But you are weary of hearing so much of these exploded fancies; and are
ready to ask, if there be any truth in this representation, “Whence
it has come to pass, that the classical manners are still admired and
imitated by the poets, when the _Gothic_ have long since fallen into
disuse?”
The answer to this question will furnish all that is now wanting to a
proper discussion of the present subject.
One great reason of this difference certainly was, that the ablest
writers of _Greece_ ennobled the system of heroic manners, while it
was fresh and flourishing; and their works, being master-pieces of
composition, so fixed the credit of it in the opinion of the world,
that no revolutions of time and taste could afterwards shake it.
Whereas the _Gothic_ having been disgraced in their infancy by bad
writers, and a new set of manners springing up before there were any
better to do them justice, they could never be brought into vogue by
the attempts of later poets; who yet, in spite of prejudice, and for
the genuine charm of these highly poetical manners, did their utmost to
recommend them.
But, FURTHER, the _Gothic_ system was not only forced to wait long for
real genius to do it honour; real genius was even very early employed
against it.
There were two causes of this mishap. The old Romancers had even
outraged the truth in their extravagant pictures of Chivalry; and
Chivalry itself, such as it once had been, was greatly abated.
So that men of sense were doubly disgusted to find a representation
of things _unlike_ to what they observed in real life, and _beyond_
what it was ever possible should have existed. However, with these
disadvantages, there was still so much of the old spirit left, and the
fascination of these wondrous tales was so prevalent, that a more than
common degree of sagacity and good sense was required to penetrate the
illusion.
It was one of this character, I suppose, that put the famous question
to ARIOSTO, which has been so often repeated that I shall spare you
the disgust of hearing it. Yet long before his time an immortal genius
of our own (so superior is the sense of some men to the age they live
in) saw as far into this matter, as ARIOSTO’S examiner.
You will, perhaps, be as much surprised, as I was (when, many years
ago, the observation was, first, made to me) to understand, that this
sagacious person was DAN CHAUCER; who in a reign that almost realized
the wonders of Romantic Chivalry, not only discerned the absurdity of
the old Romances, but has even ridiculed them with incomparable spirit.
“HIS RIME OF SIR TOPAZ in the _Canterbury_ Tales (said the curious
observer, on whose authority I am now building) is a manifest banter
on these books, and may be considered as a sort of prelude to the
adventures of Don QUIXOTE. I call it _a manifest banter_: for we are
to observe that this was CHAUCER’S own tale; and that, when in the
progress of it the good sense of the Host is made to break in upon him,
and interrupt him, CHAUCER approves his disgust, and, changing his
note, tells the simple instructive tale of MELIBOEUS; _a moral tale
virtuous_, as he terms it; to shew, what sort of fictions were most
expressive of real life, and most proper to be put into the hands of
the people.
It is, further, to be noted, that the tale of _the Giant_ OLYPHANT _and
Chylde_ TOPAZ was not a fiction of his own, but a story of antique
fame, and very celebrated in the days of Chivalry: so that nothing
could better suit the poet’s design of discrediting the old Romances,
than the choice of this venerable legend for the vehicle of his
ridicule upon them.
But what puts the satyric purpose of _the Rime of Sir_ TOPAZ out of
all question, is, that this short poem is so managed as, with infinite
humour, to expose the leading impertinencies of books of Chivalry; the
very _same_, which CERVANTES afterwards drew out, and exposed at large,
in his famous history.
Indeed Sir TOPAZ is all Don QUIXOTE in little; as you will easily see
from comparing the two knights together; who are drawn with the same
features, are characterized by the same strokes, and differ from each
other but as a sketch in miniature from a finished and full-sized
picture.
1. CERVANTES is very particular in describing the _person_ and _habit_
of his Hero, agreeably to the known practice of the old Romancers.
CHAUCER does the same by his knight, and in a manner that almost equals
the arch-gravity of the _Spanish_ author:
Sir TOPAZ was a doughty swaine,
White was his face as paine maine,
His lippes red as rose,
His rudde is like scarlet in graine,
And I you tell in good certaine,
_He had a seemely nose_.
His haire, his berde, was like safroune,
That to his girdle raught adowne,
His shoone of cordewaine,
Of Bruges were his hosen broun.
His robe was of chekelatoun,
That cost many a jane.
2. CERVANTES tells us how Don QUIXOTE passed his time in the country,
before he turned Knight-errant. CHAUCER, in the same spirit, celebrates
his knight’s country diversions of _hunting_, _hawking_, _shooting_,
and _wrestling_, those known _prolusions_ to feats of arms:
He couth hunt at the wilde dere,
And ride an hauking for by the rivere
With grey GOSHAUKE on honde,
Thereto he was a good archere,
Of wrastling was there none his pere
There any Ram should stonde.
3. The Knights of Romance were used to dedicate their services to some
paragon of beauty, such as was only conceived to exist in the land of
Fairy, and could no where be found in this vulgar disenchanted world.
Hence one of the strongest features in Don QUIXOTE’S character is the
sublime passion he had conceived for an imaginary or fairy mistress.
Sir TOPAZ is not behind him in this extravagance:
An Elfe-queene woll I love, I wis,
For in this world no woman is
To be my make in towne,
All other women I forsake
And to an Elfe-queene I me take
By dale and eke by downe.
4. Don QUIXOTE’S passion for this idol of his fancy was so violent,
that, after all the bangs and bruises of the day, instead of suffering
his weary limbs to take any rest, it occupied him all night with
incessant dreams and reveries of his mistress. Sir TOPAZ is in the same
woful plight:
Sir TOPAZ eke so weary was—
That down he laid him in that place—
Oh, Saint MARY, benedicite
What aileth this love at me
To blind me so sore?
Me dreamed all this night parde
An Elfe-queen shall my leman be
And sleepe under my gore.
5. As the chastity of the hero of LA MANCHA is well known, from a
variety of trying temptations, so Sir TOPAZ distinguishes himself by
this knightly virtue:
Full many a maide bright in boure
They mourne for him their paramoure.
_Whan hem were bet to sleepe_,
But he was chaste and no lechoure,
And sweet as is the bramble floure
That bereth the red hipe.
6. The fight of Sir TOPAZ with the Giant of three heads, in honour of
his mistress,
For needes must he fight
With a giant with heads thre,
For paramours and jolitie
Of one that shone full bright—
together with his arming, and the whole ridiculous preparation for the
combat, described at large in several stanzas, is exactly in the style
and taste of CERVANTES, on similar occasions.
7. CERVANTES gives us to understand that it was familiar with his
knight to sleep in the open air, to endure all hardships that befell,
and to let his horse graze by him. CHAUCER, in like manner, of his
knight, with much humour:
And for he was a knight auntrous,
He nolde slepen in none house
But liggen in his hood,
His bright helme was his wanger
And by him fed his destrer
Of herbes fine and good.
8. And, lastly, as CERVANTES, after the example of the Romance-writers,
will have it, that his knight surpasses all others of ancient fame, so
DAN CHAUCER is careful to vindicate this high prerogative, to his hero:
Men speaken of Romances of pris
Of HORNECHILD and of IPOTIS,
Of BEVIS and Sir GIE,
Of Sir LIBEAUX and BLANDAMOURE;
But Sir TOPAZ, he beareth the floure
Of rial chivalrie.”
Thus far, at least to this effect, the concealed author (for the
dispensers of these fairy favours would not be inquired after) of this
new interpretation of the _Rime of Sir_ TOPAZ. Other circumstances of
resemblance might be added (for when a well-grounded hint of this sort
is once given, and opened in some instances, it is not difficult to
pursue it), but one needs go no further to be certain that the general
scope of this poem is, Burlesque.
Only, I would observe, that though, in this ridiculous ballad, the
poet clearly intended to expose the Romances of the time, as they were
commonly written, he did not mean, absolutely and under every form,
to condemn the kind of writing itself: as, I think, we must conclude
from the serious air, and very different conduct, of the SQUIRE’S TALE;
which SPENSER and MILTON were so particularly pleased with.
We learn too, from the same tale, that, though CHAUCER could be as
pleasant on the other fooleries of Romance, as any modern critic, he
let the _marvellous_ of it escape his ridicule, or rather esteemed
this character of the _Gothic_ Romance, no foolery. For the tale of
CAMBUSCAN is all over MARVELLOUS; and MILTON, by specifying the
_virtuous ring and glass_, and the _wondrous horse of brass_, as the
circumstances that charmed him most, shews very plainly, that, in his
opinion, these amusing fictions were well placed, and of principal
consideration, as they surely are, in this _Fairy way of writing_.
But, whatever our old Bard would insinuate by his management of this
enchanting tale, and whatever conclusions have, in fact, been drawn
from it by such superior and congenial spirits as our two epic poets,
the _half-told_ story of CAMBUSCAN could never atone for the mischiefs
done to the cause of Romance, by the pointed ridicule of _the Rime of
Sir_ TOPAZ. Common readers would be naturally induced by it to reject
the old Romances, in the gross: and thus it happened, according to the
observation I set out with, “that these phantoms of Chivalry had the
misfortune to be laughed out of countenance by men of sense, before the
substance of it had been fairly and truly represented by any capable
writer.”
Still, the principal cause of all, which brought disgrace on the
_Gothic_ manners of Chivalry, no doubt, was, That these manners,
which sprang out of the feudal system, were as singular, as that
system itself: so that when that political constitution vanished out
of _Europe_, the manners, that belonged to it, were no longer seen or
understood. There was no example of any such manners remaining on the
face of the earth: and as they never did subsist but once, and are
never likely to subsist again, people would be led of course to think
and speak of them, as romantic, and unnatural. The consequence of which
was a total contempt and rejection of them; while the classic manners,
as arising out of the customary and usual situations of humanity, would
have many archetypes, and appear natural even to those who saw nothing
similar to them actually subsisting before their eyes.
Thus, though the manners of HOMER are perhaps as different from ours,
as those of Chivalry itself, yet as we know that such manners always
belong to rude and simple ages, such as HOMER paints; and actually
subsist at this day in countries that are under the like circumstances
of barbarity; we readily agree to call them _natural_, and even take a
fond pleasure in the survey of them.
Your question then is easily answered, without any obligation upon me
to give up the _Gothic_ manners as visionary and fantastic. And the
reason appears, why the _Fairy Queen_, one of the noblest productions
of modern poetry, is fallen into so general a neglect, that all the
zeal of its commentators is esteemed officious and impertinent, and
will never restore it to those honours which it has, once for all,
irrecoverably lost.
In effect, what way of persuading the generality of readers that
the romantic manners are to be accounted _natural_, when not one in
ten-thousand knows enough of the barbarous ages, in which they arose,
to believe they ever really existed?
Poor SPENSER then,
—— ——“in whose gentle spright
The pure well-head of Poesie did dwell,”
must, for aught I can see, be left to the admiration of a few lettered
and curious men: while the many are sworn together to give no quarter
to the _marvellous_, or, which may seem still harder, to the _moral_ of
his song.
However, this great revolution in modern taste was brought about by
degrees; and the steps, that led to it, may be worth the tracing in a
distinct Letter.