BOOKS WHICH FORM THE LIBRARY.
'He that walketh with wise men shall be wise.'--
PROVERBS xiii. 20.
IT is one of the tragedies of the book-collector's life that he is made
aware continually of the deficiencies of his collection. Every
bookseller's catalogue that he takes up reveals these lacunae; and even
after many years of diligent book-hunting, when he can look upon his
library with no small pride and has come to regard it as being more or
less complete (for his own purposes, that is), some intimate friend to
whom he is displaying his treasures will ask to see some well-known book,
and he will be obliged to confess that he does not possess a copy. The
reason probably is either that he has collected books upon no definite
system, or that he has lost sight of the many works which his library
should contain, through having confined himself too rigidly to
specialism.
Both practices are bad, though the former is infinitely the worse. To
collect books indiscriminately tends to develop the dread bibliomania. To
specialise in a particular class of books should be the object of every
collector; but to adhere so rigidly to that one class of literature as to
exclude from our library the great books of the world, is to deprive
ourselves of all the advantages which a library can offer. 'There are
some books, as Homer, Virgil, Horace, Milton, Shakespeare, and Scott,
which every man should read who has the opportunity; should read, mark,
learn and inwardly digest. To neglect the opportunity of becoming
familiar with them, is deliberately to sacrifice the position in the
social scale which an ordinary education enables its possessor to
reach.'[20] What a number of famous names one can add, without which no
library worthy the name can be complete! We are not all such sages as
that great man Philip Melanchthon, whose library is said to have
consisted of four authors only, namely, Plato, Pliny, Plutarch, and
Ptolemy the geographer. But then, these are whole libraries in
themselves.
Who, beside ourselves, shall decide what we shall read? 'A man's reading,
to be of any value,' wrote Professor Blackie, 'must depend upon his power
of association; and that again depends upon his tendencies, his
capacities, his surroundings, and his opportunities.' But there are some
authors whom the world has decided are great, whom we cannot possibly
afford to neglect in the course of our literary education. There can be
no doubt as to our decision here; and although it has been said truly
that 'a lifetime will hardly suffice to know, as they ought to be known,
these great masterpieces of man's genius,'[21] yet these great classics
should form the nucleus of our library, and to them we may add the other
famous and approved books of the world as opportunities occur.
It is not without diffidence that I venture to approach this important
question as to what we should read. Perhaps there is nothing more
irritating to the real book-lover than to be told, usually by some
well-meaning person, that he or she should read this or that. In nine
cases out of ten the book or author recommended is one that we can safely
afford to neglect. It is one of the commonest of human failings to
imagine that a book which pleases us must necessarily please all others
too, and we recommend it blindly to the first friend we come across,
regardless of age, disposition, intellectual capacity, opportunity,
surroundings, or even sex. It never even occurs to us to consider these
matters, these vital qualities upon which the whole question of like or
dislike depends.
'To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under
heaven'; and again, 'A wise man's heart discerneth both time and
judgment,' wrote the Preacher of Judah. Yet mindful though we be of these
ancient words of wisdom, how rarely do we apply them to our everyday
reading! If we be in the mood for reading we pick up any book at random;
if it please us at the moment, we continue to read it. If it be
distasteful to us, we put it aside immediately. Possibly we recollect,
next time that our eyes light upon a volume so discarded, that it was
once displeasing, and we never take it up again. So, it may be urged, our
mind exercises the power of selection for us: we can only absorb at any
given time the class of literary food for which our mind then happens to
be hungry.
But the truth is far otherwise. If we take up and read a book at random,
in nine cases out of ten we continue to read it simply because it entails
no mental effort. We do not have to think of what we are reading; our
eyes gallop over sentence after sentence, and so long as the language is
colloquial and the facts are bald, all is well, and we can go on and on.
It is not only the body that, unchecked, is inclined to be slothful.
Unless we have as complete a control over our minds as we have over our
limbs, it is quite impossible that our reading shall benefit us to its
full extent.
There is another point of view also. 'Every book that we take up without
a purpose is an opportunity lost of taking up a book with a purpose.'[22]
And this does not mean that we should always be reading 'improving'
books, that we must never read for recreation alone; for, I repeat,
'there is a time to every purpose under heaven.' But it does insist most
emphatically that there should be a rhyme and a reason for reading any
book at any time. There is a time for work and a time for play in reading
no less than in the daily cycle of our lives. As to what shall constitute
recreative reading, that is a matter which every man must decide for
himself. I will venture to prophesy, however, that, by judicious
selection and thoughtful reading, there will come a time when he will
consider the reading of the great books to constitute the finest mental
recreation in the world.
To return, however, to the great writers, those giants of whom we have
said that it behoves us all to know something at least. Must we read them
all? Let us leave 'must' out of the question; for our lifetime, however
long it may be, will be scarcely sufficient to know and appreciate to the
full these great masters of human thought. Yet at least it can be our aim
ever to feed our minds only upon food of the finest quality and of a
permanent nutritive value. But alas! How terribly limited are our
capacities both as regards time and opportunity! How narrow the bounds
which confine our reading abilities! Though a list of the great writers
contain all the constituents of an Epicurean feast, yet to most of us it
resembles the menu of a Gargantuan banquet.
As to the classics of the old world, surely, it may be urged, in such an
essentially practical age we can afford to neglect books so hopelessly
out of date? Yet there can be no greater mistake than to imagine that the
wisdom of the old world can ever be out of date, for it is the wisdom
that has created the civilisation of the newer world. Countless
generations of men may pass away and be utterly forgotten, but the
principles of morality inherent in man's nature will endure for ever. And
it is these great principles of all that is good and noble in our nature
that is brought out and developed insensibly by the study of the classics
in our youth. Moreover they are books that have been accepted by all the
nations of Europe as containing the bases of human thought. Something at
least we should all know of these great writers common to all civilised
nations.
To most of us, however, there is an insurmountable barrier surrounding
them, the matter of language. The knowledge of Greek and Latin that we
acquired at school has become painfully rusty. Is it worth while slogging
away laboriously with grammar and dictionary at the expense of valuable
time which might otherwise be devoted to the more modern classics in our
own tongue? Candidly, it is not. If we have retained sufficient of our
Greek and Latin to read it at sight with but an occasional reference to
the dictionary well and good; but otherwise it is a painful waste of
time. Hamerton recommends that we read the ancients with the help of
literal translations beside the original, in which way, he says, we 'may
attain a closer acquaintance with ancient literature than would be
possible by translation alone.' But to many, an English version must be
the only door by which they may enter Attica and Rome.
After all, it is for each one of us to decide how widely our time and
opportunities shall permit us to wander on the slopes of Mount Parnassus.
'The best time-savers are the love of soundness in all we learn to do,
and a cheerful acceptance of inevitable limitations.'[23] Yet it is
better to have wandered on the lowermost slopes of the mountain than
never to have entered ancient Greece at all.
Who nowadays, outside the universities, reads these ancient classics?
Where will you find a business man of thirty years of age whose delight
in his leisure time is the reading of Horace or Homer? Here and there,
perhaps, you may come across a man of classical education who still
retains the love of ancient Greece and Rome, instilled into him in his
youth, sufficiently to influence the course of his reading; but he is a
rarity indeed. Among the many thousands of young men employed in business
in the great cities, most of whom have learnt something at least of the
classics in their youth, scarcely will you find one who will confess to
having time for such literature. Yet all these thousands read many books
each year, and can always find time to devour the latest popular novel.
It is chiefly a question of recreation _versus_ education. Tired and
jaded with the day's business, the young man of to-day has little
inclination to devote his leisure time to study. Light frothy literature
removes his thoughts from worldly cares, and by a complete change of
subject stimulates a mind that has been enervated by concentration for
hours on one particular theme. No effort is required, and, more important
still, _it does not make one think_.
For daily reading in the train or over meals, with this purpose always in
view, so far so good. But what of the many hours of leisure in every
man's life, when no mental recreation is needed? What does the average
man read then? It must be confessed that in nine cases out of ten his
literature remains precisely the same. Doubtless the reason is simply
because, having always been accustomed to reading the same kind of books,
he knows no other sort. Mention Shakespeare, Milton, Shelley, and he
stares at you aghast. 'Good gracious,' he exclaims, 'I'm not going to
read stuff like that; I should get the hump for a week; give me something
cheerful.' And he picks up 'The Bauble,' by Mrs. Risquet Trashe.
And he is quite right. To anyone whose literature has consisted for years
of nothing but novels of the circulating library type, a sudden
application to the great writers would indeed be depressing. Is it
necessary, however, or indeed wise, that any man's mental pabulum should
consist entirely of novels? Nothing is further from my mind than to decry
the taste for novel-reading; for, wisely employed, novels can become one
of the joys of life. One can but agree with Miss Austen when she
inveighs, in 'Northanger Abbey,' against those who belittle the
productions of the novelist. But would she have been so emphatic had she
lived to witness the printing-presses spouting forth that frothy flood
which effervesces round the more serious writings of to-day? Would that
every novel we take up had the delightful 'genius, wit, and taste' of
Jane Austen to recommend it. How few and far between are the really good
novels that we read!
There can be no finer recreation for a tired mind than a good novel.
There is, however, one habit of reading which has become almost a social
evil; and that is the habit of reading newspapers which many indulge in,
morning, noon, and night. It is difficult to imagine anything more
calculated to destroy consecutive and considered thought than the
enormous variety of inconsequential topics that assails one every time
one opens a newspaper. The mind becomes completely fuddled with the
heterogeneous patchwork of entirely useless information. The only method
I have discovered by which one can acquire the important news and yet
retain the serenity of one's mind is that of having such news only as she
knows will be of use read out by one's wife at breakfast. And this does
not mean that the mental discomforts of the newspaper are relegated to
one's better-half, for women are usually interested in the smaller
details of everyday life.
No wonder that a large number of 'city men' live out their lives without
ever opening a book that is worth reading meditatively; for
newspaper-reading in course of time must completely undermine one's
mental stability. After a few years, a book that is not composed of
headlines, short chapters, small paragraphs and ejaculatory sentences, is
unreadable without mental effort. So that long before he is middle-aged
the city man has acquired the habit of 'glancing at' a news-sheet or
magazine whenever he has nothing to do for a few minutes: a kind of
reading that is about as advantageous to the mind as that which we
indulge in when fingering the antique periodicals in the dentist's
waiting-room. In later years he may or he may not overcome the repugnance
he has acquired to anything deep or 'solid' (by which he generally means
'unparagraphed'): but I venture to think that, having once taken the
plunge, there must be moments when he marvels at his foolishness in not
having entered, years before, the City of the golden streets.
Perhaps it is unwise to use the word 'education' in speaking of the
benefits to be derived from reading the great books, for to many people
the term is synonymous with 'school,' where one is obliged frequently to
do things against one's will. Good books, that is the books that 'live,'
are no mere education, they are steps up the path of civilisation itself.
They are just as necessary for the advancement of knowledge as are the
letters and numerals which we learnt at school. The greatest books of the
world do _not_ teach us; _they help us to teach ourselves_, a very
different matter. 'They are masters who instruct us without rod or
ferule,' wrote an early book-lover[24]; 'if you approach them they are
not asleep; if you inquire of them they do not withdraw themselves; they
never chide when you make mistakes; they never laugh if you are
ignorant.' And the books which would be available to him would be chiefly
the works of the Early Fathers, professedly books of moral instruction.
But the books of our library 'are so many faithful and serviceable
friends, gently teaching us everything through their persuasive and wise
experience.'[25]
And that is precisely the point. Good books do not instruct us so much as
they persuade us; so that we come to be of the same mind as the great man
who had deliberated and debated the matter so thoroughly for us.
Perchance we disagree and take a different standpoint. Then can one
almost see the spirit of the sage chuckling with delight at having found
someone with whom to cross swords. '_I have made him think, I have made
him think_,' he repeats gleefully; and, sure of his point, he delights in
having held our attention so intently as to cause us to debate the issue
with ourselves.
It were foolish, however, to suppose that _all_ the great books of the
world are at once suitable to every reader. Time, above all other
considerations, decides what we shall read; and the book which makes its
greatest impression upon one man at thirty will fail to appeal to his
neighbour till he be fifty or more. 'A man loves the meat in his youth
that he cannot endure in his age,' says Benedick, and the converse is
equally true. What a mistaken notion it is that puts into the hands of
boys such classics as 'The Pilgrim's Progress' and 'Don Quixote'; for
they are books which a knowledge of the world and of human nature alone
can enable us to appreciate to the full. Their very foundations are built
upon the rock of experience, every page exhibits the thoughts and deeds
of men. No wonder that nine boys out of ten grow up with a dislike of
Bunyan and all his works, and a contempt for the adventures of the
immortal Don. Generally, however, all recollection of Quixote, except
that he had a rotten old horse and charged some windmills, has
(mercifully) disappeared long before the reader has attained his
eighteenth year.
In later life, perhaps, we take up these books again, and are surprised
to find that they have completely changed. There is hardly an incident in
them that we remember, and we marvel how such and such a glorious passage
could possibly have escaped us before. Our book-hunter's experience must
have been that of many others. Long after his school-days were ended he
took up, for the first time, 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.' How
wistfully he thought of the enjoyment that would have been his when at
school, had but some kind chance put into his hands this and similar
books in which boys, and real human boys, played the principal parts, not
strange outlandish men, the like of whom he had never met.
This unwise reading, this plunging, as it were, _in medias res_, is, I am
inclined to think, the reason why to so many men the library of great
authors is for ever locked. After a lengthy course of 'light' reading,
they take up, all at once, some such work as 'Bacon's Essays' or the
'Paradise Lost,' determined 'to give the classics a chance.' They wade
conscientiously through a good many pages, and then retire beaten, simply
because they have failed to recognise that in reading, as in every other
business, profession, craft, or pursuit, PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. Who is
there, outside Olympus, that can master any of these at sight? It is only
by a continuous and continual course of reading that one comes at length
to appreciate these great masters. 'The proper appreciation of the great
books of the world is the reward of lifelong study. You must work up to
them, and unconsciously you will become trained to find great qualities
in what the world has decided is great.'[26]
'That's all very well,' says the newspaper-reader, taking the word
'study' in its first dictionary sense; 'but I, for one, haven't got
time--or inclination--for this lifelong application.' And yet, I reply,
you have both time and inclination to apply yourself assiduously to
newspapers, magazines, and suchlike reading. If you read at all, why not
read good healthy stuff, which will be of permanent use to you in your
journey through the world? Why devour garbage when rich meats are
constantly about you? 'To stuff our minds with what is simply trivial,
simply curious, or that which at best has but a low nutritive power, this
is to close our minds to what is solid and enlarging and spiritually
sustaining.'[27] Look at it which way you will, the man who purposely
neglects the great books deliberately closes the channels of knowledge
flowing to his brain, sentences himself to intellectual exile, bolts and
bars in his own face the only door which can lead him into the society of
the wisest and greatest men this world has known.
And what are the great books of the world? They are those which, from
their native excellences, have been approved by generations of wise men
as beneficial _for mankind_--not for their generation alone. Times change
and manners with them, but countless centuries are powerless to effect
the slightest change in man's essence. Do not the characters in the
oldest book in the world still live in our everyday life, and are not
they possessed of the very thoughts and reasonings that are our portion
to-day? Tastes may change vastly in even a short period, but it is only
fashion, the constant craving for something new:--
'Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with times.'
But the books which by common consent have been assigned places in the
library of the immortals can never be out of fashion: for they contain
the essences of human nature.
How then shall we start to make acquaintance with these classics? With
what books shall we begin, with what continue? These are questions which
it is impossible to answer without a knowledge of those qualities so
necessary in recommending books. But at least it is possible to indicate
the general line to be followed. It would be foolish, for example, for
the man whose reading hitherto has consisted entirely of the modern
novels of a circulating library, to turn at once to the Paradise Lost,
Bacon's Essays, or the poems of Wordsworth. He would probably acquire a
distaste for good literature which might never be overcome.
It is like everything else that counts: we set the greatest store by
those things that we have come by through difficulties. The longer the
journey and the more beautiful the scenes we pass through, the greater
our pleasure and subsequent recollection of it. Let us begin our
systematic reading by turning at first to those books which we shall
appreciate immediately. Have novels been our reading hitherto? Then let
us turn at once to some of the greater novelists, both living and dead.
Here the field is wide, and we may quickly find writers to our taste.
Thus we shall gradually work up to some name or names in the list of the
immortals. In the same way we shall approach, step by step, the
essayists, the moralists, the dramatists and (lastly) the poets.
It cannot be emphasised too strongly that Time above all other
considerations decides what we shall read. Moreover, there are passages
in many of the greatest writers that appeal to a man before he has really
arrived at the time of their understanding. So that, reading some such
passage (_e.g._ Addison's description of the Widows' Club in the
'Spectator') as this, and finding the remainder not to his taste, he
concludes that he has discovered the kernel and that the rest can be cast
aside. Practice alone makes perfect: _macte nova virtute, puer, sic itur
ad astra_.
With regard to editions, it were needless to specify them; the great
books of the world are reprinted and re-edited every few years. But our
editions should be _good_ ones. 'A good edition should be a complete
edition, ungarbled and unabridged.'[28] Perchance you may prefer to have
them, if it be possible, in the original editions? If so, you will be
wise in your generation, but your purse will need to be a long one
indeed.
Remember that the first edition is not necessarily the best. It
may be, but in the great majority of cases it is not. In addition to the
inevitable clerical mistakes and printer's errors which are almost always
corrected in the second and subsequent editions, the author or editor
frequently interpolates matter which the publication _de ipso_ has
brought to his notice by reviews or correspondence. This is notably the
case in large and important works. 'Scott's Last Expedition,' published
in two large octavo volumes in 1914, rapidly passed through five editions
the same year, corrections being incorporated in each successive edition
(thereby distinguishing them from mere 'impressions'); so that the fifth
edition remains the best, being the most correct. On the other hand, in
the second edition an author sometimes omits passages or makes drastic
emendations from prudential reasons. Then it is that the first edition is
to be sought for in preference to all others, for this alone contains the
author's true opinions on certain subjects. Such instances the
book-lover gradually learns in his journey through the world of books.
But I repeat that, apart from this question of first or later issue, our
editions should be good ones. Good editions are not merely luxuries. The
better the type and paper, the greater our ease in reading, and--most
important of all--the consequent safeguarding of our eyesight.
It is not only type and paper, however, that constitute a good edition.
In addition to these requisites it must contain the recognised text
complete, it must be in a seemly and convenient shape, neither
extravagant nor blatant, and it must not contain a long list of errata.
Of the many qualities that go to make up a good edition, after paper and
print, these are perhaps the most important. But there is another
immediate consideration: _shall it have notes?_ And this raises such a
momentous point that I almost hesitate to approach it. The answer must be
qualified. Provided always that the edition has been superintended (I use
the word advisedly) by a _recognised_ scholar, and that the notes are
few, short, and concise, it is well. But who has not suffered under the
tedious and tiresome verbosity of editors? The writer possesses an
edition of Pope in which page after page contains two lines of the poet
and thirty-four lines of editor. Reed's Shakespeare (1813) frequently
contains a solitary line of text with forty of notes. Fortunately,
however, such things are now numbered with the past.
As to our editions of the Greek and Latin Classics, whether we can read
them in the original tongue or whether we must have recourse to
translations, we have already debated. But without wishing to discourage
the book-lover in any possible way from making (or renewing, as the case
may be) acquaintance with these great writers, it must be borne in mind
that few indeed are the translations from any language that are wholly in
the spirit of the original. In recommending the following translations of
some of the greater world-classics, literary and animate qualities have
been had in view no less than scholarly translation.
Aeschylus and Sophocles have been admirably rendered in English verse by
Mr. E. D. A. Morshead. Of the first, 'The House of Atreus' (being the
'Agamemnon,' 'Libation-Bearers,' and 'Furies') was first published by him
in 1881, an octavo volume which was reprinted in 1890 and 1901. 'The
Suppliant Maidens,' 'The Persians,' 'The Seven against Thebes,' and
'Prometheus Bound' were collected in one octavo volume in 1908. His
version of Sophocles' 'Oedipus the King' was published in 1885, while the
'Ajax' and 'Electra' were printed in prose, 1895.
The Plays of Aristophanes are, perhaps, best known to English readers by
Hookham Frere's excellent translations. His first volume, containing the
'Acharnians,' the 'Knights,' and the 'Birds,' was originally printed at
Malta in 1839, in which year a similar quarto volume containing the
'Frogs' was also issued. But there are several later editions of both
these volumes, and almost any bookseller can provide one. In addition to
these plays, the 'Clouds' and the 'Wasps' were included in Thomas
Mitchell's version first published in two octavo volumes dated 1820 and
1822. But we may have a complete set of the eleven plays which have come
down to us, in Mr. B. B. Rogers' scholarly translation in verse. This
beautiful edition in eleven small quarto volumes was published by Messrs.
George Bell and Sons between 1902 and 1916, and has the Greek and English
on opposite pages. For the plays of Euripides we must turn to the
metrical versions of Professor Gilbert Murray, published by Mr. George
Allen between 1905 and 1915. Perhaps it is not too much to say that this
great scholar-poet has done more than any other to bring the Greeks of
old before those to whom a classical education has been denied.
Needless to say, the translation into English of the immortal Homeric
cycle has tempted many pens. Among the best known versions are those of
Pope, Chapman, and Cowper. But this matter has been so thoroughly
debated by Mr. Frederic Harrison in his delightful volume 'The Choice of
Books,' that I will refrain from poaching upon his preserve, and will
content myself by remarking that the recommendations of this excellent
judge are the 'Iliad' of Lord Derby and the 'Odyssey' of Philip Worsley.
This last is a beautiful translation in the Spenserian stanza, of which a
second edition appeared in 1868, in two octavo volumes. But if you are
not already acquainted with Mr. Harrison's work you will do well to
obtain it, and to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest all that he has
to say therein upon 'The Poets of the Old World.'
With regard to the Latin classics, if we are unacquainted with the
language there is greater difficulty; for it is next to impossible to
render in English the light and vivacious lilt of the Italian poets. Our
translations may be fine, scholarly, dignified and the rest of it, but
they bear little semblance to the originals. Dryden's version of the
'Aeneid' may be read, not as a translation but as an epic in the English
of a great poet; and to those who are masters of sufficient Latin to
explore the ancients by the help of commentaries, Conington's translation
will be of assistance. Horace is utterly untranslatable, and prose
translations afford little clue to the music of his songs.
Perhaps it goes without saying that in reading these ancient classics we
shall necessarily lose much of their sentiment and allusion unless our
memory has retained that atmosphere of classic times which we obtained by
constant intercourse with these ancients during our years at school. We
may refresh our memory, however, and at the same time glean the most
modern thought upon those times, by having recourse to certain useful
volumes, companions to our study of these classic writers.
J. A. St. John's 'Manners and Customs of Ancient Greece,' three octavo
volumes which appeared in 1842, is a perfect encyclopaedia in itself. Of
Mr. Leonard Whibley's 'Companion to Greek Studies' a third edition, with
more than 200 illustrations and maps, was published by the Cambridge
University Press in 1916. The fellow volume is by Sir J. E. Sandys, and
is entitled 'A Companion to Latin Studies.' The second edition, very
fully illustrated, appeared in 1913--a large octavo also published at a
guinea by the same press. Professor Mahaffy's 'Social Life in Greece from
Homer to Menander' has gone through a number of editions. For the theatre
of the Greeks we must turn to 'The Attic Theatre' by A. E. Haigh. The
third edition, edited by Mr. A. W. Pickard-Cambridge, was issued by the
Clarendon Press, 1907. It is the standard work upon this subject; and
therein one can find all about everything pertaining to the Greek theatre
and the actual presentation of the play. A useful little guide to the
study of ancient Greece and Italy is Dr. J. B. Mayer's 'Guide to the
Choice of Classical Books,' a small octavo of which a third edition
appeared in 1885. In 1896 a 'new supplement' was published, and this
contains fifty pages of 'Helps to the Study of Ancient Authors'--the best
books which had appeared up to 1896 on the Art, Coins, Law, History,
Philosophy, Religion, Science, Domestic Life, Amusements, and almost
every aspect of life in ancient Rome and Athens. Copies of this
invaluable reference book are probably in most of the public libraries
throughout the kingdom.
With regard to some of the other great world-classics, Boccaccio has been
attempted by many translators, none of whom can be said to have
succeeded, and I forbear to recommend any English version. He is
straightforward and not difficult to read in the original, and it is well
worth learning sufficient Italian to enable one to explore his rich charm
for oneself.
As to Calderon, eight of his plays have been rendered in English by that
prince of translators Edward Fitzgerald, though his version is not, nor
did he pretend it to be, a close translation. Yet it is more in the
spirit of the dramatist than one would deem possible in an English
version of a Spanish author. Six of these plays were first published by
Fitzgerald in 1853, and this volume was reprinted in the series known as
'The King's Classics' in 1903. The complete set of eight may be obtained
in one small octavo volume, in the beautiful 'Eversley' series published
by Macmillan. But you may read seventeen of Calderon's plays, in the
French of Damas Hinard, in the 'Chef d'oeuvre du Theatre Espagnol,'
1841-3, which also includes the works of Lope de Vega: in all five small
octavo volumes--if you are so lucky as to find them.
With regard to Don Quixote, as a boy our book-hunter made more than one
attempt to explore 'the ingenious gentleman' but always gave it up after
proceeding less than half-way through the first volume. It was all so dry
and outlandish, and the version he possessed was written in such stilted
language. There were no notes to his edition, and whole passages and
allusions were beyond his comprehension. Looking back now I more than
suspect that they were beyond the comprehension of the translator as
well. 'Rocinante,' spelt 'Rosinante,' he thought was rather a pretty name
for the Don's charger; but he saw no humour in it until he discovered,
many years later, that _rocin_ means a 'cart-horse' and _ante_,
'previously.' Nor could he see anything amusing in the landlord's boast
that he too had been a knight-errant in his time, roaming the Isles of
Riaran in quest of adventures--until he learnt that this was a city slum,
the resort of thieves and cut-throats. The whole work abounds with local
and topical allusions, and it is essential that our edition be well
supplied with notes. There is one which fulfils this condition and in
addition provides a most scholarly text, more closely approaching the
original than any other which has appeared hitherto. This is the masterly
translation of John Ormsby, which appeared in four octavo volumes in
1885. It contains a valuable history of the work, together with a life of
Cervantes, and the appendices to the last volume contain a bibliography
of the immortal book.
Dante must be read in the original tongue. There is a lofty and spiritual
grandeur in the language of the three great epics which one can never
hope to realise in reading translations, be they never so good.
Nevertheless those versions which are most in favour among students are
of considerable value as commentaries, and are of great assistance in
reading the original. One cannot do better at the outset of one's
acquaintance with the great poet than to procure Dr. J. A. Carlyle's
excellent version of the 'Inferno.' A third edition was published in
1882. It has explanatory notes and a prose translation, in measured,
dignified language, above the text of the original; forming in all
respects a handy and convenient volume. Dr. A. J. Butler's versions of
the 'Purgatory' and 'Paradise' were issued, in octavo, in 1880 and 1885
respectively. Aids to the study of Dante are legion. The fourth edition
of Professor J. Addington Symond's 'Introduction to the Study of Dante'
appeared in 1899; whilst Lord Vernon's 'Readings in Dante,' six octavo
volumes, is said to have occupied that great scholar for more than
twenty-five years of his life.
Goethe is known to English readers chiefly by the immortal _Faust_; and
this work alone has engaged the attention of numerous scholars. A volume
containing seven of Goethe's plays in English was published in Bohn's
Standard Library in 1879. It included Sir Walter Scott's version of
'Goetz von Berlichingen,' the remainder being translated by Miss Swanwick
and E. A. Bowring. Miss Swanwick's 'Faust' is well known and has often
been reprinted; a beautiful edition illustrated by Mr. Gilbert James
appeared in 1906. There is a version, however, which stands far above the
rest, a version which the writer for his part has always considered to
rank with the greatest translations. This is the 'Faust' of Bayard
Taylor, which indeed may be read as a poem in itself. But then Taylor had
advantages possessed by few translators. An American by birth, his mother
was a German, and he spent a part of his life in Germany. From his birth
he was bilinguous; and added to this linguistic advantage were his
profound scholarship and poetic gift. There are numerous editions of his
work, but only one--so far as I am aware, in this country at
least--worthy of its great merit, namely, that which appeared in two
octavo volumes in 1871. It is an edition somewhat hard to obtain.
For Schiller's dramatic works we must have recourse to Coleridge, who has
given us versions of both parts of the 'Wallenstein' and 'William Tell.'
The Poems and Ballads were rendered in English by Sir E. Bulwer Lytton
(Lord Lytton): two volumes, 1844. Heine's short four-line verses do not
lend themselves to translating and though many have attempted it, the
results are almost always a jingle, often approaching doggerel. The prose
works have recently been translated by Mr. C. G. Leland, and the 'Atta
Troll' by Miss Armour, both forming part of a twelve volume edition
published between 1892 and 1905.
The mention of Rabelais conjures up one of those extremely rare instances
where a translation constitutes as great a classic as the original work.
Whether it was the difficulty of translation, or the despair of eclipsing
so notable a success as had been achieved by their predecessor, that
deterred other scholars from making the attempt, we know not; but certain
it is that the version put forth by Sir Thomas Urquhart in 1653 has
remained, and seems likely to remain, the standard representation of the
fantastic 'Doctor in Physick' in this language. Urquhart, that polished
and gifted Scottish d'Artagnan, translated the first three books only;
the last two were added by Motteux, a French refugee, in 1694. Urquhart's
work, 'precise, elegant, and very faithful,' comes as near perfection as
any translation can hope to be. Motteux's rendering was revised by Ozell;
but unfortunately it falls far short of the version of Sir Thomas, who,
with a longer life, might perhaps have undertaken these last two books as
well.
Of these five books of Master Francis Rabelais thus english'd, there
have been, of course, numerous editions. Our book-hunter prefers that
which appeared in three quarto volumes in 1904, with photogravure
illustrations by M. Louis Chalon. Both from a scholarly and a
bibliographical standpoint it is all that can be desired, and one can
have a copy for less than a pound.
Why is it that we all have some acquaintance at least with the Arabian
Nights? What have these purely Eastern tales to do with us? Both
questions may be answered at once. It is because they contain the very
essence of oriental thought, manners, customs, habits, speech, and deeds:
because we can learn from them more of the everyday life of the orient,
both of to-day and of a thousand years ago, than an entire library of
travels can teach us. Surely it is more than mere curiosity that urges us
to know something at least of the manner in which so many millions of our
fellow-beings live.
Who has not read at least some of these glorious tales? Who has not heard
of Sinbad or the Roc, of Scheherazade or of Haroun al Raschid? Truly they
are
'The tales that charm away the wakeful night
In Araby, romances';
Wordsworth himself came early under their spell. He tells how as a young
child
'A precious treasure had I long possessed,
A little yellow, canvas-covered book,
A slender abstract of the Arabian tales;
And, from companions in a new abode,
When first I learnt that this dear prize of mine
Was but a block hewn from a mighty quarry--
That there were four large volumes, laden all
With kindred matter, 'twas to me, in truth,
A promise scarcely earthly.'
And so he makes a covenant 'with one not richer than myself' that each
should save up until their joint savings were sufficient to purchase the
complete work. But alas!
'Through several months,
In spite of all temptation, we preserved
Religiously that vow; but firmness failed,
Nor were we ever masters of our wish.'
There must be few books in the world from which we may learn so much
while being so rapturously entertained. Burton's edition is perhaps the
best known to English readers, though Lane's version is much to be
preferred. Of the latter there are many editions.[29]
How much has been written on the Art of Reading, and what scanty
knowledge of that art have the most industrious of readers! Outside the
Universities, reading is apt nowadays to be looked upon as a light form
of recreation, generally to be indulged in on a rainy day. 'There's
nothing to do but sit indoors and read,' one frequently hears remarked in
country houses when the weather is too inclement to permit of motoring.
Novel-reading has indeed become a part of our fashionable life.
How often, too, does one come across readers of both sexes who possess,
seemingly, a wide knowledge of books, even of the great books of the
world. Yet in nine cases out of ten such knowledge is of the most
superficial kind, acquired by 'dipping into' such and such an author to
ascertain whether he be to his or her taste. Frankly, the great author is
almost invariably _not_ to the modern reader's taste; but the scanty
knowledge acquired by perusing the first chapter, the headings of the
remaining chapters, and the last chapter, enables the reader (save the
mark!) to discourse at large on this particular writer among his own
_coterie_. Perchance one of his friends has similarly insulted the great
author, and they are enabled to discuss the book for nearly a minute by
the clock, each thinking the other a devilish well-read fellow. Truly it
has been said that 'just as profligacy is easy within the strict limits
of the law, a boundless knowledge of books may be found with a narrow
education.'[30]
More rarely one comes across a man who, being the fortunate possessor of
a truly wonderful memory, is enabled to retain the bulk of the
information which he has acquired by wide reading. There is a story told
of a certain don at one of our older universities who, being possessed of
an insatiable thirst for knowledge coupled with an excellent memory and
an inexhaustible capacity for work, passed as a well-read if not a very
learned man. There seemed to be few topics upon which he could not
discourse on equal terms even with those who had made that subject their
own.
Now it happened that there were two young Fellows at the same college
who, wearied of his constant superiority in conversation, determined to
take Brown (for such was his name) 'down a peg or two.' So each night at
dinner in hall they skilfully turned the conversation to unusual topics,
hoping to light upon some chink in the redoubtable Brown's intellectual
armour. Once they tried him on the rarer British hemipterous homoptera,
but soon discovered that he was a very fair entomologist. Next evening
the conversation veered to ancient Scandinavian burial rites, but here
again he could give them points. The Byzantine coinage of Cyprus was, of
course, well known to him while he had himself worked on the oolitic
foraminifera of the blue marl at Biarritz. His experiments on the red
colouring matter of _drosera rotundifolia_ had formed the subject of a
monograph, and he was particularly interested in the hagiological
folk-lore of Lower Brittany.
It seemed almost hopeless. Try as they would they could find no subject
with which he was unacquainted. Every night some fresh outlandish topic
was introduced. Brown looked very bored, and proceeded to tell them all
there was to be said upon the subject. But one night a casual remark put
them on the right track. Someone happened to ask Brown a question about
Indian music. He answered shortly, and remarked that it was a subject
upon which a good deal of work was yet to be done. The conspirators
looked across the table at each other, left the common-room early, and
retired to Jones's rooms.
'Did you notice?' said Jones.
'Yes,' said Smith; 'he evidently doesn't know much about oriental music.'
'But he will by to-morrow,' replied the astute Jones. 'As soon as ever he
gets to his rooms to-night, he'll read up everything he possibly can on
Indian music, and he'll continue in the Library to-morrow. By dinner-time
he'll be stuffed full of tom-toms and shawms and dulcimers, or whatever
they play in India.'
'We must ride him off,' said Smith. 'How about Chinese music? He won't
know anything about that.'
This seemed such a promising topic that they got out the encyclopaedia and
found to their joy that there was quite a lengthy and learned
disquisition on the subject. So they read it again and again, even
learning the more abstruse sentences by heart. Next day they were
observed to chuckle whenever they caught each other's eye, and at lunch
they were unusually cheerful and more than ordinarily attentive to the
unsuspecting Brown.
That night at dinner they could hardly restrain their impatience, and
Smith introduced the topic, rather clumsily, as soon as the fish
appeared. Brown stared at them and said nothing. Jones, plucking up
courage, presently asked him a question about the dominant fifth of the
scale used by the natives of Quang-Tung. He answered evasively. They
could hardly conceal their delight, and their voices rose so that
presently the whole table was looking at them. At some of their recondite
utterances Brown fairly winced, and it soon became evident to all what
was afoot. Upstairs in the common-room they pursued their unhappy victim.
The senior tutor and the dean, secretly enjoying the fun, stood near. At
last, flushed with victory, Jones proceeded to administer
the _coup de grace_.
'You really ought to read something about Chinese music, Brown, it's a
most interesting topic, and I'm sure you'd like to be able to talk about
it. There are quite a number of good books on the subject. For a start
you couldn't do better than study the article in the "Encyclopaedia
Academica." It's clear and concise, evidently written by a man who knows
what he's talking about.'
'I _have_ read it,' said Brown patiently; 'in fact I--er--_wrote_ it,
_but I'm afraid it's quite out of date now_.'
* * * * *
We are not all the lucky possessors of such a capacity for acquiring
knowledge. Wide reading may be good from an educational point of view,
but unless we are able to assimilate what we read better a thousand times
to restrict our reading. Gibbon's advice is bad, for it indicates merely
the system he employed in compiling his monumental work. 'We ought not,'
he remarks, 'to attend to the order of our books so much as (to the
order) of our thoughts.' So, in the midst of Homer he would skip to
Longinus; a passage in Longinus would send him to Pliny, and so on.
General reading upon this plan, with no idea of collection in view, would
in time reduce most of us to idiocy.
Let our reading be, above all things, well ordered and systematic. Let us
imitate Ancillon rather than Gibbon. Ancillon never read a book
throughout without reading in his progress many others of an exegetic
nature; so that 'his library table was always covered with a number of
books for the most part open.'[31] An excellent habit, provided that we
can resist the temptation to be side-tracked. The list of books by this
industrious student, however, shows by their curious variety that he at
least was not sufficiently strong-minded to resist wandering, during the
compilation of his historical works, in the byways of literature.
If we read the good solid books at all, let us at least read them with
the aim of acquiring the maximum amount of information they afford. To
read sketchily and diversely is not only a most painful waste of time,
but it abuses our brains. Suppose now that our bookman has decided to
'read up' the French Revolution, a subject to which we all turn at some
period of our lives. He has been led thereto, perhaps, by having lighted
upon a translation of someone's memoirs, the recollections of some
insignificant valet-de-chambre or dissolute cure (for such memoirs
abound), more interesting by reason of its piquancy than its historical
accuracy. He reads of persons and events that he recollects vaguely to
have heard of before, and so he goes on and on.
At the end, he has an ambiguous and temporary knowledge of names and
events. He has become acquainted with certain facts that he may possibly
remember; such as that the name of the French King was Louis and that his
Queen was Marie Antoinette, that they tried to escape and got as far as
Varennes (_wherever that may be_), but were brought back and executed;
that there were various politicians named Mirabeau, Danton, Robespierre,
Desmoulins, and a curious party called the Girondins, et cetera. As to
the causes which led up to the Revolution, the condition of the country
and people, the ministry of Turgot, the characters of the King and Queen,
Necker's policy, the Abbe Sieyes, the Tennis Court, the composition of
the Assembly, and the host of essential facts, his knowledge is precisely
_nil_. The terms Right Centre, Extreme Left, the Jacobins, the White
Terror, Assignats, Hebertists and Dantonists, the Montagnards, the Old
Cordelier, are so much 'Hebrew-Greek' to him. At the end of six months he
will not be at all sure whether it was Louis XIV., XV., or XVI. who was
beheaded.
Surely his reading of these dubious memoirs has been a most mistaken
course and a lamentable waste of time? He has gained nothing that has
benefited him intellectually, and he has loaded his mind with an
indigestible hotch-potch of unclassified information. How then should he
have approached the subject? Obviously he should have begun at the
threshold, or rather at the outer gate. To plunge straight away into
Louis Blanc's twelve volumes or Lamartine's 'History of the Girondins'
would be as great a mistake as the reading of the unprofitable memoirs. A
good beginning is half done. So, having prepared the way by a short study
of the economic condition of France immediately prior to the Revolution,
that he may readily understand the causes of that event, let our reader
begin with some elementary school text-book which will give him a short
and concise view of the Revolution as a whole. Having laid the
foundations he will confine himself at the outset to works in his own
tongue; choosing his literature for each succeeding phase of the
Revolution in turn. But until he has obtained a thorough groundwork and
has acquired sufficient knowledge to enable him to explore the more
famous works in French, it were profitless to devour the scraps afforded
by dubious memoir writers.
If we read three books consecutively on any one subject, we know not
merely three times as much as if we had read one only, but thirty times.
And our knowledge of the subject will not be vague, inaccurate and
fleeting, but it will be concise, accurate and permanent. To acquire a
correct and lasting knowledge of any subject, whether it be an event or
an epoch of history, a science or an art or craft, it is essential that
we read consecutively and comparatively as many books upon that subject
as our opportunities and time allow. It should also be borne in mind that
if we are content to read one volume only, it is quite possible that we
may chance upon an author who is inaccurate or biased, or whose work does
not represent the latest stage of our knowledge upon that subject.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] J. H. Burton.
[21] Mr. Frederic Harrison.
[22] Mr. Frederic Harrison.
[23] P. G. Hamerton.
[24] Richard of Bury (lived 1281-1345).
[25] M. Octave Uzanne.
[26] Mr. A. L. Humphreys.
[27] Mr. Frederic Harrison.
[28] Mr. A. L. Humphreys.
[29] There is no doubt that Burton was largely indebted to Payne for his
'translation'; indeed he is said merely to have paraphrased and
rearranged the version which Payne had just previously prepared for the
Villon Society, adding explanatory notes of a character which renders it
essential that his edition be kept under lock and key. It was issued to
subscribers by Burton himself in London (though ostensibly 'by the
Kamashastra Society at Benares'), being printed, and probably bound, by
Brill at Leyden. The Kamashastra Society was a myth. The ten volumes
(1885-6) were sold to the subscribers at ten guineas the set, and the
entire edition (1000) was subscribed for before publication. (_Ex
inform_: E. H.-A., one of the original subscribers and a friend of
Burton.) Six volumes of _Supplemental Nights_ were issued by Burton
between 1886 and 1888. A set of the sixteen volumes now costs about forty
pounds. It was reprinted (by H. S. Nichols) in 1894, in twelve volumes,
only slightly expurgated, the present price being about twelve pounds. A
supplementary volume of illustrations was issued with this last edition.
[30] Mr. Frederic Harrison.
[31] Isaac Disraeli.
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