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SMITH COLLEGE LIBRAIRIE E. CHAMPION Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College in es ar G Ree w CONTENTS OF VOLUME V .1. MaArcaret H. Peopres, La socfété des bonnes lettres (1821-1830). -Albert Schinz Dadaisme, poignée de documents (1916-1921). . 2. RicHARD ASHLEY Rice, I. Lord Byron’s British Reputa- tions. II. Wordsworth since 1916. . 3. Rose Francis Ecan, The genisis of the theory of “art for art’s sake’ in Germany and in England, Part IT. .4. Laura SuMNER, The weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell. AUG’ 2:1 1224 Vor. V, No. 1 OcTOBER, 1923 Smith College Studies in Modern Languages Eprrors CAROLINE B. BOURLAND HOWARD R. PATCH ERNST H. MENSEL MARGARET ROOKE ALBERT SCHINZ LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) BY MARGARET H. PEOPLES Instructor in French, Smith College DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) BY ALBERT SCHINZ Professor of French Language and Literature, Smith College NORTHAMPTON, MASS. PARIS SMITH COLLEGE LIBRAIRIE £. CHAMPION Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College ee SMITH COLLEGE STUDIES IN MODERN LANGUAGES a aaa Tue SmitH CoLLecE Stup*:s IN MopERN LANGUAGES are published quarterly in October, January, April, and July, by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College. The sub- scription price is seventy-five cents for single numbers, two dollars for the year. Subscriptions and requests for exchanges should be addressed to the SMITH COLLEGE LIBRARY, NORTHAMPTON, Mass. VOLUME I Nos. 1-4. HELEN MAXWELL Kino, Les Doctrines Littéraires Nos. 1-2. de la Quotidienne, 1814-1830. VOLUME II Mary AuGusta JoRDAN, An Unpublished Letter of William James. PauL RoBeERT LIEDER, Scott and Scandinavian Lit- erature. _ ELIZABETH A. Foster, Le Dernier Séjour de J.-J. Rous- seau a Paris, 1770-78. RosE FRANCES EGAN, The Genesis of the Theory of ‘Art for Art’s Sake” in Germany and in England. VOLUME III Joser WiEHR, Knut Hamsun, His Personality and His Outlook upon Life. HowAarD RO.LLin Patcu, The Tradition of the Goddess Fortuna, in Roman Literature and in the Transi- tional Period. HowarD ROLLIN Patcu, The Tradition of the Goddess Fortuna, in Medieval Philosophy and Literature. (Continued on page 3 of cover) VoL. V, No. 1 OCTOBER, 1923 Smith College Studies in Modern Languages EpDIToRS CAROLINE B. BOURLAND HOWARD R. PATCH ERNST H. MENSEL MARGARET ROOKE AI.BERT SCHINZ LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) BY MARGARET H. PEOPLES Instructor in French, Smith College DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) BY ALBERT SCHINZ Professor of French Language and Literature, Smith College NORTHAMPTON, MASS. PARIS SMITH COLLEGE LIBRAIRIE E. CHAMPION Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College She Gallegtate Preas GEORGE BANTA PUBLISHING COMPANY MENASHA, WIS. PREFACE This issue of the Smith College Studies in Modern Languages, published under the auspices of the French Department, con- tains two articles which in their wide diversity have one feature in common; they both deal with exalted minds, but turned in opposite directions. The first describes a group of reactionaries who, from 1821 to 1830, tried to block the way to Romanticism in France, or at least tried to control the impetus of young Romanticists in France. The other describes a group of “artists” living about one cen- tury later, who were apparently—and momentarily—irrespon- sible; they were moved perhaps by the “sainte fureur’’ alluded to by Ronsard in the Ode a Michel de |’Hospital; they were endeavor- ing at all events and by all means to hasten the dawn of a new era in literature and art after the great world conflict: A tant, Jupiter enfia Sa bouche rondement pleine, Et du vent de son haleine, Sa fureur il leur souffla. They began to stir as early as 1916, they knew some fame from 1918 to 1920, and then, gradually, rather rapidly, they sank into oblivion. Digitized by Google LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) PAR MARGARET H. PEOPLES Digitized by Google TABLE OF CONTENTS I. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) by Margaret H. Peoples. BinliOgranuie 5 vo, 5 dnb shite nee eka awh al ore een a See eae Ges IX Les Débuts do la Soctété. ccc cece cee cceseeeteeneues 1 TR PVOS DOCIUS iho heels eS VEN eS aS DEOL RARO KR Oa 2 TLS SCONCES bs Sich eae Gh docs eta ws Eke e aaa Cheaeenee ec wemeeameas 3 TRE TA OMT ES 50556 BOBEE CRE GARAND EROS AE CURE u RHE 3 Les Preanféres Années de la Société... ccc cc cece cece cece eeees 3 LOS PIO OMMES 6.5 Ga wad Cbd SER Oey AR ON RRA RS 4 SOMO AST 6 he hee deds eal cad ne wee Sea Rer Uh Lhe Ween ea eee ke ees 5 DO6SON 1821928 fois ccd AP oaa whan eeRGEESeReas eee eeeas 6 WGNSON 1822929 555 sia sos he ce a dees Aiedede aa aad OaaHes EAR E Race 7 La Société des Bonnes Lettres et la Critique...................0,.5- 8 La Réorganisation de la Société 2... ccc ccc cece cee eecees 13 DONSON 1S2 5-28 ok oi y's ind Sae easa awd awa seekeNeeeee ouMeoues 15 TAS PVR coe a bowtie Casas ta ciale gaa OPT Oe OES 16 La Société des Bonnes Lettres et les Fréres Hugo .....................5. 16 Dh IB io ae eile ig od an BSS aucet Ha oes wh SAA OE RE Ke 17 VIAN 60 5.25 65S ia ess ent a Sws esi es eae dee twsaen eae 18 Le Silence de Victor Hugo... ... 0... ccc ccc cece cece eee neeeees 20 Les Derni@res Ann€es de la Socs6té 2.0... ec cece ee eeeeees 27 Appendice I. Bulletin des séances de la Société des Bonnes Lettres d’aprés Les Annales de la Littérature et des Arts......0sceeceseces 28 Appendice II. Liste des Sociétaires-Fondateurs et des Associés-honoraires de la Société en 1826. ....... 0. cece ec ene eee eens 39 II. DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS sur un mouvement d’éga- rement de l’esprit humain aprts la Grande Guerre, et dont les effets se firent sentir dans le domaine des Lettres et des Arts. (1919-1921) by Albert Schinz...............ceseeees 53 *‘Note” de Philippe Soupault sur de Dadaisme.................. 77 Post-Dadaisme? ............ 0. ccc cece cece ete teen eee ceeeens 78 Digitized by Google BIBLIOGRAPHIE (*Ouvrages les plus consultés) Birt, EpmMonp; Victor Hugo avant 1830, Paris, 1883. Jules Gervais [pp. 526] CHATEAUBRIAND; Les Mémoires d’Outre Tombe, Tome IV. Paris, sans date. Garnier Fréres. *Des GRANGES, Ch.; La Presse littéraire sous la Restauration, Paris, 1907. Mercure de France [pp. 374] “‘La Société des Bonnes Lettres’ 3 septembre 1904. Revue Bleue *“Dusois, ABBE PIERRE; Bio-Bibliographie de Victor Hugo de 1802 a 1825, Paris, 1913. Champion [pp. xiv-240] Dovumic, RENE; Lamartine, Paris, 1912. Hachette, [pp. 205] DouFay, PIERRE; Victor Hugo @ vingt ans, Paris, 1909. Mercure de France. [pp. 259] GANSER, FriEpDRICH; Bettrdge zur Beurtetlung des Verhdlinisses von Victor Hugo zu Chateaubriand, Heidelberg, 1900. Gersendérfer [pp. 111] GritteTt, Ciaupivs; La Bible dans Victor Hugo Paris, 1910. Hachette. Hatin, EuGENE; Bibliographie Historique et Critique de la Presse Périodique en France, Paris, 1866. Firmin Didot. Huco, ADELE; Victor Hugo raconté par un témoin de sa vie. Vol. 1 Paris, 1863. Librairie Internationale [pp. 483]. Huco, Victor; Correspondance 1815-1835, Paris, 1896. Calmann Lévy [pp 374] Lettres 2 la Fiancée 1820-1822, Paris, sans date. Hetzel [pp. 241] Odes ef Ballades, Paris, 1912. L’Imprimerie Nationale Ollendorf. *Kinc, HELEN MAxwELL; Les Doctrines Littéraires de la Quotidienne 1814-1830, Northampton, Mass., 1912. Smith College; Paris, 1912. Champion [pp. 260] Lanson, GusTavE; Manuel Bibliographique, IV Révolution et 19 stécle, Paris, 1921 Hachette. Marsan, JULES; La Bataille romantique, Paris, 1912. Hachette (pp. vii-313]. MENNESSIER-NODIER, MME.; Charles Nodter, Paris, 1867. Didier (pp. 367]. Rop, Epovarp; Lamartine, Paris, sans date. Société Francaise d’Imprimerie et de Librairie [pp. 232]. SaLomon, M.; Charles Nodier et le Groupe Romantique, Paris, 1908. Perrin [pp. xii-314]. SCHENCK, E. M.; La part de Charles Nodier dans la Formation des Idées Romantiques de Victor Hugo, Paris, 1914. Champion [pp. x-141]. *Sécuté, Léon; Le Cénacle de la Muse Francaise, Paris, 1909. Mercure de France [pp. xv-390]. Sounmavu, Maurice; La Préface de Cromwell, Paris. Boivin [pp. xviii-328]. x LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) SOUVESTRE, EmILe; Causeries Littératres sur le dix-neuviéme siecle, Paris, 1907. Pantin [pp. xi-479]. STENDHAL (HENRI BEYLE); Racine a Shakespeare, Ed. Oxford, 1907. Clarendon Press [pp. xliv-198]. TurEemeE, Huco P.; Guide Bibliographique de la Littérature francaise de 1800-1906 Paris, 1907. Welter. Périodiques contemporains consultés Annales de la Littérature et des Arts 1821-1829, 1821, vol. TU, p. 236, vol. V, p. 299; 1823, vol. X (Prospectus, 16 pp); /823, XIII, p. 385, Prospectus de la 4° annee; 1824, vol. XVI, p. 280, vol. XXI, p. 432, Prospectus 1826, vol. XXV, p. 516, Prospectus 1827, vol. XXIX, p. 443, Prospectus 1828. Annuaire de la Société des Bonnes Lettres, 1826. Conservateur Littératre, 1821. Journal des Débats 1821-1830. 10 février 1821; 11 novembre 1821, I décembre 1823, 14 juin, 1824; 20 décembre 1825; 20 décembre, 1826; 15 mai, 1829. Miroir des Spectacles, des Letires, des Moeurs ef des Arts, 1821-1823 Histoire de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” LEs D£BUTS DE LA SocrtTeé L’année 1820 fut des plus importantes dans les destinées du parti ultra-royaliste en France. Aprés l’assassinat du Duc de Berry (13 février 1820), Decazes, le ministre libéral de Louis XVIII, était discrédité, tandisque les réactionnaires, impuissants depuis 1816, —année de contre-révolution qui avait été presque aussi sanglante que 1794, —remontaient au pouvoir. Dés le commencement de 1821 la majorité & la Chambre demandait instamment au roi de fortifier |’autorité de la religion dans le coeur du peuple et de réformer par un systéme d’éducation monarchique et chrétienne les moeurs relfchées que la Révolution avait amenées & sa suite. Mais l’activité des ultra-royalistes ne devait pas se borner 4 la législation. Ils allaient, avec une ardeur fiévreuse, lancer leurs idées dans le monde littéraire et social. C’est dans cette intention trés définie qu’allait étre fondée au cours du mois de janvier, 1821, la ‘Société des Bonnes Lettres.” Or, a ce moment, il y avait au Palais Royal, rue de Valois, un salon scientifique et littéraire ot plusieurs fois par semaine on offrait des cours*® et faisait des lectures. C’était l’Athénée, lieu de réunion de Sainte-Beuve et de toute la jeunesse libérale du Quartier Latin. On y discutait toutes les questions du jour et on ne craignait pas d’y formuler souvent des théories radicales. C’était cette espéce d’enseignement suspect que la “‘Société des Bonnes Lettres” voulait combattre. Et M. Séché n’a peut- etre pas tort quand il prétend que ce fut pour mieux contrebalancer les activités de l’Athénée que la “Société des Bonnes Lettres’’ allait établir d’abord son siége tout prés du salon ennemi.’ Parmi les Fondateurs du nouveau salon, fondé d’abord pour une période de trois ans, on comptait presque toute |’aristocratie de Paris: Chateaubriand; le Marquis de Fontanes, poéte et homme 1Biré: Victor Hugo avant 1830 (p. 237). ? Parmi les noms de professeurs, on trouve ceux de Robiquet, Blainville et Magurdie. ® Léon Séché: Cénacle de la Muse Francoise, p. 306. 2 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) d’état; Campenon, royaliste, membre de l]’Académie Francaise; l’Abbé Genoude, traducteur de la Vulgate; Bertin de Vaux, député et directeur du Journal des Débats ; Michaud, de la Quotsdienne; etc. Le Prospectus. Un mois avant la Séance d’Ouverture ils mirent en circulation leur premier prospectus, préparé par Fontanes le premier président. Celui-ci y avoua franchement le but de V’entreprise, 4 savoir: combattre les idées libérales par la propa- gation des “‘bonnes et saines doctrines”. Ce document est trop long pour étre donné intégralement; il peut étre résumé facilement, du reste, et nous n’en reproduirons que les principales parties. “*S’il est vrai,’”’ dit Fontanes, ‘‘que la littérature soit l’expression de la société—cette fameuse théorie de Bonald quiallait devenir le point de départ de la Préface de Cromwell,—on peut se faire une idée de ce qu’a pu @tre la littérature francaise pendant trente ans de révolution. Pourrait-elle étre autre chose que l’expression de la révolte, de la discorde, de l’impiété, de toutes les passions furieuses qui troublaient alors la France? L’esprit humain se serait tout a fait égaré et l’on ne peut savoir ot nous aurait conduits l’orgueilleuse barbarie du siécle si les Ages précédents ne nous eus- sent laissé leurs importantes lecons et leurs impérissables modéles. Ce sont ces modéles et ces lecons qui serviront de flambeaux et de guide 4 la ‘“‘Société des Bonnes Lettres” pour faire revivre le gofit des bonnes doctrines et des bonnes lettres.’ I] n’est pas besoin de beaucoup de perspicacité pour comprendre que les “bonnes doctrines” n’étaient autre chose que la monarchie soutenue par |’Eglise Catholique et la soutenant, et que les ‘“‘bonnes lettres’”’ seraient empreintes d’un ton religieux et moral. En effet, Fontanes, comme on vient de le voir, entre dans quelques détails sur lutilité de la morale et de la religion: “‘si l’on ne les préchait point dans l’intérét de l’ordre social, dit-il, il faudrait les précher aux hommes de lettres dans l’intérét de leurs talents.’® Mais la Société ne se borna pas 4 s’occuper de littérature et de morale; pour montrer qu’elle aussi savait étre progressive, elle se mit en devoir d’encourager toutes les branches de la science. Et dans les années suivantes, on va développer cette idée en faisant donner, sous les auspices de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres,” des cours de géographie, d’histoire, d’astronomie, d’anatomie, de chimie et de philosophie. “Annales de la Littérature et des Arts, 1821, Vol. II, p. 236. 5 Annales de la Littérature et des Arts, 1821, Vol. II, p. 236. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 3 Les Séances. Les séances eurent lieu 17 rue de Grammont, local composé de trois piéces: un grand salon consacré aux séances publiques; un autre a la lecture des journaux et des revues, et un troisiéme ot fut aménagée une bibliothéque de la société. Les séances se partagérent en séances publiques, prévues au commencement pour tous les lundis, mercredis et vendredis, mais 4 partir du ler mars, sur la demande d’un grand nombre de socié- taires elles furent réduites & deux, (celles des mardis et des ven- dredis),* et en séances particulitres auxquelles n’étaient admis que les fondateurs et les souscripteurs annuels. Membres. La ‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’’, en effet, com- prenait trois catégories de membres; d’abord les cent sociétaires fondateurs, qui étaient en méme temps les propriétaires de l’établissement; les sociétaires abonnés qui payaient cent francs par an et qui avaient droit a tous les priviléges de la Société; et enfin, les sociétaires honoraires.’ Ceux- ci étaient, pour la plupart, des hommes de lettres obscurs qui pouvaient solliciter l’honneur de faire des lectures devant cet auditoire choisi. La Société serait pour eux, comme le dit Fontanes, “un thé&tre d’épreuves, un moyen de perfectionnement et peut-étre une occasion de célé- brité.”’® On pouvait aussi, moyennant une souscription de soixante francs étre admis aux séances, mais non aux salons. Le produit de ces abonnements et souscriptions servirait 4 couvrir les frais de l’ administration, a offrir des prix, et le reste devait étre employé a des oeuvres de bienfaisance. Disons tout de suite qu’il est permis de supposer que les béné- fices ne furent jamais trés considérables, car on ne trouve nulle mention du fait que la Société se soit associée 4 aucune oeuvre: et quant aux prix, elle n’en a pas offert avant 1824, et, alors méme, en nombre fort limité. LES PREMIERES ANNEES DE LA SOCIETE A d’autres points de vue que les finances, les premiéres années de la Société ont df étre assez brillantes. On se pressa a la séance d’ouverture du 15 février, présidée, 4 cause de l’indisposition du président titulaire, le Marquis de Fontanes, par le Marquis d’Espinousse; et un auditoire nombreux assistait également aux * Journal des Débats, 8 mars, 1821. ™Des Granges: la Presse Lsttéraire sous la Restauration, p. 197. * Les Annales, 1821, Vol. II, p. 241. @ 4 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) réunions suivantes. On y remarquait des membres de l’aristo- cratie, des académiciens et surtout des poétes et des hommes de lettres. Victor, Abel et Eugéne Hugo avaient fréquenté les ré- unions dés le premier jour, ainsi que Nodier, Lamartine, Vigny, Soumet, Guiraud, Mennechet, Saint-Valry, etc. A un moment donné la Société est comme le salon de lecture de la Muse Fran- Gatse.° Il convient de ne pas passer sous silence non plus la place de la femme dans la “Société des Bonnes Lettres.”” Nous ne pouvons faire mieux que de citer l*>hommage que leur a rendu Monsieur Roger dans son discours de cléture des exercices de la seconde année:- “Qu’elles embellissent nos réunions 4 venir, comme elles ont embelli celles qui finissent; que leur présence maintienne parmi nous cette urbanité, ce bon gofit dont elles sont les modéles et que l’on cherche en vain dans les assemblées ov elles ne sont pas; que leur douce voix nous encourage; que nos discours soient inspirés par elles et participent de la chaleur de leur Ame comme de la grAce de leur esprit; soutenons enfin, messieurs, de tout notre pouvoir, par nos actions et par notre langage, cette devise de nos péres, cette devise vraiment francaise: Dieu, le Roi et les Dames.’’° Programmes. Un bureau 4a la téte duquel se trouvait le Prési- dent méme de la Société, arrétait pour chaque mois le programme des cours et des lectures; les programmes étaient des plus variés. La premiére partie de la soirée devait étre consacrée 4 un sujet plutét sérieux, dont l’importance exigeait souvent plusieurs séances successives; un jour c’était Auger, célébre pour son mani- feste contre le romantisme et sa polémique contre Stendhal," qui offrait un cours sur Moliére; une autre fois c’était le cours de Mi- chaud sur ]’Htstoire des Crotsades; ou bien c’était Abel Hugo qui entretenait l’auditoire de la Littérature espagnole. Apres le ‘cours,’ il y avait une ‘lecture,’ soit en vers, soit en prose: le plus souvent c’était l’auteur lui-méme qui disait son oeuvre; Lamartine, n’étant pas lui-méme 4a Paris, fit lire une partie de sa tragédie de Satil; Soumet, en plusieurs séances, lut sa Jeanne @’Arc; Guiraud, Legrand, Brifaut, etc., sont aussi parmi ceux qui lurent de leurs oeuvres. *Séché: Cénacle de la “Muse Francaise,” p. 304. 10 Les Annales: 1822, Vol. VII, p. 384. “Stendhal: Racine ef Shakespeare, p. 87. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 5 Plusieurs journaux influents de l’6poque — le Conservateur Littéraire, le Journal des Débats, par exemple,—nous donnent des renseignements sur | ’activité de la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres” mais c’est grace surtout aux Annales de la Littérature ef des Arts,™ journal hebdomadaire qui comptait au nombre de ses rédacteurs, MM. Quatremére de Quincy, Vanderbourg, Raoul-Rochette, Victor Hugo, De Chézy, Abel Rémusat, Mollevaut, Charles Nodier, etc.— que nous pouvons tracer un tableau pas trop incomplet des cours, conférences et lectures offerts aux auditoires de la rue Grammont. Depuis le commencement de la Société jusqu’au 31 mars, 1829, date du dernier numéro des Annales, ce journal a imprimé réguli¢rement, sauf dans un cas seulement dont nous parlerons plus tard, et quelques omissions, accidentelles, les prospectus annuels, les bulletins mensuels, ainsi que des compte- rendus détaillés de beaucoup des séances de la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres.’ Saison 1821. La Société inaugura avec entrain sa guerre contre les idées nouvelles. Dans la premiére séance, M. Bergasse, “ avocat et publiciste, souligne les rapports entre les institutions religieuses et monarchiques, et il énumére les vertus et de la Mo- narchie et de |’Eglise Catholique. Le 19 février 1821, M. Duvic- quet, feuilletonniste du Journal des Débats, aborde un autre probléme presque aussi brfilant: qu’est-ce que ce “genre’”’ roman- tique qu’on veut opposer au “genre” classique. En montrant que les classiques avaient trouvé dans |’imitation de la nature tous les secrets de ]’éloquence et de la poésie l’orateur, selon les Annales, “a été amené a nier l’existence du genre romantique et & lui con- tester les prétentions qu’il étale”’ . . . . Ensuite, passant a la démonstration directe, et les chefs d’oeuvre de la nouvelle école a la main, il conclut “qu’il n’y a aucune qualité estimable qu’on ne retrouve dans les classiques, aucune expression de sentiment ou de pensée, aucune forme de langage et d’éloquence qui n’ait ses 'Hatin: Bibliographic historique ef critique de la Presse Périodique, p. 570. Des Granges: Histoire dela Presse Littératre Sous la Restauration p. 114. Voir Appendice I. ™% Nous avons groupé quelques renseignments biographiques et bibliographiques sur les divers membres et orateurs de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres’’ dans |’Appen- dice IT. ™ Sauf indications contraires les renseignements qui suivent sont empruntés aux Annales. 6 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) modéles dans leurs ouvrages.’*® Rappelons que c’était la un argument trés a la mode chez ceux qu’effrayait le mouvement nou- veau.!? La note religieuse n’est pas absente des séances de la premiére année, comme le témoigne une série de discours prononcés par Abbé Genoude, qui s’était fait connaitre par des travaux théo- logiques, et entre autres par une nouvelle traduction de la Vul- gate. Le 20 mars, 1821, 4 occasion de la mort du Président, le Marquis de Fontanes, un discours fut prononcé devant la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” par le Marquis d’Herbouville.'* Le 22 mars Chateaubriand fut nommé président. Ce fut un événement qu’on ne négligea pas d’exploiter; on fit sonner ce grand nom pour pro- clamer 4 nouveau devant le public les idéals et le but de la Société. “Une Société, dit le Journal des Débats;!* qui se range sous la banniére d’un tel chef, et qu’un tel chef consent a présider, annonce assez de quel esprit elle est animée; amour pour le Roi, respect pour les institutions qu’il nous a données, attachement aux saines doctrines de la littérature et de la morale.” Il n’y a rien de saillant 4 noter dans les séances du printemps. Cependant les réunions eurent lieu réguliérement jusqu’a la fin de juin: et le cours de Monsieur Auger sur Moliére a df contribuer beaucoup 4 leur interét. Saison 1821-1822. Au mois de novembre 1821, avant la reprise des séances, la ‘Commission’ de la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’”’ animée dans ses programmes du méme esprit que l’année précé- dente prit la résolution d’ajouter un cours pratique d’ ‘Eloquence délibérative’: les sujets de discussions devaient étre empruntés & Vhistoire ancienne et a l’histoire moderne, antérieure @ 1789,?° et approuvés par la Commission. II fut voté aussi que tout fon- dateur ou sociétaire abonné aurait droit, en payant vingt-cing francs, 4 une carte d’entrée pour une dame. Cette année trouve la Société rue Neuve Saint Augustin numéro 17, dans un local plus vaste rendu nécessaire par le nombre crois- sant de ses membres. Chateaubriand au fauteuil présidentiel, % Annales 1821, Vol. IT, p. 313. 17 King: Doctrines Littéraires de la Quotidienne, p. 121. 18 Annales, Vol. II, p. 520. 1®Novembre 11, 1821. 30 C’est nous qui soulignons. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 7 tout s’annoncait favorablement d’ailleurs. Le 4 décembre aura lieu la séance d’ouverture; et de nouveaux noms sont venus s’ajouter 4 la liste des professeurs qu’on avait déja entendus:-M. le docteur Véron, médecin et homme de lettres, devait donner un cours d’ana- tomie; M. Nicollet, parler sur l’astronomie; Lacretelle jeune, offrir un cours de morale et ainsi de suite. Duvicquet, dans une série de conférences, ne cessa pas de lancer des anathémes contre la litté- rature nouvelle—preuve qu’il n’avait pas été convaincu par sa propre démonstration de l’hiver précédent que le romantisme n’existait pas. Dans la séance du 30 avril, il s’en prit 4 Madame de Staél.% Delphine était & tous points de vue “une production immorale”’, et il y avait aussi beaucoup 4 blAmer dans Corinne; il réservait a l’Allemagne ses plus grands éloges, consentant 4 reconnattre que c’est “l’oeuvre la moins répréhensible’’ de ]’auteur. Saison 1822-23. L’activité de la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’’ en 1823 devait ressembler beaucoup & celle des deux exercices précédents, seulement elle promettait d’étre encore plus brillante. Le Prospectus pour cette année donne une liste imposante d’au- teurs célébres a l’époque qui devaient, en dehors des cours, faire des lectures variées: tels MM. Ancelot, Auger, Brifaut, Campenon, Coriolis d’Espinousse, Guiraud, Abel et Victor Hugo, Laurentie, Legrand, Lourdoueix, Mély Janin, Soumet, Tézénas et Vial. Et la ‘‘Commission” ne comptait que de grand noms: outre M. le vicomte de Chateaubriand qui continuait 4 la présider, c’était M. le marquis d’Herbouville, vice-président; M. le Marquis de Forbin des Issarts; M. le Marquis Coriolis d’Espinousse; puis Michaud, Berryer fils, Agier, Amédée Jauge, Levacher, Duplessis, Ducancel, et Chévrier. La Saison fut-elle aussi brillante qu’ elle le promettait?—il serait difficile de l’affirmer; car, au cours de cet hiver les Annales, jusqu ’alors si exactes 4 rendre compte des séances de la Société, observent un mutisme complet pendant plusieurs mois 4 son sujet. Elles publieront ensuite cet avis. ‘‘Les Annales mériteraient le reproche d’ingratitude si le silence qu’elles ont gardé depuis le commencement de cette année envers la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” ne provenait pas de circonstances indépendantes de la volonté de leurs auteurs. Nous allons nous empresser d’acquitter 11 Annales Vol. VII, p. 167. ® Annales 1822, Vol. X, p. 13. 3 Annales 1823, Vol. XI, p. 121. 8 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) cette longue dette en nous promettant bien de ne pas manquer & * Vengagement que nous prenons de rendre compte des travaux d’un établissement si honorable et si utile. Cette obligation nous sera désormais tout a fait libre [sic] et, en renoncant au titre de Journal de la Société [titre que les Annales s’étaient donné a la fin de 1821.] nous pouvons nous livrer avec moins de géne et de réserve a l’expression de nos sentiments pour elle.’’ Quelle était exacte- ment la nature de cette contrainte qui empécha pendant si long- temps jusqu’a la publication du moindre compte-rendu? Nous Vignorons. Cependant il est évident que quelque chose de facheux s’était produit et que ce long silence trahit une premiére note dis- cordante dans l’histoire interne de la Société. Il est évident aussi que les idées auxquelles la “‘Société des Bonnes Lettres”’ faisait la guerre gagnaient du terrain chaque jour. On se rappelle que 1’édi- tion de Chénier est de 1819; les Méditations de Lamartine sont de 1820; les Odes de Victor Hugo, de 1822; et surtout, le redoutable pamphlet de Beyle est de 1822. Ce n’était donc pas le moment de demeurer endormi: et on tenta de se ressaisir. La SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES ET LA CRITIQUE Jusqu’ici nous avons emprunté nos renseignements aux jour- naux et revues qui étaient plutét favorables a la Société des Bonnes Lettres. Comme bien I’on pense, l’accueil ne fut pas pareil tou- jours puisque la dite Société cherchait 4 remonter le courant de Vopinion. Pour étre absolument véridique sur ce point, il fau- drait vraiment dépouiller tous les journaux du temps—t&che que nous ne pouvons pas songer 4 assumer. Nous nous sommes donc bornés a relever dans le Miroir—qui prit l’attitude nettement frondeuse—certains passages relatifs aux premiéres années de la Société. Le Miroir des spectacles, des lettres, des moeurs et des arts “‘une des feuilles les plus spirituelles et les plus populaires de la Res- tauration” a paru du 15 février 1821 au 24 juin 1823. Ses édi- teurs, MM. Jouy, Arnault, Emmanuel Dupaty, Cauchois-Lemaire, etc., étaient tous des libéraux qui ne cessaient pas de faire au ministére une guerre d’escarmouches,—ce qui donna au Msroir et au Pandore, (titre sous leque] le journal fut repris le 16 juillet 1823), une certaine importance politique. Il était inévitable que les Bonnes Lettres, par leur politique aussi bien que par leurs idées littéraires, provoquassent les sarcas- LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 9 mes du Miroir. Et en effet, les éditeurs suivirent de prés )’ac- tivité de la Société, déployant beaucoup d’éloquence 4 la railler. Parfois il est vrai, ces railleries nous paraissent assez peu spiri- tuelles; c’était une plaisanterie facile—et dont ils firent un usage un peu trop fréquent—que de peupler une société des bonnes let- tres de bonshommes et de bonnes femmes, aux bonnes moeurs, en bonnet, etc.; ou bien de faire de Monsieur Lacretelle un Frére La Cresselle. Toutefois 14 n’est pas la question; et il faut citer au moins quelques passages 4 titre documentaire. Nous choisissons ceux qui nous ont paru les moins plats. Du 14 novembre 1821: Deux sociétés littéraires et scientifiques vont s’ouvrir [= vont commencer leur saison d’hiver]; l’une a déja un an d’existence l’autre n’en a qu’un peu plus de quarante; |’une s’est intitulée société des bonnes lettres, l’autre a conservé son som d’Athénée; l’une est présidée par M. de Chateaubriand, ancien ambassadeur & Berlin; l’autre est présidée par M. Chaptal, auteur modeste de la Chimie appli- quée aux arts, ancien ministre de l’intérieur. Les professeurs des bonnes lettres sont M M. Duvicquet, Raoul-Rochette, Lacre- telle jeune. Les professeurs de ]’Athénée sont M. M. Lingay, Azais, Magendie, Pouillet Blainville, Robicquet, Francoeur, Constant Prévost. Nous invitons ceux de nos lecteurs qui auront un excés de loisir et de curiosité a suivre les cours des deux sociétés, et a préférer ceux de |’Athénée s’ils n’ont qu’un loisir et une curiosité raisonnable. L’identité du “Mélomane’”’—de |’extrait suivant—nous échap- pe. C’était un des collaborateurs réguliers du Miroir, et qui, sous ce. pseudonyme, discutait les é6vénements musicaux. . . et autres. Du 7 décembre 1821: Le Vieux Médomane A lo société des bonnes letives Vous savez, Madame, que je désirais ardemment d’assister a la séance d’ouver- ture de la société des bonnes lettres. Toute la difficulté était de m’y introduire. est bon de vous dire qu’avant d’entrer “‘in illo docto corpore’’ il faut préablement se soumettre a des examens au moins aussi sévéres que ceux qui étaient de rigueur pour étre admis dans l’€cole de Pythagore. Les adeptes ont a subir des épreuves trés multipliées; on les interroge sur leurs pensées et sur leurs actes, sur ce qu’ils croient; et sur ce qu’ils sont disposés a croire; il ne manque véritablement que les purifications pour constituer une parfaite similitude avec les initiations aux mys- téres. J'avouequecesformalités m’avaient assez effrayé pour me rebuter complétement. Outre qu’a mon Age il est assez pénible de subir un interrogatoire comme un petit garcon; il m’edt été fort difficile de répondre catégoriquement a beaucoup de ques- tions dont je me voyais menacé. Je suppose qu’on m’eit demandé ma profession de 10 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) foi sur les ouvrages de plusieurs des péres de cette église littéraire, j’eusse été trés embarrassé: il m’eft fallu user envers ma conscience d’une violence un peu forte pour trouver de la clarté dans les oeuvres de |’un pour applaudir a l’élégance du style de l’autre; pour reconnaftre du sens commun dans les aberrations de celui-ci pour accorder de |’harmonie aux vers de celui-la. Quoique les ailes de pigeons qui décorent mon chef pussent me donner quelques droits a étre traité sans défiance par le jury de réception, j’étais loin d’étre rassuré en songeant 4 mes précédens. Mon ancienne qualité de maitre de chapelle de |’empereur Joseph II qui fut, comme on sait, philosophe et grand innovateur, m’inspirait de justes inquiétudes. Une cantate que j’ai composée en l’honneur de Catherine IT pouvait me rendre suspect et je craignais qu’on ne vint a découvrir que j’ai fait ma partie a l’Age de dix ans dans un concerto ot le roi de Prusse jouait la premiére flate. Enfin entiérement découragé, je commencais a vous écrire une lettre surla musique que je vous dois depuis longtemps, lorsqu’un excellent magnétiseur de ma connais- sance est venu me suggérer |’idée d’un moyen de sortird’embarras. Comme il a découvert au magnétisme des propriétés nouvelles dont il conserve seul le secret, il s’est engagé sans hésiter, a me faire assister a la séance dont j’étais curieux. Re- venu chez moi a l’heure méme od elle allait commencer, il m’a imposé sur le front plusieurs feuilletons du journal des Débats et plusieurs articles de la Quotidienne signés L. . . . ; puis aprés avoir placé dans un autre endroit d’assez longs articles de la Gazette en faveur des Turcs il a procéde a la magnétisation. Un profond sommeil préparé par de trés longs baillements n’a pas tardé a s’emparer de moi, et je me suis trouvé transporté aussitét dans un fort beau salon. Des toilettes bril- lantes s’y faisaient remarquer, et peut-étre ces toilettes étaient-elles chez beau- coup de personnes un puissant motif d’attrait pour la bonne littérature? M. Duvicquet a commencé son discours par la définition des bonnes lettres. Le savant professeur a deployé dans cet exorde toute l’éloquence du Dictionnaire de Académie. De la il s’est élevé & des considérations plus ou moins neuves sur la littérature, sur la barbarie, sur les dangers qui menacent la société, et surtout sur Vutilité des bonnes lettres. Ce qui m’a paru plus remarquable dans le discours de M. Duvicquet, ce sont les applaudissements qu'il a recus. Je conseille a tout homme qui aime a étre applaudi a outrance d’aller faire des lectures a la société des bonnes lettres. Jamais |’enthousiasme ne se manifeste par des signes plus éclatans; jamais l’admiration ne se fait plus impérieuse. Jenesais s’il se trouvait des profanes dans |’assemblée; ils devraient étre aisément reconnus s’ils ne faisaient chorus avec ces bravos presque furieux ou les voix féminines prenaient une part décisive. Je vous promets, Madame, de vous parler de la séance suivante de la société & moins qu’une nouvelle lecture de M. Lingay a |’Athénée ne m’oblige de donner a cette réunion la préférence qu’elle me semble mériter. : Le Vieux Mélomane L’extrait suivant se rapporte 4 l’abrogation de la Censure pour l’année 1822. Le Méroir estime que naturellement la Société des Bonnes Lettres sera affligée de cet événement. Chacun sa- vait qu’au moins deux des douze ‘“‘censeurs’’ étaient des adeptes illustres de la Société, Auger et Raoul Rochette. (D’autre part, LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 11 Lacretelle avait refusé d’en faire partie). On se souvient que la Charte de 1814 avait assuré 4 la France la liberté de la presse; mais que dés le 21 octobre 1814, la loi de Guizot et de Royer-Col- lard rétablissait la censure.. Abolie de nouveau pendant les Cent- jours, elle reparut en 1817, (loi du 22 février). En 1819 abolition encore; mais en suite de |’assassinat du Duc de Berry elle fut re- mise en vigueur, le 31 mars 1820. Ce rétablissment fut trés im- populaire; cependant la loi fut prorogée encore pour 1821; puis abrogéee pour 1822. C’est ici que se place l’article du Msroir visant la Société des Bonnes Lettres. Il faut, pour étre complet, ajouter que cependant, par la loi du 22 mars, le Gouvernement se réservait la faculté de rétablir la censure par simple ordonnance royale;—ce qui arriva le 15 aoft 1824, pour quelques mois; en 1827 elle fut une fois de plus en vigueur pour quelques mois. En 1830 la Révolution voulut en assurer la disparition définitive. Du 21 février 1822: Souscription ouverte Pour triger un monument sépulcral ad la Censure Nous avons parlé du sarcophage d’une forme particuliére qui renferme la dépouille de la Censure. En notre qualité d’historiens de cet étre collectif avec lequel nous avons eu beaucoup plus de relations que nous ne l’aurions désiré, nous devons ajouter pour l’instruction de nos arriére neveux, que la société des bonnes lettres en qualité d’exécuteur testamentaire de la défunte a décidé qu’il serait ouvert une souscription pour lui ériger un cénotaphe. Elle a pensé d’un commun accord que le nombre des gens qui craignent les vérités, les demi-vérités et méme les quarts de vérités était assez grand pour qu’on ait lieu d’espérer de recueillir une assez forte somme. Pour exciter leur générosité, il a été résolu qu’on publierait leurs noms dans 1’Etoile du soir et dans le Journal des bonnes lettres, ce qui les laissera dans une obscurité conforme & leur aversion pour le grand jour. On a choisi pour emplacement un local voisin de la barriére des bons hommes, dont la société se propose de faire l’acquisition, pour y tenir les séances de ses cours pendant 1’été, ce qui renouvellera, dit-on, parmi nous, les jardins d’académies. I y aura méme, a ce qu’on prétend, des bosquets, parce que les bonnes femmes des lettres les aiment encore, sans doute a cause de leur obscurité. Le monument sera élevé dans le plus obscur de tous, sur un terrain od les pavots, les orties, les ronces, les agarics et les champignons croissent naturellement et od vivent une foule de reptiles de toute espéce. C’est la, dit-on, qu’un bonhomme professera l’art de diffamer le dix-huitiéme siécle, et d’admirer les ouvrages des bons hommes des lettres. Le plan du monument sera commandé a un muet du sérail de Sa Hautesse, Pun des meilleurs architectes de Constantinople, celui qui imagina de placer pour ornemens, a une frise, des bouches fermées par des cadenas. On exprimera le voeu que la forme du cénotaphe en question soit un boisseau renversé; les ornemens seront des seaux en trophée et en sautoir. On gravera autour 12 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) du socle des chiffres formés de ce signe de typographie usité dans la correction des épreuves et qu’on nomme “‘deleatur,” et l’effigie du personnage en marbre noir couronnera 1|’édifice. Un membre a eu |’idée de le représenter A demi recouvert par la pierre funéraire, et s’efforcant de la soulever (comme on I’a déja fait pour le tombeau d’un grand homme, que chacun a pu voir aux Petits-Augustins, du temps qu’ils renfermaient un musée national). [?] Enfin la société a nommé une commission d’experts en style lapidaire pour aviser aux moyens de composer une épitaphe convenable et digne de la trés haute et trés-puissante dame la défunte. L’un a proposé, “Post tenebras, lux, avec des larmes figurées. Un autre, ce vers: “Elle effacait, effacait, effacait.” Un troisiéme demandait ces mots seulement: “Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columbas.” qu’on regarde comme le meilleur éloge qu’on puisse faire de la Censure, attendu que le corbeau est un des oiseaux favoris des bons hommes de lettres. Du 6 février 1823: Une Séance de la Société des Bonnes Lettres ~ ‘\ Il est huit heures du soir, la salle est remplie, les assistans ont l’air d’étre une seule famille; on se livre, en attendant les bons homme qui doivent faire la legon aux autres, 4 des conversations particuliéres dont rien ne parvient jusqu’a nous, si ce n’est une terminaison semblable a celle de Champagne; il parait pourtant que l’on ne s’occupe pas de cette province. Dans le fond de la salle, prés de la tribune, est un groupe de bons hommes dont la physionomie et les gestes annoncent qu’ils se félicitent réciproquement; l’attitude de plusieurs personnes de cette scéne rappelle les docteurs des Femmes savantes; mais un bon homme monte a la tribune et la scéne ne s’achéve pas. C’est une lecon de physiologie; l’orateur nous apprend en s’appuyant de I’auto- rité de Richerand, d’Harvey et de Pariset que la course est un composé de la marche et du saut, et passe en revue avec la méme sagacité toutes les différentes stations depuis la position du soldat sous les armes, jusqu’a la posture du solliciteur convexe; de nombreux applaudissements éclatent durant cette Iecon surtout au moment od le professeur enseigne que la puissance qui nous frappe de cété a moins de prise sur nous, si nos deux pieds sont écartés sur la méme ligne, que s’ils sont rapprochés; un auditeur peu favorablement prévenu, est forcé de convenir que le philosophe du Bourgeois gentilhomme ne disait pas mieux. Au moment ot le lectcur salue l’assemblée et quitte la tribune un auditeur qui avait applaudi avec chaleur quelques allusions aux affaires du temps assez joliment amenées, un auditeur qui venait de faire plusieurs démonstrations belliqueuses se léve, fait quelques pas et aprés avoir heurté un assistant a figure pacifique, de maniére a faire croire qu’il le provoque, chancelle et tombe. A l’instant chacun quitte sa place, cent flacons lui sont présentés a la fois et le spectateur prévenu lui-méme offre une gousse d’ail dont |’odeur rappelle au sentiment, afin que ce mot du poéte fat vérifié: “L’ail est le parfum des guerriers” LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 13 « Cet incident heureusement terminé, un second bon homme monte a la tribune sous prétexte de faire une lecon de littérature dramatique espagnole. “Messieurs, dit-il, je vais interrompre le sujet que j’avais entamé dans mon dernier discours pour vous rendre compte d’un drame intitulé: la Vierge de Cavadonza, ou la Restauration de |’Espagne.” (bravo, bravo!) De ce moment il nous devient impossible de suivre l’orateur; les applaudissements ne nous permettent d’entendre distinctement que ces mots: Quésada (bravo!) O’donnell (bravo!) le Trapiste (bravo, bravo!) sa main frappe et bénit (on ne s’entend plus). La séance est levée. L’extrait suivant apporte évidemment un joli prétexte de rail- lerie. D’autre part il témoigne d’un certain succés de la Société des Bonnes Lettres—si vraiment il y un rapport a établir; ce qui ne semble pas absolument démontré. Du 24 février 1823: On dit qu’il y a, dans le faubourg Saint-Honoré, un café qui a pris pour en* seigne: Café des bonnes letires. Sur les vitres de la boutique sont placés plusieurS avis écrits a la main; on lit sur |’un de ces avis: Bon vain chau et frott, auvére, 4 sous. C’est probablement dans cet établissement que les membres de la confrérie vont s’abreuver; et tout porte & croire que les avis sont rédigés par le bonhomme Ry. on si ingénieusement nommé le pére des lettres 4 cause du grand nombre de celles qui lui passent par les mains. Du mars 13, 1823: La société des bonnes lettres vient d’augmenter ses professeurs, d’un mattrt en fait d’armes, a l’usage de ses membres; frére La Cresselle tire déja fort jolimene ala muraille; mais frére Clopincau ne veut point apprendre l’escrime; il prétend qu'il est naturellement en garde, et que d’ailleurs, il est dans le monde sur un pied qui ne lui permet pas des jeux de mains, quoiqu’en dise le proverbe. Du 24 mars 1823: Des profanes ont remarqué dans la salle de danses de la société des bonnes lettres que l’étendard qui est suspendu au-dessus de la tribune d’of partent tant de déclarations de guerre au sens commun, est drapé de telle maniére qu’il fait un céne ressemblant parfaitement a un éteignoir. Ces extraits suffsent 4 indiquer le ton général des critiques du Miroir a4 l’adresse de la Société de Bonnes Lettres. LA REORGANISATION DE LA SOCIETE Ces dénigrements persistants, dont l’effet s’ajoutait 4 celui des mouvements de plus en plus fréquents, dont nous parlions tout a Vheure, devaient nécessairement provoquer un renouveau d’efforts chez les réactionnaires. Justement l’heure était favo- rable; il fallait de toute fagon procéder 4 une réorganisation de la société. En effet, a l’Assemblée Générale du 29 mai, 1823, Berryer 14 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) fils rappela aux sociétaires que la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres”’ avait été fondée pour une période de trois années, et que la troisiéme venait de s’écouler; on décida donc de reconstituer la Société sur de nouvelles bases.* Sa durée serait illimitée 4 dater du premier novembre 1823; ou, comme dira le nouveau Prospectus* “‘confiée 4 la fortune impérissable de la monarchie.”’ Les régles d’admission et d’administration furent modifiées en ce sens que le nombre de Fondateurs pouvait étre porté 4 trois cents (au lieu de cent, comme avant), ce qui rendait évidemment moins absolument exclusif l’esprit de la Société; chacun serait tenu de verser une mise de fonds de deux cents francs et s’obligerait, en outre, 4 payer annuellement une subvention de cinquante francs. Les autres réformes seront dans le méme sens: desserrer les liens trop étroits qui empéchaient tout contact avec le reste du monde et par 1a toute action réelle sur le public, ce qui était la raison d’étre de la Société. A partir de 1824, la Société sera administrée par un Président, un Vice-président, et une ‘Commission’ de dix membres; ceux-ci se renouvelleront par moitié chaque année, —ils pourront du reste étre réélus. Le Président et le Vice-président seront nommeés pour un an seulement et Jes nominations seront faites par L’ Assemblée Générale des Fondateurs, qui élira aussi un Trésorier pour trois ans. Enfin la Société aura dorénavant un Secrétaire _ avec un traitement fixé par la ‘Commission,’ et qui, étant payé, - devra veiller activement 4 la marche des affaires; il habitera le local de la Société. Le Président, qui peut étre suppléé par le Vice-président, comme par le passé, convoquera toutes les réunions, dirigera les travaux littéraires et entretiendra la correspondance et les relations avec les professeurs et les gens de lettres. Parmi les autres dispositions prises, notons encore que la Société acceptera des abonnés a raison de cent francs par an; le nombre de ceux-ci sera illimité mais ils doivent étre présentés par trois sociétaires. Le Président peut, d’accord avec la Com- mission offrir des ‘‘cartes gratuites de professeur”’ aux écrivains et aux gens de lettres qui auront collaboré aux travaux de la Société. Ces professeurs et hommes de lettres jouiront de toutes les pré- rogatives attachées a la qualité d’abonné. *% Annales: Vol. X, p. 287. % Annales: Vol. XIII, p. 385. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 15 Enfin on va établir des prix, sur lesquels on comptera bien aussi pour attirer ]’attention du public sur la Société et sur ses principes. Les Annales publient l’avis suivant;* “‘La Société royale des Bonnes Lettres’, un établissement qui compte déja trois années d’honorable existence et de succés aussi glorieux qu’utiles, qui a paru 4 sa Majesté digne d’étre consacré par la plus noble dénomination [adoptée a la fin de 1823] ne pouvait mieux justifier cette auguste munificence qu’en offrant par son premier acte [aprés trois ans d’existence!] des encouragements 4 |’Eloquence et a la Poésie. Nous nous empressons d’en publier le programme, persuadés d’avance que tous les talents vont 4 l’envi répondre & un appel qui leur promet un prix si flatteur. Annoncer que les juges des concurrents seront choisis par l’illustre Président de la ‘“‘Société royale des Bonnes Lettres,” c’est garantir 4 ceux qui entreront dans la lice que leurs efforts seront appréciés par le gofit le plus pur et la plus sincére impartialité.’”’ Le prix de poésie (une médaille d’or de 1500 francs) sera décerné dans la séance publique du 28 janvier, 1824, 4 celui qui aura le mieux traité ce sujet: ‘‘L’Armée francaise en Espagne, 1823.” Le prix d’éloquence, aussi de 1500 francs, récompensera un “Discours sur les avantages de la légitimité;” le lauréat sera proclamé dans la séance du 3 mai 1824. Saison 1823-24. Le 4 décembre 1823, les hommes qui croyaient “4 la religion de Bossuet, a la royauté de Louis XIV et d’Henri IV, au génie de Racine et de Boileau,’”’ se réunirent pour la premiére séance de la quatriéme année. Le discours fut prononcé par Lacre- telle jeune, qui ne fit qu’exhorter les Jeunes écrivains 4 se tenir en garde contre les piéges qui leur étaient tendus par les défenseurs des idées nouvelles, surtout en ce qui concerne le théAtre. “Qui laurait cru?” dit-il, ‘‘c’est notre théAtre, le titre prééminent de notre gloire que menacent d’abord nos réformateurs.’® [C’était bien le moment de s’alarmer; le premier chapitre de Racine et Shakespeare n’a-t-il pas pour titre: ‘‘Pour faire des tragédies qui puissent intéresser le public en 1823, faut-il suivre les errements de Racine ou ceux de Shakespeare?’’]?® I] déplora aussi “tout ce luxe % Annales: Vol. XII, p. 359. 7 Annales: Vol. XIII, p. 386. 3% Annales: Vol. XIII, p. 415. Stendhal: Racine ef Shaksepeare, Voir aussi Marsan: la Batatlle Roman- bique, p. 129. 16 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) de mélancolie emprunté aux voisins” et il conseilla aux “Jeune Parnasse’’ de ne pas se laisser entrainer par des théories dange- reuses. Ici il faisait allusion, sans doute, au sentimentalisme alle- mand de Nodier. Le type Werther, si évident dans ses oeuvres de jeunesse, [Les proscrits, 1802; Le Peintre de Saltzburg, 1803], reparait plus tard dans ses romans frénétiques [Jean Sbogar, 1818; Smarra, 1821]; et dans Trilby, 1822. L’année 1824 se passa d’ailleurs sans incident remarquable. I] y eut cependant, le 6 janvier, la séance solennelle du décerne- ment des prix. Lacretelle annonga que parmi 130 concurrents, chiffre remarquablement élevé, on avait choisi M. Denain de Beauvais pour lui offrir la médaille d’or;-des mentions honorables furent attribuées 4 MM. Garrit, Constant, Berrier, Siméon et a quelques autres qui n’avaient pas révélé leurs noms. Le 3 mai le prix d’éloquence fut adjugé 4 M. Audibert, avec mentions 4 MM. Maugras et Lemarcis; nous ne savons pas le nombre des con- currents. Les Prix. Puisque nous en sommes a parler des prix, il ne sera peut-étre pas mal 4 propos de donner ici la liste des sujets proposés pour les concours dans les années qui suivirent, et les noms des lauréats. En 1825, ce fut M. Bignan qui remporta le prix, sur 104 concurrents, pour son poéme intitulé “l’Avénement de Charles X’’; et M. Audibert fut couronné de nouveau, cette fois-ci pour son discours sur “‘]’Influence de la Religion Chrétienne sur les Institutions Sociales.”” Il n’y eut pas de prix décerné en 1826. Le prix d’éloquence pour “]’Eloge du Duc d’Enghien’”’ quoique le sujet efit été proposé dés 1826, ne sera attribué qu’en 1827. Alors MM. Audibert et Anatole Roux-Laborie se parta- gérent les honneurs, M. Audibert recevant l’accessit et M. Roux- Laborie la palme. En 1828, soixante concurrents se présentérent et Bignan fut honoré une seconde fois de la médaille de poésie pour son “Ode sur |’Entrée d’Henri IV a Paris.’”’ Le prix d’élo- quence de 1829 fut décerné 4 M. Anatole Roux-Laborie qui l’avait déja obtenu en 1827. Ce fut le dernier prix offert par la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres.” La Socr£tE DES BONNES LETTRES ET LES FRERES Huco Avant de relater briévement les derniers souffles de vie de la Société, nous insérons ici quelques renseignements sur la part prise par les fréres Hugo dans la “Société des Bonnes Lettres.”’ LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 17 Le lustre particulier qui s’attache au nom des Hugo justifie abon- damment cette digression. Les rapports qu’eut avec la Société particuliérement Victor jettent quelque lumiére sur ]’évolution de la pensée du poéte; et en outre, sur certains épisodes de l’histoire de la Société elle-méme. Nous avons déja relevé que les fréres Hugo étaient tous “‘mem- bres abonnés” de la Société des Bonnes Lettres. On peut se de- mander comment Victor, alors si pauvre, trop pauvre pour se marier, a pu trouver cent francs 4 jeter dans cette affaire? Et on se demande si on ne doit pas chercher 1a la main de Chateaubriand: si Chateaubriand, ayant deviné l’avenir de ‘“‘l’enfant prodige,” et se sachant profondément admiré par lui, n’a pas fait conférer 4 Victor Hugo et 4 ses fréres ce rang d’abonné 8 titre gracieux? On sait, en effet, que la visite de Victor Hugo chez Chateaubriand eut lieu aprés la publication en mars 1820 du poéme sur la mort du Duc de Berry.*® Et depuis, les fréres Hugo soutenaient dans leur journal avec un beau zéle la cause qui était aussi la cause de Chateaubriand. Ils s’étaient donné comme modéle leConservateur Politique, rédigé par Chateaubriand; et quand, en mars 1820, le journal de leur atné cessa de parattre le Conservateur Littéraire, dont le titre méme rappelle l’inspiration de autre, imprima en téte de son deuxiéme volume ces lignes probablement écrites par Victor Hugo*!: “Puisque notre redoutable ainé, le Conservateur, a cessé de paraitre, nous promettons de conserver intact l’héritage des sains principes qu’il nous a légués avec son titre; nous espérons que ses honorables rédacteurs reconnaitront entre eux et nous une confraternité sinon de talent, du moins de zéle et d’opinions; et nous croyons dire assez quel haut prix nous attachons 4a ce titre de royalistes, en ajoutant que cette seconde fraternité ne nous paraitt pas moins glorieuse que la premiére.”’ Quoi qu’il en soit de notre hypothése, les fréres Hugo con- tribuérent leur bonne part au programme des séances; Abel, par ses conférences sur la littérature espagnole, Victor, par la lecture de quelques -unes de ses odes. Abel Hugo. En vérité, pendant quelque temps, Abel Hugo fut trés actif dans la Société. En 1821 il donna une série de neuf *® Dubois: Bio-Btbliogra phic, p. 46. Hugo: Victor Hugo raconté, Vol. II p. 100. 81 Souriau: Préface de Cromwell, p. 45. / 18 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) conférences™ sur la littérature espagnole: le 28 février, les 3 et 17 avril, les 15 et 29 mai, les 8, 15 et 29 juin. D’aprés une lettre de Victor Hugo 4 Alfred de Vigny, nous savons que “les séances d’Abel aux Bonnes Lettres ont beaucoup de succés.’”* L’éloge de Victor semble justifié car Abel occupa aussi une partie des soirées du 29 janvier, 22 février, 5 mars, 19 avril et du 7 et 14 mai, 1822. I] traita surtout la littérature dramatique espagnole le 7 mai il parla des ‘“Romances Vendéennes.”* En 1823 Abel Hugo fit encore quelques conférences mais aprés cette année son nom, notons-le, ne parait plus sur les programmes mensuels. Victor Hugo. En 1821, le Victor Hugo des Odes et Ballades, alors “plus royaliste que le roi,’** chantait volontiers de temps en temps les gloires et les malheurs de la monarchie légitime. Avant le 28 février il avait composé l’ode sur ‘‘Quiberon’”’ qu’il lut a la sixiéme séance de la Société, un des soirs mémes ot Abel entre- tenait l’assemblée de ses études sur la littérature espagnole. Les Letires Champenotses du 23 mars 1821 nous apprennent que la séance du 28 février fut remplie en entier par les fréres Hugo, “deux hommes qui se recommandent par leur jeunesse, leur talent et leur excellent esprit.’’>’ Dans une lettre d’Adéle Foucher 4 Victor Hugo du commence- ment du mois de mars, ** nous trouvons cité d’autre part le compte rendu de cette méme séance du 28 février que donnent les Annales de la Littérature et des Arts du 3 mars.** “Le nom encore peu connu de MM. Hugo [Victor Hugo n’est pas encore collaborateur de ce journal], qui devaient remplir 4 eux seuls cette séance avait attiré peu de monde. MM. Hugo ont été accueillis avec |’indulgence qui devait s’attacher a leur Age et a leurs sentiments. M. Victor Hugo est venu réchauffer la prose de son frére par une ode sur “‘Quiberon’”’ qui a été fort applaudie et qui méritait de l’étre parce que, malgré ® Collaboration généreuse, puisqu’aucun autre conférencier n’en a fait plus de cinq au cours de cette premiére année. ® Correspondance: 1815-1835: p. 14. * Abel Hugo avait l’intention de publier “le Génie du Thédtre espagnol,” col- lection de traductions et d’analyses des piéces. La publication n’alla pas au dela du Prospectus. (voir Michaud, article Abel Hugo.) % Son livre les Romances Historiques est de la méme année. *Séché: Cénacle de la Muse Francaise, p. 306. 37 Biré: Hugo avant 1830, p. 238. % Dubois: Bso-Bibliographie, p. 104. ** Vol. I. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 19 quelques obscurités, on y trouve un sentiment profond et une poésie animée.”’ | Le 13 mars Victor Hugo lut une ode sur le dix-huitiéme siécle intitulée “‘Vision’° [Elle a été publiée dans la Quotidienne du 12 mars, les Annales du 10 mars, le Conservateur Littératre du 31 mars, et enfin dans les Odes et Ballades de 1822.|*! D’aprés les Lettres Champenotses (XXXIV ™ lettre) “il semble que Victor Hugo in- disposé ait fait lire son oeuvre par un autre’; mais le Conservateur Littérasre du 31 mars (dernier numéro de ce journal), nomme les lecteurs et le titre de Ja lecture pour les mois de février et mars, et, ainsi que les Annales, attribue la lecture de ‘Vision’ 4 Victor Hugo lui-méme. Nous avons en outre a constater, sans pouvoir l’expliquer non plus, cette autre divergence: dans une lettre & Alfred de Vigny, datée du 21 avril,“ Hugo écrit: “‘je n’ai rien lu ni fait depuis “Quiberon’’. [‘Vision” date du 13 mars] Et il ajoute “J’ai recu de Monsieur Chateaubriand une lettre charmante ou il me dit que cette ode |’a fait pleurer.” Enfin il nous apprend, toujours dans cette méme lettre que le gouvernement lui avait demandé des vers sur le baptéme du Duc de Bordeaux. L’ode composée pour cette occasion fut lue a la séance du 4 mai de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres.’“* Le Défenseur du 3-5 mai dit, ‘‘c’est la plus remarquables des piéces publiées. L’auteur est 4 peine Agé de dix-neuf ans. I] compte déja parmi ]’élite des roya- listes.’""* A propos dela méme ode, on reléve dans la Quotidienne du 7 mai,“ les mots suivants: ‘On trouve chez Lenormand une Ode de M. Victor Hugo, jeune poéte déja connu par une foule de productions qui annoncent a la fois un beau talent et d’excellentes doctrines. Celle dont nous parlons se distingue comme toutes les autres par une versification soutenue par des mouvements poétiques et par des sentiments honorables. Nous citons au hasard quelques vers en regrettant de ne pouvoir citer le poéme entier ot étincelle le feu du génie pindarique.” [22 vers sont cités]. Le Journal de Paris® du 14 mai, parlant de la méme ode, dit que Victor Hugo “ Annales: Vol. IT, le 17 mars. “ Livre I, Ode X. @ Correspondance: p. 14. ® Dubois: p. 110. “ Déijenseur, T. v. Nos. 2 & 3, pp. 40-41. “ Dubois: p. 110. @ Dubois: p. 111. 18 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) conférences® sur la littérature espagnole: le 28 février, les 3 et 17 avril, les 15 et 29 mai, les 8, 15 et 29 juin. D’aprés une lettre de Victor Hugo 4 Alfred de Vigny, nous savons que “les séances d’Abel aux Bonnes Lettres ont beaucoup de succés.”* L’éloge de Victor semble justifié car Abel occupa aussi une partie des soirées du 29 janvier, 22 février, 5 mars, 19 avril et du 7 et 14 mai, 1822. [1 traita surtout la littérature dramatique espagnole;* le 7 mai il parla des ““Romances Vendéennes.’”* En 1823 Abel Hugo fit encore quelques conférences mais aprés cette année son nom, notons-le, ne parait plus sur les programmes mensuels. Victor Hugo. En 1821, le Victor Hugo des Odes et Ballades, -alors “plus royaliste que le roi,’”** chantait volontiers de temps en temps les gloires et les malheurs de Ja monarchie légitime. Avant le 28 février il avait composé l’ode sur ‘“‘Quiberon” qu’il lut a la sixiéme séance de la Société, un des soirs mémes ow Abel entre- tenait l’assemblée de ses études sur la littérature espagnole. Les Lettres Champenotses du 23 mars 1821 nous apprennent que la séance du 28 février fut remplie en entier par les fréres Hugo, “deux hommes qui se recommandent par leur jeunesse, leur talent et leur excellent esprit.’’*’ Dans une lettre d’Adéle Foucher 4 Victor Hugo du commence- ment du mois de mars, ** nous trouvons cité d’autre part le compte rendu de cette méme séance du 28 février que donnent les Annales . dela Littérature et des Arts du 3 mars.*® ‘Le nom encore peu connu de MM. Hugo [Victor Hugo n’est pas encore collaborateur de ce journal], qui devaient remplir a eux seuls cette séance avait attiré peu de monde. MM. Hugo ont été accueillis avec l’indulgence qui devait s’attacher a leur Age et a leurs sentiments. M. Victor Hugo est venu réchauffer la prose de son frére par une ode sur “Quiberon”’ qui a été fort applaudie et qui méritait de l’étre parce que, malgré ® Collaboration généreuse, puisqu’aucun autre conférencier n’en a fait plus de cinq au cours de cette premiére année. ® Correspondance: 1815-1835: p. 14. * Abel Hugo avait l’intention de publier “le Génie du Thédtre espagnol,” col- lection de traductions et d’analyses des piéces. La publication n’alla pas au dela du Prospectus. (voir Michaud, article Abel Hugo.) % Son livre les Romances Historiques est de la méme année. *Séché: Cénacle de la Muse Francatse, p. 306. 87 Biré: Hugo avant 1830, p. 238. % Dubois: Bio-Bibliographie, p. 104. Vol. I. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 19 quelques obscurités, on y trouve un sentiment profond et une poésie animée.” Le 13 mars Victor Hugo lut une ode sur le dix-huitiame siécle intitulée “Vision’”° [Elle a été publiée dans la Quotidienne du 12 mars, les Annales du 10 mars, le Conservateur Littéraire du 31 mars, et enfin dans les Odes et Ballades de 1822.|*! D’aprés les Lettres Champenotses (XXXIV ™ lettre) “il semble que Victor Hugo in- disposé ait fait lire son oeuvre par un autre’; mais le Conservateur Littératre du 31 mars (dernier numéro de ce journal), nomme les lecteurs et le titre de la lecture pour les mois de février et mars, et, ainsi que les Annales, attribue la lecture de “Vision” 4 Victor Hugo lui-méme. Nous avons en outre a constater, sans pouvoir l’expliquer non plus, cette autre divergence: dans une lettre & Alfred de Vigny, datée du 21 avril,“ Hugo écrit: “je n’ai rien lu ni fait depuis ‘“‘Quiberon”. [‘‘Vision’’ date du 13 mars] Et il ajoute ‘“‘J’ai recu de Monsieur Chateaubriand une lettre charmante ot il me dit que cette ode ]’a fait pleurer.”” Enfin il nous apprend, toujours dans cette méme lettre que le gouvernement lui avait demandé des vers sur le baptéme du Duc de Bordeaux. L’ode composée pour cette occasion fut lue 4 la séance du 4 mai de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres.”“* Le Défenseur du 3-5 mai dit, ‘‘c’est la plus remarquables des piéces publiées. L’auteur est we & peine 4gé de dix-neuf ans. Il compte déja parmi |’élite des roya- - listes.”“ A propos dela méme ode, on reléve dans la Quotidienne du 7 mai,“ les mots suivants: “On trouve chez Lenormand une Ode de M. Victor Hugo, jeune poéte déja connu par une foule de productions qui annoncent 4 la fois un beau talent et d’excellentes doctrines. Celle dont nous parlons se distingue comme toutes les autres par une versification soutenue par des mouvements poétiques et par des sentiments honorables. Nous citons au hasard quelques vers en regrettant de ne pouvoir citer le poéme entier ot étincelle le feu du génie pindarique.” [22 vers sont cités]. Le Journal de Paris® du 14 mai, parlant de la méme ode, dit que Victor Hugo “ Annales: Vol. II, le 17 mars. “ Livre I, Ode X. @ Correspondance: p. 14. ®@ Dubois: p. 110. “ Déjensewr, T. v. Nos. 2 & 3, pp. 40-41. “Dubois: p. 110. ®@ Dubois: p. 111. 20 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) ‘‘déja auteur de trés belles odes sur ]’attentat du 2 février et de la naissance de l’enfant du miracle, a encore eu cette fois de trés heureuses inspirations.”’ Dans le Bulletin de la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’? du mois de juin, imprimé dans les Amnales,‘” on trouve le nom de Victor Hugo sur le programme de la séance du 19 juin. Cependant, on ne trouve nulle part le titre de cette lecture et, puisque le bulletin est imprimé d’avance, il est possible que Hugo n’ait rien lu a cette date. Pendant les premiers mois de 1822 Victor Hugo reste muet aux séances des ‘‘Bonnes Lettres.” Le 9 avril Ancelot lut pour lui une ode sur la “Peste de Barcelone” dans laquelle on reconnut un véritable talent poétique. Les inspirations du jeune auteur ont excité ‘les plus vives exclamations.’*® Cette ode avait été écrite en décembre 1821 pour l]’une des séances publiques des Jeux Floraux,** et elle parut dans les Odes et Ballades sous le titre de ‘“‘Dévouement.’’5° Ensuite il faut aller, avant de retrouver le nom de Victor Hugo, jusqu’au 10 décembre 1822; mais alors il rachéte en quelque sorte tout son long silence; il lit “Louis XVII” une des plus belles de ses odes. [Quelle fut l’occasion de cette ode? Les commen- tateurs l’ont jusqu’ici cherché en vain. Hugo ]’aurait-il écrite sim- plement parce qu’il y voyait un sujet bien fait pour une séance des “‘Bonnes Lettres’’?] ‘Louis XVII parait le 12 décembre dans la Quotidienne avec le commentaire suivant: “on a pleuré aux beaux vers de cette muse de vingt ans. Qu’on écoute ses nobles chants et qu’on dise si les muses libérales peuvent atteindre & ce degré d’élévation et de sentiments.’”’ L’ode parait le 13 décembre dans le Momsteur et elle est publiée dans les Odes et Ballades.™ Le Silence de Victor Hugo. Puis Victor Hugo retomba dans le silence. Mais pourquoi justement alors, et aprés ce succes éclatant et mérité qui aurait df lui inspirer des sentiments de gratitude et d’attachement pour la “Société des Bonnes Lettres?” On sait que ses convictions monarchiques et catholiques n’ont subi de changements que bien plus tard. Il faut chercher une #7 Vol. II, p. 369. “ Annales: Vol. VII, p. 72. 9 Letives a la Fiancée: p. 173. © Livre IV, Ode 4. St Livre I Ode 5. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 21 autre explication de son indifférence. Peut -on la trouver dans le fait que la Société n’a jamais couronné de ses vers? Des Granges discute 4 ce propos la question de savoir pourquoi la Société n’a pas donné de preuve tangible de son appréciation du talent de Hugo? On ne se représente pas bien, dit-il, que Hugo n’ait pas envoyé de ses vers aux concours de la Société puisqu’il ]’avait fait pour les Jeux Floraux et pour |’Académie Francaise. Des Granges conclut que la faute doit étre imputée a un jury médiocre, et il ajoute que son point de vue semble confirmé quand on lit les vers qui ont été honorés.” L’opinion de Des Granges serait peut-€tre soutenable, car on se souvient du ton protecteur qu’adopta dés le commencement Yorgane officiel de la Société pour les odes de Hugo, si d’autre part nous n’avions pas de témoignages que les odes de Victor Hugo furent vraiment gofitées,—nous |’avons vu pour Louis XVII. D’ailleurs on se rappelle que c’était le Président qui choisissait les juges des concours; et c’est 4 Chateaubriand, dont on ne peut mettre en doute la compétence, qu’incombait cette nomination de jury; aurait-il pris des hommes au gofit si médiocre qu’ils n’eussent pas su apprécier des vers de |’auteur de ‘‘l’ode 4 Louis XVII?” D’autre part, pendant toute la durée de son existence, la Société n’a offert en tout que trois prix de poésie et le sujet du concours était toujours fixé: l’Armée francaise en Espagne, 1824; l’Avéne- ment de Charles X, 1825; et l’Entrée d’Henrs IV, 1828.% Or Hugo n’a jamais traité, que nous sachions, aucun de ces sujets. Il est donc plus naturel de penser que tout simplement Victor Hugo n’a jamais participé aux concours. I] faudrait aussi tenir compte du fait que, sinon en 1824, certainement en 1825 et 1828 Victor Hugo n’avait déja plus besoin d’une société privée comme la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” pour porter son nom devant le public. Il y a plus: étre couronné par une société exclusive comme la “Société des Bonnes Lettres’”’ pouvait nuire positivement 4 Victor Hugo qui révait de conquérir non pas un clan, mais la France et | le monde. Se laisser étiqueter “‘poéte couronné” de la “Société” des Bonnes Lettres” efit été se laisser en quelque sorte accaparer, lier par une coterie. @ Des Granges: La Presse, p. 202. Tl ne peut pas s’agir de l’ode “Le rétablissement de la Statue de Henri IV,” composée en 1819. 22 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) Victor Hugo, qui certes n’était pas indifférent 4 la renommée, a dd penser 4 tout cela. Donc le probléme nous parait avoir été mal posé. Il] faudrait se demander, non pas pourquoi la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres” n’a pas tenu d’avantage 4 Victor Hugo, mais plutét pourquoi Victor Hugo n’a pas tenu davantage a la Société. Et poser la question, c’est la résoudre. C’est que de 1821 4 1824, ’26 et ’28, les choses avaient changé, les idées avaient marché: par exemple, le terme romantique n’évoque plus les mémes conceptions, ou tout au moins, avait . cessé d’étre honni: et Victor Hugo était de ceux qui avaient cessé de le honnir. Il suffit de comparer sa Préface aux Odes et Ballades en 1822 et 1824 a celle des Odes en 1826. Dans la Préface de 1824 Victor Hugo écrit, “‘il (l’auteur] répudie tous ces termes de con- vention ..... Pour lui, il ignore profondément ce que c’est que le genre classique et le genre romantique. . . ’’ En 1826 il écrivait: ‘‘Nous préférons une barbarie de Shakespeare 4 une ineptie de Campistron”’;© et plus loin: ““En deux mots, et nous ne nous opposons pas a ce qu’on juge d’aprés cette observation les deux littératures dites classique et romantique, la régularité est le gofit de la médiocrité, l’ordre est le gofit du génie.” Voila qui aurait peu pl aux messieurs du jury de “la Société des Bonnes Lettres.” Enfin, en 1828, (aprés la Préface de Cromwell), Victor Hugo défie ceux qui le condamnaient pour avoir changé d’idées, car # a changé d’sdées, . . . et il le souligne, et il dit: ‘‘on conviendra peut-étre qu’il y a quelque bonne foi, quelque désintéressement a faciliter de cette facgon les dissections de la critique.” Et plus loin, “‘Au reste, ces idées sont de jour en jour mieux comprises.”®" Pouvait-on briser de facon plus désinvolte avec les esprits réaction- naires de la rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin? Quant aux “bons professeurs” des “bonnes lettres,’’ nous Vavons vu, ils avaient d’abord essayé de nier le romantisme en 1821, c’est 4 dire qu’ils n’avaient vu en Chateaubriand et en ceux | qui se réclamaient de lui, (Hugo, de Vigny, Saint Valry, etc.) que des “‘classiques épris de formes®® nouvelles” qu’ils ne condamnaient 4 Edition Hetzel, p. 9. * Edition Hetzel, p. 17. % Edition Hetzel, p. 19. 87 Fdition Hetzel, p. 20. 58 C’est nous qui soulignons LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 23 pas. Duvicquet, dans son cours de littérature n’avait fait aucune distinction entre ces néo-classiques et les classiques de l’école de Delille. Les opinions de Duvicquet sont donc les mémes que celles de Hugo dans ses deux premiéres Préfaces aux Odes ef Ballades lorsqu’il se demande, lui aussi, en quoi le genre “‘dit romantique”’ se distingue du genre classique. Mais comme le genre “‘dit roman- tique’”’ persistait 4 s’affirmer, la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” essaya de s’en défaire en le prenant de haut, ne voulant y voir que le déplorable ‘“‘genre frénétique’”’ et l’invasion de la littérature par des influences étrangéres.®° On a souvent relevé le fait paradoxal que, tandis que les libé- raux en politique se conformaient rigidement aux doctrines litté- raires de la traditionnelle école classique, les conservateurs politiques se montraient curieusement libéraux en littérature,—c’est a dire que les premiers poétes se recrutent parmi les royalistes. Cet état de choses devait durer prés de dix ans, mais, de bonne heure, on pouvait entrevoir qu’il y avait maladaptation quelque part, et qu’on ne saurait étre progressiste en littérature, et conservateur en politique, surtout dans une société qui se fondait sur ce principe: | la littérature est l’expression de la société. Le malentendu devait s’accentuer et aboutir a la rupture. Méme dans la “‘Société des Bonnes Lettres” le malaise existait et se faisait sentir; les académiciens et les poétes ne sont pas tou- jours d’accord. Et quand le moment de se séparer arrivera, ce seront sfirement les poétes, les progressistes en littérature, qui seront les plus impatients de se libérer; tandis que les réaction- naires, eux, se sépareront plutét avec déplaisir de ceux sur lesquels ils comptaient pour assurer le prestige de leurs idées chez les jeunes générations. On se rappelle le bon accueil fait 4 Hugo par les journaux royalistes qui publiérent les vers qu’il avait lus 4 la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” en 1821. Or lorsque ces vers parurent en volume le 8 juin 1822, sous le titre, Odes et Poésies Diverses, ces mémes journaux se trouvérent embarrassés pour en parler au public. “On n’en comprenait pas encore la portée, dit fort bien Miss King dans les Doctrines Littératres de la Quotidienne,;*' mais on pressentait qu’ils pouvaient étre inquiétants.” Pendant longtemps les cri- 9 Séché: Cénacle dela Muse Francaise, p. 319. *© Des Granges: La Presse, p. 207; King: Doctrines Litléruires, p. 72. a p. 78. 24 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) tiques gardent le silence de peur de se compromettre. Le 20 juillet 1822, plus d’un mois aprés la publication, Victor Hugo, qui lui- méme, on le voit, n’est pas encore conscient de l’abfme qui va se ‘ creuser, écrit 4 Jules de Rességuier:* ‘‘Nos journalistes n’ont pas j encore honoré d’un article mon pauvre recueil.”” Et ce fut seule- "ment quatre mois aprés la publication que Mély Janin, membre des ~ “Bonnes Lettres,” donna a la Quotidienne® un article sur les Odes et Poéstes, article empreint de haute diplomatie. I] y loue les poésies qui avaient été remarquées, mais il y glisse des réserves; il reproche au jeune poéte et ami des mélanges de genres et des nou- veautés de style. C’est clair, les royalistes, comme Mély Janin, ne voulaient pas, par des critiques trop ouvertes, perdre pour leur cause le concours des poétes d’avenir. Mais leur conscience ne leur permettait pas de se taire tout a fait. Cependant toutes les précautions des ainés ne purent empécher que les royalistes, comme Hugo, s’identifiassent de plus en plus avec le romantisme, se séparant par l&4 méme d’autres royalistes qui voulaient conserver encore |’idéal Pees La fondation de la Muse Francaise en 1823 va servir & affirmer les tendances nouvelles des poétes.“ En effet cette publication entiérement aux mains des jeunes va donner & ceux-ci non seulement ]’occasion de s’exprimer plus librement vis a vis du public, mais aussi, ce qui était au moins aussi important; le moyen de se mieux comprendre, de s’affranchir des pensées et des formules traditionnelles qui les enchatnaient encore 4 des maitres comme Chateaubriand. Le romantisme prenait une allure ‘plus caractérisée et la scission s’accentuait aux “‘Bonnes Lettres” entre le parti royaliste conservateur et le parti royaliste libéral des jeunes. D’une facon générale on peut dire que les deux camps étaient assez nettement marqués: d’une part les conférenciers, presque toujours des académiciens et ayant des penchants clas- siques; et d’autre part les poétes, ceux-ci prenant en mauvaise part les critiques des premiers a l’adresse de la versification nou- velle. @Biré: Hugo avant 1830, p. 253. ® King: Doctrines Littéraires, p. 78. “King: Doctrines Littéraires, p. 91. Voir aussi sur le conflit qui sert de fond a cet pisode—Victor Hugo et la “Société des Bonnes Lettres”—comme du reste a beaucoup d’autres:-Des Granges: La Presse; Marsan: la Batasle Romantique; Séché: le Cénacle de la Muse Francaise, etc. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 25 Citons une lettre de Guiraud 4 Soumet qui est intéressante 4 ce propos. Au moment des premiéres hostilités, Lacretelle jeune avait, dans la séance du 4 décembre 1823 des “Bonnes Lettres”, | soulevé contre lui tout le clan de la Muse Francaise en attaquant le romantisme élégiaque comme étant d’importation étrangére. Guirand écrit 4 son ami: ‘‘Lacretelle ferait mieux de se taire que de s’occuper des choses qu’il ne connaft pas;—le pauvre homme ne voit pas que ce sont les Méditations de Lamartine qui ont renou- ». velé Ja poésie francaise et que la grande élégie 4 laquelle il préfére | les petits vers légers de Parny est sortie toute vivante des ruines de la Révolution.”” Et quelques jours plus tard, 18 décembre 1823, & propos de cette méme affaire, Charles Nodier écrivait 4 Hugo: “‘J’ai rencontré Villemain: il est furieux contre Lacretelle et m’a dit qu’il ne reparaitrait pas de sitét 4 la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’”’ parce qu’il se croirait obligé de prendre la défense de Vélégie lamartinienne que Lacretelle a dénigrée si injustement Yautre jour. Voila qui venge Lamartine des sottes critiques de la Muse.’ En 1824, nouvelle escarmouche: Laurentie, membre de 1’Aca- démie Francaise et directeur de la Quottdenne, répond dans son journal aux arguments de Nodier au sujet du romantisme.” Dans ces articles Laurentie est obligé de reconnaftre que beau- , coup des poétes royalistes sont en méme temps romantiques, et ~ il reproche 4 ceux-ci leur indépendance littéraire. I se félicite . de ce que “ceux qui sont nés au milieu de la corruption de la Révolution n’ont hérité de l’esprit d’indépendance qu’elle a ré- pandu que pour le porter dans la forme de leurs écrits dont le fond . reste rempli de si utiles pensées,” mais il signale en méme temps | le danger que |’affranchissement des simples régles de ]’art classique fait courir ‘“‘au bon gofit” . . . Il n’ose dire a /eur philosophie. Signalons encore un article signe “Z” qui parait dans le Journal des Débats*® a V’occasion de la publication des Nouvelles Odes qui trahit la méme inquiétude des conservateurs et qui cette fois vise spécifiquement Victor Hugo: “‘Quelques écrits [dans les Odes et Ballades] dont j’ai parlé avec ménagement, m’avaient fait craindre, je ’avoue, que M. Victor Hugo ne ffit tenté d’abandonner |’Apol- SSéché: Cénacle dela Muse Frangaise, p. 311. *Séché: Cénacle de la Muse Francaise, p. 312. *' King: Doctrines Littéraires, p. 117. $84 juin 1824. 26 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) lon Pythien pour sacrifier au Baal littéraire. Une vapeur roman- - tique s’élevait de quelques-unes de ses Odes; mais ces disparates, - que j’ose appeler des taches, étaient assez rares pour ne point m’in- quiéter. Je ne voyais que de |’audace et je savais, d’ailleurs, que des deux renommées auxquelles les poétes peuvent confier leur gloire, on semble préférer aujourd’hui celle dont le coursier n’a point de bride. . . . Le second recueil m’a confirmé dans Vopinion que j’avais congue du talent poétique de |’auteur, et mal- heureusement il a également justifié mes soupcons sur une in- fidélité aux bonnes muses,’’—les ‘‘bonnes muses,” inspiratrices des “bonnes lettres.” Le 6 juin 1824 c’est la chute politique de Chateaubriand,®® et la répercussion de cet événement fut grande sur la disposition d’esprit des romantiques royalistes. Chateaubriand n’était-il pas le lien qui rattachait leurs efforts 4 la cause monarchique et en particulier 4 la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’? Lui éliminé, lui parti, que leur importaient dorénavant les milieux royalistes con- servateurs? Les voici plus libres de suivre leur penchant naturel et de former un groupe romantique qui serait libéral en littérature et royaliste en politique, indépendant du groupe anti-libéral et en littérature et en politique. Ils n’en étaient pas encore a vou- loir briser tout 4 fait avec l’esprit monarchique. Dorénavant les conservateurs, libérés, eux aussi, de toute contrainte 4 leur égard se voyaient en mesure d’attaquer ouver- tement leurs anciens alliés. Dans ce milieu si clairement hostile et rigide de la “‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’’ Patin osa, au cours de ses lecons sur les tragiques grecs, invoquer l’autorité de Schlegel et critiquer La Harpe: il fut tout simplement rappelé a l’ordre par les Annales, organe de la Société.72 On ne discute plus; on sait que les arguments anti-progressistes feront plus de tort que de bien & Ja cause; on tranche. Les poésies de Victor Hugo continuent 4 servir surtout d’occa- sion 4 une polémique active; mais en 1826, a l’apparition de la troisiéme édition des Odes et Ballades, Géraud écrit dans les An- nales™: “C’est un terrible révolutionnaire que Monsieur Victor Hugo. Dédaigneux de tout modéle, rebelle 4 toute autorité, il soutient dans la Préface de ses poésies qu’il ne faut reconnaitre 6 King: Doctrines Littéraires, p. 140. 7 Vol. XVII, p. 122. 1 Des Granges: p. 285. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 27 ni régles ni limites; qu’il est absurde de rester fidéle aux nuances © de style que réclame tel ou tel genre... . . = | La publication de Cromwell en 1827 ne pouvait guére con- tribuer 4 amener un rapprochement. Le nom de Victor Hugo avait encore paru dans tous les prospectus de la Société avec la mention “Lectures diverses,”’ bien qu’il n’efit rien lu depuis 1823; on l’avait conservé aussi longtemps que possible; mais n’était-il pas dorénavant le chef reconnu du romantisme? On le raya des programmes. Les DERNIERES ANNEES DE LA “SociéT£ DES BoNNES LETTRES”’ La “Société des Bonnes Lettres” essaya, cependant de ne pas mourir encore. Mais méme I’élimination de Victor Hugo et des poétes n’empécha pas les dissensions intérieures. Depuis 1826 les répercussions des dissensions politiques se faisaient sentir. Le parti royaliste manquait de plus en plus d’homogénéité: et V’on voyait jusque dans la ‘‘Société des Bonnes Lettres’’ des demi- libéraux. Toutefois, malgré ces discordes (qui ne nous intéres- sent pas dans un travail de documentation littéraire), la Société exista encore, jusqu’en 1830; et méme il faut le reconnaftre lutta vaillamment. On en trouvera un témoignage dans les programmes des séances que nous publions en appendice: les réunions—bien que presqu’exclusivement consacrées 4 des ‘“‘cours,’”’—ont lieu avec régularité deux fois par semaine. D’autre part, l’intérét du pub- lic se refroidit; les journaux en parlent de moins en moins; et les documents finissent par nous manquer entiérement. La derniére date 4 laquelle nous trouvons mention de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres’’ dans les journaux pourtant bien disposés 4 son égard est celle du 31 mars 1829;—ce fut le dernier numéro des Annales: - lUniversel, que les Annales recommandent 4 leurs lecteurs, ne s’occupe pas de la Société. Evidemment pour prévenir le mauvais effet d’une dissolution publiquement proclamée, avait-on décidé de mourir sans que personne s’en apergcit: l’activité de la Société avait été réduite toujours davantage. Toute question de politique contemporaine avait été exclue des cours d’éloquence,—dquelle meilleure preuve donner de |’état de santé précaire de la Société? Méme la lecture des vers qui pourraient entrainer une polémique est évitée,— systme de censure qui consiste 4 empécher de vivre pour empécher d’étre malade. Néanmoins, est-il besoin de le dire, les causes du 28 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) dépérissement de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” ne se trouvent pas seulement en elle-méme. N’avait-elle pas déclaré sa destinée solidaire de celle de la monarchie,—solidaire de la ‘‘fortune im- périssable de la monarchie?’”’ Elle ne pouvait pas ne pas étre ensevelie par la Révolution de 1830. APPENDICE I Bulletin des Stances de la “Société des Bonnes Lettres” (d’aprés les Annales de la Littérature et des Arts) Saison 1821 février 15 M. aecsinousssDiscours d’ouverture . Bergasse—Morceau sur les rapports entre la religion et les in- stitutions politiques. (cours) . Brifaut—Conte . Duvicquet—Distinction ‘entre le genre classique et le genre romantique. (cours) - Royon—Zénobte - . Laurentie—Causes qui avaient retardé le génie des Latins. (cours) B————Extraits de la traduction de |’Essat sur ? Homme de Delille. . Mély Janin—Considérations sur la littérature du jour. (cours) Legrand—Fragments de son poéme, S#lence Mennechet—L’ Enseignement naturel Michaud—Les Croisades. (cours) Abel Hugo—Littérature espagnole. (cours) Victor Hugo—Quiberon Raoul-Rochette—Histoire Moderne le marquis Coriolis d’Espinousse— Victor Hugo—Vsston Auger—Vie de Moliére Royon—Jules César, premier acte Bergasse—Cours Vaublanc—Poésie: “Le dernier des Césars’’ le marquis d’Herbouville—Discours a l’occasion de la mort du président, le marquis de Fontanes 19 eS &£S EES 21 23 26 28 mars 13 16 20 23 Lacretelle jeune—Cours Legrand—Nouveaux fragments de poésie Malitourne—Cours sur le Roman Dussault— Abel Hugo—Littérature espagnole. (cours) 27 SEREER EEREEEREEEREERE & 1“‘Cette traduction est encore inédite et paraftra incessamment chez Michaud, libraire.” (le Journal des Débats, 21 février 1821). avril LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 29 31 M. Mély Janin—Lord Byron. (cours) M. de Felletz— M. Mennechet—Lecture 3 M. Abel Hugo—Littérature espagnole. (cours) M. de Bonald fils—Pensées Diverses M. Brifaut—Ronde Constitutionnelle 6 M. Duvicquet—Rapports entre les doctrines politiques et litté- raires. (cours) 6 M. Lourdoueix—Essai 10 M. Laurentie—Littérature latine. (cours)’ M. Malitourne—Cours 13 M. Michaud—Cours sur le Moyen Age M. Dureau M. Legrand—Poésie 17 M. Abel Hugo—Littérature espagnole. (cours) M. Rocher—Vers 20 Vacances 24 Mz. Lacretelle—Cours M. Mennechet 27 MM. Raoul-Rochette et Genoude—Cours M. Mély Janin—Histoire inédite de Louis XVI. (cours) 1 Fétes 4 M. Hennet—Essai sur Blanche de Castille M. Auger—Notice nécrologique sur M. le vicomte de Bouchage, pair de France, |’un des fondateurs de la Société 8 M. Duvicquet—Le théAtre en France. (cours) M. Brifaut—Ronde 11 M. Lacretelle jeune—Histoire de la Révolution Frangaise. (cours) M. Campenon—le Régne d’Auguste 15 M. Abel Hugo—Poéme du Cid. (cours) M. ————COde sur la mort de S. A. S. Mgr. le prince de Condé M. Legrand—Poésie 18 MM. Laurentie et Malitourne—Cours 22. M. Michaud—la Captivité de Saint Louis. (cours) M. Rocher—Poésie sur |’immortalité de l’4me 25 MM. Mély Janin et Genoude—Cours M. Victor Hugo— 29 M. Abel Hugo—Cours M. Ducancel—le Gouvernement Révolutionnaire ier M. Lacretelle—Histoire de l’Assemblée Constituante. (cours) M. Legrand—Parabole en vers 5 M. Laurentie—Histoire latine. (cours) M. Urbain Guilbert— 8 M. Bergasse— M. Abel Hugo—Cours M. Ancelot— 12. M. Mély Janin—Cours M. Brifaut— 30 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 15 M. Abel Hugo—Cours M. Dureau Delamalle— 19 M. Michaud—Suite des Croisades. (cours) M. Victor Hugo— 22 MM. Laurentie et Malitourne—Cours M. Rocher—Poéme 26 M. Lourdoueix— M. Mennechet 29 M. Abel Hugo—Cours M. Ducancel— Satson 1821-1822 décembre 4 M. Duvicquet—Cours de littérature M. Mennechet—Conte anecdotique en vers 7 M. Lacretelle—Cours de morale M. Abel Hugo—Cours de littérature dramatique espagnole 11. M. Nicollet—Cours d’astronomie M. Brifaut—Vers 14 M. Bricharde—Fragment des Croisades M. Valmaléte—Fables 18 M. Bois-Bertrand—Cours de droit politique M. Nicollet—Cours 21 M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Malitourne—‘Vieillards et enfants” 25 Féte de Noél 28 M. Lacretelle—Cours M. Laurentie—Histoire du Bas Empire janvier 4 M. Nicollet—Cours Dr. Véron—Cours de physiologie M. Saintines—Vers 8 M. Bois-Bertrand—Cours M. Auger—Tartufe 11. M. Lacretelle—Cours M. Mollevaut—Enéide 15 M. Michaud—Histoire des Croisades (suite de l’année précédente) M. Nicollet—Cours 18 M. Lacretelle—Cours M. Mély Janin—Eloge de Louis XVI a l’occasion de l’anniversaire de son exécution (21 janvier, 1793) 22 M. Raoul-Rochette—Cours Mme. Gautier—Fragment d’un po me, “la Tombe Royale” 25 M. Duvicquet—Littérature M. Mennechet—Conte en vers Dr. Véron—Cours 29 MM. Bois-Bertrand et Abel Hugo—Cours février 1 M. Lacretelle—la Pitié. (cours) M. Pellet d’Epinal—Ode, lue par M. Trouvé 5 M. Nicollet—Cours M. Saint-Prosper—Fragments lus par Laurentie avnil 2 et LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 31 8 12 16 22 26 M. Duvicquet—La Harpe. (cours) Dr. Véron—Cours M. Berryer fils—Littérature M. Laurentie—le Suicide M. Lacretelle—Cours M. Raoul-Rochette—Lettre sur la Suisse. (cours) M. Bois-Bertrand—Etat de la Nature. (cours) M. Abel Hugo—Cours: traductions de poémes espagnols M. Michelet—Ode M. Raoul-Rochette et Dr. Véron—Cours ie M. Lacretelle—Cours 5 12 22 26 M. Dureau de Lamalle—Poésie M. Nicollet—Cours M. Abel Hugo—Cours: théAtre de Lope de Vega M. Brichambeau—Poésie lue par Ducancel M. Duvicquet—La Harpe Dr. Véron—Cours M. Nicollet—Cours . M. Laurentie—Questions de morale M. Saint Valry—Ode MM. Michaud et Nicollet-—Cours M. Mennechet—Fragment d’une tragédie M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Saint Prosper—Fausses Prétentions M. Valmaléte—Fables MM. Raoul-Rochette et Abel Hugo—Cours M. Tézénas—Vers M. Bois-Bertrand—Cours M. Ducancel—Esquisses Semaine sainte—Congé M. Nicollet—Cours Victor Hugo—Ode sur la Peste de Barcelone Lacretelle jeune—Cours Ancelot—Scénes du “Maire du Palais” . Duvicquet et Dr. Véron—Cours . Ducancel—Journées de septembre 1792 Abel Hugo—Cours Nicollet-—Cours Saint Prosper—Suite Lacretelle—Cours Brifaut—Vers Duvicquet—Cours Mennechet—Vers . Duvicquet—Madame de Staél. (cours) Tézénas—Vers SESEEEEESEREES 32 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) mai 3 Vacances 7 M. Ducancel—Convention Nationale M. Abel Hugo—Romances Vendéennes 10 M. Duvicquet—Cours Mme. Duvicquet—Vers 14. M. Abel Hugo—Cours M. Merle—Notice sur le Chateau de Chambord M. Ancelot—Vers 17 MM. Michaud et Mély Janin—Cours Mennechet—Vers . Duvicquet—Cours Valmaléte—Vers . Lacretelle—Cours . Brifaut Duvicquet—Cours . Legrand—Vers Malitourne . Roger—Discours de Cléture See eee ee Saison 1823 (Les Annales n’impriment pas les bulletins par mois; nous donnons pour cette année le programme d’aprés le Prospectus) Cours et Lectures Hygiéne—M. Pariset Physique—M. Savart Physiologie—Dr. Véron Histoire et Littérature:- Lacretelle—Histoire de la France Abel Rémusat—Gouvernement de la Chine Berryer fils—Eloquence Parlementaire Auger—Moliére et la Comédie Dussault—Dissertations Littéraires Villemain—Questions Littéraires, si sa santé et son cours & la Faculté des Lettres le lui permettent.? Malitourne—le Roman Lectures Variées:- MM. Alletz, Ancelot, Audibert, Bois-Bertrand, Bonald fils, Brifaut, Campenon, Capefigue, Chauvet, Chénedollé, Chézy, Coriolis d’Espinousse, Després, Ducancel, Garcin de Tassi, Guiraud, Haller, Victor Hugo, Laurentie, Mély Janin, Menne- chet, Michaud, de Quincy, Raoul-Rochette, Roger, Soumet, Saint Prosper, Vial, Vanderbourg. Saison 1823-1824 décembre 4 M. Lacretelle—Discours d’ouverture M. Guiraud—Ode sur Cadix 2 Des Granges, p. 202: “Ji faut croire que sa santé, son cours et beaucoup d’au- tres raisons s’opposérent & ce que Villemain réalisAt sa promesse.” janvier février LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 33 23 26 13 16 M. Lacretelle—Introduction a l’histoire de I’Assemblée Législative et de la Convention. (cours) M. Auger—l’Avare. (cours) M. Campenon—Elégie M. Duvicquet—Jacques Delille. (cours) M. Brifaut—Dialogue en vers M. Pariset—Cours d’hygiéne M. Auger—Moliére. (cours) M. Guiraud—Elégie Dr. Véron—Cours d’anatomie M. Chénedollé—Vers Vacances M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Abel Rémusat—FEssai sur la Certitude Historique (cours) M. Després—Vers M. Savart—Cours de physiologie M. Soumet—Jeanne d’Arc (une partie) M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Brifaut M. Lacretelle—Procés du Roi Martyr (en souvenir du douloureux anniversaire du lendemain) M. Alletz—Ode sur “la gloire de Malesher M. Pariset—Cours M. Dussault—Dissertations littéraires MM. Savart et Rémusat—Cours M. Vial—Vers M. Pariset—Cours . M. Després—vVers M. Ferrand—Tragédie Dr. Véron—Cours Mme. Gauthier—Elégie M. Lacretelle—Cours MM. Savart et Malitourne—Cours M. Alletz—la Druidesse Anniversaire M. Lacretelle—Cours M. Ancelot—Poéme MM. Pariset et Raoul-Rochette—Cours M. Chénedollé—Ode sur Racine MM. Savart et Rémusat—Cours M. Després—Conte M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Dussault—Dissertation littéraire M. Mennechet—Conte en vers Mardigras M. Lacretelle et Dr. Véron—Cours M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Valmaléte—Fables 34 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 12. MM. Pariset et Raoul-Rochette—Cours M. Robert—Essai sur la fable 16 M. Savart—Cours M. Cohen—Analyse de Thyrsa, drame étranger 19 M. Duvicquet—Cours M. Després—Vers 23. MM. Lacretelle et Malitourne—Cours M. Robert—Fables 26 M. Pariset—Cours 30 MM. Rémusat et Auger—Cours 3 : eoepveeeeoeeeeeveeeeonaeevees 14. M. Pariset—Cours M ooeoeoweeeeeeoeeoereeeeeeeeee Lacretelle—Guerre de la Vendée. (cours) Rougemont—Tragédie Satson 1825 Alletz—Cours de morale Rio—Cours d’histoire Auger—Moliére. (cours) Ancelot—Marie de Brabant . Duvicquet MM. Lacretelle et Pariset—Cours Patin—Discours sur la Tragédie grecque. (cours) Rémusat—Histoire orientale. (cours) Patin—Cours Rio—Cours Laurentie Soumet—Jeanne d’Arc (suite) Robert—Moeurs des Animaux Alletz—Cours Géraud—Elégie . Pariset—Cours . Raoul-Rochette—le Théatre grec 15 Mardigras 18 MM. Rio et Patin—Cours 22 MM. Alletz et Rémusat—Cours M. Brifaut—Dialogue 25 MM. Pariset et Malitourne—Cours M. Guiraud—Vers mars 1e Dr. Véron—Cours M. Lacretelle—Plutarque. (cours) 4 M. Robert M. Rio—Cours M. De Lacaze—Elégies 21 décembre 24 SSS SE janvier 4 février ier dak ae ag ob ae od age avril décembre LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 35 M. Lacretelle—Cours M. Pariset—Cours M. Roger—Ouvrage de Suard MM. Alletz et Rémusat—Cours MM. Rio et Malitourne—Cours MM. Alletz et Patin—Cours M. Pariset—Cours M. Auger—Cervant s. (cours) MM. Rémusat et Malitourne—Cours MM. Rio et Malitourne—Cours M. Laurentie—Traité des Bonnes Lettres M. Walsh—Lettres Vendéennes M. Pariset—Cours M. Brifaut—Lord Byron MM. Rio et Malitourne—Cours M. Robert— M. Patin—Cours M. Soumet—Jeanne d’Arc (suite) M. Pariset—Cours M. Auger—les Femmes Savantes. (cours) MM. Rio et Malitourne—Cours Dr. Véron et M. Rémusat—Cours M. Patin—Cours M. De Lacaze—Elégies MM. Rémusat et Malitourne—Cours M. Pariset—Cours M. D’Anglemont—Ode sur le Sacre du Roi Cléture Saison 1825-1826 M. Pariset—Cours M. Brifaut M. Gaultier de Claubry—Cours de physique M. Saint-Marc Girardin—les Lettres au 15° et au 16¢ siecle MM. Pariset et Rio—Cours M. De Claubry—Cours M. Auger—le Malade Imaginaire (cours) M. Pariset—Cours M. Girardin—la Prise de Constantinople. (cours) . MM. Rio et Patin—Cours MM. Pariset et Alletz—Cours M. Pariset—Cours —Poésie MM. De Claubry et Malitourne—Cours MM. Rio et Alletz—Cours MM. Pariset et Girardin—Cours MM. De Claubry et Raoul-Rochette—Cours . 36 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) f{évrier 3 MM. De Claubry et Alletz—Cours 7 Mardigras 10 MM. Patin et Girardin—Cours 14 MM. De Claubry et Rio—Cours M. Mazens—Epitre en vers 21 MM. De Claubry, Girardin et Alletz—Cours 22 M. Malitourne—Cours M. Bnifaut mars 3 M. Raoul-Rochette—Cours M. Audibert—Nouvelle 7 MM. De Claubry et Alletz—Cours 10 M. Pariset—Cours M. Brifaut 14 M. De Claubry—Cours M. Mazens—Education des Femmes 17. MM. Pariset et Alletz—Cours 28 MM. Girardin et Malitourne—Cours (Tome 23 manque a la Bibliothéque Nationale a Paris. Donc, pas de bulletin pour avril et mai.) ' Saison 1827 janvier 2 M. Auger—Vie de Moliére M. Soumet—Fragment d’Elisabeth 5 MM. Alletz et Rio—Cours 9 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 12 MM. Pariset et Alletz—Cours 16 MM. Rio et Patin—Cours 19 M. Auger—Cours M. Bignan 23 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 26 M. Pariset—Cours M. Caix—Cours d’histoire 30 MM. De Claubry et Rémusat—Cours 2 MM. Alletz et De Claubry—Cours 6 MM. Patin et Indelicato—Cours 9 M. Rio—Cours M. Audibert—Nouvelle 13 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours © 16 M. Alletz—Cours M. de Jussieu—Essai sur le conte. (cours) 20 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 23 MM. Pariset et Rio—Cours 27. Mardigras mars 2 M. de Jussieu—Littérature pour les enfants. (cours) M. Saint-Auréle—Poésie 6 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 9 M. Alletz—Cours M. Bignan—la Chevalerie francaise {évrier avril janvier ‘évrier LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 13. MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 16 MM. Patin et de Jussieu—Cours 20 MM. Rio et Rémusat—Cours 23 M. Pariset—Cours M. Mennechet—Vers 27. MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 30 MM. Patin et Rio —Cours 3 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 6 M. Alletz—Cours M. Bignan 10 M. Auger—Vie de Moliére. (cours) M. de Jussieu—1* acte de Sail de Lamartine 13. Vendredi saint 17 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 20 MM. Rio et de Jussieu—Cours M. Rougemont—Epitre en vers 24 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 27 MM. Pariset et Rio—Cours M. Brifaut—Mme. du Barry et Mme. Roland le’ MM. De Claubry et Alletz—Cours 4 M. Indelicato—Cours M. Fulchiron—Tragédie 8 MM. De Claubry et Indelicato—Cours 11. M. Rio—Cours M. Bignan—Ode M. Fulchiron—Suite 15 MM. Alletz et De Claubry—Cours 18 M. Auger—Cours M. Mazens—Vers 22 MM. De Claubry et Calx—Cours 25 MM. Rio et de Jussieu—Cours M. Rougemont 30 Cléture—rapport sur les concours. Saison 1828 1s M. Patin—Cours M. Bignan 5S MM. Després et Paoli—Cours 18 MM. Rio et de Jussieu—Cours 22 MM. Després et Fallon—Cours 25 MM. Patin et Paoli—Cours 29 M. Pariset—Cours M. Mennechet—Poéme 1* MM. Rio et de Jussieu—Cours 5 MM. Després et Paoli—Cours 8 M. Patin—Cours M. Cepeaux—Lettres inédites sur la Chouannerie 12 MM. Després et Paoli—Cours 15 MM. Fallon et de Jussieu—Cours 37 janvier LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) Mardigras MM. Rio et Paoli—Cours MM. Després et Fallon—Cours M. de Jussieu—Cours M. Bignan—Poéme sur les Femmes francaises MM. Després et Paoli—Cours M. Fallon—Cours M. Destailleur—Progrés des lumiéres MM. Després et Patin—Cours MM. Rio et de Jussieu—Cours MM. Després et Paoli—Cours M. Pariset—Cours M. Mennechet M. Patin—Cours M. Robert—Fables MM. Rio et de Jussieu—Cours Semaine sainte MM. Després et Fallon—Cours MM. Patin et de Jussieu—Cours MM. Després et Paoli—Cours M. Rio—Cours M. Roullard—Poéme MM. Després et Patin—Cours MM. Fallon et de Jussieu—Cours M. Pariset—Cours M. Mennechet MM. Paoli et Després—Cours M. de Jussieu—Cours M. Saint Valry—Ode MM. Despres et Patin—Cours MM. Paoli et Fallon—Cours M. Roullard—Vers MM. Després et Patin—Vers M. Rio—Cours M. Pariset—Cours M Mennechet Rapport sur les concours Saison 1829 : _ le Baron d’Eckstein—Philosophie du catholicisme. . Fiévée—Lecture . Patin—Cours . Bignan—Ode sur les Rois de France . Després —Cours . Fiévée—Lecture d’Eckstein—Cours —Poésie Després—Cours . Fiévée—Lecture 22 ZEEE E ES (cours) LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 39 février 13 Anniversaire 17 MM. d’Eckstein et Patin—Cours 20 M. Després—Cours M. Fiévée—Lecture 24 M. Rio—Cours: M. Bignan 27 MM. Després et Fallon—Cours mars 3 Mardigras 6 M. Després—Cours M. Fiévée—Lecture 10 M. d’Eckstein—Cours M. d’Arthenay—Vers 13. M. Meiraux—Histoire naturelle M. Bignan 17. M. Patin—Cours M. Sarmento—Histoire littéraire de Portugal. (cours) 20 M. Després—Cours M. Fiévée—Lecture 24 MM. d’Eckstein et Fallon—Cours 27. M. Meiraux—Cours M. Fiévée—Lecture 31 MM. Patin et Sarmento—Cours Fin des Annales de la Littérature ef des Arts APPENDICE II Liste des Sociétaives-Fondateurs et des Associés-Honoraires de la Socsété en 1826, Cette liste est tirée d’un Annuaire de la Soctété qui se trouve a la Bibliothéque Nationale. On y reléve les noms illustres de: Bertin, Biot, Louis de Bonald, Désaugiers, Emile Deschamps (de la Muse Francaise), Saint-Marc-Girardin, Alexandre Guiraud (aussi de la Muse), les trois Hugo, Lamartine, Lamennais, Mennechet, Charles Nodier, Polignac, Rémusat, Soulié, Soumet, Vigny, Villéle, Villemain, etc. Les noms aussi de 11 Académiciens, 21 Membres de !’Institut, 16 Pairs de France, 8 Conseillers d’Etat, 8 Ministres d’Etat, 27 Députés, un Archevéque (de Rouen), un Chanoine, 7 Abbés; et méme de deux Pairs d’Angleterre. Nous ajoutons en note quelques renseignements sur des membres pas assez célébres pour étre connus de tout le monde, et, cependant, importants comme membres de la Société. Nous nous servons de renseignements empruntés en majeure partie 4: Michaud: Biographie untverselle ef moderne, Paris, 1854 Delagrave; Nozvelle Biographie générale, Paris 1853, Firmin Didot, La Grande Encyclopédie, Paris, sans date, H. Lamirault Larousse: Grand Dictionnaire du dix-neuvieme siécle. Paris, 1866-68. NOTE: Pour ceux de la Quotidienne, voir King: Les Doctrines Littéraires de la Quotidienne. Annuaire de la Société des Bonnes Letires 1826 Commission Administrative M. le vicomte de Chateaubriand, de l’Académie francaise, Pair de France, Prési- dent de la Société. 40 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) M. Roger, de |’Académie francaise, Secrétaire-général des postes, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, Vice Président. M. Champion, Notaire, Trésorier, par interim. M. Yvert, Secrétaire. Membres Composant la Commission Administrative. MM. Agier, Conseiller 4 la Cour royale de Paris, Maitre des Requétes, Membre de la Chambre des Députés. Berryer fils, Avocat. Boissieu (le baron de). Bruges (le comte de), Lieutenant-général, aide-de-camp du Roi. Champion, Notaire. Debray, (le chevalier Eugéne), Conseiller du Roi au Conseil royal des manufactures. Ducancel, Avocat. Emmanuel d’Harcourt (le vicomte), Membre de la Chambre des Députés. Amédée Jauge, Banquier. Ladavéze, Homme de Lettres. Michaud, de l’Académie francaise. Taillandier, Avoué. Liste de MM. Les Sociétaires-Fondatecurs MM. Agier, Maitre des Requétes, Conseiller 4 la Cour royale de Paris, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, quai Voltaire, 21. Agoult, (le vicomte d’), Pair de France, Lieutenant-général, aux Tuileries. Alibert, premier Médecin ordinaire du Roi, rue de Varennes, 4. Amy, Président de la Cour royale de Paris, rue Saint-Dominique, 19. Autichamp, (le marquis d’), Pair de France, Lieutenant-général, Gouverneur du Louvre et de la 10e division militaire, au Louvre. Barbier d’Aucour, Référendaire au sceau des titres, rue d’Hanovre 21. Barbou, Avocat, rue de Tournon, 7. Baron, (le baron), Directeur du Mont-de-Piété, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue des Petits-Augustins, 20. Barsse, (l’abbé de), Chanoine honoraire de Saint-Denis, rue Louis-le-Grand, 7. Baudclocque, Propriétaire, rue Jacob, 16. Baudelot, Propnétaire, rue Lepelletier, 23. Becquey, Conseiller d’Etat, Directeur-général de l’administration des ponts et chaussées, et des mines, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, place Vendéme, 19. Belfast, (lord) Pair d’Angleterre. Belissen, (le marquis de), Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Saint-Domin- ique, 64. Benoist, Conseiller d’Etat, Directeur-général de !’Administration des impéts indirects, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Sainte-Avoie, 27. Berryer fils, Avocat, rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, 58. Bertin-Devaux, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Louis-le-Grand, 11. Biache, (le baron de), Colonel de cavalerie, rue Godol-de-Mauroy, 7. Bignan, Propriétaire, rue de Grammont, 17. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 41 Blacas, d’Aulps, (le duc de), premier Gentilhomme de la Chambre du Roi, Pair de _ France, Membre de |’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, et de celle des Beaux-Arts, Membre honoraire de |’Académie des Sciences de Paris, rue de l'Université, 43. Blache, (Gaston), Docteur-Médecin, rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie, 9. Blaine, (de), Conseiller d’Etat, rue de Bourbon, 51. Blondel, Employé au Trésor royal, rue de la Michodiére, 4. Boissieu, (le baron de), passage Sandrier. Bonneau, Inspecteur-général des prisons, rue de Grenelle, 50. Bordigne, (le baron de) rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins, 5. Borel de Bretizel, Conseiller 4 la Cour de cassations, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue de Seine, 10. Bougon, premier Chirugien ordinaire du Roi, Professeur a l’Académie de Médecine, rue de |’Observance, 1. Bouillerie, (le baron de la), Intendant de la liste civile)s Membre de la Chambre des Députés, aux Tuileries, aile neuve. Boulard, Maire du 11le arrondissement, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue des Petits-Augustins, 21. Bourgevin, (de Linas), Propriétaire, rue Neuve-Saint-Francois, 6. Bourrienne,’ (de), Ministre d’Etat, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Cadet, 9. Bragard, (le Chevalier de), Officier supérieur de génie, rue Cadet, 13. Bréton, Rédacteur sténographe du Journal des Débats, rue du Cherche-Midi, 23. Brune, Propriétaire, rue Basse-du-Rempart, 54. Byerley, (le chev. sir John), rue Taitbout, 33. Calley de Saint-Paul, Avocat, rue Saint-Georges, 15. Campenon, de |’Académie francaise, rue d’Angouléme, 16, faubourg-Saint-Honoré. Capelle, (le baron), Conseiller d’Etat, Secrétaire-général du Ministére de l’Intérieur, rue de Grenelle, 101. Castelbajac, (le vicomte de), Directeur-général des Douanes, Membre de la Cham- bre des Députés, rue de Jefineurs, 16. Cauthion, Avoué, rue de 1’Arbre-Sec, 48. Chabrol de Volvic, (le comte de), Conseiller d’Etat, Préfet, du département de la Seine, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, a 1’Hétel-de-Ville. Chabrol de Crouzol, (le comte de), Ministre Secrétaire d’Etat de la Marine et des Colonies, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, au Ministere de la Marine. Chambray, (le marquis de), Commandant V’artillerie de Perpignan, rue Chanter- eine, 7. Champion, Notaire a Paris, rue de la Monnaie, 19. Chappe, (René), dit Desarcis, directeur du Télégraphe, rue de l'Université, 9. Charency, (le comte de) Officier supérieur, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue des Saints-Péres, 69. Charnois, (de), ancien Conseiller au Parlement de Paris, rue du Faubourg-Pois- sonniére, 52. Chateaubriand, (le vicomte de), de l’Académie francaise, Pair de France, Prési- dent de la Société, rue du Regard, 7. Chateaudouble, (Paul de), Membre de la Chambre des Députés, Directeur de la Caisse des dépéts et consignations, rue de ]’Oratoire, 4. 42 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) Chateaugiron, (le marquis Le Prétre de), rue de Castiglione, 4. Chazet, (le chevalier Alissan de),“ Homme de lettres, rue Neuve-des-Petits- Champs, 29. Chévrier, ancien Notaire, rue de la Michodiére, 4. Cholmondeley, (lord Henri), Pair d’Angleterre. Clarac, (le baron de), Intendant militaire de la Maison du Roi, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Chantereine, 31. Clausel de Coussergues, Conseiller a la Cour de cassation, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue du Cherche-Midi, 11. Clermont-Tonnerre, (le marquis de), Pair de France, Ministre Secrétaire d’Etat de la Guerre, au Ministére de la Guerre. Corbiére, (le comte de), Ministre Secrétaire d’Etat de ]’Intérieur, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, au Ministére de |’Intérieur. Cottenet, notaire, rue Saint-Honoré, 337. Couasnon, (le chevalier de) rue des Moulins, 11. Coustelin, (le chevalier de), rue de Richelieu, 19. Coutard, (le comte de), Lieutenant-général, Commandant la premiére Division militaire, rue de Bourbon, 1. Courcelles (de), ancien Magistrat, rue de Sévres 111. Crisenoy, (le baron de), Aide-Major-général de la Garde nationale de Paris, rue de Bourbon, 37. Croy, (le prince de), Archevéque de Rouen, grand Auménier de France, aux Tuileries. Crussol, (le duc de), Colonel, Aide-de-camp du Roi, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Saint-Dominique, 63. Curatteau de Courson (Louis-Nelti), Sous-Chef de division a l’Administration des subsistances de la marine, rue Varennes, 37. Cuning, (de), rue de la Paix, 20. Cuvillier, Secrétaire-général du Sceau de France, rue Saint-Honoré, 332. Damas-Crux, (le duc de), Lieutenant général, Pair de France, premier Menin de S. A. R. Monseigneur le Dauphin, aux Tuileries. Danjou, (Charles), Négociant, rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, 6. Darblay, Propriétaire, rue du Helder, 10. Darion (le baron), ancien Magistrat de Cour souveraine, rue du Houssay, 4. De Bray, (le chevalier Eugéne), Conseiller du Roi au Conseil royal des manufac- tures, rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, 50. De Bruges, (le comte) Lieutenant-général, Aide-de-camp du Roi, rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, 22. De la Combe, Colonel d’artillerie de la Garde, rue de la Madeleine, 31. Delille, Intendant-général de la Maison S. A. R. Madame, duchesse de Berri, rue de Rivoli, 14. Defresne, (Marcelin), Chef de division a la préfecture du département de la Seine, rue Taitbout, 18. De Mons d’Orbigny, Colonel, Chevalier de Saint-Louis, rue de la Madeleine, 31. Deschapelles, Propriétaire, rue Mont-Thabor, 10. Des Prades, Directeur des Tontines, rue Villedot, 9. Desforges, Propriétaire, rue Saint-Lazare, 82. Dhers, Propriétaire, rue Godol-de-Mauroy, 6. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 43 Doudeauville, (le duc de), Grand d’Espagne de premiére classe, Pair de France, Ministre de la Maison du Roi, rue de Grenelle. Dudon, (le baron) Conseiller d’Etat, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue du Helder, 19. Dubois, Questeur de la Chambre des Députés, au Palais de la Chambre. Dulau d’Allemans, (le comte), rue Neuve-du-Luxembourg, 9. Dusommerard, Conseiller 4 la Cour des Comptes, rue de Menars, 8. Febvrel, (le chevalier de), Aide-de-camp de feu Monseigneur le Prince de Condé, au Palais Bourbon. Ferey (Placida), Conseiller-Auditeur 4 la Cour royale, rue des Saints-Péres, 14. Fitz-James, (le duc), Pair de France, Aide-de-camp du Roi, Colonel de la Garde nationale a cheval de Paris, rue de Bourgogne, 34. Fombert de Villiers, Propriétaire, rue de Choiseul, 13. Forestier, (le vicomte Jh. de), Chevalier de Saint-Louis, Commissaire-général des Suisses prés S. A. R. Monseigneur le duc de Bordeaux, rue de Paradis-Pois- sonniére, 32 bis. Forestier, (le baron Auguste de), Chevalier de Saint-Louis, Lieutenant-Colonel, Secrétaire-général des Suisses prés S. A. R. Monseigneur, le Duc de Bordeaux, place Vendéme, 22. Fossé d’Arcoese, Chef de bureau au Ministére des finances, rue Sainte-Avoie, 12. Fouquet, Juge au tribunal de premiéres instances du departement de la Seine, rue des Grands-Augustins, 5. Gauthier de Brecy, (le baron), Officier de la Chambre du Roi, Lecteur de sa Majesté, rue Chantereine, 4. Géland, (’abbé), premier vicaire de N.-D.-de-Lorette, rue Chantereine, 6. Gibert, Sous-Chef a l’administration des impéts indirects, rue Hauteville, 14. Gordneau d’Huisy, Avocat, rue Saint-Honoré, 353. Guenifey, (le baron de), Conseiller du Roi au Conseil royal des manufactures, rue de Cléry,21. Guibout, Avocat aux Conseils et a la Cour de cassation, rue du Gros-Chenet, 3. Harcourt, (le vicomte Emmanuel d’), Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Royale, 13. Hebray, Chef de bureau aux Douanes, aux Batignolles, 9. Herbouville, (le marquis de), Pair de France, place du Palais-Bourbon, 89. (premier vice-president de la Société.) Hericart de Thury, Maitre des Requétes, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Poultier, 7. Houel, Chef de bureau au Ministére de la Guerre, rue des Marais, 24. faubourg Saint-Germain. Jauge (Amédée), Banquier, rue Neuve-du-Luxembourg, 29. Javon, Avocat, rue Meslée, 16. Jonville, (Marvé de), Propriétaire, rue d’Hanovre, 5. Labbé, (Francois), ancien Négociant, rue d’Artois, 14. Ladevéze, Homme de lettres, rue de Bussy, 6. Lafont, Maréchal-de-camp, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue de Provence, 21. Lalive, (le baron de), Intreducteur des Ambassadeurs, rue Neuve-des-Mathurins, 78. 44 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) Larcher de Plainval, ancien Vérificateur de la Cour des Comptes, rue Coquelliére, 36. La Thieuloy, Propriétaire, rue Bergére, 9. Lavigerie (de), Administrateur des Douanes, rue d’Enghien, 26. Leautaud, (le comte de), Lieutenant-commandant les Gardes -du-corps du Roi, compagnie Luxembourg, rue du Bac, 39. Lebeau, Avocat-général & la Cour de cassation, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue du Cherche-Midi, 19. Lebrun, Maire, du 4e arrondissement, rue de Ja Monnaie 11. Lecordier, (le baron), Agent de change, Maire du ler arrondissement, rue Neuve- Saint-Augustin, 18. Lemarcis, Directeur des contributions de département de la Seine, rue de Gaillon, 12. Lenormant fils, Imprimeur-Libraire, rue de Seine, 8, faubourg Saint-Germain. Lenormant fils, rue du Dragon, 34. Lepipre, Propriétaire, rue de Cléry, 14. Leprevost d’Iray, (le vicomte de), de l’Académie des Inscriptions, et (Belles- Lettres, Gentilhomme ordinaire de la Chambre du Roi, grande rue Verte, 16. Leroy, (le baron) Membre de la Chambre des Députes, rue Taitbout, 18. Louviez, (de) Propriétaire, rue Bourbon-Villeneuve, 57. Louvois, (le marquis de) Pair de France, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 110. Maffoli, Conseiller a la Cour des Comptes, rue Saint-Piérre-Mont-Marte, 11. Magnan, Directeur des domaines, rue Chantereine, 12. Main, (Hyppolite), Propriétaire, rue de Bondi, 36. Mareschal (Jules) Hommes de lettres, rue du Temple, 108. Margerin de Longtiers, Avocat, rue des Filles-Saint-Thomas, 23. Martin, Propriétaire, rue Ventadour, 7. Massin, Chevalier de Saint-Louis, Chef d’institution, rue des Minimes, 10. Michaud, de l’Académie francaise, rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, 10. Montagu, (le marquis de), rue Neuve-Saint-Roch, 14. Montmorency, (le duc Mathieu de), de l’Académie francaise, Ministre d’Etat, Pair de France, Mareschal-de-camp, Chevalier d’honneur de S. A. R. Madame la Dauphine, Membre du Conseil-général d’administration des Hospices, Administrateur des Quinze-Vingts et des Sourds-muets, Gouverneur du Chateau de Compiégne, rue Saint-Dominique, 33. Montmorency, (le prince de), Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue de Ja Blanche, 7. Mortagne, (le marquis de) rue de Touraine 8, au Marais. Nicolle, (l’abbé), ancien Recteur de L’Académie de Paris, a la Sorbonne. Nicolle, (Henri), Directeur de collége royal de Sainte-Barbe, rue des Postes, 30. Ollivier, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, 67. Orglande, (le comte d’), Pair de France, Gentilhomme de la Chambre du Roi, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 47. Parseval, (Amédée de ), Propriétaire, rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, 45. Pastoret, (le marquis de), Pair de France, de l’Académie francaise, et de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, place Louis XV, 6. Pastoret, (le comte Amédée de), Gentilhomme de la Chambre du Roi, Mattre des Requétes, place Louis XV, 6. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 45 Peyronnet (le comte de) Garde-des-Sceaux, Ministre de la Justice, place Vendér e. Peyronnet, (le vicomte de), Maftre des Requétes, Substitut de M. le Procure ur- général prés la Cour royale de Paris, place Vendéme. Pictet, Négociant, rue de la Michodiére, 8. Pillet, ainé, libraire, rue des Grands-Augustins, 7. Plé, Avoué, rue Sainte-Anne, 34. Polignac, (le prince Jules de) Pair de France, Maréschal-de-camp, Aide-de-camp du Roi, Ambassadeur 4 Londres, rue des Champs-Elysées, 4. Pontalba, (le baron) rue Saint-Honoré, 348. Pradel, (le comte de) Ministre d’Etat, premier Chambellan, Mattre de la Garde- robe du Roi, membre de |’Académie des Beaux-Arts, rue de ]’Université, 11. Préault, (le marquis de) rue de Cléry, 27. Potter (Charles) rue du Bac, 95. Prat (le chevalier de) rue Saint-Honoré, 288. Putot, Instituteur, rue de Cléry, 27. Rancogne (de) Administrateur des postes, rue Royale, 11. Ratel, rue de Mondovi, 1. Revenez (Alexis de) Propriétaire, boulevard Poissonniére, 25. Rey, Négociant, rue Sainte-Appoline, 13. Riviére (le marquis de) Lieutenant-général, Pair de France, Capitaine la 5e com- pagnie des Gardes-du-corps du Roi, rue Royale, 1. | Riviére, (le chevalier de) Maréschal-de-camp, Ecuyer Cavalcadour du Roi, place du Carrousel, aux Ecuries du Roi. . Rivoire (le chevalier de) rue Neuve-des Petits-Champs, 27. Roger, de |’Académie francaise, Secrétaire-général des postes, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, Vice Président de la Société, rue Coq-Héron, 10. Rolland Gosselin Agent de change, rue de Provence, 19. Saint-Vallier (le comte Camille de) rue Saint-Florentin, 9. Sallier, Maitre des Requétes, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, boulevard Poissonniére, 17. Sedillot, Propriétaire, rue Sainte-Anne, 46. Sennones (le vicomte de) de l’Académie des Beaux-Arts, Matftre des Requétes, rue d’Hanovre, 5. Solanet (de) Inspecteur-général des haras, rue de 1’Odéon, 20. Taillandier, Avoué, rue Saint-Benoit, 18. Talaru, (le marquis de) Pair de France, rue de Grenelle, 87. Trouvé (le baron) ancien Préfet du département de |’Aude, Directeur honoraire de la Société, rue des Filles-Saint-Thomas, 12. Trudon, Manufacturier, rue de |’Arbre -Sec, 54. Vatimesnil, (de) Conseiller d’Etat, Avocat-général 4 la Cour de cassation, rue de Bourbon, 105. | Vibraye (le marquis de) Pair de France, Colonel, Aide-de-camp du Roi, rue Saint- Dominique, 91. ; Villéle (le comte de) Ministre des finances, Président du Conscil des Ministres, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue de Rivoli. Villette (le marquis de) Ecuyer d’honneur de S. A. R. Mgr. le duc de Bourbon, rue de Vaugirard, 54. Viols. Chef de bureau & la liste civile du Roi, rue Saint-Lazare, 82. 46 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) Vivens (le vicomte de) chez M. Jauge, rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg, 29. Vyau de la Garde, ancien Capitaine dans la Garde royale, rue de Menars, 14. Fondateurs Honoraires MM. Auger,! de l’Académie francaise, au Palais des Beaux-Arts. Bergasse, Avocat, rue du Faubourg-du-Roule, 20. Bonald, (le vicomte de) de l’Académie francaise, Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue Garanciére, 8. Ducancel, Avocat, rue de |’Quest, 4. Haller, (de) rue du Regard, 1. Lacretelle, (Charles de) de 1’Académie francaise, rue Saint-Honoré, 339. Lamennais, (l’abbé Francois de) rue du Bac, 97. Pariset, Secrétaire-perpétuel de |’Académie royale de Médecine, rue de Poitiers, 8. Rémusat, (Abel) de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, rue Guénegaud, 29. Assocsés Honoraires MM. Alletz, Homme de lettres, rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, 42. Ancelot, Homme de lettres, rue d’Angenteuil, 7. Anglemont (d’) Homme de lettres, rue Hautefeuille, 5. Arvers, Eleve de I’Institution de M. le chevalier Massin, rue Saint-Louis, 73, au Marais. Audibert, Homme de lettres, rue Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie, 30. Bazin fils, Avocat, rue Louis-le-Grand, 3. Beauchamps, (Alphonse de) Homme de lettres, rue des Filles-Saint-Thomas, 12. Beaulieu, Homme de lettres, rue Neuve-des-Mathurins, 18. Bertin l’ainé, Rédacteur en chef du ‘Journal des Débats,”’ rue de Seine, 8. Bérauld, (l’abbé) Curé de Dian. Berchoux, Homme de lettres, 4 Marcigny-sur-Loire. Bignan fils, rue de Grammont, 17. Binet, Inspecteur des études a ]’Ecole polytechnique. Biot, de l’Académie des Sciences, place Cambria au Collége royal. Boisbertrand, (de) Membre de la Chambre des Députés, rue de l’Université, 16. Bonald, (Henri de) rue Garanciére, 8. Brifault, Homme de lettres, rue du Bac, 27. Capfigue, Homme de Jettres, rue Vivienne, 16. , Champeaux, (l’abbé de) rue de Berri, 14, au Marais. Chauvet,’ Homme de lettres, rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires, 10. ChénedoJlé, Homme de lettres, 4 Caen. Chézy, (de) de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, rue Jacob, 26. Cohen, Homme de lettres, rue Saint-Nicolas Chaussée d’Antin, 17. Denain, Homme de lettres, a Soissons. Désaugiers, Homme de lettres, rue de Richelieu, 48. Delaforest, Homme de lettres rue Sainte-Anne, 44. Deschamps, (Emile) Homme de lettres, rue du Battoir, 12. Després, Homme de lettres, rue de Grenelle Saint-Germain, 25. Destains, Rédacteur-principal de la ‘‘Gazette de France,” rue Christines. LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 47 Drouyn, Eléve de Philosophie au collége royal de Louis-le-Grand, rue Saint- Jacques, 282. Dureau de Lamalle, de ]’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, rue de Larochefoucauld. Durosoir, Homme de lettres. Duviquet, Homme de lettres, rue des Prés-Saint-Germain, 9. Fayet, (l’abbé de) Prédicateur du, Inspecteur de ]’Université, rue de |’Université, 24. Féletz,* au Palais des Beaux-Arts. Garcin de Tassi, Homme de lettres, rue Saint-André-des-Arts, 55. Gaultier de Claubry, Professeur de Physique, rue Féron, 15. Gautier, (Madame), rue de Bellefond, 24. Gayrard, Graveur en médailles, au Palais des Beaux-Arts. Genoude,’? Homme de lettres, rue du Bac, 128. Géraud,* (Edmond) Homme de lettres, 4 Bordeaux. Girardin, Agrégé de ]’Université, cul-de-sac Saint-Dominique-d’Enfer, 2. Guiraud, (Alexandre), Homme de lettres, rue de Mondovi, 5. Hugo, (Victor), Homme de lettres, rue de Vaugirard, 91. Hugo, (Abel). Homme de lettres, rue du Vieux Colombier, 17. Hugo, (Eugéne) Homme de lettres, rue du Vieux Colombier, 17. Lamartine (Alphonse de) Homme de lettres, 4 MAcon. Laurentie,® Inspecteur de ]’Université, rue du Pot-de-Fer, 22. Malitourne,’” Homme de lettres, a la Bibliothéque de |’Arsenal. Mazens, Homme de lettres, rue Percée-Saint-André-des-Arts, 4. Maugras neveu, Professeur-adjoint en philosophie au collége royal de Louis-le- Grand, rue des Sept-Voies, 7. Mennechet, Lecteur du Roi, rue Duphot, 17. Mély Janin," Homme de lettres, place des Victoires, 5. Merle,” Homme de lettres, rue de Vendéme, 14. Nicolet, Professeur d’astronomie a l’Observatoire. Nodier, (Charles), Homme de lettres, a la Bibliothéque de ]’Arsenal. O’Mahony, (le comte) a Versailles. Patin, Homme de lettres, rue Cassette, 15. Picot, Rédacteur de “l’Ami de la Religion et du Roi,” rue Pavée-Saint-André-des- Arts, 1. Planard (de) Homme de lettres, rue de Louvois, 10. Raoul-Rochette,¥ de ]’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, rue Neuve-des Petits-Champs, 12. Rieux de Songis, (le comte de). Rio, Professeur d’histoire au collége royal de Louis-le-Grand, rue Saint-Jacques, au collége Duplessis. Robert, Homme de lettres, rue des Fossés-Saint-Bernard, 43. Rougemont, (de) Homme de lettres, rue du Temple, 109. Roux de la Borie, Homme de lettres, rue des Saints-Peres, 14. Royou, Homme de lettres, rue Dauphine, 32. Saint-Prosper Homme de lettres, rue Neuve-Notre-Dame-des-Champs, 44. Saint-Valry Homme de lettres. Salgues Homme de lettres. 48 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) Sauvo, Rédacteur en chef du ““Moniteur” rue des Poitevins, 6. Savart, Docteur-Médecin, Professeur de physique, place Maubert, 25. Soulié, Rédacteur de la “Quotidienne,”? rue Neuve-des-Bons-Enfans, 5. Soumet, (Alexandre) de l’Académie francaise, rue du Faubourg St. Honoré, 100. Tézénas, Homme de lettres, rue de Grenelle, 116. Vallery, Conservateur des bibliothéques particuliéres du Roi, rue de Grenelle, 115. Vallette, Professeur de philosophie au collége royal de Saint-Louis, rue Saint- André-des-Arts, 63. Valmalette, rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, 37. Vanderbourg, (de)™ de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, rue des Marais, 16. Véron,” Docteur-Médecin, rue Caumartin, 37. Vial, Homme de lettres, rue de Jedneurs, 18. Vigny, (Alfred de) Homme de lettres. Villemain, de l’Académie francaise, rue Neuve-d’Orleans, porte Saint-Denis, 20. Voupian, Homme de lettres, rue des-Bons-Enfans, 33. Outre cette liste-l4, nous pouvons ajouter les noms suivants comme ayant été, a divers titres, adeptes de la Société avant ou aprés 1826: Ancelot,” d’Arthenay, Bergasse, Bouchage, Bricharde, Canuel, Cars, Chevrier, Coriolis d’Espinousse,” Destailleur, Donnadieu, Duplessis, Dussault,!§ Eckstein,!® Fallon, Fiévée, Fontanes,™ Forbin des Issarts, Fulchiron, Guilbert, Indelicato, Jouffroy Jussieu, Lacaze, Legrand, Levacher, Lourdoueix, Maille, Marcellus, Martainville,* Meiraux, Mollevaut, Paoli, Pellet d’Epinal, Quatremére de Quincy,” Rocher, Saintine,™ Saint-Auréle, Salignes, Vaublanc, Vitrolles et Walsh.™ 1 Auger (Louis-Simon) 1772-1829, Membre et secrétaire perpetuel de l’Académie Francaise, littéra- teur et critique. Collaborateur au Journal des Débats; au Mercure de France; le Consercateur; Celui qui attaqua le Romantisme a )’Académie Francaise. (Voir la Réfutation de Stendhal: Racine et Shakes peare ? Berryer (Antoine-Pierre) 1790-1868, Avocat, membre de |’Académie Francaise 1852. Collaborateur a la Quotidienne; & la Gazelle de France 3 Bourrienne (Louis-Antoine-Fauvelet de) 1769-1834, secrétaire de Napoléon Ter et en faveur sous la Restauration. Auteur des Mémoires ‘ Alissan de Chazet (André-René-Polydore) 1771-1841, Auteur dramatique et critique littéraire; la Quotidienne 6 Chauvet Collaborateur au le Lycée Frangais, & a_.Revue Encyclo pédique, “a qui Manzoni a écrit cette admirable lettre sur les deux unités.” (Des Granges.) ® Féletz (Charles-Marie-Doumond de) 1767-1850, bibliothécaire de l'Institut, membre de ]’Académie Francaise. Collaborateur: au Journal des Débats, au Mercure de France, au Spectateur Frangats, a la Quotidienne 7 Genoude (Antoine-Eugéne de) 1704-1849, homme de lettres, traducteur de la Vulgate, écrivain politique a la Gaselle de France LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 49 8 Géraud (Edouard) 1775-1831, journaliste ultra-royaliste, poéte, collaborateur a la Ruche d’Aqus- taine, 8 la Foudre, aux Annales de la Littérature et des Arts, & la Quotidienne ® Laurentie (Pierre-Sebastien) 1793-1876, jesuite, monarchiste et ultramontain, historien, homme de lettres, collaborateur aux Letires Cham penosses, directeur a la Quotidienne 1¢ Malitourne (Armand) 1787-1866, homme de lettres, littérateur et journaliste. Collaborateur: la Quotidienne, les Annales de la Litterature et des Arts, les Débats, la Revue de Paris u Mély Janin 1777-1827, poéte, littérateur, auteur dramatique. Collaborateur: Journa des Débats, fondateur des Letires Champenoises, de la Quotidienne ® Merle (Jean-Toussaint) 1785-1852, auteur dramatique, rédacteur a la Gazette de France. Collabor- ateur: le Mercure, Figaro, Gazette de France, \e Conteur, le Journal des Arts, le Journal des Débats 3 Raoul-Rochette (Desiré) 1789-1854, archéologue, homme de lettres, piotesiear a la Sorbonne, collabor- ateur: le Journal des Savants, la Revue de Paris, la Revue des Deux Mondes, la Quotidienne ™ Vanderbourg (Martin-Marie Chalres Boudens de) 1765-1827, littérateur, membre de |’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Let- tres, collaborateur: le Journal des Savants, les Annales de la Littérature et des Arts % Véron (Louis-Désiré) 1798-1867, littérateur, médecin, journaliste, collaborateur: la Quotidienne, la Revue de Paris, rédacteur en chef du Constitutionnel ™ Ancelot (Jacques-Arséne-Francois-Polycarpe) 1794-1854, Homme de lettres, auteur dramatique, membre de !’Académie Francaise, 1841. 17 Coriolis d’Espinousse (Charles-Louis-Alexandre, marquis de) 1772-1841, auteur de poésies ayant pour sujet des événements politiques 18 Dussault (Jean-Joseph) 1769-1824, membre de |’Académie Francaise, rédacteur du Journal des Débats 18 Eckstein (Ferdinand, baron d’) 1790- publiciste et philosophe francais d’origine danoise, rédacteur du Drapeau blanc, fondateur de la Catholique *® Fontanes (J. P. Louis, marquis de) 1757-1821, poéte, homme politique, pair de France, premier président de la Société des Bonnes Letires. Collaborateur: au Mercure de France, a la Quotidienne 2! Martainville (Alphonse L.) 1776-1834, homme de lettres, auteur dramatique, journaliste, collaborateur: la Quotidienne, le Drapeau blanc, le Journal de Paris, la Gazette de France, le Conservateur 50 LA SOCIETE DES BONNES LETTRES (1821-1830) 22 Quatremére de Quincy (Antoine-Chrysostome) 1755-1849, député, membre de ]’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres 33 Saintine (X.-B) 1798-1865, auteur de Picctola, rédacteur du Mercure *% Walsh (Joseph-Alexis, vicomte) 1782-1860, littérateur, auteur des Letires Vendéennes ou la Correspondance de trois amiss, Paris 1825 DADAISME PorGN£E DE DocUMENTS SUR UN MOUVEMENT D’EGARE- MENT DE L’Esprit HUMAIN APRES LA GRANDE- GUERRE, ET DONT LES EFFETS SE FIRENT SENTIR DANS LE DOMAINE DES LETTRES ET DES ARTS. (1916—1921) PAR ALBERT SCHINZ Digitized by Google Digitized by Google mae T es 2 7» @ ln we 2? 6a? d a." = (BS wa TE TAR © — ee | , A tet th ade Se . Pad aw * - ‘ : J . ee? st i» ter = = OM -$8Seh tgp sig wages sr . & “> = = ¢ a a a ' t oe ‘ bP! tre, et 5 Tt ee eet [a E..06 Og 844: AS re Rit fs ras cee -s (be = -_i- . “~ . . -2 : +e 5.2 £73 + 3 ee § # « .y x zy a4 & -3 § . - = cc a 73 , = & a Ved ee Ge? oe BBE FO 7% 'S ~ | by gl as ee A « 36 = ff oa. vc iy eo t E G+ 6 = : ¢ re. wai ¥ e**- ‘ socewiga + S-fetk § py CPSP ee oy 4 ees bay tee a 7 _ Se + ee ee ee 4-44 ef. = 3 S22eR2 2? Soe gets |Z ky’ = oe py. a gem S2SeEs 2265-8 oe-d-F -t : 3 aT. “2 x ~ a oe os =a . . ; < —- ' t~- ne oe oe oe set, ae 3S om 3 = bie 5 a ty} ers as ey 8 LOS tee s - = Pl} 3 ee owe : = Ss S-o § oo 4 mn wee z u t.s a : Py ht Pe ar) Ee eee er Ppa PS by. ba bet SE bia pad 3G +4 getters a dy oe Ee ee eet Se ; pe tiaes Lt CS Se ie Oe a 2%) .. S-beade bp ts eR GO eS bg 4 dyad Bal 8 eee ee rere ct tbe See © ee ee ee ee if A= = at i a i ee Py (S$fa fae josrnaus "4 lusteés, cubé le merde et les prolils de jeunes filles, mamtenant il laut cuber de largent pr i N As ‘: “y $.— Dada, lui, ne weul ren, ren, rien, il fait quelque chose pour ave \ public dise : “nous Ne COMPre mons riot, nen, een : - : Les Dalatstes he sont rien, rien, ren, bien certammenrent ils n acriveront & nen, rien, neu a: ‘ a Francis PICABIA Te, s hn y qui ne sait ren, rien, - it EY * = tee | (Réduit de 15X22 pouces.) Dadaisme, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS SUR UN MOUVEMENT D’EGAREMENT DE L’ESPRIT HUMAIN APRES LA GRANDE GUERRE, ET DONT LES EFFETS SE FIRENT SENTIR DANS LE DOMAINE DES LETTRES ET DES ARTS (1916—1921) Les principaux documents consultés sont: Les feuilles périodiques du Bulletin Dada, et de Cannidbale, et divers articles et livres, dadaistes mentionnés au fur et a mesure. Isidore Ducasse (Comte de Lautréamont), Poéstes, Préface de Philippe Soupault (Au Sans Pareil, 1920). Nouvelle Revue Francaise, 1 avril 1920 (article de Gide), 1 aofit, 1920 (articles de Jacques Riviére et de L. Aragon). Mercure de France, 1 mars 1920 (p. 529-530). Revue de la Semaine, 3 sept. 1921 (article de Lacretelle, ‘Carte du pays des jeunes’). Dans l’Epilogue seront mentionnés quel- ques articles et livres d’une époque déja Post-Dadafste. Le cas des Dadaistes a pu passer pour vraiment étonnant. On jetait 4 leur face plus de plaisanteries et plus d’insultes qu’ on n’en avait jeté a la face des Décadents, des Cubistes, des Futu- ristes, des Unanimistes, des Simultanéistes réunis. Personne ne paraissait savoir ce dont il s’agissait; mais tout faisait penser que c’était absurde poussé au paroxysme. Le mot Dada lui-méme portait le sceau de l’absurde. [I] n’était pas une personne intel- ligente qui ne manifest4t une sorte de honte a préter une pensée sérieuse au sujet—et d’une facon ou d’une autre ne sentit la nécessité de s’excuser avant d’en parler,—tant la niaiserie apparais- sait au premier coup d’oeil. Et cependant, avec persistance on en parla depuis qu’en 1918, et la guerre finie, on avait pu préter une oreille aux choses de l’art, jusque—disons—vers la fin de 1921. Pourrait-on dire que c’est par réaction psychique, et pour ou- blier le sérieux forcé et persistant des quatre années formidables, qu’on a suivi les éjaculations d’artistes bouffons—comme on a voulu oublier au cinéma, et dans la danse, et dans le vétement extravagant? Non, car ce ne fut pas le peuple frivole ou super- ficiel qui jugea dans ces matiéres; ce furent des gens de pensée. Pas des réveurs, mais de vieux vétérans des lettres et des hommes de réalités, comme J.-H. Rosny ont discuté le Dadaisme. André Gide, considéré comme une des intelligences les plus subtiles et 54 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) les plus pénétrantes de notre génération, lui a consacré un article entier. Le directeur de la Nouvelle Revue Frangatse—la revue qui, dit-on, réfléchit fidélement l’esprit de la génération de la guerre, ~—Jacques Riviére, a ouvert 4 plusieurs reprises ses pages aux Da- daistes, et a signé lui-méme une dissertation intitulée ‘“Reconnais- sance 4 Dada’’!! Enfin Je Dadaisme a duement saplace dans la volumineuse publication Vingt-cing ans de Littérature francatse, 1895-1920 (Librairie de France) Volume II, Fascicule 7, ‘‘Les écoles littéraires.” Aussi, on citait constamment des noms illustres comme des précurseurs de Dada. Nous ne parlons pas de Guillaume Apollinaire particuliérement fréquemment invoqué—et pour lequel chacun ne peut éprouver la haute admiration de M. O’Sullivan dans le Freeman (29 Déc. 1920); mais on a cité Baude- laire; on a cité Flaubert, un des grands dieux des intellectuels et des universitaires francais; on a cité Lamartine lui-méme, le plus orthodoxe des poétes? Aujourd’hui le Dadaisme est mort—de l’aveu méme de ses adeptes d’hier.® C’est ce qui justifie cette étude. Car, de quelque facon qu’on le considére, le Dadaisme aura été un épisode dans ]’évolution de la pensée et de l’art de l’aprés-guerre. Et, comme il sera assez dif- ficile d’ici 4 peu de temps de recueillir des documents sur un mouve- 1 Jacques Riviére, dans un interview aux Nouv. Litt., (1 déc. 1923) renouvelle l’assurance de son intérét pour Dada: ‘‘Le Dadaisme . . . que la Nouv. Rev. Fr. a étudié comme un phénoméne hautement significatif, mais n’a jamais patronné.”’ Il cite abondamment son article’? Reconnaissance a Dada,” et y renvoie. 2 L’Opinion du 29 mai 1920 cite ce passage du IVme Entretien du Cours familier de littérature: “Si maintenant on nous interroge sur cette forme de la poésie qu’on appelle le vers, nous répondrons franchement que cette forme du vers, du rythme, de la mesure, de la cadence, de la rime ou de la consonnance de certains sons pareils a la fin de la ligne cadencée, nous semble trés indifférente a la poésie a l’Epoque avancée et véritablement intellectuelle des peuples modernes. Nous disons plus: Bien que nous ayons écrit nous-méme une partie de notre faible poésie dans cette forme par imitation et par habitude, nous avouerons que le rythme, la mesure, la cadence, la rime surtout, nous ont paru une puérilité, et presque une dérogation a la dignité de la vraie poésie’’. 7En cela il différe du Cubisme qui continue a s’affirmer, et du Futurisme Au sujet de ce dernier, on trouvera un article vraiment lumineux dans The S4N Magazine, Issue 26-29. Year 4; May to August 1923, Northampton, Mass., article da a la plume de Marinetti lui-méme, et traduit par Norman Fitts en anglais. (Le S4¢N Magazine n’est pas paginé. L’article a environ 17 pages de petit format, in 32). DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 55 ment si éphémére, nous avons pensé qu’1l serait utile de recueillir quelques notes avant que les feuilles et brochures contenant des expressions du Dadaisme fussent ou dispersées 4 tous les vents, ou ensevelies et introuvables sous des poussiéres éternelles. * Qu’est-ce que le Dadaisme? Comme peu de personnes en ont jamais parlé sérieusement, et comme les Dadaistes eux-mémes semblaient prendre plaisir 4 donner l’idée qu’ils mystifiaient, il est extrémement difficile de donner des faits bien contrdélés, de faire en quelque sorte une histoire du mouvement dadaiste. Nous nous y sommes efforcé cependant, en lisant attentivement quelques unes de leurs publications—celles que nous avons pu nous procurer; et, en tenant en éveil toutes nos facultés critiques, voici ce que nous estimons ne devoir pas étre faux. La doctrine dadaiste est née de réunions d’individus apparte- nant & diverses nationalités, au cabaret Voltaire, a Zurich, en 1916 —l’année de Verdun. Lorsqu’ils se mirent 4 publier leurs idées, ces jeunes gens louérent des bureaux, donnant comme adresse: Mouvement Dada, Zeltweg, 33, Zurich. C’est l& que s’édita, jusqu’a la fin de 1918, le Bulletin Dada, Prix 1fr.,50. Directeur, Tristan Tzara. Epigraphe.’”’ Je ne veux méme pas savoir s'il y a eu des hommes avant moi” (Descartes[?]). Puis on se transporta a Paris: 32 Avenue Ch. Floquet, Paris VII. On y continua la publication du Bulletin, auquel succéda, depuis le 25 avril 1920(?), le Cannibale, revue mensuelle, Rédaction, 32 Avenue Floquet; Prix I franc, Administration: Au Sans-Pareil, 37 Avenue Kléber, et 102 Rue du Cherche-Midi. En 1919 avait paru une petite revue, sous le titre (ironique) Littérature, éditée par Louis Aragon, André. Breton et Philippe Soupault, et qui demandait aux écrivains alors en selle: Pourquoi écrivez-vous, en somme?—question embarrassante. Ces trois hommes unirent leurs forces 4 celles de Tristan Tzara lorsque celui-ci vint 4 Paris. Comment la conjonction fut-elle opérée et l’union consommée?—nous ne le savons pas. Le mouvement Dada est a la fois artistique et littéraire. La premiére grande manifestation publique a Paris semble avoir été la Matinée Dada, au Salon des Indépendants, Grand Palais des Champs Elysées, le 5 février 1920, 4 heures 44. Voici comment André Gide décrit cette séance: ‘‘Cela se passait au Salon des 56 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) Indépendants. J’espérais m’amuser davantage et que les Dadas auraient tiré plus abondant parti de l’ingénue stupeur du public. Des jeunes gens gourmés, guindés, ligottés, sont montés sur |’es- trade; ont, en choeur, proclamé d’insincéres outrances. . . Du fond de la salle quelqu’un leur a crié; Faites des gestes! et tout le monde a ri; car il apparaissait que, précisément par peur de se compromettre, aucun d’eux n’osait plus bouger.”’ (Nouvelle Revue Frangaise I avril 1920). La deuxiéme manifestation eut lieu aux galeries d’art La Boétie, Rue La Boétie, le 2 mars suivant; au programme: Anti- littérature DADA-—Anti-musique DADA-—Anti-peinture DADA. La troisiéme manifestation fut celle de juin 1920: une ex- position internationale d’art Dadaiste, aux galeries La Boétie encore. En automne, nouvelle manifestation, chez un marchand de tableaux, a Paris: Picabia expose, et Tzara conférencie ‘‘en patois Dada”; La séance est agrémentée de musique par une “‘Jazzband effrénée”’. Le mouvement prend plus de consistance. On annonce ouverture de nouveaux bureaux: “‘Mouvement Dada, M. Ribe- mont-Dessaignes, 18 Rue Foucroy, vous envoie l’insigne Dada pour 5 francs avec le dipléme de président.” Les noms les plus en vue sont: D’abord ceux des sept qui ont parlé au nom de tous 4 la premiére manifestation du 5 février, 1920, au Grand Palais: Tristan Tzara, “le calicot,” de nationalité roumaine, qui a trouvé le mot Dada. Francis Picabia, “le loustic,” éditeur de la revue Cannsbale, paraissant le 25 de chaque mois. | Georges Ribemont-—Dessaignes, André Breton, le théoricien du groupe. Paul Dermée, Paul Eluard, Louis Aragon Parmi les noms qui reviennent plus souvent que d’autres, ajoutons encore: Philippe Soupault, dont l’absence, le 5 février, étonne beaucoup; Marcel Duchamp, un agtiste qui s’approprie des droits d’auteur sur la Joconde aprés avoir ajouté une moustache 4 la Guillaume II, sous ]’ineffable sourire; Marcel Janco, artiste; H. Arp, artiste; et le superbe Jacques Vaché, ‘‘dont la fortune, écrit DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 57 André Breton, est de n’avoir rien produit. Toujours il repoussa du pied l’oeuvre d’art qui retient l’Ame aprés la mort” (Nou. Rev. Fr.1 aotit 1920). Joseph Delteil, pour autant que nous avons eu Y’occasion de le vérifier, semble partager avec M. Vaché cette glorieuse distinction de n’avoir rien produit pendant sa phase dadaiste; mais Dadaiste illustre, il fut. On est convenu de ranger ici le nom de Paul Morand, l’auteur t6t un peu célébre en Amérique (grace au Dial, si curieux, si naivement curieux parfois, des nou- veautés francaises) des Lampes & Arc, avec un dessin de l’auteur; dans cette brochure de 50 pages, publiée ‘“‘Au Sans Pareil’’ (1920), le “dessin” et non moins les poémes sont indiscutablement de couleur dadalste. Il est des noms plus douteux encore qu’on a voulu associer avec le Dadaisme; tel celui de Paul Valéry. Nous avons vu méme ceux de Max Jacob et de Blaise Cendras, cubistes notoires, et donc qui seraient violemment récusés par Tristan Tzara. Il y a encore Pierre Reverdy, (qui publiait la revue men- suelle Nord-Sud, 12 Rue Corot, Paris 18) dont on a publié des vers dans Dada 3. Puis il y a Jean Cocteau |’auteur de Le cog et Parlequin, des Martés de la Tour Eiffel, puis du Grand écart et du poéme Platn-Chant), qui s’il ne fut dadaiste fut digne de 1’étre.‘ Ici se pousse sous la plume une fois encore le nom de Guillaume Apollinaire. |’auteur des Calltgrammes (Mercure de France 1918). Les Dadaistes ont-ils invoqué si souvent son oeuvre pour faire croire au public, qu’Appollinaire ayant été pris au sérieux par quel- ques-uns, et 1’a-logisme d’Appollinaire rappelant le leur, i fallait en conclure qu’il y avait dans ce qu’ils appellent le “rien” du dadaisme, aussi quelquechose?; ou bien était-ce pour dire qu’ils considéraient Appollinaire comme aussi partisan du néant qu’eux? Nous nous garderons bien de décider; car méme pour ses intimes Apollinaire était souvent une énigme (Cf. André Billy, A pollinatre vivant, Siréne, 1923), Il put en tous cas peu fréquenter les Dadafistes —s’il les fréquenta—puisqu’il mourut le 9 nov. 1918, et que les Dadaistes ne prirent pied a Paris que fin 1918. D/’ailleurs depuis ‘Ce point de Vhistoire peut étre éclairci: M. Cocteau avait eu des velléités dadaistes; il avait envoyé trois poémes 4 Dada. Mais ensuite il les retira par une lettre of on lit: ... “Je peux méme dire que Tzara malgré qu’il oeuvre aux antipodes de moi est le seul poéte qui me touche ainsi. Ribemont est pur j’en suis certain. Mais Dada, le Dadaisme, me causent un malaise intolérable. J’al- mais qu’ils donnent de |’air dans la chambre cubiste—mais la séance de l’autre soir c'était atroce, triste, timide, loin de toute audace, de toute invention” (Cité dans Le Cannibale, 25 avril 1920). 58 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) sa trépanation il était soigné chez lui, et voyait peu d’amis. Apollinaire était grand partisan du cubisme—ce que les Dadafistes n’aimaient point. Qu’on ait pu identifier avec les adeptes de Tzara s’explique théoriquement; n’aimait-il pas a élever en principe le ‘‘mauvais gofit’’? “Ce qu’Apollinaire entendait par ‘bon gofit’ c’est un ensemble de conventions et de préjugés particu- liers aux civilisations vieillies et contre lesquels sa nature instinc- tive et primitive s’insurgeait; en cela résidait son génie’”’ (Loc, cst. p. 31). Et quant au fait qu’il connaissait Ribemont Dessaignes il ne prouve rien, car c’était en 1915, avant qu’il fit question de Dadaisme; et celui-ci renia son cubisme. Cette liaison avec Ribemont Dessaignes nous est connue par ces vers d’André Billy (20 avril, 1915): Ribemont-Dessaignes, cubiste Mais bijambiste, Est ici depuis ce matin. C’est mon voisin. Recois mes amitiés anciennes. J’y joins les siennes. (Loc. cit. p. 117). Peut-étre convient-il d’ajouter qu’on trouvait dans le Bulletin Dada, No 6, janvier 1920, une kyrielle de quatre-vingt noms environ qui semblent venus des quatre coins de l’univers et qui représen- tent la légion dadaiste. Cela a bien encore l’apparence d’une plai- santerie. Toutefois en voici quelques échantillons: ‘‘Quelques présidents et présidentes’’—car: ‘‘Vivent les concubines et les concubistes, Tous les membres du mouvement Dada sont prési- dents’’: Alexandre Archipenko, W.-C. Arensberg, Marai d’Arezzo, Margueritte Buffet, Gino Cantarelli, Carefoot, Maja Chrusecz, Crotti, Jacques Edwards, Carl Einstein, O. Flake, Hapgood, F. Hardekopf, Walter Pack, A. Wolkowitz, etc., etc. * Le mouvement Dada semble bien avoir des prétentions a l’in- ternationalisme. Et on se réclame de lui. Surtout: les Allemands. Jaloux des lauriers de MM. Tristan Tzara et Francis Picabia et de leurs amis, ils ont voulu dadaiser aussi. Comme autrefois ils avaient voulu Zolaiser; et pour montrer leur sérieux, ils ont voulu rendre des points a4 la France. Ils y ont du reste des droits, puis- que, de 1916-1918, lorsque le mouvement se constituait 4 Zurich, DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 59 ils n’étaient pas absents—et que, nous venons de le voir en par- courant la liste des ‘‘présidents et présidentes—, 4 Paris méme les météques ne manquaient point dans les réunions dadaistes. ‘“‘Donc, nous dit le Mercure de France (Mars 1920) les Allemands se sont mis 4 étudier Apollinaire. Et puis, il y eut, au commence- ment de |’année 1920, une manifestation musicale et poétique a Berlin, d’inspiration dadaiste, dont parle un certain Alfred Polgar, dans son ‘“‘Tagebuch”’ au 10 janvier. Les Allemands prétendent avoir eu (pourquoi pas?) l’Expresstonisme qui est la méme chose que le Dadaisme—le DadalIsme avant le Dadaisme. M. Diebold, dans la Gasette de Francfort, 28 sept. agite son drapeau Dada- Expressioniste: Le Cubisme, dit-il et le Futurisme n’étaient que des formes préparatoires de 1’Expressionisme; ‘Ils ont démontré au mos sa force transformatrice et révolutionnaire’; |’Expressio- nisme positif de demain vaincra l’Expressionsime négatif qui est @hier.””? Un Zurichois profond, O. Pfister, a mélé le Freudisme au Dadaisme et a |’Expressionisme,—et cela devient terriblement embrouillé, ‘kolossalement’confus! A tel point qu’il est apparu méme 4 un compatriote qu’il était inutile de chercher a étre trop “gruendlich”; Fritz Stahl, dans le Berliner Tageblatt (7 nov.) se révolte, et ironiquement propose de ne pas s’en tenir 4 une méta- physique aussi simplette que |l’Expressionisme, pourquoi pas d’emblée le néo-dadaisme, le néo-expressionisme, le super-ex- pressionisme, le compressionisme, le suppressionisme, et le ré- pressionisme? | Revenons en France chez les Dadaistes modérés. Interrogeons les nouveaux maitres. Et d’abord le grand document central, le manifeste de Tristan Tzara, lu le 23 juillet 1918, a la Meisse, a Zurich; il est reproduit dans le Bulletin Dada, No. 3. En voici quelques brefs extraits: \ “Pour lancer un manifeste il faut vouloir A. B. C. foudroyer contre 1. 2. 3. s’énerver et aiguiser les ailes pour conquérir et répandre de petits et de grands a. b. c. signer, crier, jurer, arranger la prose sous une forme d’évidence absolue, irréfutable, prouver son nonplusultra et soutenir que la nouveauté ressemble 4 la vie comme la derniére apparition d’une cocotte prouve l’essentiel de Dieu. Son existence fut déja prouvée par l’accordéon, le paysage et la parole douce St tee ee J’écris un manifeste et je ne veux rien, je dis pourtant 60 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) certaines choses, et je suis par principe contre les manifestes, et je suis aussi contre les principes. . . . J’écris ce manifeste pour montrer qu’on peut faire les actions opposées ensemble, dans une fraiche respiration; je suis contre |’action; pour la continuelle contradiction; pour |’affirmation aussi, je ne suis ni pour, ni contre et je n’explique, car je hais le bon sens. DADA—voila le mot qui méne les idées a la chasse;. . . DADA ne signifie rien. Si tous ont raison [= puisque tous ont raison] et si toutes les ' pilules ne sont que Pink, essayons une fois de ne pas avoir raison. . . Je.suis contre tous les systémes, le plus acceptable est celui de n’avoir par principe aucun (sic). . . Il nous faut des oeuvres fortes droites précises et & jamais in- comprises. La logique est une complication. La logique est toujours fausse. Elle tire les fils des notions, paroles, dans leur extérieur formel, vers des bouts des centres illusoires. Ses chaines tuent, myriapode énorme asphyxiant |’indépendance. Marié a la logique l’art vivrait dans l’inceste, engloutissant, avalant sa propre queue toujours son corps, se forniquant lui- méme, et le tempérament deviendrait un cauchemar goudronné de protestantisme, un monument, un tas d’intestins grisAtres et lourds. . . . cequ’ilya dedivin en nous est l’éveil de l’action anti-humaine. La moralité est l’infusion du chocolat dans les veines de tous les hommes. . .” Les fautes d’orthographe, et méme de grammaire pullulent— sans doute avec intention. Ce n’est pas le seul manifeste. Bien au contraire. Les Dadalis- tes ont bien compris que, voulant inaugurer un nouveau mouve- ment, ils se devaient, comme tous leurs prédécesseurs inaugurant de nouveaux mouvements, d’écrire des manifestes,—comme Sten- dhal, comme Victor Hugo, comme Gautier, Baudelaire, Leconte de Lisle, Zola, comme les Symbolistes, les Cubistes, les Futuristes, etc. Ils ont fait des quantités de manifestes. Voici d’ailleurs le pro- gramme de leur premiére réunion publique 4 Paris, le 5 février: “Francis Picabia, Manifeste lu par dix personnes. Georges Ribemont-Dessaignes, Manifeste lu par neuf personnes. André Breton, Manifeste lu par huit personnes. a . ? y ' on DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916—1921) 61 Paul Dermée, Manifeste lu par sept personnes. Paul Eluard, §Manifeste lu par six personnes. Louis Aragon, Manifeste lu par cinq personnes. Tristan Tzara, Manifeste lu par quatre personnes et un journaliste.”’ Et voici un autre manifeste, trés court: 4° ‘“Manifeste du Mouvement DADA: Vous ne comprenez pas n’est-ce pas ce que nous faisons. Eh bien chers amis nous le comprenons moins encore. Quel bonheur hein vous avez raison. J’aimerais coucher encore une fois avec le pape, vous ne comprenez pas? moi non plus; comme c’est triste.’’ —_ (signé: Francis Picabia.) En voici un qui est d’une clarté surprenante comparativement aux autres; il est de Ribemont-Dessaignes: “Qu’est-ce que c’est beau? Qu’est-ce que c’est laid? Qu’est- ce que c’est grand, fort, faible? Qu’est-ce que c’est Carpentier, Renan, Foch? Connais pas. Qu’est-ce que c’est moi? Connais pas. Connais pas. Connais pas.” Certaines formules dadaistes viennent confirmer ces affr- mations invariables des Manifestes, que ‘DADA ne veut Rien, Rien.” Ainsi: ‘Dada ne signifie rien” (Tzara); ‘“Toute conviction est une maladie’ (Picabia); ‘“‘Tous les gens qui ont du gofit sont pourris” (Le méme); ‘“‘Les vrais Dadas sont contre Dada” (Dada 6.) Tristan Tzara avait dit dans son Manifeste: ‘‘L’absence de systéme est encore un systéme, mais le plus sympathique.” Et André Breton ajoute: ‘‘L’esprit humain me semble ainsi fait qu’il ne peut pas étre incohérent, ni pour lui-méme, ni d’ailleurs pour d’autres.”’ Dés lors, le travail de l’art est tout a fait superflu, puisque tout ce qui est dit, écrit, dessiné est toujours cohérent et compréhensible méme sans art; |’art n’a rien de supérieur: “Quand donc—s’écrie M. Breton—fera-t-on 4 |’arbitraire la place qui lui revient dans la formation des idées?”’ (Nouv. Reo. Fr. Aoft 1920). * Tout ceci va s’illuminer quand aprés les Manifestes et les Formules nous allons aborder les oeuvres mémes. En peinture peu de chose a dire; cependant mentionnons une ‘“‘Sainte-Vierge’”—produite en versant de haut, sur une grande i 62 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) feuille blanche un jet d’encre: cela produit une grande tache, et mille éclaboussures. Trés amusant aussi est le tableau de Marcel Duchamp, dont ncus avons parlé déja, et qui n’est autre que la Joconde au sourire énigmatique, pourvue d’une moustache en croc. Un portrait du leader Tristan Tzara, par Fr. Picabia, (dans Cannibale 1) consiste en un long trait traversant la page de haut en bas par le milieu, avec une fléche en haut et en bas; et, a inter- valles 4 peu prés égaux, cing cercles gauchement tracés, celui d’en bas étant tout noir; le second a une couronne de points 4a Il’in- térieur de la circonférence; 4 chaque étage, une légende, Parfums, Mots vaporisés, Féeries des idées, Illusions, Certitudes. . . et quel- ques autres ornements. A la premiére page du volume de poémes Unique Eunuque, Picabia dessine son propre portrait: c’est une ligne représentant le mouvement d’un aéroplane bouclant la boucle, avec aux deux extrémités, des pointes de fléches. C’est tout. | Passons a la littérature. (Remarquons d’emblée que les Dadaistes ignorent toute ponctuation.) Voici un poéme américain (car il faut dire que les sujets améri- cains sont loin de déplaire aux Dadaistes). L’auteur est Vincente Huidobro [?]. Le titre: COW-BOY. “Sur le Far West ot il y a une seule ligne Le Cock Boy chante a rompre la nuit Et son cigare est une étoile filante SON POULAIN FERRE N’A JAMAIS EU DE PANNE Et lui la téte contre les genoux danse un CAKE WALK New-York a quelques kilométres Dans les gratte-ciels Les ascenseurs montent comme des themométres Et prés du Niagara quia éteint ma pipe Q Je regarde les étoiles éclaboussées Le COW-BOY sur une corde a violon Traverse l’Ohio”’ Nous croyons qu’il y a dans ce poéme beaucoup trop de clarté et de possible cohérence pour répondre vraiment aux formules des Dadaistes. Ceux-ci sont mieux: COEUR de JESUS, par Fr. Picabia. Jardi me cha vide Plu cuses vi gent re | DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) Portrait de TRISTAN TZARA par FRANCIS PICABIA Saqn1 iit a? wreuSions 63 64 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) Jan este oses cine resses Bri ille mor gnée cui Avo alon allu ndon Cur emblés chi tite pord Porch raient couro satis chrét Son terrés eff Teprie sa Ce ne sont pas méme des mots; mais des syllabes assemblées par le simple hasard. Ceci est de Louis Aragon, et s’intitule SUICIDE: Abcdef ghijkl mnopqr stuvw xyz Ceci est de Tristan Tzara [un madrigal?]: AN PEDRO madame madame madme madamame madamame e€ madame madame madame madame madame madame Terminons ce bouquet de poésie par ce morceau un peu plus récent (1921), de M. Pierre Chapka-Bonniére: PAROXYSME —_—> : o—O I!!! tsi—i—i—I —et sam—et sam—sam—sa M —et sam—et sam—sam—sa M. DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 65 ? oha—Keink tsi H. | rrroor—O —atakak—af—oh—tzzi g.° C’est vraiment dréle. Et ce qu’il y a de plus dréle encore c’est que le poéte a recu une lettre l’accusant de plagiarisme. Un certain M. Nicolas Baudouin lui écrit: “Vous étes du parti ‘paroxys- me-expressioniste’ que j’inaugurai en France en 1912, concurrem- ment avec le poéte Rainer Maria Hilke® et Georg Trackl.” On voit que les Dadaistes ne se refusaient rien. On a manqué avoir, au sujet de Dada “qui ne signifie rien, rien, rien” une autre querelle Bacon-Shakespeare, ou Corneille-Moliére, ou Benoft-Rider Hag- gard? La prose, on peut se ]’imaginer, ne différe point des vers dans le Parnasse Dada; elle différe donc considérablement en cela de la prose de M. Jourdain. Pour la variété, choisissons quelque frag- ment dramatiques de la nouvelle école. La piéce, trés courte, mais que nous abrégerons encote, est due 4 la plume de deux illustres Dadaistes, Breton et Soupault. Le titre: VOUS M’OUBLIEREZ, Sketch. SCENE I. Personnages: Robe de Chambre, Paraplute. Robe de Chambre (crie par trois fois, la troisiéme apres avoir ouvert la fenéire): Quel est donc cet arbre, ce petit léopard que j’ai caressé ]’autre jour en rentrant? Parapluie-——Vous allez prendre froid sans couvertures. Quel affreux quel inconfortable voyage! Les cheminées et les sirénes défilent 4 pas de loups; que les temps ont changé! Je vous le disais bien: un bol d’étoile couleur de camomille est moins sucré que les yeux de votre petite niéce. (On frappe) Parapluie—La table n’est pas louée. (La toile tombe) SCENE I. Personnages: Les mémes. Machine @ coudre. Machine & coudre (entre).—Tl fait un temps magnifique, Parapluie, les rayons de soleil sont pour rien. (A Robe de Chambre). Tu es la, chéri? (Elle ’embrasse au front). ® Ce morcean a été publié comme curiosité dans plusieurs journaux. Nous l’avons emprunté a un numéro de février 1921 de la Semaine littéraire de Genéve. *Sur Hilke, voir un petit article par Schiitze, dans le Dial, May 31, 1920 et un volume de traductions par Jessie Lemont. Selections of R.M.H. (N. Y.) © 66 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) Machine @ coudre (croise les mains).—Veux-tu des ficelles ou des oranges? Mon beau singe m’a fait un cadeau d’une paire de bretelles et ce n’est pas tout. Eléphants des grands magasins, accourez avec vos lanternes sourdes. Le soleil n’est-il pas couché. Robe de chambre, Tu es 1a, chéri? Machine @ coudre.—Tais-toi, lapin. Parapluie, écoute-moi. Je n’ai rien a te dire. Tu es beau, tu es béte, tu es. . . Parapluie. Va donc regarder dehors ce qui se passe. Machine @ coudre.—Jolis jours blancs, colliers des nuits, Nuages lointains, fleurs d’ennui. Robe de Chambre. ;—Quoi? M achine @ coudre.—Rien, mécanique 4 sonnette. (La totle tombe). Les titres seuls suffiraient 4 faire réver. Passe encore pour les recueils de poémes de Philippe Soupault, Aquarsum, Les Champs magnétiques; mais que dire de Unique Eunuque, ou de Poésses sans langage, ou L’athléte des pompes funébres, par Picabia; ou le volome annoncé par Tristan Tzara, Calendrier cinéma synthétique du coeur abstrait Cirque Maisons poémes, Prix 25 fr. Prix 150 fr. Un roman de Louis Aragon s’appelle Toutes choses égales d’ail- leurs; et dés 1916 Tzara publiait La premzére aventure de M. Antipyrine. Prix 2 fr. Edition de luxe 16 fr. x Voila de l’art Dada! Vous souriez. I] vous semble que c’est de la folie a lier, et que vous étes trés supérieurs. Vous ]’étes peut- étre. Et cependant, en y réfléchissant, l’idée vous vient que les Dadaistes sont peut -étre de connivence dans votre rire; en d’autres termes que vous ne riez pas tant d’eux, qu’avec eux; et, (c’est ce qui les distinguerait des pinces sans rire que sont certainement beaucoup de soi-disant cubistes ou futuristes) du méme rire qu’eux. On observera que les amis du Dadaisme ont été trés préoccupés de dire ce que Dada n’était pas, et de le différencier d’autres mouvements du jour.—C’est le cas de tous les novateurs, ré- pondrez-vous, et il est toujours moins difficile d’attaquer les autres que de dire ce qu’on veut soi-méme.—Oui, mais on devra observer ensuite que les Dadaistes ont été partculiérement souci- eux de se distinguer des Cubistes, les derniers venus. Et. quand, faisant acte d’humilité, les Cubistes ont bien voulu considérer les DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 67 Dadatstes comme leurs maitres, ceux-ci ont refusé ]’honneur; ils ont méme durement repoussé ces avances flatteuses pour leur amour-propre, et ils ont dit: Il y a malentendu “Nous avons assez des académies cubistes et futuristes” (Tr. Tzara. Manifeste, Dapa 3) Et ce qu’on doit probablement entrevoir dans ces fré- quentes censures du Cubisme, c’est, exprimé en langage ordinaire, & peu prés ceci: “Vous les Cubistes vous n’étes que les derniers venus, et Jes plus blAmables des théoriciens littéraires et artis- tiques; nous les Dadaistes, nous voulons rompre avec |’idée d’une évolution naturelle du classicisme au romantisme, puis au néo-romantisme, au réalisme, au naturalisme, a |’impres- sionisme, au symbolisme, au futurisme, au cubisme,—et &@ ce qui pourra bien suivre; Vous les cubistes comme les autres vous vouliez quelquechose, quelquechose de nouveau; nous ne voulons rten, surtout rien de nouveau.” Ils l’ont dit avec tant d’insistance qu’on ne peut refuser aux Dadaistes d’examiner au moins cette théorie qui consiste 4 baser un mouvement littéraire et artistique sur rien, de fonder une école qui ne veut rien. Et, il est possible, en effet, d’entrevoir quelquechose dans le Futurisme par exemple: aprés tout, Verhaeren a été un futuriste quand il a chanté les grandes villes, et la machine, et toute la trépidation que l’industrie moderne a donné 4a la vie moderne; et Whitman avait été un futuriste quand il décrivait les foules de Broadway, et les quais de Brooklyn, et les ouvriers des usines modernes. De méme, dans le Cubisme on peut voir quelque ex- centrique mais vraie pensée, quelque compréhensible désir de se révolter contre un art qui est limité 4 l’espace et on peut apercevoir une tentative curieuse dans cette maniére d’exprimer simultanément sur la toile des moments successtfs; cela est au dépens de la clarté de notre perception visuelle, mais non entiérement au dépens de notre raison. Au contraire, dans le Dadaisme, tout, absolument tous défie notre raison, la logique, le bon sens—et cette violation, c’est le but méme. Or donc, ce qui a pu faire préter une oreille docile au Dadaisme, comme & quelquechose de nouveau, c’est qu’au lieu d’ajouter un “‘isme’’ aux autres “‘ismes’’, il les récusait tous, les réels, les possibles—et soi-méme, ‘‘Les vrais dadas sont contre Dada!’’. Pour montrer qu’ils considéraient comme absurdes tous les ‘“‘ismes”—et avec ce but final de montrer en méme temps Vabsurdité de surenchérir toujours, du romantisme au néo- 68 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) romantisme, puis au réalisme, au naturalisme, etc.,—ils inven- - taient un “‘isme”’ qui fit plus “‘isme’”’ que tous les précédents ‘‘ismes”’, et ils faisaient voir que cet absurde calculé, était en méme temps, et le comble de l’absurde, et le point d’arrivée néces- saire de l’art évoluant vers un nouveau toujours plus étrange. Ils prétendaient que leur dada (hobby)—de l’absurde conception d’un Dadaisme absurde,—était une conception de bon sens; et qu’ils feraient peut-étre revenir les hommes de leur course au clo- cher de la folie. ; Car les artistes depuis longtemps s’étaient trouvés dans cette bizarre alternative: ou bien, progresser pour ne pas demeurer tou- jours a l’art sensé et qui menace d’ennui; ou bien, en quittant le domaine de la simple et solide raison, de l’humain sain et normal, de s’avancer vers le complexe, l’artificiel, le subtil, l’éthéré, Vabsurde. C’est un trait humain de vouloir du nouveau; et c’est le classique La Fontaine qui a fait le vers célébre: “Tl me faut du nouveau, n’en fat-il plus au monde.” Les Dadaistes ont fait la satire de ce trait humain, qui ne peut essayer de se satisfaire sans échouer: il ne le peut—encore une fois—car l’homme est un étre raisonnable, se meut naturellement dans le domaine de la raison, et ne peut trouver du nouveau qu’en sortant de ce domaine de la raison. Et naturellement encore, plus les hommes s’éloignent de la raison, moins ils sont en état de s’en apercevoir. Les Dadaistes viennent leur crier: casse-cou! Les Dadaistes se font les apétres du bouffon, parce qu’ils sont, tout au fond d’eux-mémes, adorateurs de la raison. Les vrais modéles auxquels nous renvoient, par contraste, les Dadaistes grotesques, ce sont les vieux classiques, les disciples respectueux de la raison. Les Dadaistes se sont attachés au cété négatif de leur doctrine; leur oeuvre de violente et fanatique et gaie destruction s’associerait mal, ils le sentent, chez le public, avec de graves paroles de morale, de vertu et de raison. Cependant, ils ont laissé entrevoir 4 qui examine attentivement quelques-unes de leurs élucubrations, que certains d’entre eux et 4 de certaines heures étaient conscients des aspirations positives impliquées dans leur charlatanerie. Indiquons deux exemples ot |’on entrevoit cette préoccupa- tion ultime. DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 69 Le premier est celui de Fr. Picabia, dit “le loustic’’, qui faisait précéder son grotesque poéme Unique Eunuque d’un ‘Avant- Propos’ emprunté 4 Pascal. Pascal montre dans cette page que jamais "homme ne peut adéquatement exprimer sa pensée, com- plexe et retorte, par l’art du langage; et que s’il la pouvait par hasard exprimer un jour, il ne serait jamais entendu de ses sem- blables—car les mots de celui qui écrit ou qui parle ne sont jamais percus tout a fait de méme par celui qui les entend ou les lit; dés qu’on dépasse les choses les plus élémentaires de la vie, et qu’on pénétre dans le monde de l’intellect, il est psychologiquement impossible pour les hommes de s’entendre réellement; donc n’y prétendons pas. Si l’un ou |’autre y prétend, il arrivera a des vers comme ceux du poéme ot Picabia a peut-étre exprimé aussi fidélement que possible ce qu’il sent, et ot le lecteur ne peut dis- cerner pour lui que des choses sans sens. Voici les premiers vers: Essayons l’heure actuelle Dans ]’alphabet chasse gardée De l’ombre lentement Véritable livres sterling Sous virginal louis coucou Qui fait domicile conjugal sous la pluie Mais riant plus fort le café Est a sept kilométres capitale Le petit chacal des sornettes. . Pascal, lui, s’était sauvé du labyrinthe désespéré ov |’avait con- duit sa raison et sa parole humaine, dans le domaine a-rationnel de la foi. Picabia n’étant pas théologien demeura ov |’expérience avait mené Pascal, ot elle mena aussi Kant avec ses antinomies de la raison pure, c’est 4 dire au chaos. Mais choisir Pascal comme patron du Dadaisme, et étre justifié a le faire—c’est n’avoir pas fait un trop mauvais choix. Le second exemple est encore plus clair. Les Dadaistes ont fait revivre dans une élégante plaquette un homme tout 4 fait oublié, mais en somme intéressant, le Comte de Lautréament, en littérature, Isidore Ducasse. Voici l’histoire de cette bréve exis- tence littéraire. Ducasse avait écrit en 1868, 4 l’4ge de 18 ans, un volume de vers, sous ce titre: Chants de Maldoror. Ces vers étaient d’une Apreté et d’un pessimisme extrémes. Au dernier moment son éditeur, Lemerre, avait refusé (aprés les avoir du reste 70 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) imprimés) de les faire paraitre. Et, nous dit Ducasse lui-méme: “Cela me fit ouvrir les yeux. Je me disais que puisque la poésie du doute (des volumes d’aujourd’hui, il ne reste pas 150 pages) on arrive ainsi a un tel point de désespoir morne, c’est qu’elle est radicalement fausse; par cette raison qu’on y discute les principes et qu’il ne faut pas les discuter: c’est plus qu’injuste. Les gémis- sements poétiques ne sont que des sophismes hideux. Chanter V’ennui, les douleurs, les tristesses, les mélancolies, la mort, l’ombre, le sombre, etc., c’est ne vouloir a toute force regarder que le puéril revers des choses’. . . Et il se proposa de recommencer un nou- veau volume de poémes selon cette formule: ne chanter que le bourgeois en littérature et en morale, ne viser que la masse des lectures et pas l’aristocratie intellectuelle. Les poémes ne furent pourtant pas écrits; car Ducasse mourut subitement, le 24 novem- bre 1870, emporté en quelques jours, dit son biographe Philippe Soupault, par une fiévre maligne. Mais la ‘Préface’ avait été écrite, et c’est elle que les Dadaistes présentent au public comme réfléchissant l’esprit dadaiste. Lorsque vous lisez cette plaquette, vous croyez d’abord sfre- ment avoir a faire & des pages de sanglante ironie. Vous lisez: ‘Les chefs d’oeuvres de la langue francaise sont les discours de distribution (de prix) pour les tycées, et les discours académiques. En effet l’instruction de la jeunesse est peut-étre la plus belle expression pratique du devoir, et une bonne appréciation des oeuvres de Voltaire (creusez le mot appréciation) est préférable a ces ouvrages eux-mémes.—Naturellement.” Plus loin: “Je veux que ma poésie puisse étre lue par une jeune fille de 14 ans.” Ailleurs “‘Paul et Virginie choque nos aspirations les plus profondes au bonheur. . . La description de la douleur est un contresens.”’ Pour qui connait tant soit peu la littérature contemporaine, il est bien difficile, n’est-il pas vrai, de ne pas voir dans des passages comme ceux-cl, de ces paroles cyniques auxquelles on nous a tant accoutumés, et selon lesquelles la douleur est la seule chose qui ennoblisse l’>homme. D’autre part ces phrases sont bien banales si on les considére de ce point de vue la. Mais c’est que justement il ne s’agit point de banal et de non-banal; car, force est de se rendre a |’évidence: tout cela parait simplement étre trés sérieux. ‘“‘Depuis les pleur- nicheries odieuses et spéciales, brévetées sans garantie d’un point de repére, d’un Jean-Jacques Rousseau, des Chateaubriand, et DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 71 des nourrices en pantalons au poupon Oberman, 4 travers les autres poétes qui se sont vautrés dans le limon impur. . . . les douleurs invraisemblables que ce siécle s’est créées & lui-méme dans leur voulu monotone et dégofitant, l’ont rendu poitrinaire. . . ” Ail- leurs: ‘“‘Les intelligences de deuxiéme ordre, comme Alfred de Musset, peuvent pousser rétivement une ou deux de leurs facultés beaucoup plus loin que les facultés correspondantes des intelligen- ces de premier ordre. . . Nous sommes en présence du déraille- ment d’une locomotive. C’est un cauchemar qui tient la plume.”’ Et tant d’autres passages qu’on peut résumer dans celui-ci: “Tl parait beau, sublime, sous prétexte d’humilité ou d’orgueil de discuter les causes finales, d’en fausser les conséquences stables et connues. Détrompez-vous, parce qu’il n’y a rien de plus béte! Renouons la chaine réguliére avec les temps passés. . . Depuis Racine la poésie n’a pas progressé d’un millimétre. Elle a reculé.”’ Et le mot Dada méme, curieusement se trouve chez Ducasse: “Dada,” s’écrie-t-i] de tous nos grands noms, “‘O dadas de bagne! Bulles de savon! Pantins en baudruche! Ficelles usées! Qu’il s’approchent, les Konrad, les Manfred, les Lara, les marins qui ressemblent au Corsaire, les Méphistophélés, les Werther, les Don Juan, les Faust, les Iago, les Caligula, les Cain, les mégéres a Vinstar de Colomba, les Ahrimane, les manitous manichéens. . . (tous) les Dieux méchants vomis par l’imagination primitive des peuples barbares—toute la série bruyante des diables en carton. Avec la certitude de les vaincre je saisis la cravache de l’indi- gnation et de Ja concentration qui soupése et j’attends ces monstres de pied ferme, leur dompteur prévu.” Force est, nous le répétons, de comprendre que les Dadaistes croient sérieusement aux anathémes d’ Isidore Ducasse. Philippe Soupault ne parle-t-il pas de “‘l’angoisse’’ de Ducasse—de Ducasse qui avait choisi comme épigraphe: ‘‘Je remplace la mélancolie par le courage, le doute par la certitude, le désespoir par l’espoir, la méchanceté par le bien, les plaintes par le devoir; le scepticisme par la foi; les sophismes par la froideur du calme, et l’orgueil par la modestie.”’ On est surtout frappé d’entendre dans toutes ces pages un écho constant de Rousseau, qui avait éprouvé un pareil écoeurement pour la littérature pédante ou subtile de son temps. Ce sont les mémes malédictions contre de faux prophétes, et les mémes paroles 72 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) moralisantes que celles du philosophe de Genéve dans des passages comme les suivants: “Le génie garantit les facultés du coéur, ‘“‘L’homme n’est pas moins immortel que |’4me, “‘Les grandes pensées viennent de la raison, “‘La fraternité n’est pas un mythe..... ‘“‘Les enfants qui naissent ne connaissent rien de la vie, pas méme la grandeur. ‘Dans le malheur les amis augmentent. “Vous qui entrez, laissez tout désespoir... . ‘““Bonté ton nom est homme. “‘C’est icl que demeure la sagesse des nation..... “Revenons a Confucius, au Bouddha, a Socrate, 4 Jésus- Christ, moralistes qui couraient les villages en mourant de faim. . .” “Tl n’y a pas deux maniéres de plaire 4 Elohim. L’idée du bien est une’’. ‘‘Mettez une plume d’oie dans la main d’un moraliste qui soit écrivain de premier ordre. II sera supérieur aux poétes”’. “On dit des choses solides quand on ne cherche pas 4 en dire d’extraordinaires’’. “‘Lorsque les devoirs nous ont épuisés, nous croyons avoir épuisé les devoirs’’. etc., etc. y9 On pourrait citer bien d’autres précurseurs—tous ceux qui ont voulu retourner 4 quelque chose de sensé et de pratique dans des époques d’artificialité et de sophisme, Montaigne, Rabelais, Fé- nelon; Whitman, Emerson, William James. . . Ecoutez encore: “‘Jusqu’a présent on a décrit le malheur, pour inspirer la terreur,la pitié. Je décrirai le bonheur pour inspirer le contraire.”’ “‘Lutter contre le mal est lui faire trop d’honneur. Si je permets aux hommes de le mépriser, qu’ils ne manquent pas de dire que c’est tout ce que je puis faire pour eux.” “Le meilleur moyen de persuader est de ne pas persuader.’’ ‘“‘Tant que mes amis ne mourront pas, je ne parlerai pas de la mort.” Cette facon de récuser la fascination vraiment maladive qu’ exercent sur tant de gens la souffrance, la tristesse, le tragique, ce doit étre, normalement, une des aspirations de l’art d’aprés une Grande-Guerre. DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 73 Le Dadaisme—tel que nous avons cru pouvoir )’interpréter— a-t-il produit quelque effet? A-t-il mis un frein aux excentricités de la pensée et del’art? Onnesaurait|’affrmer. Du reste quand un penseur comme Pascal, quand un apétre comme Rousseau, quand un mystique comme Tolstoi, n’ont pas réussi 4 enrayer en l’homme ces dispositions naturelles de curiosité qui ont donné naissance & tant de folies en littérature et en art, comment des hommes seraient-ils pris plus au sérieux qui ne savent pas et apparemment ne veulent pas, étre pris au sérieux eux-mémes? Sans compter du reste que la méme curiosité naturelle qui conduit homme & ces folies dans ]’art et & ces miséres dans la vie, est la méme curiosité qui a fait réaliser 4 homme ses progrés, qui a créé sa science et son art, et qui lui a apporté tant de si bonnes jouissances—: sans compter méme, disons-nous, tout cela, nous pouvons étre sfir que Vhomme suivra toujours sa nature. Ce sera toujours comme chez nos premiers parents: Quand, par des moralistes de tout bord, il serait replacé cent fois dans le jardin du paradis, "homme voudra toujours, pour la jouissance qu’il se promet—et qu’il trouve—a satisfaire sa curiosité, gofiter du fruit de ]’arbre de la science et de la vie. A ce propos, cependant, un mot: Un esprit parent du Da- daisme, quoique pas Dadatiste lui-méme, a pensé qu’une satire plus intellectuelle réussirait mieux. Georges Fourest écrivit la Né- gresse blonde,” une charge pénétrante contre les chercheurs de nouveau-a-tout-prix en littérature et en art. Cela prouve d’abord que d’autres pensaient le temps venu de protester. Mais a tout prendre, on serait disposé 4 partager l’opinion des Dadaistes, a savoir que dans un mal qui est allé si loin, n’importe combien aiguisée serait la satire, un énorme gros rire rabelaisien pourrait bien avoir plus de chance de frapper au bon endroit. I] restera certainement aussi du Dadaisme, outre cette tentative de réduction a l’absurde, c. 4. d. outre cette détermination de battre sur leur propre terrain les chasseurs égarés de nouveautés art- istiques et littéraires, quelques traces—bien dissimulées du reste —de l’attente inquiéte et féconde d’une ére vraiment nouvelle, d’une ére ov l’humanité devrait se retremper aux sources de Véternellement humain, du passé autant et plus que du présent et du futur. C’est ce qu’avaient surtout entrevu, pensons-nous, 7 Préface par Willy, A la Connaissance, 1920, 74 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) les hommes d’intelligence mentionnés au commencement de cette étude, et qui n’ont pas craint de discuter le Dadaisme des heures les plus extravagantes. Ils ont pressenti que chez quelques uns au moins de ces jeunes gens, des gestes fiévreux trahissaient |’1m- patience exaltée d’une lumiére future. Aprés tout pourquoi tant chercher? Nil novum sub sole. Les eccentricités du Dadaisme ne constituent-elles pas simplement, sous une forme légérement modifiée, une répétition de certains épisodes de la vie littéraire et artistique aux siécles passés? Les jeunes Dadaistes furent assez comme les premiers poétes de la Pléiade, lorsque aux jours de leurs folies: juvéniles ceux-ci profitai- ent, par exemple, des licences du caréme-prenant, a Arcueil, pour promener a travers les rues un bouc couronné de fleurs et de lierre en chantant le péan; et puis, emmenant ]’animal symbolique des bacchanales antiques dans la salle de festin prétendaient le sacrifier au dieu de la tragédie et se déclaraient décidés 4 ramener la France au culte des dieux paiens. Ou comment ne pas penser aussi aux manifestations turbulentes et scandalisantes des Jeune France a l’époque romantique? Celle du gilet rouge de Théoplile Gautier, ou celles de Petrus Borel qui promettait des chefs d’oeuvres sen- sationnels traitant de ‘l’Incommodité des Commodes,’ ou de ‘l'Influence de l’agitation de la queue des petits poissons sur le mouvement des marées’. Ni le bouc de Jodelet n’est la Renais- sance, ni le gilet rouge de Gautier ou les Commodes de Petrus Borel ne sont le Romantisme, mais l’histoire littéraire a recueilli ces épisodes comme étant de la pré-histoire de la Renaissance, et de la pré-histoire du Romantisme. Le Dadaisme aura sans doute été un épisode de la pré-histoire des inspirations de demain. Mais c’est dire que l’éphémére est de son essence méme. Comme Vécrivait dés 1920 J. E. Blanche: ‘‘Dada ne subsistera qu’en cessant d’étre’”’ (Cité par Breton, Nouv. Revue Fr. ler aodt, 1920). EPILOGUE La chose—a-priori—ne pouvait durer. Une plaisanterie, sur- tout sur une échelle si monumentale, finit dés qu’elle se prolonge, par provoquer l’ennui. Ainsi le Dadaisme est mort. Les Dada- Istes d’hier n’en font point un secret, et ils n’en montrent nulle vergogne. Seuls certains Allemands n’ont pas compris; ils ont embaumé le cadavre. Ils continuent a publier gravement une revue, MERZ DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 75 (Hannover, Waldhausenstrasse, 5) On y trouve un triste délayage _ d’absurdités péniblement élaborées. Le numéro de janvier 1924, MERZ 7, nous arrive au moment ot nous corrigeons nos épreuves. Les éditeurs y ont reproduit un exposé du Dadaisme, fait par Tzara, en 1922, 4 Weimar: une conférence avec de l’orthographe, de la ponctuation, en bon francais bourgeois de Larive et Fleury,— bref, dépourvu de l’essence de Dada; c’est comme quelqu’un qui voudrait faire une omelette sans oeufs. Celui qui parait avoir tenu le plus longtemps est Francis Pica- bia; il publiait en 1921 son Jésus-Christ rastaquouére—que nous n’avons pas vu; le titre, cependant sufft 4 montrer que |’auteur n’était point encore sur le chemin de la contrition. Mais d’autres ont évolué, cocons passés 4 l’état de chrysa- lides—desquelles sortiront un jour, peut-étre, des papillons. I nous serait impossible de dire ce qu’il est advenu de Tristan Tzara depuis qu’il a donné, 4 Weimar, en 1922, la conférence dans la quelle il disait: ‘‘On se sépare et on démissionne. Le premier qui ait donné sa démission du mouvement Dada, c’est moi. Tout le monde sait que Dada n’est rien. Je me suis séparé de Dada et de moi-méme aussitét que j’ai compris la portée du rien.’”’ Par contre on peut nommer quatre Dadaistes d’hier qui sont parmi les jeunes écrivains sur lesquels la critique en France a les yeux. Tous les quatre ont les mémes tendances. IIs dessinent des types qui, comme eux-mémes, ont été égarés, éperdus; qui se sont laissé retomber au chaos originel, incapables d’établir une cohésion entre leur état d’Ame en quelque sorte virginal et la mentalité faisandée de la société moderne, et surtout d’aprés- guerre. Folte—c’est l’apparence de cet abandon complet de soi- méme au courant des choses. Il y a si l’on veut, —comme on l’a suggéré—un rapport avec le ‘freudisme,’ en ce sens que le seul mot réellement existant est celui du réve et que la réalité est vécue avec l’incohérence qui caractérise le réve. Anicet ou le Panorama, par Louis Aragon (Nouvelle Revue Frangaise, 1921, 197 pages) fut la premiére de ces sortes de con- fessions d’un homme essayant de se débarrasser des ténébres épaisses de la nuit d’hier. L’auteur y laisse tout juste assez de dadaisme pour bénéficier de la renommée acquise par ses écrits antérieurs; il choisit comme épigraphe le mot de Tzara; ‘‘L’ab- sence de systéme est encore un systéme mais le plus sympathique.” A part cela on trouve dans Anicet assez de ce que les hommes ont 76 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) toujours demandé 4 ceux qui maniaient une plume, méme un commencement, un milieu et une fin. Joseph Delteil est le jeune écrivain auquel le roman Sur le fleuve amour (Kra, 1923) vient de valoir des poursuites judiciaires. (Chose curieuse, ce fut indirectement; un journal avait reproduit un passage du livre—a l’insu de |’auteur du reste—, et c’est ainsi que l’affaire commencga. Cf. Nouvelles Littératres, 22 sept. 1923). Delteil avait parlé avec une belle inconscience de tout ce qui effleurait son esprit—ou celui de ses personnages—et le titre du volume indique assez qu’il y avait la-dedans beaucoup de ce qu’on est convenu d’appeler du nom peu savoureux de ‘freudisme’. Le prochain livre de Delteil s’appellera Choléra; Vauteur se pré- parait a parler avec la méme inconscience du poéte Francis Jammes; celui-ci ayant vu le manuscrit déclara qu’il attaquerait )’auteur devant les tribunaux si le livre était publié tel quel. Le troisitme nom 4 signaler est celui de Philippe Soupault, dont le roman Le bon apétre (Ed. du Sagittaire, Kra, Paris 1923) fut assez remarqué. C’est l’histoire, encore une fois, d’un eccen- trique a la mentalité désarticulée c. 4. d. qui n’oppose aucune résistance aux souffles de la fortune ou de la passion. II se laisse couler. Avec la méme passivité qu’il était hier un noceur et un viveur, il devient un puissant armateur dont la parole ou le geste a des répercussions profondes jusqu’au bout du monde. . . puis, encore sans qu’aucune volonté semble intervenir, il part pour le Canada vivre la vie des colons—peut-éire y est-il mort. Soupault raconte l’histoire comme il la concoit, lui, et puis il cite, corre- spondant a son récit, des fragments de journal de celui qu’il .a appelé “‘le bon apétre.” L’idée est excellente peut-étre, mais pas excellemment exécutée. Paul Morand est des quatre le moins hésitant 4 rentrer dans une voie définie, le plus vigoureux, en d’autres termes le moins écra- sé par l’héritage d’anarchie mentale qu’il avait traversée et dont il parait soucieux de ne pas se souvenir. Trois volumes déja parus (Tendres Stocks, 1921, Ouvert la mutt, 1922, Fermé la nust, 1923—tous les trois 4 la Nouvelle Revue Francaise) ont forcé attention du grand public. On y trouve une série de types du désordre moral et intellectuel de notre époque, dans des caracté- risations ramassées; ces portraits sont assez brefs pour ne pas lasser, et dans un style souvent admirablement adapté au sujet. ® Le troisiéme a obtenu le Prix de la Renaissance. DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 77 Paul Morand réussira-t-il 4 dépasser encore cette phase—a passer de la chrysalide au papillon; ou bien passera-t-il 4 d’autres le flambeau pour la course vers une nouvelle étape? L’avenir le dira. Comme il est jeune, fort, beau et d’une parfaite santé morale, on ne se risque guére en affirmant que, si des Dadaistes quelques noms survivent, celui de Paul Morand en sera; et méme que S’il n’en reste qu’un, ce sera celui-la!® Une ‘Note’ de Philippe Soupault Tandisque Paul Morand ne fait jamais allusion a ses afhliations dadaistes,—et du reste nous avons dit que nous n’étions pas absolument certains s’il avait jamais fait acte formel d’adhésion, ou s'il avait été en quelque sorte enrégimenté d’office—, Delteil, Aragon et Soupault ne sont pas impatients d’oubli, et méme revendiquent sans déplaisir leur part 4 |’échauffourée de 1916 a 1921. Soupault dans Le bon apétre consacre une longue ‘note’au souvenir de son passage chez les Dadaistes. C’est comme un document. Le voici: “Il est trés difficile 4 l’heure actuelle de parler du mouvement Dada. Personne, peut-étre, ne peut savoir ce qu’il a représenté. Son visage est mobile. Pour les uns et pour les autres, il fut un miroir et c’est pour cette raison, sans doute, que nous étions déses- pérément attachés 4 lui. Scandaliser. Pourquoi ne pas avouer enfin que nous avons passionnément aimé le scandale. I] fut une raison d’exister. (Comp- tons-les). L’époque était mal choisie, mais nous ne cherchions pas a réussir. Nous voulions scandaliser et nous scandalisions. C’est une joie trés fine. I] faut uncertain courage et une certaine lAche- té. Le public a son tour nous scandalisait. Il cherchait 4 com- prendre sans y parvenir. Quelle folie! Les jours creux de ce qu’on appelle a tort ou 4 raison la jeunesse, sont innombrables. Mais le gatisme, peu 4 peu durcit tous les muscles, toutes les audaces. Il s’agit de conserver sa lucidité. Qu’on me jette la premiére pierre. Je n’explique rien. Je nie comme les criminels et je juge le juge d’instruction. Un et un font quatre, si je le décréte. On ne me convaincra jamais. ® Nous n’avons pu mettre la main sur une “Composition dramatique’”’ de M. Ribemont-Dessaignes, L’Empereur de Chine, de été de 1921; mais évidem- ment il y a, ici encore (d’aprés les compte rendus) un retour & une conception moins extraordinaire de toutes choses. 78 DADAISME, POIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) Tl y a des scies qui portent sur les nerfs. Je commence: Pierre est un homme, tous les hommes. . . Il y a des [sic] jolies phrases: la discipline est la force. . . Il y a des proverbes: aide-toi, le ciel. . . Et ainsi de suite. Je ne suis qu’un des présidents du mouvement dada. Je Vai beaucoup aimé et beaucoup détesté. J’aime qu’on me dévore. “‘Chacun son goftt!” C’est ce que j’allais dire. Peu 4 peu et trés sirement nous perdions contact et nous devenions nos propres esclaves. Certains eurent peur. L’esprit d’équipe est de plus en plus rare. J’étais prét. J’aimais mieux m’appeler Philippe Dada que Philippe Soupault. ‘Affaire de gofit.”” Je me vole mes mots. Tout est fini maintenant. J’écris des romans, je publie des livres. Je m’occupe. Et allez donc! (Page 217-218: Note a la page 176.) Post-Dadaisme? La publication de notre numéro ayant été retardée, il se trou- ve que nous pouvons ajouter un nouvel épisode 4 cette petite chro- nique du mouvement dadaiste. Le numéro du 1* février 1924 de La Nouvelle Revue Francaise sort de presse apportant l’article d’un néophyte, M. Marcel Arland. Voici quelques phrases de ce jeune de 20 ans qui juge, au nom de la génération montante, le dadaisme de ses atnés qui ont aujourd’ hui de 27 4 30 ans. Titre: ‘Sur un nouveau Mal du Siécle’ (pp. 149-158). ....C’est aux troubles époques, décadences ou résurrections, que se révéle le mieux le génie des individus.—Telle est la premiére explication qu’il convient de donner aux tentatives de la génération qui suivit immédiatement la guerre, et dont la plus intéressante et presque la seule manifestation fut le mouvement dada. Le mouvement dada n’exprima pas un peuple, mais fut permis et sans doute causé par l’état et la civilisation de ce peuple. Peut-étre est-il venu un peu trop tét: de tels mouvements, provoqués par des individus, au lieu de traduire un état général, le précédent et l’aménent en partie... Si, comme on l’affirme, dade était vraiment mort, sa briéveté me serait un grand sujet d’étonnement . . . L’essence du mouvement dada subsiste, sinon revétue de son ancienne forme tapageuse, du moins avec autant de virulence et de puissance, d’autant plus grand peut-étre que son nouvel aspect est plus calme.. . (Pp. 150-2) DADAISME, FOIGNEE DE DOCUMENTS (1916-1921) 79 Et voici les mots qui résument son apport positif 4 la difficulté de résoudre les inconsciences présentes: La morale sera donc notre premier souci. Je ne concois pas de littérature sans éthique. Aucune doctrine ne peut nous satisfaire; mais l’absence de doctrine nous est un tourment.... Toutes questions se raménent a un probléme unique, celui de Dieu... . (Pp. 156-7) Cependant qu’entend-il par Dieu?—Hélas, X! Dieu, )’éternel tourment des hommes, soit qu’ils s’attachent a le créer ou & le détruire; l’oeuvre d’un Racine s’explique par sa présence permanente; celle de Rousseau, par sa recherche; celle de Stendhal par l’effort des passions pour en cacher l’absence. Mais un esprit od cette destruction de Dieu est accomplie, od le pro- bléme divin n’est plus débattu, par quoi comblera-t-il le vide laissé en lui et que maintient béant la puissance des siécles et des instincts? L’absence de Dieu est le non-sens de toute morale. (157) Aprés cela—last but not least—,M. Jacques Riviére reprend a son tour la discussion du Dadaisme. I] rappelle son article “Reconnaissance 4 Dada” (Nouv. Revue Francaise, 1 aoit 1920), et ne le renie en aucune maniére; mais il le “‘qualifie” en quelques points. Son titre cette fois est ‘‘La Crise du Concept de Littéra- ture’ (pp. 159-170). Citons seulement quelques lignes, qui sont en somme bien d’accord avec ce que l’observation des simples faits nous avait dicté: Je ne crois pas a ce nouveau “mal du siécle’’ que dénonce M. Arland. C’est toujours l’ancien, c’est le mal du siécle dernier. Mais nous en souffrons depuis assez longtemps, maintenant, nous le connaissons donc assez bien pour qu’une forte volonté en puisse venir a bout. Une forte volonté établissant dans ]’esprit une forte modestie.... . . . . Je ne m’en prends pas 4a la poésie pure; je cherche seulement a limiter son domaine; je veux seulement |’empécher de manger et de détraquer la littérature. Il y a malgré tout dans la masse de ce qui s’écrit aujurd’hui, une dose énorme d’im- probable, qu’il importe de réduire. Ce qui vient sans avoir passé par l’intelligence peut la dépasser, mais peut aussi n’étre rien du tout. Nous avons devant nous, qu’il ne faut pas oublier, le menacant exemple de la poésie symboliste dont les quatre cinquiémes ont cessé de représenter a l’imagination quoi que ce soit. Je souhaite qu’il demeure toujours un petit groupe de gens chargés d’assurer nos com- munications avec l’absolu.... (Pp. 168, 169). Digitized by Google Digitized by Google —Ee Oe EEE ee eel EE ee “3 _. 5 ie D 3 =/ 5S) Oo NOV 10 1924 JANUARY, 1924 ith College Studies in E Modern Languages Lo gD BYRON’S BRITISH REPUTATION 2a ll WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 Bibliography of Recent Books and Articles on Wordsworth) . BY RICHARD ASHLEY RICE Professor of English, Smith College Digitized by Google ae Tf. { - My . ip tt é ree 4 ‘ie cal : " + , i i ~ hel} es s te bs \- aff pais ee artis, Roa erie ae Ghs > e Dene Ca Pi Vot. V, No. 2 January, 1924 Smith College Studies in Modern Languages EDITORS CAROLINE B. BOURLAND HOWARD R. PATCH ERNST H. MENSEL MARGARET ROOKE ALBERT SCHINZ 4 I LORD BYRON’S BRITISH REPUTATION II WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 (With Bibliography of Recent Books and Articles on Wordsworth) BY RICHARD ASHLEY RICE Professor of English, Smith College PARIS NORTHAMPTON, MASS. LIBRAIRIE E. CHAMPION SMITH COLLEGE Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College The Galilegtate Press GEORGE BANTA PUBLISHING COMPANY MENASHA, WISCONSIN LORD BYRON’S BRITISH REPUTATION BY RICHARD ASHLEY RICE Digitized by Google band e hae LORD BYRON’S BRITISH REPUTATION BY RICHARD ASHLEY RICE CONTENTS PAGE The Byronic Paradox... .g..c. cc ccc cece cece ee se ce cc acesseeeuceeacs 1 Recent Developments in Byron’s Reputation and Their Probable Influence ON: CHLCISM se levon siasecceccenatetenaek ie spasisad ee seeocesesex 4 Byron at the Hands of the Early Reviewers................00eceeeees 10 The History of Byron’s Reputation Psychologically Examined.......... 19 Digitized by Google Lord Byron’s British Reputation “I am such a strange mélange of good and evil, that it would be difficult to describe me; one will represent me a sort of sublime misanthrope with moments of kind feeling. This, par example, is my favourite réle. Another will portray me as a modern Don Juan; and a third will, it is to be hoped, if only for opposition’s sake, represent me as an amiable ill-used gentleman, more sinned against than sinning. Now if I know myself, I should say that IT have no character at all.”” Conversations of Lord Byron with the Countess of Blessington. 1. THE BYRONIC PARADOX To the great majority of English critics Lord Byron has been very largely a moral problem, not alone because there seemed to be no way of divorcing his works from his life but also because of the English desire to settle artistic questions on as solid grounds as possible. Esthetics has been thoroughly mixed with ethics, and as a result his English reputation is even today a puzzling mixture. It is for this very reason, however, a more interesting reputation than his comparatively definite continental vogue. In revoluticnary Europe he quickly became a leader, a force. In conservative England he has remained a question. In France or Spain or Italy apostles of freedom, feeling him to be, not a national responsibility but an asset in a world-wide cause, could well afford to understand him very simply. He was great simply through eloquence, he was the champion of free thought, he was the greatest English poet since Shakespeare. But Englishmen, in explaining him to themselves in their mixed and moral way, have preserved him in much of his original mystery. Their super- stition about the ethical unity of things, especially including art, a superstition that accounts not only for the narrowness of so much of their criticism but also for its preéminent human interest, has kept Byron before them as a perennial difficulty. It is doubt- ful if he will ever become merely a classic. But though Byron’s English reputation is in this sense un- settled and therefore rather more interesting than his reputation 1 2 Lorp ByrRon’s BRITISH REPUTATION abroad, it has not been really a changing reputation. Contrary to popular impression the early reviewers, after a few initial vagaries, definitely traced the outlines it has assumed ever since. During Victorian days neither the growing appre iation of Byron’s European significance nor various new revelations of his private life much altered its character. And today, even with the publica- tion of the new Astarte, 1921, (Lord Lovelace’s book revised by his widow), and of the letters to Lady Melbourne in Mr. Murray’s new volumes of Byron’s correspondence, 1922; with the reviewers still busy recording their amount of passing shock or permanent insensibility, Lord Byron’s reputation is much what it has been. Indeed one may assert that it is now more precisely than at any time since his own day what it then was. It was the reputa- tion of a man of scandalous life who was both a repentant and a fascinating genius in poetry. It is that of an unscrupulous, even wicked, man who was both a disturbing and simplifying force in the whole world of art. For if Englishmen have listened to what Europe has had to say about Byron, have heard over and over Goethe’s dictum that he is the greatest poet of his age, they have also consistently held to their opinion that he lacks the moral and spiritual emotions which they demand in the greatest poetry. Neither do I expect that their estimate of him will be much affected by the recent additional news of his vanity and immorality. It breaks on an ear little more fastidious, on the whole, than that which heard a hundred years ago the gossip of London or of Venice. If it was then an ear more tolerant of scandal, it was also far less capable than now of allowing psychopathically for the grossly abnormal. Moreover, if Byron in his own day was ostracized and if many thousand good people would not read his works, either because of his personal immorality or because of sentiments in the works themselves felt to be subversive, he was, none the less, a great popular poet. And if we now, recognizing the permanence of his art, try to imagine the question of our social responsibility at an end by mere lapse of time, if we read his works freely and study his unexpurgated career, we still may not rightly estimate his art without judging the moral experiences that so largely colored it. Our different points of view, our frank hypocrisies of 1824 and our psychological sophistications of 1924, do not lead to such difference of opinion as one might expect. Our light is still Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 3 English, and Byron will appear in it very much the same Byron — as before. If Lord Byron’s reputation was and is that of a scandalous man who was a great artist, the reputation of his poetry likewise was and is that of art which could only be produced by a man of wayward life. Though some may expect his poetry to rest on the foundations of its own genius as definitely as does the Code Napoléon, it does not at present so rest. ‘‘With whatever excuses on the score of parentage and training,” says his greatest editor, Mr. Coleridge, ‘“Byron was not a good man and it cannot be said that he uttered nothing base. He does not confuse virtue with vice, or minimize the consequences of vice, but he looks at evil and he laughs, and looks again.’”? The reputation of Byron’s poetry is still thoroughly commingled with the reputation of the man. It has all the added lure of the paradox that this suggests, a clear and naturalistic art springing from a wayward and tur- bulent nature. Moreover, it will be an indefinite period before the known abnormality of Byron’s life will cease to be an integral part of any normal opinion of his poetry. That is, not only was Byron’s life as a citizen of our world such as has made it impossible for him to rise as a poet fairly above the smoke of his ashes, but his poetry is such as to recall continually, even after a hundred years, his moral insufficiency. In the ether of his immortality many a heavy obfuscation still hangs about him. He is not a clear free spirit. No poet can hope to escape on the wings of his genius the very world which creates him—not even a Shelley; but few poets appear so earthbound by their. greatest creations as does Byron. And when, at length, the mind shall be all free From what it hates in this degraded form, Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Existent happier in the fly and worm,— When Elements to Elements conform, And dust is as it should be, shall I not Feel all I see less dazzling but more warm? The bodiless thought, the Spirit of each spot? Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot? Yes, but of Lord Byron himself, even though we feel sure of his immortal lot, it is hard to see at present the bodiless thought. The period of his emancipation has not yet come. Perhaps it 4 Lorp Byrkown’s British REPUTATION can not come. It is doubtful whether a Byron, a Conrad, a Manfred, a Cain will ever be for us a type of superman whose daemonic power permits him to cut athwart the world we live in and escape judgment by its practical standards. The history of his reputation describes an interesting paradox, for in defining the problem of his genius it also helps define the paradox of English aesthetic taste. It would, in reality, make a little history of English criticism. I shall not try here to follow it in detail. But I believe that the sequence of opinion, from the first acclaim of Childe Harold in 1812, through the debate over the separation and over Byron’s attacks on the England that both exiled him and hailed him as a genius, on through the reviews of his life and the first complete edition of his works, down to the present moment, has only one parallel in the history of criticism for general significance, and that would be the sequence of opinion about Goethe. But Goethe was a daemonic character, as Mr. Hutton in an essay! has so thoroughly made clear, and the history of criticism of Goethe illustrates the temper of society from a rather different angle than is the case with Byron. 2. RECENT DEVELOPMENTS IN BYRON’S REPUTATION AND THEIR PROBABLE INFLUENCE ON CRITICISM In his introduction to the two new volumes of Byron’s letters,? some of which convey information of the most damaging kind to Byron’s name, Mr. John Murray takes pains to say a generous- minded word in Byron’s behalf. ‘‘There are some,’ he says, “who maintain that Byron’s day is past, and even deny that he is a great poet. I believe that I have better opportunities than most people of forming an opinion as to the position he held in the public estimation, and I can assure these detractors that their view is a false one, and can only proceed from ignorance or hasty generalization.”” This taken by itself is, no doubt, a true word; but coming as it does after Mr. Murray’s failure to admit the shocking character of certain of the letters, it will seem to many people distinctly prejudiced. Lord Ernle (formerly Mr. Roland Prothero, editor of the volumes of Byron’s letters in 1R. H. Hutton, Lilerary Essays, 1871. 2 Lord Byron’s Correspondence, Chicfly with Ladv Melbourne, Mr. Hobhouse, The Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, and P. B. Shelley. Vedited by John Murray. 1922. Lorp Byron’s BritTisH REPUTATION 5 Mr. Murray’s definitive edition of 1898-1904), who does admit © their shocking character, yet feels that the new information is not of a sort to settle the question of Byron’s guilt in the matter about which Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe first brought open charges, his possible incestuous relations with Mrs. Leigh.? There- fore we may rest assured that many a critic will, in company with these two great authorities on Byron, refuse to construe Byron’s letters to Lady Melbourne of April 30 and May 1, 1814, as conclusive evidence in the case. Also we shall find many who will continue to regard the Astarte merely as a wild production “in which a half-mad grandson tries to brighten his grandmother’s by blackening his half-mad grandfather’s, reputation.’4 So we see Mr. E. P. Hewitt in the Fortnightly Review answering a poig- nant and judicious analysis by Mr. S. M. Ellis® with such rhetorical statements as, “the persistence with which Byron’s personal character is attacked by his own countrymen is remarkable,”’ or by citing from an article of Lord Ernle’s a remark about the wisdom of “enjoying Don Juan asa priceless gift to our literature” instead of “wrangling over the unproved scandal’ of Byron’s domestic life.6 Mr. Murray and Lord Ernle, relying considerably on the sincerity of Byron’s known character for frankness and over- frankness in regard to his worst qualities, appear to give great weight to Hobhouse’s statements that there was nothing dis- graceful in Byron’s affairs.’ ?Ernle, “The New Letters of Lord Byron,” Quarterly Rev., April 1922; “The End of the Byron Mystery,” Nineteenth Century, Aug. 1921. ‘J. A. Strahan, “Byron in England,” Edinburgh Rev., Oct. 1921. 'S. M. Ellis, “The New Byron Letters,” Fortnightly Rev., April 1922. *E. P. Hewitt, “The New Byron Letters—An Answer,” Fortnightly Rev., Nov. 1922. See Mr. Ellis’s “An Answer to an Answer,” Fortnightly Rev., Dec. 1922. 7 See Lord Broughton, Recollections of a Long Life, Vol. II.. from which Mr. Murray quotes. See Lord Byron’s Correspondence, I. p. ix. Lord Ernle, in both the articles I have referred to—articles giving information not to be found elsewhere and reviewing the whole “mystery” in the most careful temper—refrains from commit- ting himself. In his earlier article, “The I-nd of the Byron Mystery,” which reviews the Astarle there are several statements that show him to be deeply impressed with the evidence against Byron and Mrs. Leigh. He says that “the unpublished letters of Byron to Lady Mclbourne materially strengthen the charge of incest previous to marriage.” Again: ‘‘The Melbourne letters create a new situation, as astound- ing as any of the many strange points in the story. Lady Melbourne could not have read Byron’s outpourings without, to say the least, strong suspicions of his guilt.’ But he mixes such statements thoroughly with the most striking evidence on the 6 Lorp Byron’s British REPUTATION After a considerable examination of this matter I come only to rather obvious conclusions. On the one hand it is clear that although thereis on each side of the issue a definite array of im- portant and authoritative assertion, Byron’s slowly improving reputation has distinctly suffered. On the other it is nearly as clear that even were the central question regarding Mrs. Leigh to be settled against Byron he could not be at this date either as poet or as man discredited. That is, we are repeating today in greatly reduced measure, though apropos of much the same charges or suspicions, the reactions of a century ago when Byron was hailed before the bar of society. We have been living in a period of tolerance of what we were inclined to regard as his eccentricities or as the fashion of the day, and no new items of information will really destroy that tolerance. This little history finds expression in a pair of essays* which Mr. G. S. Street contributed on the case of Lord Byron. The first put the question as follows: ‘‘How could a man who died at thirty-six and left behind him such a mass of written work—the quality even apart—to say nothing of his reading, and Mr. Pro- thero’s eight columns of authors, be a libertine, steeped in vice and the rest of it?”’ And after a fair and proper defense of Byron’s services to the cause of honest thought it concludes with this statement: ‘‘The loss of his intellectual honesty to English life was hardly less than his fire and his wit to English letters.’ The other side of the matter. In his later article which reviews the new letters, and is, in reality, a judicious defence of Byron, he says at the end: ‘The theme is well- worn. It is impossible to write on it with freshness, still more with authority. Fach individual will form his own picture of the man. Inevitably, the opinions of contemporaries, however bricf and partial their acquaintance, influence our judgments. Impressions formed a century later are comparatively valucless. Knowing this I hesitate to state anv personal experiences. I only do so in the hope that, here and there, others will give Byron a fairer hearing. Tor several years my leisure was spent in the socicty of Byron and his friends. I started with a strong aversion, which was again and again deepened by some display of the baser qualities of his nature. But, in the end, the conviction grew that he was not only a greater but a better and more lovable man than he allowed himself to appear.”’ The mixed impression, which it appears to me any careful study of Byron will almost inevitably make, is perfectly illustrated by Mr. Cecil Roberts’s sketch, “Byron in Venice,” in The Fortnightly Rev., Jan. 1924. ®G. S. Street, “Byron, 1816-1824,” Llackwoods Mfag., Dec. 1901, and ‘Byron Reconsidered,” Ninet:enth Century, May 1922. Lorp Byron’s British REPUTATION 7 second article, written twenty years later, no longer looks at Byron | and his affairs with women with “the same light-hearted and amused toleration.” ‘I find darker shades in Byron now,” says Mr. Street. ‘‘I am less carried away.”’ He calls attention especially to the extremely disagreeable impression of Byron’s incurable levity made by printing together so many letters as those to Lady Melbourne, that deal with nothing but his scandals. From them it would be difficult to deduce anything of Byron’s intellectual or poetical nature which is usually present in his letters to other correspondents. Women to Byron were little but creatures of sex, and Lady Melbourne, who was perhaps the best influence during his dissipated career in London was, in spite of her sixty years, an apparent condoner of his escapades. Lady Melbourne’s own youth had by no means been exemplary, and Byron was the very breath of scandal to keep green her age. But this is as far as the discrediting goes; it is not condemnation; and Mr. Street concludes by saying again that Byron was “‘one of the most virile intellects we have known.” So I imagine that many of those who write on Byron in this centenary of his death will but illustrate for us all over again the original nature of the problem. For the Byron puzzle was, to begin with, the question of how to explain Byron by the word “genius,” and the rather simple question of how to reconcile his lower licence and slavery in life with his higher freedom and obedience in art. The more honest and acute of his early reviewers faced the problem squarely—and morally, made the necessary self-contradictory statements and left the field, not vanquished, but still without capturing the mystery. We shall do much the same thing, in spite of our new psychological and esthetical equipment; for the matter is more puzzling today than it was, and partly by reason of the insight which that very equipment gives. As we are now able to define it the puzzle is to perceive how art transcends and clarifies the confusions of life, how fleshly emotion is not buried in the flesh, but escaping the facts and consequences of its origin is often purified by what it creates. And this is perhaps too often what we mean by genius, at least the psychologists will have it so, the mere working out of this process. No doubt we are far better able to understand all this than were Byron’s early critics. We can see more clearly than they did that 8 Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION the process can not be called the charlatanry of genius. We can Perceive more exactly how it comes about that Byron’s social tragedy was his artistic inspiration, how Byron’s true genius was roused to its peculiar maturity by his separation from Lady Byron and his daughter, and from England, and by his realization of the fear society had of him. For I believe that hereafter few critics will ignore the more recent information about those matters; and that though a great deal of good-will will be expended to explain Byron’s character in connection with them, and to belittle it much ungenerous half-truth, the opinion will prevail that he was not innocent of sufficient reasons for his wife’s repulsion and her later charges. I believe also that it is not a pose, but his definite recognition of what manner of man he was, that gives us the real Childe Harold of Cantos III and IV, Manfred, Cain, Don Juan. However half truly both his friends and his detractors thought of him they succeeded neither in blotting out for him the sins of his nature nor, on the other hand, in cheating him of the inspira- tion of their strangely bitter experience. Something much like this has long since been said. But in the light of what we have discovered today it is more difficult to formulate accurately and to understand critically. In the most brilliant essay on Byron with which I am familiar, Mr. Pyre, in 1907, said of the Byron separation: “The important thing is, that this event and his subsequent unpopularity and expatriation had more effect on Byron for better and for worse than any other event of his life. It shook him to the last fibre and stimulated, if it did not actually awaken, his genius.’® Stated thus the matter is clear. When Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, in 1918, inaugurating the annual Byron lecture endowed by the people of Nottingham at their University College, makes this same point more expansively it still remains clear. ‘‘For the moment I ask you to take April 25, 1816, the day on which Byron sailed from England forever, and to set that for a mark dividing all that he wrote before from all that he wrote afterwards: and I promise you that with this simple book-marker between what to discard and what to retain, you will never again doubt that he was a great poet.’ Now it is both the common fortune and the miraculous privilege of °J.F.A.Pyre, “Byronin Our Day.” Atlantic Monthly, April 1907. 10 Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, Studies in Literature, (Second Series). 1922. Lorp Byron’s BriTisH REPUTATION 9 humanity to found human greatness on bitter and sinful experience. It is also very likely true, what the psychoanalysts are now telling us all over again in their own dialect, that art is the out- come of suffering. But when it becomes necessary to add in Byron’s case that the sudden maturity of his powers appears at the moment when his bitter sense of his own wrongdoing began to be for him a key to the hypocrisy of the world, the matter is no longer perfectly clear. Yet I believe that the truth about Byron’s mind lies within this secret darkness and not in the light. In Byron’s own day considerations of this sort though much less ratiocinated, to use a contemporary phrase, brought good people like the quarterly reviewers to call him and his followers the Satanic or the Infidel School. We make fun of the terms now, and invent our word daemonic to suggest our sense of the mystery of a moral power that can grow strong out of unmoral experience. In pointing out the relation of Beppo, a thoroughly unmoral or irresponsible humoresque, to Don Juan, Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch makes an heroic attempt to clarify this point: “His task (Byron’s—after 1818) is to arraign the wickedness before which men fawn—spiritual wickedness in high places. And so—as it might seem by felicitous chance, out of an experi- ment in Beppo—but truly by destiny—all his fortunes with his insurgent wrath against them, his knowledge of men and cities, his fatal sensual half-knowledge of women, with the noble damning core of true intuition ever torturing our Lucifer wide-eyed for the best thing missed, for salvation lost—all his facility of wit, his perfectness in the note of conversation among well-bred men and women; his own very considerable grasp of politics; his sense of Europe; his sense of the hypocrisy underlying all received government, all received religion; his sense of seas and mountains and vast natural forces amid which man may be viewed at will as a controlling engineer or a derisory ape;—all these (I say) in the end miraculously met together, found the measure and the stanza exactly suitable to them and to Byron’s genius, and com- bined in Don Juan.”" We shall probably long say this kind of thing about Byron in one way or another, for our superior psy- chology is not a perfect substitute. To understand a mystery it is often first necessary to preserve it. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, Studics in Literature, (Second Series). 1922. 10 Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 3. BYRON AT THE HANDS OF THE EARLY REVIEWERS The Byronic paradox invites many explanations. It has fas- cinated many a wise and accurate thinker, much, perhaps, as uncertainty fascinates the man of action; for part of its appeal must lie in the exercise of maintaining a carefully balanced set of somewhat contrary distinctions. It is in a measure a result of this exercise that there has been less absurdity written about Lord Byron than about some of his brother poets, and his reputation has been, in spite of the variety of explanation, in spite of the paradoxes and contradictions, a more definite quantity than theirs. Though popular taste has changed and he has no longer the vogue he once had, the sum of judgment upon him is still to a remarkable degree what it began to be in 1824. Wordsworth and Shelley are more interesting to us than they were to their contemporaries. But about them we have very nearly reversed the judgments of their contemporaries; and though one may believe that there is more sense than generally admitted in those famous reviews which began with, “‘This will never do” or, ‘“‘This we think has the merit of being the very worst poem we ever saw imprinted in a quarto volume,” about Wordsworth, or, ‘‘Mr. Shelley’s style is to poetry what astrology is to natural science,’’ such opinions are to-day heterodox. Concerning Byron the early reviews speak more nearly our own sentiments, though in abrupter language. A summary of them, as they appeared between 1812 and 1824 comes close to being a summary of painstaking criticism for the next hundred years. It is true that Byron’s contemporaries, even when not com- pletely carried away by the wave of popular enthusiasm, liked the romantic tales—T7he Giaour, The Bride, The Corsair, Lara—better than we do, and thought much too well of a comparative failure like Parisina, both Jeffrey and North regarding it as one of Byron’s most finished productions. On the other hand nearly all critics of that day except Scott, looked with suspicion and astonishment, even with intense hostility and fear, on the “‘philosophy” of Manfred and Cain. But between certain extremes of this sort the main currents of criticism early took the course they have run in ever since. Let us see specifically how the case of Lord Byron appeared one hundred years ago. In October, 1816, Sir Walter Scott in the Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 11 Quarterly Review said, apropos of the atmosphere of the third © canto of Childe Harold which he was reviewing, that he knew enough of Byron’s private story to be sure that “falsehood and malice alone can impute him any real cause of hopeless remorse or gloomy misanthropy.’ Scott repeated this sentiment two years later in his review of the fourth canto.% In July, 1816, reviewing The Poetic Mirror, a set of parodies on Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, and others, the Quarterly spoke of “that striking and most essential feature of Lord Byron’s poetry, the description of the workings of the mind, of the agitation of the intellects, the embodying the feelings of a high and wounded spirit, of a vain, proud, selfish heart, of a wild, daring, and romantic imagination . the glorious morbidezza of his Lordship’s colouring.’ Scott compared the crudities of his style to those of Mrs. Siddons who, to give emphasis to some passage of overwhelming passion, “seemed wilfully to assume a position constrained, stiffened, violent, diametrically contrary to the rules of grace, in order, as it were, to concentrate herself for the utterance of grief, or passion which disdained embellishment.” After Byron’s death, Blackwood’s, in 1825, apropos of attacks on him in the Universal Review and the London Magazine and Hazlitt’s essay in The Spirit of the Age, came to Byron’s defense with what was to bea frequently repeated argument. ‘‘How did the English public conduct itself in regard to this most sensitive artist? From the beginning of his true career—it began with Childe Harold—we, in spite of all manner of disclamations and protestations, insisted on saddling Byron, himself personally, with every attribute, however dark and repulsive, with which he has chosen to invent a fictitious personage, the hero of a romance. It is true enough, that the thoughts and feelings embodied in this fictitious person- age’s character, as poetized by Lord Byron, must have at some time or other passed through Lord Byron’s own mind, and subsequent events decidedly shewed that many of them had been too much at home there. But the world was hasty, and therefore 2 Quarterly Review, Oct. 1816. (The article is by Scott.) % Quarterly Review, April 1818. (The article is by Scott.) See also three articles in the Quarterly by George [llis on the early Childe Harold, March 1812; The Giaour, Jan. 1814; The Corsair, July 1814. 4 Quarterly Revicw, July 1816. % Quarterly Review, Oct. 1816. 12 Lorp Byron’s British REPUTATION unjust. How do we know, that if Harold had been criticised merely as the character of Macbeth or Marmion is criticised, Lord Byron would have continued to paint little else but Childe _ Harold? How do we know how much our obstinate blending of Harold with Byron stimulated the proud and indignant Byron to blend himself with Harold? How do we know, that we did not ourselves, by our method of criticizing his work, tempt the poet’s haughty mind to brood exclusively on those very trains of dark and misanthropic thought, which, had we done otherwise, might have given way to everything that was happy and genial?’’!* This sentiment does not, however, sophisticate the reviewer to the extent of making him judge quite separately from Byron’s life his poetry about his life. Indeed, he begins by saying: ‘“‘We shall, like all others who say anything about Lord Byron, begin sans apologie with his personal character.” It is the Edinburgh Review which, until the publication of Cain, defends Byron most consistently, and which also contains the criticism of greatest worth. Jeffrey, who had been enthusiastic almost from the start, praising the early tales extravagantly, makes an urbane defense of Beppo, a rhyme that on the whole found little favor among his brother editors. He calls it ‘“‘a sort of gay and desultory babbling about Italy and England, Turks, balls, literature, and fish sauces.’” Jeffrey defends Manfred and sees, as does also Scott in the Quarterly, maturity of Byron’s genius in the fourth canto of Childe Harold. It is, of course, apropos of Manfred, that the storm of abuse first breaks, and - also that the sharper insight into Byron’s more serious intentions begins among the few critics who in the next years look at him with definite sympathy. The Quarterly would not review Manfred, and in 1822 after a silence of four years attributes its moral course of action, in a review of the dramatic pieces of 1821, to a “‘conflict of admiration and regret,” through a “recollection of former merits and a sense of present degradation,” a “‘reverence for talent and scorn of sophistry.”” For by this time, after Manfred and Cain, Byron had become for the Quarterly ‘‘the professed and systematic poet of seduction, adultery, and incest.’® Yet the re- 16 Blackwood’s Magazine, Feb. 1825. WV Edinburgh Review, Feb. 1818. 18 Oucrlerly Review, July 1822. (The article is by Bishop Heber.) William Gifford, editor of the Quarterly till 1824, was, as is well known, Byron’s friend and Lorp ByRon’s BRITISH REPUTATION 13 viewer quotes with appreciation the finest descriptive passages from Cain, and is certainly not wrong when he says, The Doge of Venice has many of the requisites of a work of art, but not that one without which the others are futile—‘‘interest.” It is, however, scornfully said. The Quarterly reviewer of Moore’s Life of Byron in January 1831, quoting Byron’s remark about Burns—‘‘ What a strange compound of dirt and deity!’’—says that Byron’s case is a “thousand times worse” than Burns’s. ‘‘He mixes his vice inextricably with his genius—and, the finer the genius the more unconquerable will the vice become.’’® So far as his concern is Manfred Jeffrey knows much more clearly than the other critics with what he has to deal. He recognizes in Manfred a greatness greater than Marlowe, calling it a very great though “ominously obscure’’ poem. Byron, he says, ‘‘still deals with that dark and overawing Spirit by whose aid he had so often subdued the minds of his readers.’”” The poem “has no action; no plot—and no characters; Manfred merely muses and suffers from the begin- ning to the end. His distresses are the same at the opening of the scene and at its closing—and the temper in which they are borne is the same.’”?° It is true that Jeffrey had already committed himself much more completely to the Byron vogue than had the majority of the serious reviewers. Apropos of The Corsair and The Bride of Abydos he had said in 1814: ‘‘While other poets delight by their vivacity, or enchant by their sweetness, he alone has been able to command the sympathy even of reluctant readers, by the natural magic of his moral sublimity, and the terrors and attrac- tions of those overpowering feelings, the depths and the heights of which he seems to have so successfully explored.’! In this Jeffrey thought Byron the greatest poet since Shakespeare. But he recognized the Byronic disease of misanthropy as it appeared in the first two cantos of Childe Harold. Apropos of the third canto, in which it has only “‘shimmered,’’ he allowed Byron more force and true greatness than any of his contemporaries. On the other hand he mourned over the “‘catastrophe”’ to his mind and most respected critic, his “literary father.” He himself probably wrote no complete articles for his Review. 1* Quarterly Review, Jan. 1831. 30 Edinburgh Review, Aug. 1817. (The article is by Jeffrey.) 1 Edinburgh Review, April 1814. (The article is by Jeffrey.) 14 Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION said that ‘“‘beautiful as this poetry is, it is a relief at last to close the volume.” About the Byron of the fourth canto he felt both fear and hope. He began his review of it with an elaborate com- parison of Byron and Rousseau, in the course of which he remarked that the idolizing enthusiasm of Rousseau’s own generation has not survived to the next, and that the chief cause of this is Rous- seau’s “‘continual impersonation of himself in his writings.”’ But while Byron stands in similar danger if judged by his earlier pieces, in the fourth canto “‘it is a nobler creature who is before us.”*3 And he now assigned to Manfred, as far as it regards the poet himself, a middle place between the tales and Childe Harold. So with Jeffrey the disillusionment is slower, more judicious, more illuminating, and it comes finally with greater force. It is in his review of the dramas of 1821, Sardanapalus, The Two Foscart, and Cain,** that he makes his elaborate charge against Byron. He begins by assigning Byron’s ultimate weakness as a poet and dramatist to the sameness of character in Harold, the Giaour, Conrad, Lara, Manfred, Cain, Lucifer—‘‘there is the same varnish of voluptousness on the surface, the same canker of misanthropy at the core, of all he touches.”’ It is of course Cain that has settled Jeffrey in this point of view. ‘‘We regret very much that it should ever have been published. It will give great scandal and offense to pious persons in general. . . It is nothing less than absurd, in such a case, to observe that Lucifer cannot well be expected to talk like an orthodox divine—and that the conversation of the first Rebel and the first Murderer was not likely to be very unexceptionable. . . The fact is, that here 2 Edinburgh Review, Dec. 1816. (The article is by Jeffrey.) % Edinburgh Review, June 1818. (The article is by Jeffrey.) % Edinburgh Review, Feb. 1822. (The article is by Jeffrey.) The tone of Tory Journals such as the Monthly Review and the Gentleman’s Magazine is even severer. The latter (XCI, ii, 613, supplement for 1821) calls Cain “unquestionably one of the mest pernicious productions that ever proceeded from the pen of a man of genius.” The article has two divisions, ‘‘“Hideous Blasphemy,” and “Twaddle and Nonsense.” On the other hand, Scott in accepting the dedication of Cains praises its moral tone. For points of view, recent and past, about the morality of Cain, see an essay on “‘Byron’s Cain” in The Hibbert Journal for Oct. 1919; and, Cain, a dramatic mystery in three acts ; translated into French verse and refuted in a series of philosophical and critical remarks preceded by a letter addressed to Lord Byron, upon the motives and purpose of this work, by Fabre d’Olivet. Done into English by Nayan Louise Redfield, 1923. (The original was printed in Paris in 1823.) Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 15 the whole argumenit—and a very elaborate and specious argument it is—is directed against the goodness or the power of the Deity, and against the reasonableness of religion in general. . . The Devil and his pupil have the field entirely to themselves—and are encountered with nothing but feeble obtestations and unreason- ing horrors.” To many of the reviewers Byron’s misanthropy seemed to spring from his morbid sensitiveness, as a social and a literary lion, to public opinion. And Jeffrey, though not forgetting that after 1816 ‘‘the buzz of adulation,”’ to borrow the words of a later critic, “had turned into a bray of hate,’”’ condemns Byron for wilfully misconceiving his own case. ‘In the whole course of our experience we cannot recollect a single author who has had so little reason to complain of his reception—to whose genius the public have been so early and so constantly just—and to whose faults they have been so long and so signally indulgent. . . He took the praise and, as usual, rejected the advice. As he grew in fame and authority, he aggravated all his offenses—clung more fondly to all he had been reproached with—and only took leave of Childe Harold to ally himself with Don Juan.” Jeffrey goes on to say that Byron’s reputation from now on will be mixed, and that though he is still supremely popular, it will hardly be a clear popularity. There follows the famous charge. ‘‘The charge we bring against Lord B. in short is, that his writings have a tendency to destroy all belief in the reality of virtue and to make all en- thusiasm and constancy of affection ridiculous.’’ There are four pages of it, bitterly phrased, closing in a comparison with Sir Walter Scott—to whom Cain was dedicated. Mixed Byron’s reputation has always been. If in the gentle lapse of time it was defined with more and more urbanity,” if the *% The reviews of Moore’s Life of Byron, in the periodicals of 1831-32, in the main recognize the fact of Byron’s greatness as a poet as plainly as we recognize it to-day. A!so they begin to perceive more sharply the intellectual eminence of the man. See Macaulay’s article in the Edinburgh Review, June 1831. I quote as further and perhaps better evidence the following passage from an article in The Westminster Review, Jan., 1831, on ‘The Character of George the Fourth.”? Laughing at the Duke of Wellington’s ridiculous praise of the dissipated king, the writer says: ‘To make the assertion of the Duke of Wellington still more ridiculous, let us take as a comparison a man of high rank, brought up in dangerous indulgences, in the enjoyment of wealth and without a ruler; one of dissolute and idle habits; let us in short take Lord Byron, and place him beside the King, to be 16 Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION greatness of Don Juan, which Jeffrey and many of his contem- poraries recognized only to deplore, soon took on a moral shape of its own, and if Byron the emancipator, the Byron of revolution- ary Europe—the Spanish Byron, the French Byron, the German Byron—begins to appear more frequently in the English point of view, nevertheless the essential terms in which criticism in England had originally conceived him are nearly always pre- dominant. All sound criticism has a basis in moral principle. On the Continent Byron was held to be a moral force because he appeared as a leader, a champion, on the side of those who were helping to free art and life from the incubus of esthetic prudery and hypocrisy. In England Byron also came to be held as a moral force, but more guardedly, and only up to a certain point describable as the point where prudery and hypocrisy might, by the undiscerning, be confused with mere inevitable convention. In England, moreover, a majority of critics have always thought they knew that point pretty exactly. Certainly the English critics’ ability to distinguish it is the source not only of their solid prejudices but of their solid judgment. So the course of English criticism of Byron since his own day illustrates not merely a growth of urbanity; it definitely illustrates a desire to distinguish more and more sharply Byron’s good from his evil. Over and over it is pointed out by English criticism that in making this attempt to judge his poetry it is his personality, his whole temper and way of thinking, his moral history, that need to be taken into account. Comparatively few critics would agree with Lord Morley that we should divorce Lord Byron’s poetry and private life as entirely judged as to the cultivation of his mind. In what single circumstance could the King claim superiority? Change their situation; make Byron the King, and the King a peer, and who is there that does not see that his late Majesty would have been undistinguished from the herd of right honourable mediocrity, while Byron for mental power would have stood almost alone in the World’s annals of King- ship?” To show the conservative taste of the Westminster Review it seems only fair to quote from a review in this same number of Tennyson’s Poems of 1830, which prefers Marianna to anything else in the volume, and, after criticizing Tennyson for using words that require a glossary, explains itself in this sentence: ‘‘Mr. Tennyson has the propensity which Shelley had, to use a word or two which young ladies of the present day are not accustomed to read or sing in the parlour.”’ For a comparison of Byron with George the Fourth hardly so favorable as the above, see an article by William Haller in The Sewance Review, Jan. 1916, on ‘“Byron and the British Conscience.” Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 17 as the orgies of Turner with the trulls of Wapping are divorced from his painting.* Lord Morley was writing just after Mrs. Stowe had told Lady Byron’s story, a story that shocked Englishmen by its inconclusive evidence. It can be said, however, that many critics thought the noisome repetition of gossip about Byron’s morals had made his poetry suffer unreasonably. But if, from the decade of Moore’s Life and the books by Hunt, Galt, Medwin, and Dallas, one concludes that urbanity is growing, then urbanity certainly brings with it a power of moral perception. This Matthew Arnold is to be at great pains to point out before he gives his own moral and urbane judgment on Byron.’ Yet even Arnold’s judgment in 1881 does not differ essentially from that of the contemporary reviewers of Moore’s Life. It is, indeed, a judgement largely based on the opinion of Byron’s greatest contemporary. Before, however, such a thoroughly urbane and moral estimate as Arold’s or as many of the more recent judgments on Byron could be given, it was probably necessary that Byron’s great popularity should wane. It had been a popularity so intense during Byron’s life and so especially intensified for a few years by his heroic death that a strong reaction was bound to come. This is definitely presaged by the failure of such a man as Charles Lamb to feel Byron’s power at all. Carlyle and many another might continue to recite the great stanzas, or to lament with Hazlitt or Landor’® any harsh word they had said against “good hapless, generous Byron,’ but they were apt to add, ‘‘Close thy Byron, open thy Goethe,’’ thy Tennyson, thy Browning, in short, thine optimist. Byron’s fame soon began both to decline and to grow somewhat clearer. From one point of view it was at the lowest ebb during the sixties—Swinburne names the year 1865, and Lord Morley says it was never lower than in 1870. Charles Kingsley, writing in 1853, attributes its decline to the mawkish vogue of Shelley, a poet not to be compared with Byron who was nearer the *% John Morley, Critical Miscellanies. 1871. 27 Matthew Arnold, Essays in Criticism, (Second Series). 1888. The essay on Byron was first printed in 1881. 28 See especially Landor’s A pologue on Byron, 1822, and a note on it written in 1824. Hazlitt’s essay on Byron in The Spirit of the Age, contains a postscript penned on hearing the news of his death. 18 Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION English manly type and kept bears and bulldogs.”® Of course there is no doubt that the rising popularity of Tennyson, as Swinburne notes, contributed to the force of the natural reaction against the excessive Byronism of the twenties and thirties. Tennyson’s Poems, Chiefly Lyrical was printed in 1830, the year of Moore’s Life of Byron. Wordsworth’s real vogue was only then beginning. The spirit of Victorianism was popularly unfavorable to Byron except as it encouraged occasional revolts to him. Yet Victorian- ism, and the growth within it of Philistinism, doubtless gave a clearer sight of his values. For, as Arnold proceeded to point out, it was against Philistinism that Byron broke himself. Also it was a Philistine lack of ear, lack of taste, that, as Swinburne said, at first urbanely and then angrily,?° had permitted Byron to be thought a poetical poet at all. Swinburne and Arnold, represent- ing two quite different reactions against Victorianism, laid the foundations for our present estimate. Arnold, the moralist, wished to pick and choose and, holding up a small selection, a Golden Treasury, say this is the great Byron—without taking account of Don Juan at all, which perhaps cannot be selected from, string of most quotable passages though it is. Swinburne, the Pandean, who in his later years reversed his opinion and denied that Byron is essentially a poet, still conceded him greatness in the mass, greatness in the swell and volume of Don Juan though not in the falsetto of Childe Harold, and greatness in the whole of his work as a work, even though it is not properly poetry. So the paradox is still with us. It is all the record of changing opinion the central core of which has not changed.*! 29 Charles Kingsley, ‘““Thoughts on Shelley and Byron.” Fraser’s Magazéne, Nov. 1853. 30 A.C. Swinburne, Essays and Studies, 1875; Miscellanies, 1886. 42 Professor S. C. Chew’s Byron in England: His Fame and After Fame, 1924, appeared when my article was already in type. Had I known what this book was to be I should have delayed forming my conclusions till I could have reviewed the great mass of evidence in Professor Chew’s collection. From that it is still more certain than from my examples what the curve of Byron’s reputation has been, just how rapid was its decline after his death, and at what level it is now resting since its revival in the ’seventies and ’eighties. Professor Chew, whose book is a fully descriptive and critical calendar of hundreds of items of Byroniana, with a bibliography of sixty pages, elaborates no running commentary and offers no sum- mary of “‘results.” He is here a collector, discriminating, observant, instructive. He says quite truly that the whole book is in the nature of a summary, and I would add that no summary could possibly have the significance of his clearly ordered Lorvp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 19 4. THE HISTORY OF BYRON’S REPUTATION PSYCHOLOGICALLY EXAMINED If now we would understand more fundamentally the character of Lord Byron’s fame as indicated by the drift of these opinions, we must consider it briefly from a psychological point of view. We must look especially at the relation of emotion and thought in Byron and at their relative appeal to his public. Let us therefore note first in what fashion Byron’s lyre was attuned to the vogue for romance at a season when the English poetical ear, for some time more and more romantically inclined, had fallen under the spell of the wild North. There had been Ossian; there was now the Last Minstrel. But Scott’s romances lacked something essential to poetic life, something that creates thought as well as stirs feeling, and this Byron’s early narratives, in spite of their crudity of plot, definitely added. It was added not by thinking, not by reflection, however, but simply by the introduction of Byron’s own character. Scott had immortalized the border country-side by making of nature man’s story-book. This he did, in no secret Wordsworthian sense, furnishing a moral or a symbol, seeing ‘“‘a tale in every- thing,’’ but in simpler and more obvious fashion. He felt that the imprint of the Eildon Hills on a man’s mind ennobles all his comings and goings, that nature is memory full of names and legends making vivid the past and stimulating patriotism or local pride. Loch Katrine is a mirror of picturesque intrigue; a ford across the Leet recalls the glories and the tragedies of Scottish national ambition. This more obvious, more normal method of interesting men in nature and in history produced Scott’s improved version of the romantic tale. It required no very fine genius, but rather a new kind of facility. As Scott admitted to Moore, his fame as well as Moore’s, was in no small degree due to the fortune in being first on the ground. His verse expresses his clear, fluent purposes and charming tastes. If he himself is there, surrounded by considerable glamour, and carrying the whole thing forward with an easy energy that has much of magic in it; if the continued march of his story, varied now and then by the ring and flourish sequence of detail. The work will probably be the outstanding contribution of the Byron centenary—an unstinted labor for the heritage of English literary scholarship. 20 Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION of a fine passage, keeps time to his cheerful spirit; all this gives us only his outer.mind and leaves him one of the most clearly apparent, most easily discovered, figures in poetry. Byron alters the case. He took over from Scott and a few other sources the main principles of form and much of that fatal facility which he liked to say that Scott alone had mastered, and then he proceeded to write the kind of narratives Scott had not written, narratives in which the author is wholly displayed, wholly and mysteriously, in which both action and background but reflect his feelings, or across which he constantly throws his own shadow. This became with Byron a formula, and by it he made the famous tales that eclipsed the Wizard of the North. The secret of their popularity lay equally in the new and striking personality they embodied and in their unprecedented rapidity of action. For though as plots they are no better than Sir Walter’s, and though Byron as a portrayer of character is probably beneath Scott in power, he had at least one immense advantage. He gave to his characters emotions which had gained reality, inevitability, and mystery from his own experience, and he supplied a back- ground to reflect or sanction these emotions. Whereas Scott’s people had been permitted only such feelings as were, so to speak, clearly necessitated by the action, and whereas the background of nature is but the actual locality, Byron’s heroes are heavily endowed with his own personality and reflect his extrava- gant experiences amid scenes flattering to a sense of his own picturesqueness. Byron had always been accustomed to regard himself in an historically romantic light, the scion of a memorable and dying race, and his interest in any locality or historical monument neither began nor ended, like Scott’s, with history. Against the background of the decaying abbey of Newstead, which had been founded by Henry II to reform the outlaws of Sherwood Forest, or against the city of Rome, City of the Soul, Niobe of Nations, he caught reflections of himself as the forlorn Interpreter of ancient, ironic greatness. This picturesque senti- mentalism, which he treasured grandly and earnestly through life, is capable either of sinking him to the depths of his despair or of lifting him to the heights of his sublimity. ‘Every line he wrote,” says Mr. Symons, “‘is a reminiscence, a reminiscence cf a place ora passion.”’ It thus becomes inevitable, if we are interested in Byron’s poetry, to be interested in Byron’s peculiar person- Lorp Byron’s BRITISH REPUTATION 21 ality. Toa greater extent, perhaps, than is the case with any other poet whom we read, he becomes the problem that we think about. His moral loneliness, his astonishing frankness and his mysterious secrecy, his contempt for both hypocrisy and for ethical standards— all this makes us reflect sharply on his social nature and on our own. Though in this way Byron adds an element of thought to narrative verse, as Scott and Southey had not added it, he him- self is not primarily the thinker. His ideas remain ideas of feeling. He himself does not reflect. He stirs thought only through feeling. He has not, as Matthew Arnold says, “‘a great artist’s profound and patient aim in combining an action or in developing a character,—a skill which we must watch and follow if we are to do justice to it. But he has a wonderful power of vividly con- ceiving a single incident, a single situation; of throwing himself upon it, grasping it as if it were real and he saw and felt it, and of making us see and feel it too.”’ Is not, however, this wonderful power of Byron’s partly due to his very lack of patient skill, his lack of thought? I know that Swinburne has warned us against trying to inter- pret what this lack of patient thought on Byron’s part might mean, or rather against guessing what Goethe meant when he commented on it. But I cannot follow the injunction, for the bearing of this quality of Byron’s, not essentially a negative quality, on the history of his reputation, is, I believe, significant. I believe that the paradox of Byron’s reputation is to be accounted for by the fact that his main #deas are not so much expressions of thought as they are exhibitions of temper or mood, and as such temporarily more forceful. This is not merely saying that he is a poet rather than a philosopher. Goethe who indicated this characteristic of Byron’s genius by remarking that “‘Lord Byron is only great as a poet; as soon as he reflects he is a child,’’*? also indicated a reason why Byron’s popularity is not the popularity of second thought, of mature consideration. On second thought, many admirers of the brilliance and beauty of Byron’s poetry fall out of love with their first enthusiasm. Though they still admire they do not feel. And if this is so, it is for the very reason that they know Byron 2 Eckermann, Contersations of Gocthe (Mon. Jan. 10, 1825). Goethe is speak- ing of Byron’s failure to be “philcsophical’’ about adverse criticism. 22 LorpD ByRon’s BRITISH REPUTATION has great poetical powers and that they expect great powers to appeal to mind as well as to heart, or at least to sustain emotion by reflection. When on second thought they find Byron appeal- ing to temper or mood, even to prejudice or whim, making his appeal from carefully fostered prejudice and ignorant half-views of life, they are without enthusiasm for his ideas, though still admiring his gifts. This, in general, the experience of the maturer judges of his own day, also describes the history of his vogue throughout his century—a vogue characterized by a growing neglect and by strong reactions against a growing neglect. One generation feels things emotionally, feels Byron’s greatness without wishing to perceive the real sense of his ideas, feels it no handicap, this absence of sound thought about emotion, this absence of spiritual thought about spiritual ideas. One generation feels only half the real power in such a poet as Wordsworth, just be- cause of too much presence there of spiritual thought. The next generation, given more to second thought, discovers Wordsworth, neglects Byron, prepares the way for Tennyson and Browning, poets of reflection. The student of this matter will therefore perceive that while a lack of reflection may be regarded as a fault that gives Byron a certain impermanency in the high place he appears to occupy, the fault is not exactly a negative quality. For it is essential to his genius and to his being the greatest force in European letters during his own generation. It is, indeed, in a certain sense a positive quality. The chances are that Byron in recording himself over and over did in literature the only thing he was capable of doing well. With all his variety he had but one great vein to work for ore. He could sink his imagination only into himself. It has often been noticed that his expositions of character in the dramas are not objectively sharp, that with few exceptions there is little structure to his narratives, that he is especially weak in argument. The forms he used successfully were those allowing him a medley kind of freedom and a random humoristic progress. The reasons cited from Dr. Beattie in the preface to the first two cantos of Childe Harold, 1812, for choosing the Spenserian stanza, which apply equally to its modification in Don Juan, describe Byron’s purposes to be, “‘droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes.’”’ Systematic thought foiled his genius. He could build only with ideas of feeling. LorpD Byron’s BrairisH REPUTATION 23 ‘“‘The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist,.cven | though in pain,” he says. As he grew older and tired somewhat of himself and his humors, he ran badly out of themes and resorted to those historical exercises the opportunities of which he did not know how to embrace, but which gave him the kind of satisfaction that comes to the egotist from being forced for the moment to think impersonally. Byron is Byron; he is a force only when presenting himself. Reflection, reason, in such an egotist, is weakness. Now is it not this general aspect of Byron that Goethe has in mind? Goethe describes it by saying at once that Byron is a great poet, the greatest force in contemporary letters, “a personality in eminence such as has never yet been and is not likely to come again,”’ ‘‘a fiery mass of living valor hurling itself on life’; and also that ‘Byron could never attain reflection on himself,” that in this he typifies the Englishman who is, ‘‘as such, without reflection.” In further explanation of what Goethe may have meant by this part of his frequent comment on Byron, let us recall what he has said about thought in poetry. He once said to Eckermann that Byron had too much Empeiria, too much expertence or worldliness. Weknow that he regarded the valuable part of poetry to lie in the zdea. There is a remark of his to the effect that the valuable part of a poem is describable as that part which, were it separable, could exist in a prose translation in a foreign language; and has not Swinburne, who refuses to quizz Goethe, found French and Italian prose translations of Childe Harold vastly superior to the original! Goethe also thought that for a true poet an experience and an idea must be one and the same. A pleasant story describes his showing Schiller an experi- ment in plant growth at which Schiller exclaimed, ‘Ah, but that is not an experiment (an experience), that is an idea.’”?” Whereupon Goethe replied that for himself, as a poet, there could be no such distinction. We may remember, too, in this connection that Goethe described the function of genius as the general purpose of life itself. ‘“‘For this very end are we here,” he says, “to stamp the perishable with an imperishable worth.’’ We have, moreover, a right to believe, in spite of some over-practical advice to the young Eckermann about keeping clear of great matters when starting to write poetry, that Goethe regarded the principal ennobling function of all men to consist in allying some part of 24 Lorp Byron’s British REPUTATION their transient lives to the continuing and enduring influences in thought, and that it is supremely the function of men of genius— poets, philosophers, and scientists—to point the way. Obviously scientists and philosophers can never accomplish this without reflection; but to the poet is it not permitted to feel ideas he cannot expound? “If imagination did not originate things which must ever remain problems to the understanding,” says Goethe, ‘‘there would be little for the imagination to do. It is this which separates poetry from prose; in which latter understanding always is, and always should be, dominant.”’ Now in the light of this philosophy of Goethe’s does his criticism of Byron appear more penetrative or merely more curious? What eternal problem can the imagination of a poet who does not reflect wisely raise for the understanding? How can he link the perishable to the enduring? Yet Byron is one of the great poets of all time, the greatest poet of the nineteenth century. The answer to this question is not difficult if we think of the meaning Byron had for his day and generation. And Goethe perfectly understands the Byronic paradox. The soundness of his judgment, as Matthew Arnold has pointed out, lies in his saying both things—Byron is “‘the greatest talent of our century” and a personality “in eminence such as has never been yet and is not likely to come again,” and, on the other hand, “the moment he begins to reflect he is a child.’ Goethe understands the Byronic paradox because he understands the age.* It was an age Goethe had sought to redeem by culture,™ by reason and emotion perfectly combined; but it had been influenced rather by reason in disguise and culture in disguise—an age that had mistaken emotion for reason and reason for emotion ever since the day of Rousseau. It was an age, therefore, in which the great force was not to be culture but something more contagious, something ® Cf. Eckermann’s Conversations of Goethe, (Thursday, July 5, 1827). ‘Byron is neither antique nor romantic, but like the present day itself.” 4 Cf. Eckermann’s Conversations of Gocthe, (Supplement for Thursday, Oct. 23, 1828). “To all your exccllency says of Byron,” said I, “I agree from the bottom of my heart; but however great and remarkable that poet may be as a genius, I very much doubt whether a decided gain for pure human culture is to be derived from his writings.”’ ‘There I must contradict you,” said Goethe; “the audacity and grandeur of Byron must certainly tend towards culture. We should take care not to be always looking for it in the decidedly pure and moral. Every- thing that is great promotes cultivation as soon as we are aware of it.” Lorp Byron’s British REPUTATION 25 flying about and likely to be taken by youth, something like tears . or like laughter, like Harold or like Juan. Byronism, Byronic despair or laughter, springs from a curiosity that has been at once too rabid and too easily satisfied, a curiosity satisfied entirely by experience. It has nothing in common with that “‘passion which itself is highest reason.” It does not perceive that all great and true conclusions about life must transcend experience. It is nota philosophy; it is a failure to be a philosophy turning, as not infrequently happens, into impassioned morbidity or impassioned satire.* Yet, what a sad commentary on life is this reading of Byron with as much morality or urbanity as we can muster after our own emancipations and compromises are accomplished, this reading of Byron critically—judging him, judging him! Must it be done? Are we really a moral world? Return for a rebellious moment to another mood and recall how it could stir you, his inability to reflect, his sheer power to feel. Simplify your mind. You may see it again, the neat, tight, little island and the motley world, the neat, tight, little home and Hellespontine adventure— England, in her security, against fallen Rome; respectability against romance. You may perceive the glamour of his moral symbols as they crowd on one another, history and mortality in panorama, Rome as the emblem of all history, Nature engulfing her, while men look on in awe and gods laugh in derision. There was romance in this, a fine emotion in that moral vision of lost ambi- tions and decaying ideals. And you—what is your life? You yourself are a sensation, neither a thought nor the thinker— Between two worlds life hovers like a star, *Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge: How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles: as the old burst, new emerge, Lash’d from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave but like some passing waves. *® Compared with certain types of present day pessimism as illustrated in the works of Mr. Thomas Hardy or Mr. Bertrand Russell, which might almost be described as philanthropic Byronism, Byronism itself—even its most reasoned expression in Manfred or in Cain—is surely as nothing in the realm of thought. 26 Lorp Byron’s British REPUTATION The thinking has already been done. It remains, not to reflect, but to encompass life with feeling, with desire and with scorn— and so to win our moment of triumph. Is not this the spirit of Byronism, a spirit born of the desire and the scorn for those very things that are still its parents in this hopeful-mocking world of ours? WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 BY RICHARD ASHLEY RICE 4. 3: 6. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 BY RICHARD ASHLEY RICE CONTENTS PAGE Character of the Present Revival of Interest in Wordsworth............ 31 Wordsworth’s Traditional Reputation and the New Facts.............. 32 The Relation of Wordsworth’s Romantic and Political Experiences to his Career aS A POC co suo n4ewn taeia eee baie ey en wak pee waco es 39 Wordsworth’s Philosophical Studies and his Philosophy of Life......... 47 The Contention that Wordsworth is not a Poet but a ‘‘Master’........ 53 Wordsworth’s Academic Reputation. ....... 0.0... cece ee ee ee eeeees 58 Appendix: A List of Books and Articles about Wordsworth which have Appeared Mainly Since the Publication of Harper’s William Wordsworth Digitized by Google Wordsworth since 1916 1. CHARACTER OF THE PRESENT REVIVAL OF INTEREST IN WORDSWORTH The recent revival of interest in Wordsworth can be attributed to two sources, the war and the publication in 1916 of Professor George M. Harper’s definitive work in two volumes on Words- worth’s life. They have given new significance to Wordsworth’s politics and philosophy, and have developed a knowledge of new facts in his career. The revival has, however, been largely critical and academic. It bears small resemblance to those recurrent tides of interest in Byron that swept European youth in various decades of the last century—and it may be remarked that in the case of Wordsworth there have never been such tides, probably for the reason that interest in him is a slower and a steadier growth and not part of revolutionary enthusiasms. Nor has the present revival, as a revival due to curiosity roused by Professor Harper’s discovery of Wordsworth’s French daughter, and by Professor Legouis’s subsequent researches into that history, and by Miss Edith Morlcy’s still more recent publication of passages relative to it from Crabb Robinson’s diary, even the faintest likeness to revivals of curiosity about Byron’s morals as more and more of that disagreeable matter has been unfolded. Less than any English poet, except perhaps his neighbor Southey, is Words- worth capable of a succés de scandale. Yet it is obvious that the history of his relations with Mile. Vallon may be extremely signif- icant for an understanding of his character, and all thoughtful Wordsworthians have to renew their acquaintance with the poet inits light. It does not leave Wordsworth where he was. The war, also, has given some of Wordsworth’s political opinions new mean- ing, and we have to read afresh his letter to Bishop Watson about the Revolution, the Cintra tract, the letter to Captain Pasley, The Prelude and many another poem. If the revival remains critical and academic it cannot be said for that reason to lack 31 32 WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 importance. Professor Arthur Beatty’s striking work on Words- worth’s relation to David Hartley and to other English philoso- phers, which is undoubtedly the most important and original contribution to Wordsworthian scholarship since Harper’s Life, is entirely academic in both manner and matter, but again our estimate of Wordsworth’s poetry will certainly be affected by it. Moreover Wordsworth’s interest in politics and philosophy and his romance in France during the Revolution are, in their influence on his poetical development, definitely related. And though there may be a dozen opinions as to the closeness of this relation, from that of Professor Harper, who makes a thesis of it, to that of certain of his critics who lament all efforts to divert attention to any aspect of Wordsworth’s poetry besides the poetical, few readers will fail henceforth to perceive the connection between Wordsworth’s early political and romantic experiences and the development of his creative power, between his philosophical studies and his philos- ophy of life, between the whole of his preparation and the whole of his poetry. So the new books and the war together provoke all over again questionings of importance to Wordsworth’s reputation and rank as a poet, questionings never quite dormant since the days of Jeffrey and Gifford. These questionings have, indeed, never been put since those days with such vigor as in Sefior de Madariaga’s recent attack, The Case of Wordsworth (in Shelley and Calderon and Other Essays), an attack which is not completely answered by saying that Wordsworth appeals to enough people, be they almost all his own countrymen, to establish his position as one of the very greatest poets. It is possible that besides these aspects of our fresh interest in Wordsworth there is another, less well defined and still more academic, an interest in him as the forefather of the present move- ment toward naturalism in verse. But into this matter I do not here propose to venture. I shall look over the more definite field of recent critical discussion and discovery with a view to determin- ing what tendencies in it will chiefly effect any change in the tradi- tional growth of Wordsworth’s reputation. 2. WORDSWORTH’S TRADITIONAL REPUTATION AND THE NEW FACTS The reputation of a great man is hardly to be fixed. The moving present, his future, constantly unsettles it. A new WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 33 campaign for conquest by the modern Greeks changes our opinions of the wisdom of Alexander the Great. Our daily experience in 1920 affects the poetic truth and beauty of Wordsworth’s sonnets of 1820. In the two efforts that posterity constantly makes to approach a great man, the effort to see him as he was and the effort to see him in the light of what has happened since his day, it is the problematic relation between the two—a problem in rela- tivity—that could, if solved, yield the secret of his reputation. If the great man is a local character in time and place, the first effort will appear the chief one, the effort to see him as he was. If he not only shines where he was, but becomes a beacon across many lands and ages, the second effort is the chief concern for criticism. It does not follow, however, that because a great man needs to be kept up to date he is longer lived than another, that Shelley is greater than Samuel Johnson. On the contrary it might as well be argued that because the more local character is the more apt for immortalization-in a biography since criticism can see him more steadily and whole, he will loom the larger of the two. Shelley’s biography can never be finally written; Johnson’s can never be written again. But it would be difficult to predict which of those men will first go down to a grave and epitaph in the future. Also it may be remarked that the mere passage of time builds complexities about a great man, and in our effort to see him through time’s inevitable accumulations we come, in one sense, to know him less and less in proportion as there is more and more to knew. There is something in this process to give all men of the past a slightly enigmatic expression as we peer at them through the medium. Many a great man has thus grown baffling even while more of him becomes visible. But our general feeling in regard to Wordsworth is that from being an enigma in his own day he grows comparatively crystal clear to ours. The recent critical and biographical discoveries emphasize this. We have of late been on the right track and every new fact is a guide into the country whither we were going. If Wordsworth baffled the reviewers of the first quarter of the nineteenth century it is because they could not see clearly his relations with the eighteenth century, his connections, reactions, differences, in matters of philosophy, politics, and poetry, and again because they could not foresee a man like Whitman after the romanticists. It is in our day that Wordsworth has come to 34 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 his own. By its growing unlikeness to his our day enables us more and more to understand him and our need of him. In this peculiar sense he has become our heritage. His poetry has been a message clearer and more unmistakably prophctic as it has had farther to travel to us, farther in time and, in some respects, farther in taste. It comes to us now above the din of a world which it can still temper though it may not calm, and if we make a more conscious effort than before to hear his poetry, it speaks to us, when heard, more directly than ever. On the whole the double effort of criti- cism in Wordsworth’s case has been clearly balanced. His ‘‘simple life’”’ in the Lakes, his philosophy of fitting the imagination for the enjoyment of a natural existence, more significant to-day than ever, gain constantly in reality. He has preserved for us much poetic truth from eighteenth century philosophy and poetry, which, without him, would have died. In his own day of unsettling revolutions and reactions he saw, almost as clearly as we have been able to see since then, the good and the evil in democratic progress. More clearly than any other English poet or critic he has understood the power of poetry in human development. Such values none of the recent researches or discoveries callin question, neither do they make Wordsworth’s life and his poetry less accordant. There is no sign yet that we are outgrowing the need of him as he was and is. But recent criticism and research, while changing radically nothing of this, do affect our ways of explaining it. Criticism in the last ten years has found new facts for scrutiny and neglected features for emphasis and has thus to a considerable extent filled in the personal portrait of Wordsworth where it was formerly sketchy and lacking in color. It is interesting to remark that these facts and features were come upon very largely through critical scrutiny of the portrait as it was, through a definite feeling that what we had already necessitated further details. Until recently, for example, vague words, like “‘reaction” or ‘‘disillusion- ment,’’ served to explain the course of Wordsworth’s life from 1793 in France to 1800 in the Lakes, from his wandering days of active adventure to the establishment of his busy seclusion. The words, having little exact color, were unsatisfactory. Criticism has given them what they lacked. This all-important part of the picture, sketchy as it was, was the work of Wordsworth himself, especially in the tenth book of The Prelude in which he reasons himself, in WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 35 humble self-congratulatory lines, from Paris to Grasmere. It offers a good instance of poetry’s painting the picture less vividly than criticism when poetry contents itself with mere generaliza- tion. The picture as criticism and research have filled it in now approaches wholeness. The blur of unreality has nearly vanished. If Wordsworth’s moral character suffers from this enlargement, it becomes for us at the same time a truer character. Let us briefly summarize the newly discovered facts relating to Wordsworth’s French daughter as they are given by Professor Harper and M. Legouis. Wordsworth met, probably at Orleans, early in 1792, a girl four years his senior, Annette Vallon, daughter of a surgeon of Blois. Her father was dead. Her mother had remarried, and though she had other relatives she seems to have lived much by herself. It is probable that the story of Vaud- racour and Julia records Wordsworth’s attachment to her. Annette removed to Blois early in the spring and then returned to Orleans in August or September. The poet was in Orleans in September, in Paris at the end of October, and he there heard the news of the birth of his daughter who was born at Orleans on December 15th, 1792. The child was baptized on that date in the cathedral church of Sainte Croix, ‘‘Anne Caroline Wordswodsth (sic), daughter of Williams Wordswodsth, Anglois, and of Marie Anne Vallon.” At the end of December Wordsworth returned to England without having seen Caroline. He gave his daughter his name, but for reasons only to be surmised failed to marry Annette. It is possible that Wordsworth, in spite of the war that had begun, was in France again in the autumn of 1793, for he told Carlyle in 1840 that he was present at the execution of Gorsas, the first of the Girondists to fall. Probably he did not go as far as Blois where Annette was then living with relatives and caring for her daughter at a house not far away. Wordsworth’s disconsolate wanderings in England and the dismal verse which he wrote at this time are perhaps thus accounted for. After he settled at Racedown with Dorothy in 1795 his state of mind improved. Just before his marriage to Mary Hutchinson he went with Dorothy, in August, 1802, to visit Annette and Caroline at Calais, where he wrote the sonnet, “‘It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free,” to his French daughter. At this time Annette was thirty-six and Wordsworth thirty-two. They appear to have acted “reasonably.” They had after ten years comparatively little in common. Annette was a Royalist involved 36 WoORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 in Bourbon plots against the Republic. She never married. She had wished ardently to marry Wordsworth, as is evident from her letters.!. Wordsworth married Mary Hutchinson in October, 1802. Annette saw him only once more, eighteen years later, and can have had little support of any kind from him. He shortly stopped writing her personally. What letters she had came from Dorothy. Her career, meanwhile, in connection with the adventurous fortunes of her brother, Paul Vallon, and as an agent of the Chouans, is traced or surmised by M. Legouis. In 1816, February 28th, at Paris, Caroline married Jean Baptiste Martin Baudouin whom she probably met through the accident of Wordsworth’s acquaintance with his brother, a prisoner of war in England from 1811 to 1814.2, Annette and Caroline were most anxious to have Dorothy present, but owing to a multitude of circumstances this became impossible. Wordsworth gave her no dowry. He was godfather by proxy to her first child, born in this year, and in com- pany with his wife and Dorothy and Crabb Robinson visited Annette and the Baudouins in Paris in October 1820. It was probably on this occasion that he presented Annette or Caroline with his pencil portrait by Edward Nash and with a finely bound copy of the 1815 edition of his poems.’ He refused in 1842, after Annette’s death, an appeal from Caroline’s husband for financial aid and seems to have regarded the appeal as an imposition.‘ Annette died in 1841, Caroline in 1862. The poet’s French descendants are said to be numerous and prosperous. The cue to this information was discovered by Professor Harper among. the British Museum manuscripts in a series of letters written by Dorothy Wordsworth to Mrs. Clarkson. The main facts were at once admitted by the Wordsworth family, and Professor Harper was able to discover in France the birth and 1 There is a letter written in 1793 that was stopped by the French police and preserved in the Paris archives. The first letter that we know of reaching Words- worth was in November, 1795. Possibly no letters got through after that till the preliminaries of the Peace of Amiens made it possible. A series of letters exchanged between William and Annette is noted in Dorothy’s diary from December, 1801, to March, 1802. See Harper, William Wordsworth, II, pp. 30-31, 122, 211-218. Legouis, William Wordsworth and Annette Vallon, pp. 29-47. ? Legouis, Welliam Wordsworth and Annctle Vallon, p. 94. 3Sce Legouis, William Wordsworth and Annette Vallon, p. 109. ‘Edith Morley, Wordsworth’s French Daughter, London Times Literary Supplement, February 15, 1923. WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 37 marriage certificates of Caroline Wordsworth and to identify definitely Annette and her family connections. There are no papers now in possession of the Wordsworth family that bear on the situation. M. Legouis was persuaded by Professor Harper to take up the search, and in the archives at Paris, Orleans, and Blois, and from the descendants of Caroline and of Paul Vallon, he collected a hundred items, including family portraits, that fill out the story which he has told in a volume of extraordinary interest. How do these facts affect our estimate of Wordsworth? We used to say that Wordsworth, having had his allowance cut off, was forced to return to England at just the moment when he wished to become a man of action in the French Revolution, and that in spite of a lingering interest in the fortunes of the Girondist party he seemed almost instantly on touching English soil to begin to grow into the Tory Englishman he finally became, into the “‘lost leader,’”’ the conventional and elderly British laureate. We used to repeat with Wordsworth that though he was “‘dragged”’ by what “seemed” a chain of “harsh necessity,” it turned out later to be ‘“‘the gracious providence of Heaven’’—for it saved him perhaps from death and preserved him to Dorothy.5 We have now many more strokes of the brush in this part of the picture and strokes that center our attention upon this part. We perceive that Wordsworth, having a mistress in France of as good family as his own and a child bearing his name, and having left them at Blois or Orleans with the intention of returning, must have considerably deadened his poetical fervor by the reasoning process he went through before harsh necessity seemed gracious providence. For Wordsworth was no light-minded young man who would break such ties without a long mental struggle. He was not the kind of young man who would argue—with posterity—that because he was living in the eighteenth century such an act would be forgiven him. It is doubtful, even had he surmised our critical “relativity,” if he would have lightened his distress by simply throwing over his precious burdens. Yet in this instance we confess that he appears to have returned ingloriously to his own harbor, tied up to her docks, and settled down in a cottage ashore, leaving the voyage of his romantic adventure forever uncompleted. We have a right to believe that his future way of thinking, in so far as it became 5 Prelude, X, 222-236. 38 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 an elderly and reminiscent way, was considerably affected, and not for his poetic good, by what he granted to the course of events in the seven years preceding 1800. It was a habit encouraged by the philosophy of David Hartley to which he was devoted, but also somewhat by his fear of logical experience. It was a way of thinking that gave him possibly, in this case too, an ‘‘emotion recollected”’ till “the tranquillity gradually disappears,” but cer- tainly not producing “‘a kindred emotion” to make him act as he once would have acted. Neither does the new part of the picture anywhere happen to show Wordsworth as a gencrous man, in any phase of the immediate matter with Annette, nor in his later care for his daughter. He was decent, probably far-sighted, frank enough with his wife and sister and his best friends,’ but not generous—a wise victim in this matter, as in many others, of his habitual fearsomeness. The majority of critics agree that Wordsworth probably acted for the happiness of Mlle. Vallon in not marrying her, for it does not require much imagination to see the French girl and her daughter quite unhappy in an English village. (Nor does it, we may add, require more imagination to perceive that Dorothy gave Wordsworth greater sympathy than even a wife and daughter can often give.) The fact is, however, that he did not marry Annette “unwisely”’ when he might only too well have done so, and that at a later moment when dangers were past and he might have claimed his daughter and her mother he engaged himself to Mary Hutchinson. He visited France in August, 1802, to break the news presumably as gently as possible, and there is some inclina- tion to regard this effort as rather handsome. In all of this we know nothing of Wordsworth’s reasons. The picture there is vividly incomplete. M. Legouis guesses, and one wonders if he is not even righter than he could be if he knew the truth.® Wordsworth at the end of this matter appears to have played safe, to have adventured little. That so to act was due to his ® See especially Miss Edith Morley’s items from Crabb Robinson’s Remains, London Times Lit. Sup., Feb. 15, 1923, and M. Legouis’s reply in that journal for March 8, 1923. 7G. M. Harper, Wordsworth’s French Daughter; E. Legouis, William Words- worth and Annclte Vallon, p. 66. SE. Legouis, William Wordsworth and Annelte Vallon, pp. 26-27, 33-35, 37-39, 73. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 39 character rather than to the mischance of circumstances is highly probable. For it is in line with a trait of his, illustrated by the story of several of his political writings and by his steady change of temper from that of the Radical to that of the Tory. He had already ceased in 1793 from being an adventurer except in his own mind, and this other matter appears to be a part, whether cause or effect we cannot know, of his reaction from impulse and romance toward philosophy, toward safety, toward England. Both M. Legouis and Professor Harper, though with different emphasis, make this clear enough. M. Legouis thinks the French episode produced Ruth, The Mad Mother, The Thorn, The Ruined Cottage, Her Eyes are Wild, and that Wordsworth, like his con- temporary Goethe, got rid of romantic remorse by writing illustra- tive poems. It seems to me that Goethe’s confessions hardly give evidence of remorse, so full are they of the original glamor of the romance, and as for Wordsworth’s “confessions,” rather than sounding like confessions at all, they sound like the unemotional pages of a social worker’s case book. 3. THE RELATION OF WORDSWORTH’S ROMANTIC AND POLITICAL EXPERIENCES TO HIS CAREER AS A POET Wordsworth’s political wisdom in The Prelude, his commentary on the promise and failure of revolutionism, a wisdom matured and concurred in through his whole later life and not set forth in print till after his death, has long convinced Wordsworthians that he was both the sanest and the most vigorous political thinker of all the English poets. Memorable passages in The Prelude, taken together with such poems as the set he entitled Poems Ded:cated to National Independence and Liberty, written between 1802 and 1816, are ample support for this opinion.? Now the very reason why his attitude in 7'e Prelude seems to many people political wisdom is that it is distinctly the wisdom of a disillusion- ized Radical, of a Radical who is going to be a Tory. Again the reason why the attitude of certain later poems seems like wisdom is because their author is a Tory who has once been a Radical, because they sound reflectively judicious rather than impulsively 9See A. H. D. Acland, Wordsworth’s Patriotic Poetry; with Introduction and Notes. 1915. Also, F. S. Boas, Wordsworth’s Patriotic Poems and their Significance To-day. Ynglish Association, Pamphlet No. 30. 1914. 40 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 sincere. So nowhere will Wordsworth seem, as a political poet, so poetical as Byron or Coleridge or Shelley. But while it is quite probable that his reserve and judgment rob us of some fine revolutionary fervor, it can be fairly questioned if it is right to say that his development as a poet of nature is largely determined by his political reactions, by his reactions from revolutionism. Professor Harper, who would not agree that his reaction is good sense or political wisdom, can easily point to the fact that this reaction accompanied, if it did not cause, Words- worth’s rapid diminution of poetic power. This is, indeed, the central part of Professor Harper’s thesis, and when he makes it a determining factor in Wordsworth’s poetical development some authorities think he goes too far. Certainly it can be differently argued. It can be said that since revolutionism had not in his most ardent days inspired him to high poetry, it was not the change of his interests that robbed him of inspiration. It can also be said that his return from France, his rediscovered delight in a quiet country life and in Dorothy, the spirit of hills and lakes, his very removal from political ardors and endurances, that these were his greatest inspirations since forthwith he was able to write poems of immediate personal experiences about things that before his French days he had seen too largely through eighteenth century eyes. Politics had stirred his soul, had given him power, but it was his reaction from the political world, it was Dorothy, not Annette, the simple life, not the debating clubs, that set free the poetry. With still another emphasis one can say that the poetry Words- worth did not write out of his revolutionary soul, the feelings he denied expression, the experiences he determined not to follow up but to suppress or neglect, became negative elements in his being and forced him to live in a less intense and youthful part of his mind. So, while in one sense this discipline guided him to the beau- tiful things of his vision and faith, it somewhat limited his move- ments. It was like a moralist at his elbow—though a young man who had already determined to make his ‘‘moral being”’ his “‘prime care,” could not, perhaps, have freely utilized more room. One sees how easy it is to look at this matter with some truth from a variety of angles and how logic can take one to a number of different conclusions. But the weightiest opinion here, and not alone because of its author’s unrivalled familiarity with the whole WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 41 of Wordsworth’s career, is that of Professor Harper,!° whose posi- tion I will now briefly set forth. Professor Harper, noting that Wordsworth’s youth, disproportionately to his maturity, is his period of vital experience, believes that a diminishing experience and an inability to keep his memory of his youthful opinions green forms a temper in him less and less favorable to the inspired composition of poetry."! Wordsworth grows too rapidly reminis- cent. The storehouse of his youth does not suffice him, but he is satisfied with it. His early days were dominated by special enthusiasms which gradually disappear and he comforts himself with general ideas. His disillusionment in regard to his early hopes damps his poetic ardor generally. His letter to Bishop Watson, the Cintra tract, and several other prose documents shew him to be a serious political thinker. But in politics as in poetry, Harper contends, there are two Wordsworths. There is the Wordsworth of Blois and Orleans in 1792, frequenter of revolutionist clubs, friend of Beaupuy, writer of the letter just mentioned—a ‘‘splendidly youthful,” a ‘‘noble pamphlet,’—the Wordsworth who associated with the English Jacobins of 1793, the Wordsworth whose publisher was also publisher for Priestly, Horne Tooke, Mary Wollstonecraft, who was at odds with his conservative family over political views, who was still in 1797 regarded as ‘‘a dangerous man” because he knew Thelwall and Thomas Poole. And then there is the Tory Wordsworth of, let us say, 1818, arguing in 7wo Addresses to the Freeholders of West- morland ‘“‘that the feudal power yet surviving in England is eminently serviceable in counteracting the popular tendency to reform,” or ‘‘the complete Tory” of 1821 opposing the abolition of the Test and Corporation Acts and any extension of the parlia- mentary franchise, or the “‘modern Jeremiah” of 1831, ‘haunted with visions of what might befall England should the Reform Bill pass’”’ or should Dissenters increase. Professor Harper sees again and again between Wordsworth’s views of society and the quality of his verse ‘“‘a mysterious connection.”’ He cites with 10G. M. Harper, William Wordsworth. Ilis Life, Works, and Influence, 2 vols, 1916. 1 See especially the chapters which Professor Harper entitles Reircat and Surrender and Creeping Shadows, I, pp. 267-299, 374-394. 2G. M. Harper, Willizm Wordsworth. II, p. 330. 42 WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 satisfaction the remark that while Coleridge’s lapse into con- servatism was the result of a moral decline, Wordsworth’s moral decline was the result of his lapse into conservatism. As a political thinker, though Wcrdsworth was at first splendidly in earnest he was also greatly cautious.’ Harper says that Wordsworth “hed not a real confidence in himself. He was curiously com- pounded of timorousness and courage. He was unwilling to take the consequences of the boldest and best acts of his life.”’ His affair with Mlle. Vallon certainly shows at once strong impulse and great caution. It would seem that his self-discipline in this matter was carried so far as to prevent his recollecting the passion of love even in tranquillity with anything like the original emotion, for there is only one poem that contains a passage to be cited against this opinion. His growth as a poet was thus conditioned by a dwindling fervor, by a changing political and social faith, and he becomes not a poet of his most vital enthusiasms but of his reactionary moods—a poet of philosophy, the philosophy of solace and restraint. He becomes therefore a teacher, something more than a poet, and as he grows cold to his earliest generous impulses he finds himself a poet more and more rarely and a teacher too readily. It is not possible to set forth Professor Harper’s position in this compass with anything like complete fairness, for in his two volumes it receives too many qualifications. But as here described it is perhaps the position with which most of his reviewers have 4% Wordsworth’s reply was to Bishop Watson’s “extraordinary avowal of his political principles, contained in the appendix to his late sermon.” Both sermon and appendix were printed in 1793, but Wordsworth never printed his own answer, leaving it for Grosart to do in 1876, and probably never even sent it to the Bishop. Wordsworth signed his letter ‘‘A Republican,” and it is Grosart’s opinion that “it may not be assumed that even to old age William Wordsworth would have disavowed a syllable of this ‘Apology.’ Technically, he might not have held to the name ‘Republican,’ but to the last his heart was with the oppressed, the suffering, the poor, the silent.” It is the opinion of Grosart and Harper that the letter was never sent. - For the Tract on the Convention of Cintra, 1809, see Professor J. E. Wells, The Stery of Wordswerth’s Cintra, discussed below, p. 45, and Harper’s Life, II, pp. 176-181. Tke letter to Captain Pasley, Royal Engineers, 1811, which Professor Harper does not discuss, should also be mentioned here. It was sent and courteously replied to. Taken in copnection with the two preceding writings it is evidence of Words- worth’s increasingly British point of view. See p. 45, note 18. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 43 agreed or taken issue. A certain number of them take issue fundamentally, assert that since Wordsworth is primarily a poet of nature it is a mistake to enlarge on his political significance, that his poetry is in no real sense conditioned by his political experiences, that it is a mere fashion of the hour to argue this point. Thus Mr. John Bailey believes Professor Harper’s emphasis amounts to a falsification, and Professor Palmer, Professor Davison, Professor Seccombe, in reviews of the book, express considerable doubt as to its wisdom.“ Mr. Bailey, true to the | traditions of the Quarterly, in which he writes, makes his state- ments emphatic, calls Professor Harper ‘‘a Godwinian rationalist to whom emotion is anathema, to whom any one man is as im- portant as is another, for whom ‘social virtue consists, not in the love of this or the other individual, but in the love of man.’”’ He adds that Wordsworth, on the other hand, ‘‘was a complete human being.”” His review is a curious one since after condemning Harper for his emphasis of the political side it proceeds to prove conclusively how extraordinarily interesting that side is and adds a number of new items in that particular field. Yet Mr. Bailey feels that Wordsworth never changed his point of view in politics, and that “neither his youthful radicalism nor his elderly Toryism affected very much more than the outskirts of his mind,” and that it is untrue to say of Wordsworth as Professor Harper does, ‘‘that he cursed what he once blessed and blessed what he once cursed.” Professor Palmer, who ranks Harper’s book with Masson’s Milton, Elwin’s Pope, and Dowden’s Shelley among the distinctive works of English scholarship of this kind, thinks that Wordsworth’s change to Toryism hardly brought on a moral decline but rather that his Toryism is merely the result of his growing old in thought. And while he agrees with Harper that there are distinctly two Wordsworths he does not see the distinction between the two as dependent on degrees of adherence to democracy. Professor Dicey, who had contributed in two articles in The Nineteenth Century and After the most important study of this question of Wordsworth’s political opinions before Harper’s book appeared and who reprinted it in revised form in 1917 under the title of The Statesmanship of Wordsworth, takes a still different 4 John Bailey, Quarterly Review, July 1916; G. H. Palmer, Harvard Theologi- cal Review, Jan. 1917; W. T. Davison, London Quarterly Review, July 1916; T. Seccombe, New Wainess, April 6, 1916. 44 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 position. He believes in the importance of Wordsworth’s political views in connection with his poetical development but he does not believe that there are two Wordsworths in a political sense. I suppose that no one would disagree that there are two Wordsworths in the sense of the well known parody on Wordsworth’s sonnet, “Two voices are there’; but that there is a connection between the two voices of the poet and the two men, the earlier and the later Wordsworth whom Professor Harper and Professor Palmer recognize, Professor Dicey doubts entirely. For politically he sees but one Wordsworth. His argument is of extraordinary interest, comparable to the argument by which one may undertake to show Burke to be a consistent political thinker from one end of his career to the other in a fickle and reactionary world. He argues that Wordsworth is not, like so many others of his time, a weathercock, which, having grown rusty, sets up as a signpost. He believes that his political ideas have so close a relation with his ideas about poetry that if one thinks Wordsworth a true poet he should also think him a true and consistent politician. This leads him to examine Wordsworth’s own study of Burke and to conclude that just as Burke, from a certain point of view, is a pro- gressive throughout his career, so is Wordsworth a progressive and not a reactionary, certainly not a turncoat. Indeed along this line Wordsworth can be made out to be more consistent than Burke. For it does not take a grain of sophistication to perceive that the man who was an enthusiast for the French national ambitions before the Terror and before Napoleon, and who was keenly awake to the fact that both Frenchmen and Englishmen failed to remember the spirit in which the Revolution had been conceived, would be a man very apt to express himself on national ambitions as he did in the tract on the Convention of Cintra and to refuse during the last years of his life to cheat himself with sentimental optimism. Wordsworth’s condemnation of the Terror as produced by a terrific reservoir of guilt And ignorance filled up from age to age, : That could no longer hold its loathsome charge Fut burst and spread in deluge through the land;'§ his refusal to say a word in extenuation of the crimes of the Terrorists; his loyalty to the Republican cause until it was no % Prelude, X, 477-480. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 45 longer a Republican cause; his feeling that France had the right’ to choose for herself her form of government, and that England had no right to invade France and force upon her a government she detested; his feeling that England’s declaration of war in 1793 was a political error and a moral crime, since England was thereby joining allies who cared nothing for liberty; his feeling that by 1798 France was not the defender but the assailant of liberty: Now, become oppressors in their turn, Frenchmen had changed a war of self-defence For one of conquest, losing sight of all Which they had struggled for;"* his admiration of Burke!” which seems to have led him, when opportunity came, to write his Cintra tract arguing for the principle of nationalism in settling terms of peace rather than for the principle of holding fast what the fortunes of war had given to the various participants—these things to Professor Dicey all appear consistent with each other. Professor Dicey’s edition of the Cintra tract, taken together with Wordsworth’s letter to Captain Pasley, makes interesting evidence for Professor Dicey’s contention, and though it is a contention of quite opposite purport to Professor Harper’s it none the less gives an authoritative sanction, were that needed, for the emphasis which Wordsworth’s political interests receive in Harper’s book.!® In this general connection we must notice the interesting and not insignificant side light thrown by Professor J. E. Wells upon % Prelude, XI, 206-209. 17 See Harper, William Wordsworth, I, pp. 108, 219-220, for the exact qualifica- tion of Wordsworth’s admiration of Burke. 18 Regarding the letter to Captain Pasley see The Spectator for June 7, 1913, Wordsworth on Military Policy. The Spectator cites the letter, which had been reprinted in the United Service Magazine for April, 1913, as evidence that Words- worth was not in mid-life a reactionary. Wordsworth’s letter was in reply to, and also in agreement with, Pasley’s pamphlet on Military Policy and Institutions of the British Empire, in which a somewhat militaristic point of view is maintained respecting the course of British arms in the campaigns and negotiations of 1811. Wordsworth’s letter is written from Grasmere, March 28, 1811. It is one of his most dignified and trenchant writings. He argues that it would be moral to retain possession of conquested territory in Europe if that were necessary for self-pro- tection, “if a great and noble nation like ours cannot prosp.: or exist without such possessions,’”’ and at the same time he shows himself an unbiased critic of militaristic policy. The temper of the letter can perhaps be suggested by the fact that on September 12, 1914 The Spectator reprinted a large part of it under the title Wordsworth on War. 46 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 Wordsworth’s politics and especially upon the Cintra tract in an article entitled The Story of Wordsworth’s Cintra. This treatise is, in fact, an extraordinary excursion into Wordsworthian lore. One becomes spellbound by the relentlessness of the writer as he ransacks the LLP and the LWF for the last shred of evidence of Wordsworth’s apprehensions during the nerve-racking period just before publication. Wordsworth’s state of mind, a sort of stage fright, is a common enough agony, but Professor Wells’s piece of psychical research into this particular case is, I believe, a unique labor. Recognizing that Professor Dicey has dealt thoroughly with the political aspect of the tract, Professor Wells proposes to show “the various stages of conception and composition,” to indicate the ‘‘peculiarities of the various texts,” and to afford ‘‘a closer view of the life of Allan Bank during the winter and spring of 1808-1809 than has yet been developed,’’ to ‘‘suggest the state of mind and the attitudes of the prominent persons concerned,”’ and to illustrate “features that are not uninteresting in themselves and that are representative of common human nature and ex- perience.” Though he fulfills this rather elaborate promise he feels that even such minute knowledge as he exploits will fall far short of being the complete story of the case. ‘‘He who would tell the inner making of Wordsworth’s Cintra would compose a sublime epic of the soul.” What Professor Wells actually does, then, is to supply us in advance with the footnotes for this epic. They form one of the most elaborate descriptions on record of an author’s worries during the publication of his book, and when we consider that the book appeared a hundred and twelve years ago we marvel the more at this piece of learned wizardry. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Dorothy, Sara Coleridge, De Quincey, Daniel Stuart, half owner of the London Courier in which the tract was to be printed, Street, managing editor and partner, together with the gentlemen of the footnotes and sub-footnotes—Grosart, Knight, Masson, Japp, Harper, Dicey—all of these play upon Mr. Wells’s stage, well lighted by the midnight oil, an extraordinary comedy. Allan Bank, with its smoking fireplaces, soot-covered furniture, cold rooms, is the scenery; William’s alternate headaches and en- thusiams, and Dorothy’s devotion are the atmosphere—matter 19 Studtes in Philology, Jan. 1921. ¢ WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 47 fora Trollope. Nothing is left out. “The Tract,’’ says Professor Wells, ‘‘shows slightly over one hundred and fifty changes in punctuation from the Courier text.’”’ A veritable epic of hardship! —from the reading of which any one is surely at liberty to decide that Wordsworth could never again have been quite himself, and that De Quincey’s deeper troubles must also date from this year of proof reading and punctuation. Other new items of biographical interest are to be found in articles by Miss E. C. Dunn, Mr. Maurice Hewlett, Mr. A. Mac- Dowall, Mr. G. G. Wordsworth, Mr. I. A. Williams, and Mr. E. S. Roscoe, described in the appended bibliography. 4. WORDSWORTH’S PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES AND HIS PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE But since Professor Harper’s book, with its new emphasis and its new facts, by far the most important and far-reaching investiga- tion is Professor Arthur Beatty’s William Wordsworth—His Doctrine and Art in their Historical Relations, a work which has been long in preparation?® and which has been much discussed among the author’s acquaintance. It seeks to found Words- worth’s poetical practice on certain studies of his in eighteenth century philosophy, especially on his deep belief in the association- ism of David Hartley. A discoverer is apt to overstress his point, and Professor Beatty has made a discovery of the first importance, comparable _ only to Harper’s discovery of Wordsworth’s French daughter; but unlike Professor Harper, who could leave it largely to others to fill out the whole guess as to its meaning, he has had to take upon himself the entire burden of proof. In the one case it was necessary only to establish a set of facts; here it has been necessary to expound and inculcate a doctrine. Whatever exaggeration may be detected in Professor Beatty’s book can hardly obscure a new essential truth. David Hartley is Wordsworth’s master in as intimate a sense as any philosopher has ever been master to a poet. Terms that Wordsworth was constantly employing, such as nature, emotion, power, fancy, imagination, reason, as well as his most important ideas regarding the three ages of man, the significance of infancy, 20 Sce an article by Professor Beatty on Wordsworth and Harlley, N. Y. Nation, July 17, 1913. 48 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 the value of early experience of beauty for the burdened soul in later years, find their source and perhaps their most vital explanation in Hartley’s Observations on Man. It is no more ex- traordinary that Annette Vallon should have been a secret from Wordsworthians until this day than that it should remain for an American professor, taking a hint from the definite statements of both Wordsworth and Coleridge regarding Hartley, as well as from the name of Coleridge’s son, to discover Hartley’s philosophy of associationism as an indubitable influence in the formation of Wordsworth’s most Wordsworthian notions. There is no hint of this matter in the works of Legouis, Raleigh, or Harper, and only the faintest hint of it in Sir Leslie Stephen’s Wordsworthian studies. Ten years ago the writer of this summary, in a pamphlet entitled Wordsworth’s Mind, explained without reference to Hartley Wordsworth’s doctrine of ‘‘associative power,” and quite failed to see how the doctrine when properly understood is a key to the scheme of Wordsworth’s poetry. That associationism does explain the scheme is Professor Beatty’s thesis. Associationism suited Wordsworth’s inclination to believe that the graduated experiences” of life, associated by ideas deriving from them and preparing for them, should become the index of thought and the basis of character. That all ideas come from experience is of course the common-sense and typically English philosophy, and Hartley, starting with this principle of Locke’s, develops an explanation of mind of which Wordsworth’s Prelude— or, Growth of a Poet’s Mind; an Autobiographical Poem is a sing- ularly close illustration. Hartley holds that our emotions are merely, ‘‘aggregates of simple ideas united by association,” excited ‘“‘by objects and by the incidents of life’? which, however, have no power of affecting us (of producing emotions or affections) but what they derive from association. When Wordsworth speaks of associative power in The Prelude this is obviously what he is thinking of. Hartley gives a list of emotions under general heads, seven in all, which, when acting on each other in a certain order, tend constantly to elevate the results of experience from mere sensation toward moral sense. Professor Beatty quotes from The Prelude the well known passage beginning, 21 See Professor Beatty’s fifth chapter on The Three Ages of Man. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 49 the earth And common face of Nature spake to me Rememberable things,” a passage expressing the pith of associationism. The description Wordsworth gives of poetry in his Preface to the Lyrical Ballads (1800) is Hartley pure and simple. ‘‘Not that I mean to say, that I always began to write with a distinct purpose formally conceived; but I believe that my habits of meditation have so formed my feelings, as that my descriptions of such objects as strongly excite those feelings, will be found to carry along with them a purpose. If in this opinion I am mistaken I can have little right to the name of Poet. For all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings; but though this be true, Poems to which any value can be attached, were never produced on any variety of subjects but by a man who being possessed of more than usual organic sensibility had also thought long and deeply. For our continued influxes of feeling are modified and directed by our thoughts, which are indeed the representatives of all our past feelings; and as by contemplating the relation of these general representatives to each other, we discover what is really important to men, so by the repetition and continuance of this act feelings connected with important subjects will be nourished, till at length, if we be originally possessed of much organic sensibility, such habits of mind will be produced that by obeying blindly and mechanically the impulses of those habits we shall describe objects and utter sentiments of such a nature and such connection with each other, that the understanding of the being to whom we address ourselves, if he be in a healthful state of association, must be in some degree enlightened, his taste exalted, and his affections ameliorated.” It will be seen that Hartley’s philosophy is optimistic. In the man, who is in a healthful state of association, experiences, through the categorical law of association, tend to grow more significant for his moral being, since they tend constantly to change from mere impressions or sensations into ideas that are active in a . moral sense. This Professor Beatty puts as follows: ‘‘Thus by the inevitable processes of life every soul under the guidance of association seeks good and happiness and pleasure, and arrives 2 Prelude, I, 586. 50 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 at Sympathy, the love of God, and the highest reaches of the moral sense. In this way the poet in his individual growth to sympathy with men and to moral sense, as he portrays his own development in The Prelude, was but following out the laws of growth as laid down by Hartley; and the ultimate end of his own development and of Hartley’s philosophy is ultimate good and optimism.’ It is not difficult to see what bearing this has on Wordsworth’s theory of imagination, the relation of imagination to experience and knowledge, which he learned from Coleridge and Hartley together. It is the activity of the mind that produces knowledge. ‘“Men must think and know for themselves,” says Locke. . . “The floating of other men’s opinions in our brains, makes us not one jot the more knowing, though they happen to be true. What in them was science, is in us but opiniatrety; whilst we give up our assent only to reverenced names, and do not, as they did, employ our own reason to understand those truths which gave them reputation . .. In the sciences every one has so much as he really knows and comprehends. What he believes only, and takes upon trust, are but shreds, which, however well in the whole piece, make no considerable addition to his stock who gathers them. Such borrowed wealth, like fairy money, though it were gold in the hand from which he received it, will be but leaves and dust when it comes to us.’*4 The kind of mental activity that counts for good, that is in fact the active principle of which Wordsworth speaks in his poetry, is the associative power. Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society. How strange that all The terrors, pains, and early miseries, Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused Within my mind, should e’er have borne a part, And that a needful part, in making up The calm existence that is mine when I Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end! Thanks to the means which Nature dcigned to employ.* 23 Arthur Beatty, William Wordsworth—Iis Doctrine and Art, p. 108. * Arthur Beatty, William Wordsworth—His Doctrine and Art, p. 140. % Prelude, I, 340-351. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 51 Also the associationist will maintain that there are moments or, as Wordsworth says, “‘spots of time” during which the associative power is most beneficently active and which therefore stand out in memory with greater import. There are in our existence spots of time That with distinct pre-eminence maintain A renovating virtue, whence, depressed By false opinion and contentious thought, On aught of heavier or more deadly weight In trivial occupations, and the round Of ordinary intercourse, our minds Are nourished and invisibly repaired.™ In this intellectual activity the power developed, the power that makes such spots of time memorable, is imagination. It is not just intellect. It ‘‘is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is the countenance of all Science. It is the first and last of all knowledge; it is as immortal as the heart of man.’”?? This is perhaps sufficient to indicate the significance of Pro- fessor Beatty’s critical discovery. Applied to such poems of prime importance as Tintern Abbey, Ode on Intimations of Immortality, and to the reiterated doctrine of The Prelude it is deeply informing. We knew before in each case what the poems meant. Now we see more definitely their line of connection. There is enough casual evidence of Wordsworth’s interest in Hartley to make Professor Beatty’s discovery all the more surpris- ing. In 1808 Wordsworth wrote to Richard Sharp: “Take, for instance, in Philosophy, Hartley’s book upon Man. How many years did it sleep in almost entire oblivion!’’? Godwin, of whom Wordsworth was a disciple before he deserted him for Hartley, directs his readers to Hartley. Coleridge was interested in Hartley. He named his first-born after him. Lamb, in a letter to Coleridge in 1797, suggests his writing a long poem on Hartley’s Five Motives to Conduct. Hazlitt printed in 1805 his Essay onthe Principles of Human Action: Being an Argument in favour of the Natural Disinterestedness of the Human Mind. To which are added, Some Remarks on the Systems of Hartley and Helvétius. % Prelude, XII, 208-215. 27 Arthur Beatty, William Wordsworth—His Doctrine and Art, p. 160. 52 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 Professor Beatty has in associationism a starting point from which he would go on to explain nearly all the puzzles in Words- worth. Feeling sure, from Wordsworth’s own statements about his poems and from his efforts so to arrange them to bear out those statements, that his poetry is a whole, a philosophically conceived illustration of associative law, he is interested to discover how to fit all of Wordsworth into the one scheme of associationism. There lies the danger for him as a critic, and it is not a danger that he compromises with. He accepts the challenge completely. He believes that he can use all the pieces in the puzzle. If his friend, Professor O. J. Campbell, has a theory about the Margaret, Ruth, Ellen narratives as being the result of Wordsworth’s adop- tion of the moral doctrines of 18th century sentimentalism,?® Professor Beatty allows it little weight. He thinks that neither Hartley nor Wordsworth was in accord with the sentimental morality of Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Butler, and that such poems as those in question must be interpreted in accordance with associationism, which Professor Campbell does not take specifically into account, and must not be interpreted in accordance with sentimentalism. Professor Beatty’s explanation, that is, is a narrower one. Where M. Legouis, ignorant of Wordsworth’s Hartleyism or for the moment ignoring it, suggests that these poems may be illustrations of Wordsworth’s own remorse over his treatment of Annette Vallon, and where Professor Campbell, informed as he is about Hartley, nevertheless sees them in the more general light of 18th century humanitarianism, Professor Beatty will see little in them but associationism and will allow them no real significance that does not hark back to that. Again Professor Campbell gives a very neat explanation of Peter Bell with which Professor Beatty partly agrees and at the same time seems to find hardly necessary since associationism is once more arply sufficient to dissolve even that ‘“‘center of controversy.” This, then, is the most important contribution in the philo- sophical field of Wordsworthian criticism, the most striking explanation yet presented of the meaning of Wordsworth’s own claim, and of Coleridge’s claim for him, to a new and distinct achievement in English poetry. ‘‘We have made it as plain as it 28(). J. Campbell, Sentintental Morality in Wordsworth’s Nerrative Poetry. 1920. WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 §3 is possible for us to do,” says Professor Beatty in conclusion, “that Wordsworth is a philosophical poet, and a philosophical poet not merely in the general sense of a contemplative or medita- tive poet, but a philosophical poet who expresses a distinctive philosophy. That is to say, we have tried to show that he is the poet of the English philosophy of Locke and his school in general, and of the English associationistic philosophy in particular.” 5. THE CONTENTION THAT WORDSWORTH IS NOT A POET BUT A ““MASTER’”’ With so much emphasis as there has recently been on Words- worth’s politics and philosophy it is inevitable that some one should raise, with more serious critical intention than since the days of Jeffrey, the question of whether Wordsworth is a poet at all. This is a question that every sincere critic touches when he describes Wordsworth’s limitations and defects, as Professor Winchester has done in his recent popular study of Wordsworth,” or as Miss Barstow®® and Fraulein Zigmann*! have done in their studies of specia] topics. Fraulein Zigmann’s thesis opens with a chapter on the comparative neglect of Wordsworth in Germany, both in his own day and since, a neglect she attributes to a narrow English point of view and to an affected and artificial simplicity that compares unfavorably with Goethe’s simplicity. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch” and the late Mr. Clutton-Brock® in recent essays give reasons for Wordsworth’s lack of intensity and passion, attributing his limitations here to a reaction against his early experiences or to a discipline resulting from them.* Professor Knowlton® has pointed out that the originality of Michael as a pastoral consists in the omission of a love episode, and we may feel morally certain that no amount of such scholarly skill as Professor Campbell has shown in explaining the nature of Words- 39 C. T. Winchester, William Wordsworth: How to Know Him. 1916. *® Marjorie L. Barstow, Wordsworth’s Theory of Poetic Dictton. 1917. % Luise Zigmann, Die Englische Literatur von 1800-1850 im Urteil der Zeit- gendsstschen Deutschen Krittk. # An essay on Coleridge in Studies in Literature, 1918. ® The Problem of Wordsworth, London Mercury, Oct. 1920. “ For a very clear definition of this point of view see Prof. H. T. Baker’s article on Wordsworth and Annette, North American Review, March 1918. % The Novelty of Wordsworth’s Michael as a Pastoral. Pub. M. L. A., Dec. 1920. 54 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 worthian sentimentality in such poems as Peter Bell, the Pastor’s tales in The Excursion or The Thorn—humanitarian compassion taking the place of the love sentiment in softening the emotions— will ever satisfy those whose idea of poetry is passion. Every sincere critic is likely to touch on these matters, because here at the root of Wordsworthian controversy lies the greatest chance for fundamentally misunderstanding Wordsworth or for understanding him. Is Wordsworth a poet or no? Cana poet say that he is primarily a teacher and still be, in spite of himself, primarily a poet? Can a poet make experiments in language and call them poems? Can he write a criticism of contemporary politics and call it his highest poetry? From the day when the Quarterly tried to show that Wordsworth, the poet, was not really interested in poetry to the other day one hundred and two years later when it tried to show that Wordsworth, the critic of politics, was not really interested in politics, the controversy that persistently continues over ‘‘the case of Wordsworth” has rarely failed to come down to fundamental questions of esthetics. Whereas in Europe the controversy about Goethe has gradually ceased to concern itself with his place as a poet, that being taken for granted, the controversy over Wordsworth appears to begin constantly afresh at that point. If memories of the early re- viewers were not still painfully vivid one would be tempted to say that this is because the issue has never been sharply defined. It has, however, remained in recent years for Sefor de Madariaga to define the issue for us as it will more and more frequently be defined if Wordsworth’s fame outside of England increases.* Sefior de Madariaga asks once more if Wordsworth is primarily a poet. Is he a poetical nature, a free creative nature? Must we not admit that his poetry is primarily illustration, if not criticism? In answering let us think of Spenser, or Milton, of Keats or Shelley. Sefior de Madariaga is thinking especially of Shelley. Shelley is full of philosophy, but of a philosophy that fires the lyric power, of a philosophy that goes mad with the passion for beauty and that mixes the love-sentiment with spirituality. What has Wordsworth to offer in comparison? Could Professor Beatty’s book have come to Sefior de Madariaga’s notice while he was % S. de Madariaga, Shelley and Calderon and Other Essays, (The Case of Words- worl/i). 1921. WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 55 preparing his essay how it would have satisfied his prophetic * soul! For such proof of Wordsworth’s greatness as Professor Beatty offers would have been grist for Madariaga’s mill since he wishes to come to the conclusion that because Wordsworth is so powerfully philosophical he cannot be greatly poetical. It is an honest prejudice. Professor Beatty opens his book with mention of Madariaga’s position and concludes with a further reference to it, but I do not feel sure that this is a sufficient acknowledgement of the skill of Madariaga’s attack—though it is of course doubtful whether Madariaga would admit the real force of Professor Beatty’s defence. Indeed there is irony in the fact that all the criticism which interprets Wordsworth’s poems as he himself might have wished them to be interpreted is bound to lessen his chances with many people of being thought a poet at all. The question at issue here Sefior de Madariaga, by taking a distinctly Latin point of view, makes strikingly clear. Before examining it we have to confess that among persons of the academic profession there has been of late, let us say since Matthew Arnold, a good deal too much smugness in answering these questions in Wordsworth’s favor. These persons like to feel that they have arrived at that mature balance of mind where they find something rather flighty in the judgment that calls Shelley a greater creator of literature than Wordsworth, some- thing a trifle prejudicial to dignity in the notion that Keats should be regarded as a finer poet simply because he has told half a dozen better stories in better verse than Wordsworth. There has seemed to be something lacking in stamina in the opinion that the glory of Keats or of Shelley may still outshine the reputation which Wordsworthians have so laboriously built up for their master. They have felt that to invest their critical judgment in Words- worth has been like investing in some carefully developed institu- tion while to invest in Shelley is more and more a sheer speculation. Wordsworthians believe this. For in spite of what others may say about beauty being the great principle of poetry, it is obvious that the greatest poets have always been intent on something other than the creation of beauty and that Wordsworth’s failure to create inevitable beauty, in comparison to Shakespeare, Dante, Milton, or Goethe, has seemed to them compensated by the other purpose in his design. The argument runs that in the great poets beauty is always the medium but not the end, that in Shelley So WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 beauty is his religion and in Keats it is his one desire. But in Wordsworth any lack of it is made up by the high seriousness, the spiritual elevation, upon which he joins the ranks of the loftiest poets. Moreover as to beauty, is not Wordsworth a master at explaining and illustrating it? And if it does not always spring inevitably from the very processes of his thought, are not the processes themselves great and sincere enough to outwit our desire for more freely created beauty? In an age of materialism is not his kind of beauty more efficacious than that of any other poet? Some such conception of the academic position of Wordsworth- ians seems to have settled Sefior de Madariaga’s view of the case. Indeed, the fact that Wordsworth’s reputation has depended to such a large extent on the existence of Wordsworthians seems to Madariaga an almost certain indication that there is something wrong with this reputation. Why are there not Shakespearians and Miltonians, and why should Wordsworthians be so sensitive? Is it, perhaps, because Wordsworth, as a doctrinaire rather than a poet, is in constant need of support? But Madariaga’s charges against Wordsworth are serious. He bases his case on three counts. Wordsworth is not a poet devoted to the creation of beauty, he is not inevitably given to the culture of truth; there remains for him, therefcre, only the title of leader or master, a great title which is not, however, the laurel crown of the poet. Madariaga ot course holds that Wordsworth’s basic failure lies in his creation of a picture that is primarily a criticism instead of a real world in which beauty would be an inevitable and free result. “His work is a great work. It has spaciousness. It has elevaticn. Here and there it has depth. And it is full cf life, not merely of the amorphous substance of life, but of the infinite number of cleatures, stars and flowers and stones, mountains and valleys, seas and rivers and a multitude of human beings. It is indeed a work so spacious and peopled that one might think it a world, like that of Shakespeare or Lope de Vega. Yet, it is not a world, but a picture. And why? Because all these creatures are looking the same way, like cattle at sunset.”” To a Spaniard Wordsworth’s diction, whimsical tastes illustrated by his trivial and “low” incidents, are the definite indications of a mood which reaches its perfection only in folk poetry and which, in Wordsworth’s case, leads too often only to triviality. This mood, says Madariaga, made inspiration “‘a very unlikely accident,” for, intent on illustrat- WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 57 ing a theory, “‘his intellect never loosened his grip over his creative - soul.”? Though it is usual to think of Wordsworth as championing instinct against intellect in poetry and to associate this with his reaction from his earlier Godwinian enthusiasm, it is a notion to be chiefly derived from his preachments. When we examine his poetry itself intellect rather than feeling is seen to be at the center of inspiration. Madariaga is here saying that Wordsworth’s poetry is not nature, but ‘‘nature through the meddling intellect.’’ So he feels that his poems are ‘“‘not born one but put together,” and that though “he is an impressive quarry of poetical ore, he is not a great poet.’”’ It is inevitable, therefore, that this critic should make much of Wordsworth’s failure in the matter of lyrical variety. ‘‘Wordsworth is the poorest in rhythm of all the great English poets . . . It is doubtful whether Wordsworth had even a clear idea of what rhythm is . . . His only original and personal rhythm is that of the walker.” The second step in the argument is to try to show that Words- worth is not sufficiently concerned with truth. Quoting from M. Legouis’s article in the Cambridge History of English Literature, in which it is said that Wordsworth’s hold over many thoughtful and mature minds “‘is due to his having avowedly and, often also, practically, made truth his primary object,?? beauty being only second,’ Madariaga argues that Wordsworth is not poetical enough to be true, that he has not the impulsive and instinctive truth that alone is poetic truth. At this point in the essay one recognizes that the writer will leave no stone unturned to make out his case. He instances the Annette episode, excluded from The Prelude, and asks: ‘Is it conceivable in the name of poetic truth that an episode so essential in the formation of the poet’s mind as his first conflict with sex should be omitted from such a poem? ... It is doubtful whether Wordsworth was vigorous enough, courageous enough, single-hearted enough, to count as one of the great truth seekers of the world.” This Madariaga attributes to a supposed lack of clarity. He says that while Wordsworth’s thoughts are often penetrating, his thought is con- 37 But sce Legouis, William Wordswerth and Annetle Vallon, pp. 116-120, for a discussion containing such sentences as the following: “More intent on education than on pure truth, aspiring to play an almost sacerdotal réle, he allowed an image of himself, more edifying than exact, to take shape in his verse.” 58 WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 fused. “Out of his poetry it is difficult to draw any clear conclu- sion.”’ Upon this lack of frankness he also bases his characterization of Wordsworth as a typical British gentleman, self-protective, optimistic, greatly satisfied with and greatly concerned for his respectability. “ “My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,’ ”’ he quotes. Such sentiments are not typical of the truth seeker, the poet. But if Wordsworth is, in Sefior de Madariaga’s mind, neither a devotee of truth nor of beauty, he is ranked as a supreme teacher. His own claim, “‘to be considered as a teacher, or as nothing”’ is granted. Madariaga’s word for the quality in which Wordsworth is supreme is virtue, and his word for Wordsworth is Master. He does not apparently demand from a master or a teacher that same clarity he expects ipso facto from a poet. Clarity of explanation Wordsworth has, but not of creation. Such an argument, depending as it does very much on defini- tions of poetry, on dictums of what is morality and what is art, and on further dictums about the etiquette of making public one’s private affairs in blank verse, will not seriously flutter the dove- cotes. Yet to some people the fact that Wordsworth can never be a European poet as Goethe is a European poet will always seem to sanction a formidable attack on his purely English reputation. Does it not, however, come to this, that, though here we are not where we were one hundred years ago when Jeffrey began his incisive review of The Excursion with ‘‘This will never do,’’ Sefior de Madariaga would have it appear as if Whitman had not lived since then and as if Wordsworth could perhaps have proved the greatest force in English poetry since Milton without being a great poet? 6. WORDSWORTH’S ACADEMIC REPUTATION Like nearly every great poet Wordsworth has two reputations —that of the poet, the lyrist, the imaginator, and that of the philosopher. Like nearly every great poet he has also what may be called his popular fame and his academic reputation. And the conceptions of him which these distinctions represent may be defined in somewhat the following manner. His popular fame is that of the poet who is, however, a great poet only in rarely musical moments and who for one reason or another too often inclines to prosings which are better left unread. His academic reputation is WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 59 that of the poet who, as innovator and discoverer in both deep’ simplicities of language and decp complexities of feeling, requires much study, much philosophy before he is to be approached on his own level and known for what he held himself to signify. His popular fame, like that of most poets, emanates from a small volume of treasure trove, but also, unlike most great poets, from the popular conviction that his greatest works would better have been written in prose or not written at all. His academic reputa- tion springs from the scholarly principle of examining the whole in order to know a part, a principle that occasionally results in a not too discriminating admiration of the whole. If such distinctions are admitted it will be perceived that Wordsworth’s reputation with himself is his academic reputation. This is similarly true of many other poets; and, as with them, poetic egotism in Wordsworth’s case comes largely from this condition. But more than most other poets he had a right to demand that he should be looked at academically, or as a whole, and that, if his lyrical simplicity were to be comprehended, his philosophy should be understood. It will also be perceived that though his whole plan, which he so sedulously called attention to, is not part of his popular fame, it is the basis of his academic reputation. Now it will appear to many persons that if Wordsworth has an enduring influence on poetry, as Sefior de Madariaga not only grants but asserts, it is because his whole thought, his philosophy, Is poetically conceived. Gray and Pope are poets of immense influence, but not of immense influence on the production of great poetry. Neither appears now as a master, in Madariaga’s sense of the word. The probability is that the enduring poetry of thought will spring only from deep and not easily gauged currents, will be evoked by and in turn evoke the mysteries of thought. The great poetical thinker like Goethe, or Milton, or Dante must bea master. Wordsworth isa lesser poet than they but he rises toward them in so far as he worked in a large scheme of thought poetically and not from moment to moment. If he is to be called master it is because of this positive reason. Goethe, who said so many things about poetry that his own poems overrule, was fond of remarking that they were all Gelegenheits Gedichte, occasional poems. In one sense this is very true, but because he is a master as well as a lyrist his occasional poems are parts of a whole, of a large scheme 60 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 of thought. Wordsworth’s poems are equally Gelegenheits Gedichte and are equally parts of a philosophy. Moreover he is, like Goethe, a poetical thinker rather than a philosopher. Goethe has said that in himself philosophy destroyed poetry, that he could not adopt a purely speculative attitude but was bound to resort at once to an intuition in reaching his explanations of nature, bound, that is, to return straight to nature herself. Again, this is, if anything, truer of Wordsworth than of Goethe when they are presenting philosophical ideas. Popularly such ideas will, when- ever possible, be accepted for their immediate value, their oc- casional value; popularly their philosophy will be turned into an easy moral, and much of their larger meaning will be lost. But academically they will gain their essential truth from a reflection of the whole thought of the master. Therefore, whatever his popular appeal may be, a great poet, for the fulfillment of his meaning, will need followers, Words- worthians, Miltonians, Spenserians, Dante societies, subscribers to the Goethe Jahrbuch—not necessarily the erudite among these, but the largely receptive. Certainly when among these followers there is an increase of interest in the master there will be some flurry of footnotes, some reéditing and re-prefacing, and while the dust of scholarship fills the air his popular and his poetical fame may well seem to be obscured. But there is no greater mis- take than to think a poet’s popular fame the truth about him and his academic reputation a false emphasis. Is the real Milton or the real Spenser the book read through for the story and returned to the shelf, or is it the book slowly possessed by the patient heart of scholarship? It is the fashion at present to search for doctrine, and Sefior de Madariaga’s criticism of Wordsworth is virtually a criticism of Wordsworthians who, in their search after the true Wordsworth, have instructed themselves too academically and are inclined to understand the poet too exclusively in terms of this instruction in his philosophy, his politics, and his aesthetics. It is a criticism of those devotees who illustrate a fallacious corollary of Macaulay’s fallacious proposition that as civilization advances poetry neces- sarily declines, the corollary that poetry declines because people are more interested in civilization. But the discovery that Wordsworth or Goethe or Dante is the poet of an advancing civilization, the poet of a morality not always perfectly absorbed WoRDSWORTH SINCE 1916 61 by his art, need deceive no one into thinking him less a poet than a moralist. Genius is single-handed. Great poets have always been intent on doing two things at once, on writing the literature of power and the literature of knowledge with one stroke of the pen. If in this they have rarely been perfect it is not that the two efforts are hostile. Indeed that they would be, when perfected, one and the same, the creations of the greatest poets amply testify. You do not accept Goethe as an artist and disagree with his ideas if you really know your own mind. You are not a Wordsworthian except through the power of Wordsworth’s ideas to be poetry for you. In poetry there is ultimately but one thing, and that is poetry. If Wordsworth fails to be a poet for you it is probably not more because he is a philosopher than because you are not a philosopher. In Wordsworth’s case the sufficient test is that when he is most the thinker he is most poetical. Or, to put it more exactly, when he_ is most deeply philosophical he has most power over heightened and beautiful expression. Whether he will ever be widely understood is still doubtful. But modern criticism will not hinder it. On the contrary, the new emphasis given to aspects of his mind not usually associated with his poetry is essential to the understanding of his poetry. In spite of the belief that politics, outside the epic diplomacy of the gods in Homer or the devils in Milton, the ambitions of Shakespeare’s characters or of Dante’s, is not subject matter for poetry, in spite of the notion that Goethe alone is a sublime failure when he philosophizes in verse, I incline to the opinion that Wordsworth’s poetry about politics or about philosophy is as poetically presented as are the politico-philosophical concepts of any great poet. I incline also to the opinion that Wordsworth, like Goethe, is the gainer by the great enlargement which criticism has made in our understanding of his ‘“‘case.”” For we see him now more imaginatively. The basis of his reputation has broadened by the very principle of study which he himself so frequently advo- cated in order that he might gradually be understood. In 1817 Coleridge wrote: ‘‘His fame belongs to another age, and can neither be accelerated nor retarded. How small the pro- portion of the defects are to the beauties, I have repeatedly de- clared; and that no one of them originates in deficiency of poetic genius. Had they been more and greater, I should still, as a friend 62 WORDSWORTH SINCE 1916 to his literary character in the present age, consider an analytic display of them as pure gain . . . Iam not half as much irritated by hearing his enemies abuse him for vulgarity of style, subject, and conception, as I am disgusted with the gilded side of the same meaning as displayed by some affected admirers, with whom he is, forsooth, a “sweet, simple poet!’ and so natural, that little Master Charles and his youngest sister are so charmed with them, that they play at ‘Goody Blake,’ or at ‘Johnny and Betty Foy!’ ”’ But if Coleridge’s hopes, after a hundred years, are on the way toward fulfillment, it is an academic fulfillment, for the popular and the true reputation of this poet are still quite as distinct as is the case with Goethe, or with Milton, or with Dante. Wherein lies another fable for the critics and another puzzle for the poets. APPENDIX A LIST OF BOOKS AND ARTICLES ABOUT WORDSWORTH WHICH HAVE APPEARED MAINLY SINCE THE PUBLICATION OF HARPER’S Wilsam Wordsworth IN 1916 Acranp, A. H. D. Wordsworth’s Patriotic Poetry; with introduction and notes. — 1915. ALLEN, B. SpraGUE. Analogues of Wordsworth’s The Borderers. Pub. M. L. A.- XXXVI, 267, June 1923. Basenrota, A. C. English Childhood: Wordsworth’s Treatment of Childhood. in the Light of English Poetry from Prior to Crabbe. N. Y. [Columbia Univ. Press], 1922. BAILEY, JOHN. A New Life of Wordsworth. Quar. Rev., CCXXVI, 116, July 1916. (A review of Harper’s Wordsworth, sharply disagreeing with Harper’s em- phasis of Wordsworth’s political interests.) Baker, H. T. Wordsworth and Annette. North. Am. Rev., CCVII, 443, March, 1918. (Wordsworth’s character the result of repression.) BaLpwin, E. C. Wordsworth and Hermes Trismegisthus. Pub. M. L. A., XX XIII, 235, June 1918. Barbi, Prerro. La Poesia di Wordsworth, 1770-1808. Bari, Laterza, 1922. Barstow, Marjorie L. Wordsworth’s Theory of Poetic Diction. [Yale Studies in English], 1917. BEaTry, ARTHUR. Joseph Fawcett: The Art of War; Its Relation to the Early Development of William Wordsworth. Madison, Wis. [Univ. of Wis., Dept. of Eng. Studies, pp. 224-269], 1918. (Contains the text of Fawcett’s poem reproduced from the copy in the Harvard Library.) BeaTty, ARTHUR. William Wordsworth—His Doctrine and Art in their Historical Relations. Madison, Wis. [Univ. of Wisconsin Studies in Language and Literature, No. 17.], 1922. (Important new light on Wordsworth’s relations to eighteenth century philosophy, especially to the associationism of Hartley.) Beatty, J. M., Jr. Lord Jeffrey and Wordsworth. Pub. M. L. A., XX XVIII, 221, June 1923. BERESFORD, J. Wordsworth and the Clouds. Nation [London], XXIX, 795, Sept. 3, 1921. BrovucuTon, L. N. The Theocritian Element in the Works of William Words- worth. 1920. Buck, P. M., Jr. The Great False Prophets. Unpop. Rev., VIII, 262, Oct. 1917. (Wordsworth, Rousseau, and Tolstoi as advocates of an inconsistent natural- ism.) BuTTERworTH, S. Wordsworth. London Bookman, May 1916. (A review of Harper’s Wordsworth.) CamMPBELL, O. J. Sentimental Morality in Wordsworth’s Narrative Poetry. Madison, Wis. [Univ. of Wis. Studies in Lang. and Lit., No. 2], 1920. (The influence of 18th century sentimental tales and of David Hartley’s philosophy on Wordsworth’s treatment of character.) CAMPBELL, O. J. Wordsworth Bandies Jests with Matthew. Mod. Lang. Notes, XXXVI, 408. Nov. 1921. 63 64 APPENDIX CerFr, Barry. Wordsworth’s Gospel of Nature. Pub. M. L. A., XXXVII, 615, Dec. 1922. CLutron-Brock, A. The Problem of Wordsworth. London Mercury, 2:700, October, 1920. (A discussion of Wordsworth’s lack of passion and intensity. ) Cooper, L. Making Use of a Verbal Concordance. Sewanee Rev., X XVII, 188. Cooper, L. Wordsworth’s Knowledge of Plato. Mod. Lang. Notes, XXXII, 497, Dec. 1918. CRAMER, HERBERT. Das Persénliche Geschlecht Unpersénliche Substantiva (Einschliesslich der Tiernamen) bei William Wordsworth. Halle, 1919. (A dissertation at the University of Kiel.) Davison, W. T. Wordsworth, Seer and Patriot. London Quar. Rev., CX XVI, 1, July 1916. (A review of Harper’s Wordsworth.) Davison, W. T. A Poet-Statesman’s Message for Today. London Quar. Rev., CXXVIII, 272, Oct. 1917. (A review of Dicey’s The Statesmanship of Wordsworth.) Dicey, A. V. Wordsworth’s Tract on the Convention of Cintra, with two letters of Wordsworth written in the year 1811. Now republished, with an introduc- tion by A. V. Dicey, 1915. Dicey, A. V. The Statesmanship of Wordsworth, 1917. (An essay of 134 pages, based on articles in the Nineteenth Century and After, taking the attitude that Wordsworth’s political views do not change as much as is usually supposed.) Donn, E. C., Inman’s Portrait of Wordsworth. Scrib., LXVII, 251, Feb. 1920. Dunn, E. C. A Retrospect of Rydal Mount. Scrib. LXIX, 549, May 1921. (Let- ters of Henry Reed about the Wordsworth household in 1854. Dorothy Wordsworth.) . Dunn, E. C. Notes on Wordsworth. Mod. Lang. Notes, XX XVIII, 246, Apr. 1923. E. R. Note on the Prelude. Notes and Queries, VII, 106, Feb. 5, 1921. Garrop, H. W. Wordsworth: Lectures and Essays. 1923. Grey, Viscount Edward of Fallodon. Wordsworth’s Prelude. Oxford, 1923. (Presidential address before the English Association.) GuTHRIE, ANNA M.B. Wordsworth and Tolstoi (and other papers) with a preface by H. J. C. Grierson. Colinton (Tresta, Spylaw Park), 1922. Gt1TLer, FELtx. Wordsworth’s Politische Entwicklung. Stuttgart, 1914. Harper, G. M. William Wordsworth. His Life, Works, and Influence. 2 vols. 1916. Harper, G. M. John Morley and Other Essays. ‘‘Wordsworth at Blois,” and ‘“‘Wordsworth’s Love Poetry.” 1920. Harper, G. M. Wordsworth’s French Daughter. [Princeton Univ. Press], 1920. Harper, G. M. Wordsworth’s Lines to Hartley Coleridge. London Times Literary Supplement, MLXXVI, 557, Aug. 31, 1922. Harper, G. M. Eugénie de Guerin and Dorothy Wordsworth. Atlantic CXXXI, 649, May 1923. Harrer, G. M. The Wordsworth-Coleridge Combination. Sewanee Rev., July-Sept. 1923. HAUSTEIN, MARGARETE. Die Franzésische Literatur im Urteil der Englischen Romantiker, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey. Halle, 1917. Hewtett, M. The Crystal Vase. London Mercury, I, 176, Dec. 1919. (Dorothy Wordsworth.) Hows, F. William Wordsworth. Freeman, VII, 60, Sept. 26, 1923. APPENDIX 65 Hvsse ct, J.B. Wordsworth, Imagist. Evening Post Book Review. June 19, 1920. Krrttan, E. J. B. Did Wordsworth Recant? Contemp. Rev. CXIV, 87, July 1918. Kwowtton, E. C. The Novelty of Wordsworth’s Michael as a Pastoral. Pub. M. L. A., XXXV, 432, Dec. 1920. (A pastoral without the amorous element.) Lecovis, E. The Early Life of William Wordsworth, 1770-1798. Translated by J. W. Matthews. [New edit.}] 1921. Lecouts, E. Le Roman de William Wordsworth; Sa Liaison avec Annette Vallon. Revue des Deux Mondes, VII per VII, 627, LX, 167, April 1, May 1, 1922. Lecouis, E. William Wordsworth and Annette Vallon. London, 1922. (Professor Legouis’s articles in the Revue des Deux Mondes for the Ist April and the ist May, 1922, somewhat expanded.) Lecovuis, E. Wordsworth in a New Light. Cambridge, Mass. [Harvard Univ. Press], 1923. (A lecture at Harvard embodying the gist of M. Legouis’s researches.) Lecouis, E. Wordsworth’s French Daughter. London Times Literary Supple- ment, March 8, 1923. (A reply to Professor Edith Morley’s article in the London Times Literary Supplement, February 15, 1923.) LEHMAN, B. H. The Doctrine of Leadership in the Greater Romantic Poets. Pub. M. L. A. XXXVII, 639, Dec. 1922. LieEy, J. P. Wordsworth’s Interpretation of Nature. Hibbert Journal, XIX, 532. April 1921. Lynp, Rosert. Old and New Masters. ‘‘Wordsworth.” 1919. McDowatt, A. Johnson and Wordsworth. A Contrast in Travel. London Mercury, II, 269, Jan. 1921. (Wordsworth’s trip to the Highlands. Glimpses of Dorothy.) MADARIAGA, S. DE. Shelley and Calderon. ‘The Case of Wordsworth.” 1921. (An argument to show that Wordsworth is greater as a teacher or master than as a poet.) Meap, Marian. Wordsworth’s Eye. Pub. M. L. A. XXXIV, 202, June, 1919. (A discussion of Wordsworth’s eye-mindedness. ) ME Ese, PIERRE. Les Poétes Lakistes: Wordsworth, Coleridge, etc. Paris. {La Renaissance du Livre], 192?. MERRILL, L. R. Vaughan’s Influence upon Wordsworth’s Poetry. Mod. Lang. Notes, XXXVII, 91, Feb. 1922. Mupteton, GEORGE. Some Old Wells, Trees, and Travel-tracks of Wordsworth’s Parish. Ambleside [St. Oswald Press], 1918. Morison, Wro1aM. Affinities in Wordsworth to Milton. Poetry Review, pp. 130-41. May-June, 1921. Mor ey, EpirH# J. Blake, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Lamb, etc., being Selections from the Remains of Henry Crabb Robinson. Manchester, 1922. (A pre- liminary collection of items resulting from Professor Morley’s researches in the manuscripts in Dr. Williams’s library.) Mor ey, Epita J. Wordsworth’s French Daughter. London Times Literary Supplement MLXXIJ, 507, Aug. 3, 1922. Morey, EpitH J. Wordsworth’s French Daughter. London Times Literary Supplement, Feb. 15, 1923. (Items from Crabb Robinson’s unpublished “Remains” concerning the application to Wordsworth for money on the part of Annette Vallon’s husband.) | 4 3M Patmer, G. H. Formative Types in English Poetry. ‘‘Wordsworth.” 1918, 66 APPENDIX Paumer, G. H. A Review of Harper’s Wordsworth. Harvard Theological Rev., X, 84, Jan. 1917. (Especially a discussion of whether Wordsworth’s change to Toryism brought on a moral decline.) Pancoast,H.S. Did Wordsworth Jest with Matthew? Areply to O. J. Campbell, Jr. (See Mod. Lang. Notes, XXXVI, 408) Mod. Lang. Notes, XX XVII, 279, May 1922. Potts, A. F. Wordsworth and the Bramble. Jour. Eng. and German Philol., XIX, 340, July 1920. Potts, A. F. Wordsworth’s Ecclesiastical Sonnets; a Critical Edition. [Cornell Studies in English.] [Yale Univ. Press], 1922. QuILLER-Coucn, Sir Arthur. Studies in Literature. ‘‘Coleridge.” 1918. Rawns_ey, W. F. New Light on Wordsworth. Poetry Rev., VII, 269, July 1916. (A review of Harper’s Wordsworth.) RoscoE, EpwarD STANLEY. Johnson and Wordsworth in the Highlands. North American Review, CCXIV, 690, Nov. 1921. Sampson, G. Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria and Wordsworth’s Prefaces and Essays on Poetry, edited by George Sampson, with an introductory essay by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. 1920. SECCOMBE, T. Wordsworth, a Standard Life. New Witness, April 6, 1916. (A review of Harper’s Wordsworth.) SELINCOURT, E. DE. English Poets and the National Ideal. 1915 SHACKFORD, MarTHA H. Wordsworth’s Italy. Pub. M. L. A., XX XVIII, 236, June 1923. SmiTH, Davip NIcHOLL. William Wordsworth, Poetry and Prose. With Essays by Coleridge, Hazlitt and De Quincey. 1921. Stronc, A. T. Three Studies in Shelley and an Essay on Nature in Wordsworth and Meredith. 1921. SwaEN, A. E. H. Peter Bell. Anglia, XLVII, 136, June 1923. Turner, A. M. Wordsworth’s Influence on Thomas Campbell. Pub. M. L. A. XXXVI, 253, June 1923. Vann, W. H. Two Borrowings of Wordsworth. Mod. Lang. Notes, XXXII, 314, May 1917. WELLs, J. E. The story of Wordsworth’s Cintra. Studies in Philology, XVITI, 15, Jan. 1921. (Minute study of the incidents attending the publication of the tract, 1808-1809.) Witiiams, I. A. Wordsworth, Mrs. Hemans, and R. P. Graves. London Mercury, VI, 395, Aug. 1922. (Letters relative to a possible incumbency at Ambleside for Mr. Graves. At the end of the article attention is called to a little-known item, Recollections of Wordsworth and the Lake Country, in a volume of lectures on Literature and Art, Dublin, 1869.) WIncHEsTER, C. T. William Wordsworth: How to Know Him. 1916. Wise, T. J. A Bibliography of the Writings in Prose and Verse of William Words- worth. London. [R. Clay and Sons, Ltd., 100 copies for private circulation only], 1916. Worpswort, G. G. The Boyhood of Wordsworth. Living Age, CCCV, 471, May 22, 1920. (New information about the household affairs of Wordsworth’s father.) Wylie, L. J. Social Studies in English Literature. ‘The Social Philosophy of Wordsworth.” 1916. ZIGMANN, LuIsE. Die Englische Literature von 1800-1850, im Urteil der Zeit- genossischen Deutschen Kritik. [Heidelberg thesis.] 1916(?). - SMITH COLLEGE STUDIES IN MODERN LANGUAGES THE SmitH CoLLEGE Stupres tv MopERN LANGUAGES are published quarterly in October, January, April, and July, by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College. The sub- scription price is seventy-five cents for single numbers, two dollars for the year. Subscriptions and requests for exchanges should be addressed to the SmrtH Cottece Lisrary, NoRTHAMPTON, Mass. VOLUME I Nos. 1-4. Heren Maxwett Krinc, Les Doctrines Littéraires de la Quotidienne, 1814-1830. | VOLUME II No. 1. Mary Avcusta Jorpan, An Unpublished Letter of William James. : _ Pavt Ropert LIEDER, Scott and Scandinavian Lit- erature. Nos. 2-3. ExizApetu A. Foster, Le Dernier Séjour de J.-J. Rous- seau & Paris, 1770-78. No. 4. Rose Frances EcAn, The Genesis of the Theory of “Art for Art’s Sake” in Germany and in England. VOLUME III Nos. 1-2. 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The sub- scription price is seventy-five cents for single numbers, two dollars for the year. Subscriptions and requests for exchanges should be addressed to the SuitTH CoLtece Liprary, NoRTHAMPTON, Mass. VOLUME I Nos. 1-4. Heren Maxwezrt Kinc, Les Doctrines Littéraires Nos. 1-2. de la Quotidienne, 1814~-1830. VOLUME II Mary AvuGusta Jorpan, An Unpublished Letter of William James. Paut Ropert LIEDER, Scott and Scandinavian Lit- erature. ELIZABETH A. Foster, Le Dernier Séjour de J.-J. Rous- seau a Paris, 1770-78. Rose Frances EGAN, The Genesis of the Theory of “Art for Art’s Sake” in Germany and in England. VOLUME III Joser WireHR, Knut Hamsun, His Personality and his Outlook upon Life. HowArD RO;LtIn Patca, The Tradition of the Goddess Fortuna, In Roman Literature and in the Transi- tional Period. 4 HowarD Ro Luin Patcu, The Tradition of the Goddess Fortuna, In Medieval Philosophy and Literature. (Continued on page 3 of cover.) Vor. V, No. 3 APRIL, 1924 Smith College Studies in Modern Languages . EDITORS CAROLINE B. BOURLAND HOWARD R. PATCH ERNST H. MENSEL MARGARET ROOKE ALBERT SCHINZ THE GENESIS OF THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE” IN GERMANY AND IN ENGLAND PART II BY ROSE FRANCES EGAN Assistant Professor of English, Smith College NORTHAMPTON, MASS. PARIS SMITH COLLEGE LIBRAIRIE E. CHAMPION Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College The Gallegtate Frees GEORGE BANTA PUBLISHING COMPANY MENASHA, WIS. THE GENESIS OF THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE” IN GERMANY AND IN‘ENGLAND PART II BY ROSE FRANCES EGAN Assistant Professor of English, Smith College Digitized by Google PREFACE For the benefit of those who have not read recently the first in my series of articles on The Genesis of the Theory of ‘‘Art for Art’s Sake” in Germany and in England, I shall give a brief résumé of it.! The paper had two sections, the first dealing with the history of the term art for art’s sake and with a working definition of it as used in the second half of the nineteenth century, and the second with the growth of a new concept of a work of art (Kunst- werk) in Germany around 1800. SECTION I History of the term. It was pointed out that the first use of the phrase l’art pour l’art was not ascribed rightly to Cousin in 1818, nor to Victor Hugo in 1829, but according to recently discovered evidence should be tentatively attributed to Benjamin Constant. In the latter’s Journal Intime, published for the first time in 1895, an entry for X/I le 20 pluviose (February 10, 1804) employs the term in its modern sense. In England, the equivalent phrase art for art’s sake was prob- ably not accepted so early, though the idea is to be found in an unpublished passage of the Reminiscences of Henry Crabb Robin- son, relating a conversation with Winkelmann? in 1801. The earliest use of the term yet found in print is in a letter written by Thackeray in 1839 to his mother. This, however, was not pub- lished until 1894. Working definition of the term, as used in the second half of the nineteenth century. This definition obviously must ignore the clashes of opinion within the school and emphasize only those elements which may be regarded as fundamental and generally recognized. The leading doctrines are: I. All Part pour l'art men are to be known by their common aspirations—freedom for the artist, and order and beauty in his creations. Where these conditions exist in combination, true works of art are produced. II. Art has its own distinct sphere, in which no one but the artist is sovereign. Consequently, he can neither rule nor serve elsewhere. 1 Smith College Studies in Modern Languayes, vol. II, No. 4. I am indebted to Professor Ernst Mensel of Smith College for pointing out that the acquaintance to whom H. C. R. referred is not the great critic of art who was killed in 1768, but in all likelihood a lesser known person, a physician and a man of culture. Vv vi PREFACE III. Form is the distinguishing and unique quality of art. In this connection it is necessary to notice: __. A. That when the artist aims at any objective other than perfection of form, he denies his own right to create, and tres- passes upon the domain of others. B. That form as used by these men is not to be confounded with the popular meanings of the term, where it is opposed to content and regarded as something separable, in fact or in thought. They regard it as appearance only, an outward manifestation of an imaginative conception, whose beauty is dependent on the perfect correspondence of this concrete manifestation to the vision within. C. That since form in this sense is the very essence of art, it follows that expression,—that is, “‘the finer accommodation of speech” (or of other media) “to the vision within,’’—is the prime task of the artist. IV. Where “expression” is the means to the end, the respon- sibility for its perfection lies wholly with the artist. He can find his sole guide and his most exacting mentor in his own artistic con- science. V. A true artist belongs to no school and respects no groupings among others. He is concerned with his individual vision, not with the common qualities implied in movements favoring classicism or romanticism, realism or idealism. Conversely, he has esteem for others who respect their own inspiration, no matter how far apart their points of view are from his. VI. The true artist works without regard to the effect his creations may have upon others. His end is solely the aesthetic perfection of each work of art. Consequently, the percipient who considers it rightly must regard it in itself, in the spirit of con- templation. SECTION IT The rise of a new concept of a work of art (Kunstwerk) i in Ger- many around 1800 brought with it attending variations in the connotations of the terms art (Kunst) and form (Form). Although many of these changes came before Kant, the emphasis has been placed on his theories and on those of his contemporaries or immediate successors, because the major developments in a theory of art for art’s sake began with him. : I. Kant’s chief contributions to the new concept of a Kunst- werk were: A. The theory that a work of art is the product of the imagin- ation working in harmony with the understanding; that is, of PREFACE Vii the free creative power finding restraint and form through voluntary surrender to the spirit but not the control of the concept-making faculty. B. The rigid distinction between a work of fine art as made by an artist and a work of craftsmanship as made by an artisan: 1. The artisan produces something in accordance with a pattern or type; the artist ignores types and creates unique products, which by their very individuality and richness suggest ideas richer than those implicit in concepts. 2. The former is constantly assisted by rules or formulae laid down for his own and others’ guidance; the latter usually ignores them, as imposing restraint upon his imagination. 3. The former is limited by a purpose, the end for which his product is designed; the latter ignores a purpose in his endeavor to manifest his conception in its wholeness. C. The theory that a work of art is not a beautiful thing, but a beautiful representation of a thing; its characteristic quality is form. D. The theory that a work of art has ‘“‘purposiveness without purpose.”’ A work of craftsmanship is to be recognized by its conformity to an end both in its author’s intention and in its owner’s use: a work of nature is regarded as adapted to definite ends only when its form is disregarded, and its substantial character is considered; a work of art, as pure form, is incapable of being put to use in this sense. Kant, it is true, does make a new category of ‘“‘dependent beauty” to include the beauty of a cathedral, of a garden, and of other commonly accepted works of fine art, which are of definite service to men. But however beautiful they may be, he excludes them from pure works of art, such as a poem, a Statue, a painting. He goes further in his elimination of purpose in art so as to include that which may dominate the mind. Does a work of art exist to give gratification, satisfaction, agreeable sensations? If it is so regarded, he taught, its full effect as such is ignored and its appreciation limited to a single side. If, on the other hand, the percipient’s mind is open to its full effectiveness, he will realize in contemplation that a work of art, like a work of nature viewed as form, will stir in him, as an individual, thoughts of its many possibilities. His reaction, however, is purely subjective and is not to be accounted as final or defini- tive. But through the capacity of a poem, for example, to Vill PREFACE produce this impression upon the reader, will come his recog- nition of it as a true work of art. II. Schiller’s contributions to the new connotation are: A. The doctrine that a work of art is distinctly not a work of nature nor a pure representation of the ideal. Its province is between nature and mind, reconciling in play the divergent and actually irreconcilable characteristics of each sphere. Without a work of art, men would find no escape from chaos and sensuality on the one hand, or pure thought and indifference to life on the other, except through the medium of the barren concepts of the understanding,—barren, because they ignore sensation, feeling, and also, the existence of the ideal. B. The doctrine (developed from Kant’s theory of art as representation) of art as form or aesthetic appearance. By this Schiller means that a work of art must never be regarded as an imitation of nature, nor as a serious presentation of ideas, but as the representation of an imaginative vision in which the real and the ideal in semblance exist in harmony. But it is only an appearance and must be regarded as such, having no validity | as substance or doctrine. C. The theory that the artist’s sole task is destroying all matter in his work, so that it will become pure form and nothing else. III. Goethe’s contributions: A. As a convert from Storm and Stress, Goethe found his chief task in later life in distinguishing a work of art from a work of nature. He emphasized the following differences: 1. Nature never attains perfection because it is always in the process of development; art must attain the perfec- tion implicit in the conception. It is this achievement of the highest possibilities inherent in his conception that Goethe calls form. 2. Nature is to be known for the variety and complexity in the organic structure of its units, but since it is often the victim of untoward forces, it seldom attains completeness and integrity. In art, however, this organic unity is imperative. A great work of art is to be recognized not only by its achievement of this unity of the manifold but by its maintenance of the life principle within. The attainment PREFACE 1X of lsving form, “giving life to the whole’ Goethe regarded as the end of art. B. As a consequence of these theories, he taught that the summit of art is to be found in the execution. Subject-matter, its source and its quality, in his theorizing are often, (though not always,) matters of comparative indifference; the execu- tion is invariably regarded as paramount. IV. Schelling’s contributions: A. This philosopher’s aesthetic system rests on his differentia- tion of art and philosophy, both of which he regarded as valid but distinct methods of approach to the Absolute. B. Since, in his theory, the validity of each is dependent on its freedom from interference from the other, it follows that " neither the method nor the ends of philosophy are desirable in art. Consequently he eliminated from the domain of art Schematismus, that kind of representation where the partic- ular is to be known through the general, and Allegory, where the general is to be recognized in the specific instance. He de- fined true art as symbolic, or ‘‘the synthesis of the two, where neither the general signifies the particular, nor the particular the general, but where both are strictly one.” C. He called this artistic quality, which is evident where contraries are reconciled, Indifference. It is the dominating quality of a true work of art. When it is present, the body and soul of the work cannot be distinguished, nor the form and the matter, nor the ideal element and the real. Consequently art is necessarily neither of the world of time or eternity, but in a world of its own, independent, self-sufficient and self-subsisting. J Digitized by Google The Genesis of the Theory of “Art for Art’s Sake” in Germany and in England. Part II RoSE FRANCES EGAN THE NEW CONCEPT OF AN ARTIST It has already been shown in my discussion of a new conception - of a work of art arising in Germany around 1800 how the term art lost the connotation it had carried since Horace, and acquired a sixiéme sens, especially in the phrase “work of art” (Kunstwerk).} ‘It is my intention now to show how that disintegration of an old concept, allied to other influences, affected the notion of the producer of a work of art (Kiinstler). It was not until after Batteux and Lessing, as well as others, had endeavored to find both the common principle of all the fine arts, and the distinguishing char- acteristics of each species, that the term Kistler gained the sig- nificance of maker of any fine art. But at the very time that this change was being effected in the scope of the concept, other content was being given the term by the new aesthetic philosophy. How far apart in meaning the word “artist” (Kistler) was as used in 1766 from that in 1799 may be seen in the two passages that follow. The first is to be found in the Schleswigsche Lttteratur- briefe and was written by Heinrich W. von Gerstenberg. To him an artist is one who conforms to a pattern called art. He is discussing Sophocles and Corneille: ‘“The latter shows the artist,* the former a Greek. We can all be arfists,? but how rare a Greek!’ Compare this to Goethe’s use in his 1799 Notes on Dilettantism, where the dilettante is he who conforms to the pattern and the artist the one who escapes from its confines: “In opposition to the general maxim, the dilettante will thus be subject to more severe criticism than the artist,? who, resting upon a secure basis of art, 1 Smith College Studies in Modern Languages, vole II, No. 4, pp. 5-61. 2 The italics are mine. 3 Litteraturdenkmase d. 18 u. 19 Jakrh., vol. XXIX, p. 15: “Jenes zeigt mir den Kiinstler, die letztern den Griechen: Kiinstler kénnen wir alle werden—aber ach! wer ein Grieche wire.” 1 2 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ incurs less danger in departing from rules, and may even by that means enlarge the province of art itself.’” | In this connection it is essential to notice that the l’art pour art men of the nineteenth century, whose progenitors we are seeking, seldom referred to themselves except as artists or men of taste, and on these grounds only demanded the privileges of independence and self-direction. It is possible that they might have been more widely understood if they had claimed genius or inspiration or even poetic madness as the source of their power, for the belief in the irresponsible and in the guided poet still prevailed, especially in Germany and in England. As it happened, their claims to autonomy as artists were generally misapprehended and seldom received even a sympathetic hearing from the masses of men. Part of the difficulty, it is true, was the result of the average man’s failure to keep step with the march forward in artistic theory and in changing connotations of its terms, and of his consequent proneness to think of an artist only as a technician or stylist; but another and large part was owing to a common aversion to the individualism fostered by the new critical philos- ophy and to its implicit pluralism. Has the theory of the special spheres of religion, of morals, of science, of art, any validity? Has the artist sovereignty in his own domain? Is he, when acting as an artist, subservient to no power from without and rightfully obedient only to his own artistic conscience? And above all, has he the right to force his personality upon us, to show us life through his peculiar temperament and not, as seems to have been the practice of artists in the past, through the vision of the best thought of the time?. These were the questions which were and are asked frequently by intelligent opponents of l’art pour Vart, and which indicate how deep are the roots of a doctrine upheld, often unintelligently and unphilosophically, by members of this school. : In this paper it will be my hope to show that these roots are to be found—not exclusively, it is true—in German critical and aesthetic philosophy from Kant to Friedrich Schlegel and Schelling. ‘Weimar ed., Pt. I, vol. XLVII, p. 319: ‘“Gerade der allgemeinen Maxime entgegen wird also der Dilettant einem mehr rigoristischen Urtheil zu unterwerfen sein als selbst der Kiinstler, der, weil er auf einer sichern Kunstbasis ruht, mit min- der Gefahr sich von den Regeln entfernen und dadurch das Reich der Kunst selbst erweitern kann.” THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ 3 There we shall discover formulated much earlier than in the school of Flaubert and Pater, doctrines of the autonomy of the artist, of the validity of the artistic conscience within its own sphere, and of the necessity of originality or peculiarity in a work of art. In the analysis of the first two, I must give credit to Gustav Lanson, who has already marked out the main roads of those who would trace the philosophical origins of nineteenth century Vart pour Vart. The third, I hope to show, is equally significant and essential to our comprehension of the movement as a whole. It is often stated that the theory of art for art’s sake had its ultimate origin in opposition to the critical formalism of the neo-classic period. M. Lanson attacks® this assumption in Cassagne’s work on La Theorie de l’Art pour l’Art en France because, he argues, the movement which was headed by Victor Hugo, and which aimed at freeing the form from the domination of the rules, should not be confounded with the real l’art pour Vart drive which came later and whose objective was the freeing of the content from the restrictions which time and theory had placed upon the fitness of certain subject-matter for art. It is not within the scope of this paper to consider the specific problem raised by M. Lanson, but it is clearly not beyond its prerogatives to show what doctrines Kant and others regarded as inimical to the free art they were upholding. In a few words, they were two: that the artist should be guided by his understanding and its categories rather than by the free activity of his imagination; and, at the other extreme, that he should follow his genius, his natural impulse, in repudiation of all law. Both theories according to Kant and his followers honored the reverse of the truly artistic process. Both, in antici- pation, violated the Kantian formula which came to be accepted, with variations that did not destroy its essential significance, as the final description of the state of artistic creation, “Imagina- tion’s free conformity to law.’ That law in art, to Kant, received its sanction from the Understanding, the faculty of concepts, and to his followers, from the Reason (Vernun/ft), the faculty of ideas, is not, as I hope will be clear, ultimately as important a distinction as it seems at first sight. For they were one in their opposition to § Reoue d'histoire littéraire de la France, 1907, pp. 163-7. *Kr. d. Ur., I, 1, Buch 1, Allgem. Anmerkung, Werke, Hartenstein, Leipzig, 1838-9: “ . . . . die freie Gesetzmissigkeit der Einbildungskraft.”’ 4 THE THEORY OF “ArT FOR ART’S SAKE”? the seventeenth and eighteenth century rules, and to the vagaries of Storm and Stress. Now, it goes almost without saying, that the Understanding, in Kant’s definition, was responsible for the formal rules guiding literary art in the neo-classic period and for the dictum which demanded that nothing exist in art which was not pleasing to its categories. It was because of this situation that the critic assumed a dictatorship in that age, and that external law was accepted as final by most of its literary men. It is clear that these laws had to them practically the same sanction as science has to the masses to-day; and that they governed the universal practice of men, because they arose out of ‘common sense,” Voltaire’s “jugement profond.”” They were comprehensible, therefore, not only on grounds of authority but on those of the best experience of the race and of its consensus of opinion. With the coming of critical philosophy, however, and its change of the center of interest from custom and tradition to that of individual discovery, and the categories of Freedom and Nature, the rules of the understanding and the authority of the literary critic gradually gave way. Aesthetically considered, Kant’s primary function was to remove a Kunstwerk from the domination of abstract universals. ‘‘Nature,”’ he said several times, ‘must give the rule to art.’”” It is not a clearly defined rule of the under- standing to which he referred. ‘It (the rule) cannot be reduced to a formula and serve as a precept, for then the judgment upon the beautiful would be determinable according to concepts.”* ‘‘Gen- ius,’ which in his definition is essential to an artist, “is a talent for producing that for which no definite rule can be given.’”*® A work of art that has only regularity to commend it will not entertain long: ‘Nay, rather it will impose a burdensome constraint upon the imagination.’”!” 7eg.: Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 46: “Dass die Natur... . der Kunst die Regel vorschreibe.”’ ® Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 47: ‘Sie (die Regel) kann in keiner Formel abgefasst zur Vorschrift dienen; denn sonst wiirde das Urtheil tiber das Schine nach Begriffen bestimmbar sein.” ® Ibid., Sec. 46: “Man sieht hieraus, dass Genie ein Talent sei, dasjenige, wozu sich keine bestimmte Regel geben lisst, hervorzubringen.” 10 Jbid., I, 1, Buch 1, Allgem. Anmerkung: “ . . . thn der Gegenstand nicht linger unterhalte, vielmehr der Einbildungskraft einen lastigen Zwang anthue.” THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ 5 A chance remark of Schiller’s shows us how dead an issue was the authority of the rules in German philosophical circles in 1795S. In his dedication of the Aesthetic Letters he wrote, ‘The liberty of action you prescribe is rather a necessity for me than a constraint. Little exercised in formal rules, I shall scarcely incur the risk of sinning against good taste by any undue use of them.’ Else- where he spoke of the “‘fetters of rule’” and of ‘‘the harsh restraint of rules.’ It is to be noticed that Goethe and Friedrich Schlegel often wrote of new rules, ‘‘objective rules,”’ but these are in no sense the old formal rules guiding technique, but “‘laws’’ as they believed, in the Kantian sense, subjectively discovered and necessarily of universal validity. Goethe wrote scornfully of the dilettante, who “subjects himself to the necessity of working by false rules . . . because he does not understand the true objective rules.’’™ Beauty, according to Friedrich Schlegel, is equally independent of the control of necessity and of the rules.“ The artist, who obeys the fundamental laws of beauty and the objective rules of art, will in all other respects be unconditionally free.” At the same time that they decried formal rules, they de- nounced with even greater emphasis the lawlessness that char- acterized the productions of the Storm and Stress men. The ghost of formalism had partly been laid in the Geniezett, but the other and equally dangerous one of Gesetzlosigkeit stalked in its place. Where the Age of Reason had emphasized law as necessarily operative in artistic creation, and had, as a result, deprived the artist of freedom, the Gentezeit had by its theory of genius, of a human creative power that, by obedience to instinct, operates as efficaciously as the creative power behind nature, rejected all 0 Brief I, Simtliche Werke, Sdkularausgabe: “Die Freiheit des Ganges, welche Sie mir vorschreiben, ist kein Zwang, vielmehbr ein Bedtirfnis fiir mich. Wenig geibt im Gebrauche schulgerechter Formen, werde ich kaum in Gefahr sein, mich durch Missbrauch derselben an dem guten Geschmack zu versiindigen.”’ 33 Ibid.: “in die Fesseln der Regel.” Brief IX: “in den schweren Fesseln der Regel.”’ “ Uber den Dilettantismus, Weimar ed., Pt. I vol. XLVI, p. 302: “Er setzt sich in die Nothwendigkeit nach falschen Regeln zu handeln, weil er ohne Regeln auch nicht dilettantisch bilden kann und die achten objektiven Regeln nicht kennt.” Jugendschriften, Minor ed., vol. I, p. 110. ‘Das Schéne ... . welches von dem Zwange des Beditirfnisses und des Gesetzes gleich unabhiingig .... ” % Tbid., I, 153. See note 72. 6 THE THEORY OF “ArT FOR ArRT’S SAKE”’ law and order in art. The earlier age held that only by an author’s obedience to critical dicta could his poetry have art; the later one taught that artlessness is the chief element of literary beauty. Herder, at one time the philosopher of the Storm and Stress movement, contended that lyric poetry is the antithesis of art, because it is all nature.!’ The new school, guided by Kant, com- bined their forces in attacking what they believed to be a fallacious conception. It is significant, however, that, though they derided what Friedrich Schlegel called the idolatry of genius in mystischen Orakelspriichen'® and emphasized the unphilosophical character of the Sturm und Drang conception of the blind and irresponsible genius, they did not reject the main elements of the theory of original genius. We shall see that the term as used by Friedrich Schlegel and by Schelling is not equivalent to that as used by Herder or by Hamann, but compounded also of elements dis- covered by men of the group we are now discussing. But their aversion to Instinctive genius was general. Even Schiller and Goethe, in spite of earlier ties with the Storm and Stress group, were bitter opponents of the doctrine around 1800. Kant, however, was the leader of the attacking party. ‘‘Shallow heads,” he wrote in 1790, ‘“‘believe they cannot better show themselves to be budding geniuses than by throwing off the constraint of all rules: they believe, in effect, that one could make a braver show on the back of a wild horse than on the back of a trained animal.’’'® He implied that the original geniuses of his day had succeeded in producing much original nonsense,?° and he asserted that when a choice is to be made between an artist without genius, or one without taste, he decidedly preferred 17 This is the burden of Herder’s criticism of Denis’s translation of Ossian. Sdmtliche Werke, vol. V, pp. 159-207. 18 Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 90. % Kr.d. Ur., I, 1,Sec. 47: “..... so glauben seichte Kipfe, dass sie nicht besser zeigen konnen, sie wiren aufbliihende Genies, als wenn sie sich vom Schul- zwange aller Regeln lossagen und glauben, man paradire besser auf einem kollerich- ten Pferde, als auf einem Schulpferde.” 20 Kr, d. Ur., Sec. 46: .... “dass, da es auch originalen Unsinn geben kann, seine [des Genies] Producte zugleich Muster, d.i. exemplarisch sein miissen’’; also, Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 50: “Denn aller Reichtum der ersteren (die Einbildungs- kraft) bringt in ihrer gesetzlosen Freiheit nichts als Unsinn hervor...... THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ArRT’S SAKE”’ 7 the former as more cultivated and more capable of approaching beauty in his work.”! “‘Nature,” wrote Goethe in 1798, “‘is separated from art by an enormous chasm which genius of itself\is unable to bridge without external assistance.’ He praised the lawful artists at the expense of the lawless ones who never attain to the summit of art. To this chorus, Schiller added his voice. ‘‘Genius,”’ he said, “borders very closely on savage coarseness, ... it is a light which shines readily in the midst of darkness, and which .. . often argues against, rather than in favor of, the taste of the time.” Their attitude is summed up well by Friedrich Schlegel when he wrote, “Instinct is a powerful stimulus, but a blind guide.’ | In these objections to the fundamental doctrines of the two leading schools of literary art in their own day, we have an explanation of why the Kantian group gradually discarded genius and accepted artist as the title by which their ideal pro- ducer was to be known. As they developed without reference to the artistic species, whether it be poetry, painting, sculpture or music, a concept of a work of art of which the characteristic element is form, the soul of the matter, or the body through which the soul was revealed, they likewise developed a theory of its creator, an artist, who is responsible for this form and who works to this end, not under orders from without, nor as a slave to a blind natural impulse, in servitude neither to authority nor to instinct, but in freedom and in order because he is bound only by laws that are self-discovered and self-imposed. 1 Ky. d. Ur., Sec. 50: ‘Wenn also im Widerstreite beiderlei Eigenschaften an einem Producte etwas aufgeopfert werden soll, so miisste es eher auf der Seite des Genies geschehen; und die Urtheilskraft, welche in Sachen der schénen Kunst aus eigenen Principien den Ausspruch thut, wird eher der Freiheit und dem Reichtum der Einbildungskraft, als dem Verstande Abbruch zu thun erlauben.” @ Kinl. in die Prop., Sdmtliche Werke, Jubildums Ausgabe, vol. XXXIII, p. 108: “Die Natur ist von der Kunst durch eine ungeheure Kluft getrennt, welche das Genie selbst, ohne dussere Hilfsmittel, zu tiberschreiten nicht vermag.”’ 3 Brief X:" 2... dass es am nichsten an die Wildheit grenzt und ein Licht ist, das gern aus der Finsternis schimmert, welches also vielmehr gegen den Geschmack seines Zeitalters als fiir denselben zeugt.” ™ Jugendschrifien, vol. I, p. 97: “ . . . . der Trieb ist zwar ein michtiger Beweger, aber ein blinder Filhrer.... 7” \ 8 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ The basis of this theory of an artist, as one who discovers objective law through freedom, is found in the Kantian categories of Nature and Freedom with their consequent implications of necessity and totality, as forces making for the development of humanity. Man is a creature of Nature and is therefore depen- dent; he is also mind and therefore in search of complete inde pendence. Between things as they are, the natural world about him, the nature within him, his senses, his passions, his human needs, the time and age in which he lives, the social life about him, all the manifold powers which mold him into being but which represent pressure for which he is not immediately respon- sible, but to which he may easily be a slave and victim: between all this that we call Nature, and.the world of ideas,—that is, the sum of his desires and aspirations, since only in it can he obtain release from nature, detachment, and liberty,—he is swung, often- times longing for freedom yet bowed down by necessity, choosing one or the other voluntarily or involuntarily, but in so doing losing the totality of his being and the serenity and happiness of his spirit. As a bridge between the two worlds, Kant supplied the moral law and its Categorical Imperative; in Duty as the bond between Freedom and Necessity he saw the possibility of Reason (Vernunft) becoming efficacious in Nature. He gave a work of art a place between nature and mind, because to him it repre- sented the product of the imagination’s free conformity to the law of the understanding. To the artist as the one who bridges this gap he granted nothing. His freedom 1s the gift of genius and not an act of the will. He is merely one of Nature’s favorites, greatly inferior to the scientist and infinitely below the moral man. Nevertheless, that it is out of Kant’s categories of Nature and Freedom that the new theory of the artist as one who recon- ciles freedom and necessity arose, I hope to show. The theorist who was responsible for the exaltation of the artist, especially of what he called the aesthetic state, the essential ‘prerequisite of the creation of art or of the enjoyment of it, was Schiller. He, too, was interested in the problems of man’s totality and highest efficiency or happiness, and he, too, saw the difficulty in reconciling worlds as antithetical as those of Nature and Freedom. His point of departure from Kant, however, was not in his estimation of the ultimate value of the moral man, but in his estimation of the value of the means whereby the highest morality— THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE” 9 or perhaps better, humanity—is attained. The Categorical Impera- tive is defective, humanly speaking, according to Schiller, because it denies the validity of sense and of feeling in the life of the perfected man, and so forbids his attainment of totality. Is there any condition, he asked in effect, where all that is natural, where the richness and variety of the sensible and emotional worlds can be united to the purity and splendor of the Ideal and One? Is there any condition where there is freedom from the tyrannous activity of the reason’s search for order and unity at the expense of life and feeling, and at the same time from the sense world’s susceptibility to chaos and disorder and destruction of form? Can feeling and thought, the sensible and the spiritual, the transitory and the eternal ever be made one? Schiller’s answer was both negative ard affirmative. No, if we look seriously for the actual passing over into each other of the essential qualities of each sphere, for they can never exist together. Reconciliation which is union is unthinkable. But, that they can be reconciled in consciousness, in the mind of man under certain circumstances, is the premise on which Schiller’s system rested. He called this condition the aesthetic state, as’ opposed, on the one hand, to the logical or moral state, and, on the other, to the physical state. Man is in the physical state when nature draws him or moves him. Savagery is not the only condition in which he may be the puppet of nature, for civilization also creates bonds which draw as tightly. The reformer, moved to tears and passion by the sight of human misery, is no freer than the epicure who finds his chief delight in tickling his palate. Man is in the logical or moral state, when he breaks with nature and discovers in thought or in choice the perfection of which he has dreamt. By so doing he has denied the appeal of the sense world, and the guidance of inclination or desire. To Schiller, the latter state though often necessitated in heroic spirits who must give example to men and lead them forward, is not that of true freedom because humanity’s right to harmony and happiness is sacrificed. It is only when man is in the aesthetic state that he is really free and really man. When nature has its appeal and yet does not dominate; when mind is active and efficacious but not destructive of nature, of feeling and sensation, the soul of man is not only in high harmony but alive with creative energy. Until feeling and thought 10 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ exist in equilibrium as in the aesthetic state, they are not robbed of their capacity for constraint, or of their determinableness. When they are balanced, man becomes self-determinable and genuinely free. Only in this condition does he have autonomy, is he actually self-moved and free from pressure of any sort. Indifference is also a quality of his consciousness because he has reached the state where nothing is wanting and nothing is super- fluous. Neither desire nor disgust can affect him. Serenity and highest satisfaction prevail. But Schiller went farther than this. The theories of “wise passiveness” and ‘‘ardent listlessness” which were drawn later from similar premises held no fascination for him. To him, the charm of the aesthetic state was that it promoted free activity or play. When the will is freed from determinations, it logically followed, according to his reasoning, that it should seek action. But since man in the aesthetic state is self-barred from the world of nature, he cannot copy the life about him; and since he is self-barred from the sphere of Reason, he cannot create ideas or pure forms. Imitation or philosophizing are beyond his possi- bilities. The will so freed must find activity in a world of its own, one pure, distinct, and apart from all others. And this is the world of appearance, in which the artist, and the artist alone has sov- ereignty, in which he alone is creator. His imagination (dte Einbildungskraft, i.e. the power of representing as one, an inter- penetrative power as Schelling afterwards remarked™) stimulated by the aesthetic state, self-determined by his will, freed from all external constraint, creates works of art, aesthetic appearances, in which, in semblance only, the eternal and immutable form unites with the richness and vitality of nature. We have already seen that “living form’ (lebende Gestalt) was the ideal of Schiller’s Kunstwerk, for it is only in art, he believed, that form dominates without destroying life. Artistic autonomy, as conceived by Schiller is the result then of two conditions, the attainment of the aesthetic state and the consequent exercise of the imaginative faculty. It has been shown how in the aesthetic state only, the essential prerequisite of artistic creation, Schiller found man wholly free in that he is * Ph. d. K., Werke, vol. V, p. 386: “Das treffliche deutsche Wort Einbildungs- kraft bedeutet eigentlich die Kraft der Ineinsbildung, auf welcher in der That alle Schipfung beruht.”’ THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ 11 self-moved; it remains to indicate that he has also taught that within the domain of appearance, in the activity of his creative imagination, the artist alone is legislator and critic. At first sight we shall find that the situation is an anomalous one, for Schiller’s theory of creative imagination imposes freedom within limitations upon the one man whom he regarded as wholly free. He declared that it was one of his functions to show that that which the world called “limitation” was from his point of view “‘enlargement,”’ indicating thereby how clearly he himself realized the difficulty. Nevertheless, he frankly stated his thesis that © the true artist must respect the limits which are necessarily im- posed upon him by the exercise of his imagination. If he tres- passes on the domain of nature by imitating reality or relating his work to it, or if he abandons the realm of appearance to enter that of thought, he has yielded to constraint, destroyed his free- dom and sacrificed the integrity and imaginative quality of his work. A recognition of the limits of the imagination requires that it accept guidance not from the senses, the feelings, the under- standing or the reason (Vernunft) but from itself alone. As for the true artist, Schiller wrote, “nothing can be sacred to him but his own law; the only condition imposed upon him is to respect the border which separates his own sphere from the existence of things or from the realm of Nature.’™* Elsewhere he added that we shall deserve the reproach of not knowing true Beauty, i. e. “pure appearance,” so Jong as, among other reasons, “we do not grant to imagination an absolute legislation of its own.’”?? ; In the main Schiller’s doctrine of artistic autonomy was accepted by his immediate successors, and even more definitely applied. There were, however, essential variations. It was to be expected of a philosopher such as Schelling that he would - differ from Schiller in his estimation of the value of the aesthetic state and of the imagination, in spite of the fact that in its general outlines and in many of its details he accepted each description. For to him there were two approaches to the Absolute, through the ® Brief XXVI: “Nichts darf ihm hier heilig sein als sein eigenes Gesetz, sobald er nur die Markung in Acht nimmt, welche sein Gebiet von dem Dasein der Dinge oder dem Naturgebiete scheidet.” 37 Ibid: ‘‘Diesen Vorwurf werden wir solang’ verdienen .... . als wir der Einbildungskraft noch keine eigene absolute Gesetzgebung zugestehn.” 12 THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE”? reason (Vernunft) and through the imagination. The processes were the reverse of each other, but the ends and the conditions— those of freedom within limitations—were the same. ‘For each entity we demand a particular and free life,”’ he wrote in the Philosophy of Art. “Only the understanding subordinates; in the reason and in the imagination everything is free and moves in the same atmosphere without interference and without friction. For everything that is independent is in turn the whole.’’8 Goethe as usual saw this from the side of literary practice. In a conversation with Eckermann he discussed the limitations of the French and doubted the freedom and boldness of the Germans when it came to a question of the acceptance of the inherent differences between understanding and imagination. ‘I wonder what German critics will say?’”’ he asked in reference to his own Helena. ‘Will they have freedom and boldness enough to get over this? Understanding will be in the way of the French; they will not consider that the imagination has its own laws, to which the understanding cannot, and should not, penetrate.’’?® It is significant to notice how far these men carried Schiller’s doctrine of appearance. It is true that on account of a growing Platonism some of them, such as Goethe, especially in his mid- career, and Schelling, tended to emphasize art’s service to idealism and so made way for later advances in this direction, particularly for that regarding art as synonomous with concrete idealism, a movement which ended in a cleavage from the school of art pour Vart, but in general, in their emphasis upon the complete interpenetration of the sensible and intellectual worlds in art, they maintained Schiller’s influence. Schelling’s doctrine that true art is symbolic and not schematic or allegorical, as already ex- 73 Pk. d. K., vol. V, p. 393: “Wir fordern fiir jedes Ding ein besonderes und freies Leben. Nur der Verstand ordnet unter, in der Vernunft und in der Ein- bildungskraft ist alles frei und bewegt sich in dem gleichen Aether, ohne sich zu driingen und zu reiben. Denn jedes fiir sich ist wieder das Ganze.” 29 Gesprache, Linden, vol. I, p. 178: “Mich soll nur wundern . . . was die. deutschen Kritiker dazu sagen werden; ob sie werden Freiheit und Kiihnheit genug haben, dariiber hinwegzukommen. Den Franzosen wird der Verstand im Wege sein, und sie werden nicht bedenken, dass die Phantasie ihre eigenen Gesetze hat, denen der Verstand nicht beikommen kann und soll.” Cf. F. Schlegel, Jugend- schriften, vol. I, p. 120. THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE”? 13 pounded, is a confirmation of this statement.®° Nevertheless, their common efforts were most largely expended on keeping art free from the intrusion of the real, or the vulgar, or the commonplace. It was indeed difficult to combat the doctrine of the Storm and Stress group that a work of art is but another work of nature, particularly because Kant had given the same characteristic to each of “purposiveness without purpose.”’ As a matter of fact, — he had insisted that there is also a fundamental difference between a work of art and a work of nature: ‘‘A natural beauty is a beauti- ful thing ; artificial beauty is a beautiful representation of a thing.””®! By this doctrine he had prepared the way for Schiller’s theory of artistic appearance, but because he had emphasized the imagina- tion’s relationship to concepts—richer it is true than those of logic —he had not completely destroyed the neo-classic belief in the dependence of art upon nature, nor wholly refuted the Sturm und Drang conception of the intimate relationship between the two. It was Goethe’s as well as Schiller’s function to withdraw a work of art completely from the realm of nature. ‘‘A work of art,’”’ Goethe wrote in 1798, ‘“‘can seem to be a work of nature only to a wholly uncultivated spectator .. . But, unfortunately, he can only be satisfied when the artist descends to his level; he will never rise with him when, prompted by his genius, the true artist must take wing in order to complete the whole circle of his work.’ And again, in his introduction to the Propylaea: ‘‘The genuine law-giving artist strives after artistic truth; the lawless, following a blind instinct, after the appearance of naturalness. The former leads to the highest pinnacle of art, the latter to its lowest step.’’* “‘No portrait,”’ he said elsewhere, “is worth anything until the painter has literally made it a crea- © Smith College Studies in Modern Languages, vol. II, No. 4, pp. 54-5. 1 Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 48: “Eine Naturschénheit ist ein schénes Ding; die Kunst- schinheit ist eine schéne Vorstellung von einem Dinge.” 3Uber Wahrheit und Wakhrscheinlichkeit der Kunstwerke, vol. XXXIII, p. 88: “‘Nur dem ganz ungebildeten Zuschauer kann ein Kunstwerk als ein Natur- werk erscheinen . . . . Leider aber nur so lange, als der Kiinstler sich zu ihm herab- lisst, wird jener zufrieden sein, niemals wird er sich mit dem echten Kiinstler erheben, wenn dieser den Flug, zu dem ihn das Genie treibt, beginnen, sein Werk im ganzen Umfang vollenden muss.” 8 Finl. in die Prop., vol. XXXIII, p. 116: see previous article, p. 51. 14 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’’ tion.’ ‘Does it not follow,” he questioned, ‘‘that truth of nature and truth of art are two distinct things, and that the artist neither should nor may endeavor to give his work the appearance of a work of nature?’ Imitation of nature is possible when the artist is young and in the mechanical stages of his training, but not when his powers are ripened. Those who pursue it to the end are men “of quiet, true, limited nature,’ but in no sense true artists. The genuine artist, he could not repeat too often, is to be known by his freedom, by his power to transcend the influence and guidance of nature, without denying its validity in its own sphere, and without sacrificing it as the medium by which the imagination may become creative. A cardinal objection to dependence on nature was that through it the artist ignored reality and placed the emphasis upon the accidental. If the artist cannot distinguish between nature and art, wrote Schelling, ‘if it were his wish to subordinate himself to nature, and to repeat things present with a slavish fidelity, he would produce masks (/arvae) indeed, but no works of art.’’? Such imitation of the externals of nature was to Goethe not only the destruction of art, but the acceptance of vulgarity. ‘“‘The accidental real in which we cannot at once discover natural law or freedom, is called the vulgar,’’®* was his ultimatum on this question. Again, art spurns dependence on nature, for reality as we know it is a matter of time; art as the daughter of Freedom knows no time. ‘‘Art,’’ said Schelling in his treatise on the Plastic Arts, 4 Der Sammler und die Seintgen, Brief VI, Werke, vol. XXXILII, p. 180: «|... Kein Portrit kann etwas taugen, als wenn es der Maler im eigentlich- sten Sinne erschafft.” % Uber Wahrheit, p. 88: “Sollte nun nicht daraus folgen, dass das Kunstwahre und das Naturwahre villig verschieden sei, und dass der Kiinstler keinesweges streben sollte noch diirfe, dass sein Werk eigentlich als ein Naturwerk erscheine?”’ % Werke, vol. XXXIII, p. 55: “ ... . von ruhigen, treuen, eingeschrinkten Menschen.”’ 37 Uber das Verhdltniss der bildenden Kiinste 2u der Natur, Werke, vol. VII, p. 301: ‘“Wollte er sich aber mit Bewusstsein dem Wirklichen ganz unterordnen, und das Vorhandensein mit knechtischer Treue wiedergeben, so wiirde er wohl Larven hervorbringen, aber keine Kunstwerke.”’ 38 Weimar ed., Pt. I. vol. XLII,? p. 119: “Das Zufillig-Wirkliche, an dem wit weder ein Gesetz der Natur noch der Freiheit fiir den Augenblick entdecken, nen nen wir das Gemeine.”’ \ THE THEORY oF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ 15 “fin that it presents the object in this moment, withdraws it from time and causes it to display its pure being in the form of its eternal life.’’** Schiller was equally emphatic: ‘“‘Only the aesthetic state is a complete whole in itself, for it unites in itself all conditions of its source and of its duration. Here alone we feel ourselves, as it were, swept out of time, and our humanity expresses itself with purity and integrity as if it had not experienced any interruption by the operation of an external power.’’4? It is because of these reasons, that the artist, as one who is truly free and removed from all constraint, who, though in touch with nature and the ideal, is undetermined by either, yet fully aware of the power of each, who is freely active and indifferent as in play, and who is consequently of no time but of all time, cannot devote himself to the service of his age or country. It is true that some of these men such as F. Schlegel and Schelling reconcile the age and eternity in the artist, but they do it by making each indifferent to the other, and not, as in imitative art, the former as a means to the latter’s end. But one and all, Schiller, Goethe (with occasional lapses), Schlegel and Schelling, urge the artist to beware of ends, of service to any cause or institution, whether it be that of science or of ethics, of church or of state. ‘Art cannot,” declared Schelling, “‘without forfeiting the nobility of its nature direct itself to any outward end.’ Earlier in his Philosophy of Art he had written “Poetry has no end outside of itself.’“? Friedrich Schlegel in accordance with the advanced pluralism of his age, argued that wit and virtue and love, as well as art, are ends in themselves * %® Uber d. V.d. 6. K., vol. VII, p. 303: “Die Kunst, indem sie das Wesen in jenem Augenblick darstellt, hebt es aus der Zeit heraus; sie lisst es in seinem reinen Sein, in der Ewigkeit seines Lebens erscheinen.” “ Brief XXII: “ . . . nur der dsthetische [Zustand] ist ein Ganzes in sich selbst, da er alle Bedingungen seines Ursprungs und seiner Fortdauer in sich vereinigt. Hier allein fiihlen wir uns wie aus der Zeit gerissen; und unsre Menschheit Zussert sich mit einer Reinheit und Integritit, als hatte sie von der Einwirkung diusserer Krifte noch keinen Abbruch erfahren.” “ Ober d. V.d.b.K., vol. VII,p. 327: “ . . . . denn sie (die Kunst) kann sich, ohne den Adel ihrer Natur aufzugeben, nach nichts Ausserem richten.” @ Ph. d. K., vol. V, p. 639: “Die Poesie hat nie einen Zweck ausser sich ® Jugendschriften, vol. II, p. 191, Lyc. Frag. 59: “Witz ist Zweck an sich, wie die Tugend, die Liebe, und die Kunst.” 16 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ ‘“‘To require moral ends of the artist is to destroy his pro- fession,’’“ was Goethe’s answer in Dichtung und Wahrheit to what he believed a pernicious theory of Sulzer, which taught that the artist must consciously exert an ethical influence.“® Schiller justified his antagonism to the artist who tried to be a reformer, by urging him to beware, to examine himself ‘‘to see if these disorders of the moral world wound his reason, or if they do not rather wound his self-love.’”“ He begged him as an artist, to forsake the world as it is, and its maxims, and to rise in freedom above himself to the contemplation of the eternal moral world.‘” The cleavage between artists and the masses of men was so marked by the time of Friedrich Schlegel, owing largely to antag- onism to some of the doctrines of Fichte and Schelline, that many men had come to regard art and philosophy as destroyers of religion and morals. In his curiously obscurantist fashion, Friedrich Schlegel combatted this tendency. ‘‘You wished to annihilate Philosophy and Poetry,” he wrote, “‘in order to make way for religion and morals which you did not comprehend; how- ever, you have been able to destroy nothing but yourself.’ Schiller lamented the fact that art is banished ‘from the noisy Vanity Fair of our time,’’ and that ‘‘the spiritual service of art has no weight.’*? He ascribed this condition to men’s devotion to utility and to science, both of which are in the domain of the understanding. Only that avails, he said, which serves a purpose, “D.«u. W., vol. XXIV, p. 112: “ . .. aber moralische Zwecke vom Kiinstler fordern, heisst ihm sein Handwerk verderben.”’ “cf. A. W. Schlegel, in F. Schlegel’s Jugendschriften, vol. II, Ath. Frag. 106: “Die moralische Wiirdigung ist der asthetischen vdéllig entgegengesetzt. Dort gilt der gute Wille alles, hier gar nichts. Der gute Wille witzig zu sein, zum Beispiel, ist die Tugend eines Pagliass.”’ “ Brief IX: “Aber befragte er sich auch, ob diese Unordnungen in der moral- ischen Welt seine Vernunft beleidigen oder nicht vielmehr seine Selbstliebe schmer- zen?” ‘7 Brief IX. 48 Jugendschriften, vol. I, Ideen, No. 90: “Du wolltest die Philosophie zer- stéren, und die Poesie, um Raum zu gewinnen fiir die Religion und Moral, die du verkanntest; aber du hast nichts zerstéren kénnen als dich selber.” The interpre- tation of this passage will be clearer after we have discussed Schlegel’s doctrine of originality. 49 Brief II: “Auf dieser groben Wage hat das geistige Verdienst der Kunst kein Gewicht, und, aller Aufmunterung beraubt, verschwindet sie von dem lir- menden Markt des Jahrhunderts.” ‘ THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ 17 or which can be understood in its relation to actuality. The im- - agination is robbed, he added, ‘‘of one province after another and the frontiers of art are narrowed in proportion as the limits of science are enlarged.’’° It is significant also, and an aid to our understanding of this time’s concept of an artist and to our appreciation of the con- sistency in the main of their views, to see that in addition to excluding service to causes or institutions, they definitely ruled out the stimulation of the emotions, and the excitation of pleasure in the percipient. Delight as an objective rather than as a result, is destructive of art according to Friedrich Schlegel. “Enjoyment must be free,’’ he wrote, ‘‘it may never be a means to an end. Intentional delight would be business, and not pleasure.’’®' In his criticism of the French Romanticists, Goethe deplored the ten- dency of some to seek emotional effects, because thereby they degraded their talent and destroyed their capacity for creating art. ‘But in this chase after outward means of effect,” he wrote, “all profound study, and all gradual and thorough development of the talent and the Man from within, is entirely neglected. And this is the greatest injury which can befall a talent.’ Schiller went so far as to place consciously impassioned or pathetic art (the tragic) on the same plane as didactic or improving art. ‘There is,” he said, “‘a fine art of passion, but an impassioned fine art 1s a con- tradiction in terms. . . . The idea of an instructive fine art (didactic art) or improving (moral) art is no less contradictory, for nothing agrees less with the idea of the beautiful than to give a determinate tendency to the mind.’”’® In the last clause we have 6 Brief II: ‘“Selbst der philosophische Untersuchungsgeist entreisst der Ein bildungskraft eine Provinz nach der andern, und die Grenzen der Kunst verengen sich, je mehr die Wissenschaft ihre Schranken erweitert.” 81 Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 23: “Er [der Genuss] muss frei, darf nicht Mittel zu einem Zwecke sein. Absichtlicher Genuss wire Geschaft und nicht Genuss.” @ Gespr., vol. LII, p. 151: “In diesem Jagen nach dusseren Effektmitteln aber wird jedes tiefere Studium und jedes stufenweise griindliche Entwickeln des Talents und Menschen von innen heraus ganz ausser Acht gelassen. Das ist aber der grosste Schaden, der dem Talent begegnen kann.” 83 Brief XXII: “Eine schéne Kunst der Leidenschaft gibt es; aber eine schéne leidenschaftliche Kunst ist ein Widerspruch....... Nicht weniger wider- sprechend ist der Begriff einer schénen lehrenden (didaktischen) oder bessernden (moralischen) Kunst, denn nichts streitet mehr mit dem Begriff der Schénheit, als dem Gemiit eine bestimmte Tendenz zu geben.” 18 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ the key note to the conception of artistic autonomy as it is derived from Schiller. If the artist ‘‘seeks to give a determinate tendency to the mind” he unconsciously confesses that he has crossed the boundaries of the imagination’s domain. When his effort is ex- pended on an attempt to impose his feelings or his reason upon the world of reality, he is not free from constraint, he is not indifferent and creating in the spirit of play, and what he makes is not an appearance where life and form are in semblance one. Only the understanding recognizes purposes; to the reason and imagination, as superior faculties, they have no existence. By refusing to re- main within his own sphere, he has both failed to create a work of art, and has not succeeded in being a good moralist or statesman. Schiller’s doctrine of artistic autonomy rests, it may be seen, on three principles: that only in the aesthetic state is there true human autonomy, actual freedom of choice and action; that the creative imagination is the faculty of the soul through which this freedom finds expression; and that the imagination is sovereign within its own domain and recognizes no laws save those which it makes to preserve its purity, its integrity, and its detachment from the spheres of sense, emotions, understanding and reason. In general, it must be clear, the doctrine for which he was sponsor is that of the autonomy of the creative imagination in abstracto, the artist is free, not because he is himself, but because he exercises a faculty which can create only under the condition of freedom. Schiller was so convinced of the need of purity and serenity in art that he urged, more commonly than was logically advisable, the elimination of differentiating characteristics. He would free art as far as possible from the limitations imposed by its division into genera and species. When “the different arts come to resemble each other more and more in the action which they exercise on the mind,’ they have risen, he believed, to a higher elevation than is possible by keeping them within the limits of a particular type. He also advised the artist to transcend other limits, “‘to triumph over those which are inherent in the particular subject of which he treats.’ The artist, he added, must forego “ Brief XXII: “... . dass... die verschiedenen Ktinste in ihrer Wirkung auf das Gemiit einander immer ahnlicher werden.” % Brief XXII: “ . . . . auch diejenigen [Schranken], welche dem besondern Stoffe, den er bearbeitet, anhiingig sind, muss der Kiinstler durch die Behandlung tiberwinden.” THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’’ 19 his individuality as he approaches the higher state of personality, his finite character as he approaches infinity and form.” He went further, it seems, than any of his contemporaries in his attempt to remove the artist from all limitations except those inherent in the play of his creative imagination. Because of this, he came to be regarded by those who survived him as so rigid and abstract in his teachings that he would destroy life in art at the expense of form. In 1794, one year before Schiller published his Uber die ds- thetische Erziehung des Menschen, Fichte had brought out his Grundlage der gesammten Wissenschaftslehre in which he expounded his doctrine of the Ego and Non-Ego. That Schiller knew this work is very evident from the Letters, in which he regarded the reconciliation in consciousness of the Ego and the Non-Ego as one of the characteristics of the aesthetic state. But it is equally apparent that it failed to give him any interest in a possible theory of the autonomy of the artist as an individual. That addition to the connotation of the term came as Fichte’s influence increased, and as his contemporaries, Schelling and Friedrich Schlegel, developed an enriched conception of the artist. Fichte’s doctrine of the Ego, although not always consistently interpreted by him, in the main asserted that each human being as a unique complex is capable of approaching the Infinite Idea, if he voluntarily frees himself from such encroachments of Nature —or the Non-Ego*’—as interfere with his development, and if, thus self-limited and self-directed, he surrenders himself to necessity in so far as it is the means by which he will attain freedom and self-realization. At the beginning of his conscious life, man is moved by his native instincts, by the blind leadings of his spiritual nature, but finds himself thwarted by that which is not himself, or of himself, his Non-Ego. As he progresses, he also becomes aware that it is in following these leadings that he is losing his freedom. Only when he has recognized the constraint of his instinct as constraint and has accepted it as a guide, does he become equal to the task of creating himself. Directed by it, he can gather into his personality as much of the richness and the Briefe XI—XII. 5? Fichte did not consistently follow this definition of the Non-Ego. This exposition is largely based on Die Bestimmung des Menschen (1800). 20 THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ - variety of the world beyond as suits his needs, and, at the same time retain and develop that unity which is himself. With instinct robbed of its sjave compelling power, and the Non-Ego deprived of its capacity to hinder and viewed rather as an instrument of self-creation, he has made himself free within his accepted limi- tations. Instead of being a work of Nature, he is distinctly a creator of his own self-sufficiency.§§ Fichte, like Schiller, who may have been his disciple in this connection, often opposed individuality and personality to each other. The former he regarded as the distinguishing quality of man in a state of necessity, the latter that of man in a state of freedom. In either condition, a man is peculiar, but he is a nobly self-sufficient, truly autono- mous, integrally valid being only when he is consciously self- directed and has, by voluntary surrender to the obstacles opposed to him, freed himself from the domination of instinct and external nature. He has lost himself only to gain himself. Fichte’s view of history as a progressive revelation of the absolute through a series of unique personalities is also important in this connection. Not only did it justify and emphasize differ- ences, in great men and artists who had come before, and in periods of history or of art, but it also gave to the future a doctrine which stimulated men’s confidence in their peculiarities and in their capacity for, unique contributions to art or philosophy. Its influence as a stimulus to production in the nineteenth century school of art for art’s sake is comparable only to its influence in the reinterpretation of artistic and political history. The channels through which the doctrines of Fichte reached the artists immediately were in the main the aesthetic writings of Schelling and Friedrich Schlegel. There were many others who assisted, but since this study is definitely limited to a few striking figures who sum up the thought of the time, only one other, Goethe, will be considered. One of the immediate results of the Fichtean teaching was a new theory of original genius. To distinguish this from the Storm and Stress conception, we must notice that, though instinct was still regarded as un unaccountable 88 Die Bestimmung des Menschen, Sdmtliche Werke, vol. II, p. 256: “Ich bin durchaus mein eigenes Geschépf. Ich hatte blind dem Zuge meiner geistigen Natur folgen kénnen. Ich wollte nicht Natur, sondern mein eigenes Werk sein; und ich bin es geworden, dadurch dass ich es wollte.” THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE”’ 21 gift of nature, it was held to be artistically inoperative until consciously realized and accepted as a guide. An artist who follows it blindly deprives himself of the power to create in free- dom, and ranges himself with instinctive creatures such as animals instead of lifting himself to the heights possible to humanity. If he accepts it as a guide, by a free act of the mind he has destroyed his slavery to it and made it his servant and the instrument by which he may approach to his unique vision—or apprehension of the Absolute.®° More than Schlegel, Schelling emphasized the divine origin of genius. “It is, as it were, a fragment of Divinity.’* Conse- quently, he belittled the war with destiny, the struggle to attain personality which Schlegel believed so essential to the highest achievement of man, especially of the artist. At times, in spite of marked differences, Schlegel came close to Schiller in his belief that the artist rather than the philosopher is distinctly a creation of the conditions in which man as man finds himself, and is there- fore, necessarily, the one who has attained humanity’s climax. The effect of Schelling’s attitude was to make men think of the artist as inspired and divinely aided; that of Schlegel’s to make them think of him as the concrete ideal human being, vastly superior to the ordinary man, yet man and not spirit, and as one who has not only conquered necessity but also learned to despise men who submit. Enjoyment of his self-sufficiency, contempt for vulgar inadequacy and cowardice, these were inherent qualities in Schlegel’s conception of the artist. The divorce between him and humanity, so often noticed in the school of l’art pour l'art, though not philosophically essential to its theory, has, I hope it is clear, in part at least, a philosophical origin. To these men the prime requisite of a true artist, was origin- ality. Schelling spoke of the creative faculty as the “‘power of individuation.’ ‘Art is a wholly peculiar activity of the human 89 F, Schlegel, Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 97. 60 Jisd., vol. I, p. 119. @ Ph. d. K., vol. V, p. 460: “Es [das Genie] ist so zu sagen ein Stiick aus der Absolutheit Gottes.’”’ @ Jugendschriften, vol. I, pp. 95-7. Cf. Goethe, Gespr., vol. I, p. 77. Seg.: Jugendschriften, vol. II, Lyc. Frag. 87 and 108. * Ph. d. K., vol. V, p. 386: “Sie (die Einbildungskraft) ist . . . . die Kraft der Individuation.” 22 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’’ spirit,” wrote Schlegel, ‘“‘which is separated by fixed boundaries from every other manifestation of this spirit.”*® They are always careful, however, to distinguish originality, which they greatly admire, from individuality or singularity (Partikularttadt) and subjectivity (Subjektivitat), which they contemn. What they asked for in art is not the partial vision, which may be confused or one-sided, but the vision of the whole even though it is appre- hended from a very limited point of view. It is imperative that every one see from his own Standpunkt, Schlegel argued,—there can be no artist who sums up all of art;® but to attain this end it is equally imperative that an artist should not be content with his natural endowment which makes him individual, but that he should rise from his incomplete and inchoate state to that of perfect self-realization. When he remains as nature made him, he never attains even to an apprehension of the Absolute except in fleeting glimpses which give him no perception of it as it is. He is never free until he has a view of his world as a whole, until he can see it objectively and apart from himself. Subjectivity is the mark of his being conditioned by nature; objectivity is the result of his freedom and self-creativeness.*” The law of a work of art, Schelling declared, is that “the more original it is, the more universal it is.”’*® Because they were often confused Schlegel found it necessary to distinguish this aesthetic universality from logical universality, “unconditioned imperative universal validity.’”’** In artistic representation the ideal appears through the medium of a concrete and tangible image or series of images, which can never be regarded as essential to all representa- tions of the ideal or the universal similarly viewed. When logical universality is demanded, this concrete medium is effaced, or so robbed of its peculiar features that it loses its distinctness and charm and remains nothing more than a logical concept, a dim image of the average in no way suggesting the ideal. Beautiful % Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 119: “Die Kunst ist eine ganz eigenthiimliche Thatigkeit des menschlichen Gemiiths, welche durch ewige Griinzen von jeder andern geschieden ist.” * 7bid., vol. II, Jd. 114. 6? F, Schlegel, Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 102: vol. I, Ath. Frag. 297. *s Ph. d. K., vol. V, p. 447: “... . dass gerade je origineller, desto univer- seller.” 6° Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 153. THE THEORY oF “ART FOR ArT’S SAKE” 23 art, he urged, is like the speech of God, spiritually one, but diverse in dialects when used by men to communicate the eternal ideas to each other.”° The artist presents his vision in his own way, asking of his medium only what man asks of language: that it impart truly and beautifully that which he desires to say. To Schlegel, particularly, a school of artists is inconceivable. There are, he said, Echo-Ktinstler in countless legions who imi- tate the external peculiarities of a great artist, but they can never become original geniuses themselves.”! The true artist can neither rule nor serve. It follows then quite logically that, to these men, the law governing artistic creation comes not from without the artist, nor from others, but from himself. Schlegel would have the artist obey the ‘‘necessary laws of beauty and the objective rules of art,’ which are, in general, no other than those laid down by Kant and particularly by Schiller regarding the exercise of creative imagination. These, as we have seen, proceed from the artist’s recognition of his autonomy within his own sphere. They are the bonds which unite all artists in a commonactivity, and they represent, in a sense, voluntary compacts made by those who are governed by the same aspiration. But the doctrine of artistic originality demands an autonomy which is beyond even the voluntary compact and which is referred only to the individual as an individual. In the ultimate analysis, Schelling and Schlegel as well as Fichte believed, no artist can go beyond himself, beyond his own Willkiir or freedom of choice. Romantic poetry which Schlegel identifies with all great poetry is, he said, “alone infinite and truly free,” for “it recognizes as its first condition that the pleasure of the poet endures no law above itself.”"> “Art and science,” wrote Schelling in his treatise On the Relation of the Plastic Arts to Nature, “can only revolve on their own axes. The artist like every intellectual operator, can only follow that law 70 Thid. 1 Jugendschrifien, vol. 1, p. 102. Cf. vol. II, Ideen 45 and 114. 7 Ibid., vol. I, p. 153. “Der Kiinstler braucht gar nicht allen alles zu sein. Wenn er nur den nothwendigen Gesetzen der Schénheit und den objektiven Regeln der Kunst gehorcht, so hat er tbrigens unbeschrankte Freiheit, so elecntnis zu sein, als er nur immer will.” 13 Jugendchriften, vol. II, Ath. Frag. 116: “Sie allein ist unendlich; wie sie allein frei ist, und das als ihr erstes Gesetz anerkennt, dass die Willktir des Dichters kein Gesetz iiber sich leide.” 24 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ which God and nature have written in his heart—no other.’’” The conclusion was inevitable: when conscious originality is made the essential quality of fine art, there is no law—except those demanded by the exercise of imagination—but that which is the product of the artist’s own intelligence and pleasure. Benjamin Constant in his Journal Intime reported a canversa- tion with Goethe in 1804 which has interest to us in this connec- tion. They were discussing The Sorrows of the Young Werther and its influence on the public. Constant quoted Goethe as having said, ‘‘But when I write something which pleases me, I care nothing about its consequences.’’* In a parallel passage in Goethe’s Annalen for 1804 referring, it seems, to this and similar conversa- tions, the German remarked of the Frenchman “my peculiar way of regarding and treating nature and art was not always clear to him.’”’* There is good reason to believe that Goethe may have said something more like this: ‘‘But when I write something which pleases me, I cannot be responsible for its influence on uncultivated readers.” That, at least, is in keeping with much that he had written. For there can be no doubt that he was greatly influenced by the new doctrine of originality. As a philosophical extension and justification of his earlier criti- cal theory of the characteristic in art, which he attacked in mid-life,”” it enabled him in his old age to give new significance to his enduring interest in personality in art. ‘The true artist,” he asserted, “‘rests firmly and securely upon himself.””* Like his contemporaries, he recognized genius, the unaccountable element in an artist’s inspiration, but he never even in his old % Werke, vol. III, p. 327: “Kunst und Wissenschaft kénnen beide sich nur um ihre eigne Axe bewegen; der Kiinstler wie jeder geistig Wirkende nur dem Gesetz folgen, das ihm Gott und Natur ins Herz geschrieben, keinem andern.”’ % Journal Intsme, le 26 pluviose: “En parlant de Werther il [Goethe] disait: ‘Ce qui rend cet ouvrage dangereux, c’est d’avoir peint de la faiblesse comme de la force. Mais quand je fais une chose me convient, les consequences ne me regardent pas. S’il y a des fous, a qui la lecture en tourne mal, ma foi tant pis! ’ ” | % Paralipomena su den Annalen, Zum Jahre 1804, Werke, vol. XXX, pp. 399-400: “Mit Benjamin Constant wurden mir gleichfalls angenehme belehrende Stunden. . « « wenn ihm auch meine Art und Weise, Natur und Kunst anzusehen und zu behandeln, nicht immer deutlich werden konnte .... ” 7 e.g.: Der Sammler und die Seintgen, Brief VI, 1799. Werke, vol. XX XIII. 78 Weimar ed. Pt. I, vol. XLVI, p. 320: “Der wahre Kiinstler steht fest und sicher auf sich selbst.” THE THEORY oF “ArT FOR ArRT’S SAKE’”’ 25 age regarded it as the sole element in creation. At the height of his career and afterward, art was distinctly the product of freedom in the Fichtean sense, of a noble self-consciousness that had learned to trust the unconscious element in the creative process. ‘“‘Personality,” he told Eckermann, “is everything in art and poetry.”’”® As is well known, he objected to one-sidedness in literary men and held that many-sidedness, complete self-mani- festation, is the goal of all true artists regarded as men.®° He urged those who sought his advice to cultivate their peculiar nature, but he warned them that they will succeed in doing so only while they seem to be going out of themselves... . Not alone by following the lead of native instinct was personality to be developed; but also by drawing to one’s self all that nature, art and humanity had to offer in the way of cultivation. He agreed with Fichte in holding that the true artist and man must free himself from the pettiness and narrowness implicit in singularity. Consequently, he also came to despise subjectivity and to regard it, not, as Schiller had, as a different way of treating artistic material, but as a sign of inferiority, of artistic incapacity. ‘‘A poet,’’ he argued, “deserves not the name while he expresses nothing but his few subjective emotions. Only when he can appropriate to himself, and express the world, is he a poet. Then he is inex- haustible, and can be always new. The subjective nature, on the contrary, soon exhausts its meagre inspiration, and is at last ruined by mannerism.’”’® Purification of personality, enrichment of it until all its latent possibilities are in flower, these are the demands which the creative capacity makes of the budding artist. To Goethe this fullness and richness as well as freedom of personality, was a desirable end in itself. It removed him from 7 Gespr. vol. I, p. 128: ‘‘Allerdings ist in der Kunst und Poesie die Persin- lichkeit alles.” ig % e.g. Einl. in die Prop., vol. XXXIII, pp. 119-122. " Ibid., p. 122: “Jeder wird seine eigne Natur nur desto mehr ausbilden, je mehr er sich von ihr zu entfernen scheint.” ® Gespr., vol. I, pp. 117-8: “‘Ebenso ist es mit einem Dichter. Solange er bloes seine wenigen subjektiven Empfindungen ausspricht, ist er noch keiner zu nennen; aber sobald er die Welt sich anzueignen und auszusprechen weiss, ist er ein Poet. Und dann ist er unerschdpflich und kann immer neu sein, wogegen aber eine sub- jektive Natur ihr Bisschen Inneres bald ausgesprochen hat und zuletzt in Manier zu Grunde geht.” 26 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE” the slavery of temperament and from the irritations of his environ- ment. It destroyed his tendency to subjectivity and increased his freedom and objectivity in imaginative creation. Thereby, he could, like a calm god, look down upon the world of his Kunsé- werk as one on the outside and not mixed up in it. Like a god he could laugh at it, or be saddened by it, as suited his mood. Goethe seldom if ever claimed this privilege for himself, but he greatly admired it in others,—Merimée* and Goldsmith” and Miser,® for example. He and others called this quality Irony. It was in the main expounded by Friedrich Schlegel. It was the natural product of Schiller’s theory of the naive and the sentimen- tal, of the growing tendency to think of the artist as one who plays indifferently between the actual and the ideal; it needed only the Schlegelian doctrine of originality to give it birth. Through it nineteenth century art, particularly that which is the product of the art for art’s sake school, received one of its richest sources of inspiration. For it gave philosophical counten- ance to a belief that art bears an intimate relation to its artist’s moods or reactions without reference to their permanent validity. In Schlegel’s emphasis on the need of the artist being above his creation, outside of it, self-controlled, self-restrained and yet active, regarding it as an independent and self-subsiste nt whole, and from that point of view, being able to change his apergu or his mood as his pleasure moves, we have the explanation of much that confuses and irritates lovers of older art who find little to enjoy in modern literature.® The capriciousness of Schlegel’s ironical artist has been often noted and much misunderstood. What he admired in the true artist was first originality and then irony, the latter only as a concomitant to the essential first element. He gave the original artist alone the privilege of freedom to enjoy his imaginative conception to the utmost, and from any point of view. Since he sees his creation as a whole, he has the right to view it as such and to be variously affected by its manifold qualities. In one of his epigrams, Schlegel said that a work which has not as living a reality and as distinct a personality as a beloved or a friend had 8 Gespr., vol. III, p. 152. “D. u.W., Werke, vol. XXIII, pp. 258-9. ® Tbid., vol. XXIV, p. 182. ® F, Schlegel, Jugendschriften, vol. II, Lyc. Frag. 42, 55, 108; Ath. Frag. 297. THE THEORY OF “ART FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ 27 better remain unwritten, for otherwise it can never become a work of art.*7 As it is the privilege of the lover to regard his beloved from all angles, to be affected by her eternal variety and many charms, and even, if he is free from constraint, to look at her humorously, soit is the privilege of the artist to view his creation. from every side, enjoying it and all its reactions, taking it with extreme seriousness or in puckish spirit as his mood urges, because he sees it as it is, and regards it as a whole. In the last analysis, this is but an added reward of his detachment and freedom. It is evident that Schlegel did not admire the serene indifference which appealed to Schiller and Schelling as much as he did the perfect relaxation, the ungoverned play of the spirit which freedom in creation gave the artist. The ideal of Schiller and Schelling is incapable of dogmatism because in his calm unconcern he can take no sides: that of Schlegel is equally undidactic because his ironical mood not only increases his indifference but makes a consistent and eternally valid reaction impossible. ** So far, in this discussion of the theories of artistic autonomy, nothing has been said regarding freedom in execution. At first sight, Kant seems to deprive the artist of autonomy in actual representation. Genius, he contended, gives only the material of art; execution requires taste, that is, the talent for beautiful representation that is cultivated in the schools. He advised the young genius to avail himself of the experience of the past, to know the rules, to acquire mechanical skill in execution.®* Although it must be frankly admitted that Kant often ranged himself with the formalists, it is clear that such allegiance was not within his final intention. His temporary alignment with the neo-classicists was actually, I believe, the product of his tempera- mental dislike of the Storm and Stress men and of. their Icarian failures. For Kant, idealist as he was, was intensely practical, ®7 Jugendschriften, vol. II, Ath. Frag. 117: “Werke, deren Ideal fiir den Kilnst- ler nicht eben so viel lebendige Realitit, und gleichsam Persinlichkeit hat, wie die Geliebte oder der Freund, blieben besser ungeschrieben. Wenigstens Kunstwerke werden es gewiss nicht.” &S Jugendschriften, vol. II, Lyc. Frag. 108: “ . . . . Sie [die Sokratische Ironie] soll Niemanden tduschen, als die, welche sie fiir Tiuschung halten, und entweder ihre Freude haben, an der herrlichen Schalkheit, alle Welt zum Besten zu haben, oder bise werden, wenn sie ahnden, sie waren wohl auch mit gemeint. In ihr soll alles Scherz, und alles Ernst sein, alles treuherzig offen, und alles tief verstellt.” 8 Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 47 (entire). 28 THE THEORY oF “‘ArT FOR ArRT’S SAKE”’ and sought conditions where great results were humanly possible. The condition of human success was to him invariably the recon- ciliation of freedom and necessity, the voluntary acceptance of the intellect’s law in the domain of nature. Consequently a work of art must be the product of the free acceptance of limitation. Limitation in artistic representation, as opposed to artistic conception, meant to him the recognition of conditions imposed upon the artist by the need of objectively presenting his imagina- tive vision. Now to Kant, the ultimate condition of all repre- sentation was that the artist should seek to render his form “ade- quate to his thought without detriment to the free play of his powers.’°° This does not require that he reject the assistance which manifold examples from art and nature can give him; it does mean, however, that the final authority in execution is him- self. He only can judge whether the form is adequate to his thought or not. ‘To content himself, he finds that form which satisfies himself.’’*! There is no doubt that in Kant’s estimation, there is only one final court of appeal, and that that is the artist’s own conscience. Sometimes, he said, a young and inexperienced author may accept the judgment of others when it is in opposition to his own taste, because he desires applause; but when he matures, and his own judgment is sharpened by exercise, he must, if he be a true artist, follow his own conscience alone and ignore the taste of others. ‘‘Taste merely claims autonomy; to make the judgments of others the determining grounds of his own would be heteron- omy.”® But Kant went even further than this. He not only erected in the artistic conscience the final court of appeal, but he gave the individual choices of the artist in execution (that is, in the * Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 48: “ . . . . um sie dem Gedanken angemessen und doch der Freiheit im Spiele derselben nicht nachtheilig werden zu lassen.” " Ky. d. Ur., Sec. 48: “Diese Form aber dem Producte der schénen Kunst zu geben, dazu wird blos Geschmack erfordert, an welchem der Kiinstler, nachdem er ihn durch mancherlei Beispiele der Kunst oder der Natur getibt und berichtigt hat, sein Werk hilt, und nach manchen oft miihsamen Versuchen, denselben zu be- friedigen, diejenige Form findet, die ihm Geniige thut.” ® Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 32: ‘‘Der Geschmack macht blos auf Autonomie Anspruch. Fremde Urtheile sich zum Bestimmungsgrunde des seinigen zu machen, wire Heteronomie.” THE THEORY OF ‘“‘ART FOR ArRT’S SAKE”’ 29 exercise of taste) the sanction of a Categorical Imperative. Possi- bly in no other connection has he so dignified and exalted the artis- tic capacity. ‘‘All judgments of taste,”’ he said, “are singular judgments,’’* but ‘“‘the agreement of a representation with these conditions must be capable of being assumed as valid a priors for everyone.’’™ With the development of the theories of artistic autonomy and with the granting to the artist of prerogatives and of freedom beyond those of other men (save the philosopher among the Fichteans), Kant’s dicta regarding the artistic conscience and its Categorical Imperative needed no argument. The energy of the later men was expended on the consideration of the qualities which are to be demanded in every true Kunstwerk, and to gaining and preserving which, every creating artist must devote himself. All agreed that Vollkommenheit, consummateness or perfection, in an aesthetical and not in a logical sense, was the ultimate goal in execution. We all know the passion for this quality in the work of the average l’art pour l’art man in the second half of the nineteenth century; we can find a parallel fervor and enthusiasm in Germany around 1800. Greek art was ardently admired be- cause it excelled in this particular.™ ‘‘Perfection,” however, is a vague quality which varies in significance from age to age. What were its differentia at this time? They are marked with a fair degree of ease because they were the necessary result of their belief that art is the product of the creative imagination—always, of course, in the sense already defined—and of the unique vision. The first demand on the artist in execution is that he maintain aesthetic appearance, that, on the one hand, his work be free from the intrusions of the real as real, and that, on the other hand, it be freed from the domination of the intellect and not sacrificed to the requirements of thought. In other words, a work of art, to satisfy its artist, must have purity, which is freedom from anything that is foreign to its essential nature, and it must have integrity, a completeness within its own limitations, that makes it % Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 37: ‘Daher sind auch alle Geschmacksurtheile einzelne Urtheile ..... - * Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 38: “ ... . so muss die Ubereinstimmung einer Vorstel- lung mit diesen Bedingungen der Urtheilskraft als fiir Jedermann gtiltig a priors angenommen werden kinnen.” Seg. F. Schlegel, Jugendschriften, vol. I, p. 22. 30 THE THEORY OF ‘‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’” independent and self-subsistent. The second demand, realized as we have seen by men who came after Schiller, was that the artist make his work the product of his personal vision; in other words that it have originality or peculiarity. Purity, integrity, peculiarity, these were the tests and, in general, the only tests which the spirit of art for art’s sake criticism in the period we are discussing, and in the later and better known one, permitted friend or foe toapply. The earlier men, with the possible exception of Goethe, were not so concerned with their application by critics as they were by the artist himself, who, obviously, was the only one in their estimation who could finally determine whether his — Kunstwerk was pure, whole and peculiar. That his task, the attainment of aesthetic perfection, was not an easy one, was universally admitted. Kant opposed the Storm and Stress men in this particular of the controversy. ‘‘This form is not, as it were, a thing of inspiration, or the result of a free swing of the mental powers, but of a slow and even painful process of improvement,’ he argued. Although Goethe believed that the appearance of ease was desirable in art, he taught that it was not in any sense to be gained by facility in expression. ‘‘All tendency to easy contentment destroys art,’”*” he wrote in notes for a paper on Dilettantism, a habit of mind that he despised because it “brings in indulgence and favor.’’ He also complained that “‘at the expense of true artists it brings into notice those that stand nearest to Dilettantism.’’ In his Introduction to the Propylaea he exerted his influence to show that where facility is honored, and the details and principles of execution are ignored, true art wanes. To him quite consistently after his divorce from Sturm und Drang, the noblest talent found, as s he said, “its highest satisfaction i in the execution.’’%8 | “The excellence of a work of art,’ wrote Schiller, ‘‘can only consist in its greater approximation to its ideal of aesthetic " Kr. d. Ur., Sec. 48: “.. ... daher diese nicht gleichsam eine Sache der Eingebung oder eines freien Sef wares der ai tah Songer einer langsamen und gar peinlichen Nachbesserung ist . *7 Weimar ed., Pt. I, vol. XLVII, p. "302: “Alles Veniebachined zerstért die Kunst und der Dilettantismus fiihrt Nachsicht und Gunst ein.” 8 Gespr., vol. I, p. 66: “Das echte, wahrhaft grosse Talent aber findet sein héchstes Gliick in der Ausfiihrung.”’ THE THEORY oF “ArT FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ 31 purity.”*® The great author, according to Fichte, “does not think he has attained anything until he has attained all,—until his work stands before him in the purity and perfection towards which he has struggled . . ... . so long as he is not conscious of this absolute freedom and purity [peculiarity] he has not attained his object, but still works on.” Both of them,,. it will be seen, iden- tified artistic consummateness and purity, but Schiller thought of purity as the product of attention to and concentration on aesthetic appearance: Fichte, as the result of the laborious effort on the part of an author to free his work from the alien qualities of his lower self! and from the alien elements of another’s personal- ity. But both are one in their belief that elimination is one of the chief requisites in artistic execution. he It is interesting to notice, as a result, just one of the specific tests which these men applied to their own work and to that of others. I shall mention only their demand for self-restraint (self-sacrifice) in art. To say everything about a subject is im- possible to the original artist, in the theory of Friedrich Schlegel. Limitation is essential. But limitation is possible only where man has capacity for limitless expansion,—that is, either in the length or in the breadth of his vision, “in den Punkten und an den Seiten.”” He can so distribute his interests that he destroys his capacity for self-realization, the basis of art; or he can so con- centrate them that, by his very sacrifice, he gains a vista into the Absolute, a vision that is his own and no other’s.'® Self-control, self-limitation, is the very condition of artistic perfection. “A work is finished [perfected],’’ he wrote, ‘“‘when it is limited at every point, yet within its borders is without limitation and inex- * Brief XXII: “ .... so kann die Vortrefflichkeit eines Kunstwerks bloss in seiner gréssern Anniherung zu jenem Ideale asthetischer Reinigkeit bestehen ...”’ 100 Uber das Wesen des Gelehrten, Werke, vol. VI, p. 446: “Er glaubt nicht, dass ihm Etwas gelungen sei, bis ihm Alles gelungen ist, und bis sein Werk dasteht in der angestrebten Reinheit und Vollendung . . . So lange er dieser absoluten Freiheit und Reinheit sich nicht bewusst ist, hat er nicht vollendet, sondern arbeitet fort.” 101 Jhid.: “Ohne alle Liebe fiir seine Individualitaét, treu hingegeben an diese Idee, die fortdauernd ihn erleuchtet, erkennt er mit sicherem Blicke alle Reste seiner alten Natur in dem Ausdrucke der Idee fiir das, was sie sind, und streitet unablassig mit sich selbst, sich von denselben frei zu machen’”’. 10 Jbid., p. 447: “Auch die Persénlichkeit Anderer gilt ihm der Wahrheit und der Idee gegeniiber nicht mehr, als sein eigene.”’ 13 Tupendschriften, vol. II, Lyc. Frag. 37. 32 THE THEORY OF “‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE’”’ haustible, when it is quite truly itself, everywhere homogeneous and yet exalted over itself.’”!™ At the same time that the artist refuses, as Young’s Shake- speare, to mix any water with his wine, he must keep his wine unclouded and unadulterated by impurities from the very source of his inspiration. ‘In order to write well on any subject,” Schlegel added, ‘‘the author must free himself from all personal interest in it; the thought which he is to express with high seriousness must already have lost its immediate attraction, must no longer actually occupy him. So long as the artist is under the sway of imagination and poetic rapture, he is not in a proper condition to communicate what he has to say. He will, in that case, be tempted to say everything ..... One who yields to such a temptation fails to recognize the value and merit of self-restraint, which, as we know, is the first and last, the most necessary and the highest quality that every artist and every man ought to cultivate.’’!* It is interesting here to notice not only how essential is the elimination of that which does not pertain to the artist’s peculiar vision, but also how imperative is the demand for intelligence and thoroughly awakened consciousness in artistic execution. It is true that Schlegel went much further than Schelling in his dislike of the unconscious element in artistic ecstasy, but it is equally true, I believe, that here again he more closely resembles the late art for art’s sake men in giving the artistic conscience almost complete autonomy in his doctrine of self-control as the highest and most significant quality in art. We have plenty of evidence that Goethe agreed with him here also. Only one instance will be noted. In his Assobiography, the great German described enthusi- astically yet regretfully the German poet Giinther, who might have been the great artist of his time. He had every quality 10 Tbid., vol. LI, Ath. Frag. 297: ‘‘Gebildet ist ein Werk, wenn es tiberall scharf begriinzt, innerhalb der Griinzen aber grinzenlos und unerschipfiich ist, wenn es sich selbst ganz treu, tiberall gleich, und doch tiber sich selbst erhaben ist.” 1% Jugendschriften, vol. II, Lyc. Frag. 37: ‘Um tber einen Gegenstand gut schreiben zu kénnen, muss man sich nicht mehr fiir ihn interessiren; der Gedanke, den man mit Besonnenheit ausdriicken soll, muss schon ginzlich vorbei sein, einen nicht mehr eigentlich beschiftigen. So lange der Kiinstler erfindet und begeistert ist, befindet er sich fir die Mittheilung wenigstens in einem illiberalen Zustande. Er wird dann alles sagen wollen . . . Dadurch verkennt er den Werth und die Wirde der Selbstbeschriinkung, die doch fiir den Kistler wie fiir den Menschen das Erste und das Letzte, das Nothwendigste und das Hichste ist.” THE THEORY oF ‘ART FOR ART’S SAKE” 33 essential to greatness in poetry except one, said Goethe, as he enumerated them, and that one was, “‘he did not know how to curb himself, and so his life, like his poetry, came to naught.’ The main elements of the theory of the artist as realized in whole or in part by such men as Kant, Schiller, Goethe, Schelling and Friedrich Schlegel, as well as by a number of others necessarily excluded by the fixed limits of the discussion, are now before us, at least in their salient characteristics. The emphasis in the evolu- tion of this concept, it may be seen, has all along been placed not only on the artist’s freedom, but also on his recognition of law. His autonomy creates responsibilities which distinguish the artist of this school’s conception from the genius of Storm and Stress. This regard for limitation and law which is the outcome of his attainment of freedom and of his consequent capacity to discover the principles that must guide him is not to be confounded with any known species of formalism. Because of his freedom, also, he imposes upon himself the demand of perfection in his work, one more compelling, and at the same time more stringent, more exacting, it was believed, than that of any school hitherto known. It is this transcendent union of freedom and restraint, of liberty and of order that, in the estimation of these men, marks the true artist and him alone. 18 DZD. w. W., vol. XXIII, 61: “Er wusste sich nicht zu zihmen, und so zerrann ihm sein Leben wie sein Dichten.”’ Cf. Goethe’s account of Byron. Gespr., vol. I, pp. 99-102. No. 1. No. 2. VOLUME IV ExvizABETH McCavusianp, The Knight of Curtesy and the Fair Lady of Faguell. Hérine Cartranis, Les “Fastnachtspiele’” de Hans Sachs. Howard Roun Parcu, Fortuna in Old French Literature. VOLUME V MARGARET H. Preoptes, La Société des Bonnes-Lettres, 1821-1830. os ALBERT SCHINZ, Dadaisme, Poignée de documents, 1916-1921. RicHARD AsHLEY Rice, Lord Byron’s British Reputa- tion; Wordsworth Since 1916. Digitized by Google (I Rw————e—— Oe = en Seer. ieee a DE. rh ot at hd oat) * | CAROLINE B. BOURLAND HOWARD R. PATCH ERNST H. MENSEL MARGARET ROOKE THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN AND DAME RAGNELL Edited With a Study of the Date and Dialect of the Poem and its English Analogues By LaurA SUMNER, M.A. - .* e- hat 4 aot . _— ~~. * e Sear = a * -~ In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts _ NORTHAMPTON, MASS. PARIS _ —s SMITH COLLEGE LIBRAIRIE EB, CHAMPION | Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College Fe Palle Po en aah VS en” At ems + fe Pe EOF Tee “ie pup? i p ™ : » . - } : » —— ‘ hd, : J = > , 7 ~~ > -~ - [> a F “y. ¥ piatizea ty GOOQLE P Le } > . -_s _F. > ' d ‘ye te: £4 Sate F ¥ 1, + 3 | io _ ah U2 a >< - - ihe “- Tt ie ae 4 = bs ee ’ » = © . 1 v ™~ -- “he - % SMITH COLLEGE STUDIES IN MODERN LANGUAGES THE SmiTH COLLEGE STUDIES IN MODERN LANGUAGES are published quarterly in October, January, April, and July, by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College. The sub- scription price is seventy-five cents for single numbers, two dollars for the year. Subscriptions and requests for exchanges should be addressed to the SmITH COLLEGE LIBRARY, NORTHAMPTON, MASS. VOLUME I Nos. 1-4. HELEN Maxwetrt Kino, Les Doctrines Littéraires de la Quotidienne, 1814-1830. VOLUME II No. 1. Mary Avucusta JorpaN, An Unpublished Letter of William James. PauL ROBERT LIEDER, Scott and Scandinavian Lit- erature. Nos. 2-3. FLIZABETH A. Foster, Le Dernier Séjour de J.-J. Rous- seau 4 Paris, 1770-78. No. 4. RoSE FRANCES EGAN, The Genesis of the Theory of ‘Art for Art’s Sake” in Germany and in England. VOLUME III Nos. 1-2. JosEF WIEHR, Knut Hamsun, His Personality and his Outlook upon Life. No. 3. Howarp Rorurn Patcua, The Tradition of the Goddess Fortuna, In Roman Literature and in the Transi- tional Period. No. 4. Howarp Roun Patcu, The Tradition of the Goddess Fortuna, In Medieval Philosophy and Literature. ‘Continued on page 3 of cover.) Vo.. V, No. 4 Jury, 1924 Smith College Studies in Modern Languages EDITORS CAROLINE B. BOURLAND HOWARD R. PATCH ERNST H. MENSEL MARGARET ROOKE AI.BERT SCHINZ THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN AND DAME RAGNELL Edited With a Study of the Date and Dialect of the Poem and its English Analogues By LAURA SUMNER, M.A. In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts NORTHAMPTON, MASS. PARIS SMITH COLLEGE LIBRAIRIE E. CHAMPION Published Quarterly by the Departments of Modern Languages of Smith College PRINTED ANO BOUND UY @EORCE BANTA PUBLISHIF-G CO MANUFACTURING PUGLIONERS MENABHA, WISCONGIN THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN AND DAME RAGNELL EDITED Writs A STUDY OF THE DATE AND DIALECT OF THE POEM AND ITS ENGLISH ANALOGUES BY LAURA SUMNER, M.A. In ParTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS Digitized by Google PREFACE This study was submitted as a thesis in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts. My special interest has been in determining the date and the dialect of the poem and its relation to its chief English analogues. In regard to the historical survey, I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr. Maynadier, who has gone very thoroughly into a study of the loathly lady theme. To Professor Patch I owe my thanks for suggesting the subject and directing the work. I also wish to thank Miss Dunham of the Smith College Library for obtaining a rotographic copy of the poem from the British Museum, and Miss Tyler of the Smith College Library for securing material for my study. LAURA SUMNER. Northampton, Massachusetts, May 15, 1924. Digitized by Google TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION III. Historical Survey............... 0... cece eee ees LV... ‘Bibliography 2.43 cccsaceanciaieumecnduhbeaees TExT oF The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell..... GLOSSARY tect tws are eee Hee NO wm Digitized by Google INTRODUCTION I THE TExT The Middle English Metrical romance, The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell, is extant in MS. Rawlinson C. 86, pp. 128b ff., which is now preserved in the Bodleian Library. It is printed in Sir Frederick Madden’s Syr Gawayne.' II DaTE AND DIALECT In this study I have brought forward a list of dialect tests which show that the dialect of this poem is almost certainly East Midland of the middle of the fifteenth century. It has not been my intention, “howev ver, to present a s' systematic grammar of the text._So far as I know, there aren ontemporgry s. Sir Frederick Madden observed that “the second portion of the ma manu- -script {referring to Rawlinson C. 86] consists of 159 leaves and is written in a negligent hand toward the close of Henny the-Seveath-s reign.’ 1. DIALECT Accented Vowels a 1. O.E. @ becomes a or ¢, as in Wycliffe and Capgrave:’ after, 38, etc.; af, 40, etc.; bak, 237; craft, 30; fast, 24, etc.; glad, 704, etc.; had, 204, etc.; masse, 578; maye, 716, etc.; sad, 125; than, 202, etc.; that, 6, etc.; then, 471, etc.; togeder, 364, etc.; was, 2, etc.; whate, 60, etc.; when, 34, etc.; wheder, 659, etc. 2. O.E. & becomes a or e# dele, 361, etc.; drede, 149; erly, 702; euere, 36, etc.; eueremore, 12; euery, 28, etc.; euyn, 151; fere, 181; ferd, 724; grey, 553; here (n.), 239, etc.; lady, 227, etc.; lesse, 614; leste, 635; lett (v.), 70, etc.; leves (v.), 825; meuere, 69, etc.; rede (v.), 255; redy, 587; slepe, 718; ther, 50, etc.; wepyns, 161; were, 11, etc.; where, 23, etc.; wrathe (v.), 782. O.E. a before a single nasal appears as a, as in Wycliffe and Capgrave* can, 29, etc.; man, 39, etc.; name, 61, etc.; same, 87, etc.; shame, 69, etc.; tame, 477. 4. O.E. a before a nasal and a consonant becomes a or o: hand, 88, etc.; hangyng, 241; hond, 626; landes, 58; lond, 85, etc.; long, 238, etc.; thankyd, 709; ondersiand, 827. 1 Appendix, 298-298y. 8 Introduction, lxiv, vii. 'Dibelius, Anglia, xxiii, pp. 174-176, §32; Wyld, ‘‘Dialects in Middle English,” Essays and Stedies, vol. vi, p. 115, (1). ¢ Dibelius, pp. 176 ff., §§33 ff.; pp. 324 ff., §§60 ff.; Luick, Historische Grammatik, §361, 1, 2; Wyhd, Dialects, pp. 116-117, (4), (5). 6 Dibelius, p. 178, §36. © Jbid., pp. 179-181, §37. Vil Vili THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 5. O.F. nasalized a followed by » and a consonant becomes as:’ chaunce, 779; daunger, 848; dysturbaunce, 131; defendaunt, 486; enchauntement, 693; graunt, 101, etc.; straunge, 184, etc.; warraunt, 277, etc. 6. O.E. @, a plus g become ay, ey, 0, ow:* day, 86, etc.; fayn, 259, etc.; fayre, 23, etc.; laye, 226, etc.; mayd (n.), 720, etc.; nayles, 607; evther, 211; nether, 3; nother, 85, etc.; nowther, 96; sayd, 53, etc. 7. O.E. d becomes 6:° alone, 49, etc.; anon, 46; begon, 246; bonys, 617; borys, 549; brode, 240; bothe, 46, etc.; clothyd, 83; euerychon, 452; goo, 72, etc.; home, 127, etc.; knowe, 122, etc.; lothe, 102; lothlynesse, 245; lode, 241; lord, 1, etc.; lore, 314: more, 214, etc.; nothyng, 10, etc.; none, 2, etc.; nott (adv.), 74, etc.; ones (adv.), 15; on (a.), 196; othe, 99, etc.; rode, 225; so, 204; sore, 41, etc.; uedlok, 634; wo, 528; wofully, 56; wroth, 434. 8. O.E. @r becomes er, ar, as in Capgrave and Caxton:" erly, 570; ther, 161; ware, 588; were, 516, etc.; wheresocuer, 9. 9. O.E. & before a dental becomes e as in Lydgate and Capgrave:" nedys, 164; blede, 454; drede, 181. 10. O.E. ear p'us a consonant becomes ar:!* artt (v.), 108, etc.; froward, 668; hard, 26; mark (n.), 592; stark, 593; yard, 240. 11. O.E. eal plus a consonant becomes al, of, el:4 alle, 7, etc.; bold, 17; halle, 3, etc.; hold, 57, etc.; held (inf.), 761; holden (inf.), 415: told, 156, etc. 12. O.E. d plus w becomes ou (ow) in knowe, 122; soules, 839. 13. O.E. aw becomes eu (ew) in shewe, 630. 14. O.E. éa plus g, kh, (as in éage, kéak, néak) becomes cy, te, e, ygh:™ highe, 406, etc.; eyen, 233; ten, 652; myghte, 52; nyghe, 57. 15. Influence of 7 is seen in:!” karti, 134; hard, 26; tary, 404, etc. 16. French ai, e¢ become ay, ey, a:"* araye, 87, etc.; asaye, 722; certarn, 58, etc.; curteys, 6, etc.; faylle, 78, etc.; faye, 171, etc.; dese, 601; gaye, 300, etc.; gayly, 250; merraylyd, 230; palfray, 246; paye, 459, etc.; paynes, 852; playn, 494; repayre, 409, etc.; souereynte, 423, etc.; seynt, 795; iravaylic, 98, etc.; veray, 847. e ands 1. O.E. % becomes ¢€ or 7:!* [gef, 188, etc.]; [geve, 476;] Lyppes, 235, etc.; securly, 230, etc.; sekyrly, 84, etc.; sicurly, 733; sycurly, 655; thyng, 414; wyn, 417; mylde, 112; ryght, 251; stylle, 28; wylde, 20, etc. 7 Dibelius, p. 181, §38; Luick, §414, 2; Wyld, History, p. 111, §171, (7), (d). ¢ Dibelius, p. 182, §40; pp. 341-342, §§86-87. * Dibelius, p. 185, §44; Morsbach, p. 16, 3; Wyld, History, pp. 99 f., §§156-1S7. 1¢ Dibelius, p. 326, §63. 1! Jbid., pp. 327-329, §67; pp. 329-330, §69. 2 Dibelius, p. 183, §41; Wyld, Dialects, p. 116, (3); Wyld, History, p. 108, §167. 3 Dibelius, p. 184, §42; Morsbach, p. 16, 7; Wyld, Dialects, pp. 115-116, (2); Wyld, Héstery, p. 108, §166. M Dibelius, p. 186, §4S; Morsbach, p. 16, 3. % Dibelius, pp. 347-348, §95. 8 J bid., pp. 339-340, §84. 1 Ibid., p. 332, §73. 18 Dibelius, pp. 355-356, §109; Luick, $416. Dibelius, pp. 189-190, §49. THE WEDDYNGE OF SiR GAWEN ix 2. After the beginning of the fourteenth century, O.E. te becomes ¢ in the London dialect :*° derne, 26; [gett, 188;] kere (v.), 89. 3. O.E. co becomes 2 in the London dialect of the fourteenth century:*! bene, 694, etc.; chese (inf.), 175, etc.; dere (n.), 33, etc.; deville, 617; fre, 466; fend, 344; Srende, 96; ferre, 383; hevyn, 73, etc.; stepmoder, 773; swerd, 94; se, 100; erthly, 686; in a few words co becomes o: yod, 836; yong, 415; worshypp, 162, etc.; worthe, 592. 4. O.E. é, 20 plus g, cg become ay, y:2? benvayne (inf.), 146; flye, 40; twayne, 449. 5. O.E. gow becomes eu (ew), o (ow) :*3 trowe (v.), 623; lrowithe, 169, (: lothe, 166) ; trowithe, 528; ontrewe, 116. 6. O.F. enquerre is written with e and 4:74 enquerc, 188; pret., enquyred, 197. oand # 1. M.E. 6 does not become @ in the London dialect until the end of the fifteenth century.* In one case in this poem we can be certain that 6 has become @: sone (adv.), 818: conclusyon, 817. All the other cases are doubtful: good, 17: Ingleswod, 16; loke, 211: boke, 210; rode (n.), 355: Inglyswod, 354; toke, 739: shoke, 740; Ingleswod, 835: yod, 836. 2. O.E. &@ and lengthened @ become ox (ow):* bouve, 401, etc.; brown, 90; doun, 551; fowlle, 249, etc.; groundes, 26; howe, 15, etc.; mowithe, 232; nowe, 13, etc.; oute, 381, etc.; owlle, 310, etc.; stound, 89; thow, 90; town, 91, etc. 3. The French verbs movoiy, prover, and covrir are written:?” mevyd, 517; preve, 726; recouered, 710; [prouf (n.) 490}. 4. The French word cort becomes:** courte, 209. 5. French os (us) becomes oy:*® choyse, 667, etc.; joye, 655, etc.; poynt, 331; royalle, 6, etc. ¥ 1. O.E. y becomes + (y), ¢, 0: brydalle, 562; evylle, 118; fulfylle, 535; fyre, 474, etc.; fyst, 678; kynde, 707; mynde, 649; lytelle, 109, etc.; kynn, 800; kysse, 635, etc.; kyng, 6, etc.; listenythe, 1; moche, 478, etc.; myrthe, 712, etc. Suffixes 1. The following words have the Anglo-French suffixes om, ows, and oun aboure, 358; honour, 8, etc.; conclusyon, 817. 2. The suffix hod appears? in knyghiod, 8. % Dibelius, pp. 191-193, §§51-S2; Wyld, Dialects, p. 119, (12), (13); Wyld, Histery, p. 110, §176. 41 Dibelius, p. 194, §54; p. 323, §56; Luick, §357; Wyld, Dialects, p. 117, (6 and 7); Wyld, Histery, p. 109, $168. 8 Dibelius, pp. 336-339, §§77-83. 3 Ibid., pp. 346-347, §§92-94. % Ibid., p. 355, §108, b. 4 Dibelius, pp. 360-362, $§119-123; Luick, §406; Wyld, Héistery, p. 106, §163; p. 138, §236. % Dibelius, pp. 362, §124. Dibelius, pp. 363-365, $125; Luick, $415, 2. 8 Dibelius, p. 367, §128. % Dibelius, pp. 367, §129; Luick, §417, 1. % Dibelius, pp. 368-375, §§130-146; Morsbach, 16, 6; Wyld, Histery, pp. 101-102, §158; Wyld Dialects, pp. 118-119, (9 and 10). 8 Dibelius, pp. 429-432, §§151-152. 8 Jbéd., p. 432, §152, (a). x THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN Consonants 1. In the Midland Aw usual'y becomes wh, seldom gw, qu;* only wh appears in this poem: when, 34, etc.; where, 23, etc.; wheresoeuere, 9; whie, 2; whate, 60, etc. Inflections 1. The personal endings of the present indicative are“ singular, 1. (e), 2. st, est, 3.-th; plural, ¢, en. Singular: 1. chese, 669; chose, 675; dare, 450; drede, 213; ensure, 250; haue, 75, etc.; knowe, 264; lyve, 689; make, 268; maye, 291; rede, 255; kepe, 532; swere, 795; saye, 467; trowe, 38. 2. berest, 373; art, 847; canst, 261; comyst, 312; getyst, 65; mayste, 289; sayest, 60, etc.; savyst, 375; wenyst, 264. 3. berythe, 7; endythe, 829; hathe, 310, etc.; lyethe, 293. Plural: desyre, 408, etc.; desyren, 171, etc.; haue, 425, etc.; kepen, 845; love, 91; saye, 186. Exceptions: first singular, cast, 214; graunt, 101; hold, 57; nott, 308; putt, 577; pray, 368; telle, 460, etc.; trust, 789; warn, 256; yeld, 851; wyst, 112; third singular, leves, 825; plural, sayn, 408. 2. In this poem the present plural of to be is written® ar, arre, are. 3. Imperative plurals in the poem end in —, éh(c):* herken, 18; listenythe, 1; plyghte, 528. 4. The infinitive usually ends in ¢:°7 chese, 175; defye, 77; flye, 40; glyde, 24; gone, 101; kepe, 147; mete, 168; quytle, 56; swere, 90, etc.; and more than one hundred others which end in e. The following have no ending: hapen, 217; ken, 471; bren, 474. The rest of the infinitives have modern spellings with the exception of: sayn, 145; layk, 126; com, 95, etc.; clypp, 202; dyssevyr, 376; goo, 76, etc.; avaylle, 395; wyn, 417; thynk, 582. 5. Present participles in this poem end in yng with the following exceptions :* comyn, 210, 566; helpand, 463; hying, 290, 526; lyking, 468; tarying, 532. 6. Past participles of strong verbs as a rule have the ending en or yn:®* bene, 762; goten, 207, etc.; forshapen, 751; holden, 415; holpen, 774; rydden, 390; seen, 555; shapen, 691; getyn, 204, etc.; gevyn, 58. Exception: onderstond, 694. 7. The i-prefix with past participles is found in the following words igrown, 552; 4-seen, 555; 1-wyse, 632, 812. 8. The pronouns represent the modern spellings with the exception of“ ale, 826; al, 612; euerychon, 452; eyther, 211; hym, 2, etc.; kys, 17, etc. (his also occurs); Avit, 221; ylt, 251; on, 196, etc.; myne, 482; my-sylf,154; oure, 428; ourys, 425; hem, 748; her, 839, thay, 186 (they frequent); theym, 186, etc. (4hem also occurs); thevr, 468; ther, 469; thow, 90, etc. (thou frequent); whatfe, 60, etc. % Dibelius, pp. 469ff., §212; Morsbach, p. 17, 15. ™ Dibelius, pp. 433-436, §§155-157; xxiv, pp. 246-252, §§282-294; Morsbach, p. 17, B, 1; Wyld, Dialects, pp. 119-120, (14), (15). Thee of the first person singular and of the plural is not pronounced, as §II, 2, 1, below shows. % Cf. Wyld, Dialects, p. 122, (21). % Cf. Dibelius, xxiv, pp. 252, §295. 8 Dibelius, xxiv, pp. 253-255, §§296-300; Morsbach, p. 17, 19; Wyld, Dialects, p. 121, (47). See §II, 2, 1, below. 88 Cf. Morsbach, p. 17, B, 3; Wyld, Dialects, p. 121, (18). % Cf. Morsbach, p. 17, 19; Wyld, Dialects, p. 120, (16), (1). 4° Morsbach, p. 17, 18; Wyld, Dialects, p. 120, (16), (2). @ Dibelius, xxiv, pp. 219-225, §§234-249; Wyld, Dialects, pp. 121-122, (19), (20). THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN xi 9. The genitive singular ending is (e)s. The petrified dative is seen in on lyve, 119, etc. The plural endings are s and es. Two nouns take the plural in en from the Anglo-Saxon weak declension: eyen, 233; sen, 652. That the dialect of this poem agrees very closely with that of the documents examined by Dibelius*? indicates that it is almost certainly East Midland. Notice especially the following points: 1. The representation of O.E. a before a single nasal usually as a, sometimes aso.@ 2. The representation of O.E. co as ¢.“ 3. The representation of O.E. } generally as + (y), never as u.* 4. The ending th of the third person singular present indicative.“ 5. The ending en of the plural present indicative." 2. Date 1. Scansion shows that the final e is not pronounced. The evidence from rimes is as follows:—gaye, 300 (an adjective modifying a singular pronoun; ¢ not justi- fiable): maye, 301 (inf.; ¢ justifiable); mete, 323 (inf.; e justifiable); great, 326 (an adjective modifying a singular noun); greaf, 521 (an adjective modifying a singular noun): onswete, 522 (an adjective entitled to final ¢ historically; e justi- fiable); borowe, 559 (n.) (e not justifiable): thorowe, 562 (adv.; e justifiable); obaysasunt, 784 (an adjective used as the predicate of a singular verb): warraunt, 785 (an inf., which could take a final ¢); conclusyon, 817 (n.): sone, 818 (adv.; ¢ justifiable); royalle, 847 (an adjective modifying a singular noun): tole 848, (e justifiable). The fact that final ¢ is not pronounced points to a late date for the poem.“ The rimes present very little evidence as to the date of the poem. A few indi- cate the late pronunciation of the vowelsx—answere, 105: ware, 108; itje, 607: wngoodly, 608; ye, 644: securly, 645; sicurly, 733: be, 734; after, 509: Arthoure, 510; conclusyon, 817: sone, 818; ware, 22: fayre, 23; rake, 123: layk, 126. On the other hand a number of the rimes indicate an earlier pronunciation of the vowe!s: flowyr, 7: honour, 8; fast, 45: taste, 48; made, 242: had, 245; saue, 299: haue, 302; promyse, 437: wyse, 438; doun, 551: tgrown, 552. Some of the rimes are so loose that they tend to nullify the evidence given above: /ydand, 335: ded, 332; handfulle, 550: koryble, 547; done, 619: wasshen, 620; seruice, 622: was, 623; wantt, 6:5: hond 626; thus, 653: kysse, 654. 2. In addition to the fact that the dialect of this poem agrees very closely with that of the documents examined by Dibelius, many of which belonged to the @ Al} the documents examined by Dibelius in ‘“‘ John Capgrave und die englische Schriftsprache” ere East Midland. @ Dibelius, pp. 178 ff., §36; Morsbach, pp. 122-124, §§90-91; cf. Luick, §367, Anm. 1. @ Luick, §357; Wyld, History, p. 109, §168. @ Luick, §287, Anm. 3; Wyld, Dialects, pp. 118-119, (9) and (10). ® Wyld, Dialects, pp. 119 ff., (14). ® Morsbach, p. 17, B, 1; Wyld, Dialects, p. 120, (15). 8 According to Luick, §473, in the Midland and the South the pronunciation of final ¢ was dropped in the course of the fourteenth century. In verse, however, both pronunciations were in use. In the fifteenth century the apocopation was complete. Poetry used thee less and less until the end of the century. xii THE WEDDINGE OF Str GAWEN middle of the fifteenth century, the following points of the study indicate that this romance was written in that period or shortly after. (a). By the end of the fifteenth century O.E. 6 had become #.” There is one instance in this poem in which 6 becomes #; the other instances are doubtful. (b) The third person singular present indicative es became common in the literary language of the sixteenth century ® Es occurs once in this poem. (c). That the nouns and pronouns are no longer declined according to the rules of Middle Eng!ish grammar is evidence of a late date. Notice especially the genitive plural theyr.® @ Dibelius, pp. 360-362, §§119-123; Wyld, History, p. 106, $163; p. 138, §236. 8 Wyld, History, pp. 193 ff., §329, A. & Dibelius, xxiv, pp. 219-225, §§234-249. IIT HISTORICAL SURVEY The English romance of The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell' belongs to a group of tales which are usually called the tales of the loathly lady, from the motif of the ugly hag who is transformed into a beautiful woman. Many stories containing the loathly lady theme have been collected, both in English and in other languages.? It is not my purpose in this discussion to present new analogues of the romance, or to reveal any discovery in regard to the earliest forms of the story, but to study the relations between the most important English versions of the loathly lady story, which are The Marriage of Sir Gawain,? Chaucer’s Wife of Bath’s Tale,“ Gower’s Florent,’ and King Henry. Before going further it will be necessary to give a brief summary of the plot of The Weddynge of Str Gawen and Dame Ragnell in order to make clear the compari- sons that are to follow. King Arthur is hunting in Inglewood Forest. Chasing a hart, he goes ahead of his companions for over a half a mile. As soon as he kills the deer, there suddenly appears a knight of monstrous size, who challenges Arthur to a fight because he has taken away his lands and given them to Gawain. Arthur, being unarmed, begs for his life. The knight, whose name is Gromer Somer Joure, lets him off on condi- tion that he return to the same place twelve months hence and bring the correct answer to the question what women love best. If Arthur cannot answer the ques- tion, he shall surely die. Upon his return to Carlile, Gawain inquires why his uncle is sad, whereupon Arthur relates his adventures in Inglewood Forest. Gawain advises Arthur to ride in one direction and collect answers to the question; he himself will ride in another direction and do likewise. When only one month remains before he must meet Gromer Somer Joure, the king rides into Inglewood to seek further tidings. He soon meets a loathly creature who tells him that she alone can give the answer that will save his life. But she will not give the answer unless he will promise her Gawain for a husband. When Arthur has obtained 1 The Wedd ynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell bas been, until the present time, accessible only in Madden's Syr Gawayne, Appendix, 298-298y. In the introduction p. Ixvii, we read that the reason the poem was not included in the main collection of Gawain poems was that the author was not aware of its existence early enough to place it in the arrangement of the text. 2See Appendix to this section for a list of these. 8 The ballad of Tae Marriage of Sir Gawain is in seven fragments, and consists of 217 lines. It is published by Child, Ballads, vol. I, part II, p. 288, no. 31; by Madden, Syr Gawayne, p. 288; by Hales and Furnival, Percy's Folio Manuscript, vol. I, p. 105, in which the missing lines are supplied in the footnotes by excerpts from The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell. In Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. I], pp. 112 ff., we find the ballad with the supplements by Dr. Percy, and in the same volume, pp. 349 ff., the fragments. Ritson has reprinted the genuine and amended texts in perallel columns in his Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy prefixed to his Ancient English Metrical Romances, Vo). 1, pp. cx ff. *Skeat, Works of Chaucer, vol. IV, pp. 345 ff. 5 Confessio Amantis, vol. II, pp. 74 ff. of The Works of John Gower, ed. Macaulay. * Child, Bailads, vol. I, part II, pp. 297 ff., no. 32; Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. III, pp. 339 ff. Child's edition contains ninety lines; in the footnotes he gives the variations in Ander- son and Scott’s edition. Scott’s version contains one hundred lines, but stanzas 3, 5, and 6 differ from Child's. See Maynadier’s comments, Wife of Bath’s Tale. pp. 57 ff. Xl xiv THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN Gawain’s consent to marry Dame Ragnell, which, we learn, is the hag’s name, she tells him that women most desire sovereignty. When Arthur returns to Gromer Somer Joure, he first gives the answers that he and Gawain had collected, none of which helps him. He then gives Dame Ragnell’s answer, which Gromer accepts as correct. The knight knows that his sister gave the answer; therefore he curses her, wishing her burned. Dame Ragnell returns with Arthur to Carlile. She insists on a grand wedding at the time of high mass. Although she is gorgeously dressed for the wedding, she is uglier than ever. At the wedding feast she eats as much as six men. (Here a leaf is lacking.) Atnight in bed: ke. He sa t he will do more than that pone toward her, be ‘that ever he saw!” Dame Ragnell then asks whether be will have her fair by day and foul by night, or vice versa. He leaves the choice to her, and thus gives her the sovereignty which enables her to be fair at all times. Dame Ragnell had been enchanted by her stepmother, and she could be freed only when the best knight in England had wedded her and given her the sovereignty. King Arthur and his court rejoice with Gawain. Arthur forgives Gromer Somer Toure at Dame Ragnell’s request. Dame Ragnell lives but five years. Gawain was grieved all the rest of his life on account of her death; for, although he nda wedded many times, he never loved any other woman so ‘well as Dame Ragne From the preceding summary it will be seen that the author of the nomaneo~ . bas closely combined the motif of a man’s life depending on-e- question with thatof the hag who is transformed into a beautiful maiden. He has so closely interwoven _the two themes that ‘only. the enchanted woman.can give . the right answer to the “question, which gives her power over the man necessary to her disenchantment. Both of these subjects are popular in folklore and occur separately_as_well- as _together. Taking the disenchantment story, we find several extant versions in the old Irish. The first of these that we shall consider is The Adzenture of -Deatre's-Sons, which most scholars’ seem to accept as the oldest extant form of the loathly tady tale. This story was first pointed out by Mr. Whitley Stokes in the Academy® (1892). Mr. Stokes found the incident in a tale preserved in the Book of Ballymote, an Irish manuscnpt of the end of the fourteenth century; this tale forms part of the -called Coty Anmann, a treatise on the origin of the nicknames of ancient Irish kings and heroes, which, judging from its language, may have been composed earlier. Both the original and the translation are printed in the Academy; the following summary of the tale is taken from Mr. Stokes’s translation: Daire has five sons all named Lugaid. He has been told that one of them shall be king of Ireland after him. Wishing to obtain more definite information, he asks a druid at the Assembly of Teltown, where his sons have gone to race their horses, which one shall be king. He learns that the one who will take the fawn with the golden sheen will succeed to the kingship. When the fawn comes, Daire’s sons, together with the men of Erin, pursue it until a magical mist comes between them and the men of Erin. Finally Lugaid Laigde catches and kills it. Then a great snow falls, and one son goes to shelter. He finds a house with a huge fire, food and ale in abundance, silver dishes, couches of white bronze, and a horrible hag. She offers the boy a bed if he will come and lie with her that night. He refuses to lie with her, and she declares that he 7 Stokes, Academy, xli, p. 399 (1892); Nutt, Academy, xli, p. 425; Maynadier, Wife of Bath’s Tale, p.193; Weston, Folk-Lore, xii, p. 373; Schofield, Engiish Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer, pp. 224 ff. Paris, Histoire Littératre, vol. xxx, p. 102, says that the ballad of The Marriage of Sir Gawatn, Chaucer’s story, and Gower’s story without doubt come from a common source, which, it is not rash to suppose, was a Breton lay. 8 Vol. xli, p 399. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN XV has thus severed from himself “sovranty” and the kingship. The other sons, except Lugaid Laigde, go in succession to beg for shelter, but no one of them is asked to spend the night. At last Lugaid Laigde goes with her into the house for food and ale. She goes into the couch of white bronze, and he follows. Then he sees that her face is radiant like the rising sun in the month of May, and her fra- grance is like an odorous herb-garden. Lugaid embraces her, and she says: “‘Good is thy journey, for I am the Sovranty, and thou shalt obtain the sovranty of Erin.” In some ways the romance and the Irish story seem quite similar to each other. In both, as it was stated above, we find the important mo/tf of the transformed hag. — = oe oe ee Gee, + ; the English story and the Irish the importance of sovereignty is stressed: in the § oneit issovereignty over the man, which frees the woman from enchantment; in the _ other sovereignty is personified in the hag, who calls herself the ‘“Sovranty of . Erin,” and the hero by complying with her wishes secures the kingship of Ire!and. ~But it must be admitted that there is a difference in the purpose of sovereignty in the two stories: in the Irish it represents kingly authority; in the-Englishit-is used in a somewhat humorous sense to show the advantage of a husband’s-complete™ submission to his wife. Mr. Nutt exphims this atferéence by saying that the English either misunderstood the Irish story, or deliberately transformed it by the sub- stitution of an ethico-facetious molif for a mythico-bistosical ene.’’ In both stories the hero goes to the hag, instead of the hag’s going to the hero, the significance of which will appear later in the discussion. Again, in both the Irish and the English stories the hero is tested by the loathly lady: the Irish hag, as far as we can tell, has transformed herself in order to find out whether or not the hero is fit for king- ship; Dame Ragnell seems to be testing Gawain in order to obtain disenchantment and to secure a husband. Dame Ragnell, unlike - the Irish lady, was the victim of her stepmother’s witchcraft. eae The similarities which I have pointed out are sufficient to show that the loathly lady, whom we meet in Dame Ragnell,“ was also known in early Irish literature. Other stories containing an exceedingly ugly woman are found in early Irish—another, for example, from the Book of Ballymote: The Story of Eochaidh’s Sons!* relates that Eochaidh had four sons by his wife, and one, Niall, by a captive Saxon princess. One day Niall and his brothers went out for a hunt. They became separated from their followers, and grew tired and thirsty. They went to seek a spring and found one which was guarded by an old hag. She offered to give each of them water if he would kiss her. Three of the brothers refused to kiss her; the fourth gave the barest touch of a kiss, whereupon ® Maynadier, Wife of Bath’s Tale, p. 119. 18 Academy, vol. xli, p. 425. Dame Ragnell is here used for The Weddynge of Str Gawen and Dame Ragnell. 2S. H. O'Grady, Silra Gadelica, vol. II, xxiv, p. 368 of Translations. Joynt, Erin, IV, Pt. 1, pp. 91 ff., gives a metrical version of the same story, which is attributed in the Book of Leinster to the poet Cuan O’Lothchain (who died in 1024). Niall is taken by his jealous brothers and exposed on a mountain side to the danger of the elements. He is, however, rescued and cared for by Torna. In maturity he 1s put to a second test. All the brothers go forth to ‘‘seek a drink to the border of bright-crested Ranba.” They are successively challenged by an exceptionally ugly Sibyl, who asks a kiss. Three brothers, who refuse to kiss her, fail in the exploit. Brian gives her only a hasty kiss. But Niall kisses and warmly embraces her, whereupon he is hailed as the heir of Tara and later becomes king. Xv1 THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN the hag said, ‘Have thou but mere contact with Tara!”” Her prophecy came true, for of this brother’s seed two Kings ruled Ireland, while no descendant of any one of the other brothers ruled. When Niall went for water, he not only kissed the hag, but also hugged her. And he saw her changed into a beautiful young woman. The woman was Royal Rule from whom Niall received the title of King of Tara. By a comparison of The Adventure of Daire’s Sons with The Adventure of Eochaidh’s Sons, it is evident that they contain the same story. In the Irish Chase of Gleann an Smotl, or The Adventures of the Giantess Who Crossed the Sea," we find another loathly lady, but this time she is under a spell as a result of the wicked druidism of her father. Again in the Bioultach story, the loathly hag appears. By a long series of incidents in which Bioultach is the hero, the hag, her brother, and eleven sisters are freed from their bondage to the giant Bocaw More. A possible trace of the enchantment of the family in the tale of Bioultach is Dame Ragnell’s enchanted brother, Gromer Somer Joure. _—— Mr. Stokes mentions a metrical version of the same incident as that told in The Adventure of Daire’s Sons, which is found on page 210 of the Book of Leinster, a manuscript of the middle of the twelfth century. The poem, Mr. Stokes says, was probably composed in the eleventh century, if not earlier, which makes it even more reasonable to ascribe a Celtic origin to the loathly lady incident. This Irish poem, which is called the Dindsenchas version of the story, Mr. Maynadier™ summarizes as follows: ‘“‘Daire had seven sons, all named Lugaidh. He had also a magical fawn which was hunted down and slain one day by four of the sons.’’ At the end of the story, “‘we find the four sons, apparently alone save for their dogs, in a house where they were to pass the night. As they were sitting there round the fire, an old hag entered, foul and loathsome to look upon. . . . She threatened to transform them all, dogs and men, if one of the brothers would not lie with her. Lugaidh Laigde offered to sacrifice himself for the rest. Then ‘as the fire grew dark,’ the foul hag changed into a beautiful woman.” She was the sovereignty of Erin and Alba. But Lugaidh Laigde should not lie with her. This honor was to be kept for his son, who would one day be a great king. Mr. Nutt"? saw a difference between this tale in the Book of Leinster and the version in the Book of Bal’ymote,—in one the hag visits the hero, and in the other the hero visits the hag. This difference he considered important enough to consti- tute a division of the transformed hag story into two distinct groups, which Mr. Maynadier! names the hag-visiting version and the hag-visited version. -Of the former class, the hag-visiting one, King Henry"® is the only English representative. My summary of the ballad is based on Professor Child’s edition. 4 Fenian Poems, 2nd series, vol. vi, pp. 75 ff. 4 Larminie, West Irish Folk-Tales, pp. 35 ff. & Academy, xli, p. 399. 4 Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 29 ff., from Professor F. N. Robinson. 17 Academy, xii, p. 425. 18 Wfe of Bath's Tale, p. 30. In his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. III, pp. 339-340, Scott says that the original of King Henry is to be found in the story of King Helgi, which he gives in full from the Hrélfs saga Krake. See Maynadier, Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 17 ff. After King Helgi, the saga tells us, had gone to bed one night in a hut, where he happened to be alone, he heard a wailing at the door. Thinking it unkingly to let any one suffer there, he opened the door and admitted a loathly creature, starved and almost THE ‘WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN XVii King Henry had just been hunting, and had slain the fattest buck in the flock. Soon there came into the door a “griesly ghost” of enormous size, who begged for some meat. The king killed his horse, which she ate, skin and bone, leaving only hide and hair. Then she asked for his dogs and his goss-hawks, all of which she consumed. Next she demanded something to drink. King Henry sewed up his horse’s hide and filled it with wine, all of which she drank at one draught. She begged for a bed, and ordered the king to lie with her. (Here there is a break in the story.) On the following morning King Henry found a fair lady by his side. She will be fair until she dies, for his courtesy toward her has freed her from enchant- ment. The ballad of King Henry preserves some elements of the old Irish stories. The principal motif is that of the transformed hag. The episode of the hunt also appears, but in the ballad it is not an integral part of the story, as it is in the Celtic versions, t merely an introduction to it. There is a suggestion of the choice between day and night in® “how lang’ll this last wi me?”’—a choice which occurs in all the other English versions except Chaucer’s, but which does not appear in the Irish stories e loathly lady. The lady’s answer to this question in King Henry is™' “Even till the day you dee.’”’ Not altogether unlike it is Dame Ragnell’s reply to Gawain,** ‘And evere whyle I lyve.”” Mr. Maynadier regarded the motsf of the choice between day and night as Celtic.?* For out of thirty-fourinstances-of change of shape under definite conditions, the few Which offer any.choice;-ere-found-on Celtic soil. The ‘two stories in whictr thé time for assuming ugliness is left to the choice of another person, are found among the Gaelic Celts. Another motif in King Henry, which does not appear in the Irish stories, is that of the bride’s extraordinary appetite. Professor Child in his introduction™ gives a brief discussion of this feature. Sinceall the instances that he cites are found in Scandinavian stories, we infer that the motif of the bride’s appetite indicates that a northern influence has been brought to bear on the loathly lady story as it appears frozen. The king bade her get under the straw and bear-skin to warm herself, but she begged him to let her come into his bed, saying that her life depended on his granting this boon. He let ber get into the bed, and he turned his face to the wall. A light was burning, and after a while the king looked over his shoulder and saw lying by him a fair woman clothed in silk. She told King Helgi that she had been under a spell imposed by her stepmother from which she could not be free until some king should admit her to his bed. She had asked admission to the beds of many kings, but no one before had granted it. © King Henry, line 2 of stanza xix. 9 Jd¢d., line 4 of stanza xix. & The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell, line 689. % Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 122 ff. In Appendix D, pp. 201 ff., Mr. Maynadier gives a list of the thirty-four instances of change of shape under definite conditions. The stories which leave the choice of the time for assuming ugliness to another person, are no. 13 and no. 14 of his list. No. 13 is the tale of The Hoodie found in Campbell’s Popular Tales of the West Highlands, vol I, p.63. The hero must be either a hoodie by day and a man by night, or rice versa. He leaves it to the heroine to decide at which time he shall have his own shape. No. 14 is the story of a hero who must be a white dog by day and a man by night, or vice versa. He leaves the choice to the heroine. Two men who marry the heroine’s sisters become seals at night. The latter story is found in Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, by J. Curtin, (Boston, 1890,) p. 51. * Ballads, vol. I, part II, p. 298. Professor Child says that the motif of the bride’s extraordinary appetite is found in the Danish ballad of Greve Genselin, Grundtvig, no. 16, I, p. 222, and Tord af Havsgaard, Grundtvig, no. 1,1, p. 1; 1V, 580 (or Thor's Hammer, I, 85, no. 35), the latter founded on the prymskvide, or Hamarsheimt of the elder Edda. Professor Child cites a Norwegian version of Greve Genselin, Grundtvig, IV, 732, in which the feats of eating and drinking are performed not by the bride, but by an old woman who acts as bridesmaid, brarekvinne. Xxvill THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN in the ballad. Another instance of such influence is evident in the part of the step- mother, if we may accept the statement of Mr. Joseph W. Beach® to the effect that the stepmother is very common on Germanic soil, and so common and s0 well defined in Icelandic tales of magic that the whole class is commonly called step- mother’s tales. ~~ Since we find in the English ballad of King Henry the loathly lady story with no trace of the theme of a man’s life depending on a question, and since King Henry is the only one of the English stories in which the hag visits the hero, it seems reasonable to say that the ballad came from the Dindsenchas form of the Irish story, or the hag-visiting class. This old English ballad developed independently, it appears, of the other English stories which we are yet to consider, and the motsf of the bride’s extraordinary appetite shows that a Scandinavian influence has touched it, either directly or indirectly. Now we come to a consideration of the question molsf, or that of a man whose life depends upon giving the correct answer to a question. In the ballad of King Jokn and the Bishop, the king gives the Archbishop of Canterbury three questions, by answering which correctly the Archbishop will be saved from death. The three questions are, What am I worth? How soon may I go the world about? What do I think? Professor Child, in his introduction to King Jokn and the Bishop, cites many instances of parallel tales in which the penalty for failing to give correct answers is either death or some severe loss. Mr. Maynadier?’ gives a discussion of the question motif, in which he mentions its occurrence in the literatures of various peoples. Mr. Beach*® also has a section on the same subject. Judging from the number of references in which this feature is found, one concludes that it is very widespread in literature. Taking up the English stories in which there is found the combined plot of the transformed hag and of the man whose life depends upon giving the correct answer to a question, we shall need brief summaries of them for comparison. The most important one to this study, The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell having been summarized, we shall next take Gower’s Florent. Florent, nephew to the Emperor, has slain Branchus, son of the Captain. The relatives of the slain are afraid to kill Florent on account of his high birth. Bran- chus’s grandmother, however, contrives to take the murderer’s life by other means. % The Loathly Lady, chap. I, p. 13. Mr. Beach presented this treatise on the loathly lady theme at Harvard University in 1907 as a doctoral dissertation; it is unpublished. The author was interested in studying the type of the story. He decided that it represents a highly developed and moralized form of one of those stories of animal transformation and disenchantment common in medieval romance and “modern”’ folk-tales. % Ballads, vol. 1, part II, pp. 403 ff. Odin asks the giant VafprdGnir, “ What did Odin say in his son’s ear ere Balder mounted the funeral pile?”’ The giant fails to answer the question and loses his life. The Hervarar saga contains a story in which the same question is asked of Heidrekr by Odin disguised as Gest: the Blind , which results in the death of Heidrekr. Vincent of Beauvais in his Spece- bum Morale, 1,4, 10, gives a story in which three questions are asked: 1. Where is the middle point of the earth? 2. How mucn water is there in the sea’ 3. How great is the mercy of God? Here, however, the penalty for not answering them is not death, but the payment of a large sum of money. Madden cites a tale in which the emperor puts seven questions to a knight on pain of death (see Gesta Romanor- wm, ed. Herrtage, no. 19). In Amts and the Bishop, Pfafle Amts, dated at about 1236, Amis has to answer five questions on penalty of losing his church. Professor Child mentions a number of other stories in which similar questions are asked. The Wife of Bath’s Tale, pp. 124 ff. % The Loathly Lady, chap. III. For further references, see notes on the same chapter. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN xix She gives him a specified time to answer the question what do women most desire- Florent collects information from all the wisest of the land. As he goes to keep his appointment with the grandmother, he meets a loathly womanish creature, who stops him and tells him that without her assistance he will die. But she will help him only on one condition,—that he marry—-her. After much deliberation he decides to accept her conditions and receives the answer that women desire sover- cignty. When all his other answers have failed, he gives the hag’s answer, which rees him. Florent secretly carries the hag to his castle and unwillingly weds her. At night in bed he turns away from her, but she embraces him. As he turns to look at her, the chamber is full of light, and he sees a beautiful young woman of eighteen. She gives him the choice of having her beautiful by day and foul by night, or vice versa. He leaves the choice to her, thus giving her the sovereignty and enabling her to be beautiful at all times. She is the daughter of the King of Sicily, and was bewitched until she should win the love and sovereignty of a peerless knight. The Wife of Bath’s Tale is very much like Florem. A lusty bachelor of King Arthur’s court, riding from a hunt, meets a maiden whom he deprives of her maidenhood. Such a clamor is made unto King Arthur that the knight is condemned to death. Through the prayers of the queen and her ladies, the king is induced to turn the young knight over to the queen to dispose of, as she wishes. She promises to grant him his life if he will tell her what thing it is that women most desire. He is to have a twelve-month and a day to bring his answer. After giving his promise to return at the appointed time, the youth seeks everywhere for answers, but he finds no two that agree. Returning homeward, he sees, by a forest side, four and twenty maidens dancing on the green. Hoping that cast up the curtains and look. And when he sees that she is young and fair, his happiness is complete. The Wife of Bath’s Tale and Florent agree very closely in plot. In these two stories the man whose life is in danger, or the one who has to answer the question, is the man who has to marry the hag; this union of the functions of the hero makes a less complicated ta'e, and consequently indicates that the division of the functions of the hero shows a later development of the story. In both Florent and The Wife of Bath’s Tale the offender is given over to a woman to be disposed of. There is a difference, however, in the character of the women: the old grandmother in Gower’s tale is a crafty schemer, who wants to kill Florent by fair or foul means; in contrast to her is Arthur’s queen in Chaucer’s poem, who proposes the question as a means of saving the young knight, toward whom she is evidently sympathetic. (The old grandmother reminds us somewhat of Gromer Somer Joure in the pleasure with which she anticipates Florent’s death.) There is a certain element of secrecy about the wedding in both poems: Florent takes the hag to his castle as secretly as possible; Chaucer’s hero weds her privily. The knights in both poems are polite to the hag on meeting her, and are ready to listen to her advice. Chaucer and Gower xx THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN both show traces of magic, which, Mr. Maynadier® observes, give their tales a Celtic flavour. The hag’s transformation in Florent is preceded by an unusually bright light in the chamber. Chaucer’s tale opens with a passage about the days when elves and fairies danced on the green, and the four and twenty Jadies dancing on the green disappear when the knight rides to them. The fact that the vanishing is quite unmotivated, “apparently magic for magic’s sake,”’ leads Mr. Maynadier to say that nothing could be more Celtic. But the poems present some differences, as well as likenesses. Most of these differences distinguish Chaucer’s tale not only from Gower’s but also from all the other English versions, and therefore it seems better to postpone the discussion of them until we come to a later stage in the study. There is, however, one point in which Chaucer differs from Gower which we may discuss here, and that is the crime for which the young men stand in danger of losing their lives. Gower’s hero has committed murder; Chaucer’s has deprived a young woman of her maidenhood. The nature of the latter crime shows that Chaucer’s tale was influenced by some story which did not touch the other English versions. A similar incident is found in The Knight and the Shepherd’s Daughter, which Mr. Maynadier™ takes as a deriva- tive of The Wife of Bath’s Tale. In order to continue the comparison of the English loathly lady stories, a summary of The Marriage of Sir Gawain will be necessary. FRAGMENT I King Arthur lives in merry Carlile with Queen Guinevere and his court. FRAGMENT II Arthur’s ransom shall be ‘“‘word of what women most desire.”” When Arthur goes home, he tells Gawain that he met with a stern baron at Tearne Wadling. Arthur must return on New Year’s Day to give his answer. FRAGMENT III Arthur, riding to Tearne Wadling in Inglewood Forest, meets an ugly, deformed Jady, who greets him. But he does not return the greeting, until he learns that she ® Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 137 ff. 8 The Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 111 ff. Child, Ballads, vol. II, part IV, pp. 457 ff., gives twelve versions of The Knicht and the Shepherd’s Daughter, a brief summary of which is: A knight meets a young woman whom he deprives of her maidenhood. She appeals to the king for redress, and the king decrees that the knight shall marry the shepherdess. After trying by various shifts to escape the marriage, the knight weds her. In two of the versions, the gir] insists, as Dame Ragnell does, on a grand wedding. After the ceremony she disgusts her busband by her uncouth manners. In three versions the knight turns away from her in bed. At last there comes a sudden change: the girl is a © princess, or a Jady of noble birth, who has been pretending to be of low birth. In most of the versions the knight is a near relative of the king. Prof. Child, sbid., points out a parallel to the story in the Scandinavian ballad of Ebbe Galt, Danske Viser, II, 47, no. 63, (translated in Prior's Ancient Danisk Ballads, London, 1860, II, p. 87), the gist of which Mr. Maynadier gives as follows (p. 113): “A youthful knight, gong home at sunrise after heavy drinking, stops at a farmer's house, and heated with wine, outrages the pretty young wife. She asks his name. He tells her boldly it is Ebbe Galt, and rides on. The farmer and his wife hasten to make complaint to the king, who declares at once, before hearing the offender's name, that the guilty knight shall die. Even when he finds it is his own nephew, he does not relent. Young Ebbe Galt is led away to execution. He goes unflinchingly, scoffingly, remarking to the queen, as he passes, that he should not mind dying so much had the woman but been fairer.”’. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN xxi may be able to help him. He voluntarily promises her Gawain for a husband, if she will help him. FRAGMENT IV The baron finds Arthur’s answers al) wrong, and prepares to fight. Then Arthur gives the hag’s answer. From the description which the king gives, the baron recog- nizes the old woman as his sister, and says that he wishes her burned. \ FRAGMENT: ¥, King Arthur’s knights, riding out to the green forest, see the hideous lady. Sir Kay makes fun of her. Sir Gawain says that one of them must marry her. FRAGMENT VI The lady gives Gawain the choice of having her fair by day and foul by night, or vice versa. At first he wishes her fair by night; but, when she laments that she will have to hide while the other ladies go to the feast, he leaves the choice to her. She will be fair at all times. FRAGMENT VII Sir Kay kisses Gawain’s bride. She is presented to King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, who, together with the knights of the Round Table, rejoice in Gawain’s happiness. The ballad of The Marriage of Sig Gawain is very much like The Wife of Bath's Tale and Florent. The question is the same in all: The Marrsage of Sir Gawain,™ ‘And bring me word what thing it is That a woman most desire.” The Wife of Bath's Tale, “ , .. if thou canst tellen me What thing is it that wommen most desyren?”’ Florent,™ ‘What alle wommen most desire.”’ The answers to the riddle are also very much alike, especially in the ballad and Florent. The Marriage of Str Gawain, lines 104 and 105: - . a woman will haue her will, And this is all her cheef desire’. Florent, lines 1608-1611, “That alle wommen lievest wolde Be soverein of mannes love: For what womman is so above, Sche hath, as who seith, al hire wille.”’ Wife of Bath’s Tale, lines 1038-1040, ‘“‘Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee As wel over hir housbond as hir love, And for to been in maistrie him above.” Lines 12 and 13 @ Skeat, Works of Chaucer, Wife of Bath's Tale, vol. IV, p. 346, lines 904 and 90S. ® Macaulay, Works of Gower, Tale of Florent in English Works, vol. II, p. 76, line 1481. XX1l THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN The chief difference in the three versions of the story lies in the method of treatment. The ballad is full of humorous situations which must have appealed o the people, who were able to appreciate the plight of King Arthur before the [ens They must have enjoved the comic incident in which the ugly woman omes the bride of the gen//c Gawain, as wel! as the coarse fun in which Sir Kay ‘ indulges. Gower’s purpose in telling the story is to point a moral, and he has therefore enveloped his story in solemnity, making even the ludicrous situations _appear as serious as possible. Chaucer, on the other hand, has put his tale into the mouth of the Wife of Bath. who, having had five husbands, was the very person -to give the tale its best flavour. And the tale, completely in accord with the char- ‘acter of its narrator, is gay and humorous. Chaucer’s poem is in many ways superior ‘to its English analogues. It begins with a few lines on the good old days when elves and fairies danced on the green, which prepares us for the dance of the fairies on the forest side. Thus the disappearance of the fairies seems quite consistent, and the appearance of the old woman not altogether abrupt, as in the other English stories, t in which the knight suddenly comes upon her. Furthermore, the knight rides toward the dancers, thinking he may receive score aid, as contrasted with the young men in the other tales, who expect no help from the loathly woman. In Chaucer’s tale the reader’s suspense is heightened by being forced to wait for the answer to the question until it is delivered to the queen. The same observa- tion may be made in regard to the way in which the hag’s request is revealed: after the answer has been accepted, she suddenly demands that the knight marry her. Thus the unsuspecting youth rescued from one dilemma is now hurled into another, little, if any, better than the preceding one,—a complication which illustrates Chaucer’s superior skill in working out the plot. In The Wife of Bath’s Tale the loathly lady is a good fairy who has apparently transformed herself merely to test the hero. Her transformation takes place before the choice is men- tioned. The choice, which here brings in not only the beauty but also the character of the lady, is well suited to the narrator, who his had vast experience with lovers. In Chauccr’s poem, as well as in Gower’s, the hero is made the center of interest instead of being kept in the background, as he is in the other English stores, until j the riddle is introduced. From the summaries of the plots and the discussion of the stories, it is evident ' that the only essential difference between The Marriage of Sir Gawatn and Florent ( is in the introduction of the hero. Otherwise Gower’s version is very close to the wballad. Although Chaucer has preserved the ballad spirit, and Gower has clothed his tale in gloom, yet Gower’s version seems nearer to the ballad than Chaucer’s. The Wife of Bath’s Tale and Florent, however, are enough alike to justify our belief that the authors of them knew the same story.* Although The Wsfe of Bath's Tale - shows some changes in plot, these may be explained away on the ground that Chaucer was a great enough artist to make such changes as would add effectiveness. And the version of the story which Chaucer and Gower knew, I think, was not that of the ballad of The Marriage of Sir Gawain. Although the three seem to be very closely akin, yet there is one episode in the ballad—that of the knights— which does not occur in Gower, but which would most probably occur if he had used the ballad as his source. There is ample reason for saying that Chaucer and Gower ™Gorbing, Anglia, xxiii, p. 421. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN XX] knew a loathly lady story which was essentially the same as that from which The Marriage of Sir Gawain was derived except that the functions of the hero we not divided. In this story which we shall call version A, a hero, who commits so crime, is promised his life if he can answer the question what women most desird. Only}the enchanted hag can answer the question, which gives her power over the man hecessary to her disenchantment. In addition to the question motsf and th disenchantment motif there must have been a choice of some kind since this featu is found in both poems. 4A, the direct source used by Chaucer and Gower, seem to be a derivative of the Irish hag-visited version of the loathly lady tale. The romance of The Wedd ynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell agrees so closely with the ballad of The Marriage of Sir Gawain that it does not seem necessary to mention the points of agreement. The differences, not so obvious, seem worthy of notice. The first ten lines of the romance are devoted to the virtues-ef-Asth while the ballad d d does not mention them. In the romance, Arthur _returns-Dam Ragnell’s greeting at once, and d does es not offer her Gawainfor-e-busband-until h has obtained Gawain’s’ consent to ‘to wed her. In the ballad, the king is churlish, returning the old woman’s greeting only when ke learns that she may help him; then he offers Gawain as a reward for information before she has asked for hin and before he has consulted Gawain. An incident in the romance, and-not inthe ballad. is that of the bride’s extraordinary appetite. Mr. Maynadier® conjectures that, if we had the whole of The Marriage of Sir Gaxain, the incident would be found here as well since the extant fragments agree so closely with the romance. The question in the romance is worded somewhat differently: “To shewe me at thy comyng whate wemen love best in feld and town”; the other versions have the word “‘desire’”’ instead of “love.” The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell has no trace of the incident in} which the knights of the Round Table, riding out to the forest, see Dame Ragnell, | and Sir Kay ridicules her ugliness. One of the most noticeable differences between” the ballad and the romance is that the latter is much more diffuse than the former, ; as the following examples will show. The Marriage of Sir Gawain gives twelve lines% to the description of Dame Ragnell’s ugliness; The Weddynge of Ssr Gawen and Dams Ragnell gives twenty-five lines.2” In the ballad King Arthur gives his answer to the: baron in two lines;?* in the romance he gives it in nine lines.** In the ballad it takes: sixteen lines*° to describe the maiden’s presentation to the king and queen; in the, romance, sixty lines.“ Although The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell and The Marrsage of Sir Gawain differ in some points, all of which are of minor importance, they agree so closely in the main points of the story that they must have been derived fram the same version of the loathly lady tale. This version, which we shall call B, was. like that used by Chaucer and Gower with two exceptions. First, B must have: contained the appetite mol#f. Secondly, Gawain has been introduced into th the J story, and the functions of the hero have been divided. ® Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 120 ff. % The Marriage of Sir Gawain, lines 53-64. 8 227-251. % The Marriage of Sir Gawain, 104 and 105. 8 464-472. ® The Marriage of Sir Gawain, 202-217. @ 739-798. ee XXIV THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN The ballad shows exuidence of being older than the romance, however, the evidence being two points already mentioned: (1). The romance makes Arthur the flower of chivalry. The opening lines describe his courtesy and valor. He is very polite to Dame Ragnell and very careful to obtain Gawain’s consent before granting Dame Ragnell’ : Setleeta dlexthis idea of Arthur asa chivalza ance,_the older rap ete him being chat of a warlike and rather brusque rm as we see him in (2). The diffuseness of the romance makes it seem that the author is trying to ; . prolong hjs story and conceal his dependence on models and predecessors. Several elements in the style of the ballad also mark it as an early composition. First, there is a . Wealth of repetition, as in the first two stanzas. Instances of the repetition of whole lines are frequent." Secondly, alliteration is commop. Thirdly, the author makes great use of stock expressions, such as “gentle Gawain,” (8, 40, 41, etc.), “standing stiffe and strong” (9, 23, etc.), “for he was stiffe and strong withal” (11). Judging from the peculiarities of its style, GOrbing thinks that the ballad harks back to the earlier periods of ballad poetry.“ The loathly lady story was probably attached to the stories about Arthur and his knights simply because the field of Arthurian romance offers a good setting for romance-writers to use in their work.“ Schofield® surmises the following reasons why the story was attached to Gawain in particular: (1). Simply to enhance its interest, or to picture the loving relations between the king and the nephew, to display all the nobility of a self-sacrificing hero. (2). That Gawain had relations with a lady of the Otherworld is a fact attested by numerous other romantic stories attached to him. Schofield’s explanation of why the loathly lady story became connected with Gawain is convincing, it seems to me, especially when we study the types of Gawain’s loves, and see that they were nearly always Otherworld creatures, or relatives of a magician. In Rigomer“ Gawain is delivered from prison by Lorie, “une feé qui mout ]’amoit.” In Le Bel Inconnu*’ the serpent kisses the youth, whereupon she immediately turns into a beautiful young woman, who could be disenchanted only by a kiss from Gawain, or his son Guinglain, who, the maiden says, is the son of Gawain and the fée Blancemal. In the second fragment of Satgremor*® Gawain is in the isle of the fe Karmente. In Diu Kréne** the Grail is brought in by a crowned damsel (the fairest that God had ever created). Gawain recognizes at once in the Grail-bearer the goddess whom he had met on his way to the Grail castle and who had warned him as to what he should do there. In the Carl of Carléle*© Gawain marries the Carl’s daughter, after having freed the Carl @ For this discussion of the style of the ballad, I am indebted to Gidrbing’s article in Anglia’ vol. xxiii, pp. 405 ff. (1901), ‘“Die Ballade The Marriage of Sir Gawain.” “@ Gorbing, Anglia, vol. xxiii, p. 409; cf. Gummere, The Beginnings of Poetry, pp. 193-194. “ kittredge, Sir Gawatn and the Greeen Knight, Cambridge, 1916, p. 137, says that the author of Sir Gawain and the Green K night was well acquainted with the machinery of Arthurian romance. & English Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer, pp. 225-226. # Paris, Histoire Litléraire, vol. xxx, p. 90. For this reference and the following references on stories about Gawain’s loves, I am indebted to Miss Weston's The Legend of Sir Gawain. “| Histoire Littéraire, vol. xxx, p. 176. 48 [bid., p. 262. * Bruce, The Evolution of Arthurian Romance, vol.1 .pp. 347 @. & Madden, Syr Gawayne, Appendix, 256-274. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN XXV from enchantment by cutting off his head. In Ssry Gawain and the Green Knight! the wife of the Green Knight makes love to Gawain. Miss Weston*? would-teleth fact that Gawain-e-loxes were Otherworld creatures asa part of the preef-that-the Toathly lady story was early joined to Gawain, possibly in Celtic. But the weakness of such @ a story joined to a hero so well known as Gawain would hardly be detached from him, as in Chaucer’s and Gower’s tale. : I think Schofield’s statement® that the loathly lady story was attached to Gawain to picture the loving relations between nephew and uncle may also be taken as one reason for the division of the functions of the hero. Another reason f this division may be found in the character of Gawain“ who was “the type of, the perfection of worldly knighthood, devoted to arms and ladies.’”’ It would have been inconsistent with his character to place him in a humiliating plight before the giant Gromer Somer Joure; therefore, when Gawain was made the hero of the story, the réle of question-answerer was taken away from him and given to Arthur, who was not always irreproachable in early romance. To return now to one or two minor points hitherto passed by, we have to account for the presence of the Sir Kay incident in the ballad; that is, the incident in which the Round Table Knights see Dame Ragnell by the forest side, and Sir Kay ridicules her ugliness. This incident is probably to French oe for, as: eS in pieces that betray French influence. Mr. padi concludes that ae lines in the ballad describing the conduct ot Sir Kay and the other knights were probably taken directly from Gautier’s continuation of Chrétien’s Conte du Graal, or from the the Didot-Perceval, since the Rosette episode, which they both contain, is remark- ably like the lines in the English ballad. Furthermore, according to Mr. Mayna- dier,* the romance seems very near the French versions in the description of Dame Ragnell’s u ugliness. This certainly makes the argument for French influence stronger. CONCLUSION: The results arrived at from this study are not presented as final, but as embodying a very lucid and very probable explanation of the develop- ment of the English representatives of the loathly lady theme. King Henry, which represents the oldest form of the story to be found in English, is, I believe, a deriva- tive of the old Irish hag-vistting-version of the loathly lady tale. In the molif of the — bride’s extraordinary appetite King Henry shows 4 Scandinavian-influence.” From ~~ the other class of old Irish loathly lady stories,—the hag-visited version,—comes — an English version A. In A @ hero, who had committed some serious crime, was offered his life on Condition that he answer the question what women most desire. This question could be answered only by an enchanted hag, thus giving her power over the man necessary to her disenchantment. There was also a choice of some kind, which the hero left entireiy to the hag. From version A Chaucer and Gower derived theis-poems, From A, B was also derived. The story contained in Bwas 8) Jdid., pp. 256-274. 8 Folk-Lore, vol. xii, pp. 373 ff. 8 Englisk Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer, p. 225. “ Bruce, The Evolution of Arthurian Romance, vol. I, p. 250. % Jbid., vol. I, p. 41, note 9. %@ The Legend of Str Gawain, p. 64. 8? Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 74 ff. 68 Jbid., pp. 73-74. XXvi THE WEDDYNGE OF Srr GAWEN like that in A except that the functions of the hero had been divided, and that the appetite motsf was present. Version B was connected-sith Arthurian romance, and Gawain was the bero__The _bride’s appetite bere, as in King Henry, Shows a Scandinavian influence. a —_— = Appetite mofef = st Irish hag-visiting King Henry |” Irish hag-visited ————_ B’ Chaucer Gower ballad romance THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN XXxVli APPENDIX TO SECTION HI In addition to the loathly lady stories discussed in section three, we find a number of others. Mr. Maynadier gives the following in his study of The Wife of Bath's Tale: I. Norse Parallels. 1. The Story of Sigmund found in the Volsungasaga (edited by Professor Sophus Bugge, Christiana, 1865, Det Norske Oldskriftselskabs Samlinger, viii.; trans- lated by William Morris, London, 1870, ch. vii, pp. 17 ff.). 2. Gorvomb, or The Paunch pointed out in Child’s Ballads, vol. I, part IT, p. 507. 3. Lopthaena summarized in Child’s Ballads, vol. I, part II, pp. 292-293. II. Parallel from French source. 1. Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival has an ugly Grail Messenger. (Edited by Karl Bartsch, Leipzig, 1875, VI, 1, 987.). III. German Parallel. 1. Wolfdietrich (four versions). (See Paul’s Grundriss, II, 1, pp. 323-4.) IV. English Parallel. 1. Thomas of Erceldoune, a romance preserved in three MSS. of the fifteenth century, and in two of the sixteenth. All five are edited by J. A. H. Murray for the E. E. T. S., 1875. Mr. Clouston, in Originals and Analogues, Chaucer Society, 2nd series, 22, pp. 483-523, includes the following: I. Gaelic Version—The Daughter of King Under-Waves found in Campbell’s Popular Tales of the West Highlands, London, 1892, vol. ITI, pp. 421 ff. II. Analogue from Mandeville—Y pocras Doughire. Il. Turkish Analogue.—The Story of Sit# Emina. IV. Sanskrit Analogue. (Found in Indian story-books.) V. Two Kafr Analogues. (Dealing with animal transformation.) In more recent times the loathly lady theme has been treated by the following authors:! I. John Fletcher, Women Pleased, Waller’s edition of Beaumont and Fletcher, Cambridge University Press, 1909, vol. VII, pp. 237 ff. II. Richard Johnson, Crown Garland of Golden Roses, A New Sonnet of a Knight and a Fatr Virgin, W. Chappell’s reprint for the Percy Society, vol. VI, p. 68 (London 1842). III. Dryden, The Wife of Bath’s Tale. IV. Goldsmith, Citizen of the World. Letters 48 and 49, in some editions 47 and 48. V. M. G. Lewis, Courteous King Jamie, Tales of Wonder, London, 1887, pp. 261 ff. VI. Reginald Heber, Masque of Gwendolen, Poetical Works, Boston, 1853, p. 192. VII. G. A. Simcox, Gawain and the Lady of Avalon. (See M. W. Maccallum’s Tennyson’s Idylls and Arthurian Story, Glasgow, 1894, pp. 274 ff.) VIII. Voltaire, Ce qus plat’ aux Dames, Ocuvres Completes, Paris, 1826-40, XIV. pp. 31 ff. 3 Maynadier, Wife of Bath’s Tale, gives a list of these in his Appendix B, pp. 196-197. IV BIBLIOGRAPHY BEACH, JosepH W. The Loathly Lady. An unpublished doctoral dissertation presented at Harvard University, 1907. Bruce, J. D. The Evolution of Arthurian Romance. 2 vols. Baltimore, 1923. CHILD, FRANCIS JAMES. English and Scottish Popular Ballads. 5 vols. in ten parts. Houghton, Mifflin and Company. Boston, 1882-1890. Crouston, W. A. Originals and Analogues, Chaucer Society, 2nd series, xxii. London, 1886. DiBELius, WILHELM. “John Capgrave und die englische Schriftsprache,” in Anglia, xxiii, 153-194, 323-375, 427-472; xxiv, 211-263, 269-308. GOrBING, F. “Die Ballade The Marriage of Sir Gawain,” in Anglia, xxiii, 405-423. GUMMERE, Francis B. The Beginnings of Poetry. New York, 1901. HAMMOND, ELEANOR Prescotr. Chaucer: A Bibliographical Manual. New York, 1908. Joynt, Maup. “Echtra Mac Echdach Mugmeddin” in Eriu, iv, Pt. 1, pp. 91 ff. LARMINIE, W. West Irish Folk Tales. London, 1893. Luick, Karz. Historische Grammatik der englischen Sprache, Lieferungen 1-6. Leipzig, 1914-1921. Macautay, G. C. The Works of John Gower. 4 vols. Oxford, 1899-1902. MADDEN, SIR FREDERICK. Syr Gawayne. Edited for the Bannatyne Club. London, 1839. Maynapier, G. H. The Wife of Bath’s Tale. Grimm Library, no. XIII. London, 1901. MorsBacuH, LoRENz. Mittelenglische Grammatik. Halle, 1896. Nutt, ALFRED. Academy, vol. xli, p. 425. (1892) O’DALy, J. Fenian Poems, 2nd series, edited for the Ossianic Society Transacisons, vol. vi. Dublin, 1861. O’Grapy, S. H. Silva Gadelica, Translations for the Irish Text Society, vol. xxiv. London, 1892. Paris, GASTON. Histoire Littéraire de la France, vol. xxx. Paris 1881. Percy’s Folio Manuscript, Ballads and Romances. Edited Hales and Furnivall. 3 vols. London, 1867-9. Percy, THomAS. Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. 2 vols. London, 1876. Ritson, JosepH. Ancient English Metrical Romances. 3 vols. Bulmer & Co., London, 1802. Revised edition: edited E. Goldsmid, Edinburgh, 1885. SCHOFIELD, W. H. English Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer. New York, 1906. Scott, SIR WALTER. Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 4 vols. Edited by T. F. Henderson. Edinburgh, 1902. SKEAT, W. W. The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer. 6 vols. Oxford. 1894- 1900. XXVlil THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN XXiX STOKES, WHITLEY. Academy, vol. xli, p. 399. (1892) WELLS, JoHN Epwin. A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050-1400. New Haven, 1916. WESTON, Jessie L. “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” in Folk-Lore, xii, pp. 373 ff. The Legend of Sir Gawain. Grimm Library, no. VI. London, 1897. Wy.p, Henry Ceciz. A Short History of English. London, 1914. “South-Eastern and South-East Midland Dialects in Middle English,” in Essays and Studies by Members of the English Association (vol. vi., collected by A. C. Bradley, 112-145), Oxford, 1920. Digitized by Google The Weddynge of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell The text of this romance has been edited from a rotographic copy of MS. Rawlinson C. 86 in the Bodleian Library. The text of the MS. has been followed very closely; I have, however, adopted almost all the corrections made by Sir Frederick Madden in his edition of the poem. The variant spellings and corrections found in Madden’s edition have been indicated in the footnotes by the abbreviation M. In collating the text I have kept the old spellings in every case except f; I have omitted the marks over m and n, and the commas after d, f, and &. The barred h has been printed ke, and when followed by #, Ate except in the plural Ates, when it is not represented. The barred W has been written Ne. (For such expansion of barred A and HW see Percy’s Folio Manuscript, Ballads and Romances, vol I., p. 106, note 1.) In every instance I have expanded the following MS. contractions: 7 into ere or er; p into es; 7 into uy; wt into with; a into au; Pp into per or pro; § into ser or str; & into and. These expansions have been written in italics. Inserted words or letters have been placed in brackets. In punctuation and capitalization I have endeavoured to conform to present usage. (Folio 128b.) Lythe and listenythe the lif of a lord riche, The while that he lyvid was none hym liche, Nether in bowre ne in halle; In the tyme of Arthoure thys adventure betyd, And of the greatt adventure that he hym-self dyd, 5 That kyng curteys and royalle. (Of alle kynges Arture berythe the flowyr, And of alle knyghtod he bare away the honour, 'Where-so-euere be wentt. In his contrey was nothyng butt chyvalry, 10 ‘And knyghtes were belovid! [by] that doughty, ‘For cowardes were eueremore shent. Nowe wylle ye lyst a whyle to my talkyng, I shalle you telle of Arthowre the kyng, Howe ones hym befelle. 15 On huntyng he was in Ingleswod, Withe alle hys bold knyghtes good, Nowe herken to my spelle. The kyng was sett att hys trestylle-tree, .Withe hys bowe to sle the wylde venere, 20 'MS., by is inserted after belovid. 4 + (Folio 129.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN And hys lordes were sett hym besyde; As the kyng stode, then was he ware, Where a greatt hartt was and a fayre, And forthe fast dyd he glyde. The hartt was in a braken ferne, And hard the g[rloundes, and stode fulle derne, Alle that sawe the kyng. “Hold you stylle, euery man, And I wolle goo my-self, yf I can Withe crafte of stalkyng.” The kyng in hys hand toke a bowe, And wodmanly he stowpyd lowe, To stalk vnto that dere; When that he cam the dere fulle nere, The dere lept forthe into a brere, And euere the kyng went nere and nere, So kyng Arthure went a whyle, After the dere, I trowe, half a myle, And no man withe hym went; And att the last to the dere he lett flye, And smote hym sore and sewerly,— Suche grace God hym sent. Doun the dere tumblyd so deron, And felle into a greatt brake of fferon; The kyng folowyd fulle fast. Anon the kyng bothe? ferce and felle, Was withe the dere and dyd hym serve welle.® And after the grasse he taste. As the kyng was withe the dere alone, Streyghte ther cam to hym a quaynt grome, Armyd welle and sure; A knyghte fulle strong and of greatt myghte, And grymly wordes to the kyng he sayd: “‘Welle i-mett, kyng Arthour! Thou hast me done wrong many a yere, And wofully I shalle quytte the here; I hold thy lyfe days nyghe done; ?M., bothe; both, MS. 3 Ibid., serve weif suggested in the notes; vei, MS. 25 30 35 45 50 55 THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 3 Thou hast gevyn my landes in certayn, Withe greatt wrong vnto Sir Gawen. ‘Whate sayest thou, kyng alone?” 60 I“Syr knyghte, whate is thy name withe honour?” i‘“Syr kyng,” he sayd, “‘Gromer Somer Joure, (I telle the nowe withe ryghte.”’ Py Sir Gromer Somer bethynk the welle, To sle me here honour getyst thou no delle, 65 (Folio 129b.) Be-thynk the thou artt a knyghte, ‘Yf thou sle me nowe in thys case, ‘Alle knyghtes wolle refuse the in euery place, That shame shalle neuere the froo; ‘Lett be thy wylle and folowe wytt, 70 And that is amys I shalle amend itt, -And thou wolt, or that I goo.” | “Nay,” sayd Str Gromer Somer, ‘‘by hevyn kyng! So shalt thou nott skape withoute lesyng, I haue the nowe att avaylle; 75 Yf I shold lett the thus goo withe mokery, Anoder tyme thou wolt me defye; Of that I shalle nott faylle.”’ \Now sayd the kyng, ‘‘So God me saue, Save my lyfe, and whate thou wolt crave, 80 I shalle now graunt itt the; Shame thou shalt haue to sle me in venere, _Thou armyd and I clothyd butt in grene, perde.”’ “~ Alle thys shalle nott help the, sekyrly, Ffor I wolle nother lond ne gold truly; 85 Butt yf thou graunt me att a certayn day, Suche as I shalle sett, and in thys same araye.”’ “Yes,” sayd the kyng, “‘lo, here my hand.” “Ye, butt abyde, kyng, and here me a stound; Ffyrst thow shalt swere vpon my sword broun, 90 To shewe me att thy comyng whate wemen love best in feld and town; And thou shalt mete me here witheouten send, Evyn att this day xij. monethes end; And thou shalt swere vpon my swerd good, }That of thy knyghtes shalle none com with the, by the rood, 95 4 THE WEDDYNGE OF Str GAWEN Nowther frende‘ ne freynd. And yf thou bryng nott answere withe-oute faylle, Thyne hed thou shalt lose for thy travaylle,- - (Folio 129*.) Thys shalle nowe be thyne othe. <-Whate sayst thou, kyng, lett se, haue done.’”’ 100 “Syr, I graunt to thys, now lett me gone; Thoughe itt be to me fulle lothe, I ensure the, as I am true kyng, To com agayn att thys xij. monethes end, And bryng the thyne answere.”’ 105 \**Now go thy way, kyng Arthure, ‘Thy lyfe is in my hand, I am fulle sure, Of thy sorowe thow artt nott ware. Abyde, kyng Arthure, a lytelle whyle, Loke nott to-day thou me begyle, 110 And kepe alle thyng in close; (Ffor and I wyst, by Mary mylde, Thou woldyst betray me in the feld, ‘Thy lyf fyrst sholdyst thou lose.”’ . “Nay,” sayd kyng Arthure, ‘“‘that may nott be, 115 Vntrewe kynghte shalt thou neuere fynde me; _To dye yett were me lever. 'Ffarwelle, Sir knyghte and evylle mett, I wolle com, and I be on lyve att the day sett, ;Thoughe I shold scape neuere.”’ 120 The kyng his bugle gan blowe, That hard euery knyghte and itt gan knowe, Vnto hym can they rake; Ther they fond the kyng and the dere, Withe sembland sad and hevy chere, 125 That had no lust to layk. ““Go we home nowe to Carlylle, Thys huntyng lykys me nott welle,”— So sayd kyng Arthure. Alle the lordes knewe by his countenasnce 130 (Folio 129*b.) That the kyng had mett withe sume dysturbaunce. Vnto Carlylle then the kyng cam, Butt of his hevynesse knewe no man, *M., fremde? suggested in notes. (Folio 130.) Tue WEDDYNGE OF Sm GAWEN 5 Hys hartt was wonder hevy; In this hevynesse he dyd a-byde, 135 That many of his knyghtes mervelyd that tyde, 'Tylle att the last Sir Gawen To the kyng he sayd than, ‘“‘Syr, me marvaylythe ryghte sore, .Whate thyng that thou sorowyst fore.” 140 Then answeryd the kyng as tyghte, -“T shalle the telle, gentylle Gawen knyghte. In the fforest as I was this daye, Ther I mett withe a knyghte in hys araye, And serteyn wordes to me he gan sayn, 145 And chargyd me I shold hym nott bewrayne, Hys councelle must I kepe therfore, Or els I am forswore.”’ “Nay, drede you nott, lord, by Mary flower, I am nott that man that wold you dishonour, 150 Nother by euyn ne by moron.” ‘“‘Forsothe I was on huntyng in Ingleswod, Thowe knowest welle I slewe an hartt by the rode, Alle my-self alon; Ther mett I withe a knyghte armyd sure, 155 His name he told me was Siv Gromer Somer Joure, Therfor I make my mone. Ther that kynghte fast dyd me threte, And wold haue slayn me withe greatt heatt, But I spak fayre agayn; 160 Wepyns withe me ther had I none, Alas! my worshypp therfor is nowe gone.” ‘‘What thereof?” sayd Gawen, “‘Whatt nedys more J shalle nott lye, He wold haue slayn me ther withe-oute mercy, 165 And that me was fulle lothe; He made me to swere that att the xij. monethes end, That I shold mete hym ther in the same kynde, To that I plyghte my trowithe. And also I shold telle hym att the same day, 170 Whate wemen desyren moste in good faye, My lyf els shold I lese.® "M., lese; leve, MS. (Folio 130b.) THE WEDDYNGE oF SrR GAWEN This othe I made vnto that knyghte, And that I shold neuere telle itt to no wighte, Of thys I myghte nott chese. 175 And also I shold com in none oder araye, Butt euyn as I was the same daye; And yf I faylyd of myne answere, I wott I shal be slayn ryghte there. Blame me nott thoughe I be a wofulle man, 180 Alle thys is my drede and fere.”’ “Ye, Sir, make good chere; Lett make your hors redy, To ryde into straunge contrey; And euere wher-as ye mete owther man or woman, in faye 185 Ask of theym whate thay therto saye. And I shalle also ryde a-noder waye, And enquere of euery man and woman, and gett whatt I may, Of euery man and womans answere, And in a boke I shalle theym wryte.”’ 190 “TI graunt,” sayd the kyng, as tyte, “Ytt is welle advysed, Gawen the good, Evyn by the holy rood.” Sone were they® bothe redy, Gawen and the kyng, wytterly. 195 The kyng rode on way, and Gawen a-noder, And euere enquyred of man, woman, and other, Whate wemen desyred moste dere. Somme sayd they lovyd to be welle arayd, Somme sayd they lovyd to be fayre prayed; 200 Somme sayd they lovyd a lusty man, That in theyr armys can clypp them and kysse them than; Somme sayd one; somme sayd other; And so had Gawen getyn many an answere. By that Gawen had geten whate he maye, 205 And come agayn by a certeyn daye, Syr Gawen had goten answerys so many, ¢M., they; the, MS. (Folio 131.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 7 That had made a boke greatt, wytterly; To the courte he cam agayn. By that was the kyng comyn withe hys boke, 210 And eyther on others pamplett dyd loke. “Thys may nott ffaylle,’’’ sayd Gawen. “By God,” sayd the kyng, ‘‘I drede me sore, I cast me to seke a lytelle more In Yngleswod Fforest; 215 I haue butt a monethe to my day sett, I may hapen on somme good tydynges to hytt,— Thys thynkythe me nowe best.” ‘Do as ye lyst,” then Gawen sayd, ‘“‘Whate-so-euere ye do I hold me payd, 220 Hytt is good to be spyrryng; Doute you nott, lord, ye shalle welle spede; Sume of your sawes shalle help att nede, Els itt were ylle lykyng.”’ Kyng Arthoure rode forthe on the other day, 225 In-to Yngleswod as hys gate laye, And ther he mett withe a lady; She was as vngoodly a creature, As euere man sawe witheoute mesure. Kyng Arthure mervaylyd securly. 230 Her face was red, her nose snotyd withalle, Her mowithe wyde, her tethe yalowe ouere alle, Withe bleryd eyen gretter then a balle, Her mowithe was nott to lak; Her tethe hyng ouere her® lyppes; 235 Her chekys syde as wemens hyppes; A lute she bare vpon her bak. Her nek long and therto greatt, Her here cloteryd on an hepe, In the sholders she was a yard brode, 240 Hangyng pappys to be an hors lode; And lyke a barelle she was made; And to reherse the fowlnesse of that lady, Ther is no tung may telle, securly, Of lothynesse inowghe she had. 245 7 Ibid., faylle suggested in the notes; ffayd, MS. °M., her; he, MS. 8 THE WEDDYNGE OF Str GAWEN She satt on a palfray was gay begon, Withe gold besett and many a precious stone, Ther was an vnsemely syghte; So fowlle a creature withe-oute mesure, To ryde so gayly, I you ensure, 250 .Ytt was no reason ne ryghte. She rode to Arthoure, and thus she sayd: “‘God spede, Sir kyng, I am welle payd, That I haue withe the mett; Speke withe me, I rede, or thou goo, 255 Ffor thy lyfe is in my hand, I warn the soo, That shalt thou fynde, and I itt nott lett.” ‘“‘Why, whatt wold ye, lady, nowe withe me?” ‘“‘Syr, I wold fayn nowe speke withe the, And telle the tydynges good; 260 Ffor alle the answerys that thou canst yelpe, None of theym alle shalle the helpe, That shalt thou knowe, by the rood, Thou wenyst I knowe nott thy councelle, Butt I warn the I knowe itt euery dealle; 265 Yf* I help the nott, thou art butt dead. Graunt me, Sir kyng, butt one thyng, (Folio 131b.) And for thy lyfe, I make warrauntyng, Or elles thou shalt lose thy hed.” ‘‘Whate mean you, lady, telle me tyghte, 270 For of thy wordes I haue great dispyte, To you I haue no nede. Whate is your desyre, fayre lady, Lett me wete shortly; Whate is your meanyng, 275 And why my lyfe is in your hand, Telle me, and I shalle you warraunt, Alle your own askyng.” “‘Ffor-sothe,” sayd the lady, “I am no qued, Thou must graunt me a knyghte to wed, 280 His name is Sir Gawen; And suche covenaunt I wolle make the, °In the MS. Butt I warn the is repeated at the beginning of line 266. Madden omits it. (Folio 132.) 10 M., now. THE WEDDYNGE OF SiR GAWEN 9 Butt thorowe myne answere thy lyf sauyd be, Elles lett my desyre be in vayne. And yf myne answere saue thy lyf, 285 Graunt me to be Gawens wyf, Advyse the nowe, Sir kyng; Ffor itt must be so, or thou artt butt dead, Chose nowe, for thou mayste sone lose thyne hed. Telle me nowe in hying.”’ 290 “Mary,” sayd the kyng, “I maye nott graunt the, To make warraunt Sir Gawen to wed the; Alle lyethe in hym alon. Butt and itt be so, I wolle do my labowr, In savyng of my lyfe to make itt secour, 295 To Gawen wolle I make my mone.” “‘Welle,” sayd she, “nowe go home agayn, And fayre wordes speke to Sty Gawen, Ffor thy lyf I may saue; Thoughe I be foulle, yett am I gaye, 300 Thourghe me thy lyfe saue he maye, Or sewer thy dethe to haue.”’ “Alas!”’ he sayd, “‘nowe!® woo is me, That I shold cause Gawen to wed the, For he wol be lothe to saye naye. 305 So foulle a lady as ye ar nowe one Sawe I neuere in my lyfe on ground gone, I nott whate I do may.” “‘No force, Sir kyng, thoughe I be foulle, Choyse for a make hathe an owlle, 310 Thou getest of me no more; When thou comyst agayn to thyne answere, Ryghte in this place I shalle mete the here, Or elles I wott thou artt lore.’’!! ‘“‘Now farewelle,”’ sayd the kyng, “‘lady.” 315 “Ye, Sir,’”’ she sayd, “ther is a byrd men calle an owlle, And yett a lady Iam.”’ ‘“‘Whate is your name, I pray you telle me?”’ In the folio there is the word fout, which Madden omits. 10 (Folio 132b.) M., ] were. TuE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN “Syr kyng, I hyghte Dame Ragnelle, truly, That neuere yett begylyd man.”’ “Dame Ragnelle, now haue good daye.”’ ‘““Syr kyng, God spede the on thy way, Ryghte here I shalle the mete.”’ Thus they departyd fayre and welle, The kyng fulle sone com to Carlylle, And hys hartt hevy and greatt. The fyrst man he mett was Sir Gawen, That vnto the kyng thus gan sayn, ‘““Syr, howe haue ye sped?” “Fforsothe,” sayd the kyng, ‘‘neuere so ylle. Alas! I am in poynt my-self to spylle, For nedely I most be ded.”’ “Nay,” sayd Gawen, “‘that may nott be, I had lever my-self be dead, so mott I the, Thys js ille tydand.”’ ‘““Gawen, I mett to-day withe the fowlyst lady, That euere I sawe sertenly; She sayd to me my lyfe she wold saue, Butt fyrst she wold the to husbond haue, Wherfor I am wo begon, Thus in my hartt I make my mone.’”’ “Ys this alle?’ then sayd Gawen, “‘T shalle wed her and wed her agayn, Thowghe she were a fend, Thowghe she were as foulle as Belsabub, Her shalle I wed, by the rood; Or elles were nott I your frende, For ye ar my kyng withe honour, And haue worshypt me in many a stowre, Therfor shalle I nott lett; To saue your lyfe, lorde, itt were my parte, Or were I!? false and a greatt coward, And my worshypp is the bett.”’ ‘“‘T-wys, Gawen, I mett her in Inglyswod, She told me her name, by the rode, That itt was Dame Ragnelle; She told me butt I had of her answere, 320 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN Elles alle my laboure is neuere the nere, Thus she gan me telle. And butt yf her answere help me welle, Elles lett her haue her desyre no dele, This was her covenaunt; And yf her answere help me, and none other, Then wold she haue you, here 1s alle to-geder, That made she warraunt.”’ 11 360 365 “As for this,” sayd Gawen, “‘it]'5 shalle nott lett, I wolle wed her att whate tyme ye wolle sett, I pray you make no care; ‘For and she were the moste fowlyst wyghte, That euere men myghte se withe syghte, For your love4 I wolle nott spare.”’ ‘“‘Garamercy, Gawen,” then sayd kyng Arthor, “Of alle knyghtes thou berest the flowre, That euere yett I fond; 370 My worshypp and my lyf thou savyst for-euere 375 Therfore my loue shalle nott frome the dyssevyr, (Folio 133.) .As I am kyng in lond.”’ Then within v. or vj. days, The kyng must nedys goo his ways, To bere his answere. The kyng and Sir Gawen rode oute of toun, No man withe them, butt they alone, Neder ferre ne nere. When the kyng was withe-in the Fforest, “‘Syr Gawen, farewelle, I must go west, Thou shalt no furder goo.” ““My lord, God spede you on your jorney, I wold I shold nowe ryde your way, _Ffor to departe I am ryghte wo.”’ The kyng had rydden butt a while, Lytelle more then the space of a myle, Or he mett Dame Ragnelle. ““A, Sir kyng, ye arre nowe welcum here, I wott ye ryde to bere your answere, That wolle avaylle you no dele.”’ UM., st inserted. MM., loue. 380 385 390 395 12 THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN ‘“‘Nowe,’’ sayd the kyng, “‘sithe itt wolle none other be, ‘Telle me your answere nowe, and my lyfe saue me, Gawen shalle you wed; So he hathe promysed me my lyf to saue, And your desyre nowe shalle ye haue, 400 Bothe in bowre and in bed. Therfor’® telle me nowe alle in hast, Whate wolle help now att last,— Haue done, I may nott tary.” - “Syr,’? quod Dame Ragnelle, “nowe shalt thou (Folio 133b.) knowe 405 Whate wemen desyren moste of highe and lowe, Ffrom this I wolle nott varaye. Summe men sayn we desyre to be fayre, Also we desyre to haue repayre, Of diuerse straunge men; 410 Also we loue to haue lust in bed, And often we desyre to wed, Thus ye men nott ken. Yett we desyre a-noder maner thyng, To be holden nott old, butt fresshe and yong, 415 Withe flatryng and glosyng and quaynt gyn, So ye men may vs wemen euere wyn, Of whate ye wolle crave. Ye goo fulle nyse, I wolle nott lye, Butt there is one thyng is alle oure fantasye, 420 And that nowe shalle ye knowe: We desyren of men aboue alle maner thyng, To haue the souereynte, withoute lesyng, Of alle, bothe hyghe and lowe. For where we haue souereynte alle is ourys, 425 Thoughe a knyghte be neuere so ferys, And euere the mastry wynne; Of the moste manlyest is oure desyre, To haue the souereynte of suche a syre, Suche is oure crafte and gynne. 430 Therfore wend, Sir kyng, on thy way, And telle that knyghte, as I the saye, BM., Therfore. (Folio 134.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 13 That itt is as we desyren moste; He wol be wrothe and vnsoughte, And curse her fast that itt the taughte, 435 Ffor his laboure is lost. Go forthe, Str kyng, and hold promyse Ffor thy lyfe is sure nowe in alle wyse, That dare I well'* vndertake.”’ “The kyng rode forthe a greatt shake, 440 As fast as he myghte gate, Thorowe myre, more, and fenne, Wher-as the place was sygnyd and sett then, Evyn there withe Sir Gromer he mett. And stern wordes to the kyng he spak withe that, 445 “Com of, Sir kyng, nowe lett se, Of thyne answere whate itt shal be, Ffor I am redy grathyd.”’ The kyng pullyd oute bokes twayne; ‘‘Syr, ther is myne answer, I dare sayn, 450 _Ffor somme wolle help att nede.” Syr Gromer lokyd on theym euerychon; “Nay, nay, Sir kyng, thou artt butt a dead man, Therfor nowe shalt thou blede.”’ ““Abyde, Sir Gromer,’ sayd kyng Arthoure, 455 “T haue one answere shalle make al[lJe!” sure.’’ eLett se,’ then sayd Str Gromer, ‘Or els so God me help as I the say, 'Thy dethe thou shalt haue with large paye, I telle the nowe ensure.” \“N ow,” sayd the kyng, “‘I se as I gesse, In the is butt a lytelle gentilnesse, JBy God that ay is helpand. Here is oure answere and that is alle, That wemen desyren moste specialle, 465 Bothe of fre and bond. I saye no more, butt aboue al thyng, Wemen desyre souereynte, for that is theyr lykyng, And that is ther moste desyre; To haue the rewlle of the manlyest men, 470 ™M., well; wele, MS. "7 Tbid., all; ale, MS. 14 (Folio 134b.) (Folio 135.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN And then ar they welle, thus they me dyd ken, To rule the, Gromer syre.”’ ‘‘And she that told the nowe, Sir Arthoure, I pray to God, I maye se her bren on a fyre, Ffor that was my suster, Dame Ragnelle; 475 That old scott, God geve her!® shame, Elles had I made the fulle tame; Nowe haue I lost moche travaylle. Go where thou wolt, kyng Arthoure, For of me thou maiste be euere sure; 480 Alas! that I euerve se this day; Nowe, welle I wott, myne enime thou wolt be, And att suche a pryk shalle I neuere gett the, My song may be welle-awaye!”’ “No,” sayd the kyng, “‘that make I warraunt, 485 Some harnys I wolle haue to make me defendaunt, That make I God avowe. In suche a plyghte shallt thou neuere me fynde, And yf thou do, lett me bete and bynde, As is for thy best prouf.”’ 490 ‘“‘Nowe haue good day,” sayd Sir Gromer, ‘“‘Ffarewell,’’!® sayd Sir Arthoure, ‘‘so mottI the, I am glad, I haue so sped.” Kyng Arthoure turnyd hys hors into the playn, And sone he mett withe Dame Ragnelle agayn, 495 In the same place and stede. “Syr kyng, I am glad ye haue sped welle, I told howe itt wold be euery delle; Nowe hold that ye haue hyghte. Syn I haue sauyd your lyf, and none other, 500 Gawen must me wed, Sir Arthoure, That is a fulle gentille knyghte.”’ ‘No, lady, that I you hyghte I shalle nott faylle, So ye wol be rulyd by my councelle, ~Your wille then shalle ye haue.”’ ; 505 ‘Nay, Sir kyng, nowe wolle I nott soo, Openly I wol be weddyd, or I parte the froo, Elles shame wolle ye haue. M., her; he, MS. 19 M., Farewell; Farcwele, MS. (Folio 135b.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN Ryde before, and I wolle com after, Vnto thy courte, Str kyng Arthoure; Of no man I wolle shame; ‘Be-thynk you howe I haue sauyd your lyf. ‘Therfor withe me nowe shalle ye nott stryfe, Ffor and ye do, ye be to blame.”’ The kyng of her had greatt shame; | Tylle they cam to Karlyle forthe they mevyd. In-to the courte she rode hym by, Ffor no man wold she spare, securly,— Itt lykyd the kyng fulle ylle. Alle the contraye had wonder greatt, Ffro whens she com, that foule vnswete, They sawe neuere of so fowlle a thyng; \In-to the halle she went, in certen. ‘“‘Arthoure, kyng, lett fetche me Str Gaweyn, Before the knyghtes, alle in hying, That I may nowe be made sekyr, In welle and wo trowithe plyghte vs togeder, Before alle thy chyvalry. This is your graunt, lett se, haue done; Sett forthe Sir Gawen, my love, anon, Ffor lenger tarying kepe nott I.” iThen cam forthe Sir Gawen the knyghte, “Syr, I am redy of that I you hyghte, Alle forwardes to fulfylle’; ‘‘Godhauemercy,” sayd Dame Ragnelle then, “Ffor thy sake I wold I were a fayre woman, Ffor thou art of so good wylle.”’ Ther Sir Gawen to her his trowthe plyghte, In welle and in woo, as he was a true knyghte, Then was Dame Ragnelle fayn. “Alas!” then sayd Dame Gaynour; So sayd alle the ladyes in her bower, And wept for Sir Gawen. ‘Alas!’ then sayd bothe kyng and knyghte, ‘That euere he shold wed suche a wyghte, She was so fowlle and horyble. She had two tethe on euery syde, , Butt forthe she rood, thoughe he were grevyd, 15 510 515 520 525 $30 535 540 545 16 (Folio 136) 0 M., lay. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN ‘As borys tuskes, I wolle nott hyde, Of lengthe a large handfulle; The one tusk went vp, and the other doun; A mowthe fulle wyde, and fowlle igrown. ‘With grey herys many on; ‘Her lyppes laye?® lumpryd on her chyn; /Nek forsothe on her was none i-seen,— She was a lothly on! ‘She wold nott be weddyd in no maner, Butt there were made a krye in all the shyre, Bothe in town and in borowe. Alle the ladyes nowe of the lond, She lett kry to com to hand, ‘To kepe that brydalle thorowe. So itt befylle after on a daye, That maryed shold be that fowlle [lady],”! Vnto Sir Gaweyn. The daye was comyn the daye shold be, Therof the ladyes had greatt pitey; ‘‘Alas!”’ then gan they sayn. The queen prayd Dame Ragnelle sekerly, To be maryed in the mornyng erly, As pryvaly as we may. “Nay,” she sayd, “by hevyn kyng, That wolle I neuere for no-thyng, Ffor oughte that ye can saye; I wol be weddyd alle openly, Ffor withe the kyng suche covenaunt made I; ‘I putt you oute of dowte, {I wolle nott to churche tylle highe masse tyme, And in the open halle I wolle dyne, In myddys of alle the rowte.”’ “I am greed,” sayd Dame Gaynowr, “Butt me wold thynk more honour, And your worshypp moste.”’ “Ye, as for that, lady, God you saue, This daye my worshypp wolle I haue, 1 Tbid., /ady inserted after fowl. 550 555 560 565 570 575 580 585 > eee ol SE eo eee os Oe, lie ee _st*=8 (Folio 136b.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 17 I telle you withoute boste.”’ [She made her redy to churche to fare, And alle the states that there ware, ‘Syrs, withoute lesyng. |She was arayd in the richest maner, 590 ‘More fressher than Dame Gaynour, | Her arayment was worthe iij. ml/e. mark, ' Of good red nobles styff and stark, ‘So rychely she was begon. 'Ffor alle her rayment she bare the belle, 595 Of fowlnesse that euere I hard telle, So fowlle a sowe saw neuere man, Ffor to make a shortt conclusion, When she was weddyd, they hyed theym home, ‘To mete alle they went. 600 This fowlle lady began the highe dese, She was fulle foulle and nott curteys, So sayd they alle verament. When the seruyce cam her before, She ete as moche as vj. that ther wore, 605 That mervaylyd many a man; Her nayles were long ynchys lije., Therwithe she breke her mete vngoodly, Therfore she ete alone. She ette iije. capons and also curlues iije., 610 And greatt bake metes she ete vp, perde, Al men therof had mervaylle; Ther was no mete cam her before, Butt she ete itt vp lesse and more, That praty fowlle dameselle. 615 Alle men then that euere her sawe, Bad the deville her bonys gnawe, Bothe knyghte and squyre; So she ete tylle mete was done, Tylle they drewe clothes and had wasshen, 620 As is the gyse and maner. Meny men wold speke of diuerse seruice, I trowe ye may wete inowghe ther was, Bothe of tame and wylde; In king Arthours courte ther was no wontt, 625 18 (Folio 137.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN That myghte be gotten withe mannys hond, Noder in fforest ne in feld. ‘Ther were mynstralles of diuerse contrey. me i * * * * % * (A leaf is here lacking.) ‘“‘A, Sir Gawen, syn I haue you wed, Shewe me your cortesy in bed, 630 Withe ryghte itt may nott be denyed. I-wyse, Sir Gawen,”’ that lady sayd, ‘“‘And I were fayre ye wold do a-noder brayd, Butt of wedlok ye take no hed; Yett for Arthours sake kysse me att the leste, 635 I pray you do this att my request, Lett se howe ye can spede.”’ Sir Gawen sayd, “I wolle do more Then for to kysse, and God before!”’ He turnyd hym her vntille; 640 He sawe her the fayrest creature, That euere he sawe withoute mesure. She sayd, ‘‘Whatt is your wylle?”’ ‘fA, Thesu!’’ he* sayd, ‘‘whate ar ye?”’ “Sir, I am your wyf, securly; 645 Why ar ye so vnkynde?”’ ‘fA, lady, I am to blame; I cry you mercy, my fayre madame,— Itt was nott in my mynde. A lady ye ar fayre in my syghte, 650 And to-day ye were the foulyst wyghte, That euere I sawe withe myne ie.* Wele is me, my lady, I haue you thus’’; And brasyd her in hys armys, and gan her kysse, And made greatt joye, sycurly. 655 “‘Syr,’’ she sayd, “‘thus shalle ye me haue, Chese of the one, so God me saue, My beawty wolle nott hold; Wheder ye wolle haue me fayre on nyghtes,™ And as foulle on days to alle men sightes, 660 22M., he; she, MS. 3 Ibid., #¢; sen, MS. * Ibid., nyghtes to rhyme with sighfes; nyght, MS. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN ‘19 (Folio 137b.) Or els to haue me fayre on days, (Folio 138.) And on nyghtes on the fowlyst wyfe, The one ye must nedes haue; Chese the one or the oder, Chese on, Sir knyghte, whiche you is leuere, 665 Your worshypp for to saue.”’ “Alas!” sayd Gawen, “‘the choyse is hard; To chese the best itt is froward; Wheder choyse that I chese, To haue you fayre on nyghtes and no more, 670 That wold greve my hartt ryghte sore, And my worshypp shold I lese.”® And yf I desyre on days to haue you fayre, Then on nyghtes I shold haue a symple repayre. Now fayn wold I chose the best, 675 I ne wott in this world whatt I shalle saye, Butt do as ye lyst nowe, my lady gaye, The choyse I putt in your fyst. Euyn as ye wolle I putt itt in your hand, Lose me when ye lyst, for I am bond; 680 I putt the choyse in you; Bothe body and goodes, hartt, and euery dele, Ys alle your own, for to by and selle,— That make I God avowe!”’ “‘Garamercy, corteys knyghte,” sayd the lady, 685 “Of alle erthly knyghtes blyssyd mott thou be, Ffior now am I worshyppyd; Thou shalle haue me fayre bothe day and nighte, And euere whyle I lyve as fayre and bryghte; Therfore be nott greuyd. 690 Ffor I was shapen by nygramancy, Withe my stepdame, God haue on her mercy, pnd by enchauntement, ‘And shold haue bene oderwyse vnderstond, Euyn tylle the best of Englond 695 Had wedyd me verament. iAnd also he shold geve me the souereynte Of alle his body and goodes, sycurly, _—— ee %M., lese; lose, MS. 20 (Folio 138b.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN \ Thus was I disformyd; ‘And thou, Sir knyghte, curteys Gawen, 700 Has gevyn me the souereynte serteyn, ‘That wolle nott wrothe the erly ne late. Kysse me, Sir knyghte, euyn now here, I pray the, be glad, and make good chere, Ffor welle is me begon.”’ 705 Ther they made joye oute of mynde, So was itt reason and cours of kynde, They two theym-self alone. She thankyd God and Mary mylde, She was recouered of that that she was defoylyd, 710 So dyd Sir Gawen; He made myrthe alle in her boure, And thankyd of alle oure Sauyoure, I telle you, in certeyn. Withe joye and myrthe they wakyd tylle daye, 715 And than wold ryse that fayre maye.™ “Ye shalle nott,’’ Sir Gawen sayd, ‘“‘We wolle lye and slepe tylle pryme, And then lett the kyng calle vs to dyne.”’ ‘“‘I am greed,” then sayd the mayd. 720 Thus itt passyd forth tylle mid-daye. “‘Syrs,’”?? quod the kyng, “‘lett vs go and asaye, Yf£ Sir Gawen be on lyve; I am fulle ferd of Str Gawen, Nowe lest the fende haue hym slayn, 725 Nowe wold I fayn preve. | Go we nowe,”’ sayd Arthoure the kyng. ‘‘We wolle go se theyr vprysyng, Howe welle that he hathe sped.”’ They cam to the chambre, alle in certeyn. 730 ‘“‘Aryse,” sayd the kyng to Sir Gawen, ‘“‘Why slepyst thou so long in bedP”’ ‘““Mary,”’ quod Gawen, ‘‘Sir kyng, sicurly, I wold be glad, and ye wold lett me be, Ffor I am fulle welle att eas; 735 %M., maye; mayd, MS. 7M., Syrs; Syr, MS. (Folio 139.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 21 Abyde, ye shalle se the dore vndone, I trowe that ye wolle say I am welle goon, I am fulle lothe to ryse.”’ yr Gawen rose, and in his hand he toke His fayr lady, and to the dore he shoke, 740 i And opynyd the dore fulle fayre; She stod in her smok alle by that fyre, Her her?® was to her knees as red as gold wyre. ‘“‘Lo! this is my repayre, \Lo!” sayd Gawen Arthoure vntille, 745 i*Syr, this is my wyfe, Dame Ragnelle, (That sauyd onys your lyfe.”’ ‘He told the kyng and the queen hem beforn, Howe sodenly from her shap she dyd torne, ‘“My lord, nowe be your leve.”’ 750 And whate was the cause she forshapen was, Syr Gawen told the kyng both more and lesse. “T thank God,’’ sayd the queen, ‘I wenyd, Sir Gawen, she wold the haue myscaryed; Therfore in my hartt I was sore agrevyd; 755 he the contrary is here seen.” T here was game, revelle, and playe, ‘And euery man to other gan saye; ‘She is a fayre wyghte.”’ Than the kyng them”? alle gan telle, 760 How did held hym att nede Dame Ragnelle, “Or my dethe had bene dyghte.” Ther the kyng told the queen, by the rood, How he was bestad in Ingleswod, Withe Sir Gromer Somer Joure; 765 And whate othe the knyghte made hym swere, “Or elles he had slayn me ryghte there, Withoute mercy or mesure. This same lady, Dame Ragnelle, Ffrom my dethe she dyd help me ryghte welle, 770 Alle for the love of Gawen.”’ Then Gawen told the kyng alle togeder, 8 Ibid., ker; hed, MS. 9 M., theym. 22 (Folio 139b.) THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN Howe forshapen she was withe her stepmoder, Tylle a knyghte had holpen her agayn; “Ther she told the kyng fayre and welle, 775 Howe Gawen gave her the souereynte euery delle, And whate choyse she gave to hym; “God thank hym of his curtesye, He savid me from chaunce and vilony, That was fulle foulle and grym. 780 Therfore, curteys knyghte and hend Gawen, Shalle I neueve wrathe the serteyn, That promyse nowe here I make,— Whilles that I lyve I shal be obaysaunt, To God aboue I shalle itt warraunt, 785 And neuere withe you to debate.” ‘“Garamercy, lady,” then sayd Gawen, “With you I hold me fulle welle content, And that I trust to fynde.” He sayd, ‘‘My loue shalle she haue, 790 Therafter nede she neuere more craue, .For she hathe bene to me so kynde.”’ The queen sayd, and the ladyes alle, She is the fayrest nowe in this halle, I swere by Seynt John! 795 My loue, lady, ye shalle haue euere, For that ye savid my lord Arthoure, As I am a gentilwoman.” Syr Gawen gatt on her Gyngolyn, That was a good knyghte of strengthe andkynn, 800 ,And of the Table Round. Att euery greatt fest that lady shold be, Of fayrnesse she bare away the bewtye, (Wher she yed on the ground. Gawen louyd that lady Dame Ragnelle, 805 In alle his lyfe he louyd none so welle, I telle you withoute lesyng; As a coward he lay by her bothe day and nyghte, Neuere wold he haunt justyng aryghte, Ther-att mervayled*®® Arthoure the kyng.*! 810 *MS., movaylyd. 8 Ibid., Arthoure the kyng; kyng Arthoure, MS. ee i ee ee d THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 23 She prayd the kyng for his gentilnes, o be good lord to Sir Gromer, i-wysse, Of that to you he hathe offendyd; ‘Yes, lady, that shalle I nowe for your sake, for I wott welle he may nott amendes make, 815 (He dyd to me fulle vnhend.”’ Nowe for to make you a short conclusyon, I cast me for to make an end fulle sone, Of this gentylle lady. ‘She lyvyd withe Sir Gawen butt yerys v., 820 ‘That grevyd Gawen alle his lyfe, I telle you, securly. ‘In her lyfe she grevyd hym neuere, .Thertor was neuere woman to hym lever, Thus leves my talkyng; 825 She was the ffayrest lady of alll]e** Englond, When she was on lyve, I vnderstand, So sayd Arthoure the kyng. "Thus endythe the aduenture of kyng Arthoure, That oft in his days was grevyd sore, 830 And of the weddyng of Gawen. \Gawen was weddyd oft in his days, ‘Butt so welle he neuere lovyd woman always, (Folio 140.) As I haue hard men sayn. This aduenture befelle in Ingleswod, 835 As good kyng® Arthoure on huntyng yod, _. Thus haue I hard men telle. \N owe God as thou were in Bethleme born, ‘Suffer neuere her soules be forlorne, 'In the brynnyng fyre of helle! 840 And, Ihesu, as thou were borne of a virgyn, Help hym oute of sorowe that this tale dyd devyne, And that nowe in alle hast, | Ffor he is be-sett withe gaylours many, , That kepen hym fulle sewerly, 845 ' Withe wyles wrong and wraste. .Nowe God as thou art veray kyng royalle,™ "M., all; ale, MS. 3M., kynce. * Ryoalt, MS. 24 THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN ‘Help hym oute of daunger that made this tale, Ffor therin he hathe bene long; | And of greatt pety help thy seruaunt, 850 Ffor body and soulle I yeld into thyne hand, for paynes he hathe strong. Here endythe the weddyng of Syr Gawen and Dame Ragnelle Ffor helpyng of kyng Arthoure. eae, lll EEL eee, AO _ <2 a ee, § Se a, <8 cei ee eee GLOSSARY In this glossary only such words are included as differ either in spelling or in meaning from the corresponding words in modern English. Etymologies are supplied except in cases where the sources of the words are uncertain. The various spellings which occur in the poem, the lines where each word appears, and its inflectional form are indicated. The following abbreviations are used: A.F., Anglo-French L., ‘Latin A.S., Anglo-Saxon O.F., Old French F., French O.N., Old Norse A anon, adv., anon, immediately, straight- A, interj., ah, oh, 64, 393, 629, 644, 647. aboue, adv., prep., above, 422, 467, 785. A.S. abufon. abyde, v., abide, 89, 109, 135, 455, 736. A.S. abidan. aduenture, n., adventure, 829, 835. O.F. aventure. advyse, v., advise, consider, pret.-d, 192. O.F. aviser. agayn, adv., again, 104, 160, 206, 209, 297, 312, 343, 495, 774. A.S. ongéan. agrevyd, p.p. agreve, aggrieved, vexed, 755. O.F. agrever. al, alle, adj., pron., all, 7, 8, 17, 27, 68, 84, 111, 130, 154, 181, 232, 261, 262, 278, 293, 342, 358, 373, 402, 420, 422, 424, 425, 438, 456, 464, 467, 521, 526, 529, 543, 558, 560, 575, 580, 588, 595, 600, 603, 612, 616, 660, 686, 698, 712, 713, 730, 742, 760, 771, 772, 793, 806, 821, 826, 843. AS. eal. alon, adj., alone, 154. A.S. an. amendes, n., plu., amends, 815. F. amendes. amys, adj., amiss, 71. anoder, adj., another, 77, 187, 414, 633. A.S. an-dper. 287, 196, way, 46, 531. A.S. on-dn. answere, n., answer, 97, 105, 178, 189, 204, 285, 312, 357, 360, 363, 380, 394, 397, 447, 456, 464; plu., answerys, 207, 261. A.S. andswaru. ar, V., 82e afre. araye, n., array, dress, 87, 144, 176. O.F. arrei. arayd, p.p. araye, arrayed, dressed, 199, 590. O.F. arraier. arayment, n., arraiment, dress, 592. armys, n., plu., arms, 202, 654. A.S. arm, earm. armyd, p.p. arme, armed, 51, 83, 155. O.F. armer. arre, ar, v., pres. plu., are, 348, 471, 644, 646, 650; second pers. sing., artt, 66, 108, 288, 453. A.S. aron. Arthor, Arthour, Arthure, Arture, n., Arthur, 14, 37, 54, 106, 109, 115, 129, 225, 230, 252, 372, 455, 473, 479, 492, 494, 501, 510, 525, 727, 745, 797, 810, 828, 829, 836; gen. sing., Arthours, 625, 635. aryghte, adv., aright, 809. aryse, v., arise, 731. A.S. drisan. asaye, v., infin., assay, prove, try, 722. O.F. asaier. | askyng, pr. part. aske used substan- tively, asking, 278. A.S. dscian. 25 26 THE WEDDYNGE OF Sir GAWEN att, prep., at, 40, 75, 86, 91, 104, 119, 137, 170, 223, 367, 403, 451, 483, 635, 636, 735, 761, 802. A.S. et. avaylle, n., avail, 75. avaylle, v., avail, 395. F.a-+valoir. avowe, n., avowal, vow, 487, 684. ay, adv., aye, ever, 463. O.N. ei. bad, v., pret. bidde, bid, command, 617. A.S. biddan. bak, n., back, 237. A.S. bec. balle, n., ball, 233. _ barelle, n., barrel, 241. F. baril. beawty, bewtye, n., beauty, 658, 803. O.F. beauté. befelle, befylle, v., pret. befalle, befall, 15, 563, 835. A.S. befeallan. beforn, prep., before, 748. A.S. beforan. begon, p.p., begone, furnished, 246, 340, 594, 705. A.S. bigdn. begyle, v., infin., beguile, 110; pret., begylyd, 320. Be- O.F. guiler. belle, n., bell, 595. F. belle. belovid, p.p., beloved, 11. A.S. be- lufian. Belsabub, n., Beelzebub, 345. bene, p.p., been, 694, 762, 849. AS. béon. bere, v., bear, 380, 394; second pers. sing., berest, 373; third pers. sing., _berythe, 8; pret., bare, 8, 237, 803; p.p., borne, 841. A.S. beran. besett, p.p.,, beset, 247, 844. A.S. _ besettan. bestad, p.p. bestead, placed, 764. besyde, prep., beside, 21. A.S. beside. bete, v., infin., mend, 489. A.S. bétan. Bethleme, n., Bethlehem, 838. bethynk, v., bethink, consider, 64, 66, 512. A.S. bebencan. bett, adj., compar., better, 353. A.S. betera. betyd, v., pret. betyde, happen, 4. A.S. betidan. bewrayne, v., infin., betray, reveal, 146. A.S. be-wrégan. bewtye, n., see beawty. blede, v., infin., bleed, 454. AS. blédan. bleryd, p.p., bleared, 233. blowe, v., infin, blow, 121. AS. blawan. blyssyd, p.p. blesse, blessed, 686. A.S. bledsian. boke, n., plu.-s, book, 190, 208, 210, 449. A.S. béec. bonys, n., plu., bones, 617. A.S. ban. borowe, n., borough, 559. A.S. burh, burg. borys, n., gen. sing., boar, 549. A.S. boste, n., boast, 586. bothe, adj., both, 194; bothe . . . and, conj., 46, 401, 424, 466, 545, 559, 618, 624, 682, 752, 808. O.N. babir. bowe, n., bow, 20, 31. A.S. boga. boure, bowre, n., bower, 401, 712. AS. biir. brake, n., thicket, 44. Cf. A.S. bracce. braken, adj., like a brake, 25. brasyd, v., pret. brase, embrace, 654. O.F. embracier. brayd, n., start, stratagem, 633. breke, v., pret. breke, break, 608. A.S. brecan. bren, v., infin., burn, 474; pr. part., brynnyng, 240. A.S. beernan. brere, n., brier, 35. A.S. brér, breer. brode, adj., broad, 240. A.S. brad. broun, adj., brown, 90. A.S. briin. brydalle, n., bridal, 562. A.S. brydealo. bryghte, adj., bright, 689. A.S. beorht. bryng, v., bring, 97, 105. A.S. bringan. brynnyng, pr. part., see bren. butt, prep., adv., conj., but, 10, 83, 86, 89, 133, 177, 216, 265, 283, 288, 294, 339, 357, 360, 382, 390, 415, 420, 453, 462, 467, 516, 558, 582, 614, 634, 677, 756, 820. A.S. biitan. by, v., infin., buy, 683. A.S. bycgan. bynde, v., infin., bind, 489. A.S. bindan. byrd, n., bird, 316. A.S. bridd. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 27 C cam, v., pret., see com. capons, n., plu., capons, 610. AS. capin. Carlylle, n., Carlisle, 127, 132, 325. certayn, certen, certeyn, serteyn, adj., adv., n., certain, certainly, 58, 86, 145, 206, 701, 730, 782. F. certain. chambre, n., chamber, 730. F. chambre. chargyd, v., pret. charge, charge, 146. O.F. chargier. chaunce, n., chance, 779. O.F. cheance. chekys, n., plu., cheeks, 236. AS. céace. chere, n., cheer, 125, 182, 704. O.F. chiere. chese, v., infin., choose, 175, 657, 665, 668, 669. A.S. céosan. choyse, n., choice, 310, 667, 669, 678, 681, 777. O.F. chois. churche, n., church, 578, 587. AS. circe. chyn, n., chin, 554. A.S. cin. chyvalry, n., chivalry, knighthood, 10, §29. O.F. chevalrie. close, n., secrecy, 111. cloteryd, p.p., clottered, clotted, 239. clothyd, p.p. clothe, clothed, dressed, 83. AS. claGian. elypp. v., infin., clipp, embrace, 202. A.S. clyppan. com, v., infin., come, 104, 119, 176, 446, 509, 561; pret., com, 325, 521; pret., cam, 34, 50; pr. part. used substantively, comyng, 91; pr. part., comyn, 210; second pers. sing., comyst, 312. A.S. cuman. eonclusyon, n., conclusion, 817. F. conclusion. contraye, contrey, n., country, 10, 184, 628. O.F. contrée. corteys, adj., see curteys. cortesy, curtesye, n., courtesy, 630, 778. O.F. curteisie. eouncelle, n., counsel, 147, 264, 504. O.F. conseil. countenaunce, n., countenance, 130. O.F. contenance. cours, n., course, 707. O.F. cours. courte, n., court, 209, 510, 518, 625. O.F. court. covenaunt, n., covenant, agreement, 282, 362, 576. O.F. covenant. cowardes, n., plu., cowards, 12. O.F. couard. crafte, n., craft, 430. A.S. creeft. craue, v., infin., crave, 791. crafian. curlues, n., plu., curlews, 610. F. courlieu. . curtesye, n., see cortesy. curteys, corteys, adj., courteous, 6, 602, 685, 700, 781. O.F. curteis. D dameselle, n., damsel, 615. damoisele. daunger, n., danger, 848. O.F. dangier. daye, n., day, 143, 177, 206, 321, 563, 585,715. A.S. deg. dealle, dele, delle, n., deal, 65, 265, 361, 395, 498, 682,776. AS.d#h ded, adj., dead, 332. A.S. déad. defendaunt, adj., defendant, 486. O.F. défendant. A.S. O.F. defoylyd, p.p., defiled, 710. O.F. defouler. defye, v., infin., defy, 77. O.F. desfier. dele, delle, n., see dealle. denyed, p.p., denied, 631. O.F. denier. departe, v., infin., depart, 389; pret., departyd, 324. F. départir. dere, adj., dear, 198. A.S. déore. dere, n., deer, 33, 34, 35, 38, 40, 43, 47, 49, 124. A.S. déor. derne, adj., secret, 26. A.S. derne. deron, adv., secretly, 43. dese, n., dais, 601. O.F. deis. desyre, n., desire, 273, 284, 361, 400, 428, 469. F. désir. desyre, desyren, v., desire, 171, 408, 409, 412, 414, 422, 433, 465, 468, 673; pret., desyred, 198. F. désirer. 28 THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN dethe, n., death, 302, 459, 762, 770. ASS. déaB. deville, n., devil, 617. A.S. d&ofol. devyne, v., infin., divine, devise, 842. L. divinare. disformyd, p.p., deformed, 699. L. deformare dispyte, n., despite, contempt, 271. O.F. despit. Gmmerse, adj., diverse, separate, 410, 622, 628. F. divers. dore, n., door, 740, 741. A.S. durn. doun, adv., down, 43, 551. A.S. adén. doute, v., doubt, 222. O.F. douter. dowte, n., doubt, 577. O.F. doute. drede, n., dread, 181. drede, v., dread, 149, 213. A.S. dr&dan. drewe, v., pret. drawe, draw, 620. AS. dragan. dyd., v., pret., did, 5, 24, 135, 158, 211, 471, 711, 749, 770, 816, 842. AS. din. dye, v., infin., die, 117. O.N. deyja. dyghte, p.p., prepared, served, 762. A.S. dihtan. dyne, v., infin., dine, 579, 719. O.F. dyssevyr, v., infin., dissever, 376. O.F. dessevrer. dysturbaunce, n., disturbance, 131. O.F. destorbance. E eas, n., ease, 735. F. aise. els, elles, adv., conj., else, 148, 172, 224, 269, 284, 314, 347, 358, 361, 458, 477, 508, 661, 767. A.S. elles. enchauntement, n., enchantment, 693. O.F. enchantement. endythe, v., third pers. sing., end, 829. Englond, n., England, 695. enime, n., enemy, 482. O.F. enemi. ensure, adv., certainly, 460. erly, adv., early, 570, 702. A.S. #rlice. erthly, adj., earthly, 686. A.S. eorplic. ete, ette, v., pret. ete, eat, 605, 609, 610, 614, 619. A.S. etan. euere, adv., ever, 36, 185, 197, 229, 337, 370, 374, 417, 427, 480, 481, 546, 596, 616, 642, 652, 689, 796. A.S. &fre. eueremore, adv., evermore, 12. AS. &fre-mi. euery, adj., every, 28, 68, 122, 188, 189, 265, 498, 548, 682, 758, 776, 802. AS. &fre-ele. euerychon, pron., every one, 452. Everich- A.S. dn. euyn, n., even, evening, 151. AS. &fen. euyn, evyn, adv., even, exactly, 93, 177, 193, 444, 679, 695, 703. A.S. efme. evylle, n., evil, 118. A.S. yfel. eyen, n., plu., eyes, 233. A.S. éage. - eyther, pron., either, 211. A.S.#g@er. F fantasye, n., fancy, 420. O.F. fantasie. fare, v., infin., go, travel, 587. A.S. faran. farewelle, farwelle, ffarwelle, interj., farewell, 118, 315, 385, 492. AS. far-wel. faye, n., faith, 171, 185. O.F. fea. faylle, flayle, n., fail, 97. O.F. faille. faylle, v., infin., fail, 78, 212, 503; faylyd, pret., 178. F. faillir. fayn, adj., glad, gladly, 259, 541, 675, 726. A.S. feegen. fayr, fayre, adj., adv., fair, 23, 200, 273, 298, 324, 408, 537, 633, 648, 650, 659, 661, 670, 673, 688, 689, 716, 741, 759, 775; superl., fayrest, 641, 794, 826. AS. feger. fayrnesse, n., fairness, 803. AS. feegernes. feld, n., field, 91, 113, 627. A.S. feld. felle, adj., fell, cruel, 46. O.F. fel. felle, v., pret. falle, fall, 44. AS. feallan. fend, fende, n., fiend, 344, 725. AS. féond. fenne, n., fen, marsh, 442. A.S. fen. ferce, adj., fierce, 46. O.F. fier. ferd, adj., afraid, 724. __ EE —, en, Le. (> Or iQ ee, $L -§ gee, ee a ga J _ A »~ a: THE WEDDYNGE fere, n., fear, 181. A.S. fér. ferne, fferon, n., fern, 25,44. A.S. fearn. ferre, adj., far, 383. A.S. feor. ferys, adj., fierce, 426. O.F. fier. fest, n., feast, 802. O.F. feste. fetche, v., infin., fetch, 525. A.S. feccan. flatryng, pres. part. used substantively, flattering, 416. floure, flowre, flowyr, n., flower, 7, 149, 373. O.F. flour. flye, v., infin., fly, 40. A.S. flgogan. folowe, v., follow, 70; folowyd, pret., 45. A.S. folgian. fond, v., pret., see fynde. fore, prep., for, 140. A.S. for, fore. for-euere, adv., forever, 375. AS. for-&fre. forlorne, adj., forlon, 839. AS. forléosan. forshapen, p.p., misshapen, meta- morphosed, 751, 773. A.S. for- scieppan. forsothe, ffor-sothe, fforsothe, adv., forsooth, 152, 279, 330, 555. A.S. forsdd. forswore, p.p., forsworn, 148. A.S. forswerian. forthe, adv., forth, 24, 35, 225, 437, 440, 517, 531, 533. A.S. forB. forwardes, adv., forwards, 535. A.S. forweard. foule, foulle, fowlle, adj., foul, 249, 300, 306, 309, 345, 522, 523, 547, 552, 597, 601, 602, 615, 660, 780; superl., foulyst, fowlyst, 336, 369, 651, 662. A.S. fil. fowlnesse, n., foulness, 243, 596. A.S. filnes. fre, adj., free, 466. A.S. fréo. frende, freynd, n., friend, 96, 347. A.S. fréond. fresshe, adj., fresh, 415; comp., fres- sher, 591. A.S. fersec. freynd, n., see frende. fro, froo, prep., from, 69, 507, 522. O.N. fra. frome, ffrom, prep., from, 376, 407, 770. A.S. fram, from. OF StR GAWEN 29 fulfylle, v., infin., fulfill, 535. AS. fulfyllan. fulle, adv., full, 26, 34, 45, 102, 107, 166, 325, 419, 502, 520, 552, 602, 724, 735, 738, 741, 788, 816, 818, 845. A.S. fal. farder, adv., further, 386. A.S. furBor. fynde, v., find, 116, 257, 488, 789; pret., fond, 124, 374. A.S. findan. fyre, n., fire, 474, 742, 840. A.S. f¥r. fyrst, ffyrst, adj., first, 327; adv., 90, 114, 339. A.S. fyrst. fyst, n., fist, 678. A.S. f¥st. G gan, v., pret., ginne, begin, (as auxiliary verb), did, 121, 122, 145, 328, 359, 654, 758. A.S. beginnan. garamercy, interj., thank you very rouch, 372, 685, 787. F. grand merci. gate, v., infin., go, 441. gatt, v., pret., see gett. gaye, adj., gay, 300, 677. F. gai. gaylours, n., plu., jailers, 844. O.F. geolier. Gaynour, n., Guinevere, 581, 591. gentille, gentylle, adj., gentle, 142, 502, 819. O.F. gentil. gentilnesse, gentilnes, n., gentleness, 462, 811. F. gentilesse. gentilwoman, n., gentlewoman, 798. gesse, v., guess, 461. gett, v., get, 188, 483, second pers. sing., fetyst, 65; p.p., getyn, 204; p.p., goten, 207; p.p., gotten, 626; p.p., geten, 205; pret., gatt, 799. Cf. AS. gietan. O.N. geta. geve, v., give, 476, 697; p.p., gevyn, 58, 701. Cf. A.S. gifan. glosyng, pr. part. used substantively, flattering, 416. F. gloser. glyde, v., infin., glide, 24. A.S. glidas. gnawe, v., infin., gnaw, 617. AS. gnagan. Godhauemercy, interj., God have mercy, 536. 30 THE WEDDYNGE g00, gone, vV., infin., go, 29, 72, 76, 101, 255, 307, 379, 386, 419; p.p., goon, 737. A.S. gin. goodes, n., plu., goods, 682, 698. grasee, n., grass, 48. A.S. gres. grathyd, p.p., prepared, 448. O.N. greid-r. graunt, n., grant, 530. O.F. graant. freatt, adj., great, 5, 23, 44, 52, 59, 159, 208, 238, 326, 352, 440, 515, 521, 611, 655, 802, 850; comp., gretter, 233. A.S. gréat. greed, p.p., agreed, 581, 720. F. agréer. grene, n., green, 83. A.S. gréne. gretter, adj., comp., see greatt. greve, v., infin., grieve, 671; p.p., greuyd, 690; p.p., grevyd, 516, 821, 823, 830. O.F. grever. grome, n., groom, 50. groundes, n., plu., grounds, 26. A.S. grand. grym, grymly, adj., grim, 53, 780. A.S. grim. gyn, gynne, n., device, contrivance, 416, 430. F. engin. Gynfgolyn, n., Guinglain, 799. fyse, n., guise, manner, 621. OF. guise. H halle, n., hall, 3, 524, 579, 794. A.S- heall. handfulle, n., handful, 550. A.S. hand- full. hangyné, pr. part., see hyng. hapen, v., infin., happen, 217. hard, v., pret., see here. harnys, n., armor, 486. O.F. harneis. hartt, n., hart, 23, 25, 153. A.S. heort. hartt, n., heart, 134, 326, 341, 671, 682, 755. A.S. heorte. hast, n., haste, 402, 843. hathe, v., see haue. haue, v., have, 75, 82, 100, 159, 165, 216, 254, 271, 272, 302, 321, 339, 349, 361, 364, 400, 404, 409, 411, 423, 425, 429, 456, 470, 478, 486, 491, 493, 497, 499, 500, 505, 508, 530, 585, 653, 656, 659, 661, 663, 670, 673, 674, 688, 692, OF Sir GAWEN 694, 725, 754, 796, 834, 837; third pers. sing., hathe, 310, 399, 729, 792, 813, 849, 852. A.S. habben. heatt, n., heat, 159. A.S. h#tu. hed, n., heed, 634. hed, n., head, 98, 269, 289. AS. héafod. held, v., infin., hold, 761. A.S. healdaa. helle, n., hell, 840. A.S. hell. helpand, pr. part., see helpe. helpe, v., infin., help, 262; pr. part., helpand, 463; p.p., holpen, 774. A.S. helpan. hem, pron., them, 748. A.S. bim. hend, adj., kind, polite, 781. A.S. tehende. hepe, n., heap, 239. A.S. héap. her, here, n., hair, 239, 743; plu., berys, 553. A.S. hér. here, v., hear, 89; pret., hard, 122, 596; p.p., hard, 834, 837. AS. hieran. herken, v., imperative, harken, 18. herys, n., plu., see here. hevy, adj., heavy, 125, 134, 326. AS. hefig. hevyn, n., heaven, 73, 572. A.S. heofon. hevynesse, n., heaviness, 133, 135. A.S. hefignes. highe,hyghe, adj., high, 406, 424, 578, 601. A.S. héah. holden, p.p., held, considered, 415. A.S. healdan. holpen, p.p., see helpe. hond, n., hand, 626. A.S. hand. hors, n., horse, 183, 241, 494. A.S. hors. horyble, adj., horrible, 547. F. horrible. howe, adv., how, 15, 329, 498, 512, 637, 729, 749, 773, 776. A.S. hi. huntyng, pr. part. hunte used substan- tively, hunting, 16, 152, 836. A.S. huntian. husbond, n., husband, 339. AS. hiisbonda. hyde, v., infin., hide, 549. A.S. hfdan. hyed, v., pret. hye, pr. part. hying, hasten, 290, 599. A.S. higiaa. hyghe, adj., see highe. oe, eee, eee ee ee eee, | oe ee, ee ee ee |, , 9 a NN eS THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 31 hyghte, v., promise, be called, 319, 499, 503, 534. A.S. hitan. hym, pron., him, 2, 15, 21, 39, 41, 42, 47, 50, 123, 146, 168, 170, 293, 518, 640, 725, 761, 777, 778, 823, 842, 845, 848. A.S. him. hymself, pron., himself, 5. hyng, v., pret. hange, hang, 235; pr. part., hangyng, 241. A.S. hangian. hyppes, n., plu., hips, 236. A.S. hype. hys, pron., his, 17, 20, 21, 31, 134, 144, 147, 210, 226, 326, 494, 654. A.S. his. hytt, pron., it, 221. A.S. hit. hytt, v., infin., hit, 217. I ie, n., plu., eyes, 652. A.S. gage. igrown, p.p., grown, 552. A.S. grown. Thesu, n., Jesus, 644, 841. ille, adj., ill, unfavorable, 335. O.N. i-mett, p.p., see mete. Ingleswod, Inglyswod, Ynglewod, n., Inglewood, 16, 152, 215, 226, 354, 764, 835. inowghe, adj., n., enough, 245, 623. A.S. génoh. i-seen, p.p., see se. itt, pron., it, 71, 81, 102, 122, 174, 224, 257, 265, 288, 294, 295, 351, 356, 396, 433, 435, 447, 498, 520, 563, 614, 649, 668, 679, 707, 721, 785. A.S. hit. i-wys, i-wyse, i-wysse, adv., certainly, truly, 354, 632, 812. A.S. gewis. J jorney, n., journey, 387. O.F. jornée. joye, n., joy, 655, 706, 715. O.F. joye. justyng, pr. part. juste used substan- tively, justing, jousting, 809. O.F. jouster. K Karlyle, n., Carlisle, 517. ken, v., infin., know, perceive, 413, 471. A.S. cennan. hepe, kepen, v., 111, 532, 562, 845. A.S. cépan. knowe, v., infin., know, 122, 264, 265, 405, 421; pret., knewe, 130, 133. A.S.. cnawan. knyghte, n., plu.-s, knight, 11, 61, 68, 95, 116, 118, 122, 136, 142, 144, 155, 158, 173, 280, 373, 426, 432, 502, 526, 533, 540, 545, 618, 665, 685, 686, 700, 703, 766, 774, 781, 800. A.S. cniht. knyghtod, n., knighthood, 8. Cf. A.S. cniht-had. kry, v., infin., cry, 561. O.F. crier. krye, n., cry, 558. O.F. eri. kynde, adj., kind, 792. A.S. cynde. kynde, n., kind, 168, 707, 792. AS. cynd. kynn, n., kin, 800. A.S. cynn. kyng, n., plu.-es, king, 6, 7, 14, 19, 22, 27, 31, 36, 37, 45, 46, 49, 54, 60, 73, 89, 100, 103, 106, 109, 121, 124, 129, 131, 132, 138, 141, 191, 195, 196, 210, 213, 225, 230, 253, 267, 287, 291, 309, 319, 322, 325, 328, 330, 348, 372, 377, 379, 381, 384, 390, 393, 437, 440, 445, 446, 449, 453, 455, 361, 479, 485, 494, 497, 510, 515, 520, 525, 545, 572, 576, 719, 727, 731, 733, 748, 752, 760, 763, 772, 775, 810, 811, 828, 829, 836, 847. ASS. cyng. kysse, v., kiss, 202, 635, 639, 654, 703. A.S. cyssan. L laboure, n., labor, 358, 436. labour. ladyes, n., plu., ladies, 543, 560, 793. A'S. hl&fdige. lak, layk, v., infin., lack, 126, 234. landes, n., plu., see lond. layc, v., pret., see lye. layk, v., infin., see lak. lenger, adj., comp., longer, 532. A.S. lang O.F. lengthe, n., length, 550. A.S. lengZd. lept, v., pret., leapt, 35. A.S. hléapan. lese, lose, v., infin., lose, 98, 172, 672; pr. part. used substantively, lesyng, 74, 423, 589; p.p., lore, 314. A.S. léosan. 32 THE WEDDYNGE OF SiR GAWEN lesse, adj., less, 614, 752. A.S. l&ssa. Jeste, adj., superl., least, 635. AS. lésast. lesyng, pr. part., see lese. Jett, v., let, permit, prevent, 40, 70, 76, 100, 101, 183, 257, 274, 284, 350, 361, 366, 446, 457, 489, 525, 530, 561, 637, 719, 722, 734. A.S. Létan. leuere, lever, adj., comp., liefer, 117, 334, 665, 824. leve, n., leave, pernission, 750. laf. leves, v., third pers. sing., leave, 825. A.S. l#fan. fiche, adj., like, 2. A.S. gelic. lif, lyf, lyfe, n., life, 1, 57, 80, 107, 114, 172, 256, 268, 276, 285, 295, 299, 301, 307, 338, 351, 375, 399, 438, 500, 512, 747, 806, 821, 823; dat. sing., lyve, 119, 827. AS. lif. listenythe, v., imperative, listen, 1. A.S. hlystan. lode, n., load, 241. A.S. lid. loke, v., look, 110, 211; pret., lokyd, 452. A.S. locian. fond, n., land, 85, 377, 560; plu., landes, 58. A.S. land, lond. lorde, n., lord, 351; plu.-s, 21, 130, 149. A.S. hlaford. lore, p.p., see lese. lothe, adj., loath, 102, 166, 305, 738. AS. 1a3. lothly, adj., loathsome, loathly, 556. A.S. ladlic. lothlynesse, n., loathliness, loathsome- ness, 245. loue, n., love, 376, 790, 796. A.S. lufu. loue, v., love, 411; pret., louyd, 805, 806; pret., lovyd, 199, 200, 201, 833. A.S. lufian. lowe, adj., low, 406, 424. O.N. lagr. lumpryd, p.p., lumped, 554. lye, v., infin., lie, deceive, 164, 419. A.S. léogan. lye, v., infin., lie, recline, exist, 718; third pers. sing., lyethe, 293; pret., laye, 226, 554. A.S. licgan. A.S., lyf, lyfe, n., see lif. lyke, adv., like, 242. A.S. gelice. lykyd, v., pret., see lykys. lykys, v., third pers. sing., like, 128; pret., lykyd, 520; pr. part. used sub- stantively, lykyng, 224, 460. AS. lician. lyppes, n., plu., lips, 235, 554. AS. lippa. lyst, v., desire, please, 13, 219, 677, 680. AS. lystan. lytelle, adj., little, 109, 214, 391, 462. AS. l¥tel. lythe, adj., easy, soft, 1. lyve, n., dat., see lif. lyve, v., live, 689; pret., lyvid, 2; pret., lyvyd, 820. A.S. hbban. M maiste, v., second pers. sing., see maye. make, n., mate, 310. A.S. maca. maner, n., manner, 414, 422, 557, 590, 621. O.F. manier. manilyest, adj., superl., manliest, 428, 470. mannys, n., gen. sing., man, 626. AS. mann. mark, n., plu., marks, 592. A.S. meare. marvaylythe, v., marvel, 139; pret., mervayled, 810; pret., mervelyd, 136; pret., mervaylyd, 230, 606. O.F. merveillier. maryed, p.p., married, 570. F. marier. masse, n., mass, 578. A.S. meesse. mastry, n., mastery, 427. O.F. maistrie. mayd, maye, n., maid, maiden, 716, 720. A.S. msegden. maye, v., may, can, 205, 291, 301, 474; second pers. sing., maiste, 480, mayste, 289. A.S. msg. meanyng, n., meaning, 275. meny, udj., many, 622. A.S. manig. mervaylle, n., marvel, 612. O.F. mer- veille. mesure, n., measure, 229, 249, 642, 768. O.F. mesure. mete, n., plu.-s, meat, 608, 611, 613, 617. A.S. mete. A.S. lide. THE WEDDYNGE OF SIR GAWEN 33 mete, v., infin., meet, 92, 168, 185, 313, 323, 600; pret., mett, 155, 227, 327, 336, 354, 392, 444, 495; p.p., mett, 118, 131, 144, 254. A.S. métan. mevyd, v., pret. meve, move, 517. O.F. moveir. mid-daye, n., midday, 721. AS. middseg. moche, adj., much, 478, 605. AS. micel, mokery, n., mockery, 76. F. moquerie. mone, n., complaint, moan, 157, 296, 341. monethe, n., month, 216; gen. plu.-s, 93, 104, 167. A.S. min®. more, n., moor, 442. A.S. mér. mornyng, moron, n., morning, 151, 570. A.S. morgen. moste, adv., most, 171, 198, 369, 406, 428, 433, 465, 469, 583. A.S. mé&st. most, mott, v., may, shall, must, 332, 334, 492, 686. A.S. miste. mowthe, mowithe, n., mouth, 232, 234, 552. A.S. mid. myddys, n., midst, 580. A.S. midd. myghte, n., might, 52. A.S. miht. myghte, v., pret. mowe, could, was able, 175, 370, 441, 626. A.S. magan. mylde, adj., mild, 112, 709. A.S. milde. myle, n., mile, 38, 391. A.S. mil. mynde, n., mind, 649, 706. gemynd. myne, pron., mine, 178, 283, 285, 450, 482, 652. A.S. min. mynstralles, n., plu., minstrels, 628. O.F. menestrel. myre, n., mire, 442. myrthe, n., mirth, 712, 715. A.S. myr@. myscaryed, p.p., miscarried, 754. O.F. mes-carier. my-self, pron., myself, 154. N naye, adv., nay, 305. O.N. nei. nayles, n., plu., nails, 607. A.S. neegel. me, adv., conj., not, nor, 3, 85, 96, 151, 251, 383, 676, 702. A.S. ne. ASS. nede, n., need, 223, 272, 451, 761. Nedes, nedys, gen., necessarily, 379, 663. Pa ‘ f ae ‘ a ( ie a; a! za yt. { Ven ‘ : t ee) . ; ia re _ a s t 7 y| Ae 4 uh* ys * } : % | a(t a4 t ou sus = 7 Vue t Gi - 8 va we 4 nats 5 i ee , » ok Love \ aa ey i > * a -y gr 3 ~t- os \. ys 7 ae : “f i 7) :S ' roe v J ’ * qe tA - - v ee | ‘ i ae 1 > t to t = \ : { > a) * - -\ A ’ rs 7 es ce | aw . t ‘ L _ . 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