"Guy Mannering" and "Ivanhoe." How different they are, both in design
and execution! The former, in all respects perfect--the latter, in
design common-place, and but little enlarged from the old ballad tales
of Robin Hood, and histories of the Crusaders; very slovenly in diction,
and lengthened out by tiresome repetitions; the same things being told
in protracted dialogues which had been previously narrated in the
historic course. Then there are very ill-timed interruptions, and
wearisome disquisitions, just where they should not be. Yet are there
passages of perfect excellence, that prove the master-hand of the
author. The novel of "Ivanhoe" seems to resemble some of those plays
which, though doubtful, are called Shakspeare's, because it is evident
that the master-hand has passed over them, and left touches both of
thought and character which justify the position which they enjoy.
Rebecca is all in all. The other characters somewhat fail to interest.
Ivanhoe himself says but little, and is in fact not much developed. We
are disgusted, and unnecessarily, at every turn with Athelstane--there
was no occasion for making him this degraded glutton. It seems a clumsy
contrivance to break off his marriage with Rowena; and surely the boast
of his eating propensities, when he shows himself to his astonished
mourners escaped from the death and tomb prepared for him, is unnatural,
and throws a contempt and ridicule over the whole scene. Richard and
Robin Hood (or Locksley) are not characters of Sir Walter's
creation--Richard is, we may suppose, truly portrayed. My friend S----,
Eusebius, who, while I was suffering under influenza, read these novels
out to me, was offended at a little passage towards the end, where the
author steps out of the action of his dramatic piece, to tell you that
King Richard did not live to fulfil the benevolent promises he had a
line or two before been making; and I entirely agree with S----, and
felt the unseemly and untimely intelligence as he read it. This would
scarcely be justifiable in a note, but in the body of the work it shocks
as a plague-spot on the complexion of health. This practice, too common
in novelists, especially the "historical," becoming their own marplots,
deserves censure. To borrow from another art, it is like marring a
composition, by an uncomfortable line or two running out of the picture,
and destroying the completeness. I know not if that fine scene, perhaps
the most masterly in Ivanhoe, has ever been painted, where, after the
defeat of De Bois-Guilbert, and after that Richard had broken in upon
the court, the Grand Master draws off in the repose of stern submission
his haughty Knights Templars. The slow procession finely contrasts with
the taunting violence of Richard; and what a background is offered to
the painter--the variously moved multitude, the rescued Rebecca, and the
dead (though scarcely defeated) Templar!
Sir Walter, although an antiquarian, was not perhaps aware that he was
somewhat out in his chronology in connecting Robin Hood and his men with
Richard the First. It is made very clear in an able essay in the
_Westminster Review_, that Robin Hood's name and fame did not commence
till after the defeat of Simon de Montfort in the battle of Evesham. In
fact, Robin Hood was more of a political outlaw--one of the outlawed,
after that defeat, than a mere sylvan robber. Sir Walter Scott has taken
advantage of the general belief, gathered from many of our old ballads,
in an intercourse between Robin Hood and England's king. But according
to the oldest of the ballads, (or rather poems, for it is too long for a
ballad, and composed of many parts,) _The Lyttel Geste of Robin Hood_,
this king of England was Edward the First; so that the existence of the
"bold outlaw" is antedated by the author of _Ivanhoe_ upwards of seventy
years. This, however, does not affect the story, excepting to those who
entertain the fond fancy, that when they read an historical novel they
read history.[1] Do you wonder, Eusebius, at my chronological learning?
You well may; it must appear to you a very unexpected commodity. The
truth is, my attention has been directed to this very matter by my
antiquarian friend M'Gutch of Worcester, who not only pointed out to me
the essay in the _Westminster_, but, finding my curiosity excited, sent
me many of the ballads, Robin Hood's garlands, and _The Lyttel Geste_,
together with an able introduction of his own to a new edition of the
collection he is about to produce, with which you will be delighted, and
learn all that is to be known; and it is more than you would expect to
meet with about this "gentle robber."
S----, to whom I read the foregoing remarks on _Ivanhoe_, said, I ought
to do penance for the criticism. I left the penance to his choice; and,
like a true friend, he imposed a pleasure; I do not say, Eusebius, that
if left to myself I should have been a Franciscan. He took up _Marmion_,
and read it from beginning to end. It is indeed a noble poem. Will not
the day come, when Sir Walter's poems will be more read than his novels,
good though they be?
In his poetry Scott always reminds me of Homer. There is the same energy
ever working to the one simple purpose--the same spontaneity and belief
in its own tale; and diversity of character for relief's sake is common
to both. In reading Homer we must discard all our school notions; we
began to read with difficulty; the task was a task, though it was true
we warmed in it--the thread was broken a thousand times; and we too
often pictured to ourselves the old bard in his gravity of beard and
age--not in that vigour, that freshness of manhood, which is conspicuous
in both poems, at whatever age they were composed.
I have had the curiosity, Eusebius, to enquire of very many real
scholars, who have professed to keep up their Greek after leaving the
universities, if they have re-read Homer in Greek, and almost all have
confessed that they had not. They read him in Pope and Cowper. Let them
read him offhand, and fluently, continuously, as they do _Marmion_, or
the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, and I cannot but think they will be
struck with the Homeric resemblance in the poems of Sir Walter Scott.
Both great poets had, too, the same relish for natural scenery, the same
close observation; did we not pass over such passages lightly, we
should, I am persuaded, find in both the same nice discriminations in
characters of outward scenes, that we do in those of men. In both there
is the same kind of secret predominance of female character the same
delicacy, tenderness, (a wondrous thing in the age of Homer, or rather,
perhaps, showing we know nothing about that age, not even so much as we
do about those ages which we choose to call dark.) It must, however, be
noted, that Sir Walter Scott has limited himself to more confined
fields. There is not the same room for genius to work in--the production
is, therefore, in degree less varied, and less complete; but is there
not a likeness in kind? Is it too bold, is it merely fanciful, Eusebius,
to say, too, that there is a something not dissimilar in the measures
adopted by these ancient and modern poets. Homer possibly had no choice;
but in the hexameter there is the greatest versative power. How
different, for instance, are the first lines of the "Tale of Troy
Divine," and the more familiar adventures of Ulysses. The _ad libitum_
alternation of dactyl and spondee make the lively or the grave; and the
whole metrical glow is all life and action, without hitch or hindrance.
Our heroic measure is at once too long and too short--for, take the
caesura as a division of the line, (and what is it if not that?) and the
latter part of the line is too short for any effective power--a fault
that does not exist in the Greek hexameter. Without the caesura, or with
a very slight attention to it, the line is too long, and made tiresome
by the monotony which the necessary pause of the rhyme imposes. Besides,
how do we know, after all, that the Greeks did not read their one
hexameter like two lines, with a decided pause at the caesura, with the
additional grace of the short syllable at its end often passing the
voice into the second part, or, as we may call it in the argument, the
second line? Try, Eusebius; read off a dozen lines any where in Homer
with this view, and tell me what you think of the _possible_ short
measure of Homer. It is true our measures are of the iambic character,
which Horace says is the fittest for action--and therefore, in the
Greek, the dramatic. The trimeter iambic is a foot longer than our
heroic measure. But then it has the double ictus; and, as the word
implies, is divisible into three parts, thus giving a quickness and
shortness where wanted. Take away, however, the first caesura, rest only
on the second, (and then you have exactly one short measure, that of
"Marmion,") and how superfluous the last division of the trimeter
appears! as weak and ineffective as the latter part of our long measure,
if we read it as wanting the additional foot of the hexameter. For
example,
"[Greek: o techna tho palou]"--
There is the measure of Scott--the Greek iambic, however, is lengthened
by two feet--[Greek: nea trophe]; so that to the Greek the three ictuses
(at least to English ears, accustomed to our short measure) are
necessary. That this short measure wants not power in any respect,
_Marmion_ alone sufficiently shows. I, however, wished only to show that
it had something of an Homeric character; and the facility with which
you can read the hexameter of Homer as two lines, you will, perhaps,
more than suspect, tends to confirm this opinion. I think, somewhere,
Sir Walter Scott recommends the translating Homer into short
measure--you forget, perhaps, my making the trial upon the two first
books of the Odyssey which I sent to you, and you returned, _condemned_;
although, to tell you the truth, I was not displeased with my attempt,
and expected your flattering commendation, and would even now deceive
myself into a belief that you were not prepared for the novelty. Admire
the candour that proclaims the failure. It is enough that Eusebius
admitted my other Homeric translations.
You will easily detect that this letter is written at intervals. I told
you what a kind reader I have found in S----, during my indulgence in
the luxurious indolence for which influenza apologizes, and a growing
convalescence renders a pleasing hypocrisy. He has been repeating, from
memory, some lines of his favourite Collins. I remembered them not. He
could not put his hand on an edition of Collins, but referred to the
"Elegant Extracts," and could not find his admired stanza. He remembered
reading it in "The Speaker." The lines are in the Ode to "Evening." In
the "Elegant Extracts" we have--
"Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams."
These lines are substituted for the better lines--
"Then lead, dear votress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile,
Or upland fallows grey
Reflect the last cool gleam."
Why should this beautiful stanza be lost? Is the substitute to be
compared with it? Ask the landscape painter! He will admire the one--he
will enjoy the other. Who substituted the one for the other? Did Collins
write both, and was dubious which should stand; or do you discover the
hand of an audacious emendator? Who would lose the sheety lake in which
nothing is reflected but evening's own sky, and the "upland fallows
grey," and the last _cool_ gleam!
Odious, odious politics! While I am writing, there is an interruption, a
sad interruption, to thoughts of poetry and snatches of criticism. It is
like a sudden nightmare upon pleasant and shifting dreams. Here are
three visitors new from reading Sir Robert Peel's speech. Two very
indignant--one a timid character--apologetic. What, cries one--a
statesman so egotistical and absolute in his vanity, as, at such a time
as the present, to throw the many interests of this great country into
peril, and some into sure difficulty, lest, as he himself confesses, he
should be thought to have borrowed on Lord John Russell? What business
has a statesman to think of himself at all? It is frightful, said
another. There are two astounding things--one, that a minister should
suddenly turn round upon the principles and the party who brought him
into power upon them, confessing he had been changing his opinion three
years, and yet last July he should have spoken against the measure
which, at the time of speaking, in his heart he favoured, and which he
now forces upon a reluctant Parliament; the other astounding thing is,
that a Parliament created to oppose this very measure, should show such
entire subserviency as to promise a large majority to the minister. May
we not expect one who so changes may suddenly some day join O'Connell
and grant Repeal? We are to be governed by a minister, not by King,
Lords, and Commons. The apologetic man urges expediency, public
(assumed) opinion--any thing for peace sake, and to get rid of
agitation. So, to avoid agitation, Eusebius, I scrambled up my papers
and this letter to you, and left the room; and now, in one more quiet,
resume my pen. With a mind not a little confused between politics,
poetry, and classical reminiscences, I, however, rested a while to give
scope to reflection; and meditation upon this "corn question," brought
to mind the practical advice of the tyrant of Syracuse to Periander, to
get rid of his aristocracy, which was shown by the action of cutting off
the heads of the grain that grew highest in the field. A tyranny was the
result, (not in the Greek sense of the word,) and it matters little
whence the tyranny comes. With this idea prevalent, I looked for a copy
of a Greek MS., taken from a palimpsest discovered in the Ambrosian
library, and sat down to translate it for you--you may have the Greek
when you like. In the meanwhile, be content with the following version
of the apologue, and be not too critical.
THE STORY OF PERIANDER.
"When Periander had now reigned some years at Corinth, the Tyrant of
Syracuse sent thither an ambassador, a man of great penetration, to
enquire how the maxims of government, in which he had instructed him,
had answered.
"The ambassador found Periander in the midst of his courtiers. After
receiving him in such manner as it became him to receive a messenger
from so excellent a friend, from whom he had obtained the best advice,
and after hearing the object of his embassy:--'See,' said Periander, 'to
what degree I have prospered. These gentlemen,' pointing to his
courtiers, 'have been telling me that my people, and the universal
opinion of mankind, enrol me one of the seven wise men of Greece.'
"'Indeed!!!' quoth the ambassador; 'that will delight the king, my
master, exceedingly; who will, without doubt, enquire if I have seen
with my own eyes the happiness of a people who are so fortunate, and are
possessed of so sound a judgment. As yet, I have seen none but those who
immediately conducted me hither.'
"'We will take a short circuit,' said Periander, 'and these gentlemen
shall accompany us, and we shall see if what they report be true,'
looking a little suspiciously at his courtiers, as if to say, 'I verily
think you are but flattering knaves.'
"As they passed through the great hall, the officers of state, and the
officers of the household, shouted, 'There are but seven wise men, and
Periander is the wisest.'
"Periander, the ambassador, and the courtiers, soon left the vestibule,
and found themselves in the streets of Corinth. Not a citizen was to be
seen. On, and on they went--and still no one was in sight. 'Your
majesty's subjects are somewhat more scarce than they were wont to be,'
said the ambassador of Syracuse. Periander bit his lips. On, and on they
went--and still no one was to be seen--till, turning the corner of
another street, they saw, for an instant only, the backs of a few
people, who suddenly disappeared into their houses, and a fierce dog
flew out upon them, barking furiously, and would have bitten Periander
by the leg had he not been rescued by the ambassador.
"'Am I to tell my lord the King of Syracuse,' said the ambassador, 'that
I have seen one class of your majesty's subjects, and heard their
opinion?' Periander knit his brows, and looked daggers at his courtiers.
"They went on a little further, when a laden ass, whose owner had fled,
stood directly in their way. The ass put out his ugly head and brayed in
the very face of Periander.
"'Do I hear,' said the ambassador, 'the voice of another class of your
majesty's subjects?'
"Periander now could not forbear smiling, as he struck the ass, who
kicked at him as he beat him out of the path.
"Well! they went on still a little further, and had now reached the
suburbs, where they met a boy driving a flock of geese and goslings into
a pond. The boy, as all the rest had done, fled.
"But the big gander, as they approached, waddled up with extended wings
to Periander, and hissed at him.
"'The voice of your people,' said the ambassador, 'is indeed unanimous.'
"'At least,' said Periander, 'I will show my wisdom here, by roasting
that fellow and eating him for supper.' Whereupon one of his courtiers,
who, in matters of this kind take slight hints for mandates, ran the
poor gander through the body; and Periander, in reward he said for so
brave an action, bade him throw the creature round his neck[2] as a
trophy, and carry him home for supper.
"But by this time the old goose, too, fearing for her goslings, came
furiously upon Periander, and flapping and beating him with her wings,
put him into a sad straight. On this occasion one of his courtiers came
to his rescue, and he escaped; and seeing what a ridiculous figure he
made, leaned against a wall, and burst into an immoderate fit of
laughter.
"'It is enough,' said the ambassador from the Tyrant of Syracuse; 'I am
now enabled to inform the king, my master, of the character, manners,
and perfect felicity of your majesty's people, from my own observation.
That they are of three classes. The first are dogs, the second are
asses, and the third are geese; only I perceive that the geese are the
more numerous.'
"They returned to the palace, but did not enter by the great vestibule,
as Periander made use of a key for a private entrance, which led him
into the interior of the building, at the end of the great hall.
Hereupon, the officers of state, and the officers of the household who
stood near the vestibule, waiting their return, seeing Periander, the
ambassador, and the courtiers at the other end, hastened towards them,
shouting as before--'There are but seven wise men, and Periander is the
wisest.' Periander ordered them to be beaten with stripes; then,
retiring into his private apartment with the ambassador, he conversed
freely with him, and dismissed him with many and large presents.
"The ambassador returned to Syracuse, and was immediately ordered into
the royal presence, where he narrated, amidst the laughter of the
courtiers, and of the Tyrant himself, the whole affair as it had
happened. When the laughter had a little subsided, the king said, 'Let
it be written in a book, how one of the seven wise men had wellnigh been
beaten by a goose, who certainly had been too much for him, had not
another come to the rescue. Truly a goose is a foolish bird, too much
for one, but not enough for two.'"
* * * * *
N.B.--Hence it will be seen that this saying is of more antiquity than
is generally believed, and has no relation to modern gluttony, and was
in fact a saying of the Tyrant of Syracuse, when he heard the story told
by his ambassador. This story, which will be Greek to many, will,
perhaps, be no Greek at all to you. In that case go yourself to the
Ambrosian library; or, in criticising what I may send, you may be as
unfortunate as the great scholar who unconsciously questioned the Greek
of Pindar. But, both for the moral and Greek, I will but add--
"Verbum sat sapienti."
Dear Eusebius, ever yours,
----.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: It is a dangerous thing to touch upon chronology. It is
said of the great Duke of Marlborough, that in a conversation respecting
the first introduction of cannon, he quoted Shakspeare to prove that it
was in the reign of John.
"O prudent discipline from north to south,
Austria and France _shoot_ in each other's mouth."
Yes, said his adversary, but you quote Shakspeare, not history.]
[Footnote 2: Is it possible that Coleridge may have seen this apologue
when he wrote his "Ancient Mariner," and introduced a similar incident
of the albatross?]
THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA.
Part VI.
A la lid, nacionales valientes!
Al combate a la gloria volad!
Guerra y muerte a tiranos y esclavos,
Guerra y despues habra paz!
_Himno de Valladolid._
It still wanted an hour of daybreak, on the 16th day of July 1835, when
the stillness, that during the previous four or five hours had reigned
undisturbed in the quiet streets of Artajona, was broken by the clang of
the _diana_. But a few notes of the call had issued from the brazen
throats of bugle and trumpet, when a notable change took place in the
appearance of the town. Lights, of which previously only a solitary one
had here and there proceeded from the window of a guard-room, or of some
early-rising orderly-sergeant, now glimmered in every casement; the
streets were still empty, save of the trumpeters, who stood at the
corners, puffing manfully at their instruments; but on all sides was
audible a hum like that of a gigantic bee-hive, mingled with a slight
clashing of arms, and with the neighing of numerous horses, who, as well
as their masters, had heard and recognized the well-known sounds. Two or
three minutes elapsed, and then doors were thrown open, and the deserted
streets began to assume a more lively appearance. Non-commissioned
officers, their squad-rolls in their hands, took their station in front
of the houses where their men were billeted; in the stables, dragoons
lighted greasy iron lamps, and, suspending them against the wall,
commenced cleaning and saddling their horses; the shutters of the
various wine-houses were taken down, and drowsy, nightcapped
_taberneros_ busied themselves in distributing to innumerable applicants
the tiny glassful of _anisado_, which, during the whole twenty-four
hours, is generally the sole spirituous indulgence permitted himself by
the sober Spanish soldier. A few more minutes passed; the _reveille_ had
ceased to sound, and on the principal square of the town a strong
military band played, with exquisite skill and unison, the beautiful and
warlike air of the hymn of Valladolid.
"A la lid, nacionales valientes!
Al combate, a la gloria volad!"
"To the strife, brave nationals; to the strife, and to glory!" sang many
a soldier, the martial words of the song recalled to his memory by the
soul-stirring melody, as, buckling on sabre or shouldering musket, he
hurried to the appointed parade. The houses and stables were now fast
emptying, and the streets full. The monotonous "_Uno, dos_," of the
infantry, as they told off, was drowned in the noise of the horses' feet
and the jingle of accoutrements of the cavalry-men clattering out of
their stables. By the light of a few dingy lanterns, and of the stronger
illumination proceeding from the windows, whole battalions were seen
assembled, resting on their arms, and presently they began to move out
of the town. Outside of Artajona, the right wing of the army, under
command of General Gurrea, formed up, and marched away in the direction
of Mendigorria.