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LECTURES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ISTORY OF LITERATURE, 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN, 
 
 dfrom tf)e German of 
 
 FEEDEEICK SCHLEGEL, 
 
 NOW FIRST COMPLETELY TRANSLATED, 
 
 AND ACCOMPANIED BY 
 
 A GENERAL INDEX. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 :. G. BOHN, YOEK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 1859. 
 
^tduntian 
 
 x, 
 
 TO HIS EXCELLENCY CLEMENS WENCESLAUS LOTHEIt 
 
 PRINCE METTERNICH, 
 
 HIS IMPERIAL AND APOSTOLIC MAJESTY'S PRIVY-CHANCELLOR, 
 
 PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE, AND MINISTER OP FOREIGN AFFAIRS, 
 
 &C. &C. &C. 
 
 i I venture to dedicate to your Excellency this course of 
 Lectures on Literature, in their present improved form, with 
 feelings of profound veneration. It were no slight grati- 
 fication to know that the picture it gives of the intellectual 
 features of the most remarkable European nations, possessed 
 an interest in your eyes. I might then venture to hope 
 that I had accomplished some portion at least of my design. 
 Eor it has been my special wish to assist in filling up the great 
 chasm which still severs the literary world and man's intel- 
 lectual life from practical reality, and to exhibit the momen- 
 tous influence of a nation's intellectual culture on the course 
 of universal progress and the fate of Empires. If not 
 merely the learned and the ordinary friends of literature, 
 but those also who are called to direct this progress, were 
 pleased to approve and take an interest in my representa- 
 
 »tion, I should require no better proof that my attempt 
 has not entirely failed. With this feeling, then, it is very 
 flattering to me to have received your Excellency's permis- 
 
 Ision to dedicate my present yolume to you ; and I derive 
 additional pleasure from the opportunity thereby afforded 
 me of recording those sentiments of respect and grateful 
 homage which will never cease to be entertained for your 
 Excellency by your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 Vienna, 1815. FREDERICK SCHLEGEL. 
 
 In these sentiments the present publisher, with grateful 
 feelings, heartily joins. 
 
 London, 1859- « HeNET Gr. BOHK. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 % in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/lecturesonhistorOOschl_0 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 11 The works of the brothers Schlegel, as far as it is pro- 
 \f t pose d to translate them for the Standard Library, are com 
 jtpleted by the present volume, which comprises perhaps the 
 jLnost masterly, either of their joint or separate productions, 
 llndeed it has been currently recognized in Germany as "a 
 [great national possession." The literary public will have 
 become familiar with the substance of these celebrated Lec- 
 tures, by the pleasing though rather free abridgment of 
 them, attributed to the late Mr. Lockhart, which has gone 
 through several editions both in England and America. 
 The publisher had long entertained the intention of adding 
 the work to his series, in a complete and unabridged form, 
 but while there was a substitute of any kind in the market 
 he saw no reason for haste. The time having at length 
 arrived when it seemed to him that publication ought to 
 be no longer delayed, he engaged for a translation with a 
 gentleman whom, though untried, he believed to be perfectly 
 competent. But when the first sheets came from the 
 printer he found them so unsatisfactory that, after revising 
 a considerable portion himself, he placed the remainder 
 in the hands of one of his most careful coadjutors. There 
 are therefore three translators concerned in the present 
 volume, upon one of whom at least the public have been 
 accustomed to rely. 
 
 It must be conceded that it is by no means an easy task 
 to transfuse the rich and poetical style of Schlegel into its 
 equivalent in English, but it is a rule with the publisher 
 
Tl PKEEACE. 
 
 never to nave any thing omitted or slurred over on account 
 of its difficulty. In the previous translation there are many 
 omissions, including much of Schlegel's religious feeling, 
 which, as he tells us in his preface (never before translated), 
 is meant to be a distinguishing feature of his book — this, no 
 doubt, is an injustice to the author. 
 
 It is a curious fact that neither the German original, in 
 any of its numerous editions, nor the English or French 
 translations, are accompanied by an Index, which in a His- 
 tory of Literature seems most especially required : in the 
 present edition this deficiency is supplied. 
 
 Schlegel's work, on its first complete publication in Ger 
 many, was dedicated to that eminent statesman, Prince 
 MettemicJi, then in the zenith of his distinguished career, — j 
 it is now on its first complete publication in England, after a ■ 
 lapse of forty-five years, again dedicated to him, while he is I 
 still happily in the full vigour of his mental capacity ; and 
 that, as the cycle of events has willed it, by the son of one 
 who was his companion and schoolfellow threescore and • 
 ten years ago. 
 
 Heney G. Bohn. 
 February, 1850. j 
 
 l j 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION OF 1815. 
 
 Twenty years have now elapsed since the appearance of 
 rny first efforts in reviewing the literature and genius of 
 Greece. Although the youthful enthusiasm pervading those 
 efforts could not completely realize the proposed aim in 
 .every direction, yet, upon the whole, the undertaking was 
 not unfavourably received : having gradually met with indul- 
 gence, and even encouraging approval, at the hands of the 
 Jablest judges, owing probably to the sincerity of my 
 (endeavours. 
 
 After thus passing several years in seclusion devoted 
 wholly to the study of ancient literature, I no sooner laid 
 (my first attempt before the public than I was stimulated by 
 its success and the powerful excitement of the age, to direct 
 my enquiries to modern literature : this was effected partly 
 in conjunction with my brother A. "W. Schlegel and 
 partly alone, after my own method. But my system 
 of thought differed so widely from prevalent standards that 
 the undertaking, although not altogether without results, in 
 reference to the very marked influence it exercised, was calcu- 
 lated to excite opposition and censure rather than to enlist 
 friends. 
 
 Meanwhile, external effects could never long interrupt 
 the progress of my private investigations, inasmuch as the 
 satisfaction of my own literary curiosity at all times con- 
 stituted the primary object of my pursuits, and was of 
 more consequence in my eyes than mere literary renown. 
 This yearning after knowledge naturally led me to Oriental 
 languages and the less familiar domains of Indian literature, 
 it a time of life generally considered too advanced to admit 
 of the commencement of fresh studies. The first-fruits of 
 these investigations were submitted to my contemporaries, 
 some six years ago, in my Treatise on the Language and 
 Philosophy of India.* 
 
 * Published in Schlegel's Aesthetic Works. Bohn, 1849, 3s 6d. 
 
Vlll PKEFACE. 
 
 During all these varied literary occupations, Mediaeval 
 Art, and more especially old German poetry, language, and 
 history, strongly attracted my attention and regard. Though) 
 commenced at an earlier period,this particular department oil 
 enquiry was chiefly pursued during the twelve years that havej 
 elapsed since 1802. "Whatever, in its various branches, ap-j 
 peared to me especially remarkable, or not generally known, 
 I have touched upon as occasion served : other materials 
 are before me, and partly prepared, but not yet at sufficient 
 maturity to be published. 
 
 Thus it has happened that my labours in the domains of 
 literature, devoted chiefly to the history of poetic art andj 
 criticism, have remained fragmentary from their veryi 
 manifold and diversified nature ; and I have long enter-i 
 tained a wish to effect a systematic review of the whole. 
 The lectures I delivered in the spring of 1812, before a nu- 
 merous audience, afforded me the desired opportunity, since 
 they were composed in a manner adapted to the general pub- 
 lic and to the press. I venture at least to flatter myself that 
 many of those who took an interest in my former literary; 
 exertions in individual branches may not be unwilling t 
 accept this comprehensive summary ; whilst there are som 
 perhaps, to whom the present features of my plan may b 
 interesting, though they found little attraction in the critical 
 details of my former disquisitions. 
 
 An actual literary history, replete with quotations and 
 biographical notices, must not be expected here. My only 
 purpose has been to pourtray the genius of literature during 
 every age, as a whole, and to trace the course of its development 
 among the most important nations. Detailed critical enquiry, 
 on individual topics, such as I have frequently attempted 
 in my other treatises, was not within the province of my 
 present undertaking, which is restricted to a general survey. 
 Yet the results of such enquiries will often be found briefly 
 stated on occasions when those results appeared to be not 
 only novel but even important in their general bearing. 
 From the characteristics given of the most distinguished 
 authors, it will be readily perceived that I have communed 1 
 long and frequently with them. If at any time, with the 
 object of illustration, a work inaccessible to my research, 
 however unimportant, excepting as one of a series, has to be 
 adduced, this fact will be duly indicated. 
 
PEEFACE. IX 
 
 Should this Delineation of Literature embrace more of the 
 
 story of Philosophy than might be expected from such 
 
 |i title, let this not be accounted as excrescent or accidental : 
 since it fully accords with my peculiar conceptions of litera- 
 ture, insisted on throughout, that it is the comprehensive 
 3ssence of the Intellectual Life of a Nation. It is hoped, 
 therefore, that this superfluity, even if regarded as such, will 
 not be deemed a fault. 
 
 Feedeeick Schlegel. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LECTUEE I. 
 
 Introduction and plan of the Work. — Influence of Literature on the 
 mode of life and the moral dignity of Nations. — Poetry of the 
 Greeks from the earliest ages to the days of Sophocles 
 
 LECTUEE II. 
 
 Later Greek Literature. — Sophistry and Philosophy. — Alexan- 
 drinian Period . . . . . . . 2? 
 
 LECTUEE III. 
 
 Review. — Influence of the Greeks over the Romans.— Sketch of 
 Roman Literature . . . . . .55 
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 
 Brief duration of Roman Literature. — New epoch under Hadrian. — 
 Influence of Oriental thought over the Philosophy of the West. — 
 Mosaic records, Hebrew poetry. — The Persian Religion. — Idea of 
 the Bible, and characteristics of the Old Testament 
 
 1 
 
 LECTURE V. 
 
 Indian Monuments and Epics. — Ancient modes of Sepulture. — 
 Indian Literature and Intellect . . . . .10' 
 
 LECTURE VI. 
 
 Retrospect to Europe. — Influence of Christianity on the Language 
 and Literature of Rome. — Characteristics of the New Testa- 
 ment. — The Nations of the North. — Gothic Epics. — Odin, Runic 
 Writings, the Edda . . . . . .133 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LECTUEE VII. 
 
 Teutonic Poetry. — The Middle Ages. — Origin of modern European 
 Languages. — Mediaeval Poetry. — Love-Songs. — Influence of Nor- 
 man Character on the Spirit of Chivalrous Poetry— more espe- 
 cially relating to Charlemagne . . . . .156 
 
 LECTUEE VIII. 
 
 'Third set of chivalrous Poems. — Arthur and the Round Table. — 
 Influence of the Crusades and of the East on the Poetry of the 
 West. — Arabic Song.— The Persian Epic of Ferdusi. — Last com- 
 pilation of the Nibelungen-Lied. — Wolfram von Eschenbach. — 
 Real import of Gothic Architecture. — Later chivalrous Poetry. — 
 TheCid 177 
 
 LECTUEE IX. 
 
 (Italian Literature. — Mediaeval All egory. — Christianity and Poetry. — 
 Dante, Petrarch, Boccacio. — General character of Italian Poetry. 
 — Latin verse of modern times. — Injurious influence of the same. — 
 Old Roman systems of polity. — Macchiavelli. — Important Dis- 
 coveries of the fifteenth century . . . . - 196 
 
 LECTUEE X. 
 
 Literature of the Northern and Eastern Nations of Europe. — Scho- 
 lastic Divinity and German Mysticism of the Middle Ages . 216 
 
 LECTUEE XL 
 
 , General Remarks on Philosophy previous and subsequent to the 
 Reformation. — Poetry of Catholic Countries — Spain, Portugal, 
 Italy. — Garcilaso, Ercilla, Camoens, Tasso, Guarini, Marino, 
 Cervantes . . . . . . . . 236 
 
 LECTUEE XII. 
 
 Romance. — Dramatic Poetry of Spain. — Spenser, Shakspere, Mil- 
 ton. — Age of Louis XIV. — Erench Tragedy . . .258 
 
 LECTUEE XIII. 
 
 Philosophy of the Seventeenth Century. — Bacon, Hugo Grotius, 
 Descartes, Bossuet, Pascal. — Change iu mode of Thought. — 
 Spirit of the Eighteenth Century. — Sketch of Erench Atheism 
 and Revolutionary Spirit . . . . . ,286 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LECTURE XIV. 
 
 Lighter Productions of the French, and imitation of the English. — 
 Fashionable Literature in France and England. — Modern Ro- 
 mance. — Prose of Rousseau and Buffon. — Lamartine. — English 
 popular Poetry. — Scott and Byron. — Modern Theatre of the 
 Italians. — English Criticism and History. — Scepticism and moral 
 belief. — Return to a purer and loftier Philosophy in France. — ' 
 Bonald and St. Martin, Lamennais and De Maistre. — Sir William ~> 
 Jones and Burke ....... 30&" 
 
 f 
 LECTURE XV. 
 
 Retrospect. — German Philosophy.— Spinoza and Leibnitz. — Lan- 
 guage and Poetry of Germany during the Sixteenth and Seven- 
 teenth Centuries ; Luther, Hans Sachs, Jacob Boehmen. — Opitz 
 and the Silesian School. — Degeneracy of Taste after the Peace 
 of Westphalia: Occasional Poems. — German Poets of the first 
 half of the Eighteenth Centary. — Frederic II. — Klopstock: the 
 Messiah and Northern Mythology. — Wieland's chivalrous Poetry. 
 — Metrical quantity of the Ancients adapted to the German Lan- 
 guage. — Defence of Rhyme. — Adelung, Gottsched, and the so- 
 called Golden Age. — First Generation of Modern German Lite- 
 rature, or Period of the Founders . . . . . 330 : 
 
 LECTURE XVI. 
 
 General Survey. — Epoch of Genial Literature. — Direction of Poetry 
 to Nature and the Living Reality of the Present. — German Cri- 
 ticism. — Lessing and Herder: Prevalent ^Esthetics. — Lessingasa 
 Philosopher : Freedom of Thought and the Illuminati : the 
 Emperor Joseph II.— Character of the third Generation: Philo- 
 sophy of Kant. — Goethe and Schiller. — Future Prospects. — Fichte 
 and Tieck.— Real Character of German Literature. — Compre- 
 hensive Idea of the Present Era . . . . . 359* J 
 
piSTOBY OF ANCIENT AND MODERN 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 v v< 
 
 PIEST LECTUEE. 
 
 & i 
 
 1 
 
 l 
 
 Introduction and plan or the work.— -Influence of 
 Literature on the mode of life and the moral 
 dignity of Nations.— Poetry of the Greeks from 
 
 THE EARLIEST AGES TO THE DAYS OF SOPHOCLES. 
 
 : In the following lectures I purpose to take a comprehen. 
 sive survey of the development and spirit of literature amono- 
 the principal nations of ancient as well as of modern times : 
 djid more especially to consider literature in reference to 
 Ms influence on practical life, on ihe destiny of nations, and 
 I n the progress of ages. 
 
 The eighteenth century witnessed an important change 
 i mental culture, especially in Germany, and one which 
 annot but be regarded as fortunate. Not that the indivi- 
 ual efforts and achievements of art or science deserve 
 Ldiscrimmate praise, or were uniformly successful. But 
 ith respect to the extended relations of Literature, its closer 
 'mpathies with ordinary life, and the influence which it 
 :ercises, as well individually as on the nation, this change 
 « proved no less beneficial than it was necessary. 
 1 he learned, as a class, were formerly altogether separated 
 1 the rest of the world, as entirely from the higher ' 
 
THE GEEMAN LANGUAGE. 
 
 ranks of society, as these were from the mass of tl 
 people. Keppler and Leibnitz wrote, for the most part, ii 
 Latin: Frederic the Second read, wrote, and thought onl 
 in French. The learned and the noble alike neglecte 
 their mother tongue. National recollections and feelin 
 were abandoned to the guardianship of the people, amon 
 whom still lingered some remnants of the good old timd 
 however feeble and mutilated ; or they remained sacred t\ 
 youthful enthusiasm and the daring speculations of a fe^J 
 poets and authors, who began to project a new order o[J 
 things. Yet, so long as these efforts were individual, irrc 
 gular, and wanting in combinative force, even youthful er 
 thusiasm could not always claim the triumph of complet i 
 success, or produce unequivocal results. \ 
 
 The estrangement to which I have referred as existing be- 
 tween the learned, the fashionable, and the great body of the 
 people, respectively, prevailed throughout the whole of Ger- 
 many during the latter half of the seventeenth, and the 
 early portion of the eighteenth, centuries : and, indeed, the 
 natural consequences thereof may be said not to have ter- 
 minated even then in individual instances, though, upon the 
 whole, a marked difference— the lengthening shadow of an 
 eventful future — was clearly observable. At length, the 
 rapidly increasing number of distinguished productions, or at 
 least laudable attempts, dating from the middle of the eigh- 
 teenth century, drew attention to the innate riches of the 
 German language. Universal admiration was now directed 
 to the great, the good, and the beautiful, which had so Ion a 
 been suffered to lie dormant. Advantages inherent in tha 
 German idiom, such as its energy, flexibilitjr, copiousness, 
 began to be duly appreciated. These qualities had been 
 concealed simply because the language had never before be^i| 
 treated in a congenial manner. And now, the more th; 
 patriotic reminiscences and affections were stirred up withi 
 the bosom of her sons, the more intense became the lo^ 
 of Germans for their mother-tongue. The acquisition d 
 foreign languages, living or dead — an accomplishment -J 
 necessary to the learned — no longer involved neglect of tbij'f 
 own : a neglect which invariably recoils on the head of Jit 
 offender, and rarely, if ever, suggests a favourable opinioi [f 
 his intellectual powers or attainments. The pains besto™ d 
 
I 
 
 LEAEKED EXCLTTSIYENESS. 
 
 n the acquisition of foreign languages now turned to good 
 ccount in behalf of the mother-tongue. All foreign idioms, 
 ven living ones, must needs be studied more elaborately than 
 he mother tongue. But this sharpened the linguistic 
 acuity : the sense that had been rendered acute in prac- 
 tising foreign languages, now directed its operations to its 
 lj)wn, as well in cultivating as criticising. A worthy rivalry 
 ensued in well-directed efforts to add to the native excellence 
 j of the German- — its strength and copiousness — the varied 
 perfections of other languages both ancient and modern. 
 
 It is not my intention to confine my remarks to the litera- 
 ture of Germany: my enquiries, will, on the contrary, em- 
 brace that of all Europe. I may observe here that in other 
 countries, equally with Germany, the eighteenth century 
 inaugurated a return to the national genius, marked by 
 features of corresponding import and similar nature. In 
 illustration of this, I need only adduce the example of 
 England. In England, too, prostrate as it was during the 
 second half of the seventeenth century from the effects of 
 the civil wars that raged under the Protectorate, national 
 taste had run wild, had grown licentious, imitative, and 
 exotic in character. The language itself was neglected, 
 the grand old poets and writers were almost forgotten. No 
 sooner had England recovered her political independence, by 
 means of a successful revolution, than her literature nourished 
 anew. All affectation of foreign tastes and manners was 
 banished from the soil : the people turned to their great na- 
 tional poets with redoubled ardour. By dint of careful cul- 
 ture the language assumed correctness of form : master-spirits 
 arose, ancient memorials were fondly cherished ; to each relic 
 of the past, however trifling, a significance hitherto unknown 
 was attached ; so that in process of time, Britons fell under 
 the meritorious reproach of too exclusive a nationality. 
 
 The isolation of the learned, as a distinctive body, from 
 the great mass of the people, is the most formidable obstacle 
 in the way of national civilization. The various innate in- 
 clinations, nay the very conditions and circumstances of men 
 should, to a certain extent, cooperate, if the productions of 
 the mind are to be perfected or appreciated. For how, in- 
 deed, could any work be considered excellent, in which the 
 fiery enthusiasm of youth is not blended with the mature 
 
 b 2 
 
4 LITERATURE AND LIFE. 
 
 wisdom of age ? Neither ought the tenderness of womanly 
 feeling to be wanting, as a leading element, in influencin 
 the tone and manner of mental productions if they woul 
 aspire to the domains of the beautiful— if the genius of A 
 nation is to be purely developed and its nobility of character 
 maintained. The products of the mind cannot really be 
 said to have any other fertile soil, in which to take root) 
 than those sentiments common to all noble-minded and God- 
 seeking men, and, with these, the genuine patriotism and 
 national reminiscences of a people whose accents they breathe 
 and whose welfare they are intended to promote. The dis- 
 covery seems at last to have been made that, for the purposes 
 of mental culture, an union of the various faculties of man, a 
 concentration of energy and discipline — too often dissevered 
 — is absolutely necessary. The matured wisdom of the 
 philosopher, the rapid survey and quick decision of the 
 practical man, the earnest inspiration of the artist living 
 solely for his art, and the refinement to be found only in the 
 intercourse of social life, have actually come in contact, or, at 
 least, stand not so utterly aloof from each other as formerly. 
 Yet, whilst recent times have witnessed considerable im- 
 provement in the literature of several countries— in its in- 
 creased nationality, higher development of mind, and closer 
 affinity with the concerns of daily life, — difficulties before 
 alluded to have not, as yet, been fully met. How often do 
 we see literature and life completely alienated in this Grer- 
 many of ours : like two distinct worlds having no interests, 
 no sympathies in common ; or only exerting an injurious in- 
 fluence by unsettling and perplexing on the one hand, ob- 
 structing and paralysing on the other. And thus the manifold 
 variety essentially characteristic of the productions of the 
 mind, comprehended in the general term — literature — is to a 
 great extent lost to the world, or at least is very far from 
 exercising that amount of beneficial influence either on indi- 
 viduals or the nation which it might and ought. Let us turn 
 our attention briefly to the present condition of literature, 
 and consider more especially the opinions generally enter- 
 tained respecting the, relations of the same to actual life. 
 The Poet and the Artist are supposed to claim the peculiar] 
 prerogative of living in an ideal world of their own, asj 
 though this actual every-day world were unsuited to them ; 
 
DISEEGAED OF LITEEATUEE. 5 
 
 | and with regard to the man of learning it has long been an 
 accepted maxim that he is of no practical utility. We 
 mistrust the powers of the practised orator, apprehensive 
 lest he should use them to bend the truth to his own pur- 
 poses with the design of misleading us. Unhappily, ex- 
 perience and the history of our own times, teach us that 
 philosophy not unfrequeutly misleads and involves in the most 
 disastrous perplexity, whilst pretending to direct the foot- 
 steps of the pilgrim to the serene realms of truth. The very 
 charges and grievances preferred by philosophers against each 
 other have contributed to make their mutual disagreements 
 notorious among the uninitiated. Hence it has been inferred, 
 and generally received, that it is not in the nature of Philo- 
 sophy to attain the object of her investigations with certainty, 
 or to decide infallibly, however earnest may be her aim. 
 It is not, however, in accordance with the principles of justice 
 to seek to paralyze the loftiest effort of which the human 
 mind is capable — the knowledge of truth— by associating it 
 with some of the failures that must, more or less, attend on 
 all fallible pursuits. It need not, indeed, create surprise if 
 those who are constantly employed in the administration of 
 state and weighty affairs should be tempted to view the 
 squabbles of authors as a mere drama, neither very important 
 nor attractive. To such an extent have the countless volumes 
 issued from a teeming press satiated the great majority of 
 the reading public, that the appearance of a new book has 
 come to be generally considered as little more than a super- 
 fluous addition to the heap. I have tacitly admitted that 
 authors, savans, poets, and artists, have themselves to blame 
 for a considerable share of the disregard of literature, so 
 prevalent in the world, though not always pointedly expressed ; 
 yet, it will, I think, be readily granted that such disregard 
 is, on the whole, at variance with right feeling and equity. 
 1'or even if the contemptuous remarks levelled at literary 
 productions generally were really based on facts, were there 
 no individual honourable exceptions, did no mental efforts of 
 the philosophic writer tend to promote the good of the world, 
 in general, and of his own country in particular, even then, 
 I take it, the censure would apply to the abuse rather than 
 the practice of an art so momentous, so sublime. This de- 
 preciation is, moreover, prejudicial to the interests of litera- 
 
6 IMPORTANCE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 ture, inasmuch as it is calculated to widen the breach 
 between the inner, intellectual life, and the busy practical 
 world, the schoolman and the statesman, so as, not unfre- 
 quently, to create active hostility and mutual oppression. 
 
 The importance of literature, in regard to the well-being 
 and dignity of nations, cannot well admit of doubt : we will, 
 therefore, proceed at once to a consideration of its essential 
 nature, its train of varied consequences, and the magnitude 
 of its general influence. 
 
 And, first, let us contemplate literature in its true nature, 
 entire extent, and original purpose and importance. This 
 term includes all that circle of the arts and sciences and all 
 the faculties of representation which have life and man him- 
 self for their object, independently of outward act or material 
 agency, working only through the instrumentality of thought 
 and language, without any corporeal matter as a basis. 
 Thereto, in the most especial manner, belongs poetry, and, 
 next in degree, narrative, and descriptive history : then, 
 reasoning and pure speculation, in so far as they influence 
 the actions of human life : finally, wit and eloquence, provided 
 they do not evaporate in the fleeting breath of words, but 
 display themselves in the enduring form of written produc- 
 tions. But this, if rightly understood, includes nearly the 
 whole of man's intellectual life. What is there more 
 completely characteristic of man, or of greater importance to 
 him than language ? Reason alone excepted, and even she 
 must perforce employ the vehicle of language in order to 
 fulfil aright her functions, mankind could not have been 
 endowed with a more precious boon than the voice, compe- 
 tent to intonate every changing shade of sentiment in song, 
 adapted by easy flexibility to form all the subtle combina- 
 tions and intricate articulations, which constitute the me- 
 chanism of language. But of all the discoveries the mind 
 has made by its native energy, the art of writing is incom- 
 parably of the highest value. The Deity could not have pre- 
 sented man with a more glorious gift, than that of language, 
 by the medium of which he is revealed to us, and which links 
 the human race in one bond of common brotherhood. Reason 
 and language, thought and word, are so essenti ally one, that, 
 whiLst on the one hand, we are accustomed to regard thought 
 as the especial prerogative of man, we may, on the other, 
 
INFLUENCE OF OEATOET. 7 
 
 connect speech, in essential significance and import, with 
 the original purposes of his creation. Since it is owing to 
 the endowment of a soul, in whose depths the spirit fashions 
 itself to the fructifying words of life, that man is likened 
 unto his Creator, and in holy Scripture is called the image 
 of the triune Creator.* 
 
 Though we must discriminate in terms of exact distinc- 
 tion between mental conception and verbal expression ; yet 
 it will only be necessary to insist on maintaining, in its full 
 integrity, the line of demarcation in the event of want of har- 
 mony between the constituent elements. Originally one and 
 the same, thought and word, ought not in their most diver- 
 sified application, to be utterly severed, but rather reconciled 
 and united as far as possible. 
 
 And how much soever these two important gifts, which 
 in their nature indeed are simply one, the prerogative 
 that may be said to define and distinguish man's essence — 
 thought and speech — are liable to abuse and error : yet the 
 instinctive consciousness of their intrinsic worth, is abund- 
 antly testified in the consequence we attach to them in exercis- 
 ing our ordinary judgment. It were a work of supererogation 
 to direct attention to the influence of rhetoric upon the 
 concerns of every-day life, or to shew that eloquence has 
 no little sway in biassing our judgment in the course of our 
 relations to each other and to the state. From the indivi- 
 dual we easily pass to the general, and suffer our estimation 
 of the character of nations to be affected by similar considera- 
 tions ; holding those in the highest repute for cultivation of 
 intellect, who are wont to express their thoughts and wishes 
 in a manner at once the most suitable, definite, and agreeable. 
 And thus, from an intuitive preference of external form and 
 expression, we are too often led unduly to postpone an 
 examination of the mental characteristics and moral worth 
 of those passing in review before us. Neither is this mode 
 of criticism confined to individuals and groups in our imme- 
 diate neighbourhood, since we insensibly accustom ourselves 
 to the same criterion respecting those separated from us by 
 a great extent of time and space. Let us take for example 
 the case of a people who are styled by us Barbarians, 
 
 * This passage is altogether omitted in Mr. Lockhart's translation. 
 
8 TKADITIOtf. 
 
 because we are unacquainted with their history and mode of 
 life. The observant traveller has not long set foot upon their 
 shores and become familiar with their language before he feels 
 it necessary to exchange his former prejudices for a more 
 favourable opinion. Barbarians they may be, he exclaims, 
 and ignorant of our arts and refinements, and no less so of 
 their injurious concomitants : but we cannot deny that they 
 are endowed with a vigorous comprehension, and a marvel- 
 lously natural acuteness. How striking are their repartees, 
 how sententious and precise their phraseology. Thus every- 
 where we are compelled to form our opinions of intellect from 
 language and expression, in all phases and under the most 
 varied circumstances of life. These however are individual 
 decisions in individual cases. We shall best discover the 
 dignity and the importance of the arts and sciences repre- 
 sented in a spoken and a written form, if we trace their inti- 
 mate connection with the moral worth and the destiny of 
 nations in the long chapter of the world's history. The real 
 character of literature, as the summary of a nation's intel- 
 lectual capacity and progress, is then exhibited in its fullest 
 extent. 
 
 One of the most important advantages to a nation, in re- 
 gard to its further development and especially its intellectual 
 condition, is seen to be, judging by historical and relative 
 evidence, the possession of a store of national traditions ; 
 these as they become more and more faint in the long vista 
 of ages, it is the especial business of poetry to commemorate 
 with imperishable splendour. Such traditions, the most 
 glorious heirloom of a country, are indeed a possession which 
 nothing else can replace. And when the memory of great 
 deeds of past ages, embodied in matchless strains of poetry, 
 kindles the noblest feelings of a people and fires their bosoms 
 with a glorious ardour, we too, who are called to pronounce 
 upon their merits, are disposed to assign them a leading posi- 
 tion in historic annals. Boundless aspiration, high emprise, 
 notable events, do not alone suffice to ensure renown in the 
 impartial judgment of posterity. Whole dynasties have, 
 at tLe close of a turbulent and unsuccessful career, sunl 
 into oblivion, and left scarce a trace behind them. Others 
 more fortunate, have indeed, perpetuated the memory of thei] 
 
PHILOSOPHERS AMD CONQUERORS. i) 
 
 conquests, but the memorials hardly command our serious 
 attention, unless national genius has stamped such enter- 
 prises and successes, which are of but too frequent recur- 
 rence in history, with a lofty impress. Deeds of prowess 
 and exalted situations cannot, of themselves, command our 
 admiration or determine our judgment ; a people that would 
 rank high in our esteem must themselves be conscious of the 
 importance of their own doings and fortunes. But history 
 is the expression of this natural self consciousness. A 
 people whose splendid triumphs and achievements live in 
 the immortal pages of Livy, whose fading glory and latter 
 degeneracy are displayed by the pen of a Tacitus, claim a 
 foremost rank in the annals of fame ; we should be doing 
 violence to our sense of justice by associating them with 
 the numerous hordes, whose history may be summed up by 
 saying that they came on the stage as freebooters, and as 
 such were driven from it. Of poets and artists, gifted with 
 the power and magic of representation, who have ventured 
 on the highest flights of fancy, and of philosophers skilled 
 in penetrating the hidden depths of thought, the number 
 must ever be small; and these can directly influence but 
 very few in their own generation. But the sphere of their 
 influence extends with the progress of ages, and their 
 worth shines brighter and broader ; while on the other hand, 
 even the lustre of the legislator's name, seen through altered 
 conditions of society, glimmers dimly — and the fame of the 
 conqueror, after a lapse of centuries, however great and 
 all-absorbing may once have been the theme of his achieve- 
 ments, gradually fades, till it becomes a mere speck in his- 
 tory. It may be safely affirmed that Homer and Plato have 
 contributed, not only in our own times, but even in hoary 
 antiquity, in, at least as great a degree, to elevate and ex- 
 tend the fame of Greece, as Solon and Alexander. The 
 poet and the philosopher may unquestionably claim a greater 
 share of the homage paid by the rest of civilized Europe to 
 .Greece, the cradle of European civilization, than the legisla- 
 tor or the conqueror ; the very influence exerted by their 
 genius and works on posterity and on the improvement of 
 the human race exceeds both in extent and duration all the 
 effects which laws and victories have ever produced. Nay, 
 
10 DOMAINS OF LITEEATUEE. 
 
 the fact that Solon and Alexander are yet household words 
 among us is more attributable to the operation of their 
 genius upon intellectual culture, than to those civil institu- 
 tions which are now so foreign to our notions, or to kingdoms 
 carved out by the sword, which have long vanished from the 
 scene. Inasmuch as poets and philosophers of the highest 
 eminence are rare phenomena in the history of the world, 
 their appearance is deservedly regarded as unerringly indi- 
 cating the mental elevation of the people to which they belong. 
 To these lofty characteristics of national poesy and tradition- 
 ary lore — history suggestive of incident and purpose— art 
 in the perfection of refinement, — let us add the gifts of elo- 
 quence, wit and a cultivated language adapted to the pur- 
 poses of polished society — assuming that these be not 
 prostituted to corrupt purposes — and we shall then have a 
 complete picture of a really refined and intellectual people, 
 and at the same time a just conception of a national litera- 
 ture. 
 
 Desirous as I am of delineating literature in its fullest 
 extent and according to its influence on social life, I am but 
 too well aware of the difficulties with which my undertaking 
 is beset. On the one hand being anxious to present the 
 whole of my subject in a synoptical form, I shall, occasionally, 
 be compelled to touch lightly on matters entitled to a more 
 detailed disquisition ; on the other, it will be my duty, in 
 the historical prosecution of my plan, now and then to allude 
 to topics which may seem unimportant to any but the devoted 
 literary student. I am however animated and cheered in 
 the hope of successfully executing my task by the conviction 
 that an intimate connexion, of many years standing, with 
 some of the most various and important minutise of letters, 
 has at any rate created within me a certain fitness. The 
 domains of literature are indeed so spacious that few who 
 know their extent will claim to have traversed them all. 
 The elaborate nature of my researches in many of its choicest 
 fields, extending over a considerable portion of my life, may, 
 not unreasonably, induce me to think that I have at last 
 arrived at a somewhat complete and regular digest of the 
 whole subject : it certainly enables me to form a more mature 
 judgment of what is merely preparatory, and what actually 
 
GEEEKS AND ROMANS. 11 
 
 arrives at a result, and enables me to discriminate between 
 that which is valuable only to the philosopher, and that which 
 possesses intrinsic merit, worthy of the attention and admi- 
 ration of the world. 
 
 Our mental culture is so thoroughly founded on the 
 system of the Ancients, that it is next to impossible 
 to treat of literature without mention of the Greeks 
 and Romans, by way of introduction and as a fair start- 
 ing-point. I, at least, should find it difficult to sketch my 
 views of letters generally, and more especially of modern 
 times, did I not take a previous glance at the salient fea- 
 tures of the literary history of past ages. For all pur- 
 poses of comparison the example of the Greeks displays the 
 ennobling influence of a happily developed literature in the 
 most emphatic manner ; whilst the fatal effects of eloquence 
 degraded into sophistry are nowhere else so obviously ap- 
 parent. This prefatory survey will be made in the most 
 succinct manner possible. In the first place I purpose con- 
 sidering the collective literature of Greece and Home gene- 
 rally — those two nations to whom, jointly, we owe the rich 
 inheritance of our intellectual culture. In terms equally 
 brief I shall then proceed to enquire to what extent in Greek 
 and Eoman times, as well as later, Europe stood indebted 
 to Oriental nations in reference to the advancement of the 
 human mind. It will be said that the older monuments 
 of Asiatic genius ought chronologically to precede ; but 
 as my primary object is to present a picture of Euro- 
 pean culture, and especially to point to the influence of 
 literature on life, it will be more convenient to adduce Oriental 
 modes of thought and systems of philosophy in such a form 
 as shall serve to illustrate its effects on the habits of the 
 European mind. Atteution will then also be directed to our 
 own primeval history, our northern mythology, with the 
 poetry of the feudal ages thence derived, a period in which — 
 during the Crusades — Europe once more came into fruitful 
 contact with the East. The subsequent pages will be devoted 
 to times dating from the revival of the arts and sciences, 
 and to a comprehensive review of the literature of the 
 eighteenth century. And if in the course of the follow- 
 ing enquiries I should, occasionally, succeed in presenting 
 
12 ASIATIC TRADITION". 
 
 the familiar topics of classical literature under a new aspect 
 or some interesting connexion, I trust I may the more 
 readily find indulgence whenever in speaking of modern times 
 I may see fit to advance principles of criticism not in accord- 
 ance with the received standard of our own day. 
 
 Ojf the many inducements, which invite the critic to in- 
 augurate the history of literature with a sketch of Grecian 
 genius, by no means the least cogent is the consideration 
 that the mental culture of the Greeks was pre-eminently self- 
 developed and almost wholly independent of the refinement 
 of other countries. This cannot be asserted of the Romans 
 or any of the later European nations. The Greeks, it is 
 true, derived their letters from the Phoenicians, according to 
 their own testimony, whilst they copied the elements of ar- 
 chitecture and the mathematics, certain philosophic ideas, 
 and many of the arts of life, from Egypt or other Asiatic 
 nations. Their earlier legends and poesy are in many in- 
 stances imbued with the spirit of the oldest traditions of 
 Asia. But these are mere scattered fragments and half- 
 obliterated traces, such as may be found anywhere, pointing 
 to the common origin of the human family and the dawn of 
 mental effort. All that the Greeks ever learned or borrowed 
 they immediately, with the assistance of home-materials, ap- 
 plied themselves to re-casting and adapting. Besides, they 
 were unconnected links, crude conceptions : the great en- 
 tirety of their mental discipline is of their own formation. 
 The Romans, on the contrary, as well as the modern nations 
 of Europe, received a literature and an intellectual system 
 ready moulded — a complete bequest — from other, older na- 
 tions ; the Romans from the Greeks, the moderns from 
 them both and from the East ; which having, with more or 
 less of energy and skill, framed to suit their own exigencies, 
 they appropriated bodily. 
 
 Here and there, as has been remarked, the veins of Asiatic 
 tradition might be seen in the structure of the Grecian 
 system, though they were more numerous and more inti- 
 mately connected with the trunk than a mere cursory glance 
 revealed. The Greeks themselves were all but unconscious 
 of this their Eastern relationship. If at any time they 
 
THE EARLY GREEKS. 13 
 
 i 
 
 chanced to come upon a solitary clue to their earliest home 
 and origin, they were lost in amazement at the novelty : or, 
 with characteristic vivacity, they became entangled in laby- 
 rinthine mazes of speculation. In a vain search for further 
 traces of this nickering light they lost the beautiful harmony, 
 the charming simplicity of Hellenic life and sentiment. 
 Their acquaintance with the East was of far too limited a 
 kind to admit of their penetrating to the actual point at 
 which the history of mankind commences : they were unable 
 to discover the great source from which all human effort 
 sprung, or to trace the many winding ramifications in the 
 pedigree of human life. It has been reserved for us, by 
 means of an accession of knowledge of both countries and 
 idioms, to reconcile Grecian art and legend with their Asiatic 
 origin : and without sacrificing that beautiful simplicity 
 which is the characteristic of Grecian culture. 
 
 And here it may be proper to make the following remarks 
 concerning the earliest ages of the Greeks. On the disper- 
 sion of the primitive stock of mankind through their arro- 
 gance and internal dissensions, the scattered branches that 
 appear in the most ancient histories as so many isolated 
 nations, continued to assume those distinctions of caste and 
 station which, previous to their dispersion, had formed con- 
 stituent elements in the most remote ages of social union. 
 Thus the Egyptians were essentially a sacerdotal people, 
 although other classes, divided into castes, existed among 
 them : simply because every thing emanated from the 
 priestly office, and the influence of the priestly character 
 greatly preponderated. This is likewise the case with the 
 Indians : whilst, under different circumstances, the Hebrews, 
 too, present a picture of perfect theocracy : I need scarcely 
 call attention to like institutions of a sacerdotal character 
 prevalent among the Etruscans in the West. Even in the 
 earlier stages of Eoman history, the Etruscan ground-work of 
 a sacerdotal government will not fail to strike the observer, 
 only that here affairs took a different turn, owing to the 
 concentration of sacerdotal, judicial, and military power in 
 the hands of the patricians. Other nations issuing from the 
 same scattered family group, who subsequently attained to 
 extensive dominion and powerful sway, are to be charac- 
 
14 PELASGIANS. 
 
 terized as warrior people, in reference to the predominance 
 of the martial element and the aristocracy of caste. Under 
 this head, the Medes and Persians claim the foremost place, 
 and, next in degree the Germanic tribes, who, though ap- 
 pearing late on the scene of action, faithfully retained 
 the original type. In the next rank to these come 
 the Greeks, or, at least, they incline, upon the whole, 
 to this divisiou. They present themselves, however, in a 
 mixed character, having at first adhered to the sacerdotal, 
 and then exchanged it for the military form of government — 
 alternating between the two, so as to give rise to the sup- 
 position that they were originally descended from both 
 these elements. The heroic age of the Greeks was doubtless 
 preceded by times of priestly administration : and in this, 
 as a general conclusion, all reliable mythologists and histo^ 
 rians agree, even when differing as to particulars. By 
 common consent we may pronounce the serious Pelasgians 
 to have been the predecessors of the light-hearted Hellenes. 
 It is just possible that the Pelasgians, as their name seems 
 to indicate,* were only the elder branches of the same or 
 a kindred group : but their entire mode of life, as well as all 
 the arrangements of Hellenic society, then resembled in a 
 much greater degree the Egyptian or even the Etruscan sacer- 
 dotal forms, than they did in the later heroic age of Homer. 
 The allegorical doctrines inculcated by the priesthood of 
 this ancient Pelasgian period were embodied in the mysteries 
 of a later age, and celebrated in the numbers of a peculiar 
 order of bards. Tradition partakes somewhat of the signi- 
 ficancy of History, when in commemorating the cycle of the 
 elder poets, long antecedent to the heroic Trojan legends and 
 the Homeric poems, it commences with Orpheus, who was 
 not of Hellenic descent, but belongs exclusively to the sacer- 
 dotal era and symbolical mythology. It is curious to note 
 how soon the strict bonds of Pelasgian priesthood were com- 
 pletely shaken off by the warlike and merry-hearted throng 
 
 * TleXaayoi may have been an older, irregular form of 7ra\aioi : but 
 even in its most natural derivation from TrsXac, as compared with TrtXaaTijg 
 and TrtXarijQ, the term seems purely to imply the earliest settlers ia the 
 territory. 
 
PERSIAN WAR. 15 
 
 of Hellenic heroes ; whilst the rule of the great hero-families 
 at a subsequent period of nourishing commerce, when mighty 
 cities studded the maritime homes of the Greeks, was largely 
 curtailed of its dimensions, until, at last, it came to live in 
 the bright reminiscences of minstrelsy rather than in any 
 vestiges of a political reality. These changes were of the 
 utmost importance to the whole development of Grecian art. 
 Since this very emancipation from the thraldom of Oriental 
 priestcraft, this freedom from the all-absorbiDg influence of 
 Roman polity, imparted to the artistic, poetic and philosophic 
 genius of Greece, indeed spread through her whole literature, 
 that spirit which formed its proudest boast. Equally inde- 
 pendent of the state and of the hierarchy, for the first time 
 in historic annals, the Schools are seen to step forth, in all 
 their manifold ramifications and gradations, as a distinct and 
 united power, such as has hardly been equalled at any subse- 
 quent period. 
 
 If we turn from this remote and, comparatively, ob- 
 scure period, to times when Grecian renown had become 
 universal, we find three principal events filling up the pages 
 of her history, and constituting an epoch in her intellectual 
 progress. They are, first, the Persian war, when united 
 Greece hurled back the countless hordes of Asia that threat- 
 ened her independent existence. Then, the war of Pelopon- 
 nesus, that dreadful civil struggle maintained through 
 twenty-seven long j^ears between Athens and the Dorian 
 tribes, and in which the political power of Greece was self- 
 destroyed. And, last, the victories of Alexander, whereby 
 the activity and genius of the Greeks were scattered over a 
 great part of Asia, the prolific seed-corn of the future. 
 In very truth, it fertilized the soil : causing many useful 
 fruits, with, here and there, a noxious weed, to spring up : 
 resulting in a novel Graeco-Asiatic product, a medium of 
 connexion between Asia and Europe, the influence of which 
 has been sensibly felt down to our own day. 
 
 Had the Greeks been unsuccessful in the first defence of 
 their liberties against the arms of Persia, had Greece been 
 annexed, as a conquered province, to the empire of the 
 great king, they would have occupied a very different posi- 
 tion in the history of the human mind from that which 
 
16 SOLON. 
 
 they now fill. At best, they would have remained on the 
 self-same step of cultivation on which the Persians found 
 them ; they would, most probably, have sunk lower in the 
 scale, and, gradually, have lost many of the characteristics of 
 a civilized community. They would always have continued 
 to be a sprightly, animated people, possessed of a fair amouut 
 of polished intelligence. Like other cultivated nations sub- 
 dued by the Persian sword and incorporated into the empire 
 of their conquerors, as, for instance, the Egyptians, He- 
 brews, Phoenicians, they would have been permitted to retain 
 their language and writers, and, partially, their manners and 
 customs ; for the Persian rule save in a few exceptional in- 
 stances, was, on the whole, mild, and perhaps the most 
 generous of all the great empires. But the soaring flights 
 of art and genius to which Greece attained after the suc- 
 cessful issue of her glorious conflicts would never have been 
 achieved had she lost her freedom. 
 
 The brilliant days of Greece, the most flourishing period 
 of her mental development, may be comprised within the 
 limits of about three centuries — from Solon to Alexander. 
 
 With Solon, then commences an entirely new epoch, even 
 in the literature of Greece. Not only does the perfect 
 development of lyric and the dawn of dramatic poetry fall 
 within this period ; but a number of didactic poets began 
 to shew signs of awakened energy. The gnomic collections 
 of Theognis and even of Solon present us with ingenious 
 sayings graphically descriptive of social usages : aphorisms 
 congenial to the tastes of most nations at a like stage of 
 culture : being metrically framed, as best suited to the 
 character of gnomic composition. Somewhere about the 
 same period arose Thales, the founder of Grecian philosophy, 
 and prose threw off the iron fetters of a rigorous poetic 
 form. Prose writing first developed itself among the older 
 Ionic philosophers of his school, in simple sentences contain- 
 ing ideas acutely and sometimes allegorically expressed : in 
 aphorisms or views of nature, lucid but deep drawn, such as 
 we yet possess sketched by the father of therapeutic art. The 
 intellectual freedom which Solon promoted and rendered en- 
 during, as well as the general diffusion of public education — a 
 measure also originating in him — among the higher classes of 
 
ALEXANDER, DEMOSTHENES, AND SOLON. 17 
 
 her citizens, greatly contributed to elevate Athens to the 
 lofty distinction she enjoyed in the sequel— that of becoming 
 the focus from which all Grecian culture radiated. 
 
 The reign of Alexander terminated this brilliant epoch. 
 "Demosthenes, who died only one year later than the con- 
 queror, did not survive the extinction of his country's great- 
 ness. He was the last great writer of the Greeks who 
 influenced them as a nation. They, indeed, continued to be 
 a polished, intellectual people. In philosophy and learning 
 they made probably greater advances under the Ptolemies in 
 Egypt than in the beautiful land of their forefathers. But 
 their national character was obliterated, and with their free- 
 dom they lost alike their inventive power and mental ele- 
 vation. 
 
 "Within so brief a period is comprised that marvellous 
 affluence of mental creations and achievements, which down 
 to our own times has made this people the object of uni- 
 versal admiration ! A great and ever memorable spectacle, 
 unspeakably fruitful in good and in bad results, therefore 
 doubly instructive. Only one other example does the history 
 of the world afford of a prolific development of awakened 
 genius under circumstances somewhat similar. It will be 
 considered in the sequel. 
 
 With Solon commences the actual epoch of the literature 
 of the Greeks. Before his time they possessed only so 
 much as is common to all happily organized nations in the 
 twilight of social culture. Legendary tradition in lieu of 
 regular history : songs and poems orally current, and serving 
 instead of written books ; martial songs intended to arouse 
 patriotic ardour, festive chants hymning the praises of the 
 gods, lays of rapturous joy and love, the anger of the bard, 
 the plaints of the lovelorn swain, all these the Greeks pos- 
 sessed from the remotest times and in the greatest variety. 
 But of more importance than the outbursts of the minstrel's 
 passion are those narrative songs comprising popular tradi- 
 tions : such as the memories of a fabulous past, tales heroic 
 and mythological, descriptions of the origin of a particular 
 lineage, or of the creation of the world. "With these, too, 
 the Greeks, in common with many other nations, were 
 abundantly supplied. There is one work, however, — the 
 Homeric poems— that towers high above all others in Grecian 
 
18 THE PISISTRATID^. 
 
 antiquity, which still are, and ever will be the objects of in- 
 exhaustible admiratiou. 
 
 The diction, the subject, and the spirit of those poems 
 alike reveal their date, and fix it antecedent to Solon by 
 some centuries : but in his time they were first collected, 
 and partly through his instrumentality they were rescued 
 from the insecure fate of oral transmission, carefully digested, 
 and arranged in their present order. 
 
 In doing this, Solon and his successors in Athenian admi- 
 nistration, Pisistratus and the Pisistratidse, in addition to 
 a natural fondness for the poems themselves, were, doubtless, 
 actuated by other patriotic motives. So early as this period, 
 six hundred years before the Christian era, the independence 
 of Greece began to be menaced in Asia Minor : not, indeed, 
 by the Persians, but by the sovereigns of Lydia, whose 
 dominions, not long after, succumbed to Persian power. 
 "When the victorious steps of Cyrus advanced further and 
 further into Asia Minor, on the defeat of Croesus, no patriot 
 of penetrating sagacity could long conceal from himself the 
 peril impending over Greece. 
 
 In many other states the inhabitants would seem to have 
 been wrapt in fancied security, fatally unconscious of the 
 gathering storm that, under Darius and Xerxes, was to burst 
 in terrible fury upon the soil of Greece. Athens, however, 
 could not fail to have felt early misgivings, connected, as she 
 was, with the Asiatic Greeks, both by old family ties and the 
 interests of commerce. The revival of olden songs and me- 
 mories reminding the people how, of yore, Grecian heroes, 
 leagued together to avenge an insult, had in fierce conflict 
 wrested Troy from Asiatic hands, was opportunely fitted to 
 arouse the national feeling, and animate the country for the 
 approaching struggle. No well-authenticated record of such 
 an event as the Trojan war has come down to us. The dynasty 
 of Agamemnon and of the Atridae is, for the most part, his- 
 torical. It is by no means improbable that occasional inter- 
 course was maintained between the peninsula and AsiaMinor : 
 we know that Pelops— from whom the peninsula derived its 
 name — the ancestor of the AtridaB, came from thence. 
 Again, that the abduction of a princess was likely to result 
 in a long and sanguinary warfare is quite in accordance with 
 the general spirit and manners of the heroic age, resembling, 
 
GREEK TUMULI. 
 
 19 
 
 in many particulars, the heroic times of Christianity, and the 
 chivalry of the feudal ages. How much soever of the fabulous 
 and the allegorical was interwoven with legends relative to 
 Helen, thus much is certain, that important memorials of 
 the olden time were associated with the vicinity of Troy, 
 as is proved by large mounds of earth thrown up in that 
 locality, and which were commonly reported to have consti- 
 tuted the last resting-place of departed heroes. That these 
 Greek tumuli— assigned by tradition to Achilles and Pa- 
 troclus, at the sight of which Alexander wept, envying 
 Achilles for having found a Homer to immortalize his 
 name — existed in the poet's time, appears from several 
 passages in the Iliad. It was reserved for the curiosity or 
 the wantonness of our own day to desecrate these graves and, 
 disturbing the repose of the mighty dead, to scatter abroad 
 their ashes and other relics with careless hands. But even 
 if the Trojan war was purely a myth, begotten of the min- 
 strel's wayward fancy, the purposes of Solon and Pisistratus 
 in reviving these poems were still sufficiently served, since 
 the events they celebrate were universally credited as being 
 of historic origin. 
 
 The relish with which the ancient Greeks appreciated the 
 Homeric poems was materially enhanced by patriotic associa- 
 tions, whilst we are interested in them chiefly as vivid and 
 beautiful representations of heroic life. They are free from 
 the charge of narrow views, or adulatory panegyrics exclu- 
 sively bestowed on a particular lineage — a charge such as 
 may be justly preferred against the old songs of Arabia, or 
 those of Ossian. Breathing the spirit of purest freedom, 
 their representations of the phenomena of nature and of the 
 varieties of human character, evince a sensibility pure and 
 universal. A whole world opens out before us as we read 
 them, a world of living and moving imagery. The two pro- 
 minent figures, Achilles and Ulysses, seem to start from the 
 canvass into warm life ; yet they are but characters and ideas 
 so general as to be found repeated in nearly all Greek hero 
 legends ; though never again sketched with so masterly a 
 hand, or so exquisitely finished. Achilles, a hero destined to 
 exhaust all the delights of mortality whilst still in the 
 bloom and pride of youthful vigour, doomed moreover to 
 be cut off by tragic fate in the prime of his days, is the 
 
20 THE HOMERIC POEMS. 
 
 loftier conception of the two: an echo of this chord may 
 be found in the character of many a hero in the legends of 
 various lands ; next in beauty to the Grecian, perhaps, 
 those of our own northern clime. The legendary tra- 
 ditions of heroic times, among the sprightliest nations, are 
 overshadowed by elegiac sensibilities, plaints full of ten- 
 derness, and sometimes shrouded in sombre grief. As if the 
 transition from an age of glorious freedom and heroism had 
 impressed succeeding generations with a feeling of dreary 
 confinement, or the bard would transfer to the fictions of those 
 times exclusively, reminiscences of some pristine state of bliss, 
 deep-seated in the bosom of the whole human family. A less 
 magnificent, but still richly-attractive form of poetic heroism 
 is presented in the person of Ulysses, the roving, travelled 
 hero, discreet, and experienced as brave, fitted to undergo 
 danger and encounter adventures of every sort. Ample 
 scope is thus afforded for pourtraying, in easy flowing style, 
 the rare sights and products of foreign lands. In energy 
 and pathos, the epics of the north, in brilliant colouring, 
 those of the east, as far as our acquaintance extends, may 
 compare with, if they do not surpass the Homeric poems. 
 But the peculiar distinction of the latter is the amount of 
 living truth and clearness blended in harmonious unison 
 with an almost infantile simplicity and affluent fancy. The 
 narrative, whilst entering into minute detail with all the 
 garrulousness of age, never grows tiresome, owing to the 
 extreme freshness and grace of imagery ever and anon dexte- 
 rously shifted. Character, passion, and dialogue are un- 
 folded with dramatic skill, and individual circumstances 
 described with almost historical fidelity. From this last 
 quality, which completely distinguishes Homer from all other 
 — even Grecian — bards, he possibly derives his name. ' Home- 
 ros signifies a surety or witness : and on account of his truth- 
 ful accuracy, as a minstrel of the heroic time, he richly de- 
 serves this appellation. To us he is, indeed, Homer os, a 
 surety as well as a witness of the epic ages in their genuine 
 state. As for the other meaning, relative to his blindness-, 
 also involved in the word, it is clearly conjectural, forming 
 part of a tissue of inventions respecting the life of one wholly 
 unknown to us in his person, and it is undeserving of a mo- 
 ment's consideration. "Without the direct testimony of 
 
THE HOMERIC POEMS. 21 
 
 Milton it would be sufficiently apparent from internal evi- 
 dence in his poems, that he saw only with the eye of the 
 spirit, and tasted not the exhilarating joyousness of sun- 
 light. A melancholy haze broods over the page of Ossian, 
 and it may reasonably be inferred that the gloom of night 
 shaded the minstrel's brow. But whoever would ascribe the 
 composition of the Iliad and Odyssey, the most lucid and 
 transparent of all the poems of antiquity, to a blind bard 
 must, before pronouncing such a verdict, determine to shut 
 his own eyes to every kind of proof and argument. 
 
 In whatever century the Homeric poems originated, they 
 transport us into times when the heroic element was fast 
 approaching dissolution, or had just expired. Two worlds 
 appear to meet in them : the wondrous past, which seemed 
 to be never very far removed from the poet's gaze, whilst occa- 
 sionally it stood vividly before him ; and the present breath- 
 ing world, in the midst of which he lived and moved. This 
 blending of the present and past, by means of which the one 
 was beautified, the other rendered more intensely real, endows 
 those poems with charms peculiarly their own. 
 
 At first kings and heroic races held sway throughout all 
 Greece. It is still so in the Homeric world. Soon after, 
 regal dignity was nearly everywhere abolished : each city of 
 any importance, each independent group, became a republic. 
 On the establishment of this new political system, the various 
 relations of life gradually grew more prosaic in character. 
 Legends dealing with the older heroic time naturally became 
 more and more foreign to the tastes of successive generations, 
 and, doubtless, it was in a great measure owing to the 
 changes in civil polity, that Homer fell into a temporary ob- 
 livion, from which Solon and Pisistratus eventually rescued 
 him. 
 
 On comparing Homer's works with Indian, Persian, or 
 northern, old-German heroic and mythological songs, there 
 are two properties which serve as emphatic distinctions of 
 the former. Pirst, the harmonious evenness of a serene con- 
 templation of life, as also of representation generally, which, 
 together with remarkable clear-sightedness, are characteristic 
 features of Greek intellect. And then, the rich dramatic de- 
 velopment of individual circumstances and objects depicted 
 in these poems, in connection with a skilfully interwoven 
 
22 THE IONIC EHAPSODISTS. 
 
 series of choice episodes. This, again, while it is not a ne- 
 cessary ingredient in the structure of epic poesy, is a faculty 
 inherent in the spirit of Grecian art. Intimately allied with 
 these qualities is the decided prominence of the rhetorical 
 element, one in which the innate skill of the Greeks was 
 peculiarly fitted to shine. Marked by idiomatic traits de- 
 lightfully reflected from life's own mirror, and affording a 
 prospective vista of the dawn of young republicanism, this 
 rhetoric is totally unlike the meretricious ornaments of later 
 poetry. These features, in various degrees of difference, serve 
 to identify Homer in contradistinction to all other Rbapso- 
 dists of the Ionic school, and the whole body of Greek epic 
 poets, — of whom Hesiod may be cited as an exemplar,— and 
 confer on him an individuality easily recognized : though, in 
 many particulars of epic treatment, the lesser heroic and 
 mythological bards resemble both each other and Homer. 
 A chaotic legendary confusion, often of gigantic proportions, 
 is treated of by Hesiod in a style which the ancients termed 
 moderate: inasmuch as it never assumed the form of wild 
 and savage strength, or soared into empyrean heights of 
 fancy. The Homeric fulness of dramatic development is 
 wanting : but, regarded simply as a delineation of manners, 
 there may be found in Hesiod's works abundant traces of a 
 growing republican spirit destined altogether to supplant the 
 old heroic life. 
 
 The Homeric poems, of such important and direct 
 consequence to the literature of Greece, and, later, of 
 Europe, generally, and so completely the fountain head of 
 the collective mental culture of antiquity, seemed to me to 
 demand especial historic consideration. It was, besides, my 
 aim chiefly to direct attention to inventors, or to the ages 
 when art first reached perfection : whole centuries of imita- 
 tion or mere development will receive but cursory notice. 
 Thus, I shall pass over the interval that ensued before the 
 Persian war, since it is marked only by feeble imitators of 
 Homer, or the budding of new forms of art which did not 
 burst into flower till long after : of most of the writers we 
 possess mere fragmentary remains. The Lyric art, especially, 
 developed itself in the most varied forms. The poetry of 
 the Greeks issued from the vast ocean of heroic and mythi- 
 cal legends as its source and fountain head, and now this sea 
 
PINDAR AND ^SCHTLUS. 23 
 
 of ancient myths spread itself abroad in innumerable streams, 
 greater and smaller, of songs and poems, till it assumed the 
 form of dramatic representation, and especially of Tragedy, 
 the solemn image of the noblest life, the summit and highest 
 aim of art — designed to give us not only a truthful but a 
 fascinating aud impressive image of the Divine; for as in all 
 poetry these elements or stages, of the mythical, the lyric, 
 and the dramatic, are to be found, though not in the same 
 order, on their difference is founded the nature of the three 
 different kinds of poetry — or the epic, lyric, and dramatic 
 art. 
 
 The Persian war, that memorable epoch in Grecian annals, 
 was distinguished in literature by several great poets and 
 writers whose works are still extant. Pindar, esteemed by his 
 countrymen the loftiest of their minstrels, survived it, and 
 during it he suffered the reproach of want of patriotism, and 
 of a leaning to the Persians. JEschylus, the oldest of the great 
 tragedians, himself a soldier, had fought with distinction in 
 some of its glorious battles. Herodotus, somewhat younger, 
 was born a few years prior to the tremendous expedition of 
 Xerxes : when he read those books of his history which 
 more especially commemorate the war of freedom, before 
 the assembled Greeks, the mighty achievements of their 
 valour were still fresh in the memory of the rejoicing victors. 
 The odium under which Pindar lay is easily explicable, 
 for his poems contain manifest indications of his dislike of 
 democracy, — which had at that time caused many outbursts 
 of popular violence in Greece, and was likely to lead to still 
 graver disruptions, — and of his preference for monarchy, and 
 the Dorian preponderance of aristocracy. But this consti- 
 tutional form — monarchy and aristocracy — was nowhere in 
 antiquity exhibited with so mild a lustre as in the Persian 
 empire, the spirit of which, notwithstanding individual abuse 
 of power, tended, on the whole, to promote noble and digni- 
 fied views and practices. 
 
 The works of Pindar are the more valuable since they 
 make up for the loss of many other Doric compositions. 
 That which we are accustomed to call by the general name 
 of Greek literature, that is to say, the extant productions of 
 the great writers, is confined to those of Ionia and Athens, 
 and, at a later period, of Alexandria. But, at the same time 
 
24- THEIR CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 that poetry, history, and philosophy flourished in the states of 
 Ionia and Athens, the Dorians, a branch differing materially 
 from the Ionic stock in manners, in language, as well as in 
 thought, were in possession of an original and distinct litera- 
 ture: poets of every kind, a peculiar dramatic form, and, sub- 
 sequently to Pythagoras, philosophic and other writers. Now 
 that all these memorials have perished, we have in Pindar at 
 least a general picture of Doric customs fresh from the poet's 
 own conceptions. 
 
 The artificial enthusiasm, and the affected obscurity 
 which his iuiitators chose to style Pindaric, are abso- 
 lutely foreign to that great poet. On the contrary, placid 
 dignity and cheerful serenity are characteristic traits of his 
 genius. If there be any obscurity at all it is relative, being, 
 probably, an allusion to some person or thing not known to 
 us now, but perfectly intelligible to his contemporaries. 
 "Whilst hymning the praises of the victor in the Olympian 
 games, he proceeds to celebrate the heroic line from which 
 he is sprung, the city that gave him birth, or the gods in 
 whose honour the games were instituted : this, as will easily 
 be seen, is, occasionally, productive of violent transitions. 
 Festive songs like these cannot, on the whole, be strictly 
 termed lyrical, at least they are not so in the sense we 
 usually attach to that word. They are heroic or epic poems 
 for the occasion, which, accompanied by music and the dance, 
 were not simply sung, but enacted. Pindar's great charac- 
 teristic is the rare beauty and melodious softness of his 
 language, as also the disposition to regard all objects from the 
 most graceful point of view. How, in times of security, noble 
 rulers of prosperous states, amid games of skill and chivalry, 
 passed their days unclouded by a care in the happy society 
 of congenial friends and inspired minstrels, and revelled in 
 the reminiscences of a glorious ancestry : all this the poet 
 sings in matchless verse. Tuneful numbers, equally charm- 
 ing with those in which victors and Doric nobles are repre- 
 sented, record the glories of the remotest times, and of the 
 gods themselves. 
 
 JEschylus is a poet of a very different kind, and animated 
 by feelings altogether dissimilar. The warlike spirit of the 
 soldier, inspired by Liberty herself, which breathes through 
 his works is, probably, a reflection of the sentiment prevalent 
 
THE POET ^SCnYLTTS. ZO 
 
 in haughty Athens during the great struggle. As a creative 
 poet he had still to contend with a form that was only be- 
 ginning to be moulded : that great Tragic form, peculiar to 
 the Greeks, which JEschylus was the first to conceive and cast 
 without being enabled to perfect it. He excelled in delinea- 
 ting the terrible and tragic passions. With the depth of the 
 poet, he combined the severe earnestness of the profound 
 thinker. To this last term he had, indeed, the justest claims : 
 the very charge that has been brought against him of betray- 
 ing the mysteries or secret doctrines of theEleusinian society, 
 in his poems, proves his anxious longings after truth. From 
 his genius Greek mythology took a configuration altogether 
 new. He does not only represent isolated tragic events — one 
 uuiformly tragic view of life, generally, pervades his whole 
 works. The downfall of the older gods and Titans, and how 
 their lofty lineage was displaced by a younger, more cunning, 
 and less worthy race, is the oft-repeated story of his plaints : 
 the original elevation and grandeur of nature and of man de- 
 generating, in process of time, into imbecility and meanness. 
 Yet, here and there, as in his Prometheus, he depicts giant 
 strength rising superior to decay from amidst the crumbling 
 fabric of a tottering world. There is in this a more than 
 poetical sublimity. 
 
 In the two poets last under consideration, Pindar and 
 iEschylus, a peculiarly oriental element is manifest, both in 
 the bolder nature of their imagery, and their more abrupt 
 turns of thought — but this element lies deeper than the mere 
 external form or expression. Over the festive songs of 
 Pindar, together with an Asiatic delicacy and gentleness, 
 there is shed the lustre of a priestly dignity, a hallowed 
 fragrance, as it were, harmoniously blending with the feel- 
 ings of a natural piety, and a divine simplicity. Through- 
 out the whole of iEschylus, gigantic rugged forms of hoary 
 antiquity tower in massive outline. As Pindar may be 
 said to live wholly in harmony, so iEschylus stands in 
 perpetual conflict between ancient Chaos and the idea 
 of Law and Harmony : on this very account, the first of 
 really Tragic poets is of such significant import to the con- 
 sideration of the whole of Grecian poetry. On rightly com- 
 prehending all the aspirations and ruling ideas it embodies, 
 we shall find the older form of poesy placed midway between 
 
26 HERODOTUS THE FATHER OF HISTORY. 
 
 the savage innate strength and depth of original paganism, 
 and the later rational progress of civilization : between the 
 first and second ages of the world, forcibly indicating a period 
 of transition from the one to the other. Divided between 
 Titanic power of will, the element of primeval times, with 
 the recollections of which fancy was yet stored — and the 
 idea of law and order, as the principle of harmonious feeling. 
 This discordance of the ancient world is most distinctly visible 
 in ^Eschylus. Next to the desire after harmony, to which I 
 have alluded, the memories of a Titanic past, flowing from 
 traditionary song, occupy the foremost place in ancient 
 poesy : whilst the modern, Christian poet, having no actual 
 source of legendary inspiration, fixes his gaze on the future 
 rather than the past, as far as it can be attained by a presen- 
 timent of the Divine in symbolical representations. 
 
 Herodotus, who has left us a record of the Persian war is 
 called the father of history. His work may be styled a 
 faithful and detailed chronicle of all events which stood in 
 immediate relation to the narrator and were of importance 
 to himself : in the course of it, he takes occasion to insert all 
 he knows of the world and its history ; or a journal of travels, 
 since he is fond of relating, by way of episode,whatever he saw 
 in foreign countries more than other Greeks, and his pow r ers 
 of observation were both keen and circumstantial. On account 
 of the number of his episodes and the free, poetical treat- 
 ment of his subject, his work has been compared with the 
 old hero-epics. But fidelity, clearness, and simplicity, toge- 
 ther with artless grace of narrative, are just the qualities 
 calculated to render descriptive history complete, and which 
 would be considered necessary, nay indispensable, if they 
 were not so rare. He is the Homer of history, the Homer of 
 prose, the fullest and most copious of all mythologists, and 
 sets clearly before our view the whole epic of ancient ethno- 
 graphy —as far as that science was known to the Greeks of 
 the period — by means of nine rhapsodies in which is in- 
 terwoven a rich collection of charming episodes. The prose 
 narrative of mythographers, as a whole, still rang with the 
 tone and manner of the Epos, and in Herodotus, its great 
 master, from the grace and fulness which characterize 
 it, the Homeric origin of the epic form of history is most 
 clearly seen. By slow and difficult process the prose of the 
 
SOPHOCLES. 27 
 
 Grreeks disengaged itself from the poetic root, until it, at 
 last, assumed a shape of its own. Even in philosophy, some 
 writers after Xenophanes turned aside from pristine Ionic 
 prose couched in aphorisms, to a metrical vehicle of thought : 
 as in those didactic poems treating of the nature of things, 
 the contents of which are strangely opposed to the essence 
 of poetry, and can only borrow her garb for the purposes of 
 external adornment. 
 
 "With these three great authors whom I have noticed, 
 others of no less dignity are linked at a later date. The first 
 of these is Sophocles. In moral, as in physical nature there 
 is a period of bloom, a culminating point of ripe perfection, 
 which reveals itself in completeness of form and diction. Of 
 this point Sophocles is the fullest representative, nor in tragic 
 art alone but in the whole of Greek poetry and intellectual 
 progress. In him there is an additional grace to that which 
 we remark in other great poets and writers, and which con- 
 stitutes them models of art, of form, or of style. The ex- 
 quisite beauty of his compositions mirrors the inner harmony 
 and beauty of his soul. It is clearly evident from many 
 passages in ancient poets that they had no proper knowledge 
 or correct ideas of God. But though they were destitute 
 of this knowledge, inasmuch as He was not revealed to them 
 and their age, yet it would be unjust to deny the best and 
 greatest of their number a deep-seated and often admirable 
 presentiment of the Divine. In none other do I find this at- 
 tribute so decided as in Sophocles. It is, indeed, every- 
 where the destiny and course of poetry to commence with 
 the wonderful and the sublime, with the mighty forms of 
 heroes and gods. In the sequel, she lowers the elevation of 
 her flight, approaches nearer to the earth, and falls at last 
 into the tract of ordinary life, where all traces of her disap- 
 pear. The middle region is the happiest for poetic purpose : 
 in which heroic grandeur still survives, artless and unaifected, 
 coupled with representations of deity, though no longer 
 towering in giant-size, terrible as well as awful, but ad- 
 dressed to human sympathies, mild and tender. Such is 
 precisely the character of Sophocles. The peculiar artistic 
 form of Grecian tragedy, which he perfected, will often come 
 under subsequent notice : more especially, when I proceed 
 to examine the attempts of other nations — successful or 
 
28 EURIPIDES. 
 
 otherwise — to imitate and appropriate this lofty form of 
 Greek poesy. 
 
 The character of Greek civilization, and of the most 
 splendid period of the second age of the world, as I have 
 before remarked, mainly rests both in art and in life itself, 
 on lucid views of harmony and a social development. The 
 artistic clearness, joined to the simplicity of a mind richly 
 endowed by nature, is visible throughout Homer ; but 
 gentlest harmonious aspiration, though it is a prominent 
 feature of Pindar's muse, is perfected only in Sophocles. 
 "Whilst the fancy of the Greeks, as of all nations at that 
 period, was gradually weakened, till it sank, at last, from the 
 sidereal system of primitive nature down into material life, 
 pagan mythology itself — in this poet of harmony — though 
 still sensuous, appears as the spiritual transfiguration of a 
 feeling which anticipated the higher meaning of all divine 
 mysteries. 
 
 Sophocles was succeeded in art, but not in sentiment or 
 feeling, by Euripides, who, however, belongs to a totally dif- 
 ferent generation. He was as much of an orator as a poet, 
 and according to the favourable and unfavourable views taken 
 of him, he may be termed a philosopher or a sophist; in 
 this school he had been fashioned, and had acquired many an 
 ornament unsuitable to poetry. His enemy and implacable 
 persecutor, Aristophanes, does not forget constantly to re- 
 mind him of this. But previous to entering upon this brief 
 description of Euripides, as also of some other writers who 
 flourished at the time of Greek degeneracy, it will be conve- 
 nient to speak of the Sophists ; and shew how they suc- 
 ceeded, in the commencement of the civil war and the dis- 
 memberment of states, to extend their deadly influence to 
 every part of Greece, and to paralyze her intellectual life, 
 until Socrates took up the gauntlet against them, exerted him- 
 self to lead back the sophisticated Grecian spirit, as far as 
 possible, to truth, and founded the School from which Plato 
 issued. 
 
29 
 
 LECTUKE II. 
 
 Later Greek Literature. — Sophistry and Philosophy. 
 — Alexandrinian Period. 
 
 In my first lecture, I endeavoured, briefly, to sketch the 
 picture of Grecian genius, when flourishing in all its power 
 and glory. I must now turn to the darker side of the pic- 
 ture, and exhibit that general degeneracy which soon followed 
 with incredible rapidity, and after morals were corrupted 
 and governments were destroyed, prostrated also, by a de- 
 ceitful sophistry, the artistic power and genius of the Greeks. 
 
 Thucydides is the first great writer who represents, and 
 attempts to explain with historic penetration, this total dis- 
 organization in the management of public affairs, and in the 
 morals of society generally. His lofty style, deep reflective- 
 ness, and earnest feeling, fully entitle him to rank with the 
 leading Greek authors. His history is truly a master- 
 piece of representative art : as such it was considered even 
 by ancient critics, and likened to a tragedy, not poetic but 
 historical. Well, indeed, might that great civil war, and 
 the decline of his once renowned and flourishing native coun- 
 try, appear to the historian himself a tragedy of appalling 
 pathos. Por in its ultimate consequences, as we are enabled to 
 review them, but which did not then appear so clearly, this 
 terrible event involved the history of the decline of collective 
 Greece ! Thucydides originated the artistic form of history 
 peculiar to the Greeks, and in the structure of his work 
 he has never been approached by later writers. The qualities 
 characterizing this peculiar artistic form consist in the skill 
 which is displayed in interweaving, in the web of history, ela- 
 borate political harangues, developing the various motives 
 and views by which each of the contending factions was 
 actuated : as also in a vivid and poetically detailed sketch 
 of battles and other important events of constant recurrence 
 in the page of history : and, again, in dignified flow of style, 
 relieved by the chastest ornaments. Under similar political 
 conditions, and with a like preponderating oratory, of all 
 species of Greek art, this is the one which the ".Romans 
 
30 THUCYDIDES. 
 
 could embody in their literature with the greatest facility 
 and success. It is by no means equally suitable to the 
 genius of our later European efforts : as will be seen 
 from an examination of instances of imitation. For cir- 
 cumstances are altogether changed: the art of eloquence 
 no longer possesses an influence so decisive and often in- 
 jurious. With such an immense accumulation of facts, 
 we now require, not so much poetical descriptions of 
 battles and public occurrences generally, as brief accounts, 
 effectively given, and clearly shewing ivhat happened and 
 wherefore. Perspicuous brevity like this — such as the 
 unadorned, luminous simplicity of Herodotus — better cor- 
 respond with our present wants in the department of history, 
 than the lofty grandeur of form which Thucydides instituted, 
 and in which, if not absolutely perfect, he is still to be re- 
 garded as the first of Greek writers. To entitle him to per- 
 fection, nothing is wanting in the arrangement or disposal 
 of his subject, which is, throughout, grand, excellent, and as 
 the ancients said of his work, worthy of comparison with the 
 sublimity of historic tragedy : but his style is rugged, harsh, 
 and at times, obscure. Whether a complete revision of the 
 work, as a w r hole, had not been made, as a learned critic sug- 
 gests : or, whether it was owing to the age, which witnessed 
 the birth of prose, and hence the difficulty experienced by the 
 historian, when, having conceived the design of so elevated a 
 style, he endeavoured to efface the traces of laborious toil, and 
 strained exertion : but, if neither of these explanations should 
 prove satisfactory, it maybe conjectured that the author pur- 
 posely conveyed sentiments, — though cast in the mould of 
 highest art, — in a diction both rude and repulsive as best 
 suited to the dark contents of his tragic description. He had 
 to treat of that terrible catastrophe, the decline and fall of 
 his country, and he wrote not for the passing hour, but, as 
 he himself expresses it in the commencement of his history, 
 he meant to construct "a possession for all time."* 
 
 But History generally, which, from its nature, occupies a 
 position between rhetorical representation and critical en- 
 quiry, in both the kinds developed by the Greeks in their 
 first great period, inclines more to the poetic and artistic 
 element than to a philosophic comprehension of different 
 
 * KTrjfia Lg aei. 
 
HIS ARTISTIC STYLE. 31 
 
 ages of universal development, scientifically arranged, and 
 conformable to the genius of modern times. In mytho- 
 graphers and in Herodotus, this species of composition is 
 linked to the epic treatment of the older rhapsodists : whilst 
 in later, more artistic, political histories, it emulates the 
 drama, till in Thucydides it fairly challenges comparison 
 with Tragedy. 
 
 If Thucydides clearly sets before us and explains the 
 disorganization of all the states and institutions of Greece, 
 with the causes of the same ; Aristophanes on the other 
 hand depicts the degraded condition into which Athenian 
 and Grecian manners, generally, had sunk, with a vigour 
 almost incredible, and such as no historical work, and 
 no other memorial whatever could pourtray so distinctly. 
 As a faithful representation of the customs and manners 
 of antiquity, the value of his works is now universally ac- 
 knowledged and indubitable. If we would judge of him as a 
 writer and poet, we must, of course, go back in imagination 
 to the age in which he lived. In some nations and epochs 
 of modern Europe, literature, poetry, and the efforts of the 
 mind, generally, have been charged with an almost exclusive 
 regard for the applause of the upper classes, and, more especi- 
 ally, of the softer sex. Among the writers themselves, be- 
 longing to the times thus inculpated, there have not been 
 wanting those who complained of the tendency of so much 
 misplaced ornament, and undue refinement, to limit, if not 
 enervate, the mental powers. There may have been ground 
 for this complaint ; ancient literature, on the other hand, 
 is justly subjected to the reproach of being too exclu- 
 sively masculine, and thus presenting, in some portions of 
 its history, a ruder picture than might, on the whole, have 
 been expected from its intellectual development and refine- 
 ment. In the earliest times, as they are brought before our 
 contemplation by the Homeric poems, the condition of the 
 softer sex was worthier, more free, and favourable to the pro- 
 motion of social improvement. Afterwards, the Greeks conti- 
 nued, more and more, to imitate the Asiatics in their practice 
 of isolating, confining, and oppressing the female sex. The 
 very institutions of republicanism, filling up, as they did, 
 the life and soul of citizens with civic affairs, with genuine 
 or pseudo-patriotic feelings, with the rancour of political 
 
32 THE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. 
 
 parties, with some one of which every body sided, were 
 adverse to the influence and condition of that sex. These 
 circumstances were not, indeed, every where the same : nay, 
 considerable difference obtained in the customs and political 
 enactments of the several Greek states in this particular as 
 in many others. In Sparta, and throughout the Doric con- 
 federacy, as also under the new social regulations introduced 
 by the Pythagoreans, the natural rights and dignity of 
 woman were far more respected. But, upon the whole, 
 Greece very closely imitated the Asiatic customs of female 
 separation and isolation, and the unfavourable results are 
 but too apparent in the whole extent of her literature. 
 Therefore, we miss, even in her noblest productions — though 
 distinguished by almost every other excellence and advantage 
 — the delicate bloom of feminine tenderness. This, whilst it 
 should not be common to every kind of writing, and must 
 never be far-fetched, is painfully missed, when we have a 
 right to expect it, and its opposite strikes us with greater 
 disgust. In consequence of this want, ancient, and particu- 
 larly Greek, writers, did not, in individual cases, come up to 
 a standard of perfection proportioned to the general civiliza- 
 tion and happy intellectual development that formed their na- 
 tional characteristics. A complete deterioration of manners 
 and unnatural depravity attended the degradation of the 
 sex, and thus, abundantly avenged their unjust oppression. 
 The beauty of the fairest and loftiest productions of the 
 ancients is marred, in our eyes, by reminding us, ever and 
 anon, of a blemish in their social arrangements so flagrant 
 and so perverse. 
 
 In treating of the degeneracy of Grecian manners, and of 
 the writer who most graphically and forcibly depicts it 
 — Aristophanes — we could not w r ell avoid allusion to this 
 universal deficiency. But, being once made thoroughly aware 
 of the imperfection, with, which no one writer ought, indivi- 
 dually, to stand charged, since it pervaded the entire spirit 
 of ancient civilization, both in manners and literature, we 
 must not, on that account, withhold our meed of praise in 
 considering the other great qualities to be remarked in such 
 writers, so necessary to the whole development of art and 
 culture. Thus, notwithstanding all deficiencies, Aristo- 
 phanes is to be viewed in the positive light of a great poet. 
 
OLD COMEDY. 33 
 
 It is true his species and form of composition, if, indeed, it 
 can be called an actual and regular form, cannot be adopted 
 by ourselves. The old Comedy, from the circumstances of its 
 earliest origin, is connected with the worship of nature. In 
 the celebration of festivals dedicated to Bacchus, and other 
 jovial deities, every kind of merriment, including the most 
 licentious freedom of humour, was not merely permitted, but 
 regarded as a religious act. It cannot be denied that Fancy 
 — in its essential nature admitting of no limits — is the 
 poet's peculiar inheritance, and thus the self-same impulse 
 to give the slackened rein to her impetuous course, to disre- 
 gard all the restraints of laws and customs, has stirred in 
 the bosoms of bards in other times and under altered cir- 
 cumstances. The genuine poet, when, for a brief season, he 
 has demanded this time-hallowed privilege of Saturnalian 
 licence, for undisturbed play of fancy, has ever felt that, if he 
 would make good his claim to an equality of birthright, he 
 must display not only a prodigality of inventive genius, but 
 the highest splendour of finished versification : thereby 
 proving that no prosaic wantonness, no personal motive 
 prompted him, but that he was inspired by poetic daring. 
 This is entirely applicable to Aristophanes. In diction and 
 poesy, he is not merely of acknowledged excellence, but may 
 challenge comparison with the first poets that Greece ever 
 produced. In many serious passages, which Athenian 
 popular comedy, owing to the irregularity and variety of 
 structure, did not exclude, he proves himself to be a true 
 poet, who might have become eminently successful in the 
 more earnest and lofty efforts of Art, had he chosen to at- 
 tempt them. However mixed the contents of his dramas, 
 however little a considerable portion of his witticisms is cal- 
 culated to satisfy or please our modern tastes, yet, after every 
 deduction on the score of offensive matter, there remains a 
 lavish exuberance of wit, inventive fancy, and poetic bold- 
 ness. A licence like that of Aristophanes, could, of course, 
 only be indulged in so unbridled a democracy as Athens at 
 that period. But that Comedy, whose original function 
 was temporary diversion of the assembled populace, was sus- 
 ceptible of so rich a poetic decoration, or, perhaps, needed it, 
 gives us a high idea, if not of their culture, strictly so 
 called, yet of the lively popular spirit and animated feeling 
 
 c 
 
 
34 AKISTOPHANES. 
 
 of that wonderful city, which became at once the rendezvous 
 and focus of Grecian oratory and refinement, as of Grecian im- 
 morality and corruption. Aristophanes is the most material of 
 ancient poets: nevertheless great, and in his department, clas- 
 sic, from his copious imagination and keen poetic invention. 
 He may, therefore, by all means, in this capacity, rank with 
 the great Tragic writers : and if, in their respective compo- 
 sitions, Aeschylus reveals to us a lofty grandeur of spirit, 
 Sophocles a beautiful harmony of soul, both in the highest 
 degree : the great Comic poet shews that, even in the depths 
 of sensuous matter, and in the treatment of subjects most 
 material in kind, true poesy can exert itself with wanton 
 power on the contrasts of real life and lavish upon them all 
 her riches. This same fulness of genial invention and poetic 
 wit is more akin to the lofty style of the serious dramatists, 
 and in dithyrambic strength congenial to their spirit, than 
 the rhetorical effeminacy and sentimental poverty of Euripi- 
 des, as has often been allowed by competent critics of ancient 
 poetry. The material subject of high Comedy is but the bearer 
 of poetic wit, supporting the whole weight of its fulness : 
 whilst this wit, if it be of the really poetic, the Aristophanic 
 quality, contains the veritable and peculiar essence of poetry, 
 expressed in re-action against the resisting power of gross 
 reality. This will suffice to place Aristophanes, if not, in- 
 deed, as an exemplar of imitation, for which he is unfitted, 
 at least in his true light as a poet. If we consider the pur- 
 poses to which, both as a man and a citizen, he applied the 
 poetic licence sanctioned by the customs of antiquity and! 
 the institutions of his country, even here much may be said 
 in his justification, and not a little to conciliate our 
 esteem. The most advantageous light in which he is to be 
 viewed is that of a patriot, in wnich capacity he takes cog- 
 nizance of all deficiencies of the state, and mercilessly at- 
 tacks mischievous demagogues with a courage at once 
 dangerous, meritorious, and rare in the midst of a democracy, 
 and in times of anarchy. "When, in accordance with in- 
 veterate enmity and customary parody which comic writers! 
 practised on the Tragedians, he scourges Euripides with in- 
 defatigable and unrelenting fury, it is striking to observe how 
 materially his tone changes in alluding to Aeschylus, and,! 
 his own contemporary, Sophocles, of whom he speaks not 
 
SPREAD OF SOPHISTRY. 35 
 
 merely with evident lenity, but with deep veneration. He 
 has been charged with the grave offence of reviling and 
 representing in odious colours the most virtuous and wise of 
 his fellow-citizens — Socrates ; perhaps, however, it was not 
 owing to mere poetic caprice, but that he seized one of the 
 most illustrious names for the purpose of deriding and ren- 
 dering execrable, under cover of it, the Sophists — a tribe 
 than whom none more richly deserved such treatment. Pos- 
 sibly, without intending it, the poet confounded the philoso- 
 pher, in his search after truth at first entering their schools, 
 with the Sophists themselves, whose tenets Socrates studied 
 only to refute them, and whose society he frequented only 
 until he learnt the emptiness of their doctrines to which he 
 gave battle, while he sought to lead the Greeks back to 
 truth by an entirely novel path. 
 
 Not only were the polity and social customs of the Greeks, 
 but also rhetoric, and all the arts influenced by speech, as 
 also thought generally, poisoned and thoroughly prostrated 
 by Sophistry, till Socrates opposed a barrier to the flowing 
 tide, arresting, as far as he could, the ravages of its onward 
 progress. This zealous friend and explorer of truth, a 
 citizen of Athens, living in the simplest and most retired 
 manner, and operating only on a small circle of select scho- 
 lars and like-minded friends, impressed the intellectual cul- 
 ture of the Greeks by means of an influence perhaps greater 
 than that of Solon the legislator, who preceded, and of Alex- 
 ander the conqueror, who followed, him. But, in order fully 
 to comprehend the importance of this memorable struggle in 
 which Socrates was engaged, the ensuing regeneration of 
 philosophy, and the fresh impulse it gave to the genius of 
 Greece, it will be necessary to take a retrospective glance 
 at the earlier philosophy and popular belief of that country, 
 and to examine into the origin of the Sophistry, which 
 sprang up between the two. 
 
 However distinguished the pre-eminence of the Greeks in 
 all that appertains to art and culture, and appears on the sur- 
 face of human character, it cannot be denied that the fun- 
 damental views they entertained of the nature and properties 
 of things, of the origin of the world, and the destiny of 
 man, as well as of the essence of divinity, were, upon the 
 whole, very material and unsatisfactory, if not utterly ob- 
 
 c 2 
 
86 OPINIONS OP THE OLDER GRECIAN PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 jectionable. The older Grecian philosophers were them- 
 selves of this opinion, inasmuch as they passed severe 
 strictures on Homer and Hesiod, as the most popular and 
 extensive originators of mythology, on account of the un- 
 worthy and immoral representations they made of deity 
 in their songs and poems. Those poems pass with us now 
 only for an agreeable play of the imagination, ministering to 
 our delight and our amusement. But when we recollect 
 that the views they propound were regarded in the popular 
 belief as truths, and when we reflect on the consequences 
 of this, and the uses to which they were applied, we must 
 needs, while admiring the magic of the verse, concur, 
 in some measure, with those philosophers in their denuncia- 
 tion of the muse. At least, we appreciate and understand 
 the grounds of their disapprobation. It may be said that they 
 were too much biassed by their hostility to poetry, and that 
 their censure is far too indiscriminate : the mental develop- 
 ment of the Greeks was, indeed, of so varied a character, that 
 it is no easy matter to pronounce a verdict of general applica- 
 tion, especially to remoter ages. Thus, it is highly probable 
 that the earlier songs, prior to Homer, those commemorating 
 the labours of Hercules, the battles of giants, gods, and heroes, 
 the storming of Thebes by the seven warrior-chiefs, but, es- 
 pecially, the wondrous expedition of the Argonauts, had, in 
 a great measure, a deeper significancy and more exalted views 
 than the later heroic songs of the Trojan period. Some 
 portions, possibly, accorded in a greater degree with Asiatic 
 traditions, than did the subsequent modes of thought : or, at 
 least, were suggestive of them, as, for instance, the imagina- 
 tive description of the successive ages of the world, handed 
 down in the name of Hesiod. First the golden, commenc- 
 ing with a perfect innocence, and the undisturbed blissful 
 enjoyment of life, when man associated with the gods and 
 led a godlike life. Then the silver age, inferior in degree 
 and worth. Last the brazen, a period of lawless violence 
 and rude force, indicative of gradual degeneracy. In re- 
 gard to this allegorical meaning of the older Greek poetry, 
 Orpheus, though personally fabulous, remains a name 
 not altogether devoid of import to the historian : express- 
 ing, as it does, the minstrel who revealed and openly 
 disseminated the secrets of old tradition and consecrated 
 
MATEEIALISM OP MYTHOLOGY. 37 
 
 symbols, in heroic song, agreeably to the genius of his 
 time. However the case ma}*- have been in remoter an- 
 tiquity, in the Homeric poems this deeper significancy is all 
 but obliterated, and has left scarcely any trace, however 
 faint, behind. In the Theogony, attributed to Hesiod, which 
 seems to have been pretty generally diffused, and may serve as 
 a standard of measurement for the rest, the meaning is suf- 
 ficiently obvious, but very material, and altogether contempti- 
 ble. The world, according to his account, sprang from Chaos. 
 Not to mention the many unseemly and preposterous notions 
 of the gods, nature is represented in inexhaustible fertility and 
 vitality, under many allegories, all resolving themselves into 
 the conception of an infinite and eternal animal. In this 
 mythology, the life of nature is conceived in the idea of per- 
 petual change from love to hatred, attraction and repulsion, 
 without any intimation of a higher spirit, which, whilst 
 eminently intelligible in the inner man, at least occasionally, 
 breaks through and is manifested in certain phenomena of 
 Nature. 
 
 Such theology is, in reality, positive materialism, not 
 indeed as yet reduced to system, as a professed science or phi- 
 losophy, but appealing in poetic garb to the people's sympa- 
 thies. This cannot be alleged of Homer, for in him no such 
 material views are ever enunciated. In his picture of huma- 
 nity, wherein the gods are introduced as mere shapes of poetic 
 imagination, scarcely any allusion is made to what, in a phi- 
 losophical and general sense, we term Religion, or to any 
 false opinions usurping its place. There is no infidelity, 
 denial, or objectionable material apprehension of the same, 
 but, rather, total ignorance and childlike ingenuousness, com- 
 bined, as in the case of children, here and there with de- 
 lightful freshness of feeling, with a happy presentiment, and 
 an occasional flash of truth. Looking, then, from our 
 point of view, we should not be inclined to disturb the 
 ancient verdict, as far as it concerns Hesiod, and would assent 
 to it as just though severe, but our judgment of Homer must 
 be far more favourable. Yet it may easily be understood how 
 some 'things involved in his myths, gave offence to the later 
 moralists of his nation, nor can it be concealed that his re- 
 presentation of the gods, in a poetic or moral light, actually 
 constitutes the weak side of his poems. If Homeric heroes 
 
 
 
38 ALLEGORICAL REPRESENTATIONS OE DEITT. 
 
 sometimes appear superhuman and divine in their strength 
 and greatness, the Homeric gods, on the other hand, are fre- 
 quently found grosser,- more subject to human infirmity, and 
 in every respect less god-like than the heroes. This is easy 
 of explanation, since the character and general treatment of 
 the gods belonged rather to the significancy of old tradition, 
 than to the ennobling imagination of the bard. Everything re- 
 lating to the gods had originally, in the popular mind, a signifi- 
 cancy, for the most part connected with nature. Ideas of 
 such natural significancy, embodied in the actions of beings 
 resembling humanity, could not fail to present frequent 
 images of absurdity and seeming immorality. The instance 
 of Saturn or Kronos, devouring his own children, need alone 
 be cited. Taken in a human and moral acceptation, this is a 
 hideous conception, yet nothing more is intended than to 
 depict the changing reproductiveness of nature continually 
 eliminating her own offspring. Hesiod is full of similar 
 conceits which, unless they are considered in relation to 
 nature and a hidden meaning, are offensive and disgusting. 
 Much in the same way, the allegorical import of most ori- 
 ginal representations of their divinities, common to antiquity, 
 is apt to be detrimental to the beauty of many of the imita- 
 tive arts. Take, by way of illustration, the hundred-armed 
 giant, simply a symbol of strength and powerful activity. 
 In a poem, as met with in Homer and Hesiod, the image is 
 not so repugnant, for it does not, in thought, stand out in 
 such bold relief : but when sculptured in enduring marble, 
 it produces a figure resembling those idols which still inspire 
 us with feelings of monstrous disgust, as we view them among 
 Asiatic nations. Or in the case of similar representations, 
 nobler and more intellectual, but incompatible with beauty of 
 proportion. The Indians have expressed their idea of deity at 
 once creative, preservative, and destructive, by a three-headed 
 statue. In keeping with a like symbolical reference, the 
 Indian Brahma has four heads, and the old Roman Janus had 
 two faces. All these allegories are unfavourable to beauty of 
 form. For the same reason, sculpture attained a higher de- 
 gree of perfection among the Greeks than it did among the 
 Egyptians, since the former gradually forsook ancient 
 symbols when they led to monstrosity, without altogether 
 losing sight of reference to the Divine. Individual poets, 
 
MYTHOLOGICAL ALLEGORIES. 39 
 
 especially Pindar, who from the bent of their genius 
 sought to beautify and ennoble all objects, endeavoured 
 to veil much that was rude and offensive to the moral 
 feelings in the old mythic legends. But the same amount 
 of success that was observable in sculpture could not 
 possibly attend their efforts, since ancient poetry was 
 entirely dependent upon mythology, the nature of which it 
 was not competent for any one poet to alter at his will, or 
 even considerably to modify. Even in Homer, who, most of 
 all the poets, represents the gods in human phase, vestiges of 
 this kind are to be found. One example will suffice to render 
 this distinctly intelligible. "When Jupiter, in passionate out- 
 burst, tells the gods that if they fastened a chain to heaven, 
 and all of them clung to it, they would still be too feeble to 
 tear him from his throne, but that, if he pleased, he could 
 pull them all up to him, at the first glance, this wears the ap- 
 pearance of gross and unseemly rhodomontade. But beyond 
 all doubt, it is an allegorical allusion to the concatenation of 
 all beings, and so the ancients explained it. A clearer 
 illustration still is found in another passage, which, at 
 the first, seems exceedingly repulsive and absurd. In an- 
 other of his customary paroxysms, Jupiter bids Juno remem- 
 ber the punishment she once received for persecuting his dear 
 son Hercules. On which occasion, the queen of the gods is 
 represented as having been suspended from the firma- 
 ment of heaven, with hands fettered and an anvil attached to 
 each foot. Some allegorical thought unquestionably floated 
 before the poet's fancy, and, perchance, he recalled to 
 memory some distinct hieroglyphic picture. Yet, after all, 
 passages of this sort are, proportionately, rare in Homer, and 
 this has induced commentators to reject portions here and 
 there, as spurious additions, contrary to the spirit of his 
 genius : whilst later critics have contended sharply respecting 
 their actual import, to which they have attached the most 
 opposite explanations. In an artistic point of view, these 
 symbols form the background of a remote and sacerdotal 
 past, in the immortal picture of the noblest epic that has 
 come down to us. After the connection of individual fea- 
 tures had long been lost, and the simple meaning of 
 ancient natural impressions had disappeared, free scope was 
 given for the most manifold variety of interpretation. 
 
 
40 POPULAR BELIEF. 
 
 Nevertheless, these and such like representations fell 
 under the obloquy of moralists regarding them, as they 
 must, from their point of view, and hence exception was 
 taken to Homer, and to poetry generally. Besides these 
 vestiges of a remote epoch, of a system of symbols no 
 longer understood, the Mythology was repulsive to mo- 
 ralists on other grounds. From the practice of the 
 ancients to trace the lineage of their most celebrated 
 names to heroic genealogies, and these, in their turn, to 
 deities, the father of the gods more particularly, had 
 so numerous an heroic offspring, and so long was the cata- 
 logue of his mortal paramours, that Ovid has filled whole 
 poems and books with detailed descriptions of them. As has 
 before been observed, all this appears to us a mere play of 
 the imagination, fitted to amuse us, though never worthy of 
 being submitted to our serious judgment. But could the 
 moralists in question so easily dispose of that which formed 
 the subject of prevalent, popular belief? A belief, moreover, 
 on which was founded the whole of social arrangement and 
 public education, and which made the immoral applications 
 in connection with it so palpably evident ! 
 
 So far then the censure of the older philosophy is both in- 
 telligible and justifiable, if we transport ourselves to the 
 right stand-point. We must, however, discriminate be- 
 tween Homer in particular and the old mythology gene- 
 rally. Despite all defects, Homer has been the fruitful 
 parent of so much that is good and beautiful, to Greece and 
 the whole of Europe, that we cannot refrain from feeling 
 under obligations to Solon and the Pisistratidse for having 
 preserved the Poet who might have been suffered to fall into 
 oblivion, had the opinion of the philosophers of the time pre- 
 vailed. But of Greek mythology generally, without including 
 this prince of the ancient poets, it must be confessed that in 
 times with which we are historically familiar, it is deserving 
 of censure, not only offensive to individual morality, but 
 essentially material in all its views, and thoroughly objec- 
 tionable and impious. Yet these same philosophers who so 
 severely reproved poets and their mythology, and would have 
 altogether supplanted them, did not, previous to the time 
 of Socrates, elevate their own faculties to a comprehension 
 of divinity, some few of their number contenting themselves 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ANCIENTS. 41 
 
 with a more reflective veneration for nature. The transition 
 from a system like theirs to that of the Sophists was almost 
 imperceptible, and the latter soon proved more dangerous to 
 civil and social interests than the poets had ever been in their 
 innocence and simplicity. 
 
 The philosophy of the ancients, like their poetry, emanated 
 from the Asiatic Greeks. The region in which Homer and 
 Herodotus were bred, likewise produced the first and greatest 
 philosophers : not only Thales and Heraclitus, who established 
 in their own country the so-called Ionic school, but those, too, 
 who disseminated their doctrines throughout Magna Graecia 
 and southern Italy, such as the poet Xenophanes, and Py- 
 thagoras, the founder of the great philosophic league. In 
 art and poetry, we are already prepared to admire the Greeks : 
 but, perhaps, in no department of knowledge, has their 
 genius exhibited so much of activity and rich invention, as in 
 that of philosophy. Their very errors are instructive, since 
 they were, every where, the fruits of independent thought. 
 They found no beaten track of truth : but were, themselves, 
 compelled to pioneer a path in all directions of their enquiry : 
 they are, therefore, best fitted to testify how far man may 
 proceed in the investigation of truth by his natural powers 
 alone. Let us briefly consider the particulars of this philo- 
 sophy. 
 
 The Ionic sages revered one or the other element of nature, 
 as a primary force : Thales, water — Heraclitus, fire. It 
 must not be supposed that this was accepted in a corporeal 
 sense. In addition to the nutritive and all-productive power 
 of water, they recognized in liquid form the principle of con- 
 stant change and mobility in nature. Neither was it the ex- 
 ternal, visible flame, that Heraclitus adduced as the jprinci- 
 pium of nature, but, pre-eminently, the latent heat, the inner 
 fire, which was held by the ancients to constitute the ener- 
 getic vigour of all things animate. The tenets of Heraclitus, 
 the originator of this doctrine, were, probably, of a highly 
 intellectual character. But the example of Anaxagoras best 
 proves how little the mind of this school could disengage 
 itself from the shackles of matter. Though he is generally 
 reckoned to have been the first who, prior to Socrates, ac- 
 knowledged an Intelligence governing in nature and above 
 nature, and regulating the universe, yet, when he came to 
 
42 INCONSISTENCY OF OPINIONS. 
 
 explain the constitution of the world, he betook himself to 
 little simple atoms, of which, according to the doctrine of 
 materialism, all matter was compounded. This doctrine of 
 mechanical union had been completely systematized by those 
 early Greeks — Leucippus and Democritus — and, in the later 
 teaching of Epicurus, had exercised an influence over both 
 Greeks and Romans, in a degree equal to its sway in the 
 eighteenth century. This is that pure materialism which 
 abolishes every idea of a Deity. 
 
 Let it not be supposed that these were mere speculations, 
 without any influence on human life. The deficiencies of 
 the popular belief of the Greeks, and of the older philoso- 
 phy previous to Socrates' time, are most manifest in their 
 doctrines concerning the immortality of the soul. The indis- 
 tinct world of shadows, whose outlines appear in their belief 
 and in their bards, was a poetic dream, which as soon as 
 reflection was awakened, was exchanged for scepticism or 
 downright unbelief. In the mysteries, or secret religious 
 societies, spread over Greece as well as Egypt, some few 
 doctrines relative to a future life, more definitely shaped, but 
 still in allegory, would seem to have been taught; but they 
 were confined to a narrow circle. The earlier and later 
 philosophers, in their attempts to prove immortality, 
 thought only of the indestructibility of primary force, 
 without reference to personal continued existence. Ideas 
 referring to such a future, a personal immortality, as it were, 
 Pythagoras seems to have been the first to propagate. 
 Though his teachiug was not unalloyed, inasmuch as he con- 
 nected immortality, like the Orientals, with transmigration 
 of souls, yet he is elevated far above all the elder Greek 
 philosophers, and, as an apostle of truth, greatly benefited 
 his nation. But his league, aiming, no doubt, at political 
 power, and impracticable without a total subversion of 
 the old creed, crumbled away before his designs were 
 perfected, and from his time down to Socrates the interval* 
 was filled up by growing anarchy and confusion. 
 
 The strange inconsistency of opinions, conceived and 
 
 maintained, and disseminated by means of accomplished 
 
 rhetoric : the doubt and infidelity, thence ensuing, the 
 
 confusion of all ideas, the loosening of all fixed principles, 
 
 * About eighty years. 
 
IMMUTABLE UNITY WITHOUT MOTIVE POWER. 43 
 
 were never displayed, in the entirety of their noxious in- 
 fluence on life, so fully as at that period. One section of 
 these ancient philosophers, whilst differing on various points, 
 had this in common, that they looked upon nature purely on 
 the side of its perpetual change and motion. They held 
 that all things were in a constant flux. They carried this 
 assertion so far as to deny that any thing at all was fixed 
 and permanent : they denied that anything was stable in 
 existence — anything absolutely indubitable in knowledge, or 
 any principle of universal application in morals : in other 
 words, they ignored, together with Divinity, truth and 
 justice. 
 
 Another section, entertaining rational views of an immu- 
 table Unity, were diametrically opposite in their opinions, 
 since they denied the possibility of motive power, as well as 
 the actual existence of a world of sense, and sought to main- 
 tain their paradoxes with the highest dialectic skill : hence 
 at least so much of their purpose was effected that doubt 
 and uncertainty became more and more general. One of the 
 first and greatest of these Sophists commenced his teaching 
 with the express assertion : that, in itself, there is no such 
 thing as truth : that, if there were truth, it were inca- 
 pable of being apprehended by man ; and that, if it were 
 intelligible, it would, still, be incommunicable to him. 
 Pure scepticism might readily be permitted to the reasoner, 
 if he had attained to so joyless and unsatisfactory a convic- 
 tion after a process of diligent and honest enquiry, and if his 
 artificial ignorance were removed from the possibility of 
 acting injuriously or destructively on every-day life, but con- 
 fined to his own bosom. But the Sophists had disciples and 
 adherents throughout all Greece ; the education of all the 
 noble and ingenuous youth was in their hands. Neither 
 was their scepticism an honest one, for, whilst some 
 taught that nothing can be definitely known, others main- 
 tained that they were omniscient masters of each art 
 and every science. They easily succeeded in enabling their 
 followers to perplex and beguile the unwary and less 
 experienced by means of certain sophisms, and in the end 
 cheated themselves into the delusion that they were com- 
 petent to decide upon the merits of all things, easily and 
 promptly — as it were by innate instinct — much better than 
 
44 SOCBATES. 
 
 their predecessors, whom no opportunity was missed to ridi- 
 cule. It was one of the practices in their schools not merely 
 to defend, at will, opposite opinions, in order to sharpen the 
 mental faculties, and improve oratory : but, further than this, 
 it was a customary study to make an avowed falsehood appear 
 truthful by means of ingenious arguments, and thus impose 
 on their fellow citizens. It was laid down as a dogma that 
 there was no other virtue than dexterity and force, in cool 
 contempt of all moral axioms, which, it was alleged, served 
 only to mislead weaker men, and were pronounced to be mere 
 superstitious folly — and that there was no other right than 
 the right of the stronger, or the will of the ruler. In these 
 schools, too, the popular belief was ridiculed, which, with all 
 its defects, was, yet, connected in many minds with noble 
 and moral feeling, and should, therefore, have been spared so 
 long as nothing better could be provided in its place. Not only 
 were many contradictory expositions, empty and perverse 
 notions respecting the world and its great first cause, gene- 
 rally propagated, but the existence of a deity was ignored, 
 inasmuch as all sense of truth and justice was blasted and 
 rooted up. 
 
 And all this in states which were, moreover, on the brink 
 of ruin, given over to unbridled democracy and the blind 
 fury of contending factions, weakened and shattered by war, 
 plunging from one bloody revolution into another, and sink- 
 ing fast and deeper into anarchy. 
 
 In the midst of such universal atheism, Socrates arose, 
 and inculcated anew the doctrine of a God in a practical 
 manner ; he first attacked the Sophists and unveiled their 
 nothingness : then, he set goodness and beauty, nobility and 
 perfection, righteousness and virtue, as well as all that leads 
 to God and issues from him, in varied modes before men's 
 eyes, and touched their hearts. Thus, he became the 
 second founder and the restorer of the nobler and loftier in- 
 tellectual culture of the Greeks, but fell, in his own person, 
 a victim to his zeal for truth. His death is too memorable 
 an event in the history of humanity, not to deserve a few 
 moments' attention at our hands. 
 
 The single charge that was brought against him, that 
 of having introduced the doctrine of a new and unknown 
 God, and which was, therefore, a species of treason against 
 
CALUMNIATED ET HIS OPPONENTS. 45 
 
 the state that had adhered to the gods of popular belief, was, 
 indeed, in a certain sense founded on what must needs re- 
 dound to Socrates' credit. If the Socratic system of thought, 
 which was altogether new to Greece, had not merely been 
 confided to the circle of a few select disciples, but become 
 prevalent throughout that country, the mode and habits of 
 life, together with a considerable portion of the people's 
 creed, would either have been abolished, or must have under- 
 gone an entire remodelling. In anticipation of this, some 
 narrow-minded followers of the old religion were eager to 
 heap calumny upon the head of Socrates, and hastened to 
 confound him with those very Sophists and new teachers 
 whose doctrines he was combating; whilst with many it 
 was, doubtless, a mere pretext — the political views of So- 
 crates constituting the actual ground of their hatred. 
 
 Under all circumstances, Socrates had approved himself 
 an excellent citizen and a courageous patriot, but he was 
 the declared foe of democracy, at least the majority of 
 his adherents were. The manner, as exhibited in Xenophon 
 and Plato, of preferring, sometimes with excessive partiality, 
 the institutions of Sparta, and those inclining to aristocracy, 
 generally, could not but appear odious and unpatriotic at 
 Athens. Xor were all the foes of democracy, who issued 
 from the school of Socrates, equally blameless and noble with 
 Xenophon and Plato. Critias, too, had attended the teaching 
 of Socrates : Critias, one of the thirty tyrants who ruled in 
 Athens, through Spartan influence, after that city had lost 
 its independence. An ancient writer, not without some show 
 of reason, alleges this circumstance to have been the chief 
 cause of Socrates' untimely end. 
 
 It is somewhat difficult satisfactorily to explain how 
 Socrates arrived at his peculiar views. He was acquainted 
 with the higher philosophy without being perfectly satisfied 
 with it. On several occasions he referred to a higher genius 
 or daemon that controlled his actions : and it is not easy to 
 decide whether this meant the small still voice of conscience, 
 the suggestion and decision of hi3 reasoning faculties, or 
 something different. There is like difficulty in determining 
 what his views of the popular creed were: whether he 
 rejected it entirely, or retained some purer portion of the 
 same. He seems to have been familiar with all that 
 
46 HE REFUSES TO ESCAPE EEOM PRISON. 
 
 was known to the secret societies of the day. From 
 those sentiments which the philosophy of the eighteenth 
 century would as unhesitatingly term superstitious, as 
 did the all-knowing and unbelieving sages he opposed, he 
 was certainly not free. One instance will serve to shew 
 how frequently, even in this particular, he was misrepre- 
 sented and wrongly estimated. In the last conversation he 
 had with his friends, just before his death, to the enquiry if 
 he had any further request to make, he replied : none, save 
 that a cock be sacrified to Aesculapius. This has been found 
 fault with: for, say the critics, in his last moments he either 
 paid homage to popular superstition, the futility of which he 
 must have discovered, or if he mocked it, the jest was, at least, 
 unseasonable. But the significancy of his meaning is plain. 
 It was usual for convalescents from a long and severe illness 
 to make this votive offering to Aesculapius. The thought, so 
 beautifully developed by several of his successors, lay, like 
 a fair gem, enshrined within his words ; that this life was des- 
 tined to be only a preparation for a more exalted one, or, as 
 expressed by the ancients, that man might learn to die. Life, 
 in the abstract, — but how much more forcibly the life of his 
 troubled times — was regarded by Socrates as a prison of the 
 nobler soul : as a malady from which the serene sage was 
 content and happy to be delivered by death, since it was so 
 ordained. In the condemnation of suicide, however, if not 
 the first, he was certainly the most decided of all ancient 
 philosophers : maintaining that it was clearly a crime against 
 self, and against God. He would, by no means consent to 
 escape from prison and death. Neither could he have done 
 so, without, materially, detracting from his own dignity 
 and that of his cause, which, now that he had bequeathed 
 to his followers so noble an example of constancy in having 
 sealed his convictions with his death, was held in increased 
 reverence by posterity and recognized to be the cause of vir- 
 tue as well as truth. 
 
 From the rich store of the ancient Greek philosophy it has 
 only been my wish to introduce here a few outlines for sketch- 
 ing a general picture : I have, especially, selected what is histo- 
 rically true, what, from its reference to life, seemed generally 
 remarkable, and was most capable of being clearly elucidated. 
 
 Erom this digression, I now return to a brief description 
 
PLATO AND ARISTOTLE. 47 
 
 of the most distinguished writers. Beauty of style inti* 
 mately connects Xenophon with the best authors of antiquity. 
 As an historian, he excels Thucydides in ease and clear- 
 ness of expression, as also in artless grace. But, as he is 
 deficient in elevation of sentiment, those who are accustomed 
 to reflect deeply will incline to the ruggedness of Thucy- 
 dides. In giving a philosophical description of the Socratic 
 dialogues, he is far inferior to Plato, not only in depth of 
 thought but in richness of illustration and artistic skill. His 
 political romance of the life of Cyrus deserves mention, as 
 being unique of its kind in antiquity : yet, this hybrid species 
 of history, poetry, and morals, notwithstanding its individual 
 beauties, is, on the whole, not to be recommended for imita- 
 tion. 
 
 Whilst Xenophon and other Socratic writers laboured to 
 restore beauty and simplicity of style, sophistry continued 
 to exercise its baleful influence on Grecian rhetoric generally. 
 The example of Isocrates proves to us how far this artificial 
 subtility of language and expression was carried — among an 
 intellectual people — a subtility which frequently rejoiced in 
 selecting fictitious subjects at random, without the slightest 
 reference to their applicability or value, — in preference to 
 others of intrinsic importance — simply for the purpose of 
 practising oratorical flow, and the play of imagination. There 
 is, doubtless, some artistic merit in the care with which their 
 sentences were composed, the choice position of each word, 
 the cadence of every syllable, the diligent rounding of 
 periods, the nice finish of the whole. To us, indeed, this 
 ornamental elegance, and elaborate polish, may seem, pe- 
 culiarly, to commend itself, culpable, as we are, in the 
 extreme of unjustifiable negligence. But this art should 
 not be felt, ought not to be conscious of its own presence, 
 for we experience its disturbing effect — even in sculpture. 
 And yet, here, the case is widely different : it is much less 
 disagreeable to be reminded by the dead stone, of elaborate 
 art : than it is by written productions. Language was never 
 intended to be mere inanimate art, but free, living, and acting 
 upon life itself. 
 
 Plato and Aristotle, whom here I am treating of simply as 
 writers, mark out at once the whole extent of Greek cul- 
 ture, and the extreme height and depth to which the genius 
 
48 RESPECTIVE MERITS. 
 
 of that country, at any time, attained. The first, considered 
 and represented philosophy entirely as an art : the second, as 
 science, in the fullest sense of the word; since with philosophy 
 he comprehended physics and natural history, general history, 
 politics, and learning, and thus reduced all the knowledge of 
 the Greeks to one system. 
 
 In the representative and poetical portions of his dialogues, 
 especially in language and artistic feeling, Plato was esteemed 
 by the ancients as the greatest of their prose writers. His 
 distinguishing excellence lies in the manifold variety with 
 which he is enabled to approach each subject, from artificial 
 abstractions and subtleties — through the labyrinths of which 
 he pursues the Sophists, — to poetic passages, occasionally of 
 ditnyrambie power, in which he communicates his philoso- 
 phical fictions and myths. Considered merely as descriptive 
 works, his Phcedo and Republic, belong to the noblest pro- 
 ductions of Greek genius. 
 
 Aristotle closes the circle of classical development, as 
 regards the form and method of philosophy, which he per- 
 fected for the world at that period. Its first epoch is marked 
 by Ionic thinkers, with their aphorisms and gnomic prose, 
 which we have already considered as the most primitive 
 form of philosophic contemplation. Others, like Par- 
 menides and Empedocles, returned once more to poetry. By 
 means of the Sophists, and then, though in a purer spirit, by 
 means of the Socratic school, philosophic exposition, during 
 the second epoch of its history, became thoroughly rhetorical 
 and dialectic, assuming, at the last, the form of dialogue. 
 In this department of philosophic teaching, Plato outstrips 
 all competitors in ever-changing variety of example and pro- 
 totype in every species of art : in most manifold gradations, 
 from the abstract web of pure dialectic thought, to the richest 
 dramatic vivacity, and most genial descriptions of character : 
 one charming whole of philosophic fiction and poetic allegory. 
 The critical comparison of the older systems, which was in- 
 stituted by Plato, was continued by Aristotle with fuller 
 completeness; so that, by his thoroughly critical method he 
 grew to be the founder of systematized discourse, in those 
 works of his which aimed at as great a perfection of science 
 as was possible : this may be regarded as the third epoch of 
 philosophy in its form of development. Subsequent schools 
 
RESTORATION OF PHILOSOPHY. 49 
 
 alternated the systematic, Aristotelian method, with the Pla- 
 tonic form of dialogue, in philosophy. Till at a much later 
 period, a purely rhetorical process of philosophy obtained in 
 the Syncretic and Eclectic schools of new Platonism. 
 
 These two master-spirits, Plato and Aristotle, have for two 
 thousand years exercised immense influence over the pro- 
 gress of mental effort throughout Asia and Europe ; of this 
 further mention will be made in another place. As a 
 writer, Aristotle is marked by the refined elegance that 
 was beginning to characterize his age. Whilst Plato was 
 considered an archetype of excellence in language, art, and 
 the essence of Grecian, more especially Attic, culture : Aris- 
 totle influenced learning, rendered criticism more acute, and 
 developed all the resources of historic science, in the most 
 decided and profitable manner. Aristotle's immediate suc- 
 cessor, Theophrastus, the character-painter, as also those 
 of Plato's school, were men of general culture, their writings 
 being composed in a noble and pleasing style. The philosophic 
 sects that followed appeared to great disadvantage in this 
 respect : the adherents of Epicurus relaxing into a negligent 
 slipshod manner, whilst the Stoics indulged in bombastic 
 verbosity, and an affected technicality of language. Uni- 
 versal degeneracy of mind began to manifest itself very clearly 
 in the form of expression. 
 
 The restoration of philosophy by Socrates did not extend 
 to the whole of Greek intellect: it operated directly on but 
 a few who every day withdrew themselves more and more 
 from social life, and disowned any connexion or sympathy 
 with the nation that was tottering fast into lowest degrada- 
 tion. On poetry — to which I now return — it could scarcely 
 have had any influence at all, inasmuch as that art depended 
 altogether on mythology, popular belief, ancient tradition 
 and usage, and when national life had, as it were, lost its 
 vivifying and sustaining force, poetry could only be called an 
 echo of the early glorious past of inventive bards. 
 
 In the later poetry of the Greeks, then, we behold the 
 mere picture of continual decline ; yet this period is not with- 
 out occasional beauties, and distinct traces of Grecian intel- 
 lect and poetic faculty. 
 
 Of the decline of tragic art, it will be remembered, we per- 
 ceived the first tokens in Euripides, however excellent he 
 
50 MENAKDEE. 
 
 may be in pathos, however rich, here and there, in lyric 
 charm. This less perfect form of his, as compared with the 
 older Tragedians, is especially manifested in the want of 
 unity and connection in his compositions. It has, previously, 
 been remarked that ancient tragedy took its rise from those 
 choral and festive songs, based on mythology, peculiar to the 
 Greeks. The chorus is inseparable from the very essence of 
 old tragedy, seeing that it is altogether lyric in its nature 
 and properties. This peculiarity has been felt by modern 
 poets when they sought to imitate or appropriate the form. 
 Perfect accord and suitable relation between the chorus and 
 the dramatic action are, hence, essential to the perfection of 
 tragedy such as this. In Sophocles, harmonious unison of 
 the two is thoroughly realized ; but in Euripides, the chorus 
 wanders over the whole domains of mythology, as though its 
 position were merely one of tradition and custom. Thus, 
 likewise, many lyric beauties, in themselves exquisite, which 
 the poet had acquired in the schools of the Sophists, as also 
 long oratorical speeches, are frequently introduced out of 
 place. Now that true harmony had departed, and the lyric 
 elements were no longer an integral part of the whole, dra- 
 matic action, such as had formerly filled up the interstices of 
 tragedy, bore the appearance of meagre poverty. In order 
 to enrich it, the poet betook himself to various expedients, 
 in the shape of complications, surprises, double catastrophes, 
 intrigues, more suitable to comedy, and not in harmony with 
 the dignity of Tragedy. 
 
 The last poet who depicted Athenian life in a novel and 
 original manner, was Menander ; the founder, or finisher, of 
 elegant Comedy, and whose merits we are in a condition, 
 approximately, to estimate, by the imitations or translations 
 of Terence. "Dramatic art, which, in iEschylus, began with 
 the heroically great and wonderful, had thus reached its last 
 stage. Leaving the obscurity and mighty forms of a poetic 
 past, it gradually drew nearer to the present, ending with a 
 spirited representation of ordinary life ; and when the cha- 
 racters, situations, and combinations of the same were com- 
 pletely exhausted, it terminated its career and ceased to 
 exist. Many of the ancients doubted if a description of 
 real life, and of the present, in a word, if every day Co- 
 medy belonged to the department of poetry. Many de- 
 
THE NATURE OF POETRY. 51 
 
 nied that it was, and held that mythology, no less than 
 verse, was one of its essential properties. In our acceptation 
 of the word, the living representation of life cannot, by any 
 means, be excluded from the domains of poesy, even without 
 the elements of the wonderful and the fictitious. The 
 first and primitive destination of poesy, in reference to 
 mankind and to life generally — and this, in a national point 
 of view, should be its acceptation — is, doubtless, to preserve 
 and embellish traditions and reminiscences of a glorious past, 
 that are peculiar to a people : as is the case in epics, in 
 which free scope is given to the wonderful, and the poet con- 
 forms himself to the mythology. The second destination of 
 poetry is to set clearly before men's eyes a distinct and lively 
 portraiture of actual life. This is feasible in other works of 
 art likewise : but nowhere else so vividly, or with such graphic 
 force as in the Drama. It is not alone the outward surface 
 of life that poesy is intended to mirror : she may serve also 
 to arouse the higher life of inward feeling. The essence of 
 poetry, thus directed, is enthusiasm, or that exalted state of 
 feeling manifesting itself in various shapes and forms which, 
 as scon as this bent predominates, merges into lyric art. 
 
 In our estimation, then, the nature and being of . poetry 
 consist of invention, expression and inspiration. In the first 
 of these, invention, the other two elements, expression, and 
 inspiration, are fully comprehended; but without actual 
 invention, and without the marvellous, a work of the intel- 
 lect and of language may be poetical by means of expression 
 or inspiration alone, and deserve so to be called. These 
 same elements of poetry we have before described as consist- 
 ing of tradition, soug, and figure, which, viewed from another 
 point, are similar to the components I have mentioned. 
 Poetry, if not a pure fiction, but having reference to a given 
 subject shoots forth from Legend, as its natural root, and tra- 
 dition, or legend, really constitutes the material foundation, 
 the visible body of poetry. But inspiration is the soul of 
 song, in the same manner as the artistic portraiture of the 
 divine life, at which the ancients aimed in their tragedies, 
 is the apex of poetical representation — when the inner spirit 
 of poetry attains the summit of its aspirations. Thus, the 
 life of poetry, like every species of exalted, inward life, rests 
 on three principles, mind, spirit, and body or the sensuous 
 
52 DEVELOPMENT OE GHEEK POETET. 
 
 element, and on the harmonious co-operation of these united 
 elements in an ascending scale. 
 
 Tradition, song, and figure, are the individual letters or 
 syllables that compose and perfect the poetic triad and the 
 eternal Word of poesy : the Word of nature, namely, such as 
 the imagination includes in love, — and the Word of ardent 
 feeling expressed in universal or national reminiscences, or 
 in presentiments of the Divine. And this Word of poesy, 
 itself, is but apart of the whole, the perfect Word, which was 
 originally implanted, after the Divine image, in the several 
 faculties of the soul, and to express which, in earthly cover- 
 ing, man is summoned into this world of sense. 
 
 Let us now glance back at the development of Greek 
 poetry, in order to trace the same to its final stage. If we 
 close the epoch of Attic culture with Menander, the last 
 original Athenian poet, who described real life as well as 
 influenced it, it constitutes a period — reckoning from Solon 
 — of just three hundred years. 
 
 The poets who appeared subsequent to the extension of 
 Greek power by Alexander's conquests, and who especially 
 gathered round the court of the Ptolemies, are, at most, to be 
 regarded as a gleaning of the ancient Greek poetry. With 
 respect to language, the preservation and interpretation of 
 memorial records, and, indeed, for the purposes of learned cri- 
 ticism generally, good service was rendered by the Court-phi- 
 losophers, Academicians, and Librarians, of Alexandria. But 
 they have that fault common to learned poets, affected ex- 
 pression too rarely avoided : not a few are designedly 
 obscure. Some, who took to Epics or general mythological 
 subjects, contributed at any rate, to the preservation of old 
 poetry, and handing it down to posterity. Thus when the 
 works of so many older poets have perished, it cannot but be 
 gratifying to us to be in possession of the pleasing fable of 
 the Argonauts, treated of by Apollonius — an elegant poet of 
 this period. Having before them a rich store of ancient 
 minstrelsy, those Alexandrinian bards, possibly, penetrated 
 deeper here and there into the connection of primitive legends 
 and the spirit of mythology, than their predecessors of the 
 blooming period of literature. In this way Callimachus de- 
 serves especial notice, as having diligently studied the old 
 traditions : a poetic Mythologist, and not destitute of poetic 
 
ITS TENDENCY. D6 
 
 genius ; this is evidenced by the ardent Propertius, the 
 Roman Elegiac poet, who caught the inspiration of his muse. 
 Mythological subjects were now frequently treated in a sys- 
 tematic manner, verses of analogous method and import being 
 grouped together. Poetic unity, as a whole, was destroyed, 
 or, as in Ovid's Metamorphoses, was produced only by arti- 
 ficial transitions and unnatural combinations. 
 
 The tendency of poetry, when on its decline, is to become 
 increasingly isolated and secluded, and to deal with topics 
 which are foreign to its genius. It needs no critical acumen 
 to demonstrate that scientific Astronomy, a chapter on Bo- 
 tany, or a string of Medical prescriptions, though embodied 
 in verse, do not belong to poetry : or to shew that the di- 
 dactic species of poem, as it is called, bequeathed to us by 
 the Alexandrinians, is but an unnatural form of art. Modern 
 writers have the less excuse for imitating this kind of 
 composition, that they are altogether destitute of many 
 advantages enjoyed by the Greeks. In the earliest ages, 
 didactic poesy was made to subserve various purposes of 
 purely scientific information, not in order to prove the 
 facility with which difficult and unfavourable materials were 
 handled, but for real instruction; either because no actual 
 prose existed, or it was not sufficiently developed to employ 
 expressions suitable to the theme, or, at any rate, the author 
 felt himself more at home in Hexameters. Originally, then, 
 the Grecian didactic form had sprung up from a natural 
 necessity of their intellectual culture : a circumstance that 
 must have been an advantage to the moderns when they 
 came to adopt this mode of writing. Mythology, moreover, 
 so completely peoples the whole visible world with its form 
 and attractive fables, that it is impossible to think of any 
 subject not, in some degree, connected with its fictions, and, 
 therefore, capable of occupying some department of ancient 
 poesy. Even, when treating of medicine or botany, nu- 
 merous opportunities occurred to the poet, of which he 
 availed himself, to introduce some poetic allusion from fable- 
 land, or some episode, without the slightest semblance of 
 stiffness : but this constitutes the very charm of these poems, 
 a charm which, in its native freshness and unimpaired by art, 
 the moderns can never present to us. 
 
 There is, however, one kind of poetry, appertaining to this 
 
54 BUCOLICS. 
 
 latter period, more attractive to our taste, being not mere 
 imitative art, but a delineation of life in a peculiar aspect. 
 I allude to bucolic, or pastoral poetry : the Idylls of Theocri- 
 tus and others. Pastoral life, in itself, has much of the 
 poetical : but it is difficult to understand why this single 
 phase is to be separated, and in set relief, from the great 
 picture of human life poesy is intended to set before us. 
 On calling to mind those passages in the heroics of the 
 ancients? or in the chivalric poems of the moderns, in which 
 the simple, guileless ease of rural life is contrasted with the 
 restless roving of heroes amid the din and clang of arms, how 
 exquisite the antithesis ! The several features appear in 
 mutual connexion and relative proportion, and there results 
 a grand and general picture of life and of the world. The 
 isolation of rustic portraiture from the poetic gallery as 
 one unique whole, tempts the poet to repetition ; or, if 
 he would not be tedious, and is ambitious to excel his pre- 
 decessors, he is forced into exaggeration. It is a singular 
 circumstance that this species of verse in later times of social 
 refinement is most in vogue. Thus poetry frequently ex- 
 presses that disgust at the refinements of city life which 
 forces us back to Nature and rural scenes. Most idylls betray 
 this their origin, and, ever and anon, reveal some trait that 
 tells us that those shepherds and shepherdesses, who have be- 
 taken themselves to the country, and put on the garb of 
 rustics, are city ladies and gentlemen. Theocritus and the 
 bucolic poems of antiquity undoubtedly present us with some 
 genuine eclogues. Yet even they often remind us, by their 
 elegance of diction and artful witticisms, of the seductions 
 of the town and the intrigues of Courts. On the whole, the 
 Idylls of the ancients corresponded with the import of their 
 name : being little poetic pictures, borrowing their subjects 
 sometimes from life, sometimes from mythology, but, gene- 
 rally, of erotic contents. 
 
 In this manner, then, poetry became disjointed, and gra- 
 dually frittered away its resources. Its proportions dimi- 
 nished more and more ; till, at last, it dwindled down to 
 miniature groups of buds and flowers, single epigrams and 
 conceits, forming an anthological wreath : or a collection of 
 the neatest and prettiest poetical baubles of every kind. 
 
LECTUEE III. 
 
 Eeyiew. — Influence of the Greeks oyer the Eohans. 
 — Sketch of Eoman Literature. 
 
 When the Greeks had ceased to be a nation, their litera- 
 ture daily became less connected with actual life. This was, 
 first and foremost, indicated by their philosophy ; its scien- 
 tific views in antagonism to the vulgar creed, and its lofty 
 ideas, were no longer applicable to the degraded national 
 condition. Historical knowledge was, of course, extended 
 in manifold ways; language and literature were, for the first 
 time, placed on a sure basis, and universally cultivated. 
 But the old grandeur of treatment, the freedom of spirit, 
 were wanting. Oratory still asserted its supremacy in the 
 general estimation, and, more than ever, constituted the 
 principal object of education. If, however, even in the 
 glorious olden times, this art was sometimes employed 
 for the purpose of ingenious sophistry, how much more was 
 this likely to be the case now, when genuine political elo- 
 quence had lost its occupation, and national feeling had 
 become extinct even in speech, and degenerated into petty 
 subtleties. Poetry, too, from which the whole of Greek 
 culture had, at first, proceeded, was fast dwindling down 
 to mere mechanical art: it could not escape the general 
 impending doom. The fate of the imitative arts was happier, 
 perhaps, because they are not so immediately dependent on 
 the concerns of daily life. The artist works on, in his studio, 
 after the lofty ideal : though, all around him ; political insti- 
 tutions may be shattered, and the aspect of society revolu- 
 tionized. And, if here, too, the universal corruption of 
 manners and customs was followed by effeminacy, and de- 
 terioration of taste, the results were, at least, not so general. 
 It is indisputable that many splendid productions were 
 achieved, both in sculpture and architecture, in times when 
 poetry and oratory were greatly corrupted. 
 
5G INVENTIVE GENIUS OE THE GREEKS. 
 
 Other sciences, unconnected with public life, and totally 
 independent of the moral condition of a people, continued 
 to exhibit the inventive genius of the Greeks in great per- 
 fection and power. In the mathematics, though without 
 many instruments and appliances which, nowadays, we are 
 accustomed to consider indispensable, they laid the founda- 
 tion of scientific geometry and astronomy: and the true 
 system of the universe, into which the earlier disciples of 
 Pythagoras had partially penetrated, as is supposed, became 
 a subject of general cognizance on the part of their philoso- 
 phers. The admirable skill of Archimedes astonished and 
 amazed even the Romans : and, notwithstanding the disad- 
 vantages attendant on their inconvenient mode of desig- 
 nating numbers by means of letters, and without any 
 knowledge of the decimal system, the Greeks produced a 
 Geometrician, in the person of Euclid, whose works are re- 
 garded as classical by the best judges in modern times. 
 Medicine, of yore a favourite study of theirs, now be- 
 came one of their especial pursuits, and presented w r ide 
 scope for their penetrating, inventive, and systematizing 
 spirit. It was by means of these acquirements and not 
 by literature alone : as orators and linguists, indeed, 
 but no less so as artists, mathematicians, and physicians, 
 that the Greeks commended themselves to the Eomans, 
 when the latter, after having overrun Tarentum, lower 
 Italy, and Sicily, entered the territories of Greece; and 
 they speedily became necessary to the conquerors, however 
 stoutly their influence was at first opposed. On two occasions 
 Greek philosophers and rhetoricians were expelled from Rome 
 by a decree of the senate ; and old Cato, an implacable foe to 
 all Greek arts, and the champion of old Roman tastes and 
 feelings, would not tolerate the presence even of their phy- 
 sicians who attended very many Roman families : alleging 
 that they were impostors, who killed, instead of curing, 
 their patients, and recommending that domestic remedies 
 and the wonted means of the good old times should be 
 adopted. How necessary Greek rhetoricians and linguists 
 were to the Romans, may be seen from the repetition of the 
 decree, shewing that the first had not been long regarded. 
 All this is easily explained. At that time the Greek tongue 
 was the common medium of the civilized world. Homer's 
 
GREEK ORATORY. 57 
 
 poems charmed the inhabitants of furthest Asia : the In- 
 dians were, probably, not without some acquaintance with 
 Greek literature : whilst in the remote "West, the Cartha- 
 ginians wrote, in Greek, an account of their voyages of dis- 
 covery, and Punic Hannibal the history of his wars. After 
 the conquest of Southern Italy, and Sicily, whose inhabi- 
 tants [spoke the Greek idiom, and when Macedonia and 
 Achaia came to be occupied, a familiarity with this universal 
 language became more and more essential to the Romans : 
 especially as the Greeks were in possession of a host of 
 historical works bearing on all those countries and nations 
 with whom the conquerors had now been brought in relation. 
 Romans themselves, who, at this period, began to write the 
 history of their own country, did so in Greek ; and Polybius, 
 a Greek who had been taken to Rome as a hostage, was the 
 first to describe to the world at large the character cf 
 the conquerors, in a copious work, the political contents 
 of which, at least, were regarded as classical in all succeed- 
 ing ages. Livius Andronicus, a Greek captive of Tarentum,* 
 acquainted with the Latin tongue, first presented the Odys- 
 sey in intelligible, though homely, Italian measure, to the 
 Romans and initiated them by means of translations into 
 the dramatic beauties of the Greeks. But what served to 
 render Greek culture peculiarly agreeable to the upper 
 classes of the Romans and gradually to the nation col- 
 lectively, was Greek oratory, which was closely combined 
 with instruction in the language itself. In Rome, too, elo- 
 quence exercised considerable influence over state affairs, 
 and the more disturbed times grew subsequently to the davs 
 of Gracchus, the more ambition stood in need of the assist- 
 ance of some art like that of sophistry, which, on that 
 very account seemed to the old conservative party dangerous 
 to the state and injurious to thought. 
 
 The later intellectual cultivation of the Romans was never 
 entirely able to conceal this feature of its origin : we are 
 
 * In reference to this, Niebuhr, in his " Lectures on Roman History," 
 says : — The translation of Greek poetry into the Latin tongue was a step 
 of immense consequence. That Livius Andronicus had been taken pri- 
 soner at Tarentum, may he a mistake, as he is perhaps confounded with 
 M. Livius Macatus ; Livius Andronicus could at that time have been but 
 a mere child. The accounts of him are very uncertain. — Translator's note. 
 
58 CHARGES BROUGHT AGAINST ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 ever accustomed to repeat that the Eomans in their literature 
 were mere imitators of the Greeks. 
 
 That nations who appear later in the world's history and 
 in the general development of Humanity should receive a 
 large portion of their intellectual culture, as a bequest from 
 those who have preceded them, is inevitable, and, therefore, 
 in itself no reproach. It would be absurd to wish to intro- 
 duce the exclusive policy of a commercial system into the 
 domains of literature : or, in other words, to expect complete 
 isolation of national development and genius. If national 
 individuality be maintained in full integrity : if, in the pur- 
 suit of knowledge, peculiarity of language and of thought 
 be not heedlessly sacrificed to foreign culture, no blame 
 is to be attached to a people seeking to enlarge their 
 stores of literary wealth. Acquirements are, in themselves, 
 the property of every nation ; the genius of the poet or in- 
 structive writer who would influence his country, is elevated 
 and embellished by gazing on the eminence to which art and 
 reflection, spirit and language, have raised other nations. 
 That kind of imitation alone is dead, which, instead of ge- 
 neral, mental expansion, and animation, aims but at foreign 
 forms that are individual and forced, the nature of which is 
 seldom completely applicable to the genius of any other 
 people, and, though vigorous at home, droops when trans- 
 planted to a soil not its own. 
 
 Roman literature is exposed, in some measure, to two 
 charges : first, that of neglecting to work the mines of tradi- 
 tionary legend : and, also, of futile artificial imitation of foreign 
 forms which, instead of blooming in the native hue of health, 
 drag on, like hot-house plants, a pale and sickly existence in 
 uncongenial climes. 
 
 Nevertheless, it possesses a certain character which im- 
 parts to it an air of dignity, even when contrasted with 
 Greek culture, its great original and source. It is a cha- 
 racteristic peculiar to the Eomans and to Eome, that great 
 central-point of universal history, ancient and modern. 
 
 Just as the artist is, or at least should be, animated by 
 some lofty idea which causes him to forget all else, in which 
 lie lives and moves, and in the realization of which, his 
 productions, though varied in form and shape, all tend 
 to a common centre : so the genuine poet and inventive 
 
DISTINCTIVE FEATURES. 59 
 
 writer is full of some great ideal, peculiar to himself, from 
 which his efforts radiate, aud of which the peculiar form of 
 Art in which he strives to represent it, is only the outward 
 expression. This it is that distinguishes the Greeks from 
 the Romans. Recall, for a moment, the great poets of the most 
 nourishing period, JEschylus, Pindar, Sophocles : the patrio- 
 tic and popular Aristophanes : the orator Demosthenes : the 
 two great historians, Herodotus and Thucydides, or those 
 profound thinkers, Plato and Aristotle. Each one of these 
 has his own peculiar idea, to him all-absorbing, and mirrored 
 in all his productions. Of the two Homeric poems the same 
 may be said, though on the part of their great author, it was 
 more unconscious : being not so much the result of steady 
 purpose, as of very fulness and perfection of the happiest 
 innate • intellectual organization. Hence, the above-named 
 writers, severally evince an individual mental process, a 
 peculiar mode of representative art : nay, even their style and 
 language are such as to make one feel like entering a new 
 world. All elements and faculties of advanced civilization 
 are here visible, in happiest combination, in richest purity, 
 in full bloom of perfection, ranged side by side, from the 
 first link to the last, in this chain of classical authors. 
 "Whilst in Homer, we see the whole fulness of poetic fancy in 
 the happy heroic age, spread out before us in the clear 
 radiance of the purest light, Aristotle shews us the summit 
 and whole extent of knowledge which the natural reason of 
 antiquity could attain either by force of thought, or scientific 
 enquiry. The great Dramatists express, more especially, 
 the inner moral life, the character of the ancients, the very 
 core of feeling, struggling, as it were, into creative power. 
 On that very account, the whole of their works — with the 
 exception of Sophocles their head, who, both in spirit and 
 form, manifests finished and perfect harmony — are incom- 
 parably more individual and local in style and art, and much 
 less calculated to enlist our sympathies or create an active 
 interest in the nature of their qualities, than those two. In 
 Plato, however, we behold the purified Reason on the most in- 
 tellectual elevation of ancient culture, striving after the higher 
 light of a wondrous manifestation in all the raptures of en- 
 thusiasm amid the secrets and symbols of the Divine. Beyond 
 the limited horizon of Greece, he enters into the realms of 
 
GO ATHENIAN EEEEDOM. 
 
 supernatural intelligence and of the most ancient traditions, 
 gazing, now Eastward, now with a presentiment of Chris- 
 tianity ; thus, the entire circuit of human power is exhausted 
 and described by the imagination and reason, by the cha- 
 racter and intellect of these great master-spirits of Humanity. 
 
 So rich and manifold was Greek culture, and we seek in vain 
 for similar originality in Roman writers. Yet there is, in 
 them, a compensating quality ; not peculiar to any one, but 
 common to all, the paramount idea of Borne. Rome, so 
 wonderful in the severity of her laws and morals, terribly 
 grand even in her errors, and eternally memorable in her 
 universal dominion. This is the spirit that pervades all 
 Roman writings, and gives them a dignity independent of all 
 Greek art and refinement which constituted, too often, the 
 objects of their slavish imitation. 
 
 The grandeur and general controlling force of the state, 
 and the mental vigour and boldness of individuals are, in 
 reality, somewhat antithetical, notwithstanding it is a na- 
 tural as well as reasonable wish to see the union of 
 both in equal parts. But, from the nature of things, it is 
 hardly to be expected that in a State where the one idea of 
 fatherland — its greatness and its fame — affects everything, 
 and leaves no effort untinged with associations of the same, 
 a varied development such as that characteristic of Greece, 
 can exist. It was essential to the blooming prosperity of her 
 genius and art that Athens should enjoy the perfect freedom 
 she did, a freedom, at times, perilous to civil tranquillity. 
 Sparta, the only state that was administered both with virtue 
 and energy, in a word, the only state in all Greece whose 
 political existence was not one of fleeting prosperity, but 
 calculated to be permanent as well as sound, purchased this 
 superiority at the price of a limited range of thought, man- 
 ners, and genius, both in philosophy and poetry. 
 
 Let me apply this observation to individuals : have not 
 Caesar and Cicero something which places them before the 
 rhetoricians, grammarians, philosophers, and sophists, to 
 whom they are indebted as regards the graces of language, 
 and oratory, and mode of thought, and to whom they are 
 vastly inferior in acuteness and scientific knowledge ? Every 
 one will feel that in the works of these two writers, as in 
 those of all great Romans, there breathes a spirit differing 
 
OLD ROMAN EPICS. Gl 
 
 widely from the degeneracy of later Greek sophistry. It is 
 not genius or individual intellect, but the absorbing idea of 
 their country, of Rome unique in the world's history, which 
 animates them throughout, and like the invisible spirit of 
 life, imparts a glow to every page of their writings. 
 
 To assert that the Romans owed all their culture to the 
 Greeks, and that they had, at no time, been in possession of 
 original sources of information, is so little founded on fact, 
 that the powerful influence exercised over the old heroic le- 
 gends and poesy of Some, by close contact with Grecian lite- 
 rature, was the very means of well nigh obliterating such 
 vestiges as still remained. Many writers, particularly familiar 
 with early Roman usages, occasionally hint at old songs cele- 
 brating the deeds of a glorious past, which were sung at public 
 entertainments, and at the tables of the wealthy. In historical 
 epics, then, lay enshrined the patriotism and poetic genius 
 of the Romans, before they were tutored by the Greeks in 
 sophistic oratory, and a more elaborate and regular prosody. 
 If it be asked of what the contents of these old epics could 
 have consisted, history, at once, furnishes a reply. ~Not only 
 the fabulous birth and adventures of Romulus, the rape of 
 the Sabine women, but likewise the traditionary combat of the 
 three Horatii and Curiatii, the arrogance of Tarquin, the mis- 
 fortune and death of Lucretia, with their revenge and the res- 
 toration of liberty by Brutus : the wondrous war of Porsena, 
 the banishment of Coriolanus, his warlike preparations against 
 his birth place, and how, when his heroic heart beat with 
 inward dissension, the presence of his mother, and the 
 thoughts of Rome, overcame his wavering purpose. All 
 these professed histories, when examined from a right point 
 of view, at once approve themselves to the enquirer to be 
 genuine old Roman epics and fictions, and, as such, are of 
 very great value ; though it may be difficult for the historical 
 critic, if they are judged by a severe standard, to reconcile 
 the numerous internal inconsistencies they contain. It had 
 been frequently conjectured that much, which, in reality, be- 
 longed to these early lays, had been falsely incorporated into 
 history, and that Livy, especially, had embodied the essence 
 of their story in his glowing page. But it was reserved for 
 the acumen of a learned critic* of our own day to winnow, 
 
 * See Niebuhr's Roman History. 
 
62 THEIR PATRIOTIC CHARACTER. 
 
 with diligent and careful hand, the substantial from the seem- 
 ing, and he has accomplished his task with singular success. 
 Thus, on the one hand, criticism deprives us of a portion of 
 history that had, for ages, passed current on credit, and, yet, 
 must ever have appeared vexatious, ambiguous, unsatis- 
 factory ; whilst, on the other haud, we gain, at least, a feeble 
 echo of the genuine Rornan legends. Those historical hero-ad- 
 ventures, before Greek verse and artificiality had weaned the 
 Roman ear from the melody of native song, were wont to be 
 chanted in simple strains, called Saturnine, in Italy, as a re- 
 miniscence of the olden time, and which, with the single 
 exception of rhyme — which they had not — were not unlike 
 the irregular Alexandrines, employed by almost all Europe 
 in the middle ages. 
 
 The contents of these old heroic songs, whilst, here and 
 there, lofty traits were exhibited, if we may judge from what 
 is yet extant in the shape of ostensible history, were, for the 
 most part, of a patriotic character, strictly confined to the 
 praises of the^ native town : and, in spite of occasional ad- 
 mixture of the fabulous and wonderful, approaching in genius 
 and character to the historical. 
 
 Thus, then, it is not difficult to comprehend that the 
 fascinating variety of the Odyssey, and the euphonious sweet- 
 ness of Greek hexameters so completely captivated the 
 Roman soul and ear as to alienate them from their native tra- 
 ditionary lays. 
 
 There was yet another cause that weaned the Romans 
 from their old heroic legends, and brought these latter so far 
 into oblivion as to reduce them to the mutilated form of semi- 
 fabulous and incoherent chronicles : it lay in Rome's own 
 history and the subsequent condition of the world generally. 
 The last heroic, figure of early Roman history, appertaining 
 in great measure, to tradition and poetry, and, unquestion- 
 ably, handed down in song, is that of Camillus, liberating 
 Rome from the conquering Gauls. The historical period of 
 Rome dates from this liberation. Amid the devastation of 
 the Gauls, memorials of every kind probably perished : all 
 antecedent to this time is vague and dubious, or if any indi^ 
 vidual fact stands out in relief, it is, at all events, interspersed 
 with fabulous matter. Then commenced the real greatness 
 of Rome, first developed in the Samnite war. Historically 
 speaking, this is indeed the heroic age of the Roman people, 
 
exnius. 63 
 
 when, most probably, were composed the epics mentioned by 
 Cato and Cicero, and present to the eye of Ennius, and even 
 of Livy. To this historically heroic time of Roman energy 
 and virtue, the ancient lays of kings, heroes, and liberators, 
 as well as of events connected with the immortal City, were 
 still near enough to be sensibly felt. But when Tarentum, 
 Italy and Sicily, Macedon and Carthage, Spain and Achaia, 
 fell under the yoke, what connexion was there between the 
 insignificance of early Rome that made warfare against the 
 Sabines, or like the Greeks before Troy, beleaguered Yeii 
 for ten long years — and the Rome that was pressing onward, 
 irresistibly, to her destiny of universal dominion. In the re- 
 motest times, the Greeks were a numerous people, branching 
 out into different tribes and races. Rome, originally a single 
 town, had, by incorporating several of the states of Italy, 
 attained to a certain importance, and, eventually, became an 
 empire before which a subjugated world lay prostrate. 
 
 It was, then, a result of inevitable circumstances, that 
 the native legends of Home evermore retreated into dim ob- 
 scurity, and were never suffered to unfold its beauties or re- 
 ceive further embellishment, but in due time were superseded 
 by Grecian genius and art. Enuius alone should not be made 
 to bear the blame for all this — of whom the learned Critic, 
 already alluded to, says, that he considered himself the first 
 of Roman poets, for having rooted out the old national 
 minstrelsy. It may easily be supposed that he, who in his 
 simplicity fancied he had three souls because he knew 
 three languages, Latin, Greek, and Oscan, or old Italian, 
 was not a little proud at having been the first to imi- 
 tate the Greek hexameter, though rudely enough. The 
 genuine poet is not always exempt from vanity of this sort, 
 frequently laying too great a stress on an external, perhaps 
 ill-selected, or not altogether successful, form, merely because 
 it has cost him pains and exertion : whilst he sets no value 
 on the genius that awakens our admiration, which, as he 
 owes it exclusively to nature, he never thinks of comparing 
 with others. But Ennius directed many of his efforts in the 
 newly invented art to the subjects of those ancestral lays, and 
 some of his verses, still extant, breathe a loffcy tone of poetic 
 sentiment. We are, further, induced to think favourably of 
 him, from the admiration in which he was held by Lucretius ; 
 
64 DRAMATIC POETRY. 
 
 that is, if we may suppose this admiration to have been 
 founded on a kindred spirit and resemblance in elevation of 
 thought and power of expression. 
 
 The arts and methods of Greece made their way into Home 
 incessantly, but with varying results. Of all these, history and 
 eloquence were most congenial to the Romans, and those 
 which they were most successful in applying to their own in- 
 stitutions. Philosophy was the most foreign to their tastes, 
 and in poetry, success varied with the different kinds adopted. 
 
 Dramatic poetry was the first that the Romans sought to 
 practise after the time of Ennius : but their labours re- 
 sulted in bald translations, devoid of fidelity and care, and 
 undeserving of the name of imitations. This holds good of 
 the lost tragedies of Pacuvius and Atticus, as well as 
 the comedies of Plautus and Terence which have come 
 down to us. Domestic farce, the so-called Atellan plays, in 
 Oscan idiom, survived only in the form of social entertain- 
 ments in the private houses of the wealthy classes who, amid 
 encroachments of foreign refinement, loved thus to dwell, at 
 times, on the reminiscences of old Italian nationality. Much 
 the same as, in our own day, a peculiar relish for Bardic song 
 and popular comedy contrasts with a high degree of mental 
 culture. On so slender a foundation it was scarcely possible 
 to erect the superstructure of a national drama : at any rate, 
 we have no reason to suppose that any such superstructure 
 was actually raised. With regard to the translations that 
 were made from Greek tragedy : whilst Roman mythology, 
 as a whole, was originally near akin to that of Greece, yet, 
 individually, there was much local difference. Iphigenia, 
 OEdipus, Prometheus, the Atridae, the calamities that befel 
 the Theban Brothers, all appeared, more or less, strange to 
 the Romans, and contrary to the spirit of their manners : 
 like an exotic, doomed, after a feeble struggle for existence, 
 to wither and die off. A few tragedies of Roman poets in 
 the reign of Augustus, which have been extolled as excellent 
 of their kind, prove the scantiness of the species. Whilst 
 the dramatic declamations generally attributed to Seneca, 
 demonstrate how early Roman tragic compositions ended. 
 The exhibition of Athenian manners in farce could not but 
 appear stiff and lifeless to a Roman spectator. This satis- 
 factorily accounts for the way in which the allurements of 
 
DRAMATIC EFFECT. 65 
 
 Pantomime and the graces of the dance eventually sup- 
 planted every other kind of scenic spectacle. 
 
 Must not susceptibility of tragic feeling and intellec- 
 tual sympathy have been blunted by gladiatorial shows, 
 and combats, in which, sometimes, hundreds of lions or 
 elephants were killed in the presence of an. applauding 
 assembly ? In the several attempts which the Romans made 
 to establish native tragedy, it is strange that they seldom, 
 if ever, drew their subjects from their own legends. This is 
 the more singular that the moderns have frequently selected, 
 for Tragedy, such themes as the combat of the Horatii, the 
 deed of Brutus, or the self-conquest and altered resolve of Co- 
 riolanus — in themselves highly poetical and not undramatic 
 — and have thus, as it were, restored her own to poetry. The 
 peculiar character of these historical tales supplies us with 
 satisfactory reasons for this seeming singularity. The patri- 
 otic feeling embodied in them was far too near that age, in 
 point of time, to admit of dramatic effect. Of this the history 
 of Coriolanus affords abundant proof. How could a Ro- 
 man poet have, faithfully, delineated this patrician in the 
 whole extent of his original arrogance towards plebeians — at 
 a period when the Gracchi sought to free the Roman people 
 from this very same patrician hauteur ? How could the 
 banished Coriolanus have been introduced on the Roman 
 stage, as, in bitter mood, he vents on his country reproaches 
 not altogether undeserved — at a time when Sertorius, the 
 noblest and boldest of the later Romans, living in banish- 
 ment among the unconquered Lusitanians and Spaniards, 
 was planning there the deliverance of his country and 
 the founding of a new Rome ? With what feelings would 
 Coriolanus — advancing at the head of a victorious army upon 
 his native city — have been received by a Roman audience at 
 the moment when Sylla was actually on his march with an 
 armed force for the self-same purpose ? Again, in subsequent 
 times, were not all these occurrences fresh, and, as though, 
 present to the then living generation ? Not merely in 
 this history, but throughout, the contests of patricians with 
 plebeians were too marked, too closely interwoven with the 
 web of Roman legendary story, to be suitable to republican 
 times. And for the Augustan age, Brutus, and similar 
 worthies, were equally unlit. Let me adduce an instance 
 
 D 
 
66 WANT OE EOMAN TEAGEDT. 
 
 in point, from the modern drama. In his historical plays, 
 Shakespere introduces the sanguinary feuds that embroiled 
 the Houses of York and Lancaster, but when he wrote, 
 those feuds were completely at an end. The civil wars of 
 Germany especially, the one which, with more or less violence, 
 convulsed the country for a period of thirty years, offer 
 copious and attractive themes for the German dramatist's 
 treatment on our own stage : but here the case is not fully 
 the same as with the Romans. And yet, the German poet, 
 if he would do justice to his subject, has a difficult task in 
 hand, and must proceed cautiously, in order not to irritate 
 party feeling, or tear open afresh old wounds that had par- 
 tially healed up, and thus destroy poetic effect. 
 
 For these reasons, the Romans had no tragedy of their 
 own, and indeed no distinguished stage. 
 
 Of the poets who employed the other forms of the art, 
 Lucretius, the earliest, stands alone in Roman literature, 
 both as to genius and manner. He alone can, in some 
 measure, afford us a specimen of the style and strain of 
 the older Roman poesy : he was but little understood or 
 appreciated by his countrymen in subsequent times. His 
 work, on the nature of things, in its method, resembles the 
 scientific didactic form, which originated with the Greeks, 
 and was still in vogue among them. The philosophy Lucre- 
 tius had adopted was the worst that a Roman poet could have 
 selected, that of Epicurus, which, whilst destroying all 
 belief and all the nobler feelings, and, in a scientific point of 
 view, abounding with the strangest hypotheses, was, if not 
 positively immoral, at least unnational, and selfish in its ten- 
 dencies and influence on life, as well as fatal to imagination 
 and poetry generally. Yet all these difficulties were overcome, 
 and it is with poignant regret that we contemplate his noble 
 spirit given over to the deadly system of Greek sophistry. 
 In sublime enthusiasm he holds the first place among Roman 
 poets : as nature's own minstrel, he surpasses all the bards 
 of antiquity. In reference to this kind of poetry, and the 
 position that nature ought to occupy in poetic representation, 
 I would here make a few observations of general application. 
 
 It is, unquestionably, the business of poetry to make not 
 only man, but also surrounding nature the object of her 
 representation, or her enthusiasm. In this instance, as in 
 
POETRY IN ITS RELATION TO NATURE. 67 
 
 that of man, a threefold distinction obtains. The poetic 
 treatment of man as its element and subject may be, first, a 
 bright mirror of actual life, and of the present : second, the 
 recollection of a glorious, heroic, past, and — where poetry 
 would animate and inspire, rather than describe — the arous- 
 ing of the deeper hidden feelings of humanity. All this may 
 be applied to nature. Poetry is intended to present us 
 with a picture of the collective external manifestations of 
 nature; to this end serves all that spring produces, of ani- 
 mating and quickening influence, the noblest portions of the 
 animal kingdom in form and habits, the loveliest in the 
 world of plants and flowers, whatever in the external changes 
 that take place in the heavens or on the earth appears sub- 
 lime or important to the eye of man. The difficulty is to 
 avoid excess : copious descriptions, even when, in the main, 
 they are true, grow tedious and miss their aim. But single 
 flowers plucked here and there from the lap of bounteous 
 nature, and tastefully inserted in the wreath of poesy, con- 
 stitutes an ornament both elegant and chaste. Nature, 
 too, has her wondrous past : when she was irregular and 
 gigantic in her proportions, like the race of man in the 
 heroic ages. We are impressed with such a feeliug, on be- 
 holding some dreary and savage waste, where rocks and hills 
 are confusedly heaped together like the ruins of a former 
 world. All the legends of antiquity confirm us in this view 
 of an old Tellurian period ; unusual appearances, storms, 
 lightnings, floods, and earthquakes, partially transplant us 
 to that wild state of nature. All these are fitting subjects 
 for a great poet, and it is in depicting similar ones that 
 Lucretius shews himself to be a glorious painter of nature. 
 Yet here, too, the poet requires only what is general, the 
 assumption of a wild free state of things, a past age of sub- 
 limity and grandeur as a theatre for nature's wonders. A 
 technical and scientific view, namely, whether some extensive 
 mountain ridge is the result of volcanic action or of water, is 
 equally unsuifced to the purposes of poetry with the doctrine 
 of the atomic system, which even the fancy of Lucretius 
 was not able to invest with poetic charms. The third medium 
 whereby the poet comes in contact with nature, is through 
 the feelings. Not only in the warble of the nightingale, or 
 whatsoever else in woodland melody delights every one, but 
 
 d 2 
 
68 SECRET VIEW OF NATURE' S WORKINGS. 
 
 also in the murmur of the stream or of the woods, we think 
 we hear a kindred voice, of joy or sadness ; as though 
 spirits and sensibilities akin to our own would fain rush to 
 to us from afar, or from the narrow limits that separate 
 them, to hold communion with us. To listen to these tones, 
 to feel them inwardly, to read nature's very soul, the poet 
 retires into solitude. The enquirer's doubts, whether the 
 soul of nature be really thus animated, or whether it be a 
 mere delusion, affect him not ; enough, that this feeling, 
 this presentiment, lives in the imagination and the bosom of 
 humanity and poesy ; and if the eye could lift creation's veil, 
 and see the spirits of nature at work in their hidden labor- 
 atory, the genuine poet would still be reluctant, even if he 
 were able, to remove, entirely, the beneficent veil. Of this 
 view of nature, so mysterious and rich in sentiment, few, if 
 any, traces are to be found in Greek and Soman poets, 
 whilst they abound in the old northern bards, who lived in 
 constant sympathy with nature. These natural descriptions 
 and fancies should not, however, be isolated, in poetry, from 
 the contemplation of man, of whom they constitute the 
 choicest ornament. If they are, the picture of the world, 
 painted by poetry, loses some portion of its completeness as 
 a whole, general harmony is disturbed, and the effect marred. 
 , Therefore, the form, which treats of nature scientifically, 
 after the manner of Lucretius, is, in reality, a mistaken one, 
 and, like his philosophy, objectionable : yet he challenges 
 our sympathies as a man, and as a poet fills us with the high- 
 est admiration. 
 
 The great Roman writers will be most conveniently con- 
 sidered in the order of their respective periods. The last 
 days of the Republic witnessed a less finished development 
 of diction, but were, otherwise, richer, in a literary point 01 
 view, than the Augustan age. As an orator, Cicero is 
 marked by sufficient variety and practice in his art : the mag- 
 nitude of his subjects, and the position he occupies in the his- 
 tory of the world, invest his orations with a high degree of dig- 
 nity. Yet, it is difficult to understand how a style so redun- 
 dant in expression as his could have been regarded as a pattern 
 of good writing. Of his contemporaries, there were some who 
 censured his tendency to Asiatic pomposity. The greatest 
 service he rendered to the literary culture of his country 
 
GREAT ROMAN WRITERS. 69 
 
 was his introduction of the higher moral philosophy of the 
 Greeks. For the more abstruse speculations, in whose mazes 
 the spirit of the Greeks loved to wander, and in which they 
 displayed an infinity of art, Cicero had as little inclination or 
 faculty as any other Roman. But as a fond lover of phi- 
 losophy, whose society he courted, for solace, in the hour of 
 misfortune, or for the retirement of lettered ease, when 
 weary of the noisy din and bustle of public business, he made 
 a happy and judicious selection. He attached himself to 
 the tenets of Plato, as most favourable to a general and 
 beautiful mental culture, and recognized by collective an- 
 tiquity as the very acme of perfection in genius and lan- 
 guage. But, as Plato's later successors — at whose hands 
 the Romans, directly, received these doctrines — had become 
 thoroughly sceptical, inasmuch as their great master had 
 practised philosophy only as an art, without reducing it to a 
 system, Cicero often betook himself, for practical advice and 
 information, to the maxims of the Stoics : and where the 
 stubbornness that characterized this school, was not con- 
 genial to his views, he had recourse to .Aristotle, who is, in 
 all things, fond of the middle path, and who, in morals, con- 
 stitutes the felicitous medium between Stoic severity and 
 Epicurean apathy. To the latter he was decidedly averse, 
 nor unjustly so. It must not, indeed, be presumed that all 
 those who, in antiquity, agreed with Epicurus so far as to 
 consider the pursuit of pleasure the highest and final aim of 
 life, likewise accepted or acted upon the various objection- 
 able inferences that may be legitimately drawn from his 
 principles. Yet, whilst there were, unquestionably, various 
 modifications and constructions of these doctrines, some 
 holding, with Aristippus, that pleasure consisted of sensual 
 gratifications, others that it meant a placid and painless con- 
 dition of inward satisfaction, which the better Epicureans 
 as well as other Greek philosophers sought for chiefly in 
 mental exercise and intercourse with congenial friends, 
 all concurred in this particular : that a total secession from 
 public and civil business constituted a fundamental prin- 
 ciple of a wisely regulated mode of life. In their effect 
 on daily practice, these doctrines were, eminently, selfish and 
 unnational, and having, at the first, had many adherents at 
 Rome, they contributed not a little to its corruption. 
 
70 CICEEO. 
 
 Cicero, a foe to Epicurus and his system, is, on the other 
 hand, a thoroughly patriotic thinker. Hence his philosophy 
 has often been the delight of statesmen, who, without any 
 inborn taste, or leisure, for speculation, yet were glad to 
 devote their moments of leisure to contemplation. 
 
 In form and diction Cicero is extremely unequal : a fea- 
 ture frequently observable in Roman writers, since they 
 were not always successful in making their own mental 
 efforts harmonize completely, with what they borrowed from 
 the Greeks. 
 
 Caesar is the first in whom we find perfect evenness of 
 expression. "When he handled the pen, he was guided by 
 the self-same principles as when he wielded the sword: 
 directing his attention uninterruptedly to one sole object, 
 and to it making all else subservient. He is in complete 
 possession of the qualities next only to liveliness in historic 
 writing — clearness and simplicity. But how strikingly does 
 the lucid brevity of Caesar, hastening to attain its object, and 
 treating all else as superfluous, differ from the diffuse, Homer- 
 like garrulity and transparency of Herodotus ! As a general 
 arranges his forces, with the greatest economy of strength con- 
 sistent with safety, and makes the most of every advantage he 
 may have over the enemy, so, Caesar musters his words, and 
 marshals his sentences with consummate skill and care; and 
 just as inexorably did he pursue the advantage that victory 
 gave him on the battle field. Of all those who have re- 
 corded their own exploits, notwithstanding his Attic grace, 
 Xenophonjs too inferior a politician or a general to be com- 
 pared with Caesar. "We are not in a position to criticise the lite- 
 rary merits of annals penned by some of Alexander's captains, 
 or by Hannibal, for they have not reached us. As a writer, 
 then, the Roman when judged by the productions of others, 
 under similar circumstances, is still Caesar, the invincible. 
 
 In description of character, and as an historical painter 
 generally, Sallust is truly grand : but his style is not quite 
 so even, so clear, or always so apt as that of Caesar. There 
 is an occasional forced stiffness, with an affectation of quaint- 
 ness. Even in history, the form of which, as it originated 
 in the Greek Republics, might seem peculiarly adapted to 
 Roman genius, imitation of some special model — in this case 
 Thucydides — was not without injurious consequences. 
 
HORACE. il 
 
 This first flourishing period of [Roman intellect and ora- 
 tory clearly demonstrates how great an advantage it is to 
 literature to command the sympathies and active co-opera- 
 tion of leading public men. Their very position enables 
 them to take a general oversight of the whole, and to con- 
 sider literary matters in their most extensive relations. 
 This was one circumstance that imparted a peculiar gran- 
 deur to Roman literature. On the commencement of a new 
 order of things after the death of Brutus, a spirit altogether 
 novel pervaded the literature of the Augustan age. The 
 free action of eloquence was manacled : on the other hand, 
 men's minds turned once more to poetry, whose voice could 
 find no general sympathy amidst the din and bloodshed of 
 the Civil Wars. But now, as if to inaugurate the return of 
 peace and the happy sway of Augustus, the advent of a na- 
 tional poetry embodying patriotic sentiment in classic dic- 
 tion, was eagerly looked for, to contribute her embellishments 
 to the general splendour. To accomplish this, not only 
 Virgil, but Propertius and Horace, too, were encouraged, 
 nay, earnestly solicited by the first men in the state to attune 
 their lyre. On account of bis artistic style, Propertius was 
 well qualified to be an epic poet ; but he wanted to be free, and 
 lived entirely as his own genius led him, passionately devoted 
 to the feelings of generous friendship and ardent love, with 
 which his whole soul was animated, and his fervent song dis- 
 tinguished above all other Soman bards. Of the poets that 
 have come down to us entire, Horace possessed perhaps the 
 greatest share of heroic grandeur. He was a patriot who locked 
 up within his bosom the pangs he felt at Republican decline, 
 mingling, in order to alleviate his pain, in life's gayest scenes, 
 and poetizing. At every opportunity, his patriotic enthusiasm 
 and aspiration after freedom, peer from beneath the smiles 
 of assumed gaiety. He dared not undertake a long poem, 
 founded on some traditionary legend of his country's infancy, 
 without risking the betrayal of sentiments that would have 
 been unseasonable, and no less unpalatable. He, therefore, 
 could not respond to their reiterated appeals. 
 
 Peaceful, artistic, tender Virgil was most especially fitted 
 owing to his love of nature and of rural life, to become the 
 national poet of the Romans. The old Roman, as indeed 
 the old Italian, mode of life, generally, was altogether 
 
72 VIEGIL. 
 
 founded on agriculture and country life ; whilst the Greeks 
 were, for the most part, a community of traders, navigators, 
 and merchants. Even the most distinguished and eminent 
 Romans in the good old time, lived in conformity with the 
 simple habits and tastes of rural life, and, in spite of the 
 corruption of the metropolis, remnants of sound and vigo- 
 rous moral feeling, the usual concomitants of agricultural 
 pursuits, were far from being destroyed in the rest of 
 ItaJy. This point had to be borne in mind by the bard who 
 aspired to the dignity of becoming the national poet of his 
 country, and who intended not to confine his sphere of action 
 within metropolitan limits. Virgil's fondness for nature 
 and for rustic life is sufficiently manifest in his Eclogues, 
 the production of his youth, whilst he has shewn his ma- 
 tured master-spirit in his more finished poem, the Georgics. 
 "Would that he had not framed his admirable lays, 
 which are altogether so fitted to the now peaceful Rome and 
 which breathe the genuine old Italian spirit, in the foreign, 
 didactic form of Alexandrine verse ; and that he had incor- 
 porated his views of nature and of agriculture in his great 
 Epic dedicated to the glorious reminiscences of his country, 
 and thus bequeathed to us a complete and comprehensive 
 picture of old Italian manners ! It would have been the 
 means of effectually reviving native heroic tradition, and 
 of securing for it a firm and permanent footing. But then 
 he would have had to sketch his Epic in bolder outlines, 
 and with a looser connection. In the circumscribed arrange- 
 ment he has adopted, the latter Italian portion of his poem 
 presents a striking contrast to the first half, in which he 
 was enabled to interweave the origin of Rome, so happily, 
 with the magnificent legends of Troy. Nevertheless, the 
 iEneid, which the poet left unfinished, and considered so 
 unsatisfactory as to desire its annihilation, has justly re- 
 mained the real national poem of the Romans. If we judged 
 by the soaring flight of enthusiasm alone, or happy facility 
 of innate genius, we might perhaps be inclined to award the 
 superiority to Lucretius and Ovid : but Virgil's especial ex- 
 cellence lies in the national feeling which he most thoroughly 
 expresses. To complete perfection the iEneid cannot, in- 
 deed, lay claim : for we miss in it that symmetry which 
 is wanting in most of the Roman poets, owing to the con- 
 

 UNEVEN LYRIC STYLE. 73 
 
 flict between native power and acquired art. In "Virgil, 
 the deficiency appears in representation and language, but 
 most of all in the arrangement of the whole. 
 
 This inequality is still more apparent in the style of 
 Horace, and the other lyric poets. Among various nations, 
 the epic is the form that differs least, though it is not to be 
 denied that Homeric imitation cramped and misled both 
 Virgil and many after him* But, independently of form, 
 the process of mixing the heroic legends of one people 
 with those of another is comparatively easy, siuce there is 
 so much akin in the varied mythology of nations, though 
 separated ever so widely. The explanation of this is 
 twofold : either the universal condition of humanity in. 
 primitive times of youthful and elastic vigour is much the 
 same in many particulars ; or that the accordance, some- 
 times extremely singular, evidences the common origin 
 of man, especially as regards the allegorical symbols em- 
 ployed in this kind of poetry. The legendary epics of all 
 races have many points of contact, and every where vibrate 
 in accordant tones of mutual sympathy: though it were 
 difficult to restore the lost thread of connexion, and, not 
 merely to demonstrate critically how all the great legends 
 of the ancient world sprang from one common source, but, 
 likewise to combine the whole in poetry and inform them 
 with fresh life. For the purposes of serious dramatic poetry, 
 an acquaintance with the degree of elevation attained in art 
 by other nations, may serve, on the whole, to guide us in de- 
 termining how far our aspirations may tend, and what con- 
 stitutes the boundary of human possibility. Yet, mere form 
 is not to be the object of imitation : if the stage is to be at- 
 tended with general beneficial results, it should be founded 
 on national lore, historical or legendary, and be proportioned 
 to the habits, character, and thoughts of the people for 
 whom it is specially composed. 
 
 Of all imitated forms, the lyric is peculiarly hurtful and 
 objectionable. For what greater value or attraction can 
 a lyric poem have than that of being a free outburst of 
 genuine feeling ? On the other hand, what is there that can 
 compensate for the absence of this charm, when a spurious 
 warmth is simulated, and where art completely usurps the 
 place of nature ? In Eoman poets, the very passages that 
 
74 EOMAN SATIKE. 
 
 have been borrowed, and those that are native, can be re- 
 spectively distinguished. Notwithstanding this inequality, 
 Horace stirs our sympathies more than any other So- 
 man poet, as a man. He rises highest in those portions 
 of his works, in which he addresses to us the actual lan- 
 guage of Eomans, recalling the olden splendour, invoking 
 Regulus the noble patriot, and citing others who, in his own 
 forcible words, were ''prodigal of their great souls." 
 
 In the only species of poetry which the Eomans created 
 for themselves, in satire, Horace is, by far, the most spirited 
 writer. This species, distinct in form from the common 
 ludicrous lyric poetry, and couched in epic verse of greater 
 licence, is purely Roman in its spirit and contents. Through- 
 out, it treats of the social relations of the metropolis, intro- 
 duces the current jests of the day, and alludes to the moral 
 corruption that flowed into Eome from half the globe. A 
 poetic picture of real life can only be furnished us by means 
 of the Drama, when in a high state of perfection : but in- 
 dividual traits, in however spirited a manner they may be 
 drawn, cannot constitute dramatic painting. Hence Roman 
 satire, conceived in the master-spirit of Horace himself, is, 
 at the most, a substitute for Comedy, which the Eomans 
 may be said never to have actually possessed : at least, no 
 native power of their own that ever ripened into full de- 
 velopment. And even when the enthusiasm of satire rises 
 to the pitch of magnificent invective against vice and folly, 
 as in Juvenal, such enthusiasm may be morally worthy of 
 admiration, but, after all, it is not poetry. 
 
 Prose attained to a much higher pitch of elevation, than 
 poetry, among the Romans : Livy may be considered to 
 have been almost perfect as to language, and the rhetorical 
 form of History, peculiar to the ancients, received from his 
 hand whatsoever it still lacked of artistic elegance. 
 
 The first half of the long reign of Augustus should be 
 looked upon as the harvest-time of intellectual products that 
 had been ripening ever since the latter days of the Eepublic, 
 when political grandeur was no mere abstraction, and when 
 the genius of freedom walked abroad. 
 
 The younger generation, born, or, at least, bred, under 
 the Monarchy, bore the impress of a different character. 
 So early as the end of Augustus' reign, symptoms of declin- 
 
HISTOET. 75 
 
 ing taste made their appearance, arid, first, in the imagina- 
 tive conceits and effeminate diction of Ovid. 
 
 The rapid deterioration of History, in which the Romans 
 excelled, under the fearful tyranny of the later Caesars, is 
 amply evidenced by the mannerism of Velleius Paterculus, 
 not to speak of his despicable flattery. Seneca, the philo- 
 sopher, originated a sententious and highly affected style of 
 composition. In proportion as despotism increased in rigo- 
 rous harshness, those who still resisted it in spirit, attached 
 themselves more closely to the tenets of Stoicism, the genius 
 of which could not but be acceptable to the proud indepen- 
 dent spirit that was surrounded, on all sides, by mean ser- 
 vility and fawning sycophancy. Pomposity, extravagance, 
 and affectation are not unfrequently found in the train of 
 political and social coercion. In Lucan, they are strangely 
 coupled with pretentious republican enthusiasm : our sur- 
 prise is mingled with contempt when we find the same poet 
 lauding Nero in terms of almost criminal adulation, and in 
 the same breath impiously exalting Cato above the gods ! 
 As though not utterly renouncing the associations of her 
 childhood, Roman poetry returns, in Lucan, to the form of 
 the historical epic. Considered on its own merits, any great 
 historical event may justly furnish matter for an epic : how 
 remote, or how near, chronologically, signifies very little, so 
 that its inward constitution be suitable. To this end, feel- 
 ing, enthusiasm, fancy, should have greater scope afforded 
 for their exercise than mere arrangement of plan, or order 
 of proceeding. Thus, in the instance of Alexander, whose life 
 and deeds, such as the fall of Darius, and the Indian expedi- 
 tion, might have furnished ample materials for poetic re- 
 quirements, had any poet lived, at that period, capable of 
 celebrating them worthily. The civil war of Caesar and 
 Pompey, a contest between opposite faction and policy, has, 
 indeed, furnished many themes of dramatic representation 
 in modern times, yet, no amount of genius or art could have 
 availed to mould these into epic form. The picture of 
 the taste of this age is completed by mentioning the ob- 
 scurity of Persius, and the forced style of the elder Pliny ; 
 though the works of this last writer are so far valuable that 
 they testify what the Romans might have contributed to the 
 extension of human knowledge, had they oftener chosen to ap„ 
 
TACITUS. 
 
 ply the means which unbounded rule placed at their com- 
 mand. 
 
 Better times succeeded, and, once more, a Eoman of the 
 grand ancient model swayed the civilized w r orld on the 
 throne of Augustus. As Trajan is the last of the Caesars 
 whose intellect reached the standard of true Eoman great- 
 ness, so Tacitus, who, as a writer, is entitled to a similar 
 meed of approbation, closes the list of Eoman authors of the 
 first distinction. He began life under Yespasian and Titus, 
 — the first good emperors after Nero — in Domitian's reign 
 lie had learnt to observe and be silent, and under Nerva he 
 anticipated the splendour that was destined in Trajan's time, 
 to illumine Eome with brilliant though setting glories. 
 
 The profundity of his genius, and his peculiar expression 
 so suitable to its conveyance, are more distinctly apparent, 
 from the numerous failures of those, who, in vain, have sought 
 to imitate him. His expression is, indeed, faultless, though 
 the language at his command cannot be supposed to have 
 been as grand as when Caesar wrote, or as artistic as the 
 materials of Livy. In this glorious trio, the language ap- 
 pears to me to have attained the climax of its respective 
 purity and eminence : in Caesar, unadorned simplicity and 
 grandeur ; in Livy, rhetorical splendour, of beautiful 
 natural proportions ; in Tacitus, profound artistic strength, 
 invested with the dignity of ancient Eome. 
 
 LECTUEE IV. 
 
 bluef duration of eoman llteeatuee. — new epoch 
 under Hadrian. — Influence oe Oriental thought 
 ovee the philosophy of the "west. — mosaic re- 
 CORDS, Hebrew poesy. — The Persian religion. — 
 Idea of the Bible, and chaeacteeistics of the 
 Old Testament. 
 
 The exotic character of literature and philosophy as 
 Eoman products, is seen from the paucity of Latin authors 
 contrasted with the rich collection of Grecian genius, as 
 
ROMAN TRANSLATIONS PROM THE GREEK. U 
 
 also from the, comparatively, short period during which 
 Eoman art and culture flourished. 
 
 As regards translations from the Greek tongue, or indi- 
 vidual poets and original writers, Eome could boast of some 
 of these ever since the days when the Scipios patronized the 
 literature and rhetoric of the Greeks; when the elder Cato 
 made the history, manners, and language, of his ancestors the 
 objects of his investigation, in order to maintain the integrity 
 of Roman thought against the encroachments of Grecian in- 
 novation : and when Ennius partially applied Greek art and 
 versification to Eoman themes, and instituted the older 
 school of Eoman poetry. But if, by flourishing literature, we 
 mean something more than a disjointed fragmentary series 
 of ill-assorted efforts : if we expect a certain connection and 
 unity in all its parts, a fixed and regular meaning attached 
 to words, especially in prose, a continuous transmission and 
 extension of acquirements affecting language, rhetoric, and 
 intellectual culture generally ; in that case, Eoman litera- 
 ture cannot strictly date before the time of Cicero, who 
 took a prominent, nay, the leading part, in its establishment. 
 Until his day, all rhetorical instruction was thoroughly 
 Greek, being conveyed by means of Greek books and in the 
 Greek language.* It was he who promoted public scien- 
 tific teaching by means of the Latin tongue, which he so suc- 
 cessfully employed for philosophical purposes and for the 
 theory of eloquence. Through him the language was both 
 extended in its application and fixed in certain limits and 
 definite boundaries, to which the grammatical writings of 
 Caesar and Varro also greatly contributed. Next to Cicero, 
 these two claim the distinction of having erected the solid 
 structure of genuine Eoman literature, Csesar by his furthering 
 the interests of learning by his oratory, and by his exertions 
 to disseminate a scientific knowledge of the language of 
 which he was himself so great a master, fashioning it in 
 well-defined proportions and thus materially augmenting its 
 power. Varro assisted, in the capacity of a learned collector 
 of valuable works, and an accurate enquirer into the anti- 
 
 * It will be remembered that Cicero sent his own son, Marcus, to 
 Athens, to study under Cratippus. See his " De Oificiis," Lib. I. cap. I. 
 i — Translator's note. 
 
78 CLA.SSIC PERIOD OF KOMAtf LITEK1TTJRE. 
 
 quities of his country, in making that the actual period ot 
 flourishing Roman literature.* The most remarkable writers 
 previous to Trajan, have been briefly considered in the pre- 
 ceding remarks. The last work of any note produced in 
 this flourishing age of Eoman intellect is the panegyric of 
 the younger Pliny on Trajan. A worthy subject for the 
 final effort of declining eloquence, an art in which the in- 
 competence of Pliny's feeble imitators was as conspicuous 
 as the imbecility of Trajan's successors in the purple. 
 
 The classic period of Roman literature, reckoning from 
 the Consulate of Cicero to the death of Trajan, did not, then, 
 exceed one hundred and eighty years. That time is, like- 
 wise, distinguished for the first scientific development of 
 practical jurisprudence, peculiar to the Eomans, and in 
 which they displayed great ability and skill. Cicero and 
 Ca?sar were the first to conceive the design of collecting and 
 arranging the immense mass of Roman statutory laws ; in 
 the reign of Augustus two classes of jurists prevailed, the 
 one inclining to a mild and merciful, the other to a strictly 
 literal and severe interpretation of the law ; under Hadrian 
 the establishment of a complete legal digest, called the Per- 
 petual Edict, furnished the very remedy that Cicero and 
 Caesar had contemplated. 
 
 Hadrian inaugurates an epoch altogether new, not only 
 as concerns the principles of government, but also mental 
 cultivation. The language and literature of Greece gradu- 
 ally reasserted their natural rights, and extended their in- 
 tellectual sway over the civilized world which was now poli- 
 tically one under the Emperors of Rome. 
 
 Whilst Roman writers of any importance rapidly de- 
 creased after Trajan, and even these, when contrasted with 
 their predecessors, appear to lose what little merit they may 
 have seemed to possess, till, at last, the list of these, too, 
 grows extinct: a new life stirred in Greek literature and 
 philosophy, a general mental activity, a rich after- crop of 
 Grecian genius, frequently not unworthy, both in descrip- 
 
 * Having-, in his youth, been Admiral of the Greek fleet in the piratical 
 war, Varro was subsequently appointed by Caesar to be his librarian, 
 ■where he had ample means of cultivating" his literary tastes. He shared 
 Cicero's banishment, but was recalled by Augustus. — Translator' s note. 
 
RHETORICAL TREATMENT OF SCIENTIEIC SUBJECTS. 79 
 
 tive power and in language, of the palmy days of its literature, 
 but certainly every way superior to the age that immediately 
 preceded. It is true that no further efforts of the muse 
 rose above humble mediocrity : but philosophy and rhetoric 
 were all the more zealously cultivated, and instead of being 
 separated and opposed, as in old Attic times, they were 
 blended together in ever increasing harmony. The 
 Socratic mode of philosophizing, as in Plato's dialogues, 
 was no longer acceptable, either in design or expression: 
 manners, and, indeed, all the arrangements of life assumed 
 by that method, were altogether too foreign to the prevalent 
 social taste. The scientific severity of Aristotle was suited 
 only to very few. In their stead arose a new rhetorical 
 treatment of scientific subjects, which nourished in full 
 vigour, from the time of Hadrian and the Antonines, to that 
 of the emperor Julian, and produced some excellent writers. 
 Another instance is afforded, if proof were wanting, of the 
 truth of the remark, that whilst there were some periods in 
 which Greek poetry attained to a high degree of inventive 
 genius and grandeur, and others that were totally unfavour- 
 able to its growth, rhetoric, an art which the Greeks made 
 peculiarly their own, flourished during all vicissitudes of 
 time and circumstance, and disappeared only for a season 
 to emerge with increased splendour. 
 
 Of the great mass of writers of this latter period of 
 ancient Greek literature, serving, as a whole, principally in 
 an historical point of view to indicate particular sources of 
 information, or, in some measure, to compensate for the loss 
 of more important names, there are, nevertheless, a few, 
 possessing some intrinsic merit. At the head of these is 
 Plutarch, whose Lives, in spite of considerable errors of 
 style and judgment, are, yet, replete with genuine treasures 
 of moral precept, the value of which time has not availed to 
 diminish. His style is overcharged, and sometimes con- 
 fused. The copious remarks of his own that he has inter- 
 spersed throughout the memoirs of his heroes, require to be 
 carefully sifted: now and then there are some neither 
 pointed nor appropriate. Throughout the whole, however, 
 the noblest integrity of feeling reigns, and a full acquaintance 
 is manifested with all the moral masterpieces of classic an- 
 tiquity, well-digested, and animated by the purest spirit. 
 
80 lucian's picture or his times. 
 
 That style, as an art, was not completely extinct, and that 
 Attic wit still lived, we have satisfactory evidence in Lucian. 
 As a spirited writer in the mixed species of philosophical 
 satire, he has few equals, and is inestimable as a delineator 
 of the manners of the age. In his history, Arrian, generally 
 reckoned the best biographer of Alexander, deserves com- 
 parison with Xenophon for beautiful simplicity. Marcus 
 Aurelius, the last of the eminent and virtuous Caesars, occu- 
 pies too honourable a position in the history of humanity, 
 not to deserve to be recorded for his literary merits also : he 
 composed, in Greek, a series of Stoic self-contemplative ob- 
 servations of considerable worth. "Whilst Herodian sketched 
 the history of the unworthy successors of Aurelius, in a 
 manner scarcely to be expected at this period. 
 
 Greek philosophers of various sects were invited by 
 Antoninus Pius, in great numbers, to undertake tutorial 
 posts, and this important class of men were regularly, so to 
 speak, taken into the service of the state. It was now expected 
 of Stoic philosophy to prop and support the tottering creed of 
 the people. Lucian forcibly reminds us of the decay of this old 
 belief in the gods and in general mythology, of the prevalence 
 of scepticism, free thinking, and infidelity, throughout the 
 whole Eoman world; whilst the fact that Sextus Empiricus, 
 the most copious writer of the sceptical school, is contemporary 
 with this age, is a strong presumption of the universal fer- 
 ment, and newly aroused activity of the exploring philosophi- 
 cal mind. Again, Lucian, in his witty picture of the times, 
 proves the general tendency there was to fanaticism, the su- 
 perstition of science gradually supplanting the olden poetic 
 credulity ; belief in astrology and an inclination to magic arts 
 being sown broadcast, by means of many secret societies, and 
 also publicly taught in writings, and, orally, by philosophers. 
 The influence of oriental modes of thought, theories of the uni- 
 verse, and demonology, introducing together with the pure 
 sources of truth, likewise streams of deeper and more fervid 
 fanaticism than the younger and colder philosophy of the 
 "West could conceive or devise, spread further and further. 
 Even in architecture, as renewed under Hadrian, the predo- 
 minant Egyptian taste shewed an evident leaning to oriental- 
 ism. Plutarch, though following Plato, exhibits Platonic phi- 
 lsophy in a later form, when it began to embody all that 
 
NEW PLATONIC PHILOSOPHY. 81 
 
 \et remained of the doctrine of Pythagoras, or, at least, 
 lat passed by the name of Pythagorean, of Egyptian origin, 
 
 -and to approximate nearer to old oriental tradition, from 
 [hich Plato himself is supposed to have drawn some of his 
 tews. 
 
 This new Platonic philosophy soon became dominant : 
 t\e other sects, namely, the Sceptic, Epicurean, and even 
 tjie Stoic lost their individuality. Yet many Stoic tenets 
 entered as elements into this one comprehensive philosophy 
 of the Greeks, which, from its principal component, received 
 the name of New- Platonic. It was this system which long 
 assailed Christianity with the utmost energy of intellect, and, 
 under the Emperor Julian, hoped to be successful in defeat- 
 ing it, and to place the old popular belief on a firmer basis, 
 and to renovate it by giving it a more spiritual meaning. 
 
 This struggle between Christianity on the one hand and 
 heathen philosophy on the other, old polytheism and the 
 new creed, poetical mythology and a Religion of Morality, 
 is the most remarkable intellectual contest ever witnessed 
 or achieved by humanity. It forms the partition- wall of two 
 contiguous worlds : receding antiquity, and the beginning of 
 modern time. With reference to civilization and mental 
 culture, it is the common centre and turning-point of all 
 progressive development. But this great contest, so im- 
 portant in its results, to be suitably described in a history of 
 Literature which is not confined to mere philological en- 
 quiry but aspires to a delineation of its influence on the 
 destiny of nations and on collective humanity, demands fur- 
 ther preliminary investigation. It will, first, be necessary 
 to examine, more particularly, the actual spirit of Greek 
 philosophy, and, having determined upon the precise posi- 
 tions taken by the Mosaic and Christian doctrines in the his- 
 tory of mankind, we will then proceed to take a rapid survey 
 of other oriental traditions which, in part, were connected 
 with the Mosaic and Christian teaching, and, in part, consti- 
 tuted the primitive sources of loftier Greek perception. 
 
 Further opportunities will occur of sketching the poetic 
 magnificence, fanciful imagery, and interesting works of art, 
 that the inventive genius of man has produced. "We must, 
 for the present, be content with directing attention exclu- 
 sively, to that point which desirable and necessary curiosity 
 
82 ARISTOTELIAN DOCTRINE. 
 
 has fixed as the centre of all improvement and of the history 
 of the human mind. 
 
 Plato and Aristotle were the greatest masters, or rather 
 they may be considered as indicating the whole compass, of 
 Greek intelligence. Plato treated philosophy entirely as m 
 art, Aristotle as a science : in the former we see Reason, :n 
 its calm state of contemplation, admiring the attributes of 
 supreme Perfection. "Whilst Aristotle considered Reason, 
 in reference to its properties of spontaneous activity ard 
 instrumentality : not merely as the motive power of human 
 thought and being, but likewise as the immaterial principle 
 of action in the manifold phenomena of nature. Plato is the 
 perfection of Grecian art ; iiristotle the essence of Grecian 
 science. 
 
 When Plato refutes the Sophists, pursuing them through 
 the winding maze of intricate doubt and confusion, he him- 
 self becomes subtle and hypercritical : sometimes, with all 
 his Attic art and beautiful refinement, he becomes unintel- 
 ligible and sophistical like the doctrine he combats. Yet, 
 the prominent idea of his philosophy is ever clearly visible. 
 According to his theory, there dwells in man a dim reminis- 
 cence of Divine perfection. This innate implanted memory 
 of the Divine, is, as it were, faint and indistinct, inasmuch 
 as the world of sense, itself imperfect and subject to change, 
 presents us with incomplete, variable, and erroneous im- 
 pressions, thereby darkening the original rays of light 
 within us. Again, whenever anything appears in the world 
 of sense and in nature, resembling some property of the 
 Divinity or some lineament of supreme Perfection, this 
 latent dormant reminiscence awakes. Beauty animates 
 the spectator with admiration and love that are not directed 
 to the beautiful object itself, at least not to its corporeal 
 presence, but rather the invisible ideal. In this admiration, 
 this aroused reminiscence, this enthusiasm that takes com- 
 plete possession of the faculties, spring all higher know- 
 ledge and truth : and are, therefore, not produced by calm 
 reflection, by means of a process of voluntary and systema- 
 tic thought, but being far beyond the power of the will, or 
 reflection, or mere art, are communicated by Divine inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 Thus, Plato assumes a supernatural source of thought as 
 
CONTEMPLATION OF DIVINITY. 83 
 
 ileeessary for the knowledge of the Divinity and Divine 
 tilings, and this is the essential characteristic of his philoso- 
 phy. The dialectic part of his works is only the negative, in 
 tHe course of which he refutes error with masterly art, or, 
 wjth still greater and hitherto matchless skill, leads us step 
 bt step to the threshold of Truth. But when he would 
 conduct us within her sacred precincts, in the positive 
 portion of his work, he adopts oriental allegory and 
 poetic myth ; in perfect accordance with the fundamental 
 idea of his system, respecting a higher source of percep- 
 tion, namely, Enthusiasm, Inspiration, or Revelation. 
 It must not be denied that his philosophy is left un- 
 finished, and he himself never attained to perfect clear- 
 ness and precision of view. This is particularly obvious 
 in the disunion, nowhere very intelligibly explained by 
 his philosophy, of the elements of Keasou and Love or En- 
 thusiasm. When speaking of the love of the beautiful, 
 and of divine enthusiasm — as influencing man: — when ex- 
 pressly recognizing that these emotions, from which he 
 deduces all higher truth, transport the mind beyond the 
 boundaries of pure thought and reason, and contain loftier 
 ideas than are attainable by these alone, then Plato would 
 appear to entertain and pre-suppose more lively and experi- 
 mental notions of the perfection of Divinity. But when he 
 employs only his dialectic art, he, not unfrequently, falls into 
 the usual representations of the immutable and unconditional 
 unity of Reason, as the highest conception of complete per- 
 fection. In this, he was, doubtless, in some measure fet- 
 tered by the influence and authority of the older philosophers. 
 On the whole, his doctrines remained in the unfinished state 
 in which he left them, deducing Divine truth from mere 
 reminiscence and expressing the same in allegory : a renewed 
 Greek reminiscence of primeval Asiatic philosophy, and an 
 imperfect foreshadowing and presentiment of Christianity, 
 wrapt in the splendour of Attic genius and art, and Socratic 
 ethics. 
 
 By means of the Socratic philosophy he was, in a cer- 
 tain measure, preserved from a visionary extravagance, as 
 also were his immediate followers at Athens, whom the 
 incompleteness of his philosophy drove again into the 
 depths of doubt and scepticism. But, in reality, the ten- 
 
84 SUPERNATURAL SOURCES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 dency to the visionary, which was so strongly developed 
 in his successors, was involved in his mode of thought 
 and his principles. A recognition, such as his, of super- 
 natural sources of knowledge, undefined in his theory, a 
 dim recollection, enthusiasm, and divine inspiration conduct- 
 ing man beyond the boundaries of thoughtful consideration, 
 inevitably led to this aberration. A more fixed and steady 
 impulse was wanting to fashion this vague and wavering 
 presentiment of truth into resolute conviction, into genuine 
 belief: the Divine word which solves the enigma of the 
 Eternal and discriminates between false inspiration and true 
 Revelation. 
 
 When, therefore, the later disciples of Plato sought to 
 complete the unfinished system of their master by means of 
 oriental ideas and traditions, their efforts were not, indeed, 
 in strict conformity with Attic principles of taste and judg- 
 ment, or the Socratic spirit of his doctrines, but not very re- 
 pugnant to his philosophy, or avowed tenets respecting 
 supernatural sources of information : on that very principle 
 all oriental systems and traditions, more or less, rested. 
 . The fundamental and all-pervading tenet of Aristotle's me- 
 thod cannot by any means be discerned with equal clearness, 
 on account of his great obscurity, with which even his most 
 devoted adherents have, in all ages, had to find fault. Yet, the 
 spirit of his philosophy is abundantly manifest in its results, 
 and intimately connected with that same obscurity which 
 has been so generally admitted and censured. How comes 
 it that this great genius, this perfect master of expression 
 and of thought, in every department of experimental science 
 a most enlightened observer and acute critic, the actual 
 founder of a definite method of exact thought, who first sys- 
 tematized scientific reflexion and the practice of logic, is 
 nevertheless so unsatisfactory and unintelligible when ad- 
 dressing himself to such lofty questions as the destiny and 
 origin of man, of Grod, of the world ? Simply because, not 
 accepting Plato's doctrine concerning the supernatural 
 source of knowledge, which appeared to him both contrary 
 to science and unsatisfactory, he held that Reason and Ex- 
 perience ought alone to be regarded as the real sources of 
 all knowledge. These two, namely, Reason and Experience, 
 he endeavours to connect and unite by the introduction of 
 
enigma or LI1TE. 85 
 
 every intermediate contrivance. He was so enamoured of this 
 method, that he pronounced Virtue to consist in the avoid- 
 ance of extremes, and placed it in the mean between two 
 opposite faults. He had recourse to the same remedy, when 
 he attempted to adjust the old difference — in a scientific 
 consideration of the external world — namely, a view of the 
 eternal and unchangeable principle, clashing with the conti- 
 nual mutability of external created matter. The first divine 
 cause of all motion, he says, is itself immoveable, but every- 
 thing in this our sublunary world is subject to continual 
 change and motion. Midway between these two opposite 
 extremes, he places the sidereal heavens, or the astral world, 
 which, though not moving by spontaneous will, is neverthe- 
 less nearer to the first great Cause, inasmuch as its rotatory 
 motion is perfect and eternal. In like manner, that he 
 might fill up the mighty chasm between sense and reason, 
 he conceived the idea of a passive suffering intellect, as an 
 objective and intermediate common sense between the two. 
 All this deserves our admiration on the score of shrewd 
 invention, even though it may not be perfectly satisfactory : 
 indeed, this method may be productive of the happiest re- 
 sults, when we wish to comprehend a peculiar subject, just 
 as it is, and to consider it on all sides. But when applied to 
 questions of such paramount importance — which man can 
 never lose sight of — as human destiny, the Divine nature, the 
 enigma of life, existence generally, and the origin of all things: 
 neither Experience nor Season give a satisfactory solution. 
 The evidence of pure sense conducts the enquirer to denial and 
 unbelief: Reason is bewildered in her own confusion, and 
 when addressing herself to such simple and inevitable topics, 
 presents us with mere unintelligible formulas. This remark 
 is peculiarly applicable to Aristotle, whose philosophy hangs 
 suspended between a baseless Idealism and a material Experi- 
 ence. If we consider the great majority of his elaborate in- 
 vestigations, especially as applied to physics or moral 
 philosophy, the latter element — Experience — seems to pre- 
 dominate, and Aristotle presents himself to our view as the 
 great master of ancient empiric philosophy ; not only be- 
 cause of the immense extent of his information, but also 
 from the method he adopts in the process of his investiga- 
 tions, and the principles he has deduced. Nevertheless, the 
 
8b GItEAT FIBST CAUSE. 
 
 radical idea characteristic of his metaphysical doctrine is, 
 indubitably, the ideal conception of self-governing action, or 
 Entelechia. But if, instead of a literal conception of the 
 world, as a whole, he supplies us only with isolated observa- 
 tions respecting individualities, or when seeking to compre- 
 hend the great first Cause, he offers us mere formulas and 
 empty abstractions concerning the nature of things : con- 
 clusions similarly unsatisfactory are arrived at by all who 
 have taken Aristotle's course, and have wished to explain 
 all by means of self-consciousness, reason, or experience, 
 ignoring every loftier source of information, revelation, and 
 tradition of the truth. 
 
 The number of those who have trodden the same, or a 
 similar, path in philosophy with Aristotle, is countless. In 
 antiquity he himself had but few disciples : then came a time, 
 when the name of those who, throughout the schools of the 
 East and West, professed his doctrine without comprehend- 
 ing the spirit of their master, was Legion. Since then, the 
 errors of his scholars have been put to his account, and 
 though at first idolised, he has been vilified and contemned. 
 Yet there have been not a few, down to our own day, 
 who, almost unconsciously, have adhered to his philosophy : 
 some, who knew him not at all, or, at most, very little; 
 others, who had been his most bitter opponents. The 
 former include such as, having entered upon a course of ab- 
 struse self-thought, soon turned off" into a by-path of ideal 
 obscurity, in character similar to that of the Stagyrite, and 
 their number is small ; the latter, from Locke downwards, 
 have laboured to set up Experience as the sole fountain of 
 information even for philosophic purposes : whence if they 
 would proceed scientifically, they can never altogether dis- 
 pense with abstract thought, and therefore must, ultimately, 
 acknowledge formulas akin to those of Aristotle. 
 
 Thus, these two great master-spirits, Plato* and Aristotle, 
 have to a certain extent exhausted the whole essence of 
 human thought and knowledge. Imperfectly understood 
 in their own generation, they exercised the greater influence 
 on posterity, whose intellect, for many a century, they all 
 
 * With reference to Plato's system, modified and adapted to the views 
 of the Eclectics, the curious reader is referred to the works of Brucker, 
 Stanley, and Professor Mainer. — Translator's note. 
 
LATER PHILOSOPHY OF THE GREEKS. 87 
 
 but exclusively led, not in the various departments of 
 science only, but likewise determined the great principles 
 that regulate life. To this day, after the lapse of twenty 
 centuries, when the mind has received a vast accession of 
 information from a thousand discoveries, when we are ena- 
 bled to set off whole libraries containing valuable records of 
 antiquity, and statistics of philosophical enquiry, against the 
 few volumes at Plato's command ; when Aristotle's inge- 
 nious views of the universe appear to us like the notions of 
 childhood ; when Christianity has afforded us a livelier in- 
 sight into the ways of God and the nature of man : these 
 tw r o reasoners still maintain their pre-eminence ; they still 
 mark the capabilities of the human mind; even now, every 
 kind of philosophy is, necessarily, either Platonic or Aristo- 
 telian, or an attempt more or less successful to fuse the ele- 
 ments of both these methods of philosophizing into one. 
 AVhosoever admits a loftier tradition of truth as a source of 
 knowledge, agrees with Plato, and enters the spacious domains 
 of his philosophy, which is, indeed, no narrow system, but 
 a Socratic art emancipated from the trammels of sophistry, 
 and open to every species of honest and logical extension. 
 Those w T ho prefer the other system, that of Reason and Ex- 
 perience, will find it difficult, if not absolutely impossible, to 
 evade the conclusions of Aristotle, or to surpass them. 
 On his own ground, and in his own manner, he is great and 
 unrivalled. Of genius such as his, embracing all the varied 
 experience of an age, and controlling its scientific destinies, 
 the history of the world affords but few more examples : he 
 was, incontestably, the greatest master of reasoning in all 
 time. 
 
 The later philosophy of the Greeks was composed of 
 these two ingredient elements ; excellent in point of art, 
 comprehensive for science, but not at all satisfactory for 
 the investigation of truth. Plato's spirit was in the ascend- 
 ant, and prevailed more and more, but recourse was had to 
 Aristotle to supply deficiencies in the external scientific 
 form, and various oriental views and traditions contributed 
 to complete his speculations. Such was the position of affairs 
 in the age when the new Platonists vainly contended against 
 the Christian doctrine. 
 
 Notwithstanding that intellectual culture was more es- 
 
88 MOSAIC EEC011D3. 
 
 pecially directed to outward life, and to the beautiful in art, 
 despite the consciousness of their pre-eminence, and no 
 small share of national vanity, the deepest thinkers among 
 this intellectual people had a deep reverence for the pro- 
 fundity and sublimity of oriental wisdom, both in early and 
 later times. Their glance was peculiarly turned to Egypt, 
 as the primitive source of their own mythology and 
 traditions : India was viewed by them as the more re- 
 mote background of speculative thought. The creed of 
 the Hebrews and that of the Persians were equally foreign 
 to the genius of the Greeks. To the Egyptians, Phoeni- 
 cians, and the inhabitants of Asia Minor, they were united 
 by the bond of a common religion : which, notwithstanding 
 many differences in detail, harmonized geuerally in sub- 
 stance and fundamental structure. We know that the 
 religion of other races of antiquity was essentially dis- 
 tinct from that of the Hebrews, and, partially, from that of 
 the Persians. Subsequent to the Greek version of the Mo- 
 saic records in the reign of the great Philadelphus,* proba- 
 bly many, before Longinus, felt and admired their sublimity, 
 and were inclined, with those of later times, to interpret 
 Moses after Platonic fashion, or even to deduce Plato from 
 Moses, which many have in various ages attempted to do. 
 On the whole, the faith and manners of the Hebrews, as 
 also afterwards the doctrines of Christianity, remained a 
 strange phenomenon in the eyes of the Greeks and Eomans, 
 which they could not clearly comprehend, and respecting 
 the particulars of which, on a nearer acquaintance, they 
 formed the most singular opinions. This is not to be won- 
 dered at, since the very simplest view respectively taken by 
 the one or the other, of man and of the beginning of his 
 being, as also the origin of knowledge and mental culture, 
 sensibly differed. According to Greek and Roman theories, 
 the first of mankind had everywhere sprung out of the earth 
 as aboriginals ;f just as the fervid heat of the sun often 
 
 * The second of the fourteen Ptolemies, who reigned in Egypt from 
 323 — 30, B.C. He received this name on account of having* married his 
 own sister, Arsinoe. Theocritus mentions him, Idyll. 17. — Transl. note. 
 
 f The ancient Athenians wore in their hair golden grasshoppers 
 {ri.TTi.yto) to shew that they were AuroxOovtg, sprung from the same 
 earth. — Transl. note 
 
CEADLE OP HUMAN CTYILIZATI01S". 89 
 
 creates or at least arouses stagnant life in moist and slimy 
 localities, since nature, whose inner agency is in a state of 
 continual ferment and activity, seizes every opportunity of 
 hatching matter that has life and motion, though what is 
 produced be sometimes of imperfect development. This 
 view took too prominent cognizance of one element in man, 
 the earth ; his other and higher element, the Divine spark 
 resident within his spirit, was regarded as the reward of 
 ingenious theft from heaven,* The Mosaic doctrine, on the 
 other hand, sets forth that man did not spring up everywhere 
 and fortuitously, but was placed in a given locality by a 
 superior intelligence : and that his God-like spirit was not 
 the result of audacious theft, but graciously given to him 
 by the hand of Divine Love. In reference to the primi- 
 tive history of mankind and of human intellect, the follow- 
 ing inference may be drawn from this doctrine, in unison 
 with all other traditions. The cradle of human civilization 
 may be fixed in Central Asia, that lovely garden of the 
 earth, excelling in every kind of natural advantage, and 
 watered in all directions by noble streams. Some mighty 
 catastrophe, universal in its operation, entirely separated 
 mankind of the present time from an older and pre-existing 
 race. The nations that again rallied into civilization, sub- 
 sequent to the catastrophe, consist of three primaeval families, 
 materially differing from each other in genius and character, 
 and descended from three ancestors, Shem, Japheth, and 
 Ham. One of these, most extensively scattered over Central 
 Asia, from the remotest times more enlightened than the 
 rest ; then, a second, more especially stocking the north 
 with rude but uncorrupted, and less morally degenerate 
 children of nature, and who, on that very account, after- 
 wards derived the greater advantages from the more early 
 refinement of civilized nations ; and the third, a people early 
 sharing a high degree of civilization, but, gradually, losing 
 all traces of the same, through extreme moral corruption, 
 and its concomitant degeneracy. This view is so generally 
 established by the records and monuments of antiquity, and 
 
 * Allusion is here doubtless made to Prometheus, whose ingenuity and 
 cruel punishment are celebrated in some of the grandest effusions of 
 ancient minstrelsy. — Tran&l. rote. 
 
90 KEYELATION. 
 
 by progressive enquiry of every kind, that we may safely 
 consider it as a recognized and authenticated basis of all 
 historical truth. Both portions of our Revelation — Mosaic 
 tradition, as well as the promulgation of Christianity — are, 
 in different ways, the central point in the history of the 
 human mind. Christianity gave the civilized Roman world 
 a new faith, new customs and laws, a rule of life altogether 
 new, and, hence, on account of their intimate connection 
 with modes of thought and manners, there sprang up a 
 new system of art and science, entirely distinct in charac- 
 ter and peculiar in operation. However, it is to Mosaic 
 tradition that we must turn if we would examine the 
 other portions of Eastern culture from a right point of 
 view. Not that this development was not of high antiquity 
 even among other peoples, as for instance, the Egyptian 
 monuments alone, if no other proofs were extant, suffi- 
 ciently attest such high antiquity ; at that same gigantic 
 architecture, before whose ruins the modern traveller 
 still stands awe-stricken, Herodotus gazed twenty-two 
 centuries ago, and ascribed them then to a remote anti- 
 quity. "We know that hieroglyphics existed before the 
 time of Moses, and he himself says he was versed in all the 
 wisdom of the Egj^ptiaus. But the arts and sciences, 
 those consecrated vessels, as it were, of Divine truth, and 
 intended only to serve her purposes, were justly wrested 
 from Egyptian hands, that so shamefully misapplied and 
 abused them. Some modern writers have laboured hard to 
 refute this pre-eminent privilege, — peculiar to the Mosaic 
 records, before all other Asiatic traditions — of containing a 
 purer and more pellucid stream of truth. Some of these 
 have attempted to deduce all wisdom from Egypt, an idea 
 probably borrowed from ancient critics : others have zeal- 
 ously extolled Chinese polity and manners, with ardent 
 praises of the moral philosophy of Confucius, "Whilst those 
 have not been wanting who would people the North with 
 an Atlantic primeval race : or, penetrated with the profound 
 wisdom and exquisite beauty of the Indian mind, a fourth 
 class of admirers have accepted the notoriously fabulous 
 chronology of the Bramins, thereby setting all sound princi- 
 ples of criticism at defiance : in short, every kind of im- 
 probability and fiction, however gross, has been at least 
 
THE PERSIAN CREED. 91 
 
 ostensibly received and maintained in preference to accept- 
 ing the simple truth. 
 
 Of the several nations participating in Oriental culture, 
 and whose remote origin is clearly traced by means of 
 Egyptian, Persian, and Indian memorials, the Persians 
 were most akin to the Hebrews in faith and in traditions : 
 for the same reason, they differed all the more from Grecian 
 standards. It was under the mild and friendly sceptre of 
 Persian monarchy that the scattered Hebrews were again 
 collected and united, and their temple rebuilt. To the creed 
 of the Egyptians, the Persians were quite as inimical as the 
 Hebrews, hence Persian rule was the more stringent in 
 Egypt, seeing that the conquerors were desirous of rooting 
 out the native religion, from a conviction of its baneful super- 
 stition and gross idolatry. Long before the Greek Gelon, # 
 on the occasion of his making a treaty with the Carthagi- 
 nians, with a humanity characteristic of his nation, insisted on 
 their discontinuing human sacrifices, the Persian emperor 
 Darius had forbidden this very practice, doubtless on the 
 ground of his purer and more spiritual religion. The Persians 
 recognized and adored the same God of light and truth 
 with the Hebrews, though there was a considerable admix- 
 ture of mythological fiction and substantial error in their 
 recognition of the truth. Holy Scripture calls Cyrus 
 anointed of the Lord, language which no gratitude would 
 ever have applied to an Egyptian Pharaoh. The whole 
 Persian mode of life, and the government of their empire, 
 were based on this sublime faith. As a sun of right- 
 eousness, the monarch was intended to be a visible image 
 of the supreme God and of eternal light ; whilst seven of the 
 principal nobles answered to the Amshaspands,f or the 
 seven invisible powers swaying the various agencies of 
 nature in diverse regions, in right of their spiritual sove- 
 reignty. To these views the Greeks were utter strangers. 
 The same Syrian potentate, who bitterly persecuted the 
 
 * Tyrant of Syracuse, 480 B.C. He was as good a sovereign as he was 
 a brave soldier. His victory over the Carthaginians, on the same day 
 that the Greeks and Persians fought off Salamis, was eminently decisive. 
 The Carthaginian power was utterly prostrated. — Transl. note. 
 
 f The seven superior spirits of good are so called by the Parsees, the 
 number, probably, corresponding to that of the planets. Of these Ormuzd 
 is the head. — Transl. note. 
 
92 ITS ESSENTIAL EEROB. 
 
 Hebrews on account of their faith, and would have compelled 
 them to adopt the religion of the Greeks, was likewise 
 desirous of annihilating the Persian creed. Alexander, too, 
 had endeavoured to extirpate the Magi, not so much from 
 caprice or wanton oppression, as because the existence of 
 their order presented formidable obstacles to the accomplish- 
 ment of his leading wish. He aimed at a fusion of the 
 Persian and Greek nations, and to effect this object no 
 middle path was practicable ; the Greeks must either adopt 
 fire-worship, abandoning their temples, so many of which 
 the Persians, under Xerxes, had razed, since they regarded 
 them as subservient to the purposes of superstitious idolatry ; 
 or else the doctrines of the Zendavesta,* must be supplanted 
 by the introduction of Greek or Egyptian forms of religious 
 service into Persia. 
 
 The essential error of the Persian creed consisted in this, 
 that, whilst recognizing the power which contends against 
 light and goodness, they did not see that the agency of this 
 power, though it may seem to have extensive influence over 
 man and nature, is as nothing when contrasted with that of 
 God: in a word, they accepted two fundamental principles, 
 a good and an evil deity. 
 
 Several commentators of recent times, not being able to 
 deny the similarity existing between the Persian faith and 
 that of the Hebrews, have endeavoured to explain the same 
 by suggesting that the Hebrews derived much, if not all, of 
 their knowledge from the Persians, during their exile and 
 forcible detention in that great empire. So gratuitous 
 an assumption cannot fail to strike the mere historical stu- 
 dent, since the connection between the Persians and Hebrews 
 which is thus held to be of comparatively recent standing, 
 can be proved to have dated far back into remote time, both 
 by the joint testimony of both these nations and by 
 the very nature of the case ; in fact, deeper investigation 
 gives a very different result from this superficial hypothesis. 
 Though, in detail, it may be sufficiently difficult to reconcile 
 with critical accuracy the Persian traditions of Kaiomer, 
 Hoschenk, and Dschemschid, with the patriarchal line cf 
 ancestors mentioned in Genesis, to whom is attributed some 
 
 * A common name for all sacred writings of the ancient Persians ; 
 most of them were composed by Zoroaster. — Transl, note. 
 

 NEGATIVE CHARACTER OE HEBREW WRITINGS. 93 
 
 especial degree of enlightenment — Adam and Seth, or Enoch, 
 Noah and Shem. On the whole, however, holy tradition in 
 both cases rests on one and the same common basis, being 
 deduced from a Revelation of sacred ancestry, as the source 
 of Divine enlightenment. The defective hypothesis alluded 
 to, gives rise to a completely erroneous point of view. 
 The pre-eminence of the Hebrews, before all other Asiatic 
 races, entirety consists in their having handed down to pos- 
 terity the truths entrusted to them with the strictest fide- 
 lity in blind obedience and faith, a boon the value of which 
 was often not apprehended by themselves ; while among all 
 other nations these truths were either not recognized, or 
 lost, or disfigured by the most extravagant fictions and fear- 
 ful errors. This negative character, so to speak, is borne 
 by all the sacred writings of the Hebrews, and especially, 
 the Mosaic records. "Whatsoever was virtually to be 
 law, is set forth in terms the most explicit. In the be- 
 ginning of the record, that which concerns man internally is 
 so intelligible that the most ignorant, nay savages, or even 
 childhood that has begun to be observant of passing occur- 
 rences, may easily apprehend its import. General his- 
 tory also, a common origin, and the earliest fortunes of 
 the human race, are all expounded as far as is essential to 
 belief. But so much as could serve only to gratify the long- 
 ings of speculative curiosity, Moses has to a great extent 
 shrouded in mystery. The concise information he has con- 
 veyed, with almost hieroglyphic brevity, respecting the first 
 ten progenitors in early history, has been amplified by the 
 Persians, Indians, and Chinese into whole volumes of my- 
 thology, and legends half poetic, half metaphysical. 
 
 The qualities of surpassing fancy and inventive metaphy- 
 sics, of a profound acquaintance with nature and her laws, 
 must be assigned to the Persians rather than the Hebrews. 
 In astronomy, architecture, and all such arts as formed the 
 especial study of other Eastern nations, the Hebrews were 
 likewise inferior. At those questions only, which, if not 
 pointedly answered, might for the future serve to shake 
 confidence in God, the narrative of the sufferings of Job 
 offers an explanation, — a narrative that, if judged only on its 
 own merits and by the canons of profane criticism, must ever 
 rank as one of the most sublime and characteristic efforts of 
 antiquity. No longer thickly veiled in Mosaic secresy, but 
 
94 HEBREW EEELINGS ANTICIPATORY OE THE ETTTURE. 
 
 serene and clear as noon-day the knowledge of God is mani- 
 fested in the songs of David, the allegories of Solomon, 
 and the prophecies of Isaiah. Here are exhibited a blaze 
 of splendour and a loftiness of view which, considered in 
 reference to mere poetic composition, excite our admiration, 
 distance all competition, and confound every attempt to de- 
 preciate them; they are a fiery fountain of divine inspira- 
 tion, by which the greatest poets down to our own day have 
 been stimulated to their boldest flights. But, even this 
 clearness is still prophetical, and it is half concealed, and its 
 full development is to be looked for in the future. Careful 
 discrimination is necessary : it is not the sensuous transpa- 
 rency of artistic thought, as in the highly wrought, intellec- 
 tual efforts of the Greeks ; it is not the masculine energy, 
 and decided vigour of the Bomans, but a prophetic depth to- 
 tally different from both of these, and intelligible only in 
 its peculiar sense, that pervades the sacred writings of the 
 Hebrews. Their whole feelings and existence seemed to be 
 not so much a thing of the present as of the past, and still 
 more of the future. The past was no poetic reminiscence, 
 as it is among other nations, but a solemn relic of their Di- 
 vine institutions, and of the eternal covenant. Thoughts of 
 the Eternal were not, with them, distinguished from the 
 circumstances of temporal life, as was the case in the isolated 
 philosophy of solitary Grecian sages, but interwoven in the 
 tissue of life generally, in the web of a wondrous past of the 
 chosen people, and the still more glorious promises of a 
 mysterious future. Historically considered, the palmy 
 period of the Hebrews was of no long duration ; the Mosaic 
 legislation and plan of life scarcely ever reached full matu- 
 rity, for never did the people fulfil the intentions of their 
 Divine lawgiver. Long tossed about in the wilderness, and 
 subjected to the ever-changing shifts of a chastened nation, 
 the sanctuary attained the dignity of a splendid temple for 
 a brief period only, in the reign of Solomon. It was 
 speedily reduced to nothing, as a punishment for national 
 crime, and when re-erected, with the sanction and favour of 
 Persian monarchy, the treasures and memorials of the past 
 were, indeed, once more collected and preserved : but the 
 flourishing period of the Hebrew mind was well nigh past. 
 Like the Komans, the later Jews were unable to contend 
 against the onward progress of Grecian thought, civilization 
 
ERRONEOUS REPRESENTATIONS. 95 
 
 and literature. Yet, ever did the existence of this peculiar 
 people, in a prophetic manner, more especially, if not exclu- 
 sively, point to futurity. 
 
 If after these preliminary remarks we desire to compre- 
 hend and characterize the essence of Hebrew thought or 
 the sacred writings of the Old Testament, more completely, 
 as a whole, as far as is practicable, within the intellectual 
 horizon of mental development in art and science, over which 
 these sacred records have exerted so great an influence, it 
 will be necessary in the first place, to remove all erroneous 
 representations. "We are considering the Old Testament 
 not merely as the abstract of Hebrew intellect, but as the 
 first part of God's written "Word, and are including this holy 
 book in the history of Literature. And how, indeed, could 
 a suitable explanation and history of the Word, with its 
 manifold development, possibly exclude all cognizance of 
 the Divine Word ? But the peculiar worship and theology 
 of the Hebrews, as well as the character and spirit of the 
 biblical writings, will be most clearly explained by their op- 
 posites. It was no heathen, sidereal, nature-worship, but 
 a strictly moral service, with heroic behef in Providence. 
 There were no mysteries, no arrogant, secret, esoteric doc- 
 trines intended for the educated or powerful few: but a 
 true national church, a Theocracy animating and influencing 
 the whole of life. Neither were the subtle dogmas of an 
 ingenious philosophy allowed to prevail, enunciating, per- 
 haps, very sublime truths respecting God and Divine things, 
 yet without sufficient organic force to take a proper and 
 permanent hold of the world : but there was to be a firm, 
 steady bond of union, a living intercourse with God, in 
 childlike fear and unchangeable love. 
 
 Thus, it will be seen, then, that the sacred writings of the 
 Hebrews form a more complete whole than the mental 
 productions of any other nation — constituting, in reality, a 
 Divine book : in connected correspondence, and an extension 
 of one and the same subject continued for upwards of a thou- 
 sand years. A unique book, for it treats but of one subject, 
 man, and the people of God. A book suitable for all classes 
 of readers, inasmuch as its contents are prefigurative for all 
 coming ages, and typical for entire humanity. Its subject, 
 though radically one, may, nevertheless, be considered in 
 twofold reference. It may be said, also, to have a twofold 
 
9G PRINCIPAL ELEMENTS IN THE OLD TESTAMENT. 
 
 centre, -some of the leading parts bearing directly on the 
 Word of life and the Divine deliverance and redemption to 
 be effected by it ; others, on the Church or the union and 
 league of the Elect, to whom the Word of life and of Divine 
 love was entrusted, for use, preservation, and dissemination. 
 These two subjects can, by no means, be wholly severed, 
 or separately promulgated : but it is possible for the one 
 Idea to predominate here, the other there, as will be seen 
 when we proceed to details. There are four principal di- 
 visions (or parts) of the Old Testament, referring to one 
 common centre— the church of the old Covenant, or the 
 elect people of God. They are Genesis : Thora, or the 
 Mosaic law: the historical books: the Prophets. From 
 these we learn, first, the original establishment of the primi- 
 tive Church, rising out of the ruins of the old World and 
 the earliest patriarchal times : then, the institution, legisla- 
 tion, and organic arrangement of the same. The historical 
 books inform us of the fortunes, crimes, chastenings, and 
 wonderful guidance of the chosen people : whilst the prophets 
 exhibit, after its decline, the regeneration, spiritual glory, 
 and future perfection of the primitive Church. The won- 
 derful book of Genesis, even though compiled and written 
 by Moses, at a later period, essentially breathes the spirit of 
 the antique in every syllable of its contents. It is, in truth, 
 the Gospel of the old Covenant : revealing man's astound- 
 ing secret, and possessing the key to all Revelation, it is of 
 especial importance in unlocking the hieroglyphs of a pri- 
 meval world which would otherwise be unintelligible. 
 
 Here we have a plain disclosure of the origin of evil on earth : 
 a subject with which other ancient doctrines, poetical cosmo- 
 gonies, and heathen Vedas* have been inextricably perplexed. 
 Instead of the false Mayaf of the Indians, we observe the 
 true Eve, the mother of all living, human beings : we see how 
 the serpent beguiled man to take of the fruit of spurious 
 knowledge, and how the tree of earthly creation was cor- 
 rupted and poisoned at the fall of the first man. The origin 
 of all demoniac aberrations is manifested in Cain and his 
 curse-marked race, which, spreading to the South and East, 
 
 * This term, in Indian religion, signifies the whole system of traditions, 
 laws, &c. issuing from Bramah. — Transl. note. 
 
 t One of the superior Indian deities : the goddess of love, and, curiously 
 enough, the mother of Kama who answers to Cupid. — Transl. note. 
 
THE BOOK OF GENESIS. 97 
 
 in the land of Ham, planted magic rites and the worship of 
 evil spirits among a considerable portion of mankind. 
 Babel furnishes us with the foundation of all political de- 
 molition, and of that perpetual dispersion of people and 
 Jtates that has continued for thousands of years, in ebb and 
 How, towards the West and North, from one quarter of the 
 globe to another. Moreover, this Genesis of man demon- 
 strates how, notwithstanding a succession of degeneracy and 
 false worship, Divine truth is maintained in an unbroken 
 series of holy traditions, from its first beginning in Adam, 
 the father of the earth, through Seth and Enos, inspired 
 Enoch — whom other nations, too, regard as the earliest sage 
 — righteous Noah, presenting a sacrifice on behalf of all na- 
 ture, elect Shem, — revered as a king and ancestor by the 
 noblest races — down to Abraham, with whom commences a 
 new epoch of special belief in Providence, with implicit 
 surrender of the human will to the divine. This same 
 Genesis shews us that the true religion of antiquity was no 
 sidereal adoration of nature, but a pure recognition of 
 Jehovah, a genuine, though still incomplete Christianity : not 
 a religion of the law, which it came to be afterwards, but a 
 religion of nature. But, it was not nature herself, and her 
 inexhaustible productive powers that formed the object of 
 adoration, but God or Christ in nature. Hence, we must 
 carefully discriminate between the pure religion of these 
 holy progenitors of the human family, — and the sidereal, 
 nature-worship of later, degenerate paganism. It was always 
 Jehovah, Christ, or the wonder-working Word of nature, that 
 those Patriarchs held intercourse with, by means of prayer 
 like Enos, by Divine inspiration and pious resignation like 
 Enoch and Noah. Melchisedek is named as the last of this 
 series of Patriarchs, and he marks the transition-point from 
 the Word of nature to the Word of the law which begins 
 with Abraham, to whom, as the first servant of faith the 
 Word of nature was delivered over by its last high-priest. 
 Uninterrupted connexion being thus maintained with the 
 patriarchal world, Abraham, or rather the Mosaic law, in- 
 augurates the second, nationally judaic element of the sacred 
 volume : the historical writings constituting the third ele- 
 ment among those books that refer to the Divine institution, 
 progressive development, and wonderful guidance of the 
 
 E 
 
 
V8 THE HEBREW SCRTPTURES. 
 
 ancient Church and the elect people. Of the prophets, who, 
 in varied streams of prophecy, conclude the list, the four 
 major beam forth their welcoming rays to the coming glory, 
 like the Cherubim bending over the still closed Ark of the 
 coming glory, according to the quaternary number conse- 
 crated to the Eevelation of Divine excellence and character- 
 ized by the four mysterious animal-symbols. The twelve 
 minor prophets are so many stars of lesser magnitude, sur- 
 rounding with a glory the four principal luminaries of Divine 
 prophecy. On the whole, the Old Testament is not so strictly 
 exclusive in its structure as a system of temporal art or mun- 
 dane science is wont to be, but, rather, resembles a living, 
 moss-grown tree, girt with vigorous shoots. Thus, if, for 
 instance, the most notable historical books describe to us the 
 errors, chastenings, and saving guidance of the chosen 
 people, in general terms, those particular tales and Hebrew 
 legends — which in ordinary, literal, and historical point of 
 view, would only constitute an incidental episode of the 
 whole— such as Euth, Judith, Esther, Tobias, shew us the 
 same Providential care exercised for the benefit of individuals. 
 These biographies may be regarded in the light of historical 
 parables of the Old Testament : they serve as so many com 
 mentaries on the larger history, and though, when superficially 
 viewed, of little historical importance, they contain a sym 
 bolical meaning, both rich and valuable : no high, spiritual 
 interpretation of the Bible would desire to dispense with 
 them completely. If the sacred writings be compared to a 
 living tree, the historical books are the deep-rooted trunk : 
 the Mosaic Eevelation, especially Genesis, its splendid top 
 towering to the clouds : whilst the Prophets are the four- 
 branched base, striking root in a chosen soil, out of which 
 Christianity is to shoot forth in full verdure. In addition 
 to those portions of the Old Testament, that have been 
 named, especially bearing on the Church of the old Cove- 
 nant or of God's chosen people as a general centre, there is 
 yet another series of writings in the sacred compilation 
 which I would style books of aspiration. And for this 
 reason, that they have reference only to the Word of 
 life and of deliverance, in faith and love, in aspiration and 
 promise, without direct allusion to the church and his 
 tory of the chosen people, at least, in total independence 
 
THE BOOK OF JOB, THE PSALMS, ETC. 
 
 99 
 
 of all positive law, and individualities in its organic formation. 
 To these aspiratioDs the book of Job, preeminently, belongs : 
 which, although having not the slightest contact with the Mo- 
 saic institution, presents us with an important and almost 
 necessary supplement to Mosaic Eevelation, inasmuch as it 
 invokes the spirit of belief and of trust in God, during 
 a religious period when the promises of futurity did not 
 beam forth with so bright a splendour. It is only when 
 considered in this connection, that the book of Job appears 
 in its right place, and in its full importance. The Psalms 
 are the second, and the writings of Solomon the third, 
 members of this series : and thus, there is a threefold divi- 
 sion, as in the inner Christian life there is a triple chord 
 of faith, hope, and love. In the same manner that Job 
 is mainly concerned in manifesting patient and enduring 
 faith, and the writings of Solomon declare unto us the 
 secret of Divine Love, and the words of Wisdom which pro- 
 ceeds from that Love, and is in itself Love — so the Psalms 
 are songs of the Divine desire, and amidst the struggles of 
 longing hope. But as Job is more intimately connected 
 with the older Mosaic time, so the two latter, more espe- 
 cially the Psalms, are, in their peculiar imagery and thought, 
 not unfrequently typical of the prophets. Again, these three 
 classes, together with the four principal prophets, form one 
 complete, closely-united mass, girding, tendril-like, the trunk 
 of the institution, history, and prophecy of the chosen people, 
 with the triple power of the Divine spirit. Christian per- 
 fection and blessedness are sublimely veiled in these three 
 holy books, as in a cloud : Job shews us faith in the heroic 
 endurance of suffering, Solomon declares to us Love in 
 symbolic mystery, whilst the Psalms breathe forth hope 
 in the struggle of earthly aspiration. In these latter, Christ, 
 the eternal Word of life and of reconciliation, everywhere 
 clearly expresses himself, and therefore the Psalms have ever 
 been and will continue to be for all Christian time, the prin- 
 cipal chant in all Church-melody : whilst as a divine Litany 
 they constitute the rich fountain of Christian devotion. 
 They delineate the meeting of the Father and the Son, the 
 anxious longing of the Son to be once more with his Father 
 after painful separation, and the merciful condescension of 
 
100 THE HEBREW SCEIPTURES. 
 
 the Father, as they seek out each other in the surges of crea- 
 tion, and approach each other on the central ground of 
 love. Viewed from this point, the idea of Divine inspira- 
 tion is realized, that is to say, the vital essence of inspira- 
 tion : whilst the closed cycle of the sacred writings, com- 
 monly called the Canon, which is presumed to contain all 
 that is substantially requisite for church doctrine and govern- 
 ment, is, by rightful authority, positively determined and 
 dogmatically fixed. If the Spirit of God be such as to pro- 
 ceed at once from the Father and the Son, its presence is 
 most conspicuous when both, the hidden bosom of the Fa- 
 ther, in creative loDging and almighty depths of affection — 
 and the mysterious Word of the everlasting Son, meet and 
 kindle into one glowing flame of illumination. The united 
 and complete power of Divine life and agency is the stamp 
 unmistakably impressed on the whole framework of the 
 Scriptures in their whole spirit and structure, though in 
 some parts the omnipotence of the Father, in others the 
 glory of the Son, is more prominently set forth. If we are 
 asked what gives the Bible, in its poetical portions, that 
 more than Pindaric enthusiasm, and in its pure contempla- 
 tion of the Godhead, that more than Platonic sublimity, we 
 should feel disposed to answer, it is this, the Spirit proceed- 
 ing from the Father and the Son ! But if we would deter- 
 mine more exactly the character and the spirit of the Old 
 Testament, according to those four holy symbolic animals, 
 who mark and signify four sides or different spheres in any 
 revelation of the Divine Being, we may venture to say that 
 the books of the Old Testament bear chiefly the impress of 
 the lion, as the element of the ardent power of will in the 
 divine fire. But as this good and pious courage of the lion' 
 is only directed outwards, but in the interior of the heart 
 the loving lamb-like sentiments must dwell, and these two 
 images of antiquity are here thus bound and connected with 
 one another ; thus in the inmost heart and soul of this divine 
 book the Christian form of the lamb rises from the covering 
 of this lion-like power, as the symbol and gospel of the eter- 
 nal sacrifice and of divine love. 
 
 Having thus attempted to sketch the arrangement and 
 organic composition of the Old Testament in its unity, as 
 
THE FORMS OF BIBLICAL BEPRESENTATIOtf. 101 
 
 also to convey an idea of the construction of the whole in 
 its sevenfold division, the seven principal members and their 
 adjuncts, it only remains to characterize the several peculi- 
 arities of expression and outward form of the Biblical repre- 
 sentation. Of these forms peculiar to Holy "Writ there are 
 four principal ones : — Aphorism ; Parallelism, chiefly in the 
 poetical parts ; Vision, in the prophetic books and passages ; 
 and Parable, or Allegory, which last is not confined to mere 
 isolated sections, but pervades the whole in its figurative 
 mode of thought. The first of these, Aphorism, being the 
 simplest expression of vigorous living thought, and conse- 
 quently often figurative, is especially suited to the primitive 
 habits and tastes of all nations, and, accordingly, common to 
 all races and people in their earliest epochs. When treating 
 of the Greeks, it will be remembered, we took occasion to 
 allude to aphorism, as the form which their philosophy ori- 
 ginally adopted, as also to the distichs of the Gnomic bards. 
 "With still greater prominence this form appears in the Indian 
 metrical aphorism, or Schloka, as it is technically termed, 
 the distich peculiar to Sanscrit literature : whilst, generally 
 speaking, the loftiest poesy, and even many scientific works 
 of olden times, were composed entirely in this form, on which 
 all other metrical forms may be said to have been grounded. 
 Indian aphorism bears a wonderful resemblance to the He- 
 brew ; but the former, with its four feet of eight syllables 
 each, has a much stricter symmetry than the latter ; the 
 Hebrew irregularity of structure and of intellectual flight 
 corresponding most harmoniously, so that in the most preg- 
 nant passages each sentence may be called a verbal hiero- 
 glyph. This form is, of all others, best adapted to the spirit 
 of a higher revelation : being the natural expression of the 
 Eternal to man ; it is likewise the Divine fiat, where crea- 
 tive action follows upon the word, giving it a peculiar stamp, 
 as especially in Genesis. And having passed from the ex- 
 pression of Divine will, as law, and from the language of 
 prophecy over to historical narrative, as well as every other 
 species of expression, it becomes of universal application. 
 But, in the poetry of the Hebrews, besides this aphoristic 
 Biblical form, there is another peculiar law of living, breath- 
 ing thought and rhythmical notion, not indeed of words and 
 syllables, but of images and feelings undulating in free sym- 
 
102 HEBEEW POETRY. 
 
 metry like the waves of the sea. This pouring forth of the 
 soul seeking her God is well embodied in the parallelism of 
 Hebrew song, visible, not merely in individual verses of the 
 Psalms, but throughout the structure of the whole, as it is 
 dismembered into strophes and antistrophes. A strict metre 
 whether of syllables, musical time, or rhyme would not be 
 so suitable to the dignified and sublime elevation of the sacred 
 writings as that simple and free original form of poetic 
 movement, which consists only in a repetition and corres- 
 pondence of images and a rhythm of the thought. Upon 
 the whole, it will scarcely be expected that all ordinary 
 artistic laws are to regulate Holy "Writ, but only such as in 
 their genius might ho]d good in a purely spiritual order of 
 things. It would be difficult to conceive there the existence of 
 dramatic representation, of real ejpos, of rhetorical harangues, 
 or of scientific treatises. But in the invisible world of god- 
 like sentiment and of spiritual nature, inner creative Power 
 and "Will may be supposed to communicate in expression, 
 verbal or otherwise ; and even incorporeal spirits may sylla- 
 bic their adoration in song that is not terrestrial. It is by a 
 standard such as this that Biblical forms are to be judged, 
 especially in the department that in human language is 
 called philosophy or poetry. "With reference to poetry ge- 
 nerally, this will explain how it is that, whilst the epic form, 
 historically considered, is the primitive and original source 
 of all other kinds — and the dramatic form is, in point of art, 
 the climax, the perfection of the whole, yet, even heathen 
 nations selected the lyrical, as the most proper form for em- 
 bodying their hymns. Again, it should be borne in mind, 
 that mere beauty of form is nowhere, throughout the Bible 
 and writings of the old Covenant, of preponderating im- 
 portance. The words are words of life, simply and clearly 
 expressed, with a deep profundity of meaning, mysteries in 
 all their fulness are conveyed in the simplicity of unadorned 
 history, in the mere gushing forth of the heart without any 
 artificial embellishments. 
 
 In Hebrew Parallelism, the second peculiar form of Bib- 
 lical representation, we see the sympathizing soul, lost in 
 enthusiasm, and carried away in the stream of eternal love. 
 AVhilst in Vision, the third peculiarity of form, we behold 
 the spirit transported by God into a higher region of pure 
 
BIBLICAL ALLEGORY. 
 
 103 
 
 intuition, where, having ceased self-guidance, it only beholds 
 and describes things not of this world. The Psalms are a 
 free lifting up of the soul to Grod ; in Vision, on the con- 
 trary, the mind is in a more passive, suffering condition, 
 yielding entirely to Divine influences. The very nature of 
 the Scriptures, as the vehicle of Divine revelation, is such 
 that a considerable portion of their contents is necessarily 
 couched in visions ; and other parts, likewise, though not 
 strictly prophetic, are yet tinged with the same character. 
 Since, however, the inner, concealed, Divine essence cannot 
 make itself known externally but by means of revelation, 
 those contemplations of the invisible world are veiled in 
 imagery entirely their own, and can only be conveyed by 
 symbols. This brings us to the fourth Biblical form of ex- 
 pression, namely, Allegory. Just as the religion of the old 
 Covenant is, throughout, typical of Christianity, so also, 
 this typical account of the adventures that befel the chosen • 
 people, where history itself becomes prophetic, and has alle- 
 goric reference, is peculiar to the Old Testament ; whilst the 
 more childlike form of parable is more prevalent in the 
 New Testament. All these images, which are not merely 
 images but truths, constitute the elements of that hiero- 
 glyphic language that stamps Holy Writ with its own pecu- 
 liar impress, and that vivid clearness of imagination that 
 characterizes revelation in its symbolical garb. 
 
 Among the different forms of symbolical expression which 
 are principally used in the monuments of antiquity, and 
 especially in the Bible, we may distinguish four according 
 to the elementary powers of human consciousness and 
 existence. Allegory, properly so called, animates and per- 
 sonifies the abstract ideas of Reason according to its own 
 design and good pleasure, On the other hand, in the sym- 
 bolical events of typical history there is a real reflection and 
 fore-tokening in which Nature repeats itself in its produc- 
 tions, according to the will of the Creator, from age to age, 
 and is reflected by its own imagination. In Hieroglyphics, 
 it is the Eternal himself and his mysteries which are ren- 
 dered intelligible by a sensible figure ; while the Parable, 
 descending from this elevation, acts morally on the heart, 
 and insinuates itself into the life with unostentatious power. 
 
 On this symbolic quality and general structure of Holy 
 
104 INTERPRETATION OF THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 "Writ is founded that allegorical meaning and system of 
 interpretation, as essentially necessary and appropriate 
 which in ancient times was universally employed, and was 
 sanctioned by the Fathers of the Church. If then we add 
 to the correct idea of the peculiar spirit in the connection 
 of the Father with the Son, or of the inspiration of the 
 Scriptures, and to the four peculiar biblical forms already 
 pointed out, add the idea of a deep and complete interpre- 
 tation according to the three-fold meaning, — the spirit and 
 form of the Scriptures will be presented as clearly to us, as our 
 present object requires. The first interpretation is, according 
 •to the literal sense which depends on the purely historical, the 
 moral and simple dogmatic contents, and the correct gram- 
 matical understanding of it. The second kind of interpreta- 
 tion is the allegorical, which as a spiritual mode of under- 
 standing, brings to light, along with the literal and histo- 
 rical meaning, the symbolical and the typical signification. 
 But the third and highest interpretation is founded on the 
 hidden mystical sense which, either with or without imagery, 
 rests on the mystery of the soul and its union with God ; 
 so that the signification depends on the internal psycholo- 
 gical understanding of this mystery. "When this knowledge 
 "according to the soul" attains to perfect clearness, we 
 may say that it is the Eternal word of Love itself which 
 comprehends and understands itself in its own peculiar 
 light. "With this idea of the highest clearness in the mys- 
 terious intelligence of the soul united to God, we may con- 
 clude most suitably our remarks on the Sacred Volume. 
 
 Let us now briefly glance at the Hebrew language, the ves- 
 sel and instrument selected to receive the Divine gift of [Re- 
 velation. In order to mark its precise character and relative 
 position among other languages of antiquity, it is desirable 
 critically to investigate the internal elements of speech, since 
 it is upon the predominance of one or other element that the 
 peculiar spirit and tone of a language mainly depend. 
 Accustomed as we are to divide letters into two classes — 
 vowels and consonants — we altogether lose sight of a third, 
 highly important though less striking, element. Aspira- 
 tion, which both introduces a new power and modifies 
 the character of existing sounds, produces vocal combina- 
 tons differing, materially, from vowels as well as consonants. 
 
THE HEBREW LANGUAGE. 105 
 
 Consonants susceptible of a two-fold pronunciation, a hard 
 and a soft, belong to this species of aspirables ; such as d 
 and£; 5 and;?; /andw; thus approximating closely to 
 the musical harmony of vowels ; as also those vowels that 
 are eligible to serve as consonants when occasion offers, 
 namely i and u, which may become j and v. Actual, pure 
 consonants are the organic characteristics of a language, 
 they form its body : vowels contain its musical ingre- 
 dient, and correspond to the principle of the soul ; whilst 
 aspirable letters correspond to the Divine, spiritual ele- 
 ment. In some languages, consonants express and cha- 
 racterize the prevailing element of genius, as in the Greek, 
 Persian, and Germanic idioms. In others, the musical 
 harmony of vowels predominates, as in modern Italian, 
 of which the full-toned ancient Roman was, of course, the 
 basis. The aspirate character especially distinguishes 
 Hebrew and its kindred dialects, spiritual afflatus being 
 preeminently marked in the inspired tones of prophetic lan- 
 guage. Peculiarities, too, of grammatical structure obtain, 
 such as the connecting by the article, the conjunction in the 
 prefixes and the pronominal suffixes; these are all intimately 
 connected with the aspirable principle and character. It is 
 sufficiently apparent, then, that the tone and spirit of Hebrew 
 prophetic language are a well adapted means to a definite 
 end, to give expression to holy revelation and Divine pro- 
 phecy. If it be ascertained that in each of the three classic 
 idioms of antiquity, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, some one ele- 
 ment stands prominently out, it must not be forgotten that 
 in the old Indian language these several elements, which were 
 afterwards separated, were enclosed in one common germ. 
 The Sanskrit combines these various qualities, possessed se- 
 parately by other tongues : Grecian copiousness, deep-toned 
 Boman force, the Divine afflatus characterizing the Hebrew 
 tongue. If we now turn our attention from these very simple 
 isolated, and yet essential elements of language, to the princi- 
 pal organs which are clearly distinguished by further develop- 
 ment in their growth and operation, we shall discover prin- 
 cipally four which correspond to the four elementary powers 
 of the human consciousness. The roots are the positive 
 divine in language, the original source of the natural reve- 
 lation deposited and expressed in words, as the understand- 
 
106 SACERD WR1TIXGS OF THE PARSEES. 
 
 ing of the first Man perceived them at first in the yet 
 pure light. The grammatical forms of language and their 
 whole artificial structure are the work of Season : Images 
 and tropes on the other hand are the element of the Imagi- 
 nation, and in the undulations of rhyme and of metrical 
 movement, the ebb and flow of the desires and of the will 
 are expressed. Judged by an organic standard of the 
 principal elements of language, the Sanskrit excels in gram- 
 matical structure, and is, indeed, the most perfectly developed 
 of all idioms, not excepting Greek and Latin. In imagery 
 and types of every kind no language is so rich as the He- 
 brew : it is the prevalent element, and as all contemplation 
 of Divine things is figurative, it follows that in this capacity, 
 also, Hebrew is especially adapted to the purposes of Reve- 
 lation. As regards grammatical roots, it would be difficult 
 indeed to adjudge the preference to any one tongue : it is 
 necessary to take all primitive, stock-languages, as Indian, 
 Latin, Greek, Persian, Hebrew, and our own Germanic, 
 into consideration, in reference to the number of original 
 root-syllables, in order to approach, as near as may now be 
 practicable, to the great source of the common origin of 
 language. In rhythm and metre languages follow their own 
 rules and modes, according to their peculiar character ; and 
 in a very high spiritual development of languages, this ele- 
 ment is almost entirely taken from its original material soil, 
 and nothing is left but a gentle resonance as a remembrance 
 and echo of the tranquillised soul, as in our own Christian 
 tongues. 
 
 We will now turn from a consideration of Hebrew litera- 
 ture to that of the oriental nations : but before proceeding 
 to an examination of Indian records and memorials, it will 
 be convenient to subjoin a few remarks respecting the re- 
 ligious books of the Persians, whose oldest doctrines, as we 
 saw, were most near akin to the Hebrew, and therefore we 
 speak of them in this connection. 
 
 In those of the sacred writings of the Parsees still extant, 
 how much soever they may differ from the genuine form of 
 the original Zendavesta, we trace a close resemblance, in 
 many points, to the Mosaic doctrine. As for instance, in 
 particulars regarding the Omnipotence of the Creator, light 
 and darkness, the Word of life, guardian Angels, the Spirit 
 
INDIAN MONUMENTS AND EPICS. 107 
 
 of evil ; though, in this case, they are interwoven with na- 
 ture-worship : namely, adoration of the stars, of fire and 
 water. In this respect, the Zendavesta constitute a tran- 
 sition-medium between Mosaic Christian belief and pure 
 paganism. The most intelligible account of this connection 
 between the sidereal worship of a primitive world, and a 
 strict recognition of the unity of the Godhead, is afforded 
 in the Dessatix,* the holy book of the Abades, a sect not 
 unlike the Gnostics of old : which record is one of the 
 most curious memorials we possess of oriental antiquity. 
 
 The poetical element of the Persian religion has more 
 affinity with the mythology of the north than that of the 
 Greeks. The same nature-worship, namely, of light, fire, 
 and the other pure elements, ordained in the liturgy of the 
 Zendavesta, appears also, in poetic form, in the Edda:t 
 giants, dwarfs, and magic creations, animate the world of 
 Persian, as of northern, poetic, legend. 
 
 To this poetic feature of Persian literature we shall have 
 further opportunity of referring. The ancient religious doc- 
 trine of the Persians is only adverted to here in its connec- 
 tion with the sacred traditions of the Hebrews. 
 
 LECTURE V. 
 
 Indian monuments and epics. — Ancient modes op 
 sepulture. — Indian literature and intellect. 
 
 The ancient monuments of Indian architecture sufficiently 
 attest the high antiquity of Indian mythology. In their 
 gigantic proportions and general plan, these monuments 
 most resemble the Egyptian, and it is difficult to assign 
 
 * The name of fifteen recently discovered prophetical books of the 
 ancient Persians : they were printed in Bombay, and translated into 
 English by Erskine. That great critic, Silvestre de Sacy, supposes them 
 to date about 900. — Transl. note. 
 
 f Two collections of Icelandic poetry are thus styled. The word itself 
 means mother, founder, Sfc. — Transl. note. 
 
108 INDIAN EPICS. 
 
 them a less remote period of existence. All such memorials, 
 whether covered with hieroglyphics like those of Egypt : or 
 ruins of the mighty city of Persepolis, with their yet un- 
 deciphered inscriptions, or the mythology of the Indians 
 hewn out of solid rock : transport us in imagination to 
 past ages from which we feel altogether separated. It may- 
 be said that just as national history has an heroic age and 
 the present has been preceded by an epoch marked by the 
 vestiges of physical revolution on our globe and by the re- 
 mains of extinct races of animals, so also, mental culture and 
 poetry have had their wondrous, gigantic past, when all 
 ideas, fictions, and fancies that, at a later period, unfolded 
 into song, into literature, into philosophy : when all human 
 knowledge or error, as astronomy, chronology, cosmogony, 
 theology, legislation, was expressed in huge sculpture. Of 
 the two principal Indian epics, still extant, the one cele- 
 brates Earn a, who is supposed to have conquered the south- 
 ern, and more savage part of the Indian peninsula, and the 
 island of Ceylon. He is the popular national hero, and is 
 represented in the fulness of youthful vigour, beauty, noble- 
 ness, and love, yet, for the most part, unhappy, an exile, 
 and in perpetual conflict with peril and suffering. An im- 
 personification of heroic life, repeated in every beautiful 
 legend, with such variations as depend on local influences 
 and associations. In the bloom of youth and beauty, on 
 the highest step of fame, power and joy, Man is often seized 
 with a deep feeling of the fleeting nature of this earth's 
 existence which he calls his life. This epic of Rama, as far 
 as I have been able to judge, appears to be a work of great 
 excellence, occupying a position between Homeric simplicity 
 and clearness, and the exuberant fancy of Persian poetry, and 
 adorned with a profuse variety of maxims drawn from the 
 wisdom of the ancients. By the side of warlike deeds is 
 delineated the retired life of holy recluses, with their wise 
 precepts and devout discourses, most minutely detailed. On 
 instituting a comparison of Indian and Greek epics, it is 
 found that to heroic legend, cosmogony and poesy are 
 superseded, the whole being threaded on G-nomic minstrelsy. 
 It is as though Homer and Parmenides, Hesiod and Solon, 
 were all united in one work : whilst there are some portions 
 

 INDIAN EPICS. 109 
 
 that, in their especial oriental colouring, remind one forcibly 
 of Mosaic sublimity, or the Proverbs of Solomon. 
 
 The other Indian epic, including the whole of mythology 
 — the Mahabharat — sings of the battles which the heroes, 
 gods, and giants, waged with one another. In similar 
 fictions, the minstrels of the past, among all races possess- 
 ing any legendary traditions soever, have embodied reminis- 
 cences of a nature struggling in the throes of the marvellous 
 and grand, and of the tragic doom of some heroic, primitive 
 time. At whatever later period these two poems — the 
 Eamayan and Mahabharat— may have received embellish- 
 ment and finish, it is, at any rate, certain that the poetic sub- 
 stance of these works is genuine, and dates from some very 
 antique age : since the faithful images they contain are 
 carved in rocks and caves, on those memorials of a former 
 world. The Mahabharat is full of the Vedanta-doctrines, and 
 is hence reputed to have been the production of Vyasa. I 
 am not quite certain that the same philosophy is not the 
 basis of the Eamayan, which, if ascertained, would material- 
 ly affect the position of this noblest of epics in the rank of 
 Indian literature : but, according to historical accounts, it 
 is ascribed to the poet Valmiki,* who flourished at a con- 
 siderably earlier period. 
 
 In reference to the introduction of Indian philosophy into 
 Europe in early times, it will be recollected that Pythagoras 
 made Greece acquainted with the doctrine of the transmi- 
 gration of souls, which originally came from that country. 
 To the Greeks, this was, indeed, a novel and surprising 
 dogma. In India it had been a popular belief ever since 
 India had become known to mankind : it may even be pre- 
 sumed that the whole mode of Indian life and manners was 
 founded on this creed. Here, then, was its home : which 
 was certainly not at all the case in Egypt, from which more 
 immediately Pythagoras had brought it. The Egyptian 
 treatment of their dead confirms us in this statement. 
 There is, undoubtedly, implanted in man a certain anxious 
 regard for the lifeless bodies of the departed : so that nothing 
 
 * For further particulars respecting this Indian poet, the reader is 
 referred to " The Ramayan of Valmiki," in the original Sanskrit, with a 
 prose translation, and explanatory notes by W. Carey and J. Marshman, 
 printed at the Mission-press, Serampore. — Trans, note. 
 
110 TREATMENT OF THE DEAD. 
 
 is more repugnant or offensive to our notions and personal 
 feelings than a violation of propriety on this head. The 
 manner in which they, severally, treat their dead is an impor- 
 tant criterion, and should be taken into account when we are 
 estimating the social character of nations, being intimately 
 connected with their religious views and feelings ; we will, 
 therefore, pause for a moment, to consider this point. The 
 Greek custom of burning the dead is of very early origin. It 
 has great attractions for the imagination. Together with 
 the flame of the pyre, ascends the unquenchable spirit, in 
 liberated purity, towards Heaven : its earthly part remains 
 as ashes, a precious relic. Perhaps the most repulsive 
 method of treatment was that in vogue among the followers 
 of Zoroaster, and still practised in Thibet. There, in order 
 not to defile the sacred elements, fire and earth, the remains 
 of the dead are thrown into receptacles built expressly for 
 the purpose, and walled in at the sides but left open at the 
 top, and thus are exposed to birds and beasts of prey. The 
 mode of interment sanctioned by our own religion, if proper 
 care be taken, is certainly the most agreeable to nature. 
 The earth receives back her own, and the corruptible body 
 is entrusted to her maternal bosom as a seed-corn of the 
 future. It is more congenial to our feelings to know that 
 the body of the dead itself reposes in a given spot, than to 
 contemplate an empty urn, or to gaze at a funeral pile that 
 has reduced and on which the body has been dispersed among 
 the general elements. The Egyptian custom of embalming, 
 a method to which, though after a ruder fashion, the Ethio- 
 pians were wont to resort, and which, most probably, was 
 generally practised throughout the interior of Africa, is not 
 in complete keeping with the Indian belief in transmigration 
 of souls. On the part of races adopting such a practice, it 
 would seem to imply an assumption that the apparently in- 
 animate mass was very important, and that the mysterious 
 magnetic bond linking the spirit and the mummy was not 
 altogether dissolved, that, perhaps, it would be again con- 
 nected, involving a participation of the corruptible body in 
 immortality ! It is as though a presentiment of the resur- 
 rection of the body — as Christianity teaches — but in a false 
 and too material application, had led the Egyptians to pre- 
 serve the corpse with such diligent and engrossing care : 
 
DOCTRINE OF THE METEMPSYCHOSIS. Ill 
 
 perhaps, too, there may have been a reference to necro- 
 mancy ; for, from the remotest ages, magic rites were con- 
 nected with pneumatology in the whole interior of Africa. 
 Some have been desirous to refer this custom of the Egyp- 
 tians to a merely material cause, namely, as a preservative 
 against decay : surely, a most illogical hypothesis, as though 
 a people who disbelieved the immortality of the soul were 
 likely to take such strict measures of precaution in behalf 
 of the body. 
 
 The following explanation appears to me more natural. 
 In the numerous secret societies which were spread through 
 Egypt, many representations and views prevailed very dif- 
 ferent from the popular belief, which in no country was more 
 superstitious : sometimes perhaps a clear light amidst the 
 thickest darkness ; but certainly a variety of different 
 opinions : so that Pythagoras might have learned a doctrine 
 in Egypt, which was not universally prevalent there, but of 
 Indian origin. 
 
 The Indian doctrine of metempsychosis rested on a con- 
 ception of the origin of all things in and from God ; it was 
 supposed that the state of existence in this world was one 
 of wretchedness and imperfection, the consequence of guilt 
 and sin : that all creatures, but especially mankind, roamed 
 through a vast variety of shapes and forms, and were either 
 falling lower in the scale of creation by increased offence, 
 or, by the inward purification of their whole nature, were 
 gradually approaching perfection, and returning to the 
 divine Original from whom they sprung. 
 
 This essentially resembles the philosophy of Plato : and 
 it was from this similarity, as also the influence of oriental 
 theories on the philosophic systems of Europe, that we 
 started when entering on these observations. But before 
 resuming the thread of our enquiry at that point, let us 
 more attentively examine India, in a twofold point of view : — 
 first, the condition in which the Greeks, under Alexander, 
 found that country, and, second, the appearance it has pre- 
 sented to the moderns, as we have become acquainted with it 
 under the British rule. 
 
 India was the most Eastern region of which the Greeks had 
 anything like a circumstantial, though stiJl imperfect, cogni- 
 zance. As conquerors, they trod its soil more than once, and, 
 
112 COMMERCE OF THE GREEKS AND ROMANS WITH INDIA. 
 
 for a brief season, they succeeded in establishing their domi- 
 nion on one part of it. "With the coasts, and other accessi- 
 ble parts, they were made acquainted entirely through their 
 own voyages of discovery. Increasing commerce had enabled 
 them to maintain continuous intercourse with Alexandria, 
 and with Egypt generally, that had now been brought under 
 Grecian sway ; perhaps, too, there is little room to doubt of 
 mutual intellectual correspondence. But with the remote 
 East, with China, the Greeks, as indeed the whole of the 
 "West, had no direct communication, and but a very imper- 
 fect acquaintance. 
 
 It has already been shewn how the doctrine of transmi- 
 gration of souls, indigenous to India, was brought into Greece, 
 from Egypt, by Pythagoras. Commerce with India dates 
 back as far as most records of civilized countries go. Alexan- 
 der, after him the Ptolemies, especially Philadelphus, opened 
 up to it the great high road to which Egypt owes her pros- 
 perity and wealth under these rulers. Under the Romans, 
 likewise, Indian commerce was maintained on this route at 
 once the nearest and most natural, until the circumnaviga- 
 tion of Africa led to the discovery of another mode of tran- 
 sit. But is it probable that Alexander and the Ptolemies 
 would have conceived and executed this design, unless a 
 certain degree of traffic had been already established, unless 
 previous experience had proved its feasibility? An early 
 connection between these two countries is the less doubtful 
 that the Egyptian division into castes greatly resembles the 
 social regulations of India, whilst no two mythologies have 
 such close affinity as those appertaining to the two regions 
 in question. This circumstance was materially confirmed by 
 an occurrence that took place during the last war. On the 
 landing of an Indian corps, led by British officers, in Egypt, 
 some of those huge memorials of which the gigantic size has 
 often excited the wonder and insatiable curiosity of Euro- 
 peans, impressed the Indians with feelings of a different 
 kind. They fell flat upon their faces, under the impression 
 that they were worshipping the gods of their own country. 
 
 The people of India, with their time-hallowed customs 
 and notions, to which they obstinately adhere, may, them- 
 selves, be regarded as a living memorial of the past, human 
 
Alexander's invasion of italt. 113 
 
 ruins of a former world ; and it is not without commisera- 
 ting sympathy that we view their present degradation. 
 
 When Alexander invaded the north of India from the 
 same tract that facilitated the approach of conquerors both 
 before and after his time — from Persia — the strange appear- 
 ance of the inhabitants impressed the Greeks as powerfully 
 as it did the Europeans in modern times, when they found 
 the country they had so long sought. But though the 
 Greeks met with many strange sights in that country, as in 
 Egypt : yet their eyes no where encountered a religion so 
 opposite to their own, as among the Hebrews and Persians. 
 Here, as in Egypt, they found themselves on old familiar 
 ground — a poetic polytheism — of which, at least, the broad 
 outlines corresponded to their own. Individual deities, though 
 somewhat different as to complexion and proportions, were 
 recognized by them, or thought to be so : this relative cor- 
 respondence or difference they significantly expressed by the 
 appellations of Indian Hercules or Indian Bacchus. We 
 may feel sure that very little, really remarkable, escaped 
 their lively fancy and keen observation. But however prone 
 to exaggeration or invention the Greeks may have become in 
 consequence of the many novelties that crowded upon their 
 imagination, and for which they may easily be pardoned, 
 much that is described by the writers of this period as having 
 been observed in the course of Alexander's expeditions has 
 been certified by subsequent testimony. Notwithstanding 
 many misconceptions and erroneous impressions on single 
 points, which admit of easy explanation, the general impres- 
 sion of India entertained by the Greeks was both accurate 
 and conformable to our present knowledge of that country. 
 In their time they met with some of those recluses, men- 
 tioned in the sacred books of the Hindoos, of whose odd 
 demeanour missionaries and English travellers have given us 
 well-authenticated reports : the Greeks called them gymno- 
 sophists.* Two philosophical or religious sects then divided 
 India : the Brachmans and Samaneans, and we may still 
 trace distinct systems of Indian philosophy in her older 
 literature : with this difference only, that the younger of 
 these two systems at no time spread so extensively in India 
 
 * Referring to one of their ascetic practices. — Transl. note. 
 
114 SACKED BOOKS OF THE HINDOOS. 
 
 as the elder branch, inasmuch as it was opposed to the 
 existing arrangement of castes, and vigorously attacked the 
 exclusive supremacy of the Brahmins. But over Thibet, 
 China, and throughout central and northern Asia it was 
 sown broadcast. The very term Samaneans, is purely of 
 Indian extraction, denoting equable, evenness of disposition, 
 which those hermits considered the first requisite to the 
 attainment of perfection. Schaman, a term spread over a 
 considerable portion of the Tartar races as also those inha- 
 biting northern and central Asia, and denominating their 
 priests and magicians, is doubtless derived from the same 
 source, and was originally one and the same word. 
 
 The older Indian sect reveres Brama and his active agent, 
 his prophet and spirit, Menu. The fabulous chronology of 
 the Bramins affects even their literature, the early por- 
 tions of which they ascribe to names that are altogether 
 mythical, and of fictitious date. European critics having 
 once been surprised into blind admission of this fabulous 
 antiquity, it is not very strange that there are some who now 
 fall into the other extreme, and regard the age of all Hindoo 
 productions with feelings of suspicion, if not positive incre- 
 dulity. Such a proceeding cannot fail to be unjustifiable in 
 individual cases. Whilst the Vedahs, to which, as being the 
 oldest sacred records, and embodying a complete liturgy, 
 curiosity was, naturally, first directed, perhaps least answered 
 the general expectation : the Upanishat, at once a running 
 commentary on the Vedahs, and a supplementary extension 
 of the same, have richer dogmatic contents, though framed 
 in the spirit of the Vedanta doctrines, and therefore refer- 
 able to the comparatively later period of Vyasa. The legislative 
 code of Menu, translated by Sir "William Jones, of all In- 
 dian works whose treasures faithful translation has unlocked 
 to our use, bears the fewest traces of irresponsible revision or 
 anonymous interpolation. It is a code of laws, indeed, but 
 after the manner of antiquity, embracing the whole of life, 
 being a complete social manual and portraiture, a poetic 
 creed of deity and pneumatology, an account of the origin 
 of man and of the world. Before the existence of prose in 
 Greece, aphoristic sentences, short narratives, and such sparse 
 fragments of law as were then prevalent, were couched in 
 homely verse, devoid of ornament ; in like manner, this In- 
 
THE INSTITUTES OF MENU. 115 
 
 dian code is framed in distiches of most primitive construc- 
 tion. Many of the apophthegms are ingenious, some few 
 passages rise to poetic beauty and sublimity. The pervading 
 element, affecting all the social arrangements so peculiar to 
 the ancient Hindoos, is the doctrine of transmigration of 
 souls. Perhaps no other people was so fully influenced in 
 feeling, thought and act, by a thorough conviction of the 
 immortality of the soul, and of the certainty of a future 
 life. In the poetic, popular belief of the Greeks, the world 
 of shades formed the only back-ground to a life passed in 
 sensuous glee and hearty merriment : the Indians may be 
 said to reverse this, substituting the certainty of a future 
 existence for that of a dreamy present, and rating the im- 
 portance of events generally by a corresponding standard. 
 All happy occurrences in this life are viewed by them as a 
 mere preparation for that which is to come, while reverses 
 and calamities of every kind are only penal expiations of 
 former crime and error. The closest ties of nature receive 
 a consecrating unction from this doctrine. For it teaches 
 that the relationship of father and son, is in its inmost 
 nature, of such strict affinity, that death itself avails not to 
 interrupt the union, and that a son alone can effect the de- 
 liverance of his father's soul. The nuptial bond is the more 
 sacred, that it is valid for more than the present life. In 
 short, this spirit breathes in all Hindoo productions, deeds, 
 and fictions, and is characteristic of their habits of thought. 
 From the descriptive poetry of the Hindoos we may learn 
 to judge what influence this mode of thinking has on all their 
 relations and feelings, and what kind of poetry, of feelings of 
 beauty and love, can accompany notions that appear to us so 
 strange. What we chiefly admire in their poetry is that tender 
 fondness of solitude and the animated vegetable kingdom, that 
 so attracts us in the drama of Sakuntala ; the traits of 
 female grace and fidelity, and the exquisite loveliness of 
 childhood, of such prominent interest in the older epic 
 legends of India. We are likewise struck with the touching 
 pathos accompanying deep moral feeling, when the bard 
 terms conscience "the hermit or seer in the heart," from 
 whom nothing is hidden ; and when he assures us that guilt 
 cannot fail of being discovered, for not only do gods and 
 the inner man know it, but nature herself that we call inani- 
 
116 IMMOLATION OF HINDOO WIDOWS. 
 
 mate, the " sun and moon, fire and air, heaven, earth and 
 sea shudder at it," and dread it as an outrage against nature, 
 and a derangement of the universe. Somewhat more foreign to 
 our sympathies, yet not without touching contrast, are some 
 of those harrowing accounts which treat of the tortures of 
 Indian penitents, or the immolations of Indian widows. 
 This latter practice can, indeed, be viewed only with feelings 
 of the strongest abhorrence ; if quite voluntary on the part 
 of the victim it amounts to suicide, if brought about by 
 compulsory exhortation, it is a human sacrifice, and is 
 doubly horrible when separating tender mothers from their 
 children. European rule has aimed at an extinction of these 
 sacrifices wherever it extended. The neighbourhood of 
 Calcutta has, nevertheless, teemed of late with instances of 
 this unnatural exhibition. It must be remembered that the 
 British sway in India is based on a strict observance of the 
 indigenous customs, manners and laws of that country . Hence, 
 whatever may have been the amount of individual rapacity 
 and oppression, British occupancy of India has, on the whole, 
 been eminently beneficial to Hindoo interests, inasmuch as 
 protection has been afforded against the persecution of in- 
 tolerant Mahometans. The greater the extension of British 
 conquests in India, the more politic does this rigid obser- 
 vance of native prejudices appear ; the more so, as a very 
 slight violation of them sufficed, on a recent occasion, to ex- 
 cite a mutinous spirit among the Sepoys. And thus, it will 
 easily be understood how a cautious and steady adherence 
 to this policy may extend to culpable, though tacit, permis- 
 sion of such rites as incremation and immolation. The 
 number of instances recorded may, probably, derive an ac- 
 cession from the circumstance, that increase of population 
 emboldens their zeal ; whilst it is not impossible that the 
 Bramins miss no opportunity of feeding popular fanaticism 
 by means of such spectacles. In order to explain so strange 
 a custom, it has been alleged that jealousy was not without 
 its influence in the matter, and that it had been devised for 
 the purpose of oppressing the female sex ; but this is im- 
 probable, as it does not harmonize with the injunctions to 
 be found in all Indian law, and exemplified in the poetry 
 respecting the reverence to be paid to the sex. Oppression, 
 and slight of this sort, are totally at variance with the genius 
 
THE SANSCRIT LANGUAGE. 117 
 
 of Indian philosophy ; though, it is true, Mahometan example 
 may, latterly, have given an impetus to the exercise of such 
 sentiments. A more appropriate reason has been suggested 
 in reference to incremation : namely, in allusion to offering 
 to the shades of departed warriors, especially among savage 
 and warlike tribes, their arms and favourite steeds, with 
 every kind of requisite for life in the next world, as well as 
 an attendant train of slaves. On such occasions, in the first 
 outburst of passionate agony, the familiar friend, or the be- 
 trothed lover, rushes into the devouring flame or the yawn- 
 ing tomb, as if it were fitting that no attachment should 
 survive the illustrious deceased. In India, too, female im- 
 molation, ostensibly voluntary, but not unfrequently induced 
 by forcible persuasion, was originally confined to tbe military 
 caste. At no time universal, in former ages, probably, very 
 rare, this custom was rather one of admired heroism than 
 actual occurrence. The certainty of personal reunion in a 
 future life, doubtless had its share in influencing tender 
 mothers to do what would else be inconceivable ; the more 
 so, that maternal affection is represented in various delinea- 
 tions of Indian manners to exceed, if possible, its ordinary 
 tenderness. 
 
 Since Britain has re-opened general access to the India of 
 ancient and modern times, the old Indian language has 
 attracted not a little European attention. Justly is it called 
 Sanskrit, i. e., perfect, finished. In its structure and gram- 
 mar, it closely resembles the Greek, but is infinitely more 
 regular, and therefore more simple, though not less rich. It 
 combines the artistic fulness indicative of Greek develop- 
 ment, the brevity and nice accuracy of Latin; whilst, having 
 a near affinity to the Persian and Germanic roots, it is dis- 
 tinguished by expression as enthusiastic and forcible as 
 theirs. The ancient Indian language may be termed a 
 priestly tongue in the fullest sense of the word, like the 
 Hebrew, to which, however, it bears but slight similarity. 
 Just as the leading nations of antiquity are characterized 
 and classed according to the predominant tone of their 
 social division into castes, being sacerdotal, warrior, or com- 
 mercial peoples respectively; precisely so is it with lan- 
 guages. Among tbe idioms descended from kindred stock 
 and connected family alliance, the old Latin is most like 
 
118 THE SAKUNTALA. 
 
 Sanskrit in this sacerdotal feature. Greek constitutes the 
 transition from this class to poetic, heroic language : the 
 same element almost exclusively prevails in the Persian and 
 Germanic dialects, whilst the Slavonic idioms, in so far as 
 they really belong to this great family of languages, have 
 probably issued from the slave-caste ; and though originally 
 possessing an equally artistic structure, have retained only 
 such colloquial forms as are required for daily use. 
 
 Of all Indian poetry with which we have become familiar, 
 the Sakuntala (translated by Sir W. Jones with the utmost 
 fidelity) is most calculated to impress the student with a 
 sense of the peculiar beauty of that branch of Eastern 
 literature. There is no high and dignified arrangement — 
 no strict severity of style, as in Greek tragedy. Tenderness 
 of feeling, genial grace, artless beauty pervade the whole ; 
 and if, at times, the fondness for an indolent solitude, the 
 delight excited by the beauty of nature, especially the vege- 
 table kingdom, are here and there dwelt upon with a pro- 
 fusion of imagery and poetic ornament, it is only the adorn- 
 ment of innocence. The description is everywhere lucid 
 and unpretentious, the diction marked by ingenuous sim- 
 plicity. The lover of poetry may form, from this work, even 
 in a German prose translation, divested of the charms of 
 lyric metre, an idea of the genius of the' Indian muse. It 
 may be of some importance to criticism to decide whether 
 Kalidas was contemporary with Virgil, as Sir William Jones 
 assumes ; or with Firdusi, # as would be the case if Vikra- 
 maditya, his patron, flourished at a later period : but as 
 regards the intrinsic worth of the poetry, the question is 
 altogether immaterial. The flowery verse of Kalidas is 
 extremely unlike the simple grandeur of the older heroics : 
 no less so the language. But the inner poetic spirit of both 
 has much that is uniform : at any rate, the distinctive dif- 
 ference is by no means so striking as in the several periods 
 and gradations of Grecian poetic development. 
 
 The account given by Indian mythology of the origin of 
 
 * IsnakBen Scheriffschah, the most celebrated of Persian poets. Popu- 
 lar opinion fixes his date at 1020, A.D., in opposition to Sir W. Jones's 
 theory : an opposition at once hazardous and difiicult. His Schanameh, 
 i.e. Book of King-s, is the history of Persia in 60,000 verses, at which the 
 poet laboured 40 years. — Transl. note. 
 
ORIGIN OF SANSCRIT VERSIFICATION. 
 
 119 
 
 versification entirely corresponds with the general spirit of 
 its poesy. Valmiki the sage, the reputed author of the 
 other great epic, the Eamayan, is reported in the fable to 
 have observed two loving birds building a nest in a delightful 
 wood; in the midst of their cheerful toils, the male was 
 struck dead by a missile from some rude and unseen hand. 
 Sympathizing with the doleful plaints of the widowed bird, 
 the sage poured forth his sorrows in rhythmical accents : 
 hence elegy and distich, or scMo7ca, ever after became the 
 standard of Indian minstrelsy. We have already adverted 
 to Aphorism, the original form common to every species of 
 effort intended to endure in metrical literature, and in which 
 the older doctrines of philosophy, as also poetic productions, 
 are still found embodied; twin offspring, reposing, as it 
 were, in the self-same cradle of inspiration. Indian aphorism 
 is metrical, like Greek distich, but differs from the rhythmical 
 vivacity of the latter in stricter evenness of harmony, and a 
 process of thought almost symmetrical : this peculiar struc- 
 ture of the schloka, imparting to it an air of great placidity, 
 which, combined with the other characteristic — dignified sim- 
 plicity — makes it highly suitable for the fictitious legend and 
 imagery of a pre-existing gigantic world. It will serve to 
 illustrate the fable respecting the origin of verse, if we bear 
 in mind that the essential doctrine of Indian philosophy 
 maintained that suffering human souls were confined in 
 those delicate animal forms. Tender delicacy of feeling, 
 elegiac love, cast a halo over Indian poetry. The legendary 
 minstrelsy of the country is based on the Titanic shapes and 
 forms represented in the Indian rock- sculpture in all direc- 
 tions : but the whole is re-cast in the mould of harmonious 
 softness, and is redolent of elegiac sweetness. In some such 
 strains Yalmiki sings of Earn a, the popular Indian hero, 
 how, roving in the woods and forests, a melancholy exile, he 
 lost his beloved Sita, how he sought her in vain for many a 
 long year, and at last found her. But in heroic and sublime 
 descriptions Indian poetry is likewise rich, and the sunny, 
 cheerful aspect of life is drawn in that comprehensive epic 
 which, in an introductory hymn, is likened to an impetuous 
 torrent : " issuing from the mountains of Yalmiki and preci- 
 pitating itself into the sea of Eama, which is altogether free 
 from impurities, and rich in streams and flowers." 
 
120 THE GIT A GOYINDA AND H1T0PADESA. 
 
 Gita Govinda is an eclogue of cheerful contents, breathing 
 the ardent inspiration of love. It sings of Krishna,* wan- 
 dering about on earth, like the Apollo of the Greeks, at- 
 tended by nine shepherdesses. It is not, however, so much 
 an Idyl as a series of dithyrambic love-songs, the exquisitely 
 lyrical form of which Sir William Jones was not able to 
 transfuse into his version. The import probably did not 
 admit of a literal rendering : he only aimed at giving an 
 epitome, a feeble copy of the original. But even from this 
 the lover of poetry may form some idea of the beauty of the 
 original. The well known Indian fable-book, Hitopadesa, 
 the source of so many other collections of fables, has been 
 translated with almost verbal fidelity. Clearness of nar- 
 rative is its distinguishing feature : a selection of beautiful 
 passages from old poems, and maxims of wisdom, are har- 
 moniously blended. The narrative, indeed, mainly sub- 
 serves to string these aphorisms and poetic sentences toge- 
 ther, as a poetical garland : intended to arouse reflection, as 
 well as exercise the memory of youth. It need hardly be 
 said that much which is repugnant to our notions is met 
 with in this species of poetry. 
 
 The translations of Wilkins, Jones, and some of those who 
 followed in their track, as Colebrooke, are the only ones to 
 be relied upon-t But few Trench versions are satisfactory, 
 since, having for the most part been rendered from some 
 later idiom, remodelled in its structure, instead of the actual 
 original, they are full of omissions, mutilations, and spurious 
 additions. This is especially the case with the Bagavadam, 
 the only one of the eighteen Buranas as yet translated. 
 Other works, the efforts of those who were likewise ignorant 
 of the purely indigenous Hindoo idiom, contain mere oral 
 communications of the Bramins, irregularly mixed up with 
 extracts from ancient or modern records. Of the ancient, 
 Roger and many other works of travellers may be mentioned 
 as the chief source, of the modern, the collection formed 
 
 * The name of this deity must not be confounded with that of a stream, 
 which, rising in the Western Ghauts (East India) discharges its waters 
 into the Bay of Bengal. — Transl. note. 
 
 f Of those who have laboured to extend a critical knowledge of Hindoo 
 literature in Germany, the name of A. W. Schlegel deserves not to be 
 entirely forgotten. [This is no empty flattery, or mere token of fraternal 
 affection on the part of our author. — Transl."] 
 
THE OUPKEKHAT AND TJPANISCHATS. 121 
 
 from Poller's* bequest. All the Mahometan treatises on 
 Indian subjects are to be used with great caution, and 
 with this discrimination, that where they treat, historically, 
 of the present condition of the country, their testimony 
 may be accepted as that of eye-witnesses : as in their 
 full report of India made under the direction of the Em- 
 peror Akbar, and called Ayeen Akbery. "Whilst all detailed 
 accounts of older Indian philosophy, through the medium 
 of analysis or translation, are to be regarded with conside- 
 rable mistrust; owing to their defective criticism, their 
 unscrupulous principles of translation, and their native inca- 
 pacity to penetrate the depths of Indian thought. Hence 
 Oupnekhat is one of the most obscure sources of information 
 relative to Indian antiquities : nearly useless, and with which 
 the student can the better afford to dispense, that there are 
 other and better memorials. In order to be convinced of 
 the utter worthlessness of this Persian bungling performance, 
 it is only necessary to compare some of the passages with 
 genuine translations from the Ujpanisclwts by Colebrooke. 
 Careful discrimination and caution are especially needed 
 throughout the vast extent of Indian literature, when it is 
 remembered that the Bramins are in the habit of attributing 
 high antiquity to all such works as refer to their mythology 
 and philosophic system. Alexander, and Sandrocottus who 
 was the successor of Porus, are repeatedly mentioned in 
 Indian records. This circumstance, of itself, fixes their date. 
 In other works there are allusions to early Mahometan times. 
 Yet, care must be taken not to infer too hastily from any 
 isolated passage, that the character of a -whole work is 
 genuine, or with equal rashness, to brand it as spurious. 
 
 That oscillation, which is so characteristic of the olden 
 species of Greek literature, and which is inseparable from all 
 oral tradition, is not so marked a feature of Indian literature. 
 It may be assumed that even the oldest works possess uni- 
 form evenness and style. It is somewhat surprising to find 
 no traces of hieroglyphs in connexion with a mythology 
 visibly memorialized in clefts and rocky caverns throughout 
 
 * Born in 1741 at Lausanne. Thorough master of Arabic, Hindoo, 
 Persic, and Sanskrit ; forty-two Manuscripts in his own hand are to be 
 found in the Pai is Library. He composed an Indian Mythology in English, 
 never printed but translated into French : Paris, 1S09. — Transl. note. 
 
122 THE EHAGAVATG1TA. 
 
 the whole of India : whilst the Phoenician alphabet, as well 
 as all derived from it, more especially those of Western Asia 
 and Europe, probably all descended from one common stock, 
 in their very shape and name betray a cognate reference 
 to a previous system of signs, or hieroglyphics. The Indian 
 alphabet bears no such internal evidence, its structure being, 
 on the contrary, adverse to a supposition of this nature. 
 This is in many ways remarkable, as also the adoption of 
 decimal ciphers, the honour of which, next to letters the 
 most important of human discoveries, has, with the common 
 consent of historical authorities, been ascribed to the 
 Hindoos. But if Indian literature has been more fortunate 
 than the Greek in escaping the dangers arising from recita- 
 tion, it has suffered much more from intentional corruption 
 and anonymous remodelling. The more this is perceived to 
 have taken place in some cases, the more reliable are the 
 contents of those works which seem to be free from similar 
 blemishes. The Puranas, a kind of mythologic legends, are 
 most open to doubts of their genuineness. The two great 
 Epics, before alluded to, are pretty generally received as 
 genuine by all who are familiar with them. Of all well known 
 books, the legislative records of Menu bear the most evident 
 and palpable impress of high antiquity and unimpeachable 
 originality. Whoever engages his attention in studies of 
 this sort will have sensible proofs, both from the contents 
 and the form of expression, that the work in question is a 
 relic of remote ages, and of sterling value. Sir W. Jones, 
 the greatest Orientalist of the eighteenth century, and the 
 most distinguished philologist England ever produced, as- 
 signs to it a date somewhat subsequent to Homer, but still 
 prior to the Roman laws of the Twelve Tables.* It appears 
 to me to admit of little doubt that, with some other works, 
 it has remained in its present form and unaltered state at 
 least since the days of Alexander. 
 
 Next in rank, by way of introduction to the study of 
 Indian philosophy, is Bhagavatgita, a didactic poem, trans- 
 lated by Wilkins. It contains the modern system of Indian 
 thought, connected by a common origin with the doctrines 
 
 * These law3, introducing- one uniform civil law for patricians and ple- 
 beians, themselves expl lin the probable period of their institution. 
 
 Transl. note. 
 
THE BHAGAYATGITA. 123 
 
 of the religious sect found in India by the Greeks, and called 
 by them Satnaneans, in contradistinction to the Brachmans. 
 It is an episode of the Epic — Mahabharat — but philosophical 
 throughout. It may almost be styled a manual of Indian 
 mysticism ; it is in great repute, and the best exponent of 
 the actual Indian mind. There is a remarkable peculiarity 
 about this book, as regards the unmeasured praise bestowed 
 on leading deities, either not found at all in Menu's laws, 
 or, at most, passed over without comment : whilst the old 
 doctrines, the Vedas, and polytheism generally, are roughly 
 handled. The essential creed expounded is that of an ab- 
 solute divine unity, absorbing all distinction, and engulphing 
 all things. Yet, in so far as it is connected with mythology, 
 it may be termed poetic pantheism, not unlike the JSTeo-Pla- 
 tonic philosophy, which, it will be remembered, combined, 
 under somewhat similar circumstances, with the then popular 
 belief, in its last throes, expecting by these means to revive 
 its drooping energies. The worship of Vishnu and Krishna, 
 now universally prevalent in Hindostan, differs only in one 
 particular — that of retaining the division into castes — from 
 the religion of Buddha and Eo, which was transplanted from 
 India to Thibet and China, in the first century of Christianity, 
 and disseminated throughout central and northern Asia. 
 
 Upon the whole, the appearance of this latter, historical, 
 Buddha, whose religion, though all butfextinct in Hindostan 
 proper, is spread over so many countries to the South, North, 
 and East of India, as to include more adherents than Chris- 
 tianity or Mahometanism, constitutes the great historical 
 turning-point in the mental and religious culture of India ; 
 from which the lines of progress diverge, on the one hand 
 to the antique, on the other to the improvements of modern 
 times. Taking this as a central point, we shall be enabled 
 more clearly to discern the gradations that obtain in the 
 various systems of Hindoo philosophy : whilst, at present, 
 we are familiar only with the Yedanta-doctrines that were 
 in vogue during the last epoch : the collective literary riches 
 of the country, of great extent and value, being, for the most 
 part, one chaotic mass of ill-defined, unassorted materials. 
 Those are to be condemned who engage in the unprofitable 
 dispute as to the relative priority of Brama's or Buddha's 
 religious system, since a purely historical investigation at 
 
124 BUDDHISM. 
 
 once decides the question at issue. The early, fabulous, 
 accounts of Buddha's incarnations as little deserve our notice 
 as the predictions of a coming Buddha, who, after the lapse 
 of the specified thousands of years, is to be born of a Eemale 
 Bramin. But the Reformer of the old Brama- worship, 
 unanimously styled G-autama Buddha, who instituted the 
 Nyaya-philosophy, is a real historic personage, recognized by 
 Buddhists of the present day, in all countries, as the divine 
 founder of their religion. We will not stop to examine the 
 opinion, advanced by some antiquarians, relative to the 
 existence of an earlier Buddha or "Wodan, and the circum- 
 stances of his worship, alleged to have extended over the 
 north of Asia and Europe ; further than adverting to the 
 detriment, resulting from such vague, unfounded statements, 
 sustained by genuine historic information, in the course of 
 investigating the particulars of ancient nature-worship. 
 Gautama's name forms a great and decisive epoch in India : 
 Socrates and Epicurus among the Greeks effected changes far 
 less important : Zoroaster in Persia, Confucius in China, were 
 not so generally revered as benefactors to their country : 
 whilst in numerical extent of influence, Gautama Buddha 
 swayed the destinies of more millions of human beings than 
 the four together. In point of time, his followers in Ceylon, 
 Siam, and the Burman empire agree in fixing the date of his 
 epoch about 600 B.C. and the time of his disappearance from 
 the earth 540 B.C. 
 
 "When Alexander reached India, the Greeks found two 
 distinct religious sects, fully established, with the respective 
 appellations of Brachmans and Sainaneans, the latter in- 
 cluding, as we have before said, the adherents of Gautama. 
 Some time must, necessarily, have elapsed before religious 
 ferment subsided, and matters thus quietly settled down. 
 The Buddhists inhabiting Thibet and China assign an earlier 
 period to their founder, somewhere about 1000 B.C. But 
 the other chronological theory is both amply sufficient to 
 explain the state of matters in Alexander's time, and may be 
 regarded as the more probable of the two. The main subject, 
 however, for consideration, in reference to a thorough enquiry 
 into the character of Indian development at that period, and 
 of Hindoo literature on the whole, is the characteristic 
 feature of Gautama's philosophy, and the other ancient 
 systems of India. The most notable of these are known to 
 
THE SANKHYA DOOTEINE. 125 
 
 us very imperfectly, in consequence of the jealous feeling 
 that has induced the prevalent system to push all rivals into 
 the background : nevertheless, it has not succeeded in en- 
 tirely annihilating memorials and reminiscences of incon- 
 testable authenticity that express the spirit of dogmas serving 
 as the rallying-points of the several sects. To this point the 
 researches of enquirers ought in future to tend, if there be 
 a desire thoroughly to elucidate the obscurity of Indian 
 antiquities. Among nations possessing indigenous philosophy 
 and metaphysics, together with an innate relish for these 
 pursuits, such as at present characterizes Germany, and, in 
 olden times, wa3 the proud distinction of Greece, Hindostan 
 holds the first rank in point of time. On that account her 
 philosophy deserves attention in preference to her other 
 mental products. In reference to the various gradations of 
 her systems, it will suffice here to ascertain the broad out- 
 lines, the pervading idea of her philosophy : not so much for 
 arranging what may be considered as already established, as 
 for furnishing a clue to particulars for future investigation. 
 General testimony concurs in naming as the oldest Hindoo 
 system, the Sankhya-doctrine, attributed to Kapila, whom 
 an ingenious critic likens to Enoch in Genesis : it is to him 
 that we must undoubtedly look for the most ancient phi- 
 losophy of primeval times. The two principles it embodies, 
 not as antagonist, like light and darkness in the Persian 
 philosophy, but in close union — Puruschottama and Prakriti, 
 — the latter corresponding to the Maya of the other systems, 
 are not to be understood as God and Nature merely, but as 
 metaphysical generals — Spirit and Soul : in the combination 
 of which everything consists, and by their junction all things 
 are produced. This doctrine of Spirit and Soul, the two 
 principles of being, forasmuch as spirit can only be known 
 in and by the soul, is a pure spiritualism, such as naturally 
 and spontaneously proceeded from the psychological views 
 of the first sages. It is not difficult to mark the progress by 
 which the primitive doctrine, deviating from its origiual 
 simplicity, came to degenerate into poetical polytheisms, 
 which, resting on an imperfect or misconstrued sidereal basis, 
 became the source of heathen mythology stamped with a 
 common impress among peoples the most remote from each 
 other in time and place, and which was affected only by 
 local peculiarities. India is preeminently distinguished for 
 
126 THE NTATA DOCTRINE. 
 
 the many traits of original grandeur of thought, and of the 
 wonderful remains of immediate knowledge, as well as of 
 the sacred traditions of the primitive world. Of this 
 poetical polytheism, subsequently set in scientific order, and 
 constituting abstract conceptions, the most decided ma- 
 terialism was a natural and almost necessary consequence : 
 and the copious list of varied material systems proves that 
 this was the case in more than one epoch of Hindostan. 
 Many celebrated nations of antiquity remained stationary at 
 this point of material paganism, Avithout further progress. 
 Here and there the very magnitude of the evil elicited its 
 own remedy, the boundless confusion and extravagance of 
 heathen doctrines itself demandiug and producing energetic 
 reform. This was precisely the case in India, at a period 
 when other nations too shewed symptoms of a similar spirit, 
 about the sixth century before the Christian era, when the 
 renowned Gautama, the last historic Buddha, effected an 
 entire change in religious as well as philosophic tenets. The 
 JNyaya-doctrine, attributed to Gautama, from all that we 
 can now learn, was an Idealism, constructed with a purity 
 and logical consistency of which there are few other in- 
 stances, and to which the Greeks never attained : it ap- 
 proximates somewhat to scientific Atheism, but of a more 
 abstract character, and not at all like our practical notions 
 of the same, since it accords with the severest external 
 morality. Several accounts of this doctrine met with in 
 Chinese records entirely coincide with this view. It is 
 possible that many of the false sects of Nastiks or Nihilists in 
 India were led by the idealistic doctrine of an absolute 
 nothing to attach themselves to the original, purer and better, 
 Nyaya. 
 
 Of the classic systems of Indian philosophy, that of Mi- 
 mansa, advocating as it does the principle of movement and 
 activity in preference to absolute repose, seems to approach 
 very nearly to the Xyaya Idealism. Diametrically opposed 
 to this is the now prevalent and, if we may so call it, ortho- 
 dox Vedanta-doctrine, though it, too, indirectly originated 
 in the period of Gautama's reform. Embracing the positive 
 elements of Hindoo religion and tradition, this doctrine is, 
 virtually, an attempt to rescue ancient Brama- worship and 
 its associated mythology from Buddhist innovation, by means 
 of a spiritual interpretation of the Vedas. as the name itself 
 
THE VEDANTA DOCTRINE. 127 
 
 shews. The actual philosophic import of Vedaiita-doctrine 
 is easily gathered: it is pure pantheism, most easily adapt- 
 ing itself to every species of heathen mythology, especially 
 as the Idealism which can with difficulty be maintained in 
 its entire strictness, so easily inclines to it, as persons 
 versed in philosophical history well know from other in- 
 stances. This pantheism, according to the Vedanta-doc- 
 trine, pervading the whole of Indian literature since Vyasa's 
 time, is satisfactorily epitomized in Bhagavatgita, and is 
 abundantly known to us, inasmuch as all classic Hindoo 
 works, in every branch of literature, are more or less com- 
 posed, or at any rate remodelled, in the spirit of this doc- 
 trine. The fourth Veda, Atharvan Ved, and its appendix, 
 the mystic Upanishats, are framed in the Vedanta-doctrine. 
 So are all the Puranas ; as also all that is ordinarily attri- 
 buted to Vyasa, a name designating the epoch when this 
 doctrine grew to be of universal application. It has already 
 been observed that the Mahabharat has come down to us 
 only in the revised form of a Vedanta edition : it is not im- 
 probable that the Ramayan underwent similar revision. We 
 are not competent to express an opinion on the merits of 
 the first three Vedas : Menu's book of laws seems to be un- 
 influenced by the Vedanta-doctrine, and this fact is strougly 
 in favour of its comparative antiquity and originality. Ac- 
 cording to reliable evidence, the works treating of the other 
 systems of Sankhya- and Nyaya-doctrine, which the Vedanta 
 attacks, have not all perished : on the contrary, a tolerable 
 number are still extant, though as yet they have not re- 
 ceived the attention they deserve. The points of dispute in 
 the several philosophic systems are strikingly declared in 
 p ra bodh Chandrodaya (the rising moon of knowledge) a 
 philosophical comedy, exhibiting many interesting traits of 
 the older doctrines, and from the pen of a Vedanta writer. 
 These older systems merit especially the closest attention, 
 and we cannot recommend them too earnestly to the student 
 of Indian antiquities, in order that by a closer acquaintance 
 with them, he may attain a clearer conception of the pro- 
 gressive steps of the intellectual development of India and 
 of the most important epochs of its thinking and philoso- 
 phy ; he will thus be enabled to form more exact notions of 
 what I have here only slightly indicated, perhaps in some 
 
128 THE INDIAN GTMNOSOPHISTS. 
 
 measure differently, and to supply what is wanting from the 
 original sources. 
 
 Let us now consider the more prominent peculiarities of 
 the religion and philosophy of Hindostan in reference to 
 their influence on life generally, and as compared with simi- 
 lar or approximate ideas in our European world and creed. 
 
 Those Indian Recluses or Gymnosophists who appeared 
 so strange to the Greeks, belong to both the Hindoo philo- 
 sophic systems — Bramins and Samaneans or Buddhists — 
 emanating from conceptions common to both. Their retired 
 habits, their withdrawal from the world for the purposes of 
 devotional contemplation, even their rigid penances, are 
 vividly suggestive of the earlier Christian hermits in 
 Egypt. But there is still a striking difference. Seclu- 
 sion from the world and its concerns in a certain de- 
 gree is so natural, that upon it the sages of Greece wholly 
 based their mode of life. Critics have not been wanting 
 who have compared this exclusion, especially as adopted by 
 certain sects of Greek philosophers, with that of monastic 
 societies. Not merely Plato, but even Aristotle, give the 
 preference to mental occupation, contemplation, and reflec- 
 tion, over external, practical activity. But if increased 
 scope was thus afforded for the perfection of individuality, 
 it is evident that the community were sufferers from the 
 withdrawal of faculties that could least be spared from the 
 general store. Again, the thought that self must be merged 
 in order to attain to higher perfection, is in itself anything 
 but objectionable : but the self-imposed mortifications and 
 tortures of those Indian Recluses have a tendency to deaden 
 the faculties, to lead to the verge of insanity, and, so far 
 from purifying the spirit and temper, are calculated to pro- 
 mote vanity and pride rather than humility. In conformity 
 with the genius of Christianity, withdrawal from social life, 
 its obligations and privileges, should ever be joined to acti- 
 vity, not only of mind, but of the heart ; so that the social 
 stream may in some manner be replenished with some of the 
 constituents abstracted from its elements. The collective 
 civil energies are, for the most part, concentrated on a few 
 special purposes, and a limited sphere of duty. Much is 
 left to private enterprise seeking to extend its operations, 
 wherever opportunity may offer. In the primitive, warlike, 
 ages of nations, even the patronage of science and of the 
 
THE INDIAN TBINITY. 129 
 
 peaceful arts comes under the operation of such an influence. 
 And when the state has so far progressed in the development 
 of its polity as to include these things within the circle of 
 its obligations, inasmuch as it stands in need of them, there 
 is still infirmity of every kind and degree to be regulated 
 and assisted ; but if all this be accomplished, it is then ne- 
 cessary to educate the citizen for other than mere civil re- 
 quirements : in times of general corruption to maintain 
 truth in full integrity, to bridge the past to the future. 
 Such is the essential distinction that obtains between Chris- 
 tian clergy who have renounced the world for the better 
 culture of their moral nature, and the passive, degenerate 
 torpor of Hindoo recluses and devotees. 
 
 In addition to this common fondness for a solitary contem- 
 plative life, there are other singular points of resemblance 
 between Indian and Christian practices. The Indian notion 
 of a Trinity, sometimes adduced in proof, is by no means to 
 be referred hereto. Something similar, a sort of triune 
 elementary force is found in the conceptions of many nations, 
 as in the majority of systems of philosophers. It is the 
 universal form of existence communicated by a great first 
 Cause to all its productions, the impress of Divinity, so to 
 speak, stamped on spiritual thoughts as on physical shapes. 
 The Indian doctrine of triple primary power is also quite 
 different from that manifested in Christianity, and, as now 
 understood and expounded in Hindostan, most inconsistent, 
 since the spirit of destruction is included in that of a supreme 
 Being. In thus uniting the ideas of destructive, with crea- 
 tive and preservative Power, Hindoo belief is only a little 
 less monstrous than that of Persia, which made the principle 
 of destruction a powerful opponent, if not superior to a 
 benevolent Deity. The doctrine that " God is All in All " 
 implies, with them, that he is the originator of every evil 
 thing, as well as of every thing that is good. 
 
 The received opinion respecting the Incarnation falls short 
 of harmonizing consistency in India, on account of the mul- 
 titude of fables with which it is associated. A greater 
 amount of harmony is evinced in the feeling that predomi- 
 nates in the mode of life, and is evident in poetic represen- 
 Itations, and which I have sought to pourtray. The poetical, 
 and other works of the Greeks, too often assume an air of 
 
130 THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF GUILT. 
 
 artificial repose, so that those, who are both competent and 
 disposed to appreciate these finished master-pieces of litera- 
 ture, have been struck with the mere artistic feeling that 
 animates them ; and have regretted the absence of a deeper 
 pathos in situations where the moral affections and emotions 
 of conscience might have been expected. Eepentance and 
 Hope may indeed be termed eminently Christian feelings, 
 that higher hope which is set upon Eternity. Allied therewith 
 are all feelings referring to the contrast between our present 
 condition and original perfection. In the creed of India, the 
 sympathetic consciousness of guilt is the strongest of all 
 feelings. It will be remembered that we have previously 
 spoken of this universal sympathy of creation on the com- 
 mission of crimes. The still voice of the heart — the Hin- 
 doo periphrasis for conscience — is undoubtedly a sense con- 
 necting us with an unseen world, which, but for this means, 
 would be utterly concealed from our ken. But if the voice of 
 this secret monitor is, at times, drowned in the hum and tur- 
 moil of busy life, in other cases it may be excited too 
 strongly, so that its power is overborne by the violence of the 
 impressions. It is to conceptions and emotions of this sort 
 that the Indian creed refers the varied phenomena of life, 
 and shapes the aspect of nature herself. In all surrounding 
 objects, the Hindoo beholds sentient beings like himself, 
 suffering for some offence committed in a prior stage of 
 existence, racked with sad memories and painful forebodings, 
 fettered and imprisoned, and moaning to him in piteous 
 accents of recognition and of grief. But for Love's balsam 
 and the sweet tenderness of sympathy, the spirit would 
 droop beneath its load of sorrow. 
 
 Resemblance between the moral philosophy of India and 
 of Christianity is most apparent in the view taken of the 
 soul's regeneration when, illumined by Divine light, it quits 
 its former life, and, like the rejuvenated phoenix, rises from 
 its own ashes. This idea of regeneration is so prevalent 
 throughout that country, that the Bramins desire to be 
 called by no other name than " twice-born," in a similarly 
 spiritual acceptation. But here again there is a wide dis- 
 tinction. With respect to hereditary privileges or advan- 
 tages, Christianity never invades these when established by 
 nature and reason ; ignorant fanatics alone have sought to 
 
SIMILARITY OF HINDOO AND CHRISTIAN CONCEPTIONS. 131 
 
 consecrate a baseless fabric of political equality under the 
 sanction of its awful name. On the other hand, Christianity 
 has never ceased to assert that all men are equal in the 
 sight of Grod : a principle that, of all others, is the noblest 
 basis of liberty, mental as well as physical. But when the 
 prompting of nature, the very gift of Heaven, showered 
 down on the meanest and most low-born of this world equally 
 with the occupants of thrones, is appropriated, as an heredi- 
 tary prerogative, to some particular caste, it is evident that 
 intolerable arrogance on the one part, and a degrading sense 
 of inferiority on the other part, must necessarily ensue. 
 
 This similarity, notwithstanding concomitant error and 
 disfigurement, existing between certain Hindoo and Chris- 
 tian conceptions, must not be regarded as entirely novel or 
 borrowed, being, partly at least, established by historical 
 testimony and really of old standing. Such an anticipation, 
 however hazy and imperfect, of Truth, need not surprise us. 
 Just as little as any similarities there may be found between 
 the tenets of other Asiatics and Mosaic traditions, or the 
 Allegories of Solomon, would justify the conclusion that 
 these nations, like ourselves, had had a written version of 
 the Scriptures before their eyes, from which they copied. 
 Tributary streams, no longer altogether limpid, still mark 
 the source whence they took their rise. The germs of all 
 truth and virtue are implanted in man, the image of his 
 Maker. Imperfect presentiments and emotions long fore- 
 shadow the coming reality. The early champions of Chris- 
 tianity found so much in the life and teaching of Socrates 
 and Plato corresponding to their own notions, that they did 
 not hesitate to pronounce their doctrines Christian. Just 
 as the phenomena of nature are connected by the bond of a 
 common vitality, and as rational thoughts follow each other 
 in continuous sequence, so also are all truths referring to 
 Divine things, linked in harmonious, though secret, unison. 
 He to whom one thing is given is competent to experience 
 higher perceptions : man cannot, of himself, produce that, 
 any more than he could have fashioned his own mortal body. 
 There are, indeed, trains of thought self-originating and 
 created as it were, by man's own powers : but such barren, 
 useless thoughts are of a subtile cast, which are aimless and 
 lose themselves in their own mazes. Truth and light dwell 
 
 f2 
 
132 CONNECTION OF THE PERSIANS WITH INDIA. 
 
 not in them, any more than, in morals, the fire of superci- 
 lious arrogance or indignant vanity can be called a pure 
 flame. If it be objected that further investigation and 
 presentiment of the whole from a knowledge of particulars 
 are ambiguous and unsafe, we would answer that similar 
 ambiguity and equal uncertainty everywhere attend the 
 erratic footsteps of the enquirer after truth. The great 
 picture of human development becomes more finished, and 
 the history of truth and error more full, in proportion as our 
 cognizance extends to nations that have a peculiar genius of 
 their own ; amongst the remotest Asiatic tribes, that which 
 in our Western world was isolated and detached, is found 
 combined. Thus whilst in regard to actual creed and reli- 
 gion the Persians manifestly resemble the Hebrews, more 
 than they do any other people of antiquity — the practical 
 element of their doctrine is in obvious affinity with North- 
 ern mythology, and many of their customs likewise coincide 
 with those of the ancient Germans. In Indian mythology, 
 which closely resembles that of Egypt and Greece, moral 
 and philosophical conceptions bearing on certain Christian 
 tenets abound. The communication of ideas between India 
 and other nations having a share in a most ancient tradition 
 and knowledge was doubtless of a reciprocal character. 
 There is incontestable evidence of the Persians having held 
 northern Hindostan under their sway before the time of 
 Alexander, or at least of their having visited it, from time 
 to time, in the capacity of conquerors. The doctrines of 
 these warrior-bands were disseminated over India with the 
 greater facility that, though differing in polity and system, 
 both the vanquished and their masters were allied by the 
 ties of a common idiom and descent. Alexander's expedi- 
 tion and the arrival of the Greeks, together with their brief 
 rule in that country, were probably not without some degree 
 of influence on the national spirit and taste. In Greek cul- 
 ture the close observer will find more of the foreign element 
 tnan at first meets the eye, on account of the happy freedom 
 and versatile genius of the Greeks who stamped whatever 
 they borrowed with an impress all their own ; so in India, 
 an all-pervading idea modified, if it did not transform, all I 
 that was imported from the mental resources of other lands. 
 If in earlier times, Hindostan received nothing from Egypt 
 
CHRISTIANS ON THE MALABAR COAST. 133 
 
 in return for former benefits, it should be borne in mind that 
 the principles of Christianity were transplanted to that 
 country from Egypt, a circumstance that must, in some 
 degree, have influenced later Indian writers. The first dis- 
 semiuation of Christianity along the coast of Malabar is as- 
 cribed to Apostolic times, and dates, at least, from the early 
 Nestorian* period. There is likewise historical testimony 
 to the effect that, about the end of the fourth, or the com- 
 mencement of the fifth, century, a Christian mission pro- 
 ceeded from Egypt to India. Commercial relations, too, 
 existed between the two countries. So long as Armenia, 
 Syria, Egypt, and Ethiopia were in the undisturbed enjoy- 
 ment of Christian privileges, and either formed part of the 
 Byzantine empire, or were on terms of the strictest amity 
 with that power, the connection of the West with the East- 
 ern world, through the medium of Constantinople, must 
 have been of a facile and permanent character. The last 
 writer that has recorded what he himself saw of India, 
 found the Indian seas and harbours studded with Persian 
 sails, in the sixth century.f On land, too, Persian power 
 prevailed just before Mahomet's time, narrowing the boun- 
 daries of the Eastern empire. When Egypt and Assyria 
 were at length wrested from the Byzantine empire, under 
 the administration of Mahomet's successors, communication 
 with the far East was, for a time, interrupted, uutil its re- 
 establishment at the period of the Crusades. 
 
 LECTURE VI. 
 
 Retrospect to Europe. — Influence of Christianity on 
 the language and literature oe rome. charac- 
 TERISTIC oe the New Testament — The Nations oe 
 the North. — Gothic Epics — Odin, Runic Writings, 
 the Edda. 
 
 The period during which Oriental systems made their way 
 
 * Nestorius was made Patriarch of Constantinople in 428 through the 
 friendship of Theodosius; he is known as the scourge of heretics, espe- 
 cially Arians and Macedonians. — Transl. note. 
 
 f Mr. Lockhart's version has, doubtless through inadvertence, sixteenth 
 instead of sixth. — Transl. note. 
 
134 INFLUENCE OF EASTERN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 into Europe, and battled with each other, extends from Ha- 
 drian to Justinian. The predominant influence of Eastern 
 philosophy was shewn even in the early ages of Christianity. 
 The fanatical sects that swarmed in the first centuries were, 
 for the most part, such as desired to amalgamate Oriental 
 mythology, and especially Persian dogmas, with the purity 
 of a faith that could not possibly entertain the introduction 
 of such elements. Even the foremost of the earliest Chris- 
 tian philosophers — Origen — was attached to the doctrine of 
 transmigration of souls and other notions not in accordance 
 with the spirit of Christianity. Neo-Platonic philosophy, 
 coalescing with the ancient creed and energetically resisting 
 the progress of Christianity, exhibited the influence of 
 Egyptian taste. This philosophy was a chaotic mixture of 
 astrology, metaphysics, and mythology. Inclination to the 
 secret practice of magic arts increased ; a practice involving 
 not merely gross errors, but likewise the commission of 
 hideous and revolting crimes. Such was the philosophy which 
 the Emperor Julian proposed to substitute in the stead of 
 Christianity, and exalt to the dignity of a dominant autho- 
 rity. As Christianity made progress, its contest with old 
 beliefs grew fiercer and more extensive. The natural and 
 mutual antipathy of hostile creeds is, in itself, sufficient 
 to account for the earlier persecutions suffered by the Chris- 
 tians. But the systematic, methodical plans of Diocletian, 
 in the third century, betray a deliberate determination to 
 extirpate Christianity at any cost. Christianity had now, 
 however, struck too deep a root to be removed, as was 
 proved in the following* reign of Constantine ; in whose 
 time it made very decided progress, although this should not 
 be altogether ascribed to his, or indeed to any individual, 
 support, being attributable rather to the expansion of latent 
 energies. Grateful posterity has, however, placed it to his 
 credit, and even veiled with it his imperfections. Once more 
 the ancient mythology found a champion in the person of 
 the Emperior Julian, whose great talents cannot be denied. 
 His attempts to subvert Christianity were subtile and clever : 
 
 * The period between Diocletian and Constantine was a species of inter- 
 regnum ; Constantius and Galerius, Maxentius and Severus, succeeded as 
 Augnsti. — Transl. note. 
 
THREE PERIODS OF LITERATURE. 135 
 
 warned of the futility of resorting to open violence by the 
 experience of Diocletian, though similar violence was then 
 scarcely practicable, he attacked it with the weapons of ridicule, 
 but the expedient on which he most relied was that of separa- 
 ting Christianity from all high intellectual culture, and thus 
 to injure it by rendering it contemptible. The ingenuity of 
 his devices, though not attended with success, has obtained 
 the applause of many who, in modern times, have sympa- 
 thised with his design. But when his panegyrists take into 
 account the scientific superstition to which Julian had de- 
 voted his mind and heart, they can scarcely fail to feel some 
 scruples respecting the justice of their encomiums. 
 
 When Christianity had come out victorious from this last 
 attack on its existence, it had yet to weather the opposition 
 of the philosophers, who, on their expulsion by Justinian, 
 took refuge in Persia, and were thence scattered abroad. 
 Thus ended the struggle of Christianity with Paganism, 
 under the Emperor we have just named. 
 
 I have hitherto attempted to sketch three distinct periods 
 of literature. Of these the first two, namely, the flourishing 
 era of Grecian genius, from Solon to the Ptolemies, and the 
 best and strictly classic period of Rorne, from Cicero to 
 Trajan, were described with comparative facility ; it being 
 almost sufficient in their case, to note individual writers in 
 due sequence, in order to exhibit the spirit of the whole, and 
 depict its gradual growth, the brilliant splendour of its zenith, 
 and the gloom of its decline and extinction. 
 
 Circumstances were materially different in the third period, 
 from Hadrian to Justinian. Mere form and representation, 
 the lustre of individual names, were not of so great moment 
 here as the general development of philosophy. To exhibit 
 the great conflict of the world of antiquity with the newly 
 formed Christian Era : to pourtray the influences of a creed 
 transplanted from Asia to Europe, and the ferment produced 
 in Greece, as well as Eome, by varied oriental bigotry: this 
 is a theme requiring infinitely more pains to do it justice. 
 In depicting this contest of oriental systems, and Asiatic 
 tradition generally, it was necessary to treat of nations 
 whose literature has been entirely lost, as the Egyptians : 
 of some who like the Persians, have bequeathed to us only 
 the imperfect compilations of later times ; of others, as 
 
136 THE PERIOD FROM HADRIAN TO JUSTINIAN. 
 
 The Hebrews; who convey to us an excellent idea of their 
 literature and poetry, by means of their sacred writings, but 
 which we are wont to view from a totally different stand- 
 point, for which the mere literary ana 1 poetical view is not 
 always needed ; the Indians again, of whose copious literary 
 treasures we are all but ignorant, save through suspicious 
 channels of information. 
 
 But it is no less important that we should be in possession 
 of the general tenor of the thoughts and conceptions of the 
 numerous Pagan and Christian authors who nourished in 
 Greece and Rome during the period from Hadrian to Justi- 
 nian. In sketching this era, if the characteristic features of 
 each individual writer were delineated with elaborate minute- 
 ness, there would be great danger of losing sight of the main 
 point under consideration. All kinds of literary information 
 and facilities were much increased in this age : perhaps at 
 no time was the spirit of enquiry so active, at no time was 
 truth more gloriously vindicated, or on the other hand more 
 errors and enthusiastic pretensions more rife. In every 
 species of learning and talent the age was truly rich : golden 
 harvests of tradition and invention were never so abundant. 
 Our praise, however, cannot be extended to any peculiar pro- 
 minence of individual genius, or general excellence of style. 
 In poetry, to which all other branches of literature were but 
 secondary, nothing new or truly great appeared. There were 
 orators of distinction, for this faculty was never lost among 
 the Greeks. The highest praise which can be awarded to 
 the best orators of this age is, that they recalled the palmiest 
 days of antiquity, and could stand a comparison with their 
 predecessors, even in reference to the language which still 
 retained its living bloom. To the great Christian orators, 
 such as Basil and Chrysostom, this additional encomium is 
 justly due — they did not, like the Sophists, abuse the art of 
 rhetoric, in the promotion of error or frivolous pursuits, but 
 employed it for the development of the holiest truths, and of 
 the purest morality. In the most distinguished authors of 
 this period, then, both critics and philosophers, the subject 
 and not the style claims our greatest attention. This remark 
 is applicable to Christian writers, who, in their zealous en- 
 deavours to serve the general cause, were unambitious of 
 the graces of language, no less than to the Pagan. How 
 
THE KETGN OF ANTONINUS. 137 
 
 can Plotinus, Porphyry, or even Longinus be named as 
 authors by the side of Plato ? And yet the thinking of these 
 men exercised considerable influence over their own age, and 
 has continued to influence posterity. The distinctions of in- 
 dividual mind may be said to have been engulphed in the 
 whirlpool of universal excitement. There are literary epochs 
 when the genius of an individual attains to the highest pitch 
 of perfection both in style and art, and towers above his con- 
 temporaries ; there are others when the individual force of 
 thought merges in the concentrated whole, and is lost in the 
 development of general opinion. In political history similar 
 phenomena are visible : whilst, at one period, nations form 
 themselves and emerge from the midst of chaotic confusion, 
 —at another, there is a regular, organic action, by means 
 of which systems and states progress towards perfection. 
 The history of literature, like the history of the world, 
 if it would do justice to the human mind, must take cog- 
 nizance of both kinds of action — spasmodic, creative state 
 of chaotic fermentation, and steady, unimpassioned develop- 
 ment. 
 
 On proceeding to analyse the mental powers that were en- 
 listed in the all-important contest, both sides appear nearly 
 equally matched, as far as talents and knowledge are con- 
 cerned, with occasional alternations : so that the issue of the 
 strife in reality rests on the intrinsic and inherent virtue of 
 the cause in dispute, and must not be ascribed to the re- 
 spective merits or defects of the individuals engaged. 
 Among the Greeks paganism was, at first, in the ascendant ; 
 Grecian literature was still surrounded by a halo of setting 
 glory in the reign of Antoninus, when the champions of Chris- 
 tianity scarcely ventured to come forward with apologies for 
 their persecuted faith and their calumniated lives. The 
 Greeks soon manifested their superiority of intellect, more 
 particularly when espousing the cause of the new creed : 
 they gave Christianity her first thinkers and learned de- 
 fenders, her great orators and complete historians. Talent 
 and learning were gradually arrayed on her side. Yet, even 
 after Christianity had established for itself a recognized posi- 
 tion in the State, there were still men of eminence on the 
 side of Paganism, and those philosophers who, to the last, 
 combated Christianity, and made a final effort to support 
 
138 ST. AUGUSTUS". 
 
 the sinking creed of their fathers, were men distinguished 
 for their genius and erudition. 
 
 The case was different in the Eoman "West ; here a hand- 
 ful of Pagans were opposed to collective Latin literature 
 ranged under the banners of Christianity. In profundity of 
 acquirements it cannot, for a moment, compare with its 
 sister-literature of Greece. The Eomans never displayed 
 any genius for the higher branches of philosophy and meta- 
 physics : their language was no congenial soil for the culti- 
 vation of these products. This is as perceptible in St. Au- 
 gustin* as in Cicero ; neither was it until the Latin language 
 had ceased to be a living tongue that it could be brought by 
 main force to express, even imperfectly, those subtle distinc- 
 tions and nicer shades of thought which the Greeks, who 
 were by birth Dialecticians and Metaphysicians, easily com- 
 passed. The grandest and most characteristic work of later 
 Eoman literature — in which St. Augustin has endeavoured 
 to embody Christian views of human destiny and society, in 
 juxta-position to Plato's Republic and his social Ideal — is 
 not so much a metaphysical as a moral treatise ; though a 
 critical review of older systems, it is such as we should be 
 disposed to term a theory of mankind, a philosophy of history. 
 In the period of Christian history likewise, the peculiar 
 practical spirit and strong common-sense of the Eomans ever 
 presented a marked contrast to the subtility and artistic skill 
 of the Greeks. These Eoman characteristics eventually 
 produced a sound legislative system and method which, 
 coupled with the free spirit of the Germanic races who con- 
 quered and re-created Eome, largely contributed to prepare 
 for modern Europe a happy development and an intellectual 
 elevation. 
 
 Christianity, as received by the Germans from the Eomans, 
 on the one hand, and the free spirit of the North, on the 
 other, were the two elements out of which a new world pro- 
 ceeded, and hence mediaeval literature was generally twofold, 
 
 * Of St. Augustin Niebuhr says, "his is a truly philosophic mind, as 
 strongly actuated by a yearning- after truth as any of the great philoso- 
 phers ; his language also is very noble. He is by no means witty, like St. 
 Jerome ; but he is eloquent, and in many places admirable." St. Augustin 
 himself says that the Punic language was his mother tongue. — Transl. 
 note. 
 
MEDIiEVAL LITERATURE. 139 
 
 a Christian Latinity, common to the whole of Europe and 
 intended merely as a vehicle for the preservation and ex- 
 tension of knowledge, — and an especial, more poetical litera- 
 ture, in the idiomatic tongue of each respective nation. 
 Hence the efforts of the early patrons of mental culture in 
 modern Europe, such as Theodoric the Goth, Charlemagne, 
 and Alfred, were necessarily directed to two objects; it 
 being requisite, in the first place, to maintain inviolate the 
 inheritance of all the information handed down in Latin, and, 
 then, to educate the people by means of their native lan- 
 guage, to preserve the poetic memorials of the past ; to give 
 the language a more precise form, and by a more varied use of 
 it, to make it available for philosophic and scientific purposes. 
 The poetic or creative, national portion of mediaeval literature 
 presents the greater attractions, yet we must not wholly 
 pass over the later element therein, for it is the link con- 
 necting modern Europe with antiquity. 
 
 Let us endeavour to present under another aspect the 
 inner connection and points of junction of the principal 
 spheres included in our view of human development and 
 genius. The Greeks continue to be our models in the arts 
 and sciences ; the Eomans, on the other hand, though they 
 only form the transition between the old and the new world, 
 served the middle ages as an immediate and direct source of 
 information, until the higher and sometime hidden, living 
 spring gushed forth. The Northern feeling, embodied in 
 legendary story, was the root on which the new genius of 
 the "Western nations was engrafted. Christianity, not only 
 in itself, but in its written code, the Gospel, was the light 
 from above that illumined the other elements, purified and 
 moulded them for the furtherance of art and science. The 
 New Testament is noticeable here the rather that its lite- 
 rary influence was incalculably great, both as regards the- 
 middle ages and even in later times, in point of form and 
 contents, on morals and philosophy, on the liberal arts and 
 poetry. The Divine light, shining through the transparent 
 simplicity of the Gospel, fused the artistic faculty of the 
 Greeks, the practical wisdom of the Romans, and the pro- 
 phetic depth of the Hebrews, into a complete whole for the 
 advancement of science, and the conduct of life. The Bible, 
 on whose organic structure we commented above as far as 
 
140 THE KEW TESTAMENT. 
 
 concerned the Hebrew portion, becomes a complete and con- 
 nective volume by the addition of the New Testament. It 
 is indeed a perfect Booh, consisting, in the Old Covenant of 
 forty and five spiritual members or organs : and in the New, 
 of seven and twenty living members and spiritual organs. 
 As in the old Testament, so in the new, certain portions 
 relate to the eternal "Word of life, and others to the com- 
 munity of the faithful or the Church. The mystery of that 
 Love by means of which the living "Word was manifested 
 personally on earth, in due time, in the midst of the world's 
 development, is recorded in the Gospel m a fourfold manner. 
 So, in the old Covenant, the number of the Cherubim over 
 the Ark that guarded the mystery of the Divine promise 
 was also four ; four living streams gushed forth from one 
 source in Paradise : and this seems to be the essential form 
 of the manifestation of Divine excellence and goodness in 
 visible embodiment. So that we cannot help being as- 
 tonished at those persons who cannot understand this most 
 natural and intelligible fourfoldness of the Gospel ; or who 
 find a difficulty in it which they treat as a curious problem, 
 and attempt to solve it by some ingenious hypothesis. That 
 which is found distinct and separate in Moses and the 
 Psalms, namely, revelation, allegory, inspiration, and the 
 living, all-pervading feeling of the Word, — is blended in 
 the Grospel, which delineates the life of the Incarnate "Word. 
 The other books of the New Testament directly refer to 
 the Christian community and Church ; in regular series 
 describing its formation and constitution in the Acts 
 of the Apostles, and then delineating its agency and life in 
 a doctrine full of love and in a hope fall of faith in a cycle 
 of various Epistles, and presenting the destinies of the 
 Church for all coming time and future development in the 
 Apocalypse. Subjects which in the Prophets of the Old 
 Testament are not treated of separately, the doctrine of sal- 
 vation by the Spirit, and admonitory visions, clear rules of 
 life, and veiled prophecy are distinctly unfolded in the 
 Epistles and the Apocalypse : so that the writings of the Old 
 and New Testaments correspond in all points, and are mu- 
 tually supplementary. The Prophet of the New Covenant 
 gives the complete finish to the entire Divine work, and this 
 mysterious book of the future forms with Genesis or the 
 
THE NEW TESTAMENT. 141 
 
 revelation of the beginning, the key for the sacred arch of 
 Scripture, in the circumference of which the fourfold Gros- 
 pels form the bright centre of the whole, of which the begin- 
 ning and the end contain the key to the deeper meaning ; so 
 that to whomsoever these two manuals of the first and last 
 books of the Bible are still strange or quite obscure, he 
 ought to suspend his judgment and be silent in acknowledged 
 ignorance, when the question relates to the scientific ex- 
 planation of revelation in its full extent. The form and 
 style of the New Testament is incomparably simpler than 
 that of the Old, and this very transparent simplicity, truth- 
 fully reflecting the Divine attributes, which has made it the 
 Book of the people (as in a certain sense we may call it) has 
 also served to impress its own indelible stamp upon the 
 whole train of the subsequent development of the human 
 mind and the teaching of modern Christianity. The spirit 
 of Allegory is no less prevalent in the New than in the Old 
 covenant ; especially that species of it called Parable, which 
 in the former is more extensively applied, and may be said to 
 constitute the childlike teaching of the Gospel. If Aphorism 
 is the natural form of every Divine revelation in the plain 
 expression of the eternal "Word, as a written Fiat, Parable is 
 the human, figurative investiture of Divine maxims. The 
 Spirit of eternal truth is not manifested in the artistic alle- 
 gories of poets, or in the profound secresy of natural sym- 
 bols : but clad in the popular allegory of real life and its 
 daily phenomena, as in the simple garb of childhood. Para- 
 ble, in its simplest form, as adopted and applied in the Bible, 
 has also a peculiar Divine impress, which it is impossible to 
 copy or counterfeit. It is more particularly in the childlike 
 similes and allegories of Parable that the Grospel has become 
 a type for all later legends, whilst the latter, in their turn, 
 have been the general storehouse from which Christian art 
 and poetry have been ultimately supplied. Care must, 
 however, be taken not to confound the inner sublimity of 
 Divine intelligence, as manifested in the New Testament, 
 with external simplicity of representation. Just as the lamb 
 of patient Love is hidden beneath the lion-like anger of 
 old-Testament denunciation, in like manner the writings of 
 the new Covenant display the eagle glance of penetration 
 veiled by meek and lamb-like mildness. And here, on this 
 
142 THE EOMAKCE LANGUAGES. 
 
 stand-point, we meet with the third and highest mode of 
 interpreting and understanding Holy Writ (as mentioned 
 above) founded on the mysterious communion of the soul 
 with Grod, when the eternal Word renders it intelligible in 
 his own light. For all the doctrine and knowledge of the 
 living Word may be understood and explained according to 
 the three-fold relation of the Word — the historical, eternal, 
 and internal. But in the highest form of intelligence the 
 Word is no longer conceived of as divided and limited in the 
 human understanding, but entire and living he operates on 
 those who know him as the Word of Life and bring forth 
 the fruits of life. Then the manifold meaning of Scripture 
 which is required in the first stages of [Divine] knowledge, 
 vanishes, and when the end is found, it is resolved into the 
 simple sense of the soul united to Grod, according to the full 
 light of the living Word, which is described in the Scrip- 
 tures as the everlasting unwritten Gospel, by which that 
 which remains concealed must be explained, when the time 
 shall arrive. 
 
 Let us now resume the thread of history, and proceed to 
 examine the condition of intellectual culture in the later 
 times of Rome. 
 
 The final destinies of the Latin tongue, still a living idiom, 
 which exerted so great an influence on the relations and 
 peculiar character of its affiliated Bomance* languages, and 
 likewise on the poetical spirit of the middle ages, were as 
 follows. The translation of the Bible into Latin created an 
 epoch altogether new in that language, constituting a late 
 and, in some instances, a rich aftercrop of Latin literature. 
 On the extinction of the old literature, of which few orna- 
 ments survived the reign of Trajan, there was an almost uni- 
 versal literary dearth, until the period when Christian 
 writers made their appearance, in the fourth and fifth cen- 
 turies ; scarcely any other works were composed in the 
 Roman tongue during that period, and those of little moment. 
 
 * This appellation includes Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, &c. 
 In a more limited philological sense it applies only to one or two dialects, 
 such as the Rhsetian, the Rumonic, the Wlachic, being a mixture, in nearly 
 equal parts, of Sclavonian and Latin. The people who now adopt these 
 dialects still call themselves Romans, or, in their idiom, Rumanje. — 
 Transl. note. 
 
THE LATIN LANGUAGE. 143 
 
 There is no good authority for inducing us to believe that 
 time or accident has robbed us of any that then existed. 
 The Greeks were once more predominant. If, by the side 
 of Christian writers, a sprinkling of Pagan historians and 
 poets made a creditable appearance in the centuries named, 
 it is entirely attributable to a spirit of rival emulation, or to 
 the new impetus with which the promulgators and sup- 
 porters of Christianity quickened the language and its 
 literature. Thus it was once more an external foreign im- 
 pulse that roused the Eoman mind from lethargic apathy to 
 efforts of linguistic perfection. Considered purely on its 
 own merits, this imitation of Oriental expression, of which 
 it ever after bore obvious traces, might have been favourable 
 to the Latin tongue, if not more advantageous than copying 
 Greek poetry and rhetoric, as it had done in classic days, 
 and which was ever attended with more or less incon- 
 venience. The artificial intricacy of prose, which had almost 
 become natural to the Greeks, was at all times foreign to 
 Roman genius. Some few leading writers succeeded in 
 overcoming the difficulty, and attained to a noble simplicity 
 of style; but the great majority lost themselves in the 
 mazes of construction, in their endeavours to imitate Greek 
 models. Eoman poets, too, present a hard and obscure 
 appearance, on assuming the ornate charms of the Grecian 
 muse. The metres they adopted from Greek standards 
 never became popular, that is, they never really lived in the 
 hearts and memories of the people, with the exception of 
 hexameter or elegiac verse. This was especially the case 
 with the more artificial metres, and it may have been one 
 reason why Horace, who in our eyes possesses such ir- 
 resistible graces, was not in high repute among his country- 
 men of the succeeding generation, nay, was scarcely remem- 
 bered by them. The Eoman language was originally en- 
 riched with a few patriotic epics and was then cast wholly in 
 the mould of jurisprudence ; it thus gradually unfolded an 
 exclusively practical character, suited alike to the stern 
 realities of war and the political institutions of peaceful times. 
 But this prosaic development prospered at the expense of 
 the bolder flights of fancy : poetry could not forego her 
 old simplicity, even in the position of words and structure of 
 periods, without injury. Both in imagery and style, an ap- 
 
144 LATIN LITERATURE. 
 
 proximation to Oriental modes of expression could not be 
 otherwise than beneficial to the language generally, — but 
 for the hurtful interference of other circumstances — espe- 
 cially when sublimity, as in the sacred books of the Hebrews, 
 is throughout associated with ingenuous simplicity. For the 
 purpose of illustrating this remark, it is only necessary to 
 refer to the Latin translation of the Psalms, denominated 
 the Italic. I appeal to the feelings and judgment of all who 
 are able to appreciate the ancient sublimity and energy of 
 the Koman tongue, do they not here recognize all the 
 features that remind them of both these qualities ? I question 
 if any Latin imitations of Greek poetry were, at any period, 
 so eminently successful or breathed such enthusiastic inspi- 
 ration, as this translation of sacred Hebrew Song, the 
 phraseology and arrangement of which are alike admirable. 
 Even in regard to melody, the Latin tongue has here dis- 
 played such distinguished excellence that all great masters 
 of harmony have, down to our own times, adopted it in pre- 
 ference to Italian, its own daughter, for the loftier branches 
 of music. The cause of the corruption and decay of the 
 Latin language before the irruption of the Germanic races 
 was owing to the gradual decline of metropolitan Home, and 
 the superior influence of the provinces. Borne, which 
 though it had lost the sceptre of worldly power, continued 
 to hold the keys of ecclesiastical supremacy, ceased more 
 and more to be the arbiter of taste and language ; especially 
 after Constantine had transferred the seat of empire to By- 
 zantium. In the writers who flourished under the first 
 Caesars, and who were natives of Spain, many have thought 
 they could discern certain traits of peculiarity : as though 
 there had been a consciousness that Latin was not their 
 mother tongue. The antitheses of Seneca, and the turgid 
 diction of Lucan, have been compared with the prevalence of 
 a similar taste on the part of certain modern Spanish writers. 
 This must necessarily have been still more conspicuous in 
 the case of early Christian Latin authors, who were, for the 
 most part, Africans, and at a later period Gauls. Doubtless 
 many varieties of Roman dialects existed, at an early period, 
 in the various provinces of that vast empire. In Italy 
 itself the rural population probably used an idiom differing 
 widely from the written language or from the more re- 
 
ST. JEEOME. 145 
 
 fined speech of the capital. To this idiom, the so-called 
 lingua rustica, Italian critics are wont to trace the origin of 
 their own tongue, rather than to any introduction of foreign 
 elements occasioned by Germanic intermixture. Rome, 
 having been not only the chief but perhaps the sole abode of 
 purity of language, probably retained this distinction to the 
 last, though in an inferior degree. Of Christian Latin 
 authors, St. Jerome, though not born yet educated in Rome, 
 is the first in point of masculine eloquence. Whilst it 
 cannot be expected that in the fifth century the language 
 should compete with the polished elegance of Cicero, there is 
 yet much in St. Jerome's style calculated to remind one of 
 the old Roman vigour and classic spirit. "When the Goths, 
 in considerable numbers, settled in Italy and particularly in 
 Rome, the language, spoken as it was by so many to whom 
 it was a foreign tongue, underwent great changes. Though 
 no blending with foreign idioms had actually taken place, 
 the alteration was so complete that the native Roman had to 
 take great care, if he would express himself with that nice 
 precision and purity to which he had been accustomed. This 
 characteristic is clearly discernible in the writers who lived 
 in the time of Theodoric the Goth, the last that can be in- 
 cluded within the pale of antiquity, and who may be said to 
 have formed the transition to the middle ages. 
 
 It must be borne in mind that, like every great change, 
 the introduction of Christianity, notwithstanding the bene- 
 ficial results that ensued, of necessity caused a certain inter- 
 ruption to the progress of art and literature. Less in the 
 former of these two : especially in architecture. The re- 
 mains of what was excellent in this art were at once applied 
 to the purposes of the new faith, due care being, of course, 
 taken to remodel and adapt it to the exigencies and ideas of 
 Christian worship. As in former times the Greeks had 
 availed themselves of the architectural elements they found 
 in use among Egyptian and other nations, and according to 
 their own ideas of beauty constructed a style eminently their 
 own, in like manner the beautiful forms of Grecian artistic 
 genius now served as a basis on which was raised a new and 
 peculiarly Christian style. The date of such architectural 
 composition is proved by St. Sophia's, Constantinople, built 
 
14G CHRISTIANITY IN RELATION TO THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 in the time of Justinian by Antheniius,* who, in addition to 
 being a great architect, was also well versed in the theory of 
 his art and composed a treatise upon it. It has frequently 
 been remarked that the habit of calling old-German mediseval 
 architecture by the general name of Gothic, without the 
 slightest distinction of epochs, is extremely inaccurate : yet 
 it cannot be denied that the Goths left some memorials of 
 their peculiar style of architecture in Italy during their 
 occupation of that country. By means equally facile and 
 direct, ancient music, especially its noblest and simplest 
 kinds, was transferred to the purposes of Christian psal- 
 mody, which subsequently ascended from the organ in 
 peals of exquisite melody. But sculpture and the pic- 
 torial arts must have sustained a greater check. Images of 
 the gods regarded purely as such, and not as independent 
 works of art, were naturally looked upon as objects of aver- 
 sion by the early Christians. Representations of subjects and 
 scenes, endeared to the associations of the Christian, may 
 be supposed, for some time, to have been prized simply as 
 memorials and reminiscences precious to his faith, without 
 any view to artistic excellence. To poetic perfection the 
 interruption must have been far greater. It is true that 
 some few bards continued to treat mythology in a poetic 
 manner. But these subjects having, by repeated attempts, 
 been divested of their novelty, and the old mythology being 
 extinct, nothing more could be expected in this department 
 of the Muse, than tame imitations or feeble echoes of the 
 older transcendent models. Attempts were made to create 
 a Christian poetry and successfully so, in the lyric kind, 
 songs, and hymns, which, being bursts of devotional feeling, 
 found a type for their expression in the minstrelsy of Hebrew 
 lays. Attempts on a larger scale, however, to commemo- 
 rate Christianity were as unsuccessful as similar efforts 
 made in later times ;f since the form of it from the antique 
 did not suit this purpose, and remained a lifeless abstraction, 
 
 * Trallianus Anthemius, celebrated in the departments of sculpture, 
 architecture, and mechanics. Some of his fragmentary ideas on mecha- 
 nics were published by Dupuy (1777) in French and Greek — Transl. note. 
 
 f Of this assertion Klopstock's " Messiade" is an obvious proof. — 
 Transl. note. 
 
GOTHIC POETKY. 147 
 
 wearing the metrical garb, but without the life or spirit of 
 Poetry. 
 
 The poetic spirit of modern Europe was derived from its 
 northern source of development. Whenever the E-omans 
 make mention of the Germanic races, they do not omit to 
 allude to their fondness for poetry. We must for ever 
 lament the loss of those songs in which the deeds of Her- 
 mann* were celebrated, as also of those prophetic strains, by 
 means of which Velleda roused the Batavians to a final 
 struggle for their liberties. Though the substance of German 
 mythology could not possibly have enjoyed permanence on 
 the introduction of Christianity ; yet its poetic essence and 
 creative energy were retained in historic epics. And when, 
 in the lapse of time, these were softened by the diffusion of 
 refinement, ennobled and embellished by the spirit of love and 
 of devotion, chivalrous poetry started into being; this form was 
 altogether peculiar to modern Christian Europe, and in its 
 effects it materially influenced the national genius of the 
 noblest races. 
 
 Of the Germanic nations that had embraced Christianity, 
 the Goths were the first to produce these historical epics. 
 They were chanted in the tent of Attila ; they constituted 
 apart of Theodoric's court-festivities : even the Latin writers 
 of the age refer to them, and, in prosaic form, cite much of 
 the poetic legendary history of bygone times that they have 
 copied from them. The praises of the royal lineage of the 
 Amali, and, in the sequel, of Attila, Theodoric, and Charle- 
 magne, were celebrated in similar strains. 
 
 The Bible of Ulphilas, one of the extant memorials of the 
 Gothic, exhibits a style extremely regular and cultivated for 
 that period. It was a translation originally intended for the 
 Goths dwelling on the shores of the Danube. Certain re- 
 cords inform us that the Goths used precisely the same 
 idiom when in Italy ; it is reported of Theodoric, that he 
 encouraged education and literature equally in Gothic and 
 
 * Sometimes called Arminius, but whose name was probably Armin. 
 The spot where this great soldier routed Quintilius Varus, the able Roman 
 general, but who had made himself notorious for his shameful rapacity, 
 cannot now be ascertained. Velleius, who served in this war, describes it 
 it graphic colours. Horace addresses Epistle I. 15, to Numonius Vala who 
 commanded one of the ales. — Transl. note. 
 
148 GERMAN "BARDIC SONGS. 
 
 Latin. This, then, assumes a supply of educational and in- 
 structive works in Gothic, such as, subsequently, in Alfred's 
 day, existed in the Saxon tongue. Judging from the manner 
 in which Jornandes, the Latin historian, quotes Gothic epics, 
 it might reasonably be argued that he, or at least the author 
 from whom he copies, is not merely quoting from memory, 
 but that they were actually in a written form, at the court 
 of Theodoric. This may be presumed the more readily that 
 the glories of the regal line of the Amali, and all the heroes 
 descended from this stock, seem to have been the especial 
 themes celebrated in these lays. Simultaneously with the 
 extinction of the Goths, their language, too, disappeared, 
 together with nearly all its memorials, which, according to 
 some accounts, were long stored up in Spain ; in that country 
 the Goths maintained their power longest, and the haughty 
 kings of Castille were wont to boast that Gothic blood flowed 
 in their veins. On the other hand, there are contrary re- 
 ports, to the effect that numerous memorials of the Gothic 
 period were purposely destroyed in Italy, since they proved 
 the Longobardic or Gothic descent of certain families who 
 preferred tracing their genealogies to fictitious Roman des- 
 cent, rather than to their own genuine nobility. 
 
 The German Bardic songs, which were collected and regis- 
 tered by Charlemagne's direction, considering the circum- 
 stances of the time, probably resembled the historic epics 
 of the migration of nations in the Christian era. Heroic 
 poems, of a much later date, are extant in German : they 
 sing of Attila, Odoacer, Theodore, the line of the Amali, as 
 well as other Prankish and Burgundian warriors who are 
 mixed up with that time by legend or authentic history. 
 Hence it may be inferred that, if not in form, in contents at 
 least, extracts partly from Gothic epics, partly from those 
 songs which Charlemagne had caused to be collected — as 
 Solon did in the case of the Homeric lays — are yet embodied 
 in the Nibelungen-lied. 
 
 Nobody adequately familiar with the spirit of that age 
 could, for a moment, suppose that the songs thus collected 
 by Charles were in praise of Hermann or Odin, or that they 
 referred at all to the pagan mythology of ancient Germany. 
 An additional proof maybe adduced, that completely decides 
 the question. The form of oath, yet extant, taken by the 
 
GERMAN MYTHOLOGY. 149 
 
 Saxons on abjuring Paganism, ran thus : — " I renounce the 
 Devil and all his works and words, Thunaer (i.e. the thunder- 
 god or Thor), Wodan, and Saxon Odin, and all such sorcer- 
 ers their familiars." This formula has been attributed to 
 the eighth century, somewhat before the time of Charle- 
 magne, but this is of no essential moment in regard to the 
 habits of that period. Even in his reign, Odin was still 
 worshipped in Saxony, and on the Hartz mountains prayers 
 were offered up to him for success against the arms of Char- 
 lemagne. Under these circumstances, is it at all probable 
 that Charles would have promoted or even sanctioned a col- 
 lection of heathen lays dedicated to Hermann or Odin ? The 
 above oath determines yet other historical points, namely, 
 the non-identity of Odin with "Wodan, and the fact that 
 Saxony was generally regarded as his father-land. The 
 legendary traditions of Scandinavia, whilst they would fain 
 appropriate him exclusively to themselves, admit that Odin 
 was a Saxon king who came to Sweden, built Sigtund, and 
 there established his dominion. The testimony of the Anglo- 
 Saxons concurs with this allegation, whose Kings, — some, 
 as Alfred, in unbroken lineage — descended from Odin. This 
 Anglo-Saxon genealogy appears to be established on so his- 
 torical a basis, and confirmed, in so remarkable a manner, by 
 two distinct and independent branches of evidence that I am 
 inclined to adopt the opinion of those who regard Odin as 
 an historical personage of the third century. About this 
 period the Romans, without sufficient resources for aggres- 
 sive measures, and, as yet, unmenaced in this part of Grer- 
 many, were, in a great degree, if not entirely, ignorant of 
 occurrences in the northern interior of the country. This 
 may serve to explain why Odin, whose glory eclipsed the 
 lustre of every other name throughout Saxony and the 
 North, was unknown to the Romans. Our mental estimate 
 of Odin must, accordingly, be that of a victorious prince, a 
 warrior-poet, whose soothsaying-songs effected many changes 
 in the prevalent mythology, in which he was likewise assisted 
 by seers, bards, and priests, selected for the purpose : in a 
 word, of a soldier-poet, the prowess of whose sword was 
 matched only by the fame of his magic arts, that eventu- 
 ally combined to procure for him the honours of deification. 
 The tradition stating that Odin came from Asia to Saxony 
 
 /WW 
 
150 TRADITIONS RESPECTING ODIN. 
 
 is a Scandinavian myth, by no means suitable to the circum- 
 stances and relations of the historic Odin. "With him, 
 neither the wars of Pompey with the races of the Caucasus, 
 nor the ruin and devastation communicated to the northern 
 allies of Mithridates by his fall, can have any connection : 
 inasmuch as the earliest notices of Germany in classical 
 authors contain not a single trace referable to the historic 
 Odin, or his new mythology. Scandinavian compilers were 
 compelled to admit the existence of more than one Odin, and 
 to endeavour to amalgamate the legends concerning the 
 younger with those of the older, if they would, in some mea- 
 sure, reconcile their account witb historical narrative. Of 
 this older Odin I have only succeeded in discovering a single 
 trace in ancient writers : it is, however, a remarkable one. 
 Tacitus alludes to a tradition, according to which Ulysses, in 
 the course of his travels, visited G-ermany, and there founded 
 the city of Asciburgum. In matters like these, the ancients 
 entertained views such as we can, with difficulty, compre- 
 hend. Their intention was to embody the general con- 
 ception of a deity or hero. Thus, they were in the habit 
 of styling the war-god of every nation, Mars; the deity 
 presiding over science and art, Mercury, not paying much 
 heed to local distinctions. Ulysses personified the com- 
 mon notion of a wandering hero : to him, or to his pro- 
 geny, adventures and colonies in the far West continued to 
 be ascribed. "Wherever they met with legends among West- 
 ern or Northern races respecting heroes that had immigrated 
 from the East or South, they had prompt recourse to 
 Hercules or Ulysses, either of whom they connected with 
 the national story. The reminiscences of their origin and 
 early emigration from Asia were not wholly extinct in the 
 northern nations. Some such legend, then, referring to the 
 visit of some hero from a distant land to Germany was, no 
 doubt, rife in the time of Tacitus : the name, too, of this 
 Odin was likely to suggest to the Komans the Greek appel- 
 lation of Ulysses (Odysseus), and thus assist the coincidence. 
 The import of the confused mass of accounts respecting the 
 younger, and, doubtless, historic Odin, may be summed up 
 in the following probable particulars : — his home had, origi- 
 nally, been among some of the Gothic tribes, whose habita- 
 tions extended to the frontiers of Asia : he lived at a period, 
 
THE EUNIC ALPHABET. 151 
 
 when Christianity began to be diffused throughout a portion 
 of the northern regions, with which, however, all were not 
 equally satisfied, any more than with the emigrations that 
 had set in, in the direction of Italy, and which must have 
 had an effect on the national manners. At once a warlike 
 prince, a minstrel, seer, and priest, Odin had resolved on 
 reviving the mythology and mysteries of the north, and 
 having, in pursuance of this design, founded a kingdom in 
 old Saxony, had ended his heroic career in Sweden. 
 
 Historic legends and epics were, in all likelihood, not re- 
 corded in writing by the Gothic and Germanic races — until 
 they were expressly directed to do so — being both contrary 
 to the spirit of the lays and the usage of the minstrels ; even 
 long after the Germans had had continuous intercourse with 
 the Eomans, and could have experienced little difficulty in 
 obtaining from them letters and the implements of writing. 
 The case was different with those prophetic lays, which, in 
 considerable numbers, were founded on the mythology of 
 Odin. For the transmission of these there is not much 
 doubt of the adoption of written characters. I have else- 
 where taken an opportunity of expressing my opinion that 
 the Germanic races were not wholly unacquainted with 
 letters, even before they acquired their manifold uses from 
 the Greeks and Eomans. This has been denied ; I will, 
 therefore, proceed to state the grounds on which I have 
 come to the conclusion that writing, though adopted in a 
 very limited degree, was, nevertheless, not unknown to these 
 nations. The Eunic alphabet, as it has come down to us, is 
 indeed a framework of later times ; several letters are purely 
 Eoman. Yet others are altogether different, and cannot, by 
 the most violent means, be deduced from that source. The 
 peculiar arrangement and names of the letters, and the general 
 incompleteness of the alphabet, which originally had only 
 sixteen letters, are so many positive proofs of their being in- 
 dependent and underived. In the much more perfect alpha- 
 bet subsequently received from the Greeks and Romans by 
 the Goths and Anglo-Saxons, traces of the old Eunic are 
 still discernible. That this was common to most, if not all, 
 of the Germanic races, is evinced by Eunic inscriptions dis- 
 covered in the remotest regions inhabited by Goths or other 
 Germans. How then could these inscriptions have found 
 
152 CONNECTION OE THE PHOENICIANS WITH THE BALTIC. 
 
 their way to Germany, and the North, except through the 
 Greeks and Romans ? But if there is a fixed resolve to ac- 
 count for them by some other channel, a not altogether 
 improbable one is at hand. The Phoenicians, from whom so 
 many other nations obtained their alphabet — modified accord- 
 ing to the kind of speech and writing — monopolized the Bal- 
 tic trade for a considerable period of time. It is a matter of 
 history that many of the Germans inhabiting the shores of the 
 Baltic were much more civilized than the warlike frontier- 
 hordes of the Rhine. The Baltic strand witnessed the secret 
 worship of Hertha,* described by Tacitus as a species of 
 Mystery. Now it is extremely probable that Runic charac- 
 ters were especially adopted by similar priestly societies. It 
 cannot be doubted that, from the earliest times, they were 
 subservient to magic practices. Rods selected and conse- 
 crated for the purpose composed the words that accompanied 
 the song of divination or incantation, the principal letters 
 being repeated in regular form, and not without a certain 
 significancy.f This custom can clearly be traced in the form 
 of Runic inscriptions still extant. Imagine, then, the seer, 
 or the priest, whilst the mysterious incantation is being 
 chanted, laying these Runic rods before the Acolyte, who 
 studied to solve the enigma by means of the magic staves, 
 which we yet adopt as a grammatical term.! Accustomed 
 as we are to the lucid precision of historical civilization, 
 it is difficult to transport ourselves to the obscurity of 
 the remote past : hence, those ages are commonly asso- 
 ciated with much that is fanciful and erroneous, whilst the 
 
 * The goddess of the Earth in ancient German mythology, who made 
 an annual solemn procession in her consecrated Wain, attended by priests. 
 — Transl. note. 
 
 f The staves, previously marked, were thrown on a white cloth, according" 
 to the graphic account of Tacitus : — Germ. Cap. X. In Ulpbilas, Buna 
 means secret ; hence the word raunen (to whisper), and Alraune (witch, 
 sorceress). Of the magic uses of these Runes among the heathen North- 
 men, Rhabanus Maurus speaks in his book, " De invent, linguarmn, ap. 
 Goldasti Script, rer. Alleman. ed. Senckenberg. torn. II. p. 69. Litteras 
 quippe, quibus utuntur Marcomanni quos nos Nordmannos vocamus, a 
 quibus originem, qui Theodiscam loquuntur linguam, trahunt, cum quibus 
 carmina sua, rncantationesque ac divinationes significare proeurant, qui 
 adhuc paganis ritibusinvolvuntur." 
 
 % It will be remembered that the German word for letters is Buchstaben 
 or book staves. — Transl. note. 
 
REMAINS OF PAGANISM IN GEKMANY. 153 
 
 truth of records, really attaching thereto, is doubted and de- 
 nied. 
 
 When Saxony submitted to the yoke of Charlemagne, the 
 mythology of Odin was extirpated. Many memorials and 
 traces of its presence, however, survived until later times. 
 The country people could not give up their Spring merry- 
 makings ; this innocent festival of nature, so delightful in 
 all religions, was transferred to the beginning of May, a 
 period at which Nature renews her loveliness under our 
 northern skies : many similar customs were incorporated in 
 our Christian Whitsuntide. Down to the present time, in 
 some districts of North- G-er many, large fires blaze at night 
 on the mountain-tops, about the time when the days are 
 longest : a relic of bygone ages, whose meaning, doubtless, 
 significant to Paganism, as in so many other instances, has 
 been irrecoverably lost. Hills and forests, the favourite 
 haunts of heathen rites, in an especial manner long harboured 
 an infinite variety of kindred reminiscences. For many 
 Christian centuries, trees of immense size, and great age, or 
 remarkable for any other distinguishing qualities, particu- 
 larly oaks, were held sacred : no less so the ash, possessing 
 magnetic properties, and declared in the Edda's legend of 
 creation to be the origin of all nature. In later poetry, too, 
 fragrant limes continued to be celebrated as enchanted trees, 
 whilst, even now, the willow is connected with superstitions 
 abounding in the same districts, As might have been ex- 
 pected, such memorials of the olden mythology as still lin- 
 gered in the midst of the peasantry, after its general extir- 
 pation, assumed the form of mere superstition, degenerating 
 more and more into deformity. The seers and witches of 
 the past dwindled down into fortune-tellers, and instead of 
 Odin's Walhalla, graced by heroes and gods, the unearthly 
 din of the Walpurgis-night* disturbed the heated fancy of 
 rustic clowns. 
 
 But though the mythology of Odin was rooted out in the 
 
 * "Walpurgis was the sister of St. Wilibald, and born in England; died 
 in 780, after having- been Abbess in the convent of Heidenheim founded 
 by her brother. She was canonized, and supposed to possess disenchanting 
 powers. Fires are lit, in her honour, during the night of the 1/2 May. 
 German Poetry abounds in allusions to practices associated with her me- 
 mory. — Tran&l. note. 
 
154 THE ICELANDIC EDDA. 
 
 mother country, it yet remained in full force in the northern 
 regions of Scandinavia, until, after a long and obstinate 
 struggle, it yielded to the superior energies of Christianity ; 
 it has come down to us, fortunately, preserved in many noble 
 songs and myths. Thus we are enabled to trace mediaeval 
 poetry and the features of the German mind, as a whole, to 
 the original source which flows down to us in the Icelandic 
 Edda. In its present form, the Edda dates from the interval 
 between Harald Harfagr, — in whose time the Northmen (or 
 Normans) effected a settlement in Iceland — and the death of 
 Snorro Sturleson and the decline of Icelandic liberty : ex- 
 tending from 850 — 1250. In certain portions, frequent allu- 
 sion is made to the Greek mythology, and even to Christian- 
 ity, either with the view of assimilating, as far as possible, the 
 leading features of the same with northern legends, or of 
 connecting the latter with the history of ancient nations. 
 Throughout the more important poetical portions of the 
 older Edda breathes, indisputably, the genuine and pure 
 spirit of the northern mythology, which is, more especially 
 in its poetic aspect, distinguished from that of Greece by 
 unity of plan and purpose. Hellenic mythology is, perhaps, 
 too copious to be conveniently framed as one unique whole. 
 Compared with the northern, it is deficient in a true end. 
 The Grecian world of gods and heroes gradually merges 
 into that of humanity ; its poetry is lost in prose and reality. 
 Northern mythology fittingly closes with a catastrophe to 
 which all that precedes has a prophetic deference ; and its 
 essential features are comprehended in a single work, the 
 Edda. The whole is, as it were, a consecutive poem, a con- 
 tinuous tragedy. It is a connected natural epic, detailing 
 how, in the beginning, the world generally, and the earth 
 in particular, proceeded from the remains of a giant ; on 
 the advent of happier times, Tsdragill, the sacred Ash, 
 bloomed in vigorous life, where, of yore, the dread abyss 
 had yawned. Then appeared the tree of life, casting its 
 deep roots into the lowest depths, and, with its wide-spread 
 branches, encompassing the universe. Heroes, and benevo- 
 lent Genii, are in arms against enormous giants and the 
 ancient powers of darkness, and in the end prevail ; the 
 ruin of the gods and the Asen, of Odin and his warriors, is 
 at hand, all is one connected great poem on Nature and the 
 
THE ICELANDIC EDDA. 155 
 
 deeds of Heroes. The essence of the whole, as in most of 
 the old legends, is the destruction of a glorious hero-world. 
 In accordance with this idea, the noblest, bravest, and most 
 handsome hero is generally the first to be cut off in the 
 flower of his youth. While Odin assembles his trusty com- 
 rades in the halls of Walhalla, and animates them for the 
 approaching final struggle, he is himself predestined to be 
 defeated. The first event announcing general destruction 
 is the death of Balder. To the hapless fate of the right- 
 hearted Hector and the noble Achilles, which, in Trojan 
 legend, is premonitory of the common downfall of heroism, 
 Balder' s death corresponds, in the prime of youthful man- 
 hood, the especial favourite of the gods. Unavailing is 
 Odin's visit to the nether world, in search of his friend. 
 Ehla, when questioned, replies only in enigmas, like the 
 Theban Sphinx of old : and refuses to surrender her prey. 
 
 "What approaches most nearly to truth is the description 
 in the Northern Edda of the approaching obscurity and 
 night of the gods with the overthrow of the good Asen and 
 heroes of light — the irruption of darkness and its powers, 
 which is to take place at the end of Time, and the terrible, 
 though transient victory of the evil being, Loke — as well as of 
 the new world of the gods, and the heavenly glory which will 
 succeed that brief darkness. We are led to surmise that in 
 all this there was something more than an unconscious deep- 
 seated aspiration ; that, in fact, it indicates an imperfect 
 knowledge of the truths of Christianity. 
 
 At about the same period of Norwegian power, we may 
 fix the date of Ossian's poems, at least so much of them as 
 may be considered genuine. But since the sphere of their 
 influence was entirely restricted to the Gaelic race in Scot- 
 land, without producing any effect on the rest of Europe, it 
 will be more convenient to investigate their merits on a 
 future occasion. 
 
156 
 
 LECTURE VII. 
 
 Teutonic Poetry. — The Middle Ages. — Origin of mo- 
 dern European Languages. — Medieval Poetry. — 
 Loye-Songs.— Influence oe Norman Character on 
 the Spirit of Chiyalrous Poetry — more especially 
 relating to charlemagne. 
 
 The Germanic races of the rest of Europe, likewise, at 
 this time, evinced a fondness for poetry, by various efforts to 
 celebrate in verse particular portions of Holy Writ, and the 
 principles of Christianity generally. In this, the Saxon 
 conquerors of England, and Ottfried in southern Germany, 
 took a prominent part. These efforts cannot, indeed, be 
 considered as perfect triumphs of the Muse, nor were the 
 achievements of later aspirants, in times of higher artistic 
 development, much more successful. They are so many 
 valuable memorials of the metrical diction of the age, espe- 
 cially since Christian bards did not invent a new measure 
 for themselves, but adopted that of the old hero-songs. Of 
 Ottfried this may be stated in the most definite terms, inas- 
 much as a solitary war-song has come down to us, composed 
 in the self-same measure. It is a psean, in honour of Lud- 
 wig, king of the East-Eranks, triumphing over the Nor- 
 mans. An authenticated lay, written with such spirit, nine 
 centuries ago, is an inestimable memorial. The historical 
 value of its contents is not unimportant : as for instance, 
 where it describes the awful silence of the troops, in battle 
 array, awaiting the signal for onset : — 
 
 Impatient stood the Franks, 
 Their fiery zeal scarce checking : 
 Punting to quit their ranks, 
 Nor of their own lives recking. 
 
 A little further on are these lines : — 
 Now the song was sung, 
 And the battle begun. 
 
 Thus proving that the custom, prevalent among the ancient 
 Germans, of rousing the martial ardour of the combatants, 
 
THE NIEELUN GEN-LIED. 157 
 
 by means of spirit-stirring melodies, was still usual. The 
 opening lines of another poem, celebrating the praises of 
 St. Anno, Bishop of Cologne, testify to the continued fond- 
 ness for heroic lays throughout Christian Germany ; they 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 Of warrior-deeds were often told, 
 Of captured fort, of ruined town : 
 How empires fell by Knights of old, 
 How heroes part with angry frown. 
 
 The constant theme of epic poesy, namely, the downfall of 
 national dynasties, and the contentions of heroes, is graphi- 
 cally sketched in this exordium. 
 
 Although the Nibelungen-lied did not, probably, assume its 
 present appearance until the commencement of the thir- 
 teenth century, it is, yet, deserving of notice in this place, 
 inasmuch as there is every likelihood that in its essential con- 
 tents, perhaps of different proportions and idiom, it took its 
 rise from some of the historical epics of the Goths, and was 
 included in Charlemagne's collection. 
 
 The ingenious development of facts, and almost dramatic 
 fulness of particulars, apparent throughout Homeric verse, 
 were probably characteristic of Grecian genius, and all imi- 
 tations of the same by other nations have resulted in utter 
 failure. But among epics of a less ambitious character, and 
 indeed in the chivalrous poesy generally of, comparatively, 
 modern Europe, this patriotic poem stands unrivalled and 
 alone. It is especially distinguished by strict unity of plan : 
 being a picture, or rather a series of pictures, on a laro-e scale, 
 simple. The German language here exhibits a perfection 
 and finish of which few vestiges remained in subsequent 
 times. With great vigour and animation it united a ten- 
 derness that first degenerated into affectation, and then into 
 intricacy and hardness. It has been already remarked 
 that the heroic traditions of all lands have much that is 
 essential and substantive in common, but it is the business 
 of minstrel-genius to interweave this general matter with 
 the main features of national history, and engraft it on the 
 peculiar sentiments and poetic genius of a people. The 
 tragic jiews and reminiscences of an extinct hero-world are 
 once more expressed in the death of a favourite warrior, 
 noble, handsome, and victorious, but doomed to relinquish 
 
158 THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 the matchless combination of so much glory prematurely, 
 and in the bloom of youth : to which is attached a sad catas- 
 trophe drawn from semi-historical records and national 
 annals. From this point of view, then, comparison with the 
 Iliad naturally suggests itself : and if, in the German poem, 
 the final catastrophe exceeds, in the depths of tragic pathos, 
 any event mentioned in the Greek epic : on the other hand, 
 the narrative, when depicting the death of the favourite 
 hero, assumes a tenderness, a veil of exquisite delicacy, 
 such as graces no similar scene in any other epic. Both 
 sides of the picture of life, sunshine and shade, are sketched 
 with a truthfulness equally happy : the beginning is as 
 follows : — 
 " Von Freuden und Hochgezeiten, von "Weinen und von Klagen 
 
 Von kiihner Helden Streiten, mogt Ihr nun Wunder horen sag-en." 
 
 " Tou may now hear the wondrous tale of rejoicing and 
 marriage festivities, of weeping and lamentation, and of the 
 conflicts of bold heroes." 
 
 But before proceeding further in investigating the charac- 
 teristic features of this great German epic, let us, once 
 more, take a comprehensive survey of mediaeval times gene- 
 rally. 
 
 The middle ages are, sometimes, regarded as a chasm in 
 the history of the human intellect, a void space, as it were 
 between the genius of antiquity and the civilization of mo- 
 dern times. Art and science are, by an ingenious fiction, 
 supposed to terminate their existence, only to start into life 
 from chaotic nothingness after a sleep of ten centuries : this 
 is inaccurate, nay untrue, in two respects. The essence of 
 ancient knowledge and culture never entirely perished, whilst 
 much that is noblest and most excellent in the improvements 
 of modern times was born of mediaeval genius. A question 
 might be raised, whether ages most fertile in literary produc- 
 tions were on that account, the best and greatest in a moral, 
 or the happiest in a political, point of view. The experience 
 we have of Boman grandeur, so decidedly antecedent to her 
 literary development, ought to be applied by us as a test, 
 when examining the history of modern Europe. But if this 
 standard of the worth and moral dignity of nations, the only 
 proper one, be not accepted, regard being had solely to intel- 
 lectual culture and its visible products embodied in litera- 
 
THE MIDDLE AGES. 159 
 
 vure, still a different stand-point must be taken from that in 
 vogue which forms so low an estimate of the mediaeval 
 period. 
 
 If literature be considered as the quintessence of the 
 most distinguished and peculiar productions by which the 
 spirit of an age and the character of a nation express them- 
 selves, in short, as the features in which the genius of an 
 age, or the character of a nation is unmistakeably expressed ; 
 it must be admitted that an artistic and highly finished lite- 
 rature is undoubtedly, one of the greatest advantages any 
 nation can possess. But if an equal degree of literary 
 excellence is demanded of all countries — irrespective of 
 general development or any other distinctions soever — and, 
 in its absence, censure is pronounced in terms of indiscrimi- 
 nate obloquy, such a requirement can accord neither with 
 justice nor the operation of natural laws. Everywhere, in 
 particulars as in generals, in small things equally with great, 
 inventive fulness is destined to precede the perfection of 
 finished art, legend anticipates history, poetry is the fore- 
 runner of criticism. Given, a nation unendowed with poetic 
 stores that date from some time prior to the period of regu- 
 lar artistic culture, and it may safely be asserted of the 
 same, that it will never attain to any nationality of charac- 
 ter, or vitality of genius. Poetic wealth like this, unaccom- 
 panied, however, by really great advances in literature or 
 science, was possessed by the Greeks during the whole 
 extent of time ranging from the Trojan adventures to the 
 days of Solon and Pericles, and to this circumstance their 
 intellect is chiefly indebted for its distinguishing excellence 
 and brilliancy. In corresponding proportions, the middle 
 ages served in lieu of such a poetic pre-existence to modern 
 Europe ; their creative fancy few will dare to question. The 
 beautifully-silent process of growth necessarily precedes the..'/' 
 appearance of the blossom, whilst the blossom, in its turn, 
 reveals its graces before the matured charms of fruit are dis- 
 played. As in individuals, growth is the poetic bud of life, 
 so in the career of nations there are moments of sudden 
 development and intellectual expansion. "With this univer- 
 sal spring-time of poetry, in the history of "Western nations, 
 the age of the Crusades, of chivalry, and love-songs may be 
 fittingly compared. 
 
160 NATIONAL LITERATUEE. 
 
 Ill addition to its poetic side, principally connected with 
 invention, pathos, and fancy, literature has yet another 
 point of view. It may likewise be regarded as the organ of 
 tradition, the medium of transmitting, not only the know- 
 ledge of past ages to coming generations, but also of pre- 
 serving, and, in due course, of extending and projecting the 
 acquisition. The poetic element of literature is the one 
 that has become unfolded in the various dialects of modern 
 Europe : the other, destined to the preservation of know- 
 ledge and science, is contained in Latin literature, which was 
 common to all "Western nations during the middle ages. In 
 this respect, too, if the spirit of those ages be properly 
 ascertained, the progress of events will be found to be unlike 
 the conceptions of it that are commonly received. 
 
 For the sake of poetry, and the development of national 
 genius, we might, indeed, wish, that Latin literature had 
 not continued to be extant, or, at least, that this dead lan- 
 guage had not been put to any use. By its means, history 
 and philosophy were rendered inapplicable to the purposes of 
 life. It is in itself a barbarism, and productive of most 
 injurious consequences, when science and learning, legisla- 
 tive and political business, are conveyed through the medium 
 of a foreign idiom no longer breathing the spirit of life. 
 The results were still more fatal to the interests of poetry : 
 numerous poetic memorials of the German and other nations 
 of the West are hopelessly lost, in consequence of the well- 
 meant intentions on the part of translators and commenta- 
 tors who metamorphosed spirited heroic legends and genu- 
 ine verse, into fabulous, prosaic tales. On the other hand, 
 much talent and many poetical productions have exerted no 
 vital influence on nations and ages, because authors have 
 wasted their powers in vain attempts to present vividly to 
 others what was present to their own imaginations, through 
 the medium of a dead language. In illustrating this remark, 
 amid a host of examples it is only necessary to point to the 
 Latin poem of E-oswitha,* a nun who celebrated the praises 
 of her great Saxon Emperor in a Latin poem, which had it 
 
 * Jlrosuita or Rosrvitha, properly Helena von Rossorv, born about 920. 
 Her poem on Otto I. was entitled " Paneg-yris in Oddonem." Her collected 
 ■works were first published in folio at Nuremburg in 1501.2nd ed. by 
 Schurtzfleisch at Witteinburg. 1707, 4 to. 
 
THE LATIN" OE THE MIDDLE AGES. 161 
 
 been written in German, would have been a valuable monu- 
 ment of the language, of living history and not less of poetic 
 art. Petrarch, too, considered his Italian love-sonnets as 
 mere idle conceits, the ebullitions of youthful feelings, and 
 rested his fame and hopes of posthumous glory on a Latin 
 poetical panegyric of Scipio, that has long since been en- 
 gulphed in the waters of oblivion.* Both in Italy and Ger- 
 many, the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were rife with 
 many genuine poets who chose to write in the Latin language, 
 to the lasting injury of their fame. 
 
 But, whilst lamenting the injurious results that ensued 
 from the universal adoption of Latin in the middle ages, it 
 must be borne in mind that, under the circumstances of a 
 half developed vernacular, in the several countries of the 
 "West, a common idiom was indispensable not only for eccle- 
 siastical, educational, and scientific purposes, but likewise 
 for transacting the ordinary business of government. This 
 was the invaluable link, uniting the mediaeval and modern 
 world with the ancient. In all countries that adopted the 
 Latin language, it was in an especial manner cultivated by 
 the educated classes, as being the depository of all learning, 
 in contradistinction to the degenerate, popular, or so-called 
 vulgar tongue. Nor did this practice cease until the ninth 
 or tenth century, when the plebeian dialect in these coun- 
 tries, the 'Romance, adapting itself to local genius, and the 
 influence of circumstances generally, grew to be a separate 
 and distinct idiom. The transition, however, was so gradual, 
 that it is difficult, if not impossible, to fix the precise period 
 when this great alteration was effected. So much the more 
 natural was the delusion that induced people to regard Latin 
 as a living language, long after it had positively fallen into 
 desuetude. Hence the tradition of that tongue, together 
 with its old pronunciation, remained in continuous force for 
 ecclesiastical uses, and were adopted by learned societies, 
 both of the clergy and laity ; it was only gradually altered 
 and never entirely disused. 
 
 The inheritance of the learning and ideas of ancient times 
 may, justly, be regarded as the common property of collec- 
 tive humanity, entrusted to the custody of all ages and na- 
 
 * It remained unfinished. — Transl. note. 
 
162 VINDICATION OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 tions, under such sacred obligations, that we are entitled, in 
 some measure, to hold the guardians of that awful trust re- 
 sponsible for its safe keeping. The feeling of disapprobation 
 with which we contemplate any violence done to this bond 
 which connects us with the world of our ancestors, and re- 
 gards such an attempt as barbarism is a perfectly just and 
 commendable feeling. Yet, care should be taken lest, in the 
 heat of indignation, casual neglect, arising from circum- 
 stances over which human vigilance may have no control, or 
 unforeseen accident, lead us to brand a whole age with the 
 infamy of barbarism. There is no valid reason to charge any 
 age with such a total interruption of that connection. Of 
 wilful destruction, somewhat more frequent in the arts, few 
 examples are afforded in literature. The only instance of 
 intentional destruction that I. can call to mind is in the case 
 of certain Greek erotic poets, at Constantinople, in compara- 
 tively recent times, on the ground of alleged immorality and 
 general licentiousness. In a purely literary point of view, 
 this ethical and rigorous sensitiveness, so to speak, may, at 
 first sight, appear culpable, and liable to the charge of over- 
 awing the pure spirit of poesy, and menacing the safety of 
 memorials of the past. Yet, the number of Greek and 
 Latin poetic productions, of an erotic cast, still extant, is a 
 tolerable proof that mediaeval compilers and copyists, Byzan- 
 tine as well as Western, were not hypercritical in this 
 respect. Unfortunate accidents, or the uncompromising 
 exigencies of war have in former times occasioned the loss of 
 many valuable remains of antiquity and of literature. This, 
 too, has been the case in modern times, and since the inven- 
 tion of the art of printing. How much more frequently 
 would this occur when instead of printed volumes there were 
 only costly and rare manuscripts. In the palmiest days of 
 Grecian and Roman refinement, long before the Goths sacked 
 Rome, or the Arabs pillaged Alexandria, immense libraries 
 became the prey of the flames in time of war, and hundreds 
 and thousands of works thus, for ever, perished, since they 
 no longer existed in a single manuscript. We deplore the 
 loss of many valuable writers, and are on that account easily 
 roused to indignation against the Middle Ages. It is ob- 
 vious, however, that the loss of an individual author is an 
 insufficient reason for preferring a charge of barbarism 
 
PRESERVATION OF ANCIENT WRITERS. 163 
 
 against a whole generation. Of this we may be convinced by 
 the well-known anecdote respecting the works of Aristotle, 
 one of the most important relics of the Grecian mind, of 
 which only a single manuscript was left by the ancients ; 
 this copy, forgotten and ill-preserved, was found and reco- 
 vered by a mere accident. This happened in the midst of 
 that time which we are wont to recognize as the acme of 
 Greek and Roman literary splendour. Granted that histo- 
 rical criticism militates against the literal accuracy of the 
 story, the result is the same : for what is here asserted of 
 Aristotle, certainly happened in the case of many eminent 
 writers, with less happy results, in the most flourishing 
 period of antiquity. Due provision was made for the mul- 
 tiplication of copies in the West since Charlemagne's time, 
 with at least as great care and pains as ever were bestowed in 
 Alexandria and Rome. That a preference was shewn to 
 Christian writings and writers, cannot be a just cause of 
 censure. But how many Pagan and Roman writings were 
 also preserved in the West ? Constantinople was never 
 sacked by the Goths, nor overrun with so-called Barbarians, 
 up to the time of the Crusaders and the Turks. And yet, 
 the whole amount of ancient Greek literature preserved to 
 us by Byzantine efforts, is very much less than the propor- 
 tion of Latin literary composition that has come down to us, 
 though originally far less copious. 
 
 Classical education was, upon the whole, admirably adapted 
 to the preservation of learning in the earlier portion of the 
 middle ages. Only next in importance to the promotion of 
 Christianity, was the attention paid to the study of Latin, as 
 being the vehicle of scientific communication : then came the 
 cultivation of the essentials of the mathematics, whilst the in- 
 mates of monasteries made it a matter of conscience and duty 
 to assist, as far as possible, in multiplying the works of anti- 
 quity by transcription. As far as the purity of the language 
 itself was concerned, a matter of no slight moment underthose 
 circumstances, Cicero and Quinctilian w T ere the standards of 
 imitation, standards scarcely to be equalled, certainly not 
 surpassed, by any others of modern times. All competent 
 judges admit that the written Latin of the eleventh century 
 was superior to the written Latin of the Romans at the latter 
 stages of their decline, as also to that of the sixth century. 
 
164 CULTIVATION OE THE GREEK LANGUAGE. 
 
 Mathematical science was second only in the importance of 
 its preservation to memorials of the languages : since it is the 
 basis of natural philosophy, and of many technical crafts 
 bearing directly on life. The rapid increase of social 
 prosperity in general and of particular cities, especially in 
 Germany under the Saxon Emperors, the nourishing condi- 
 tion of architecture, as well as of many other arts, consis- 
 tent only with a highly scientific development, constitute 
 evidence of the care that was taken to preserve the mathe- 
 matical and mechanical knowledge bequeathed by anti- 
 quity. 
 
 The separation of the "West from the cultivation of the 
 Greek language and literature would seem to present scope 
 for regret. Tet the separation was never at any time com- 
 plete. From the time that Charlemagne applied himself to 
 the study of Greek, in his riper years, and appointed teach- 
 ers to disseminate that language in two cities of south Ger- 
 many, to the period wherein the last two Othos of the 
 Imperial house of Saxony, sufficiently acquainted with 
 Greek to converse in it, the knowledge of this language was 
 never lost in Germany. At first, as may be supposed, the 
 language was exclusively studied in reference to the Bible 
 and the Christian Fathers: but in 904, Bruno, Archbishop 
 of Cologne, a descendant of the same royal lineage, sent to 
 Greece for learned men, in order to familiarize himself, as 
 well as others, with the profane historians and philosophers 
 of that country. Under the dynasty of Saxon emperors, 
 closely connected with the Byzantine court by marriage, 
 a number of fine churches and other architectural memo- 
 rials were erected, especially in northern Germany, in imita- 
 tion of St. Sophia's, the early model of Christian architec- 
 ture. Taken altogether, Germany was, during this period, 
 from the tenth to the twelfth century, at once the most 
 powerful and highly civilized country in all Europe. 
 
 We have seen, then, that the charge of barbarizing Borne 
 and the West, generally, which has sometimes been brought 
 against the Germanic races, is utterly destitute of founda- 
 tion. The accusation is one of aggravated injustice, when 
 preferred against the Goths during the early period of the 
 migration of nations. Long before their victorious appear- 
 ance in Italy, they had embraced the doctrines of Chris- 
 
THE GOTHS IN" ITALY. 1G5 
 
 tianity, and had acquiesced in the existing relations of 
 the learned and religious orders of society ; they cannot, 
 therefore, on the whole, be said to have demolished, but rather 
 upheld the institutions of science, as far as was compatible 
 with existing circumstances. Only a single exception to 
 this statement occurs to me : when the Goths were led by a 
 savage, pagan conqueror, not of their own nation, or when 
 the demon of faction prompted them to wreak their ven- 
 geance, for they were Arians, on the devoted heads of Catho- 
 lics. The last bloom of really ancient Roman literature took 
 place under Theodoric, and never did the pretended patriot- 
 ism of Italy take so preposterous a turn as when her later 
 bards took for their favourite theme : — the emancipation of 
 Italy from the Gothic yoke. Under this very Gothic yoke, 
 in Theodoric' s time, the dawn of better times for Italy ap- 
 peared, which was only too soon overcast. Real misery 
 and real barbarism set in, when the Goths were expel- 
 led, and the oppressions of Byzantine eunuchs and satraps 
 began. A more complete justification of the influences 
 exercised by Germanic races on modern Europe cannot 
 well be formed than in a comparison of the active aspi- 
 rations, the glorious national energies of the European 
 "West, the poetry of the middle ages, with the slowly 
 wasting powers of the Byzantine empire, the political dry- 
 rot of a thousand years. And yet, the Byzantines were 
 in possession of literary treasures and means of information 
 infinitely greater than the Western nations, who were com- 
 pelled to resort to them for instruction in many branches of 
 learning. But even in literature and the domains of mind, 
 real power does not so much depend on the inheritance of 
 vast accumulations, as on the living, practical use made of 
 them. 
 
 Of a more unfavourable character were the conquests of 
 those Germanic races that were not yet Christianized, of rude 
 manners, and thoroughly unacquainted with Roman regula- 
 tions and institutions of science, such as the Franks in Gaul, 
 or the Saxons in Britain. If an interval of destruction and 
 darkness must needs be assumed, we must place it most cor- 
 rectly in the period between Theodoric and Charlemagne, 
 and even then it was not entire. Eor whilst Italy groaned 
 under the pressure of Byzantine despotism, the light of 
 
166 THE CONVENTUAL SYSTEM. 
 
 intelligence and active industry took refuge in the far north, 
 in the cloisters of Ireland and Scotland. Scarcely had the 
 Saxons in England taken possession of their Christian inhe- 
 ritance, together with the scientific culture of the period, 
 when they speedily outstripped the nations of the "West, and 
 the glorious light 6f Truth was transplanted to France and 
 Germany, never again to he extinguished. Since Charle- 
 magne's time, a steady, methodical, and indefatigable diffu- 
 sion of knowledge continued to increase, so that the actual 
 epoch of the revival of learning, dating, according to some 
 historians, from the Crusades, ought, in reality, to commence 
 with the reign of that great monarch. In the time of the 
 greatest obscurity, from the sixth to the eighth century, 
 those institutions of learning, that received such powerful 
 support at the hands of Charles, were gradually extending 
 the sphere of their operations : I allude to the conventual 
 system.* To these ecclesiastical corporations, bywhose means 
 the soil was rendered productive, the people civilized, the state 
 established on a sure basis, and learning disseminated, modern 
 Europe owes her subsequent ascendancy over the Byzantines 
 and Arabs, though the former were vastly her superiors in 
 point of inherited, preliminary knowledge, and the latter in 
 external means and resources. If comparison be instituted 
 between the poetical indigence of Alfred, or the frugal eco- 
 nomy of victorious Charles, in connection with the limited 
 appliances of both in their literary enterprises — and the pro- 
 digality of wealth and splendour at the command of Harun 
 al E-aschid, or other Caliphs and Sultans, in their capacity of 
 absolute sovereigns of the fairest oriental lands — for the ex- 
 tension of learning, the West seems dim and lustreless. 
 Nevertheless, the triumphs of the "West were brilliant and 
 complete : clearly demonstrating that learning is better cal- 
 culated to derive sustenance and vigour from free institu- 
 tions and the steady growth of ages, than when dependent 
 upon precarious patronage, such as the capricious smiles 
 of interested despots. Charlemagne chiefly contributed to 
 
 * The general spirit of Schlegel's remarks on the merits of the conven- 
 tual system, will hardly meet with sympathetic response from Mr. Froude, 
 (Hist, of England, from the fall of Wolsey to the death of Elizabeth), or 
 Mr. Buckle (History of Civilization in England). — Transl. note. 
 
THE SAXON EMPEROES. 167 
 
 the civilization of posterity by non-intervention in the tem- 
 poral affairs of the learned corporations of his time, con- 
 fining himself to securing their liberties, and providing for 
 the independent exercise of their functions. How im- 
 portant soever the exertions of Charles for the improvement 
 of Latin literature, as well as of the vernacular, it is indis- 
 putable that Alfred, himself an enquiring scholar, and, for 
 his time, a man of erudition, rendered still greater services to 
 literature, especially in the improvement of his own tongue. 
 [Rut England sustained considerable injuries from the fre- 
 quent incursions of the Danes, whilst many of the institu- 
 tions for the promotion of learning, founded by Charlemagne 
 in France and south Germany, were plundered and ravaged 
 by Normans in the one, and Hungarians in the other. Civi- 
 lization blossomed anew under Saxon Emperors, and dis- 
 played a development of form more excellent than in the 
 time of Charles and Alfred. Germany was, at that period, 
 especially fertile in trustworthy historians, more so than any 
 other European country ; reckoning from Eginhard, the 
 private secretary of Charles, to Otto von Ereisingen, a prince 
 of the House of Babenberg, son of St. Leopold, and uncle 
 of the great Barbarossa, of the imperial family of Hohen- 
 staufen : this was perhaps owing in part to the fact that 
 Germany was the great centre of political action. Latin 
 mediaeval histories generally went by the contemptuous ap- 
 pellation of monkish chronicles, composed as they were by 
 the clergy of the time. In adopting this opprobrious term 
 people seem to ignore the fact that the historians thus 
 libelled were for the most part of high birth, conversant with 
 state-secrets, and generally speaking the best educated and 
 well informed men of their day. Erom the abundant opportu- 
 nities occurring in the course of their travels, they were 
 competent to afford information, both interesting and in- 
 structive, respecting the social arrangements of the remote 
 East, or the still less familiar north, testimony the more va- 
 luable that it proceeded from eye-witnesses. Thus, in de- 
 preciating the middle ages, it was customary to string toge- 
 ther the most contradictory objections. If clerical degene- 
 racy were the subject of complaint, it was asserted that the 
 clergy administered extensive rule, fared as sumptuously as 
 princes, and directed the helm of the state. But if their works 
 
168 THE SCHOOLMEN. 
 
 were criticised, it was alleged that they were ignorant monks, 
 unacquainted with the world, and manifestly unfit to write 
 history. In truth, the position of those authors was the very 
 beau-ideal of literary condition most calculated to combine 
 the elements of success. For, whilst they had ample oppor- 
 tunities of knowing the realities of life, by mingling in its 
 scenes, they had also the requisite independence and leisure 
 for the privacy and dispassionate judgment of the closet. 
 Such was, precisely, the situation of many historratrsinTthe 
 time of the Saxon emperors, the value of whose labours the 
 progress of historical research has, of late times, greatly en- 
 hanced. In the department of philosophical enquiry England 
 and France had very distinguished writers, even before the 
 exercise of Arabian influence and their exclusive introduction 
 of the Aristotelian system. In the ninth century shone 
 Scotus Erigena, a name given to a certain philosopher of 
 Scotland, or, according to some, of Ireland : no less profound 
 was the erudition of Anselmus, though he did not care 
 to extend the boundaries of truth beyond their existing 
 limits ; Abelard was distinguished for his vivacity of thought 
 as well as speech, likewise for his classical attainments, as 
 also his pupil John of Salisbury. 
 
 It will easily be understood that an interval of chaotic 
 confusion necessarily ensued in those countries adopting the 
 Roman idiom, before the vernacular could, in every case, en- 
 tirely disengage itself from the Latin, and be moulded into 
 distinctive features. But for the intervention of adverse 
 circumstances, the relations of the Germanic races would 
 have been much more favourable to civilization, in this par- 
 ticular. Eor it is, incomparably, a matter of greater facility 
 to develop, in parallel degrees, two languages entirely dif- 
 fering from each other, than it is to remodel two dialects in 
 some measure interwoven and united. To effect the latter 
 is ever a w r ork of time. The loss of primitive dialects, on 
 whose culture some pains had been bestowed, was of conrse 
 unfavourable to the progressive advance of German literature. 
 The Gothic tongue, after having attained to a certain regu- 
 larity of form and expression, shared the fate of the Goths 
 themselves. The Anglo-Saxon had arrived at a still higher 
 degree of perfection, and, in Alfred's time, may be said to 
 have embodied a complete digest of literature ; namely, a 
 
THE GERMAN AND OLD-SAXON LANGUAGES. 169 
 
 collection of poems and translations, as also of prose histories 
 and works of science. Yet this language perished, with the 
 exception of some few memorials, on the conquest of England 
 by the Normans, and from the mixture of their own, the 
 French tongue, with other idioms, resulted the English of 
 the present day. German had thus, a third time, to recom- 
 mence the difficult task of reconstruction. This, accordingly, 
 took place in the ninth century, when our present High- 
 German developed itself, a dialect of the Alemanni, consist- 
 ing of a fusion of Gothic and Saxon, with intermixture of 
 Latin : there had been earlier attempts to effect this object, 
 but without definite result. In the memorials of the Ale- 
 manni we observe the German language in that ill-assorted, 
 unwieldy condition, and chaotic confusion, characteristic of 
 tongues that after a severe internal struggle, have not yet 
 arrived at consistency and proportion. In the eleventh and 
 twelfth centuries, the collective Romance dialects underwent 
 a process precisely similar. Before all other tongues German 
 is wont to be considered of pure and original stock. En- 
 comiums of this nature may, indeed, apply to Old Saxon, in 
 all respects, but is not, by any means, true of our present 
 High-German, which is of more recent date, and being one 
 of those languages formed by blending Latin with old- 
 German, is entitled to consideration, as enshrining the 
 genius and civilization of the most refined European 
 countries. Old-Saxon, which attained to its greatest per- 
 fection, in England, during the reign of Alfred, was the 
 genuine primitive stock of all German idioms, and common 
 to the several cognate branches of that people. It is an in- 
 disputable fact that the Saxons of north G ermany spoke the 
 same dialect as those of England ; the Eranks likewise ori- 
 ginally used it, since it was common to the whole of the Ger- 
 manic north. The Romans could employ the services of a 
 Erank interpreter in England, the Saxon Briton needed 
 none in Sweden, and when Alfred entered the Danish camp 
 in minstrel's disguise, he sang no foreign lays, but had merely 
 to modify his pronunciation slightly. But, it will be asked, 
 in which of the varied German idioms were those poetic 
 legends composed that Charlemagne had given directions to 
 collect ? Certainly not in Gothic, for that idiom was ex- 
 tinct, save where some spare remnants of its name still 
 
170 ORIGIN OF HIGH-GERMAN. 
 
 lingered amid the Spanish Asturias. Neither in the upper- 
 German of the Alemanni, a dialect which did not come into 
 existence until some time after the decease of Charles, and 
 which is styled Frank simply because, in the Carlovingian 
 period, that term was applied to all German idioms without 
 distinction. Nor should it be forgotten that even in his time, 
 these songs or legends were from one to two centuries old. 
 It may, I believe, be asserted with some degree of confidence, 
 that they were translated from Gothic into Saxon, the Saxon 
 that Alfred wrote, and that Charles spoke, when not using 
 the Eomance : for he preferred living in the Rhenish Nether- 
 lands, the old home of the Franks, whose idiom, likewise, was 
 originally Saxon. 
 
 This observation, being no less important in reference to 
 history than to philosophy andjpoetry, I have thought de- 
 serving of passing notice. 
 
 The origin of High- German may be accounted for in the 
 following manner. German races, the primordial inhabitants 
 of the Baltic coasts, of necessity changed their speech on 
 migrating further south : the Goths, for instance, who settled 
 on the shores of the Black Sea, and there founded a mighty 
 empire, from constant intercourse with nations of hetero- 
 geneous mixture, naturally caught some of their expressions, 
 and, in process of time, created a new idiom for themselves. 
 In south Germany, more especially in alpine districts, the 
 usual influence of climate obtained, a rough pronunciation 
 and guttural accents characterizing that hilly region. Gothic 
 and Frank rule, following in close succession in south Ger- 
 many, produced a fusion of several German dialects, whilst 
 the admixture of Eomance is attributable partly to the settle- 
 ment of Eoman colonies on the banks of the Danube, and 
 partly to the early introduction of Christianity into the dis- 
 trict ; to the self-same cause, the presence of the Eomance 
 on the north-west frontier of the Ehine is clearly to be 
 traced, yet here the north-G erman Saxon stock is, as a whole, 
 comparatively pure and unmixed. These were the in- 
 fluencing circumstances that changed the regular and beau- 
 tiful Gothic tongue into the rough vulgar dialect of the 
 Alemanni : which, after having been cultivated and polished 
 for centuries, assimilated more and more to the Saxon idiom, 
 on the union of northern and southern Germany under one 
 
THE PROVENQAL LANGUAGE. 171 
 
 Emperor, and thus, in process of time, formed itself into 
 high German. In the so-called Swabian period of Hohen- 
 staufen rule, it attained to a full and regular conformation, 
 but soon after relapsed into pristine rudeness, on the social 
 and political decline of the empire. 
 
 Of all Komance tongues, the Provencal was the first to de- 
 velop itself, probably because it contained the smallest 
 amount of foreign admixture. The country having early 
 become subject to the Eomans, the indigenous idiom soon 
 became extinct : the German colony being proportionately 
 small and unimportant. To conclude our survey of the 
 languages of modern Europe with one or two general re- 
 marks, it may be stated, that of all idiom's originating in an 
 intermixture of Latin with German, that of upper Germany 
 or the Alemanni, and the Provencal were the first to attain 
 to any regular development, and they retained the greater 
 purity that they were the least alloyed. Of three that were 
 subject to more heterogeneous admixture than some others, 
 Italian, Spanish, and north French, this latter, which differs 
 most from Latin, did not attain its highest point of perfection 
 until after the two former. The English tongue is the 
 youngest of all in point of time, and contains nearly equal 
 parts of Latin and German constituents. Here, too, the 
 chaotic condition necessarily resulting from such a mixture 
 endured longest. Yet, the intrinsic beauty, the sound vigour, 
 the facile pliancy of that language, together with the national 
 spirit of its literature, prove that happy results are by no 
 means inconsistent with such elements of origin. 
 
 The general regeneration of life and sentiment, in the 
 age of the Crusades, was particularly manifest in the pro- 
 gress of that kind of poetry called, in the Provencal, le Gay- 
 Savoir, which produced such a host of lays of chivalry and 
 love among the most genial European nations of that day. 
 Since the accents of love breathe throughout all the chival- 
 rous poesy of the period, thus constituting a marked feature 
 which serves to distinguish it from other purely heroic songs, 
 I will, first, proceed to examine the love-poetry. The Min- 
 negesang originated with the Provencals, and was then 
 adopted by the Italians, who are supposed to have, at first, 
 composed the poetry exclusively in that dialect. The Pro- 
 vencal is now, as it were defunct, and hence such memorials 
 
1/2 THE MINNESINGEES. 
 
 of it as still survive in collections of manuscripts are not 
 turned to any account.* 
 
 Next to France, in point of time, the Gag-Savoir bloomed 
 in Germany, especially in the twelfth and thirteenth cen- 
 turies. This species of song did not reach its full maturity 
 in Italy until the time of Petrarch, in the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, who bestowed upon it an artistic finish, w r hilst in Spain 
 it bloomed a century later. Indeed, the last great poet who 
 attained to any degree of celebrity therein lived far into the 
 sixteenth century : this was Castillejo, who accompanied 
 Ferdinand the First to Austria. 
 
 In each of the above nations, the Minnegesang assumed 
 distinctive and peculiar features, in accordance with the 
 national genius ; neither is there any reason to suppose that, 
 with the exception of Italy, any one nation borrowed largely 
 from the rest ; whilst chivalrous poesy ever and anon was 
 transplanted from one region to another, and became in 
 some degree, a species of public property. The very form 
 of the Minnegesang differed in various countries. Ehyme 
 is common to them all, but rhyme musical, and almost pro- 
 digal in sportive fulness. This quality, in which they all 
 participated, is probably owing to the character of the 
 music of that time, since they were originally intended to 
 be sung. 
 
 It has been asserted, on slender foundations, that the 
 German Minnesingers derived their inspiration from the 
 Provencal ; this is the less probable, seeing that there were 
 love-songs at a date considerably earlier. So far back as 
 the reign of Lewis the Pious, it was found necessary to in- 
 terdict the nuns the too frequent use of these German love- 
 songs or Wynelieder. Some of the German princes, it is 
 true, more accustomed to Italy than to their own country, 
 composed poetry in the Provencal dialect : yet this fact 
 neither affirms nor denies any thing in reference to the 
 German Minnegesang. Had their verse been copied, the 
 German minstrels would scarcely have failed to make some 
 mention of their models, as Petrarch often does with such 
 
 * For further information relative to this, the elder, but least known 
 branch of the Romance family of languages, the reader is referred to A. W . 
 von Schlegel's work " Sur la langue Provencale." 
 
THE MINNESINGERS. 173 
 
 feeling and beauty, and as the German compilers of narra- 
 tive chivalrous poesy almost invariably cite their Provencal 
 or French sources. 
 
 However this may be, the German love-songs are 
 thoroughly distinct, both in point of character, metrical 
 form, and sentiment, from the Provencal and the French : 
 the German being the most copious of all collections of this 
 species of song now extant. 
 
 The gentle spirit that animates them is a point which 
 most readily strikes the reader ; and we start with wonder 
 on beholding the names of knights who figure therein as 
 heroes, emblazoned on the scroll of martial heraldry. Yet, **" 
 this antithesis is any thing but rare in nature, and should not 
 be alien to the heart that throbs with noble pulsations ; for 
 in the midst of warlike preparation, the tenderest emotions 
 will sometimes be excited.* And thus the old melody, at- 
 tributed to king Richard, is a soft plaintive ditty, scarcely to 
 be expected from the lion-hearted hero. 
 
 But whilst it has never been denied that the German love- 
 songs are characterized by tender feeling, by graceful and 
 harmonious diction, they have been charged with uniformity 
 and puerilities. The first of these two objections is somewhat 
 singular ; it is as though one complained of a superabundance 
 of lowers in a garden, or in spring-time. Undoubtedly, 
 poems of this sort ought to scent the path of life, in separate 
 clusters, here are there, without nauseating superfluity. 
 Laura herself might have been surfeited, had she read, at 
 one sitting, all the stanzas in which Petrarch immortalized 
 her beauty and his own passion. We now see, in a collec- y 
 tive poem, the varied charms of a hundred poetic garlands, f 
 which lose half their attractions, by being so primly fes- 
 tooned. Though the songs are not all actually addressed to 
 some fair charmer, but to some imaginary object, yet they 
 were intended to be sung, and thus to enliven and embellish 
 
 * Scott beautifully expresses the same idea, when he says (Lay of the 
 Last Minstrel, canto iii.) : — 
 
 " In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed ! 
 In war he mounts the warrior's steed ; 
 In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 
 In hamlets, dances on the green. 
 Love rules the camp, the court, the grove," etc. — Transl. note. 
 

 174 LOVE-SONGS. 
 
 social life. Moreover, it is a necessary element of love-songs, 
 as, indeed, of lyric composition generally, if it be the out- 
 pouring of fresh natural feeling really emanating from the 
 heart, to move only within a limited sphere of feeling and 
 thought. This is confirmed by examples drawn even from 
 the serious lyrics of every nation. Feeling must prepon- 
 derate over thought, and have, as it Mere, a commanding 
 aim, if it is to be suitably expressed in melody ; and where 
 feeling predominates, richness of thought must hold a subor- 
 dinate place. Variety of lyric verse is commonly met with 
 in ages of imitation, when all conceivable subjects are treated 
 in every possible variety of form ; the tone and taste of 
 nations, most distinct and peculiar in their genius, are 
 blended together without any reference to harmonious 
 accord ; the original nature of the verse having degenerated 
 into smart epigrams or elegant bagatelles. 
 
 The other objection that has been advanced, that of 
 puerility, is not altogether unfounded ; yet, I know not if it 
 may, really, be considered as such. The ancients, though 
 representing the fiery glow of passion in their erotic poems, 
 still recognized the sportive elements of Love, inasmuch as 
 their mythology depicted Amor in the guise of a child, with 
 whose puerile appearance many fanciful conceits and images 
 were connected. Tiiis animated character of chivalrous 
 times is suggestive of the many violent results to which 
 the passion led. The page of history teems with illustrations 
 of their frequency. In the Minne-lieder the serious pas- 
 sionate features- of Love are not brought out in such strong 
 relief. Not that they are as utterly exempt from sensuous- 
 ness as the Platonic epigrams and sonnets of Petrarch. Yet 
 the details of the passion are but lightly touched. "With 
 almost exclusive preference the Minne-singer treated of 
 that kind of feeling which most readily admits of free scope 
 for the play of imagination. The spirit of those songs, 
 especially the German, may be thus described. Respect for 
 the sex,- one of the peculiar qualities of the G-ermans, in 
 the rudest times, grew still more refined as civilization pro- 
 gressed ; when Christianity progressively purified all notions 
 of morality and delicacy, this respect attained to a sublime 
 tenderness, ennobling and beautiful, even for the purposes of 
 poetry. The Provencal love-courts, and tribunals in which 
 
THE N0EMANS. I/O 
 
 verdicts were pronounced on disputed cases, with almost 
 metaphysical subtlety, are altogether foreign to the spirit of 
 the German love-songs. These latter are artless when con- 
 trasted with the ingenious conceits of Petrarch, or the re- 
 joinders of Spanish lays ; yet more instinct with feeling than 
 either, and celebrating not only the transports of affection, 
 but, likewise, revelling in the charms of nature and the 
 delights of spring. 
 
 Epics are altogether the poetry of the past ; the bard who 
 in an age of refinement, dares attune his lyre to genuine 
 epic minstrelsy, surveying antiquity from some eminence of 
 art, is rarely to be met with in the history of advanced civi- 
 lization, and must needs possess a mind endowed with a com- 
 bination of the highest natural endowments ; his presence 
 is to be hailed as a rare phenomenon. Dramatic art, on the 
 contrary, can never reach any great elevation or excellence 
 except in polished times. Youth, whether of individuals or 
 of nations, is the fitting season for lyrical excellence. But 
 the period of the Crusades was eminently the rejuvenescence 
 of activity and warlike ardour, as it was of fresh vigorous 
 feeling, among the nations of the West. 
 
 Next to the Crusades, the Normans, perhaps, contributed 
 most to give a fresh impulse to European fancy. The prin- 
 ciples of chivalry, it is true, were already sown broad-cast, 
 forming, as they did, a considerable portion of the old Grer- 
 man social system; poetical belief in the marvellous, in 
 heroes of gigantic strength, mountain- sprites, mermaids, 
 fairies, and weird dwarfs, remained as relics of the old 
 northern mythology. But the Normans vivified all those 
 chivalrous and poetic elements, with inspirations drawn 
 directly from the living source. Neither did this spirit 
 desert them when their sentiments became Christian, and 
 their language French ; it was disseminated throughout the 
 whole of France and Christian Europe ; it followed the Nor- 
 mans into England and Sicily, and accompanied them on 
 their dauntless expeditions to Jerusalem, in which they took 
 so distinguished a part. Not their sentiments only, but 
 their mode of life too, was extremely poetic ; it nurtured 
 their inclination for adventure, in every enterprise it prompted 
 them to choose the most daring and perilous post ; in a word, 
 by continuously directing their attention to the marvellous, 
 
17G THE CRUSADERS. 
 
 it enabled them to exercise great influence on the poetry of 
 the middle ages. The history of Charlemagne seems to have 
 been an especial favourite with them. The reliable portion 
 of this history would appear rather unfavourable to the 
 laurels of that emperor; as, for instance, the battle of 
 Roncesvalles, in which the French army, having been sur- 
 prised by the Arabs and Spaniards, sustained a total defeat, 
 and Roland died heroically on the field. That reminiscences 
 of this disaster were still cherished m the memory of the 
 people, and early became poetic themes, can only be accounted 
 for in this way ; that, despite so unhappy a reverse, the arms 
 of Charles had, on the whole, presented a check to Arab 
 incursions, and, beyond the Pyrenees, had established a com- 
 mon bulwark for protecting the liberties of the entire West. 
 There were additional points that lent a more than passing 
 interest to this occurrence. Those knights had fallen whilst 
 vindicating Christianity against her mortal foes ; though they 
 had not been victorious here below, they had won for them- 
 selves a crown of heavenly imperishable laurels. Their 
 names were henceforth recorded in the glorious muster-roll 
 of martyrs. With this view, unquestionably, the lay in 
 honour of Roland was composed, the Norman war-song : 
 viewed apart from this consideration, it is difficult to see 
 why a plaintive strain should have been selected to arouse 
 the martial energies of a warrior host. In the time of the 
 Crusades, the history of Charles' exploits, of the battle of 
 Roncesvalles, and of Roland's death, was celebrated as a 
 crusade ; with the attention, at first, of holding it up as a 
 pattern for the imitation of crusaders and knights ; indeed, 
 a fabulous crusade was long attributed to Charlemagne. 
 Traditions of sultans and the magic arts of the East were, by 
 degrees, incorporated in this history, as also comic personages 
 and ludicrous fictions of every kind. The crusaders, on 
 their return, disseminated many fabulous legends, and about 
 this time the account of the wonderful travels of Marco Polo 
 — commonly called Messer Millione from his exaggerating 
 tendencies — got into general circulation. Soon, there was 
 nothing prodigious or monstrous, partially founded on fact 
 or wholly fabricated, from Morocco to China, that was un- 
 recorded in this comprehensive poem. Thus, the authentic 
 narrative of the wars of Charles, essentially calculated to 
 
MEDIEVAL POETRY. 177 
 
 form the subject-matter of an epic, was in process of time 
 shifted from its rightful ground, and made the vehicle of 
 unbridled imagination. It assumes this form in Ariosto, and 
 some others who preceded or followed him ; when the poet, 
 sure of the magic of his diction and imagery, himself breaks 
 through the illusion of his verse, by means of studied excess, 
 gratuitous disorder, and the winged conceptions of his wit. 
 
 LECTUEE VIII. 
 
 Third set of chivalrous Poems. — Arthur and the 
 Round Table. — Influence of the Crusades and of 
 the East on the poesy of the West. — Arabic 
 Song. — The Persian Epic op Eerdusi. — Last com- 
 pilation of the Nibelungen-Lied. — Wolfram von 
 eschenbach. — keal import of grothic architec- 
 TURE.— Later chivalrous poetry. — The Cid. 
 
 The subjects celebrated in mediaeval chivalrous poetry are 
 especially selected from three different groups of fabulous 
 history. To the first of these belong such legends as are 
 immediately connected with G-othic, Prankish, and Burgun- 
 dian warriors of the period of national migration. It is of 
 their praises that the Nibelun gen-lied treats, as also the so- 
 called hero-book, which is a collection of fragmentary pieces. 
 These heroic legends have, for the most part, some historical 
 foundation : they breathe the northern spirit, they consti- 
 tuted fruitful themes for Scandinavian minstrelsy, and are 
 eminently suggestive of paganism and the old German my- 
 thology. Charlemagne formed the second great topic of 
 chivalrous poesy : especially his wars with the Arabs, the 
 battle of Roncesvalles, and the famous exploits of his assem- 
 bled chiefs. Narrative of this sort was not long in deviating 
 from the track of genuine history : the activity of the hero 
 was soon changed into the supine indolence of an oriental 
 despot. This view may have been somewhat influenced by 
 the circumstance that the Normans, the chief cultivators of 
 
178 
 
 AETHTJE A!N T D THE ROUSD TABLE. 
 
 this species of poetry, were accustomed to regard Charles, in 
 the midst of all his renown, as similarly situated to the 
 apathetic monarchs of France in their own time. But, 
 whatever the cause may have been, the fact remains, that 
 descriptions of this prince gradually gained so great an ac- 
 cession of comic humour as completely to overshadow the 
 element of reality they contained, until they eventually de- 
 generated into mere play of fancy, as is seen in Ariosto. 
 This was not entirely the case with the third series of 
 chivalrous poesy, including the story of British Arthur and 
 his Hound Table. Here, too, the purely historical portion 
 of the narrative was enriched with strange and marvellous 
 additions afforded by the Crusades, and even farthest India 
 was brought within the sphere of poetic representation. 
 The Arthur of history — a Christian king, of Celtic origin, in 
 Britain — and his contests with the early pagan leaders of 
 the Saxons, would have constituted too meagre a theme for 
 descriptive song, without extraneous assistance. Destined 
 as it was to represent the ideal of perfect chivalry, this poem 
 was embellished with all the imagery of gorgeous imagina- 
 , tion. With it were connected descriptions of the relations 
 of love to chivalrous adventure. The most distinguished lay 
 of this set partakes of the elegiac character, as may be 
 gathered from its very name of Tristram. This plaintive 
 elegiac tinge is exceedingly becoming to representations of 
 this nature : both because of the striking antithesis obtain- 
 ing between external life and the inward consciousness of 
 the transitory evanescent charms of youth, which, in most 
 cases, leaves an impress of melancholy : as also of the im- 
 possibility of completely satisfying the aspirations of loftier 
 humanity. The poetic atmosphere of knightly manners and 
 deeds, with which the destiny of love is here associated, is 
 throughout beautifying and ennobling. The representations 
 of modern times, depicted in the stern reality of the present 
 moment, resort in vain to psychological refinements and to 
 a knowledge of life and manners to make up for the defect 
 of poetic power. The world and its inhabitants cannot be 
 known from books. It is, indeed, the province of poetry to 
 arouse in the yet untutored bosom a presentiment of feel- 
 ings, which are already a natural poetry, and to re-awaken 
 those sensations in hearts which have before experienced 
 
 
Cty^M. 1 J f^ 
 
 ST. GKAAL. 179 
 
 them : whilst it is her proud prerogative by a magical power, 
 not to ennoble these feelings, but to preserve them in their 
 natural element of Beauty. Of the longer chivalrous love- 
 epics of the middle ages, Tristram is held in the highest 
 repute by all nations : whilst, in order to guard against the 
 risk of monotony, Launcelot, a personification of genial hu- I 
 mour, was added as a companion to the more pensive lay. 
 
 There was yet another purpose to which the story of 
 Arthur and the Round Table was made subservient. It 
 was not only intended to express the essence of knightly 
 virtue, but also to embody the conception of a spiritual 
 knighthood that, true to solemn vows and unscathed in the 
 midst of a severe ordeal, had surmounted the successive 
 steps of the l adder of perfectio n. This did not, however, 
 prevent poetry from unfolding her rich profusion of match- 
 less charms in depicting varied dangers by flood and field, of 
 War and of Love, both in the East and the West. The 
 name of St. Grraal designates an entire series of chivalrous 
 poems allegorically devised, of which the proposed aim is to 
 point out the method by means of which the hero is to 
 render himself more worthy of the secrets and relics to be 
 entrusted to his keeping. But certain indications would 
 lead us to infer that these poems were not destined merely 
 to represent the ideal of spiritual knighthood, as it flourished 
 in that age of foremost orders : but was likewise meant to 
 express some of the symbolical conceptions and traditions 
 entertained by a few of these orders, especially the Tem- 
 plars. This point is, to some extent, fraught with historical 
 significancy. Lessing was the first to take notice of this 
 circumstance, as far as I am aware : and his opinion, owing 
 to the extent of his researches, is entitled to our respectful 
 consideration. Competent judges of these matters, on an 
 attentive perusal of the older poems, will undoubtedly coin- 
 cide with his views. The French Romaunts of St. Grraal 
 bear unmistakeable traces of the fact, and their presence is, 
 if possible, still more incontestable in the artistic German 
 compilation. 
 
 We have seen, then, that Arthur and the Eound Table, 
 constituting the third series of fabulous chivalric poesy, 
 bears a peculiarly allegorical character. These three, namely 
 the Nibelungen, the exploits of Charlemagne, and the ad*- 
 
180 THE CRUSADES. 
 
 ventures of the Eound Table, formed the leading subjects of 
 mediaeval poesy : around these numerous other fictions 
 gathered as around a common centre. It now remains for 
 us to consider the varied manifestations of the genius of 
 chivalrous poetry, as indeed of chivalry itself, that obtained 
 in the principal countries of Europe ; also its duration, and 
 the several modes in which this poetry became extinct, 
 having in no instance attained to the full maturity of vigour 
 and artistic excellence of which it was unquestionably suscep- 
 tible. However, it will first be necessary to give a short 
 sketch of the influence of the Crusades on the poetry of 
 the West, and also to allude to the connexion which the 
 Eastern muse had with that event. 
 
 One of the especial effects of the Crusades, was to arouse 
 the imagination on contemplating so stupendous an under- 
 taking. The achievements of Godfrey of Bouillon were 
 celebrated in the self-same age in which he lived : they 
 needed not the mystery of antiquity to render them poetical. 
 And yet minstrels were found who preferred the fabulous 
 tales respecting Charlemagne, and those of the Round Table, 
 chiefly because they afforded a wider scope to the imagina- 
 tive faculty. 
 
 The influence that oriental poetry exercised on Europe 
 by means of the Crusades, fall short of what is usually 
 supposed : so much of it as is real belongs, for the most part, 
 though not exclusively, to the Persians and not the Arabs. 
 Of the several poetical works of the East claiming our 
 notice, there are two which chiefly serve to express this in- 
 fluence, and mark the spirit that was thus transmitted to 
 Europe, or was originally akin to the genius of the north. 
 These are the popular collection of Arabic tales, known as 
 the ''Thousand and one nights," with which we are all 
 familiar : and the Persian epics of Ferdusi, who has been 
 called at one time the Homer, and at another the Ariosto, of 
 the East. 
 
 The older poetry of the Arabs, before Mahomet, consisted, 
 so far as we know, of lyric hero-songs, in which, without any 
 reference to mythology, martial achievements and feelings of 
 love were celebrated with the glories of some hero and his 
 race. All that tended to exalt a favourite clan, or to de- 
 preciate its rivals, was fearlessly and unreservedly stated. 
 
AEABTAN POETRY. 131 
 
 Here and there, praises are interspersed with moral maxims 
 and ingenious conceits, such as are congenial to oriental 
 tastes. Mythology proper, or a digest of notions relating to 
 supernatural beings engaged in contest with each other, 
 similar to the creations of the Greeks, the Persians, and the 
 nations of the north, are nowhere found in early Arabic 
 poetry. It is of so local a character as scarcely to admit of 
 being transplanted ; indeed, a certain degree of acquaintance 
 with Arab life is absolutely necessary if we desire to appre- 
 ciate, or even thoroughly understand their poetry. The 
 absence of a peculiar mythology, and the restricted purpose 
 of the song to celebrate the praises of some Arab clan, sug- 
 gest a comparison with the strains of Ossian.* Only, that 
 in the latter, a pensive elegiac tone is chiefly conspicuous : 
 in unison with the feelings incident to a declining race, or 
 the inhabitants of a region enveloped in mist, belted with 
 the angry waves of the north sea, under the canopy of a 
 murky sky. "Whilst in the Arab verse, a proud, animated, 
 and daring spirit prevails, the utterance, as it were, of a 
 conquering people, and suited to the temper of a southern 
 clime. Warlike and defiant sentiments, expressed in the 
 tone of conscious triumph, are throughout apparent. Min- 
 strelsy like this is of necessity, purely local, and flourishes 
 only on its native soil. On the other hand, the strains of 
 mythological heroic legend easily pass from one nation to 
 another, and everywhere exhibit traits of close affinity. 
 
 Mythological poetry was essentially foreign to the early 
 genius of the Arabs. It is related of one of the contempora- 
 ries of Mahomet that he introduced the Persian legends of 
 Isfendiar and some other adventurous knights into Mecca, 
 as a striking novelty, but was soon rebuked by his popular 
 
 * " Fingal," is come out a brave collection of similes, and 
 
 •will 6erve all the boys at Eton and Westminster for these twenty years. 
 I will trust you with a secret, but you must not disclose it; I should be 
 ruined with my Scotch friends; I cannot believe it genuine ; I can- 
 not believe a regular poem of six books has been preserved, uncorrupted, 
 by oral tradition, from times before Christianity was introduced into the 
 island. What ! preserved unadulterated by savages dispersed among" moun- 
 tains, and so often driven from their dens, so wasted by wars civil and 
 foreign ! Has one man ever got all by heart ? I doubt it ; were parts 
 
 preserved by some, other parts by others. Mighty lucky " — Horace 
 
 Walpole's Lett, (clxi.) — Transl. note. 
 
182 PERSIAN POETRY. 
 
 chief, who feared that their popularity would injure his own 
 poetry and his own projects. 
 
 This eager fondness for the exuberant fancy of Persian 
 poetry was abundantly evinced by the Arabs when they held 
 dominion over Asia. The " Thousand and one nights," 
 already referred to, giving obvious proof of this. The critics 
 of oriental literature are agreed in ascribing the more won- 
 derful and fairy portions of these charming stories to Persian 
 if not Hindoo origin. "We are as yet ignorant as to whether 
 the Arabs possessed any indigenous chivalric poesy other 
 than the panegyric hero-verse which has been briefly sketched 
 above. But even though some strange production of this 
 sort were at any time discovered, such a circumstance would 
 not naturally invalidate the general proposition. 
 
 Elfin-sprites, mountain-goblins, mermaids, giants, dwarfs, 
 dragons, and all the apparatus of fanciful creation, consti- 
 tuted the principal machinery of northern mythology long 
 before the period of the Crusades. These were not borrowed, 
 but bore marks of primeval kindred with Persian demono- 
 logy. The soft fairy forms of the south, and oriental gor- 
 geousness of colouring, were all that accrued to the West 
 from an acquaintance with the East. But another remarka- 
 ble point of agreement is yet to be mentioned. Considera- 
 ble mythological importance is attached to the great Persian 
 epic, in which the Bard — who flourished about the tenth 
 century of our era —collected the various legends of his 
 country's warriors and monarchs. He celebrated them in 
 the richest glow of the language of that time, and the purity 
 of his diction, together with his vivid fancy, earned for him 
 the epithet of" Paradisaic." The splendour of Dschemschid, 
 a hero who embodies in his own person all the perfection 
 and excellence of sublunary greatness, inaugurates this fic- 
 tion, as the golden age of Persia's ancient glory, and of the 
 whole Asiatic world. But when, after centuries of renown, 
 that Sun of Righteousness sets, and the monarch abandons 
 himself to pride and arrogance, the land of light is given over 
 as a prey to the powers of darkness. The combat between 
 Iran and Turan, the holy domain of light and the wild 
 region of darkness, now become the centre around which all 
 future poetry revolves. The victory of the noble Feridun 
 over the malignant Zohak, and his fruitless contest with the 
 
PEESIAN POETJiY. 183 
 
 fiend-like Afrasiab ; the universal dominion of the latter, and 
 the gloom that shrouds the whole empire ; the advent of 
 liustan and his successful opposition to lawless violence, 
 until King Chosru eventually terminates the career of Afra- 
 siab's guilt and establishes an historical dynasty : all these 
 are fictions embodying, in the form of heroic legend, the con- 
 ceptions of a fierce struggle between light and darkness, such 
 as the ancient Persians loved to contemplate. All their 
 other poetry breathes a similar spirit, and expresses a like re- 
 ference. Most of the Christian poems, dating from the 
 middle ages, are based on a corresponding contest be- 
 tween good and evil, light and darkness, an antithesis, by the 
 bye, to which the Greeks were strangers. Christianity 
 differs from the Persian principles of eternal contention 
 between good and evil, only in so far as this system is ex- 
 tended to the sphere of the Divinity himself, and as the 
 existence of two independent radical powers is assumed. 
 But this distinction appertains, after all, rather to the 
 domains of metaphysics. In the physical, as in the moral 
 world, in nature as in man, Christianity recognizes the 
 contrast of good and evil, the perpetual struggle of light 
 and darkness : and this antithesis is apparent throughout 
 the whole of Christian representation, poesy, and allegory. 
 However this resemblance originated : whether in a simila- 
 rity of the process of reasoning, or in the fact of blind and 
 obsequious adherence to a beaten track, the inference is pre- 
 cisely the same, and we cannot fail to see the links that con- 
 nected the imaginative faculties of remote nations. 
 
 The later romantic fictions of Persia, — Meschnun and 
 Leila, Chosru and Schirin — in their character of chivalric 
 love-epics, a species unknown to the muse of ancient times, 
 still remind us of mediaeval poetry. Yet the wild luxuriance 
 and lavish prodigality of imagery, common in the East, are 
 altogether at variance with AVestern tastes, whilst the senti- 
 ments of love and morality are depicted in a manner still 
 more foreign to the genius of European customs. 
 
 On comparing the French fabliaux and tales with Arabic 
 stories, it will appear that many legends of the kind were 
 brought to Europe, from the East, probably by the oral 
 narration of the Crusaders. This conjecture, moreover, 
 receives confirmation from occasional variations in details, 
 
 £jrU 
 
 Aj/M 
 
184 EASTEBN LEGENDS. 
 
 as also from the peculiar shape in which some of these nar- 
 ratives appear. The influence exercised may, at the same 
 time, have been mutual, and it is not impossible that, here 
 and there, a novel might have passed over to the Arabs, II 
 from the West, during a period of frequent and prolonged j 
 intercourse between oriental and occidental nations. No 
 complete or connected epic seems to have been borrowed by 
 Europeans from any Eastern source ; for even the fabulous 
 history of Alexander, which afforded the Persians, too, subject- 
 matter for a romantic epic, was taken from some Greek 
 chronicle for the purpose of being remodelled into chivalric 
 poetry. The legends of the ancients having reference to 
 Trojan adventures, were likewise drawn from later popular 
 books, by no means from any of the great poets. Our own 
 age, so rich in historical lore, the first in every kind of imi- 
 tation, can afford to look down with a certain degree of 
 pride, if not of self-complacency, on such clumsy and childish 
 efforts as Trojan and other chivalrous legends of the middle 
 ages breathing the spirit of the antique. But with all these 
 acknowledged deficiencies, the period referred to had certain 
 compensating advantages, and it is not difficult to under- 
 stand by what means those Grecian hero-legends rivetted the 
 attention and the admiring sympathy of people in that age. 
 It was the heroic-age of Christendom, and in those Greek 
 legends there was many a feature calculated to suggest re- 
 miniscences of chivalry. Tancred and Richard, with their 
 minstrels and troubadours, in many respects resembled 
 Achilles, Hector, and the Trojan rhapsodists much more than 
 did the captains and bards of later and more cultivated 
 times. Eor the same reason, Alexander's exploits were 
 selected as a theme for minstrelsy to hallow, since, of all 
 historical subjects, without any fabulous additions, they were 
 best adapted to the constitution of an epic from the strange 
 and poetical accompaniments associated with the career of 
 that conqueror. 
 
 On the whole, the general intercourse existing between 
 diverse nations at this time, and not without effect on the 
 several peoples of the West, was peculiarly favourable to the 
 interchange of fiction, characteristic of different races and 
 lan3s. So chaotic was the mixture resulting from this pro- 
 cess that, in the sequel, some of the leading native traditions 
 
THE OLD GERMAN MINSTRELSY. 185 
 
 of Europe resolved themselves into a mere play of the fancy, 
 and were detached from all historical connection. 
 
 There is but one general standard of criticism for the 
 great mass of romantic poetry, which, at this time, was either 
 limited to some one of the principal sets of mediaeval story, 
 or, if independent of these, was founded on veritable fact. 
 Their value is so much the higher in proportion as they rest I 
 on a historical foundation, and have a national import and ) 
 character ; in proportion also as they exhiBTt the wonder- 
 ful in poetry, and the free play of the imagination in an un- 
 constrained and natural manner, and especially if they 
 express the spirit of love. I do not mean merely a mild, mo- 
 derate, and as it were loving treatment of everything that is 
 represented, but rather the spirit which especially distin- 
 guishes all Christian poetry ; even where the nature of the 
 subject, or the intention of the poet requires a tragical result, 
 it is never with the simple feeling of destruction, ruin, or 
 inevitable fate ; but rather a new higher life in a glorified 
 form is called forth from suffering and death, and the 
 earthly victim, after succumbing to sorrow, is represented 
 when the conflict is over, as adorned by a crown of victory 
 in the upper world. 
 
 Let us cast another glance at the further development of 
 chivalric poetry, or its early decline among the foremost 
 European nations down to the time of the Reformation : 
 beginning with Germany, whose literature in this respect and 
 at this period, if not intrinsically the richest is at least the 
 most fully known ; and ending with Italy, in which country 
 the spirit of chivalry seems never to have had much domi- 
 nion or impression, and whose poesy very early evinced a 
 decided leaning to the form and manner of the antique. 
 
 The actual commencement of the bloom of the old Ger- 
 man minstrelsy dates from the reign of the Emperor Erede- 
 rick the Eirst, in the twelfth century. In the first portion 
 of the fourteenth century the beauty of its early blossom 
 had passed away : from this time, down to the Emperor 
 Maximilian, poetry and the language generally continued to 
 be treated after a manner apparently similar, though not 
 really so. Increasing pains were bestowed on the cultiva- 
 tion of prose, whilst verse as an art was neglected, poetic 
 language gradually deteriorated and hardened, it passed on 
 
186 REVIVAL OP THE GERMAN LANGUAGE. 
 
 to slow degeneracy till the commencement of the sixteenth 
 century, when, simultaneously with the universal shaking of 
 ideas, the instrument of thought, too, underwent a complete 
 change. A barrier, as it were visible, separated and denned 
 the limits of art in the two respective epochs. Before Bar- 
 barossa's time the high degree of culture to which Germany 
 had attained, and that eminently distinguished her under the 
 Saxon and early Prankish emperors, would appear to have 
 been of a Latin rather than a purely German cast. The 
 imperial Court and all that was connected with it was sensi- 
 bly impressed with this stamp. The centralization of power 
 from which emanated decrees affecting, not only the whole 
 of Germany, but likewise one half of Italy, Lotharingia in 
 great part Romanic, Burgundy all but completely so, and 
 which swayed the destinies of numerous petty states, could 
 not have been maintained in full efficiency had any other 
 idiom than Latin been adopted. Hence too those emperors 
 who were for long periods absent from Germany composed 
 in Latin, as for instance some members of the House of 
 Hohenstaufen, though there were others who made use of 
 their own German tongue. But the same reasons that con- 
 trolled state-action also influenced the commercial policy of 
 Germany : the two principal dialects of the Slavonic and the 
 indigenous idiom, namely north and south German, Saxon 
 and Alemannic, not then coalescing as they subsequently did, 
 but constituting two widely differing languages. The revival 
 of the German language under Frederick the First appears to 
 me not so much due to any private personal exertions he 
 himself made in its behalf, as to the circumstance that there 
 were several princes at this time, whose dominions though 
 not extensive enough to demand the exclusive attention of 
 administration, yet sufficed to secure the independence of 
 their lords, who thus had leisure to indulge their literary 
 tastes. To the courts of Thuringia's Landgraves and of the 
 Austrian Babenbergers collected together an assemblage of 
 poets and minstrels from various quarters. The extant form of 
 the Nibelungen-lied doubtless emanated from some poet resi- 
 dent in Austria. For the country and residence of the poet 
 are indicated not only by great accuracy of local knowledge, 
 but also by a manifest desire to dwell upon and oxtol Austrian 
 greatness. The Margrave Rudiger, a popular hero of the 
 country, is mentioned not without some violence to chrono- 
 
THE STIBELTJtfGEN-LIED. 187 
 
 logy.* The same circumstance may have favourably influ- 
 enced the descriptions of Attila : for in Hungary, closely allied 
 as it was with Austria, legends relating to Attila were still 
 fresh in the memory of many : he was revered as a national 
 hero, and regarded by all classes with a more than common 
 predilection. When Kudiger reminds Chriemhild, on her 
 hesitating to accept a pagan husband, that many Christian 
 knights and lords were assembled at the Court of Attila, he 
 does so in strict accordance with historic truth. f Another 
 passage is somewhat more startling, in which the mode of life 
 at that Court is represented to have been partly of a Chris- 
 tian and partly of a pagan character : and where it is said 
 that Attila rewarded each according to his deserts and the 
 measure of his life and deeds. Thus poetry arbitrarily 
 changed the character of Attila, the ruthless conqueror, into 
 that of a gentle magnanimous ruler resembling the Chris- 
 tian emperors ; whilst she represented Charlemagne, the 
 most energetic of autocrats, as an indolent monarch who 
 accomplishes nothing. 
 
 The period at which the Nibelungen-lied was last com- 
 piled may, in all likelihood, be fixed in the reign of Leopold 
 the Glorious, the last but one of the line of Babenberg.^ 
 And since the composer of such a work could not well have 
 been an obscure personage, if we Were inclined to point to 
 some one name as the probable author, Henry of Ofterdin- 
 gen, born in Thuringia but settled in the Austrian domi- 
 nions, might be mentioned. But whatsoever our opinion 
 on this head may be, now that so noble a poem has been the 
 subject of paraphrase and comment, and like the Homeric 
 songs, been taken in hand by a numerous tribe of critics and 
 poetasters : it is tolerably clear that it did not result from a 
 mere collection of fragmentary legends, but in its present 
 form, was the production of some eminent master of lyric 
 art, who, by the magic of his verse and the skilful combina- 
 
 * There is a considerable interval between the two periods. — Transit, 
 note. 
 
 f Mr. Lockhart is in error in supposing- Chriemhild io have been of the 
 male sex : she was the wife o? Siegfried, and is sometimes called Gud- 
 run. — Transl. note. 
 
 % The house of Babenberg derived from the Frankish kings, and was 
 noted for the number of its illustrious scions. Besides Leopold the 
 Glorious, the scourge of rebellious races, Duke Albert, too, proved him- 
 self not unworthy of his high lineage. — Transl. note. 
 
188 THE NIBELUNGEN-LIED. 
 
 tion of his materials, has produced a work far surpassing all 
 others of the same kind in that age. 
 
 This poem excels all its contemporaries not merely in the 
 picturesque genius of its diction, the tasteful grouping of its 
 subjects, but also in the uniform regularity of its arrange- 
 ment. The conclusion is almost dramatically perfect : it is 
 divided into six books, these in their turn are subdivided 
 into lesser portions or cantos, like so many rhapsodies suit- 
 able to the minstrel's art. The bard has faithfully adhered 
 to the sources whence he drew his inspiration, for with the 
 exception of individualities, few actual traces of the Crusades 
 are observable throughout the work : if there be any such 
 vestiges, they are isolated, and by no means generally cha- 
 racteristic of the spirit which was impressed on most, if not 
 all, of the compositions of that time. 
 
 The influence of the Crusades and of other expeditions to 
 the East, necessarily so acceptable to the bards of the period, 
 is much more visible in many portions of the Hero-hook, 
 which are very unequal in value. 
 
 Of the remaining poems of chivalry, those relatiug to 
 Charlemagne were most probably the first to appear in a 
 German form, but subsequently Arthur and the Round 
 Table became a prodigious favourite. Were I inclined to 
 pass a general verdict on the merits of this old G-erman 
 poetry, of chivalrous and romantic contents, or to describe 
 what might have been desiderated, I would say that in its 
 essential spirit and tone it too nearly resembles the Minne- 
 lieder. The perfection of chivalric poesy would, in my 
 opinion, consist in these two points : a thorough identifica- 
 tion with the spirit of national legend, and an heroic ener- 
 getic vigour almost equal to that of an epic, coupled, in those 
 passages that more immediately appeal to the feelings with a 
 tenderness such as pervades the Minne-lieder. And if Chris- 
 tian allegory lent the charms of her poetic beauty to the whole, 
 there would be a desirable accession of calm and transparent 
 depth. I will not now stop to consider whether this ideal 
 standard of perfection has been reached by any of the roman- 
 tic poets of Italy, England, or Germany. Torquato Tasso 
 appears to have approached nearest to it. A few German 
 versions of stories of that age, especially Tristram, are still 
 extant in musical rhythm and elegant tenderness of expres- 
 sion ; they altogether breathe the spirit of the Minne-lieder. 
 
WOI/PEAM YON ESCHENBACII. 189 
 
 "Wolfram von Eschenbach* was, upon the whole, the most 
 artistic German bard of this period: he selected from the 
 story of King Arthur such portions as contained manifest 
 allegory, and an allusion to spiritual chivalry : especially 
 those symbolical traditions relating to the Templars, to 
 which I have referred above. In his own age, Wolfram was 
 equally celebrated, throughout the whole of Germany, with 
 Dante, to whom he may justly be compared, both on account 
 of their common partiality for allegory, and a fondness for 
 parading that erudition in which they certainly excelled all 
 contemporary minstrels. He may be compared to Ariosto 
 in regard to his oriental fulness of detail and gorgeousness 
 of colouring. Old poems, in this respect, resemble old paint- 
 ings or other works of art ; it often happens that when first 
 these are rescued from the dust of ages, their great value is 
 not thoroughly, if at all, appreciated, but when they have 
 undergone a process of restoration, their excellence is patent 
 to all eyes. Comparison can rarely, in full justice, be insti- 
 tuted between poets who flourished in different ages and in 
 the midst of different nations, inasmuch as each constitutes 
 a distinct and separate existence. I therefore prefer adopt- 
 ing another mode of comparison. In the sublime simplicity 
 of jdea, as also in the peculiar style of decoration, that cha- 
 racterize these poems, they bear a striking resemblance to 
 the monuments of Gothic art, which still impress the be- 
 holder with mixed feelings of astonishment and admiration. 
 The resemblance is further increased by the circumstance 
 that Gothic architecture, like chivalrous poesy, remained, to 
 a certain extent, an Idea, never being fully developed into 
 practical application. Isolated, imperfect, or decaying struc- 
 tures, afford but little insight into their plan or their figura- 
 tive signification to any one unacquainted with the leading 
 types of Gothic art, and ignorant of the ideas it embodies. 
 The real mediaeval, more especially that of Germany, is no- 
 where so thoroughly expressed as in the memorials of this 
 architectural style, erroneously called Gothic ; the origin of 
 which, as also its progressive features, may, to this day, be 
 said to be lost in obscurity and doubt. The misnomer is 
 
 * Sometimes called Eschilbuch, he lived in the early part of the 13th 
 century. — Transl. note. 
 
190 MEDIJEYAL AECH1TECTURE. 
 
 now generally admitted, and it is commonly understood that 
 this mediaeval style of architecture did not originate with 
 the Goths, but sprung up at a later date, and speedily 
 attained its full maturity without exhibiting various grada- 
 tions of formation. I allude to that style of Christian art 
 which is distinguished by its lofty vaults and arches, its pillars 
 which resemble bundles of reeds, and general profusion of 
 ornament modelled after leaf and flower : tofally unlike the 
 older species of art copied from the modern Greek structure 
 of St. Sophia's, Constantinople. There is very little, if any, 
 of the Moorish element in this style: whilst edifices, unde- 
 niably Moorish, scattered throughout Sicily and Spain, are 
 of a "totally different stamp. In the East too, so-called 
 Gothic structures abound : but built by Christians, being 
 for the most part castles and churches of the Templars and 
 the Knights of St. John. The period during which this 
 peculiar architecture flourished may be said to include the 
 twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, Germany 
 was, doubtless, its more immediate home ; and, in accordance 
 with its principles, German artists built the cathedral at 
 Milan, to the no small astonishment of Italians at that 
 time. But its adoption was, by no means, confined to Ger- 
 many or the German Netherlands, but diffused over exten- 
 sive districts of England, and the north-west of France. 
 We are altogether unacquainted with the real originators of 
 these architectural principles : they could scarcely have 
 been conceived from the designs of one individual master, or 
 his name would, most probably, have been recorded. It is 
 more likely to suppose that the design emanated from some 
 artistic association, closely allied and confederated, in differ- 
 ent countries. But whoever the originators, it is evident 
 that their intention was not merely to pile up huge stone 
 edifices, but to embody certain ideas. How excellent soever 
 the style of a building may be, if it convey no meaning, 
 express no sentiment, it cannot strictly be considered a 
 creation of Art : for it must be remembered that this, at 
 once the most ancient and sublime of creative arts, cannot 
 directly stimulate the feelings by means of actual appeal or 
 faculty of representation. Its broad import alone, then, 
 enables it to become the exponent of a certain class of sen- 
 timents, to arouse the pathos of noble natures. Hence, 
 
 (tmk : 
 
HEDI2EYAL ARCHITECTURE. 191 
 
 architecture generally bears a symbolical hidden meaning, 
 whilst the Christian architecture of mediaeval Germany does 
 so in an eminent and especial degree. First and foremost, 
 there is the expression of devotional thought towering 
 boldly aloft, from this lowly earth, towards the azure skies 
 and an omnipotent God. Such is, at least, the impression, 
 though it may not, in all cases, resolve itself into distinct 
 sentiment, on beholding the sublimity of those vaulted 
 arches and those fluted columns. The whole plan is indeed 
 replete with symbols of deep significance, traced and illus- 
 trated, in a remarkable manner, in the records of the period. 
 The altar pointed Eastward : the three principal entrances 
 expressed the conflux of worshippers gathered together from 
 all quarters of the globe. The three steeples corresponded 
 to the Christian Trinity. The Quire arose like a temple 
 within the Temple on an increased scale of elevation. The 
 form of the Cross had been of early establishment in 
 the Christian Church : not accidentally, as has been conjec- 
 tured by some, but with a view to completeness, a consti- 
 tuent part of the whole. From the first, Christian archi- 
 tecture avoided the use of rounded pillars, but since the 
 combination of three or four shafts was not in unison with 
 the laws of artistic beauty, the graceful tubular form, so 
 rich in its simplicity, was adopted. The rose will be found -f? -, 
 to constitute the radical element of all decoration in this 
 architectural style : from it the peculiar shape of window, ' 
 door, and steeple is mainly derived, in their manifold variety 
 of foliated tracery. The cross and the rose are, then, the ^ 
 chief symbols of this mystic art. On the whole, what is ( 
 sought to be conveyed is the stupendous Idea of Eternity, 
 the earnest thought of Death, the death of this world, 
 wreathed in the lovely fulness of an endless blooming life in 
 the world that is to come. 
 
 I have thus wished to shew, in passing, by an example, to 
 how great an extent some of the phenomena of the middle 
 ages still stand in need of comment and explanation : not- 
 withstanding that ordinary critics are in the habit of indis- 
 criminately rejecting much, of which they know neither the 
 origin nor the real import. 
 
 The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries witnessed a leaning, 
 in German poetry, to the moral didactic species, partly alie- 
 
192 BEIKEKE FTJCHS. 
 
 gorical, partly satirical in character. The fabulous story of 
 Ileinehe Fuchs may be cited as a fair example of this style 
 of composition : in which a facetious description is given of 
 the world as it then was constituted, how among citizens 
 and knights, populace and monarchs, the honest man fared 
 the worst, and how, among the lower animals, the wily fox 
 carried off the victory, along with fortune, honour, and do- 
 minion. If chivalric minstrelsy had gradually drawn nearer 
 to the regions of fancy till, at last, it completely lost sight 
 of its historic home, the opposite extreme was now resorted 
 to, of compiling detailed metrical chronicles. Thus au effec- 
 tual barrier was set up between the two constituent elements 
 of genuine epic verse. The two last chivalrous efforts, dating 
 from the period of older poesy, of any importance, were pub- 
 lished, and one of them probably composed in part, by the 
 emperor Maximilian — Theuerdank and Weisskunig. They 
 are of the essence of chivalric poetry, if judged by the spirit that 
 pervades them, and therefore valuable : whilst the garb in 
 which they are clad — half history, half allegory — is anything 
 but happy or fitting, being rather a clog upon that noble 
 freedom which may with truth be styled the last lingering 
 relic of the fine old German spirit. 
 
 In France, as in England, whilst the spirit of chivalry 
 continued to exert an influence on society, yet its poetry de- 
 clined at an early period, before it had attained to any thing 
 approaching to artistic development. In France this species 
 of verse speedily resolved itself into prose, and long tedious 
 chivalric chronicles were substituted for the living strains of 
 the older poetry. The change was not quite so unfavourable 
 in England, inasmuch as, here and there, poetic chords still 
 vibrated with the melodies of the olden time, embodied in 
 romance and ballad. A few French romances, too, are ex- 
 tant, possessing a certain degree of pathetic tenderness ; 
 yet, they cannot for a moment compare with the rich tones 
 of English and, especially, Scotch ballads ; any more than the 
 Minne-lieder of north-France can vie with the Provence 
 minstrelsy. Of the genuine poets who flourished during the 
 older French period, Thibault, Count of Champagne and King 
 of Navarre, deserves a high, if not the foremost, position. 
 The fictitious histories of Charlemagne and the Round Table 
 were first rendered from Latin into French; and orally per- 
 
THE E0JIANCE OF THE ROSE. 
 
 193 
 
 petuated in the lays and legends of that language. But we 
 cannot well separate the two countries — 1 ranee and England 
 — in detailing the literature of this period. When the 
 Minne-lieder nourished, Provence was a fief of the German 
 empire,and under the seignioralty of Burgundy ; from the very 
 time that Frederic Barbarossa enfeoffed Count Berengar, 
 the palmy period of the Minne-iied and of intellectual cul- 
 ture generally dates in Provence, separated from the rest 
 of Prance by a different idiom and mode of government. 
 On the other hand, the northern and eastern provinces were, 
 for the most part, subject to English rule : hence a material 
 share in promoting the development of mediaeval chivalry and 
 poesy is attributable not to the inhabitants of Prance exclu- 
 sively, but to the .Normans iu England as well as Prance. 
 
 The well-known Romance of the Bose, famous and dis- 
 tinguished as it was, scarcely permits us to entertain any 
 lofty notion of the early progress of the language. French 
 literature of the fourteenth century does not present any 
 very attractive aspect : chronicles of chivalry were indeed 
 extensively multiplied, but, as far as we are enabled to judge, 
 the language of the age was by no means comparable to 
 either the prose or poetry of Spain and Italy, in point of 
 finished culture or forcible expression. The perfected form 
 of the French idiom was reserved for a more later time. In 
 this respect England likewise advanced but slowly : for even 
 Chaucer, whose talents and attainments were so distinguished 
 that he may be taken as a fair standard for the language of 
 the period, had effected great improvements. It is, per- 
 haps, owing to the terrible wars that England waged against 
 France in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, as also the 
 sanguinary feuds of York and Lancaster, that a happier de- 
 velopment both of language and of poetry was so long re- 
 tarded in both these countries : moreover, it is not impro- 
 bable that much has been lost which deserved to be known. 
 But, judging from what remains, the actual literary wealth 
 of France and England may be said to consist in Romances* I 
 more especially fabliaux and short tales and novels : from ' 
 these same sources Boccacio often drew his fictions, but 
 he requited the obligation by flinging around tliem a pro- 
 fusion of charms and arraying them in fresh grace and attrac- 
 tiveness. 
 
194 TRENCH HISTORICAL MEMOIRS. 
 
 It is worthy of observation in how peculiar a manner 
 French literature at this period justly claimed preference in 
 that particular department in which it has been so distin- 
 guished in more modern times. I allude to historical 
 memoirs of celebrated persons and their times ; a species of 
 composition arguing great powers of observation, coupled 
 with a lively facility of expression — the graphic features of 
 which give it a resemblance to romance. So early as the time 
 of St. Louis and his trusty companion the Sieur de Joinville, 
 this characteristic excellence of French literature, began the 
 development which it reached at a later period. 
 
 Spain has considerable advantages over many other nations, 
 in the possession of its historical epic, the Cid. It is this 
 species of poetic art that exerts the most powerful and lasting 
 influence on national feelings and character. A single monu- 
 ment, like that of the Cid, is more invaluable to a people 
 than whole libraries of genius and wit, without national asso- 
 ciations.* Even if it does not carry us back to the eleventh 
 century, as is maintained by some, yet the spirit that marks 
 this epic throughout proves its composition to have been 
 antecedent to the Crusades. There is no trace of oriental 
 tastes, or inclination to fable and the marvellous. The 
 single-minded and true-hearted old Castilian spirit is every 
 where apparent : it is, undoubtedly, the genuine history of 
 the Cid, related not long after the occurrences it commemo- 
 rates took place, the whole arranged as an historic epic. It has 
 before been remarked that heroic legend is, more especially 
 in the mythology of different nations, commonly associated 
 with elegiac, if not tragic, feeling and tone. But there is 
 
 * " How the old Spaniards should have come to be so much more wealthy 
 in this sort of possession than any of their neighbours, it is not very easy 
 to say. They had their taste for warlike song in common with all the 
 other members of the great Gothic family : and they had a fine climate, 
 affording-, of course, more leisure for amusement than could have been en- 
 joyed beneath the rougher sky of the north. The flexibility of their beau- 
 tiful language, and the extreme simplicity of the versification adopted in 
 their ballads, must, no doubt, have lightened the labour, and may have, 
 consequently, increased the number of their professional minstreW— Lock- 
 hart's Ancient Spanish Ballads. "With great deference to Mr. Lockhart's 
 opinions, it can scarcely be doubted that her frequent warfare with the 
 Moors and other invaders greatly influenced this department of the litera- 
 ture of Spain. — JYansl. note. 
 
POEM OP THE CID. 195 
 
 also another and less serious aspect of the heroic character, 
 occasionally depicted by the ancients. Thus, the unwieldy 
 strength of Hercules is sometimes described with comic 
 humour, and many of the adventures of Ulysses do not mate- 
 rerially differ from merry pranks. This ludicrous quality is 
 more prominent in the historical consideration of great 
 heroes and magnanimous characters. For though the re- 
 presentation of heroic bravery, and physical strength, be 
 strictly historical, yet the hero himself does not appear in 
 the poetic background of marvellous ages, but in the midst 
 of the realities of life ; the greater the contrast afforded by 
 his superiority to the circumstances, the exigencies, the dan- 
 gers that beset his path, the more scope is there for humorous 
 situations, which, without detracting from heroic grandeur, 
 invest it with an appearance of increased truth and pathos. 
 The Cid abounds in comic passages of this sort : as for in- 
 stance when Ruy Diaz, in his endeavours to replenish the 
 Exchequer for the purpose of meeting the demands of the 
 Moorish wars, has resource to fraudulent means, viz : depo- 
 siting a chest filled with stones, instead of gold, as security for 
 a loan advanced by a Jewish usurer. Again, the miracle that 
 took place — when some one was on the point of desecrating 
 the Cid's corpse, by attempting to pull his beard, and forth- 
 with his terrible sword, the scourge of Moorish hosts, all but 
 leaped out of its scabbard, to the dismay and discomfiture of 
 the would-be desecrator. These popular jests are, perhaps, 
 not altogether out of place in a poem of this period : 
 more delicate irony is couched in Donna Ximena's lamen- 
 tations over the protracted absence of her lord, addressed to 
 the king, and in the monarch's replies to her plaints. The 
 romances translated by Herder* are indisputably of later 
 date : yet they are impressed with the tone and character of 
 the older ballads, and, in the original, possess peculiar un- 
 affected grace, which has not been retained in the somewhat 
 careless version of their translator.f 
 
 * Herder's genius inclined to philosophy : the wonder is rather that so 
 studious a disciple of Kant should have done so much, rather than so lfttle, 
 in the domains of poetic translation. — Transl, note, 
 
 i To show from how different a point of view critics may regard the 
 same performance it is only necessary to quote Bouterwek's ideas of the 
 Cid, in his "Hist, of Span. Lit.," he says : — " The small portion of poeti- 
 
196 SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 The Spaniards have as rich a store of romance as the 
 English ; but the pre-eminence of the former consists in the 
 circumstance that they are not mere ballads in the more 
 restricted acceptation of the term, a large majority of them 
 being both devised and compiled in the epic form ; thus pre- 
 senting equal attractions to the illiterate and to the educated, 
 since they are at once national in feeling and elegant in 
 tone. The poetry of the people is invaluable as a record of 
 the glorious minstrelsy of the past, but it is not in accord- 
 ance with her design or with her destiny that Poetry instead 
 of quickening the energies of a collective nation, should 
 alone elicit the sympathies of the uneducated. Such iso- 
 lated fragmentary verse is apt to become more and more 
 unintelligible with the progress of centuries : and it is most 
 frequently found in those countries whose poetic feeling is 
 indeed strong, but whose legends and national associations 
 of every kind have sustained some violent concussion by 
 long continuance of civil wars or a general revolution in 
 systems of thought. 
 
 LECTUKE IX. 
 
 Italian Literature. — Medijeyal Allegory. — Christi- 
 anity and Poetry.— Dante, Petrarch, Boccacio. — 
 General character oe Italian poetry. — Latin yerse 
 oe modern times. — injurious ineluence oe the 
 same. — Old Roman systems oe polity. — Macchia- 
 velli. : — Important discoyeries of the eieteenth 
 
 CENTURY. 
 
 In the preceding Lectures I have endeavoured to give 
 a general sketch of several European nations — the Germans, 
 
 cal colouring- with which the dryness of the relation is occasionally re- 
 lieved, is the result of the chivalrous earnestness of the writer's tone, and 
 of a few happy traits in the description of some of the situations." This 
 hardly coincides with Lockhart, Dillon, Grimm, Southey, or Depping — 
 Transb note. 
 
EARLY ITALIAN" POETRY. 197 
 
 the French, the English, and the Spaniards — with especial 
 regard to their poetry and intellectual culture in the middle 
 ages on to the sixteenth century. The literature of the 
 Italians remains for our consideration, and I have purposely 
 reserved the examination of it until now, since it constitutes 
 the transition from mediaeval poetry to the comparatively 
 modern literature of later centuries : a period during which 
 Science and A.rt were not only revived but extended and im- 
 proved in a manifold degree. 
 
 The Elder Italian poetry is, on the one hand, in close 
 connexion with mediaeval philosophy, as in the allegorical 
 masterpiece of Dante : on the other, it was materially in- 
 fluenced by the types of antiquity, its artistic cultivation 
 being in intimate relation with the study of the dead 
 languages. Petrarch and Boccacio were scholars as well as 
 poets, who took the greatest share in the revival of the 
 knowledge of antiquity. Both the spirit and poetry of 
 chivalry made but a faint impression on Italian genius. 
 Dante, at first, intended to compose his great poem in Latin : 
 Petrarch mentions chivalric poetry with aversion and con- 
 tempt : and though he rendered homage to the prevalent 
 spirit of his age in his artistic love-songs, he was rather 
 carried away by the strong tide of feeling that had set in, 
 than impressed with any conviction of the superiority 
 characterizing the essence or genius of this poetic innovation. 
 Hence, he was content to rest his hopes of fame on a Latin 
 panegyric on Scipio, — with which we now seek no nearer 
 acquaintance than by name — rather than on those love-songs 
 that delight every reader, and will transport his memory 
 and name to the latest posterity. This wavering, so natural 
 on the soil hallowed by the genius of Rome, between old- 
 Latin and new-Italian art and diction, is likewise manifest 
 in Boccacio, the third great writer of early Italian literature. 
 He injudiciously sought to commemorate the ingenious con- 
 ceits of Provencal love-queries and disputes, as also the 
 interesting novels of northern Prance, in the too earnest 
 style and sober manner of a Livy or a Cicero. Many of his 
 works are disfigured by unsuccessfulattempts to weave ancient 
 mythology into the web of Christian story : and by efforts, 
 not a whit more happy, to express purely Christian ideas 
 and views in the language and myth of antiquity: in 
 
198 
 
 DANTE. 
 
 one of his chivalric romances he styles God the Father, 
 Jupiter — the Son, Apollo — and the Prince of darkness, Pluto. 
 The materials for some of his metrical tales are selected from 
 the storehouse of the olden mythology, after the fashion of 
 mediaeval times, with whose contents he could not fail to be 
 more familiar than the majority of German and French 
 poets who had preceded him in this course. Indeed, his 
 partiality for the antique, and his uniform desire to blend it 
 with the poetry of his time, were evinced on almost eYery 
 occasion. 
 
 Of the three early Italian poets, Dante was, unques- 
 tionably, at once the most copious, dignified, and inventive : 
 his work embraces the whole compass of knowledge open to 
 that age, the whole mode of life common to the later medi- 
 aeval period, all that came within the scope of his own ex- 
 perience, nay Heaven and Hell as they appeared to his won- 
 drous fancy. There are many similar allegorical poems in the 
 middle ages, especially in the Provencal idiom ; but they 
 have either perished or sunk into obscurity, so that Dante 
 towers above all competitors in solitary grandeur. If 
 
 * mediaeval poetry be regarded from an independent point of 
 view, apart from ancient theory and art, with which it is by 
 no means compatible, and purely on its own historical merits, 
 it may be classed under three heads: the chivalric, the 
 amatory, and the allegorical. This latter, more particularly, 
 has reference to verse of which the entire aim and scope, 
 internal arrangement as well as external form, are decidedly 
 allegorical, as in the composition of Dante. For in a general 
 sense, the allegorical spirit pervades the whole of mediaeval 
 poetry, stamping it with a characteristic impress. The 
 emphatic embodiment of this spirit in a few leading chi- 
 valrous works, was pointed out on the occasion of our examin- 
 ing the German version of the Eound Table and St. Graal. 
 A difference however obtains ; namely, whilst in this chival- 
 
 t jrous allegory, mystic meaning is conveyed in representations 
 of life, Dante only inserts his representations of life here 
 and there in the saloons and galleries of his world-wide 
 allegory. Christianity did much to foster an inclination 
 for symbolism which permeates the varied channels of 
 mediaeval thought, and that must constantly be borne in mind, 
 if we would understand aright many conceptions of the 
 genius of that age. 
 
LITE HART INFLUENCE OF THE BIBLE. 199 
 
 On attentively considering the influence exercised by the 
 Bible over medieval as well as more modern literature and 
 poetry, and the effects of the Scriptures, viewed as a mere 
 literary composition, on language, art, and representation, 
 two important elements engage our observation. The first 
 of these is complete simplicity of expression, or the absence 
 of all artifice. Almost exclusively treating of God and the 
 moral nature of man, the language of the Scriptures is 
 throughout living and forcible, devoid of metaphysical sub- 
 tleties and of those dead ideas and empty abstractions which 
 mark the philosophy of all nations — from the Indians and 
 Greeks down to modern Europeans — whenever they under- 
 take to represent those exalted objects of contemplation, 
 God and man, by the light of unassisted reason. This 
 philosophy could not escape the hereditary evil of inextri- 
 cable confusion of opinions constantly warring with one 
 another, and of artificial reasoning, not even when renouncing 
 these high questions and great objects it either retired into 
 the world of sense or veiled itself under a confession of 
 ignorance. Corresponding simplicity, or absence of affec- 
 tation also characterizes the poetical portions of Holy Writ, 
 notwithstanding the copiousness of noble and sublime pas- 
 sages with which they abound. In point of artistic form 
 and development, the simplicity of the sacred poetry of the 
 Hebrews can in no wise rival the glories of Grecian genius. 
 But on the other hand, in those great works the most perfect 
 bloom of beauty is almost immediately followed by decay — 
 and to the highest perfection of art succeeds most frequently 
 an ambitious and luxuriant taste which delights in superfluous 
 ornament, and overloaded artifice. Many circumstances in 
 connection with man's imagination, his temperament, and 
 his constitution, in the propensities and feelings of his 
 nature, serve to explain this universal tendency in the 
 history of art. Numerous influences vitiate the tender bud 
 of beauty before it is unfolded, or reduce its noble simplicity 
 when matured to a corrupt affectation. Hence, those 
 Christian poets who have handled sacred subjects — Dante, 
 Tasso, Milton, Klopstock — if they at all resemble the great 
 exemplar to which they are indebted for their materials, do 
 so by means of individual features of sublimity rather than 
 by an undeviating simplicity and a total abnegation of what 
 
200 SYMBOLISM! Or THE BIBLE. 
 
 is artificial. The second distinctive quality of the Bible, in 
 reference to external form and mode of representation, ex- 
 erting an immense influence over modern diction and poesy, 
 is the all-pervading typical and symbolic element — not 
 only of its poetical but of the didactic and historical books. 
 In the case of the Hebrews this symbolism may partially 
 be regarded as a national peculiarity, in which the Arabs, 
 their nearest of kin, participated. It is not impossible that 
 the prohibition concerning graven images of the Divinity 
 contributed to cherish this propensity: the imagination 
 restricted on one side sought an outlet in another. The 
 same results flowed from similar cases among the followers 
 of Mahomet. In those portions of Holy "Writ in which 
 oriental imagery is less dominant, as for instance in the 
 books of the New Testament, symbolism nevertheless pre- 
 vails. This spirit has, to a great extent, influenced the 
 intellectual development of all Christian races. By its 
 means, and the allegorical bias thence resulting, the Bible 
 stood in much the same relations to mediaeval as well as 
 more modern poetry and creative art that Homer did to 
 antiquity : constituting, namely, the fountain and rule and 
 model of all our images and figures. Of course wherever 
 the hidden meaning of emblematical mysteries was not fully 
 understood, or where the aim and object, to which symbolism 
 was degenerated from pristine purity, the bias referred to 
 dwindled down to arbitrary allegory, both fantastic and 
 meaningless : inasmuch as a superabundance of ornament 
 is easier of attainment than a noble simplicity, artificial 
 brilliancy is far more common than the deep gravity of 
 Truth. 
 
 Had these two distinctive qualities been universally appre- 
 ciated, the Bible would indeed have served as a lofty model 
 for all Christian nations, more generally than the art and 
 beautiful forms of the Greeks ; and if the Christian spirit 
 had uniformly animated and penetrated mankind, that digni- 
 fied beauty, which is one with Truth, would have prevailed 
 and had an abiding influence on language and representa- 
 tion, on science as on art. In its own essence, however, 
 Christianity is not a fitting theme for poetry ; with the 
 exception of lyric effusions as the direct enunciation of 
 feeling. Christianity is not, of itself, either philosophy or 
 
RELATIONS OF CHRISTIANITY TO ART. 201 
 
 poetry: yet it is rather that which lies at the very founda- 
 tion of philosophy, and without which philosophy cannot 
 comprehend itself, but is involved in scepticism, unbelief and 
 endless perplexities. On the other hand, in its essential 
 elements, Christianity transcends all poetry, though its 
 spirit rules here as every where else but invisibly, and 
 cannot be grasped and represented. 
 
 The relations of Christianity to poetry and representative 
 art are of the greatest importance, when we come to inquire 
 what relation modern intellectual culture bears to that of 
 antiquity, and the ratio of progress made in civilization 
 generally. Of what value were poesy and art if they con- 
 tinually reproduced ancient shapes and forms from which the 
 spirit has departed ? Or, if they pretended to depict pre- 
 sent modern life, but confined their descriptions to the face, 
 without once fathoming the depths of the views and feeling 
 peculiar to modern Europe ? Hence the oft-recurring efforts 
 of whole nations and ages, hence the earnest exertions of 
 varied genius to glorify the principles of Christianity, not 
 only by means of creative art, but likewise in poetry. 
 
 The real answer to the above question seems to me to be 
 included in the observation already made : that the indirect 
 representation of Christian doctrine and its influence on 
 poetry, if not the only genuine process, has, at any rate, 
 hitherto constituted the happiest rule of that art. In this 
 sense, the chivalrous minstrelsy of the middle ages, which, it 
 cannot be denied, never attained to maturity of develop- 
 ment any more than Gothic architecture, deserves to be 
 considered as a real Christian heroic poetry ; for the very 
 features that distinguish it from the heroic poetry of other 
 nations and ruder ages, are in their nature and origin essen- 
 tially Christian. This verse is, throughout, suggestive of 
 northern primeval reminiscences : the shapes that flit before 
 the reader's imagination are the shapes commemorated in 
 hero-bands of the olden time, transfigured by the pre- 
 dominant feeling and faith of a love which gives new beauty 
 and meaning to the wildest play of the imagination. But let 
 the poet try to seize directly on the mysteries of Christianity, 
 and they will appear beyond his reach, and will elude his 
 grasp. At least, no attempt of this sort has as yet succeeded 
 in removing the feeling of discord, however great the talents 
 
202 DANTE. 
 
 employed. "What I have here advanced is no less applicable 
 to the first of the great Christian bards — to Dante — than to 
 his later successors, Tasso, Milton, and Klopstock. Beyond 
 all others, Dante succeeded in presenting to our view 
 heavenly visions and Paradisaic raptures. Yet it must be 
 admitted that poetry and Christianity are not harmoniously 
 wedded in his poem, of which some passages do not rise 
 higher than didactic theology. Though his genius was cast 
 in a poetic mould, and his imagination was constitutionally 
 fitted for the boldest flights, yet the prevalent doctrine of 
 the schoolmen exerted a great influence over this extraor- 
 dinary spirit. His unique work is, otherwise, rich and 
 vivid in detail ; in the circuit of the three worlds which he 
 undertakes to describe — of darkness, purification and perfect 
 light — he exhibits to our gaze a series of manifold characters 
 and personages, graphically sketched, in the most varied 
 situations : beginning with the lowest abyss of moral infamy 
 and irretrievable agony, and proceeding step by step through 
 the long vista of suffering and hope, until he leads the way 
 to the realms of highest glory. Whosoever has learnt to 
 comprehend his genius, his singular views and aim, and the 
 closely-linked connection of his work, will not fail to discover 
 the harmony that reigns throughout ; this work will appear 
 unrivalled, not only for richness of invention and originality 
 of plan, but for the power and perseverance with which the poet 
 lias carried it out ; it is a defect that the links of connection 
 and simplicity of treatment are not at once clearly apparent, 
 but that a preparatory initiation into a vast extent of various 
 knowledge is necessary in order to understand the poem, 
 either as a whole or in detail. To his contemporaries, and 
 to the succeeding generation, his geography and astronomy 
 did not appear so strange as they do to us ; the various allu- 
 sions to Florentine history were more easily understood, and 
 even the philosophy of Dante was the philosophy of the age. 
 Yet, with all these advantages, a commentary was found to 
 be indispensable to them ; and thus the greatest and most 
 truly national Italian bard never, on the whole, became the 
 popular poet of his country. For some generations, indeed, 
 his verse, like that of a second Homer, was made a text- 
 book for critical comment and elucidation by individuals 
 appointed for that purpose in his native town ; but now only 
 
DANTE. 203 
 
 isolated passages, selected from the body of his work, have 
 maintained unimpaired vitality. No Italian poet approaches 
 him in grand delineation of character and of the passions — 
 no poet has so powerfully seized the Italian spirit or depicted, 
 it so truthfully. The sole objection that can be raised, on 
 this head, is the general harshness of Ghibelline feeling he 
 displays. The Ghibellines, who lived in the latter half of 
 the middle ages, and who aspired to unbounded worldly 
 supremacy, were marked by a spirit of intolerant severity, 
 of fierce hostility — such as can scarcely be realized but by a 
 careful examination of the historic memorials of that time. 
 Later ages, down to our own personal experience, have had 
 their Ghibellines, who staked all the hopes of humanity on 
 the dominion of the sword, ignoring the power of the 
 Invisible Being, which is, nevertheless, sure to assert itself 
 at the appointed season. But these Ghibellines of an over- 
 refined age are more conspicuous for the submissive pliancy 
 with which they are ready to accept any stamp impressed 
 upon them by superior might — a might that rises in their 
 estimation and regard in proportion as it maintains itself in 
 spite of disturbing influences. Inflamed with equal lust of 
 domination, the mediaeval Ghibellines were too generally 
 marked by haughty feeling and heroic energy ; the com- 
 batants were too well matched to admit of similar results. 
 A terrible anarchy, a general ferment of violence and con- 
 fusion ensued, without any symptoms of that exhaustion 
 which is not only the consequence, but the inviting oppor- 
 tunity and co-operating cause of despotism. This Ghibelline 
 asperity, then, cannot but be imputed as a fault to Dante, 
 softened down, no doubt, and even hidden here and there by 
 the varied charms of melody and fancy, yet not without an 
 influence on the internal beauty and pathos of his poetry. 
 
 These are the chief blemishes which, notwithstanding his 
 singular excellence, must be noted in the greatest of all 
 Christian and Florentine bards. 
 
 I have already adverted to the position held by Petrarch, 
 on the occasion of my sketching, in a general manner, the 
 Love-songs of various countries, and referring to the peculiar 
 artistic perfection of his muse. His songs are to be classed 
 with this species of composition, and should be compared 
 with those of Spain or Germany to be duly comprehended. 
 
204 PETKA11CH. 
 
 On instituting a comparative examination, Petrarch's especial 
 characteristic will be found to consist in a more artistic 
 spiritual Platonism than is evinced by any other Love-poet of 
 the middle ages. Some of his commentators have gone so 
 far as to contend that his Laura was no historic personage 
 at all, but a mere personification of his ideal fancy. This, in 
 turn, has been stoutly and authoritatively denied ; proofs 
 have been adduced from the church registers not only of her 
 actual existence, but also of her marriage and her numerous 
 family ; and in a manner still more agreeable, namely, from 
 the lovely portrait of her, executed by Memmi, in the 
 Petrarch collection at Florence. The verse of Petrarch is 
 not deficient in that allegorical spirit which is so generally 
 characteristic of media3val minstrelsy. In metrical skill, as 
 also in the cultivation of his native idiom, he is undoubtedly 
 entitled to be ranked among the foremost bards who com- 
 posed in any of the Romanic tongues. 
 
 The services that Petrarch rendered to Italian poesy were 
 equalled by the efforts of Boccacio to perfect the structure 
 of prose ; yet he never entirely rid it of long complicated 
 sentences, from which Macchiavelli alone is wholly free. 
 
 These three Florentine poets — Dante, Petrarch, Boccacio 
 ■ — form an older, severer school of Western poetry, in which 
 allegory was a predominant principle. Each of them had, 
 respectively, been the pioneer in a new direction, had treated 
 the art of representation in a manner peculiar to his own 
 genius. Dante made the loftiest allegory subservient to 
 depicting comprehensive visions and the whole fulness of 
 Christian emblems. Petrarch, in addition to this allegorical 
 system, in which he is far inferior to his great prototype, 
 created a new kind of lyric poesy ; and Boccacio struck out 
 a novel path of description in his romances, purely prosaic, or 
 interspersed with poetry. In Boccacio, an allegorical leaning 
 is more particularly evident in his longer compositions ; 
 from a similarly mistaken purpose, he endeavoured to revive 
 pagan theology, and reconstruct it for Christian uses, as 
 Dante had attempted to do in several passages of his great 
 poem. All three had numerous imitators, though Dante, 
 unique in manner, was by no means calculated to afford a 
 model for successful imitation ; whilst Petrarch's lyrics, and 
 Boccacio's descriptions, could not fail to lose their piquant 
 
PULCI, ARIOSTO, AND BOIARDO. 205 
 
 character by frequent repetition. Late in the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, when the tribe of copyists and servile followers had 
 satisfied themselves that no more laurels were to be gained 
 in this direction, the Italians decided upon venturing into 
 the domains of chivalrous poesy, which Boccacio had previ- 
 ously endeavoured to transplant to the regions of Greek 
 mythology and Trojan fable. Pulci, the Florentine, was the 
 first well-known predecessor of Ariosto. The first impres- 
 sion that is formed of one accustomed to sing his rhapsodies 
 in the courtly halls of the Medici is naturally most favour- 
 able ; but his muse does not correspond to such sanguine 
 expectations : jest and wit are made to conceal the deficien- 
 cies of poetry, and to cover the somewhat ludicrous connec- 
 tion of improbable and unmeaning fictions. It is difficult 
 to determine what portion of his narrative is intended to be 
 sober earnest, and what parody ; the wit is so exclusively 
 local and Florentine, that it is all but unintelligible to us at 
 the present day ; the whole eminently proves that, at this 
 time, the real romantic element was utterly foreign to Italian 
 tastes. Boiardo, the next of Ariosto's predecessors, is far 
 more happy in his efforts ; it was his incomplete production 
 that Ariosto was so desirous of finishing, though the only 
 result of his good offices has been to cast Boiardo into the 
 cold shade of oblivion. The high reputation of Ariosto, in 
 point of inventive fulness and fancy, materially suffers when 
 we learn the sources whence he drew his inspiration. His 
 immediate predecessor furnished him with that rich 'store of 
 invention and narrative which he showers on the reader with 
 such lavish profusion ; nay, even his picturesque style is not 
 his own. His only merit, indeed, consists in evincing greater 
 care, and in manifesting superior facility and grace of metri- 
 cal diction. Perhaps, too, he has the merit of knowing how- 
 to make a happy use of some passages from the Odyssey and 
 Ovid, or from other ancient poets. 
 
 It is worthy of observation that the chivalrous poetry of 
 Italy did not attain to its full bloom in Florence, but in 
 Lombardy, where German mediaeval architecture first ob- 
 tained a permanent footing, and where the style of Painting 
 was more akin to the German, or at least not so dissimilar 
 as at Florence or Borne. It is only necessary to take a 
 glance at the constitution of the principal states of older 
 
206 ITALIAN POETRY. 
 
 Italy, to feel the cogency of those reasons that prevented 
 a parallel extension of the spirit of chivalry, or the exertion 
 of its influence on morals or on poetry, with the rest of the 
 civilized West. In Florence, the national spirit was, from an 
 early period quite democratic : the attention of the Venetians 
 was devoted to commercial pursuits, whilst their manners 
 and arts were copied from those of the East, or formed 
 much more after the modern Greek fashion than was the 
 case in the West generally. In Naples, the spirit of chi- 
 valry had not been altogether extinguished since the time of 
 the Normans, but having been subjected to the rule of 
 foreign potentates and unsettled by frequent dyuastic 
 changes, as well as other impeding causes, Naples participated 
 but little in the intellectual development of northern Italy. 
 Rome, the central seat of the Church, was occupied with 
 her own interests, and what attention she bestowed on 
 artistic matters was turned to the encouragement of the 
 arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting, as being most 
 conducive to ecclesiastical splendour, rather than to poetry. 
 If at any time her national reminiscences were awakened, 
 they took a different direction and lost themselves in futile 
 schemes for the regeneration of Rome in her early Repub- 
 lican glory ; schemes fondly cherished by Rienzi, and in 
 which Petrarch himself took part and sympathized. 
 
 These, then, are among the reasons why the poetry of 
 Italy inclined upon the whole, so decidedly to the spirit of 
 the antique and to philosophy, and was, comparatively, little 
 impressed with the genius of chivalry. Though, on account 
 of its consummate excellence, it exercised considerable in- 
 fluence over other nations, and became, as it were, the 
 common property of civilized Europe. 
 
 The pictorial achievements of Italy in the fifteenth cen- 
 tury were incomparably more splendid then her poetic 
 efibrts ; indeed, the art of painting may be said to have 
 reached its greatest perfection at this time, and continued to 
 bloom until the middle of the sixteenth century. Next to 
 the revival of ancient literature ; * art most contributed 
 
 * This evident]}' refers to monastic labours, of which Signor Giudici (in his 
 " History of Italian Literature") thus eloquently speaks: — " In secluded 
 retreats and amidst the solemn repose of the monastery, companies of 
 pious and learned men g-uarded the lamp of human knowledge, whose 
 light was destined thenceforth never to be extinguished. In those 
 
ITALIAN PAINTING. 207 
 
 to render the age — which is commonly called the age of the 
 Medici or of Leo X — illustrious. It cannot be disputed 
 that, at a much earlier period than this, individual painters 
 had studied the artistic remains of old classic days, for the 
 purposes of severer drawing and more accurate knowledge 
 of the human figure ; and had derived loftier ideas of form 
 and beauty from close study of the antique. But, taken as 
 a whole, there was no imitation of the antique, even among 
 those painters whose familiarity with ancient science was 
 most extensive, though this same kuowledge was no common 
 endowment, and, for the most part, denied to the foremost 
 votaries of art. "When such imitation began to spread, as 
 it did during the sixteenth century, genuine art was on the 
 wane. At its culminating point of perfection, the genius of 
 pictorial art was thoroughly new and of peculiar vigour : 
 sometimes eminently Christian, intent upon the ideas of 
 Christianity ; at other times more particularly national and 
 Italian : in its happiest master-pieces characterized by both 
 of those features in equal degree. Therefore, painting 
 reached a much higher pitch of grandeur at this time than 
 poetry : for what contemporary bard can compare with 
 Raphael ? We look in vain for a combination of a Tasso 
 with a Dante, in one and the same genius. 
 
 The growth of the poetic mind in Italy, was seldom dis- 
 tinguished by a happy union of grace with profundity, 
 neither was it, at any stage of progress, long free from 
 servile imitation. After the revival of a taste for ancient 
 literature and the general diffusion of names hitherto 
 strangers to popular regard, this country first set the rest 
 of Europe the unfortunate example of copying the form of 
 the antique in compositions of a similar import. Originality 
 of genius was itself not always strong enough to make head 
 against this pernicious influence. Camoens and Tasso, the 
 greatest of modern epic bards, would have developed them- 
 selves with far more power, liberty, and beauty if they had 
 been free from Yirgilian shackles which cramped their genius 
 and led them astray. But there was yet another mode in 
 
 sanctuaries of literature, as well as of religion, the monks were obliged, 
 by the rules of their order, to spend a portion of every day in copying" 
 of manuscripts, and thus innumerable inestimable works were preserved 
 and transmitted to posterity." — Transl. note. 
 
208 INJURIOUS USE CF THE LATLN". 
 
 which the baneful effects of the antique were manifest with 
 respect to poetry and language. The frequent adoption of 
 Latin for the purposes of composition threatened to absorb 
 the vernacular. The fatal example extended to other climes : 
 Germany, where the study of classical literature had been 
 carried on with similar zeal, was the greatest sufferer, and 
 it was not discovered till too late that no poetry can flourish 
 in a dead language. In Maximilian's time none but Latin 
 poets were crowned with Parnassian bays : strange to say, 
 even the drama pointed its moral in that idiom, though the 
 Emperor himself was passionately fond of his native tongue.* 
 The visible degeneracy of the German language, as contrasted 
 with its earlier bloom, is too often ascribed to the civil wars 
 and contentions that raged in the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries. These, no doubt, tended to increase the evil : 
 but inasmuch as symptoms of decay began to manifest them- 
 selves previous to the Keformation, and in the case of writers 
 whose style had been formed at an earlier period, the in- 
 ference seems inevitable : namely, that the vernacular was 
 systematically sacrificed to the Latin language. The results 
 were more sensibly and painfully evident in Germany than 
 in Italy ; for the former had not yet arrived at mature con- 
 sistency and regularity as a whole : whilst the great Floren- 
 tine masters of the fourteenth century had bequeathed that 
 country a standard of their native language which none of 
 the modern Latin writers could set aside. 
 
 The fault of all this must not be placed to the account 
 of ancient literature, but to the abuse of it. The salutary 
 extension of historic as well as every kind of human science 
 in the fifteenth century, an acquaintance with the splendid 
 memorials of art and intellect, these things in themselves, 
 were an inestimable benefit. But we should be in error if we 
 supposed that this rich harvest of knowledge was every 
 where productive of wholesome fruits without any tarts: 
 or that, when gathered, the crop was uniformly turned to 
 so advantageous an account as we should now desire and 
 expect. In this respect the spirit of the modern inhabitants 
 
 * In bis {4 Lectures on Modern History " Schlegel soys of this prince : — 
 "He composed several works, and selected moreover the German language, 
 although he was versed in all the other tongues then current in Europe, 
 and, as a man of business, was familiar with Latin." — Transl.note, 
 
THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 209 
 
 f 
 
 of Europe exhibits traces of greater similarity to former 
 times than is commonly believed. All of them evince an 
 equally passionate curiosity, a restless activity, prompting 
 them to seize, with rude grasp, on acquisitions, mental or 
 physical, thatpromised for a time to lend a prominent interest 
 to some peculiar department of social organization : thereby 
 endangering the moral equilibrium, and inviting sudden and 
 momentous changes involving revolutions, with all their 
 train of horrid and destructive consequences. Thus in the 
 time of the Crusades, when near contact with the East was 
 the means of introducing Arab lore,* when the philosophy of 
 Aristotle became dominant, and various nations learned to 
 be on familiar terms with each other, intellectual activity 
 all at once received an incredible impetus, and a whole world 
 of new ideas was set in motion. But it is now universally 
 admitted that the mighty impulse which mental activity 
 received in the thirteenth century was not so beneficially 
 applied as might have been wished. It called forth, generally 
 speaking, a mere sectarian spirit, which in the ranks of the 
 school-men, assumed a barbaric form, and was not long in 
 manifesting its destructive efforts in the Church, the state, 
 and civil life. Of all the suddenly enriched and intellec- 
 tually fruitful periods of European History, the fifteenth 
 century is perhaps the most splendid. It was then that 
 the systematic use of the compass assisted maritime dis- 
 coveries, led the way to India and America,- opening up 
 to Man — who may be said to have now come of age — 
 a distinct and comprehensive view of the earth his dwelling- 
 place. In connection, be it remembered, with the stimulus 
 given to his mind by the revival of ancient literature, and 
 the invention of printing : which, at first and in its appli- 
 ances, can have fallen but little short of the miraculous in 
 general estimation. But even here, as I shall be able to 
 shew by and bye, the observations I have made respecting 
 the immediate operation of great discoveries is not out of 
 place. The third important revolution in the domains 
 of science and in the direction of the modern European 
 
 * " Next to the influence which the further development of chivalry 
 exercised upon the constitution of Europe, the effects of the Crusades 
 upon commerce, its extension, and direction, is one of the most visible 
 and striking." — Schleg-el's Lect. on Mod. Hist. — Transl. no^e. 
 
210 THE FIFTEENTH CENTTTBY. 
 
 spirit is nearer our own times. The onward strides of 
 mathematics and physics in the seventeenth century, 
 progressing in still greater ratio during the eighteenth, 
 gave so great an extension to mechanical and technical 
 facilities of every description as materially to alter the 
 economic arrangements of the human race. "Who is there 
 that would pretend to deny the intrinsic excellence of these 
 sciences, or the elevating tendency they have to promote 
 the sovereignty of man over matter and the world of sense — 
 a sovereignty entirely harmonizing with his original dignity 
 and destiny ? But was this supremacy over matter com- 
 bined with self-control ? Did the system of thought arising 
 out of physical and mathematical investigation give a happy 
 and normal tone to social morality ? The consequences of 
 this mode of thinking and the philosophy to which it gave 
 rise on religion and morals, on political and common life, 
 have been so clearly developed, that they are now generally- 
 acknowledged to have been unfortunate and hurtful, and in a 
 short time, no difference of opinion will exist respecting them. 
 I return to the fifteenth century. I have already mentioned 
 the injury which the exclusive partiality for the literature 
 and language of antiquity inflicted, in checking the pro- 
 gress of the vernacular language, and of the poetry of mo- 
 dern times. We need be the less surprised at the many 
 fluctuations and aberrations of this period, when we observe 
 that the historj^of modern intellect presents scarcely anything 
 else than a constant struggle between the old and foreign — 
 which is indispensable as far as knowledge and form are con- 
 cerned — and the new, the peculiar, and the national, which 
 latter must be the vital spirit of all living, effective, national 
 literature and poetry. It is by no means improbable that 
 some of the modern Latinists of the fifteenth century, in 
 Italy, were actuated by a desire altogether to supplant the 
 vulgar tongue, and to re-establish the language of ancient 
 Home. For not only were the olden mythology and idiom 
 again introduced with applications singularly inapposite to 
 Christian themes : for instance, it was deemed more elegant 
 to substitute such an expression as "the gods," in lieu of 
 the singular number which we usually employ in speaking 
 of the Supreme Being : but the very usages and arrange- 
 ments of ordinary life were fashioned after the model of pa- 
 
MACCHIAVELLI. 211 
 
 ganism, or we might say, aped, with fanatical ardour. So 
 that it can hardly be doubted, that it was more than a passing 
 fancy on the part of some to reinaugurate the religious 
 superstitions of ancient times. There is, however, no 
 necessity to dwell on such extravagancies as these, which 
 could never be realized. More importance, for obvious 
 reasons, is to be attached to the revival of old Roman ideas 
 in the person of Macchiavelli, who nourished at this time. 
 In style and historic skill he is unique, worthy of the first 
 rank of Italian, and, indeed, of modern prose writers 
 generally, and fairly comparable to the first historians of 
 antiquity, With the energy, simplicity, and straight-for- 
 wardness of Csesar he joins the profound reflection of Taci- 
 tus, and is more lucid than the latter. He has taken no one 
 writer as a model, but saturated with the essential spirit of 
 classical antiquity, he seems to have made it his second na- 
 ture to employ the forcible, animated, and appropriate ex- 
 pressions of the most brilliant ancient writers. The form 
 of representation would seem never to have cost him any 
 trouble, his constant care being directed to the thought. 
 But how are we to justify, or even familiarly illustrate the 
 doctrines of that state-policy which he was at such pains to 
 propagate, and which met with a success all too complete ? 
 The ideal standard of a ruthless tyrant which he sets up, as 
 it were, for the instruction of sovereign rulers has been 
 sought to be palliated on the plea of his intention to depict, 
 in graphic colouring, the political degradation of his age and 
 country.* But, though it has been satisfactorily ascertained 
 that Macchiavelli was both a republican and a glowing patriot, 
 this interpretation will not sutftce to vindicate his memory 
 from grave imputations. It may, perhaps, be more correct to 
 seek the explanation in his patriotism, taken in connection with 
 his other political views and principles. It is as if he had 
 tacitly wished contemporary aristocracy to infer that, in order 
 to liberate Italy, the self-same means must be adopted that had 
 contributed to enslave her, of however impure or desperate 
 
 * Professor Gervinus, in his " Introduction to the History of the Nine- 
 teenth Century," says : — To Macchiavelli, Ferdinand the Catholic appeared 
 the living type of a prince of the new school, such as his austere judgment 
 led him to declare to be the necessary remedy for the times. — Trtmtl. 
 note. 
 
212 MACCHIAYELLI. 
 
 a nature they might be ; that the foe to liberty must be 
 foiled by his own weapons ; that all measures are lawful in 
 so sacred a cause. The opinion he entertained of foreigners 
 may be learnt from the extremely curt yet remarkable con- 
 trast which he institutes between French and German cha- 
 racter. With wondrous sagacity he observes that the Ger- 
 mans, as a nation, are not nearly so powerful as they are 
 generally supposed to be, whilst the dominion of French 
 monarchy is represented as tremendous and ever increasing. 
 This pithy declaration is anything but nattering : for by it 
 he charges the one with mendacious insincerity, native and 
 constitutional : and alleges of the other, that the same un- 
 bounded love of freedom, which, in its unrestrained career, 
 had already unsettled the empire, by means of internal dis- 
 sension and tumult, would in time destroy its independent 
 vigour and cause its dissolution. 
 
 Such was his opinion of other nations, and when we con- 
 sider the state of Italy at that time, more particularly his 
 native city, we cannot altogether blame him. But his prin- 
 ciples, relative to the propriety of combatting the most formi- 
 dable foes of his country, those within the walls, by means 
 of weapons similar to their own, cannot, for a moment, ad- 
 mit of justification. For the desperate condition of the 
 state was not brought on by the baseness or the guilt of her 
 tyrants, so much as by the extensive diffusion of noxious 
 principles and tendencies, which gave impunity to these 
 acts. 
 
 The most startling peculiarity in Macchiavelli remains to 
 be considered : it does not consist in his axiom, so often 
 quoted and refuted, that the end sanctions the means ; but 
 rather in his endeavours to institute a political system, in 
 the heart of modern Christian Europe, of such an import 
 and general spirit as totally to ignore Christianity, nay, the 
 very existence of God and retributive justice. Though this 
 Christianity had hitherto been commonly regarded as the 
 hallowing medium of brotherhood, the bond of union, 
 among the several states of Europe. The recognized right 
 of sovereigns to rule over their subjects was in proportion 
 to their obedience to the will of God : on this supposition 
 alone their supremacy was vindicated. All principalities, 
 jurisdictions, aud rights, were still based on the invisible 
 
MACCHIAVELLI. 213 
 
 groundwork of the Church. Now of all this state-economy 
 Macchiavelli takes not the slightest notice : not only does he 
 write in the true spirit of Paganism, but he thinks so like- 
 wise, and in the most emphatic manner. Just as the power 
 of ancient Rome was founded, in the main, on violence and 
 fraud, and justice was regarded as superfluous or an ornament 
 of no intrinsic value : so Macchiavelli regards force and in- 
 telligence as the most potent levers of state-machinery. 
 The idea of justice is altogether left out of the question : 
 neither ought this to amaze us, seeing that all his views of 
 the mechanism regulating the policy of states and people 
 are founded on his conceptions of force and intelligence, 
 without the slightest reference to Grod. As surely as honour 
 cannot exist in the absence of virtue, so impracticable is 
 human justice without a firm belief in the Almighty : that 
 is, other than a mere external form and hypocritical cloak to 
 conceal the inner wickedness of the heart, the grasping 
 covetousness of fraud and violence. With disbelief in Grod 
 and his dispensations towards man, every other kind of scep- 
 ticism in things invisible to sense is necessarily joined. But 
 it is the invisible on which the visible rests, and as the im- 
 material soul is the life of the body, so the idea of Grod is 
 the vivifying principle of nations and of states. Let this 
 animating principle be once withdrawn, and the whole dis- 
 solves and becomes an inert ponderous mass. Or if any 
 vitality be left in individual nations, it is a fermenting 
 energy that preys upon all within, scattering death and 
 destruction over external objects. As soon as Grod and 
 Justice are forgotten by states, Anarchy and Despotism, 
 those monsters of darkness, rise from their gloomy abodes, 
 and occupy the deserted place of Justice. 
 
 It should not be supposed that Macchiavelli is to be held 
 responsible for that political dissolution of which alarming 
 phenomena manifested themselves with increasing virulence, 
 notwithstanding the manly efforts of various upright and 
 Christian rulers to oppose its progress. For this no indi- 
 vidual is solely accountable : these evils had struck too deep 
 a root. Yet whosoever reduces existing evil to definite and 
 applicable principles, systematizes and extends its operation, 
 and on this account Macchiavelli' s policy undeniably had a 
 disastrous and pernicious influence on succeeding genera- 
 tions. 
 
214 DISCOVERIES OF THE E1ETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 The two great discoveries of the fifteenth century, the art 
 of printing and the use of the compass, which latter, though 
 of earlier date, was not applied with any beneficial results 
 until the time of Columbus, were accompanied by some 
 others of equal importance : the use of gunpowder and that 
 of paper. Both of these, too, are of much earlier date, but 
 their general application was only marked by momentous 
 results in that age. These wonderful inventions have, in the 
 aggregate, very materially altered the aspect of human so- 
 ciety. Much in the same way as some nations of primitive 
 history were separated from the savage tribes who were 
 ignorant of the instruments of connection between man and 
 the earth ; as, for instance, the use of iron for civil and war- 
 like purposes, the employment of written characters, and a 
 metallic currency, which form the cement of social union, 
 points of contact bridging remote tribes and groups of 
 mankind, the past with the present, so the invention of 
 printing and the use of the magnetic needle constituted, as 
 it were, a chasm that cleft asunder the old world from the 
 new. 
 
 These discoveries furnish the best proof of the fact, that 
 more depends upon the use which is made of important gifts 
 than on the gifts themselves. The compass was within reach 
 of many other nations, yet they neither circumnavigated the 
 earth nor discovered America. Printing and paper have 
 long been employed by the Chinese in the manufacture of 
 gazettes, bills, and visiting cards ; but their national genius 
 has in no way been benefited by the action of this wonderful 
 machinery. 
 
 Gunpowder was looked upon as a perilous and hurtful 
 contrivance, even in those periods in which it came into 
 common use. Not only did poets, like Ariosto, inveigh 
 against it as an unlucky invention, calculated to undermine 
 personal bravery and sap the foundations of chivalry: states- 
 men and soldiers concurred in this view, and uttered similar 
 lamentations. But such apprehensions as these were, at the 
 least, ill-founded: real courage will find free scope for its 
 activity in any sphere. Under new phases, the modern art 
 of warfare has produced heroes who will bear comparison 
 with the greatest captains of pagan or chivalrous days. But, 
 v.pon the whole, an invention expanding the limits as well as 
 
INTENTION" Or PAPEE. 215 
 
 accelerating the frightful ravages of war, systematizing, so 
 to speak, the agency by which mankind decimate their 
 species, is not to be classed with the happiest features of 
 modern improvement. I will only adduce a single example, 
 drawn from the first era of its practical application. "With- 
 out the medium of gunpowder, the conquest of America, 
 that followed hard upon the heels of its discovery, would 
 not have been marked by those scenes of desolation, those 
 barbarous atrocities, that brand the historic page.* In 
 this respect, the demon of destruction would seem to have 
 directed and impressed the first impulses of a wonderful 
 discovery. 
 
 Regarding the use of paper, likewise, reasonable doubt 
 may be entertained if the operations of printing have con- 
 ferred those advantages on the world which might have been 
 expected, by the dissemination of knowledge and the pro- 
 motion of intellectual development ; or if injurious conse- 
 quences, with tainting influence, have not in many cases 
 resulted. During periods of anarchy and revolution, this 
 facile medium of sedition and inflammatory excitement may 
 be said to have partaken of the destructive character of gun- 
 powder. The introduction of a rarer and costlier material 
 might have kept the art of printing more true to its primary 
 purpose, namely, that of perpetuating the genuine memorials 
 of history, art, and science ; whilst now, the most important 
 records of civilization are too frequently neglected for the 
 circulation of ephemeral, flippant productions. A second 
 deluge of impurity has set in ; the dignity of language has 
 been degraded into buffoonery ; a sea of superficial fancies 
 
 * For a detailed account of the cruelties perpetrated by the Spaniards 
 in Peru, the reader is referred to the well-known pages of Prescott and 
 Robertson. Schlegel's views on the advantages of gunpowder will be 
 appreciated by those theorists who believe in the possibility of universal 
 peace on earth. The Translator ventures, deferentially, to entertain an 
 opposite opinion, even in the face of such high authority. The greater the 
 economy of punishment in war, the more is that necessarily likely to be 
 mitigated. If State policy were less tortuous, gunpowder would not be 
 in such frequent requisition. With regard to many of the commercial 
 adaptations of the material in question (blasting, &c), it would be difficult 
 to procure a substitute equally convenient in all respects. — Transl. note. 
 
216 LITERATURE OF NOETHEEN EUEOPE. 
 
 is freighted with puerile conceits, and the spirit of the age 
 is . ever and anon in danger of losing the compass of 
 Truth* 
 
 LECTUEE X. 
 
 LlTEEATUEE OE THE NoETHERN AND EaSTEEN NATIONS OE 
 
 Europe. — Scholastic Divinity and German Mysti- 
 cism oe the Middle Ages. 
 
 Mt representations of modern European development 
 have hitherto included only the nations of the South and 
 "West, the Germans, and those countries in which the Ro- 
 manic dialects were adopted: Italy, France, Spain, and 
 England. The literature of these lands is indisputably the 
 most remarkable and important, both from its intrinsic 
 merits and wide-spread influence. It would, however, be 
 more in accordance with my own wishes, as well as my con- 
 ceptions of a complete history of literature framed in a 
 liberal spirit, to bring the principal nations of the North and 
 East within the limits of my undertaking. Every indepen- 
 dent people, of adequate consequence, have a right, too 
 sacred to be disallowed, to the possession of a literature 
 eminently and peculiarly their own ; and it is a mark of the 
 grossest tyranny to suppress the idiom of a country, or to 
 wish to check its advances in intellectual culture. It is a 
 common prejudice to suppose that certain neglected or ob- 
 scure languages are not susceptible of greater improvement 
 and higher perfection. Doubtless, some idioms are, to a 
 certain extent, antagonistic to poetry, and extremely un- 
 favourable to its impressions ; but none are so constituted 
 as not to admit of being turned to good and serviceable 
 
 * It is to be feared that our author has here advanced an unguarded 
 statement : dormitat Eomerus may be said of him. Surely the manifold 
 advantages of paper — the cheaper the hetter— are not counterbalanced by 
 the abuses named ! Tbe weapons of anarchy are harmless if they have 
 no keener edge. The literature of the 18th century, when paper was 
 dearer, teemed with impurities. In fact, tbe absence of impurity was the 
 exception rather than the rule. — Translator's note. 
 
THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 217 
 
 prose, suited alike to the exigencies of daily life and the re- 
 quirements of ordinary science. If it be argued that the 
 literature of a comparatively insignificant country can have 
 exercised little direct influence on others, we should be dis- 
 posed to answer, that the history of its intellectual develop- 
 ment in proportion to its prosperity, its fortunes and its 
 history, cannot but be very interesting and instructive. 
 Though I am stating the conditions of a complete history 
 of literature, I cannot hope to fulfil them myself. In this 
 department of criticism, more perhaps than in any other, it 
 is undesirable to trust to the conclusions of others without 
 investigating the circumstances that have led them to arrive 
 at the same : but to do this effectually, an acquaintance, if 
 not familiarity, with the several European idioms is indis- 
 pensable. Limiting myself to general observations, I would 
 direct attention to the state of collective Europe. The six- 
 teenth century, constituting as it does a partition wall which 
 separates the middle ages from our own times, seems pecu- 
 liarly suitable to a general survey like this. In reference to 
 intrinsic merits and their influence on other nations, the 
 Romanic tongues had a decided advantage and superiority. 
 Their close affinity to one another, and resemblance to their 
 mother-tongue the Latin, which was at one time common to 
 the whole Christian West, rendered the facilities of acquiring 
 them greater than in the case of any language radically dif- 
 ferent. On this account, long before the effects were felt 
 of commercial or political inducements, they were more ex- 
 tensively diffused than German and the other languages of 
 the north and east of Europe. Spain, indeed, never came 
 into very close communion with the north or west, from 
 which she seemed severed not more by geographical position 
 than by the genius of her polity, her customs, and her intel- 
 lectual efforts. More justice than was at one time wont has 
 of late been accorded to the excellence of Spanish literature 
 and language. But so much of former prejudice still exists 
 as to restrict the consideration and regard of critics to the 
 beauty of her poetry, whilst it is an incontrovertible fact, 
 that of all Romanic idioms, this was the one in which prose 
 attained to a maturity at once earliest and fullest. Portu- 
 guese prose was, at an early period, equally soft and agree- 
 able with the Spanish : but the latter speedily outstripped 
 
218 SPAIN AND GEEMANY. 
 
 her sister-dialect in copiousness as well as nice distinction of 
 expression. With the exception of Macchiavelli, Italy can 
 boast of no great prose writer in the departments of practical 
 knowledge or political science. The earlier prose attempts 
 in other Romanic tongues are, for the most part, destitute 
 of form and shape. In France and England prose was not 
 sufficiently developed for the purposes of practical applica- 
 tion and of political eloquence until the seventeenth cen- 
 tury ; and its use was more particularly confined to the 
 metropolis and the higher classes of society. In Spain the 
 vernacular was, from an early period, adopted in legislation 
 and other business of importance. The very isolation of that 
 country from the rest of Europe may have materially con- 
 tributed to an accelerated development of the language: 
 rich as it is in well-written historical works, and in a manly 
 eloquence that has survived to our own day: an eloquence, 
 moreover, impressed with the noblest characteristics of fiery 
 genius, and occasionally interspersed with appropriate wit 
 and caustic sarcasm. In the higher philosophy Spain has 
 had fewer names of note than Italy or Germany : indeed, 
 she cannot boast of a single writer claiming the first dis- 
 tinction in philosophic annals. 
 
 The German, being a language by itself, was not only 
 much more difficult of acquisition than the Romanic idioms, 
 it was necessarily less widely disseminated than these : hence 
 the literature and intellectual progress of Germany were 
 frequently misrepresented, because not understood, by na- 
 tions ignorant of the language. Nevertheless, I feel fully able 
 to justify the position which I have assigned to that country 
 in this history of literature. Notwithstanding the restricted 
 diffusion of the German language, the profound inquirer 
 into the antiquities of the south and west will find it neces- 
 sary, at intervals, to retrace his steps to German sources. 
 Together with the framework of German constitution, and 
 the economy of daily life, much of the Germanic spirit, too, 
 was infused into the polity and systems of foreign nations. 
 It is not saying too much to maintain that no acquaintance 
 with mediaeval history can be complete, which does not em- 
 brace a comprehensive survey of the genius and language of 
 Germany. Just as Erance and England were the foremost 
 powers, both in politics and in literature, of the seventeenth 
 
THE SCANDINAVIANS. 219 
 
 and eighteenth centuries, so Italy and Germany were the 
 sanctuaries of all civilization during the middle ages. The 
 greatest and most pregnant invention of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury — the art of printing — was of German origin ; from the 
 same source proceeded those religious convulsions in the six- 
 teenth century, which shook the fabric of a mighty institu* 
 tion to its very centre, and gave a new direction and fresh 
 impulse to the energies of Christian Europe. If the German 
 language be not, as yet, equally adapted with English and 
 French, to the intercourse of the social circle, to the practical 
 business of life, to protocols, and political eloquence, on the 
 other hand, like Italian, against which a similar charge has 
 been brought, it contains elements most favourahle to poetry. 
 Since the decline of ancient Greek, no other tongue can 
 compete with German in copiousness and singular adaptation 
 to the expression of loftier philosophic truths. In the imi- 
 tative arts, whilst most of the other highly civilized nations 
 took scarcely any important part, Germany is second only 
 to Italy. She was slow, indeed, in manifesting her productive 
 power as regards modern literature, since the revolutions of 
 the sixteenth century and first half of the seventeenth, a season 
 during which a great portion of the rest of Europe was ex- 
 tremely prolific : yet even this may not have operated to her 
 prejudice. It may reasonably be expected that in the domains 
 of history and philosophy, late writers possess obvious ad- 
 vantages over their predecessors. The premature literary 
 exertions of some countries were followed by exhaustion 
 and intellectual prostration during the latter half of the 
 eighteenth century : whilst Germany exhibited remarkable 
 fertility. Though individual defects are still visible, the 
 time is not very far distant when a knowledge of German 
 language and literature will be recognized as an inevitable 
 necessity by the cultivated mind of foreign nations. 
 
 Of the northern and easternmost nations, tbe Scandina- 
 vians took the greatest share in the mental growth of the 
 west during the middle ages. I have previously endeavoured 
 to convey some idea of the influence they exercised on 
 European poetry, on the occasion of my adverting to the 
 migratory Northmen or Normans. They joined in the 
 Crusades, and accordingly participated in the benefits con- 
 nected with them, and their effects on the imagination and 
 
220 SCANDINAVIAN LITEEATUEE. 
 
 intellect generally. Numbers of enterprising Icelanders 
 traversed every part of Europe for the purposes of literary 
 discovery : and, to gratify the longings of curiosity, they ex- 
 plored all known sources of knowledge and fiction. In their 
 Edda they possessed the oldest genuine record of the poetry 
 of the Germanic races, and of the whole mediaeval period ; 
 subsequently they imported into their country the Christian 
 chivalric epics of the south of Europe. In some of these, 
 more especially in German heroics, they were not a little 
 surprised to find a striking similarity to their own northern 
 legends with shapes that, here and there, they recognized as 
 familiar to their memory. These objects of popular interest 
 were then remodelled in varied form and manner ; and, taken 
 in connection with Gothic and German epics of the same 
 period, they constitute, as it were, a separate northern 
 school in the poetry of the West; a school that presents 
 many features differing from the romantic spirit and southern 
 fancy of the Latin races. All the impressions of pagan and 
 northern descent in these Scandinavian fictions, marvellous 
 creations, and whatsoever also was clearly traceable to heathen 
 mythology, appealed to their sympathies in a peculiar man- 
 ner, being in more immediate affinity to the fountain-head of 
 their Edda. The element of the wonderful, a mere sport of 
 the imagination in southern poetry, an idle ornament in the 
 armory of chivalry, embodied in emphatic meaning, a deep 
 significancy and truth, in the efforts of the northern muse. 
 Erom this point of view, the northern arrangement of the 
 Nibelungen-lied asserted individual claims to consideration, 
 superior to those of the German epic. Iceland and Scandi- 
 navia had, likewise, a peculiar chivalric minstrelsy, in the 
 middle ages, which, like that of other countries, at first 
 merged into prosaic annals, and was subsequently dispersed 
 in fragmentary popular lays. This was more especially the 
 case in Denmark, England, and Germany, during the epoch 
 of religious disputes, when the change that came over eccle- 
 siastical and civil life occasioned a long interruption in the 
 transmission of national memorials, so that only a few faint 
 echoes of minstrelsy were heard, which soon died away in 
 broken and lisping numbers. Eor this reason the ballads of 
 England* and Germany, of Scotland and Denmark, are worthy 
 
 * Eitson's Old English Ballads will well repay the trouble of perusal. — 
 Transl. note. 
 
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 221 
 
 of being carefully stored up, as the priceless relics of a well- 
 nigh forgotten past. The olden literature of the north was 
 common to all Scandinavian nations. With the Reformation 
 a serious interruption seems to have set in ; the native his- 
 torians of Danish as of Swedish literature, are also ac- 
 customed to regard the introduction of High- German, im- 
 ported with Protestantism, as fatal to the development of the 
 vernacular idiom. The later literary history of Sweden is 
 adduced by her own critics in support of the maxim that no 
 nation, however rich in characteristic feeling and sentiment, 
 can aspire to the possession of a native literature so long as 
 it continues to attach and devote itself to alien standards. 
 It is interesting to observe with how independent and self- 
 possessed a spirit Denmark has, of later years, advanced in 
 the fields of learning, bearing a manifest resemblance in her 
 genius, to Germany and England. The common bond of 
 union connecting the German language with that of the 
 northern countries already referred to, is equally valid for 
 the purpose of linking together the poetry of Germany, 
 England, and Denmark. This communion does not extend 
 to the regions of philosophy ; and yet, it may safely be pre- 
 dicted that the future renown and success of all races, 
 descended from Germanic lineage, will in a great measure 
 depend on their common progress in philosophic pursuits. 
 
 There is one circumstance which forcibly suggests a com- 
 parison between Scandinavia, as it was constituted prior to 
 the Reformation, and Spain, it is this : both of these coun- 
 tries, when they had attained to a high degree of political 
 and intellectual superiority, isolated themselves from the 
 rest of Europe, and formed, each for itself, a distinct and 
 exclusive whole. Eor, though the Northmen, equally with 
 the Spaniards, took part in the prevailing chivalry of the 
 middle ages, with which they were familiar of yore ; and 
 though, in the course of their travels, they enriched them- 
 selves with the learning of southern Europe, still, it is 
 abundantly evident there was not so intimate or so frequent 
 an intercourse, on the part of either, with foreign countries, 
 as that subsisting between England and Erance from the 
 eleventh to the fifteenth century, or between Italy and Ger- 
 many from the ninth to the sixteenth. The growth of the 
 Scandinavian mind had a purely national bent ; being espe- 
 
222 THE SCLAVONIC RACES. 
 
 cially directed to poetry, history, and similar subjects, with 
 the slightest possible leaning to higher philosophical investi- 
 gation ; at least, in an earlier period, they were equally defi- 
 cient with Spain in eminent philosophical enquirers. It is a 
 matter worthy of serious consideration to observe how com- 
 pletely the four central countries of Europe — Italy, Germany, 
 France, England — as they have monopolized the political 
 history of modern times, so also from the first dawn of 
 European civilization under Charlemagne, down to our own 
 day, they have taken a permanent and prominent interest in 
 the development of philosophy, in her noble progress, or her 
 retrogression ; indeed, in all that affects her history and marks 
 her career. The national diversities and tendencies of Philo- 
 sophy in these countries will be indicated in the proper 
 place. 
 
 Among the Sclavonic races, Russia had several native his- 
 torians in early mediaeval times, — an inestimable advantage, 
 and an unmistakeable proof of a commencing intellectual 
 development. It is highly probable, judging from the exist- 
 ence of a flourishing commerce, from intimate relations unin- 
 terruptedly maintained with Constantinople, and from other 
 circumstances, that Russia had made considerable advance 
 in civilization previous to the Mogul devastations. But her 
 connection with the Greek Church was the means of isolat- 
 ing Russia, during mediaeval and more modern times, politi- 
 cally and intellectually from the West. Of other Sclavonic 
 lands, Bohemia was in possession of an extensive and valu- 
 able literature, under her own Charles IV., a nearer acquaint- 
 ance with which might prove important in an historical 
 point of view ; from what is at present known of it, it would 
 appear to have been more complete in the departments of 
 history and science than in that of minstrelsy. I am not in 
 a position to test the accuracy of the assertion, that Poland 
 had a vast store of poetic reminiscences before the middle 
 ages ; the alleged aptness of the language for poetic cultiva- 
 tion, as also some of the peculiarities inherent in the national 
 character, would seem to favour the remark. But, even if 
 this were not the case, and if the Sclavonic nations of the 
 middle ages were not endowed with such rich poetic trea- 
 sures as those of German extraction, and adopting the 
 Romanic idiom, a general explanation might, without much 
 
HUNGARIAN" LITERATURE. 223 
 
 difficulty, be offered. Their participation in the Crusades 
 was, at the best, very slight in proportion. Indeed, I am 
 strongly inclined to question if they took any interest in 
 them at all. The spirit of chivalry was either altogether 
 strange to their notions, or by no means as dominant with 
 them as in the "West. Perhaps, too, the mythology of the 
 Sclavonic races, previous to their embracing Christianity, 
 was more barren than that of the Germans ; or it may have 
 been eradicated in too sudden and violent a manner. Though 
 of cognate origin with the noblest idioms of ancient and 
 modern times, and flexible in their grammatical structure, 
 the Sclavonic tongues do not, on the whole, appear to incline 
 naturally to the cultivation of poetry. 
 
 There is no doubt that, from the earliest times, the Hun- 
 garians had a fine collection of epics composed in their own 
 primitive tongue. The engrossing theme of their poetry 
 was, most probably, an account of the conquest of the coun- 
 try under the "Seven Chiefs." It is tolerably certain that 
 these legends of heathen antiquity were not entirely extinct 
 even after the introduction of Christianity, since the writers 
 of the national chronicles bear testimony to having seen lays 
 of corresponding import with their own eyes. This view is 
 further confirmed by the fact that Hevaj, a celebrated Hun- 
 garian scholar, himself assisted in rescuing from oblivion a 
 ballad of this sort : it treats of the immigration of the Mag- 
 yars into Hungary. The chronicle recorded by the secretary 
 of King Bela,* eminently distinguished in Hungarian his- 
 tory and- jurisprudence, is, in all probability, made up of 
 similar historical lays, turned into prose by the compiler, 
 with the addition of sundry opinions and illustrations, the 
 coinage of his own brain. He does not at all deserve the 
 caustic sneers with which he has been assailed by various 
 critics. The Chronicle in question, though mutilated and 
 necessarily imperfect, should be favourably accepted, and 
 regarded as an important collection of national ballads, with- 
 out attempting to fasten upon it extraneous matter and alien 
 disputes. Attila, whom Hungary honoured as a native war- 
 
 * Mr. Lockhart has confounded the secretary with his royal master ; it 
 is unquestionably the former who compiled the Chronicle to which refer- 
 ence is made. There were four Hungarian monarchs of the house of 
 Bela (1060— 1270).— Transl. note. 
 
224 HXNGAEIA^ LITEEATUEE. 
 
 rior-king, was a favourite subject of the national muse. 
 There is abundant proof throughout the Chronicles of the 
 celebration of Attila's prowess, and that of the Gothic 
 heroes with whom he is associated in the Xiebelungen and 
 the Helden-buck in Hungarian song, extant until compara- 
 tively late times. These olden traditions probably survived 
 till the reign of Matthias Corvin,* who was desirous of 
 Latinizing or Italianizing his kingdom all at once ; when, as 
 might be expected, the language fell into desuetude, whilst 
 the traditions and sweet memories of other days, around 
 which nations, like individuals, love to linger, disappeared 
 from the scene. Thus it fared with Hungary, in the fifteenth 
 century, just as it would have fared with Germany in the 
 eighteenth, had the great soldier-king,t who wielded a Ger- 
 man sceptre, and who was equally intent on sacrificing the 
 intellectual development of his country in the beginning of 
 the last century, possessed as unlimited a sway over the whole 
 of Germany as Corvin did over Hungary. But, whatsoever 
 of Hungarian legendary poetry and glorious reminiscence 
 escaped the deadly flow of foreign pseudo-refinement, pro- 
 bably perished altogether under the devastations of the 
 Turks. Some remains of the national genius for historical 
 epics lingered in the country, and survived her destruction. 
 The sixteenth and seventeenth centuries produced a few 
 masters in this species of composition ; and, in our own 
 times, Kisfalud, a bard of considerable feeling, has celebrated 
 his country's traditions on the lyre he had formerly attuned 
 to Love4 
 
 * Matthias Corvinus, sometimes styled Hunnyades from his family 
 name, one of the most warlike monarchs of a "warlike race. His encounters 
 with the Turks were frequent and sanguinary : but his arms were gene- 
 rally crowned with victory. He married the Princess Beatrix of Naples. — 
 Trausl. note. 
 
 f Frederick the Great, of Prussia, on all occasions preferred the French 
 language to his own. His influence was fatal to the interests of German 
 literature. — Transl. note. 
 
 X Professor Creasy, in his admirable work, " The Fifteen Decisive 
 Battles of the World," (7th Edition), when remarking on the battle of 
 Pultowa, takes occasion to allude to the Sclavonic race. He says : — " Let 
 it not be supposed that in thus regarding the primary triumph of Russia 
 over Sweden as a victory of the Sclavonic over the Germanic race, we are 
 dealing with matters of mere ethnological pedantry, or with themes of 
 mere speculative curiosity. The fact that Russia is a Sclavonic empire, Ls 
 
NATIONAL LITERATURE. 225 
 
 Let me close these sketches of the literature and language 
 of the less important countries of Europe with a general 
 remark, to which I have already alluded. Every free and 
 independent nation may claim the right to a native litera- 
 ture — that is, an idiomatic literary development of language. 
 Without this, the national genius will never be self-possessed, 
 or enjoy an immunity from certain barbaric associations. 
 It would be absurd to misconstrue this assertion into undue 
 and partial predilection, ignoring the utility of acquiring 
 foreign idioms. For the purposes of ordinary mental culture, 
 and for private reasons, an acquisition of the classical lan- 
 guages of antiquity, as also of several of the modern, will 
 always be found desirable and proper by some. Of these, 
 external circumstances will regulate a fitting selection. The 
 adoption of a foreign idiom in the business of legislation and 
 jurisprudence is, at all times, exceedingly oppressive, if not 
 positively unjust ; when employed in administering state 
 .affairs, and in the social intercourse of the upper classes, it 
 cannot fail to exercise a fatal influence on the language 
 which it has undertaken to supplant. But where such a 
 proceeding is once established, it becomes an inevitable, 
 though reluctant, necessity on the part of individuals to con- 
 form to usage. It is, then, a matter for the influeutial in- 
 terference of the upper classes to interpose the weight of 
 their authority between two extremes : namely, to render 
 to stern necessity what necessity exacts, and not to be 
 unmindful of the sacred duty they owe their country. The 
 guardianship of the language of a country is, as it were, con- 
 fided to the care of the upper classes of society — let them 
 not abuse that trust. It should be the earnest endeavour of 
 every educated person to maintain inviolate the purity of his 
 native language by precept and practice ; pains should be 
 taken to become familiar with the history of its rise and 
 
 a fact of immense practical influence at the present moment. Half the 
 inhabitants of the Austrian empire are Sclavonian. The population of the 
 larger part of Turkey in Europe i? of the same race. Silesia, Posen and 
 other parts of the Prussian dominions are principally Sclavonic. And 
 during- late years an enthusiastic zeal for blending- all Slavonians into one 
 great united Sclavonic empire has be-n growing up in these countries, 
 which, however we may deride its principle, is not the les3 real and active, 
 and of which Russia, as the head and champion of the Sclavonic race, 
 knows how to take her advantage." — Traiisl. note. 
 
 L 
 
226 NATIONAL LITERATURE. 
 
 progress, equally with the history of his country. This reso- 
 lution cannot but be facilitated by the acquisition of foreign 
 idioms, since pursuits of this nature are calculated to 
 increase intelligence generally and to strengthen the faculty 
 of expression. The practical application of all acquired 
 tongues should be severely restricted to occasions when they 
 are really indispensable. Upon the higher classes it is espe- 
 cially incumbent to do all in their power towards promoting 
 the healthy growth of their native language : they have a 
 peculiar interest in the welfare of their country, and their 
 responsibility is in this respect commensurately proportioned. 
 A nation whose idiom is in process of decay, or is sensibly 
 on the road to deterioration, will itself, eventually, succumb 
 to barbaric rudeness. A nation that tamely looks on whilst 
 it is being despoiled by its idiom, forfeits the respect due to 
 independence — is degraded in the ranks of civilization. But, 
 however formidable the pressure from without of threatened 
 violence in eradicating the indigenous idiom of a country, 
 however serious the injury inflicted by the introduction of 
 foreign expressions, and the adoption of the same by a servile 
 crew of imitators : the danger ceases to be imminent as soon 
 as it is recognized. In all things that are not subject to the 
 hazard of the moment, but under the controlling influences 
 of time and development, the silent opposition of the well- 
 disposed classes of the community will ever prevail. The 
 tyrant who attempts to crush the liberties of his subjects, 
 often defeats his own ends by the imposition of a yoke alike 
 strange and intolerable, which rouses the slumbering ener- 
 gies of the oppressed, and disseminates more widely the 
 spirit of nationality. This was recently proved, when the 
 most colossal Despotism of modern times availed not to wrest 
 from Germany her intellectual vitality. 
 
 Having thus rapidly glanced at some of the European na- 
 tions, I now resume the thread of historic enquiry. "With 
 reference to their external phenomena and final results, the 
 important extensions and discoveries that imparted a new 
 stimulus to science and literature strictly appertain to the 
 eighteenth century. But though the complete manifestation 
 of successive stages of development was delayed until the 
 eighteenth century, the seeds were undoubtedly sown in the 
 sixteenth, at the time of the Reformation. In the case of 
 
INFLUENCE OP THE EEFOEMATION. 227 
 
 both the distinct parties into which Christendom was then 
 divided, the means, object, and limits of that improved 
 culture to which the Reformation was eminently accessory, 
 were defined with the nicest precision. Considered in itself 
 this contest was altogether out of the sphere of civilization 
 and literature ; it connected itself with politics as far as it 
 was concerned with the constitution of the Church, the 
 nature, limits, and mode of exercising spiritual power, or 
 had for it objects those mysteries of Religion which for the 
 most part are unapproachable by Philosophy.* 
 
 As may readily be supposed, however, the Reformation, 
 which wrought such great changes, was not without varied 
 indirect influences, partly salutary and partly noxious, on 
 civilization, science, and literature. Of the former kind, 
 was the increased study of the Greek and other languages 
 of antiquity, which was held indispensable for Religion itself; 
 a study that was henceforth materially extended and generally 
 diffused throughout all Protestant countries, such as Hol- 
 land, England, and some parts of Germany. In Italy and con- 
 siderable portions of Grermany, this cannot be ranked as one 
 of the resulting benefits, for in them the ancient classics were 
 subjects of favourite pursuit long prior to the Reformation. 
 The rival zeal that animated the champions of both parties 
 could not effect much towards settling the disputed claims 
 that roused so fierce an animosity : most of them being of 
 a nature not to be accommodated by means of contention 
 or discussion. Religion is a matter of feeling and feith, 
 rather than of dispute and dialectics. Yet the strife that 
 raged was, upon the whole, favourable to the interests of 
 historical investigation. The advantage thus accruing was 
 of course indirect rather than immediate, and like the bene- 
 ficial results of the Reformation, it did not become clearly 
 
 * The spirit of these remarks is not antagonistic to Schlegel's observa- 
 tions in his " Lectures on Modern History," where he says: — " From the 
 earliest times, from her very origin, Christianity was intimately allied by 
 some of her very first teachers with philosophy — a certain proof that this 
 alliance was not accidental but essential to Christianity. Her primitive 
 apologists completed the victory over the belief and the principles of 
 heathenism, chiefly by the superiority of Christian philosophy over the 
 stoic-platonic." In the same Lecture he states: — " Whenever true philo- 
 sophy is ueglected, a false one will inevitably take its place." — Translator's 
 note. 
 
228 THE REFORMATION AND THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 apparent till after outward tranquillity had been restored, 
 whilst most of the injurious consequences were manifested 
 in some respects at once. The effect on the fine arts was 
 pernicious, not only by the destruction of existing specimens 
 of architecture and painting, but because Art itself was 
 diverted from its original and natural destination. The dis- 
 turbances and civil wars that ensued were, as usual, more 
 detrimental to the Arts than to literature. Probably Ger- 
 many lost by these disorders the full development of a style 
 of painting peculiar to it, which began to flourish so glori- 
 ously under Albrecht Durer, Lucas Kranach, and Holbein. 
 These distinguished masters of German pictorial art were all 
 trained in a preceding period, and in their art were found 
 no followers. In the Protestant Netherlands, the artist was 
 content to choose a meaner theme, which the most masterly 
 treatment could not possibly elevate to such dignity as the 
 older paintings on religious subjects. We may aflirm that 
 in general a great and injurious interruption in the arts and 
 literature took place, because the attack on the faith and 
 constitution of the Church caused an indiscriminate rejection 
 of everything mediaeval — history, art, and poetry in one 
 revolutionary overthrow. Germany, in an especial manner, 
 sustained irreparable losses. The throwing away of an intel- 
 lectual inheritance, bequeathed by a noble ancestry, is, in- 
 deed, all but inseparable from great and sudden changes. 
 But now that we can afford to look back on these times with 
 unbiassed feelings, sober reason and dispassionate judgment, 
 let us cease to misapprehend the mediaeval period, its arts and 
 its civilization. It has been asserted that the Eeformation 
 first vindicated the real moral freedom of mankind : to this 
 proposition I cannot unreservedly subscribe. The general 
 freedom, or rather lawlessness of spirit, so characteristic of 
 the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, does not belong 
 to the immediate consequences of the Eeformation : various 
 circumstances co-operated in its production ; and after all, 
 it may be seriously asked if such degenerate license was 
 not in a degree rather injurious than praiseworthy and 
 salutary ? The immediate action of the Eeformation on the 
 systems of philosophy and thought was rather restrictive. 
 The very conceptions of a liberality that was characteristic 
 of Italy and Germany in the reign of the Medici, Leo X., 
 
HUGO GEOTIUS. 229 
 
 and the Emperor Maximilian, were unknown in the first 
 half of the seventeenth century. A political and spiritual 
 despotism, such as that of Henry VIII. * at the first out- 
 break of the storm ; and then, after the rending of Europe, 
 of Philip II. in the Catholic countries, and of Cromwell on 
 the Protestant side in a state of revolutionary democracy, 
 would have been impossible but for the Reformation. He 
 who stands at the head of a new party and a great revolu- 
 tion, at once political and religious, possesses so unlimited a 
 power, even over thought and mind, that it depends simply 
 on his own will, if he does not abuse it. It cannot be denied 
 that the adherents of the old faith, under Philip II., and in 
 the reign of several Erench monarchs, seemed to consider 
 every expedient lawful to check the spread of the new doc- 
 trine. Should any one quote instances of persecution in 
 the times preceding the Reformation, in order to prove its 
 beneficial operation, we shall find that in the case of several 
 of these persecutions, as in that of Huss, in the fifteenth 
 century, on nearer inspection of the enormities it will be 
 found that they were in part the effect of political animosity. 
 Besides, long after the period of the Reformation, in the 
 sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, similar atrocities, to the 
 disgrace of mankind, were perpetrated on both sides. 
 
 The earliest independent thinker and noted writer in the 
 Protestant ranks, when the first ferment had subsided — Hugo 
 Grotius — could not escape persecution and imprisonment, in 
 the freest country then existing. On the other hand, the 
 manifold abuses to which liberty was subjected, necessarily 
 led to limitations that occasionally became harsh and oppres- 
 sive. Hence, the nascent development of Italian philosophy, 
 in the fifteenth century, was rudely nipped in the bud, a 
 circumstance that has induced an erroneous impression to 
 prevail relative to the natural ability and philosophic genius 
 of that intelligent people. Their efforts in later times were 
 
 * The latest and ablest champion of Henry VIII. (Froude's " History of 
 England from the fall of Wolsey to the death of Elizabeth,") vindicates 
 the policy of that monarch, and substantially proves him to have been 
 magnanimous and patriotic. Mr. Froude has cast much new light on the 
 subject from his researches in generally inaccessible sources, such as state- 
 records, &c, furnished by Sir F. Palgrave. Cromwell's character may 
 safely be left in the hands of Thomas Carlyle.— Tranal. note. 
 
230 PROGRESS OP PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 not calculated to dispel the illusion ; for the philosophic 
 talents, so abundantly manifested in the sixteenth and 
 seventeenth centuries, were unfortunately arrayed in opposi- 
 tion to the Church, or shocked the common morality of man- 
 kind. In the realms of intellect, as in the domains of 
 politics, anarchy engenders despotism, and despotism, when 
 it has reached the culminating point, gives place to still 
 more violent reactions, immoderate and endless. Thereis,then, 
 a continual oscillation between the two extremes, despotism 
 and anarchy, both equally hideous and repulsive : unless a 
 third power interposes, stems the angry tide of frenzy, and 
 exercises benevolent and soothing mediation. 
 
 We have seen that Protestantism was never actually in 
 direct contact with art or poetry, but that wherever it in- 
 fluenced these, its agency was destructive. On history 
 and on philology it exercised a highly beneficial influence : 
 with philosophy its relations were of the most intimate na- 
 ture. It will now be convenient to take a rapid survey of 
 the history and condition of philosophy, both before the 
 Reformation, and during the first hundred years that fol- 
 lowed that great event: but only in so far as philosophy 
 was essentially connected with the civilization of the human 
 race. 
 
 The distinguished reasoners who flourished in England, 
 Italy, and France, prior to the twelfth century, have already 
 been enumerated. Germany took a decided lead in the 
 production of such intellects : almost in unbroken series from 
 Charlemagne to the Eeformation, and even after it. Upon 
 the whole, mental sluggishness is not one of the charges 
 that can justly be brought against the Europe of the middle 
 ages. If any objection be raised, it is this, that, together 
 with good and useful matter, much that was useless and 
 positively pernicious was accepted by the restless activity of 
 curious enquiry. The Arabs introduced the mathematics, as 
 well as improvements in chemistry and medicine : but this 
 valuable information was alloyed by monstrosities, misnamed 
 systems, of astrology and alchemy. The philosophy of Aris- 
 totle, who was generally considered as the highest standard, 
 the quintessence of natural thought and science, was accom- 
 panied by a whole host of subtile dialectics, a chaotic mass 
 of sophistry, such as the Greeks, more especially, were wont 
 
TIIE AMSTOTELIAN PHILOSOPHY. 231 
 
 to harbour. The best thing in the Philosophy of Aristotle 
 is the spirit of Criticism: but, in order to apprehend this 
 spirit, a comprehensive and, at the same time, minute ac- 
 quaintance with the entire genius of antiquity is absolutely 
 essential. Such an acquaintance was hardly compatible with 
 the circumstances of that time: it is even now very un- 
 common. This spirit of criticism does not forsake Aristotle 
 until he arrives at the awful threshold of metaphysics : and 
 here, the two guides — Eeason and Experience — in whom he 
 had hitherto implicitly trusted, are totally inadequate. Prom 
 a blind attachment to those unintelligible metaphysics which 
 were in the works of the master himself, resulted the so- 
 called scholastic system. The evil was, in some measure, 
 compensated for by an increased study of Aristotle's prac- 
 tical physics, more particularly subsequent to the time of 
 Albertus Magnus. To say that the middle ages were much 
 benefited by the moral philosophy of the Stagyrite, I would 
 not assert : its principal advantage to ourselves consists in 
 the elucidation of Greek manners, social economy, and po- 
 litical constitution which it affords. Europe had, for some 
 centuries, been in possession of a Christian morality purer 
 and much loftier ; so that the additions made were chiefly 
 superfluous distinctions and false assumptions. A striking 
 example of the noxious effects of Aristotelian morals, in 
 their practical application, is exhibited in a highly civilized 
 and learned age. I allude to Spain in the sixteenth century. 
 "When the treatment of the Americans was discussed in 
 public, Sepulveda, a man naturally upright and honourable, 
 but a fond disciple of Aristotle, stoutly advocated the legiti- 
 macy of slavery : an institution no less opposed to the prin- 
 ciples of Christianity than it is repulsive to the best feelings 
 of Humanity. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the great Doctors of Aristo- 
 telian philosophy in the middle ages were the first to 
 propagate this system. The Church had early offered the 
 most strenuous opposition to its dissemination. Erom the 
 first, many perilous and erroneous doctrines were associated 
 with it. Its tenets, when deeply rooted, led to the substi- 
 tution of a general soul of the world for a Deity, and to a 
 denial of the personal immortality of the soul — not necessa- 
 rily, perhaps, yet it did so, among the Arabs, in the middle 
 
232 THE ARISTOTELIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ages, and in the sixteenth century. But when the pressure 
 of the times was irresistible, when it was no longer competent 
 for the age to make head against Aristotle's system, it was 
 adopted by certain Christian philosophers, for the purpose of 
 breaking the fury of the tide, and directing its stream into 
 less dangerous channels. On the merits of these distinguished 
 guardians of the faith, a decision may be arrived at as 
 follows : — the false or scholastic elements of their philosophy 
 are derived from the traditionary sophistry of paganism, 
 from the original defects of the Aristotelian system, from 
 the vices of Arabian commentators, and from the vehement 
 sectarianism of the age. This last has, in all time, proved 
 so virulent in its infectious properties as to taint the very 
 persons who attack it. The universities especially contri- 
 buted to foment the strife : from them generous youth issued 
 in thousands, inflamed with the most furious party-zeal. The 
 good effected by the more excellent of mediaeval philosophers 
 is attributable in part to Christianity, which saved them 
 from many grave errors ; in part, to their own genius and 
 sound understanding. But this scholastic system, as it has 
 been called, this erratic effort of the mind to grasp the 
 shadows of vain formulas, is by no means exclusively 
 characteristic of the middle ages. It was a frequent symptom 
 of Grecian philosophy, and reached the greatest height 
 during the most nourishing age of its culture. Modern times 
 stand charged with it : nor Germany alone. France and 
 England afford numerous examples, occasionally emanating 
 from the bitterest antagonists of Aristotle and scholastic 
 science : that is, provided we look at the essence of the evil, 
 and are not disposed to underrate the dangers of sophistry, 
 simply because it may assume greater elegance and pliancy 
 of form. 
 
 The perplexed roving of the mind in empty conceits and 
 lifeless abstractions as soon as we desert the path of truth, 
 is the peculiar and hereditary malady of Beason. Wayward 
 in its career, it sometimes operates on life in the more 
 dangerous form of loquacious verbosity, or is confined within 
 the restricted formulas of the schools. It is, in both cases, 
 in close union with a spirit of sectarianism at variance with 
 truth. 
 
 M ediseval philosophy, generally, is liable to the accusation 
 
MEDI^YAL PHILOSOPHY. 233 
 
 of not being permeated in all its parts by the vivifying spirit 
 of Christianity. In the two chief forms of the European 
 system of Philosophy derived from the ancients — I refer to 
 the Platonic and the Aristotelian — were the germs of two 
 distinct errors : the one, at which I have just been glancing, 
 is the subtle refining process, in connection with the dialec- 
 tics of antiquity and of Aristotle : the other, Platonism, is 
 in itself more sublime and pure, but nevertheless not exempt 
 from fanciful extravagance, as soon as it is freed from those 
 wholesome restraints with which mere humanity can never 
 entirely dispense. This is illustrated by countless examples, 
 derived from the second species of mediaeval philosophy, the 
 so-called mystical. As long as they were animated by 
 religious feeling only, and with gentle piety strove after 
 perfection according to the precepts and example of the 
 Gospel, the Mystics rested on the firm ground of Christian 
 truth : thus, they conferred innumerable benefits, not on 
 their contemporaries alone, but on the Church generally 
 throughout all time, like our Thomas a Kempis. This 
 method was indisputably right in opposition to Scholasticism. 
 Yet, despite inward piety of sentiment and feeling, the 
 religious Mystics of the middle ages not unfrequently had a 
 perceptible tinge of pantheistic negation and self-annihilation 
 alien to the spirit of Christianity, and a bar to its loftier 
 development. Did they desire to roam through the spacious 
 realms of science, religious feeling was, of itself, deemed in- 
 sufficient: other sources of perception, not always of the 
 purest, were laid under contribution, more particularly for 
 an examination of nature's secrets. Platonism, connected 
 as it was with many oriental traditions and mysteries, allowed 
 too free a scope to the imagination : with investigations of 
 natural philosophy, a belief in astrology and an inclination 
 to magic arts were too often blended. This was especially 
 the case in Germany : a circumstance deriving additional 
 weight from the fact that kindred impostures are just now 
 extremely prevalent in this country. Just as eminent men 
 of old were wont to commence their biography by commend- 
 ing themselves to the Almighty, or by the pious expression 
 of some wish or thought, so it is now the fashion to prefix a 
 scheme of nativity, or some astrological calculation.* Such 
 * Imposture of the kind here alluded to cannot be too strongly repro- 
 
231 ASTB0L0GY. 
 
 phenomena which are regarded as wonderful and mysterious, 
 not as if in themselves they were quite lawless, uncon- 
 nected and inconceivable, but because they certainly belong 
 to a higher and hidden order and region, t am very far from 
 wishing to deny, when profound men of science make them 
 the objects of their examination. But even when thus 
 investigated and found to be to a certain extent real, in 
 order to avoid perilous conclusions, sidereal influences should 
 at all times be subjected and reconciled to the spirit of 
 Christianity, which alone is able to interpret and direct 
 aright these hidden powers. If, however, human liberty be 
 unreservedly committed to astral control, a belief in astrology 
 is calculated to sap the very foundations of morals and reli- 
 gion, as our own Schiller has shewn in his admirable dramatic 
 delineation of Wallensteiii.* These subjects have ever been 
 treated as mysterious secrets, in consequence of the facility 
 of their abuse, and the peril attendant on their communica- 
 tion. It is perfectly consistent with historical probability 
 to suppose that Albertus Magnus, Nicolas of Cusa, the 
 great mathematician of the fifteenth century, worthy Bishop 
 Trithemius, and Beuchlin, the most illustrious oriental 
 scholar of his age, were in possession of much knowledge 
 not commonly diffused at the present moment. Neither 
 would it be altogether just to ignore the genius or the 
 integrity of these scholars merely because they were mixed 
 up with fallacies such as menace the reputation of our own 
 times. Others unfortunately did not retain the original 
 purity of their intellects on coming in contact with some of 
 the splendid but specious dogmas of the age : Agrippa and 
 Paracelsus may be quoted as being by no means free from 
 blemish. At an earlier period, however, Germany could 
 boast of many mystic philosophers imbued with pure religious 
 feelings : no modern language was adapted or applied to the 
 pursuit of the higher branches of philosophy equally soon 
 
 bated. It lays the axe at the root of all progressive civilization, not to 
 say religion, and pioneers the way to credulity and crime. — Transl, note. 
 • Allusion is here made to Wallenstein, the brave Duke of Friedland, 
 and the hero of Schiller's finest tragedy. Having thrown off his allegiance 
 to the Emperor of Austria, he was declared guilty of high treason, and 
 assassinated in his own quarters by emissaries sent for that purpose. 
 Previous to undertaking anything of importance, he invariably consulted 
 Seni, an astrologer constantly in attendance upon him. — Transl. note. 
 
TAULER. 235 
 
 with the German. A vast number of writers in this depart- 
 ment, both in low and high Grerman, continued to flourish 
 from the thirteenth century until the Reformation : they 
 founded a sort of school among themselves, and were styled 
 disciples of secret wisdom, or of the heavenly Sophia, by 
 which term they understood divine truth, alike the object of 
 their contemplation and to which they devoted their life. 
 Of a whole host of names I will here cite but one, of great 
 importance in a history of the language, Tauler, the preacher 
 or philosopher, revered long after the Reformation by the 
 joint homage of Protestants and Catholics, until his memory, 
 too, sunk into oblivion. Alsatian scholars, though in political 
 unison with France, have been reluctant to sever themselves 
 from the literary associations of their native country, and by 
 their earnest researches in German philology and antiquities, 
 have shewn that they were true Germans. They have been 
 among the first, in modern times, to recal attention to this 
 forgotten thinker, and to the value of his works, especially 
 in point of language. His diction, when compared with that 
 prevalent in Luther's age, or even a century later, suggests 
 a difference as striking — if poetry and prose may be com- 
 pared — as the difference obtaining between the harmonious 
 melody of chivalric poetry in the thirteenth century, such 
 as the Nibelungenlied, and the doggrel rhyme of the sixteenth 
 century. The prose of Tauler contrasts favourably with that 
 of later times, because he was pure in spirit and single-minded 
 in his aim. 
 
 If, then, the charge of mysticism is sometimes brought 
 against the Germans of the present day, this fault i3 far 
 more ancient than those who reproach us with it are aware, 
 for it may be traced to the twelfth century, or even the 
 reign of Charlemagne. So far, however, from being a fit 
 subject of reproach, this tendency is one of the characteristic 
 peculiarities of the intellect and soul of a country, which, 
 without prejudice to the rest, asserts the third rank among 
 the metaphysical nations of history. In India, Greece, and 
 Germany, metaphysical genius, or the science of divine 
 things, cultivated and applied in all its varied associations of 
 height and depth, of ways and byeways, was native and 
 indigenous, not of exotic growth. 
 
 National character, in its manifold phases, for the most 
 
236 NATIONAL CHAEACTER. 
 
 part coloured the philosophy of the middle ages, as it does 
 that of more recent times. England and Trance, then as 
 now, produced clever independent thinkers, as also bold 
 sceptics and keen-witted sophists. Many of the so-called 
 scholastics, natives of France and England, bore a national 
 impress exceedingly well-defined for that age. The Italians 
 of former times were distinguished by unwavering devotion 
 to the doctrines of the true faith : as also, but in inferior 
 degree, by a fondness for the higher and often fanciful 
 regions of philosophy. The tendency to Platonism is appa- 
 rent in their poets. Erom the sketch I have just made, it 
 may, accordingly, be inferred that the Aristotelian mode of 
 thought and investigation predominated in England and 
 Erance, during mediaeval as well as modern times. Hence 
 the two countries harmonized in their views and sentiments 
 more than would appear to the superficial observer, not- 
 withstanding political differences. A certain leaning to 
 Platonism, and habits of thought akin to that system, were 
 characteristic alike of the artistic Italian genius and of the 
 reflective, sensitive German : hence, with all the difference 
 of national descent, of language and of customs, a certain 
 sympathy and mutual inclination between the two nations 
 is undeniable. 
 
 LECTURE XI. 
 
 General Remarks on Philosophy previous and subse- 
 quent to the Reformation. — Poetry of Catholic 
 Countries — Spain, Portugal, Italy. — Garcilaso, 
 Ercilla, Camoens, Tasso, Guarini, Marino, Cer- 
 vantes. 
 
 The general condition of civilization and the progress of 
 philosophy shortly before the Reformation, and during the 
 first century after it, formed the subjects of our recent en- 
 quiry. I would now proceed to give the essential results of 
 this enquiry in the following observations. 
 
 Previous to the Reformation and the revival of classical 
 
AEISTOTELIAtf LOGIC. 237 
 
 literature, a system of verbal subtleties, called the Aristo- 
 telian logic, predominated throughout Europe : it was 
 accepted by the learned, and enunciated from academic 
 chairs. The fifteenth century inaugurated a nobler philo- 
 sophy, at least in Germany and Italy ; when meaningless 
 abstractions yielded to living truths, moulded partly in Pla- 
 tonic, partly in Oriental forms. Though faulty and imper- 
 fect in individual expressions, yet, in the aggregate, this 
 new system pointed in the right direction, and was intrinsi- 
 cally richer and more profound than that which it had sup- 
 planted. Its superiority was manifested in the very manner 
 of its conveyance and in the character of its promoters. It 
 was not expounded in the universities and schools ; it was 
 not narrowed down into sectarian views : it was a genuine 
 philosophy, in the old sense of the word, a love of truth and 
 of wisdom, honourably courted and zealously diffused, for its 
 own sake, by men who felt an inward and irresistible call to 
 propagate the glorious knowledge of the Truth ; so powerful 
 were the attractions, so endearing the graces of this philo- 
 sophy, that the greatest mathematicians, the most accom- 
 plished classical scholars, the first orientalists, of the fifteenth 
 century, in Italy as well as Germany, were enrolled among 
 her followers. The only effect that a renewed acquaintance 
 with Greek literature had on philosophy, as a whole, was to 
 contribute auxiliary support, in the shape of legendary lore, 
 to the already enthusiastic fancy of oriental mystic Pla- 
 tonism. In other words, the restoration of ancient literary 
 memorials enriched the learning of the age, whilst it also 
 assisted in diffusing fanciful chimerical ideas, and thus co- 
 operated for evil as well as for good. 
 
 Aristotelian philosophy was influenced in a far greater 
 degree. It had hitherto never been comprehended or taught 
 in its distinctive features. Its own peculiar guardians, the 
 Scholastics, had intermingled platonic conceptions, in mak- 
 ing it subservient to Christian doctrine. On now being 
 drawn fresh from the well-springs of its source, and viewed 
 in connexion with the whole extent and bearings of Grecian 
 genius, it was a material gainer in point of form at least : it 
 was divested of the outer scholastic garb that never really 
 fitted it, and arrayed in classic drapery not unworthy of the 
 acute genius of its author. The more, however, this Greek 
 
238 PHILOSOPHY OF EPICURUS. 
 
 philosophy became the subject of earnest pursuit aud inde- 
 fatigable research, the more frequent were the instances of 
 aberration on the part of its adherents : some of them, even- 
 tually, arrived at results directly at variance with religion 
 and morality, such as acknowledging an all-pervading spirit 
 of matter and of the universe as a great first Cause, in place 
 of the Almighty, and denying the immortality of the soul. 
 This happened in the case of several disciples of Aristotle, 
 chiefly in Italy, in the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries. The efforts made at this period by some admirers 
 of ancient literature to revive other systems of antiquity, 
 such as the Stoic, had less influence on the course of Philo- 
 sophy, at least not so palpably. Plato and Aristotle have 
 so clearly defined the two principal modes of human thought 
 and perception, that they have remained and must remain 
 such for all succeeding generations. All other tenets of 
 antiquity are valuable only in consequence of their relation 
 to these two leading systems, from which they are, generally 
 speaking, mere deviations or bye-paths, which again bring 
 back to the main road. Hence the various attempts that 
 were made to re-establisb Stoicism, or indeed any other 
 pagan teaching, were futile, and only served to augment the 
 prevalent confusion. To the eternal disgrace of the seven- 
 teenth century, be it recorded, that the vilest of all ancient 
 doctrines, the crude materialism of Epicurus, which resolves 
 every thing into primary corporeal atoms, found favour for 
 a time : a circumstance of itself amply sufficient to attest 
 the degeneracy of genuine philosophy, the decline of pure 
 science. Subsequent^, this antiquated atom theory, ren- 
 dered somewhat more important by modern discoveries in 
 physics, attracted a large number of followers, until it grew 
 to be the dominant philosophy of the latter half of the 
 eighteenth century, especially in France, but also over the 
 rest of Europe, owing to the prevalence of the French 
 language. 
 
 The fifteenth and sixteenth centuries are not unfrequently 
 regarded as the epoch of a revival or even regeneration of 
 science. In reference to a renewed acquaintance with Gre- 
 cian literature and antiquities generally, there was a great 
 accession to historical knowledge : and, though it would not 
 be correct to say that complete perfection was attained, yet 
 
LUTHER AND MELANCTHON. 239 
 
 considerable progress was effected. However gratifying the 
 advances that were made in the field of information, there 
 is no ground for alleging that a regeneration of the mental 
 faculties really took place : to deserve this appellation, what- 
 ever agency was at work should have been from within — a 
 raising, as it were, of the dead spirit, a sensible quickening 
 to vitality. Such effects as these were not directly realized : 
 the two principal philosophic methods, the Aristotelian and 
 the Platonic, retained their ascendancy. Yet on the future 
 development of both these schools the Reformation exer- 
 cised no small amount of influence. Luther himself seems 
 not to have been familiar with the import of that platonic 
 oriental system which had enlisted so numerous a host of 
 followers under her banners, both before and at his time, 
 throughout Germany. On the other hand, he was inflamed 
 with implacable hatred and abhorrence of the scholastics and 
 their reputed founder, Aristotle, whom he was accustomed 
 to call a "dead heathen." Again, Luther's dearest friend 
 and follower, Melancthon, was one of their staunchest ad- 
 herents : nay more, it was he who once more reinstated 
 Aristotle and the scholastic school, refined and purged of 
 many of their more glaring errors, in their former ascend- 
 ancy. The case was as follows : — The central point of 
 Truth being once withdrawn or unsettled in the nobler and 
 loftier Platonic philosophy, the door was opened to extrava- 
 gance of every kind and degree ; and such, unhappily, were 
 its frequent manifestations during the early period of the 
 [Reformation, when anarchy and wildest confusion raged 
 throughout Germany. Universal suspicion of its principles 
 naturally followed. Spain as well as Germany accepted 
 Aristotelian tenets ; inasmuch as this ancient system of 
 forms was the more readily applied by both of the contend- 
 ing parties to their particular creeds, that it was altogether 
 destitute of any vitality,, of its own. Although now en- 
 riched by great additions of natural science, linguistic lore, 
 and antiquities, its main fault was not diminished : there 
 was the same idle dispute about words, and though a better 
 philosophy was on the point of banishing it in the fifteenth 
 century, it maintained itself in all the countries where lite- 
 rature and science were cultivated to the end of the seven- 
 teenth century. In Italy the nobler system, that now assumed 
 
240 MENTAL POWER OE THE UNEDUCATED. 
 
 the character of a violent and uncompromising opposition, 
 was repressed by the most violent measures, and several men 
 of eminent talent, like Giordano Bruno, were sacrificed as 
 victims to the strife. In Germany and England the higher 
 philosophy, though not entirely suppressed, was yet subjected 
 to persecution, and, by common consent, banished from the 
 sphere of the learned. But with so much greater care was it 
 fostered by secret traditions or associations, or cultivated by 
 persons in the lower ranks of society. In both these 
 ways it was exposed to manifold corruptions and misrepre- 
 sentations, and kept back from general development and 
 influence. 
 
 The endowments of nature are, happily, not meted out 
 with a niggardly or partial hand : the light of divine lievela- 
 tion is open to every christian and susceptible mind who is 
 favoured with it : the spirit of deep reflection and of the 
 highest science is not confined to the educated classes, and 
 is altogether independent of learning. Many of the most 
 notable philosophers of ancient Greece were of humble 
 origin, having no further mark of distinction than earnest 
 thought : Socrates, the greatest of Grecian sages, was no 
 scholar, neither would he become one. The first teachers 
 of Christianity were men of the people ; yet we see them 
 entrusted with the most awful mysteries of human contem- 
 plation. From time to time similar individuals have not 
 been wanting. There is often extraordinary moral and 
 spiritual power in the strong and undistracted minds of the 
 common people. The page of history abounds with examples 
 of men in the lower walks of life who have founded sects and 
 remodelled states : the salvation of their country and the 
 spread and revival of true Religion have often proceeded 
 from such men when called to it, and animated by a pure 
 enthusiasm, of which the history of the Catholic church fur- 
 nishes many examples. This was, of course, for the most 
 part, effected by means of deeds, not writings. If we turn to 
 the spirit of invention and flow of language, and compare 
 philosophy with poetry, we shall find that genius is far from 
 being the exclusive prerogative of the educated. If Shak- 
 spere, who entirely attached himself to the poetry of the 
 people, could attain to a height and depth of dramatic repre- 
 sentation which completely throws into the shade the most 
 
JACOB BOEHME. 241 
 
 elaborate efforts of educated and artistic bards : the success 
 in Germany of a man of the people who could measure all 
 the heights and depths of the most metaphysical thinking 
 and of the higher philosophy is quite intelligible ; I allude to 
 him whose very name is a stumbling-block to the enlight- 
 ened, and to the learned foolishness : Jacob Boehme, the 
 Teutonic philosopher. In Germany, in Holland, and in 
 England, he had a host of admiring followers : of which 
 number King Charles of England, of unhappy memory, was 
 not the least ardent. 
 
 I have on a previous occasion expressed my conviction 
 that the very presence of a body of popular poetry, in its 
 strictest meaning, is an unerring indication of the decline 
 and decay of real poetry : for that noble art should belong 
 to no peculiar section, should be in the interests of no one 
 party, but be common to all classes of the CDmmunity, the 
 illiterate equally with the educated. But if this be suffi- 
 ciently evident in the case of poetry, how much more true 
 is it not of popular philosophy, which, almost in its very 
 terms, involves a contradiction ? How fortunately soever 
 individuals may escape the noxious consequences of so ab- 
 normal a condition, it cannot but tend to the ultimate decay 
 of philosophy. This is not the place to describe and explain 
 the remarkable system originated by this Teutonic philoso- 
 pher. Eor the present, it will suffice to remark that he is 
 characterized by a peculiarly gentle and Christian meekness, 
 to a degree not to be found among contemporary Divines. 
 The manifold and inner phases of the soul form the basis of 
 his meditations : higher aspirations early led him beyond 
 the limits of the ordinary Protestant faith and teaching, and 
 directed his spiritual gaze to dwell upon the dawn of a 
 brighter future, a new era and an universal glorification. 
 He sought to manifest the excellence of Divine Revelation, 
 as patent in the wonders of creation, more especially by 
 means of seven secret natural sources and their concealed 
 agency: whilst he himself would seem to have been endowed 
 with a peculiar intuitive vision of these hidden depths and 
 sources. There is no great difficulty in discovering that the 
 system of Jacob Boehme, though impressed with the stamp 
 of original inventive genius, is somewhat imbued with the 
 prevalent forms of mystic philosophy which were then 
 
 M 
 
242 JACOB BOEHME. 
 
 gaining ground more and more. Neither ought it to be a 
 matter of great surprise to find the unquenchable thirst 
 after Truth led him into other paths far away from the 
 verbal subtleties of the learned. When the visible and in- 
 visible bond of the Church was once broken, in some lands 
 another kind was here and there adopted in its stead. There 
 are gradations in the recognition of the truth, inferior and 
 superior degrees : nor can it be expected that the latter 
 should be very common in the present militant state of man. 
 I agree with Lessing, who records it as his deliberate opi- 
 nion, that among the component parts of human knowledge 
 there are some of so secret a nature that whoever has seized 
 them cannot find resolution to communicate them publicly : 
 either the proper time or the means are wanting. The 
 existence of traditions such as these is historically evident 
 in all ages ; and it would be difficult, if not impossible, 
 effectually to obstruct their transmission secretly from gene- 
 ration to generation. But even if traditions of this nature 
 were admitted, on all sides, to consist of pure unmixed 
 truths, yet the very opposition of secret to open and public 
 truth were of itself highly objectionable, and not to be coun- 
 tenanced. If there were an invisihle Church in direct anti- 
 thesis to the visible, the internal conflict, and disruption 
 would resemble a separation of soul and body, and threaten 
 us with a general dissolution. Matters are not yet come to 
 such a pass : the soul and body of man are still in harmo- 
 nious unison, and Truth is one. Whosoever has quitted the 
 rock on which her foundations rest will not be able to build 
 up her temple. The wonders of nature and the secrets of 
 science and of the world of spirits are isolated rays of the 
 Divine light, as it has shone in the Church of God from the 
 beginning, and will continue to shine unto the end of time. 
 The dogmas of the schools and the teaching of science, with 
 their exoteric or esoteric propagation and connexion, must 
 in most eyes be distinct and apart from religion and the 
 Church, in outward constitution as well as in living appli- 
 cation. In the inner depths of the spirit, however, they 
 must eternally be one, for the Word of Life, which it is the 
 business of both to publish and expound, by diverging 
 routes, is universally the same and emphatically one. 
 
 Such, then, were some of the effects of the Eeformation 
 
EFFECTS OF THE REFORMATION. 243 
 
 on philosophy. We have seen how the intellectual oriental 
 platonic mode of philosophising, reared with admirable 
 skill by the leading minds of Italy and Germany during the 
 fifteenth century, was suppressed after the Reformation, 
 during the sixteenth and seventeenth abandoned to the people 
 and a few self-taught men, or, at the best, propagated in 
 secret, after being greatly corrupted and disfigured. Whilst 
 openly, amongst the learned, the old logical word-system, 
 called Aristotelian, maintained its authority for almost two 
 hundred years till towards the middle and end of the seven- 
 teenth century, when other systems and sects supplanted it, 
 whose merits I shall investigate in the sequel, since their 
 influence has extended to our own times, and their complete 
 development belongs to the eighteenth century. 
 
 The effects of the Reformation on mental culture and 
 science must, therefore, be estimated according to a correct 
 historical judgment, and not with that indiscriminate ap- 
 plause bestowed upon them by narrow-minded partisans. 
 Especially must a great epoch of this kind be judged of, not 
 according to its effects and consequences, but by its internal 
 essence. If the essence of that epoch be for the most part 
 represented as an awakening of the Intellect — and the 
 mediaeval period as that in which the Imagination predomi- 
 nated — this view is on the whole correct ; but there are 
 several considerations which must not be lost sight of, if we 
 would avoid drawing erroneous conclusions. In every age 
 of the world one or other of the elementary powers of the 
 j human mind has taken the lead, has been peculiarly active, 
 has given a particular direction to the course of events, and 
 j impressed its own peculiar character- Thus it was in the 
 third age of the World, which includes twelve centuries 
 from Constantine to the Reformation, and which we have 
 been wont to call the transition-period from the Old World 
 to the New, or the Middle Ages: the predominant element 
 ,was the Imagination — not that of ancient Paganism, but a 
 Inew, Christian, transformed, and enlightened Imagination — 
 ;and hence from this new spring, from the Christian regene- 
 ration of this one elementary power of Man, resulted the 
 most peculiar phenomena of that period. In saying this we 
 do not mean that the other powers — the Intellect or the 
 Will — did not strikingly manifest themselves in many great 
 
24-1 EFFECTS OF THE KEFOEMATIC-N. 
 
 events and productions at that time, only there was a pre- 
 ponderance of the preceding element, the relation of which 
 to the other elements can be easily discovered in the details 
 of its development and progress through all the successive 
 periods of that age. Nor can the dialectic subtleties of the 
 Schoolmen form a valid objection against the predominance 
 of Imagination in the Middle-Age : but on the contrary, 
 when an elementary power predominates on the whole in 
 any age, the contrary forces are concentrated so much the 
 more in a few individuals, and are prone to shape and 
 develop themselves in glaring contrast and extreme one- 
 sidedness. Thus, in our age of Eeason, Poetry and artistic 
 Imagination stand out in isolated separation, as formerly on 
 the contrary side Scholasticism ; and so, generally, the 
 mental development of every age brings with it its peculiar 
 defects and dross. But if the fourth age of the world, 
 which commenced at the beginning of the sixteenth century 
 as the turning-point, is correctly designated the Age of 
 [Reason, must it necessarily have been exactly such an 
 awakening of it ? Must it be a relapse into Pagan reason, 
 instead of a higher illumination of Christian thinking and 
 knowledge in suitable development and regular progress ? 
 Por that purpose it was as unnecessary as it was criminal, 
 first to break up the Faith; then for three hundred years to 
 place Paith and Science in a state of perpetual collision, by 
 which the former was corrupted, spoiled and laid waste, and 
 the latter separated from it, and by this hostile separation in- 
 wardly checked, and become weakened in its vital action. 
 As little was it necessary to throw away at once every sacred 
 memorial and all the ornament of life with which a child- 
 like pious Imagination had carefully decked it, in order that 
 the Eeason of the new Period might accomplish its destiny. 
 Grant that the Middle-Age of dawning Imagination gave 
 birth to its peculiar errors ; yet, though only comparable to 
 a star of night, it did not so entirely miss the right way as 
 the clear daylight of Eeason, during the whole first half of 
 its course, after it had once departed from God. But the 
 evil does not lie in the character of Eeason belonging to 
 modern times, since this, like every other elementary power 
 in the cycle of mental development, when its time come?, 
 must take the lead, to fulfil its appointed function in the 
 
EFFECTS OF THE KEFOKMATIOF. 245 
 
 "World's history ; but the evil lies in the bad use which Man, 
 as a free being, makes of the newly-awakened power, since 
 he employs it not in loving harmony for the progressive 
 glorification of Christianity, as the invaluable pledge of 
 divine Tradition and Revelation, but has applied it almost 
 entirely in a spirit of division and separation, till at last, in 
 our day, the remedy has proceeded from the very excess of 
 the evil. 
 
 Just as the nations of Europe, since the epoch of discord, 
 have separated more and more from each other, so also be- 
 tween the different sciences and studies a manifold, dis- 
 graceful separation has taken place. Especially has this 
 been injurious to the study of Antiquity, and prevented its 
 bringing forth any good fruits, or influencing life. The first 
 founders of this revived study were Philosophers and men 
 who had as vivid a knowledge of the Middle Ages as of 
 Antiquity, and who combined Oriental learning with Gre- 
 cian. Hence every thing appeared to them in general in its 
 right place, in the great scheme of the "World's history, and 
 in living power. But after the separation had commenced, 
 when Philosophy was displaced, suppressed, and banished, 
 and the Middle Ages forgotten, the attention of learned 
 men, who were scarcely at home in their own world and 
 among their own people, was wholly confined to the antiqui- 
 ties of the Greeks and Romans, whom they admired without 
 properly comprehending their beauty, which was only ap- 
 preciated with some zest by the poets and artists. As 
 classical learning was scarcely ever united to philosophy, a 
 stupid, superstitious regard for words sprung up among 
 scholars, which not till the eighteenth century gave way to 
 a more intelligent study of the Ancients. 
 
 Even for Art and Poetry, it must be regarded as injurious, 
 that they scarcely ever came in contact with Philosophy, 
 that the culture of the Imagination was more or less sepa- 
 rated from the culture of the Reason, and that the latter 
 often assumed a hostile attitude against the former. Yet 
 amidst the fluctuations and commotions of those stormy 
 times, which were shared by Philosophy and History, almost 
 the only free asylum was afforded by Poetry and Art, where 
 genius and sentiment could develop themselves undisturbed 
 in all their beauty. 
 
246 SPANISH POETRY. 
 
 The poetry of Catholic countries, such as Spain, Italy, 
 Portugal, having in the age now before us a kindred charac- 
 ter and an obvious affinity, it will be convenient to consider 
 them together. The Spaniards were early in possession of 
 their national poem of the Cid, whilst Troubadour poetry 
 did not reach full maturity until the fifteenth century, a 
 period considerably later than that of any other nation. 
 Upon the whole, the spirit of chivalry, with its cognate 
 minstrelsy, retained its hold longer here than in the rest of 
 Europe. The chivalric records of their country, for the 
 most part of an original character, were distinguished, at 
 least the oldest and best known, the Amadis, by polished 
 diction and a predominant fondness for gentle and pastoral 
 delineations. This confirms the remark 1 made when enter- 
 ing more fully into the details of chivalric and old German 
 poetry, namely, that this soft and tender pathos is singularly 
 peculiar to the heroic nature of warlike nations. Both in 
 Spain and Portugal, chivalry was not long disjoined from 
 pastoral romance. In the fifteenth century, poetry, and 
 more especially the Troubadour poetry, derived material 
 assistance from the compositions of Villena and Santillana, 
 whose birth, rank, and influence, gave them a leading position 
 in the State. It is one of the distinctions of Spanish poesy 
 that from the first it was cultivated more by nobles and 
 knights than by scholars or professed literary men. The 
 term Castilian would be more appropriately affixed to older 
 Spanish song : this province was originally the cradle of the 
 Spanish muse, and diverse portions of the Peninsula had 
 their own verse, a totally distinct and separate species. 
 Catalonia was in possession of a peculiar store of minstrelsy, 
 which, from the character of its idiom, is commonly included 
 in Provencal composition. The last popular lay framed in 
 that dialect was in honour of the heroism and tragic fate of 
 Charles of Viane. This prince was one of the latest favourites 
 of the people, and the senior brother, by a previous marriage, 
 of Perdinand, surnamed the Catholic, to whose crown Castile 
 was annexed, on which account he was almost regarded as a 
 stranger, and viewed with no great favour in some districts 
 of Arragon. Henceforth Arragon became more and more 
 subordinate in rank: with her political independence its 
 peculiar poetry likewise disappeared. Castile grew to be 
 
SPANISH POETRT. 
 
 247 
 
 the dominant head of confederated states, and in Castilian 
 poetry were all the beauties of poetry united which had been 
 scattered over the various provinces of this poetic country. 
 Portugal alone retained a distinct existence in the domains 
 of language and poetry: yet the memories of that frequent 
 intercourse which had for ages subsisted between Portugal 
 and Castile still survived ; many Portuguese composed in 
 the Castile idiom, and much that passes under the name of 
 Castilian is in reality Portuguese. So close is the resem- 
 blance which the one bears to the other, that it would be 
 difficult to define the limits of invention on either side with 
 strict accuracy. The Arabians too contributed to enrich 
 and adorn Spanish poetry. The muse of old Castile is, how- 
 ever, quite free from Arabic or oriental admixture. Its 
 language and spirit are rather simple and severe. We can 
 affirm this with greater certainty because the presence of 
 foreign influence in later times is so marked in its distinctive 
 features. Difference of creed and a mutual aversion were 
 sufficiently pointed in earlier ages to prevent amalgamation, 
 or even friendly intercourse, on the part of both. When 
 Isabella and Ferdinand the Catholic (I name Isabella first 
 because she was inflamed with an indomitable desire to 
 liberate her country from foes doubly hateful in her eyes) 
 captured Granada, and emancipated Spain from a yoke that 
 had oppressed it for seven centuries, Arabian dominion in 
 that land was split into two factions, presided over by the 
 respective heads of two illustrious tribes. One of these, the 
 Bencerrajas, subsequently made terms with the Spaniards 
 and embraced Christianity : the other joined the Moors in 
 Africa. Romances are still extant, recording in glowing 
 strains the prowess of the Bencerrajas and their deadly 
 enmity against the Zegris, and the last struggles of the 
 Grranadian Arabs ; proud songs of love and glory, mutilated 
 heroic fragments of most tender feelings, simple in language, 
 but not without an oriental glow, and in their lyric grace 
 resembling such memories of original Arab songs.* In these 
 
 * " The reader," says Mr. Lockhart, in his Ancient Spanish Ballads, 
 " cannot need to be reminded of the fatal effects produced by the feuds 
 subsisting' between the two great families, or rather races, of the Zegris 
 and the Abencerrages of Granada." See Mr. Lockbart's admirable version 
 of the Zegri's Bride.— -Tr and. note. 
 
248 SPANISH POETRY. 
 
 romances, more charming, to my fancy, than, those in any 
 other living tongue, the Arab spirit and vivid eastern colour- 
 ing that have so sensibly tinged all succeeding Spanish poetry 
 are not to be mistaken. Thus, the poetic garden of ancient 
 Castile, enriched by Portuguese art, redolent of Proven gal 
 fragrance, and decked with the choicest colours of Arabia, 
 bloomed on in exquisite splendour. Under Charles the 
 Pifth, who crowned Ariosto as the first poet of Italy, 
 Grarcilaso and Boscan introduced the more artistic poetry of 
 Italy into Spain, without, however, sacrificing the genius of 
 their native language. At first, this innovation was ex- 
 tremely unpalatable to a nation fondly attached to old 
 associations, but in the sequel it had the happiest results. 
 No other poetry is made up of such varied elements, yet it 
 must not by any means be supposed that these elements 
 were heterogeneous or dissonant ; they were rather single 
 notes of fancy and feeling, constituting thorough harmony 
 when blended, and imparting to Spanish poetry the highest 
 witchery of the romantic. This poetry is not only rich, but 
 thoroughly one in spirit and tendency, and harmonizes with 
 the national character and feeling. Since the glorious days 
 of Perdinand the Catholic and Charles the Pifth, no litera- 
 ture has preserved so completely a national character as that 
 of Spain. If literary works be judged by the principles of 
 theoretic art, differences of opinion relative to the merits of 
 this or that individual production, or a whole body of litera- 
 ture, must necessarily be infinite, so that no unprejudiced 
 estimate can be formed, and the first pure impression is lost. 
 A much simpler standard for deciding literary worth exists : 
 one combining lucid exposition with nice precision. It is 
 that moral point of view which refers at once to the adapta- 
 tion of literature to the national welfare and the national 
 character. 
 
 In this respect, every comparison that is instituted must 
 needs result in favour of the Spaniards. Let us take, by 
 way of example, the poetry and literature of Italy, which, if 
 viewed on mere artistic grounds, unquestionably take prece- 
 dence of many other countries, both as to polish and style ; 
 but how inferior in nationality to Spain ! Several of the 
 leading poets are altogether destitute of national sympathies 
 or relations, such as Boccacio, Ariosto, Gluarini ; or, as in 
 
SPANISH POETKY. 249 
 
 Petrarch, the national lyre awakens only scattered reminis- 
 cences, blended with a false patriotism, as in the perverse 
 admiration of Eienzi and the schemes of restoring the 
 ancient republic. Dante and Machiavelli are the two most 
 national writers : but to the former, with his bitter Ghibelline 
 spirit so ill concealed whenever he alludes to the actual 
 world and contemporary events, cannot be conceded the 
 meed of universal or even general appreciation, for his 
 poetico-religious visions are too fanciful to be intelligible to 
 the multitude : whilst the Florentine politician advocates 
 such pagan and destructive principles as to forfeit all claims 
 to national consideration. 
 
 How lofty, in this point of view, is Spanish literature and 
 poetry ! Every part of them all is imbued with the noblest 
 national feeling, severe, moral, and religious in tone, though 
 the subject under treatment be not directly either morals or 
 religion. Throughout their entire range, there is nothing 
 in the remotest degree calculated to degrade the thinking 
 faculty, to confuse the feelings, to pervert the judgment. 
 Everywhere there is one and the same spirit of honour, of 
 strict morality, and of firm religious belief. Allusion has 
 already been made to the abundance of historical works, and 
 to the manly eloquence so early developed and so long pre- 
 served. Her poets, too, approve themselves to be, what 
 they are, genuine Spaniards ! It might almost be said that 
 artistic form of expression and of delineation constituted the 
 sole difference of representation : of all, one style is eminently 
 characteristic, the Spanish. National worth like this cannot 
 fairly be judged by a standard of antique excellence, or of 
 Italian taste, or the requirements of French refinement. 
 With reference to so glorious a distinction, Spain is entitled 
 to the first rank, England perhaps to the second. Not that 
 the latter at all yields to the former in point of literary 
 wealth or compass, but that her literature contains conflicting 
 anti-national elements, coupled with obvious traces of abnormal 
 development. The national unity of English literature has been 
 preserved in spite of all these difficulties, rather as the result 
 of a tacitly acknowledged law than from its mere feeling and 
 character. Nothing, however, is further from my design 
 than to maintain that this national point of view is the only 
 standard bv means of which the intrinsic historical worth of 
 
250 GAECILASO. 
 
 literature is to be fixed. It will, on the contrary, be my 
 endeavour to illustrate hereafter the important consequences 
 of an internal struggle to Trench as well as German litera- 
 ture, which, provided it be not connected with petty interests, 
 and made subservient to party purposes, must precede all 
 beneficial changes. It is, as it were, the throes of regenera- 
 tion, whence proceeds a new era in intellectual life, a purified 
 recognition of the truth. 
 
 Garcilaso and some of his contemporary poets, in the 
 reign of Charles the Fifth, are reputed to be the models of 
 refined diction and elevated taste. He was, no doubt, a 
 respectable pattern, if not for direct imitation, yet for 
 reference in later periods, in proportion as some poets have 
 indulged in affectation and monstrosity : but I cannot, sub- 
 scribe to an opinion that Garcilaso and other poets of his 
 time have reached perfection in poetical language, like Virgil 
 among the Romans, or Racine among the French. His 
 poems challenge our regard chiefly as happy effusions of 
 amatory feeling rather than great classical productions. A 
 lyric and idyllic poet may shew this happy condition of 
 language and poetry; but he cannot exhibit them in full 
 perfection, because lyric poems are of too limited a compass 
 and too confined in their import. An epic or dramatic poet 
 alone can hope to be handed down as a permanent authority 
 on questions of national art or diction. Spanish life of that 
 age was still so chivalrous and rich, her European wars 
 were so great and glorious, her adventures on the ocean and 
 in the New World so wondrous and striking to the imagina- 
 tion, as completely to distance, in thrilliug interest, the 
 fictions of ancient chivalry. About this time, fantastic and 
 grotesque elements of chivalric poetry were everywhere 
 banished from epic verse : but the Spaniards fell into the 
 opposite extreme of too rigid an adherence to historic de- 
 tails.* This is a marked defect in Ercilla's celebrated epic — 
 the Araucana — in which the wars of the Spaniards with a 
 certain brave and independent American race, are sung or 
 rather narrated. The aspect of the country, and of its fierce 
 inhabitants, the wildernesses and natural phenomena, skir- 
 mishes and pitched battles, are all depicted with a truthful- 
 
 * See Critique, " North British Review" for May—" Philosophy of His- 
 tory, Niebuhr, and Sir G. C. Lewis." — Transl. note. 
 
CAMOENS. 251 
 
 ness which makes us feel that the poet was evidently an eye 
 and ear-witness. This, the earliest Spanish epic, here and 
 there contains passages of poetic beauty, but, on the whole, 
 the impression produced is that of a metrical narration of 
 travels and campaigns. But epic verse should be composed 
 of these two constituents : historic truth and grandeur as 
 well as the free play of the Imagination in the marvellous ; 
 the latter may be fictitious and legendary, or founded on 
 fact. The Cid remains the only great national epic of the 
 Spaniards. Camoens, the Portuguese bard, was more suc- 
 cessful than Ercilla in this department of literature. A's the 
 wild wastes of America had fallen to the lot of the Spa- 
 niards, so richer India, a far happier subject, inspired the poet 
 of Portugal. He, too, affords abundant internal proof of 
 having been a soldier as well as mariner, an adventurer and 
 circumnavigator. He lays great stress on the historical 
 truth, and boasts that he means to beat Ariosto, by means of 
 real incidents that shall surpass the heroic deeds of Rug- 
 giero. # The commencement of this poem is strongly sug- 
 gestive of Virgil, who then constituted the model of epic 
 verse. But as the bold mariner soon loses sight of 'the 
 coast, and ventures forth on the open sea, so Camoens is not 
 long in departing from his great exemplar, and with his 
 Gama, sails round the world, through dangers and storms, 
 till he attains his aim and the joyful conquerors tread on the 
 long wished for shore. A fragrance is shed over his poem 
 like the fragrance wafted from India's spicy gales, inviting 
 and welcoming travellers to her shores. A southern glow 
 animates each verse. The diction is simple and the purport 
 serious : but in colouring and genial fancy he surpasses 
 Ariosto, whose garland he aims to bear away. Grama and 
 the discovery of India, are not the only themes which inspire 
 the muse of Portugal : she sings the lordly rule and deeds of 
 prowess of her nation in that land of conquest, and takes 
 occasion to weave into her story all that was chivalrous, 
 great, beautiful or noble in the traditions of his country. 
 The name of Camoens enshrines the collective glories of his 
 country. No bard of ancient or modern times was ever so 
 intensely national : none, since the days of Homer, so 
 honoured and beloved by his countrymen. Soon after his 
 * One of Ariosto's heroes.— Transl. note. 
 
252 tasso. 
 
 time, the sun of Portuguese splendour set : and the bard is 
 the most valuable memorial bequeathed to us of the historic 
 records and literary treasure of his native land. In the com- 
 mencement, as at the conclusion, of his great epic, Camoens 
 preeminently shines in the full dignity of a national poet : 
 when he apostrophizes Sebastian, the youthful sovereign of 
 Portugal — whose hapless fate foreshadowed his kingdom's ' 
 fall — in strains of fond devotion mingled with admonitory 
 exhortation, such as beseemed the aged soldier whose sword 
 had often vindicated his country's honour. 
 
 Tasso, who appeared somewhat later on the scene than 
 Camoens, is moreover, nearer to ourselves by his language, 
 and in part by his great Christian theme, which is most 
 felicitously selected, on account of the combination of the 
 chivalrous and marvellous with the sober reality of historic 
 truth. The choice was extremely happy in connection with 
 his own age : the contest between Christianity and the Ma- 
 hometan powers was raging with unabated fury. Even in 
 the reign of Charles the Fifth, the warriors of Spain enter- 
 tained sanguine hopes of regaining Godfrey's conquests in 
 the' Holy Land, that had lapsed into other hands. The real- 
 ization of these hopes seemed by no means extravagant at a 
 period when the Spanish flag waved in triumph over the 
 Mediterranean, or so difficult as the idea of checking the 
 Turkish power in Europe. The no less ambitious than devo- 
 tional bard was animated alike by a patriotic regard for 
 Christianity and by enthusiasm for his art. But he cannot 
 be said to have fully grasped the lofty elevation of his theme, 
 or indeed to have done much more than lightly touch its 
 surface. His genius was likewise cramped by too strict an 
 imitation of the Virgilian form, producing occasional confu- 
 sion in the machinery of his epic. Tet this same idea of a 
 necessary form for an epic, did not prevent Camoens from 
 interweaving into his poem whatever could adorn a national 
 heroic poem and from doing full justice to his subject. Tasso 
 could not have effected so much, even had he comprehended 
 the construction of epic verse more thoroughly than he did. 
 He is one of those who can more readily express their inner 
 feelings and ideas, than depict the outward world of action 
 and therein merge their own individuality. The finest pas- 
 sages in his poem are just those which, would appear equally 
 
tasso. 253 
 
 beautiful and attractive as episodes in any other, being 
 totally unconnected with the main subject. Tasso enchants 
 his reader by a glowing delineation of Armida's captiva r 
 ting charms, Clorinda's faultless beauty, and Ermina's gentle 
 love. Poetic creations, concerning whom the Grerman bard* 
 puts these words into Tasso's own mouth : — 
 " They are not shadows, offspring of delusion, 
 I know it — they are eternal, for they are." — GoetJie. 
 
 In Tasso's lyrical poems there is a glow of passion and an 
 inspiration of unfortunate love which delight us even more 
 than the little pastoral Aminta, warmed as that is by love's 
 own glow, especially when contrasted with the cold severity 
 of Petrarch's art. Tasso is altogether the poet of the feel- 
 ings, and just as Ariosto is famous for his picturesque beauty, 
 so Tasso's verse rings with harmonious melody : this, no 
 doubt, has contributed not a little to endear him to his coun- 
 trymen, and render him their favourite minstrel. The epi- 
 sodes in his epic have often been sung with or without mu- 
 sical accompaniment ; the Italians possess no actual romances 
 similar to those of the Spaniards, hence they turn portions 
 of their great epic into ballads, at once the most musical, 
 poetical, and noble of which any people can boast. Perhaps 
 this mode of dividing into fragments their national lay, was 
 best calculated for enjoyment and for feeling ; what of con- 
 nection was thus sacrificed, constituted no great loss. His 
 numerous alterations and failures attest his inadequate com- 
 prehension of the structure of epic verse. His first effort 
 resulted in chivalric song : he set about remodelling his 
 Jerusalem Delivered, on which his fame was founded, at an 
 age when poetic fire has lost somewhat of its glow ; he 
 sacrificed the most beautiful and attractive passages to the 
 severe morality he had adopted, and introduced a frigid alle- 
 gory. He resolved on the composition of a Christian epic 
 relative to the Creation. It is unnecessary to explain in 
 detail the difficulties that beset the most successful bard in 
 expanding the few and partly mysterious expressions of 
 Moses into as many complete cantos. The poetical treat- 
 ment of such themes was fully considered on the occasion of 
 our examining Dante's merits, and the sole reason why Tas- 
 so's poem is mentioned here is, that this it was which Milton 
 
 * The allusion is to Goethe's " Torquato Tusso," Act II. sc. 1. — Transl. 
 note. 
 
254 tasso. 
 
 had before bis eye. In tbis poem of tbe Creation, Tasso 
 dispensed witb rhyme, to which his other compositions owe 
 so much of their charms, and an instrument over which few 
 bards had greater mastery than himself. So severe were the 
 conditions he imposed upon his genius : but among so many 
 beauties, we ought not [to judge him too harshly, when we 
 convict him of occasional conceits. For what will be left 
 of poetry after we have denied it the free play of the imagi- 
 nation ? If each thought is so strictly tried and dissected, 
 at last nothing will be left but spiritless prose. Even in 
 prose, we shall find in the purest writers, on a close analysis, 
 here and there, images, which strictly taken, are not correct 
 throughout, and contain something false. Not a few of 
 Tasso' s poetic conceits are both pregnant with meaning and 
 artistically beautiful. To a poet of the feelings and of the 
 gentle passion, such a license, if it be a license, is readily 
 conceded. It is found in the love-elegies of the ancients, 
 which are wont to be held up as the Gorgon's head, a terri- 
 ble image of classic severity, to the roving fancy of romantic 
 minstrels. 
 
 If, then, Tasso be regarded as a musical poet of the feel- 
 ings, his uniformity and thorough sentimentality ought 
 scarcely to be imputed to him as a fault. Uniformity ap- 
 pears to be well nigh inseparable from poetry that is essen- 
 tially lyric : there is, rather, considerable beauty in the soft 
 elegiac tones which apostrophize those charms that appeal to 
 the senses. The Epic poet, on the other hand, must be 
 more copious and varied. He must embrace a world of cir- 
 cumstances, the spirit of the past and present, of his nation, 
 and of nature. He must be skilled to touch each chord of 
 human passion, his strain must not be monotonous. In this 
 epic richness Camoens is far superior to Tasso : in the grand 
 heroic of the former there are passages whose tender deli- 
 cacy yields not to Tasso's choicest lines : his lay, though 
 warmed by southern fancy, often breathes a loving plaint of 
 sorrow, whilst the rapturous inspiration of the gentle passion 
 elevates his verse to the dignity of a romantic epic. He 
 blends the picturesque fulness of Ariosto with the musical 
 enchantment of Tasso, and superadds the earnest grandeur 
 of that genuine heroic element which Tasso longed for but 
 never attained. 
 
GUAUINI. 255 
 
 After what has been said it may seem almost superfluous 
 to add that of those three great epic bards of the moderns 
 — Ariosto, Camoeus, Tasso, — the palm of excellence is, in my 
 estimation, due to the second. Yet I freely admit that per- 
 sonal feelings are somewhat concerned in coming to a con- 
 clusion on subjects like these. Of the qualities and faculties 
 constituting genuine poetic worth, few only are referable to 
 definite ideas and fixed principles : the greater part are de- 
 cided by the peculiar bent of individual feelings and views. 
 Tasso's reply to one that asked him who was the greatest of 
 Italian poets, is a case in point. He replied not without 
 emotion, "Ariosto is the second!" The self esteem of 
 poets is easily wounded, and that of their admirers is equally 
 sensitive. 
 
 In Tasso Italian verse exhibited the old Roman dignity, 
 without, however, sacrificing any of its natural beauties. 
 After his time, there was an ever-increasing proneness to 
 adopt the antique, not in style and form alone, but also in the 
 choice of subjects. Guarini, like Tasso, an erotic poet, and 
 the last of any note, who flourished in the best days of 
 Italian literature, exhibits greater richness of thought than 
 Tasso, and is likewise more concise as well as elevated in 
 his style. But in the love songs of Tasso the current of 
 feeling is more natural and more powerful. His arcadian 
 drama, Pastor fido (the faithful shepherd)* though no ela- 
 borate imitation but rather a genuine effusion of his own 
 feelings, is impressed with true classic spirit, and in its noble 
 proportions reminds us of the Grecian drama in its palmy 
 days. Dramatic composition cannot, as a whole, be said to 
 constitute a distinguished feature of older Italian literature : 
 all earlier efforts to revive ancient tragedy were virtually 
 failures, remaining, at the best, unsuccessful and vapid imi- 
 tations ; for this, the excellence attained in a peculiar species 
 of the drama makes ample amends. Foreign nations were 
 charmed with the novelty: no other Italian poet has been 
 so extensively translated, read, and admired. In Prance, 
 Guarini continued to be looked upon as a high standard of 
 poetic composition, until the appearance of Corneille's Cid. 
 
 * It may be fairly pesumeu uia 
 idea of his exquisite Scottish pastoi 
 
 presumed that this suggested to Allan Ramsay the 
 Scottish pastoral drama — " The gentle Shepherd." 
 
256 GUARINI. 
 
 Judged by severe dramatic rules, his production was not calcu- 
 lated to open up a novel path, or found a new stage, for its de- 
 ficiencies when thus viewed were strikingly apparent. The lyric 
 muse of Italy probably never took a bolder night than in se- 
 veral choruses and other passages of this poem. Attention has 
 also been directed to the play of thought in romantic erotic 
 minstrels, and on the Italian concetti, when speaking of 
 Tasso. The same ground of justification may be allowed to 
 Guarini : only that in him the matter is aggravated by occa- 
 sional affectation, and is less happily conceived. Passages 
 might be cited not unworthy of the dignified earnestness of 
 a great poet of antiquity, but he stands on the frontiers of 
 elegant refinement and of voluptuous taste which is found 
 most abundantly in Marino. In him everything luxuriant and 
 effeminate, which is to be found in Ovid and the other 
 ancient amatory poets, and all that is playful in Petrarch, 
 Tasso, and Gruarini, are blended together in a sea of poetic 
 sweetness which is the more disagreeable to a correct taste 
 because his playfulness appears not to proceed from nature 
 and his own feelings, but to be the result of imitation. 
 
 Such was the fate of the earlier Italian muse when she at- 
 tempted to effect a coalition, in erotic minstrelsy, of ancient 
 mythology and art w T ith the natural transports of the ro- 
 mantic school. 
 
 The poetry and literature of Spain long maintained a 
 happy independence and noble bearing in its separated ex- 
 istence. Imitation of antique models could spread abroad 
 neither so extensive nor so pernicious an influence in a 
 country pre-eminently distinguished for vigorous national 
 feeling. Poetry became the willing handmaid of the present : 
 romance achieved an excellence unparalleled in other lands : 
 the stage acquired an almost incalculable store of materials, 
 of a shape and form altogether peculiar. 
 
 There is not, in reality, any one period in Spanish poesy 
 that may be regarded and represented as a standard of per- 
 fection for all other periods : since, although Garcilaso and 
 some of the earlier bards have by some critics been espe- 
 cially commended for classic grace, the praise so bestowed is 
 due only in a restricted sense. The poetic diction of Spain was 
 ever free. Too much art and poetry may have been lavished 
 upon it, but it has never been subjected to any universal rule, 
 
CERVANTES. 2S9 
 
 excepting the prevalent system of metre. A circumsta 7 or 
 peculiarly remarkable, inasmuch as Spanish prose was frc 1 ® 
 the earliest times singularly subject to systematic rules: 
 Nice precision became its second nature, so much so that 
 whilst the prose of other countries commonly degenerates into 
 negligent confusion, the greatest danger which threatened 
 that of Spain was a tendency to refining subtlety, a fault 
 which they call Ahudeza. From such over-precision, how- 
 ever, the best writers are thoroughly exempt. Of these, Cer- 
 vantes is indisputably the first and most perfect, presenting 
 a model of elegant perfection and artistic proportions such 
 as her poetry never knew. And yet the very absence of a 
 similar original in the domains of poetry was extremely 
 favourable to the promotion of animated grace and the un- 
 fettered development of inventive fancy. 
 
 The admiration of collective Europe for more than two 
 centuries is a just tribute of homage to the surpassing genius 
 of Cervantes. The qualities on which these claims are 
 grounded are matchless perfection of style and representa- 
 tion, combined with brilliant wit and life-like portraiture 
 of Spanish character and manners. Hence, his romance is ever 
 fresh and sparkling, whilst the many imitations it has sug- 
 gested to second-rate writers, in Spain itself, in Prance, and 
 England, have either sunk into oblivion, or are on their way 
 to it. The remarks previously advanced on the subject of 
 poetic witticism apply here in full force. The poet who cul- 
 tivates these regions of literature ought to assert, and esta- 
 blish, his claim to the title by the richest poetic vein, by 
 consummate artistic form, and by an elegant finish. Those 
 are clearly in error who would pick out the pure satire from the 
 romance of Cervantes, and throw aside the poetry. The latter 
 may not be equally gratifying to the taste of foreign nations, 
 but it is thoroughly Spanish. "Whosoever chooses to examine 
 more minutely will find that this glorious delineation com- 
 bines just so much of jocund pleasantry with sober earnest, 
 caustic irony with gentle poetry, as is calculated to give 
 effect to the contrast, and produce agreeable impressions. 
 The remaining prose works of Cervantes, including eclogues, 
 novels and a pilgrim-romance*— his final effort —partake more 
 
 * English translations of the novels of Cervantes, and his Tei-.siles and 
 Sigismunda, are published in Bohn's Standard Library. 
 
^ OXJ MODERN ROMANCE. 
 
 J* *J fess of the cliarms that distinguish Don Quixote : though 
 
 * . r is latter is superior in inventive fulness, and appears the 
 
 ^more inimitable the more it is imitated. Don Quixote is, 
 
 , in truth, peculiarly Spanish in all its characteristics : it 
 
 constitutes the pride and boast of Spaniards. Its vivid 
 
 colouring and faithful yet graphic sketches of national life, 
 
 manners, and genius, with all its kindred associations, entitle 
 
 it to be classed with the best productions of the epic muse. 
 
 LECTURE XII. 
 
 Romance. — Dramatic Poetry or Spain. — Spenser, 
 Suakspere, Milton. — Age oe Louis XIV. — French 
 Tragedy. 
 
 Notwithstanding its intrinsic excellence, the romance 
 of Cervantes has been a dangerous model for imitation by 
 the rest of Europe. Unique and inimitable of its kind, it 
 has originated the whole modern romance in Erance, Eng- 
 land, and Germany, and has occasioned a vast number of 
 unsuccessful attempts to elevate a prosaic representation of 
 the realities of the present to the dignity of poetry. To say 
 nothing of the original genius of Cervantes, which permitted 
 the expression of much that would not have been desirable 
 in any successor, the peculiar relations and circumstances 
 under which he cultivated prose fiction, so to speak, were im- 
 measurably more advantageous than those of subsequent 
 times. Real life was, in Spain, still tinged with a romantic 
 chivalry that had long been exploded in other countries. 
 The absence of strict municipal organization, and the free 
 or rather lawless life of those who lived in the provinces, 
 were of themselves calculated to favour the conditions of 
 poetry. 
 
 In all these attempts to raise the realities of Spanish life 
 by means of the witty and the marvellous, or by the excite- 
 ment of thought and feeling to a species of poetic fiction, 
 there is an anxiety on the part of the authors to create a 
 
MODERN ROMANCE. 259 
 
 poetic distance, be it the sunny skies of southern Italy or 
 the wilds and forests of America. But, even when the 
 narrative is comprehended within the sphere of native social 
 life, there is still a manifest anxiety, so long as the whole has 
 not resolved itself into mere humour and jest, to escape in 
 some measure from the contracted limits of actual reality, 
 and emerge into the spacious domains of fancy : this is alike 
 applicable to travels, duels, elopements, and to adventures 
 with banditti, or to a company of strolling players. 
 
 The romantic element in many of these second-rate 
 romances, even in the less objectionable ones, appears to 
 coincide very closely with a state of morals disposed to set 
 at defiance magisterial authority. I am reminded here of 
 the observation of a celebrated philosopher, who conceived 
 that whenever the economy of municipal arrangements shall 
 be perfected in general police so as to prevent all contraband 
 trading, and so vigilantly detective as to sketch not ouly the 
 physiognomy but also the biography of every traveller on his 
 passport, romance will become obsolete, from the want of 
 necessary materials. This view, however singular it may 
 appear at first sight, is not without its foundation in truth. 
 
 To determine the genial and essential relations of poetry 
 to the present and to the past, is equivalent to an analysis of 
 the constitution of art. With the exception of a few common- 
 place definitions of taste and beauty, and erroneous opinions 
 on kindred topics, our ordinary theories treat only of the 
 various forms of poetry which, whilst they are necessary 
 branches of knowledge, are by no means of exclusive or 
 indeed of the highest importance. As yet no theory has been 
 broached conveying adequate information respecting the 
 proper materials of poetry, though it will scarcely be denied 
 that this is very important in relation to life. In the present 
 course of lectures I have endeavoured to supply this defect, 
 and to present such a theory whenever an opportunity has 
 presented itself. 
 
 It were a false canon of criticism to maintain that the 
 present is necessarily more unfit for poetic delineation 
 simply because it is, intrinsically, of more ordinary and 
 ignoble elements than the past. That which is mean, 
 doubtless strikes us with greater significancy and force 
 when present to our gaze and close at hand : in the back- 
 ground of memory nobler shapes stand out in full relief, and 
 
260 LEGITIMATE SUBJECTS OF POETBY. 
 
 thus hide much that is insignificant or unsightly. But it is 
 competent for a true poet to overcome difficulties of this 
 nature : it is his very province to shed a refulgence over the 
 ordinary events of daily life, and to invest them with a higher 
 importance, a deeper meaning. It were in vain, however, to 
 gainsay the confining shackles of the present, or ignore the 
 restraint it puts upon the fancy : if this latter be unneces- 
 sarily or immoderately restricted, it will indemnify itself by 
 a greater licence in regard to language and description. 
 
 To express my views on this point in the shortest and 
 clearest manner, I would repeat (my previous remarks in 
 reference to religious and christian subjects of representa- 
 tion. The invisible world, the Deity, and pure spirits, can- 
 not be directly presented to us ; nature and human beings 
 are the legitimate and immediate themes of poetry. But 
 that higher and spiritual world may be embodied in our 
 
 \ earthly material, and its glories indistinctly shadowed forth. 
 In like manner, indirect representation is most appropriate 
 to the description of present reality. The choicest bloom of 
 young life, and the highest ecstacy of passion, the rich ful- 
 ness of an enlightened survey of the world, may all be easily 
 transported into the traditionary past, whether longer or 
 shorter, of a nation ; they gain there an incomparably wider 
 field, and appear in a purer light. Homer, the oldest poet 
 of the past known to us, also exhibits the present in the 
 liveliest and freshest manner. The true poet embodies his 
 own age, and, in some measure, himself, in his delineation of 
 previous times. The following appears to me to be the 
 correct and true relation of poetry to time. The proper 
 business of poetry seems to be a representation of the eter- 
 nal, the ever-important, and universally beautiful : but this 
 is impracticable without a veil. A material basis is required^ 
 
 / and this is found in her own peculiar sphere, that of legend- 
 ary or national reminiscences. In her representation of 
 these she transfers the rich treasures of the present — in so far 
 as they admit of poetic treatment — and since she explains the 
 enigma of existence and the intricacies of life as far as they 
 are capable of solution, whilst prefiguring the bright glory of 
 all things in her magic mirror, she reflects the lustre of the 
 future, the dawning streaks of approaching spring. Thus 
 harmoniously blending all times and seasons, the past, the 
 
SPANISH FICTION. 261 
 
 present, and the future, she proves herself to be the truthful 
 representation of the eternal, or of perfected time. In a 
 strictly philosophic sense the eternal is no nonentity, no" 
 mere negation of time, but rather its entire undivided ful- 
 ness, in which all its elements are not torn asunder, but 
 intimately blended ; a condition in which past love blooms 
 anew in the unfading reality of an abiding remembrance, 
 and the life of the present carries in it the germs of future 
 hope and of continually increasing splendour. 
 
 Yet, though as a whole the indirect representation of 
 present realities has been held to be most suitable for 
 poetry, it is not intended indiscriminately to censure all 
 intellectual creations moulded on opposite principles. "We 
 must distinguish between the artist and his productions. 
 The genuine poet rises superior to the errors of the form he 
 has selected, and displays his greatness even in works that, 
 owing to their original construction, must needs stop short 
 of perfection. Milton and Klopstock command our homage, 
 although it cannot be denied that they imposed upon their 
 powers a task to which they were inadequate. 
 
 For the same reasons, Eichardson, who sought to lift 
 modern reality to the regions of the poetic in a manner 
 widely differing from the fancy of Cervantes, justly claims 
 the tribute of our admiration for his great talent of descrip- 
 tion, notwithstanding the partial failure of his high aim 
 owing to the imperfection of his plan. 
 
 Spanish fiction displays incomparably greater richness in 
 the drama than in romance. Lyric poetry of the feelings 
 is the fruit of love and enthusiasm, nurtured in retirement : 
 even when quitting the narrow precincts of contiguous 
 objects, it seizes on an age and nation for its topics, it still 
 bears marks of its origin. Heroic poetry, however, implies 
 the existence of a nation, one which either is, or has been : a 
 nation which has recollections, and a great past, rich in 
 legendary lore, with an original poetic mode of thinking, 
 and a mythology. Both lyric and epic poetry are much 
 more the offspring of nature than of art : dramatic verse, on 
 the other hand, is a production of the state, of civil and 
 social life, and accordingly requires some great central arena 
 for its development. Such is the more natural as well as 
 more favourable condition of its success, though at times 
 
262 SPANISH DRAMA. 
 
 there have been lesser circles of its operation challenging, if 
 not surpassing, the original metropolitan seats of dramatic 
 art. Hence, it is easily intelligible how the stage attained 
 to mature excellence and distinction in Madrid, London, and 
 Paris, more than a century before the very formation of a 
 national drama in either Italy or Germany. Eor though 
 Rome has early been the chief seat of the Church ; and 
 Vienna, since the fifteenth century, the metropolis of the 
 German empire, yet both of these were not central points of 
 their respective nations in an equal degree with the three 
 great capitals of the European "West. 
 
 Just as the Spanish monarchy, until the middle of the 
 seventeenth century, was the most illustrious in Europe, and 
 Spanish nationality had attained the utmost degree of deve- 
 lopment, so the stage, that holds the mirror up to national 
 manners and usages, early bloomed in richest prodigality at 
 Madrid. The rest of Europe has never been slow to recog- 
 nize the fulness of invention, though it may not have equally 
 prized the significancy and spirit of the Spanish drama. But 
 if it even possessed no other advantage than that of being 
 thoroughly romantic, this alone would be sufficient to render 
 it remarkable ; it would be instructive to see what sort of 
 dramatic invention could proceed from chivalric poetry, as co- 
 loured by the fancy peculiar to mediaeval and modern Europe. 
 ^No other nation is competent to furnish so valuable an 
 instance of this process, inasmuch as none remained equally 
 free from all influence and imitation of the antique. Italy 
 and France, in the formation of their theatre, were actuated 
 by the wish of restoring the tragedy as well as comedy of the 
 Greeks in pristine purity, whilst the English drama was 
 itself not uninfluenced by Seneca and the older French 
 plays. 
 
 If we estimate the Spanish stage according to its first re- 
 nowned writer and master, Lope de Vega, its general excel- 
 lencies will appear only in dim and faint outline, and give us 
 no very exalted idea of its merits, so slight and superficial is 
 the design of his almost countless pieces. The uniformity 
 or at least general similarity which mostly characterizes the 
 pieces of a lyric poet is equally apparent in the works of 
 a dramatic poet, which of course facilitates and tends to mul- 
 tiply his productions. The entire dramatic efforts, not only 
 of one composer, but of a whole period and of a col- 
 
LOPE DE VEGA. 263 
 
 lective people, are not unfrequently grounded on some 
 one leading Idea, essentially the same in all, but variously 
 modified and conveyed: like so many variations of one 
 theme, or solutions of the same problem. If, then, this 
 idea be clearly comprehended, and the form most fit- 
 ting both the idea and the stage be selected, if a thorough 
 mastery over diction and theatrical effect be achieved, the 
 writer may contrive to throw off a large number of artistic 
 productions without any apparent negligence. In this way 
 the great dramatists of antiquity severally produced more than 
 a hundred plays. Nevertheless, the dramatic compositions 
 of Lope exceed the utmost limits of legitimate fertility. 
 The greater part of them must needs have been improvised 
 rather than studiously prepared. Granted that Lope was 
 the most rapid dramatic composer of any age or nation, 
 most poetic in innate genius, of richest invention, most 
 glowing in fancy: qualities, some of which are so common 
 to the poets of his country as scarcely to admit of individual 
 commendation. Yet, in spite of Lope's singular talent and 
 fertile imagination, a succession of dramatic efforts so rapid, 
 is justifiable neither in an artistic nor a moral point of 
 view. Order and strict law are the more indispensable to 
 the stage, because in no other species of composition are 
 negligence and corruption so easily tolerated, and no other is 
 equally calculated mutually to injure the artist and the 
 public. Our own German stage abounds in recent examples' 
 of the facility with which the dramatist, if endowed with 1 
 happy and impassionable genius, like Lope, or even without 3 
 the aid of his splendid faculties, may transport his age be e 
 yond the limits of reason and prudence, and by a dexterous* 
 application of his powers blunt the finer sensibilities of his 
 nation. On the other hand, theatrical applause is, of all 
 incense, the most exciting and irresistible in its operation on 
 the vanity of a poet. It is the public that, for the most 
 part, confirms its favourite in his worst faults, and tempts 
 him to surrender himself to them without limit or controul. 
 This tendency to demagogic licence and anarchy, inherent in 
 the drama, did not escape the keen observation of the ancients, 
 who often animadverted upon it, though that art had attained 
 to high perfection in their day. 
 
 However much the art of improvising may be recom- 
 
2G1 CALDERON. 
 
 mended for the purposes of popular poetry, or some other 
 sphere, it is totally inapplicable to the drama. The drama 
 must be treated in an artistic manner ; even if the execution 
 be rapid and yet successful, the design at least must be con- 
 trived with deliberate care. Otherwise, the stage will, at the 
 best, convey only ephemeral impressions of life, with its per« 
 plexities and passions : and will reflect the mere glittering 
 surface without a single glance into its hidden depths. On 
 this, the lowest, step of dramatic art, stands Lope, with some 
 of the ordinary dramatists of Spain at his side. They shine, 
 indeed, with poetic brilliancy if we compare their productions 
 with the far deeper degeneracy of the stage among other 
 nations : but they do not in any way satisfy the exigencies 
 of high art. How rarely individuals or nations are disposed 
 to agree upon the precise terms of those exigencies, is abun- 
 dantly attested by the fact, that so many regard Lope and 
 Calderon as poets of the same order, though they are separ- 
 ated by an almost immeasurable interval. Whoever would 
 apprehend aright the genius of the Spanish stage must study 
 Calderon, the last and greatest of all Spanish poets. 
 
 Before his time, Spanish poetry was divided between rude- 
 ness on the one hand, and affectation on the other, which 
 not unfrequently met in the same composition. The influ- 
 ence of Lope's pernicious example was not restricted to the 
 drama. Intoxicated by theatrical applause, he shared the 
 /anity of poets who have attempted many distinct kinds of 
 omposition, and sought to shine in those for which lie had 
 10 talent. Not content with the homage rendered him as 
 le prince of living dramatists, he was ambitious of writing 
 omances like Cervantes, and heroic poems like Ariosto and 
 Tasso. Thus his slipshod style and manner were carried 
 beyond the walls of the theatre : whilst Gongora and Que- 
 vedo were at the same period in the full exercise of artificiality 
 in sentiment as well as expression. In the midst of corruption 
 such as this Calderon lived, and from these chaotic elements 
 he had to rescue the poetry of his land, to ennoble and purify 
 it in the flames of love, and redirect it to its lofty aim. 
 
 This process of Spanish poetry, namely, its transition 
 from the lowest stage of dissolute lawlessness and false 
 refinement, to the summit of genuine art, until it closed in 
 the full bloom of loveliness, is singularly interesting. It 
 
THE DRAMATIC ART. 265 
 
 may serve, if properly examined, to correct the erroneous 
 notions which prevail respecting the regular progress and 
 decline of art, with special and instructive reference to the 
 literature and poetry of our own age and nation ; when we 
 see how, from the depths of a voluptuous degeneracy and a 
 lifeless affectation, the imagination and poetry of Spain, 
 shining with new splendour, rose with renovated youth like 
 the Phoenix from its ashes. 
 
 Previous to describing the genius of the Spanish stage, as 
 manifested in perfect completeness in Calderon, it is neces- 
 sary to take a cursory glance at the essence of the dramatic 
 art generally, according to my own views of it. In the first 
 and lowest scale of the drama, then, I place those pieces in 
 which we are presented with only the visible surface of 
 life, — mere fleeting sketches of the world's panorama. And 
 though all the keys of tragic passion were sounded from 
 the highest to the lowest, though social refinement were 
 correctly pourtrayed in comedy ; yet, so long as the whole 
 is confined to external appearances alone, a mere pleasing 
 perspective for the eye to dwell upon, or an impulsive pathos 
 to thrill the heart, this would still be their inferior position. 
 The second place in the scale of dramatic art is due to 
 effective representations of human passion where the deeper 
 shades and springs of action are pourtrayed : a delinea- 
 tion of characteristics, not individual, but general, of the 
 world and of life, in manifold variety, their inconsistencies 
 and their perplexing intricacies : in a word, a picture of man 
 and his existence, recognized as an enigma and treated as 
 such. Did the aim of dramatic art purely consist of these 
 important significant characteristics, not only would Shak- 
 spere be entitled to rank as the first dramatist in the world, 
 but there could scarcely be found a single poet, ancient or 
 modern, worthy for a moment to be compared with him. 
 But I conceive that the stage has yet another and a loftier 
 aim. Instead of merely describing the enigma of existence, 
 it should also solve it : extricate life from the tangled con- 
 fusion of the present, and conduct it through the crisis of 
 development to its final issue. Its penetrating glance thus 
 extends to the realms of futurity, where every hidden thing 
 becomes exposed to view, and the most complicated web is 
 unravelled ; raising the mortal veil, it permits us to scan the 
 secrets of an invisible world, reflected from the mirror of a 
 
2G6 THE DEAMATIC AET. 
 
 seer's fancy, it shews the soul how the inner life is formed 
 by outward conflict, which results in the decisive victory of 
 the inmiortal over the mortal. This altogether differs from 
 what is commonly called the catastrophe in a tragedy. 
 Many dramatic works are entirely deficient in this final solu- 
 tion as here indicated, or if they allude to it at all, they do 
 so simply in external form, without the slightest reference to 
 the inner essence or spirit. This reminds me of Dante's 
 three worlds, and the graphic force with which he intro- 
 duces to our notice a series of living natures ; first, the 
 lowest abyss of perdition, then an intermediate state of suf- 
 fering cheered by hope, till he brings us to the highest eleva- 
 tion of glory. All this may be applied to the drama ; a 
 circumstance which would entitle Dante to rank, in a cer- 
 tain sense, as a dramatic poet, save only that he presents 
 us with a long series of catastrophes without sufficient 
 explanation of previous phases of development. On the 
 principle of that threefold solution of human destiny, three 
 modes of lofty serious dramatic art may be enumerated, re- 
 ferring to the hidden spirit and the ultimate goal of life. In 
 one of these the hero falls hopeless ; in another the whole 
 closes with a mixed satisfaction and reconciliation, still par- 
 tially painful ; in a third, a new life and the glorification of the 
 inner man arise out of death and suffering. In illustration of 
 the first of these species, involving heroic unmitigated ruin, 
 I will only cite, among a host of modern examples, "Wallen- 
 stein, Macbeth, and the Faust of popular story. The 
 dramatic art of the ancients inclines with decided par- 
 tiality to this altogether tragical catastrophe, which accorded 
 well with their belief in a terrible predestinating fate. The 
 excellence of this form is perhaps enhanced by the hero's 
 ruin seeming to depend not so much on the arbitrary decrees 
 of fate, as on his own voluntary and gradual approach to 
 destruction, in the full exercise of free-will, as in the above- 
 named tragedies. 
 
 This, then, is, upon the whole, the prevalent form of 
 ancient tragedy. The second, or intermediate expiatory 
 form, is likewise found in the works of the two leading tra- 
 gedians of classic times. After disclosing the abyss of suf- 
 fering and crime iu the death of Agamemnon and the 
 revengeful deed of Orestes, iEschylus, in his Eumenides, 
 finishes the awful tableau with the acquittal of the unhappy 
 
CHEISTIAN POETRY. 267 
 
 sufferer by a merciful oracular response. "When Sophocles 
 has melted our hearts by depicting the blindness and fate of 
 (Edipus, the internecine fratricide of his twin sons, the long 
 sorrows of the blind old man, and of his faithful nurse and 
 daughter, he presents his death as a transition to the recon- 
 ciled deities, in so beautiful a light, as to stir up within us 
 feelings more pensive than painful. There are, indeed, many 
 similar examples of this form of tragedy, both in ancient and 
 modern writers, but few of them so noble and beautiful as 
 those just mentioned. 
 
 The third and last mode of dramatic conclusion, in which 
 extreme suffering is represented as issuing in a state of spi- 
 ritual transfiguration, is especially suited to the Christian 
 poet, and of these Calderon is unquestionably the most 
 eminent. In his serious pieces of historic or tragic import, 
 such as his " Adoration of the Cross" and " The Steadfast 
 Prince" this is more readily as well as strikingly appa- 
 rent : and these, selected from abundance of his productions, 
 will suffice to illustrate my meaning. Neither is this tho- 
 roughly Christian Idea contained in the subject alone, but 
 still more completely in the peculiar characteristics of senti- 
 ment and treatment pervading the whole of Calderon' s 
 efforts. In subjects of which the matter by no means sug- 
 gested a glorious transition from suffering and death to a 
 new and brighter existence, all is stamped with the impress 
 of Christian charity and purification, and radiant with hea- 
 venly tints. Under every condition and circumstance Cal- 
 deron is, of all dramatic poets, the most Christian, and for 
 that reason the most romantic. 
 
 The development and peculiar form of Christian poetry 
 are materially influenced by two facts : first, that it was 
 everywhere preceded by a heathen poetry, of which the recol- 
 lections were never wholly lost, even after the nations had 
 become Christian ; and, next, that it needed not to be based 
 on any mythology of its own. There were two ways in 
 which Christianity and Poetry were sought to be harmo- 
 niously blended. The one, Christian symbolism, included 
 not only life but likewise the world and nature generally : 
 whereby the full splendour of spiritual beauty was irradi- 
 ated by the pure light of truth, and was thus enabled to 
 serve Christian art as a substitute for pagan mythology. 
 
268 christian poetry. 
 
 This symbolism, emanating as far as possible from Christia- 
 nity itself, and tinging all considerations of the world and of 
 life, is the leading feature of the older allegorical school 
 of Italian poets, and constitutes the essential distinc- 
 tion between them and the strictly romantic school from 
 which they kept aloof with such jealous care. Their attempt 
 at a symbolical treatment of life, nature, and the world, was 
 grand and captivating, and succeeded in a high degree in 
 Painting, but it never satisfied the strict requirements of 
 poetic art ; not even in Dante, much less in his successors 
 Tasso and Milton. The other mould in which modern poetry 
 may be cast, is that proceeding not from a poem compre- 
 hending the Christian cosmogony, but from individual life ; 
 from legend, and even from fragmentary portions of pagan 
 myth, when admitting of exalted spiritual interpretation; 
 coupled with earnest endeavours to blend isolated poetic 
 notes into one ravishing strain of Christian harmony. Of 
 this form Calderon is the noblest and most distinguished 
 writer, whilst Dante is at the head of Christian poets, who 
 have attuned their lyre in the first-named key. And this 
 latter form, namely, not the introduction of celestial sym- 
 bolism, as a whole, into the midst of the phenomena of every- 
 day existence, but the purification of life, and all its several 
 accords, by means of beauty symbolized and ennobled, con- 
 stitutes the distinctive mark of the Eomantic, as contrasted 
 with Christian allegory. 
 
 Inasmuch as Spanish poetry generally remained free from 
 foreign influence, and to the last maintained its purely 
 romantic character, whilst the Christian chivalric poesy of 
 mediaeval Spain survived the period of modern culture, and 
 attained to the highest degree of artistic perfection, it may 
 here be desirable to convey to you some account of the 
 precise nature of the Eomantic. In addition to that intimate 
 junction with the individualities of life alluded to above, and 
 which constitutes it essentially a legendary poetry, as distin- 
 guished from a poetry of mere allegorical thought, the Eo- 
 mantic is based on sentiments of love, blending Christianity 
 with genuine minstrelsy ; sentiments employing suffering 
 and sorrow as instruments of purification, exchanging the 
 tragic earnestness of pagan mythology for a genial play of 
 fancy, and selecting those forms of representation and lan- 
 guage which best harmonize with feelings of tenderness and 
 
ROMANTIC POETEY. 269 
 
 love. In this extended signification, all poetry might seem to 
 be of the Eomantic cast, suppposing that term to designate 
 Christian beauty and poetry. In fact, the Eomantic is not 
 really antagonistic to the true antique. The Trojan legends, the 
 Homeric songs are thoroughly Eomantic : so in the case cf 
 all that is absolutely poetical in the minstrelsy of Hindostan, 
 of Persia, and other oriental or north-European nations. The 
 poetic school of northern Europe differs from the actual 
 Eomantic only in its more copious pagan relics :* hence, it is 
 marked by more profound natural feeling joined to an infe- 
 rior degree of Christian beauty and purity of fancy. But 
 wheresoever exalted views of life are enunciated feelingly 
 and with enthusiastic presentiment of veiled significancy, 
 there are small notes of that divine chaunt of love of which 
 the full harmony is first found in Christianity. Ancient tra- 
 gedy, despite of its generally gloomy impressions, is occasion- 
 ally resonant with strains of this sort : genuine love sheds a 
 lustre over generous hearts in the midst of pervading error 
 and false images of horror. It is not the inimitable compo- 
 sition alone of iEschylus and Sophocles that we admire, but 
 likewise their sentiment and profound feeling. The Eoman- 
 tic element is not opposed to the great masters of antiquity, 
 but to imitators who have risen up among us, who assume 
 the form without the inward love. Thus it is obviously 
 not repugnant to the real essence of the antique, but 
 rather to the false soul-less models that in our own time 
 have been set up for imitation : as also to that modern 
 standard which vainly seeks to influence life by slavishly 
 adhering to the present, and thus becomes amenable to the 
 joint tyranny of time and fashion, however refined may be 
 the aim or the subject. 
 
 Of all Eomantic poets Calderon comes nearest in spirit as 
 well as feeling to the older Allegorical school of Dante and 
 the early Italian bards, as does Shakspere to the northern 
 school. Under the head of Allegory, in its correct accepta- 
 tion, I would comprise the abstract essence of Christian 
 figure and symbol, the expression, veil, or mirror, of an 
 invisible world, according to our Christian conceptions. This 
 is the spirit or soul of Christian poetry; the legends of 
 
 * On this subject see Mallet's Northern Antiquities, revised by Black- 
 well, 12aio. 1847. 
 
270 CHRISTIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 romance and the national life form its body or outward 
 material. After his own fashion Calderon has fixed this 
 symbolism, by proceeding from individuality to life's manifold 
 variety, as fully and deeply as Dante, In Calderon, who is, 
 as it were, the last echo of the mediaeval Catholicism, or as 
 the rays of its setting sun, this regeneration and christian 
 transfiguration of the Imagination, which characterizes his 
 genius and poetry, obtained their highest perfection. Chris- 
 tian Allegory is not a simple popular poetry, scattered into 
 fragments or consisting only of outward forms, but a con- 
 scious poetry of the invisible. Its business is to re-unite 
 what was separated by the ancients — the severe symbolism 
 of mystery with actual myth or modern epic. This is a 
 symbolism of Truth, on the one hand, based on psychological 
 principles, or the native depths of the soul, as in Shakspere ; 
 on the other, resulting in Christian transfiguration, as in 
 Calderon. 
 
 It will easily be understood that between these three kinds 
 of dramatic conclusion and representation — of hopeless de- 
 struction, reconciliation, and glorification — there are several 
 dramatic gradations and combinations. It was only for the 
 purpose of clearly defining the conceptions of high dramatic 
 art, which consists not merely in skimming over the surface 
 of life but penetrates its depths, aud advances to its grand 
 aim, that I have represented these three chief modes as 
 markedly distinct and determined. The ver} r antithesis of 
 the antique and the modern, as "has been already pointed 
 out, is by no means complete or even positive, but rests on 
 a greater or less prepouderance of certain constituent ele- 
 ments. Whilst here and there instances may be found in 
 which the issues of ancient drama tended to heroic glorifica- 
 tion, examples of modern tragedy might be adduced equalling 
 in power the most terrible catastrophes of classic plots. 
 
 It being the legitimate object of dramatic representation 
 to sound the depths of feeling and penetrate the hidden 
 mysteries of the spiritual life, the ancients have, for obvious 
 reasons, bequeathed to us no fitting models for imitation, 
 whatever may be the wonderful perfection to which they 
 attained in their own style. As a general rule, it cannot be 
 expected that any one standard of elevated tragedy should 
 become valid and binding upon all nations. Even in the case 
 
CALDERON AND SHAKSPEEE. 271 
 
 of Christian nations, united by a common religion, the senti- 
 ments of one people too widely differ from those of another 
 to admit of dictation on a point of such vital importance as 
 the guidance of inward perceptions and recognition by means 
 of dramatic influences. In this department of art, each must 
 adopt a standard most congenial to its moral habits and 
 sentiments. 
 
 I am, accordingly, far from wishing to recommend the 
 Spanish drama or Calderon, its brightest ornament, as a 
 model of unreserved and direct imitation on our own 
 stage. Though the high excellence of Christian tragedy, 
 which is mainly attributable to this divine poet, would seem 
 all but unattainable in its glorious perfection to him who 
 should boldly resolve on delivering the stage from its present 
 degradation. The external form of the Spanish drama is not 
 equally available for our purposes with the internal structure; 
 in the latter a more lyric development prevails, and it is 
 altogether more akin to our general tastes than the epic and 
 historic terseness of Shakspere. The florid imagery of a 
 southern fancy, so characteristic of the outward form and 
 poetic garb of Spanish tragedy, may be no less pleasing than 
 appropriate where nature exhibits a similar profusion, but 
 it cannot be imitated. The remarks I took occasion to 
 make, when speaking of a poetical representation of mystic 
 subjects, are at least partially applicable to those of Calde- 
 ron's which contain Christian allegory. "Were I disposed to 
 start any objections against the dramatic genius of Calderon 
 as a poet, who is thoroughly Romantic in the several species of 
 dramatic composition, it would be the rapidity with which he 
 hurries on his catastrophes. It cannot be doubted that these 
 would be more strikingly effective if the plot were of more 
 protracted development, if the enigma of life were oftener 
 sketched with the profundity of Shakspere, and if he had 
 not from the beginning given glimpses of the light which 
 should be reserved for the close. Shakspere, again, is open 
 to the opposite charge of too often placing before our eyes, 
 in all its mystery and perplexity, the riddle of life, and leaving 
 us, like a sceptic, without any hint of the solution. In 
 those of his dramas which issue in a catastrophe, re- 
 course is had to the old tragic solution which repre- 
 sents the hero's utter ruin, or partial expiation of crime 
 
272 CALDEBON AND SHAKSPEEE. 
 
 by suffering : rarely, if ever, the glorified purification depicted 
 by Calderon in the glowing tints of love. In inward feeling, 
 and in artistic treatment, the great English dramatist 
 resembles the ancient poets rather than the Christian : in- 
 clining more to the old Northern or Scandinavian school 
 than to the Grecian. Profound sympathy with Nature 
 is diffused throughout his works, constituting, as it were, 
 their very soul: and it is this which animates his muse 
 with a fascinating grace of rich transparent beauty. This 
 peculiar element of Shakspere's poetry still remains as a 
 characteristic of modern art, and will yet obtain a fuller 
 development, when a higher poetry shall no longer repre- 
 sent the superficial aspects of every day life, but the secret 
 life of the soul, in man as well as in Nature. In this 
 point of view, his profound insight into Nature's secret 
 workings transports Shakspere beyond the limits of drama- 
 tic verse : whilst in point of lucid arrangement he ranks 
 next to Calderon, as a grand type and pattern commanding 
 the admiration of all ages. 
 
 The Spanish drama, with its artistic form, may in one point 
 serve for our rule and guidance : I allude to comedy, which 
 in that country is of a thoroughly romantic character, and, 
 therefore, really poetical. On the stage all attempts to 
 elevate prosaic reality to poetical regions, by means of 
 psychological acumen, or mere fashionable witticism, must 
 of necessity prove utter failures. All who have had an 
 opportunity of contrasting the so-called intrigue-plots of other 
 nations, and especially of Germany, with the romantic charms 
 of Calderon' s plays, will scarcely find words sufficiently ex- 
 pressing their sense of the marked difference : poetic exu- 
 berance on the one hand and poverty on the other. 
 
 The poetry of southern and Catholic countries was inti- 
 mately connected in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, 
 passing through similar stages of development. In such 
 countries as had, on the contrary, embraced Protestantism, 
 the new faith effected a sensible change : since, together 
 with a rejection of the Catholic creed, many symbols, poetic 
 traditions, legendary as well as mythic, were indiscriminately 
 ignored and suffered to lapse into oblivion. But as England, 
 of all Protestant countries, retained the largest traces of the 
 old Church in her hierarchical institutions and in her social 
 
Spenser's fairy queen. 273 
 
 economy, so she was the first to inaugurate the revival of 
 poetry, blooming in all the graces of nature and art, and 
 assimilated, in a great degree, to the romantic style of 
 southern Catholic climes. This is abundantly exemplified 
 in Spenser, Shakspere, and Milfcon. It can hardly be neces- 
 sary to insist here on the predominance of the romantic 
 element of olden chivalry, and of the colouring of southern 
 fancy, in Shakspere ; Spenser, himself a chivalric poet, and 
 also Milton, followed certain romantic models, more especially 
 the Italian. The nearer our critical survey approaches to 
 the literature of our own day, the more strictly it will be my 
 duty to confine my observations to those poets and writers 
 who mark the summit of national language and culture, and 
 an examination of which are, on that account, most important 
 and instructive for other nations and for the world. The 
 three above-named poets, the greatest England ever produced, 
 essentially include all that is worthy of note in the sixteenth 
 and seventeenth centuries. 
 
 Spenser's poem — the Fairy Queen — conveys to us a good 
 idea of the romantic spirit as it was still manifest in England 
 under Elizabeth, the virgin queen, whose vanity was flattered 
 by allusions delicately veiled in mythological and poetic guise. 
 Spenser is rich and picturesque ; his lyrics breathe an idyllic 
 tenderness, and his muse is altogether redolent of the old 
 Troubadours. Not his poetic treatment alone, his very lan- 
 guage bears striking resemblance to the old German chivalric 
 and love-song. The development of the English language 
 is thus quite contrary, in point of chronological order, to the 
 German. 
 
 In the fourteenth century Chaucer's verse is not unlike 
 our homely rhymesters of the sixteenth century in Germany ; 
 whilst Spenser, at this latter period, is characterized by a 
 tenderness and musical harmony for which the Minne-lieder 
 were so distinguished. In a language of mixed derivation, 
 like the English, there is a twofold ideal, according as the 
 poet inclines to one or other of the components of his lan- 
 guage. Of all English poets, Spenser is the most Germanic 
 in diction, whilst Milton, on the other hand, has given the 
 preponderance to the Latin element. The mould of Spenser's 
 poem is, taken as a whole, infelicitous: the Allegory ne has 
 selected, lying at the very foundation on which his superstruc- 
 
 o 
 
274 SHAKSPEKE. 
 
 ture is erected, is not a living one, such as breathes and moves 
 throughout the older chivalric poesy, revealing lofty concep- 
 tions of spiritual heroism and the secrets of exalted devotion 
 by means of outward adventure and symbolical tales. It is 
 that lifeless Allegory which is comprehended in a mere cata- 
 logue of the virtues ; in short, one that we should never divine 
 under its historical garb, if the author had not given an ex- 
 planation in so many words. 
 
 The admiration of Shakspere, who in his lyrics and idylls 
 closely followed this type, is a circumstance calculated to 
 enhance Spenser's merits in our estimation. It is this poetic 
 feature that most effectually reveals the true poet in all his 
 native feeling. Shakspere evidently regarded the stage of 
 which he was so distinguished a master, only as a prosaic 
 application of his art, a faithful sketch of life for the multi- 
 tude, at the best a condescension of his powers. How little 
 he who sounded all the depths of varied passion, who drew 
 human nature as it is, and with his magic pencil fixed each 
 expression of its changing lineaments, the noblest and the 
 coarsest, was himself rude or savage, is testified by the 
 extreme tenderness that breathes over those idyllic effusions. 
 Small is the number of those who are touched by this mild 
 softness, just because it is so exquisite and so deep ; but to a 
 just comprehension of his dramas these lyrics are indispens- 
 able. They shew us that, in his dramatic works, he seldom 
 represents the reflection of himself, of what he felt and was, 
 but the world as it stood clearly before him, though separa- 
 ted by a wide interval from himself and his deep tenderness 
 of soul. Accordingly, the images presented to our view are 
 thoroughly faithful, devoid of flattery or embellishment. If 
 intelligence and penetrating depth of observation, as far as 
 they are necessary to the characterizing of life, were the first 
 of poetic qualities, hardly any other poet could enter into 
 competition with him. Others have sought to transport us, 
 for a moment, to an ideal condition of humanity : he presents 
 us with a picture of man, in the depths of his fall and moral 
 disorganization, with all his doings and sufferings, his 
 thoughts and desires, with a painful minuteness. In this 
 respect he may almost be called a satirist; and well might 
 the complicated enigma of existence, and of man's degrada- 
 tion, as set forth by him, produce a deeper and more lasting 
 
SHAKSPERE. 275 
 
 impression than is made by a host of splenetic caricaturists, 
 who are called satiric poets. But throughout his works 
 there is a radiant reminiscence of man's pristine dignity and 
 elevation, from which immorality and meanness are an ab- 
 normal apostasy : and on every occasion this reminiscence, 
 united to the poet's own nobility of soul and tender feeling, 
 'beams forth in patriotic enthusiasm, sublime philanthropy, 
 and glowing love. 
 
 Yet even the youthful fervour of love in his Uomeo is a 
 mere inspiration of death ; Hamlet's sceptical views of life 
 invest him with a strange mysteriousness ; whilst in Lear, pain 
 and grief reach the climax of madness. Hence this poet, ex- 
 ternally so calm, so collected, so serene, and throughout 
 controlled by reason, who appears as if he did nothing without 
 a settled purpose, is inwardly the most dolorous and tragic of 
 all ancient or modern dramatists. 
 
 I have said that he considered the drama as entirely a 
 thing for the people, and, indeed, at first treated it in this 
 light. He attached himself exclusively to popular comedy, as 
 he found it already existing, and widened its arena in accor- 
 dance with this principle and with subsequent necessities. 
 Yet in his earlier and ruder efforts he introduced elements 
 of gigantic grandeur and of horror into the popular drama : 
 whilst he was likewise prodigal of representations of human 
 degradation, passing for merry jests with the vulgar, but which 
 were joined in his reflective and penetrating spirit with 
 feelings of contempt or sorrowful sympathy. Popular tales 
 and songs materially determined the external form of his 
 productions : he was neither without learning, as has been 
 too commonly though erroneously supposed, since Milton 
 called him the free child of nature,* nor without art ; still 
 it is obvious that the deeper accords of nature could alone 
 avail to unlock the close reserve of his solitary soul. The 
 sympathetic affinity by which he came into most direct con- 
 tact with his fellow-creatures was his patriotism : he immor- 
 talized the glorious achievements of his country in the French 
 wars, which he gathered from the trusty old chroniclers, in 
 a series of dramas which approach nearly to epic poems. 
 
 * The reference is to the lines in Milton's V Allegro — 
 
 " Sweetest Shakespeare, fancy's child, 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild/' 
 
276 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 In the works of Shakspere a whole world is unfolded. 
 Whosoever has comprehended this, and been penetrated with 
 the spirit of his poetry will hardly allow the seeming want 
 of form, or, rather, the form peculiar to his mighty genius, 
 nor even the criticism of those who have misconceived the 
 poet's meaning, to disturb his admiration ; as he progresses 
 he will, rather, approve the form as both sufficient and excel- 
 lent in itself, and in harmonious conformity with the spirit 
 and essence of his art. Shakspere' s poetry is, upon the whole, 
 near akin to the Grerman spirit : hence he is appreciated in 
 ' Germany more than any other foreign poet, and regarded with 
 almost native affection. In his own country, many erroneous 
 estimates of Shakspere have arisen from the superficial resem- 
 blance to him of some inferior poets. How interesting soever 
 the poetry, his form and manner can in nowise be proposed 
 as an exclusive model for our own stage ; the less so that his 
 feelings and perceptions, while they are eminently poetical, 
 are by no means the only poetical ones, or entirely satisfy the 
 demands of dramatic requirement. Our German drama is 
 founded on the same, or at least a similar, historical and epic 
 foundation, with that of Shakspere : it would, perhaps, in its 
 present state of collective as well as individual effort, be more 
 correct to say that it seeks to do so. Proceeding, then, in this 
 direction, were we to judge from the most important efforts 
 that have been as yet put forth, it would seem as if our 
 drama were approximating more and more to the confines of 
 purely lyrical treatment, after the manner of classical tra- 
 gedy, or of Calderon's more finished "Christian conceptions of 
 life and its phenomena. With reference to practical appli- 
 cation, Calderon is our highest standard of romantic and lyric 
 beauty ennobled by Christian fancy, and he is almost nearer 
 to the religious tastes of our age than Shakspere : though 
 it were ungrateful to ignore the services of the latter in 
 having furnished us with a permanent basis for the enduring 
 structure of German poetry. Calderon, essentially a roman- 
 tic bard, as we have seen, attached himself to the older school 
 of Christian allegory, and has transferred its symbolism to 
 the drama : the disposition and genius of Shakspere, on the 
 contrary, are in more intimate communion with the northern 
 school, whilst modern German poetry continues, as has ever 
 been, its wont, to combine a tendency to both. Shakspere' a 
 profound reflectiveness is an element which, though in close 
 
MILTON". 277 
 
 contact with the sublimest heights of minstrelsy, belongs 
 to epic verse rather than dramatic ; for when found in con- 
 junction with the latter, it almost invariably bears the ap- 
 pearance of being mutilated and desecrated. This devia- 
 tion is the more to be guarded against as it is particularly 
 seductive, and is likely to prove more disastrous in its con- 
 sequences to the poet's imitators than copying his prosaic 
 terseness or his historical circumstantiality of detail : nor is 
 it calculated to enjoy any continuous amount of public favour. 
 So also with Calderon's brilliant symbolism, scattered parts 
 of which could not fail to be productive of injurious results, 
 and on our own stage — hitherto the chaotic rendezvous of 
 mingled sensations, opinions and views — would convey only 
 a painful impression of profanation. His rich lyric beauty, 
 however, will ever remain an exemplar for the imitative 
 efforts of our dramatists. 
 
 Spenser's delightful chivalry and Shakspere's free poetry 
 of life were misunderstood, contemned, and even persecuted, 
 when fanaticism, which had existed only as a hidden disorder 
 during Elizabeth's reign, broke forth with virulence under 
 the first Charles. The great Dramatist was an object of 
 especial aversion to the Puritans, to whom he, in turn, seems 
 not to have been very partial : a feeling that is perpetuated 
 on the part of the Methodists and other sects at the present 
 day, widely diffused all over England. We are, however, 
 indebted to those Puritan times for the production of a bard 
 justly esteemed his country's boast and pride.* The poetry 
 of the world and of nature being proscribed by the Puritans, 
 the art which would correspond with the spirit of the age 
 was obliged to be directed to the spiritual world, as is shown 
 in Milton's uniform seriousness. His epic is, at the very 
 outset, exposed to the difficulties which beset all Christian 
 poems that celebrate the holy mysteries of religion. It is 
 strange that he failed to discover the incompleteness of 
 Paradise Lost as a unique whole, and that it could only 
 appear, as it really is, the first act of a great Christian 
 drama, of which the Creation, the Pall, and Redemption, are 
 so many successive acts, closely linked together. He even- 
 tually perceived the defect, it is true, and appended Paradise 
 
 * And we are indebted to them for a poet of a different order — Samuel 
 Butler — whose Hudibras is the most powerful piece of humour in the 
 English language. 
 
278 MILTON. 
 
 Regained: but the proportions of this latter to the first per- 
 formance were not in keeping, and much too slight to admit 
 of its constituting an efficient key-stone. "When compared 
 with Dante and Tasso, who were his models, Milton, as a 
 Protestant, laboured under considerable disadvantages, since 
 he was deprived of a vast storehouse of emblematical repre- 
 sentation, tales, and traditions, which considerably enriched 
 their verse. Accordingly, he sought to supply the deficiency 
 by means of fables and allegories selected from the Koran 
 and the Talmud, a remedy not at all in harmonious unison 
 with the general complexion of a serious Christian poem. The 
 merits of his epic do not, accordingly, consist in regularity 
 of plan so much as in scattered passages of independent 
 beauty, and in the perfection of his poetic diction. The 
 universal admiration of Milton in the eighteenth century is 
 based on his isolated descriptions of paradisaic innocence 
 and beauty, his awful picture of Hell, with the character of 
 its inhabitants, whom he sketched, after the antique, as 
 giants of the Abyss. It is questionable if any real benefit 
 accrued to the language of English poetry from its increased 
 leaning to the Latinism of Milton rather than, to the Ger- 
 manism of Spenser: but this tendency being a fact, Milton 
 must be regarded as the greatest master of style, and in 
 many respects the standard of dignified poetic expression. 
 It is not, however, easy to propose any fixed normal standard 
 for a language composed, as the English is, of mixed ingre- 
 dients : suspended between two extremes, it cannot but be 
 subject to occasional oscillation to and fro. Shakspere 
 alone exhibits the varied elements of copiousness, power, 
 and brilliancy inherent in it. 
 
 After the reign of Puritan tastes another species of bar- 
 barism invaded the language and literature of England : a 
 Erench ascendancy of the very worst description. Nor did 
 the mind shake off those Gallic fetters until the close of the 
 seventeenth century, a period coeval with the restoration of 
 genuine freedom. But so broadcast had been the seeds of 
 foreign predominance that those great old poets of whom I 
 have been treating did not fully recover their lost influence 
 till the commencement of the eighteenth century. 
 
 During the later Burgundian period, under Erancis the 
 Eirst, and in the sixteenth century, Erench literature was 
 peculiarly rich in historical memoirs, in which, indeed, it has 
 
COMMIXES AND MONTAIGNE. 279 
 
 been at all times more or less fertile. These consist of a 
 species of historical confessions, or life-portraits, which fami- 
 liarize us with the state of social usages, of morality, and the 
 very genius of the age, by means of vivid individual de- 
 scription and observation of the prevalent tone and features 
 of society. At this time, moreover, the peculiar talent of 
 commenting, in an easy philosophical manner, on the occur- 
 rences of daily life began to be developed. The names of 
 Commines* and Montaigne are imperishably identified with 
 this species of literature. The language of that period is for 
 the most part of a loquacious and careless character, not un- 
 frequently intricate and confused in the structure of its sen- 
 tences : yet with that loquacity and carelessness a certain 
 naivete, a natural grace, is blended in the case of Montaigne 
 and other distinguished writers, which is the more interest- 
 ing and attractive from the contrast they suggest with the 
 vigorous restrictions subsequently enforced. Marot and 
 Kabelais, though neither of them is devoid of talent, clearly 
 indicate the striking inferiority, as a whole, of Erench poe- 
 try and wit in the sixteenth century : as compared with the 
 superior culture of contiguous countries, and their own pro- 
 gress in the sequel. It is necessary to examine attentively 
 the rude and almost barbarous condition of French litera- 
 ture at this time, if we would rightly appreciate the bene- 
 ficial changes effected by the Academy which Richelieu 
 established. But as in his political system, so here too, the 
 check introduced by that statesman was an iron yoke on 
 anarchy, in language and in literature. In reference to its 
 more immediate objects, namely, the promotion of a culti- 
 vated idiom, his plan was crowned with absolute success. 
 Prose, generally, attained to such universality of finished 
 polish towards the close of the seventeenth century, that not 
 the leading authors alone, but the great body of writers, were 
 remarkable for genuine purity of style. Neither did this 
 originate in any ambitious motives of emulation ; letters, 
 female memoirs, mercantile compositions, never intended for 
 the press, and emanating from unprofessional pens, all bore 
 the same impress of cultivated taste, of which but few traces 
 survived the eighteenth century. Of the poets, Racine at- 
 tained to a harmony of diction and melody surpassing, in my 
 
 * The best English edition of these amusing Memoirs is in Bonn's 
 Standard Library, 2 vols. 7*. 
 
280 
 
 AGE OE LOUIS XIV. 
 
 opinion, the high excellence of Milton in English, and of 
 Yirgil in Latin : harmony unequalled since in the French 
 language. In behalf of the interests of poetry it is a matter 
 of regret that a greater degree of freedom was not permitted 
 to this artistic perfection : and that chivalric verse of the 
 olden time, which had been the means of introducing so much 
 beauty and charming grace both of invention and expres- 
 sion, was so indiscriminately rejected and despised. The 
 same process that was successfully adopted in Italy and other 
 lands would hardly have failed here : I allude to the grafting 
 of a more artistic and earnest expression on the chivalric 
 stock. "French literature would, in that event, have inhe- 
 rited a larger share of the Romantic spirit and poetical free- 
 dom which Voltaire sighed for with so much ardour, and 
 which he was so intent on remedying, however late, though 
 with only partial success. Yet after all, a similar oblivion 
 and sweeping rejection of by-gone memories are all but in- 
 separable from every great comprehensive change even in the 
 domains of literature. It was a revolution in every sense of 
 the word : on that account, from the very first, many in- 
 ternal contradictions survived the shock, and a secret oppo- 
 sition was organized for the purpose of resisting the iron 
 rule of power. This opposition threw off every vestige of 
 disguise, under the Regent and in Louis the Fifteenth's 
 time ; when the forbidden fruit of British liberty in litera- 
 ture and language was eagerly and openly coveted. The ir- 
 regular and injudicious mode of satisfying these desires, on 
 the introduction of foreign tastes and models, resulted in a 
 lawless and turbulent confusion. The waves of discord con- 
 tinued to increase in rage and violence, until at last a mighty 
 and irresistible torrent of anarchy swept away the flood-gates 
 of the social system, and will only with great difficulty be 
 brought under the yoke of obedience. 
 
 The latter half of the seventeenth century witnessed the- 
 truly classic period of French poetry. Ronsard, who wrote 
 during the sixteenth century, was but the remote forerunner 
 of the great poets of the age of Louis XIV. : whilst Vol- 
 taire, who succeeded them in the eighteenth, is not 
 always successful in his attempts at improvement. The 
 essential defect under which French poetry seems parti- 
 cularly to labour, is the absence of a completely classical and 
 national epic antecedent to the full development of other 
 
EONSAKD. 281 
 
 species of composition. Eonsard,* the author of such an 
 attempt, is destitute neither of fire nor dignity, but his style 
 is full of bombast ; a feature commonly characteristic of 
 early efforts on the part of those who, emerging from com- 
 parative barbarism, are ambitious of display. Of all poets who 
 were desirous of forming their style after purely antique 
 models, Eonsard is the most strongly impressed with thia 
 characteristic. The very choice of his subject — the Franciad 
 — was ill-conceived. Had a French poet selected some his- 
 torical subject from the early annals of his country for the 
 groundwork of an epic, the fabulous derivation of the Franks 
 from Trojan heroes, which enjoyed extensive circulation in 
 the middle ages, might not have been considered out of place 
 as an episode in a performance of such a nature. But it 
 was palpable evidence of the want of judgment to extend so 
 thread-bare a legend to epic proportions. The deeds and 
 fortunes of St. Louis would, in many respects, appear the 
 most suitable subject for an epic of early French history, 
 since they were intimately connected with the Eom antic, 
 and were likely to afford free scope for imagination side by 
 side with national dignity and religious truth. The unsuccess- 
 ful part which that monarch took in the Crusades might have 
 been productive of some difficulty in the way of treatment 
 and general plan of arrangement. As in the case of the 
 Maid of Orleans, selected by Chapelain,f the circumstance 
 that the heroine who had saved France in her hour of immi- 
 nent peril, and had been idolatrously revered by the nation 
 at large, was ultimately betrayed into the hands of the foe 
 and consigned to an ignominious end, created no small ob- 
 stacle to poetic success. The fate of French gallantry was 
 the literary fate of Eonsard. He fell from the heaven of 
 poetic glory and renown to the dust, and passed into complete 
 oblivion. Yet his name cannot be omitted, nor his services 
 
 * Born 1525. He began life in the capacity of page to the Duke of 
 Orleans, and was successively the favourite of four sovereigns, and of 
 Mary Stuart. Besides his epic he was the author of many odes. 
 
 f Born 1595. He was commissioned by Richelieu to organize the 
 celebrated French Academy. His epic, " La Pucelle," consisting of 
 eighteen dreary books, is entirely different from Voltaire's powerful but 
 licentious production of the same name. 
 
282 FRENCH TRAGEDY. 
 
 ignored, in any critical history of French poesy : for it is an 
 undeniable fact that the lofty Corneille, Chapelain's warm 
 friend and admirer, not unfrequently suggests reminiscences 
 of Konsard's older school of composition. 
 
 French tragedy is in reality the most brilliant portion of 
 her poetical literature, and that which has, at all times, justly 
 attracted the greatest amount of foreign attention. It is so 
 exactly adapted to the spirit of the national character and 
 peculiar tone" of feeling, that the high value at which it is 
 rated is sufficiently justifiable, though it will be remembered, 
 her early tragedy was seldom if ever founded on home sub- 
 jects. It is true, the Greeks, Romans, Spaniards, and 
 Turks, who appear upon her stage, are all more or less 
 French in many qualities besides the language. Neither is 
 the appropriation, by poetry, of exotic materials, in itself and 
 abstractly, a circumstance calling for severe censure. Tet 
 it cannot but be regarded as singular that French tragedy 
 should almost invariably celebrate the heroes of a foreign 
 land. This is entirely owing to the want of an epic poem 
 combining the necessary conditions of artistic success with 
 extensive popularity. Then, too, the great majority of ma- 
 terials available for tragedy, drawn from early French his- 
 tory would have been unseasonably introduced on a stage 
 depending on court patronage, and scrupulously avoiding 
 offensive allusions and contrasts. The defect, however, re- 
 mained, to whatsoever cause it may have been owing: and 
 an authoritative appeal to national feeling was kept up by 
 no one kind of serious poetry. Voltaire recognized its im- 
 portance, and resorted to various expedients for remedying 
 the evil, not excepting personal dramatic efforts in connexion 
 with subjects drawn from the history of France, and also 
 from romantic chivalry. In the former, his example operated 
 with indifferent results, and without any notable degree of 
 imitation in his own age : but his success in the sphere of 
 romantic tragedy was beyond the success of most of his 
 countrymen. 
 
 Upon the whole, then, we have seen that French tragedy, 
 whilst, as a general rule, it is based on subjects foreign to 
 her national history, is nevertheless of a national turn as 
 regards its prevalent tone and spirit. Though, for reasons 
 previously stated, it is hardly fitted to constitute a model 
 and standard for any other stage. 
 
FRENCH TRAGEDY. 283 
 
 Many have been led to regard the form of French Tragedy 
 as a copy of the Greek, from references pointedly alluded to 
 by tragedians themselves in their prefatory remarks. On this 
 head Racine appears to great advantage. He speaks of the 
 artistic spirit of the Greeks with a true and lively knowledge, 
 which cannot be said of any other French poet ; and even 
 now, when scientific research has thrown light on many 
 points that were imperfectly understood in his day, we are 
 impressed with the dignity and artistic appreciation of his 
 nature. Corneille is perpetually at war with Aristotle and 
 his commentators, who appear to be sadly in his way, until, 
 weary of contention, the champion of poetic liberty makes 
 terms with his uncompromising opponents. One cannot 
 help regretting that his mighty genius should have suffered 
 itself to be hampered with such confining and self-imposed 
 fetters. Voltaire's prefaces are, for the most part, full of his 
 reiterated boasts and lamentations : being couched in lauda- 
 tory strains of the general excellence of every thing French, 
 and of the French drama in particular, coupled with com- 
 passion for the shortcomings of Corneille and Racine. 
 Whilst the reader is informed, in not very equivocal phrase, 
 of a certain writer whose performances have not a little contri- 
 buted to supply the deficiencies of those great poets. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary, at this time, to re-open the Aris- 
 totelian question which has been so satisfactorily disposed of 
 ever since Lessing's day. The form of tragedy in France 
 was needlessly confined by the supposed law of the unities : 
 a law based on error and misconception, especially as regards 
 time and place, and opposed to the fundamental principles 
 of poetry. For in this matter, physical possibility is by no 
 means to be estimated by severe arithmetical process, but by 
 poetical, rather than historical probability, with a calculation 
 as to its effects on the imagination. Among the varied 
 influences brought to bear upon that age, Boileau must ever 
 rank theoretically as well as practically, as the most narrow- 
 ing in point of limitation of original genius. His pernicious 
 power over French poetry may be gathered from the fact, 
 that he was very nearly treating Corneille as he had already 
 treated Chapelain. His natural poetic feeling may be learnt 
 from the mechanical manifestation enjoined in his precept, 
 always to compose the last verse of a rhyming couplet first. 
 
284 TRENCH TRAGEDY. 
 
 In the place of sound judgment and genuine art, he was in 
 the habit of indulging in sneers that were sometimes of the 
 coarsest : regardless of poetic defects, he was very particular 
 about the swell of ill-sounding rhyme. I would almost con- 
 cur with Racine who, when writing to his son respecting 
 Boileau, his personal friend, described him as " a good honest 
 man, but profoundly ignorant of poetry." 
 
 Another of Boileau's* injunctions on which he laid great 
 stress, was that derived from Horace, that a work should be as 
 many years before it is published as a child lies months in the 
 womb before it is born. Notwithstanding this enactment of 
 the literary dictator, there is little doubt that Racine's 
 Athalie and Corneille's Cid, in my opinion the two most 
 consummate productions of the French dramatic muse, were 
 the offspring of a fresh and vigorous enthusiasm, rather than 
 of careful elaboration. Those two dramas are fair indications 
 of the point at which "French tragedy stopped short of its 
 antique model. 
 
 In Aristotle's conception of the nature of tragedy, how- 
 ever much it may have escaped the observation of his more 
 recent commentators, there is a plain acknowledgment that 
 the lyric portions and chorus are of essential importance: 
 inasmuch as they support and cement the whole structure. 
 Whence it follows that this feature must be borne in mind 
 by those who propose to imitate this form of dramatic art. 
 Corneille's Cid is thoroughly lyrical ; this gives him a magi- 
 cal power, and enables him to withstand all the assaults of 
 criticism and of envy. Whilst in his Athalie, Racine has 
 introduced the chorus, modified indeed to suit altered cir- 
 cumstances, but on the whole with great poetic success. 
 Had tragedy continued in the same course as was marked 
 out by these great masters of the French drama, it would 
 have approximated much more closely to the fire and eleva- 
 tion of its prototype. Many of the fetters imposed on it 
 by prosaic misconceptions would, of themselves, have fallen 
 away, and the genius of the drama, once freed from these, 
 would have attained a much higher development. 
 
 * With reference to SchlegePs opinion, it must be remembered that 
 Boileau was a critic of no mean powers, though anti-romantic in his 
 views. His imitation of Horace's Ars Poetica is, in itself, a proof of his 
 grasp of intellect. — Transl. note. 
 
TEENCH TEAGEDY. 285 
 
 But when it became the prevalent fashion to omit the 
 lyric constituent of ancient tragedy in modern composi- 
 tion, the disproportion of the remainder was strikingly 
 incongruous ; more especially in those mythological in- 
 stances where similar subjects had been treated, and where 
 they constituted an entire drama. The lyric element being 
 wanting, equilibrium was destroyed, and it was found neces- 
 sary to adopt some of those means which had been resorted 
 to by the ancients in the declining period of the classic 
 drama. The plot was rendered intricate by a crowd of inter- 
 polated intrigues, a practice totally at variance with the 
 dignified bearing of tragedy ; or engrossing attention was 
 directed to the rhetoric of the passions, which every tragical 
 subject affords such means of introducing. And this, in fact, 
 is the brilliant side of French tragedy, asserting its high and 
 almost incomparable distinction, and emphatically harmoniz- 
 ing with the character and genius of a nation which is at 
 all times potently swayed by rhetoric, and inclines, even in 
 private life, to the rhetoric of the passions. In a certain 
 measure, too, this is an element indispensable to dramatic 
 representation. Yet it ought not to prevail in so exclusive 
 a manner as it does in French tragedy : it were, at any rate, 
 contrary to the principles of sound reason and judgment to 
 set up a standard such as this, suited only to the peculiar 
 tastes of France, for the adoption of other nations who may 
 have stronger poetic than rhetorical faculties. 
 
 The predilection of the French people for the rhetorical 
 constituent of tragedy is so strong as to attract their admi- 
 tration and criticism to individual points rather than to the 
 merits of a whole performance. Keeping this fact in view, 
 we shall find that the plots which have the most poetic solu- 
 tion, throughout the range of French tragedy, are precisely 
 those resembling antiquity the most, and issuing in the direst 
 catastrophe without any mitigation. Karely does the issue 
 accord with the true aspirations of the Christian bard : death 
 ending in victory, as in Kacine's Atlialie ; or sorrow brighten- 
 ing into severe happiness, as in Voltaire's Alzire. This latter 
 production, in my opinion, is the author's masterpiece, in 
 which he appears a true poet, and worthy of his two distin- 
 guished predecessors in the Tragic art. 
 
2S6 
 
 LECTUKE XIII. 
 
 Philosophy of the Seventeenth Century. — Bacon, 
 Hugo Grotius, Descartes, Bossuet, Pascal. — Change 
 in mode of Thought.— Spirit of the Eighteenth 
 Century — Sketch of French Atheism and Revolu- 
 tionary Spirit. 
 
 The seventeenth century was rich in distinguished writers, 
 not only inelegant literature, poetry and eloquence, but like- 
 wise in science and philosophy. The philosophic system of the 
 eighteenth century, which was so widely diffused throughout 
 the regions of literature, and attained to a paramount influ- 
 ence over the destinies of nations and of collective humanity, 
 originated in the conceptions of certain earnest thinkers 
 during the preceding age : though, it is true, there was m 
 part a material divergence from the spirit and original inten- 
 tions of the founders. If we would have a just expression 
 of the intellectual and social changes wrought by Voltaire 
 and Rousseau, not only in the aspect and condition of Prance, 
 but also the whole of Europe ; in a word, if we would com- 
 prehend aright the genius of the eighteenth century, it is 
 fitting that we should briefly review the merits of Bacon, 
 Descartes, Locke, and some other of the heroes belonging to 
 a former period. 
 
 The sixteenth century was the age of ferment and strife, 
 and it was not until towards the close of it that the human 
 mind began to recover from the violent shock it had sus- 
 tained. With the seventeenth century new paths of think- 
 ing and investigation were opened, owing to the revival 
 of classical learning, the extension given to the natural 
 sciences and geography, and the general commotion and 
 difference in religious belief, occasioned by Protestant- 
 ism. The first name suggested by the mention of these 
 several features is Bacon. This mighty genius ranks as the 
 father of modern physics, inasmuch as he brought back the 
 spirit of investigation from the barren verbal subtleties of the 
 schools to nature and experience : he made and completed 
 
bacon. 287 
 
 many important discoveries himself, and seems to have had 
 a dim and imperfect foresight of many others. Stimulated 
 by his capacious and stirring intellect, experimental science 
 extended her boundaries in every direction : intellectual cul- 
 ture, nay, the social organization of modern Europe gener- 
 ally, assumed a new shape and complexion. The ulterior 
 consequences of this mighty change became objectionable, 
 dangerous, and even terrible in their tendency, at the time 
 when Bacon's followers and admirers in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury attempted to wrest from mere experience and the senses, 
 what he had never assumed them to possess ; namely, the 
 law of life and conduct, and the essentials of faith and hope : 
 while they rejected with cool contempt, as fanaticism, every 
 exalted hope and soothing affection which could not be 
 practically proved. All this was quite contrary, however, 
 to the spirit and aim of the founder of this philosophy. In 
 illustration, I would only refer here, to that well known sen- 
 tence of his, deservedly remembered by all : — " A little Phi- 
 losophy inclineth man's mind to Atheism ; but depth in Phi- 
 losophy bringeth man's mind about to Religion."* 
 
 Both in religion and in natural philosophy, this great 
 thinker believed many things that would have been regarded 
 as mere superstition by his partizans aud admirers in later 
 times. Neither is it to be supposed that this was a mere 
 conventional acquiescence in an established belief, or some 
 prejudice not yet overcome of his education and age. His 
 declarations on these very topics relating to a supernatural 
 world, are most of all stamped with the characteristic impress 
 of his clear and penetrating spirit. He was a man of feeling 
 as well as of invention, and though the world of experience 
 had appeared to him in quite a new light, the higher and 
 divine region of the spiritual world, situated far above com- 
 mon sensible experience, was not viewed by him either 
 obscurely or remotely. How little he partook, I will not 
 merely say of the crude materialism of some of his followers, 
 but even of the more refined deification of nature, which 
 during the eighteenth century was transplanted from Prance 
 to Germany, like some rank offshoot of natural philosophy, 
 is proved by his views of the substantial essence of a correct 
 
 * Bacon's Essays, XVI. On Atheism, page 45 of the edition printed 
 uniform with the present volume. 
 
288 bacon. 
 
 physical system. The natural philosophy of the ancients 
 was, according to a judgment pronounced by himself, open to 
 the following censure, viz. : " that they held nature to consti- 
 tute an image of the Divinity, whereas it is in conformity 
 with Truth as well as Christianity to regard man as the sole 
 image and likeness of his Creator, and to look upon nature 
 as his handiwork." In the term Natural Philosophy of the 
 ancients, Bacon evidently includes, as may be seen irom the 
 general results attributed to it, no mere individual theory or 
 system, but altogether the best and most excellent fruits of 
 their research within the boundaries not only of physical 
 science, but also of mythology and natural religion. And 
 when he claims for man exclusively the high privilege 
 according to Christian doctrine, of being the likeness and 
 image of God, he is not to be understood as deriving this dig- 
 nity purely from the high position of constituting the most 
 glorious and most complex of all natural productions : 
 but in the literal sense of tbe Bible that this likeness 
 and image is the gift of God's love and inspiration. The 
 figurative expression that nature is not a mirror or image of 
 the Godhead, but his handiwork — if comprehended in all its 
 profundity, will be seen to convey a perfect explanation of 
 the relations of the sensible and the super-sensible world of 
 nature and of divinity. It preeminently declares the fact that 
 nature has an independent self-existence, but was created by 
 God for an especial purpose. In a word, Bacon's plain and 
 easy discrimination between ancient philosophy and his own 
 Christian ideas, is an intelligible and clear rule for fixing the 
 right medium between profane nature-worship on the one 
 hand, and gloomy hatred of nature on the other : to which 
 latter one-sided reason is peculiarly prone ; when intent 
 only upon morality, it is perplexed in its apprehensions of 
 nature, and has only imperfect and confused notions of 
 divinity. But a right appreciation of the actual difference 
 between nature and God, is the most important point both 
 of thought and belief, of life and conduct. Bacon's views 
 on this head are the more fittingly introduced here, because 
 the philosophy of our own time is for the most part dis- 
 tracted between the two extremes indicated above: the 
 reprehensible nature-worship of some who do not distinguish 
 between the Creator and his works, God and the world: or 
 on the other, the hatred and blindness of those despisers of 
 
GROTIUS. £89 
 
 nature, whose reason is exclusively directed to their personal 
 destiny. The just medium between these opposite errors, 
 that is to say, the only correct consideration of nature, is 
 that involved in a sense of intimate connection with her, 
 joined at the same time to a conscious conviction of our 
 immeasurable superiority, morally, and to a proper awe of 
 those of her elements that significantly point to matters of 
 higher import than herself. All such vestiges, exciting 
 either love or fear, as a silent law, or a prophetic declara- 
 tion, reveal the hand that formed them and the purpose 
 which they are designed to accomplish. 
 
 Not less than the influence exerted by Bacon on philosophy 
 and thought generally, was that of Hugo Grotius, during 
 the seventeenth and a portion of the eighteenth century, on 
 the practical and political world, and the ethics of interna- 
 tional intercourse. Neither was this influence devoid of 
 happy and salutary results : the religious tie hitherto main- 
 taining the nations of the West in political unity being now 
 severed, and Macchiavelli's impious and unjust system gra- 
 dually becoming the prevalent standard of state policy, it 
 was an act of the greatest humanity to found a system 
 of jurisprudence for the common benefit of Europe, torn by 
 civil war, disjointed in creed, inflamed with passion, and 
 corrupted by false maxims of government. The doctrines of 
 Grotius were extensively recognized as constituting a cor- 
 rect standard. It is an elevating thought to find a scholar 
 and a profound thinker, without any power other than 
 that of intellect and honest will, becoming the actual 
 founder of a new code of international law : as he gained the 
 reverential esteem of his own age, so he justly inherits the 
 grateful thanks of posterity. Regarded as a system, the 
 international code introduced by Hugo Grotius and his suc- 
 cessors may, indeed, appear very defective, and would hardly 
 be proof against the varied attacks of the sceptic. The loss 
 of that religious tie which formerly united all European 
 states in one common bond of brotherhood, was, in reality, 
 irreparable. In default of the same, justice was now based 
 on the social tendency and destiny of man, essentially inhe- 
 rent in his constitution. In proportion as the successors of 
 Grotius based common law on nature and reason alone, refe- 
 rence to the primary source of all justice w r as more and more 
 
 p 
 
290 GllOTIUS. 
 
 frequently omitted ; the more inevitably did the theory and 
 even practice, of international law lose itself in idle and inso- 
 luble subtleties of speculation on the one hand, and degene- 
 rate, on the other, into extravagant and erroneous conse- 
 quences. To what monstrosities did not the law of nature 
 and the system of reason eventually lead, both in opinion 
 and practice, during the latter half of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury ! It was, nevertheless, a most beneficial circumstance 
 that the doctrine of international law extended and recog- 
 nized by means of Grotius availed to stem the rapid tide 
 of corruption for more than a century. For though it 
 cannot be denied that from 1618-1740, there were instances 
 of open and flagrant injustice in international transactions, 
 yet they were generally protested against. If actual deeds 
 could not be undone, it was still something to assert and 
 vindicate the principles of rectitude. Violence and rapacity 
 were, at any rate, bound by the forms of justice, and had 
 to assume the semblance of rectitude. These beneficial 
 influences continued to be manifest from 1740-1772 ; in 
 a less degree, they extended their salutary operations to 
 years subsequent to that period when Europe, a second time, 
 suffered great and universal violation of her rights, and when 
 former rules of guidance no longer prevailed, owing to an 
 entire change in the circumstances and political fabric of 
 states. Europe has, of late, been fully alive to this change, 
 during fifteen years of unparalleled oppression, when the 
 principles of bygone times were remorselessly trodden under 
 foot and shivered into fragments before the sword of the 
 conqueror. But after that monstrous tyranny had been 
 overtaken by its doom, and passed away like a meteor ; and 
 by the divine Providence, all things had been brought to a 
 favourable issue ; those who are at the helm of national 
 affairs clearly perceive that the mutual relations of Christian 
 states and people, can no longer rest on the shallow founda- 
 tion of universal natural right, or the mere force of reason, 
 in accordance with usages now obsolete ; and they are aware 
 of the necessity of conforming to the loftier requirements of 
 Christian justice and love, and the common destiny of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Of all writings that have exercised a great and universal 
 influence over the practical world and the political relations 
 of Europe, those of Grotius were, unquestionably, of the 
 
DESCARTES. 291 
 
 most salutary kind, and can be compared in importance only 
 with the preceding system of Macchiavelli,or the later theories 
 of Rousseau. 
 
 Besides his exertions in behalf of the restoration and re- 
 cognition of the theory and practice of equity, Hugo Grrotius 
 manifested his good will in an attempt to reduce reli- 
 gious truths to formal and, as it were, juridical proof. It 
 was one of the indirect effects of Protestantism, that religion 
 was the constant theme of contention, and, accordingly, was 
 more and more treated as a matter of the understanding — a 
 feature not a little characteristic of Calvin's genius, who 
 founded the second great Protestant sect. In the effort 
 alluded to, which was a growing want, Grrotius found many 
 followers, his designs being, indisputably, most worthy. 
 Viewed in itself, it would appear as if religious impres- 
 sions had grown faint and feeble, when that which is essen- 
 tially a thing of inward feeling and living faith begins to be 
 considered and defended with critical acumen ; till, eventually, 
 religious truth is treated like a legal process, or is attempted 
 to be solved like a geometrical problem as by Pascal. 
 
 The philosophic exertions of Descartes, far from being 
 equally meritorious with those of Bacon and Grotius, may 
 rather be said to have had a noxious and seductive influence 
 on his own and the succeeding age. His example is an 
 instance of the possibility of being a great mathematician, 
 according as that science has been hitherto pursued (which 
 he certainly was for his age), without necessarily being a 
 successful philosopher. The hypothesis of vortices, by which 
 Descartes tried to explain not only separate facts in 
 physics, but likewise the origin of the universe, has indeed 
 long since been forgotten. His system, on the whole, 
 enjoyed only a fleeting existence, and never spread far 
 beyond Prance : yet his philosophy, such as it was, influen- 
 ced the spirit of the seventeenth and even the eighteenth 
 century in no small degree. His method, more especially, 
 as he himself termed it, or the manner in which he took the 
 initiatory philosophic steps, found many followers. He 
 desired to be an original thinker, in the strictest and most 
 complete sense of the word. To this end, he resolved 
 entirely to forget all that he had hitherto learnt, believed, 
 
292 DESCARTES. 
 
 and thought, and to begin entirely anew. Of course, this 
 original thinker did not spare any of the philosophers or. 
 inquirers who had preceded him, and passed over their 
 labours as unworthy of regard. But if it were possible, by 
 single arbitrary effort, to break the thread of hereditary! 
 thought to which we are inseparably connected through 
 language, the consequences would be only destructive. It 
 is as if in the political world it were attempted suddenly to 
 stop the wheel of public life for the purpose of substituting 
 a more perfect constitution, based on pure reason, in place of 
 that evolved by the nation itself in the progress and struggle 
 of ages. That Truth cannot be attained, any more than a 
 fitting constitution, by means of an abrupt oblivion and re- 
 jection of the past, is shewn in the annals of philosophy, 
 which extend more than two thousand years back, and 
 abundantly expose the fruits of such self-sufficient thinkers. 
 The most natural consequences of a process like this would 
 be neither to see nor avoid the most ordinary errors 
 into which human reason is led, when endeavouring to ex- 
 plore the truth by its own unassisted means. These errors 
 are, accordingly, reiterated, and sometimes held up as dis- 
 coveries, though they have been repeatedly corrected or 
 refuted. As regards total oblivion of all that has been 
 done, or attempted to be done, by preceding generations, 
 it is so impracticable to keep this resolution of independent 
 individuality of thought, that Descartes is by no means the 
 first of those contemptuous thinkers whose most original 
 opinions and alleged discoveries are, after all, taken from 
 their predecessors, and only changed in words and form. The 
 borrowing often indeed proceeds from an imperfect recol- 
 lection and self-deception, without a distinct consciousness of 
 the fact. Descartes has been greatly commended for his strict 
 discrimination between spirit and matter. It cannot but 
 appear very strange that it should be regarded as new and 
 original to maintain a distinction between intellect and body. 
 But the unsatisfactory manner of mathematical demonstra- 
 tion which that philosopher adopted, in order to settle the 
 distinction in question, was productive of no real benefit, 
 since it only involved the connection of soul and body, and 
 their reciprocal action, in inextricable difficulties. Since his 
 day, it has remained a characteristic of philosophy to oscillate 
 
DESCARTES. 293 
 
 unceasingly between the Ego and the external world of sense : 
 at one time, the former was supposed to originate everything ; 
 at another, the latter was alleged to contain all experimental 
 philosophy, including the moral and Divine, which was simply 
 impossible. At all events, the connection subsisting between 
 the JEgo and the outer world has continued to be an incom- 
 prehensible problem, and simply because the higher Divine 
 region, the ground on which both rest, and whose light il- 
 lumines and explains both, has been altogether lost sight of. 
 The medium of the soul was wanting to lead the spirit to a re- 
 cognition of the Truth, and of the external world as the 
 Creator's handiwork. The philosophy of that period was too 
 much hampered with the abstractions of dialectic thought, in 
 the limits of which the truth can never be found, and where, if 
 found, trjfcplanted from some other quarter, she can never be 
 long retajjp. in her integrity. The higher light of spiritual 
 knowledge, although inseparable from religion, had never 
 been completely disclosed, in science: only some isolated 
 broken rays had escaped, as it were, from the bondage in 
 which all living knowledge had been kept during the ascen- 
 dency of rationalism. It was accounted an additional merit 
 of Descartes to prove the existence of God from pure reason 
 alone, after the manner of a mathematical proposition. If 
 this may really be termed meritorious, it belongs not to 
 Descartes ; being altogether derived from those niediseval 
 philosophers whom Descartes, and his contemporaries, took 
 every opportunity of depreciating. Undoubtedly the tone 
 and spirit of their meaning were totally different ; for they 
 adduced reason by way of supplementary, and as it were, su- 
 perfluous proof, in confirmation of that truth, the most glo- 
 rious of all, of which a firm conviction may be gained in a very 
 different way, and which constitutes the essential spirit and 
 «fcntre of all other convictions and thoughts, of all activity and 
 plans of life. As every created thing or organized being, in one 
 way or another, proclaims the unfathomable greatness of the 
 Creator, so human reason, generally so vain of her own power 
 and skill, may join in the universal chorus to the praise of Grod. 
 Or as in human affairs it is considered the most perfect 
 triumph of a good and righteous cause, when even the oppo- 
 nent can be brought, however reluctantly, to confess its justice 
 
294 MALEBRANCHE AND HUET. 
 
 and truth, so man's reason may be admitted to bear testi- 
 mony in favour of Divine truth. But if the existence of the 
 Deity, which we first learn to know by internal perception, 
 be exclusively proved from argumentative reasoning, as 
 by Descartes, the Deity is, in a certain measure, made 
 dependent on reason, if not actually synonymous and 
 identical with it ; whilst the essence of eternal love is 
 thus dragged down to the regions of abstract conception, 
 and the appearance of the Absolute. It has never succeeded, 
 and never will succeed, to seek to demonstrate the existence 
 of God, in the absence of the inner perception and conviction 
 of His being, to natures that are incapable of feeling and 
 believing it. , 
 
 The followers and associates of Descartes formed a school 
 of their own in France, whose tenets held sway foamme time. 
 Yet here and there, a few minds who assertefJ^eSr inde- 
 pendence, remained staunch in their allegiance' to reli- 
 gious truth, and adopted only so much of the system as 
 was consistent with their faith. This may be affirmed of 
 Malebranche, who could not, however, entirely extricate 
 himself from the difficulties regarding the mutual relations 
 of thought and external objects, the connection between 
 spirit and matter. In antagonism to Descartes, and as a 
 critical, acute, and philosophical defender of revelation, 
 Huet became famous : whilst during the same period, Fene- 
 lon, notwithstanding the prevalence of that philosophy 
 and metaphysical contention, expressed the suggestions of 
 his amiable nature in the most exquisite language. But 
 greater than all these was the influence of one whose name 
 I have purposely deferred mentioning till now, in securing 
 the independence of religious thought. I allude to Bossuet, 
 the first of French authors, in point of eloquence and lan- 
 guage. It might perhaps be doubted whether the splendour 
 of such eloqueuce is altogether appropriate to religious truth, 
 and whether the simplicity of Christian doctrine may not be 
 more fittingly conveyed by means of an artless and simply 
 cordial exposition. However this may be, it is certain that 
 an orator, endowed as he was, with a comprehensive grasp of 
 intellect and with brilliancy of expression, was of essential 
 benefit to his age, and could not but be so at any period 
 of religious controversy before the truth had completely 
 
BOSSUET. 295 
 
 triumphed. It should be remembered, too, that Bossuet's 
 eloquence was by no means restricted to purely theological 
 topics. Whatever in life and morals, in Church and State, 
 in politics and history, and generally in human affairs, 
 invited and demanded serious reflection, was always regarded 
 by this emineut man in a religious point of view, and as 
 coming within his province. 
 
 If it be allowable to institute a comparison between orators 
 and poets, in regard to representation and language, I should 
 be disposed to attribute to certain characteristics of Bossuet 
 an excellence which ranks him even higher than the greatest 
 of those French poets who were his contemporaries. Finished 
 perfection of art and style is included within a fixed sphere. 
 Situated between the lofty and sublime and that which 
 is altogether artificial in form, deviations in both direc- 
 tions are both easy and numerous. Poets and writers exist in 
 abund%nce* T whoare grand and sublime without being at the 
 same time polished and uniformly harmonious. Whilst others 
 unite over^solicitousness and effeminacy to a high degree of 
 finish and uniformity, they are without the strength of subli- 
 mity,— noble and tender but not grand. Voltaire was well 
 aware of this, when he laid bare the faults of his two predeces- 
 sors in French tragedy, whom it was his chief ambition to sur- 
 pass. He has no difficulty in discovering passages in Corneille 
 open to this charge of obsolete rudeness of diction and bom- 
 bastic exaggeration. It seems to me that he had a higher re- 
 verence for Corneille's kindred genius than of Bacine whom 
 he held to be deficient in sublimity and pathos, in which he 
 himself excelled. But his opinion of Bacine was in the main 
 unjust: for if we regard the mere rhetoric of the passions, 
 there is scarcely one in the whole range of French tragedies 
 that can compete with Bacine' s Phcedra. His Atkalie, 
 again, breathes a different but still loftier spirit of enthusiasm. 
 If other productions of the same author are more especially 
 characterized by harmonious repose and delicacy, for instance 
 his Berenice, it will be seen that this is in keeping with the 
 nature of the subject. This much, however, must be granted 
 to Voltaire, that Bacine would have been a still grander and 
 more perfect poet than he is, had be united a little of Cor- 
 neille's impetuous sublimity, the effect of which is somewhat 
 
296 BOSSTJET. 
 
 marred by the prodigality with which it is lavished, to his 
 own harmony of language and versification, as well as charac- 
 teristic tenderness. As far as orators can be classed with 
 poets, this combination of excellencies is found in Bossuet. 
 Severely pure and polished, as also noble in expression, he is 
 ever grand and sublime, where the subject admits of it, with- 
 out once descending to bombast. I, therefore, cheerfully 
 assent to the high praises bestowed by French critics on the 
 distinguished excellence of one who is both a model of per- 
 fect style and expression, and a rich source and storehouse of 
 the most salutary and exalted truths. 
 
 There is yet another mode in which Bossuet's superiority, 
 as a writer and orator, to the distinguished poets of his 
 nation and age, is manifest. French literature is in many 
 essential points an imitation of the earlier cultivated nations 
 of antiquity, and is, moreover, based on this imitation, much 
 in the same manner as the literature of Borne isroj yiat of 
 Greece. This circumstance is, in itself, no rep&agh, being 
 in a certain measure inevitable in the case of all nations 
 attaining to a late degree of culture, and more particularly 
 common to countries whose genius, like that of Eome and 
 Prance, has a practical tendency rather than the development 
 of internal mental activity. It were a gross mistake to place 
 [Roman literature on a level with the Greek inventive 
 spirit ; but I have endeavoured to shew how the Bomans 
 made up for their great inferiority in poetry and pure philo- 
 sophy by that thoroughly Boman sentiment, the all-pervading 
 Idea of Borne, which gave so dignified and peculiar a tone to 
 the whole of their literature. An Idea so lofty and controlling 
 is a sufficient counterpoise, producing firmness and dignity 
 of character. It was a similarly animating conviction that 
 elevated the mind of Bossuet : the Idea of the Catholic 
 Church and her connexion with history, politics, and science. 
 No mere faith of custom, but the vivifying spirit of life, con- 
 stituting, as it were, his second nature, and a view of the 
 world which shed light on all other subjects. For this reason 
 he is so unique in manner, and so independent of his prede- 
 cessors, who, nevertheless, were his types as to style and 
 oratory, his instructors in history. "What the patriotic Idea 
 of Borne' s greatness did for the Eomans, Bossuet's spirit 
 
PASCAL. 297 
 
 might have effected for Catholic France in a superior degree, 
 had it only been more generally diffused. But so far was 
 this Christian Idea from being general, that the most excel- 
 lent and at the same time religious poet France ever produced 
 was stopped midway in his career of exalted development by 
 the jarring discord of internal conviction, and the rules of that 
 dramatic art which he had modelled after the antique. It is 
 a well-known fact that Eacine, who was attached to the 
 opinions of the Jansenists, indulged in erroneous notions of 
 artistic propriety, and for a long time declined writing for 
 the theatre, which he deemed an absolutely objectionable 
 institution. The poet's excessive scrupulosity is sufficiently 
 amiable in the man ; and, indeed, his private life, as also 
 his letters furnish abundant proofs of the deep religious sen- 
 timent which animated his whole being. Though his uncon- 
 ditional rejection of the theatre may not be approved by our 
 own judgment, yet there was, doubtless, much in the tragic 
 art of that day ill fitted to coincide with Christian ideas 
 of morality. Be this as it may, the want of harmony 
 remains, and Eacine would have done well to endeavour 
 to reconcile his faith and his art, as he seems to have com- " 
 menced doing in his Athalie. How striking is the pre- 
 eminence of Spain over France in this respect ! "With the 
 former, a thoroughly Catholic people, religion, poetry, aud 
 truth, instead of being discordant, met in beautiful har- 
 mony. 
 
 The sect of the Jansenists contributed several writers of 
 distinguished merit, of these I will now only name Pascal : 
 on the whole, however, these disputes exercised an injurious 
 influence over the literature of France. A few words will 
 suffice to recall the subject of those disputes. The combat 
 was as old as human reason itself, and not to be solved within 
 its strict limits ; for it concerned the liberty of man in juxta- 
 position with natural necessity, or with the omnipotence and 
 omniscience of God. Being purely a question belonging to 
 reason, it ought never to have been transferred to religion. 
 Hence its representatives and defenders have never taken any 
 other than a negative interest in it, the avoidance merely of 
 two equally objectionable extremes. The doctrine of free- 
 will and human merit promulgated in the fifth and sixth 
 centuries, according to which man was rendered independent 
 
298 pascal's provincial letters. 
 
 of God and of the saving influence of grace, was uncompro- 
 misingly attacked by the champions of the Truth, and suc- 
 cessively refuted and rejected. Such was the fate, too, of 
 the opposite heresy in the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- 
 turies : that of denying all possibility of man's co-operating 
 for his own benefit and salvation. The very existence of 
 independent action was steadily denied him, whilst he was 
 subjected to unlimited predestination, after the fashion of 
 Pagan inexorable necessity, or Mahometan belief in a pre- 
 determining fate. The manner in which the dispute was 
 conducted considerably aggravated its otherwise evil tenden- 
 cies. Pascal's " Provincial Letters " have come to be regarded 
 as a classic portion of French literature, from their copious 
 wit as well as the beauty of their language ; but if they are 
 to be judged by the spirit of their general contents, they can 
 only be termed a master-piece of sophistry. AH the resources 
 of that ingenious art were laid under contribution in order 
 to render his opponents, the Jesuits, contemptible and odious. 
 No one conversant with the history and opinions of the 
 period during which the strife raged, will doubt that truth 
 was often and signally violated. But even if this celebrated 
 writer, who was Voltaire's forerunner in wit, genius, and 
 language, had done less violence to truth in individual in- 
 stances, how pernicious must the effect of such contentious 
 wrangling and bitter derision nevertheless have been when 
 practised on the subject of religion ! In this instance, the 
 contest was confined to the Jesuits who were personally offen- 
 sive to Pascal, a man who yet was deeply earnest in religion, 
 and who even wished to demonstrate it mathematically. But 
 what guarantee was there that these same weapons might not 
 speedily be directed at religion itself? This happened, too, 
 ere long ; the system of sophistry, dexterously barbed with 
 cunning wit and polished sarcasm, proved a dangerous tool, 
 a keen-edged sword in the hand of Yoltaire, who found a 
 vast magazine ready to his hand in Bayle, who had previously 
 exhausted all his skill in directing doubts, objections, jeers, 
 and allusions at all points, like a running fire, against the yet 
 unshaken tower of Faith. 
 
 Philosophy, on the whole, gradually deteriorated during the 
 latter half of the seventeenth century. The example of 
 Hobbes testifies to the facility of transition from Bacon's 
 
HOBBES, LOCKE. 209 
 
 new method of philosophising — without reflecting any blame 
 on that great^man — to the most decided infidelity and mate- 
 rialism. The age was, however, not sufficiently ripe for the 
 reception of that theory respecting the unconditional right 
 of the stronger, to which the philosopher of Malmesbury was 
 unreservedly committed. In a century, or a century and a 
 half later, his atheistical views of the political as of the phy- 
 sical world would have been more readily received. Accord- 
 ingly, Locke met with general acceptance, just because his 
 system was not so inconsistent with the recognized moral 
 principles and feelings of his time ; and the exposition of his 
 views, though prolix, was yet easy of comprehension— or, at 
 least, seemed so. Essentially it was the same : nay, even 
 more pernicious in its results, inasmuch as error gained in- 
 creased extension by being put forth in a more moderate 
 shape. It is sufficiently obvious that no kind of faith or 
 exaltecThope can long endure, if the whole of truth is to be 
 circumscribed within the narrow circle of sense and sensuous 
 experience. Locke's personal belief in the Deity was com- 
 patible with his general ; mode of thought ; for it frequently 
 happens that he who is the first to open up a new path of 
 inquiry does not perceive the consequences immediately re- 
 sulting, or if he perceives, does not admit them. This 
 system, if strictly carried out, dispenses with deeper thought, 
 restricting itself to pure sensation and sensuous experience. 
 Thus many have lived on the credit of Locke's name and re- 
 putation who have assumed the pretensions of unprejudiced 
 self- thinkers. But when the subject of this sort of sensu- 
 ous experience, the powers it arrogates, and the effects it 
 produces are maturely investigated, doubts and strange 
 conceptions meet the inquirer at every turn : such was 
 especially the case in England. The question relative 
 to what passes in the back-ground of this lively picture of 
 the world of sense cannot be evaded, however strong the 
 determination to ignore it. The doctrine that begins by 
 modestly asserting that there is no other medium of know- 
 ledge than sense and experience, is in reality a veiled though 
 not expressed Materialism, as was proved in Erance, where 
 the mask was soon thrown aside. 
 
 Indirectly, though quite unintentionally, Newton contri- 
 buted to the formation of the philosophy of the eighteenth 
 
300 NEWTON. 
 
 century ; since those who adhered to the new system ap- 
 pealed to his high authority ; and after his great discoveries 
 it seemed possible to explain all things by means of physics 
 without the aid of religion. Both Newton and Bacon would 
 have turned away in disgust from those who idolized them 
 in the eighteenth century. In the case of the former, his 
 strong attachment to Christianity and to the Bible was often 
 pitied and deplored by his philosophic successors as the pecu- 
 liar weakness of a mind naturally strong. In many of his ex- 
 pressions respecting the relations of the Deity to nature, or 
 the starry heavens as the laboratory and reflex of the Divine 
 glory, there is not merely a substratum of enthusiasm, but 
 also of earnest conviction, bearing a peculiar impress, and 
 proving that he had often deliberated on the £imi;eme object 
 of all contemplation, even though he was not actually a philo- 
 sopher, and knew nothing of metaphysics. In the eighteenth 
 century England was the foremost of European nations in 
 literary glory. The whole of modern Erench philosophy 
 emanated from that of Bacon, Locke, and other Englishmen : 
 their system, however, when transplanted to Erance, soon 
 assumed a new shape, distinct from that of its birth-place. 
 Whilst German literature received a fresh impulse and a 
 new direction, towards the middle of the century, under the 
 influence of English poetry and criticism. 
 
 Voltaire was, more especially, the means of introducing 
 the philosophy of Locke and Newton into Erance. It was 
 strange that he so seldom employed the wonderful grandeur 
 of nature, as it was more and more displayed by the aid of 
 science, in glorifying the Creator, but almost always made it 
 subservient to man's humiliation and insignificance, as con- 
 trasted with the immeasureable extent of the starry heavens. 
 As if the mind, which contemplated all these stars and suns 
 were not greatly superior to them : as if God resembled an 
 earthly potentate who, of the millions subject to his sceptre, 
 may easily be supposed to lose sight of the inhabitants of 
 some obscure village situated on the frontiers of his domi- 
 nions. Upon the whole, the eighteenth century generally 
 employed increased natural science, which it had received as 
 a glorious heritage from the preceding age, in a manner hostile 
 to religious truth. Voltaire was destitute of a really syste- 
 matic unbelief, involving fixed principles, definite philo- 
 
T0LTAJRE. SOI 
 
 sophical opinions, or even a distinct form of philosophic 
 doubt. Just as the Sophists of antiquity manifested their 
 dexterity and skill in defending two diametrically opposite 
 views with all their eloquence, so Voltaire attacked Pro- 
 vidence in one treatise, and lent his support to it in another. 
 But he is so far honest as to render it plain enough which of 
 these works was his own favourite. In numerous instances 
 he seems to have indulged without reserve his aversion to 
 Christianity : and, indeed, to religion generally. In this re- 
 spect his genius operated like a destructive weapon to the 
 dissolution of all earnest, moral and religious thought. Yet 
 I cannot help thinking that Voltaire did infinitely more mis- 
 chief by his pernicious views of history than by all his scof- 
 fing at religion. As in poetry, so here he was sensibly aware 
 of the defects under which his country's literature laboured. 
 Since the time of Cardiual Eetz, the abundance of historical 
 memoirs, which were both attractive in style and of an 
 instructive nature, had been greatly on the increase : so much 
 so, that they constituted almost a literature by themselves, 
 extremely entertaining and peculiarly French. Yet by this 
 means history could not well escape falling into a merely 
 conversational tone, and becoming a fragmentary collec- 
 tion of isolated anecdotes, to the serious detriment of 
 sober historic truth. Even if these faults were avoided, 
 and the general execution ever so clever, it was after 
 all but a subordinate species, a preparatory groupiug of 
 materials, anything but history in its true acceptation. 
 There is, at any rate, an immense distance between the most 
 genial performances of this kind, and historical composition 
 as it was understood by the Ancients, and by Macchiavelli 
 among the moderns. Thus it happened that whilst Trench 
 literature was stocked with the productions of lively nar- 
 rators, couched in respectable and easy diction, it was alto- 
 gether without a really classic national history, the work of 
 some great original genius. Of this want, then, Voltaire was 
 fully cognizant, and in accordance with the comprehensive 
 grasp of his ambition, he sought to supply that want. France 
 herself acknowledges the utter failure of his attempt ; and 
 that neither in point of art nor of representation and style, 
 suited to the range of history, can he for a moment be com- 
 pared, I will not say with the best ancient masters, but with 
 
 r 
 
302 YOLTAIRE. 
 
 the leading historians of England: for instance, Hume and 
 Robertson. Yet the influence of his historic views on Eng- 
 lish writers, especially on Gibbon, was very extensive, and 
 they may be said to have become all but dominant in the 
 eighteenth century. The characteristic feature of Voltaire's 
 views was a deep-seated hatred of the clergy, of Christianity, 
 and of religion generally, displayed on every occasion and 
 in all possible forms. Politically, they were marked by 
 strong partiality and prejudice for republican institutions, 
 which were either of a nature quite repugnant to the circum- 
 stances of modern Europe, or that betrayed gross ignorance 
 of the essential elements of republicanism on the part of the 
 writer. His followers went so far as to detest all kiugly 
 power and nobility ; in other words, they treated the old 
 economy of states and of society with gross contempt ; 
 although Montesquieu had historically proved the value of 
 feudal institutions, and had traced their characteristics with 
 great ability. The progress of recent times in profounder 
 historical criticism proves the frequent and serious misre- 
 presentations that were thus made of historical truths, 
 and of all the past. Eor when the philosophy of the 
 eighteenth century had entirely annihilated itself : and 
 religion — which had all along been the object of its attack — 
 instead of being destroyed, had triumphantly emerged from 
 the contest, the history of the past resumed its natural 
 appearance. Yet not a few falsifications, errors, and preju- 
 dices still remain to be remedied. In no other department 
 of human knowledge was the philosophy of the last century 
 able to establish its influence, or root itself so deeply and so 
 extensively as in history, in which false motives are likely to be 
 less apparent to the reader who does not examine for him- 
 self, than when they openly court attention in the shape of 
 philosophic doctrines and opinions. 
 
 There are, moreover, certain personal considerations in 
 Voltaire's case tending to narrow the scope of his historical 
 views. He makes little secret of styling all age& antecedent 
 to Louis XIV. ages of darkness, and of representing all 
 nations, except his own, mere hordes of barbarians. The part 
 which that highly lauded monarch had to enact in Voltaire's 
 drama of life and history accordingly consisted in being the 
 first to pronounce the fiat, Let there be Light ! over the 
 
MONTESQUIEU, BUFEON". 303 
 
 chaotic barbarism of preceding ages and nations. Yet the 
 great writers in the time of Louis, including Locke and 
 Newton, are only considered and extolled as the first streaks 
 of dawning light. The noonday sun of splendid enlighten- 
 ment and liberty of thought being unquestionably understood 
 by Voltaire to have made its appearance at a period some- 
 what nearer to his own day. But however much he was 
 inclined to flatter the vanity of his countrymen, yet there 
 were moments of spleen and discontent in which he did not 
 scruple to vent his bitterness against them ; as, for instance, 
 in his well-known saying that the French character was a 
 compound of the tiger and the monkey : this lampoon one 
 might easily be tempted to apply to himself. So impossible 
 did it seem for his caustic spirit to treat of any subject or 
 circumstance whatever with reverence and enduring serious- 
 ness ! By nurturing its vanity he gave a wrong direction 
 to his country's energies ; nor did the evil effects of such 
 misdirection begin to disappear until France entered into 
 natural and just relations with other European nations, and 
 her intellect came into active contact with theirs. 
 
 Even Montesquieu contributed to the development of this 
 philosophy of the last century, in so far as he did not furnish 
 his readers with any fixed standard and centre of unity, in 
 illustration of his many excellent and ingenious political 
 remarks. Fixed principles were not, then, common in any 
 sphere of human action or contemplation. Hence this writer, 
 of such distinguished genius and varied attainments, only 
 served to augment the general confusion of ideas ; since in 
 the absence of a leading principle, the spirit of the age was 
 tossed to and fro on the vast ocean of political acquirements 
 and fancies, like a bark on the waves without compass or 
 anchor. 
 
 Inducements to elevated thought and feeling, even to 
 religious impressions, are scattered broad-cast throughout 
 nature with almost lavish profusion, so that we need scarcely 
 be surprised that many French naturalists of note took no 
 part in the prevailing irreligious views of the period, or if 
 somewhat entangled in their meshes, ever and anon soared to 
 loftier contemplations. Buffon appears to have been one of 
 this number : some of his opinions are, indeed, irreconcile- 
 able with revealed religion, others will not stand the test of 
 
30i ROUSSEAU. 
 
 philosophic investigation, whilst he himself was not alto- 
 gether free from the material fetters that then confined all 
 physical inquiry. Yet, with regard to his intellect and 
 natural religious sentiment, he may be classed, at least com- 
 paratively, with the best thinkers of the eighteenth century ; 
 of later names, I will here only allude to the honest zeal of 
 Bonnet. 
 
 The social economy of modern Europe, and especially of 
 France, was in many respects so far alienated from nature 
 £ that it was perhaps pardonable for a restless, curious, and 
 inquiring spirit to pass to the opposite extreme. At the 
 same time, Rousseau's example is an instance of the insuf- 
 ficiency of the mere admiration and worship of nature, to serve 
 as an unerring guide to conduct and life generally. In regard 
 to animated enthusiasm and zeal, Rousseau far surpasses 
 not only Voltaire but all other French philosophers of the 
 eighteenth century, standing, as it were, alone in this 
 respect. Nevertheless, the influence he exercised over his 
 nation and age was perhaps even more noxious. When a 
 vigorous mind passionately devotes its best energies to the 
 inquiry after Truth, and being unable to find her on a wrong 
 /- track seizes upon error instead of truth, then, indeed, error 
 possesses fatal and terrible properties, and has power to 
 seduce many a noble heart deficient in firmness of principle. 
 Voltaire's wit materially assisted in shaking this firmness, as 
 well as the old foundations of faith and morality ; thus he 
 paved the way for Rousseau, whose fiery eloquence dragged 
 down into the vortex those who would never have yielded to 
 the mere sophistry of wit. Eousseau's picture of a rude state 
 of nature, and his theory of a pure democracy founded on 
 unassisted human reason, may well be supposed to have at 
 first produced a greater degree of astonishment than of con- 
 viction. As he had succeeded, however, in originating a new 
 epoch and method of education, which was soon generally 
 adopted, and which consisted of an isolated natural development 
 of the individual mind, without any positive faith whatever, and 
 irrespective of the connection of individuals in social union, 
 it cannot create surprise that in a succeeding generation the 
 most extravagant of his political ideas, similarly based on 
 nature, were thought feasible. Much in the same manner 
 as the extension of physics had for the most part led to a 
 
VOLTAIKE r 305 
 
 corrupted morality, to attacks on faith, or even distinct denial 
 of Grod, so also increased knowledge of mankind was turned 
 to manifold perverse uses in- the course of the eighteenth 
 century. Rousseau was enthusiastic in his admiration of < 
 savages, and in this had many followers. Tet, how much 
 soever travellers* descriptions of American and other savages 
 were embellished and rendered attractive for the purpose of 
 furnishing the ideal of a truly inartificial state of nature, the 
 custom of eating human flesh, prevalent among various races 
 of cannibals, served in some degree to moderate the enthu- 
 siasm of this school ; until the age, emancipated from all 
 prejudices, advanced so far in its peculiar progress, that the 
 above custom lost some of its repulsiveness among those new 
 cannibals, the offspring of the Eevolution. 
 
 Voltaire, and several French writers after him, evince an 
 equally strong predilection for the other extreme, far enough 
 removed from the wild freedom of savages, — I mean the 
 Chinese, whose monotonous social arrangements may be justly 
 said to be " the Despotism of Reason." To an age which was 
 increasingly desirous of substituting an efficient police for a re- 
 ligion that had sunk into contempt, and for moral feeling ; an 
 age which was ambitious of attaining to perfection in certain 
 manufactures, as the highest destiny of human society, while 
 it virtually declared the very acme of refinement to consist 
 of so-called pure morals, solely and simply referring to the 
 strict observance of police-regulations and to the diffusion of 
 manufacturing industry : to such an age, was unspeakably 
 pleasing a nation that assumed to have had pure morals with- 
 out religion for thousands of years, and to have printed news- 
 papers for centuries prior to Europeans ; a nation, moreover, 
 that painted on porcelain in exquisite colours and prepared 
 that important article paper, of a much thinner and finer 
 texture than any produced in Europe. It were, indeed, de- 
 plorable if modern Europe, after having learned from actual 
 experiment that certain customs of the Caribbee Islanders 
 are hardly practicable in the present state of society, were 
 compelled to gather from experience also, that the Despotism 
 of Reason, involved in Chinese uniformity of state and social 
 policy, is by no means congenial to humanity or even just in 
 itself. 
 
 Q 
 
306 HOUSSEATJ AND HELYETIUS. 
 
 Voltaire and Rousseau were the first and principal guides 
 to the philosophy of the eighteenth century : others mate- 
 rially co-operated to advance the spirit of the times further in 
 the path selected for its course, and to develop with more 
 definite principles and bolder consequences the philosophy of 
 sense suggested by Locke. How far their efforts were suc- 
 cessful may be seen in the case of Helvetius, who, when he 
 depicted selfishness, vanity, and sensual pleasures as the 
 genuine all-determining springs and realities of life, and 
 declared that they constituted the only reasonable aims of 
 enlightened man, was merely reported to have disclosed the 
 universal secret of the world. According to this doctrine, 
 mind does not distinguish man from the lower animals — but 
 his hands and fingers — a distinction which, of course, the 
 ape, in some degree, shares with man. Some philosophers, 
 indeed, went so far as to question the actual difference be- 
 tween man and the ape ; and the possibility of gradual tran- 
 sition in their formation was seriously discussed. It is to be 
 regretted that Rousseau was induced, from personal motives, 
 to abandon his original intention of openly attacking the 
 tenets of Helvetius. Such a dispute would, from its very 
 nature, have led him to a more precise development of his 
 own principles of thought, which could not but have been of 
 great advantage. For, with much that was pernicious, his 
 philosophy contained the germs of much that was good and 
 noble ; and his writings, when correctly analysed, will be 
 found to contain not a few remarks that his opponents and 
 critics are wont rather to use than to acknowledge. He 
 thoroughly disapproved of the sensuous philosophy then in 
 vogue ; with his whole soul he detested that false science. 
 Though he was never successful in attaining to the truth, yet 
 he enunciated much that then seemed startling paradox, but 
 which, from our religious point of view, sounds like an echo 
 of the truth from amid the confusion of universal error. Pity 
 that his loftier intellectual aspirations were never really 
 developed or turned into the right direction ! He stood alone 
 in solitary contemplation : ever and anon, when on the track 
 of glorious truth, some fanciful notion in the shape of 
 nature-worship, misled his footsteps. His spirit, constautly 
 agitated by opposing influences, enjoyed no internal repose. 
 Of all who erred, and erred so deeply, during that eventful 
 
DIDEROT. 307 
 
 period, he is the only one who inspires us with deep 
 regrefc. 
 
 Diderot marks the last step in the career of Trench philo- 
 sophy prior to the Revolution. It may be assumed to be 
 generally understood that he constituted the actual centre 
 and essence, so to speak, not of the Encyclopedie only, but 
 likewise of the Systeme de la Nature, and many other works 
 written in a similar spirit, and virtually atheistic in character. 
 He worked in secret rather than openly, and differed from 
 Voltaire and Eousseau in being free from literary vanity, and 
 mainly directing his energies to the success of his cause. His 
 animating principle consisted in downright fanatical hatred 
 not merely of Christianity but of every species of religion. 
 The favourite views entertained by this school are that all 
 religion is mere superstition and the result of fortuitous cir- 
 cumstances ; taking its rise in the terror with which great 
 physical changes, of which the traces are still visible, inspired 
 the survivors of a half-destroyed race. Several treatises in 
 the interests of this party do not scruple to use the term 
 atheism, and undisguisedly maintain that the universal adop- 
 tion of atheism is essential to the unalloyed happiness of the 
 human family. But wherever this theory has been reduced 
 to practice it has proved to be a fallacy. The most unnatural 
 abortion of this atheistical system is the well-known mytho- 
 logical interpretation of Christianity, according to which 
 Christ is only an astronomical symbol, having no historical 
 existence, the twelve Apostles corresponding with the signs 
 of the Zodiac. A complete Pagan system having been deduced 
 from physical science, history having been thoroughly cor- 
 rupted in all its several periods, no further enormity remained 
 to be perpetrated than to summon Pagan mythology and 
 give it this anti- Christian application, in order that universal 
 history might be wholly despoiled of its corner-stone, and 
 that its centre-point might be converted into idle fable and 
 ingenious allegory. The ideas generated by this system, 
 together with their practical effects on life itself, are to be 
 gathered from the well-known wish definitely expressed pre- 
 vious to the revolutionary outbreak, namely — That the last 
 king might be strangled with the bowels of the last priest ! 
 
308 
 
 LECTUEE XIV. 
 
 Lighter Productions of the French, and imitation- 
 op the English. — Fashionable Literature in France 
 and England. — Modern Romance. — Prose oe Rous- 
 seau AND BUEEON. LaMARTINE. ENGLISH POPULAR 
 
 Poetry. — Scott and Byron. — Modern Theatre of 
 the Italians. — English Criticism and History. — 
 Scepticism and moral belief. — Return to a purer 
 and loftier Philosophy in France. — Bonald and St. 
 Martin, Lamennais and De Maistre. — Sir William 
 Jones and Burke. 
 
 The lighter literature of France has been continuously and 
 richly endowed with genial productions of imagination and 
 wit since the period of Louis XIV. Still, even in these, the 
 palm of success must needs be awarded to earlier times. None 
 of the later scenic poets can vie with Moliere in comic humour: 
 Lafontaine's own peculiar grace displayed in elaborate art- 
 lessness of poetic narrative, still remains inimitable. Vol- 
 taire, whose philosophy altogether inclined to modern tastes 
 which he was one of the first to prompt and direct, is con- 
 nected by his poetry and literature with an older period, and 
 thus constitutes a transition-point and link of union. His 
 comic dramas are far inferior to his tragedies : but he sur- 
 passed all his competitors in manifold variety of witty fugi- 
 tive poetry. And this was the peculiar direction taken by 
 minor poetry in France at this time : a tone of social wit 
 
 - gradually became dominant, whilst in England lyric verse 
 was characterized by a depth of thought and tone of natural 
 feeliog in description. In proportion as poetry identifies 
 
 _, herself with social life and with the present hour, she be- 
 comes subject to local influence and the tyranny of fashion. 
 Many comedies, romances, and social poems, dating from 
 the close of the seventeenth, or the commencement of the 
 eighteenth century, of a genial character and highly popular 
 in their day, are now thoroughly obsolete in respect to the 
 
LIGHTER FRENCH LITERATURE. 309 
 
 manners and spirit which they pourtray. Were the poetic 
 literature of a nation entirely restricted to the representation 
 of modern subjects — for instance, dramatic portraiture of 
 national habits, narrative drawn from social life, and witty 
 occasional poetry — it would scarcely be either necessary or 
 possible to draw up a critical history of its contents ; any 
 more than the minute ephemera of a summer evening can 
 be made the subject of anatomical examination. It would 
 then serve no other purpose than that of filling up the 
 leisure hours of social relaxation, and though feeling and 
 passion were occasionally aroused, or a fine idea added here 
 and there, in order to avoid tedious repetition, the chief aim 
 would still be to amuse ; and this could be effected quite as 
 well without the aid of poetry. 
 
 I would not be understood to say that some of the lighter 
 kinds of poetry are not equally impressed by the stamp of 
 genius with the more serious efforts of nobler minstrels. Yet 
 the beauty of the former is rarely so universal, frequently 
 resting altogether on a delicacy of expression that can be more 
 easily felt than described. The beauties of an epic poem or 
 a tragedy may be felt even when transferred to a foreign 
 idiom, and they suffer less by such a transmutation in pro- 
 portion to their intrinsic excellence. I very much question 
 whether any foreigner, however conversant with the idiom- 
 atic peculiarities of the French language, can ever realize the 
 unlimited admiration of Lafontaine entertained by his own 
 countrymen. Any one may appreciate his naivete, his grace, 
 his genius ; but a Frenchman alone feels and admires much 
 more than all this — a certain charm inherent in his expres- 
 sion which it is not possible for any foreigner to discover. 
 Some of Moliere's happiest and most characteristic creations 
 are now too antiquated for living representation on the stage, 
 and can only be admired in perusal. However highly they 
 are ranked and justly ranked, as individual creations of 
 French poetry, they are not felicitous models for the imi- 
 tation of posterity. The characters of Labruyere, if dra- 
 matized, are not therefore poetry. If the rhetoric of the 
 passions, when holding exclusive sway in tragedy, by no 
 means satisfies the requirements of its loftier destiny, the 
 psychological analysis of character and passion in comedy is a 
 far less competent substitute for poetry and wit. This 
 
S10 LIGHTER TRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 psychological tendency of the higher French drama in the 
 eighteenth century has often been made a matter ot re- 
 proach. It suggested an easy transition to those moral trea- 
 tises usurping the form of comedy, invented by Diderot, to 
 our lasting misfortune. 
 
 The original French character was no doubt quite as 
 airy and jocund as it is commonly depicted : but this care- 
 less merry humour is nowhere reflected in the literature of 
 the eighteenth century, even in cases where it would have 
 been most fittingly introduced. This is to be attributed to an 
 ever-extending spirit of sectarianism, political no less than 
 philosophical : the current of events sufficiently explains the 
 manner in which the rhetoric of the passions gradually as- 
 sumed complete ascendancy over the olden merry poetry of 
 France, and thus the national character obviously underwent 
 essential changes during the eighteenth century. The 
 dominant sensuous philosophy may, indeed, be supposed to 
 have corresponded with the free jocular verse of some few 
 poets, but it also carried many beyond the bounds of poetry. 
 Materialism is, essentially, unpropitious to poetry, and 
 deadening to the fancy. Whosoever is once fully imbued 
 with the doctrines of Helvetius will be thenceforth deaf to all 
 the witchery of the muse. 
 
 On the other hand, the impatience of restraint and the 
 worship of nature, which Rousseau's followers more especially 
 deduced from the new philosophy, were in manifest contra- 
 diction to the regularity of older French verse cultivated 
 during the seventeenth century. Hence arose a secret inner 
 spirit of opposition, a continuous eifort to be disenthralled ; 
 this state of things soon brought about an open rebellion of 
 taste, foreshadowing the greater political outbreak. Hence 
 the predilection for English poetry. Voltaire made frequent 
 use of it in secret, whilst he was busily engaged in openly 
 aspersing it. In all higher efforts of the muse, this 
 English influence is especially apparent, even down to 
 our own times. The various attempts made to confer 
 more freedom on the movements of tragedy, and enrich 
 its historical import, without at the same time utterly 
 demolishing the fabric of its older structure, have to this 
 day remained incomplete, without any definite result what- 
 ever. The most recent performances in the more elevated 
 
MODERN ROMANCE. 
 
 regions of poetry, that are accounted classic productions, 
 are descriptions of natural scenery, appertaining to a species 
 pre-eminently English. Romance, accordingly, grew to 
 be a favourite mode of composition with those whose 
 enthusiasm for nature found no vent in any of the older 
 existing forms : for it was exempt from all those fetters 
 that cramped aspiring effort in other departments of 
 poetry. "When Voltaire clothed his wit and philosophy in 
 this form, when Eousseau made it the depository of his 
 enthusiasm and eloquence, or Diderot used it as the ve- 
 hicle of his wayward petulance, Romance became in the 
 hands of these men of genius exactly what each of them 
 wished. The two former writers were followed by a host of 
 others, who sought to embody a similar spirit in more regular 
 narrative selected from every-day life. I need not do more 
 on this occasion than recall to recollection romances breath- 
 ing the very spirit of Voltaire, as manifested in his Candide, 
 Others attached themselves more peculiarly to Eousseau : 
 fired by at least equal enthusiastic love of nature, Bernardiu 
 de St. Pierre and Chateaubriand transported their imagina- 
 tive faculties to the savage wilds of America, where they 
 were sheltered from the rigour of those two inexorable 
 tyrants of their native country, Aristotle and Boileau. 
 
 Voltaire, Eousseau, and Diderot made a frequent and 
 arbitrary use of romance, as being a form eminently adapted 
 to the conveyance of certain peculiar ideas of their own. 
 But if this form be regarded as a distinct poetic species, 
 as regular narrative in prose, sketching the transient 
 features of society, it will be found that, in this respect, too, 
 French writers have frequently copied from English models, 
 but have seldom, if ever, equalled them. In point of origin- 
 ality and power of representation Eichardson perhaps occu- 
 pies the highest place in this peculiar style of composition. If 
 he, likewise, has become antiquated, if his striving after the 
 ideal was not attended with special success owing to exact- 
 ness of details occasionally tedious, we have a proof of the 
 incompatibility of direct poetic connexion witli the hard 
 realities of life, though disguised in prosaic garb. If his 
 genius availed not to solve the problem, it was because its 
 solution was little short of impracticable. Of the imitators 
 of Cervantes, Eielding and Smollett still remain the most 
 
TRENCH PROSE WRITERS. 
 
 accomplished ; whilst among short and simple narratives, 
 life-like miniatures of this species of art, the Vicar of Wake- 
 field claims a foremost rank. Sterne founded another and 
 a different species, in which description holds a secondary 
 position, the principal being occupied in playful humour, 
 sentiment, and wit. 
 
 If the productions of mind, subservient to fashion and 
 every-day necessities, may be judged by the same standard 
 as the fashionable commodities, I should be tempted to give 
 the preference, in point of neat and finished character, to 
 English romances generally over those of France. 
 
 Another feature in French literature unfavourable to the 
 perfect development of romance is its extraordinary store of 
 historic memoirs, autobiographies, attractive collections of 
 anecdotes and letters, all of which approximate, more or less, 
 to a romantic character. I am not aware that any of Mar- 
 Hiontel's tales ever created so general a sensation as his 
 Memoirs ; and what French romance is there that could, by 
 any possibility, compare in thrilling interest with Rousseau's 
 Confessions ? 
 
 French poetry, as a whole, was supplanted by prose in 
 the course of the eighteenth century: notwithstanding in- 
 dividual glaring imperfections, the latter attained to a height 
 of polished eloquence under the hands of certain leading 
 writers. Voltaire's prose style is spirited and witty like 
 himself: thoroughly suited to his genius and design. His 
 language is not, I believe, considered worthy of imitation by 
 the more rigid critics of his country, and his historical method 
 is certainly not. Diderot's style and manner are engaging 
 in the eyes of some Germans, inasmuch as he is imbued 
 with a degree of aesthetic feeling for the beauties of imitative 
 art: a feature rarely, if at all, distinguishable in French 
 authors generally. His language, however, is capricious and 
 incorrect, nor is it embellished with that pure elegance that 
 may reasonably be expected to characterise the best French 
 writers. The style of Buffon and Rousseau is most admired 
 as a specimen of masterly delineation and consummate 
 rhetoric. The former is perhaps the more artistic in point 
 of detail and in the structure of periods ; but these qua- 
 lities are marred by a defect incidental to the nature of 
 his work. I allude to his numerous episodes, in which he 
 
BUFFON, ROUSSEAU, AND LAMARTINE. 313 
 
 takes occasion to introduce his thoughts or rhetorical pas- 
 sages where they were not called for. It may not seem 
 unnatural in him to interweave his theory of love with his 
 article on doves. But a dissertation on the migration of 
 nations is somewhat out of place in a chapter on the hare. 
 Aristotle permitted himself no such digressions in his 
 capacity of natural historian; in strict appropriateness of 
 detail coupled with lucid distinctness of scientific style, 
 Buffon is far inferior to the Greek master whom it was 
 his fond ambition to emulate. I accordingly concur with 
 those who give Kousseau the preference, since his art is 
 less isolated and disjointed than that of Buffo n : and rhe- 
 torical unity, though not very strictly regulated, is more 
 apparent throughout his writings. Hence he is all the more 
 captivating. But whilst I cordially agree with those who 
 pronounce Rousseau to have been the first French author of 
 the eighteenth century in point of artistic and powerful 
 expression, I cannot dissent from those who see an immense 
 interval between his captivating eloquence and the sublime 
 grandeur of Bossuet. 
 
 If the present relations of literature are ever to undergo 
 a change — that is, if the preponderating influence of French 
 prose is to decline, or, at least, be diminished by the revival 
 of French poetry — my opinion is that such a revival cannot 
 be effected by any imitation of English standards, as has 
 heretofore been attempted, nor indeed by any external 
 causes, but rather by a recurrence to the poetic spirit of the 
 country in the olden time. Imitation of the genius of an- 
 other nation can never conduce to the attainment of the 
 object in view, for the several circumstances that have com- 
 bined to elevate their art must of necessity be foreign to 
 imitators. It is incumbent on every nation to recur to its 
 own original and primitive legendary poetry. The nearer 
 this source is arrived at, the more distinctly conspicuous are 
 the poetic features common to all nations. The poetic 
 legends of all races are as intimately connected with their 
 origin as themselves. The pure spring of religious inspira- 
 tion is to all minds an inexhaustible source, out of whose 
 depths poetry gushes forth in living streams. From this 
 source Lamartine drew his poetical compositions which form 
 the beginning of a new poetical era for France. 
 
314 POPE AND YOUNG. 
 
 English verse, at the commencement of the eighteenth 
 century, still leaned on French taste, the influence of which 
 is visible in Pope's elaborate versification, as well as in 
 Addison's attempt in so-called regular tragedy. Meanwhile, 
 both of them assisted in rescuing Shakspere and Milton 
 from temporary oblivion. Pope's translation of Homer, 
 though very remote from the simplicity of the old bard, still 
 served to increase the general predilection for the great poet of 
 nature and antiquity, and is itself a proof of this strong 
 predilection. Pope's original poems manifest that predomi- 
 nating tendency to poetic reflection which gradually rendered 
 the didactic form of composition a favourite in England, and 
 produced such a host of efforts in the same direction. It 
 has been previously remarked that this species is in its 
 nature cold and anti-poetical. English example afibrds no 
 exception to the rule of its speedy exhaustion. Contempla- 
 tion was frequently overshadowed by pathetic melancholy, 
 as in the wild but beautiful effusions of Young's "Night 
 Thoughts." With a more tempered beauty Thomson ex- 
 pressed the ardour of his natural feeling in a poem peculiar 
 to the English description of nature, a species that met with 
 many imitators abroad. It was this love of nature that 
 gained Ossian so many admirers : and though not always 
 marked by Ossian's plaintive melancholy or Young's pensive 
 sadness, the lyrical poesy of England was certainly dis- 
 tinguished by a peculiar spirit of earnest contemplation in 
 the eighteenth century in a much greater degree than that 
 of France. Along with the veneration for Shakspere, Percy 
 excited a passionate love for the old ballads and popular 
 songs. The more of these were discovered, especially those 
 of Scotland, the more does this poetic species appear to have 
 supplanted all other kinds, the every-day requirements of 
 romance and the drama alone excepted. Thus, whilst higher 
 poetry began in France, towards the close of the seventeenth 
 century, with the observance of strict and somewhat arbi- 
 trary rules, and gradually sunk into the tone of social wit ; 
 it commenced in England with serious reflection or descrip- 
 tions of natural scenery, and ended in a general taste for early 
 ballads, echoes of the lost minstrelsy of an earlier age. Of 
 late years, since the re-establishment of familiar intercourse 
 with England, the fame of two British poets has reached 
 
SCOTT AND BYEON. 315 
 
 the Continent, representing the poetic feeling of our time in 
 a distinct and characteristic manner. The muse of Scott 
 lives only in reminiscences of the old songs of Scotland ; his 
 verse is, as it were, a mosaic composed of detached frag- 
 ments of romantic legend and early chivalry adapted to 
 Scottish customs, and knit together with wondrous skill and 
 care : just as fragmentary portions of paintings on glass out 
 of Gothic churches are sometimes found in country houses 
 and hermitages at the present day, neatly cemented together 
 for the sake of picturesque effect. The poetry of Byron 
 issues neither from reminiscence nor hope, but from the 
 depths of tragic inspiration and a peculiarly disconsolate 
 atheistic philosophy. His verse, with all its lofty aspira- 
 tions and endowments, is lost in the mazes of infidelity 
 and despair : groping in a vast crowd of strange unearthly 
 shapes conjured up by midnight fancy, it deifies only a 
 morbid heroism, which it invests with the gloomy spell of 
 varied passion. This atheistic inspiration was not altogether 
 alien to German poetry at an earlier epoch ; but a purer 
 sphere was soon attained, the monstrosities of false tragic 
 grandeur being banished to the extreme confines of the 
 drama. In the higher regions of art it was speedily dis- 
 covered that modern poetry cannot flow in transparent 
 stream from the turbid eddy of froward passion ; but, 
 founded on eternal hope, it must become a glorified ad- 
 mixture of Faith and Love, radiant as the rainbow after the 
 storm, or the dawn of morn after the shades of night. Scott 
 and Byron, together constituting the poetry of reminiscence 
 and the poetry of despair, may be said to form the close of 
 ' a former extinct minstrelsy, rather than the commencement 
 of a new era, of which as yet there are no manifest tokens. 
 
 Upon the whole, poetry was considerably on the decline, 
 during the eighteenth century, in most countries, as con- 
 trasted with the rich stores of former days ; even in those 
 lands where the mode of life is in its very nature poetical, as 
 in Spain, as well as in those where all the national 
 characteristics are entwined with song, as in Italy. The 
 latter, though unable to shew any splendid productions in 
 exalted verse, at this period, such as might enter into 
 competition with its earlier glories has yet evinced great 
 activity in manifold dramatic development. The perform- 
 
316 ITALIAN DIIAMA. 
 
 ances of Metastasio, Goldoni, Gozzi, Alfieri, singly dis- 
 play all the elements of scenic poesy, generally found 
 united in the finished dramas that have possession of our 
 own stage. Metastasio is celebrated for the highest de- 
 gree of melodious expression ; Goldoni depicts ordinary 
 life easily and agreeably, his characters and masques being 
 after genuine Italian fashion ; Gozzi' s fantastic extra- 
 vaganzas, while replete with really poetic invention, lack 
 musical perfection and imaginative embellishment, which can, 
 alone, give due effect to their poetical contents ; Alfieri' s 
 aspirations after antique sublimity merit the praise bestowed 
 on laudable efforts even when falling short of complete 
 success. 
 
 I know not whether the modern English drama is not 
 quite as superior to that of France as its romances are ; both 
 are poetical manufactures, and the English seems to be the 
 best of the two. We are more interested in the Italian 
 theatre on account of its closer similarity to our own, 
 as regards the phenomena of external circumstances and 
 late development. 
 
 English criticism on poetry, as also on creative art gene- 
 rally, was mora independent, original, and imbued with 
 archaeology than that of France, and therefore more in con- 
 formity with the German spirit. Still German criticism de- 
 rived only a primary impulse from suggestions thrown out by 
 Harris, Home, Hurd, and Warton, and soon attained to an 
 independent development scarcely equalled, perhaps, by aDy 
 other branch of our literature. 
 
 The great standards of historical composition which Eng- 
 land produced during the eighteenth century are among the 
 most important features of belles lettres. In this species of 
 literature they have surpassed all other nations, if only in 
 leading the way, and as historical models for foreign imitation. 
 Unless I am mistaken, Hume ranks with the foremost in 
 this department. But however great a safeguard scepticism 
 may be in the process of historic investigation of facts, in 
 which it can hardly be carried to excess, yet if the effects of 
 doubting be to attack, to shake, nay, utterly to demolish the 
 great bulwark of moral and religious principles, it little 
 becomes the historian of a powerful nation, who aims at 
 exercising permanent and extensive influence. 
 
HUME, EOBEETSON, AND GIBBON. 317 
 
 Narrow principles, views not perfectly correct are, in this 
 case, much better and more productive than a deadening want 
 of sentiment, feeling, and love. A tendency to opposition 
 to prevalent opinions, a leaning to paradox, are all that re- 
 main to invest history, when framed after this manner, with 
 any degree of interest. Now such a tendency to opposition is 
 unmistakeable in Hume. In his time, the republican spirit 
 of the Whigs biassed English literature almost as completely 
 as it now does, and with equally doubtful influence on the 
 country's welfare. How salutary soever, then, it may have 
 seemed to him to abandon the prevalent Anglican severity 
 of party and, attaching himself to the Opposition, to tinge a 
 most important part of the national annals with evident pre- 
 dilection for the unfortunate house of Stuart and sympathy 
 with Tory principles, he can only be regarded as an eminent 
 party-historian, the first in his peculiar method and view, 
 not the truly great author of a performance at once national 
 in spirit and in genius. His description of earlier times is 
 very unsatisfactory : having no affection for them, he could 
 not sufficiently realize them. Robertson's style is most 
 attractive : his language select, and, though ornate, yet lucid 
 and unaffected. His weak side is that which has regard to 
 research and import, certainly the most important of all 
 historic qualities. It is now universally admitted, even in 
 England, that he is unreliable, superficial, and often full of 
 errors as to facts : yet his style is wont to be held up as a 
 pattern, owing, probably, to the degeneracy of taste. But 
 even his style is, in my opinion, too verbose and antithetical. 
 Eine writing and an attempt at artistic rhetorical treatment 
 of History throughout are calculated, as I conceive, to lead 
 to injudicious results. If history is to be treated as an art, 
 it* will be difficult indeed for any modern nation to equal or 
 even come near to the perfection of the ancients. It is more 
 possible to excel them in another way ; namely, by treating 
 history rather as a science, to which end our improved ma- 
 terials and increased resources cannot fail to avail us. Keep- 
 ing this in view, that style will be found best adapted to 
 the purpose which shall combine simplicity, care, appropri- 
 ateness, with lucidity, absence of superfluous words, and of 
 artificial far-fetched ornament. Gibbon is copious in reflec- 
 tions : his style is, in detail, particularly excellent, but he is 
 
318 K0SC0E, COXE, AND FOX. 
 
 too uniformly rich in ornament. His page is replete witl 
 Latin and French idiomatic turns : owing to the mixed 
 character of the English language which has no definite fixed 
 boundary of speech. Gibbon's artificial half-Latin manner was 
 more especially introduced by Johnson : in principle, at least, 
 the English have partially given it up, as doing violence to 
 the genius of their language. As regards internal merit, 
 whilst copious and attractive, he is, nevertheless, unsatisfac- 
 tory : owing to the absence of right feeling, and the presence 
 of Voltaire's spirit of mockery at religion, at all times un- 
 worthy of a historian, and not even easy or natural in 
 Gibbon, since it militates against his laboured elegance of 
 expression, and seems an awkward attempt at witticism. But 
 in spite of the deficiencies I have mentioned, these three lead- 
 ing English historians, the first of their respective kinds, are 
 deservedly held in high esteem, appearing the more merito- 
 rious when contrasted with some of their successors. It is 
 only necessary to compare Roscoe, with all his richness of Ita- 
 lian lore, yet dry and methodical, with Gibbon ; Coxe attrac- 
 tive and interesting, yet less lofty and classicalin his style, with 
 Eobertson ; or Fox, the statesman, with Hume ; to ascertain 
 the declining condition of historical science in England. One 
 of the causes of the declension is perhaps the want of a fixed 
 and satisfactory system of philosophy : this is sensibly felt 
 to have operated even in the case of those three historical 
 models. Without some definite perception of the moral 
 existence of man, his origin and his destination, the historian 
 is hardly competent to decide, or even clearly understand, 
 all the circumstances relative to national events, develop- 
 ments, and fortunes. Upon the whole, History and Philo- 
 sophy ought ever to be as closely united as possible. If 
 wholly disjoined from history, and devoid of a spirit of 
 criticism resulting from a junction of the two, Philosophy 
 can scarcely hope to attain to anything higher than fierce 
 sectarianism or empty formulse : since, in the former case, 
 it misconstrues the temper of the times, and for want of due 
 discrimination makes havoc of their general features : in the 
 latter, it takes no interest whatever in man's existence and 
 actions. Without the animating principle of philosophy, 
 history is but a senseless heap of waste materials, destitute 
 of inner unity, fixity of purpose, or definite result. The want 
 
HISTORY or MANKIND. 319 
 
 of satisfactory convictions and principles is nowhere more 
 strikingly evinced than in the so-called history of man, which 
 formed a favourite subject of inquiry in England, and was 
 thence transplanted to Germany. An immense number of 
 travels and voyages were laid under contribution to furnish 
 matter for pictures of the fisher, the hunter, the migratory 
 races, and different conditions of agricultural, commercial, 
 and domestic life. This was called a history of man : and 
 no doubt many individual observations of considerable value 
 were thus brought together ; even the connexion with phy- 
 sical and natural views of man according to the variety of 
 his stock and outward appearance — white or swarthy, copper- 
 coloured or yellow. But detached observations of this kind 
 only realize an actual value in proportion as they illustrate 
 the loftier connexion of the whole. So long, however, as this 
 unity was wanting, what chance was there of a reasonable 
 solution of the question, which alone constitutes a genuine 
 history of man : namely, his actual nature, his original con- 
 dition and mode of life, and the reason of his fall to that 
 comparatively deplorable state in which we now see him ? 
 The answer to this strictly historical question, forming 
 the beginning and the end of all history, is to be found 
 only in religion and philosophy — that Christian philosophy 
 whose sole aim and endeavour are bent upon thoroughly 
 understanding religion. As soon as history quits the li- 
 mited circle described by the existing traditions and events 
 of various races and ages, and casts longing glances at 
 humanity as a collective whole, the fundamental philosophy 
 of revelation is alone able to afford correct interpretation of 
 its meaning, and a guide to the right path : otherwise there 
 will be constant danger of viewing mankind, in the several 
 stages of development, as a mere natural production. The 
 Divine disposal of mundane affairs, in the sequence of dif- 
 ferent periods and historical eras, can be comprehended 
 only in the depths of spiritual perception. In a word, the 
 necessary connexion of profane with sacred history — in its 
 beginning, middle, and end — is alone to be gathered, in a 
 lucid and satisfactory manner, from spiritual Christian views. 
 The spurious history of mankind, which characteristically 
 proceeded from the corrupt sensual material philosophy 
 prevalent in the eighteenth century, is based upon a belief 
 
320 SCEPTICISM AND MOBAL BELIEF. 
 
 that man grew out of the ground like a mushroom, but with 
 the additional properties of locomotion and consciousness. 
 According to the same theory, the formation of these pro- 
 perties was the work of ages ; and what was particularly 
 aimed at in similar histories was to analyze the gradual 
 development of intelligence and spirit, of art and science, 
 from the regions of the animal kingdom step by step. The 
 more minutely the connexion between man and the orang- 
 outang — a favourite with many philosophers of the age — was 
 traced, the more deeply philosophical the inquiry was sup- 
 posed to be. Surrounded, as we are, by boundless wealth 
 of materials and resources, of ancient records, of geographical 
 and other treasures, and able to take a retrospective glance 
 at many centuries, we are in the very position to treat the 
 history of the world as a science, in the real acceptation of 
 the word ; within whose vast boundaries political history, too, 
 might be made to assume a totally new complexion. But in 
 order to erect a structure such as this, the vast array of 
 materials at our command should be raised on the old theo- 
 logical foundations, and well cemented, which, as yet, has 
 not been done. The various histories of man hitherto in 
 vogue were built on the yielding sand of unassisted rational 
 hypothesis or natural observation, cemented by a sensuous 
 philosophy. But history as an art, and as first and most ex- 
 tensively practised in England in modern times, has only pro- 
 duced rhetorical master-pieces destitute of genuine science. 
 
 The philosophy of sensation unwittingly suggested by 
 Bacon, and first reduced to actual principles by Locke, which 
 in France led to immoral and destructive consequences, estab- 
 lished a distinct sect, and eventually terminated in complete 
 and extensively diffused atheism, took a different turn in 
 England. Similar results could not well attend it in that 
 country : the universal feeling of national welfare and 
 of its concomitants, which would evidently have been im- 
 perilled by the spread of such doctrines as obtained in 
 Prance, would have been repugnant to its systematic pro- 
 gress. The English spirit is, moreover, naturally inclined to 
 seize on the paradoxical and sceptical rather than en the ma- 
 terial and atheistical views of the philosophy in question. 
 It will be remembered that Berkeley was induced to entertain 
 
BERKELEY AND HUME. 321 
 
 the strangest notions in consequence of pursuing Locke's 
 system : inasmuch as he was desirous of blending his religious 
 belief with the tenets of Locke, whilst the former was 
 too deeply rooted to admit of thorough eradication. The 
 difficulty that seemed incomprehensible to philosophers of 
 that day — and necessarily so — was to explain the mind's 
 apprehension and knowledge of external objects. For all 
 that we perceive and feel in external creation is after all a 
 mere impression effecting some variation in ourselves. 
 Examine it as we choose, we receive the impression of the 
 object, not the object itself, which seems continually to elude 
 our grasp. If we cousider nature as animate, or at least as 
 a means, an instrument, a visible Word of Life, all confusion 
 is removed, and light breaks in upon us. It cannot be un- 
 intelligible to our faculties that two living, mutually opera- 
 ting, spiritual natures, are acted upon by a third apparently 
 inanimate medium and instrument, namely, speech or lan- 
 guage which serves in the capacity of a connecting medium. 
 This is felt every moment of our existence ; we neither live 
 nor move, nor at any time commune with ourselves, unless 
 through the instrumentality of words. But this plain con- 
 victiou, namely: that the sensible world is merely the habi- 
 tation of the intellectual, and a medium of separation as 
 well as of connection between spiritual natures, was lost 
 sight of; and with it a due appreciation of intellect and an 
 animating assurance of its existence. Thus the philosophy 
 of sense first transgressed its principles, and, passing over 
 the most essential questions and solutions, fell from one 
 degree of confusion into another. Berkeley proceeded so 
 far as to deny the utter existence of external objects, and 
 leld that God was the direct prompter of our several 
 notions and impressions ; oppressed by similar doubts, 
 Hume adopted a view altogether different — a sceptical view 
 which, thrown into dismay by the law of inextricable doubt, 
 it last denied the certainty of all knowledge. His all-perva- 
 ling and destructive scepticism determined the course of 
 English philosophy. Since his day, nothing further has been 
 sneered in this department of inquiry than strenuous efforts 
 o arrest pernicious influences, tending to sap the very 
 bundations of moral order and to uphold the fabric of 
 lecessary convictions by means of various bulwarks. The 
 
 ii 
 
322 ENGLISH PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 dominant idea of national welfare was not confined to Adam 
 Smith, but constitutes the chief point, the centre, and invisible 
 regulator of collective English philosophy. Yet, however 
 laudable and proper continual reference to this paramount 
 centre point undoubtedly is, this idea, of itself, by no means 
 suffices as a decisive oracle in all matters of knowledge and 
 science. Such supports are, at the best, frail and feeble, 
 and ill-calculated to endure even for the practical purposes 
 of life, the course of which, sooner or later, must correspond 
 with intellectual conviction and development. In the absence 
 of an impossible perfection of human knowledge, sound 
 common sense and moral sympathy or conscience have been 
 proposed as fitting substitutes. But natural common sense, 
 even if it were always sound and universal in the degree for 
 which credit is taken, would rather cut the Gordian knot of 
 philosophy than untie it. But the innate curiosity of our 
 moral nature is not to be eradicated, and the great question 
 relative to the inner ground of knowledge and of all truth 
 will recur, though put off ever so often. Moral sympathy 
 or conscience alone is inadequate to the requirements of 
 ethics ; unless the immutable law of justice be superadded, 
 and this can never be derived from mere experience or feel- 
 ing, but from reason and God alone. To this end firm con- 
 viction, definite faith, is absolutely essential. Faith, however, 
 such as English philosophers grounded on the deductions of 
 common sense, or on the principles of morality recognized 
 by them, or which, at any rate, were currently recognized, 
 and on estimable feelings, is necessarily of as vacillating a 
 nature as those foundations themselves. Such faith does 
 not come up to our standard. Our faith is a conviction 
 firm and unalterable as that derived from reason and outer 
 experience, and even more so, but drawn from a very different 
 source, and reached by another path, that of inner perception, 
 higher revelation, and Divine tradition. The so-called faith 
 of English philosophers is a fabricated self-doubting faith of 
 necessity, as little calculated to stand in the hour of danger 
 as the lifeless confessional faith of the unreflecting. We 
 have here the melancholy example of a nation energetic and 
 free in all its life and action, in poetry given to profundity 
 rather than to mere transitory externals, fettered by its 
 philosophy in self-constructed chains ; so that under its 
 
ENGLISH PHILOSOPHY. 323 
 
 dominion the national genius has of late years achieved less 
 original development, and appears to possess less thorough- 
 ness, than what characterizes some of the leading writers 
 among the French. If it be the case that there are in- 
 stances of English philosophers who have trodden devious 
 paths of their own, diverging from the main road I have 
 been describing, they have, for the most part, exercised no 
 important general influence : nor am I acquainted with any 
 such attempts calling for special notice. 
 
 Thus, English philosophy may be likened to a man having 
 a hale and healthy look whilst the germs of some fatal malady 
 lie within him, which, being checked by palliatives in the 
 first instance, has been only driven back into the sys- 
 tem. Just as in the body politic, the seeds of revolu- 
 tionary commotion were never yet entirely extinguished in 
 England, but are kept down and distributed in infinitesimal 
 particles by the ingenious equilibrium of its wonderful con- 
 stitution : so in the domains of intellect, decided materialism 
 or the destructive spirit of unconditional scepticism has 
 been hitherto restrained, by certain moral palliatives or 
 checks, from alarming results of a general and extensive 
 character. But it can hardly be expected that the disease 
 of philosophic error and irreligion is to be cured by any ap- 
 pliance short of a radical internal remedy : and in this kind 
 of practice, too, it is to be feared that long-continued 
 chronic disorder is no less dangerous in its debilitating con- 
 sequences than acute illness. I therefore consider it highly 
 probable, nay, almost certain, that an important crisis still 
 impends over the philosophy and, as necessarily connected 
 with it, over the moral and religious mind of England. 
 
 Leaving immediate and practical results out of view, and 
 regarding only the inner development of mind, one would be 
 almost inclined to hold complete and open error to be less 
 perilous than when half-disguised. In the latter case, 
 hidden danger lurks beneath insidious self-deception: whilst 
 the intellect rebounds the more freely from extreme tension, 
 and rises from the abyss of error in which it has sunk with 
 so much greater strength and vigour. 
 
 Erance witnessed a similar and very remarkable return to 
 truth and genuine philosophy. "When the altars, so recently 
 dedicated to Reason, the goddess of the age, was personated 
 
324* FRENCH PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 by an actress, perhaps more truthfully than her devotee? 
 suspected, were purified and once more consecrated to sound 
 religion — and when the new church, destitute of all fixed 
 creed, and styling itself Theo-philanthropy, was likewise 
 dissolved — the voice of suppressed truth resounded from all! 
 parts. I am not now alluding exclusively to the dis-; 
 tinguished writer who devoted the whole of his splendid? 
 and exuberant eloquence to the cause of religion. Forj 
 though it was laudable, reasonable, and directly essentialj 
 to the best interests of France of that day, that Chateau- 
 briand should especially depict the lovely and beneficent 
 effects of Christianity, yet he stopped short at its external 
 manifestation and splendour, and did not penetrate the 
 depths of its inner spiritual essence. Since then, Lamennais 
 has treated the subject with much greater depth : his hap- 
 piest efforts are those in which, with fervent piety, he 
 reflects the light and fulness of faith. He is less successful 
 when engaged in a contest to which his powers are inade- 
 quate, namely, the attempting to base the law of faith on 
 the annihilation of all science, as Kant, Jacobi, and their 
 adherents previously attempted in Germany, though only in 
 a metaphysical point of view ; so that in reference to this he 
 unconsciously appears as a disciple of Kant, but with Catholic 
 views. Yet, it can surely be no longer consistent with 
 Trench interests to attack science with the hostile and de- 
 structive weapons of Rousseau's impassioned eloquence ; let 
 us rather trust we are nearer the time when genuine science, 
 profiting by the dissolution of its spurious opponent and 
 thoroughly penetrated with the truths of religion, may effect 
 a lasting reconciliation with it, and henceforth minister to 
 its increased glory. Count de Maistre, well versed as he is 
 in the profounder secrets of philosophy, and one who has 
 deeply studied the Catholic cause, is nearer to this goal 
 than any other ultra- writer. "We may easily pardon his 
 misconception of the German mind. 
 
 There were yet other means by which the philosophy of 
 the age was sought to be extended, and a loftier system 
 founded in France. French writers of eminent talents and 
 attainments devoted their energies to naturalize the spirit 
 of German inquiry in their own country. Among these, 
 the first rank is occupied by that gifted authoress who 
 
FRENCH PHILOSOPHY. 325 
 
 endured so much in outward life, and whose mental conflicts 
 were so severe ; who depicted the revolution, the times and 
 the actors, with inimitable genius and in a manner more 
 intelligible to France than any other writer.* But many 
 obstacles seemed to stand in the way of another of her 
 attempts, to which she devoted all the powers of her extra- 
 ordinary genius, namely, — that of rendering the art and 
 science of Germany accessible to French students. Partial 
 failure may be attributed to too comprehensive a plan which 
 took the entire range of literature, instead of being at first 
 restricted to the most necessary and essential doctrines of 
 philosophy. 
 
 But here, taking France as a whole, another obstacle 
 presented itself, inasmuch as the intellectual development 
 could not be separated from the religious ; and the entire 
 German literature as well as German philosophy, espe- 
 cially at this period, had a decided Protestant colouring 
 which, in the actual state of France, must have been unfa- 
 vourable.to its reception. The first expounders of the Ger- 
 man mind and German science, gave a too exclusive Pro- 
 testant character to their literary undertaking, which, though 
 in accordance with their personal standing, was but one-sided. 
 Time only can remedy this violent separation ; the better 
 class of French writers, I mean those who unite sound 
 philosophy with religion, will one day be aware what a trea- 
 sure of materials, what aids and new organs, exist even in 
 the Catholic mind of Germany. Harmony in philosophy 
 and religion, and communion in it, can only flourish 
 among different nations when each is in a state of har- 
 mony within itself. Unquestionably, an increase of par- 
 tial illumination from without cannot lead to this issue as 
 long as the higher truth and firm conviction does not exist at 
 the centre. This cannot be effected by a mere outward con- 
 ventional belief founded on political reasons. Everything 
 depends on the progress and development of internal con- 
 viction. 
 
 Perhaps the most important and essential feature in recent 
 
 French literature is the return to a higher moral purity, a 
 
 Platonic Christian philosophy, which here and there, has 
 
 emerged from the lowest abyss of the prevalent Atheism. 
 
 * Madame de Stael. 
 
326 ST. MARTIN AND EONALD. 
 
 This renovation in some measure took place before the Revo- 
 lution during the most corrupt times, but did not come into 
 full operation until a return was made to the fixed prin- 
 ciples of religion which had alone maintained its integrit) T . 
 There were always a few right-minded thinkers standing 
 aloof from the general corruption of the age, And I would 
 here first name Hemsterhuys, who, though not a Frenchman 
 by birth, yet wrote in that language, and that, too, with so 
 much grace and harmony, and so free from affectation, that, 
 in this respect alone, his Socratic dialogues correspond to 
 the noble Platonic Christian philosophy which characterises 
 the spirit of his works. There are, however, two names that, 
 in an especial manner, mark the progress made in the 
 direction of Christian philosophy. St. Martin, the first of 
 these two, had both before, and during the Revolution, in a 
 series of writings purporting to emanate from " the Unknown 
 Philosopher," and unnoticed by the crowd, but so much the 
 more effective with the few, re-erected the ancient system of 
 spiritualism, which appears new in our day, unaccustomed 
 as we loug have been to serious thoughts of the Eternal. 
 Bonald, on the other hand, the fearless opponent of the Re- 
 volution, and the profound champion of monarchy according 
 to the old French regime, laboured to adapt the vital 
 principles and properties of this latter to a peculiar Chris* 
 tian theory of statesmanship ; in his Christian Philosophy, his 
 latest work, he would seem to have comprehended the idea 
 of an eternal mediating "Word, as its foundation, with toler- 
 able precision and clearness. Both of these authors com- 
 bine many excellent points with much that stands in need of 
 improvement and correction. Their defects are attributable 
 partly to certain predilections of their country, partly to 
 the circumstances in which they were placed, having to con- 
 tend with difficulties arising out of their own age, and being 
 thus liable to entertain erroneous notions concerning other 
 times and nations. National prejudice is Bonald's besetting 
 sin, which tends to limit his usefulness in various ways : 
 St. Martin's system seems to have suffered not indeed from 
 contact with the meagre realities of our age, but from 
 depressing circumstances. Meanwhile, the opposition that 
 had been charged against him to existing church govern- 
 ment is more apparent than real, as far as he is himself 
 
ST. MARTIN. 327 
 
 concerned. If this objection can be raised against his ad- 
 herents in France or Russia with a greater show of truth, 
 we need not be surprised thereat; for it is customary with 
 the disciples of great men in any field of inquiry to imitate 
 any and every quality of their master's rather than his 
 moderation. But if St. Martin did not approve of the then 
 existing state of his Church in all things, and especially 
 complained of the decline of religious knowledge, he was 
 justified, to a considerable degree, by the wild revolutionary 
 spirit and general complexion of the age. Be this as it may, 
 the misunderstanding is in itself blameable and calculated 
 to obstruct those religious interests he had so sincerely at 
 heart ; inasmuch as an erroneous impression might go 
 forth that the recognition of Divine truth is exclusively 
 based on internal conviction and enlightenment, and 
 may be disjoined from positive tradition and the visible 
 Church. But at no time did St. Martin really set up any 
 hostile opposition to genuine religious inquiry. On the con- 
 trary, he everywhere expresses a wish that the recognition 
 of truth should become the exclusive property and instru- 
 ment of religion, and be joined to the clerical office ; thus 
 exalting, rather than depreciating its value by the standard 
 then in vogue, and which was in accordance with the tenets 
 of that sensuous philosophy he had never ceased to combat, 
 with unabating vigour. All this, however, concerns externals 
 only ; St. Martin's doctrine being in no case at variance 
 with the system of Catholic belief, but rather in complete 
 accordance with it, as his philosophy is not merely Mosaic, 
 but truly Christian. In its peculiar species, and partly in 
 its origin, it is connected with that Oriental Platonism. 
 which, as has previously been remarked, though proscribed 
 from learned halls and doctrinal chairs after the Revolu- 
 tion, was still propagated in secret and upheld by private 
 tradition. The most lucid and perfect representation of 
 it throughout the range of Trench literature and of the 
 present age is contained in his writings. If this author, 
 then, cannot lay claim to the merit of having invented a 
 new system, and if that which he accepted is in many re- 
 spects defective, yet it cannot but be a remarkable circum- 
 stance that, at a time when France was wholly given up to 
 Atheism, there appeared an obscure philosopher whose in- 
 
328 DE MAISTKE AND BONALD. 
 
 dividual and undivided attention was devoted to the refuta- 
 tion of Atheistic doctrine, and who, in its place, established 
 a Divine philosophy based on holy tradition ; and we must 
 rejoice to see that, amongst so many apologists of Catho- 
 licism, Count de Maistre has had the intelligence to perceive 
 what a vast store of knowledge, if rightly applied, had 
 hitherto remained for the service of religion. 
 
 The exertions of Bonald are scarcely less remarkable, 
 though at first the attention they commanded was limited ; 
 whilst others, at the commencement of the century, laboured 
 to restore religion only as a political necessity, and a 
 national creed, this learned jurist and political economist 
 ventured in good earnest, and from hearty conviction, to 
 found the theory of justice on God alone, and to reconcile 
 statesmanship with the doctrines of Christianity. In a rigidly 
 philosophical point of view he is open to a single charge, that 
 of intermixing and almost identifying reason and revelation, 
 without adequately maintaining the dignity of the latter. 
 Meanwhile, it had been customary in France not only to 
 disjoin the two, but likewise to set them in diametrical op- 
 position and prevent the possibility of contact. Many 
 champions of religion impaired their usefulness by an indis- 
 criminate rejection of all philosophy; and yet dialectic 
 reasoning is so thoroughly implanted in our nature that if 
 false theories are really to be exploded it can be effected 
 only by the substitution of more genuine ones. Bonald 
 errs in the other extreme, since he altogether desires to sub- 
 ject Christianity to the reasoning and argumentative faculties. 
 Truth herself, when confronting error, is frequently led into 
 extreme views. Accordingly, it need create no surprise that 
 similar infirmities beset St. Martin and Bonald, the leading 
 [French thinkers of the eighteenth century. To these names 
 may be added that of Count de Maistre, whose views are 
 more satisfactory and complete. In his work on the Pope 
 he has explained with admirable clearness the basis of the 
 Catholic laith, while in his philosophical Dialogues, he has 
 brought within our horizon, the most sublime views of 
 religious science. 
 
 Circumstances have not hitherto been favourable in 
 England to a radical change in philosophy. Such great 
 external incidents as a world-wide commerce, the British 
 
SIR WILLIAM JONES AFD BURKE. 329 
 
 constitution, India and continental affairs, exclusively engage 
 the active spirit of that practical people. The engrossing 
 pursuits of a gigantic commerce scarcely admit of general 
 philosophic habits of investigation ; hence England must be 
 content with ranking subordinate to Trance in this depart- 
 ment. Other inducements, too, are wanting to produce a 
 change similar to that obtaining among the French, viz., 
 a revolution, political or intellectual, immediately preceding. 
 Bight sentiment and feeling are more particularly evinced 
 in Britain by maintaining its ancient grandeur in unimpaired 
 integrity, and by more deeply fixing it in massive and 
 solid foundations. It is true there has been no lack lately 
 of English writers, philosophers and orators, first of their 
 respective kinds, serving as monuments of British genius, 
 and inaugurating the dawn of a new era, the commence- 
 ment of a new state of things as yet scarcely understood, 
 whilst former conditions are fading away. Thus Sir "William. 
 Jones, one of the ripest of English scholars, opened up to suc- 
 ceeding students a new mode of comprehending oriental, espe- 
 cially Indian archaeology, in a devout spirit of inquiry, affect- 
 ing the interests of humanity and the truths of holy "Writ. 
 This very experiment of Asiatic inquiry, if pursued with en- 
 ergy and spirit, as has been the case in some instances, would 
 materially tend to enlarge the sphere of British thought ; ac- 
 cess to sublime philosophy would be more congenial to Eng- 
 lishmen by way of practical application of an universal his- 
 tory than by way of speculative contemplation solely. Burke, 
 that consummate statesman and orator, shed abroad over 
 the whole of Europe, and, judging from the frequent use 
 made of it, over Germany especially, a copious store of 
 political sagacity and moral experience drawn from the 
 primitive source of all political wisdom. He was the deli- 
 verer of his age when it was involved in the storms of Re- 
 volution, and without maintaining any system of philosophy, 
 he saw further into the constitution of states, and into reli- 
 gion as the bond of social and political existence than any 
 philosophy could have done. And so it happened that whilst 
 France struggled through the whirlpool of troublous times, 
 and from the dark abyss of intellectual corruption and 
 infidelity sought the light of eternal truth, England afforded 
 some great and genial illustrations of deep-rooted positive 
 principles in science and practical life. 
 
330 
 
 LECTUKE XV. 
 
 Retrospect.— German Philosophy. — Spinoza and Leib- 
 nitz. — Language and Poetry of Germany during 
 the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries ; Luther, 
 Hans Sachs, Jacob Bohimen.— Opitz and the Silesian 
 School. — Degeneracy of Taste after the Peace of 
 "Westphalia : Occasional Poems. — German Poets 
 of the first half of the Eighteenth Century. — 
 Frederic II. — Klopstock : the Messiah and Nor- 
 thern Mythology. — Wieland's chivalrous Poetry. 
 — Metrical quantity of the Ancients adapted 
 to the German Language. — Defence of Rhyme. — 
 Adelung, Gottsched, and the so-called Golden 
 Age. — Eirst Generation of Modern German Lite- 
 rature, or Period of the Eounders. 
 
 It may seem somewhat superfluous at the present day to 
 combat the philosophy of the eighteenth century, the shade, 
 as it were, of a departed enemy. But it is not really so, 
 how much soever outward appearances may serve to favour 
 the opinion. An evil is by no means wholly eradicated 
 because it is less visible. In England, the disease never 
 came to a head, and could not, therefore, receive a radical 
 cure. In that country, as in Erance, there are individual 
 and honourable exceptions, the omeus of a better time : 
 glorious and refreshing symptoms of the restoration and in- 
 exhaustible energies of Truth. But is the general tone of 
 thinking altered, especially among men of learning and 
 science ? By no means : in Erance, the latter class still 
 adopt the old system of considering the world, with its 
 varied phenomena, as composed of corporeal atoms or mole- 
 cules : that is to say, they take a material view of things, 
 one which cannot fail to be most unsatisfactory and imprac- 
 ticable. Of all hypotheses, materialism is at once the most 
 arbitrary and unsubstantial for the interests of science, and 
 in its consequences the most pernicious to the vitality of 
 morals, of national progress, and of religion. These conse- 
 
GERMAN PHILOSOPHY. 331 
 
 quences may not indeed be so openly applied to practice, 
 owing to increased experience and circumspection : yet it is 
 painful to behold men of science, occupying high positions, 
 so far below zero in all that deserves the name of philosophy. 
 Such is the condition of affairs abroad : notwithstanding the 
 return of public opinion to the right path, and the peculiar 
 energy and sincerity characterizing some few individuals who 
 walk in it. In Germany, the prevalent malady of the age — 
 false philosophy and epidemic rationalism — took a different 
 course, and exhibited features milder in form and practically 
 less injurious from increased artificiality. It would, however, 
 be altogether erroneous to suppose that Germany was exempt 
 from the common malady, or to argue from a changed or 
 disguised exterior that the infection was not substantially 
 identical, emanating from the self-same source. Coarse 
 materialism and the shallow atomic theory were never, 
 indeed, able to strike deep root in the German mind : but, 
 on the other hand, rationalism so deadening to the faculties 
 became dominant in theology, and produced there a false 
 illumination, as in the Schools a restless love of systems and 
 empty formulas was the form which the malady assumed in 
 the case of the great majority of ordinary thinkers and in the 
 lower regions of intellectual life. But if some few men of 
 commanding genius, tearing asunder the web of abstract 
 rationalism, discovered both the beginning and the end, from 
 which it would not have been difficult for the earnest inquirer 
 to retrace his steps to the path of Revelation and Divine 
 truth: still, there were many distinguished minds who only 
 exchanged the errors of rationalism for a dreamy pantheism. 
 This new evil, being of a more subtle nature, is confined to 
 the higher regions of intellect, and bars the way to Truth 
 and Christian philosophy : whilst the illiterate herd are ready, 
 at the slightest prompting, to relapse into the old formulas 
 of empty abstraction under its heterogeneous modifications. 
 But both these evils, the common and the more refined, 
 though not so startling as thorough obduracy or unmitigated 
 confusion of intellectual life, as evinced in the English and 
 Prench schools of philosophy, are of sufficient magnitude to 
 forbid the idea that Germany has been wholly free from 
 aberrations of this sort ; against which the highest flights of 
 genius are not, of themselves, any valid security. 
 
332 LEIBNITZ. 
 
 If German philosophy did not at once fall into such violent 
 extremes as that of France, it was not owing to any general 
 popular regard for the national welfare, as was the case in 
 England : for this feeling could hardly be engendered in a 
 nation which was divided into a number of petty states. The 
 most that can be affirmed of this intricate polity of several 
 disjoined states is that, whilst eminently favourable to the 
 formal and hair-splitting subtleties of jurisprudence, it suc- 
 ceeded in instilling into established formulas a spirit of 
 judicial integrity ; as also in checking, to some degree, 
 avowed theories of decided injustice, such as those of Macchia- 
 velli or Hobbes : until, eventually, the practice of the age be 
 came bolder and paved the way for those fearful theories. The 
 mainstay of philosophy in Germany, and that which most of 
 all tended, at first, to preserve it from the adoption of graver 
 errors, was more especially the fact of its inheriting numerous 
 reminiscences of the older philosophy, and preserving that 
 thread of connexion with it which had been severed and lost 
 sight of both in England and France. In this respect, 
 Leibnitz was of especial benefit to his country : though even 
 he may be compared to a physician seeking to prevent for a 
 time the violent outbreaks of a virulent disorder, by means 
 of palliatives, rather than attempting a radical cure. His 
 philosophy, nevertheless, since he was profound as well as 
 thoughtful, contained reminiscences suggestive of the past. 
 The more his hypotheses resembled ingenious methods for 
 solving antiquated problems, the more they served to incite 
 future inquirers, possessing courage, genius, and inspi- 
 ration, to explore all the labyrinths of thought, and 
 the mysteries of knowledge. Chronologically speaking, he 
 belongs to the transition-period, when the philosophy of the 
 seventeenth century trenched upon that of the eighteenth, 
 one of the most important eras of the human mind. 
 But since both he and his philosophy were almost confined 
 to Germany, making a very faint impression on France and 
 England, I have deferred mentioning him until now. So, 
 also, in the case of his opponent, Spinoza, the effect of 
 whose doctrines was but little evident in his own country,* 
 any more than in France and England, whilst it was most 
 
 * This philosopher was born at Amsterdam, in 1632, of Portuguese 
 parents. — Transl. note. 
 
spinoza. 333 
 
 sensibly felt in Germany. Spinoza's fundamental error — 
 that of confounding God with the world, inasmuch as he 
 denies the independence and substantiality of all indi- 
 vidual being, discerning in the same merely so many varied 
 manifestations of the power and energy of One, Eternal, All- 
 comprehensive Being — virtually abolishes Religion. For in 
 depriving God of personal attributes and man of liberty, he 
 in reality declares immorality, falsehood, and irreligion, to 
 be nothing but mere appearances, and thus removes the 
 essential difference between good and evil. This error is in 
 such close affinity with mere natural reason as perhaps to 
 constitute the earliest which immediately followed original 
 Truth: only that Spinoza reduced Pantheism to a more 
 scientific form. This by-path is one to which even scientific 
 reason, when seeking to attain the knowledge of the Truth 
 by purely unassisted means, is so prone, that Descartes, 
 from whose system that of Spinoza more immediately pro- 
 ceeded, was only saved from falling over the precipice at 
 whose brink he stood by his want of depth and decision. 
 And here it is necessary to guard against confounding the 
 error and the man. It frequently happens that he who 
 is the first to point to a new path of error, or to traverse 
 it to the end with determination and decision, is far less 
 objectionable than his successors, who adopt a route 
 equally wrong with hesitating vacillation. Spinoza's moral 
 theory, though not that of Christianity, for he was not a 
 Christian himself, is pure and noble as that of the Stoics of 
 antiquity, if not superior. What is so much to his advan- 
 tage when contrasted with opponents who do not understand 
 or feel his depth, or with those who, half unconsciously, have 
 entered on similar paths of error, is not merely the scientific 
 clearness and decision of his mode of thought but that his 
 whole system seems cast in one mould ; as he thought, so he 
 felt. His cannot be termed the worship of Nature, such as 
 fires the bosom of the poet, the artist, or the naturalist ; 
 still less is it real love or devotion, for how could this feeling 
 find any congenial object of regard in the absence of faith in 
 a personal God ? An all-penetrating feeling of the Infinite 
 is especially associated with all his sentiments, and lifts him 
 above the world of sense. Every decisive error which is 
 fundamentally wrong is equally exceptionable, and it might 
 
334 spinoza. 
 
 appear as though no graduated scale could be formed 
 under such circumstances. Yet if a comparison be in- 
 stituted between Spinoza's error and the atheism of the 
 eighteenth century, a great distinction will at once become 
 apparent. This material philosophy, if it may be so called, 
 which endeavours to explain all things by matter, and assigns 
 the foremost place to sense, is so grievous an error as almost 
 to sink below the region of humanity. Seldom is it the 
 good fortune of individuals who have once fallen into this 
 abyss to give any promise of escape from it ; though it may 
 easily happen that a whole nation or an age may revolt from 
 the philosophy of sense after having seen its moral conse- 
 quences unfolded in all their deformity. The lofty spiritual- 
 ism of Spinoza's theory may, on the other hand, disclose to 
 the active and searching inquirer many routes whereby the 
 path of truth is to be regained. It cannot, however, be de- 
 nied that a species of error which is calculated to ensuare 
 the noblest intellects is at the same time the most insidious 
 and ruinous: the direct results may be practically less per- 
 nicious, but the seeds of mischief are all the more deeply 
 rooted, and will sooner or later entail destructive effects upon 
 a whole nation or age, much in the same way as a disease 
 in the human body when it has seized on the most vital 
 parts. Such was that refined Pantheism, a mental disorder 
 threatening the very citadel of life, which assumed a variety 
 of shapes in Germany. Now it appears in a magical exu- 
 berance of enthusiastic fancy, now critically weighing, dis- 
 cerning, and recognizing individual points as historical facts, 
 though thoroughly comprehending the whole ; whilst occa- 
 sionally it is found half hidden in the worn-out paradoxes of 
 dialectic ingenuity. Thereby all sense of truth is perma- 
 nently and generally undermined, and the faculty of ascer- 
 taining and grasping what is positively divine : as also the 
 solid certainties of life and perception as a whole, are in- 
 volved in common ruin. This doom can only be met or averted 
 by a truly Christian philosophy such as Leibnitz constructed, 
 both in idea and design the most perspicuous at this epoch. 
 He may justly, therefore, be regarded as the crown and 
 summit of the older European school of modern philoso- 
 phy, exclusively appertaining to no one nation : the circle 
 of which is formed by Bacon, Descartes, and Spinoza, and 
 
LEIBNITZ. 335 
 
 himself. It; would have been well if the track of these 
 eminent explorers had been pursued further with constancy 
 and assiduous zeal. Leibnitz undoubtedly left the Idea of his 
 philosophic system in an unfinished state, and accordingly he 
 was unable completely to overcome the evil which even in 
 his time lurked under the guise of strictly inclusive isolation, 
 though he perceived it in the germ, and aimed at its de- 
 struction. 
 
 The system of Leibnitz in many respects refers to that 
 of Spinoza. It is essentially militant almost throughout, 
 though it does not always take a polemic form. Yet it every- 
 where counteracts the existing philosophy of the age, rebut- 
 ting its objections, solving doubts, supplying deficiencies, 
 adapting itself to the spirit and exigencies of the times, and 
 mediating generally. Rarely is its action independent, or 
 absolute. Bayle, the literary sceptic, and Locke the founder 
 of the sensuous philosophy, were his principal antagonists, 
 not to speak of other and more personal controversies. But 
 at the head of all these opponents Spinoza stands in 
 marked pre-eminence; with him Leibnitz contends as 
 with some invisible yet formidable opponent, even when 
 he does not mention him by name. In like manner he 
 has omitted to enumerate several philosophers with whose 
 opinions he coincides, and who were not so well known 
 to fame : he is also silent as to the actual sources whence 
 he often drew his arguments. Definitely to avow the ex- 
 istence of an infinite world of spirits, of which the world 
 of sense is a mere external covering, was not in keeping 
 with his characteristic features. The doctrine of innate 
 ideas, such as he conceived, leads to a system of abstract 
 notions to be imagined as though indigenous or impressed 
 upon the intellect in the shape of a lifeless plan, rather than 
 to be perceived as the inner working of a living spirit. 
 The doctrine of unconscious conceptions might introduce the 
 inquirer to a nearer route leading to this end : inasmuch as 
 the acknowledgment that our consciousness is incomplete, 
 or in other words that we are only half aware of our own 
 consciousness, the other half being hidden from our eyes, 
 constitutes at least the first step towards penetrating the 
 mysteries, the secret laboratory of the soul. Thus in the 
 world of sense the stars at night correctly inform us re- 
 
336 LEIBNITZ. 
 
 specting the luminary of day and its true course. On the 
 other hand, the hypothesis started by Leibnitz, namely, that 
 all objects of sense are a mere contused chaos composed of 
 simple essences or monads, lying in a dormant state and as 
 yet undeveloped to complete consciousness — is much too 
 nearly connected with the atomic theory of Epicurus and of 
 modern atheism, and after all constitutes only a sort of un- 
 successful medium between it and the perfect recognition of 
 a spiritual world. Again, his mode of solving the chief dif- 
 ficulty which baffled the philosophy of his time, in reference 
 to the nature of the connection subsisting between spirit and 
 matter, is but an ingenious artifice. In assuming that the 
 Creator had originally brought both into harmonious unison, 
 as a skilful mechanician might contrive to do in the case of 
 two time-pieces, his argument is based on the presumption 
 that this world is nothing more than an artistic mechanical 
 contrivance. His celebrated Theodicee, or vindication of 
 God, a treatise affording an explanation relative to the unde- 
 niable amount [of wickedness and evil present in the world, 
 is a reply to a question which will always force itself on 
 natural reason. It is couched in the dexterous terms of a 
 practised diplomatist, whose business it is on all occasions to 
 bring into prominent relief the points most favourable to his 
 sovereign, and studiously to abstain from entering on those 
 topics which, seemingly or really, tell against his interests. 
 It is altogether impossible for mere rational philosophy to 
 answer the question relative to the origin of evil and the 
 imperfections of the world without either totally ignoring 
 their existence in defiance of common sense, or ascribing 
 them to the handiwork of the Almighty himself, which is re- 
 volting to all right feelings. But the theory of Leibnitz which 
 elicited the most pointed shafts of Voltaire's satire, namely, 
 the assertion that this world is the best of all possible worlds,* 
 has found its counterpart, in our own day, in the views of a 
 celebrated thinker : who, referring all things to self, holds 
 that the world was fashioned for the sole purpose of exer- 
 cising and developing the energies of human intellect: to 
 w r hich end any world, howsoever devised and constructed, 
 would have served in a manner at least equally efficient. 
 But neither this extremely Spartan, nor that ingenious 
 
 * This theory is sometimes called Optimism. — Transl. note. 
 
LEIBNITZ. 837 
 
 and diplomatic, reply can avail to satisfy philosophy or the 
 feelings. With admiration we observe, from a recently 
 published dogmatic work composed by Leibnitz,* how 
 thorough and lucid were his views of religion and a scheme 
 of faith. Yet the loftiest and profoundest idea discoverable 
 throughout his fragmentary knowledge, (which Lessing, 
 with such correct feeling rendered especially prominent,) is 
 the sentiment of an ever-increasing perfectibility of the 
 world in a metaphysical sense, or the advancing glorification 
 of God in the eternal progress of his creatures from one 
 degree of brightness to a higher. This idea, in reference to 
 improvement in metaphysical knowledge, forms the actual 
 living centre of Christian Revelation, jnst as the doctrine of 
 the Fall constituted the principal mystery of the Mosaic 
 Dispensation. Of the small number of those philosophers 
 who have elevated their contemplation to the recognition and 
 acknowledgment of Revelation, the majority have stopped 
 short at Mosaic tradition, whose doctrine of the Tall un- 
 assisted human reason would never have fathomed had not 
 the most remote antiquity been familiar with it, from the 
 traditions of a primeval world. This doctrine, although it is 
 the very foundation and beginning of all true knowledge, 
 derives its genuine importance and significancy from the 
 other Idea, to which Reason is enabled to conceive and 
 imagine something analogous, according to the indefinite 
 notion of a progressive perfection, which is so frequently 
 misapplied in the affairs of ordinary practical life. But this 
 idea does not attain perfect metaphysical clearness without 
 the aid of the Christian Revelation, since that alone can 
 give us a clear insight and conviction of the perfect and 
 illustrious glory of creation as consequent on the Fall. 
 Leibnitz may rather be supposed to have constructed this 
 idea on mathematical principles than to have prosecuted 
 and exhausted it in all its religious profundity. The more 
 distinctly intelligible his plan of a peculiar Christian philo- 
 sophy becomes, the more is it to be lamented that his design 
 remained unfinished, and that his enlightened mind did not 
 
 * Leibnitzen's System der Theologie, nach dem manuscvipte von Han 
 nover (den lateinischen text zur seite) ins Deutsche iibersetzt von Di 
 Uhs und Dr. Weis, &c. Dritte vermehrte Aufl;ig-e ; Mainz, 1825. 
 
338 LEIBNITZ. 
 
 rise above the abstract conceptions and associations of his 
 age to the vital knowlege of Truth. 
 
 The Leibuitzian notions respecting Space and Time, more 
 particularly prove how completely the views of a loftier 
 philosophy were lost sight of in his day, or at least how 
 essentially they differed from the theories then prevalent. 
 The older philosophy recognized Space to be the infinite 
 theatre of God's glory, and Time the living pulsation of 
 eternal Love : holding both, according to their original and 
 not yet perverted nature, to constitute the vital organs of 
 Divine creativeness — the expanding, all-embracing wings of 
 the Almighty's manifestations. Even the natural man, 
 however sensuous, is lost in endless amazement, and feels 
 himself directly transported to the regions of Divinity on 
 contemplating the idea of space, vast and immeasureable, 
 yet capable of being comprehended in imagination. An in- 
 finite depth opens up to his inward view, like the rich ful- 
 ness of life itself, when from the present moment he looks 
 back at the past, and then forward into the vista of future 
 years. In Space and Time, Leibnitz however, beheld nothing 
 more than the order and arrangement of things co-existing 
 or consecutive. After this manner, meaningless and inani- 
 mate conceptions gradually supplanted living right feelings 
 in all that is most calculated to lift man above the world of 
 sense. His philosophy became a prevalent sect in the 
 Schools of Germany through the instrumentality of Wolf : 
 this observation will suffice to characterize it. A sect bear- 
 ing upon active life is distinguished by the direction it 
 takes and the influence it exercises. But when immured 
 within the restricted confines of the Schools, the spirit of sect 
 is wont to manifest itself much after the same fashion in all 
 ages : continuing to be a dead formula, whether Aristotle or 
 Descartes, Leibnitz or Kant, be the master who lends the 
 impress of a name to stamp conceptions that were truly 
 living thoughts in the mind of their discoverer, but now 
 are only passed about as lifeless forms. Meanwhile, Ger- 
 many was at least saved from the still more pernicious sec- 
 tarian spirit of atheistic philosophy of the senses, which is 
 so destructive of life in the soul: nor was the pedantry of 
 formulas of any long existence. Though for the most part 
 composing in Latin or French, Leibnitz had nevertheless 
 
WOLFIAN" PHILOSOPHY. 339 
 
 imparted a new impulse to the scientific study of the history 
 and language of Germany ; Wolf, too, gave meritorious 
 encouragement to the cultivation of the language by his 
 own example. He was soon followed by others, who, 
 though trained in the school of "Wolfian philosophy, were 
 yet in a certain measure independent thinkers. These, then, 
 aided by some few leading poets, were the first to raise the 
 German language from the barbarism into which it had 
 sunk, until Klopstock founded a new era about the middle 
 of the eighteenth century, and became the actual father of 
 the present German literature. 
 
 Before I proceed to Klopstock, it is necessary to take a 
 brief retrospective glance at the interval between old and 
 new German literature. It is true, the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries contributed but a limited number of dis- 
 tinguished writers who employed the German language as 
 the channel of their thoughts, but they were so much the 
 more remarkable and extraordinary. It has already been 
 shewn how mediaeval chivalrous poetry and art fell into obli- 
 vion during the disputes of the sixteenth century, whilst 
 during the civil wars of that and the succeeding age, the 
 very language itself became demoralized. There was yet 
 one remedy for this widely-spreading disorder, and a set-off 
 against the loss of the older treasures of language, in the 
 German version of the Bible. It is an established fact 
 that all thorough philological critics consider this trans- 
 lation as the normal text and standard of High- German 
 classic expression, and that not Klopstock alone, but many 
 more authors of the first celebrity have modelled their style 
 directly in this mould, and have drawn from this source. 
 It is remarkable that no other modern tongue has adopted 
 so many Biblical terms and phrases, and introduced them 
 into common language. My own opinion quite coincides 
 with that of the critics who hold this circumstance to be 
 most felicitous, to which I think I am justified in ascribing 
 some portion of that continuous intellectual energy, life, and 
 simplicity, which preeminently characterize the diction of 
 our most distinguished German writers. Whatsoever either 
 catholic or protestant scholars may discover to be censurable 
 in Luther's version, is really restricted to individual pas- 
 sages, which he has interpreted according to the spirit of his 
 
340 LUTHER. 
 
 teaching in a manner differing from that of the earlier doctors 
 of the church, or in certain points of history, physics, or 
 geography, in which he was without the necessary helps. 
 But the more that attempts have been multiplied, within the 
 last thirty years, to make the Bible subsidiary to the so- 
 called friends of enlightenment by means of rational and ex- 
 planatory translations, an attempt that has found favour 
 even with professed Catholics, the more has the excellence of 
 the old- German version been acknowledged by those who 
 have abandoned this fashionable folly. Strictly speaking, 
 the work is not Luther's alone, having originated, as is well 
 known, in a selection of the best from among several extant 
 versions, and he was assisted in his explanations by various 
 learned friends, more especially by Melancthon. Never- 
 theless, his merit is incontestable on the score of energetic 
 language, peculiar genius, and forcible German expression. 
 His original writings are replete with eloquence rarely 
 equalled in the annals of any nation for centuries. As may 
 be expected, this eloquence is marked by all those qualities 
 which are excusable in revolutionary times. But this force 
 of revolutionary eloquence so peculiar to Luther is not 
 confined to his half-political works which pointedly bear on 
 public life : as, for instance, his " Address to the German 
 Nobility ;" but in all the works he has left behind him it is 
 sufficiently perceptible : in almost all of them the mighty 
 struggle going on within him is laid bare to observation. 
 There are, as it were, two worlds contending with each other 
 for the soul of this truly great man so richly endowed by 
 God and nature. His writings uniformly exhibit the spec- 
 tacle of a contest between light and darkness ; between a 
 firm and immovable faith, and the fierceness of his own 
 unsubdued passion ; in a word, between God and himself. 
 Of the choice he made between these diverging paths, 
 of the use to which he applied his wonderful faculties, 
 opinion must still vary as much as ever. As regards my 
 personal judgment in the matter, I need scarcely say that 
 his writings, like his life, produce but one impression, namely, 
 the sympathy usually felt when a commanding and sublime 
 intellect is led astray by over-confidence in its own strength. 
 His power and greatness of mind, irrespective of their appli- 
 cation and development, seem to me never to have been 
 
LUTHER. 341 
 
 fully appreciated by any of his modern adherents and 
 admirers. His coadjutors consisted, for the most, of merely 
 learned, moderate, enlightened men of the ordinary stamp. 
 He it was to whose modelling hands the destiny of those 
 times, whether for good or for evil, was, humanly speaking, 
 committed : for he was the man who decided everything in 
 his age and nation. 
 
 Luther was essentially a popular author. No other /,., 
 country in modern Europe has possessed so many remark- 
 able, comprehensive, powerful, and intellectually important 
 popular writers as Germany. How inferior soever the 
 higher classes of G-ermany may have been during some ages 
 to those of other lands, or how late soever they may have 
 attained to a fair standard of refinement : in no other coun- 
 try did the people, as a whole, evince so great a degree of 
 general mental power from the earliest times on record, or * 
 so much of that natural energy which lies in the depths of 
 humanity. It is an old saying that the power of kings is of 
 Divine institution ; it is likewise an observation incidental 
 to all time that the voice of the people is the voice of Grod. 
 Both, if rightly understood, are perfectly true. Woe to 
 them who would misinterpret or confound this voice of God ! 
 Compassion is due to those who, devoted to an idle, lifeless, 
 political system, fancy they can lead the people according to 
 their own selfish and sordid maxims ; the people, more keenly 
 alive to the real nature of their projects than is commonly 
 supposed, are not easily thus misled. But they are guilty 
 of a most heinous offence who wantonly, and for destructive 
 purposes, venture to set in motion that natural popular 
 energy, in its- origin so worthy of respect and honour: a power 
 which will never cease to be terrible in its operations when- 
 ever it is diverted from its only legitimate object —faithful 
 obedience to the will of God. And narrow must be the 
 judgment of those who ignore the existence of this energy, 
 because they cannot estimate it aright, or who think it can 
 be destroyed where it has endured from the beginning 
 throughout ages, as in Germany, simply because, like many 
 other hidden faculties of nature, it is manifested only on 
 rare occasions. 
 
 Not only did religion furnish scope and opportunity to 
 
342 HAXS SACHS. 
 
 exercise the talents of Luther and other popular writers of 
 Protestant Germany, but even poetry and philosophy 
 engaged their attention. In illustration of my remark, I 
 will only select from a host of names two of the most dis- 
 tinguished : the celebrated Meister-S'dnger of Nurnberg, and 
 the well-known Christian thinker and seer, who in the time 
 of the Thirty Years' war passed under the name of the 
 "Teutonic Philosopher," in Protestant countries and the 
 north of Europe generally. 
 
 Germany is exceedingly rich in popular lays and poems. 
 The poetry is generally of two kinds : consisting partly of 
 songs, scattered fragmentary relics of the lost poetry of early 
 heroic chivalry, of which the tradition has been interrupted 
 by revolutions or supplanted by the modern economy of civil 
 life. Partly, its character is of a rougher external cast, such 
 as is adapted to the tastes of a guild or craft, though not 
 destitute of inventive spirit : and this constitutes the peculiar 
 characteristic of later German popular poetry. In minstrelsy, 
 as in daily life, Hans Sachs* of Nurnberg was a working 
 man. He was not only the most copious but also the most 
 forcible in his own style of art, particularly witty, and pos- 
 sessed of strong common sense : compared with early authors 
 in the literature of other countries, he is more inventive than 
 Chaucer, richer than Marot, and more poetical than either. 
 As regards his diction, the rich mine of treasure he has 
 bequeathed can hardly be said to have been yet made the 
 most of. 
 
 The same may be said of Jacob Bcehmen,f the " Teutonic 
 philosopher," commonly so ill-treated at the hands of littera- 
 teurs. Indeed, they frankly profess to be equally ignorant of 
 his merits and demerits ; but they are likewise in the dark 
 respecting the external relations of the man, his connection 
 with his age, the circumstances attending the dissemination 
 
 * Born in 1494 at Nurnberg. Having completed his apprenticeship, 
 he set up as a shoemaker. He is distinguished for wit, grace, and inven- 
 tive genius. Luther is the theme of one of his compositions. 
 
 ■j- A noted mystic, founder of the sect of Behmenists, lorn at Gorlitz, 
 in Lusatia, 1575, and, like Hans Sachs,a shoemaker by trade. His works 
 were translated into English by the Rev. "Wni. Law, and pu iished with a 
 Life in 4 vols. 4to. Lond. 1764-81. V 
 
JACOB BCEHMEH". 343 
 
 of his own opinions, and others like them. I have previously 
 alluded to the inconsistency involved in a superficial diffu- 
 sion of lifeless formulas among the learned and educated, - 
 and throughout literature in general, whilst genuine profound 
 philosophy is consigned to the uncertain care of secret asso- 
 ciations or of individuals, or to enthusiasts from among the 
 lower orders. Such, however, was the case at that time both 
 in Protestant Germany and in England. Jacob Bcehmen was 
 regarded as a visionary. But even if it were satisfactorily 
 established that imagination had a greater share in his lucu- 
 brations than a scientific intellect, it must at least be con- 
 ceded that the faculty of fancy resident in this singular 
 genius was richly endowed and enlightened. If, on that 
 account, he is to be regarded simply as a poet, and compared 
 w T ith other Christian bards who have attempted to depict 
 supernatural themes, Milton, Klopstoek, Dante, he must be 
 allowed to have all but surpassed them in imaginative fulness 
 and depth of feeling, and to be scarcely their inferior in poii.t 
 of individual passages of poetic beauty and expression. The 
 springs of Nature are accessible to every gentle pious heart, 
 for her inmost being is closely connected with the life-stream 
 of the human soul : and perhaps much is clear and transpa- 
 rent to child-like vision that is clouded, as with a sevenfold 
 covering, when sought to be viewed through the telescopes 
 and artistic contrivances of the scientific inquirer. Tor 
 viewing nature there is, too, a peculiar revelation contained 
 in the immediate emotions of internal life. After long- 
 wearisome research into matters appertaining to Divine 
 knowledge, our own times are returning more and more to 
 this lucid simplicity of faith. Much in the same way, philo- 
 sophy will have to revert, in our day, to those primary 
 sources of inner contemplation, and of natural faculties 
 neither disturbed nor misled by civilization, but vigorous and 
 piercing, when considering not, indeed, the Creator himself, 
 but the foremost glory of his creation — Man. Although, 
 the highest mental illumination, with many elevating opera- 
 tions of grace, will be always wanting to the Christian phi- 
 losopher who is not within the pale of the Church, yet 
 we must take into consideration whether his separation from 
 it proceeds from a perverse tendency of his own mind, or 
 
314 opitz. 
 
 is occasioned only by the accident of his birth. Whatever 
 deficiencies or philosophical errors, arising in some measure 
 from misconception, may be observable in the doctrines of 
 Jacob Bcehmen, the historian of the German language must 
 not omit his name, since few authors of his time have better 
 displayed its resources. In addition to great intellectual 
 wealth, his style is marked by pliant vigour and copious 
 originality, that ceased to be manifest, in the same degree, 
 on the termination of the Thirty Years' war, and that are 
 nowhere found now that artistic refinement, external smooth- 
 ness, and imitation of foreign forms of expression, have 
 changed the character of our language. 
 
 It was about the same period of the Thirty Tears' war, so 
 destructive in its later effects, yet so quickening to mental 
 energy while it raged, that Opitz, of Silesia, explored a new 
 path in German culture, poetry, and language, in which he 
 had numerous followers. He more immediately attached 
 himself to the genius of the Dutch who, at that time, pos- 
 sessed a Hugo Grotius, and were not only the most learned 
 and enlightened of all Protestant States, but had also made 
 considerable progress in poetic pursuits, and were in posses- 
 sion of native tragedies, modelled after the antique, long 
 prior to the celebrated tragic poets of France in the reign of 
 Lquis XIV. The real merits of Opitz, however, do not con- 
 sist in his gleanings from foreign nations, such as the Dutch, 
 or the pastoral romances of the Spaniards ; nor were his dra- 
 matic efforts in free translation or imitation from the Greek 
 or Italian stage crowned with any signal success. Even in 
 the case of his own lyrical, mixed, and didactic verse, to be 
 correctly judged, we should consider what he was fitted to 
 become by nature, and what he desired and meant to convey, 
 rather than what he actually produced. He is wont to be 
 styled the Father of German poetry ; but it seems to me that 
 since Klopstock's day very few of his ungrateful children 
 have been eager to prove their relationship. He was specially 
 calculated to excel in heroic poetry. This branch he intended 
 to cultivate in reference to German nationality. However, 
 tossed to and fro in the turmoil of those restless times, he 
 died before he had time to accomplish his object. No sus- 
 ceptible nature will fail to perceive in his poetry that 
 

 THE SILESIAN SCHOOL OF POETRY. 315 
 
 sublimity of thought and emotion, those distinctive features 
 of the epic bard. Whilst his language is marked by unaf- 
 fected simplicity, coupled with dignified vigour, seldom if 
 ever approached by any of his successors, in my opinion ; on 
 this score I would incline to pronounce him superior to Klop- 
 stock who, in his own age, incomparably distanced all com- 
 petitors. 
 
 The Silesian school could at this time boast of several 
 other poets, of whom I will now only mention EJemming, 
 whose verse, glowing with rich oriental colouring, celebrates 
 passages of private friendship, passion, and love, and records 
 incidents of travel in the interior of Russia, then little 
 known, and a sojourn in Persia: his versification is less smooth 
 than that of Opitz. It was doubtless an unfavourable cir- 
 cumstance that these poets were either actually not Germans, 
 in the broad acceptation of the word, being merely Silesian 
 provincial poets, or at any rate were looked upon in that 
 light. The more the energy of the German nation became 
 broken, since that unhappy civil war, whose flames, fed by 
 the sympathy of half Europe and the wiles of foreign 
 policy, raged throughout Germany in devastating fury for a 
 period extending over thirty years — and after the still more 
 hapless peace of 164<8, so unfavourable to the general deve- 
 lopment, — the more was poetry paralyzed, till it eventually 
 declined to the level of mere occasional verse, a degenerate 
 species of artificial display, as is nearly always the case when 
 poetry is destitute of a proper aim and has lost its living 
 native force. This spurious taste was introduced by Hoft- 
 manswaldau, and brought into more general notice by the 
 talents of Lohenstein. The interval from 1648 to the middle 
 of the eighteenth century was the actual epoch of barbarism, 
 a sort of interregnum and chaotic intermediate condition of 
 German literature, during which the language itself, fluctu- 
 ating between a would-be French jargon and confused Ger- 
 man, was at once over-refined and vulgar. Politically, too, 
 Germany was in a most ignominious and infelicitous state in 
 the age directly succeeding the peace of Westphalia. Her 
 power began to revive towards the beginning of the eighteenth 
 century. Austria was once more reinstated in her brilliant 
 and extensive supremacy, many of the leading European 
 thrones were occupied by scions of German princely houses, 
 

 346 LYRIC POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 whilst in one instance* ducal honours were elevated to a 
 regal title. All this necessarily operated beneficially, though 
 gradually, on genius, civilization, and language. Many 
 princes were induced, if only from motives of State policy, 
 to promote science. At first, progress was slow, for numerous 
 were the obstacles, and art as well as language had strayed 
 far from the right path. The first lyric poets of the eigh- 
 teenth century who excelled in sentiment and diction were, 
 like their predecessors in the seventeenth, mostly restricted 
 in subject to a similar species of courtly, festive, occasional 
 pieces. Those whose expression evinced a nicer and more 
 elaborate degree of care, for instance Hagedorn, and after 
 him Utz, too frequently contented themselves with imitating 
 the French or English muse, nor, indeed, unsuccessfully ; they 
 rarely expressed themselves in poems of original invention, 
 and in songs of felt emotion. Haller and Gleim, most justly 
 entitled to the appellation of poets, the one for his exalted 
 flight, the other for his facile copiousness, exhibit careless- 
 ness, not to say decided incorrectness of expression. Never- 
 theless, their claims to consideration appear great when their 
 services, as regards culture of the language, are contrasted 
 with the barbarism into which it had sunk. And their merit 
 appears greater when the unfavourable circumstances and 
 relations of the times are taken into consideration. Some of 
 these first revivers of the language and poetry of Germany 
 died young : Kleist, for instance, to whom, perhaps, the palm 
 of pre-eminence ought to be awarded; so also Kronegk and 
 Elias Schlegel. Others engaged in the duties of active life, 
 removed to foreign lands, or were otherwise dispersed. A 
 centre of union was wanting, which was generally, but in 
 vain, looked for in the person of Frederick IT. It has been 
 the fashion of late to vindicate his conduct by arguing that 
 the German language and learning had fallen so low that an 
 intellectual monarch may be readily pardoned for turning 
 away from the contemplation of both with disgust and con- 
 tempt. This statement is not altogether correct : it is diffi- 
 cult to say what might not have been effected in favour of 
 German intellectual culture by a sovereign whose contem- 
 
 * The ducal house of Brandenburg was raised to monarchy in the per- 
 son of Frederick I. in the year 1701. — Transl. note. 
 
FREDERICK THE GREAT. 347 
 
 poraries were Klopstock, Winckelmann, Kant, Lessing, with 
 many other highly distinguished men, some of them born in 
 his own dominions, and all devoted to science and art ! Was 
 any reign ever graced with such a galaxy of brilliant intellect, 
 eminently adapted to form the nucleus of a learned society — 
 and of what stamp were the foreigners that monopolized the 
 king's favour, with the sole exception of Voltaire ? A Mau- 
 pertuis, a La Metrie, by no means the most distinguished 
 names in French literature. Klopstock can hardly be blamed 
 when, with a self-respect honourable to his feelings, he con- 
 strued the slight put upon his fellow-countrymen into a per- 
 sonal insult. This emotion, keenly felt, was often insinu- 
 ated, very much to the king's disadvantage, in a comparison 
 ingeniously instituted between the monarch and Caesar, in 
 w T hose time more Greek, good or bad, was spoken or written 
 at Rome, than French in Grermany during the eighteenth 
 century. The Latin tongue, at that period, was as deficient 
 in quantity and quality of classical compositions, with the 
 exception of a few esteemed memorials of the past, as was 
 modern German literature prior to 1750. And yet Caesar 
 counted it worth while to devote his most careful attention 
 to the language, nay, did not disdain personally to cultivate 
 and instruct in it. By this means he became the foremost 
 orator of his day, and one of the best authors in the lan- 
 guage : a distinction to which no one has ever yet attained 
 in a foreign tongue. Upon the whole, it was perhaps quite 
 as well that the then favourite idea of establishing a learned 
 society was not carried into execution. Individual develop- 
 ment might, indeed, have been a gainer, but German litera- 
 ture in the aggregate would probably have been fettered and 
 limited, and savoured of provincial taste instead of being 
 thoroughly German. A more speedy development would 
 have been too dearly purchased at the expense of copiousness 
 and freedom, attributes that now invest it with peculiar sig- 
 nificancy and value- But the grounds on which the excul- 
 pation of Frederick II. rests are far from being substantially 
 correct. If kings were on all occasions to defer the promo- 
 tion of science until the ranks of literature are duly filled 
 up and have become sufficiently famous through other means, 
 or perchance have lost the first freshness of youthful vigour, 
 nothing would remain to be done but to gather together a 
 
318 KLOPSTOCK. 
 
 select band of the most inoffensive and disabled of their 
 number, and place them in a kind of hospital, styled — 
 Academy of Science. But if the genius of a nation is really 
 intended to be formed and directed, the budding talents of 
 youthful intellect should have free scope granted them, 
 together with a sufficiency of auxiliary means of development, 
 whilst especial directions ought to be given to bear upon 
 those points likely to promote the efficiency of national pro- 
 gress, Klopstock' s sensitiveness may be pardoned the rather 
 that he himself was undoubtedly well calculated to impart a 
 salutary iufluence, a fresh tone, not to poetry alone, but to 
 every department of literature. It was competent to his 
 comprehensive spirit to have effected an amount of manifold 
 good in Germany, corresponding to the evil perpetrated by 
 Voltaire in France, had he but been furnished with fitting 
 opportunity, power, and assistance. 
 
 Klopstock at that time stood solitary and alone in the 
 German w^orld with his lofty national feeling, iu which few 
 sympathized, and which none rightly understood. His only 
 alternative, therefore, was to enunciate it in his poetry. The 
 Messiah in reality inaugurates a higher tone in modern 
 German literature: so extraordinary and important in its 
 results is its merit, especially in language and expression ; 
 though this poem is mostly admired in name only by the 
 great majority of the public, never having vitally influenced 
 sentiment or feeling. Its general plan, suffers, more than 
 usual, from the difficulties that beset works of this nature, 
 and which have never yet been satisfactorily overcome. As 
 a poet, Klopstock is, on the whole, most successful in his 
 elegiac passages. He depicts in a masterly manner each 
 gradation, combination, and depth of elegiac feeling : he car- 
 ries sympathy along with him, how far soever he may be led 
 by the current of his emotions. He is even enabled to 
 enlist warm sympathetic interest in favour of Abbadona's 
 fate, one of the fallen spirits. There is, however, yet ano- 
 ther element in his poetry, in addition to elegiac feeling, 
 which has a disturbing effect ; I mean his rhetorical art, 
 w T hich occasionally leads him to exaggerate : hence his prose 
 often betrays forced curtness, isolated maxims and turns of 
 thought, so epigrammatic as to be unintelligible : whilst his 
 epic verse onthe other hand, runs into the opposite extreme of 
 
KLOPSTOCK. 349 
 
 ingeniouslong- winded harangue. The great prominence given 
 to speeches in Virgil and Milton, is carried considerably fur- 
 ther in the Messiah. If we concede to the muse that celestial 
 personages may adopt human, nay even German expression, 
 it will yet be difficult for any one to persuade himself of 
 the fact that spiritual natures like theirs, are in the habit of 
 interchanging such prolix discourses. 
 
 The immense discrepancy existing between the first and 
 second half of the Messiah, is pretty clear proof that both 
 the nation and the poet himself were not at all satisfied with 
 the general results of the undertaking. 
 
 Klopstock entertained lofty conceptions of a new, and 
 especially German, poetic school. With the genius of a 
 master he at once proceeded to sketch the extreme points 
 necessary to the success of so mighty a project, combining in 
 his Messiah, on the one hand Christianity, on the other 
 northern mythology and primordial German annals, and 
 these he was desirous of uniting as the two chief elements 
 of all modern European culture aud poesy. Danish antiqua- 
 ries and poets were then beginning to elucidate and revive 
 the mythology and Edda of the north. In this meritorious 
 design Klopstock participated : only it can hardly be sup- 
 posed that a few stray lyrics and fragmentary allusions 
 would suffice to introduce into the realms of living poetry 
 myths hitherto confined to the students of northern litera- 
 ture. Works representing the whole system in copious de- 
 tail were alone able to accomplish this, and so the poets of 
 Denmark themselves seemed to feel. 
 
 The remarks previously made in reference to his truth and 
 manifold variety of elegiac feeling, as well as the condemna- 
 tion of his rhetorical acuteness, equally apply to Klopstock's 
 Hermanni, his next greatest achievement. As a dramatic 
 poem, it was certainly composed for a future possible stage, 
 more than the existing one, w r hich, at that time and even 
 later, seemed adapted to any species of recreation, purpose, 
 or effort, rather than poetry. He had enunciated only the 
 extreme points of new German poetry : all that lay between 
 Christianity and northern mythology, all that issued from the 
 very union of the two, was omitted. The whole of the mid- 
 dle ages, some twelve centuries from Attila down to the 
 Peace of Westphalia, if this may be regarded as the boun- 
 
350 WIELAND AND GESSNER. 
 
 dary-line, where Poetry ceases in History, were utterly 
 ignored. That region, then, was wanting, which has in all 
 instances approved itself most favourable to the interests of 
 modern poetry, and in which it is well for it to reside, at 
 least for a season, if it would aspire to historical or national 
 importance. This great gap which Klopstock had left, 
 was, in some measure, filled up, at the commencement, 
 by the exertions of two important names, — Bodmer, as a 
 scholar, Wieland as a poet. Bodmer was partial to ro- 
 mantic chivalrous song, and he was the first to restore the 
 o.den relics of this department of G-erman literature : yet 
 his method was not calculated to be generally popular at the 
 first. The muse of Wieland addressed herself exclusively to 
 the romantic element, which Klopstock had not cultivated 
 at all. It must be confessed that historico-romantic verse, 
 after the manner of Tasso, though not exactly bearing upon 
 the period of the Crusades, yet selected from the rich poeti- 
 cal store-house of mediaeval times generally, would have 
 contributed more to effect what was proposed than a poem 
 like Oberon, almost devoid of historical foundation, and 
 serving as a mere play of the imagination, in Ariosto's 
 fashion. But despite of all its imperfections and too mo- 
 dern admixtures, this incitement to romantic feeling was at 
 that time worthy of all praise. It is a matter of regret 
 that the bard so soon abandoned the joyous field of olden 
 chivalric poetry, and indeed poetry as a whole. The gravest 
 objection to be urged against the creator of Oberon is that 
 when he might have become the German Ariosto, or at 
 least the rival of his Italian brother-minstrel, he preferred 
 remaining the imitator of Crebillon in prose. And yet it is 
 very evident from his subsequent performances, even in 
 point of language and expression, that he was never so feli- 
 citous as in compositions such as Oberon, of itself far more 
 calculated to perpetuate his name to posterity than all his 
 Greek romances. 
 
 Of the remaining poets who flourished in the first gene- 
 ration, Gessner is the most original. His verse, keeping 
 aloof from all positive local truth, and at the same time 
 destitute of any decided fiction or myth, wanders in the 
 region of vague uncertainty, and on that account soon grows 
 monotonous and unreal. His language is extremely meri- 
 
GERMAN VERSIFICATION. 351 
 
 torious ; but here too, his singular avoidance both of rhyme 
 and metre, in the kind of poetry he adopted, discovers a ten- 
 dency to indefinite shapelessness. 
 
 Klopstock's precept and example in one respect, operated 
 almost unfavourably on the German language. In itself it 
 was not censurable in him to practise and apply the syllabic 
 quantity of the ancients. In order to rescue an idiom from a 
 state of total disorder, severe, artistic, and even foreign 
 forms may be salutary enough, if only to escape the beaten 
 track of apathetic negligence by one determined violent 
 effort. Besides,the ancient hexameter measure in some degree 
 became familiar to the German ear, and, externally, acclima- 
 tized, although close inspection might prove that the pre- 
 sence of a foreign element is always more or less distasteful 
 to the inward sense. However much the culture of the 
 language may be indebted to borrowed forms, as a beneficial 
 practice, yet the choice of a strange syllabic measure is not 
 to be recommended in the composition of a genuine national 
 epic, of which the first condition is that the verse should be 
 agreeable and easy to the ear as well as to the understanding, 
 and couched in diction that instinctively, as it were, falls 
 into melody. There is this additional difficulty in the adop- 
 tion of hexameter verse, that if treated with relaxed strict- 
 ness, those, for whose especial enjoyment it was intended, 
 complain: whilst rigorous adherence to rhythmical laws can 
 hardly be maintained in a protracted form without, in some 
 degree, sacrificing sense, and occasionally expression, to sound. 
 It may be said that Klopstock's Messiah was, from the 
 nature of its subject, not adapted to the general taste, but 
 limited to a certain class of readers ; and that his choice of 
 the measure is, accordingly, more excusable if not actually 
 justifiable. 
 
 It was contrary to the nature and genius of the language 
 for the poet to indulge his prejudice so far as to detest and 
 even wish to banish rhyme : but this latter he could not 
 effect. For it had become a custom of ten centufies' stand- 
 ing — so far back does the introduction of rhyme into High- 
 German date — and it was no light task to eradicate what 
 long practice had deeply rooted in the entire structure of 
 the language. Neither is it mere custom : rhyme being asso- 
 ciated with the original essence of German idiom. Klop- 
 
352 GERMAN VERSIFICATION. 
 
 stock fancied that his country's oldest poems and songs were 
 only rhythmical, not rhymed. This supposition is unfounded ; 
 though the species of rhyme they contain is not exactly 
 analogous to our own method of closing the verse with feet 
 of similar sound. Their less perfect but still very regular 
 rhymes, occurring in emphatic syllables or words, or in the 
 middle or even the commencement of the line, such as pre- 
 vail in Icelandic and old Scandinavian soug, sometimes 
 termed Alliteration, were common to the Germanic dia- 
 lects. All the ancient Saxon verse, both of English and 
 German composition, is thus framed. The transition from 
 this meihod to complete rhyme, became very easy. It 
 need not, therefore, surprise us to find all German dialects 
 adopting it, in the earliest stages of development. It is con- 
 nected with the still valid fundamental law of German pro- 
 nunciation and language. This law, recognized by the whole 
 body of critics, insists on emphasis or stress being laid on 
 important, especially root, syllables : a stress increasing in 
 the ratio of their significance and importance. In a word, 
 we do not measure but weigh our syllables. "We do not 
 accentuate for the convenience of the hearer, but, engrossed 
 in the word itself, we at once pick out the significant radical 
 tones, and dwelling upon them as essentials, we compara- 
 tively disregard fugitive incidental syllables. It is on this 
 principle, of suiting the action to the nature of the syllable, 
 that the real beauty of German pronunciation, even ordina- 
 rily, depends, as also the euphony of German songs and 
 poems. It follows, then, that we have no longs or shorts, as 
 the ancients had : our significant syllables being marked by 
 a countless variety of gradations both in import and weight. 
 This is an insurmountable obstacle, and constitutes the 
 actual reason why the application of ancient rhythmical 
 principles to our tongue can never be more than approxi- 
 mate : to a fuller equality of successful results a total change 
 in the language, nay the pronunciation, would be indispensa- 
 ble. But "this fundamental law of our idiom in a peculiar 
 manner paves the way for rhyme. To languages that are 
 quite destitute of rhythm, like the Trench, rhyme is abso- 
 lutely necessary, from the very want of a sensible limitation, 
 separation, and connexion of the verse. In strongly accen- 
 tuated languages such as the Italian and Spanish, rhyme 
 
GEBMAtf TERSIFIC1TI0K. 353 
 
 readily assumes the shape of a mere musical play of sylla- 
 bles and words. In the German tongue, which takes its 
 rise somewhat nearer the original source, and is not unrhyth- 
 mical, the fundamental law of pronunciation enjoining em- 
 phasis on important and root syllables, led to observation 
 and appreciation of the accordant tones in them, and even- 
 tually to rhyme itself. In this peculiar manner did the 
 German language come into possession of rhyme, and 
 though neither the French, the Italian, nor the Spanish 
 mode is altogether applicable to our tongue, yet rhyme 
 itself is agreeable to its nature, and will never be discarded 
 so long as it continues to be a language. The real essence 
 of German versification consists in relinquishing all foreign 
 syllabic measures — both the old rhythmical and the ingenious 
 romantic rhymes, as exercises merely preparatory to a more 
 pliant condition of culture, useful enough in their time — 
 and reverting to the simple forms of German verse. These 
 native forms exist not alone in fragmentary popular mea- 
 sures, nor in imitations of the old German standards found 
 in the a Niebelungen," any more than in the usual measures 
 adopted by the favourite poets of the eighteenth century. 
 On the contrary, they must proceed from the inner consti- 
 tution of our language as it is now developed, and be adapted 
 to the exigencies of lyric or epic poetry, as the case may be, 
 in various, manifold, yet simple methods, in conformity with 
 the highest possible standard of excellence : so also with 
 regard to our drama which, from its thoroughly lyrical ten- 
 dency, almost imperatively demands the aid of rhyme. 
 
 But to return to the historical thread of our remarks, the 
 earlier epoch of Klopstock and Wieland. In referring to his 
 own time, it was an exceedingly laudable endeavour on the 
 part of Wieland to perpetuate in German poetry the plan 
 of rhyme, such as prevailed in joyous Provencal, and in the 
 ancient chivalric and love songs, and to protect it from the 
 blind zeal of a host of bards to whom Klopstock gave 
 offence without intending it. 
 
 Being fond of philological inquiry, and desirous of 
 entering on a career of his own, Wieland was every now 
 and then led into partiality and paradox. Adelung nar- 
 rowly escaped falling into a similar error. "With so great a 
 number of preliminary compilations made by others in the 
 
354 ADELUNG AND GOTTSCHED. 
 
 domains of philology before him, more might reasonably 
 have been expected at Adelung's hands, when his labours 
 professed to embrace the vast field of German literature, in 
 assigning to each individual expression its exact equivalent. 
 Yet, notwithstanding all the shortcomings and errors that 
 the researches of recent times have proved against him, his 
 efforts to extend an improved acquaintance with the genius 
 of the language generally were meritorious as a beginning 
 and in connexion with the times in which he lived. His chief 
 prejudice lay in limiting the purity of the high-German idiom 
 to the narrow confines of the old Margravate of Messia,* and 
 to a brief period of excelling taste which he extolled in glow- 
 ing terms as the happy, though short-lived, golden age of 
 German literature. A striking inconsistency in his argu- 
 ment is betrayed in the antipathy and injustice with which 
 he treats the leading author of that very time, Klopstock, 
 incomparably its brightest ornament : and whose eminent 
 services as a poet, a thorough master of the language, and a 
 profound critic, in spite of occasional mistakes, constitute 
 him an authority, as regards insight into the genius of the 
 German tongue, not a whit inferior to Adelung himself. 
 
 How relative is the idea of a Golden Age, at least as 
 far as our literature is concerned ! The disposition is 
 always to put it in the past, as is confirmed by the example 
 of a writer belonging to a period so enviable and happy 
 In one of his poems Gottsched declares the happy Golden 
 Age to have been that of Frederick, the first King of 
 Prussia. The writers of that time— supposed to stand 
 in the same classic relations to the literature of Ger- 
 many as Virgil did to that of Rome, Corneille and Racine 
 to that of France — are more especially Eesser, Henkirch, 
 and Pietsch. These names, long consigned to oblivion, 
 were perhaps in their own day scarcely so popular as Gott- 
 sched's enlogium might lead one to infer. However, he was 
 himself so fully convinced that in them the human intellect 
 attained its culminating point, and German poetry its highest 
 glory, as to fancy that the age was on the wane and that some 
 
 * A district of Saxony, bounded on the east and south by the " Schan- 
 daner " chain, on the north and west by a valley of uncommon fertility. 
 It is intersected by the Elbe, the Elster, and other important rivers. — 
 Transl, Note. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 355 
 
 slight decline of purity of taste had already become per- 
 ceptible. These words were penned in 1751, the very year 
 in which the first cantos of the Messiah appeared: a 
 composition that, in my estimation, rather introduces, if not 
 the Golden Age of excellence, at least a new era in German 
 literature. The poets of the first generation who, as I have 
 stated above, really contributed to raise the tone of our 
 literature, and were partly known to fame previous to Klop- 
 stock's day, for the most part only wrote songs and lyrics of 
 a mixed species. Compositions such as these, however they 
 may tend to embellish a literature possessed of other and 
 more solid advantages, cannot possibly form its lasting 
 basis. For this purpose some great national work of 
 earnest import is required, be it historic or epic poetry, 
 which constitutes the most felicitous commencement of 
 a national literature. It is true that German writers of 
 the first generation, as a whole, devoted careful attention to 
 purity of diction, inasmuch as this was demanded, in an 
 especial manner, by existing circumstances. But the results 
 were far from being uniformly successful ; in confirmation of 
 which I need hardly allude to the great discrepancy between 
 Xlopstock's prose and his poetical expression, or the im- 
 mense inferiorty of Lessing's earlier productions, which fall 
 within that period, to his later style of composition. It is 
 evident, then, that even as regards development of language,, 
 it is difficult to assume any precise privileged period of 
 German literature. I would undertake to enumerate works 
 composed in the interval from 1750 to 1800, year by year, 
 all of them more or less valuable and excellent : but it would 
 be impossible to point to any enjoying a total exemption 
 from every defect of that kind. On the same principle, very 
 popular authors have in all ages furnished abundant examples 
 of negligent as well as faulty style. 
 
 There is a much more useful arrangement or division of 
 German literature than any which we have had occasion to 
 name. If the same be reviewed historically within the 
 above-mentioned period, extending from 1750 to 1800, 
 an epoch unquestionably very fertile in excellent writers, 
 the several generations, so to speak, may be clearly dis- 
 tinguished. It is the more important thoroughly to com- 
 prehend this distinction, that each separate generation is 
 
356 MODEKtf GEEMAN LITEE ATTIRE. 
 
 characterized by some peculiar excellence or defect arising 
 out of the external relations of the times. This should be: 
 borne in mind, in order that we may not look for certain i 
 qualities in an author which are incompatible with contem- 
 porary circumstances, or charge him with failings common 
 to the age in which he nourished. 
 
 In the first generation I would include those the develop- 
 ment of whose genius and early activity ranges from 1750 — 
 1770. Poets of the highest repute belonging to this period 
 I have already noticed. The limits of these lectures pre- 
 clude my mentioning each individual name that enjoyed a 
 certain degree of distinction. In reference to our own 
 Austria,* I may here state that Denis, a learned Jesuit, 
 added to his other useful labours that of introducing a pure 
 system of philology, with especial regard to Klopstock's 
 severe taste, into his adopted country, the Empire, then 
 blooming afresh under the sceptre of Maria Theresa after 
 overcoming a thousand perils. Hence the spirit of Klop- 
 stock's genius, too soon extinct in the rest of Germany, long 
 survived in the Imperial dominions as a standard model of 
 German and Parnassian pursuits. 
 
 Of prose writers incidental to this first generation there 
 are several philosophers to be duly considered hereafter : for 
 instance, Kant, as far as the period of his birth and his early 
 literary efforts are concerned ; but especially Lessing and 
 Winckelmann. Hamann likewise chronologically belongs to 
 this first epoch ; but with his divining depth of thought he 
 stands as a literary hermit. His peculiar religious bias, of itself 
 strange enough, was rendered still more impervious to his 
 contemporaries by the impenetrable obscurity of the figurative 
 allusions in which his sibylline leaves and hieroglyphic signs 
 were enveloped. It was reserved for subsequent years to 
 raise the mystic veil and, in some measure, recognize their 
 originality and genius, after the German mind had under- 
 gone some discipline and training.f 
 
 * Though Schlegel was born in Hanover, he spent the latter portion of 
 his life in Austria : the present series of Lectures having been delivered in 
 Vienna. — Transl. Note. 
 
 f J. G. Hamann, a native of Koenigsberg ; his disposition was exceed- 
 ingly fickle, after having been successively engaged in theological, legal, 
 and political pursuits, he entered upon commerce, which, in its turn, soon 
 
MODEEN GEEMAN LITERATURE. 357 
 
 Authors of this first generation are commonly impressed 
 with many features characteristic of the unfavourable con- 
 dition of German language and art, as they then existed ; 
 and they bear frequent testimony to the arduous struggle 
 with internal and external difficulties in which both were 
 engaged. His letters, which have been divulged perhaps 
 with too little regard for his memory, disclose the nature of 
 the contest as bearing upon Winckelmann, from which his 
 first public performances emerge with some degree of success. 
 Kant never entirely shook off the e.Tects of this inner con- 
 flict, at once tedious, severe, laborious. Lessing's youthful 
 attempts, especially the poetical, can only be regarded as a tri- 
 bute that even genius is wont to render, in one way or another, 
 to the age in which it appears. With the single exception 
 of Klopstock, the poets of that day too frequently transport 
 the fancy to the obsolete period of occasional poems and 
 verses written by command. As a poet, Klopstock's deve- 
 lopment was most free and rapid ; yet in his case, too, it is 
 doubtful if, in selecting his materials and fixing his plan, he 
 would not have avoided many errors for which not even 
 the most glorious execution can compensate, had he not been 
 compelled to open up a new course for the progress of his 
 muse. In other words, if available preliminary labours had 
 existed in a similar, or at least kindred, branch of inquiry, 
 dating from a period not too remote for present purposes. 
 These were some of the injurious consequences which the 
 writers of the first generation encountered, simply because 
 they were the first to succeed to a most unfavourable con- 
 dition of German literature. External disadvantages of 
 position, however, whilst they oppress the weak, only serve 
 to stimulate strong minds to more powerful exertion. Every 
 nerve is then strained to bear upon the object of a lofty 
 enthusiasm, which calls forth a life-long energy. In addi- 
 tion to Klopstock, "Winckelmann, and, in a peculiar man- 
 ner, Kant, display this peculiar concentration of power. 
 Subsequently our literature, particularly our poetry, was 
 
 disgusted him. He then took a fit of travelling-, he visited Berlin, Swit- 
 zerland, London, &c, &c. His writings, which mostly reflected the 
 strangeness of his genius, were collected by Jacobi, Herder, and Goethe. 
 The appellation of il Wizard of the North " was frequently bestowed on 
 him. — Traml. Note. 
 
358 MODERN GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 too much dismembered and dispersed with inconceivable: 
 levity. Their severity of purpose and their lofty enthusiasm? 
 constituted the leading minds of the first generation the I 
 actual founders of modern German literature. In the same 
 rank with Klopstock and Lessing, "Winckelmann must essen- 
 tially be classed, who mainly introduced that taste for the 
 beautiful in Art which, perhaps somewhat too exclusively, 
 became a predominant characteristic of this literature. Since 
 his time, artistic and «sthetical views almost monopolized 
 the field of German literary and philosophic criticism, even 
 under circumstances rather calculated to call forth the 
 exercise of national or religious feeling. 
 
 The great moral aud political commotion, engraven in the 
 annals of universal history and customarily designated the 
 Revolution, because its more violent throes were felt during 
 that period, has indeed roused the intellect of Germany 
 from its esthetic world of dreams, and sternly pointed to an 
 earnest reality of existence in the conflict of Time, as also to 
 the still more serious concerns of eternal faith. "With diffi- 
 culty do the first rays of light find their way through the 
 chinks and crannies of revolutionary confusion, and by slow 
 degrees pierce the lingering mists of a bygone age. This 
 struggle, in our own immediate times, as it shaped its course 
 in the domains of intellect, of literature, and of science — 
 especially German — is the last great phenomenon, with a 
 description of which we intend closing the present series of 
 remarks. 
 
359 
 
 LECTUEE XYI. 
 
 General Survey. — Epoch of Genial Literature. — 
 Direction of Poetry to Nature and the Living 
 Reality of the Present. — German Criticism. — 
 Lessing and Herder : Prevalent ^Esthetics. — 
 Lesing as a Philosopher : Freedom of Thought 
 and the illuminati : the emperor joseph ii.— 
 Character of the third Generation : Philosophy of 
 Kant. — Goethe and Schiller. — Future Prospects. — 
 
 elchte and tleck. eeal character of german 
 
 Literature. — Comprehensive Idea of the Present 
 Era. 
 
 The modern literature of Germany is deficient in true 
 harmony. It would not perhaps be very difficult to state in 
 general terms, in what department this desideratum is to 
 be sought, and wherein it can reasonably be expected to 
 be found. But where would be the advantage in proposing 
 a distant goal without at the same time indicating the paths 
 that lead to it, together with each seductive devious by-path, 
 and every difficulty the pilgrim is likely to encounter even 
 when his course is in the right direction ? Previous to at- 
 tempting a solution of the problem, it is desirable to com- 
 prehend the problem itself in its manifold variety : and if 
 we would hope to untie this Gordian knot of our literature, 
 we must trace the several threads that combine to produce 
 so perplexed and intricate a whole. 
 
 To this purpose the present series of historical remarks is 
 meant to be subservient ; as we approach nearer our own 
 times we must needs dwell less on individual characteristics 
 and more especially restrict our consideration to the collec- 
 tive development and dominant genius of literature. The 
 time has, perhaps, not yet arrived for a complete history of 
 modern German literature. Points here and there will only 
 then appear in their true colours when the results shall have 
 been more completely developed. Materials are yet wanting 
 to render the history of the intellectual culture of Germany 
 perfect and complete. 
 
360 SECOND GENERATION OF GERMAN WRITERS. 
 
 I have already attempted to pourtray the foremost poets \ 
 of the first generation. Of philosophers and prose writers 
 generally I purpose still to defer the consideration, that I 
 may pursue my subject with all possible chronological fide- 
 lity : inasmuch as the views of Lessing and Kant, two of 
 the most important of this class, did not practically in- 
 fluence public opinion till a somewhat later period. 
 
 "When the long feuds between Austria and Prussia had at 
 last issued in permanent peace, Germany long enjoyed a 
 repose no less favourable to the progress of science and 
 mental culture than to the restoration of political and social 
 stability. At one time, indeed, this repose was for a moment 
 menaced, but the storm passed over, and Germany flourished 
 in the enjoyment of peace and energetic power, though she 
 was not altogether clearly conscious of the true causes on 
 which her happy condition depended. 
 
 The first founders of German literature, as regards purity 
 of diction and poetry, whose exertions, partly before, partly 
 after Klopstock, tended to the same end, had to contend 
 with the most serious obstacles in a much less favourable 
 external state of things. Many of these they had over- 
 come by dint of great and ever memorable exertions ; they 
 had paved the way, and their very misconceptions and defects 
 could not fail to be instructive to ingenious successors, ne- 
 cessarily serving as a preliminary step to further perfection. 
 
 It need not, then, be a matter of surprise to observe the 
 second generation of German poets and writers, whose first 
 development for the most part belongs to the period of 
 1770, take a bolder flight with infinitely greater facility. 
 They reaped the fruits of what had been sown by their 
 predecessors. The most distinguished poets of this epoch 
 are Goethe, Stolberg, Voss, and Burger : to these might 
 be added the names of others whose verse, distinguished 
 by genius, appeared somewhere about this time, though, 
 owing to the nature of their composition or other circum- 
 stances, they never attained equal celebrity. In addi- 
 tion to these genuine poets, there were some who boldly 
 assumed genial faculties which they never possessed, and 
 thus had well nigh brought into discredit the reputation 
 and genius of the age, if it were possible for genius ever to 
 suffer from such pretensions. But in order to be convinced 
 
JACOBI, LAVATER, HERDER, AND MULLER. 361 
 
 ■of the real intellectual prosperity of Germany during the 
 period in question, it is sufficient to recall the names of 
 Jacobi, Lavater, Herder, and Johannes Muller, men whose 
 first development and the character of whose writings espe- 
 cially belong to this epoch : their fame is not confined to 
 Germany, but is spread throughout Europe. In spirit and 
 manner, as also in language and style, the authors of this 
 second generation differ widely from those of the preceding. 
 Their style is full of soul, fire, and animation : it is ingenious, 
 enthusiastic and witty : ever original and fresh, and often 
 artistic in detail. Still, uniformity of plan, severe strict- 
 ness of arrangement, judicious design, are frequently 
 wanting in their composition, whilst the care necessary to 
 ensure purity and correctness of diction is not always ob- 
 served. This applies even to Herder and Johannes Muller, 
 the best informed, most versatile and practised writers of 
 the age in which they lived. The assertion made by the ad- 
 mirers of the first epoch, that purity of language existed, if 
 not exclusively, yet in a very high degree, among its writers, 
 would almost seem to be justified in fact. The principle 
 does not, however, admit of universal application : some 
 authors, more especially the poets, Voss, Stolberg, and 
 Goethe in many of his works, evince an elegance and pro- 
 priety of diction not exceeded by the severe perfection of 
 any poet or prose-writer belonging to the former genera- 
 tion. The elaborate care of Yoss occasionally induces hard- 
 ness and becomes painful to the reader : and though in- 
 stances of negligence of expression may be detected in some 
 passages of Goethe's lighter productions, his noblest poems 
 evince a beauty of language unsurpassed in the annals of 
 German literature, blended with an artless grace which 
 Klopstock himself could never attain. 
 
 Not only was the language enriched and embellished by 
 the genius of these writers and poets who, entering on the 
 path traced out by their predecessors, ventured on a bolder 
 flight : in individual compositions it was represented in im- 
 maculate purity and lovely perfection. Poetry now took a 
 new direction. It had previously been divided into two 
 sections or parties, according as the poet proposed to take 
 "Wieland or Klopstock for his model. The verse of the one 
 was crowded with muses and graces, loves and roses, 
 
362 GOETZ VON BEKLICHINGEH. 
 
 amorettes and zephyrs, nymphs, dryads,' hamadryads. The 
 others sought to catch the echo of olden Bardic song on ice- 
 bound regions, or at a bear-hunt amid rocks and savage 
 cliffs, or they walked with Eloah through the clouds on 
 celestial paths strewn with stars : if ever they descended to 
 earth it was amid thunder, lightning, and tempest, like the 
 last trump. Between these two extremes of an uniform 
 elevation and a luscious half- Greek half-modern effeminacy, 
 more recent poets aimed at depicting reality and nature in 
 all their force. They sought to unite their verse with the 
 reality of the present by direct means, for they felt that in- 
 dividual, fragmentary, yet powerful sketches, in the very 
 spirit of life, were exactly congenial to the essence of the 
 muse. They all exerted themselves to catch the peculiar 
 inspiration of Homer as the master-poet of living nature, 
 and vied with each other in reproducing him in a Ger- 
 man garb. They likewise recalled numerous reminiscences 
 of olden German history, art, and song : of course a suf- 
 ficiently accurate acquaintance with old- German history 
 and mode of thought, with language and art, was not on all 
 occasions combined with their endeavours. These were for 
 the most part echoes admirable in themselves and beneficial 
 in their consequences. Goetz von Berlichingen with the 
 Iron Hand* alone became the progenitor of an all but 
 countless race of chivalrous mailed knights, who to this day 
 maintain old German freedom and noble prowess on the 
 stage. However devoid of rule and even of form this work 
 was,thrown off by the author, not in mere youthful levity but 
 seemingly with design, however imperfectly the historical 
 features of the age it describes may be delineated, still it re- 
 mains a rich poetic picture of permanent value ; more so 
 than any other of the poet's youthful productions, in which 
 the poetry was attached to the passing hour. 
 
 Upon the whole, perhaps, Poetry was too much diverted 
 by this novel direction of her energies from the high 
 standard set up by Klopstock : and, gradually becoming 
 scattered and isolated, it was drawn too far into the sphere 
 of reality, and thus, by direct pressure, forced prematurely 
 and too exclusively upon the stage. The happy develop- 
 
 * Translated by H. G. Bonn in his " Standard Library." 
 
LESSING. 363 
 
 'ment and prosperity of the stage would seem in all countries 
 to depend on the full maturity of the several processes of 
 intermediate culture. The Greek theatre probably derived 
 its main excellence from this circumstance. Scarcely can 
 success be expected of the stage in any country unless 
 literature and poetry, especially the more exalted kind, have 
 been previously rendered productive in manifold ways, thus 
 laying the foundations of a lofty superstructure of genius 
 and art. A happy commencement in reference to the theatre 
 may be said to have been made in Germany at that time, 
 but the project was by no means realized, nor was the state 
 of public opinion in entire harmony with it. Lessing's tone 
 of criticism incidentally contributed to direct universal at- 
 tention to the stage. It is difficult to decide if the spirit of 
 his criticism was calculated to operate in a salutary manner 
 on the stage of his country, notwithstanding the vast extent 
 of his acquirements and his unquestionable sagacity. From 
 heavy translations of Corneiile or Voltaire the general taste 
 now turned to moral domestic sketches after the manner of 
 Diderot : and prose came to be regarded as an essential to 
 genuine natural delineation, so that the language, freed 
 from all restraint, might thoroughly correspond with the 
 formless nature of the contents. This feeling, however, was 
 but transitory : Shakspere, revered by Lessing, continued 
 to be the idol of the nation, and popular conceptions of what 
 constituted natural representation soon outgrew the standard 
 of Diderot and his family sketches. 
 
 As a critic, Lessing was better adapted to throw light 
 upon individual points, and particularly to refute and eradi- 
 cate deep-seated prejudices than to mark the precise position 
 of any work of art, of any single artist, or of any collective 
 species, in relation to general culture or the several grada- 
 tions of art. His pursuits did not fit him to contemplate or 
 admire a work of high perfection with the philosophic re- 
 pose of Winekelmann. But this is indispensable to a know- 
 ledge, both essential and complete, of any distinct species of 
 art in reference to its entire history and development. It 
 is only in complete works that the essence of an art can be 
 fully known, and only by means of calm consideration can 
 perfection be recognized : censure of parts of the whole, or of 
 imperfect execution, cannot lead to results equally desirable. 
 
3G4 LESSING- AND HERDER. 
 
 Lessing's criticism turns on the principle, rather than on the 
 characteristics of perfection; and is more engaged in re- 
 futing error than in establishing truth. In criticism, too, 
 he is more the philosopher than the student of art. He 
 wants that pliancy of the imagination with which Herder 
 transports himself into the poetry of all ages and nations. 
 In the philosophy of history it is this keen relish of the 
 poetical element in the character of national legend, that 
 gift of realizing to his fancy the most varied modes of life 
 and thought which he of all others so eminently possessed, 
 that constitute such distinctive features of Herder's genius : 
 as a theologian, he was especially captivated by the poetry 
 of the Hebrews. He might almost be styled the myco- 
 logist of our literature, on account of this manifold poetic 
 sense, this gift of appreciating ancient legends, and the 
 sympathy with which he conceived all possible shapes and 
 beings of airy fancy : endowments in themselves arguing 
 the possession of a high degree of imagination. We must 
 not, however, look for critical accuracy or philosophic and 
 religious depth from this thinker who,. though endowed with 
 genius, fancy, and feeling, naturally inclined, after all, to 
 aesthetics. Himself keenly alive to every phase of imagina- 
 tion, he succeeded in creating a general taste for ancient 
 legend and mythology. But in order to gather the deeper 
 sense of mythology and antique symbol, and to extract the 
 genuine essence of their imagery from the surrounding 
 elements of fable, a deeper knowledge of philosophy and re- 
 ligion is needful : just as the varied play of colours, in all 
 their manifold refractions, can alone be significantly deter- 
 mined by examining the principles of light itself. In the 
 absence of this enlightening ray, the study of legendary 
 mythology leads but to scientific fanciful imaginings blended 
 with indefinite perceptions, such as Herder was the means 
 of introducing into the arena of history and philology. 
 He never climbed the heights of religious elevation, but 
 contented himself with following the bent of his native 
 talents and artistic sense, thus materially contributing to 
 confirm and expand the innate tendencies of the German 
 mind. It is to be regretted that he forsook his earlier path, 
 viz., that of regarding primitive revelation as the key to all 
 philosophy, legend, tradition, and mythology, and that later 
 
WINCKELMAKN". 365 
 
 in life he sank into the fashionable taste for a vapid en- 
 lightenment. 
 
 Upon the whole, more artistic and aesthetic views have 
 prevailed in every direction since Winckelmann became a 
 recognized authority. "With this not only did the natural 
 inclination of Grerman genius to art and poesy co-operate, 
 but likewise the isolation of the great majority of gifted men 
 from any public sphere of activity. The Grerman mind, for 
 the most part, had to choose between two alternatives : inner 
 activity removed from the offices of social and civil duty, or 
 artistic and poetic functions resuming their connection with 
 the social compact in after years. At first, the former of 
 these two was in the ascendant, even to the prejudice of the 
 latter : since many writers, having devoted the greater por- 
 tion of their attention to a consideration of the principles of 
 art and their practical employment, had not sufficiently cul- 
 tivated a taste for philosophic pursuits to be enabled to 
 turn it to advantage. Even in Winckelmann this taste is 
 obvious : his lofty artistic ideas are all based on platonic 
 enthusiasm drawn from the source, and permeating his 
 entire system. Of all philosophic models, this harmonizes 
 most completely with a contemplation of high art : yet his 
 inner-current of platonism was occasionally so strong as 
 completely to lift him above all contemplation of art. His 
 later writings evince this philosophic tendency in a more 
 marked and especial manner, and I am not satisfied that it 
 would not have been an accession to Grerman philosophy if 
 it had been inaugurated by a Platonist such as Winckelmann 
 was calculated to have been. 
 
 When his mind attained to maturity, Lessing abandoned 
 those antiquarian researches as well as theatrical and artistic 
 criticism, which had been the cherished occupations of earlier 
 years, as though they were mere juvenile occupations. A 
 philosophic investigation of truth constituted the object of 
 all his later endeavours, on which he brought to bear a spirit 
 of earnest enthusiasm such as had characterized none of his 
 previous undertakings. To shine in these had once been 
 alike his pride and his delight : in their pursuit he seemed to 
 have been desirous of testing the powers of his general 
 fancy, especially against feebler opponents, rather than of 
 advocating the cause itself, on its intrinsic merits or from 
 
368 LAYATER. 
 
 deliberate choice. However much it may have been a ne- 
 cessity of his nature to practise his powers in the manifold 
 spheres of art and genius, philosophy was unquestionably 
 his calling. He was so far in advance of his age as to be 
 universally understood, the more so, that his philosophy was 
 never fully matured or developed : his want of system 
 causing his indirect and casual declarations to resemble 
 sketchy outlines rather than a perfect picture. 
 
 Of the philosophers of the older school, Sulzer especially 
 confined his inquiry to artistic subjects, in accordance with 
 the prevalent tastes of the time : Mendelssohn sought to 
 establish the general truths of religion on a philosophical 
 basis : G-arve, though not exactly a follower of Leibnitz, 
 nevertheless may be classed with that generation in re- 
 ference to his general style. He devoted himself to the 
 moral philosophy of England and of the ancients : the result 
 sufficed to prove that a theory of life founded on probabi- 
 lities and presumptions, in the absence of a profounder 
 recognition of what is true and certain in itself, could not 
 satisfy the German mind. The philosophic romances of 
 "Wieland contributed to the dissemination of a system of 
 morals, in Socratic guise, but based on the tenets of Epicurus, 
 particularly among the higher classes of society, not with- 
 out injurious consequences to public opinion ; at least, 
 it may be said that a too indulgent and effeminate moral 
 code was not the most fitting preparation for the arduous 
 struggle that impended over the nation and the age. 
 
 The fame of Kant was not yet in its zenith. In reserved 
 seclusion, Lavater pursued his own peculiar course of study. 
 His views on physiognomy have been held up to ridicule, 
 whilst some of his conceptions procured for him the appella- 
 tion of a dreamy enthusiast. The philosophic penetration 
 of his mind has been altogether misconstrued : the frag- 
 mentary expression of his method subjected him to disad- 
 vantages, for his living faith was foreign to the scholastic 
 philosophy of his time. He is, in my opinion, one of the 
 most admirable and remarkable inquirers after truth in the 
 eighteenth century next to Hamann and Lessing. These 
 three solitary thinkers constitute an isolated circle, equally 
 removed from the rancorous sectarianism of contending 
 faction, and the formulas of the schools : in which we may 
 
LESSING. 367 
 
 discern the first germs of a Christian philosophy. Hamann 
 delineated the Word of primitive revelation as an enigma yet 
 awaiting solution : his voice was unheeded in the desert of 
 general illumination. The profundity of Lavater conceived 
 the truths of Christianity as the focal point of ideal know- 
 ledge. The third addition to these unconscious spiritualists 
 and independent Christian thinkers of Germany is the great 
 name of Leasing, w r hose clear-sighted intellect penetrated to 
 the very turning-points of revelation and knowledge, tradi- 
 tion and freedom of thought. 
 
 The writings of Reimarus, of the older school, in support 
 of the connection subsisting between natural religion and 
 human reason, are of the ordinary kind. But his systematic 
 attack on revealed religion proved of incomparably greater 
 importance in their results. Lessing, who entered upon 
 historical investigation with an earnest wish to probe it to the 
 bottom, thought it desirable to give every publicity to the 
 attack made. It was his conviction that the time had come 
 when it was advisable no longer to suppress any doubts, but 
 rather to court their expression, in order that they might be 
 answered and the truth be brought to light. Lessing's 
 philosophy was directed straight to the mark, namely, the 
 truth of religion. Usual questions and discussions, inci- 
 dental to the philosophy of the age, and in which its energies 
 were wont to be tired out ever since the days of Descartes 
 and Locke, had no interest for him. On the other hand, his 
 " Education of Humanity," and " Freemasons' Dialogues," 
 as, indeed, all his philosophic polemics, touched upon points 
 intimately connected with the principal themes of sublime 
 philosophy, but which had almost escaped the critical notice 
 of the age. As regards philosophy, he had quite outgrown 
 the standard of the eighteenth century. Of those who may 
 be classed in approximate rank, Leibnitz was the only one 
 who at all approached his lofty proportions ; and him he 
 considered as at a great distance from those who called 
 themselves his followers : he understood him better than any 
 of them, because he had studied Spinoza. If that metaphy- 
 sical system deserves to be called superficial, which not only 
 cannot refute the greatest of its opponents, but would fain 
 shun and ignore him, it cannot be denied that Lessing pene- 
 trated further than Kant, though not so systematically, into 
 
368 LESSING. 
 
 the deep places of philosophy. Had his career terminated 
 less prematurely, had he been more sparing of his powers, 
 and more regular in their application, the results would 
 have incontestably proved that this was the case. The 
 development of German philosophy would have probably 
 been more felicitous if Lessing's independent and bold spirit 
 had co-operated in its extension, than was subsequently the 
 case through the sole agency of Kant. Lessing scarcely 
 ever publicly promulgated his own philosophic theories : all 
 that he incidentally let fall bore the appearance of extraor- 
 dinary paradox. But he was no actual disciple of Spinoza, 
 as was asserted after his death, except in so far as an inquirer 
 may, in the course of his speculations, happen to incline to 
 some particular fallacy, which he is not yet in a position to 
 refute, and which is perhaps destined to serve him as a bridge 
 to the truth. The most decisive proof of this is his adherence 
 to the doctrine of transmigration of souls : of all his favourite 
 theories this appeared to be the most deeply rooted. But 
 this doctrine is not in harmony with Spinoza's system which 
 repudiates all change of individuals, as also their personal 
 after-existence. This circumstance, then, warrants the sup- 
 position that Lessing was especially attached to the older ori- 
 ental philosophy, and he himself furnishes convincing proof 
 of it. It would almost seem as though they were right who 
 hold that too much care can hardly be taken to guard against 
 the dangers of enthusiasm. Since neither the vast acquire- 
 ments of Leibnitz, nor the perspicuous intellect of Lessing 
 availed to emancipate either of them from the thraldom of 
 enthusiasm, as it is designated by those critics ; it would 
 thus appear to be difficult to escape its influence at a certain 
 degree of mental elevation. 
 
 Yet little of this secret enthusiasm on the part of a single 
 spirited inquirer really infected general opinion. His doubts 
 and the example of his boldness operated more powerfully 
 as well as extensively : without intendiug it, he assisted the 
 very system so repugnant to his tastes, and so often em- 
 battled by him. In a certain sense, Lessing finished what 
 Luther had commenced : as a critical investigator he com- 
 pleted the work of German Protestantism, and led the way 
 to the impending crisis. So, at a more recent period, and in. 
 the path of independent scientific thought, Pichte pursued 
 
LESSING. 369 
 
 the Protestant principle of freedom, and as an uncompromis- 
 ing idealist reached the pinnacle of finished Protestantism in 
 this direction. Hence the activity of the human mind 
 naturally suffered a revulsion : returning from the self-con- 
 stituted abyss of unlimited thought to the recognition of 
 revelation or a Divine positive, though this could not be 
 effected without constant contradiction, and deceptive re- 
 mains of ancient error, with frequent relapse. As a definite 
 system, Protestantism in Germany could not co-exist with 
 unlimited freedom of thought, neither could it endure in 
 religion or science subsequent to the crisis mainly brought 
 about by Lessing. Since Fichte elevated independent 
 thought to ideal heights, an experiment that left the mind 
 unsatisfied, science has more and more returned to positive 
 principles in nature, in history, and in tradition, frequently 
 not without the admixture of various errors. As regards 
 faith, the crisis mentioned above was the means of substitut- 
 ing an essentially individual religion of the feelings among 
 pious Protestants in place of the older system no longer 
 tenable. The bold freedom of his inquiry reconducted 
 Lessing himself to a belief in the most ancient philosophy, 
 and to a recognition of the legitimate authority of tradition 
 in the Church. 
 
 The immediate influence of Lessing throughout Protestant 
 Germany was, accordingly, of a destructive character. If 
 this total dissolution of the then mode of thinking and of 
 Protestant faith was to be attended by beneficial results 
 hereafter : if the bulwarks of Truth were to be razed merely 
 to found a more lasting structure and plant a creed on the 
 congenial soil of conviction and deep feeling, can alone be 
 decided by the progress of years. At any rate, the direct 
 effects were of a varied nature. The recognized freedom of 
 thought was far less directed to the promotion of scientific 
 discoveries and researches than to destructive purposes. 
 There seemed to be a general desire to eradicate prejudice 
 under the insinuating guise of Illuminism. In many in- 
 stances, involving interests of little moment and easily de- 
 cided, this really happened. But to cases in which import- 
 ant principles were at stake, no fixed standard was ever 
 applied in order to discriminate between prejudice and truth, 
 faith and infidelity. Some idea of the manifold abuses to 
 
 u 
 
370 JUNG-STILLING, STARK AND CLAUDIUS. 
 
 which the new mode was liable, as well as the immense 
 variety of inconsistent principles it entailed, may be gathered] 
 from a comparison of the construction put upon independent 
 thought and Illuminism by that profound thinker and honest 
 doubter, the philosophic Leasing, with the views entertained 
 by Basedow, Nikolai, and "Weisshaupt. It has already been 
 shewn that the same persons who fiercely advocated toleration 
 were themselves most intolerant towards those whose opi- 
 nions chanced to differ from their own. Yet this is, per- 
 haps, too general a feature of human weakness to be made 
 the subject of especial reproach. If scepticism, infidelity, 
 and systematic disinclination to religion were not as open 
 and shameless in Germany as in France, or, in individual 
 instances, in England, the very moderation of temperate 
 infidelity, so flattering to human reason and so gentle in its 
 attack on faith and the feelings, contributed not a little to 
 disseminate it both rapidly and extensively. Of the writers 
 who were not carried away by the current of thought as it 
 then set in, but secretly influenced that period as Christian 
 thinkers, Jung-Stilling and Stark deserve especial mention; 
 The former of these, in the direction of internal Christianity, 
 aroused a deeper religious feeling among Protestants with 
 freer individual views ; and the latter has expressed in his 
 writings, in the most positive manner, his conviction of the 
 truth of the Catholic faith. To these gifted names may be 
 added that of Claudius, whose lucid embodiment of the 
 deeper mysteries of Christianity, in the cheerful garb of j 
 popular works adapted to the young, was at once admirable 
 and successful. 
 
 Let us briefly glance at the external condition of intellec- I 
 tual development during that epoch. Peace and prosperity 
 in Germany were no less favourable to general mental cul- ! 
 ture than to the diffusion of a novel system of thought. 
 Although science and art cannot everywhere be said to have 
 met with positive or even sufficient encouragement, yet it 
 could not but be a matter of congratulation and self-respect 
 that towards the middle of the eighteenth century, and 
 later, Germany boasted of a greater number of distinguished 
 sovereigns than all the rest of Europe. Frederick and 
 Maria Theresa, in different ways, constituted the just pride 
 of their people : whilst the Emperor Joseph gave promise of j 
 
JOSEPH II. 
 
 371 
 
 still greater glory. He realized those fond expectations by 
 an illustrious and memorable reign. In regard to natural 
 eulture of art and intellect, the patriotic hopes of Klopstock 
 were once more doomed to disappointment. As his sceptre 
 3wayed the destinies of many important countries beyond 
 bhe territories of Germany, it might have been expected that 
 Joseph II. would found some comprehensive scientific insti- 
 tute embracing the intellectual interests of Europe generally 
 rather than those of Germany alone. Had he done so he 
 would doubtless not merely have consulted the advantage of 
 bis own dominions, but have influenced very considerably the 
 subsequent progress of public opinion and the entire deve- 
 lopment of the age. The Emperor, however, paid especial 
 attention to the practical development of science. Not that 
 ie ever underrated science generally, for the value he set 
 ipon many legislative, judicial, and financial theories of the 
 ige then in vogue, long since exploded as impracticable 
 lypotheses at the best, was far more than they deserved. 
 However natural it may seem that an active sovereign should 
 ncline to a practical view of science, still the example just 
 pioted ought not to regulate the conduct of future monarchs. 
 being now a principle universally recognized as sound, 
 hat the intellectual culture of a nation is no less important 
 o the state and to its ruler than physical power or external 
 plendour, it follows that everything which tends to advance 
 he former, even without reference to immediate utility, is 
 a itself deserving of consideration. 
 
 I now proceed to the third generation of modern German 
 iterature, which differs widely from the two preceding ones. 
 ~o have a clear conception of the German character of these 
 everal epochs is the surest means of solving apparent con- 
 radictions, and reconciling opinions seemingly inconsistent, 
 y explaining misconstruction, and placing certain peculia- 
 ities in their true light : provided always there be no essen- 
 ial radical difference in the mode of thought. It frequently 
 appens that external relations and the dominant spirit of 
 he age, witnessing the early development and culture of a 
 riter mould his leading characteristics : in every case, they 
 mterially influence the whole of his subsequent career. 
 
 The third generation comprises all those writers whose 
 evelopment and culture date from 1780 or 1790. Here, too, 
 
372 THIRD GENERATION OF GERMAN WRITERS. 
 
 external relations and the genius of the age exercised a 
 remarkable and decided influence over German literature : 
 an influence not confined to authors, but extending to the 
 general public. Formerly, the public appealed to by Ger 
 man poets and writers, consisted for the most part of a 
 select number of art-amateurs and scattered dilletanti. It 
 was so when Klopstock and his contemporaries flourished 
 by slow degrees the little band waxed in numbers and im- 
 portance. The revolution was favourable to the increase of 
 writers on the one hand, and of readers on the other : from 
 the arena of politics men turned their attention to the 
 domains of philosophy, and of literature generally. How 
 injurious soever the results of this revolution may have 
 occasionally proved, universal sympathy could not fail to be 
 aroused, and if partizanship was carried to greater lengths, 
 it was still a gain to intellectual energy which often derives 
 great accession of power from the excitement of a contest 
 Were I desirous of applying a comprehensive epithet to this 
 epoch, without hazarding misconstruction, I should be dis- 
 posed to designate it tJw revolutionary period : if I may be 
 allowed to adopt the expression in a sense deviating some- 
 what from its common usage. And yet it should be remem-* 
 bered to the credit of German writers as a whole, that at 
 least the first and more eminent of their number were free 
 from all democratic taint of the early revolutionary period. 
 Forster alone requires our sympathy, who misled by others 
 and self-deluded, perished in the eddying vortex : a loss to 
 literature and the world at large. If some leading minds 
 were not altogether free from sharing the deceitful hopes of 
 the age, their sense of right soon came to the rescue, and 
 they made rich amends for transient error. I use the term, 
 then, in the sense of that admirable saying " Burke wrote 
 a revolutionary book against the revolution." The remark 
 is to be understood thus : he delineated the convulsions 
 of the age in terms of such transcendent eloquence, and 
 so fully perceived the dangers and the magnitude of the 
 impending struggle, that he himself was thrown into a state 
 of contagious violence when he composed his book. It 
 is this condition of external, but still more internal, 
 struggle that I regard as the genuine characteristics of 
 poets and writers who belonged to this third generation. 
 To justify and illustrate my opinion, it is only necessary 
 
SCHILLER AND MuLLER. 373 
 
 for me to point to a distinguished writer and poet of 
 this epoch, whose memorable career is already displayed 
 to our view in its full extent. In the impassioned produc- 
 tions of his early prime, we see Schiller incessantly convul- 
 sed by the conflict of inner emotions : he is urged onwards 
 by the enthusiastic hopes to improve the existing state of all 
 things, a species of opposition distinctively preceding the 
 revolution. Some of his youthful poems give vent to his 
 doubts in strains the most passionate : but this scepticism, 
 coupled with the lofty earnest and fiery glow of a youthful 
 heart, if it deserve reproof yet enlists our sympathy, and 
 not unreasonably excites a hope that so mighty an aspira- 
 tion after Truth in so manly a bosom, could not long remain 
 unsatisfied. How violent the transitions in Schiller's riper 
 years : how constant the struggle with himself and the world, 
 with the philosophy of the age and his own art ! Restless 
 and sensitive, he is here and there seized with the giddiness 
 arising from external convulsion. This it is that I would 
 convey in the expression employed above, and which I 
 remark more or less in all distinguished authors of that 
 epoch. 
 
 The poets and genial writers of the second generation lived 
 in a state of security which almost seems marvellous in our 
 eyes, accustomed as we are to detect the first symptoms of 
 approaching danger and convulsion in their time. But they 
 were indifferent not only to all political relations and events, 
 but also to the external aspect of the world in general, living 
 on in undisturbed enjoyment of their artistic and genial 
 faculties. Johannes Muller forms the the sole exception ; 
 his mind, intent upon these themes, from the solitary gran- 
 deur of Alpine heights, naturally discerned the gathering 
 storm both sooner and with more unerring vision than the 
 inhabitants of peaceful dales or of too busy cities. Instead 
 of this artistic blissful repose, we see the writers of the suc- 
 ceeding generation, from 1780-90, absorbed in passing 
 events : devoted to the interests of the age, heart and soul, 
 their entire activity was directed to the raging conflict. I 
 will only instance one or two extreme cases in point. By 
 what other means did the most popular, indispensable, and 
 copious of all writers of that period, become a necessity of 
 it, the wonted appliance as it were of a time-beguiling em- 
 
374 THIRD GENERATION OF GERMAN WRITERS. 
 
 dium, than just these, that he knew how to address himself 
 to the sympathy of the age, and to gain possession of it ? 
 A curious example, and instructive to future times in refe- 
 rence to social degeneracy and a decline of taste. The oppo- 
 site extreme of this adroit appeal to temporary infirmity is 
 exhibited by that celebrated philosopher, who fancied he had 
 discovered in self the secret of Archimedes to move the 
 world and revolutionize the age. A third illustration indi- 
 cative of the relation of the writer to his times, is furuished 
 by one who constitutes a medium between pampering the 
 infirmities of the age and boldly undertaking to set all 
 matters right, single-handed and with arbitrary powers. 
 That humourous national favourite, who owed his reputation 
 to the happy tact with which he managed to display all the 
 varied fertility of so perplexed a season, its echoes and its 
 want of harmony, with such copious wit, pathos, and charac- 
 teristic humour, and in so mixed a consonant dissonant style 
 as to form a striking portraiture of the several features of 
 the age, in the whole extent of its vast chaotic resources. 
 
 The faults incidental to writers participating in this revo- 
 lution of the intellect may justly be charged against the 
 thinkers and poets above-named. Yet this ought not to 
 exclude Schiller, Fichte, and others, who spent their best 
 energies on art and science, and who after manfully fighting 
 the battle of their time, contributed largely to the impor- 
 tant work of development, from receiving the meed of honour 
 due to their mental faculties and their essential merits. 
 
 Others, turning away from directly confronting the chao- 
 tic state of existing humanity, betook themselves to the 
 realms of fancy, with whose pleasurable delights they dis- 
 ported : or threw themselves into the arms of nature, con- 
 templating her scientifically without any reference to man- 
 kind. Inquirers of another class fastened with enthusiasm 
 on the heroism of the past, and transported with rapture 
 hoped to find in that a solution of the enigmatic present. 
 The most eminent of the number, dissatisfied with the exter- 
 nal world and with the aspect of science, returned to the 
 consideration of religion, which had well-nigh outgrown the 
 memories of the age, and to Christianity so long misinterpre- 
 ted. Here too, individual instances of error and misconcep- 
 tion were not wanting : but the absence of moral courage and 
 
SCHILLER. 
 
 375 
 
 of necessary decision of character, in order to exemplify by 
 deeds and openly avow the truth when inwardly recognized, 
 was still more conspicuous. Few honest well-disposed per- 
 sons will doubt that, after all, this failiug of the age and of 
 ourselves can be supplied by no other means. But the agree- 
 ment of those who have found the Truth again, and know 
 and love Christianity among the Protestants, or of those 
 who seek it and approach it among the Philosophers, with 
 those who have adhered to the Catholic centre, will always 
 be developed more fully for every great thing which forms 
 an epoch, unfolds itself only by an uniform breaking forth 
 of many individual forces. 
 
 The picture is scarcely perceptible of further details : it 
 being difficult to depict our own times. "Whenever an 
 external contest rages in some field of human activity, be it 
 civil or spiritual, the more fierce the contest grows the more 
 likely is it that none of the combatants are altogether in 
 the right. For those who are most so will, nevertheless, be 
 chargeable with some element of error. This is a necessary 
 concomitant of chaotic confusion. In reference to art and 
 the practical development of intellect, the greater the inter- 
 nal conflict, the more excellent, occasionally, are its visible 
 productions. I need only direct attention to the immense 
 gap between the Bobbers, Don Carlos, and Wallenstein* in 
 the respective gradations of Schiller's genius. On the 
 whole, it may be said that harmonious perfection and beauty 
 are not the fruits of internal mental conflict, so long as it 
 endures : but it is calculated to develop great fertility of 
 thought. Prolific invention essentially constitutes the dis- 
 tinctive feature of the third generation of German litera- 
 ture : a distinction which other nations were by no means 
 slow to recognize. Yet even this period is embellished by 
 individual compositions that may fairly be cited as speci- 
 mens not only of finished art, but also of harmonious ani- 
 mated feeling, and great beauty of expression. In the 
 main, however, as has already been said, fragmentary ideal 
 wealth is the predominant characteristic of our epoch, har- 
 monious finishing forming the rare exception. 
 
 Though we may be of opinion that a general amnesty 
 should be extended to this struggling period of our litera- 
 ture, as equally necessary to all parties concerned: and 
 
 * All translated in Bonn's edition of Schiller's works. 
 
3/6 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KANT. 
 
 though a preference may be given to the more successful' 
 poets of the first and second generation in regard to artistic . 
 elegance and beauty of diction : the ideality which marks 
 the third epoch confers upon it a singular distinction, and he 
 whose mental culture dates from 1788-1802, despite many 
 injurious circumstances, will not readily exchange his privi-1 
 leges for those of the two preceding periods. 
 
 The philosophy of Kant had a most decided influence at 
 this time. I do not believe that, on the whole, it exercised I 
 injurious effects on public thought and faith. The latter had \ 
 already been convulsed to its very foundations by other agen- 
 cies. If the doubts of some were now increased or first i 
 excited, their earnestness and depth of feeling proved a j 
 sufficient counteracting remedy. This was not to be sought 
 for among the dilapidated ruins of so-called Rationalism : 
 independently of that, Kant's philosophy contained many 
 varisd suggestions calculated to guide the earnest student to 
 the path of sublime conviction from which he may have 
 strayed.* When it is remembered that even in Germany, 
 the philosophy of the age had materially sapped belief in all 
 high contemplations : the system of Kant will be found 
 rather to have operated beneficially, bridging the Truth to 
 some, or, at the least, pointing in the right direction. It is 
 to be regretted that this philosophy so soon sank to the 
 level of sectarianism. Yet this was a transitory evil, as also 
 barbarism of expression. Kant's own style here and there 
 bears a characteristic impress, a certain peculiarity, combin- 
 ing genius and wit with philosophic penetration. On the 
 whole, however, and especially in the structure of his 
 periods, his composition uniformly betrays a spirit labo- 
 riously toiling after Truth, yet tossed to and fro by doubts. 
 Hence arose his infelicitous terminology. That barbarism 
 and the cipher-language of philosophy have now for the 
 most part disappeared : but few distinguished writers retain 
 any traces of it, and that from a want of due care. Several 
 compositions of a later period might be cited as perfect 
 models of expression. 
 
 Many of his predecessors' defects in the seventeenth and 
 eighteenth centuries recur in Kant's philosophy. He com- 
 mences with the lifeless conceptions of Leibnitz in reference 
 
 * Kant's principal work is the " Kritik of Pure Reason," translated in 
 Bonn's Standard Library. 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KANT. 377 
 
 to space and time, continually wavers between self and the 
 external world of sense, like almost all philosophers from 
 Descartes downwards, and eventually commits himself to 
 experience, like Locke. But as experience is incompetent 
 to pronounce an opinion upon morals and religion, he erects 
 a system of rational faith out of the scattered fragments of 
 rational knowledge, in a manner similar to the course of 
 English philosophers. But since he had himself previously 
 attacked the system of Beason, it had lost its credit with 
 others and took no permanent hold. His moral philosophy 
 had the merit of especially demonstrating the position to be 
 assigned to practical reason in this department of human 
 knowledge : still more forcibly than the example of the 
 Stoics, the impossibility of establishing a fitting system of 
 morals without the addition of other elements than those 
 derived from practical reason. It sets forth in unmistakeable 
 terms that such a system is not only unsatisfactory to 
 humanity, but also totally inapplicable to many relations of 
 life ; leading to the strangest results even when most logi- 
 cally pursued. Men soon returned from this rigid and 
 impracticable scheme of morals. 
 
 Kant's greatest merit consists in having established the 
 point that Beason of itself is void and empty, valid only in 
 its application to Experience, and what is within her pro- 
 vince, and that hence it is not fitted to conduct to a know- 
 ledge of God or of divine things. Instead of acknowledging 
 farther that these exalted subjects are to be approached only 
 by means of inward perception and Divine revelation, and 
 that sublime philosophy is an experimental science : instead 
 of assigning to Beason, in the empire of supernatural Expe- 
 rience, the same secondary subordinate position, he enthroned 
 Beason, disguised under the unsuitable mask of faith. Had 
 he adopted olden simplicity, had he paved the way to inner 
 perception and enlightened belief, in a spirit of scientific 
 criticism, by means of Beason as subsidiary to Bevelation, as 
 it is to given facts in the realms of Experience, he might have 
 become to philosophy what Bacon was to physics. Bescuing 
 her from idle logomachies, he might have constituted her a 
 sure, living, experimental science : in a word, he might have 
 reinstated her in her legitimate authority. 
 
 But he ignored all inner perception, everything super- 
 
378 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KANT. 
 
 sensuous, all save the vacuum of rational notions, bereft of 
 every kind of matter. Involved in this lifeless and prepos- 
 terous mode of thinking, he had no alternative but to resort 
 to an artificial faith : for he could come to no choice or 
 decision, owing to the continuous conflict of self and the 
 external world of sense. His followers were bolder, since 
 they referred all things to self, or betook thomselves wholly 
 to the external world and the infinite power of Nature. The 
 system of alleged pure Rationalism, which Kant would have 
 destroyed, thus reappeared in two forms : in the shape of an 
 artificial structure based on self, and as an unlimited world- 
 science. This result was natural enough, inasmuch as Kant 
 had not only passed over entirely the source of exalted 
 Truth, but in revealing the inward contradiction and the 
 emptiness of Reason, against whose arrogated supremacy he 
 had himself contended, he had failed to reach the original 
 foundations of the evil. We cannot, then, but cordially agree 
 with Jacobi when he equally repudiates hollow Rationalism 
 and absolute deification of Nature : though this latter tenet 
 ought not justly to be charged against the more distinguished 
 class of natural philosophers. Meanwhile, his own theory of 
 consciousness, or of the moral sense unassisted by definite 
 conceptions of faith — for he never could or would penetrate 
 to the Divine positive principles of Christianity — remains 
 quite as unsatisfactory. This philosopher's sceptical views 
 of individual feeling, vacillating will, and uncertain conscious- 
 ness, form a corresponding half to Kant's sceptical views of 
 the intellect, without affording a better solution. Those two 
 theories of doubt and total ignorance, together with Ei elite's 
 system of ideal reason, and the dynamic play of the Abso- 
 lute or scientific delirium of natural philosophy unenlightened 
 by Christian Revelation — form a complete and fourfold cycle. 
 Although each of these four elementary powers is differently 
 derived from a lifeless abstract consciousness, assuming the 
 most varied shapes according to time and circumstance, the 
 substratum of error is in the case of all essentially the same. 
 Further to pursue the principal phases of error issuing 
 from the philosophy of Kant, and to explain the present 
 development of German philosophy more minutely, would 
 carry me beyond the limits of my present plan. Living poets, 
 whose whole career is amply illustrated by a series of finished 
 
NOVALIS. 379 
 
 productions, will be more fittingly described in an historic 
 delineation of the most recent times. This is not the case 
 with philosophers whose mode of thought is shiftingly deve- 
 loped, and whose system is yet in the process of formation. 
 I will here simply remark in general terms that the profound 
 inquiries which have been instituted in Germany since Kant's 
 time, and the familiarized acquaintance with ancient philoso- 
 phers — in regard to which as also to auxiliary and cognate 
 branches of learning we enjoy advantages superior to those 
 of other nations — have contributed to open up many paths 
 for a return to Truth from every kind of error. The more so 
 in the case of speculative errors, that their exhibition is mani- 
 fest and complete. The entire system of actual error, in its 
 several departments of false and scattered consciousness, 
 being now fully exhausted by the great talents of those I 
 have named, resulting in internecine destruction, the arena 
 has been cleared, and men have begun to return once more 
 to the gushing springs of living thought, to know God and 
 Divine things in spirit and in truth. A return, such as this, 
 from the errors introduced by Kant, has in several instances 
 been realized. To adduce one of many examples, I need 
 only cite the case of my deceased friend Hardenberg or 
 Novalis. Not that he was the first to enter the sure path 
 leading unto Truth and a knowledge of God, or to prepare 
 the same for others, but the thoughts and fragments of poesy 
 he bequeathed to posterity are so full of good seed, scattered 
 in all directions with lavish profusion, as to warrant the hope 
 that it may bring forth fruit, and conduce to the attainment 
 of genuine love and true knowledge. Stollberg has unfolded 
 the glories of his faith with a dignified simplicity and lucid 
 beauty that resulted in peace to his own heart and imparted 
 fresh vigour to his spirit. Many other honourable instances 
 might be mentioned of distinguished talents adding the tes- 
 timony of their conviction of the Truth, though all may not 
 have possessed the philosophic fulness of Hardenberg, or the 
 clear religious impressions of Stollberg, conveyed in his own 
 gifted manner. Advances to the Truth are already met with 
 on every side, and hopes may reasonably be entertained that 
 the return will soon be general, and that German philosophy 
 will yet come to be regarded as the champion and interpreter 
 of Truth rather than its foe. It is vain to attempt to rally 
 the followers of Kant under a novel disguise ; the season of 
 
3S0 GOETHE. 
 
 empty formulas lias passed away. Fichte and Jacobi at no 
 time mustered a numerous band of adherents : the nature of 
 their system prevented the formation of a sect : a re-establish* 
 ment of the principles of either, under whatever shape, were 
 a task equally hopeless. They have disappeared like meteors, 
 or at most have served profound inquirers as intermediate 
 steps in the ladder of investigation. Natural philosophers, 
 too, now begin each to shape his own course, so that they can 
 hardly be classified: absolute formulas vanish in the presence 
 of positive fulness of principle, whilst this latter comes forth 
 more clearly every day from Nature's secrets and the pro- 
 fundity of Revelation. A recognition of Revelation, and a 
 knowledge of Christianity, are become increasing exigencies, 
 so that in many cases it needs only a few steps further wholly 
 to reject the turbid impurities of previous systems. On every 
 occasion discrimination should be made between the person 
 and the opinion, the confused multitude and select minds of 
 a higher order, the obscurity of the external system and the 
 lucid clearness of superior minds. But above all, care should 
 be taken not to mistrust or disbelieve philosophy generally, 
 because of some important misconceptions that still exist in 
 German systems of belief. False philosophy can only be 
 removed and supplanted by the genuine, which must, there- 
 fore, labour for the restoration of Truth, that great want of 
 the age. 
 
 All who have devoted themselves to bear witness to the 
 Truth, whether in the religious Faith, or in Christian Philo- 
 sophy, or in both, are only single atoms of a higher Future. 
 But who can any longer deny that the great reunion must 
 be in the Faith itself, and then the other reunion, not less 
 important, of Science and of Faith, will take place and be 
 consummated where the discord began 1 
 
 To return to the poets. At this later period Goethe's 
 more mature works came into general popularity : others 
 date their publication from this time. The best of these are 
 now admitted to be the most finished specimens of poetic 
 art and harmonious diction in our language. He is pre- 
 eminently master of the genial powers and ease which are 
 characteristic of the second generation. In one point, how- 
 ever, his example might, possibly, prove misleading, namely 
 ■ — the application of his muse to the passing hour, even in 
 bis riper productions, with an exquisite art such as few 
 
GOETHE. 381 
 
 other poets have cared to bestow on very modern subjects. 
 Yet this facilitates our criticism, by enabling us to compare 
 his artistic execution of modern themes with the poetic 
 elements of his older performances. How inferior is 
 Eugenie to Egmont, when the two are contrasted as poetic 
 representations of civil commotions and state-revolutions 
 among the people and in the cabinets of princes ! Or if it 
 be allowed to contrast works differing in external structure 
 though of similar import, let a comparison be instituted be- 
 tween the Elective Affinities and Tasso, as regards a deli- 
 neation of the passions, unfolded amid circumstances of a high 
 social position. Again, let Tasso be considered as a delinea- 
 tion of the artist in his opposition to the external world — (as 
 Faust embodies the internal conflict of the ideal mind) — and 
 compared with Wilhehn Meister, how great the superiority 
 of the latter composition both in richness of thought and 
 artistic style ! Poetically speaking, I believe the produc- 
 tion just named, Faust, Ipliigenia, Egmont, Tasso * will serve 
 to perpetuate the memory of Goethe to the latest times : as 
 also his admirable lays, all equally excellent. We willingly 
 follow the aged magician, whether his verse sounds from the 
 east or from the west, drawn irresistibly into his enchanted 
 circle : whilst his prosaic thoughts only disclose the painful 
 spectacle of a great mind involved in a struggle whence he 
 cannot victoriously emerge. 
 
 A doubt has been entertained by some whether Goethe's 
 native genius was really adapted to dramatic poesy : and the 
 repose of his picturesque delineation did not rather fit him for 
 epic poems, as evinced even in such productions as Egmont, 
 especially destined for the stage. But his attempts in this 
 branch of composition, approximating closely to the epic, do 
 not favour this view. It almost appears as though he could 
 neither hit upon a fitting theme for epic composition, nor on 
 a form satisfactory to himself. His feelings at all times 
 prompted him to select the romantic rather than the heroic : 
 the former, in its most comprehensive sense, blending fancy 
 and wit with feeling and speculation, aroused by the passing 
 occurrences of life, and moulded by the rich endowments of 
 the intellect, seems to have constituted the legitimate sphere 
 of his activity in diversified gradation and admixture. 
 
 * Translations of all these works of Goethe are contained in Bohn'3 
 edition of his works. 
 
382 SCHILLEE. 
 
 His influence upon the age was twofold, and such also 
 appeals to us his nature. In reference to art, he has justly 
 been considered by many the Shakspeare of our times : I say 
 our times, leaning as they do to ideal fulness and manifold 
 culture more than to artistic perfection in any one poetic 
 direction : hence this perfection is not to be expected of our 
 bard in equal degree with that of the earlier dramatic 
 master. In reference to thought, however, as it refers to 
 life, and determines the actions of life, our poet might also 
 be styled the Voltaire of Germany. Thoroughly German 
 in all things, chiefly in this, that his poetic wantonness and 
 irony are more poetical, good-natured, honest, and earnest, 
 than in the case of Voltaire, when giving expression to his 
 indifference, and unbelief, and when jesting with his own 
 feelings. Vet all the varied culture, the spirited irony, the 
 teeming wit of Goethe, cannot conceal the fact that his in- 
 tellect, prodigal of thought, wanted some fixed and sure 
 centre. 
 
 The alienation of poetry from, the stage was continually 
 being manifested in Germany ever since the time of Klop- 
 stock : Goethe himself producing many dramas without the 
 slightest reference to their scenic adaptation, and without 
 any view to the destination they subsequently attained. 
 
 So in the case of Schiller's Don Carlos: after he had 
 resisted all the seductive iufluences of universal applause, 
 with which his early ruder productions were greeted, he found 
 it difficult to produce equal success by the more digni- 
 fied exercise of his art. But though a certain discrepancy still 
 obtains between his poetry and the requirements of our 
 stage, he must nevertheless be regarded as its true founder. 
 He gave it its proper sphere and its most happy form. The 
 poetic form of our loftier drama has been not a little in- 
 
 £ fluenced by the masterly translation of Shakspeare and 
 Calderon, executed in finished poetic diction and manifold 
 elegance of verse, by A. W. Schlegel : indeed the nobler 
 
 / efforts of poetry generally have gained a new standard of 
 artistic criticism in this model of genuine style. Schiller 
 was altogether a dramatic poet : even his passionate rhetoric, 
 an important adjunct to his muse, is an essential and cha- 
 racteristic element. His historical, as well as his philo- 
 sophical, works and attempts are to be considered merely 
 
SCHILLEE. 383 
 
 subsidiary to his dramatic studies. Tet his philosophical 
 efforts are remarkable in so far as they chiefly represent his 
 inmost thoughts and exhibit his want of mental harmony. 
 Doubting, sceptical, unsatisfied views, gleam out from be- 
 neath those efforts to satisfy the cravings of an inquiring 
 mind. He remained always at the threshold of doubt, 
 hence, even in his noblest, most animated productions, we 
 are chilled by the breath of an internal coldness. 
 
 There are some who fancy his philosophic pursuits were 
 injurious to himself and to his art. But, before he entered 
 upon these, his intellect was already entangled in scepticism ; 
 and it must be conceded that the internal satisfaction of a 
 mind like his was of far more importance than all external 
 art-culture. But even for artistic purposes, Schiller's great 
 historical and philosophic preparations are rather commend- 
 able than otherwise in reference to some of his dramas. 
 Our stage will reap no laurels from the extensive or the 
 rapid labours of voluminous scenic poets. Dramatic excel- 
 lence, as in Greece, England, and Spain, is only attainable' 
 by means of profound thought and historical selection. If, 
 in certain works, composed towards the middle period of his 
 career, Schiller is not exempt from the heterodox applica- 
 tion of philosophic ideas respecting the nature of ancient 
 tragedy, or from historical bias, the defects are not attri- 
 butable to speculative tendencies so much as to a compara- 
 tively superficial acquaintance with these branches, a 
 shortcoming of valuable results, despite his earnestness 
 and intended depth of research. In a much greater degree 
 than Schiller, "Werner introduced all the mysteries of feeling 
 and faith, all the paradoxes of terrible destiny, and an 
 equally terrible psychological conflict into his dramatic 
 world-pictures : blending animation with grandeur and pro- 
 fundity in themes felicitously selected, such as Attila or the 
 Mother of tlw Maccabees. These works are excluded from 
 the stage, to which they are peculiarly applicable, only by 
 the over-flowing copiousness of then' contents. This poet's 
 earlier efforts reveal his inner struggle to press forward 
 amid the throng of life to a higher intellectual calling. 
 
 In a similarly earnest manner to that of Schiller, and in 
 noble artistic emulation of his still greater contemporary, 
 the leading tragic bard of Germany, our Austrian Heinrich 
 
384 COLLIN AND KORNER. 
 
 Collin, sought to perfect himself more and more in tragedy. 
 Eor this species of composition he was eminently fitted by 
 his fiery enthusiastic patriotism, pervading all his dramas so 
 thoroughly as to render them truly national and patriotic, 
 even when the subject is antique or at least foreign. The 
 more recent tragic poets, who have written for the stage 
 with successful, and, for a time, with splendid results, have 
 nearly all relapsed into the heathen doctrine of necessity, 
 and have vied with each other in delineations of horrible 
 catastrophes. Intimately connected with these are those 
 inflated caricatures of false grandeur introduced by Schiller's 
 earlier efforts, and associated, even in his maturer produc- 
 tions, with finished representations of real dignity of cha- 
 racter. From so mistaken a path, however great the talents 
 employed, little permanent advantage can be anticipated. 
 The poems of Theodor Kbrner, his lyrics even more than 
 his imperfect dramas, breathe a youthful freshness of life 
 affecting our sensibilities the more that it was early 
 quenched by death. 
 
 But I feel I am approaching the limits of my under- 
 taking. The variety of subjects now crowding around me in 
 the living present is too vast, the picture of my own times 
 is too full of a multiplicity of imagery, to admit of being 
 treated historically, and briefly epitomized as the past. Let 
 others, in an account of the characteristics of the times, re- 
 cord my own exertions in the field of philosophy during 
 thirty years, or my joint labours with my brother, 
 A. W. Schlegel, in the domains of poetry, art, criticism, 
 general literature, and philology. In the course of these 
 lectures it has been impossible for me to expatiate on many 
 individual writers and works, in themselves sufficiently 
 important but disturbing my plan as a whole, of which the 
 main features were to take a survey of collective literature. 
 If it were proposed to examine each distinct province into 
 which the vast extent of German literature may be divided, 
 according to the nature of its several contents, or even the 
 foremost ones — to state what has hitherto been achieved in 
 philosophy and religion, in history, poesy, criticism, or 
 scenic composition, and what has been left undone, — each 
 province would demand separate and detailed treatment. 
 
 So much of the present as is connected with the past may 
 
PROSPECTS OE GEUMAN" LITERATURE. 385 
 
 be historically comprehended. Not so that which is still in 
 progress of formation, in external or internal conflict as yet 
 undecided : the future would in that case be anticipated by 
 hasty judgment, as happiness and indistinct phenomena 
 would often be so characterized as to mislead public opinion 
 and baffle the development of talents and mental faculties. 
 
 I clearly perceive the dawn of a new generation of intel- 
 lect, and doubtless the nineteenth century will shed a lustre 
 over our literature brighter than that of the preceding age. 
 But the spirit and direction of this youthful progeny is not 
 yet sufficiently developed to warrant our pronouncing upon 
 its character. Much will be required at its hands, for it has 
 inherited much. In regard to the collective whole of Ger- 
 man literature, I do not for a moment doubt of its yet 
 realizing the sanguine expectations it has hitherto promised 
 without being able fully to answer them. I also perceive 
 many disturbing causes. In art and poetry the false spirit 
 of the antique, the mechanical imitation of ancient art and 
 expression, are disappearing. On the other hand, there is 
 an exaggerated imitation of predecessors, without any genu- 
 ine views of the right course, and without individual power: 
 there is an idle pretence, a frivolous jesting with the pro- 
 founder secrets of reason and imagination, which previous 
 masters handled in a very different tone, consciously or 
 unconsciously making them subservient to struggling intel- 
 lect in the process of development. In philosophy, too, the 
 great majority have appropriated only the vapid system of 
 world-construction and the dynamic play of varied ever- 
 shifting theories of nature suggested by Sehelling. Few 
 ■will be disposed to take a very deep interest in the new 
 undecided development and changed direction of the mind 
 inwardly. They will continue to be satisfied with the exter- 
 nal rind and form : so long as the old structure of a previous 
 system remains entire they will not have the slightest notion 
 of the possibility of its being animated by a new spirit. 
 
 Others remarking the great division in German philosophy 
 and literature thought that their appearance as mediators 
 between contending systems would both remedy the evil and 
 establish a position for themselves. Merely to reject and 
 ignore conflicting extremes by mediation of this sort cannot , 
 produce a positive or new state of things : it can scarcely 
 ; ensure lasting terms of peace. 
 
 x 
 
386 trospects of German literature. 
 
 But perhaps the period is no longer remote when the ques- 
 tion of development will not be that of individual writers so 
 much as of the entire nation ; when writers will no longer 
 have to create a public, but the nation will cultivate its own 
 authors according to its peculiar mental exigencies and 
 aspirations. In this direction, likewise, the first footsteps of 
 progress are sufficiently apparent. As German literature 
 has visibly improved since the middle of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, if not in the number of artistically perfect productions, 
 at all times rare, yet in comprehensive extension, prolific 
 ideas, and internal energy : so also, considerable advance has 
 been effected in the influences of literature and their general 
 appreciation. Out of the little band of scattered dilettanti 
 and patrons of national art and language with which the liter- 
 ature of that era began, a public has been gradually formed. 
 At first they were mere spectators of sectarian contests : but 
 their ranks continued to extend, the interest they took 
 became even livelier ; so that now, even in reference to 
 literature, it is hardly a paradox to talk of German nation- 
 ality, its genius and character, its aspirations and its wants. 
 
 The spirit of sectarianism, however deeply rooted in Ger- 
 many, has evidently decreased of late. Of those sects that 
 have exercised the greatest amount of influence in this coun- 
 try during the second half of the last century, and have, 
 accordingly, gained for themselves a name in history, the 
 Illuminati seemingly recede into the background on the 
 accession of a profounder philosophy: the followers of Kant 
 soon grew as tired of their lifeless formulas as the world had 
 long been : whilst natural philosophers attained to that great 
 and happy variety which all but emancipated them from the 
 restrictive fetters of sectarianism. I would not be under- 
 stood to say that the old leaven of false enlightenment is 
 altogether cast out. The formulas of Kant, likewise, have 
 occasionally endeavoured to gain a surreptitious hold in a 
 novel disguise, but they never struck deep root. In part 
 this remark is applicable to the inferior class of natural phi- 
 losophers whose want of union, and whose disunion and 
 aberrations, significantly prove that the right course has not 
 yet been generally entered. They likewise teach us that in 
 the domains of the inner world and of thought, the circling 
 planets of human systems and science still hesitate to rende 
 
 5 
 
CHARACTERISTICS OF GERMAN LITERATURE. 387 
 
 the necessary implicit obedience, and to take their prescribed 
 course around the sun of truth. 
 
 Upon the whole, sectarianism has latterly grown milder : 
 at least, it has thrown off its narrow scholastic trammels into 
 the real world ; it has prepared itself to enter on the national 
 struggle of German intellect. Not to make this acknow- 
 ledgment were unfair. 
 
 But down to the most recent time the distinguishing 
 characteristic of our literature, as of our nation, is that of a 
 state of conflict : how often soever individuals and parties, 
 the principle contested and the arena of contention, may 
 shift and change^ 
 
 It will scarcely be necessary to recall the conflicting cir- 
 cumstances under which our modern literature appeared 
 since its first epoch : the offspring, as it were, of contest. 
 The conflict first lay between the Swiss, who exclusively 
 admired the English and ancient schools of poetry and criti- 
 cism, and the Saxons, whose culture was moulded entirely 
 after French tastes : then between the serious and playful 
 poets, the followers of Klopstock or of Wieland : on another 
 field, in nearer affinity to philosophy, was fought the battle 
 of the so-called Orthodox party and the sect of Illuminati, 
 a battle which enlisted the sympathies of the German public 
 in behalf of one or other of the parties. The contest assumed 
 a more important character during the Kantian period of 
 philosophy, when the respective advocates of Ideal and of 
 Empiric doctrine, in its extended signification, divided the 
 empire of intellect. Both parties were, in a certain sense, 
 victorious : Empiric doctrine having maintained her rights 
 not only in public influence on the multitude, nor in history 
 and art alone, but also in natural philosophy and science. 
 "Whilst, if the Ideal system be, in a general sense, held to be 
 that which is directed to the Ideal, and proceeding from 
 ideas, soars far above all sensuous experience, this ideal view 
 of things, in all branches of art and science, has become so 
 prevalent that scarcely any one can now venture to gainsay 
 its influence : however much these several views may differ 
 among themselves and each other according to the proposed 
 Ideal. One of the chief causes contributing to the termina- 
 tion of this memorable contest was the circumstance that the 
 Idealists, or those who contended for the superiority of ideas 
 
S88 PROSPECTS OF GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 over empiricism, became disunited : its more eminent advo- 
 cates feeling that they had no longer to combat generalities, 
 but a real power, a spirit acting incessantly for evil, a genius 
 of wickedness. The incomparably greater struggle that 
 might have been expected to issue in the political and intel- 
 lectual world generally, has not yet appeared in full array. 
 In the narrower confines of exoteric science, the contest 
 between Idealism and Empiricism took a new turn since the 
 ever-widening discoveries of psychology have induced com- 
 plete recognition of spiritualism, by means of astounding 
 facts that distance mere ideal conjecture. Thus the con- 
 flict between ideas and reality has ceased to possess an 
 interest for scientific men, and will in future have to find a 
 fresh theme or assume a new form. In the exoteric domains 
 of general literature, the old contest between existing con- 
 ditions and novel demands, the given and the required, 
 eventually shrank into humble proportions, degenerating into 
 a mere sham-fight. Of this sort is the imaginary opposition 
 between a Golden Age and a so-called New School. As I 
 have previously observed, German literature has no proper 
 Golden Age : neither can I as yet observe anything that 
 deserves to be called a New School. The term actually 
 represents the exaggerations of a few imitators enthralled by 
 ideas not their own, whose aberrations are unjustly fastened 
 upon the originators of these same ideas in order to ridicule 
 them the more readily. But of a school, in the acceptation 
 of the word as urged in reference to the Greek philosophers 
 or the Italian painters, and designating the permanent 
 establishment of definite principles of art or science, and 
 their recognition by successive generations, few traces can 
 be found within the sphere of German intellect : moreover, 
 the number of those disciples who could ever hope to be- 
 come masters is very limited. It must be borne in mind, 
 too, that almost every eminent scholar now shapes his 
 own course, and individualism becomes more and more pre- 
 valent. 
 
 Equally futile was the dispute that occurred some time 
 since between North-German and South-German literature 
 and genius, arousing the most hateful passions of all the old 
 provincial dislikes and fancies. But the interests involved i 
 the mental struggle of Germany were more momentous tha 
 
 te 
 ■e 
 
FICHTE. 
 
 a mere temporary dispute among the respective leaders of 
 two fashionable cliques. 
 
 If we consider this memorable contest in its entire influ- 
 ence on the eighteenth century generally, not in Germany, 
 alone, but throughout England, Trance, and the rest of 
 Europe, and try to ascertain the significant connection of 
 this phenomenon with universal history, we shall find the 
 solution somewhat as follows : — The question at issue was 
 not confined to the locality of its immediate appearance : it 
 was raised by a great internal agitation of the human intel- 
 lect generally. 
 
 The unbridled licentiousness of reason and thought, and the 
 revival of the Imagination which had been so long oppressed 
 by pseudo-science and stagnant life-formulas, constitute at- 
 once the moving causes find the portentous results of these 
 manifold commotions. In France, despotic and disorganizing 
 Reason, repudiating faith and love, displayed her destructive 
 effects outwardly, and rendered national life a terrible 
 example to present and future ages. Whilst in Germany, 
 in keeping with the national character, absolute Season, 
 externally moderate in the application of her noblest ener- 
 gies, turned the channel of her activity inwards ; instead of 
 exciting revolutions she created and destroyed only meta- 
 physical systems. Traces of the second phenomenon of the 
 age, namely, the reawakening of dormant Imagination which, 
 having been all but extinct and forgotten in a super-rational 
 w/)rld, was as it were rediscovered— are found scattered over 
 other countries also in the revival of olden legend and roman- 
 tic poetry, apparently without external inducements. But 
 in equal degree, and corresponding extent, fancy was nowhere 
 else aroused in so manifold and varied a compass of develop- 
 ment ; such a phenomenon has never occurred in any other 
 nation. 
 
 Of all German philosophers, Eichte furnishes the clearest 
 evidence of the delusive and destructive workings of absolute 
 Reason, free from all restraint in the exercise of her internal 
 agency, in a powerful masculine intellect. Not only on 
 account of his masterly invention in all faculties of thought, 
 so peculiarly and eminently his own, but also since he 
 proposed to derive from himself alone all the materials of 
 thought, despising nature and undervaluing his predecessors. 
 
390 TIECK. 
 
 But of the poets who mainly assisted in the regeneration of 
 German Imagination, not one is equally meritorious with 
 Tieck : he possesses the master-key that unlocks her deepest 
 recesses, and is initiated in all her wonders and mysteries. 
 
 The century has reached this its utmost limit as regards 
 reason and fancy : it has proceeded no further on the whole. 
 Let us not forget that to halt is to relapse, and that, having 
 inherited so great a profundity of reason, which we have 
 explored, and so bright a splendour of reawakened Imagina- 
 tion, we must add firmness of will and purpose, which con- 
 tains the beginning and end of all good, and is alone able to 
 save us from degeneracy : next, by clear perception, and cor- 
 rect views, for whose complete establishment and harmoni- 
 ous culture profound reason and a rich imagination are but 
 separate elements, which of themselves can never lead to 
 desirable results. Knowledge is, in all things, based on a 
 survey of the whole, and on the discernment of what is 
 right. 
 
 It has been my object in the course of these lectures, to 
 point to this connexion of parts to the whole of literature at 
 every opportunity, and to convey a true idea of the collective 
 products of the intellect. As in my former efforts, so in the 
 present, I have desired to assist in arriving at a complete 
 and discriminating knowledge of good and evil, in literature 
 too, without the aid of oratorical arts. 
 
 A fresh contest has sprung up with a new epoch; the 
 great moral changes that have taken place of late years set 
 the intellectual character of the age in a new light, and 
 materially serve to define its form. The intrusion of the 
 political differences of other countries on our literature, may 
 not at first sight seem to be any direct accession. For some 
 years past we have been deluged by a flood of liberal ephe- 
 meral productions, pamphlets, and tracts of every descrip- 
 tion, covering every spot like an army of locusts, and leaving 
 scarcely any room for sterling works of a serious nature. If 
 under these circumstances, only a Goerres has been able to 
 command attention and make his voice heard above the hum 
 of buzzing insects all around, his name must stand, in the 
 stead of many more, as that of a worthy champion of Ger- 
 man character and merit. The evil was a temporary one : it 
 
CHARACTERISTICS OF GERMAN LITERATURE. 39l 
 
 were a much more serious injury if the defenders of the 
 good cause, of lawful justice and Christian truth had, during 
 the continuance of the contest, been led away by exaggera- 
 ted passion, and adapted to the ultra-tone of foreign writers. 
 This tone is, once for all, not suited to the German genius, 
 and only calculated to damage good impressions by bitter 
 hostility of sentiment or expression. Every difference of 
 opinion in Germany, be it philosophical or political, sooner 
 or later reopens the old wounds of our religious feud that 
 has now existed for three centuries. But who is there that 
 does not feel the propriety of delicate treatment as regards 
 the inner religious feeling of individuals as a matter of con- 
 science and something sacred, which must be treated with 
 the greatest forbearance ? This moderation, so far from 
 necessarily arguing lukewarmness, is rather referable to 
 conscientiousness, and may be combined with the greatest 
 decision: this will be evident to all, and influence those 
 most who have attained to a clear and certain belief of the 
 Truth. Let us leave then, all ultraism in religion and poli- 
 tics to foreign nations : even the hatred of Christianity, so 
 revolting a characteristic of the lowest section of the liberal 
 party — here and there even in Germany — cannot be overcome 
 by hatred in return, the only effects of which would be to 
 cast a stigma on the purity of Christian truth and righteous- 
 ness. In reference to political periodicals, which we could 
 not well refrain from mentioning, it should be borne in mind 
 that this peculiar direction of intellectual and literary acti- 
 vity, though new to the spirit and, in the long run, scarcely 
 congenial to the taste of Germany, was not without advan- 
 tageous results to our more recent national history: suggest- 
 ing many historical compositions of distinguished excellence, 
 and laying the foundation of German patriotic union worthy 
 of the cause and of the country. The conviction is now 
 tolerably common to well-disposed members of all parties, 
 and has assumed something like definite certainty in the 
 eyes of the majority, that the sheet-anchor in the turbulent 
 sea of conflicting opinions and interests, is to be found in 
 positive principles : whereby alone a chaotic state of things 
 can be restored to harmonious organic order. It were idle 
 to look for this sheet-anchor, for the purposes of daily life, 
 politics, or science^, in a mere earthly positive, of whatever 
 
392 PRESENT STATE OF GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 sort, unless blended with a Divine positive, the upholding 
 connecting vitality to the entire system. And where else are 
 we to inquire after this Divine Principle but in the quarter 
 long vouchsafed to us : in religion, divine revelation, and in 
 Christian philosophy, as the correct copy of these in a scien- 
 tific form for universal practical application ? All that con- 
 sciously or unconsciously tends to this aim, co-operating 
 therewith in design and spirit from whatever source, is good, 
 commendable, and salutary. Eminent Protestants have 
 recently acknowledged and vindicated the divine origin of 
 the Bible and the Divinity of Christ in a peculiar and some- 
 what novel way ; this is only an additional testimony to the 
 truth and an earnest of its triumph. Of course, the whole 
 question of a Divine positive, and the conviction that it, 
 namely Christianity, exclusively affords the materials of 
 intellectual and moral peace, brings us back to the old rup- 
 ture in Grerman faith. But as the evil originated here, so 
 here it must be remedied. The fondly desired yet vainly 
 sought reconciliation of our creed cannot, indeed, be attained 
 by the ordinary means of human mediation : this is to be 
 effected neither by mutual well-meant concessions nor by 
 diplomatic treaty: it is altogether beyond the reach of 
 human toil, and must emanate from God who, in due time, 
 will fill with the power of his Holy Spirit his chosen instru- 
 ments. As far as human means are concerned, we can only 
 contribute to the accomplishment of the divine design, by 
 throwing off that lukewarmness and half-heartedness which 
 so frequently prevents us from taking the decisive step in a 
 recognition of the truth. Many are the features, too signi- 
 ficant to escape observation, announcing the near approach 
 of that great period of reconciliation, which we dare no 
 longer conceal. This, too, is the proper place for its mention,* 
 inasmuch as we have been engaged in pursuing intellectual 
 life through the several stages of its development in all time. 
 .For, in reality, what more is wanting to the German mind 
 than to rescue from chaotic dispersion and to concentrate all 
 its active fermenting energies, and thus to found a truly 
 German school, the comprehensive essence of all intellectual 
 culture. And where could the necessary element, harmony,, 
 be more surely found than in that sublime religious peace ? 
 I have been desirous, throughout, not to take exclusively 
 
CONCLUSION. 393 
 
 critical, philological, or artistic views of literature and philo- 
 sophy. It has, rather, been my design to trace the whole 
 of intellectual life through its development and progress 
 among the foremost nations of antiquity, and of modern 
 Europe in successive ages. Thus to produce an historically 
 adequate impression of the vast empire of intellect, com- 
 prising the loftier culture of man, or all knowledge, repre- 
 sentation, investigation, and art, which language — written 
 or spoken — is instrumental in conveying. This empire of 
 intellect, in its position of counterpart to Church and State, 
 and in its manifold relations to both, is comprehended in the 
 term scholastic, often met with in these pages. 
 
 In order that the whole results, as affecting the present 
 epoch may be more clearly understood, let us, in conclusion, 
 cast another glance over the entire series of our representa- 
 tions. There are, especially, four bonds serving to unite the 
 family of mankind and direct their movements : correspond- 
 ing with the diversified nature of the motive power of each 
 subordinate sphere ; a four-fold manner or form obtains in 
 every human association. To begin with the lowest step, 
 there is first, the power of money and commerce, extending 
 through all states, and scattered over the whole of the civi- 
 lized, world : bringing its remotest parts into manifold con- 
 tact, and often exercising important effects on intellectual 
 culture. This species of connection, in its widest sense and 
 in reference to universal history, is styled the Guild. "With 
 this we are but little concerned on the present occasion. The 
 next and mightiest of all is the power of the sword or the 
 State ; but the Sword of Justice is not to wage war as its 
 final purpose, but to maintain peace at home and abroad : 
 which is unattainable unless genuine moral and intellectual 
 peace be based on religion, sound principle, and genuine 
 mental culture. The third of these four great powers is 
 that of Divine grace, with which every priestly office and 
 ecclesiastical communion generally are connected : it is by 
 these means that inner peace is secured, and external peace 
 receives its highest sanction. To what purpose would collec- 
 tive material life serve, whose just privileges the State gua- 
 rantees, and which is so richly adorned by the culture of the 
 arts, trade, and commerce, if it were not the basis of a 
 higher intellectual existence ? But this intellectual exist- 
 
394 conclusion. 
 
 ence, an inheritance common to humanity, is more imme- 
 diately fostered by the agency of religion and of the Church, 
 whose exalted function it is to reunite nations long severed 
 by interests of state-policy, and to link together all the 
 family of mankind in loving brotherhood. Intellectual life is, 
 likewise, perpetuated by scholastic learning, and propagated 
 from one age to another ; and this fourth bond of union 
 stands in manifold and intimate relations with the Church 
 and the State. There have been ages wherein all human 
 art and knowledge were one with divine ; but in others par- 
 ticularly during the last three centuries, scholastic learning 
 has appeared in marked separation from the Church, and 
 then the State undertakes to control its energies. But if 
 the State neglect or pervert this responsibility, like any 
 other free institution, learning becomes dependent on pub- 
 lic patronage and prevalent tastes, and is on that very 
 account liable to the influences of private advantage or 
 some species of pecuniary interest securing its outward ex- 
 istence. I have, previously had frequent occasion to men- 
 tion the varied effects of these threefold dependencies of 
 learning, more particularly the injurious results of the last 
 named, I need not now, therefore, dwell upon them. In 
 this invisible empire of thought and intellectual union, 
 bearing sway through all ages, and whose sceptre is trans- 
 mitted in . regular succession, the power of speech, man's 
 distinguished characteristic, appears in manifold phases 
 of poetry and knowledge. Inquiry into the history of 
 universal mental culture has almost everywhere shewn that 
 art, history, science, are but so many developments, illus- 
 trations, or figurative applications of the imperishable 
 Word of Divine revelation. If we contemplate the tree of 
 collective art, knowledge, and scientific tradition, with its 
 branches, through all ages and tongues, through all grada- 
 tions of mental culture and of religion, we find that we can 
 trace its ramifications, more especially to ten nations. Our 
 eye is first captivated by the verdant meads and flowery 
 fields of Greek legend and art, the conspicuous beginning of 
 all mental culture. But in exploring its hidden sources, we 
 are carried further back into oriental regions, where the 
 stupendous monuments of Hindostan, the gigantic ruins and 
 primeval crags of which stand forth as the relics of a former 
 
CONCLUSION. 395 
 
 world, meet our wondering gaze. On the firmest rock of this 
 primordial world, Moses laid the foundations of the temple 
 of Hebrew prophecy, the glory of which irradiated the olden 
 poetic and sacred tradition of Persia with a kindred refulgence, 
 as far as it can be discerned amid the impure admixtures of 
 Arab creed. Both elements of mental culture, as well the 
 Greek as the Oriental, after passing through the earnest Ro- 
 man world, flow into Christian ages, in which a new living stem 
 of noble intellect, grafted on the old northern stock, has shot 
 forth with great vigour and effect among the four most 
 cultivated nations of the "West — the Italians, the French, 
 the Spaniards, and the English — in poetry and criticism, in 
 arts of every kind, and in philosophy both true and false. 
 But Ahe. German mind forms the connecting bond of this 
 intellectual development of the four great Eomanic nations ; 
 inasmuch as it has been the common root of the whole j 
 phase of the new Christian Life, and the cause and main- j 
 stay of the great intellectual burst throughout Europe ; 
 indeed, it may be considered the key-stone of the arch. 
 Germany, though once the arena of dissent, now sheds the 
 light of religion over other countries. The spiritual culture 
 of those four nations rests on what we have already more 
 than once characterised as the four elementary powers of 
 common objective perception; accordingly, we see in the 
 Italians, imagination and a love of art; in the French, 
 reason and oratory; in the English, keen perception and 
 historic powers ; and in the Spaniards, intense nationality 
 and poetical feeling. But the German mind explores the 
 more profound hidden springs of the inner life, where those 
 elementary forces no longer appear disunited, but the entire' 
 power of living consciousness, both in thought and act, 
 proceeds from one common root. Even here, not very long 
 since, those heights and depths of reason and imagination, 
 with a consideration of which we closed our present in- 
 quiries, were in a state of severed isolation. But the great 
 turning point is already distinctly visible in the regions of 
 psychology, at which both of these elements will blend with- 
 out losing any of their vital force, and whence a permanent 
 and historical spiritualism will embrace all the spheres of 
 intellectual life. This new direction of the mind in a recog- 
 nition of the Invisible, will be more important in its results 
 
396 CONCLUSION. 
 
 than the discovery, three centuries ago, of a quarter of the 1 
 globe, of a true physical system, or of any other momentous; 
 subject. The intellectual problem of the age, to be worked 
 out according to the bent of the German mind, is a complete 
 recognition of the eternal Word, valid for all time and re- 
 flected throughout the entirety of temporal science and 
 art : this idea being in close affinity with the reunion and 
 reconciliation of faith as well as of knowledge before men- 
 tioned. This reunion of knowledge, which we cannot as yet 
 designate by any other term than that of Christian philo- 
 sophy, is not to be contrived after the fashion of a system or 
 a sect, but must grow as a living tree from the root of reve- 
 lation acknowledged as Divine. Universal history and my- 
 thology, the empire of language and of physics, poetry and 
 art, are but scattered rays of this one luminary of the highest 
 knowledge. When this Luminary bursts forth in the glory 
 of meridian splendour, the glimmering torch of Pantheism 
 will recede into the shade, before the awful presence of re- 
 gained Truth and a Divine positive. Then, too, reflecting 
 inquirers of every kind will more correctly estimate the real 
 progress of the times, thoroughly distinct from that which 
 the world calls the spirit of the age. Distinguished facul- 
 ties will no longer continue in a state of dreamy exist- 
 ence, where they have slumbered for years, or start up 
 from chimerical reveries as though they had been uncon- 
 scious of the lapse of one or two generations. The domains 
 of high art, likewise, may be expected to be invigorated by a 
 new breath of life : the false phantasmagoria of distorted 
 tragedy giving place to the exalted poetry of truth, which, 
 instead of describing, with limited play of imagination, the 
 legend of any single age or race, shall hymn the story of 
 eternal love, and the mysteries of the soul veiled in the alle- 
 gories of a world of spirits. Upon the whole, that Lumi- 
 nary's rays are not to be confined to individual regions of 
 mental culture ; endowments and talents the most varied 
 will have to contribute to the regeneration and growth, to 
 the complete development of the tree of life. Just as the 
 glory of the Creator is promoted throughout the vast realms 
 of creation by the several graduated agencies of nature ; re- 
 spectively ministering and co-operating, disporting in child- 
 ish glee, seeking and loving, or illumining ; so in the little 
 
CONCLUSION. 397 
 
 orld of man, created after the image of the whole, the same 
 )ur-fold degree of inferior and superior natures is clearly 
 isible in its spiritual centre, the department of intellectual 
 fe and action. Hence we have never omitted in our in- 
 uiries to pourtray, in a spirit of historic truth, insignifi- 
 ant matters, side by side with more important ones, whenever 
 ley tended to promote the development and completeness of 
 tie whole. This conception of the several gradations of intel- 
 )ctual nature may, at the same time, suggest a standard 
 'hereby each individual topic, lowly or exalted, good or evil, 
 iscussed in the course of these investigations, may be cor- 
 ectly estimated in reference to its intrinsic worth. 
 
399» 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abelard, characteristics* of, 
 168. 
 
 Abraham, 97. 
 
 Achilles, the grave of, 19; 
 contrasted with Ulysses, 
 19, 20 ; his resemblance to 
 Tancred and Eichard, 184. 
 
 Adam, 93. 
 
 Addison, his tragedies, 314. 
 
 Adelung, 354. 
 
 JEneid, character of the, 72. 
 
 -3£schylus, distinguished as a 
 warrior, 23 ; character of 
 his genius, 25, 34; con- 
 trasted with Sophocles and 
 Aristophanes, 34 ; his pro- 
 found feeling, 269. 
 
 .^Esculapius, votive offering 
 by Socrates to, 46. 
 
 Afrasiabj contest of Feridun 
 with, 183. 
 
 Agamemnon, dynasty of, 18. 
 
 Ages, the golden, silver, and 
 brazen, 36. 
 
 Akbar, the Emperor, 121. 
 
 Albertus Magnus, 234. 
 
 Alemanni, memorials of the, 
 169, 170. 
 
 Alexander, his reign and con- 
 quests, 17, 52, 75 ; endea- 
 vours to extirpate the Magi, 
 92 ; his invasion of India, 
 113, 124 i mentioned in In- 
 
 dian records, 121 ; his ex- 
 ploits a theme for poetry, 
 184. 
 
 Alexandria, the seat of litera- 
 ture, 23, 52. 
 
 Alexandrines, irregular, use of/ 
 62. 
 
 Alfieri, productions of, 368. 
 
 Alfred, an early patron of 
 literature, 139, 167; de- 
 scended from Odin, 149. 
 
 Allegory, one of the principal 
 forms of Biblical represen- 
 tation, 101, 103 ; Christian, 
 270. 
 
 Alphabet, the Greek, derived 
 from the Phoenicians, 12 ; 
 the Indian, 122 ; the Eunic, 
 151. 
 
 Amadis, the, 246. 
 
 Amali, the, 147, 148. 
 
 America, its discovery, 214; 
 its conquest, 215. 
 
 Aminta, a Pastoral, by Tasso, 
 253. 
 
 Amshaspands, the seven invi- 
 sible powers in the Persian 
 mythology, 91. 
 
 Anaxagoras, doctrines of, 41. 
 
 Ancients, philosophv of the, 
 41. 
 
 Andronicus, his translation of 
 the Odyssey, 57. 
 
400 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Anglo-Saxon language and 
 literature, 168. 
 
 Anselmus, his erudition, 168. 
 
 A nthemius, a distinguished 
 architect, 146. 
 
 Antiquity, the study of, 245. 
 
 Antonines, the, 79. 
 
 Antoninus Pius, 80, 137. 
 
 Aphorism, one form of Bibli- 
 
 . cal representation, 101 ; its 
 use in Sanscrit Literature, 
 119. 
 
 Apollonius, the Argonauts of, 
 52. 
 
 Arabian poetry, 181. 
 
 Arabs, 3 ; their old songs, 19 ; 
 poetry and tales of the, 180, 
 181 ; pillaged Alexandria, 
 162 ; introduced the study 
 of the mathematics, astrolo- 
 gy, and alchemy into Eu- 
 rope, 230 ; their factions in 
 Spain, 247. 
 
 Archimedes, skill of, 56. 
 
 Architecture, Indian, ancient 
 monuments of, 107 ; old 
 German mediaeval, 146 j 
 style of, 190. 
 
 Argonauts, expedition of the, 
 36, 52. 
 
 Ariosto, his obligations to 
 Boiardo, 205, 214 ; estima- 
 tion held in bv Charles the 
 Fifth, 248. 
 
 Aristippus, doctrines of, 69. 
 
 Aristophanes, character of his 
 writings, 31 ; a great poet, 
 32 ; his histories, ib. ; his 
 exuberance of witand poetic 
 boldness, 33 ; apology for 
 his poetic licence, 34 ; his 
 capacity as a patriot, ib. ; 
 
 grave charge against him, 
 35. 
 
 Aristotle, the representative of 
 Philosophy as a science, 48, 
 82 ; refined elegance of his 
 writings, 49; his immense 
 mental influence, ib. 59 ; his 
 scientific severity, 79 ; spirit 
 of his system, 84; the 
 great master of empiric 
 philosophy, 85 ; multitude 
 of his followers, 86 ; com- 
 pared with Piato, 87, 238 ; 
 only one manuscript of his 
 work preserved, 163 ; in- 
 fluence of his philosophy in 
 the Middle Ages, 231 ; 
 Spain and Germany accept 
 his tenets, 239; his con- 
 ception of the nature of 
 Tragedy, 284. 
 
 Arrian, compared with Xeno- 
 phon, 80. 
 
 Art and Poetry, asylum for, 
 245. 
 
 Arthur and the Round Table, 
 178, 188. 
 
 Asciburgum, tradition re- 
 specting, 150. 
 
 A sen, the, 154. 
 
 Asia, Central, the cradle of 
 human civilization, 89. 
 
 Asia Minor, conquests of Cy- 
 rus in, 18. 
 
 Astrology, belief in, 234. 
 
 Atellan plays, 64. 
 
 Athalie, by Racine, 284, 285, 
 295. 
 
 Atharvan Ved, the fourth 
 Veda, 127. 
 
 Atheism, fallacy of the theory 
 of, 307. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 401 
 
 Athenian freedom, 60. 
 Athens, the centre of Grecian 
 
 culture, 17 ; its freedom, 
 
 60. 
 Atticus, lost tragedies of, 64. 
 Attila, the warrior-king of 
 
 Hungary, 147, 187, 224. 
 Augustus, the happy sway of, 
 
 64, 71, 74, 78. 
 Aurelius, the Emperor, 80. 
 Authors, squabbles of, 5. 
 Ayeen-Akbery, the, 121. 
 
 Babel, its historical impor- 
 tance, 97. 
 
 Babenberg, the House of, 187. 
 
 Bacon, Lord, the father of 
 modern physics, 286 ; his 
 views respecting Nature, 
 288, 289, 300, 334. 
 
 Bacchus, festivals dedicated 
 to, 33. 
 
 Bagavadam, one of the eigh- 
 teen Puranas, 120, 
 
 Balder, death of, 155. 
 
 Ballads, ancient Spanish ones, 
 194, 196 ; old English and 
 North European, 220. 
 
 Barbarians, endowed with a 
 vigorous comprehension, 8. 
 
 Barbarossa, 167, 186 : en- 
 feoffed Count Berengar, 
 193. 
 
 Basedow, views of, 370. 
 
 Basil, 136. 
 
 Bayle, scepticism of, 335. 
 
 Bela, King of Hungary, 223. 
 
 Bencerrajas, The, an Arabian 
 tribe in Spain, 247. 
 
 Berkeley, Bishop, his religious 
 belief, 321, 
 
 Bhagavatgita, an Indian 
 Poem, translated by Wil- 
 kins, 122, 127. 
 
 Bible, spirit of the, 100 ; its 
 structure, 140 ; its transla- 
 tion into Latin, 142, 144 ; 
 Gothic translation of it by 
 Ulphilas,147; its simplicity, 
 199 ; its literary influence, 
 ib. ; its typical and symbo- 
 lic element, 200 ; German 
 version of it, 339; its divine 
 origin, 392. 
 
 Bird, the widowed one, 119. 
 
 Boccacio, fictions of, 193 ; his 
 attempts to combine the 
 heathen mythology with 
 Christianity, 197 ; his fond- 
 ness for allegory, 204. 
 
 Bodmer, a German poet, 350. 
 
 Boehmen, Jacob, the Teuto- 
 nic philosopher, Charles 1. 
 of England, one of his fol- 
 lowers, 241; characteristics 
 of his philosophy, ib. 242, 
 343 ; his vigorous style, 
 344. 
 
 Bohemia, its literature under 
 Charles IV, 222. 
 
 Boiardo, obligations of Ari- 
 osto to, 205. 
 
 Boileau, his defects as a critic, 
 283, 284. 
 
 Bonald, his Christian philoso- 
 phy, 326 ; errors of, 328. 
 
 Bonnet, zeal of, 304. 
 
 Boscan, a Spanish poet, 248. 
 
 Bossuet, eloquence of, 294 ; 
 his superiority as a writer 
 and orator, 296, 313 ; gran- 
 deur of his stvle, ib. 
 
402 
 
 IKDEX. 
 
 Brachmans and Samaneans, 
 two Indian sects, 113 — 124. 
 
 Brahma, 38, 90, 114. 
 
 Brandenburg, the Ducal 
 House of, 346. 
 
 Bruno, Archbishop of Co- 
 logne, 164. 
 
 Bruno, Giordano, 240. 
 
 Brutus, 61, 65. 
 
 Bucolics, or Pastoral poetry, 
 54. 
 
 Buddha, the religion of, 123. 
 
 Buftbn, 303 ; compared with 
 Rousseau, 312. 
 
 Burger, the German poet, 360. 
 
 Burgundy, 186. 
 
 Burke, Edmund, his political 
 sagacity and experience, 
 329 ; on the French Revo- 
 lution, 392. 
 
 Byron, character of his poetry, 
 315. 
 
 Byzantine Empire, 165. 
 
 Cossar, works of, 60 ; his lucid 
 brevity, 70 ; his promotion 
 of literature, 77 ; his atten- 
 tion to the Latin tongue, 
 347. 
 
 Cain, and his curse-marked 
 race, 96. 
 
 Calderon, the great Spanish 
 poet, 264, 265 ; the most 
 Christian of dramatic poets, 
 267 ; his characteristics, 
 268, 270 ; compared with 
 Shakspere, 271, 276. 
 
 Calidas, the flowery verse of, 
 US. 
 
 Callimachus, a poetic myco- 
 logist, 52. 
 
 Calvin, genius of, 291. 
 
 Camillus, his liberation of 
 Borne from the Gauls, 
 62. 
 
 Camoens, 207; his Lusiad, 
 251; compared to Tasso and 
 Ariosto, 254. 
 
 Capila, the Sankhya doctrine 
 attributed to, 125. 
 
 Carey (W.) his translation of 
 the Ramayan, 109. 
 
 Carthaginians, their litera- 
 ture, 57. 
 
 Castille, the Province of, 246 ; 
 the poetry of, 247. 
 
 Castillejo, 172. 
 
 Catholic Countries, the poetry 
 of, 246. 
 
 Cato, the elder, a foe to Greek 
 Arts, 56 ; his study of his- 
 tory, 77. 
 
 Cervantes, his surpassing 
 genius, 257 ; his prose 
 works, ib. 258 ; his imita- 
 tors, 311. 
 
 Chapelain, his Maid of Or- 
 leans, 281. 
 
 Charlemagne, songs collected 
 by his orders, 148 ; his pro- 
 motion of the Greek lan- 
 guage, 164 ; alluded to, 139, 
 147, 177, 222, 230, 235. 
 
 Charles IV. King of Bohemia, 
 222 
 
 Charles of Viane, 246. 
 
 Chateaubriand, romances of, 
 311 ; his work on Chris- 
 tianity, 324. 
 
 Chaucer, his talents and at- 
 tainments, 193, 273. 
 
 Chinese, their polity and 
 manners, 90; extolled by 
 Voltaire, 305. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 403 
 
 Cliosru, 183. 
 Chriemhild, 187. 
 Christianity, its contests 
 with heathenism, 81, 134 ; 
 its relation to social life, 
 128 ; compared with Hin- 
 dooism, 129 — 131 ; its dis- 
 semination in India, 133 ; 
 its progress, 134 ; its in- 
 fluence on European Na- 
 tions, 139, 143 ; changes 
 produced by its introduc- 
 tion, 145 ; viewed in rela- 
 tion to the fine arts, 146 ; 
 compared with the religion 
 of the Persians, 183 ; mys- 
 teries of, 201 ; its influence 
 on poetry, ib. 267 : its re- 
 lation to mediaeval philo- 
 sophy and mysticism, 233 ; 
 its first teachers men of the 
 people, 240 ; blended with 
 poetry, 267 ; mythological 
 interpretation of it by the 
 French infidels, 307. 
 Chronicles, Monkish, 167. 
 Chrysostom, 136. 
 Cicero, the works of, 60, 63 ; 
 dignity of his orations, 68 ; 
 « his pursuits and studies, 
 69 ; unequal in form and 
 diction, 70; public scienti- 
 fic teaching promoted by, 
 77, 163. 
 Cid,poem of the, 194; abounds 
 in comic passages, 195 ; 
 the only great Spanish Epic, 
 251, 255, 284, 354, 363. 
 Claudius, works of, 370. 
 Colebrooke, his translations 
 from the Sanskrit, 120, 121. 
 Columbus, 214. 
 
 Collin, Heinrich, the Austrian 
 
 poet, 384. 
 Comedy, its original function, 
 
 33. 
 Commines, Memoirs of, 279. 
 Compass, discovery of the, 
 
 209, 214. 
 Confucius, 90. 
 
 Conscience, the voice of, 130. 
 Consonants, pure, 105. 
 Constantine, the Emperor, 
 
 reign of, 134. 
 Conventual System, the, 166. 
 Coriolanus, the history of, 
 
 61, 65. 
 Corneille, his poem of the Cid, 
 
 194,255,282,283,284,295, 
 
 354, 363 ; alluded to, 251. 
 Corvin, Matthias, a warlike 
 
 Hungarian King, 224. 
 Coxe, the historian, 318. 
 Creasy, Professor, his Fifteen 
 
 Decisive Battles of the 
 
 World, 224. 
 Critias, 45. 
 Crcesus, 18. 
 Cromwell, Oliver, 229. 
 Crusades, the, 175 ; their in- 
 fluence on Literature, 180, 
 
 209. 
 Curiatii, the, 61. 
 Cyrus, 18, 47. 
 
 Daemon, of Socrates, 45. 
 
 Danish Literature, 221. 
 
 Dante, 189 ; the masterpiece 
 of, 197 ; a great poet, 198 ; 
 characteristics of his poetry, 
 202 ; attached to the Ghi- 
 belline party, 203 ; com- 
 pard with Petrarch and 
 Boccacio, 204: a national 
 
404 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 writer, 249; graphic force 
 of, 266 ; a truly Christian 
 poet, 268, 343. 
 
 Darius, 18. 
 
 David, 94. 
 
 Dead, Egyptian treatment of 
 the, 109 ; custom of burn- 
 ing the, 110; and of em- 
 balming, ib. 
 
 Deity, allegorical representa- 
 tions of the, 38. 
 
 Democritus, 42. 
 
 Demosthenes, influence of, 17. 
 
 Denis, a learned Jesuit, 356. 
 
 Denmark, progress of litera- 
 ture in, 221. 
 
 Descartes, system of, 291 ; his 
 discrimination between spi- 
 rit and matter, 292 ; his 
 proof of the existence of 
 God, 293 ; his followers, 
 294 ; alluded to, 334—338. 
 
 Dessatix, or prophetic books 
 of the ancient Persians, 107. 
 
 Diderot, his fanatical hatred 
 of Christianity, 307, 311, 
 363. 
 
 Diocletian, 134. 
 
 Don Carlos, by Schiller, 382. 
 
 Don Quixote, one of the best 
 productions of the epic 
 muse, 257, 258. 
 
 Dorians, 23, 24. 
 
 Drama, true business of the, 
 265 ; its legitimate objects, 
 270 ; the French, 310 ; the 
 Italian, 316. 
 
 Dramatic Art, 50; remarks 
 on its nature and design, 
 265. 
 
 Dschemschid, 92, 182. 
 
 Durer. Albrecht, 228. 
 Dutch, their progress in lite- 
 rature, 344. 
 
 Eclectic Schools, 49. 
 Eclogues of Virgil, 72. 
 Edda, the, or Icelandic poems, 
 
 107, 154, 220, 349. 
 Eginhard, 167. 
 Egyptians, a sacerdotal people, 
 
 13 ; their monuments, 90 ; 
 
 their architecture, 108 ; 
 
 their practice of embalming, 
 
 110. 
 Eleusinian mysteries, 25. 
 Empedocles, 48. 
 English language, cultivation 
 
 of the, 3, 171 ; poetry, 
 
 273-278. 
 Ennius, tendency of his 
 
 poems, 63, 64 ; school of 
 
 Roman poetry introduced 
 
 by, 77, 
 Enoch, 93. 
 Epics, legendary, of different 
 
 nations, 73 ; Indian, 108. 
 Epicurus, 49, 66 ; on the pur- 
 suit of pleasure, 69 ; philo- 
 sophy of, 238. 
 Ercilla, his epic of the Arau- 
 
 cana, 250. 
 Eschenbach, "Wolfram von, 
 
 compared with Dante, 189. 
 Esther, book of, 98. 
 Ethiopians, 110. 
 Etruscans, their sacerdotal 
 
 institutions, 13. 
 Euclid, the great geometrician, 
 
 56. 
 Eumenides, the, 266. 
 Euripides, an orator and a 
 
INDEX. 
 
 405 
 
 £oet, 28, 34, 49, 50 ; com- 
 positions of, 50. 
 
 Europe, modern, survey of its 
 languages, 171. 
 
 Eve, beguiled by the serpent, 
 96. 
 
 Evil, its origin on earth, 96. 
 
 Fairy Queen, by Spenser, 
 
 273. 
 Faith of English philosophers, 
 
 322. 
 Fanaticism, a tendency to, 80. 
 Faust, 266. 
 Fenelon, beautiful style of, 
 
 294. 
 Ferdinand, surnamed the Ca- 
 tholic, 246, 247, 248. 
 Feridun, 182. 
 Fichte, 369, 374, 380 ; his 
 
 system of ideal reason, 378, 
 
 389. 
 Fielding, an imitator of Cer- 
 vantes, 311. 
 Firdusi, 118 ; his Persian 
 
 Epics, 180. 
 Flemming, a Silesian poet, 
 
 345. 
 Florence, its democratic 
 
 spirit, 206. 
 Fo, worship of, 123. 
 Fox, compared with Hume, 
 
 318. 
 Franciad, the, 281. 
 France, decline of poetry in, 
 
 192 ; the lighter literature 
 
 of, 308. 
 Frederick I. of Germany, 
 
 writers in the time of, 354. 
 Frederick the Great, 224; 
 
 neglect of German litera- 
 
 ture during his reign, 347 ; 
 exculpation of, ib. 
 
 French, their historical me- 
 moirs, 194, 279 ; character, 
 212, 310 ; literature, 278 ; 
 classic period of poetry,280; 
 tragedy, remarks on, 282 ; 
 supposed to be copied from 
 the Greeks, 283 ; its form, 
 ib. ; philosophy, 306 ; its 
 return to the Platonic chris- 
 tian philosophy, 326. 
 
 Froude's history of England, 
 229. 
 
 Gama, the circumnavigator, 
 251. 
 
 Garcilaso, a Spanish poet, 
 248; his merits, 250. 
 
 Garve, style of, 366. 
 
 Gautama-Buddha, the re- 
 former of the old Bramah , 
 worship, 124 ; the Nyaya- 
 doctrine attributed to, 126. 
 
 Gay-Savoir, a kind of poetry, 
 171-172. 
 
 Gelon, the tyrant of Svracuse, 
 91. 
 
 Genesis, the wonderful book 
 of, 96. 
 
 Genius, in the uneducated, 
 240. 
 
 Georgics of Virgil, 72. 
 
 German bardic songs, 148. 
 
 German language, its innate 
 riches, 2 ; its perfection 
 and finish in the Nibe- 
 lungen-lied, 157 ; its re- 
 construction, 169 ; fusion of 
 dialects in the, 170 ; its re- 
 vival under Frederick I., 
 
406 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 186 ; its degeneracy, 208 ; 
 contrasted with the French, 
 . 212 ; difficult of acquisi- 
 , tion, 218; its copiousness 
 and adaptation to philoso- 
 phy, 219 ; rich in popular 
 lays and poems, 342 ; fun- 
 damental law of its pro- 
 nunciation, 352. 
 
 German literature, modern, 
 356, 357—359; the first 
 founders of, 360 ; its sub- 
 sequent progress, ib. 
 
 German love-songs, 173-174. 
 
 German versification, 352 ; 
 , its real essence, 353. 
 
 Germany, the Civil Wars of, 
 66 ; remains of paganism in, 
 153; appreciation of Shak- 
 spere in, 276, 863. 
 
 Gervinus, his Introduction to 
 the History of the Nine- 
 teenth Century, 211. 
 
 Gessner, the German poet, 
 his popularity, 350. 
 
 Ghibellines, their intolerant 
 severity, 203. 
 
 Gibbon, his style, 318. 
 
 Gita Govinda, a Sanscrit Ec- 
 logue, 120. 
 
 Giudici, Signor, his history 
 of Italian literature, 206. 
 
 Gleim, a German poet, 846. 
 
 Gnomic Bards, 101. 
 
 God, knowledge of, 94; a 
 firm belief in, advocated, 
 213 ; proof of his existence, 
 293 ; faithful obedience to 
 his will inculcated, 341. 
 
 Godfrey of Bouillon, 180. 
 
 Gods, notions of the, 37. 
 
 Goethe, genius of, 360, 361 ; 
 popularity of his works, 
 380 ; influence of his writ" 
 ings, 382. 
 
 Goetz Von Berlichingen, with 
 the iron hand, 362. 
 
 Golden Age, so called, of Ger- 
 man literature, 354. 
 
 Goldoni, his portraiture of 
 life, 316. 
 
 Goldsmith, his Vicar of Wake- 
 field, 312. 
 
 Gongora, 264. 
 
 Gothic Architecture, 146, 
 189, 190, 191. 
 
 Gothic poetry, 147. 
 
 Goths, their extinction, 148 ; 
 accusation against the, 164 ; 
 their career in Italy, 165. 
 
 Gottsched, poems of, 354. 
 
 Gozzi, his extravaganzas, 316. 
 
 Greece, literature of, 11, 17, 
 21, 55, 60 ; the philoso- 
 phers of, 240. 
 
 Greek language, the common, 
 medium of the civilized 
 world, 56 ; its cultivation,, 
 164 ; Soman translations 
 from the, 77. 
 
 Greek Philosophy, the spirit 
 of, 81. 
 
 Greek poetry, development of 
 22 52 
 
 Greek Tumuli, 19. . 
 
 Greek writers, distinguished 
 from the Eomans, 59. 
 
 Greeks, wars of the, 15 ; de- 
 generacy in their manners, 
 32 ; their genius for philo- 
 sophy, 41 ; their inventive 
 spirit, 56 ; their commerce 
 
INDEX. 
 
 407 
 
 with India, 111, 113 ; their 
 Erotic poets, 162. 
 
 Grotius, Hugo, persecution 
 
 , of, 229 ; his beneficial doc- 
 trine, 289 ; salutary influ- 
 ence of his writings, 291. 
 
 Guarini, the Italian poet, 255, 
 256. 
 
 Guilt, consciousness of, 130. 
 
 Gunpowder, its use dis- 
 covered, 214 ; considered a 
 perilous and hurtful con- 
 trivance, ib. 
 
 Gymnosophists, or Indian Re- 
 cluses, 128. 
 
 Hadrian, mental cultivation 
 in the time of, 78 ; period 
 of literature from, to Jus- 
 tinian, 135. 
 
 Hagedorn, a German poet, 
 346. 
 
 Haller, a German poet, 346, 
 
 Hamann, J. G. his religious 
 bias, 356 ; particulars re- 
 specting, ib., 366, 367. 
 
 Hamlet, 275. 
 
 Harald Harfagr, 154. 
 
 Hardenberg, or JSFovalis, 
 writings of, 3/9. 
 
 Harris, 316. 
 
 Harun al Raschid, 166. 
 
 Hebrew language, its charac- 
 ter, 104, 105. 
 
 Hebrew Scriptures, 98, 100. 
 
 Hebrews, their faith and 
 manners, 88 ; their pre- 
 eminence, 93 ; their sacred 
 writings, ib. their vicissi- 
 tudes, 94 ; poetry of the, 
 102, 
 
 Helvetius, the doctrines of, 
 306, 310. 
 
 Hemsterhuys, his Socratic 
 Dialogues, 326. 
 
 Henry of Ofterdingen, 187. 
 
 Henry VIII. of England, his 
 policy vindicated, 229. 
 
 Heraclitus, 41. 
 
 Hercules, 36, 39, 195. 
 
 Herder, romances translated 
 by, 195, 364 ; writings of, 
 361; distinctive features of 
 his genius, 364. 
 
 Hermann, the deeds of, 147, 
 148. 
 
 Hermanni, by Klopstock, 
 349. 
 
 Hero-book, 188. 
 
 Herodian, 80. 
 
 Herodotus, 23 ; called the 
 father of history, 26 ; his 
 great work, ib. surveys the 
 Egyptian monuments, 90. 
 
 Hertha, secret worship of, 
 152. 
 
 Hesiod, republican spirit of 
 his works, 22, 36, 38. 
 
 Hesiod, the poems of, 36 ; the 
 Theogony attributed to, 
 37. 
 
 Hieroglyphics, 103. 
 
 High- German, origin of, 169. 
 
 Hindoos, their sacred books, 
 114 ; their descriptive poe- 
 try, 115 ; benefits derived 
 by from the British Govern- 
 ment. 116; immolation of 
 their widows, ib. ; origin 
 of their versification, 119 ; 
 translations of their sacred 
 books by Jones, Wilkins and 
 
408 IKDEX. 
 
 Colebrooke, 120 ; their phi- Idylls, of the ancients, 54. 
 losophy, 122-128 ; points of Iliad and Odyssey compared 
 resemblance between their with Ossian, 21. 
 conceptions and those of Illuminati, a religious sect, 
 the Christians, 131, 132. 386. 
 
 Hindoostan, religion and phi- Imagination, an enlightened 
 losophy of, 128. one, 243. 
 
 History, its deterioration, 75. Immortality, personal ideas of, 
 
 Hitopadesa, the Indian fable- 42. 
 
 book, 120. Incarnation, Indian doctrine 
 
 Hobbes, 298, 332. of the, 129. 
 
 Hoffmanswaldau, spurious India, its mythology, 38, 107 ; 
 taste introduced by, 345. architecture, ib. ; com- 
 
 Holbein, 228. merce of the Greeks and 
 
 Home, 316. Eomans with, 112 ; degra- 
 
 Homer, extensive influence of dation of the people of, ib. ; 
 his genius, 9; characteris- Alexander'sinvasionof,113; 
 tics of his poems, 17, 19, 36; British sway in, 316; re- 
 compared with Indian, Per- semblance between its moral 
 sian and Old German poe- philosophy and that of 
 try, 21 ; also with Hesiod Christianity, 130 ; connec- 
 and the other Greek epic tions of, with Persia, 132; 
 poets, 22 ; his Mythology, dissemination of Christi- 
 37, 38 ; his representation anity in, 133. 
 of the Gods, 39 ; high Indian alphabet, 122. 
 merits of, 260; the mas- Indian Monuments and Epics, 
 terpiece of nature, 362. 107. 
 
 Horace, heroic grandeur of Indian versification, 119. 
 his poems, 71 ; appeals to Indians, their idea of a Deity, 
 our sympathies, 74, 143. 38. 
 
 Horatii, 61, 65. Inspiration, the soul of song, 
 
 Hoshenk, 92. 51. 
 
 Hume's History of England, Ionic, rhapsodists, 22. 
 
 302; remarks on, 317, 318; Ionic school of philosophy, 41. 
 his philosophy, 321. Iphigenia, 64. 
 
 Hungarians, their poetry and Iran, 182. 
 
 traditions, 223, 224. Isabella and Ferdinand, reign 
 
 Hurd, 316. of, 247. 
 
 Huss, persecution of, 229. Isaiah, 94. 
 
 Isocrates, example of, 47. 
 
 Icelandic poetry, 220. Italy, its literature, 197 5 
 
INDEX. 
 
 409* 
 
 poetry of, 56, 206, 248; 
 pictorial achievements of, 
 206 ; its philosophy, 229. 
 
 Jacobi, writings of, 324, 361, 
 
 378, 380. 
 Jansenists, sect of the, 297. 
 Janus, 38. 
 Jerome, 145. 
 JerusalemDelivered, by Tasso, 
 
 253. 
 Job, the sufferings of, 93 ; the 
 
 Book of, 99. 
 John of Salisbury, 168. 
 Joinville, Sieur de, 194. 
 Jones, Sir William, 114, 120, 
 
 122,329. 
 Jornandes, the Latin histo- 
 rian, 148. 
 Joseph the II., Emperor of 
 
 Germany, 371. 
 Julian, the Emperor, 81, 134 ; 
 
 his attempts to subvert 
 
 Christianity, 135. 
 Jung-Stilling, 370. 
 Jupiter and Juno, 39. 
 Justinian, 134-136. 
 Juvenal's Satires, 74. 
 
 Kaiomer, 92. 
 
 Kalidas, 118. 
 
 Kant, the German philoso- 
 pher, 324, 347, 356, 357, 
 360, 366, 367, 368; in- 
 fluence of his philosophy, 
 376, 386 ; on the province 
 of reason, 377 ; his scepti- 
 cal views, 378 ; errors of, 
 ib. ; formulas of, 386. 
 
 Kisfalud, a Hungarian poet, 
 224. 
 
 Kleist, a German poet, 346. 
 
 Klopstock, 199, 202, 261; 
 new era of literature foun- 
 ded by, 339, 343, 347 ; his 
 Messiah the commence- 
 ment of a new Literature in 
 Germany, 348, 351, 355, 
 387 ; his dramatic poem of 
 Hermanni, 349 ; his versi- 
 fication, 351 ; the leading 
 author of his time, 354 ; 
 genius of, 356; errors of, 
 357, 358, 360, 361 ; high 
 standard of, 362, 371 ; al- 
 luded to, 372, 382, 387. 
 
 Knights of St. John, 190. 
 
 Knowledge, supernatural, 
 sources of, 84. 
 
 K'orner, Theodore, his lyrics, 
 384. 
 
 Kranach, Lucas, 228. 
 
 Krishna, 12. 
 
 Kronegk,a German poet, 346. 
 
 Kronos, 38. 
 
 Labruyere, characters of, 309, 
 
 Lafontaine, his grace of style, 
 308. 
 
 Lamartine, his poetical com- 
 positions, 313. 
 
 Lamennais, his views of 
 Christianity, 324. 
 
 Language, a great and glo- 
 rious gift, 6 ; grammatical 
 forms of, 106. 
 
 Language, English, its culti- 
 vation, 3. 
 
 Language, German, beauties 
 of the, 2. 
 
 Language, Latin, the Bible 
 translated into the, 142; 
 its decline, 144; the lingua 
 rustica,14i5, 160; injurious 
 
410 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 use of it after it became a 
 dead language, 208. 
 
 Launcelot, 179. 
 
 Laura, a real personage, 204 ; 
 her portrait, by Memmi, ib. 
 
 Lavater, writings of, 361 ; bis 
 views on physiognomy, 366. 
 
 Learning, the threefold de- 
 pendencies on, 394. 
 
 Leibnitz, Philosophy of, 332- 
 335; his Theodicee, 336; 
 his System der Theologie, 
 337 ; bis notions respecting 
 Space and Time, 338, 367. 
 
 Leila, 183. 
 
 Leo X. 207. 
 
 Leopold the Glorious, 187. 
 
 Lessing, 242, 283, 337, 347, 
 productions of, 355, 356, 
 357, 358, 360 ; spirit of his 
 criticism, 363 ; his investi- 
 , gation of truth, 365, 366 ; 
 philosophy of, 367 ; his 
 Education of Humanity, 
 and Freemason's Dialogues, 
 ib. ; a critical investigator, 
 368 ; his influence through- 
 out Protestant Germany, 
 369. 
 
 Leucippus, 42. 
 
 Libraries, consumed by fire, 
 162. 
 
 Life, the enigma of, 85. 
 
 Literature, the influence of, 
 1 ; its importance to the 
 well-being and dignity of 
 nations, 6 ; medieval, 139 ; 
 three periods of, 135 ; view- 
 ed as an organ of tradition, 
 160 ; of the northern and 
 eastern nations of Europe, 
 
 216; a national one advo- 
 cated, 225 ; influence of the 
 [Reformation on, 227. 
 
 Literature, French, rich in 
 historical memoirs, 278, 
 279 ; important feature 
 in, 325. 
 
 Literature, German, 218 ; the 
 so-called Golden Age of, 
 354 ; its prospects, 385 ; its 
 characteristics, 387, 391 ; 
 its present state, 392. 
 
 Literature, Grecian, 11, 12. 
 
 Literature, Italian, 197, 218. 
 
 Literature, Roman, peculiar 
 grandeur of 11,71; during 
 the Middle Ages, 160 ; in- 
 jurious results of its adop- 
 tion, 161 ; classical period 
 of, 78. 
 
 Literature, Scandinavian,219. 
 
 Literature, Spanish, excel- 
 lence of, 217. 
 
 Livy, 61, 74. 
 
 Locke, 86 ; compared with 
 Bacon and Berkeley, 320; 
 philosophyof, 299, 300,335. 
 
 Lohenstein, 345. 
 
 Longinus, 88. 
 
 Lope de Vega, 262 ; his dra- 
 matic works, 263. 
 
 Louis the XIV., 302 ; writers 
 in the time of, 303, 308, 
 344. 
 
 Louis the XVth, 80. 
 
 Love-songs, German, 173. 
 
 Lucan, characteristic of his 
 poems, 75, 144. 
 
 Lucian, his witty picture of 
 his times, 80. 
 
 Lucretia, 61. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 411 
 
 Lucretius, his work on the 
 nature of things, 66 ; a 
 glorious painter of Nature, 
 67, 68. 
 
 Luther, Martin, antagonistic 
 to Aristotle, 239 ; his re- 
 vision of the Bible, 339 ; 
 his revolutionary eloquence, 
 340 ; his mental superiority 
 to his associates, 341, 368. 
 
 Macbeth, 266. 
 
 Macchiavelli, his high merits 
 as an historian, 211 ; his 
 patriotism, ib. ; contrast 
 drawn by, between French 
 and German character, 212; 
 his startling peculiarity, 
 ib. ; alluded to, 249, 289, 
 301, 332. 
 
 Madrid, the drama at, 261. 
 
 Mahabharat, an Indian epic, 
 109. 
 
 Mahometans, their persecu- 
 tion of the Hindoos, 116. 
 
 Maid of Orleans, by Chape- 
 lain, 281. 
 
 Maistre, Count de, 324, 328. 
 
 Malabar, dissemination of 
 Christianity along the coast 
 of, 133. 
 
 Malebranche, a defender of 
 revelation, 294. 
 
 Man, his destiny and origin, 
 84; history of, 89, 319. 
 
 Marco Polo, called Messer 
 Millione, 176. 
 
 Marius, 256. 
 
 Marmontel, his memoirs and 
 , tales, 312. 
 
 Marot, 279, 342. 
 
 Mars, 150. 
 
 Marshman, Joshua, translator 
 
 of the Eamayan, 109. 
 Mathematics, progress of, in 
 
 the seventeenth century, 210 
 Maximilian, the Emperor, 
 
 185, 208, 229. 
 Mava, 96, 125. 
 Medieval literature, 139, 160. 
 Mediaeval philosophy, 233. 
 Mediaeval poetry, 177, 179. 
 Medici, the, 205. 
 Melancthon, the friend of 
 
 Aristotle, 239. 
 Melchisedec, 97. 
 Memmi, his portrait of Laura, 
 
 204. 
 Memoirs, French, 194. 
 Menander, his depiction of 
 
 Athenian life, 50, 52. 
 Menu, the legislative code of, 
 
 114, 122, 127. 
 Mercury, 150. 
 
 Messia,the Margravate of, 354. 
 Messiah, by Klopstock, 348. 
 
 351, 354. 
 Metastasio, performances of, 
 
 316. 
 Metempsychosis, the Indian 
 
 doctrine of, 111, 112. 
 Middle Ages, 158 ; their chi- 
 valrous poetry, 177-179 ; 
 
 Architecture of the, 190 ; 
 
 Allegory in the, 198 ; unjust 
 
 depreciation of them, 167, 
 
 244. 
 Milan Cathedral, 190. 
 Milton, 21; his Paradise Lost, 
 
 257; disadvantages under 
 
 which he laboured, 273 ; 
 
 compared with Shakspere 
 
412 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 and Spenser, ih. 275, 277, 
 278 ; and with Bcehmen, 
 343. 
 
 Mimansa, his system of In- 
 dian philosophy, 1 26. 
 
 Minnegesang, or love-poetry, 
 171, 172. 
 
 Minnelieder, 188, 193. 
 
 Minstrelsy, the old German, 
 185. 
 
 Mithridates, 150. 
 
 Moliere, his comic humour, 
 308, 309. 
 
 Montaigne, 279. 
 
 Montesquieu, his genius,303. 
 
 Moorish Architecture, 190. 
 
 Mosaic records, 88, 90. 
 
 Moses, 88, 89 ; brevity of his 
 informatiou, 93 ; his laws, 
 97 ; his temple of Hindoo 
 prophecy, 395. 
 
 Miiller, Johannes, writings 
 of, 361, 373. 
 
 Mystics, 233. 
 
 Mythology, originators of, 36 ; 
 its materialism, 37; defence 
 of, 40 ; the northern, 154. 
 
 Nastiks, or Nihilists, an 
 Indian sect, 126. 
 
 Naples, changes in the govern- 
 ment of, 206. 
 
 Nature, the manifestations of, 
 67. 
 
 Neo-Platonic Philosophy, 81, 
 134. 
 
 Nero, 75. 
 
 Nerva, 76. 
 
 Nestorius, 133. 
 
 New Testament, its literary 
 
 influence, 139; its form and 
 
 style, 141. 
 Newton, his great discoveries, 
 
 300. 
 Nibelungen-lied,the,148, 157, 
 
 177, 220; question as to 
 
 its authorship, 187 ; its high 
 
 merits as a poem, 188. 
 Nicholas of Cusa, the great 
 
 mathematician, 234. 
 Niebuhr, his Eoman History, 
 
 61. 
 Nikolai, 370. 
 Noah, 93. 
 Normans, their language and 
 
 sentiments, 175. 
 Northern Mvthology, 132, 
 
 182. 
 Novalis, 379. 
 Nyaya, a doctrine attributed 
 
 to Gautama, 126. 
 
 Oberon, poem of, 350. 
 
 Odin, 148, legends respect- 
 ing him, 149 ; more than 
 one, 150 ; worship of, ih. ; 
 his mythology, 153 ; his 
 "Walhalla, 154; commemo- 
 rated in the Icelandic Ed da, 
 ih. ; his visit to the nether 
 world, 155. 
 
 Odoacer, 148. 
 
 Odyssey, the, 21. 
 
 Old Testament, 95 ; its prin- 
 cipal elements, 96; its cha- 
 racter and spirit, 98, 100 ; 
 its peculiarities of language 
 and form, 101-104. 
 
 Opitz, a Silesian poet, 344, 
 compared with Flemming, 
 345. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 418 
 
 Oratory, a principal object of 
 education, 55. 
 
 Orestes, 266. 
 
 Origen, the early Christian 
 philosopher, 134. 
 
 Orpheus, a name of some im- 
 port to the historian, 36. 
 
 Ossian, 19 ; his poems, 155, 
 181 ; his plaintive melan- 
 choly, 314. 
 
 Ottfrid, a Christian bard, 126. 
 
 Otto von Preisingen, 167. 
 
 Oupnekat, 121. 
 
 Ovid, the writings of, 40, 53; 
 his Metamorphoses, ib. 
 
 Pacuvius, 64. 
 
 Painters, Italian, 207 ; Ger- 
 man, 228. 
 
 Pantomime, 64. 
 
 Paper, discovery of its use, 
 214, 215. 
 
 Parable, 101, 103. 
 
 Paradise Lost, by Milton, 257. 
 
 Paradise Eegained, 278. 
 
 Parallelism, 101, 102. 
 
 Parmenides, 48. 
 
 Parsees, 48 ; their sacred 
 writings, 106. 
 
 Pascal, a celebrated French 
 writer, 297 ; his Provincial 
 Letters, 298. 
 
 Pastor Fido, an Arcadian 
 drama, 255. 
 
 Paterculus, 75. 
 
 Pelasgians, 14. 
 
 Peloponnesian War, 15. 
 
 Pelops, 18. 
 
 Percy, English Ballads col- 
 lected by, 314. 
 
 Perpetual edict, or Eoman 
 code of laws, 78. 
 
 Persepolis, ruins of the city 
 of, 108. 
 
 Persian poetry, 182. 
 
 Persian religion, its poetic 
 element, 107. 
 
 Persians, their wars with the 
 Greeks, 15, 22, 23 ; com- 
 pared with the Hebrews, 
 91 ; their creed, ib. ; their 
 connection with India, 132. 
 
 Persius, 75. 
 
 Petrarch, love-sonnets of, 161; 
 perfection of his muse, 203 ; 
 alluded to, 172, 173, 197, 
 203, 204, 249. 
 
 Philadelphus, reign of, 88. 
 
 Philosophers, German, 235. 
 
 Philosophy, of the ancients, 
 41 ; its restoration by So- 
 crates, 49 ; cultivation of, 
 in conjunction with rhetoric, 
 79 ; the new Platonic, 81 ; 
 influence of the eastern, 
 134 ; progress of, 230 ; 
 mediaeval, 233 ; remarks 
 on, previous and subsequent 
 to the Eeformation, 236 ; 
 system of, in the seven- 
 teenth century, 286. 
 
 Philosophy, English, remarks 
 on, 322. 
 
 Philosophy, Prench, 324. 
 
 Philosophy, German, obser^ 
 vations on, 331. 
 
 Phcedra, by Eacine, 295. 
 
 Phoenicians, their connection 
 with the Baltic, 152. 
 
 Physicians, denounced as im- 
 postors, 56. 
 
414 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Physics, progress of, in the 
 seventeenth century, 210. 
 
 Pindar, reputation of, 23 ; 
 value of his works, ib. ; his 
 great characteristic, 24 ; 
 compared with iEschylus, 
 24, 25, 59. 
 
 Pisistratus and Pisistratida?, 
 18, 19. 
 
 Pius Antoninus, 80. 
 
 Plato, his Phoedo and Repub- 
 lic, 48 ; his philosophic 
 teaching, ib. ; compared 
 with Aristotle, 49, 86, 87 ; 
 his intellectual superiority, 
 60; tenets of, 69; regards 
 Philosophy as an art, 82 ; 
 refutes the Sophists, ib. ; 
 his contemplation of Divi- 
 nity, 83 ; efforts of his dis- 
 ciples, 84 ; leaning towards 
 his system, 236. 
 
 Plautus, 64. 
 
 Pleasure, on the pursuit of, 69. 
 
 Pliny, the elder, his forced 
 style, 75. 
 
 Pliny, the younger, his pane- 
 gyric on Trajan, 78. 
 
 Plotinus, 137. 
 
 Plutarch, on the style of, 79, 
 80. 
 
 Poet and the Artist, 4. 
 
 Poetry, primitive, destination 
 of, 51 ; elements of, ib. 
 
 Poetry of the Greeks, 52 ; its 
 tendency, 53 ; pastoral, 54; 
 the business of, 66 ; its re- 
 lation to nature, 67 ; of the 
 Hebrews, 102 ; German, 
 148, 156, 187, 189, 342, 
 344, 348, 350 ; influence of 
 
 the Oriental in Europe, 
 180 ; Persian, 183 ; chival- 
 rous, 185 ; French, 192, 
 281, 308 ; Spanish, 194, 
 243, 264; Early Italian, 
 197, 205 ; of Catholic 
 Countries, 246 ; the pro- 
 per materials for, 259 ; le- 
 gitimate themes of, 260; 
 English, 273, 314 ; of the 
 Silesian school, 345. 
 
 Polier, a distinguished Ori- 
 entalist, L21. 
 
 Polybius, his great work, 57. 
 
 Pompey, 74, 50. 
 
 Pope, his translation of Ho- 
 mer, 314 ; his poems, ib. 
 
 Porphyry, 137. 
 
 Porsena, 61. 
 
 Porus, 121. 
 
 Prabodh Chandrodaya, an 
 Indian philosophical come- 
 dy, 127. 
 
 Prakriti, 125. 
 
 Printing, discovery of the art 
 of, 215 ; of German origin, 
 219. 
 
 Prometheus, 64. 
 
 Propertius, the Eoman Ele- 
 giac poet, 53. 
 
 Prophets, the Hebrew, 98. 
 
 Prose, its high pitch of eleva- 
 tion among the Romans, 
 74. 
 
 Protestantism, influence of, 
 230. 
 
 Provencal language, 171. 
 
 Psalms, the book of, 99 ; 
 translated into Latin, 144. 
 
 Pulci, the first predecessor 
 of Ariosto, 205. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 415 
 
 Pultowa, battle of, 224. 
 
 Puranas, or mythologic le- 
 gends, 122. 
 
 Puruschottama, 125. 
 
 Pythagoras, propagates the 
 idea of a personal immorta- 
 lity, 42, 56, 109, 110, 112. 
 
 Pythagoreans, 32, 41, 81. 
 
 Quevedo, 264. 
 Quinctilian, 163. 
 
 Rabelais, 279. 
 
 Racine, the French poet, 279; 
 the character of, 284 ; his 
 Athalie,ib. 28 5 ; his Phaedra, 
 295 ; his Berenice, ib.\ at- 
 tached to the opinions of 
 the Jansenists, 297. 
 
 Rama, the popular Indian 
 Epic of, 10S, 119. 
 
 Raphael, paintings of, 207. 
 
 Reason, 84 ; the age of, 244. 
 
 Reformation, the, its influence 
 on literature, 227 ; its ef- 
 fects on the Fine Arts, 228 ; 
 and on philosophy, 243 — 
 245. 
 
 Regeneration, Indian notion 
 of, 130. 
 
 Reimarus, his attack on re- 
 vealed religion, 367. 
 
 Reineke Fuchs, story of, 192. 
 
 Retz, Cardinal, 301. 
 
 Reuchlin, the celebrated ori- 
 ental scholar, 234. 
 
 Revaj, a Hungarian scholar, 
 223. 
 
 Revelation, recognition of, 
 380. 
 
 Richardson, his descriptive 
 talent, 261; romances of, 
 311. 
 
 Richelieu, Academy estab- 
 lished by, 279. 
 
 Rienzi, 206, 249. 
 
 Ritson, his old English bal- 
 lads, 220. 
 
 Robertson, 302 ; his character 
 as a historian, 317. 
 
 Roger, 120. 
 
 Roland, Norman war-song in 
 honour of, 176. 
 
 Romance languages, the, 142. 
 
 Romance, modern, founded on 
 the School of Cervantes, 
 258. 
 
 Romance of the Rose, 193. 
 
 Romans,their intellectual cul- 
 tivation, 57 ; poetic genius 
 of the, 61 ; their epics and 
 fictions, ib. ; dramatic 
 poetry of the, 64 ; review 
 of their principal writers, 
 65-76 ; their laws of the 
 twelve Tables, 122. 
 
 Rome, Greek philosophers 
 expelled from, 56 ; litera- 
 ture of, 58, 142 ; origin of 
 her greatness, 62 ; its 
 heroic age, 63 ; effect of 
 gladiatorial exhibitions at, 
 65 ; purity of the language 
 at, 145 ; encouragement of 
 the arts in, 206. 
 
 Romeo, 275. 
 
 Romulus, 61. 
 
 Roncesvalles, battle of, 176*. 
 Ronsard, the French poet, 
 280, 281 ; his Franchiad,»&. 
 
416 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Roscoe, his character as an 
 historian, 318. 
 
 Roswifcha, Latin poem of, 160. 
 
 Rousseau, his noxious in- 
 fluence over his nation and 
 age, 304 ; followers of, 310; 
 his Confessions, 312 ; his 
 style, ib. 324. 
 
 Rudiger, the Margrave, 186. 
 
 Ruggiero, one of Ariosto's 
 heroes, 251. 
 
 Runic Alphabet, 151 ; in- 
 scriptions, 152. 
 
 Russia, her advances in civili- 
 zation, 222. 
 
 Ruth, book of, 98. 
 
 Sabines, wars of the Romans 
 
 with the, 63. 
 Sachs, Hans, of Niirnberg, 
 
 342. 
 #t. Anno, Bishop of Cologne, 
 
 157. 
 .St. Augustin, moral treatise 
 
 by, 138. 
 St. Graal, poems of, 179, 198. 
 St. Jerome, a Christian Latin 
 
 author, 145. 
 St. Louis, 194 ; his deeds and 
 
 fortunes, 281. 
 St. Martin, writings of, 326 ; 
 
 spirit of his philosophy, 327, 
 
 328. 
 St. Pierre, Bernardin de, 311. 
 St. Sophia, Church of, 145, 
 
 164, 190. 
 Sakuntala, an Indian drama, 
 
 115 ; translated by Sir "Wil- 
 liam Jones, 118. 
 Sallust, style of, 70. 
 
 .Samaneans, meaning of the 
 term, 114, 124. 
 
 Samnite War, the, 62. 
 
 Sandrocuttus, 121. 
 
 Sankhya-doctrine of philoso- 
 phy, 127. 
 
 Sanskrit language, compared 
 with the Greek, Latin, and 
 Hebrew, 105, 106, 117. 
 
 Santillana, 246. 
 
 Satire, Roman, 74. 
 
 Saturnine versification, 62. 
 
 Savages, admiration of, 305. 
 
 Saxon Emperors, progress of 
 civilization under the, 167. 
 
 Saxons, their mode of abjuring 
 Paganism, 149 ; of North 
 Germany, 169. 
 
 Scandinavians, exercise of 
 their influence onEuropean 
 poetry, 219 j their litera- 
 ture, 220. 
 
 Scepticism and moral belief, 
 320. 
 
 Schaman, 114. 
 
 Schanameh, 118. 
 
 Schelling, his theories of Na- 
 ture, 385. 
 
 Scherin, 183. 
 
 Scherriffschah, the most ce- 
 lebrated of Persian Poets, 
 118. 
 
 Schiller, his delineation of 
 "Wallenstein, 234 ; the 
 poems of, ib., 373, 374, 
 375 ; his Don Carlos, 382 ; 
 the dramas of, 383. 
 
 Schlegel, A. W., his transla- 
 tion of Shakspere and Cal- 
 deron, 382, 384. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 417 
 
 Schlegel, Elias, a German 
 poet, 346. 
 
 Schlegel, Frederick, his lec- 
 tures on modern history, 
 208, 227. 
 
 Schloka, 101, 119. 
 
 Sclavonic races, literature of 
 the, 222. 
 
 Scott, Sir "Walter, character 
 of his poetry, 315. 
 
 Scotus Erigena, 168. 
 
 Scriptures, interpretation of 
 the, 116. 
 
 Sebastian, the youthful sove- 
 reign of Portugal, 252. 
 
 Sectarianism, in Germany, 
 386. 
 
 Seneca, the philosopher, 64, 
 75; his antithetic style, 144. 
 
 Sepoys, mutinous spirit 
 among the, 104. 
 
 Septuagint, 88. 
 
 Sepulveda, a disciple of 
 Aristotle, 231. 
 
 Seven chiefs, their conquest 
 of Hungary, 223. 
 
 Sextus Empiricus, 80. 
 
 Shakspere, his historical plays, 
 66, 240; remark respect- 
 ing, 265 ; compared with 
 Calderon, 271 ; his faithful 
 pictures of humanity, 272, 
 274 ; grand elements in his 
 plays, 275 ; highly appreci- 
 ated in Germany, 276, 363 ; 
 aversion of the Puritans to- 
 wards, 277 ; his profound 
 reflectiveness, ib. venera- 
 tion for, 314. 
 
 Shem, Ham, and Japhet, 89, 
 
 Smollett, an imitator of Cer- 
 vantes, 311. 
 
 Socrates, 28 ; reviled by Aris- 
 tophanes, 35 ; his commen- 
 dable exertions, ib. ; incul- 
 cates the doctrine of a 
 deity, 44 ; charge brought 
 against him, ib. ; his pecu- 
 liar views, 45 ; his votive 
 offering to Aesculapius, 
 46 ; alluded to, 191, 240. 
 
 Solomon, 94 ; the writings of, 
 99,191.. 
 
 Solon, operation of his genius, 
 10 ; his promotion of pub- 
 lic education, 16 ; alluded 
 to, 17, 18, 35, 40. 
 
 Songs, old heroic ones, 62. 
 
 Sophists and philosophers of 
 Greece, 28, 35, 43, 44, 45. 
 
 Sophocles, exquisite beauty 
 of his compositions, 27, 28, 
 34, 50, 59 ; splendid tra- 
 gedy of, 267, 269. 
 
 Soul, doctrines concerning its 
 immortality, 42. 
 
 Souls, transmigration of, 109, 
 112, 115, 134. 
 
 Space and Time, notions re- 
 specting, 338. 
 
 Spanish Literature, its advan- 
 tages over that of other na- 
 tions, 194; its ballads, 196 ; 
 cultivation of its poetry 
 by nobles and knights, 246 ; 
 high national tone of its 
 poetry, 249 ; systematic 
 rules of the prose writers, 
 257 ; dramatic writings, 
 262 ; its gradual progress to 
 the summit of genuine art, 
 z 
 
418 
 
 ItfDEX. 
 
 264 ; not a model for other 
 
 nations, 271. 
 Sparta, intellectual superiori- 
 ty in, 60. 
 Spenser, hia JFairy Queen, 273. 
 Sphinx, the Theban, 155. 
 Spinoza, doctrines of, 333; 
 
 errors of, 334; system of, 
 
 368. 
 Spirit and Soul, doctrine of, 
 
 125. 
 Stael, Madame de, 325. 
 Stark, writings of, 370. 
 Sterne, productions of, 312. 
 Stoics, 49. 
 Stollberg, the German poet, 
 
 360, 361 ; his dignified 
 
 simplicity of style, 379. 
 Suicide, condemnation of, 46. 
 Sulzer, a philosopher of the 
 
 olden school, 366. 
 Symbolism, of the Bible, 200; 
 
 Christian, 267. 
 Syncretic Schools, 49. 
 
 Tacitus, genius of, 76, 150. 
 
 Tarentum, 56. 
 
 Tarquin, 61. 
 
 Tasso, 188, 207; Christian 
 theme of his great epic, 
 252 ; his Pastoral of 
 Aminta, 253 ; re-models 
 his Jerusalem Delivered, 
 ib. ; his conceits, 254 ; reply 
 of, 255. 
 
 Tauler, the philosopher, 235. 
 
 Terence, an imitator of Men- 
 ander, 50, 64. 
 
 Thales, the founder of Grecian 
 philosophy, 16, 41. 
 
 Theban brothers, the, 64. 
 
 Thebes, storming of, 36. 
 Theocritus, the Idylls of, 54. 
 Theodoric the Goth, 139, 
 
 145, 147. 
 Theophrastus, the character- 
 painter, 49. 
 Theuerdank, poem of, 192. 
 Thibault, King of Navarre, 
 
 192, 
 Thibet, mode of disposing of 
 
 the dead in, 110. 
 Thomson, his Seasons, 314. 
 Thousand and one Nights, 180 
 
 —182. 
 Thucydides, 29 ; character of 
 
 his history, 30, 31, 47. 
 Tieck, the German poet, 390. 
 Titus, the Emperor, 76. 
 Traditions, national, 9. 
 Tragedy, origin of, 50; themes 
 
 for, 65 ; prevailing form 
 
 of the ancient, 266. 
 Trajan, his high intellect, 76, 
 
 78 ; death of, ib. 
 Trees, held sacred, 153. 
 Trinity, Indian ideas of the, 
 
 129. 
 Tristram, a love-epic of the 
 
 Middle Ages, 178, 179. 
 Trithemius, Bishop, 234. 
 Trojan leaders of the Middle 
 
 Ages, 184. 
 Trojan War, the, 18. 
 Troubadour poetry, maturity 
 
 of, 246. 
 Truth, its existence denied, 
 
 43. 
 Twice-born, an epithet applied 
 
 to the Bramins, 130. 
 
 Ulphilas, the translator of 
 
INDEX. 
 
 419 
 
 the Scriptures into the 
 
 Gothic, 147. 
 Ulysses, 19, 20 ; visits Ger- 
 
 many, 150 ; alluded to, 
 
 195. 
 Uneducated, mental power of 
 
 the, 240. 
 Unity, immutable, without 
 
 motive power, 43. 
 Upanishat, a commentary on 
 
 the Vedas, 114. 
 Utz, a German poet, 346. 
 
 Yalmiki, the Indian poet, 109 ; 
 the reputed author of the 
 Ramayan, 119. 
 
 Varro, a collector of valuable 
 works, 77. 
 
 Vedanta doctrine, in India, 
 the, 126, 127. 
 
 Vedas, the, 96, 114. 
 
 Vega, Lope de, 262 ; his dra- 
 matic compositions, 263 ; 
 his vanity and ambition, 
 264. 
 
 Velleda, 147. 
 
 Venetians, their manners and 
 
 arts, 206. 
 'Vespasian, 76. 
 ! Vicar of Wakefield, 312. 
 
 Villena, 246. 
 
 I Virgil, his love of nature, 72 ; 
 his Eclogues and Georgics, 
 ib. ; his iEneid, 72 ; alluded 
 to, 118. 
 
 Virtue, definition of, 85. 
 
 Voltaire, 280; his prefaces, 
 283 ; Alzire, his master- 
 piece, 285, 286; compared 
 to Racine, 295 ; and Pas- 
 cal, 298 ; introduces the 
 
 philosophy of Locke and 
 Newton into France, 300 ; 
 his pernicious views of 
 history, 301 ; his errors 
 and prejudices, 302 ; his 
 partiality for the Chinese, 
 305 ; his philosophy alluded 
 to, 308—311; his Candide, 
 ib.; his prose style, 312, 
 347, 363. 
 
 Von Eschenbach, Wolfram, 
 his celebrity, 189. 
 
 Voss, the German ooet, 360, 
 361. 
 
 Walhalla, Odin's, 153, 155. 
 
 Wallenstein, Schiller's deli- 
 neation of, 234, 266. 
 
 Walpole, Horace, on Ossian's 
 poems, 181. 
 
 Walpurgis night, 153. 
 
 Warton, 316. 
 
 Water and fire, reverence for, 
 41. 
 
 Weisskunig, poem of, 192. 
 
 Werner, his dramatic works, 
 383. 
 
 Widows, Indian, immolation 
 of, 116. 
 
 Wieland, a German poet, 
 350; his poem of Oberon, 
 ib. ; his laudable endea- 
 vours, 353, 361 ; philoso- 
 phic romances of, 366, 387. 
 
 Wilkins, the Sanskrit scholar, 
 120, 122. 
 
 Winckelmann, 347, 356, 357 ; 
 his taste for the beautiful 
 in art, 358, 363; philoso- 
 phic tendency of his writ- 
 ings, 365. 
 
 'l 
 
420 INDEX. 
 
 Wolf, philosophy of, 339. Ximena, Donna, 195. 
 
 "Woman, dignity of, 32. York and Lancaster, feuds of, 
 Word of life, 142, 242. 193. 
 
 Writers, ancient, preservation Young, his Night Thoughts, 
 
 of their works, 163. 314. 
 
 Wynelieder, or love- songs, Ysdragill, the sacred Ash of 
 
 172. the Icelandic Edda, 154. 
 
 Xenophanes, 27, 41. Zegris, the, 247. 
 
 Xenophon, contrasted with Zendavesta, 92, 107. 
 
 Thucydides and Plato, 47. Zohak, 182. 
 
 Xerxes, 18; expedition of, Zoroaster, 92, 107 ; the fol- 
 
 23. lowers of, 110 ; 124. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 
 G NORMAN, PRINTER, MAIDEN LANE, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON. 
 
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