_Lib. Old Eng. Prose Writers--Vol. 9.--Boston, 1834._
Self-sufficiency, under one form or another, is the predominant vice of
the present age. A disposition to neglect the gathered wisdom of former
times, and to deny all reverence to customs and institutions from which
our fathers deemed it inseparable, and to go forward rejoicing in _our
own_ strength, is becoming more and more apparent. And whether we
regard this sentiment as the fool-hardiness resulting from ignorance,
and as ‘the pride which goeth before a fall,’ or, which we are more
inclined to do, as the exultation of conscious might, and the prelude
of more glorious achievements--still it is a vice, and requires the
most vigorous exertions to check its further progress. These remarks
are most obviously applicable to political matters, but they are not
without meaning in reference to _literature_. Even in this department
of knowledge, there has become manifest a proneness to circumscribe
curiosity and inquiry within the narrow circle of cotemporary writers,
to extol our popular authors, as the only ones deserving our attention,
and as incontestably superior to all who have gone before them. It is
difficult to determine whether this feeling is more unjust to those
great lights of learning, who laid the _foundations_ of our literature,
by defrauding them of their merited homage, or more unfortunate for
ourselves, by depriving us of their illumination. Nor is it less
_absurd_, than it is unjust and unfortunate. For if we are indeed at
the culminating point, whence beams of light and beauty shall fall on
succeeding ages, the closest investigation can but confirm the truth;
but if we are _not_, by timely consideration we may be saved from the
error of those ancient astronomers, who assumed this little earth to be
the center of the universe, and _therefore_, at each supposed advance,
plunged deeper in error and perplexity. And those, who, in utter
ignorance of our older writers, are ever asserting the preeminence
of Byron and Bulwer and Irving, should be careful, lest, with those
who have traveled further in the world of letters, they may incur the
charge of weakness, no less ridiculous than that of the vain Chinese,
who imagine _their_ land, the only radiant point in a world of darkness.
Nor would the results of a candid and thorough examination of the early
English writers, be really prejudicial to the reputation of cotemporary
works; for though we might return from our researches with a less
extravagant complacency in the productions of living authors, it would
be more strongly established. We should meet with opposite merits and
opposite faults. If our current literature is more frivolous, theirs
is more prolix; if their thoughts are more sound, and their style
more simple, our reasoning is more pointed, and our expression more
sparkling--if we are more disgusted here with spurious originality, we
are oftener wearied there with staid monotony.
We have been led into these reflections, by the perusal of several
volumes of ‘the Library of Old English Prose Writers.’ Among the many
series, which have of late appeared in England and this country, under
the specious name of ‘Libraries,’ there is none so truly deserving as
this, of the approbation and support of the educated and intellectual
portion of the community--and to them, from its peculiar character,
it must be almost entirely confined. Other publications, appealing to
the interests or the love of novelty and excitement of the ‘reading
public,’ meet with a ready support. But this series, whose design and
tendency is to correct this corrupt taste, and chasten this morbid
partiality to the matter-of-fact, or the romantic, cannot expect a
promiscuous patronage. It is emphatically the _literature of literary
men_, and all such, if they have any sympathy with ‘sober thought,
in simple language dressed,’ nay, to appeal to selfish motives only,
if they have any regard for the improvement of their taste, the
strengthening of their own minds, or the purifying of their own style,
will not fail to search out and drink deeply of these ‘healthful wells
of English undefiled.’ We would gladly ramble through the several
works of which the ‘Library’ is composed, but time does not permit,
and we hasten to the consideration of the last of their number, with
the simple remark that the plan of the undertaking is so praiseworthy,
and the manner of its execution thus far has evinced so correct a
judgment, and refined a taste, that we cannot but regret that any
circumstances should for a moment delay its progress.
The fame of Sir Thomas More’s Utopia must be familiar to every ear. Its
authority as a classic is so high, quotations from it are so numerous,
and allusions to it among literary, political and metaphysical writers,
are so frequent and eulogistic, that no one who has passed beyond the
first lispings of polite learning, can be presumed ignorant of its
general character. But a much smaller number, probably, are acquainted
with it from actual examination and study. Before the appearance of
this edition it had long been out of print in this country, or excluded
from general circulation by being buried in an expensive and cumbrous
volume, among the ponderous controversial writings of its author; and
in rescuing it from its unfortunate companionship, the editor has
conferred no slight gratification upon the lovers of serious thought
and quaint style. A clear view of the design and plan of the work,
cannot better be obtained, than by a brief analysis of its contents.
The author, for the convenience of setting forth his ideal of a perfect
commonwealth, in a plainer and bolder manner than the jealousy of
the government and the church would allow, feigns the existence of
an island, Utopia, in a remote quarter of the globe, unknown to the
people of Europe, and recently discovered by the celebrated navigator,
Vespucci. Raphael Hylleloday, a philosopher, who accompanied Vespucci
in his voyages, through curiosity, to examine the condition of the
new-found nations, having become intimately versed in the history and
manners of the Utopians, conveys a lengthened and minute account of the
same to his friend More, at that time employed in the ‘king’s embassat’
in Flanders.
Upon this hypothesis, the philosophical romance is founded; and
under the form of historical narrative, the author unfolds his
views of the manners, customs, pursuits, government and religion,
which would obtain among a perfectly happy people. He condemns with
severity, and ridicules with sharpness, the policy, both temporal and
spiritual, which was pursued by the governments of Europe, and the
whole system of social relations, which prevailed among the people.
He exposes with equal fearlessness, the folly and wickedness of royal
tyranny, prelatical intolerance, and private avarice. He pictures in
earnest simplicity, the advantages of equality of rank, temperance
in living, freedom of opinion, and general education; and much more
than anticipates in theory, all the advances which have actually
been made, in more than three centuries. In order to feel the full
admiration, which the perusal of the ‘Utopia’ should legitimately
excite, the reader must constantly bear in mind, the period at which
the author wrote. Many positions, which to us appear obvious and common
place,--because we have been familiar with them, as undoubted truisms,
from our childhood--evinced in our author surpassing vigor of thought,
and boldness of purpose, joined with a sagacity almost prophetic.
The extent to which he pushed his liberality in religion, in an age
distinguished for its bloody bigotry, may be learned from the following
extract. (p. 159.)
“For this is one of their most ancient laws, that no
man ought to be punished for his religion. At the first
constitution of their government, Utopas having understood,
that before his coming among them, the old inhabitants had
been engaged in great quarrels concerning religion, by which
they were so divided among themselves, that he found it an
easy thing to conquer them, since instead of uniting their
forces against him, every different party in religion fought
by themselves; after he had subdued them, he made a law that
every man might be of what religion he pleased, and might
endeavor to draw others to it by the force of argument, and
by amicable and modest ways, but without bitterness against
those of other opinions; but that he ought to use no other
force but that of persuasion, and was neither to mix with it
reproaches nor violence; and such as did otherwise were to
be condemned to banishment or slavery.”
To affirm that all the maxims and institutions in this fictitious
system of politics are unexceptionable, and would be desirable if
_realized_, would be foolish eulogium--indeed, in some very important
features, (we would refer particularly to the chapters on ‘the
Manner of Living,’ on ‘Slavery,’ and on ‘Marriages,’) the progress
of political science and moral philosophy, has shown that there is
much that is erroneous and defective. The grand error is, and it is a
very common one among theorists, in allowing to corrupt human nature
a higher degree of moral perfection, than it has ever yet vindicated
its claims to, and, resting upon this unsubstantial basis, must fall
to the ground. The candid reader, however, cannot fail to admire the
acuteness and honesty of the reasoning, and to wonder at the nobleness
of the sentiments upon the great subjects of civil and religious
freedom, when he reflects that the author was a courtier under the
despotic Henry VIII, and was a tenacious Romanist, amid the fierce
struggles of the Reformation. He will also be highly pleased with the
simplicity of language in which the profoundest truths are conveyed,
and will often be provoked to a smile, as he detects, under the modest
guise of our author’s graceful style, many a thought, which with
pompous epithet, and startling antithesis, has been brought forth as
the offspring of the ‘wonderful advance of mind in the XIXth century.’
And if he should be ready to point at some passages as absurd, and
at others as childishly simple, let him remember, that according to
competent critics, the prince of ancient philosophers, Plato, is not
free from similar crudities. The most valuable portions of the work,
are those which are employed in the discussion of permanent moral and
political principles, though the most curious and amusing, are the
descriptions of the island, and of the domestic and civil habits of its
citizens. There are, here and there, some positions of even ludicrous
extravagance, which the author, it would seem, intended to serve him as
a refuge from the charge of heresy, by giving his book the aspect of an
idle and humorous fiction.
The latter half of the volume is occupied with the ‘History of King
Richard III’--and though it does not possess the intrinsic value of
the Utopia, it acquires even a higher interest from the circumstance
of its being the _earliest specimen_ of English prose, intelligible to
readers of the present day.[2] It is also deserving of great attention,
as the original chronicle of that troublous and tragical reign, written
while several of the actors in its scenes are yet living. It is in
this light, as the ‘Father of English Prose,’ that the character of
Sir Thomas More appears most interesting. He was the first to break
loose from the prevailing custom, which confined all learning and
philosophy and history, to the constrained medium of a dead language,
and commenced those efforts in the living English, which have resulted
in giving us a vernacular prose literature, unequalled by that of any
other language in the world. He was fortunate too in living just at
that period, when the language had acquired sufficient elegance and
copiousness, to render it in a great measure permanent. The tasteful
reader will be tempted to wish that our native Saxon had been suffered
to retain its pristine vigor, unencumbered with such ponderous
accumulations, as it has since received, though it had remained less
magnificent in its periods, and less fertile in synonymes.
The principal points worthy of notice in this venerable composition,
are, the honest straight-forward course of the narrative, the
discrimination in the portraiture of character, and in tracing outward
actions to their secret causes, and the nature and individuality shown
in the speeches, which, in imitation of the manner of Livy and Sallust,
he puts in the mouths of his personages. We were much struck with
the _perfect_ coincidence with this authentic chronicle, maintained
in Shakspeare’s drama of Richard III. It is exceedingly thorough
and minute, and affords gratifying evidence that the efforts of the
imagination may with success be made subservient to impressing and
illustrating historical truth. As an instance of this resemblance, as
well as for the purpose of exhibiting our author’s _original_ style, we
quote as follows. (p. 302-304.)
“And thus, as I have learned of them that much knew and
little cause had to lie, were these two noble princes,
these innocent, tender children, born of most royal blood,
brought up in great wealth, likely long to live to reign and
rule in the realm, by traitorous tyranny taken, deprived of
their estate, shortly shut up in prison, and privily slain
and murthered, their bodies cast, God wot where, by the
cruel ambition of their unnatural uncle and his dispiteous
tormentors. Which things on every part well pondered, God
never gave this world a more notable example, neither in
what unsurety standeth this worldly weal, or what mischief
worketh the proud enterprise of a high heart, or finally
what wretched end ensueth such dispiteous cruelty. For
first, to begin with the ministers, Miles Forrest at Saint
Martin’s piecemeal rotted away. Dighton indeed yet walketh
on alive, in good possibility to be hanged ere he die. But
Sir James Tyrrel died at Tower hill, beheaded for treason.
King Richard himself, as ye shall hereafter hear, slain in
the field, hacked and hewed of his enemies’ hands, harried
on horseback dead, his hair in despite torn and togged
like a cur dog. And the mischief that he took, within less
than three years of the mischief that he did. And yet all
the mean time, spent in much pain and trouble outward,
much fear, anguish and sorrow within. For I have heard by
credible report of such as were secret with his chamberers,
that after this abominable deed done, he never had quiet
in his mind, he never thought himself sure. Where he went
abroad, his eyen whirled about, his body privily fenced, his
hand ever on his dagger, his countenance and manner like one
always ready to strike again; he took ill rest a nights, lay
long waking and musing, sore wearied with care and watch,
rather slumbered than slept, troubled with fearful dreams,
suddenly sometime start up, leap out of his bed and run
about the chamber; so was his restless heart continually
tossed and tumbled with the tedious impression and stormy
remembrance of his abominable deed.”
The character of Sir Thomas More is one of the noblest that the whole
circle of history can present, and his whole career was as glorious,
in the highest sense of that term, as the loftiest aspirations could
desire. His fame rests not on the adventitious distinctions of rank
or political authority, or on the short lived eminence, conferred by
popular idolatry; for, though he was placed high in office, though he
was courted by his sovereign, beloved by his equals, and worshiped by
his inferiors--the native power of his intellect, and loftiness of
his spirit, shed the proudest luster upon his name. We have already
had occasion to notice some points of his greatness, in the review
of his works. In his Utopia we found him a subtle reasoner, and bold
asserter of the rights of man; and in his history, we met with an
honest annalist, and skillful pioneer in the untraced paths of English
literature. In many other respects he was no less gifted by nature, and
favored by fortune. He was the first _lay_ chancellor of England, that
high station, before his accession, having been entirely monopolized by
churchmen. He is the _first_ person in English history distinguished
for senatorial eloquence, and the earliest champion of parliamentary
liberty. He was the first, as speaker of the House of Commons, to
teach that body the use of that power, which, as keeper of the purse
of the nation, it possessed, and which, in later times, it has exerted
with so overwhelming an influence on the destinies of the nation. In a
word, he was the _first_ of British ministers, who deserved, in all its
breadth, the title of a _statesman_. His personal character was no less
lovely, than his public career was commanding. The sweetness of his
disposition, the mirthfulness of his temper, his reluctance to engage
in the stormy contentions of political ambition, the depth of his
learning, and the order of his piety, are alike conspicuous--and the
manner of his death has associated his fame with that of the martyrs to
tyranny ‘for conscience sake.’