married a respectable man, though He did not like his children to ‘ of small fortune. I thank God she come and see him act, and was al- ‘ is off the stage.’ What is this but vvays regretting — heaven help him ! to say, (Better the most humdrum of — that he wasn’t a barrister-at-law. ' existences with the most “ respect- Look upon this picture and on that. ' able of men,” than to be upon the Here we have Macbeth, that mighty -stage ’ ? thane ; Hamlet, the intellectual Sym­ The volunteered testimony of ac­ bol of the whole world of modern tors is both large in bulk and valu- thought; Strafford, in Robert Brown- able in quality, and it is all on my ing’s fine play ; splendid dresses, side. 144 ACTORS. ACTORS. »45 Their involuntary testimony I pass this body of involuntary testimony over lightly. Far be from me the dis- on which I must be allowed to rely, gusting and ungenerous task of rak- for it may be referred to without of- ing up a heap of the weaknesses, va­ fen ce. nities, and miserablenesses of actors Our dramatic literature is our and actresses dead and gone. After greatest literature. It is the best life’s fitful fever they sleep (I trust) thing we have done. Dante may well ; and in common candour, it over-top Milton, but Shakespeare ought never to be forgotten that surpasses both. He is our finest whilst it has always been the fash- achievement; his plays our noblest ion — until one memorable day Mr. possession ; the things in the world Froude ran amuck of it — for biog- most worth thinking about. To live raphers to shroud their biographees daily in his company, to study his (the American Minister must bear works with minute and loving care the brunt of this word on his broad — in no spirit of pedantry searching shoulders) in a crape veil of respect- for double endings, but in order to ability, the records of the stage have discover their secret, and to make been written in another spirit. We the spoken word teli upon the hearts always know the worst of an actor, of man and woman — this might have seldom his best. David Garrick was been expected to produce great intel- a better man than Lord Eldon, and lectual if not moral results. Macready was at least as good as The most magnificent compliment Dickens. ever paid by man to woman is un- There is however, one portion of doubtedly Steele’s to the Lady Eliza- IO 146 ACTORS. ACTORS. M7 beth Hastings. ‘ To love her,’ wrote It is a strange fatality, but a proof he, ‘ is a liberal education.’ As of the inherent pettiness of the actor’s much might surely be said of Shake­ art, that though it places its votary speare. in the very midst of literary and But what are the facts — the ugly, artistic influences, and of necessity hateful facts ? Despite this great informs him of the best and worthiest, advantage — this close familiarity he is yet, so far as his own culture is vvith the noblest and best in our concerned, left out in the cold — art’s literature— the taste of actors, their slave, not her child. critical judgment, always has been What have the devotees of the and still is, if not beneath contempt, drama taught us ? Nothing ! it is we at all events far below the average who have taught them. We go first, intelligence of their day. By taste, I and they come lumbering after. It do not mean taste in flounces and in was not from the stage the voice aróse furbelows, tunics and stockings; but bidding us recognise the supremacy in the vveightier matters of the truly of Shakespeare’s genius. Actors sublime and the essentially ridiculous. first ignored him, then hideously Salvini’s Macbeth is undoubtedly a mutilated him ; and though now oc- fine performance ; and yet that great casionally compelled, out of deference actor, as the result of his study, has to the taste of the day, to forego their placed it on record that he thinks green-room traditions, to forswear the sleep-walking scene ought to be their Tate and Brady emendations, in assigned to Macbeth instead of to their heart of hearts they love him his wife. Shades of Shakespeare and not; and it is with a light step and a Siddons, what think you of that ? 148 AC TOAS. ACTORS. M9 smiling face that our great living Garrick was proud past ali endurance tragedian flings aside Hamlet’s tunic of his Beverley in the Garnester, and or Shylock’s gaberdine to revel in one can easily see why. Until people the melodramàtic glories of The Bells saw Garrick’s Beverley, they didn’t and The Corsiccin Brothers. think there was anything in the Our gratitude is due in this great Garnester; nor was there, except what matter to men of letters, not to Garrick put there. This is called actors. If it be asked, * What have creating a part, and he is the greatest actors to do with literature and actor who creates most parts. criticism?’ I answer, ‘ Nothing;’ and But genius in the author of the add, ‘ That is my case.’ play is a terrible obstacle in the way But the notorious bad taste of of an actor who aspires to identify actors is not entirely due to their himself once and for all with the living outside Literature, with its leading part in it. Mr. Irving may words for ever upon their lips, but act Hamlet well or ill — and, for my none of its truths engraven on their part, I think he acts it exceedingly hearts. It may partly be accounted well — but behind Mr. Irving’s Ham­ for by the fact that for the purposes let, as behind everybody else’s Ham­ of an ambitious actor bad plays are let, there looms a greater Hamlet the best. than them all — Shakespeare’s Ham­ In reading actors’ lives, nothing let, the real Hamlet. strikes you more than their delight But Mr. Irving’s Mathias is quite in making a hit in sorae part nobody another kettle of fish, all of Mr. Ir- ever thought anything of before ving’s own catching. Who ever, on 15° ACTORS. ACTORS. 151 Ieaving the Lyceum, after seeing The life or honour are too great for a Bells, was heard to exclaim, ‘ It is all woman to run. It is only when the mighty fine ; but that is not my idea latter, tired of the shams of life, of Mathias ’ ? Do not we all feel that would pursue the realities, that we without Mr. Irving there could be no become alive to the fact — hitherto, Mathias ? I suppose, studiously concealed from We best like doing vvhat we do us — how frail and feeble a creature best : and an actor is not to be she is. blamed for preferring the task of Lastly, it must not be forgotten making much of a very little to that that we are discussing a question of of making little of a great deal. casuistry, one which is ‘ stuff 0’ the As for actresses, it surely would be conscience,’ and where consequently the height of ungenerosity to blame words are all important. a woman for following the only regu­ Is an actor’s calling an eminently lar profession commanding fame and worthy one? — that is the question. fortune the kind consideration of It may be lawful, useful, delightful; man has left open to her. For two but is it worthy ? centuries women have been free to An actor’s life is an artist’s life. follow this profession, onerous and No artist, however eminent, has more exacting though it be, and by doing than one life, or does anything worth so have won the rapturous applause doing in that life, unless he is pre- of generations of men, who are all pared to spend it royally in the Ser­ ready enough to believe that where vice of his art, caring for nought else. their pleasure is involved, no risks of Is an actor’s art worth the price ? I answer, No ! £52 ACTORS. ACTORS. 153 ‘stript naked from the middle, and be openly VAGABONDS AND PLAYERS. ‘ whipped until his or her body be bloody, or may ‘ be sent to the Plouse of Correction.’ 17 Geo. II. The Statute Law oij tliis subject is not without c. 5 repeals a previous statute of the same king interest. Stated shortly it stands thus : By 59 which had repealed the statute of Anne, and pro­ Eliz. c. 4, it was enacted, ‘That all persons call- vides that 1 all common players of Interludes and ‘ ing themselves Schollers going abroad begging 1 all persons who shall for Hire, Gain, or Reward ‘... all idle persons using any subtile craft or :act, represent, or perform any Interlude, Tra- ‘fayning themselves to liave knowledge in Phisi- 1 gedy, Comedy, Opera, Play, Farce, or other En- * ognomye, Palmestr}', or other like crafty Science ; ' tertainment of the Stage, not being authorized ‘ or pretending that they can tcll Destymeyes, ‘ by law, shall be deemed Rogues and Vagabonds ‘ Fortunes, or such other like fantasticall Ymagy- ‘ within the true meaning of the Act.’ The pun- ‘ naéons ; all Fencers, Bearvvards, commou playas ishment was to be ‘ publicly whipt,’ or to be sent ‘ of Interludes and Minstrels wandering abroad to the House of Correction. This Act has been ‘ (other than players of Interludes belcnging to repealed, and the law is regulated by 5 Geo. IV. ‘any Barón of this realtn, or any honourable per- c. 83, which makes no mention of actors, who ‘ sonage of greater degree to be auctorised to are therefore now wholly quit of this odious im- ‘ play under the hand and seale of Arms of such putation. ‘Barón or Personage) ; all Juglers, Tinkers, ‘ Pedlars, and Petty Chapmen wandering abroad ‘. . . shall be taken, adjudged, and deemed * Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars, and ‘ shall sustain such payne and punyshment as by * this Act is in that behalf appointed.’ Such ‘ payne and punyshment’ was as follows: ‘ To be stripped naked from the middle up- ‘wards, and shall be openly whipped until his or ‘ her body be bloudye, and shall be forthwith sent ‘ from parish to parish bv the officers of every ‘ the same the next streghte way to the parish ‘ where he was borne. After which whipping ‘the same person shall have a Testimonyall tes- ‘ tifying that he has been punyshed according to ‘ law.’ This statute was repealed by 13 Anne c. 26, which, however, includes within its new scope ‘ common players of Interludes,’ and ñames no ex- ceptions. The whipping continues, but there is an alternative in the House of Correction : ‘ to be A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. 155 the Tempter, ‘ that these renowned ‘ authors lack knowledge. Their ‘ habit of giving an occasional refer- ‘ ence (though the verification of ‘ these is usually left to the malig- A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. ‘ nancy of a rival and less popular ‘ historian) argues at least some read- O ne is often tempted of the Devil to forswear the study of history alto- ‘ ing. No ; what is wanting is igno- gether as the pursuit of the Unknow- ‘ ranee, carefully acquired and studi- able. ‘ How is it possible,’ he whis- ‘ ously maintained. This is no para- pers in our ear, as we stand gloomily ‘ dox. To carry the truisms, theories, regarding the portly calf-bound vol- Taws, language of to-day, along with umes without which no gentleman’s ‘ you in your historical pursuits, is to library is complete, ‘ how is it possi- ‘ turn the muse of history upside ‘ down — a most disrespectful pro- ‘ ble to suppose that you have there, ‘ on your shelves — the actual facts of ‘ ceeding — and yet to ignore them — ‘ history — a true record of what men, ‘ to forget all about them — to hang ‘dead long ago, felt and thought?’ ‘ them up with your hat and coat ‘ in the hall, to remain there whilst Yet, if we have not, I for one, though ‘ you sit in the library composing of a literary turn, would sooner spend myleisure playing skittles with boors ‘ your immortal work, which is so than in reading sonorous lies in stout ‘ happily to combine all that is best volumes. ‘in Gibbon and Macaulay — a sneer- ‘ less Gibbon and an impartial Ma- ‘ It is not so much,’ wilily insinuates 156 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 157 ‘ caulay — is a task which, if it be not ‘ will be so good as to proceed to find ‘ impossible is, at all events, of huge ‘ the present valué of history ! ’ ‘ difficulty. Thus far the Enemy of Mankind : ‘ Another blemish in English his- An admirable lady orator is re- ‘ torical work has been noticed by the ported lately to have ‘ brought down ’ ‘ Rev. Charles Kingsley, and may Exeter Hall by observing, ‘ in a low ‘ therefore be referred to by me with- but penetrating voice,’ that the Devil ‘ out offence. Your standard histo- was a very stupid person. It is true ‘ rians, having no unnatural regard for that Ben Jonson is on the side of ‘ their most indefatigable readers, the the lady, but I am far too òrthodox ‘ wives and daughters of England, to entertain any such opinión ; and ‘ feel it incumbent upon them to pass though I have, in this instance of ‘ over, as unfit for dainty ears and history, so far resisted him as to have ‘ dulcet tones, facts, and rumours of refrained from sending my standard ‘ facts, which none the less often de- historians to the auction mart — ‘ termined events by stirring the where, indeed, with the almost single ‘ strong feelings of your ancestors, exception of Mr. Grote’s History of ‘ whose conduct, unless explained by Greece (the octavo edition in twelve ‘ this light, must remain enigmatical. volumes), prices rule so low as to ‘ When, to these anachronisms of make cartage a consideration — I ‘ thought and omissions of fact, you have still of late found myself turn- ‘ have added the dishonesty of the ing off the turnpike of history to ‘partisan historian and the false loiter down the primrose paths of ‘glamour of the picturesque one, you men’s memoirs of themselves and their times. 158 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 159 Here at least, so we argue, we are the nape of his ñecle, and long after- comparatively safe. Anachronisms wards records the fact, almost with of thought are impossible ; omissions reverence, in his life’s story. Can out of regare! for female posterity un- anything be more revolting than some likely, and as for party spirit, if found, portions of the revelation Benjamín it forms part of what lawyers cali the Franklin was pleased to make of res gestez, and has therefore a valué himself in writing ? And what about of its own. Against the perils of the Rousseau? Yet, when we have picturesque, who will insure us ? pleaded guilty for these men, a But when we have said all this, modern Savonarola, who liad per- and, sick of prosing, would begin read- suaded us to make a bonfire of their ing, the number of really readable works, would do well to keep a sharp memoirs is soon found to be but few. look-out, lest at the last moment we This is, indeed, unfortunate; for it should be found substituting ‘ Pear- launches us off on another prose- son on the Creed ’ for Pepys, Cole- journey by provoking the question, ridge’s ‘ Friend’ for Cellini, John Pos- What makes memoirs interesting ? ter’s Essays for Franklin, and Roget’s Is it necessary that they should Bridgewater Treatise for Rousseau. be the record of a noble character ? Neither will it do to suppose that Certainly not. We remember Pepys, the interest of a memoir depends on who — well, never mind what he does. its writer having been concerned in We cali to mind Cellini; he runs be- great affairs, or lived in stirring times. hind a fellow-creature, and with ‘ ad­ The dullest memoirs written even in mirable address ’ sticks a dagger in English, and not excepting those l6o A ROCUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 161 maimed records of life known as ‘ re- How then does a man — be he good ligious biography,’ are the work of or bad— big or little — a philosopher men of the ‘ attaché ’ order, who, hav- or a fribble— St. Paul or Horace ing been mixed up in events which Walpole — make his memoirs inter- the newspapers of the day chronicled esting ? as ‘ Important Intelligence,’ were not To say that the one thing needful unnaturally led to cherish the belief is individuality, is not quite enough. that people would like to have from To be an individual is the inevitable, their pens full, true and particular and in most cases the unenviable, lot accounts of all that then happened, of every child of Adam. Each one or, as they, if moderns, would pro- of us has, like a tin soldier, a stand bably prefer to say, transpired. But of his own. To have an individuality the World, whatever an over - bold is no sort of distinction, but to be Exeter Hali may say of her old asso­ able to make it felt in writing is not ciate the Devii, is not a stupid person, only distinction but under favouring and declines to be taken in twice; and circumstances immortality. turning a deaf ear to the most pains- Have we not all some correspon- taking and trustvvorthy accounts of dents, though probably but few, from deceased Cabinets and silenced Con- whom we never receive a letter with- ferences, goes journeying along her out feeling sure that we shall find in­ broad way, chuckling over some old side the envelope something written joke in Boswell, and reading with that will make us either glow with fresh delight the all - about - nothing the warmth or shiver with the cold letters of Cowper and Lamb. of our correspondent’s life ? But. I62 A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. 163

Iiow many other people are to be What a liar was Benvenuto Cellini! found, good, honest people too, who — who can believe a word he says ? no sooner take pen in hand than they To hang a dog on his oath would be stamp unreality on every word they a judicial murder. Yet when we write. It is a hard fate, but they can- lay down his Memoirs and let our not escape it. They may be as literal thoughts travel back to those far-off as the late Earl Stanhope, as pains- days he telis us of, there we see him taking as Bishop Stubbs, as much standing, in bold relief, against the in earnest as the Prime Minister — black sky of the past, the very man their lives may be noble, their aims he was. Not more surely did he, high, but no sooner do they seek to with that rare skill of his, stamp the narrate to us their story, than we find image of Clement VII. on the papal it is not to be. To hearken to them currency than he did the impress of is past praying for. We turn from his own singular personality upon them as from a guest who has out- every word he spoke and every sen- stayed his welcome. Their writing tence he wrote. wearies, irritates, disgusts. We ought, of course, to liate him, Here then, at last, we have the but do we ? A murderer he has two classes of memoir writers — those written himself down. A liar he who manage to make themselves felt, stands self-convicted of being. Were and those who do not. Of the latter, anyone in the nether world bold a very little is a great deal too much enough to cali him thief, it may — of the former we can ne ver have be doubted whether Rhadamanthus enough. would award him the damages for i 64 A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. 165 which we may be certain he would to have brought posthumous justice loudly clamour. Why do we not hate upon him, and made them a literary him ? Listen to him : gibbet, on which he should swing, a ‘ Upon my uttering these words, creaking horror, for all time; but ‘ there was a general outcry, the nothing of the sort has happened. ‘ noblemen affirming that I promised The rascal is so symmetrical, and ‘ too much. But one of them, who his physiognomy, as it gleams upon ‘ was a great philosopher, said in us through the centuries, so happy, ‘ my favour, “ From the admirable that we cannot withhold our ducats, ‘ symmetry of shape and happy though we may accompany the gift ‘ physiognomy of this young man, I with a shower of abuse. ‘ venture to engage that he will per- This only proves the profundity of ‘ form all he promises, and more.” an observation made by Mr. Bagehot ‘ The Pope replied, “ I am of the — a man who carried away into the ‘ same opinión; ” then calling Trajano, next world more originality of tbought ‘ his gentleman of the bed-chamber, than is now to be found in the Three ‘ he ordered him to fetch me five Estates of the Realm. Whilst re- ‘ hundred ducats.’ marking upon the extraordinary rep- And so it always ended ; suspicions, utation of the late Francis Horner aroused most reasonably, allayed and the trifling cost he was put to in most unreasonably, and then— duc­ supporting it, Mr. Bagehot said that ats. He deserved hanging, but he it proved the advantage of ‘ keeping died in his bed. He wrote his own an atmosphere.’ memoirs after a fashion that ought The common air of heaven sharp- i66 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 167 ens men’s judgments. Poor Horner, Horner — poor, ugly, a man neither but for that kept atmosphere of his, of words nor deeds — becomes one of alvvays surrounding him, would have our great men ; a nation mourns his been bluntly asked, ‘ What he had loss and erects his statue in the Ab- ‘ done since he was breeched,’ and in bey. Mr. Bagehot gives several in- reply he could only have muttered stances of the same kind, but he does something about the currency. As not mention Cellini, who is, however, for our especial rogue Cellini, the in his own way, an admirable exam- question would probably have as- ple. sumed this shape : ‘ Rascal, name You open his book — a Pharisee of ‘ the crime you have not committed, the Pharisees. Lying indeed ! Why, ‘ and account for the omission.’ you hate prevarication. As for mur- But these awkward qüestions are der, your friends know you too well not put to the lucky people who keep to mention the subject in your hear- their own atraospheres. The crítics, ing, except in immediate connection before they can get at them, have to with capital punishment. You are, step out of the everyday air, where of course, willing to make some al- only achievements count and the De- lowance for Cellini’s time and place calogue still goes for something, into •— the first half of the sixteenth cen- the kept atmosphere, which they tury and Italy. ‘ Yes,’ you remark, have no sooner breathed than they ‘ Cellini shall have strict justice at begin to see things differently, and to ‘ my hands.’ So you say as you settle measure the object thus surrounded yourself in your chair and begin to with a tape of its own manufacture. read. We seem to hear the rascal .

i68 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. 169 laughing in his grave. His spirit ‘ passed their fortieth year. Such, breathes upon you from his book — ‘ at least, is my opinión, now that I peeps at you roguishly as you turn ‘ have completed my fifty-eighth year, the pages. His atmosphere surrounds ‘ and am settled in Florence, where, you ; you smile when you ought to ‘ considering the numerous ilis that frown, chuckle when you should groan, ‘ constantly attend human life, I per- and — O final triumph ! — laugh aloud ‘ ceive that I have never before been when, if you had a rag of principie ‘ so free from vexations and calami- left, you would fling the book into ‘ ties, or possessed of so great a share the fire. Your poor moral sense ‘ of content and health as at this pe- turns away with a sigh, and patien tly ‘ riod. Looking back on some de- awaits the conclusión of the second ‘ lightful and happy events of my life, volume. ‘ and on many misfortunes so truly How cautiously does he begin, how ‘ overwhelming that the appalling re- gently does he win your ear by his * trospect makes me wonder how I seductive piety! I quote from Mr. ‘ have reached this age in vigour and Roscoe’s translation : — ‘ prosperity, through God’s goodness ‘ It is a duty incumbent on upright ‘ I have resolved to publish an ac- ‘ and credible men of ali ranks, who ‘ count of my life ; and . . . . I * have performed anything noble or ‘ must, in commencing my narrative, ‘ praiseworthy, to record, in their own ‘ satisfy the public on some few ‘ writing, the events of their lives ; ‘ points to which its curiosity is usu- ‘ yet they should not commence this ‘ ally directed ; the first of which is to 'honourable task before they have ‘ ascertain whetheraman is descended 170 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 171 ‘ from a virtuous and ancient family. ‘ him exactly upon the nape of the ‘ I shall therefore now pro ‘ neck. The weapon penetrated so ' ceed to inform the reader how ií ‘ deep that, though I made a great ‘ pleased God that I should comeinto ‘ effort to recover it again, I found it ‘ the world.’ ‘ impossible.’ So you read on page i ; what you So much for murder. Now for read on page igi is this : — manslaughter, or rather Cellini’s no- ‘ Just after sunset, about eight tion of manslaughter. ‘ o’clock, as this musqueteer stood ‘ Pompeo entered an apothecary’s ‘ at his door with his sword in his ‘ shop at the córner of the Chiavica, ‘ hand, when he had done supper, I ‘ about sope business, and stayed ‘ with great address carne cióse up to ‘ there for some time. I was told he ‘ him with a long dagger, and gave ‘ had boasted of having bullied me, ‘ him a violent back-handed stroke, ‘ but it turned out a fatal adventure ‘ which I aimed at his neck. He in- ‘ to him. Just as I arrived at that ‘ stantly turned round, and the blow, ‘ quarter he was coming out of the ‘ falling directly upon his left shoul- ‘ shop, and his bravoes, having made ‘ der, broke the whole bone of it ; ‘ an opening, formed a circle round ‘ upon which he dropped his sword, ‘ him. I thereupon clapped my hand ‘ quite overeóme by the pain, and ‘ to a sharp dagger, and having forced ‘ took to his heels. I pursued, and ‘ my way through the file of rufifians, ‘ in four steps carne up with him, ‘ laid hold of him by the throat, so ‘ when, raising the dagger over his ‘ quickly and with such presence of ‘ head, which he lowered down, .1 hit ‘ mind, that there was not one of his 172 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 173 ‘ friends could defencl him. I pulled metrical a rascal! Just hear him ! ‘ him towards me to give him a blow listen to what he says well on in the ‘ in front, but he turned his face about second volume, after the little inci­ ‘ through excess of terror, so that I dents already quoted: ‘ wounded him exactly under the ear ; ‘ Having at length recovered my ‘ and upon repeating my blow, he fell ‘ strength and vigour, after I had ‘ down dead. It had never been my ‘ composed myself and resumed my ‘ intention to kill him, but blows are ‘ cheerfulness of mind, I continued ‘ not always under command.’ ‘ to read my Bible, and so accustomed We must all feel that it would ‘ my eyes to that darkness, that never have done to have begun with ‘ though \ was at first able to read these passages, but long before the ‘ only an hour and a half, I could at I9ist page has been reached Cellini ‘ length read three hours. I then has retreated into his own atmos- ‘ reflected on the wonderful power phere, and the scales of justice have * of the Almighty upon the hearts of been hopelessly tampered with. ‘ simple men, who had carried their That such a man as this encoun- ‘ enthusiasm so far as to believe tered suffering in the course of his ‘ firmly that God would indulge them life, should be matter for satisfaction ‘ in all they wished for ; and I prom- to every well - regulated mind ; but, ‘ ised myself the assistance of the somehow or another, you find your- ‘ Most High, as well through His self pitying the fellow as he narrates ‘ mercy as on account of my inno- the hardships he endured in the ‘ cence. Thus turning constantly to Castle of S. Angelo. He is so sym- ‘ the Supreme Being, sometimes in 174 A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 175 ‘ prayer, sometimes in silent medita- ploits, his sufferings — even, it may ‘ tion on the divine goodness, I was be, his crimes; but when we lay ‘ totally engrossed by these beavenly down his book, we feel we are say- ‘ reñections, and carne to take such ing good-bye to a man whom we ‘ delight in pious meditations tbat I know. ‘ no longer thought of past misfor- He has introduced himself to us, ‘ tunes. On the contrary, I was all and though doubtless we prefer saints ‘ day long singing psalms and many to sinners, we may be forgiven for ‘ other compositions of mine, in which liking the company of a live rogue ‘ I celebrated and praised the Deity.’ better than that of the lay-figures Thus torn from their context, these and empty clock-cases labelled with passages may seem to supply the distinguished ñames, who are to be best possible falsificaron of the pre- found doing duty for men in the vious statement that Cellini told the works of our standard historians. truth about himself. Judged by these What would we not give to know passages alone, he may appear a Julius Caesar one half as well as we hypocrite of an unusually odious de- know this outrageous rascal ? The scription. But it is only necessary saints of the earth, too, how shadowy to read his book to dispel that notion. they are ! Which of them do we He tells lies about other people ; he really know ? Excepting one or two repeats long conversations, sounding ancient and modern Quietists, there his own praises, during which, as his is hardly one amongst the whole own narrative shows, he was not number who being dead yet speaketh. present; he exaggerates his own ex- Their memoirs far too often only 176 A ROGUE’S MEMOIRS. A ROGUE'S MEMOIRS. 177 reveal to us a hazy soraething, cer- elude. On laying down his ‘ Me- tainly not recognisable as a man. moirs,’ let us be careful to recall This is generally the fault of their our banished moral sense, and malte editors, who, though men themselves, peace with her, by pássing a final confine their editorial duties to going judgment on this desperate sinner, up and down the diàries and papers which perhaps, after all, we cannot do of the departed saint, and oblitera- better than by employing language ting all human touches. This they of his own concerning a monk, a do for the ‘ better prevention of fellow-prisoner of his, who never, so scandals ; ’ and one cannot deny that far as appears, murdered anybody, they attain their end, though they but of whom Cellini none the less pay dearly for it. felt himself entitled to say : I shall never forget the start I ‘ I admired his shining qualities, gave when, on reading some oíd book ‘ but his odious vices I freely cen- about India, I carne across an after- ‘ sured and held in abhorrence.’ dinner jest of Henry Martyn’s. The thought of Henry Martyn laughing over the walnuts and the wine was almost, as Robert Browning’s un- known painter says, ‘too wildly dear; ’ and to this day I cannot help think- ing that there must be a mistake somewhere. To return to Cellini, and to con- ( ■ B

THE VIA MEDIA. 179 The positions, too, once hailed with such acclaim, so eagerly recognised as the true refuges for poor mortals anxious to avoid being run over by THE VIA MEDIA. fast-driving logicians, how untenable do they soon appear! how quickly T he world is governed by logic. do they grow antiquated ! how com- Truth as well as Providence is al- pletely they are forgotten ! ways on the side of the strongest bat- The Via Media, alluring as is its talions. An illogical opinión only re­ direction, imposing as are its portals, quires rope enough to hang itself. is, after all, only what Londoners cali Middle men may often seem to a blind alley, leading nowhere. be earning for themselves a place ‘ Ratiocination,’ says one of the in Universal Biography, and middle most eloqüent and yet exact of mod­ mm positions frequently seem to afford ern writers,* ‘ is the great principie tbe final solution of vexed qüestions ; ‘ of order in thinking : it reduces a but this double delusion seldom out- ‘ chaos into harmony, it catalogues lives a generation. The world wearies ‘ the accumulatíons of knowledge ; it of the men, for, attractive as their ‘ maps out for us the relations of its characters may be, they are for ever ‘ separate departments. It enables telling us, generally at great length, ‘ the independent intellects of many how it comes about that they stand ‘ acting and re-acting on each other just where they do, and we soon tire ‘ to bring their collective forcé to of explanations and forget apologista * Dr. Newman in the ‘ Grammar of Assent.’ l8q THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. .181 ' bear upon the same subject-matter. tered by our believing at one and the ‘ If language is an inestimable gift to same moment of time self-contradic- ' man, the logical faculty prepares it tory propositions. ‘ for our use. Though it does not go But, talk as we may, for the bulk ‘ so far as to ascertain truth ; still, it of mankind it will doubtless always ‘ teaches us tbe direction in vvhich remain true that a truth does not ex­ ‘ truth lies, and how propositions lie elude its contradictory. Darwin and ‘ towards each other. Ñor is it a slight Moses are both right. Between the ‘ benefit to know what is needed for Gospel according to-Matthew and the ‘ the proof of a point, what is wanting Gospel according to Matthew Arnold ‘ in a theory, how a theory hangs to- there is no difference. ‘ gether, and what will follow if it be If the too apparent absurdity of ‘ adinitted.' this is pressed home, the bafified il- This great principie of order in logician, persecuted in one position, thinking is what we are too apt to flees into another, and may be heard forget. ‘ Give us,’ cry many, ‘ safety assuring his tormentor that in a pe- ‘ in our opinions, and let who will be riod like the present, which is so no- ‘ logical. An Englishman’s creed is toriously transitional, a logician is as ‘ compromise. His béte noir extrava- much out of place as a bull in a china ‘ gance. We are not saved by syl- shop, and that unless he is quiet, and ‘ logism.’ Possibly not; but yet there keeps his tail well wrapped round his can be no safety in an illogical posi- legs, the mischief he will do to his tion, and one’s chances of snug quar­ neighbours’ china creeds and deli­ ters in eternity cannot surely be bet- cate porcelain opinions is shocking to 182 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. 183 contemplate. But this excuse is no coherency and to appreciate the longer admissible. The age has re- charm of a logical position. mained transitional so unconsciona- It was common talk at one time to bly long, that we cannot consent to express astonishment at the extend- forego the use of logic any longer. ing influehce of the Church of Rome, For a decade or two it was all well and to wonder how people who went enough, but when it comes to four- about unaccompanied by keepers score years, one’s patience gets ex- could submit their reason to the hausted. Carlyle’s celebrated Essay, Papacy, with her open rupture with ‘ Characteristics,’ in which this tran­ Science and her evíl historical repu- sitional period is diagnosed with un- tation. From astonishment to con- rivalled acumen, is half a century old. tempt is but a step. We first open Men have been born in it — have wide our eyes and then our mouths. grown old in it — have died in it. It ‘ Lord So-and-so, bis coat bedropt with wax, All Peter’s chains about his waist, his back has outlived the old Court of Chan- Brave with the needlework cr£ Noodledom, cery. It is high time the spurs of Believes, — who wonders and who cares ? ’ logic were applied to its broken- It used to be thought a sufficient winded sides. explanation to say either that the Notwithstanding the obstinate pre- man was an ass or that it was all ference the ‘ bulk of mankind’ ahvays those Ritualists. But gradually it be- show for demonstrable errors over came apparent that the pervert was undeniable trutbs, the number of not ahvays an ass, and that the persons is daily increasing who have Ritualists had nothing whatever to begun to put a valué upon mental do with it. If a man’s tastes run in 185 tS 4 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. the direction of Gothic Architecture, struck with a sudden trepidation, he free seats, daily Services, freqüent asks, ‘ Where is this to stop ? how communions, lighted candles and ‘ can I) to the extent of a poor abil- Church millinery, they can all be ‘ ity, help to stem this tide of opinión gratified, not to say glutted, in the ‘ which daily increases its volume and Church of his baptism. ‘ floods new territory ? ’ — then it is It is not the Roman ritual, how- that the Church of Rome stretches ever splendid, ñor her ceremonial, out her arms and seems to say, however spiritually significant, nor ‘ Quarrel not with your destiny, which her system of doctrine, as well ar- ‘ is to become a Catholic. You may ranged as Roman law and as subtle *see difficulties and you may have as Greek philosophy, that makes ' doubts. They abound everywhere. Romanists nowadays. ‘ You will never get rid of them. It is when a person of religious ‘ But I, and I alone, have never co- spirit and strong convictions as to ‘ quetted with the spirit of the age. the truth and importance of certain ‘ I, and I alone, have never submitted dogmas — few in number it may be ; ‘ my creeds to be overhauled by infi- perhaps only one, the Being of God ‘ deis. Join me, acknowledge my au- — first becomes fully alive to the ‘ thority, and you need dread no side tendency and direction of the most ‘ attack and fear no charge of incon- active opinions of the day ; when, his ‘ sistency. Succeed finally I must, alarm quickening his insight, he reads ‘ but even were I to fail, yours would as it were between the lines of books, ‘ i36 the satisfaction of knowing that magazines, and newspapers ; when, 1 you had never held an opinión, used i86 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. 187 • an argument, or said a word, that many Romanists would be glad to ‘ could fairly have served the purpose be quit of him. He is part of the ‘ of your triumphant enemy.’ price they have to pay in order that At such a crisis as this in a man’s their title to the possession of other life, he does'not ask himself, How lit- miracles may be quieted. If you can tle can I believe? With how few convince the convert that he can dis- miracles can I get off ? — he demands believe Januarius of Naples without sound armour, sharp weapons, and, losing his grip of Paul of Tarsus, you above all, firm ground to stand on — will be well employed ; but if you a good footing for his faith — and begin with merry gibes, and end with these he is apt to fancy he can get contemptuously demanding that he from Rome alone. should have done with such nonsense No doubt he has to pay for them, and fling the rubbish overboard, he but the charm of the Church of will draw in his horns and perhaps, Rome is this: when you have paid if he knows his Browning, murmur her price you get your goods — a to himself: — neat assortment of coherent, inter- ‘ To such a process, I discern no end. dependent, logical opinions. Cutting off one excrescence to see two ; There is ever a next in size, now grown as big It is not much use, under such cir- That meets the knife. I cut and cut again ; ’ First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last * cumstances, to call the convert a But Fichte’s clever cut at God Himself ? ’ coward, and facetiously to inquire of him what he really thinks about St. To suppose that no person is logi- Januarius. Nobody ever began with cally entitled to fear God and to ridi­ Januarius. I have no doubt a good cule Januarius at the same time, is i88 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. 189 doubtless extravagant, but to do so ‘ train,’ I observed. ‘ Just the pace requires care. There is an ‘ order in ‘ I like to travel at; but it is awkward ‘ thinking. We must consider how ‘ if you want to go anywhere except ‘ propositions life towards each other ‘ Paddington.’ My companion made ‘ — how a theory hangs together, and no reply; his face ceased to shine, ‘ what will follow if it be admitted.’ and as he sat whizzing past his din- It is eminently desirable that we ner, I mentally compared his recent should consider the logical termini of exultation with that of those who in our opinions. Travelling up to town the present day extol much of its last month from the West, a gentle- spirit, use many of its arguments, and man got into my carriage at Swin- partake in most of its triumphs, in don, who; as we moved off and began utter ignorance as to whitherwards it to rush through the country, became is all tending as surely as the Great unable to restrain his delight at our Western rails run into Paddington. speed. His face shone with pride, as ‘ Poor victims ! ’ said a distinguished if he were pulling us himself. ‘ What Divine, addressing the Evangelicals, * a charming train ! ’ he exclaimed. then rejoicing over their one legal ‘ This is the pace I like to travel at.’ victory, the ‘ Gorham Case ’ ; ‘ do you I indicated assent. Shortly after- ‘ dream that the spirit of the age is wards, when our Windows rattled as * working for you, or are you secretly we rushed through Reading, he let ‘ prepared to go further than you one of them down in a hurry, and ‘ avow ? ’ cried out in consternation, ‘ Why, I Mr. Matthew Arnold’s friends, the ‘ want to get out here.’ ‘ Charming Nonconformists, are, as a rule, now- 190 THE VIA MEDIA. TIIE VIA MEDIA. 191 adays, bad logicians. What Dr. tists asked to become, and actually Newman has said of the Tractarians becoming, godfathers and godmoth- is (vvith but a verbal alteration) also ers to Episcopalian babies ! What true of a great many Nonconformists : terrible confusión is here ! A point ‘ Moreover, there are those among is thought to be of sufficient impor- ‘ them who have very little grasp of tance to justify separation on account ‘ principie, even from the natural of it from the whole Christian Church, ‘-temper of their minds. They see and yet not to be of importance ‘ this thing is beautiful, and that is enough to debar the separatist from ‘ in the Fathers, and a third is ex- taking part in a ceremony whose ‘ pedient, and a fourth pious ; but of solé significance is that it gives the ‘ their connection one with another, lie direct to the point of separation. ‘ their hidden essence and their life, But we all of us — Churchmen and ‘ and the bearing of external matters Dissenters alike — select our opin­ ‘ upon each and upon all, they have ions far too much in the same fashion ‘ no perception or even suspicion. as ladies are reported, I daré say quite ‘ They do not look at things as part falsely, to do their afternoon’s shop- ‘ of a whole, and often will sacrifice ping — this thing because it is so ‘ the most important and precious pretty, and that thing because it is ‘ portions of their creed, or make so cheap. We pick and choose, take ‘ irremediable concessions in word and leave, approbate and reprobate ‘ or in deed, from mere simplicity and in a breath. A familiar anecdote is ‘ want of apprehension.’ never out of place: An English cap- We have heard of grown-up Bap- tain, anxious to conciliate a savage 192 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. 193 king, sent him on shore, for his own But, in truth, the mental toilet of royal wear, an entire dress suit. His most of us is as defective and almost majesty was graciously pleased to as risible as was that of this savage accept the gift, and as it never oc- Court. We take on our opinions curred to the royal mind that he without paying heed to conclusions, could, by any possibility, wear all the and the result is absurd. Better be things himself, with kingly generosity without any opinions atall. A naked he distributed what he did not want savage is not necessarily an undigni- amongst his Court. This done, he fied object; but a savage in a dress- sent for the donor to thank him in coat and nothing else is, and must person. As the captain walked up ever remain, a mockery and a show. the beach, his majesty advanced to There is a great relativity about a meet him, looking every inch a king dress-suit. In the language of the in the sober dignity of a dress-coat. logicians, the ñame of each article not The waistcoat imparted an air of pen- only denotes that particular, but con­ sive melancholy that mightily became notes all the rest. Henee it carne the Prime Minister, whilst the Lord about that that which, when worn in Chamberlain, as he skipped to and its entirety, is so dull and decorous, fro in his white gloves, looked a cour- became so provocative of Plomeric tier indeed. The trousers had be- laughter when distributed amongst come the subject of an unfortunate several wearers. dispute, in the course of which they No person with the least tincture had sustained such injuries as to be of taste can ever weary of Dr. New- hardly recognisable. The captain man, and no apology is therefore of- was convulsed with laughter. 13 194 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. 195 fered for another quotation from his not concerned. If it is not true of pages. In his story, ‘ Loss and Gain,’ them, it is true of somebody else. he makes one of his characters, who ‘ That is satisfactory so far as Mr. has just becorae a Catholic, thus re­ ‘ Lydgate is concerned,’ says Mrs. fer to the stock Anglican Divines, Farebrother in ‘ Middlemarch/ with a class of writers who are, at all an air of precisión ; ‘ but as to Bul- events, immensely superior to the ‘ strode, the report may be true of Ellicotts and Farrars of these latter ‘ some other son.’ days : ‘ I am embracing that creed We must all be acquainted with ‘ which upholds the divinity of tradi- the reckless way in which people ‘ tion with Laud, consent of Fathers pluck opinions like flowers — a bud ‘ with Beveridge, a visible Church here, and a leaf there. The bouquet ‘ with Bramhall, dogma with Bull, is pretty to-day, but you must look ‘ the authority of the Pope with for it to-morrow in the oven. ‘ Thorndyke, penance with Taylor, There is a sense in which it is ‘ prayers for the dead with Ussher, quite true, what our other Cardinal f celibacy, asceticism, ecclesiastical has said about Ultramontanes, An­ ‘ discipline with Bingham.’ What is glicans, and Orthodox Dissenters all this to say but that, according to the being in the same boat. They all of Cardinal, our great English divines them enthrone Opinión, holding it to have divided the Roman dress-suit be, when encased in certain dogmas, amongst themselves ? Truth Absolute. Consequently they This particular charge may per- have all their martyrologies — the haps be untrue, but with that I am bright roll-call of those who have 196 THE VIA MEDIA. THE VIA MEDIA. 197 defied Cassar even unto death, or at weapons of attack, not from his ar- all events gaol. They all, therefore, moury, but from their own. put something above the State, and How ridiculous it is to see some apply tests other than those recog- estimable man who subscribes to the nised in our law courts. Bible Society, and takes what he The precise way by which they calis ‘ a warm interest’ in the hea- come at their opinions is only'detail. then, chuckling over some scoffing Be it an i-nfallible Churcb, an infal­ article in a newspaper — say about a lible Book, or an inward spiritual Church Congress — and never per- grace, the outcome is the same. The ceiving, so unaccustomed is he to Romanist, of course, has to bear the examine directions, that he is all the first brunt, and is the most obnoxious time laughing at his own folly ! to the State ; but he must be slow of Aunt Nesbit, in ‘ Dred,’ considered comprehension and void of imagina- Gibbon a very pious writer. ‘ I am tion who cannot conceive of circum- ‘ sure,’ says she, ‘ he makes the most stances arising in this country vvhen ‘ religious reflections all along. I the State should assert it to be its Tiked him particularly on that ac- duty to violate what even Protestants ‘ count.’ This poor lady had some believe to be the moral law of God. excuse. A vein of irony like Gib- Therefore, in opposing Ultramonta- bon’s is not struck upon every day ; nism, as it surely ought to be op- but readers of newspapers, when they posed, care ought to be taken by laugh, ought to be able to perceive those who are not prepared to go all what it is they are laughing at. lengths with Cassar, to select their Logic is the prime necessity of the 198 THE VIA MEDIA. TIIE VIA MEDIA. 199 hour. Decomposition and transfor- dren ; democrats who are frightened mation is going on all around us, but at the rough voice of the people, and far too slowly. Some opinions, bold aristocrats flirting with democracy. and erect as they raay still stand, are Logic, if it cannot cure, might at least in reality but empty shells. One silence these gentry. sbove would be fatal. Why is it not given ? The vvorld is full of doleful crea- tures, who move about demanding our sympathy. I have nothing to offer them but doses of logic, and stern commands to move on.or fall back. Catholics in distress about In- fallibility; Protestants devoting them- selves to the dismal task of paring down the dimensions of this miracle, and reducing the credibility of that one — as if any appreciable relief from the burden of faith could be so obtained ; sentimental sceptics, who, after labouring to demolish what they cali the chimera of superstition, fall to weeping as they remember they have now no lies to teach their chil- FALSTAFF. 201 It has been justly remarked by Sir James Stephen, that this very infer­ ence is perhaps the most difficult one of all to draw correctly. The infer­ FALSTAFF. ence from so-called circumstantial evidence, if you have enough of it, is T here is more material for a life of much surer; for whilst facts cannot Falstaff than for a life of Shake­ lie, witnesses can, and frequently do. speare, though for both there is a The witnesses on whom we have to lamentable dearth. The difficulties rely for the facts are Falstaff and his of the biographer are, however, dif­ companions — especially Falstaff. ferent in the two cases. There is When an oíd man tries to tell you nothing, or next to nothing, in Shake- the story of his youth, he sees the speare’s works which throws light on facts through a distorting subjective his own story; and such evidence as medium, and gives an impression of we have is of the kind called circum- his history and exploits more or less stantial. But Falstaff constantly at varían ce with the bare facts as gives us reminiscences or allusions seen by a contemporary outsider. to his earlier life, and his companions The scientific Goethe, though truth- also tell us stories which ought to ful enough in the main, certainly fails help us in a biography. The evi­ in his reminiscences to tell a plain dence, such as it is, is direct; and unvarnished tale. And Falstaff was the only inference we have to draw is not habitually truthful. Indeed, that that from the statement to the truth Western American, who wrote affec- of the statement. 202 FALS TA FF. FALSTAFF. 203 íionately on the tomb of a comrade, of his wit as shown in his conversa­ ‘ As a truth-crusher he was unri- ron, and the rapid and fantastic play ‘ valled,’ had probably not given suf­ of his imagination. But we sought in ficient attention to Falstaff’s claims vain for any verbal provincialisms in in this matter. Then Falstaff s com- support of this theory, and there was panions are not witnesses above sus- something in the character of the picion. Generally speaking, they lie man that rather went against it. open to the charge made by P. P. Still, we clung to the opinion, till we against the wags of his parish, that found that philology was against us, they were men deligbting more in and that the Falstaffs unquestionably their own conceits than in the truth. came from Norfolk. These are some of our difficulties, and The name is of Scandinavian ori- we ask the reader’s indulgence in our gin ; and we find in ‘ Domesday ’ that endeavours to overeóme them. We a certain Falstaff held freely from the will teli the story from our hero’s king a church at Stamford. These birth, and will not begin longer before faets are of great importance. The that event than is usual with bio- thirst for which Falstaff was always graphers. conspicuous was no doubt inherited The question, Where was Falstaff •— was, in fací, a Scandinavian thirst. born ? has given us some trouble. The pirates of early English times We confess to having once enter- drank as well as they fought, and tained a strong opinión that he was a their descendants who invade Eng- Devonshire man. This opinion was land— now that thewar of commerce based simply on the flow and fertility has superseded the war of conquest 204 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 205 — stili bring the oíd thirst with that the ring was copper; and on them, as anyone can testify who has one occasion, when Falstaff alleged enjoyed the hospitality of the Lon- that his pocket had been picked at don Scandinavian Club. Then this the Boar’s Head, and this seal-ring church was no doubt a familiar land- and three or four bonds of forty mark in the family ; and when Fal- pounds apiece abstracted, the Prince staff stated, late in life, that if he assessed the total loss at eight-pence. hadn’t forgotten what the inside of a After giving careful attention to church was like, he was a peppercorn the evidence, and particularly to the and a brewer’s horse, he was think- conduct of Falstaff on the occasion ing with some remorse of the family of the alleged robbery, we come to temple. the conclusión that the ring was cop­ Of the family between the Con- per, and was not an heirloom. This quest and Falstaff’s birth we know ieaves us without any information nothing, except that, according to about Falstaff’s family prior to his Falstaff’s statement, he had a grand- birth. Fie was born (as he himself father who left him a seal-ring worth informs the Lord Chief Justice) about forty marks. From this statement three o’clock in the afternoon, with we might infer that the ring was an a white head and something a round heirloom, and consequently that Fal- belly. Falstaff’s corpulence, there- staff was an eldest son, and the head fore, as well as his thirst, was con­ of his family. But we must be care- genital. Let those who are not born ful in drawing our inferences, for with his comfortable figure sigh in Prince Henry frequently told Falstaff vain to attain his stately proportions. 201 200 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. This is a thing which Nature gives year 1401, gives his age as some us at our birth as much as the Scan- fifty or by’r Lady inclining to three- dinavian thirst or the shaping spirit score. It is true that in other places of imagination. he represents himself as old, and Born somewhere in Norfolk, Fal- again in another States that he and staffs early months and years were his accomplices in the Gadshill rob- no doubt rich with the promise of his bery are in the vaward of their youth. after greatness. We have no record The Chief Justice reproves him for of his infancy, and are tempted to this affectation of youth, and puts supply the gap with Rabelais’ chap- a question (which, it is true, elicits ters on Gargantua’s babyhood. But no admission from Falstaff) as to regard for the truth compels us to whether every part of him is not add nothing that cannot fairly be de- blasted with antiquity. duced from the evidence. We leave We are inclined to think that Fal- the strapping boy in his swaddling- staff rather understated his age when clothes to answer the question when he described himself as by’r Lady in­ he was born. Now, it is to be re- clining to three-score, and that we gretted that Falstaff, who was so shall not be farwrongif we set down precise about the hour of his birth, 1340 as the year of his birth. We should not have mentioned the year. cannot be certain to a year or two. On this point we are again left to in- There is a similar uncertainty about ference from conflicting statements. the year of Sir Richard Whitting- We have this distinet point to start ton’s birth. But both these great from, that Falstaff, in or about the men, whose careers afford in some 2oS FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 209 respects striking contrasts, were born brothers and sisters he left behind within a few years of the middle of him, and we hear no more of them. the fourteenth century. Probably none of them ever attained Falstaff’s childhood was no doubt eminence, as there is no record of spent in Norfolk; and we learn from Falstaff’s having attempted to borrow his own lips that he plucked geese, money of them. We know Falstaff played truant, and whipped top, and so well as a tun of man, a horse-back- that he did not escape beating. That breaker, and so forth, that it is not he had brothers and sisters we know ; easy to form an idea of what he was for he telis us that he is John with in his youth. But if we trace back them and Sir John with all Europe. the sack-stained current of his life We do not know the dame or pedant to the day when, full of wonder and who taught his young idea how to shoot hope, he first rode into London, we and formed his manners ; but Falstaff shall find him as different from says that if his manners became him Shakespeare’s picture of him as the not, he was a fool that taught them Thames at Iffley is from the Thames him. This does not throw much at London Bridge. His figure was light on his early education : for it is shapely ; he had no difficulty then in not clear that the remark applies to seeing his own knee, and if he was that period, and in any case it is not able, as he afterwards asserted, purely hypothetical. to creep through an alderman’s ring, But Falstaff, like so many boys nevertheless he had all the grace and since his time, left his home in the activity of youth. He was just such country and came to London. His a lad (to talce a description almost 14 210 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 211 contemporary) as the Squier who dant on civil process. W e are in- rode with the Canterbury Pilgrims : clined to think he read but little. 4 A lover and a lusty bacheler, Amici fures temporis: and he had With lockes crull as they were laid in presse, Of twenty yere of age he was, I gesse. many friends at Clement’s Inn who Of his stature he was o£ even lengthe, were not smugs, nor, indeed, reading And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe. ****** men in any sense. There was John Embrouded was he, as it were a mede, Doit of Staffordshire, and Black AH ful of freshe floures, white and rede ; Singing he was, or floyting alie the day, George Barnes, and Francis Pick- He was as freshe as is the moneth of May. bone, and Will Squele, a Cotswold Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide, Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride, man, and Robert Shallow from Glou- He coude songes make, and wel endite, Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write. cestershire. Four of thesewere such So hot he loved that by nightertale, swinge-bucklers as were not to be He slep no more than doth the nightingale.’ found again in ali the Inns o’ Court, Such was Falstaff at the age of and we have it on the authority of twenty, or something earlier, when Justice Shallow that Falstaff was a he entered at Clement’s Inn, where good backswordsman, and that before were many other young men reading he had done growing he broke the law, and preparing for their call to head of Skogan at the Court gate. the Bar. How much law he read it This Skogan appears to have been is impossible now to ascertain. That Court-jester to Edward III. No he had, in later life, a considerable doubt the natural rivalry between knowledge of the subject is ciear, but the amateur and the professional this may have been acquired like Mr. caused the quarrel, and Skogan must Micawbèr’s, by experience, as defen­ have been a good man if he escaped 212 FALS TA FF. FALSTAFF. 213 with a broken head only, and without an evening. They heard the chimes damage to his reputation as a pro- at midnight — which, it must be con- fessional wit. The same day that fessed, does not seem to us a despe- Falstaff did this deed of daring — the rately dissipated entertainment. But only one of the kind recorded of him midnight was a late hour in those Shallow fought with Sampson days. The paralytic masher of the Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray’s .present day, who is most alive at Inn. Shallow was a gay dog in his midnight, rises at noon, Then the youth, according to his own account: day began earlier with a long morn- he was called Mad Shallow, Lusty ing, followed by a pleasant period Shallow — indeed, he was called any- called the forenoon. Under modern thing. He played Sir Dagonet in conditions we spend the morning in Arthur’s show at Mile End Green ; bed, and to palliate our sloth call the and no doubt Falstaff and the rest of forenoon and most of the rest of the the set were cast for other parts in day, the morning. These young men the same pageant. These tall fel- of Clement’s Inn were a lively, not lows of Clement’s Inn kept well to- to say a rowdy, set. They would do gether, for they liked each other’s anything that led to mirth or mis- company, and they needed each oth­ chief. What passed when they lay er’s help in a row in Turnbull Street all night in the windmill in St. or elsewhere. Their watchword was George’s Field we do not quite know; ‘ Hem, boys ! ’ and they made the old but we are safe in assuming that they Strand ring with their songs as they did not go there to pursue their legal strolled home to their chambers of duties, or to grind corn. Anyhow, 214 FALS TA FF. FALSTAFF. 2 I 5 forty years after, that night raised among the Marshal’s men in the pleasant memòries. Tilt-yard, and this was matter for John Falstaff was the life and cen- continual gibe from Falstaff and the tie of this set, as Robert Shallow other boys. Falstaff was in the van was the butt of it. The latter had of the fashion, was witty himself few personal attractions. Accordino-o without being at that time the cause to Falstaff’s portrait of him, he looked that wit was in others. No one like a man made after supper of a could come within range of his wit cheese-paring. When he was naked without being attracted and over- he was for all the world like a forked powered. Late in life Falstaff de­ radish, with a head fantastically plores nothing so much in the char­ carved upon it with a knife : he was acter of Prince John of Lancaster as so forlorn that his dimensions to any this, that a man cannot make him thick sight were invincible : he was laugh. He felt this defect in the the very genius of famine ; and a Prince’s character keenly, for laugh- certain section of his friends called ter was Falstaff’s familiar spirit, him mandrake : he carne ever in the which never failed to come at his rearward of the fashion, and sung call. It was by laughter that young those tunes to the over-scutched Falstaff fascinated his friends and huswives that he heard the carmen ruled over them. There are only left whistle, and sware they were his fan- to us a few scraps of his conversation, cies or his good-nights. Then he and these have been, and will be, to had the honour of having his head all time the delight of all good men. burst by John o’ Gaunt, for crowding The Clement’s Inn boys who enjoyed 2 i6 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF 217 the feasí, of which we have but the but just that he should receive trib­ crumbs left to us, were happy almost ute from those who were beholden beyond the lot of man. For there is to him, for a pleasure which no other more in laughter than is allowed by could confer. the austere, or generally recognised It was now that Falstaff began to by the jovial. By laughter man is recognise what a precious gift was distinguished from the beasts, but his congenital Scandinavian thirst, the cares and sorrows of life have and to lose no opportunity of gratify- all but deprived man of this distin- ing it. We have his mature views guishing grace, and degraded him on education, and we may take them to a brutal solemnity. Then comes as an example of the general truth (alas, how rarely !) a genius such as that oíd men habitually advise a Falstaffs, which restores the power young one to shape the conduct of of laughter and transforms the stolid his life after their own. Rightly to brute into man. This genius ap- apprehend the virtues of sherris-sack proaches nearly to the divine power is the first qualification in an in­ of creation, and we may truly say, structor of youth. ‘ If I had a thou- 1 Some for less were deified.’ It is no ‘ sand sons,’ says he, ‘ the first hu- marvel that young Falstaffs friends ‘ mane principies I would teach them assiduously served the deity who gave ‘ should be to forswear thin potations, them this good gift. At first he was ‘ and to addict themselves to sack ’ ; satisfied with the mere exercise of and further: ‘ There’s never none his genial power, but he afterwards ‘ of these demure boys come to any made it serviceable to him. It was ‘ proof; for their drink doth so over- 2I8 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 219 ‘ cool their blood, and making many analogies in cases apparently differ­ ‘ fish-meals, that they fall into a kind ent, his triumphant handling of cases ‘ of male green sickness ; and then apparently hopeless, his wonderful ‘ when they marry they get wenches : readiness in reply, and his dramatic ‘ they are generally fools and cowards, instinct, would have made him a ‘ which some of us should be too but powerful advocate. It may have ‘for inflammation.’ There can be no been owing to difficulties with the doubt that Falstaff did not in early Benchers of the period over qüestions life over-cool his blood, but addicted of discipline, or it may have been a himself to sack, and gave the subject distaste for the profession itself, which a great part of his attention for all induced him to throw up the law and the remainder of his days. adopt the profession of arms. It may be that he found the sub­ We know that while he was still at ject too absorbing to allow of his Clement’s Inn he was page to Lord giving much attention to old Father Thomas Mowbray, who was after- Antic the Law. At any rate, he was wards created Earl of Nottingham never called to the Bar, and posterity and Duke of Norfolk. It must be cannot be too thankful that his great admitted that here (as elsewhere in mind was not lost in ‘the abyss of Shakespeare) there is some little ‘ legal eminence ’ which has received chronological difficulty. We will not so many men who might have adorned inquire too curiously, but simply ac- their country. That he was fitted ceptthe testimony of Justice Shallow for a brilliant legal career can admit on the point. Mowbray was an able of no doubt. His power of detecting and ambitious lord, and Falstaff, as 220 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 221 page to him, began his military career crity, and other qualities which were with every advantage. The French not apparent to the casual observer, wars of the later years of Edward III. but he never boasts of his Services gave freqüent and abundant opportu- in battle. If there had been anything nity for distinction. Mowbray dis- of the kind to which he could refer tinguished himself in Court and in with complacency, there is no moral camp, and we should like to believe doubt that he would have mentioned that Falstaff was in tbe sea-fight it freely, adding such embellishments when Mowbray defeated the French and circumstances as he well knew fleet and captured vast quantities of how. sack from the enemy. Unfortunately, In the absence of evidence as to there is no record whatever of Fal- the course of his life, we are left to staff's early military career, and be- conjecture how he spent the forty yond his own ejaculation, ‘ Would to years, more or less, between the time ‘ God that my name was not so terri- of his studies at Clement’s Inn and ‘ ble to the enemy as it is ! ’ and the the day when Shakespeare introduces (possible) inference from it that he him to us. We have no doubt that must have made his name terrible in he spent all, or nearly all, this time some way, we have no evidence that in London. His hàbits were such as he was ever in the field before the are formed by life in a great city ; battle of Shrewsbury. Indeed, the his conversation betrays a man who absence of evidence on this matter has lived, as it were, in a crowd, and goes strongly to prove the negative. the busy haunts of men were the ap- Falstaff boasts of his valour, his ala- propriate scene for the display of his 222 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 223 great qualities. London, even then, gests) which blew him up like a blad- was a great city, and the study of it der. A life of leisure in London might well absorb a lifetime. Falstaff always had, and stili has, its temp- knew it well, from the Court, with tations. Falstaffs means were de- which he always preserved a connec- scribed by the Chief Justice of Hen­ tion, to the numerous taverns where ry IV. as very slender, but this was he met his friends and eluded his after they had been wasted for years, creditors. The Boar’s Idead in East- Originally they were more ample, cheap was his headquarters, and, like and gave him the opportunity of liv- Barnabee’s, two centuries later, his ing at ease with his friends. No do­ journeys were from tavern to tavern ; mèstic cares disturbed the even tenor and, like Barnabee, he might say of his life. Bardolph says he was bet- ‘ Multum bibi, nunquam p r a n s i To ter accommodated than with a wife. begin with, no doubt the dinner bore Like many another man about town, a fair proportion to the fluid which he thought about settling down when accompanied it, but by degrees the he was getting up in years. He week- liquor encroached on and superseded ly swore, so he telis us, to marry old the viands, until his tavern bilis took Mistress Ursula, but this was only the shape of the one purloined by after he saw the first white hair on Prince Henry, in which there was his chin. But he never led Mistress but one halfpenny-worth of bread to Ursula to the altar. The only other an intolerable deal of sack. It was women for whom he formed an early this inordinate consumption of sack attachment were Mistress Quickly, (and not sighing and grief, as he sug- the hostess of the Boar’s Head, and I 224 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 2 2 5 Doll Tearsheet, who is described by ‘ coming in to borrow a mess of vine- the page as a proper gentlewoman, ‘ gar; telling us she had a good dish and a kinswoman of his master’s. ‘ of prawns ; whereby thou didst de- There is no denying that Falstaff ‘ sire to eat some; whereby I told was on terms of intimacy with Mis- ‘ thee they were ill for a green wound ? tress Quickly, but he never admitted ‘ And didst thou not, when she was that he made her an offer of mar- ‘ gone downstairs, desire me to be no riage. She, however, asserted it in ‘ more so familiarity with such poor the strongest terms, and with a wealth ‘ people; saying that ere long they of circumstance. ‘ should cali me madam ? And didst We must transcribe her story: ‘ thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch ‘ Thou didst swear to me upon a ‘ thee thirty shillings ? I put thee ‘ parcel - gilt goblet, sitting ín my ‘ now to thy book-oath; deny it if ‘ Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, ‘ thou canst!’ ‘ by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday We feel no doubt that if Mistress ‘ in Whitsun-week, when the Prince Quickly had given this evidence in * broke thy head for liking his father action for breach of promise of mar- ‘ to a singing-man of Windsor; thou riage, and goodwife Keech corrobo- ‘ didst swear to me then, as I was rated it, the jury would have found ‘ washing thy wound, to marry me, a verdict for the plaintiff, unless in- ‘ and make me my lady thy wife. deed they brought in a special verdict ‘ Canst thou deny it ? Did not good- to the effect that Falstaff made the • wife Keech, the butcher’s wife, come promise, but never intended to keep ' in then, and cali me Gossip Quickly ? it. But Mistress Quickly contented ‘5 226 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. 227 herself with upbraiding Falstaff, and past that age when he made the ac- he cajoled her with his usual skill, quaintance of the nimble Poins. Be- and borrowed more money of her. fore he was forty he became the con­ Falstaff’s attachment for Dolí Tear- stant guest of Mistress Quickly. sheet lasted many years, but did not Pistol and Nym were later acquisi- lead to matrimony. Frora the Cle- tions, and the Prince did not come ment’s Inn days till he was three- upon the scene till Falstaff was an score he lived in London celibate, oíd man and knighted. and his habits and amusements were There is some doubt as to when much like those of other single gen- he obtained this honour. Richard II. tlemen about town of his time, or, íor bestowed titles in so lavish a manner that matter, of ours. He had only as to cause discontent among many himself to care for, and he cared for who didn’t receive them. In 1377, himself well. Like his page, he had immediately on his accession, the a good ángel about him, but the devil earldom of Nottingham was given to outbid him. He was as virtuously Thomas Mowbray, and on the same given as other folk, but perhaps the day three other earls and nine knights devil had a handle for temptation in were created. We have not been that congenital thirst of his. He was able to discover the ñames of these a social spirit too, and he tells us that knights, but we confidently expect to company, villainous company, was the unearth them some day, and to find spoil of him. He was less than the ñame of Sir John Falstaff among thirty when he took the faithful Bar- them. We have already stated that dolph into his service, and only just Falstaff had done no service in the 228 FALS TA FF. FALSTAFF. 229 field at this time, so he could not have laughing at his jests. These people earned his title in that manner. No do not understand his claim to grate- doubt he got it through the influence ful and affectionate regard. He did of Mowbray, who was in a position to more to produce that mental condi- get good things for his friends as well tion of which laughter is the expres- as for himself. It was but a poor sion than any man who ever lived. acknowledgment for the inestimable But for the cheering presence of him, benefit of occasionally talking with and men like him, this vale of tears Falstaff over a quart of sack. would be a more terrible dwelling- We will not pursue Falstaffs life place than it is. In short, Falstaff further than this. It can from this has done an immense deal to alie vi­ point be easily collected. It is- a ate misery and promote positive hap- thankless task to paraphrase a great piness. What more can be said of and familiar text. To attempt to teli your heroes and philanthropists ? the story in better words than Shake­ It is, perhaps, characteristic of this speare would occur to no one but commercial age that benevolence Miss Braddon, who has epitomised should be ahvays associated, if not Sir Walter, or to Canon Farrar, who considered synonymous, with the giv- has elongated the Gospels. But we ing of money. But this is clearly feel bound to add a few words as to mistaken, for we have to considei character. There are, we fear, a what effect the money given produces number of people who regard Fal­ on the minds and bodies of human staff as a worthless fellow, and who beings. Sir Richard Whittington would refrain (if they could) from was an eminently benevolent man, 230 FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF. =3* and spent his money freely for the Gervinus; of Fleidelberg, has written, good of his fellovv-citizens. (We sin- in the Germán language, a heavy cerely hope, by the way, that he lent work on Shakespeare, in which he some of it to Falstaff without secu- attacks Falstaff in a ver)'- solemn and rity.) He endowed hospitals and determined manner, and particularly other charities. Hundreds were re- charges him with selfishness and lieved by his gifts, and thousands want of conscience. We are inclined (perhaps) are now in receipt of his to set down this malignant attack to alms. This is well. Let the sick envy. Falstaff is the author and and the poor, who enjoy his hospi- cause of universal laughter. Dr. Ger­ tality and receive his doles, bless his vinus will never be the cause of any- memory. But how much wider and thing universal; but, so far as his further-reaching is the influence of influence extends, he produces head- Falstaff! Those who enjoy his good aches. It is probably a painful sense things are not only the poor and the of this contrast that goads on the sick, but all who spealc the English author of headaches to attack the language. Nay, more ; translation author of laughter. has made him the inheritance of the But is there anything in the charge ? world, and the benefactor of the en­ We do not claim anything like per- tire human race. fection, or even saintliness, for Fal­ It may be, however, that some staff. But we may say of him, as other nations fail fully to understand Byron says of Venice, that his very and appreciate the mirth and the vices are of the gentler sort. And character of the man. A Dr. G. G. as for this charge of selfishness and f ,

2 32 FALSTAFF. want of conscience, we think that the words of Bardolph on his master’s death are an overwhelming answer to it. Bardolph said, on hearing the news: ‘ I would I were with him ‘wheresoever he is: whether he be in ‘ heaven or hell.’ Bardolph was a mere serving-man, not of the highest sen- sibility, and he for thirty years knew his master as his valet knows the hero. Surely the man who could draw such an expression of feeling from his rough servant is not the man to be lightly charged with self- ishness ! Which of us can hope for such an epitaph, not from a hireling, but from our nearest and dearest ? Does Dr. Gervinus know anyone who will malee such a reply to a posthu- mous charge against him of dulness and lack of humour ? cAuthor’s Ediíions. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON’S BOOKS.

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" Mr. Stevenson is a true wonder-worker, a wiçard. For Us marvels, space and time are as naugbt. No bound- ing Une of circumstance refuses toyield at bis bidding. Yet it is by the simplest of straigbtforward truth-telling tbat be brings us under bis spell. . . . Mr. Stevenson has, too, lihe Hawtborne, tbe perfect sense of proportion wbicb never permits an exaggeratiori or a distortion.”— T he N a tio n . '"-O Charming Volumes of Pcetry. “ The book is pervaded by freshness, Two manliness. fine feeling, and intel·lectual Q BITER DICTA. integrity,”— New York Times.

(SECOND SERIES.) “ Charmingly written, and always AirsfromArcady and Elsewhere eminently readable.” — Philadelphia Record. By H. C; BUNNER. BY “ Thelittle voitime isa delightful one, and its essays are written with great AUGUSTINE BIRRELL. 1 'Vol., ISm o, Grilt Top, $ 1 . 2 5 . charm of style and winning frankness. The book is full of pleasant and refined xeading for all people of cultivated “ It is not often that we have in our bands a volume ol tastes.” — Boston Saturday Evening / Vol., Elzevir iómo, Gazette. sweeter or more finished verses. . . . In choosing Love for a Gilt Top, $1.00. conductor, who alone may open the way to Arcady, the poet “ The tone and spirit of the essays are admirable ; there is no attempt at ped- indicates the theme on which he sings best, and which reflects antry, no painful display of contorted at some angle, or repeats in some strain the inspiration of the wit; the essays resemble the careful conversation of a cultured gentleman, CONTENTS. great poètic and dramatic passion of life. His poems are and they are thoroughly fresh and en- M ilto n . tertainirg.”— Bujfalo Times. thrown together in a delicately concealed order, which is j 'st P o p e. perceptible enough to give an impression of progress and “ The book is remarkable fora light- J o h n s o n . ness of touch and vivacity worthy of movement.”— The Independent. the best French writers, as well as fora B u r k e . fundamental tone of good sense that is The Muse of History. all English.”— The Examiner. Charles Lamb. “ The writer of this volume represents E m e r s o n . the best criticism of the day. He would Ballades and Verses Vain. apply his principies to every art of ex- The Office of Literature. By ANDREW LANG. pression, and to every habit oí thinking. He would have all mental processes W orn-out Types. brought before the reason for its judg- Cambridge and the Poets. 1 V o l . , 1 3 mo, G-ilt Top, $ 1 .5 0 . ment. Everywhere is evinced a strong artístic sense. Consistency and sym- Book-buying. metry are insisted upon in the develop- ment and employment of thought. 1 he “ The book is a little treasury of refined thought, graceful book is wisely written, and it deserves rerse, world-philosophjq quiet humor, and sometimes a gentle to be wisely read.”— Boston Transcript. The remarkable reception which was cynicism. Tlie versification is always polished, the sentiment accorded to the first series o f this work, “ Wit, tenderness, delivery, and dis- and the large sale which it met with delicate, and the diction vigorous and varied. It is a wholly cerning criticism are combined in an un- in all parts of the country, almost Usual degree, and the letters, taken as a .” — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette immediately on publicat ion > warrants «.harming production . group, constitute one of the freshest and most pleasing series of literary essays the belicf that a still larger demand printed for many a day.” — Boston will arise fo r the second series. The For sale by all booksellers, or sent, posí-paid, up on receipt o fp r icc , by Journal. subjeets treated o f in the second series CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, Publishers, "The tòpics oftheseletters indicatea of OBITER DICTA have a permanent scholarly study, andaré handled witha interest ; and are such as will draw 743 an d 745 B r o a d w a y , N ew Y o r k . vivacity which, extending from the special attention in consequence of grave to the gay, makes the volume an many o f them having been under reo*nt instructive and charming literary com- panion.” — Chicago Interior. discussion. F rank R. S tockton’s W ritings. Uniform witb Obiter Dicta. NEW UNIFORM ED 1 T1 0 N. f ETTERS TO DEAD AUTHORS. THE BEE-MAN OF ORN, and Otber Fanciful Tales. AMOS KILBRIGHT, and Olber Stories. BY ANDREW LANG. THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? and Otber Stories, i Vol., Elzevir lómo, Gilt Top, fií.00. THE CHRISTMAS WRECK, and Otber Stories. THE LATE MRS. NULL. T is a happy fancy of Mr. 1Lang’s to unbosom himself CONTENTS. RUDDER GRANGE. of some of the brightest, wit- To W . M. Thackeray. *** The set, five vols., $6.25 ; each, $1.25. tiest and most thoughtful critï- To Charles Dickens. cisms of recent years by writing To Pierre de Ronzard. To Herodotus. RUDDER GRANGE. New Íllustrated Edition. Witb it directly to the great dead themselves—alvvays with thor- Epistle to Mr. Alexander Pope. over 100 Illustrations by A . B. Fbost. Square nm o, To Lucien of Samosata. fi2.00. _____ ough reverence and apprecia- tion, and the most charming To Maitre Francoys Fabelais. AMOS KILBRIGHT, and Otber Stories. i2mo, paper, regard for their ways of thought, To Jane Austen. To Master Isaak W alton. 50 cents. but with perfect frankness. The públic thus gains at second To M. Chapelain. THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? and Otber Stories. handoneof the brightest collec- To Sir John Manndeville, Kt. i2tno, paper, 50 cents. To Alexandre Dumas. tions of literary estimates which To Theocritus. and Otber Stories. i2mo, THE CHRISTMAS WRECK, any contemporary writer—not To Edgar Alian Poe. paper, 50 cents. even excepting the author ol To Sir W alter Scott, Bart. RUDDER GRANGE. 12)710, paper, 60 cents. “ Obiter Dicta ”— could have To Eusebius of Caesarea. given them. The little Elzevir To Percy Bysshe Shelley. volume, with its page and print, A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. íllustrated, \2mo, $1.50. To Monsieur de Moliere would of itself have appealed to To Robert Burns. THE STORY OF VITEAU. Íllustrated, i2mo, fií.70. many of the dead authors, as it To Omar Khayyam. THE TING-A-LING TALES. íllustrated, i2mo, fií.00. will to modern readers. To Q. Horatius Flaccus.

THE FLOATING PRINCE, and Otber Fairy Tales. “ The book ís one of the luxuries of “ Mr. Andrew Lang is decidedly a the literary ta^te. It is meant for the clever and dexterous literary workman, íllustrated, 4to, clotb, $2.50; boards, fi ¡.70. exquisite palate, and is prepared by one and we doubt if he has ever done any- of the • knowing ’ kind. It is an aston- thing neater or more finished thnn ROUNDABOUT RAMBLES IN LANDS OF FACT tshing little volume,”— N, Y, Evening these ‘Letters to Dead Authors,’ ” — Thl AND FANCY. íllustrated, 4to, boards, fií.70. Post. Christi an Union. TALES OUT OF SCHOOL. íllustrated, 4I0, boards, fi 1.50. CH ARLES SCRIBN ER’S SONS, Publishers, 743 and 7 4 ï ‘Broadway, New York. “ This brilliant and thought-compel- Q BITER DICTA. ling little book. . . . Apart from their intel·lectual grip, which we think really notable, the great charm of these es ».;ys (FIRST SERIES.) lies in the fine urbanity of their satirical humor,”—Academy% BY ** Each essay is a gem of thought—not of heavy, ponderous, didàctic thought, AUGUSTINE BIRRELL. but of thought light, fanciful, and play- ful, yet conveying much wisdom.”— Standard. i Vol., Elzevir iómc, “ The author is evidently a man of considerable reading, with opinions of Gilt Top, $1.00. his own, which he can express with vigor and humor. . . . The book is very readable and suggestive.”—Sf. James's Gazette. CONTENTS. Carlyle. “ A book to be enjoyed precisely be- cause of the irresponsibility which its clever author successfully affects. . . . On the Alleged Obscurity of Mr. We trust this is only the first of many Browning’s Poetry. such books, for the author of Obiter Dicta has it in him to delight his gen­ eraron for long years to come with Trutñ-H unting. writing as little commonplace and as abounding in point and wit as any that Actors. has been seen in a bookseller’s shop since his favorite Charles Lamb ceased A Rogue’s Memoirs. to button-hole and fascinate English mankind.”—Liverpool Daily Post. The Via Media. “ Such work as this needs no ñame Falstaff. to carry it ; its qualifications appear on the surface, and not only solicit, but command attention and hearing. It is a book which will interest and delight “ A very dainty little book—daintily all lovers of good writing, and especial- written, daintily printed, and daintily ly all those who enjoy contact with a bound. The author has a fine tum of fresh, suggestive, incisive thinker,”— síyle, a very pretty wit, a solid and The Christian Union. manly vein of reflection. . . . An eminently pleasant and companionable book. üpen it where we may, we find “ A collection of papers of which, per- something to entertain and stimulate, haps, the most obvious quality is itslit- to invite meditation, and provoke re­ erary quality. The book is neat, ap­ flection.”— Times. posite, clever, full of quaint allusions, happy thoughts, and apt unfamiliar quo- - Some adm irably written essays.. . . tations.” —Boston Advertiser. Amusing and brilliant. . . . The book is the book of a highly cultivated man, with a real gift of expressi on, a gocd “ The essays are all cleverly written. deal of humor, a happy fancy, an nn- There is an air of ease and restfulnesí aginative respect for religión, and a about them that is quite refresnmg.'’ .íuhei skeptical bias.”—Speciator. Brooklyn Times