LITERARY IMPOSTORS AND DISGUISES.
Controversy respecting the Works of Homer; Arguments of
the Disputants--Controversy on the supposed Epistles of
Phalaris--Opinion of Sir William Temple on the Superiority
of the Ancients--Dissertation of Dr. Bentley on the Epistles
of Phalaris--He proves them to be a Forgery--Doubts as to
the Anabasis being the Work of Xenophon--Arguments of Mr.
Mitford in the Affirmative--Alcyonius accused of having
plagiarised from, and destroyed, Cicero’s Treatise “De
Gloria”--Curious Mistake as to Sir T. More’s Utopia--The Icon
Basilike--Disputes to which it gave rise--Arguments, pro and
con, as to the real Author of it--Lauder’s Attempt to prove
Milton a Plagiarist--Refutation of him by Dr. Douglas--His
interpolations--George Psalmanazar--His Account of Formosa--His
Repentance and Piety--Publication of Ossian’s Poems by Mr.
Macpherson--Their Authenticity is doubted--Report of the Highland
Society on the Subject--Pseudonymous and anonymous Works--Letters
of Junius--The Drapier’s Letters--Tale of a Tub--Gulliver’s
Travels--The Waverley Novels--Chatterton and the Rowley Poems--W.
H. Ireland and the Shakspearian Forgeries--Damberger’s pretended
Travels--Poems of Clotilda de Surville--Walladmor--Hunter, the
American--Donville’s Travels in Africa.
The history of literature, from the earliest times, has recorded
singular instances of imposture and unacknowledged plagiarism; in many
of which, the talent necessary to design, as well as the perseverance
to develope, the proposed fraud, were worthy of a better direction.
In the opinion of the learned critic, Dr. Bentley, the practice of
writing spurious books is almost as old as letters themselves; but
that it chiefly prevailed when the kings of Pergamus and Alexandria,
rivalling one another in the magnificence and copiousness of their
libraries, gave great prices for treatises that had the names of
celebrated authors attached to them.
Modern critics have, with much learned ingenuity, reasoned upon the
possibilities and probabilities of the celebrated poems of the Iliad
and Odyssey not being the performance of one man. Though, at this
distance of time, the question must be settled rather by individual
conviction, than received as a decided point in the history of
literature; yet still it may not be uninteresting to state the
arguments which have been brought forward against the authenticity of
Homer’s poems, or rather against the existence of Homer himself.
Fabricius has collected a number of fragments and accounts of authors
who have been supposed more ancient than Homer; most of these, however,
have been regarded by the learned as forgeries, originating in the love
of gain, and encouraged by the credulity of the Greeks.
It has been maintained that neither the Iliad nor the Odyssey is the
work of a single mind, but a collection of the songs of the wandering
rhapsodists, as they were called, and, for the first time, completely
arranged at Athens under the inspection of Pisistratus, or his son.
Pisistratus is mentioned by Ælian as the compiler of the Iliad and
the Odyssey. This theory reduces Homer to a name merely; or, at
best, as only one bard more celebrated than the rest, or, perhaps,
as nothing more than a successful reciter. This idea respecting the
authenticity of the above poems, was again started, about the close of
the seventeenth century, by Perrault and others, but was received with
derision by the learned world.
More recently, it has been again advocated, with great learning, by
Heyne; and, with wonderful acuteness, by Professor Wolf, of Berlin.
It appears from the best accounts, that these poems, said to be the
production of Homer, were first brought into Greece by Lycurgus; who
had heard them in the course of his travels among the Chians, by means
of the recitation of their rhapsodists; nor were they then in that
perfect form in which they were afterwards presented by Pisistratus, to
whom the credit of the arrangement appears to have been generally given
by Cicero and others.
The arguments used by Wolf and Heyne are, firstly, the improbability
that in such a dark age as that in which Homer is reputed to have
lived, and of which so few traces are left, one man should have been
capable of composing works of such extent, consistency, and poetical
elevation, as the Iliad or Odyssey.
Secondly, that poems of such a length should have been composed, and
preserved entire, without being committed to writing. Now there is not
the least trace, even in tradition, of any complete copy of Homer’s
works, till the existence of the Athenian edition, or at least of
that of Lycurgus. No notice is taken in the poems of any epistolary
correspondence, though in the Odyssey many opportunities occur where
such might have been introduced.
Thirdly, the Greek alphabet was not received at Athens till the
ninety-fourth Olympiad, that is, about four hundred and three years
before Christ, whereas the works of Homer were dated from the nine
hundred and seventh year before Christ. The writing materials also
must have been scanty and inadequate to the preservation of a poem of
fifteen thousand lines; stone and metal being the only materials on
which, in early times, characters were imprinted.
Fourthly, in these ancient poems, no reference is ever made to
written treaties; treaties being then only verbal, and ratified by
superstitious rites.
Fifthly, the rhapsodists flourished in the earliest times, answering
to the Celtic bards in our history; and all who followed this
profession recited from memory; by the exercise of which faculty they
derived honour and emolument. Without the modern aids to composition,
how, it was asked, could any poet keep the plan, or previous part of
his design, in his recollection? or, if that were possible, could he
have ever expected to procure an audience, to whom such a work should
be submitted?
It is more than probable, that the original poems, or series of
poetical sketches, were exposed to perpetual variation, from passing
through the heads of the rhapsodists; many of whom were, doubtless,
also poets, and who, in the warmth of recitation, would make changes
unconsciously, or, perhaps, purposely introduce them, to produce
greater effect on their hearers. From Ælian we learn that anciently the
books of the Iliad or Odyssey were never recited in the order in which
they now stand.
The above form the chief grounds of argument used by those who are
anxious to disturb our natural belief, as it were, of the integrity
of Homer’s poems. On the contrary side, it is asserted, that other
untaught poets have arisen, who, without the aid of external culture,
have breathed the tenderest and most beautiful thoughts in poetry; and
it is also urged, that, granting the sublimity of Homer’s poems as they
stand, it is necessary, if we adopt the opponent system, to come to the
belief that, in a barbarous age, instead of _one_ being marvellously
gifted with poetical powers, there were _many_, a complete race of
bards, such as has never been since seen.
The objection arising from the ignorance of letters, and want of
writing materials, has been considered more formidable; but so much
uncertainty attends the account of the introduction of letters into
Greece, that it must undoubtedly have been of high antiquity.
That the memory of the reciter should be capable of retaining the whole
poem does not appear so incredible in those times, when the minds
of men were not distracted by the attempt to attain a variety of
knowledge; for it is well known, that the constant and sole exercise of
a single faculty gives it a great perfection.
The great uniformity of style in these poems has been considered as
strong internal evidence that they were the production of an individual
genius; the same epithets and similes prevail throughout. Interpolation
may have occurred, but not sufficiently to affect the authority of the
whole. Pindar, and other early poets, speak of Homer as one man, as do
also the historians Herodotus and Thucydides.
It has, indeed, been maintained by some, that the Odyssey is the work
of a different poet, because the images and descriptions evidently
belong to a later period than those of the Iliad; and from allusions
made to the arts, it appears that they must have made a greater
progress than could reasonably have taken place during the life of
one man, even granting the supposition that the Iliad was the work
of Homer’s youth, and the Odyssey that of his maturer years. This is
probably one of the most forcible objections which has been urged
against the belief that the Iliad and the Odyssey are the work of one
poet. As is often the case, however, in these doubtful questions, where
direct evidence cannot possibly be obtained, much may be said on both
sides; and the matter must probably ever remain a matter of curious
literary speculation.
THE EPISTLES OF PHALARIS.
The following ancient literary fraud was investigated and exposed by
the extraordinary learning and diligence of Dr. Bentley, who, in the
year 1697, commenced the famous controversy about the Epistles of
Phalaris, and the Fables of Æsop.
Sir William Temple, in comparing the intellectual pretensions of the
ancients and moderns, declared for the ancients, and fortified his
judgments by alleging, that the Epistles of Phalaris, and the Fables
of Æsop, were proofs that the older parts of literature were the
best; though, even at that time, these works had been challenged as
forgeries. The Honourable Charles Boyle at this period having resolved
to undertake an edition of the Epistles of Phalaris, as an academic
exercise, Wotton, who was preparing a second edition of his work on
“Ancient and Modern Learning,” requested Dr. Bentley to write a paper,
to expose the spurious pretensions of Phalaris and Æsop. This paper met
with violent opposition from Mr. Boyle, which determined Dr. Bentley to
set about the refutation in good earnest. It will be impossible, within
the narrow limits of this sketch, to follow the learned criticism,
discussion, and wordy war, between Mr. Boyle and Dr. Bentley, in proof
of, and against, the authenticity of the above epistles. It must be
sufficient to state, that Dr. Bentley’s arguments rest upon many
grammatical niceties and anachronisms, and on the use of certain Doric
and Attic dialects, which came into use later than the supposed period
of their composition. His arguments, all supported by innumerable
quotations, which form an immense mass of evidence, have not failed
to convince most persons of his profound erudition, as well as of the
justness of his opinion.
THE ANABASIS OF XENOPHON.
It may be worth while, in this place, to mention a doubt, that has been
promulgated by some modern critics, whether the Anabasis, or retreat
of the ten thousand Greeks, is really the work of Xenophon, to whom it
has most generally been attributed; or, whether it is the composition
of one Themistogenes. In Xenophon’s Annals of Grecian History, instead
of giving any account of the expedition of Cyrus, and the return of
the army, he refers the reader to the account which he ascribes to
Themistogenes of Syracuse. Such an account might then possibly be
extant, though the mention by Xenophon is the sole evidence that it was
so; but it by no means follows that the Anabasis itself was written by
Themistogenes; and, from the age of Xenophon to that of Suidas, no
mention of such an author occurs in any remaining work, nor was any
doubt expressed as to Xenophon being the author of the Anabasis, till
Suidas thought proper to controvert the generally received opinion.
The problem is well solved by Mr. Mitford. “Why then, it will of
course occur to ask,” says he, “did Xenophon, in his Grecian Annals,
refer to the work of Themistogenes? Plutarch, in his treatise on the
Glory of the Athenians, has accounted for it thus: ‘Xenophon,’ he
says, ‘was a subject of history for himself. But when he published his
narrative of his own achievements in military command, he ascribed it
to Themistogenes of Syracuse; giving away thus the literary reputation
to arise from the work, that he might the better establish the credit
of the facts related.’”
“This explanation, though I give it credit as far as it goes, is,
however, not by itself completely satisfactory. Nevertheless, I think
every reader of the Anabasis, attending, at the same time, to the
general history of the age, may draw, from the two, what is wanting to
complete it. He cannot fail to observe, that it has been a principal
purpose of the author of the Anabasis to apologize for the conduct of
Xenophon. In the latter part of the work, the narrative is constantly
accompanied with a studied defence of his conduct; in which, both the
circumstances that produced his banishment from Athens, and whatever
might give umbrage or excite jealousy against him at Lacedæmon,
have been carefully considered. But there are passages in the work,
speeches of Xenophon himself on delicate occasions, particularly his
communication with Cleander, the Lacedæmonian general, related in the
sixth book, which could be known only from himself or from Cleander.
That these have not been forgeries of Themistogenes, is evident from
the testimony of Xenophon himself, who refers to the work, which he
ascribes to Themistogenes, with entire satisfaction.
“One, then, of these three conclusions must follow: either, first,
the narrative of Themistogenes, if such ever existed, had not in it
that apology for Xenophon which we find interwoven in the Anabasis
transmitted to us as Xenophon’s, and consequently was a different work;
or, secondly, Themistogenes wrote under the direction of Xenophon;
or, thirdly, Xenophon wrote the extant Anabasis, and, for reasons
which those acquainted with the circumstances of his life, and the
history of the times, will have no difficulty to conceive may have
been powerful, chose that, on its first publication, it should pass
by another’s name. The latter has been the belief of all antiquity;
and indeed, if it had not been fully known that the ascription of
the Anabasis to Themistogenes was a fiction, the concurrence of all
antiquity, in stripping that author of his just fame, so completely
that, from Xenophon himself to Suidas, he is never once named as an
author of merit, in any work remaining to us, while, in so many, the
Anabasis is mentioned as the work of Xenophon, would be, if at all
credible, certainly the most extraordinary circumstance in the history
of letters.”
A fraud, which perhaps occasioned the greatest regret that ever was
felt in the literary world, has been attributed to Peter Alcyonius,
one of the learned Italians who cultivated literature in the sixteenth
century. He had considerable knowledge of the Greek and Latin tongues,
and wrote rhetorical treatises. He was a long time corrector of
the press at Venice, in the house of Aldus Manutius, and ought to
participate in the praises given to that eminent printer and classical
scholar. He translated some treatises of Aristotle into Latin; but
the execution of them was so severely criticised by Sepulveda, that
Alcyonius, at a great expense, bought up the criticisms of his Spanish
enemy to burn them. Paul Jovius says of him, in his quaint language,
that he was a man of downright plebeian and sordid manners, and such
a slave to his appetite, that in one and the same day he would dine
three or four times, but always at the expense of another; nor was he
altogether so bad a physician in this beastly practice, since, before
he went to bed, he discharged the intemperate load from his stomach.
Alcyonius published a treatise, “De Exilio,” containing many fine
passages; so elegant in fact was it, that he was accused of having
tacked several parts of Cicero “De Gloria” to his own composition, and
then to prevent being convicted of the theft, thrown the manuscript of
Cicero, which was the only one in the world, into the fire. Cicero, in
his twenty-seventh epistle, fifteenth book, writing to Atticus, says,
“I will speedily send you my book, ‘De Gloria.’” That the manuscript
was extant till nearly the period in question would seem to be
indubitable, as it was enumerated by Bernard Giustiniani, the learned
governor of Padua, among the works which he possessed. Along with the
rest of his library, it is said to have been bequeathed to a convent
of nuns, but from that time it could never be found. It was believed
by many, that Peter Alcyonius, who was physician to the monastery,
and to whom the nuns entrusted the management of the library, having
copied into his own treatise all that suited his purpose, from that
of Cicero, had secretly made away with it. This charge was first
brought against Alcyonius by Paul Manutius, and was repeated by Paul
Jovius, and subsequently by other writers; but Tiraboschi seems to have
demonstrated that it is a calumny. It is probable that it was provoked
by the excessive vanity and propensity to sarcasm and satire which
distinguished Alcyonius.
When the Utopia of Sir Thomas More was first published, it occasioned
a pleasant mistake. This political romance represents a perfect but
visionary republic, in an island supposed to have been recently
discovered in America. “As this was the age of discovery (says
Granger), the learned Budæus, and others, took it for a genuine
history, and consider it highly expedient that missionaries should be
sent thither, in order to convert so wise a nation to Christianity.”
No literary performance has ever been the occasion of more discussion
or dispute, as to its authenticity, than one which was published by
the royalist party to excite the public pity for Charles I. On the
day after that monarch’s execution appeared a volume called Icon
Basilike, or the Portraiture of his Sacred Majesty, in his Solitude and
Sufferings. It professed to be from the pen of Charles himself, and
a faithful exposition of his own thoughts on the principal events of
his reign, accompanied with such pious effusions as the recollection
suggested to his mind.
It was calculated to create a strong sensation in favour of the royal
sufferer, and is said to have passed through fifty editions in the
course of the first year.
During the Commonwealth, Milton made an attempt to disprove the king’s
claim to the composition of the book, but his arguments were by no
means conclusive, as the subsequent publications on the same subject
proved. After the restoration, Dr. Gauden, a clergyman of Bocking in
Essex, came forward, and declared himself the real author; but he
advanced his pretensions with secresy, and received as the price of
his silence, first, the bishopric of Exeter, and subsequently, when he
complained of the poverty of that see, the richer one of Worcester.
After his death, these circumstances transpired, and became the subject
of an interesting controversy between his friends and the admirers of
Charles the First. The subsequent publication of the Clarendon papers,
has, in the opinion of Dr. Lingard, firmly established Gauden’s claim;
but Dr. Wordsworth, in the year 1824, adjudged it to the king, in his
work called “Who wrote Eikon Basilike?” In this, he learnedly combats
the opinions of all the late controversialists on that subject. This
drew forth replies from the Reverend Henry Todd, and “additional
reasons” from the Reverend Mr. Broughton, in favour of Gauden’s claim.
Dr. Wordsworth, in a “postscript,” again answered his antagonists, and
summed up the evidence by saying, that not any convincing arguments
in favour of Gauden’s claim had been brought forward against his--Dr.
Wordsworth’s--but which, by negative evidence, rather strengthened his
side of the question.
In a short abstract or analysis of so voluminous a subject it can
only be stated, that it seems hardly credible, that Gauden _could_
have proposed to write, or could have completed, the Icon, labouring
under the disadvantages he did. He was not a royal chaplain, nor
appears to have been much connected with the court; nor ever to have
had intercourse with the king, but once, when he preached before him;
yet, in a sudden fit of zeal, he took upon himself the composition of
a series of reflections in the name of the king, on the events of the
last seven years of his reign; and that without even any communication
being made to the royal party; or any suggestion received from them
that it would be acceptable; whilst any discovery made by the opposite
party would be followed by his certain ruin.
The evidence found in the book itself seems of a nature to disprove its
being composed on the spur of the moment, or during the last act of the
fatal drama, three-fourths of it being devoted to events having no near
connexion with the emergency of the time; in fact, only the last six
chapters treat of those subjects which were likely to have occupied the
public attention at that period.
The tone of observation in general is such as, judging from his other
works, it does not appear probable Gauden would have ventured to
indulge in; habitual caution being visible in his other political
writings. His fraudulent claim for remuneration after royalty was
restored, being recompensed by a moderate promotion, does not, of
necessity, prove its justice; as many reasons concurred, why the
royal party should wish to hush up any reports that might tend to
reflect upon the late king’s memory; nor at that time could the fact be
susceptible of actual proof.
These several circumstances, in Dr. Wordsworth’s opinion, make it more
than probable that Gauden’s claim was, in reality, what so many other
learned persons have concurred in supposing, a literary imposture,
which at the time met with undeserved success.
Literary imposture, in our own times, appears to have flourished most
from the middle to the latter end of the eighteenth century; for,
within forty years of that period, various very remarkable frauds in
the commonwealth of letters were ushered into day, and the attention of
the public was solicited to them, with all the boldness that a perfect
conviction of their real worth and genuine authenticity, on the part of
those who promulgated them, could possibly have inspired.
The first of these, in point of time, and intensity of malignant and
selfish audacity, was the unpardonable attack made, about the year
1750, by a Mr. Lauder, on the poetical character and moral candour of
Milton.
The first regular notice the public received of his intention was from
the following circular, which developed his plan of attack:
“I have ventured to publish the following observations on Milton’s
imitation of the moderns; having lately fallen on four or five modern
authors in Latin verse, which I have reason to believe Milton had
consulted in composing his Paradise Lost. The novelty of the subject
will entitle me to the favour of the reader, since I in no way intend
unjustly to derogate from the real merit of the writer. The first
author alluded to was Jacobus Masenius. He was a professor of rhetoric,
in the Jesuits’ College, at Cologne, about 1650, and he wrote Sarcotis,
in five books; which, said he, in the preface, is not so much a
complete model, as a rough draught of an epic poem. Milton follows
this author tolerably closely through the first two books. In it Adam
and Eve are described under the single name of Sarcothea, or human
nature, whose antagonist, the infernal serpent, is called Lucifer. The
infernal council, or Pandemonium, Lucifer’s habits, and the fight of
the angels, are too obvious not to have been noticed; Milton’s exordium
appears to have been almost directly taken from Masenius and Ramsay.”
Lauder goes on to state that the Paradise Lost was taken from a farce,
called Adamo Perso, and from an Italian tragedy, called Paradiso Perso;
and that even Milton’s poem itself was said to have been written for a
tragedy.
“Having procured,” continues he, “the Adamus Exul of Grotius, I found,
or imagined myself to find the first draught, the _prima stamina_,
of this wonderful poem; and I was then induced to search for the
collateral relations it might be supposed to have contracted in its
progress to maturity.” The Adamus Exul of Grotius was never printed
with his other works, though it passed through four editions; and it
was by very great labour that Mr. Lauder was at last able to get a copy
from Gronovius, at Leyden. Milton is charged with having literally
translated, rather than barely alluded to, this work.
The severe affliction which Milton endured, in the loss of sight,
obliged him to have recourse to filial aid, in consulting such authors
as he had occasion to refer to; and Lauder, wishing to prove that he
feared detection and exposure, asserted that he taught his daughters
only to _read_ the several languages, in which his authorities were
written, confining them to the knowledge of words and pronunciation,
but keeping the sense and meaning to himself.
Apparently feeling a momentary shame at his conduct, Lauder, in
a kind of apology, added, “As I am sensible this will be deemed
most outrageous usage of the divine, immortal Milton, the prince
of English poets, and the incomparable author of Paradise Lost, I
take this opportunity to declare, that a _strict regard to truth
alone_,[12]--and to do justice to those authors from whom Milton has
so liberally gleaned, without acknowledgment,--have induced me to
make this attack upon the reputation and memory of a person hitherto
so universally applauded and admired for his incomparable poetical
abilities.”
Dr. Douglas, to whom the world is indebted for investigating and
detecting Lauder’s baseness, vindicated Milton from the injustice of
the charge, in an answer full of diligent research of those authors who
were said to have furnished Milton with materials for his poem.
Dr. Douglas commences by saying, “Our Zoilus charges Milton with having
borrowed both the plan of his poem, and also particular passages, from
other authors. Should these charges even prove true, will it follow
that his pretensions to genius are disproved? The same charge might be
brought against Virgil; as there is scarcely a passage in his Æneid but
is taken from the Iliad or Odyssey. There is no shadow of truth in the
assertion made by Lauder, that infinite tribute of veneration had been
paid to Milton, through men’s ignorance of his having been indebted
to the assistance of other authors, when, on the contrary, those very
persons who gave him the greatest praise were the principal discoverers
of many of his imitations.
“It did not enter my head,” continues Dr. Douglas, “that our critic
should have the assurance to urge false quotations in support of his
charge; and therefore did I, and, as I imagine, did every other person,
believe, that the authors he quoted really contained those lines which
he attributed to them, and which bear so striking a resemblance to
passages in Paradise Lost, that the reader cannot avoid concluding,
with Lauder, that Milton had really seen and imitated them. Will it
not, therefore, be thought extraordinarily strange, and excite the
utmost indignation in every candid person’s breast, if the reverse of
all this shall appear to be the case; if it can be clearly proved that
our candid conscientious critic, whose notions of morality taught him
to accuse Milton of the want of common probity or honour for having
boasted that he sung things yet unattempted in prose or rhyme, has,
in order to make good his charge against Milton, had recourse to
forgeries, perhaps the grossest that ever were obtruded on the world?”
It first occurred to Dr. Douglas to search for those authors, from
whom Lauder asserted that Milton had borrowed his ideas. Many were
scarce, and not to be found; but he succeeded in getting one,
Staphorstius, a Dutch poet and divine, who, says Lauder, “never dreamt
the prince of English poets would condescend to plume himself with
his--Staphorstius’--feathers;” and he quotes certain passages in proof
of this assertion,--an entire quotation of thirty-two lines, besides
shorter ones. “I was,” says Dr. Douglas, “at a loss where to turn
for lines; for it is remarkable, that through his whole work, Lauder
omits to tell his readers where the quotations are to be found: with
great labour, however, I found some allusion to the subject, and
also, with great surprise, discovered that eight lines quoted as from
Staphorstius have no existence in that author; and which eight lines
are in Lauder’s Essay printed in italics, as having the strongest
resemblance to those in Paradise Lost, and it will be impossible for
Lauder to clear himself from the charge of having corrupted the text of
Staphorstius, by interpolating the eight lines not to be found there.
A more curious circumstance still is, that this interpolated passage
is taken from a Latin translation of Paradise Lost itself, made by one
Hogæus, or Hog, printed in the year 1690, without the variation of a
single word: it must be thought therefore extremely hard that Milton
should be run down as a plagiarist for having stolen from himself,
yet this is strictly the case. Hog translated the Paradise Lost into
Latin: Lauder interpolates some of Hog’s lines in Staphorstius, and
then urges these very lines as a demonstration that Milton copied him.
There is equal testimony to prove that Lauder interpolated Phineas
Fletcher, and others, in the same way; but the most extraordinary part
of the forgery is yet to be mentioned: this interpolating critic has
even forged Milton himself, and interpolates the Paradise Lost, however
ridiculously improbable this may seem. In 1747, Lauder makes his first
appearance as the Zoilus of Milton, in the Gentleman’s Magazine, where,
to prove that Milton had copied from the Adamus Exul of Grotius, he
quotes, professedly from the Paradise Lost, one line and a half,
beginning
‘And lakes of living sulphur ever flow,
And ample spaces.’
“After the most careful search, I can safely pronounce that the above
line and a half have no existence in the Paradise Lost.”
From the difficulty of rebutting Lauder’s evidence against Milton,
he had acquired some merit in the eyes of men of learning, which
procured him the countenance of the great, and encouraged him to open a
subscription for the publication of a new edition of those authors who,
according to him, had held the torch to Milton.
Upon the publication of Dr. Douglas’s remarks on Lauder, the
booksellers who had undertaken his work, thought proper to prefix the
following notice to each copy of it:--
“After ten months’ insolent triumph, the Rev. Dr. Douglas has favoured
the world with a detection of this scene of villany, and has so
powerfully urged his proofs, that no hope was left of invalidating
them; an immediate application to Lauder was necessary, and a demand,
that the books from whence he had taken the principal controverted
passages, should be put into our hands. He then with great confidence
acknowledged the interpolation, and seemed to wonder at the folly of
the world, for making such an extraordinary rout about eighteen or
twenty lines. As this man has been guilty of such a wicked imposition
on us and the public, and is capable of so daring an avowal of it, we
declare that we will have no further intercourse with him, and we now
sell his book, only as a curiosity of fraud and interpolation, which
all the ages of literature cannot parallel.
“JOHN PAYNE,
“JOSEPH BOUSUET.”
In a letter addressed to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lauder says,
“I own the charge of Dr. Douglas to be just, and I humbly profess my
sorrow, but I cannot forbear to take notice, that my interpolating
these authors proceeded rather from my being hurried away by violent
passions, and rash imprudence, without duly weighing the case, and
chiefly from a fatal anxiety not to fall short of my proof in that
arduous undertaking; excusing myself on the score, that Pope’s
criticisms had spoilt the sale of my edition of Dr. Anthony Johnston’s
elegant paraphrase of the Psalms in Latin verse: and I bethought me of
this only way left of enhancing his merit by lessening that of Milton,
even as Pope had endeavoured to raise Milton by lessening Johnston’s;
and I thought, if I could strip Milton of his chief merit, fertility
and sublimity of thought, I should at once retrieve Johnston’s honour,
and convict Pope of pronouncing so erroneous a judgment, in giving so
vast a preference to Milton above Johnston: a task in every way arduous
and unpopular, had not necessity in a manner compelled me, as the
author whom I highly value, and on whose reputation my subsistence in
life in a great measure depended, was lately discredited by Pope, both
in North and South Britain, in his Dunciad; and in consequence of those
remarks, the sale of my edition of Johnston fell considerably, and was
thought nothing of.”
Lauder wrote also to Dr. Douglas in the following curious strain:--“I
resolved to attack Milton’s fame, and found some passages which gave
me hopes of stigmatizing him as a plagiarist; the further I carried
my researches, the more eager I grew for the discovery; the more my
hypothesis was opposed, the more was I heated with rage.”[13]
Lauder had been sanguine in his hopes that the unreserved confession
would atone for his guilt, and that his subscription for a new
edition of “Sarcotis,” and “Adamus Exul,” would meet with the same
encouragement as at first; but the anxiety of the public to see them
was at an end, and the design of reprinting them met with little
or no success. Thus, grown desperate by disappointment, with equal
inconsistency and imprudence he renewed his attack upon the author of
Paradise Lost, and then gave the world, as a reason which excited him
to continue his forgeries, that Milton had attacked the character of
Charles the First; by saying, that that king had interpolated Pamela’s
prayer from the Arcadia, in the Icon Basilike. He also scrupled not to
abuse most unjustifiably Dr. Douglas, as the first exposer of his own
forgery.
Lauder afterwards went to Barbadoes, and died there in great poverty in
the year 1770.
Early in the eighteenth century (1704) there was published, in London,
a history of the island of Formosa, off the coast of China, accompanied
by an extraordinary narrative of the author, who went under the name of
George Psalmanazar, and who, from the idolatries of his own country,
represented himself to have become a convert to Christianity.
The description of Formosa was given with such apparent fidelity,
the manners and customs were illustrated with so many engravings of
the houses, modes of travelling, and shipping, and specimens of the
language and written character so philologically explained, that,
though some few persons of superior penetration looked upon the work
as an imposture, the belief was almost general of the truth of the
history, which was considered the more interesting, as the country
described in the volume had hitherto been so imperfectly known. There
appeared subsequently, by the same author, “A Dialogue between a
Japanese and Formosan,” about some points of the religion of the times.
Psalmanazar was much noticed, and his ingenuity had several ordeals
to undergo, from the severe examinations and investigations which the
curiosity of his supporters, and the suspicion of his adversaries,
prompted them to make. He had actually invented a Formosan language and
grammar, into which he translated several prayers and short sentences;
also a vocabulary for the benefit of those who should visit that
island. With this, _his native language_, he was naturally supposed
to be familiar, and he must have had an extraordinary and tenacious
memory, not to have laid himself open to more suspicion, in the
several repetitions of his examinations, which were taken down for the
satisfaction of others: he at last, however, confessed that the whole
was a forgery from beginning to end.
He was a man of very great general knowledge, together with natural
talent, and appears by his will to have deeply regretted this
imposture. His will thus commences: “The last will and testament of me,
a poor simple and worthless creature, commonly known by the assumed
name of George Psalmanazar.” After a devout prayer to the Supreme Being
and directing that he may be buried in the humblest manner, he says,
“The principal manuscript that I felt myself bound to leave behind
was a faithful narrative of my education, and sallies of my wretched
youthful years, and the various ways by which I was, in some measure
unadvisedly, led into the base and shameful imposture of passing upon
the world for a native of Formosa, and a convert to Christianity, and
backing it with a fictitious account of that island, and of my own
travels, conversion, &c., all or most part of it hatched in my own
brain, without regard to truth or honesty. It is true I have long since
disclaimed even publicly all but the shame and guilt of that vile
imposition; yet as long as I knew there were still two editions of that
scandalous romance remaining in England, besides the several versions
it had abroad, I thought it incumbent upon me to undeceive the world,
by unravelling that whole mystery of iniquity in a posthumous work.” He
concludes by once more thus branding his work--“It was no other than a
mere forgery of my own devising, a scandalous imposition on the public,
and such as I think myself bound to beg God and the world pardon for
writing, and have been long since, as I am to this day, and shall be
as long as I live, heartily sorry for, and ashamed of.” This document
bears date in 1752, when he was in the 73d year of his age.
In the posthumous memoirs above alluded to he studiously concealed who
he really was. It appears, however, that he was born about 1679, in
the south of France, either in Provence or Languedoc; and having been
guilty of some great excesses in the university where he was receiving
his education,--though he does not explain the nature of them,--he
found it necessary to take to flight, and wandered clandestinely
through a great part of Europe. Finding it both troublesome and
hazardous to preserve his incognito as an European, he determined on
the plan of imposture which ultimately led him to write his fictitious
history of the island of Formosa. The latter part of his life was spent
in the practice of the most unfeigned piety. He supported himself by
his literary labours, and was the author of a considerable portion of
the Ancient Universal History. His death took place in 1763.
About the year 1760, much speculation was excited in the literary
world by the publication of a series of poems purporting to have
been translated by a Mr. Macpherson, from the original Gaelic of the
famous poet Ossian, whose compositions had been handed down from his
own times by oral tradition. The occasion of Mr. Macpherson’s giving
them to the world was as follows:--Mr. Home, author of “Douglas,” in
company with other gentlemen, being at Moffat in the summer of 1759,
met there Mr. Macpherson, then tutor to Mr. Graham; and from him they
heard some specimens of Gaelic poetry, which so much pleased them,
that they begged Mr. Macpherson to publish them in a small volume. He
complied; and this specimen having attracted a good deal of attention,
he proposed to make a tour, by subscription, through the Highlands,
for the purpose of collecting more complete specimens of the ancient
poetry. This journey he performed in 1760, and speedily published the
poems in a more complete form They were received, however, by many
with suspicion; it being thought, from the remoteness of the period
at which they were said to have been produced, that they could not be
genuine.
In 1763; Dr. Hugh Blair wrote a dissertation on the poems of Ossian.
This he sent to his friend David Hume, and requested to have his
opinion as to the authenticity of the poems. In reply, Hume said that
he never heard the dissertation mentioned, where some one or other did
not express his doubt with regard to the antiquity of the poems which
were the subject of it; and that he often heard them totally rejected
with disdain and indignation, as a palpable and impudent forgery.
The absurd pride and consequence of Macpherson, scorning, as he
pretended, to satisfy any body that doubted his veracity, tended much
to confirm the general scepticism: and, added Hume, “if the poems are
of genuine origin, they are in all respects the greatest curiosities
that were ever discovered in the history of literature.”
The first regular attack on the authenticity of Ossian’s poems was made
in 1781, by Mr. Shaw, the author of a Gaelic Dictionary and Grammar;
and it was a vigorous one. He contended, from internal evidence, that
the poems were forgeries; he asserted that many of the Highland persons
who had vouched for their genuineness had never seen a line of the
supposed originals, and that Macpherson himself had constantly evaded
showing them to him; and he maintained, that both the fable and the
machinery of the principal poems were Irish; and that if, as a blind,
any manuscripts had ever been shown, they must have been in the Irish
language, the Earse dialect of the Gaelic never having been written or
printed till, in 1754, Mr. Macfarlane printed a translation of Baxter’s
“Call to the Unconverted.” An answer was attempted by Mr. Clarke, a
member of the Scottish Antiquarian Society; but, though he succeeded
in some points, he failed in his principal object.
After a lapse of nearly twenty years, a more powerful antagonist of
Ossian took the field. This was Mr. Malcolm Laing, author of a History
of Scotland. To that history he added an elaborate dissertation, in
which he skilfully investigated the claim of the poems to antiquity.
The principal grounds on which he decided against it were, the many
false and inaccurate allusions to the history of Britain while the
country was under the dominion of the Romans; the flagrant difference
between Highland manners as described in the poems and by historians;
the many palpable imitations from the classics and the Scriptures; the
fact that all the Highland traditionary poems yet known referred to the
ninth and tenth centuries, and that there existed no Gaelic manuscript
older than the fifteenth century; the resemblance which the strains
of the pretended Ossian bore to The Highlander, one of Macpherson’s
acknowledged compositions; and, lastly, certain startling expressions
used in print by Macpherson, which seemed almost to render it certain
that he was not the translator, but the author, of the works which he
had given to the world under the name of Ossian.
Anxious that the truth should be elicited on a subject so interesting
to them as their national poetry, the Highland Society had already,
as far back as 1797, appointed a committee to inquire into the nature
and authenticity of Ossian’s poems. Mr. Laing’s Dissertation, of which
a second edition was published in 1804, seems to have quickened the
movements of the committee. To assist in elucidating the subject, a
series of queries was circulated throughout the Highlands and the
Scottish Islands. The series consists of six articles, of which the
first is the most important. “Have you ever heard repeated or sung
any of the poems ascribed to Ossian, translated and published by
Mr. Macpherson? By whom have you heard them so repeated, and at what
time or times? Did you ever commit any of them to writing, or can
you remember them so well as to set them down?” The same answer was
requested as to any other ancient poems of the same kind; and the
committee likewise expressed a wish to obtain as much information
as possible “with regard to the traditionary belief of the country
concerning the history of Fingal, and his followers, and that of Ossian
and his poems.”
It was not till 1810 that the society published the result of the
inquiry which it had set on foot. The answers to the queries were
certainly by no means satisfactory. The report, which was drawn up by
Henry Mackenzie, stated that the committee had directed its inquiry to
two points: firstly, what poetry, of what kind, and of what degree of
excellence, existed anciently in the Highlands of Scotland, which was
generally known by the denomination of Ossianic; and, secondly, how far
that collection of such poetry published by Mr. James Macpherson, is
genuine. On the first point the committee spoke decidedly. It declared
its firm conviction that such poetry did exist; that it was common,
general, and in great abundance; that it was of a most striking and
impressive sort, in a high degree eloquent, tender, and sublime. On the
second point, there was a woful falling off in confident assertion.
“The committee,” says the reporter, “is possessed of no documents to
show how much of his collection Mr. Macpherson obtained in the form
in which he has given it to the world. The poems, and fragments of
poems, which the committee has been able to procure, contain, as will
appear from the article in the Appendix, No. 15, often the substance,
and sometimes almost the literal expression (the _ipsissima verba_)
of passages given by Mr. Macpherson in the poems of which he has
published the translations. _But the committee has not been able to
obtain one poem the same in title and tenor with the poems published
by him. It is inclined to believe that he was in use to supply chasms,
and to give connexion, by inserting passages which he did not find and
to add what he conceived to be dignity and delicacy to the original
composition, by striking out passages, by softening incidents, by
refining the language; in short, by changing what he considered as too
simple or rude for a modern ear, and elevating what in his opinion
was below the standard of good poetry._ To what degree, however, he
exercised these liberties, it is impossible for the committee to
determine. The advantages he possessed, which the committee began its
inquiries too late to enjoy, of collecting from the oral recitation
of a number of persons, now no more, a very great number of the same
poems, on the same subjects, and then collating those different copies,
or editions, if they may be so called, rejecting what was spurious
or corrupted in one copy, and adopting, from another, something more
general and excellent in its place, afforded him an opportunity of
putting together what might fairly enough be called an original whole,
of much more beauty, and with much fewer blemishes, than the committee
believe it now possible for any one person or combination of persons to
obtain.”
This report, published, as it was by persons who were anxious to
establish the authenticity of the poems, seems decisively to prove
that Macpherson was, in fact, the fabricator of the works attributed
to Ossian, or at the least, that he formed a cento from fragments
of ballads and tales, blended with interpolations of his own. The
controversy was, however, continued for some time longer, and much ink
was shed by the believers and infidels; the presumed Gaelic originals
were also at length published; but the believers, nevertheless, daily
lost ground, the public ceased to take an interest in the dispute, and
the question seems now to be finally set to rest.
The Letters of Junius, though not so strictly to be considered as a
literary imposture, have yet excited so much attention and speculation,
both by their matter and the impenetrable mystery in which they have
hitherto been involved, that a brief notice of that which I consider to
be the most successful attempt to discover the real author may not here
be unacceptable.
Mr. G. Chalmers wrote a dissertation, to prove that the author of the
Letters of Junius was a Mr. M’Aulay Boyd; and, certainly, as far as
circumstantial evidence goes, short of direct proof, there appears much
reason for supposing him not far from the truth in his conjectures.
M’Aulay Boyd was born in April, 1746, at his father’s house, Ship
Street, Dublin, and in 1761 was received as a fellow-commoner in the
university of that city. He came to London in 1766, to study the law;
but his propensities carried him oftener to St. Stephen’s than to
Westminster Hall, and he exhibited a wonderful retention of memory, by
reciting perfectly the speeches of the night to his associates in his
club. He became intimate with Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, and
many other members of the Literary Club.
At the time of an election in Antrim, he addressed twelve letters to
the independent electors, under the appellation of “The Freeholder,”
to gain their votes for a constitutional candidate--Wilson; and these
letters are known to have contributed to the raising of that wild
clamour, which carried Wilson’s election by an enthusiastic blast of
momentary madness. The style of The Freeholder is strongly impregnated
with the essence of Junius. A great deal of evidence is adduced
in continuation by Chalmers, which seems to bear him out in his
conjectures; and it may be briefly recapitulated, that, firstly, the
letters of Junius appear to have been written by an Irishman; secondly,
that they are the work of an inexperienced or juvenile pen; and if Boyd
wrote them, it must have been when he was between his twenty-third and
twenty-fifth years; thirdly, they were published by one “who delighted
to fish in troubled waters,” a propensity which Boyd frequently
gratified; fourthly, the author was a constant attendant on both
houses of parliament; fifthly, compared with The Freeholder, Boyd’s
acknowledged work, there is a wonderful sameness in all the faults and
excellences of the two.
Boyd took a particular interest in Junius, and talked as if he knew
the author, but that he never would be generally known: his wife often
suspected him to be the writer. He never disclaimed the imputation, or
claimed the honour.
The public, says Mr. Chalmers, has an interest in exposing this
mystery; and the relatives of those respectable persons who were said
to be the writers have also an interest, if it is known where the
application could be made, in placing the seditious pen of Junius in
the proper hands.
Almon, a bookseller, imagined that he had clearly detected Boyd as
the author. In 1769, at a meeting of the booksellers and printers, H.
S. Woodfall read a letter from Junius, because it contained a passage
relating to the business of the meeting. Almon saw the handwriting of
the manuscript, without disclosing his thoughts to the meeting; but the
next time he saw Boyd at his shop, in Piccadilly, Almon said, “I have
seen a part of one of Junius’s Letters in manuscript, which I believe
is your handwriting.” Boyd instantly changed colour, and, after a short
pause, replied, “The similitude of handwriting is not a conclusive
fact.” Now, Boyd was by nature confident, and by habit a man of the
world, a sort of character not apt to blush. From this time Almon used
to say that he suspected Junius was a broken-down gentleman without a
penny in his pocket.
The anonymous publication of a series of letters was, before this
time, had recourse to for a political purpose. About the year 1722,
when Charles, Duke of Grafton, was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, William
Wood, a hardwareman and bankrupt, alleging the great want of copper
money in that kingdom, procured a patent for coining one hundred and
eight thousand pounds, to pass there as current money. This measure
was thought by some persons to be a vile job from beginning to end,
and that the chief procurers of the patent were to be sharers in the
profits. Some anonymous letters were, therefore, written in 1724, under
the assumed name of the _Drapier_, or Draper, warning the people not to
receive the coin which was then sent over.
The real author of these letters, as afterwards appeared, was the
celebrated Dr. Swift, Dean of St Patrick’s, who, indignant at the
scheme, boldly withstood the designs of the grasping projector.
Wood’s project was, by virtue of a patent fraudulently obtained, to
coin halfpence for Ireland, at about eleven parts in twelve under their
real value; but which, even if ever so good, no man could have been
obliged to receive in any payment whatever.
The first letter convinced all parties in Ireland that the admission
of Wood’s money would prove fatal to the nation; some passages in
the fourth, being thought to reflect upon the people in power, were
selected for prosecution, and three hundred pounds offered, as a reward
for the discovery of the author; but no clue was ever given by which
such discovery could be made. The copies were always sent to the press
by some obscure messenger, who never knew the person from whom he
received them. The amanuensis alone was trusted, to whom, two years
afterwards, the author gave an employment that brought him in forty
pounds a-year.
The purpose of the letters was completely answered, Wood was compelled
to relinquish his patent, and his halfpence were totally suppressed.
That the letters of “Junius,” “The _Drapier_,” and other _political_
tracts, should have been published anonymously cannot be considered
a very extraordinary caution on the part of the authors; though the
public are always anxious to know the writers of such pamphlets as have
been cleverly executed. But many authors of works purely literary, and
which, after a perusal by the public, have been deservedly praised,
have for a time kept themselves studiously concealed, as if unwilling
to receive any public tribute of admiration; or, perhaps, amused by the
variety of speculations afloat concerning them.
Dean Swift, at first, published his “Tale of a Tub,” anonymously;
it speedily excited very considerable attention, some applauding,
others reprobating its tendency and design. Fourteen years after this,
“Gulliver’s Travels” appeared, which acquired a still more extended
popularity. Even Swift’s most intimate friends were unacquainted with
its origin; though many suspected who the author was. Gay wrote to him,
saying, “About ten days ago, a book was published here of the travels
of one Gulliver, which has been the conversation of the whole town
ever since: the whole impression sold in a week, and nothing is more
diverting than to hear the different opinions people give of it; though
all agree in liking it extremely. It is usually said you are the
author; but, I am told, the bookseller declares he knows not from what
hand it came.”
In the summer of 1814, there appeared, anonymously, a novel, bearing
the title of “Waverley.” It was written in a fascinating style, and
was read with avidity by every one. It was speedily followed by other
historical novels, as interesting, or more so, from the pen of “the
Author of Waverley.” They succeeded each other with such prolific and
astonishing rapidity, and were executed in such a masterly manner,
that, at last, the curiosity of the public became extreme, to discover
to whom they were indebted for them. Pamphlets on the subject, and
speculations in periodicals, were abundant. Various persons were
named; but the majority leaned to the opinion that Sir Walter Scott
was the writer. It was not, however, till many years afterwards,
that circumstances, arising out of the bankruptcy of his publishers,
compelled him to throw aside the veil, and to stand forth the avowed
author of productions which have spread his fame to the farthest limits
of civilized society, and which can never cease to retain a strong hold
upon the human mind.
From this brief notice of one extraordinary genius, who lived long
to enjoy his fame, we must go back, nearly half a century, to make
mention of another, who perished, unpraised and unfriended, before
he reached the age of manhood. In the annals of literature there is
no example recorded of precocious talent which can vie with that of
Thomas Chatterton. He was born at Bristol, in St. Mary Redcliffe
parish, on the 20th of November, 1752, and was the posthumous son of
an individual who had been successively writing master to a classical
school, singing man in Bristol Cathedral, and master of the Pyle Street
Free-school. At the age of five years, he was apparently so stupid as
to be deemed incapable of learning his letters. It was not till his
latent powers were roused, by being shown the illuminated capitals of
an old French manuscript, that he became anxious to acquire learning.
Henceforth he needed no stimulant. Before he was eight years old, he
was admitted into Colson’s school, the Christ’s Hospital of Bristol,
where he read much in his intervals of leisure, and began to try his
poetical skill. When he was somewhat under fifteen, he was apprenticed
to Mr. Lambert, an attorney. It was while he was in this situation, and
early in October, 1768, when the new bridge at Bristol was completed,
that he gave to the world the first article of that series of literary
forgeries which has immortalized him. It was sent to Farley’s Bristol
Journal, and was called “a description of the Friars first passing over
the old bridge: taken from an ancient manuscript.” He subsequently,
from time to time, produced various poems of pre-eminent beauty,
clothed in antique language. The language, however, was not that of
any one period; nor was the style, nor in many instances the form
of composition, that of the fifteenth century, the age to which he
assigned them. He pretended that they were written by Thomas Rowley, a
priest, and Thomas Canynge, and that they were copied from parchments,
which his father had found in a large box, in a room over the chapel on
the north side of Redcliffe church. While he was engaged in composing
these poems, he was also a liberal contributor of prose and verse to
the Magazines. Having, in his moody moments, avowed an intention of
committing suicide, his master released him from his indentures, and
Chatterton repaired to London, where he resolved to depend upon his pen
for subsistence. At the outset, his hopes were raised to a high pitch;
but they were soon blighted. In spite of his wonderful fertility, and
his persevering exertions, he seems to have been unable to provide for
the day that was passing over him. Privations and wounded pride drove
him to despair, and, on the 25th of August, 1770, he put an end to his
existence by poison. Editions of the pretended poems of Rowley were
published by Mr. Tyrrwhit and Dean Milles; and a controversy was long
and vehemently maintained on the question of their antiquity. There
are now few persons who doubt that they are the work of Chatterton.
That he was capable of producing them is sufficiently proved by his
acknowledged poems.
We come now to a much more daring forgery, perpetrated by an individual
whose talents were far inferior to those of Chatterton. Mr. Malone, in
the preface to his edition of Shakspeare, had shown that Shakspeare
died at the age of fifty-two in April 1616, leaving his daughter, and
her husband Dr. J. Hall, executors. The will demonstrates, that he
died possessed of “baubles, gewgaws, and toys to mock apes, &c.” Dr.
Hall died in 1635, leaving a will, and bequeathing his library and
manuscripts to J. Nash. “Here,” says Mr. Malone, “is a proof that the
executor of Shakspeare’s will left a library and manuscripts behind
him.” In a satisfactory manner did Mr. Malone trace down, from the
public records, the legal transmission of the personal property of
Shakspeare’s descendants to a recent period, from which he inferred,
that, amongst the present generation of them, fragments might be
found, if curiosity would prompt diligence to search the repositories
of concealment. The search proved successful, and from the appearance
of the manuscripts of Shakspeare in 1790, every moment was expectancy
of more arrivals; in fact discovery succeeded discovery so fast, that
Mr. Malone obtained documents enough to fill a folio. A painting of
Shakspeare was also found, the very painting that enabled Droeshout to
engrave the effigies of Shakspeare which was prefixed to the folio
edition of his dramas, and of which Ben Jonson affirmed that
“The Graver had a strife
With nature, to outdo the life;”
and every thing concurred to evince the genuineness of this ancient
painting.
A new discovery of Shakspearian papers was announced for exhibition in
Norfolk Street, in 1794, and curiosity was again roused.
Mr. Malone, from some private reasons, seemed indifferent about these
papers in Norfolk Street; and he was urged by his scepticism to
contradict that probability which he had taught the imaginative world
to entertain in favour of the discovery of Shakspearian fragments. Many
other learned persons being, however, convinced by examination of the
authenticity of these miscellaneous papers, the publication of them was
undertaken by subscription, and _four guineas_ a copy were freely paid
by the subscribers.
When the book came out, and not till then, did Mr. Malone condescend to
look at it, and examine its pretensions; and he quickly decided it to
be a palpable and bold forgery. This he demonstrated by a learned and
critical examination of each particular paper; his inquiry was drawn up
in the form of a letter, and addressed to the Right Honourable James,
Earl of Charlemont, in the year 1796.
The editor of them, Mr. Ireland, in his preface, had assured the
public, that all men of taste who had viewed them previous to
publication unanimously testified in favour of their authenticity, and
declared that there was on their side a mass of irrefragable evidence,
external and internal; that it was impossible, amid such various
sources of detection, for the art of imitation to have hazarded itself
without being betrayed; and, consequently, that these papers could be
no other than the production of Shakspeare himself.
The editor, in continuation, said, that these papers came into his
hands from his son, Samuel William Henry Ireland, a young man nineteen
years of age, by whom the discovery was accidentally made, at the
house of a gentleman of considerable property, amongst a heterogeneous
collection of family papers.
The legal contracts between Shakspeare and others were, it was
said, first found by the junior Ireland, and soon afterwards, the
deed of gift to William Henry Ireland, described as the friend of
Shakspeare, in consequence of his having saved the dramatist’s life.
In pursuing this research, he was so fortunate as to meet with some
deeds very material to the interests of the gentleman at whose house
he was staying; and such as established, beyond all doubt, his title
to considerable property, of which he was as ignorant as he was of
possessing these interesting manuscripts of Shakspeare. In return
for this service, the gentleman promised him every paper relative to
Shakspeare.
Fully satisfied with the honour and liberality shown to him, the finder
of these treasures did not feel justified in importuning or requesting
a gentleman, to whom he was known by obligation alone, to subject
himself to the impertinence and licentiousness of literary curiosity
and cavil, unless he should voluntarily come forward. He had applied to
the original possessor of them for his permission to print them, and
only obtained it under the strongest injunctions of secrecy.
“It is to be observed,” says Mr. Malone, “that we are not told where
the deed was first discovered; it is said in a mansion-house, but
where situated is not stated. Another very remarkable incident is
mentioned: the discoverer met the possessor, to whom he was unknown, at
a coffee-house, or some public place, and the conversation turning on
old autographs, of which the discoverer was a collector, the country
gentleman said to him, ‘If you are for autographs, I am your man; come
to my chambers, any morning, and rummage my old deeds, and you will
find enough of them.’ Accordingly the discoverer goes, and taking down
a parcel, in a few minutes lighted on the name of Shakspeare. The
discovery of the title to a considerable estate was so fortunate and
beneficial a circumstance to this unknown gentleman, that we cannot
wonder at his liberality in giving up all his right to these valuable
literary curiosities; but one naturally wishes to know in what county
this estate lies, or whether any suit has been instituted within the
last year or two, in consequence of such a discovery of title-deeds so
little dreamt of.”
According to Mr. Malone, the great objections, critically speaking, to
be brought against the manuscripts are, firstly, the orthography; this
is not only not the orthography of Elizabeth or her time, but for the
most part of no one age whatever. The spelling of the copulative _and_,
and the preposition _for_, ande--forre, is unprecedented. “I have,”
says Mr. Malone, “perused some thousands of deeds and manuscripts,
and never once found such a spelling of them; the absurd way in which
almost every word is overladen with both vowels and consonants, will
strike every reader who has any knowledge on the subject.”
Quotations from manuscripts are made by Mr. Malone, from Chaucer
downwards to the end of the sixteenth century, showing the progressive
changes in the mode of orthography; and they certainly appear to
prove, most satisfactorily, that the papers in which such laboured and
capricious deformity of spelling is introduced, are an entire forgery.
For example, the word _masterre_, at that period, was spelt maister.
There is not a single authority for Londonne. So early as the time of
Edward the First, Robert of Gloucester said,
‘And now me clepet it London, that is lighter in the mouth.’
Leycesterre for Leycester is as incorrect.
Secondly, the phraseology is equally faulty, particularly in the
letter, supposed to be written and directed by Queen Elizabeth, to
William Shakspeare. This letter, in particular, it is very easy to
prove a forgery; as, by an anachronism, it is directed to William
Shakspeare, at the Globe by the Thames. Now the Globe was a theatre
which did not open till the year 1594; yet, in the same letter, mention
is made of the expected presence of Leicester, who died in September
1588, when this theatre did not exist.
The deeds and miscellaneous papers were exhibited in Norfolk Street,
long before their publication, and they were submitted to the critical
examination of any one willing to question them; nor, from their
appearance of venerable antiquity, was a doubt of their genuine
authenticity allowed to be entertained. When the elder Mr. Ireland
afterwards published his “Vindication,” he showed how readily the most
discerning persons yielded their faith to this imposture. Mr. Boaden,
he says, thus wrote to G. Steevens after having seen the manuscripts.
“In some instances credulity is no disgrace, strong enthusiasm is
always eager to believe; I confess that, for some time after I had
seen them, I continued to think they might be genuine; they bore the
character of the poet’s writing, the paper appeared of sufficient age,
the water-marks were earnestly displayed, and the matter diligently
applauded; I remember that I beheld the papers with the tremor of
utmost delight, touched the invaluable relics with reverential
respect, and deemed even existence dearer as it gave me so refined a
satisfaction.”
Similar and even stronger impressions were made on James Boswell,
one of those literary characters who, in company with Dr. Parr,
signed a certificate expressing their belief of the authenticity of
the papers. Previous to signing his name, Boswell fell on his knees,
and in a tone of enthusiasm and exultation, thanked God that he
had lived to witness their discovery, and that he could now die in
peace. In proportion to this strong belief, therefore, was the public
indignation excited against the inventors of that monstrous,--and
to the subscribers expensive--forgery, which the critical acumen of
Mr. Malone had so clearly exposed. The blame of the transaction was
imputed as much to Mr. Ireland, the father, as to William Henry,
the son, who was in reality sole contriver of this imposture. In an
exculpatory pamphlet, he says, “In justice to the memory of my father,
I think it necessary to give a true account of the publication of these
manuscripts. After dinner my father would read different accounts of
Shakspeare, and remark how wonderful it was that no vestige of his
signature remains, except that at Doctors’ Commons. Curiosity led me
to look at the signature, in Steevens’ edition of his plays, and it
occurred to me, that if some old writing could be produced, and passed
off for Shakspeare’s, it might occasion a little mirth, and show how
far credulity would go in search of antiquities. I first tried an
experiment by writing a letter, as from the author of an old book in my
possession, in dedication of it to Queen Elizabeth: I showed it to my
father, who thought it genuine. This encouraged me to proceed till the
whole work was completed, and published with the following title page:
“Miscellaneous papers and legal instruments under the hand and seal of
William Shakspeare, including the tragedy of King Lear, and a fragment
of Hamlet, folio, London, 1796.” And subsequently, “Free reflections
on the miscellaneous papers, etc., in the possession of S. Ireland, to
which are added extracts from the Virgin Queen, a play.”
The story of the country gentleman was told to silence the numerous
inquiries as to where they came from. In conclusion, Mr. S. Ireland
says, “I most sincerely regret any offence I may have given the world,
or particular individuals, trusting at the same time, that they will
deem the whole the work of a boy, without any evil or bad intent, but
hurried on, thoughtless of any danger that awaited to ensnare him.”
The drama of Vortigern, which formed one portion of the forgery, was
brought out at Drury Lane theatre, and was unanimously damned.
The art of counterfeiting old deeds and manuscripts has often been had
recourse to for the purpose of fraud. Some curious evidence of such
practices was given in the case of “Mossam v. Dame Theodosia Joy,”
which may be found at large in the State Trials, vol. 7, p. 571. This
lady was proved to have forged the title deeds of an estate to which
she laid claim. Serjeant Stringer, in the course of the trial, inquired
of Mrs. Duffet, one of the witnesses, “Pray what did they do to the
deeds to make them look like ancient true deeds?” The witness replied,
“For the making of the outsides look old and dirty, they used to rub
them on the windows that were very dusty, and wear them in the pockets,
to crease them, for weeks together. According as they intended to make
use of them, when they had been rubbed and made to look dirty, and they
were to pass for deeds of many years’ standing, it was used to lay them
in a balcony, or any open place, for the rain to wet them, and the next
clear day they were exposed to the sun, or placed before the fire, to
dry them hastily, that they might be shrivelled.”
The introduction of the Inquisition into Portugal, has been stated to
have resulted from the admirable skill in counterfeiting signatures,
which was possessed by a monk named Saavedra. About the year 1540, this
monk forged apostolic bulls, royal decrees, and bills of exchange,
with so much accuracy that they passed for genuine. He also succeeded
so well as to pass himself off for a knight, commander of the military
order of St. Jago, the income of which amounted to three hundred
ducats, which he received for a year and a half. In a short time he
acquired, by means of the royal deeds which he counterfeited, three
hundred and sixty thousand ducats. He might have remained undetected
through life, had not his successes tempted him to undertake a still
more hazardous fraud, which led to his detection; falling in with
a Jesuit travelling to Portugal, with an apostolical brief for the
foundation of a Jesuit’s College, he concerted a plan for introducing
the Inquisition. Saavedra forged letters from Charles V. to the King of
Portugal, and a papal bull for establishing the Inquisition there. This
bull appointed Saavedra legate. Following up his deception, he assumed
the character of a Roman cardinal, and made a visit to Portugal. The
king despatched a distinguished nobleman to receive him. Saavedra spent
three months at Lisbon, after which he travelled through the kingdom;
but he was at last detected by the Inquisitor-General of Spain, and was
sentenced to the galleys for ten years.
The eighteenth century was closed with a literary fraud, concocted in
Germany, to which circumstances gave a temporary success. So little
is known of the interior of Africa, that any thing which seems likely
to add to our knowledge upon this subject can hardly fail to excite
attention. Public curiosity was, therefore raised to the highest pitch,
when a work was announced, with the captivating title of “Travels in
the Interior of Africa, from the Cape of Good Hope to Morocco, from the
years 1781 to 1797; by Christian Frederick Damberger.” Translations
of a work which promised to remove the veil, that had so long covered
central Africa, were immediately undertaken in England and in France;
and each translator laboured indefatigably, in the fear of the market
being forestalled by his rival. The delusion, however, was quickly
dispelled; the work being discovered to be the manufacture of a printer
of Wittemberg, by name Zachary Taurinius, who had before tried his
skill in forging a Voyage to the East Indies, Egypt, &c., and a Voyage
and Journey to Asia, Africa and America.
A literary imposition similar to that which was practised in England
by Chatterton, was effected in France, in 1804. A small volume was
published, at Paris, edited by M. Vanderbourg, and professing to be
the “Poems of Margaret Eleanor Clotilda de Vallon-Chalys”, afterwards
Madame de Surville, a French poetess of the fifteenth century. They
were said to have been discovered, in 1782, among the dusty archives of
his family, by a M. de Surville, a descendant of the fair authoress,
who had a transcript of them made. The originals were unfortunately
destroyed by fire, and M. de Surville lost his life during the
French revolution, but the copy of the poems was saved, and, with
much difficulty, was procured by the editor. Madame de Surville is
represented as having displayed singularly precocious abilities; to
have been married in 1421; and to have lived at least to the age of
ninety, exercising her poetical talent to the last. Serious doubts
as to the truth of this story are entertained by the literary men of
France. But, though the authenticity of these compositions may be
disputed, there can be no dispute respecting their merit. There is a
grace, sweetness, and spirit, in them which are exceedingly delightful.
From the following translation of the supposed Madame de Surville’s
“Verses to My First Born,” which appeared in an early number of the New
Monthly Magazine, some idea may be formed of her poetical talents:
My cherished infant! image of thy sire!
Sleep on the bosom which thy small lip presses!
Sleep little one, and close those eyes of fire,
Those eyelets which the weight of sleep oppresses.
Sweet friend! dear little one! may slumbers lend thee
Delights which I must never more enjoy!
I watch o’er thee, to nourish and defend thee,
And count these vigils sweet, for thee, my boy.
Sleep, infant, sleep! my solace and my treasure!
Sleep on my breast, the breast which gladly bore thee!
And though thy words can give this heart no pleasure,
It loves to see thy thousand smiles come o’er thee.
Yes, thou wilt smile, young friend, when thou awakest,
Yes, thou wilt smile, to see my joyful guise;
Thy mother’s face thou never now mistakest,
And thou hast learned to look into her eyes.
What! do thy little fingers leave the breast,
The fountain which thy small lip pressed at pleasure?
Could’st thou exhaust it, pledge of passion blest,
E’en then thou couldst not know my fond love’s measure.
My gentle son! sweet friend, whom I adore!
My infant love! my comfort! my delight!
I gaze on thee, and gazing o’er and o’er,
I blame the quick return of every night.
His little arms stretch forth--sleep o’er him steals--
His eye is closed--he sleeps--how still his breath!
But for the tints his flowery cheek reveals,
He seems to slumber in the arms of death.
Awake my child!--I tremble with affright!--
Awaken!--Fatal thought, thou art no more!--
My child!--one moment gaze upon the light,
And e’en with thy repose my life restore.
Blest error! still he sleeps--I breathe again--
May gentle dreams delight his calm repose!
But when will _he_, for whom I sigh--oh when
Will he, beside me watch thine eyes unclose?
When shall I see _him_ who hath given thee life,--
My youthful husband, noblest of his race?
Methinks I see, blest mother, and blest wife!
Thy little hands thy father’s neck embrace.
How will he revel in thy first caress,
Disputing with thee for thy gentle kiss!
But think not to engross his tenderness,
Clotilda too shall have her share of bliss.
How will he joy to see his image there;
The sweetness of his large cerulean eye!
His noble forehead, and his graceful air,
Which Love himself might view with jealousy.
For me--I am not jealous of his love,
And gladly I divide it, sweet, with thee;
Thou shalt, like him, a faithful husband prove,
But not, like him, give this anxiety.
I speak to thee--thou understand’st me not--
Thou could’st not understand though sleep were fled--
Poor little child! the tangles of his thought,
His infant thought, are not unravelled.
We have been happy infants as _thou_ art;
Sad reason will destroy the dream too soon;
Sleep in the calm repose that lulls thy heart,
Ere long its very memory will be gone.
In 1823, a visit to England was made by a singular individual, named
Hunter, a native of America, who, though it appears certain that he
professed to be what he was not, was undoubtedly a man of considerable
abilities. During his stay in this country, he published his own
adventures, under the title of “Memoirs of a Captivity among the
Indians of North America, from Childhood to the Age of Nineteen; with
Anecdotes descriptive of their Manners and Customs.” The work contains
a highly-interesting narrative of his alleged wanderings with various
tribes of the Red Men, and was at first much prized as a faithful
picture of Indian life. The society of Hunter was eagerly sought by
many eminent literary and philanthropic characters, who were eager
to assist him in that which he professed to be his grand object:
namely, to devote himself to the civilization of the red race, in
order to avert the destruction which seems to impend over it. After
his departure from England, however, strong evidence was brought
forward, to demonstrate that his story was, in great part, if not
wholly, a fabrication. That Hunter had had some intercourse with the
Indians, is not improbable; but the romantic tale which he tells of his
peregrinations must henceforth be classed among works of fiction.
In the following year, 1824, the extraordinary popularity which Sir
Walter Scott’s novels had acquired in Germany, gave occasion to an
audacious fraud on the part of some German booksellers. A novel was
got up by them, with the title of Walladmor, and was ushered into the
world, at the Leipsic fair, as the translation of a new production by
Sir Walter. This spurious Simon Pure subsequently made its appearance
in an English dress. Though the author must undoubtedly be classed
among knaves, it must in justice be owned, that he was not a fool;
there being some parts of his work, which are by no means contemptible.
The last instance of literary imposture dates no further back than the
year 1832. A. M. Douville was the perpetrator, and the title which he
gave to it was, “A Journey in Congo and the Interior of Equinoctial
Africa.” M. Douville had probably visited some of the Portuguese
settlements on the coast, but his astonishing discoveries in the
interior must, like the captivity of Hunter, be considered as deserving
of equal credence with the travels of Gulliver.