i« ,r,;;!;:;!;v: ZLiiun JOHN ERNST MATZKE LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY PUBLICATIONS UNIVERSITY SERIES MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME CONTAINING TWO UNPUBLISHED PAPERS BY JOHN E. MATZKE AND CONTRIBUTIONS IN HIS MEMORY BY HIS COLLEAGUES (WITH PORTRAIT) STANFORD UNIVERSITY. CALIFORNIA PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY I9II Stanford University Press Bo f/ > fy > sy. If phonetic processes are as consistent as we imagine them to be, and if the lines of transmission from the Latin to the modern forms are unbroken, we might expect to find variations of sounds as we pass from one patois to another, but within the same patois the words of the same category should all show the same form, only clarinette and fleau might stand apart, since they were accepted at later periods. Now a study of the words shows no such regularity — in fact the only thing that can be 32 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME observed is absolute confusion. A few patois have uniformity of all the words at one stage or another of the phonetic sequence. If clarinette or flean stood aloof, the trust in the absoluteness of phonetic law would be conserved, but since uniformity draws along words that should show different treatment, it is evident that the result is artificial. If clearly recent words may disguise their age, there is no guarantee that the form of older words is any more indigenous to the locality where they are found. Furthermore this apparent regularity is decidedly the exception in the patois studied. Only eight of the forty show it. In the remaining thirty-two we meet irregularity of varying degree, sometimes one, sometimes two or more words depart from the rest. We may find our words falling into two or three groups, or again a single word may exist in two forms of which one will be felt to be older than the other. The only conclusion to be drawn from this confusion is the one suggested by the title. Phonetic regularity and continuity of transmission is a mirage. The patois studied have borrowed for the words in question one from the other, or rather the words have migrated and spread and not one of them can be said to represent for its present form and habitat an unbroken line of transmission since the Latin invasion. It follows that if this conclusion must be accepted in one category it may be equally true in others, where similar crossing and confusion prevails. And since this is the case every- where, we have no guarantee that even the simplest vocables or phenom- ena in any given village or patois are actually indigenous to that locality. The second of the studies referred to {Rev. de phil. fr. XXII 268) attacks more particularly the problem of the spread of a single phenomenon. It is based upon the forms of the names of the days of the week, comprising seven maps. These names are composed of two elements, the substantive dies and the name of a planet in the genitive depending upon it: dies Lunae, Martis, Mercurii. Taking dies Martis as a type, three forms correspond to it within the limits of France : mardi in the North, dimars and mars in the South, which pass gradually over into Spanish martes, but separate the Italian martedl from its close French parallel mardi. The usual explanation has been to posit three Latin types, martis dies, dies martis and martis as points of departure for the modern forms. However, the study in question shows that this position is clearly a begging of the question. Latin knew only one formula, Martis dies from which the French and Italian spring directly. Dimars is due to a Romanic rearrangement of the two elements in the word, due to Romanic principles of syntax, which tends to place the principal idea before the one which it governs. This change of position could, however, be effected only where di lived independently with the DEVELOPMENT OF ROMANIC DIALECTOLOGY — MATZKE 33 meaning of day, which is true of Provengal and Spanish but not in French and ItaHan, where this idea is expressed by jour and giorno. For the same reason di might also drop out altogether, leaving mars and Spanish martes. The article then takes up the study of the s, which has disappeared in French mardi, but is present in dimars and martes. The O. Fr. knew marsdi with s, but its position between consonants gave it little resistance and it dropped early. In the South, however, the ^ has lived and even spread to those names where it was originally absent, as dies lunae = d% limes. However, this letter is not present everywhere to the same extent. While there is a considerable area in the extreme South where it is present, there are smaller areas on the northern border of this territory, where this s is present in some of the names in question, but not in all, and these names are not the same in all localities ; and there follows a con- siderable zone lying still further north where the southern order of elements (di-mar) is maintained, but where the s has uniformly dropped, as in the large northern area, where the order of elements is reversed, as shown in mardi. The conclusion is that the influence of the northern type mardi is gradually spreading and pressing southward. Its present extent is larger than it was formerly, for dimars is found in Old French and there is at least one remnant of this type preserved to this day in a village in the extreme north near Liege. But with this single exception this type has given way in the North to the form mardi, which we can see crowding toward the South at the present time. The point of least resistance is the old genitive s. This has already disappeared in the large zone just described and it shows great weakness and vacillation in the districts bordering upon that zone on the south. In all probability these districts will drop it as the zone on the north has already done, and the existence of the southern type will be still further increased. It seemed of interest to analyze this study thus in detail, for it illustrates the kind of problems which the publication of Gillieron's Atlas has called forth and the method which must be applied to their solution. These studies are in the first place concerned with linguistic geography, and the ultimate result of this new line of investigation can at present not be foreseen. This much, however, is evident, that these studies are vital in importance and that they are likely to overturn some of the theories which at present appear to be fundamental in Romanic Philology. The bearing of these investigations upon the question outlined in an earlier part of this discussion concerning the nature and definition of dialects is not entirely definite. It is perfectly clear that dialects in the older sense of the word do not exist at present. We can discern only 34 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME areas of individual phenomena. But this does not prove that speech- boundaries in the larger sense have not been obliterated in the course of centuries by the gradual spread of individual linguistic phenomena. To find the answer to this question another method must be followed and evidence of another kind must be gathered. The history of Latin colonization must be investigated in detail for the purpose of discovering, if possible, the various centers from which the latinizing influence spread over the Romanic territory and the lines of least resistance along which it moved. The need of this study has already been clearly seen, and its possibilities and importance for the furtherance of dialect investigations were pointed out by Morf in an address delivered in August of the year 1908 before the fourth section of the International Congress of the Historical Sciences (Bull, de Dialectologie Romane I, 1-17) held in Berlin. Time does not permit us to analyze this most suggestive study. Suffice it to say that the author clearly sees the new direction which Romanic dialectology has taken, and that he makes it evident that the study of the future will have to take into account much more than has been done in the past the geography of the neo-latin countries, commercial and physical and political, of the period during which the conquest took place. Without question its spread was gradual and the language found its easiest progress along the roads which joined the various centers of commercial and political prominence. If it is possible to discover the evidences of its gradual growth at all, they should be found along these arteries through which the new national life began to flow. Thus far in this discussion the attention has been centered upon the development of dialect studies in France, but the other Latin countries have received similar attention. Lender the direction of Ascoli the speech forms of Northern Italy have for years been receiving systematic atten- tion, and the results of this study have been collected and published in the Archivio Glottologico, which has thus become a mine of dialect informa- tion. The Latin portions of Switzerland have been similarly worked over, and the dialects of Italy, Spain and Roumania have not been neglected. But much remains still to be done, and the publication of Gillieron's Atlas has made it clear that the essential problems of the growth of speech must be studied collectively and that there is grave danger that the necessary material for this study will disappear, unless concerted action can take steps to preserve it. The uncultured and native forms of speech are losing ground every day before the inroads of the schools and the literary language. Irretrievable damage has already been wrought, but much valuable material still remains accessible, provided an immediate effort is made to collect it. Thus the influence of the French school of DEVELOPMENT OF ROMANIC DIALECTOLOGY — MATZKE 35 dialectology has been vital and productive, and there is evidence of a renewed enthusiasm and great vitality in this fundamentl division of linguistic research. A dialect atlas has been published for Switzerland by Gauchat, and another for Roumania by Weigand, and dialect studies fill the pages of our scientific magazines. The most important development, however, for the systematic exploitation of this subject is the formation of the International Society of Romanic Dialectology accomplished during the year 1908, which has just begun to publish its studies in the Revue de Dialectologie Roniane (since January, 1909), devoted to longer articles, and the Bulletin de Dialectologie Romane, in which society, information, bibliography and matters of more general interest are systematically collected. The address of Morf already referred to opens the Bulletin, and thus lays down, as it were, the method to be followed in the work of the new Society. Its organization is ambitious and unique. The plan was conceived, if I am not mistaken, by two young dialectologists, Schadel, a young German scholar, and Saroihandy, a Frenchman, who met in the Pyrenees, both intent upon the study of the Patois spoken upon the slopes of this mountain chain. Impressed with the fact that the dialects are rapidly disappearing, they conceived the idea of organizing a large society, whose object it should be to preserve as much of this material as is still available, and conscious of the fundamental importance of this study they resolved to organize this study wherever Latin in any modern form lives as the spoken language. The circular which they sent out in 1907 said in part as follows : "The popular speech of the neo-latin countries is in many districts on the point of disappearing before the overpowering influence of the official language, and it is high time to gather and study them on the basis of phonetics and the principles of modern linguistic science . . . Much work has already been done, but if a great portion of these speech forms are to be preserved from absolute oblivion, if the wealth of their sounds and forms, their modes of expression and vocabulary are to be utiHzed for the scientific study of language, there is much that still remains untouched . . . Here the duty of the new International Society of Romanic Dialectology begins . . . But the magnitude of the work surpasses the strength of any small group of philologians and dialectolo- gists. The interest and support of all friends of art. language and civilization must be enlisted, of governments and local authorities and of the benefactors of science, and that wherever a Romanic language is spoken from Spanish America to Roumania, from the Mediterranean to Canada ..." 36 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME The response to this call surpassed all expectations. By January 1909 two hundred and seven favorable answers had been received, and the plan of the Society could be definitely outlined. A general division of seventeen sections was made, representing as many countries — each under the direction of a scholar known for his interest in dialectic investigations. Thus Italy is under the supervision of Salvioni, Switzerland under that of Gauchat, Roques directs the studies in France, Menendez-Pidal those in Spain, Leite de Vasconcellos those in Portugal, Schadel those in Germany, and Geddes, well known for his investigations in Canadian French, those in America. The list is not yet complete, and additions will shortly be announced for Spanish America, which is so far not represented at all, and other regions that might offer similar interest. The general direction of the society is in the hands of the Secretary, Schadel Privat docent at the University of Halle, the publications already cited are printed in Brussels, and no restrictions are prescribed as to the language in which the contributions must be written. All the Romanic languages, together with German and English, will be admitted. The new Revue will thus become without question one of the most important of our Romanic periodicals. The numbers that have appeared so far are dignified and scholarly, and promise well for the future. But it is with considerable pride that we can point to the fact that one of the first articles in the series was written in America. It is a study of New Mexican Spanish by Espinosa, Professor in the University of New Mexico. My outline of the present status of Romanic dialectology may stop here. Though undoubtedly the most important division of pure linguistics, it is also the most difficult. Situation, attitude and training are indispensable elements in the make up of the successful investigator, and most of us are destined to sit by and watch the work that is carried on by others. But there is no question that a new era has dawned for Romanic dialectology, and we may confidently expect important results in the future. PURGATORIO XI THE LORD'S PRAYER (Translated by Melville B. Anderson) OUR Father, Thou who dwellest high in Heaven, Not circumscrib'd, but by the love immense That to Thy first creation Thou hast given, Prais'd be Thy name and Thy omnipotence By all created beings, emulous To render thanks to Thy sweet effluence. O let Thy Kingdom's peace descend on us. For with all reach of soul that in us lies, We cannot win it, if it come not thus. As Thine own holy angels sacrifice Their will to Thee, while they Hosanna sing, So let men do with penitential sighs. This day to us our daily manna bring. For in this desert rough, in utter dearth, We backward go when most endeavoring. As we forgive to everyone on earth The wrongs we bore, so graciously do Thou Forgive, and do not look upon our worth. Put not to proof before our ancient foe Our power of will, so easily undone. But liberate from him who spurs it so. We make, dear Lord, this final orison Not for ourselves, because there is no need, But all for dear ones left behind us yon." Beseeching for themselves and us good speed. Those weary shadows thus pursued their way 'Neath loads like those which oft from dreams proceed. And under divers burdens stagger'd they All round that foremost cornice of the hill, Purging the soilure of the world away. If good for us be spoken yonder still, What may be done and said for them down here By those who have a good root to their will ? Surely we ought to give them aid to clear The stains they carried hence, that pure and light They issue forth upon the starry sphere. THE DOCTRINE OF VERISIMILITUDE IN FRENCH AND ENGLISH CRITICISM OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Raymond Macdonald Alden THK doctrine of poetry in the Renaissance and the succeeding neo- classical period might be briefly described as the extension and application of Aristotle's doctrine of the imitative and yet ideal nature of art. How the poet may at once remain true to the facts of experience and to those larger truths by fidelity to which he transcends the work of the historian, — this was the great problem of the Poetics, and it is that which still lives in the most recent contentions respecting the limits of realism and of romance. In the neo-classical period one of the most influential of the doctrines which was developed in the attempt to solve the problem was that of vraisemblance or verisimilitude. It is the purpose of this paper to show something of the origins and applications of this dogma in the seventeenth century. It has often been referred to by those who have made excursions into the history of criticism, but usually with much more of scorn for its unhappy application to particular poets than with a sincere effort to understand it from the standpoint of the age of formalism. The sources of the doctrine are found in three familiar passages in Aristotle, in the ninth, fifteenth, and twenty-fifth chapters of the Poetics. "It is not the function of the poet to relate what has happened, but what may happen, — what is possible according to the law of probability or necessity. ... By the universal I mean how a person of given character will on occasion speak or act, according to the law of probability or necessity ; and it is this universality at which poetry aims in the names she attached to the personages." "In respect of character . . . the second thing to aim at is propriety. There is a type of manly valor ; but for a woman to be valiant or terrible would be inappropriate. ... As in the structure of the plot, so too in the portraiture of character, the poet should always aim either at the necessary or the probable. Thus a person of a given character should speak or act in a given way, by the rule either of necessity or of probability, just as this event should follow that by necessary or probable sequence." "The impossible must be justified by reference to artistic require- ments, or to the higher reality, or to received opinion. With respect to THE DOCTRINE OF VERISIMILITUDE — ALDEN 39 the requirements of art. a probable impossibility is to be preferred to a thing- improbable and yet possible. Again, it may be impossible that there should be men such as Zeuxis painted. 'Yes,' we say, 'but the impossible is the higher thing, for the ideal type must surpass the reality.' To justify the irrational, we appeal to what is commonly said to be. In addition to which, we urge that the irrational sometimes does not violate reason ; just as 'it is probable that a thing may happen contrary to probability.' "^ The Italian commentators on Aristotle, — Maggi, Castelvetro, and Denores, for example- — made much of these passages, emphasizing the requirement of the rerisimile in the treatment of both plot and character. But it is not till we reach the French treatises of the next century that we discover the full possibilities of the doctrine. One of the earliest of these, L'Academie de I'Art Poetique, by "le Sieur de Deimier," (1610) introduces us at once to the rationalistic interpretation of Aristotle's "probability" which was so long to dominate criticism. The laws of poetry, we are told, oblige poets to write not only true things (here the probable seems to narrozv the limitation set by the true, it will be observed, instead of widening it), but things 'z'raiscmblables' ; never those impossible, exceeding what one can imagine. In this respect even Homer errs : he makes the stones thrown by Hector and Diomed incredibly big ; and Ariosto also, when he says that the lances of certain warriors went so high as to touch the sphere of fire and come down ablaze, — something quite contrary to "les regies astronomiques."' In 1623 Jean Chapelain. writing his singular eulogistic preface to Marino's Adone, took up the matter from the other side of the question, representing truth as altogether abandoned by poetry. The ancients, "jug^eant que la verite des choses (suppose qu'elles despendissent du hazard) nuisoit par leurs fortuits et incertains evenemens a leur intention si louable, tous d'un accord ont banny la verite de leur Parnasse, les uns composans tout de caprice, sans y rien mesler qui fust d'elle, les autre se contentans de la changer et alterer en ce qui faisoit centre leur idee." . . . "Ainsi done il sufifira un poeme qu'il soit vraysemblable pur estre approuve, a cause de la facile impression que la vraysemblance fait sur I'imagination. laquelle se captive et se laisse mener par ce moyen a I'inten- tion du poete." * Butcher's translation; Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art. pp. 35, 53-55, 105-107. * Cf. IJher de Poetica (by Maggi and Bartholomasus the Lombard"), 1550, pp. 130, 198; La Poetica d' Aristotle Cby Castelvetro), ed. 1576, p. 400; the Poetica of Denores, 1588, B 14. For these references I am indebted to my colleague. Professor Colbert Searles. ' Chapters xvi, xvii ; pp. 500, 504, 537. 40 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME But the great opportunity for applying the doctrine of vraisemhlance, together with other favorite theories of neo-classicism, came in connection with "la querelle du Cid." The point upon which Corneille's play chiefly turned, the conflict of emotions in the heart of a woman who loves the slayer of her father, one would think to be a conspicuous example of the kind of "probability contrary to probability" which Aristotle had noted, as his readers in this period very well knew. But not so Scudery, who in his attack on the Cid in his Observations (1637), first laid down the law of vraisemhlance as the chief of those governing the dramatist, quoted Aristotle against "improbable possibilities," and declared that the Cid violated the law, since under no circumstances is it probable (even though known to have occurred) that a woman should marry her father's murderer.* And the Academy sustained the charge. In its Sentimens (1638), voiced by Chapelain, it was admitted that Aristotle gave room for an "extraordinary" kind of probability, as when (for example) a strong man is conquered f but this does not permit us to go too far. It would not permit the poet to represent one who had always lived honorably as committing a crime ; and it would not permit the Chimene of the drama * Gaste : La Querelle du Cid, p. 77. 'The statement made by Chapelain that Aristotle recognizes two kinds of probability, ordinary and extraordinary, is repeated by Mesnardiere (1640; see below), but is of course inaccurate. It appears to have been derived from Castelvetro's comment on Aristotle's words in chapter xviii of the Poetics : "... when the clever rogue, like Sisyphus, is outwitted, or the brave villain defeated. Such an event is, moreover, probable in Agathon's sense of the word : 'it is probable,' he says, 'that many things should happen contrary to probability.' " (Butcher, p. 69.) Castelvetro's comment is as follows: "Sono duo maniere di verisimili, I'una di quelli, che rappresentano le verita, le quali avengono per lo piu secondo certo corso, & I'altra di quelli, che rappresentano le verita, che alcuna volta traviano dall' usato corso. Come, e verisimile, che uno astute malvagio inganni & non sia ingannato, & che un possente vinca, & non sia vinto, perchio che veramente noi veggiamo per lo piu avenire cosi, & e anchora verisimile, che uno astuto malvagio, volendo ingannare, sia ingannato alcuna volta, & che un possente, volendo vincere, sia vinto alcuna volta. Si che I'un verisimile riguarda I'assai volte della verita, & I'altro le poche volte della verita, & cosi I'uno, come I'altro e verisimile. Ma il secondo per la rarita, e piu maraviglioso, & e detto essere verisimile fuori del verisimile pure per la rarita, & perche si torce dalla strada del primo verisimile," (part, xx.) Castelvetro's examples of the two sorts of probability seem largely to have suggested those of later critics; though (as Professor Searles kindly brings to my attention) Maggi had already made a similar variation upon Aristotle's "brave villain defeated" : "verisimile non esse sapientem decipi nee strenuum superari." (De poetica, part, xcv.) THE DOCTRINE OF VERISIMILITUDE — ALDEN 41 to become reconciled to Roderigo, even though the Chimene of history was so reconciled. "Toutes les verites ne sont pas bonnes pour le theatre." The poet had better alter history rather than present "verites monstru- euses ;" for his art, "proposant I'idee universelle des choses. . . . espure des defaux et des irregularites particulieres que I'histoire par la severite de ses loix est contrainte d'y soufifrir."® Aristotle's veritable doctrine, of course, — but with an application which would surely have caused any Greek to stare. In La Po'etique of Mesnardiere (1640) we find not only a general exposition of Aristotelian vraisemblance (in chapter iii, on Tragedy), but a special application to the treatment of character by the poet (chapter viii, on Moeurs). This form of the doctrine was the result of a coalescence of the second of the passages from the Poetics quoted above ("thus a person of a given character should speak or act in a given way") with an equally familiar passage from Horace De Arte Poetica, — the New Testament of classical orthodoxy, as Aristotle's treatise was the Old: ^tatis cujiisqiie notandi sunt tibi mores, Mohilibusqtie decor naturis dandus et annis; — (vv. 156-157) with the succeeding verses describing the four ages of man. Professor Spingarn has given a brief but sound and suggestive account of the inferences drawn by the Renaissance critics from this blended Aristotelian-Horatian precept, pointing out how they "led to a hardening and crystallization of character in the classic drama."^ Of this tendency Mesnardiere's discussion is a remarkable example. The moeurs of tradegy may be determined, he tells us, by age, fortune, and station. A king should be courageous and prudent, a tyrant cruel and perfidious (what if a tyrant, one cannot help inquiring, should be also a king?). The element of nationality gives similar generalizations: Frenchmen are to be represented as "hardis, courtois, indiscrets, genereux, incon- stans, prodigues, peu laborieux, polls, legers dans leurs amours, impatiens et temeraires;" Englishmen as infidelles, parresseux. vaillans, cruels, * La Querelle du Cid, p. 365 f. ^Literary Criticism in the Renaissance, page 86. But Spingarn refers only to the "tentative distinctions of character formulated by Aristotle in the Rhetoric," and remarks on the misconception which led to "the attempt to transpose them to the domain of poetry." The passage above cited from chapter xv of the Poetics is evidence that the neo-classicists were not wholly without warrant for their attempt. 42 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME amateurs de la proprete, ennemis des etrangers, altiers et interressez." Although there are individual exceptions, the poet will do well to stick to general truth, and "il ne faut jamais introduire sans necessite absolue. ui une fille vaillante, ni une femme sgavante, ni un valet judicieux. . . . Cast chocquer directement la vraisemblance ordinaire."^ The same doctrine is echoed by the abbe d'Aubignac {La Pratique dti Theatre, 1657) : "Quand un roy parle sur la scene, il faut qu'il parle en roy." (p. 95.) And Boileau's summary of the matter will be readily recalled: "Des siecles, de pays, etudiez les moeurs ; Les climats font souvent les diverses humeurs. Gardez done de donner. ainsi que dans Clelie, L'air ni I'esprit francois a I'antique Italic." {L'Art Poetique, iii, 113-116)* Limitations of space make it necessary to mention later critics in a still more cursory fashion. In Rapin's Reflexions siir la Poetique d'Aris- tote (1674) is a conventional discussion of the relation of the probable to the marvelous, both elements being characteristic of poetry ; incidental to this is a definition of le vraisemhlahle: it is "tout ce qui est conforme a I'opinion du public."^" Dacier, in the ninth chapter of his commentary on the Poetics (1692), treats the same matter, but without originality. Perrault, incidental to his attack upon the sacredness of the ancient poets (Paralelle des Anciens et des Modernes, 1692), like Deimier. finds Homer erring against the law of probability. The poet permits Achilles and Agamemnon to revile each other far too impudently ; kings and captains were surely never so brutal, or, if they were, such things have no place in a poem, "ou les choses se mettent. non point comme elles peuvent, mais comme elles doivent arriver." (Tome iii, p. 49.) Thus the century ends with the devotion to ideal vraisemblance unimpaired." 'pp. 120-124, 137. ' Earlier in the canto, too, Boileau summarizes the more general form of the doctrine : "Jamais au spectateur n'offrez d'incroyable ; Le vrai peut quelquefois n'etre pas vraisemblable. Une merveille absurde est pour moi sans appas ; L'esprit n'est point emu de ce qu'il ne croit pas." (47-50.) " It is interesting to note that Vavasseur, who attacked Rapin's work in some Remarques (found in his Opera Omnia, Amsterdam, 1709), objects to Rapin's admitting la verite as an element having any place in poetry, and cites Aristotle as permitting only le vraysemblahle. (p. 686.) " Corneille's discussion of the subject has been omitted, since its only characteristic feature is a complete misunderstanding of Aristotle, commonly THE DOCTRINE OF VERISIMILITUDE — ALDEN 43 A special application of the doctrine, even more influential than that having to do with types of character, was that concerned in the law of the unities of time and place. This has been more carefully studied than any of the other aspects of the subject, and our present purpose will only admit of indicating briefly the close connection between the general theory of probability and the discussion of the unities. For the early Renais- sance critics this has been pointed out by Professor Spingarn (Criticism in the Renaissance, pp. 93-96) ; — how the notion of the verisimile, in the case of the drama, became that of an illusion, by which the spectator was to be made to seem to see the very events depicted by the poet.^- The abbe d'Aubignac, greatest of the French authorities on the subject, bases his teaching on the same theory. If the action appears in several places "il rendra son poeme ridicule par le defaut de la vraysemblance qui doit en faire le principal fondement." (p. 122.) And to represent a prince as born, married, etc., in a single play, like one of Hardy's, is to require us to imagine him marrying one "qui vraysemblablement n'estoit nee que depuis Touverture du theatre." (p. 150.)^^ Turning now to England, it is scarcely necessary to say that we find no such wealth of critical discussion. Not a single complete treatise on Aristotle and his Poetics vexed the liberties of English poets during the period when their brethren on the Continent were so weighted with instruction. But these continental treatises were of course read and attributed to the dramatist's desire to square his own practice with the authority of the critic's law. Corneille takes "necessary" as opposed to "probable," defining it as "le besoin du poete pour arriver a son but ;" — that is, when the poet finds it too hard to keep within the law of vraisemblance, he takes refuge in necessity! The various remarks of Corneille on our subject will be found in the first and second of his Discours {OEuvres, ed. Marty-Laveaux, tome i, pp. 14-15. 36, 81-97). It may be worth while to quote his definition of vraisemblance: "une chose mani- festement possible dans la bienseance, et qui n'est ni manifestement vraie ni manifestement fausse." (p. 88.) " See his quotation from Scaliger's Poetics, to the effect that hand verisimile est that within a brief space of time (six or eight hours) "a tempest should arise and a shipwreck occur," etc. "It is the same with Dacier (see his Poetique d'Aristote, pp. 115-116). On the other hand La Motte, in his Discours prefatory to Les Machabees, dared to point out that the unities of time and place are more likely to impair vraisemblance than to maintain it (CEuvres, ed. 1754, tome iv, p. 38 et seq.) (La Motte's argument should be compared with John Dennis's critique on Addison's Cato (Remarks on Cato, 1711) and Dr. Johnson's defence of the Eliza- bethan violation of the unities, in his Preface to Shakespeare.) Though this interesting rationalist does not fall within our period, I cannot omit to call attention to his delightful use of the principle of vraisemblance as an argument against the use of verse in the drama (Discours prefatory to CEdipe, ibid. p. 39i)- 44 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME pondered by the learned in England also, and had their influence upon the classical ideal. And when so-called classicism became far more a matter of rationalism than of reverence for the past, its representatives found in the doctrine of Probability a support for theories the very opposite of vi^hat Aristotle intended when he set probability over against truth. Thus Thomas Hobbes, in his letter to Davenant regarding the latter's Gondihert (1650), argued against the romantic excesses of the poets, — those who exceed "the possibility of nature" in representing "impenetrable armors, enchanted castles, invulnerable bodies," and the like ; and added : "For as truth is the bound of historical, so the resemblance of truth [our old friend vraisemhlance] is the utmost limit of poetical liberty."" But there was only one English critic who represented the extreme formalism of the French school in his attitude toward our subject, and he, from his savage and tasteless attacks on the great Elizabethan poets, was doomed to be held in lasting contempt. This was Thomas Rymer, whose Tragedies of the Last Age (1678)^^ exhibits the logical working out of the dogma of probability, especially as applied to the types of character in the drama, even to a point beyond that attained by any of the continental critics. It was Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's Tragedy which Rymer found especially significant of the neglect of the study of Aristotle's precepts by the Elizabethans.^^ "Nothing in nature was ever so improbable as we find the whole conduct of this tragedy, — so far are we from any thing accurate and philosophical as poetry requires." There is a king who is utterly unkingly, and a woman who is unwomanly. "I question whether in poetry a king can be accessory to a crime ;" and "tragedy cannot represent a woman without modesty as natural and essential to her." These strange utterances will be recognized as metamorphoses of Aristotle's "a person of a given character should speak or act in a given way."^^ Rymer goes further, and lays down such " Spingarn's Critical Essays of the 17th Century, vol. ii, p. 62. "Really published 1677. " "Aristotle's Treatise of Poetry," he said, "... was perhaps commented upon by all the great men in Italy before we well knew, on this side of the Alps, that there was such a book in being." (Spingarn's Critical Essays, ii, 207.) "Professor Lounsbury, in his account of Rymer {Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, pp. 227-240), gives an amusing outline of these doctrines, but, unfortunately, rather ridicules their external absurdities than seeks to penetrate their real character. In particular, he seems to attribute the theory as to the proper character of kings in tragedy to a desire on Rymer's part to apply to poetry "the political maxim that the king can do no wrong." There is of course no occasion to look for any explanation beyond that offered by the historic course of the doctrine we have been studying. THE DOCTRINE OF VERISIMILITUDE — ALDEN 45 general rules as that "poetical decency will not suffer death to be dealt to each other by such persons whom the laws of duel allow not to enter the lists together," and that "poetry will not permit an affront where there can be no reparation."^* These conventions remind us of some of those practiced on the French stage of the same period, but are set down rather more baldly and intolerantly than had been done by any French critic.^^ On the other hand, few English dramatists went so far as the French in observing any of the neo-classical formalities. But the observant student of the drama of the period, in both nations, will not fail to see the deadening effect of this conception of probability in the treatment of dramatic characters. To this day it impairs the enjoyment even of the tragedies of Racine, on the part of those trained to another school. If your men and women must move like the men in a game of chess, — the knight according to one fixed law, the pawn according to another — there is established a relation to human life quite different from that exhibited in the time of Shakespeare on the one hand, and of Victor Hugo on the other.^° Indeed one turns back to Aristotle's treatise, after a season with these seventeenth-century disciples of his, and especially to that quizzical saying of Agathon's which the master twice quotes with approbation (that "it is probable that a thing may happen contrary to probability"), as to a stronghold of romanticism. In 1679 Dryden published his Preface to Troihis and Cressida, con- taining a discussion of "the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy." He had been doing not a little reading in the French critics, notably Rapin, and through them had renewed or extended his acquaintance with Aristotle. One result of this is found in some remarks on probability. "The last quality of the action is, that it ought to be probable, as well as admirable and great. 'Tis not necessary that there should be historical truth in it, but always necessary that there should be a likeness of truth, something that is more than barely possible ; probable being that which succeeds, or happens, oftener than it misses. To invent therefore a probability, and to make it wonderful, is the most difficult undertaking in "Spingarn, ii, 190-195, 199. "In 1693 Rymer returned to the subject, introducing into his Short View of Tragedy his famous attack on Othello. Nothing is done by Othello "that comports with the condition of a general." "But what is most intolerable is lago," — a villainous soldier. "Horace describes a soldier otherwise: impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer." (Spingarn, ii, 273.) Again the complaint has respect to vraisemblance in types of character. ^In this connection see a significant remark of Spingarn's on the connection between the doctrine of versimilitude and the comedy of "humours." {Criticism in the Renaissance, p. 88.) 46 MATZKR MEMORIAL VOLUME the art of poetry ; for that which is not wonderful is not great, and that which is not probable will not delight a reasonable audience." (Ker's Essays of John Dryden, vol. i, p. 209.) This comparison of the probable and the marvelous was doubtless suggested by Rapin's discussion of the subject (see on his Reflexions, above) ; and it may be that Dryden's rather curious definition of the probable is a version of Rapin's "tout ce qui est conforme a I'opinion du public." That is to say, instead of Aristotle's probable, — that which is closely related to the "necessary," which flows from the normal connection of things, — we have here a merely mathematical probable, which repre- sents what people expect because it is the average of experience. It would naturally be more difficult to find "the marvelous" in an event probable in this latter sense. A little later in the essay Dryden takes up the manners of tragedy, and — with a reference to Horace's Notandi sunt tibi mores — makes con- ventional observations upon the proprieties of character to be observed in the representation of age, sex, and degrees of dignity. "Thus, when a poet has given the dignity of a king to one of his persons, in all his actions and speeches, that person must discover majesty, magnanimity, and jealousy of power, because these are suitable to the general manners of a king." (ibid., p. 214.) This sounds very Rymer-like, at first reading. But the context reveals a difference. Not only is the principle not applied to the con- demnation of characters in dramas "of the last age," but we are presently told that a character "cannot be supposed to consist of one particular virtue, or vice, or passion only, but 'tis a composition of qualities which are not contrary to one another." Falstaff is instanced as an example (and imagine Rymer\s opinion of such a soldier!) ; he is at once "a liar and a coward, a glutton, and a buffoon." Still further, the character of Qidipus, in Sophocles, shows "the true qualities of a king." but in the second of the two plays that bear his name he no longer speaks "in the arbitrary tone, but remembers . . . that he is an unfortunate blind old man." That it does not occur to Dryden that it is poetically improbable that a king should be an unfortunate blind old man, is a striking example of the good sense and genuine taste which again and again preserved him from blunders through a magnificent inconsistency of which the mere theorists were never guilty.^^ ** The familiarity which may be presumed with Dryden's discussion of the unities, in the Essay of Dramatic Poesy and the Defence, makes it doubtful whether it need be mentioned here. But I may call attention to the close THE DOCTRINE OF VERISIMILITUDE — ALDEN 47 To pass into the eighteenth century is forbidden by our title; but the matter of verisimiHtude in types of character runs over the Hne in a way which makes it ahnost necessary to follow it. John Dennis, in his letters On the Genius and Writings of Shakespeare, (1711), shows the inheritance of the old doctrine, defending his alteration of the tragedy of Coriolanus on this among other grounds. "Our author has sometimes made gross mistakes in the characters which he has drawn from history, against the equality and conveniency of manners of his dramatical persons. Witness Menenius in the following tragedy, whom he has made an errant buffoon, which is a great absurdity. For he might as well have imagined a grave majestic jack-pudding, as a buffoon in a Roman senator. Aufidius, the general of the Volscians, is shown a base and a profligate villain." (In Nichol Smith's Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare, p. 26.) And he expounds with some eloquence the principle on which this objection is based. — that it is of the very nature of a "fable" (that is, a fictitious plot) to satisfy us better than a history, because of the mutual dependence of its parts and its exhibition of the true causes of events ; this of course being another echo of the Aristotelian discussion of proba- bility as a form of ideal truth. ^^ It is to the everlasting glory of Dr. Samuel Johnson, who — as is connection beween a famous passage in the reply to Howard, and those which we have seen in the French critics applying the doctrine of the vraisemblable to the unities. "There is a greater vicinity in nature betwixt two rooms than betwixt two houses ; betwixt two houses, than betwixt two cities ; and so of the rest. Reason, therefore, can sooner be led by imagination to step from one room into another, than to walk to two distant houses, and yet rather to go thither than to fly like a witch through the air. Fancy and Reason go hand in hand ; the first cannot leave the last behind ; and though Fancy, when it sees the wide gulf, would venture over, as the nimbler, yet it is withheld by Reason, which will refuse to take the leap, when the distance over it appears too large. ... So, then, the less change of place there is, the less time is taken up in transporting the persons of the drama, with analogy to reason ; and in that analogy, or resemblance of fiction to truth, consists the excellency of the play." {Defence, Ker, vol. i, p. 128.) In the phrase "resemblance of fiction to truth" we see again the development of the idea of illusion in verisimile. ^In immediate connection with his objection to Shakespeare's want of "conveniency of manners," Dennis sets forth his want of observance of poetic justice; and the essay exemplifies very interestingly the connection between the latter dogma and that of probability. Indeed from one point of view the demand for poetic justice, like that for the unities of time and place, is a special application of the doctrine we have been studying. I cannot discuss the matter further here, but may venture to refer to an account of it given in an article on "The Decline of Poetic Justice," Atlantic Monthly, cv, 260 (1910). 48 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME frequently forgotten — represented the "age of common sense" in occa- sional vigorous opposition to formal classicism as well as to romantic licenses, that he struck a decisive blow at the doctrine of probability as applied to types of character by the neo-classical critics, in the same noble Preface in which he exposed the fallacy of illusion and the unities. "Dennis and Rymer think [Shakespeare's] Romans not sufficiently Roman, and Voltaire censures his kings as not completely royal. Dennis is offended that Menenius, a senator of Rome, should play the buffoon ; and Voltaire perhaps thinks decency violated when the Danish usurper is represented as a drunkard. But Shakespeare always makes nature predominate over accident, and if he preserves the essential char- acter, is not very careful of distinctions superinduced and adventitious. His story requires Romans or kings, but he thinks only on men. He knew that Rome, like every other city, had men of all dispositions ; and wanting a buffoon, he went into the senate-house for that which the senate-house would certainly have afforded him. He was inclined to show an usurper and a murderer not only odious, but despicable ; he therefore added drunkenness to his other qualities, knowing that kings love wine like other men, and that wine exerts its natural power upon kings. These are the petty cavils of petty minds ; a poet overlooks the casual distinction of country and condition, as a painter, satisfied with the figure, neglects the drapery." (Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare, p. 117 et seq.) The doctrine of Versimilitude, then, like other forms of neo- classicism, was a distortion — sometimes slight, sometimes excessive — of a cardinal principle of poetry. That mere fact is not enough ; that poetic truth transcends historical ; that the events which are of universal interest are those which are connected by some form of "necessity" or law ; and that the characters which are of universal interest are those in like manner which are seen to have representative significance and not merely individuality ; — all these things are true, and forever have been and shall be. It has been the purpose of this paper to bring together some of the facts which indicate how these axioms of art developed morbidly; with the resulting belief that not the individual, but the type, because of its universality, is the only proper theme of the artist,^^ and that human passion and circumstance, no matter how moving, cannot be presented in poetry unless they conform to categories predetermined by average experience. Thus, by a singular paradox, a doctrine which arose in defence of idealism and poetic freedom became a bulwark of rationalism and formalistic restraint. "As, for example, in Sir Joshua's Reynold's theory of the beautiful (see his paper in the 87th Idler). THE RELATION OF THE GERMAN "GREGORIUS AUF DEM STEIN" TO THE OLD FRENCH POEM "LA VIE DE SAINT GREGOIRE" Clifford Gilmore Allen THE intrigue in this German version^ (yb.), in the German version of Hartmann von Aue,- in the French version^ ( Fr. ) , and in the Latin version found in the Gesta Romanorum* (Gr.) is practically identical. It is as follows : A child is born whose father and mother are brother and sister. The father, to expiate his sins, goes on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and dies there. The mother puts the child in a barrel, together with certain tablets on which it is written that the mother of the child is at the same time his aunt, and his father his uncle. The barrel is carried to the shore of the sea and set adrift. The infant, however, is rescued. He grows up. He learns the circumstances of his birth and wishes to find his parents. He undertakes a sea voyage. The wind carries him to the shore of the land where his mother is reigning. This land is just now being besieged by a wooer for the hand of the mother. The son delivers his mother from her enemies. She marries him. When it is too late they discover the relationship existing between them, and decide to separate. The mother is to expiate her sins where she is, while Gregory goes away, miserably dressed. He meets with all sorts of hardships. Finally he permits a fisherman to place him on a desert island, where he lives seven- teen years. At the end of that time the Holy See'^ is vacant, and a voice from heaven announces that our penitent is to be the successor of the late pope. In this new life Gregory is the consolation of all sinners. His mother, hearing people talk of this good man, comes to him to seek counsel and consolation. They recognize each other. A nunnery is established with Gregory's mother as abbess. They live holy lives until both give up their souls to God. 1 Simrock, Die dcutschen Volkshi'icher. XII, pp. 85-113. - Edition by Hermann Paul, Halle, 1873. ^ Edition by Luzarche, Tours. 1857. •♦ Edition by Keller, Stuggart and Tubinger. 1843, pp. 124-133. * In Vb. a bishopric. 50 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME Gr. is closely related to our two versions. It seems safe to assume that it is a more or less direct descendant of Fr." It remains, then, to consider the relation of Vb. to the other versions. That version dates from the 15th or i6th century. There existed at that time the following versions of our legend : 1. Fr. This is doubtless a translation from a Latin original, perhaps referred to as the "histoire" (p. 96) or "estoire" (p. 118). The existing manuscripts' are copies of an original which dates from the nth cen- tury.* 2. The version of Hartmann von Aue. 3. Gr., found in the collection compiled toward the end of the 14th century.® Vb. is more modern than the other versions. It appears in a territory where one or another of these versions must have been known. It seems probable, then, that it should have come from one of these versions, rather than from one of which we know nothing, and of whose very existence we are still in doubt. In general the commentators have been of this opinion.^" Seelisch, however, maintains that this version, while in part dependent on Gr., has an independent source and represents the oldest form of the legend.^' According to him the legend in its simplest form appeared in Europe during the nth or 12th century. z\t that time the question of marriage between relatives was frequently discussed in the Church, and a piece of fiction on this subject would not have been without interest. ^ See Littre, Journal des Savants, 1858, p. 484, and Constans, Legende d' Edipe, Paris, 1881, p. 117. Seelisch, Die Gregoriitslegende, in the Zeitschrift fiir deutsche Philologie, 1887, pp. 385-421 (cf. pp. 401-402) thinks that Gr. is perhaps a short reworking of the Latin version which served as a basis for Fr. At the same time he implies that Fr. was more faithful to its common origin than Gr., which he calls a "kiirzende Bearbeitung." Accordingly, with him, Gr. would be equivalent to a short reworking of Fr. ' Seelisch, ibid., p. 403. 8 Seelisch, ibid., p. 392. * See Gesta Romanorum, translated by the Rev. Charles Swan and revised and corrected by Wynnard Hooper, M. A., London, 1906. Various stories were added to the original compilation from time to time. I have no means of knowing whether the Gregory legend was in the original collection or was added to it later. ^° See D'Ancona, La Leggenda di Vergogna, Bologna, 1869, p. 36, who traces it to the poem of Hartmann von Aue, who certainly translated Fr. (Seelisch, ibid.. p. 404) and Kolbing, Beitrdge zur vergleichenden Geschichte der romantischen Poesie und Pro.<;a des Mittelalters, Breslau, 1876, p. 43, who thinks it comes from Gr. 11 ibid., pp. 385-421. LA VIE DE SAINT GREGOIRE — ALLEN 51 Seelisch sees five stages in the development of the legend, as follows : 1. The hero is a bishop. 2. He receives the name of Gregory. This is the stage found in Vb. 3. The character of the fisherman who illtreats Gregory is invented, also the episode of the key found in the fish's stomach. 4. The bishop becomes a pope. 5. Finally from the hand of an Aquitanian the legend received the form represented in Fr. Seelisch gives us a theory. He sees a development from the simple to the complex. This theory has not been disputed ; accordingly it seems well worth while to reconsider the matter. As for his stages of development: The hero may as well have been called Gregory in the prototype. Again, the episode of the key would have been more likely to please at an earlier than at a later epoch. As to the question of "bishop or pope," we have here a question of difTerence of religion. France in the 12th century was Catholic. It is natural that the hero of a religious legend should be the pope. Germany during the 15th and 1 6th centuries was more or less Protestant. Then if Vb. was derived from a version where the hero was pope, it would be natural to replace this title by that of a dignitary recognized by the Protestants. One easily finds traces of this inclination of Vb. toward protestant- ism, as p. 104, "und beichte Gott als dem hochsten Priester deine vielfal- tigen unbekannten Missenthaten," a sentiment which is lacking in Fr., or p. no, where the mother thinks of confessing her sins to Saint Gregory and says : "Wem will ich meine Sunder sicherer offenbaren und von wem werde ich bessern Trost empfangen als eben von diesem barmherzigen Bischof?" Here the mother wishes to confess her sins in order to relieve her mind. In Fr., p. 112. she wishes to be absolved. "... voleit prendre cure Que des pechez se descharjast." One could also compare Vb. (p. in) where Gregory says to his mother : "Ich verkundige euch an Gottes Statt, dass er uns unsere Siinden verziehen habe" with Fr. (p. 114) where the mother kisses the feet, rather of the pope than of her son, and he, "Selonc sa bonne conscience Li a enjoint penitence." It should also be noted that in the passage where Gregory is made pope or bishop Vb. is following Gr. very closely. 52 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME The present study aims to show the relations existing between Fr. and Vb. Fr., Gr. and Fb. follow each other even in the minute details. A few examples will make this plain. a. The benediction of Gregory's grandfather is accorded to Gregory's father only on the condition that the latter will honour his own sister. (Fr., p. 5, Gr., p. 124, Vb., p. 85.) b. The knight's wife who protects Gregory's mother is obliged to swear to keep secret the facts concerning Gregory's birth. (Fr., p. 19, Gr., p. 125, J'b., p. 88.) c. The child Gregory was very beautiful. (Fr., p. 20, Gr., p. 126, Vb., p. 89.) d. The infant Gregory smiles when he is discovered in the barrel. (Fr., p. 37, Gr., p. 127, Vb., p. 91-) e. As soon as Gregory learns the facts concerning his birth he wishes to leave his friend the abbot. The abbot tries to persuade him to stay and promises that on his own death Gregory shall be named abbot in his stead. (Fr., p. 47, Gr., p. 129, Vb., p. 94.) /. The suitor for the hand of Gregory's mother has taken from her her entire territory with the exception of one city. (Fr., p. 54, Gr., p. 129, Vb., p. 97. ) g. The mother is advised to marry her benefactor, who is at the same time her son. (Fr., p. 66, Gr., p. 130, Vb., p. 99.) h. As soon as the land is pacified Gregory asks to be paid and dismissed. (Fr., p. 68, Gr., p. 129, Vb., p. 99.) i. One of the mother's maids observes Gregory's sadness, and speaks of it to her mistress. (Fr., p. 71, Gr., p. 130, Vb., p. loi.) /. Gregory, miserably dressed, flees during the night. (Fr., p. 85, Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 106.) k. The fisherman thinks Gregory is not what he seems to be. (Fr., p. 86, Gr., p. 131, J^b., p. 106.) /. It is because of the prayers of his wife that the fisherman finally consents to receive Gregory in his house. (Fr., p. 87, Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 106.) m. The fisherman mockingly suggests the desert isle as a refuge for Gregory. (Fr., p. 93, Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 107.) These and other examples of similarity of detail are very striking. They could be explained only by assuming that the three versions in question came from a comon original, or that one of these is the original from which the others are derived. I believe that Vb. is a free translation of Gr. Pointing toward this LA VIE DE SAINT GREGOIRE ALLEN 53 conclusion we have the statement of the author or translator, who (p. 105) speaks of an "alte romische Geschichte," doubtless the Gesta Rotnan- orum, where he finds his material. There are also oth^r facts which point in the same direction, such as the folowing: 1. Many episodes which occupy considerable space in Fr. are dismissed with a few lines in Gr. and Vh. Such are : a. The writing on the tablets. {Fr., pp. 22-24, Gr., p. 126, Vh., p. 90.) h. The description of the exposure of Gregory in the barrel. {Fr., pp. 22-26, Gr., p. 126, Vh., p. 90.) c. The description of the battle at the gates of the city. {Fr., pp. 58-67, Gr., p. 129, Vb., p. 99.) d. The story of the voyage in the barrel. (Fr., p. y;^. Gr., p. 127, Vb., p. 91.) e. The conversation of the fisherman who advises Gregory to seek an asylum on the desert isle. {Fr., p. 93, Gr., p. 131, Vh., p. 107.) The author of Fr. would have a tendency to amplify these details in order to give his work such length as compositions of this sort demanded. On the other hand a writer translating these episodes from poetry to prose would not have this preoccupation, and would try rather to be as brief as possible. 2. Often there is a difference in the three versions, such as to lead one to believe in a successive change from Fr. to Vh. through Gr. Examples are: a. In Fr. (p. 13) the brother suggests to the sister the idea of asking counsel from the knight. In Gr. (p. 125) it is the sister who proposes the same thing to her brother. In Vb. (p. 87) the sister sends for the knight after the departure of the brother. h. In Fr. (p. 17) the brother, before his departure, appoints his sister as regent during his absence and commends her to the good will of his vassals. The episode is much shorter in Gr. (p. 125), and lacking entirely in Vh. c. In Fr. (p. 33) the abbot has sent two men out to fish on the sea and they find the barrel in which Gregory is floating. In Gr. (p. 127), he is with them on the shore when the barrel appears. In Vh. (p. 90': all three are out fishing when they first see the barrel. d. One could also cite the successive decrease in the importance of the role of Gregory's father in passing from Fr. to Vh. through Gr. These phenomena are easy to explain if Fr. is the original. If Vh. represented the oldest form of the legend Fr. would hardly have created such an episode as h. 54 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME 3. Very often Fr. agrees with Gr. against Vb. a. In Fr. (p. 4) and in Gr. (p. 124) the grandfather calls his children and the knights of his kingdom to his death-bed. In Vb. (p. 85), only the children. b. A picture of the private life of Gregory's father and mother is seen in Fr. (p. 7) and Gr. (p. 124). This is lacking in Vb. c. In Fr. (p. 15) and Gr. (p. 125) the father and mother confess their sins to the knight. In Vb. (p. 88) only the mother. d. In Fr. (p. 16) and Gr. (p. 125) the knight advises the father to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. In Vb. (p. 86) it is God. e. In Fr. (p. 16) and Gr. (p. 125) Gregory's father confides the kingdom to the mother before setting out for the Holy Land. This detail is lacking in Vb. f. After Gregory is set adrift in the barrel. Fr. (p. 27) and Gr. (p. 126) tell of the death of the father and the importunity of the suitors. Vh. passes directly to the discovery of the barrel by the monks. g. In Fr. (p. 94) and Gr. (p. 132) is found the episode of the irons and the key, which is lacking in Vb. h. In Fr. (p. 113) and Gr. (p. 133) Gregory does not test his mother as in Vb. (p. no) before telling her of their relationship. These examples show that Fr. is more closely related to Gr. than to Vh. 4. On the other hand Gr. often agrees with Vh. against Fr. a. In Gr. (p. 124) Gregory's grandfather is called Marcus. In Vh. vp. 88) he is called Marcus and is the "Herzog" of Ferrara. In Fr. (p. 4) he is the "comte d' Aquitaine." h. In Gr. (p. 124) and Vb. (p. 86) the brother declares that he will die unless he can do as he wills with the sister. The idea is lacking in Fr. c. In Gr. (pp. 124-125) and Vb. (p. 86) the sister counsels her brother wisely and recalls the last admonitions of their father. In Fr. she says nothing. d. In Gr. (p. 126) and Vb. (p. 87) the knight wishes to have the infant Gregory baptized. In Fr. this is not discussed. e. In Gr. (p. 126) and Vh. (p. 90) the similarity of the writing on the tablets placed in the barrel with Gregory is very striking. In Fr. (pp. 22-24) the writing is longer. /. In Gr. (p. 126) and Vh. (p. 90) the barrel is placed in the water. In Fr. (p. 26) in a boat. g. In Gr. (p. 128) and Vh. (p. 91) the child is baptized immediately after he is found by the monks. This is wanting in Fr. LA VIE DE SAINT GREGOIRE — ALLEN 55 It. In Gr. (p. 127) and Vb. (p. 96) the suitor for the hand of Gregory's mother is the duke of Burgundy. In Fr. (p. 32) it is a "due dc Raains."^' i. In Gr. (p. 129) and Vb. (p. 93) the abbot shows Gregory the tablets as soon as the latter suspects the facts concerning his birth. In Fr. (pp. 48-51) he does this when Gregory has decided to go away and has been knighted. y. In Gr. (p. 128) and Vb. (p. 92) Gregory wishes to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to expiate the sins of his parents. In Fr. { p. 52) he simply goes away on the sea. k. In Gr. (p. 129) and Vb. (p. 99) the duke who wages war against Gregory's mother is killed. In Fr. (pp. 58-67) he is made prisoner. /. In Gr. (p. 131) and Vb. (p. 105) the mother wishes to give up her kingdom and go to the Holy Land to expiate her sins. Gregory departs only after having persuaded his mother to remain. In Fr. (p. 84) Gregory departs without saying anything. m. In Gr. (p. 132) and Vb. (p. 107) a voice from heaven tells the electors to choose Gregory for pope or bishop. In Fr. (p. 100) it is an angel. These examples show clearly that Vb. is more closely related to Gr. than to Fr. 5. The parts of Fr. which are lacking in Gr. are also lacking in Vb. Such passages are: a. The story of the death of the grandmother (p. 4). This character is completely lacking in Gr. and Vb. b. The mother will end her days if she is not permitted to do as she wills with her child (p. 21). c. The deceptive procedure of the abbot, who wishes to conceal the truth as to Gregory's origin (pp. 38-40). d. The episode of the wife of the fisherman who adopted Gregory. She gave her husband no rest until he told her all he knew about Gregory's birth (p. 42). e. The abbot, to persuade Gregory to remain, promises him not only his own place after his death as in the Gesta and Vb., but lands, riches, and a marriage in a noble family (p. 49). /. The search for a secret place to conceal the tablets (pp. 69-71). g. The conversation of Gregory, who wishes to partake only of the meanest food, and of the fisherman who mocks him (pp. 88-89). 12 In ms. B (81-3) a "due qui fud romain." The two mss. should agree. One or the other has been corrupted by the copyist. 56 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME h. Gregory will not leave the rock until the tablets are found (p. 107). These examples show what is general. Fr. has no tendency to agree with I'b. against Gr. 6. The parts of Vb. which are lacking in Gr. are also lacking in Fr. Such are the numerous moralizations, as : a. p. 87, on the death of Gregory's father. b. p. 95, on fate which brings Gregory to the land of his mother. This is God's will. c. p. 104, on the idea that one may sin without knowing it, with quotations from the Bible. d. p. 108, on the goodness of Gregory, who atones for the sins of his parents. e. pp. 111-112, on the idea that God leads his elect over a narrow and rough path, because it is the safest road to heaven. These were added by the German translator, who was fond of moralizing. These examples show from another point of view what has been indicated in (5). Vb. has no tendency to agree with Fr. against Gr. One could multiply the examples under these six heads. They show a condition which exists throughout the three versions. Our conclusions then are as follows : A. The fact that Vb. is simpler than Fr. does not prove that it is older. A writer of the 15th or i6th century, reworking in prose an older composition, would be tempted to simplify it. The German translator deviated from his original in certain cases because of his religion. B. I have shown that Fr., Gr., and Vb. are very closely related. I have also shown ( i ) that certain cases where Gr. and Vb. are shorter than Fr. are due to the fact that the translators abbreviated intentionally ; (2) that where the three versions differ it is often possible to see a continuous development of the deviation from Fr. to Vb. through Gr., ( T,) that Fr. often agrees with Gr. against Vb., and (4) that Gr. often agrees with P'b. against Fr.: accordingly that Gr. must lie between Fr. and Vb.; (5) that where Fr. fails to agree with Gr. it also fails to agree with Vb.; and (6) that where Vb. fails to agree with Gr. it also fails to agree with Fr. These two facts corroborate the conclusion derived from (3) and (4). Now as Gr. is a translation of Fr., the only possible conclusion is that Vb. is a translation of Gr. Accordingly Vb. if of minor importance and Fr. must be regarded as the oldest form of the legend. SPENSER'S "FAERIE OUEENE," III, ii, AND BOCCACCIO'S 'TIAMMETTA " William Dinsmore Briggs SPENSER drew from many sources that have been pointed out. I do not think that the indebtedness of Faerie Oueene. Ill, ii, to the Fiammetta of Boccaccio has yet been noticed. The Fiammetta is an interesting and remarkable work that displays on the part of its author a power of close psychological observation and analysis somewhat akin to that of Henry James, and is in the form of a narrative of emotional experiences undergone by the teller of the story, Fiammetta herself. Engaged in a liaison with Panfilo, she is, though rich, noble, and beautiful, deserted by him under pretence that he must for the short space of three or four months attend upon his father, who in his old age desires the presence of his only remaining son. Panfilo, however, never returns, and Fiammetta, who has loved him passionately, relates for the benefit of easily deceived womankind the emotional history of the episode, how first she fell in love with Panfilo, how she came to sacrifice for him her wifely honor, how she felt deep dejection during the early period of his absence, and how, when he did not return at the appointed time, bewildered anxiety and finally profound despair overcame her. Of course Spenser in the canto referred to relates no such harrowing story. Britomart has seen the image of Arthegal in the magic mirror and is smitten with deep love for him. Perturbed by a series of emotions wholly new to her. she displays signs of mental struggle readily percept- ible to the eager solicitude of her nurse Glance. As a result of the ensuing conversation. Glance suggests the visit to Merlin's cavern, there to learn what may be the outcome of so strange a situation. Fiammetta, it may be observed, has several conversations with her foster-mother, and it is in one of these that there occur certain resem- blances worth taking note of. Before doing so, however, one might consider F. Q. Ill, ii, 27-8: Thenceforth the fether in her lofty crest. Rufifed of love, gan lowly to availe. And her prowd portaunce and her princely gest, With which she earst tryumphed, now did quaile: 58 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME Sad, solemne, sowre, and full of fancies fraile She woxe ; . . . But sleepe full far away from her did fly : In stead thereof sad sighes and sorrowes deepe Kept watch and ward about her warily. That nought she did but wayle, and often stcepe Her dainty couch with teares, which closely she did weepe. Compare Fiammetta, pp. 28-9 (my only accessible text is that of the Biblioteca Classica Economica) : Egli allora in me le fiamme accese faces pill vive . . . ma in questo non era si lieto il principio, che la fine no' rimanesse piu trista, qualora della vista di quello rimanea privata: per- ciocche li occhi, della loro allegrezza privati, davano al cuore nojosa cagione di dolersi, di che i sospiri, in quantita ed in qualita diventavano maggiori, ed il disio, quasi ogni mio sentimento occupando. mi toglieva di me medesima. . . . Ed oltre a questo sovente la notturna quiete ed il continovo cibo togliendomi, alcuna volta ad atti piu furiosi che siibiti, ed a parole mi moveano inusitate. xxix. And if that any drop of slombring rest Did chaunce to still into her weary spright, When feeble nature felt her selfe opprest, Streight way with dreames. and with fantastick sight Of dreadfull things, the same was put to flight. That oft out of her bed she did astart, As one with vew of ghastly feends affright : Tho gan she to renew her former smart. And thinke of that fayre visage, written in her hart. Fiammetta has many evil dreams, as on p. 70: Le quali [le notti] sovente, o tutte o gran parte di loro, io passava senza dormire, continovamente, o piangendo, o pensando consumandole : e qualora pure avveniva che io dormissi, diversamente era da' sogni occupata, alcuni lieti vegnenti, ed alcuni tristissimi. And again, p. 73 : Non veniva, ancorche il sonno venisse, pero in me la disiata pace, anzi, in luogo de' pensieri e delle lagrime, mille visioni piene d'infinite paure mi spaventavano. Io credo che niuna furia rimanesse nella citta di Dite, che in diversi modi e terribili gia piu volte non mi si mostrasse, diversi mali minacciando, e spesso, col loro orribile aspetto i miei sonni rompendo, di che io, quasi per non vederle, mi contentava. It is important that in both stories the nurse detects these signs of mental distress. FAERIE QUEENE AND FIAMMETTA — BRIGG* 59 XXX. 'Ah ! my deare daughter, ah ! my dearest dread, What uncouth fit,' sayd she, 'what evill pHght. Hath thee opprest, and with sad drearyhead Chaunged thy Hvely cheare. and Hving made thee dead ? xxxi. 'For not of nought these suddein ghastly feares All night afflict thy naturall repose.' Fiammetta, p. 29: O figliuola a me come me medesima cara. quali sollecitudini, da poco tempo in qua ti stimolano? Tu niuna ora trapassi senza sospiri, la quale altra volta lieta, e senza alcuna malinconia sempre vedere solea. xxxiii. 'Ay me ! how much I feare least love it bee !' Fiammetta, p. 29 : elli non ti e bisogno celarmi quello che io, gia sono piii giorni, in te manifestamente conobbi. xH. 'Not so th' Arabian Myrrhe did sett her mynd, Nor so did Biblis spend her pining hart, But lov'd their native flesh against al kynd. And to their purpose used wicked art : Yet playd Pasiphae a more monstrous part. That lov'd a bul, and learnd a beast to bee : Such shamefull lusts who loaths not, which depart From course of nature and of modestee? Swete Love such lewdnes bands from his faire companee. Fiammetta, p. 35 : Bastiti solamente, o giovane, che di non abominevole fuoco, come Mirra, Semiramis, Bibli, Canace, e Cleopatra fece, ti molesti. Niuna cosa nuova dal nostro [it is Venus speaking to Fiammetta in a vision] figliuolo verso te sara operata: egli ha cosi leggi, come qualunquc altro Iddio. A few lines before Venus had mentioned also Pasiphae. A still more significant parallel is the following. Tn the stanza just quoted, Glauce was attempting to console Britomart by contrasting her love with such unnatural passions as those enumerated. Britomart replies in stanza xliii: 60 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME 'Beldame, your words doe worke me litle ease; For though my love be not so lewdly bent As those ye blame, yet may it nought appease My raging smart, ne ought my flame relent, But rather doth my helpelesse griefe augment. For they, how ever shamefull and unkinde. Yet did possesse their horrible intent : Short end of sorowes they therby did finde ; So was their fortune good, though wicked were their minde. xliv. 'But wicked fortune mine, though minde be good, Can have no end, nor hope of my desire, But feed on shadowes,' etc. In the last part of her narrative, Fiammetta attempts to win sympathy from her readers by contrasting her love affair with all the great love affairs of antiquity, and showing in how much more pitiable a case she is than any of those famous heroines. In the course of this comparison. Myrrha, Biblis, and Canace are once more spoken of, and Fiammetta (p. 128) goes on: e meco stessa pensando bene all' angoscia di ciascuna, senza alcun dubbio grandissime le discerno, avvengache abominevoli fossero i loro amori. Ma, se ben considero, io le veggo finite, o per finire in corto spazio, perciocche Mirra nell' albero del suo nome, avendo gli Dii secondi al suo disio, senza alcuno indugio fuggendo fu permutata, ne pill (ancor che egli sempre lagrimi, siccome ella allora che muto forma faceva) alcuna delle sue pene senti ; e cosi come la cagione di dolersi venne, cosi quella giunse che le tolse la doglia. Biblis similmente Che dunque diro, mostrando la mia pena molto maggiore che quella di queste donne, se non che la brevita della loro dalla lunghezza della mia molto e avanzata? In stanza xlvi Glauce advises Britomart to fight against 'the growing evill, ere it strength have gott.' 'Against it strongly strive, and yield thee nott. Til thou in open fielde adowne be smott.' This advice is perhaps a little inconsistent with the earlier tone of Glance's speeches, since she had apparently approved Britomart's passion and even encouraged her by showing its innocence and suggesting the likelihood that the original of the image might be found out with no great difficulty. I am inclined, perhaps too sanguinely, to see here an echo of the remonstrance urged so often by the nurse of Fiammetta. particularly in such a passage as this, p. 30: mi place di ricordarti e di pregarti, che tu del casto petto esturbi e cacci via le cose nefande, e ispegnia le disoneste fiamme, . . . i FAERIE QUEENE AND FIAMMETTA — BRIGGS 61 e ora e tempo da resistere con forza, pero che chi nel principio bene contrastette, caccio il villano amore, etc. A resemblance to which I call attention merely for the sake of completing the list of those that I have observed is that Glance employs without success enchantments for the purpose of expelhng love from Britomart's breast, while Fiammetta employs them as vainly, p. ii8, in order to influence her recreant lover. This discussion does not of course prove that Spenser was imitating Boccaccio, nor is it in the least intended to do so. Nor can we say as a result of it that Spenser was consciously making use of Boccaccio. 1 think, however, it does establish a likelihood not merely that he had, as is on a priori grounds quite probable, at some time or other read the Fiammetta attentively, but that reminiscences of that reading came quite naturally to hand when dealing with the subject of the second canto of Book III. It is not surprising that such should have been the case, that the Fiammetta should have made some impression upon Spenser. Boccaccio's work, if we look aside from certain rhetorical expansions of the theme such as chapter viii, and if we consider what obstacles were set in the way of close analysis of real passion by the conventional conception of the relation of lover to mistress (compare the relatively stereotyped Ameto), was the product of a hand as sure and an insight as delicately penetrant as were those that created Clarissa Harlowe. SOME PHASES OF MARTIAL'S LITERARY ATTITUDE Jefferson Elmore WE MAY first consider^ the grounds of Martial's preference for the epigram. He was confined to this type, it is sometimes said, by consciousness of intellectual limitations, exercising thereby "a wise restraint."- What Martial himself says, however, hardly warrants this impression. He but seldom depreciates his literary talents,^ his prev- alent mood being rather of an opposite character. Moreover, he more than once distinctly asserts his ability to practice the higher literary forms such as the epic and tragedy. "What immortal verse I could have written," he says, "what blasts of war I could have blown on Pierian trumpet," if only happier conditions of life had been present.* Indeed, (though he is here speaking with humorous exaggeration) he began with the epic, but was driven from this field and also from tragedy by the in- sistent imitation of Tucca.^ It is in contrast to tragedy and the epic that Martial usually expresses his preference for the epigram. It is clear, however, that he has not in mind the epos in general, not the work of Vergil, who is to him the supreme poet,** nor even that of Lucan and Silius Italicus, for both of whom he has apparently the greatest admiration,' but he thinks rather of certain fashionable contemporary forms, such as the long drawn epic with its mythological theme. The epigram is superior to these, first, in the fact that it makes a much wider appeal. Long epics and bombastic tragedies, though greeted with words of praise and read by the pompous schoolmaster to his pupils,® arouse no real interest either in ingenuous ' References to the poet's own literary experiences and judgments appear in 117 of the 1172 epigrams of books I-XII. These "notices" form the basis of the present paper. Though often drawn upon by editors and critics, as far as I am aware they have not been brought together with a view to basing statements of Martial's attitude in literary matters on all the evidence of this character. Criticism thus not seldom rests on a too narrow foundation, as in the statement of Mackail. (Latin Literature, p. 194), based apparently on a single epigram, I 16, that "to his own work Martial extends the same tolerance with which he views the follies and vices of society." Compare the remarks of Nisard (Poetes Latins de la Decadence, p. 329 ff.). •Stephenson, Introd. XIX Cf. Post, Introd. XXVT. •Cf. I 16, i; TIT 100, 4; XTII 2, 9. *XI 3. 7- Cf. V 16, i Seria cum possim . . . •XII 94. 'XT 52. 18. 'I V 14, VII 21; 22; 23. 8VIII3. 15- Martial's literary attitude — elmore 63 youth or in the general pubHc. Epigrams, on the other hand, as experi- ence showed, are taken up and read with eagerness by all classes of society.^ To Martial, to whom literature is a means (among other things) of getting on in the world,^° a medium through which he can appeal to the public, to distinguished men," to the emperor himself/- is very much to his hand. Epigrams are not only more interesting than the usual epics or tragedies, but their subject-matter is also more useful. Savage cr frivolous tales have no profit, whereas short sketches of real life may be full of instruction and guidance. This point is emphasized in two notable epigrams. In one^' addressing the reader the poet says, "When you are reading of Oedipus and Thyestes and Medea and the Scyllas, are you not dealing with the monstrous creations of fable? What profit will there be to you in the story of Hylas or Parthenopaeus or Attis, or even in that of the sleeping Endymion ? Read rather this book of mine of which life itself could say, T am its author.' You will not find centaurs or gorgons or harpies, but pages steeped in human nature." Again, in the fullness of his fame, the poet had thought with the completion of the seventh book to lay down the pen of the epigrammatist, but the Muse forbids.^* "Continue," she bids him, "to season thy charming volumes with Roman wit and let life as she reads recognize herself. And though thou mayest seem to play on but a slender pipe, this reed of thine may vanquish many a brazen trumpet." The reference here to a longer survival in the future points to a third respect in which Martial asserts the superiority of the epigram,, namely, that it is a higher form of art. In the first place it requires greater skill on the part of the author. "He makes a great mistake who regards epigrams as mere trifles. The trifler is rather the man who writes about the feast of the cruel Tereus, or the banquet of the unnatural Thyestes, or of Daedalus fitting waxen wings to his son, or of Polyphe- mus pasturing his Sicilian flocks. From my work, however, is banished all this swelling bombast."'^ Martial expresses his conviction on this point also in terms of sculpture. Comparing his own work to twelve books on the ancient wars of Priam is like comparing the famous marble (or bronze) boy of Brutus to a huge giant in clay.^" In the practice of this special literary type Martial gives frequent expression to the feeling that he is working in the line of a definite tradition. He appeals to precedent to defend himself against certain •XI 24,6-8. "T 5. "VI I. «V I. "X 4- "VIII 3, 19- "IV 49. "IX 50, 5- 64 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME criticisms. To one who finds the epigrams too long he cites the example of Marsus and Pedo, who often extended single poems over two whole pages.^" So also in meeting the more serious charge of licentiousness he resorts to the same argument. That this wantonness of speech (which is also characteristic of the stage) ^'^ is employed in epigrams addressed even to persons in the highest position^^ is admitted by the poet, but he does not apologize for it, because he did not himself invent the custom.^" Then again for the confusion of the prudish reader he quotes the six lascivious lines of Augustus himself.-^ Finally he appeals to the precedent of Lucan, "the glory of our Helicon," who, though sounding savage wars on Pierian trumpet, has not blushed to turn aside and in lighter verse to disport himself most wantonly.-- Martial also refers to tradition for the purpose of showing that in some respects at least he has improved upon the earlier practice. One relates to the structure of his verse. He does not tolerate the harshness which is found in the older poets like Lucilius, Accius, and Pacuvius. and which does not constitute true vigor.-" He does not waste time in constructing ingenious verses that may be read backwards, nor does he imitate the effeminate Galliambic in the Attis of Catullus.-* In not disregarding through poetic license the quantity of syllables he is more careful than the Greeks.^''' He is also superior to his predecessors in the consideration he shows for actual persons by the use of fictitious names. The older poets were wont to employ not only real names in their attacks but also great ones.-" He will not even reveal the identity of Postumus, a name which frequently occurs, for fear of giving offense.-' His verse, he keeps saying, injures no one, though some mentioned by way of praise have been given undying fame. Vices, not persons, are the object of his satire.-^ Consideration of Martial's relation to his predecessors raises the important question whether with respect to the form of the epigram as a whole he was also working in the line of tradition. There has been a wide-spread opinion that through the use of the so-called point he created a new type of epigram. Lessing-® maintained that he was the first to practice the epigram as a special type, a view which is quoted with approval by Friedlander.^'' "Until he wrote," says Aly,^^ also quoting "II -jT, 5. "Ill 86, 3. "Praef. VIIT, 10. •° Praef. I, 10. " XI 20, 3-8. "^ X 64, 3-6. "XI 90. "II 86, T-6. ""IX II, 16. "Praef. I, 5. "H 23. "V 15. 2; VII 12, 3; X % z; 33, 10. ^ Anmerkungen iibcr das Epigramm. Samtliche Schriften (ed. Lachmann) XI 257. Martial . . . war der erste der sich eine deutliche, feste Idee von dem Epi- gramme machte. •° Einleitung, 18. " Geschichte der Romischen Literatur, p. 286. MARTIAL S LITERARY ATTITUDE — ELMORE 65 Lessing with approval, "there was really no epigrammatist." Bernhardy^- calls him the discoverer and master of the pointed epigram, while Butler in his recent work^^ speaks of him as the father of the modern epigram. Martial "was able," says Post,"** "to fix forever the character of this particular literary form." Martial himself, however, makes no mention of this originality, though it might be expected that he would do so. He was, as we know, one of the most self-conscious of authors. He exploits himself and his work in the most extensive and unreserved fashion, and yet he nowhere gives any intimation that he is the inventor of a new literary type. It must also be remembered that there were contemporary writers of epigram. Were these imitators of Martial or was his work different in kind from theirs? There is no evidence of either of these things. To these fellow workers of his Martial hands out both praise and blame, the latter, as might be expected, in great pre- dominance. One writes on both sides of the paper f^ another cannot even compose a distich that is not too long f^ another is uniformly bad f' another (in moral tone) is uniformly good but lacking even a touch of biting wit f~'^ still another has not the courage to publish at all,^* while one has the distinction of being superior to Martial himself, but does not publicly enter the field out of courtesy to his friend.''^ In all this there is no suggestion of imitation on the one hand or of the possession of a peculiar form of epigram on the other. The argument from silence raises a presumption against the accepted view. The crucial question of course is whether the type of epigram employed by Alartial can be traced in an earlier author. For this purpose we require first of all to know what forms of the epigram Martial really employed. An analysis will show that in some cases (though they are comparatively few) the so-called point is virtually lacking.^" If such pieces as I 113, where Martial informs his readers that his youthful poems could be obtained from Q. Pollius Valerianus, or IV 25, in which he hopes to spend his old age at Altinum, or V 44, in which he chides a fickle dinner guest, should be found elsewhere they would hardly be associated with the pointed epigram. Note also IX 11, which is a series of hendecasyllabic lines quite "pointless" at the end. The bulk of Martial's work, however, is distinguished for its "point," " Grundriss, p. 658. '' Post-Augustan Poetry, pp. 258-9. "Introduction, XXV. ''VIII 62, i. '"U 77, 8. "VII 90. 4- "'«VII 25, 3. 'M 91, 2; no, 2. ''VIII 18, 4. "Cf. I 52; 113; 116; III 6; IV 13; 25; 45; 54; VI 25; 58; 85; VIII 27; IX 74. II. 74 66 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME which may be regarded as essentially a striking method of conclusion and which may be related in various ways to what precedes. It may be, for example, a comment or judgment of the author on some foregoing situation, fact, or event ;" it may be an antithesis,'*- a reason or explana- tion,''^ a result or consequence,*^ an exhortation,*-'^ a climax,*® a retort,*' the second member of a comparison,** a choice of alternatives,*^ the solution of a difficulty/" an illustration or example,"^ a specific statement or a general principle.'*- These categories," which are not at all numerous considering the large number of the epigrams, give certain definite types of structure within the range of which the poet's chief work is done. The question is whether any of these types are to be found outside of Martial. One turns at once to Catullus. Here the way is smoothed by the recent recognition^* of the fact that Catullus is himself primarily an epigrammatist, the claims of Horace to the primacy of the Latin lyric being thus left undisputed. If the hendecasyllabic pieces of Catullus be examined they will be found to reveal several types of structure which are characteristic of Martial. In c. 26 we have an example of a point which consists in the comment of the author on a preceding fact. Furius has exposed his house not to the blasts of real winds, west, east, or north, but to the drafts of creditors. "xA.nd what an awful, fatal draft it is," adds the author by way of comment and conclusion. In Martial III 52, Tongilianus has lost his house by fire but has received more than the cost in donations. "I suspect," he adds by way of point, "that you set the fire with your own hands." Likewise when Apicius^^ commits suicide because he cannot think of sustaining life on his remaining ten millions, Martial makes the "point" by remark- ing quite after the manner of Catullus how befitting an epicure such an action was. In c. 4 Catullus employs the method of antithesis, the conclusion contrasting the old age. so to speak, of the yacht with its adventures of former times. So in c. 95 (written in elegiacs) where the judicious applaud the work of Cinna, but the populace take pleasure in the pompous Antimachus. In c. 3 the point is exhibited as result or consequence, the lament for the sparrow being concluded by a striking "V 35. "VII 9- ""IX 22. "VII 13. ^'III 16. '"IX 13- «II 58. "IV 14. ^'VI 81. '"Ill 38. "VII 49- "'VI 70. °'The categories given here and based on an analysis of the epigrams in books I-IX do not altogether exhaust the list. "Cf. Smith, Amer. Jour. Phil. XXXI p. 225; Canter Class Jour. VI 201. For the wide range of the epigram in general see U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Die Griechische Literatur des Aliertums, pp. 139 fol. " III 22. Martial's literary attitude — elmore 67 reference to the weeping eyes of Lesbia.^® As an example of a point which is an exhortation to some action in view of the preceding statement or fact, we may take c. 5. "Life is short," the poet says to Lesbia, "and there is nothing beyond. Let us therefore enjoy our love to the utmost." c. 84 illustrates the process of constructing an epigram by means of the climax. Arrius in his fondness for the "h" says not only chommoda, and hinsidias, but also Hionios. In c. 10 we find the epigram consisting of a pointed incident in which dialogue is also employed in true epigram- matic fashion. Finally in c. 70 the point is a general principle including and explaining a specific instance. "My beloved," says the poet, "declares she will never marry though Jupiter himself seek her hand. So she says, but a woman's words to an ardent wooer are written on sand or in running water." In Catullus then we find certain forms of the epigram which are employed by Martial with great frequency. If this be true, the pointed epigram as a literary type did not originate with Martial. In his hands with his powerful massing of striking details it becomes something distinctive and characteristic, but it is still in the line of tradition. That Martial was under great technical obligations to Catullus is shown by his imitation of the latter's language and style, a phase of the subject which has been set forth by Paukstadt. Martial himself does not refer directly to obligations of this sort except possibly in the one case where he pleads the example of his predecessor to justify the licentious- ness of some of his work.^' A question which has not received sufficient consideration is the ground of Martial's admiration for Catullus. The latter is argutus,^^ doctus,^^ lepidiis,^° tener,^^ tenuis,^^ and finally vates,^^ the inspired bard. His place too in the world of letters is an ideal to which Martial constantly aspires. He would be to his own Bilbilis what Catullus had been to Verona, and he sends a copy of his book to Silius Italicus in the spirit in which he imagined Catullus might have ofifered his work to Vergil. ^^ In reading some of his verses to a friend, it annoyed him to have the latter reply with a passage from Catullus, making unconsciously a comparison which no modern author could sustain with credit.^^ He wishes to be recommended to the emperor as one who has added to the glory of the age, and who is not much inferior to Marsus and Catullus f' it is next to these that he desires his books stand in the Palatine library."* "Cf. c. 105. "Praef. I u. "VI 34.7. "I 61, i; VII 99, 7; VIII 73, 8; XIV 100, i; 152, i. ""XII 44. 5- " IV 14, 13 ; VII 14, 3 . ""X 103,5- '"I 61, I. "X 103, 4- "IV 14, 13- '•" 71. 3. '■VII 99, 7- "V 5, 6. 68 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME He hopes finally to be read among the old poets and to rank second to none but Catullus.*'^ This admiration rests doubtless in part on Catullus' greatness as a poet and on the fact that they were both engaged in the same poetic field. There is another reason, I think, to which Martial himself gives a clue in the part of Catullus' work which he singles out for special mention. Aside from the Attis (mentioned once"") this is the part which deals with the Lesbia episode.'^ On the details of Catullus' love affair Martial dwells with evident gusto and delight. Considering this fact and the part which the erotic element plays in his own work, it is not difficult to see that he was attracted by a certain kind of subject matter. Like Catullus he rejoiced in the pleasures of sense, and this may well have been one of the great bonds that linked him to the earlier poet.'^ So much intimation has Martial given us of his fondness for subjects of a certain kind. He has also made one reference'^ to an important phase of his methods in dealing with his subject matter in general. I mean the recurrence to the same theme. This reference is apropos of a good natured criticism made by his friend Stella, that he was forever writing about animals, about the gambols of the hares and the play of the lions, and IMartial does nothing more than banteringly admit the charge. The repetition in this case comes about in connection with the games in the arena, and is to be expected. What Martial remains silent about and what has indeed been, I think, almost altogether overlooked, is the extensive use he makes of this method in the bulk of his work. To enter into the precise details would require another study, but there is scarcely a theme to which he does not return at least three or four times. In Books I-VHI, inclusive, there are 759 epigrams of which 475 are devoted to about 30 subjects. Some of these, together with the number of times they reappear, may be mentioned: habits and behavior of animals, 19; peculiarities of personal appearance, 27 ; works of art, 1 1 ; the dandy, 5 ; Domitian, 25 ; the heavy drinker, 7 ; the dole, 5 ; devotion of friends, 1 1 ; the fortune hunter, 8; praise of friends, 24; filial and conjugal dev^otion, 15 ; festivals, «^X 78, 14. "11 86, 4. "I 7, 3; 109, I ; IV 14, 14; VI 34, 8; VII 14. 4; VIII -jz, 8; IX 6, 14; XII 44, 5; 59, 3 ; XI V 77. '' For another view of this relation cf. Simcox, History of Latin Literature, p. 116 — "More commonly Martial exhibits himself as the rival of a poet with whom he has little in comomn but the metre." See also Teuflfel-Schwabe, II 124; "He repeatedly places himself on a level with Domitius Marsus and Catullus. That he could not attain anything higher he attributes with manifest self-deception to his indigent circumstances." '^ I 44. Martial's literary attitude — elmoke 69 8; gifts, 32; the guest, 15; the host, 25; historical characters, 12; views of life, 14; the lover, 5; the lawyer, 8; marriage, 12; ostentation, 12; places and buildings, 20; the parvenue, 10 ; the pretender, 9 ; the physician, 4; TraiSiKci, II ; the reciter, 8; the spendthrift, 7; villas, 6; wine, 8, etc. This method throws into relief the range of Martial's literary interests. These are usually supposed to be of the most extensive and varied character. "His material," remarks a recent historian of Roman literature,^* "is enormous, representing the whole civilization and social life of his time." In view of the facts, statements of this character are altogether misleading. Martial was interested in certain immediate phases of existence, but these were far indeed from comprehending the social life of his time. Martial has one reference"-"' to the fact that subjects were sometimes suggested to him by others. In this case the result had evidently not been satisfactory. "You ask me," he says, "for lively epigrams, and the subjects you prepare are themselves lifeless." There is nothing to indicate the character of the suggested themes or the extent of the practice. Nor would it seem to be safe to infer that the epigrams were composed for others to be used by them as their own. In the treatment of his subject matter, whatever it may be, Martial puts down as one of his principles that of directness and simplicity. He sets out intending to call a spade a spade^'^ and later^^ we find him also boasting that his work is altogether free from swelling bombast. Another achievement is the clearness of his style. A rival poet who had made the learned but obscure Cinna his model needs not a reader but an Apollo to understand him. As for himself he wishes to satisfy the taste of scholars, but not to require their interpretation.^* He feels also the need of variety. It is good, for example, to be brief, but brevity itself ceases to be a virtue if it be unrelieved. A book containing nothing but distichs could not be saved from monotony.'" One of the most important of Martial's literary principles is the sincerity which consists in coming directly in contact with his subject matter. Thus on his return to Spain, cut off as he was from the life he had known and described, his inspiration lagged. He could not from a distance, in imagination, recreate the theaters, the baths, the libraries, the social gatherings. To write of them he must share in them at first hand,*° and every book destined to live must reflect a spirit that finds enjoyment in life.*^ ' Aly, Geschichte der Rumischen Literatur, p. 287. " XI 42. 'Praef. I 14. "IV 49, 7- "X 21. VIII 29, 2. '"Praef. XII 1-15. "VI 60, 10. 70 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME In achieving a final literary form for his work Martial was conscious of the requirements of artistic unity and proportion. To a certain Cosconius,^- also a writer of epigrams, who complained that some of his pieces were too long, he replied that a composition is not too long from which nothing could be taken away. The treatment of a theme should be an artistic whole with a balance of parts like that in a fine statue. Whether it be long or short will depend largely on the nature of the subject to be treated. Martial was apparently much interested in the reception of his work by the public. In the first place he shows a personal affection for his books, an author's solicitude and tenderness for the creation of his fancy as if it were a favorite slave or even his own child.^' When it must leave the security of the home for the shops of the Argiletum, he warns it of a possible hostile reception at the hands of the too critical Romans,^* and yet he seeks to smooth the way by the assurance of the support of some influential friend. One of these is his old and dear friend Julius Martialis to whose house his book, however begrimed with dust, may always go with the certainty of heartfelt embraces.^^ Another is Caesius Sabinus, "the glory of mountainous Umbria," who, though oppressed with manifold cares, has leisure for his friend's book, and through whose favor it will be celebrated in temples, colonnades, shops, and streets.^® Still another is L. Arruntius Stella." There are also those to whose good offices he appeals when he desires his book to make headway in particular quarters. Such are Rufus (perhaps the Canius Rufus of I 6i, 9), Rufus Instantius,^^ Faustinus,^^ and especially Euphemus,®° Sextus,"^ Parthenius,''- and Crispinus,^^ the four last men- tioned being connected with the household of Domitian. To the Emperor himself in two instances he made direct appeal, asking in the one case"* merely for the acceptance of his verses, and in the other'*^ favor and support for the author. To the emperor Nerva he also presents a selection from books X and XI.^'' Through the mere presentation of his work to persons of influence Martial also seeks to gain something in personal favor and public estimation. There are several epigrams of this kind,**^ the most elaborate (which also brought the author a substantial gift of money®^) being a presentation to Pliny the younger.®* "II -JT. Cf. Ill 69, 7- ''Cf. I 52, 4; X 104, IS. "I 3, 3. "Ill 5, 8. ""VII 97- *'XII 3. II- "IV 82; VII 68. "VII 80, 3- *°IV 8, 7- "V 5. '=VIII 82, 5. '-'VII 99- " V I, 9. " V 6, XII IT. " XII 5. "Cf. IV 10, VII 17, VIII 72, X 93; 104- ''Plin. Ep. 3, 21. ™X 19. Martial's literary attitude — elmore 71 Martial (like Cicero^"") seems to have understood the psychological value of numbers ; at all events he is at great pains to spread the impres- sion that his readers are exceedingly numerous. One of his greatest admirers was Urbicus/"^ the lawyer, who could repeat the poems from memory without losing a single word. If you dropped in at his chambers after the day's work was done, he would invite you to a cozy little dinner for two, and while you sipped the wine, would read his beloved Martial aloud; and even when you grew tired and said, "Isn't that enough for now," his voice would still roll on and on. Even the earliest editions of the poet's work, trifles which he had himself forgotten, were collected and preserved by the bookseller Pollius Valerianus.^"- Coming to more distinguished persons, Macer is so fond of Martial that he neglects the care of the Appian Way.^"=^ The leading men of the city,^°* like Silius and Regulus and Sura, also lend attentive ears. Even Caesar himself, with the weight of empire resting upon him, finds time to read these sportive verses twice and thrice over"^ and to praise and reward their author. In fact, they are known to everyone who has not the ear of a downright Batavian.^"*' To this popular favor as distinguished from that of more cultivated circles Martial refers with obvious pride. "You read and repeat my verses," he says to the reader, "all over Rome,"^"^ and again, "In Rome I am in every hand, in every pocket. I am praised, loved, and recited. "^°^ He is read in Vienna by young and old,^"^ in Getic forests and in Britain. ^^° Not only so but at the very beginning of his first book Martial announces that he is known all over the world, on account of his witty epigrams. ^^^ This statement is reiterated; he has a name throughout the cities of the world ;^^^ he is read everywhere in the world, and when he passes on the street people say, "It is he";^^^ his books circulate among all the nations subject to Rome's dominion ;^^* he is the famous Martial known by his verses of eleven syllables and by his abundant but not savage wit to all the peoples and the nations ;^^^' and finally fame can give him nothing more, his book is in every hand.^^^ This fame by some good fortune and contrary to the usual practice he has achieved before his death,^^^ but it is not a temporary thing; the future is also secure. He shall be known among the Scythians^^* and the Celts and the Iberians,^" and when the stones of Messala's tomb lie broken and "* Ep. ad. Att. I I, 3. ^"VII 51- "'I 113- "'X 17, 5. '"^VI 64, 10-15. '"'HI 95,5- '°*VI 82, 5. '"V 16 3. "'VI 61. Cf. IX 97, 2. •"•VII 88, 1-4. ""XI 3,3-5. '"11 1-3- •"III 95, 7. "'V 13, 3. "*VIII 61, 3. "'X 9. ""VIII 3, 3. "'I 1, 5. Cf. V 10, 12 ; VIII 69. "" VII 84, 3. "° X 78, 9. 72 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME the lofty marble of Licinus is dust his words shall still be on men's lips, and his verse shall be carried by many a stranger to his fatherland. ^^° In spite of his great popularity Martial's books were not always received in the way he desired. He was troubled with people who wanted to borrow them/-^ or receive them as a gift,^-^ but did not think enough of them to obtain them from the bookseller in a more satisfactory fashion. There was also the discouraging person who, after admiring the separate pieces and being eager for their publication, yawned over the thin volume for three whole days.^^* But all this was not to be com- pared with the actual attacks of outspoken critics. We learn from Martial himself what it was the critics found fault with. One thing he had especially to apologize for was the coarseness of a considerable part of his work. In mitigation he appeals, as we have already seen, to the practice of his predecessors.^-^ Akin to this is the plea^-** that his verses are not so bad as those heard on the stage. If the chaste matron can listen to the worse naughtiness of the actors, his own lines need not give her pause. As a matter of fact they do not except in the presence of her staid husband ; otherwise she reads them with delight.^-' The throwing off of conventional restraint becomes virtually universal at the Saturnalia and the festival of Flora, and Martial makes the excuse that some of the objectionable verses are written for these occasions or in the spirit of those who attend them.^^* On these occasions not even an austere Cato could expect the poet of light verse not to fall in with the general spirit. Moreover, the populace of the city for whom he writes^-® is always loose and frivolous, and he frankly panders to their taste, shaking the castanet like a girl from Cadiz. ^^° This after all is the only road to success, for the only kind of jesting verse that finds favor is that dealing with lascivious themes."^ In spite of this yielding to the demands of the popular taste, Martial assures us in two famous passages^^^ that his own life is upright. ^^" The other criticisms which Martial feels called on to notice are not •^VIII 3, 5-8, X 2,9-12. '"I, 117. "-"MV 72; V -72. "'II 6. Cf. XI 106; 107. "'For a similar justification Cf. Ter. And. Prol. 18. '==*III 86. ""XI 16, 9. ""Praef. I 15; I 35, 8; XI 15, 11. '^ XI 16, 2. Urbanae scripsimus ista togae. "° XI 16, 4. "* I 35, 10. "^ I, 4, 8 — Lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba ; XI 15, 13 — Mores non habet hie meos libellus. *" Boissier thinks this is a very poor defence. Perhaps Martial means by his probitas nothing more than freedom from certain perversions which he mentions to satirize. The ordinary violations of chastity virould not in his eyes constitute a defect of character. He may, however, be merely echoing Ovid, Trist. II 354 and Catull. 16, 5. Martial's literary attitude — elmore 73 of great importance. In the eyes of one his work (strange to say) lacks pungency, to whom the author repHes that for the kind of pungency he desires"* he should seek elsewhere. Nor for the sake of vigor will he resort to an archaic harshness of measure ; his verses shall run with smooth cadence, and those who find them weak do not know what real strength is.^^^ It is true, his work is uneven"" — some good and some bad — but evenness is only another name for mediocrity."^ Some of the epigrams, it was also said with considerable frequency, were too long, in which case the critic is invited to read only the short ones,^^^ or adjured not to be so unreasonable as to pick only the dainties,"^ or is taunted with being no judge, having himself written nothing. "° The serious justification of this mechanical objection is of course an appeal to precedent, and to the principle of artistic unity. When the sense is not clear or the construction unidiomatic. the fault lies with the copyist — blunders which the author acknowledges and which the critic might be expected to correct for himself in silence. ^*^ Martial also sufifered from having his work stolen. The plagiarists had various devices. One was so shameless that he did not even buy the book which he recited as his own ;^*^ another made the purchase of the volume the basis of his literary ownership •,^*^ and still another inserted a single page of his own, seeking thus the impression that he was the author of the whole book.^** But such crude methods were sure of detection. It was not possible to appropriate the work of a well-known author without discovery. "What you really need," says Martial to the plagiarists with fine sarcasm, "if you are to acquire fame from another's compositions, is to buy not only his work, but also his silence. Remember however, that this will not make you a poet ; the applause of the world is not to be gained so cheaply. "^*^ In protecting himself against literary thieves in general Martial calls on his friend Quinctianus for assistance. When the latter sees one of the poet's books in slavery, as it were, he should become its champion and if possible put some shame into the heart of him who had stolen it.^**^ The epigrams on plagiarists in books I and II raise the question as to what previous work of Martial had suffered from their ravages. It seems hardly probable that the plagiarist would busy himself with the Liber Spectaculorum, the Xenia, the Apophoreta, or the effusions of Martial's youth which he had himself forgotten. It is more likely '"X 45, 5. "'XI 90, 8. "'I 16, I. •"VII 90, 4- "'VI 6s, 4- "'X 59, 4- "°I 91, 2; no, 2. '"II 8. '"I 29; 62; XII 72, 7. •"II 20. Cf. XII 46. *"I 53- '"I 66; 72. "'I 52. 74 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME that the reference is to an earHer edition of books I and II, which, as Stobbe has made probable,^*^ appeared in a single book. In fact these references to plagiarists are an evidence of this earlier publication. With the exception of XII 72, Martial makes no references to plagiarism in his later work; he does, however, record two protests against the opposite practice of attributing to him work of which he was not the author. In one case the verses were of an extremely personal and vindictive character such as Archilochus might have written for the destruction of Lycambes, but which Martial repudiates in no uncertain tone. "My jesting," he says, "as you well know, is harmless." He also disowns the verses written in a low and filthy jargon which a certain nameless poet was attempting to pass off as his. "Far from my books," he writes, "be such foul fame.""^ With this keen sense of ownership in his work, he was also anxious to profit by it in a material way. He takes pains accordingly to point out where his book could be bought. It was for sale in a small parchment edition by Secundus, whose shop was behind the temple of Peace,^*^ by Atrectus in the Argiletum, at five denarii a copy,^^" to whom he recommends a would-be-borrower, by Q. Pollius Valerianus, who makes a specialty of the earlier compositions,^^^ and by the bookseller Trypho, from whom the Xenia could be obtained for four or even two sesterces. ^^'- Through these shops and doubtless through many others Martial's books were sold widely, but whatever the conditions of the book-trade may have been, the author in this case seems to have received little or no benefit from the extensive circulation of his works. "My verse," he says in one of the latest books,^^^ "is thumbed by the stern centurion amid Getic frosts and is said to be read even in distant Britain. And yet what profit is there for me? My purse knows naught of all this fame." This direct statement, which he makes also with respect to his earlier work,^^* chimes in well with what we know otherwise of Martial's straightened circumstances. As compensations, however, he had the notice of Domitian, from whom he received the ius natorum trium}^^ and the country place at Momentum, the acquaintance (and doubtless often more tangible recognition) of the leading men of the state,^^^ and a fame which came while he was still living to enjoy it. This want of money was in part responsible for the want of leisure which Martial deplores as one of the unfavorable conditions of his literary activity. The fact that he writes only one book a year is not due ' Philologus, XXVI 62, ff. '^ X 3, 9- "° I 2, 8. 'I 117, 10. '^*I 113. "'IV 72, 4; XIII 3, 1-4. XI 3, 1-6. '" XIII I, 8. "» II 92. '"* X 70, 9- Martial's literary attitude — elmore 75 to lack of diligence, he affirms, but to his preoccupation with other affairs that fritter away the day.^" This want of leisure affects the quality as well as the quantity of his work. When one of his friends reproaches him with writing nothing- really great he replies : "Give me leisure such as that which Maecenas gave to Horace and Vergil, and I will essay something which shall live through the ages and snatch my name from the flames of oblivion. ""''^ To his need of a Maecenas, Martial returns in an epigram addressed to his friend Flaccus. "Give me," he says, "such gifts as he gave to Vergil, and I shall not be a Vergil but a Marsus."^'^" Martial also found that his best work required not only leisure but the familiar conditions of the city. He makes this clear in the prose preface to book XH, written in Spain. He misses the libraries, theatres, and clubs, where one studied human nature at first hand but where the labor of observation was lost in the pleasure. In the freedom of the Saturnalia he found himself especially productive. "I can do nothing," he says, "without wine, but when I am drinking, I have the power of a dozen poets, and if to the wine there be added kisses such as Catullus loved, I will write something that shall rank with the latter's Sparrow."^®" Apart from the Saturnalia with its wine and women. Martial looks on love as the greatest inspiration. "If it is your wish," he says to one of his friends,^**- "to give strength and spirit to my muse, and if you desire of me verses which shall live, give me some one to love. It was Cynthia that made the naughty Propertius a poet ; the fair Lycoris was the soul of Gallus. The beautiful Nemesis gave fame to the wit of Tibullus; while Lesbia inspired the accomplished Catullus. As for me neither the Pelignians nor the Mantuans will refuse me the name of bard, if only I have some Corinna or some Alexis." Aside from what relates to his own work Martial has a few observations on the poet's calling in general. It is difficult to achieve success,^®^ and when it comes, it brings virtually no return except empty applause ;^^* indeed poets worthy (in their own estimation at least) to be spoken of in the same breath with Ovid and Vergil, shiver in threadbare garments. ^•'^ Even fame in the real sense, owing to the prevalent distrust of contemporary authors, is reserved for the ancients. Thus Homer was derided by his own age and rarely was Menander applauded and crowned in the theater ; Ennius was read in the life-time of Vergil, and Ovid was known only to his own Corinna. ^"^ Fame thus usually comes only with death, a price which no one can afford to pay.^"^ "'X 70; XI 24. '^'I 107. "'VIII s6, 23. *" XI 6, 12-6. "= VIII n- '" I 66, 4- "-I 76, 10. "'11138,9. '°'V 10. **''«VA fio. i. OLD FRENCH XE—SE—NON IN OTHER ROMANCE LANGUAGES AuRELio Macedonio Espinosa LATIN nisi (= only, except, but) was expressed by a great variety of forms and constructions in the early Romance languages. Among these, the most interesting and perhaps the most important one was (non)-si non, a construction which seems to have survived in all the Romance languages with the exception of Roumanian. A general but very incomplete treatment of all these forms and constructions in the Romance languages is found in Meyer-Liibke, Gram. HI, §§ 700-703. The French forms have been carefully studied by Tobler, Verm. Beitrage HI, 13, and Ebeling Krit. Jahresb. V, 212-214, gives additional, interesting and important information on the question of the separation of si — non. The present study is intended to be a contribution to the history of the 'Trennung,' and no attempt has been made to study the semasiology of the problem. Diez (HI,^ 1065) had already called attention to the separation of se — non in old French and Provenqal, but did not know of the exist- ence of the same phenomenon in any other Romance language. Tobler has limited himself to the study of the old French forms, and in his treatment of se - non he has shown that the 'Trennung' or separation of se and non with the object or object phrase between them, is the rule. Meyer-Liibke {op. cit.) also calls attention to the existence of this phenomenon in Provengal, but gives only one example. I shall soon show that the 'Trennung' as found in old French is also the regular construction in old Provengal and in old Portuguese. II To the numerous instances of the 'Trennung' which is the rule in old French, given by Tobler, I beg to add the following: Roland (Stengel) 221, 1522, 3681; R. de la Rose (Servois) 539, 1616, 2712, 2866, 3135; Les Narbonnais (Suchier) 937, 966, 2858, 3071 ; Yvain (Foerster) 5379. 5823; Loois (Langlois) 984; R. de Troie (Constans) 128, 754, 1251, 1596, 3072, 3692, 3764, 6254, 8739, 11978, 30242; Raoul de C. (Meyer- Longlon 1882) 7335, 8253; Saxenlied (Menzel-Stengel) 59, 1856, 2374; OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 77 R. de Thebes (Constans) 576, 6654; Aliscans (Hartnacke-Rasch) 352, 7044; Florence de Rome (Wallenskold) 1272, 3538; Eneas (J. S. de Grave) 4217, 7140, 8096; Folque de Candie (Schultz-Gorra) 3040, 7995; R. d'Escanor (Michelant) 1603, 11771 ; Ille et Gal. (Foerster) 54. 4158; L'Escoufle (Michelant-Meyer) 2527, 8455; Marie de France Fabeln (Warnke 1898) 7: 36, 19: 26, 29: 15, 46: 73; Cambrai, Balaham und Josaphas (Appel 1907) 924, 1670, 2058, 6974, 7954, 12276. The undivided se non, tho rare, also exists in Old French (see EbeHng, op. cit., p. 212). Among the curious contaminations of ne — se — non with other constructions I have found the following: (i) ne — se — non -f- ne — fors que: *Ha! dame, tant belle vous voy Et tant sent vostre oignement bon Que je n'ay fors que se bien non,' [Miracles (Paris-Robert) II, 46] (2) ne — se — non -\- ne mais (que) : 'Dieus,' dist li quens, 'or n'ai mais se bien non !' [Le Mon. Guillaume (Cloetta) 2681] (3) ne — se — non -j- ne que: 'Mes ij. freres laissai, par devant Tabarie, II ne font que bien non.' — [Bauduin de Sebonrc VII, 142-143] For ne — fors — non, see Tobler (op. cit.) 89. The 'Trennung' is found in French as late as the XV century : 'Car je n'y pense se bien non' [Clir. de Pisan (Roy) I, 100] 'Sont maintes fois les dames deceiies. Car simples sont, n'y pensent se bien non.' [Ibid. II, 4] By the XVI century the 'Trennung' no longer existed : 'Mais ton ame, n'est pas ravie, Sinon de justice et bonte.' [Poet, du XVI^ sicclc (Lemercier) Ronsard 118] *Aux anciens la Muse a permis de tout dire, Tellement qu'il ne reste a nous autres derniers, Sinon le desespoir d'ensuivre les premiers,' — [Ibid. 185] 78 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME The last construction still exists in modern French poetry and sometimes in prose. ^ - III. In old Provenqal the 'Trennung' is also the rule. Diez (op. cit.) knew of the existence of this phenomenon in Provenqal and Meyer-Liibke (op. cit.) cites one instance. EbeHng (op. cit.) has found a few more instances and also gives examples of the undivided se non both for old French and Provengal. To the few cases of the 'Trennung' given by Ebeling I desire to add the following, to show that in old Provenqal it was the rule, just as in old French. The Provencal forms are si — no, se — no, si — non, se — non : 'e malvaitz horn dinz sa maiso que no fa ditz si mal no.' [Appel Chr.^ 43, 80-81] 'Marcabrun go no m'es pas bon que d'amor digaz si ben non ;' [Ibid. 85, lo-ii] 'e no uoillatz autr'om li do Nuill jorn a maniar si uos no.' [Monaci Ausels (S F R III) 1344-1345] 'Al segle ne ere quel plaga Que diga re se so'l mal non.' [Cans. Prov. Riccardiana (Bertoni G R L 8) 41, 12-13] 'Don crei morir si no len pren merces, Que mon cor es mirails de so faigo. Per qel fugir no mes ren se mal no.' [Cans. Prov. C. (S F R VII) 80, 14-16] 'Qades poing en son pro. E non fai se mal no.' [Ibid. 83, 14-15] 'qem pren qan fuich em met ental preiso. quissir non puos si mortz o amatz no.'^ [Cans. Prov. A (S F R III) 341, 22-23] non agui entensio cab antra si ab vos no.' [Ibid. 452, 55-56] 1 See Matzner, Franz. Gram.^ (Berlin 1885), § 165. 2 In old French only one of two or more objects intervened as a rule: 'Onques n'i pot antrer vilains se dames non et chevalier' [Erec. 6913-14] 'Onkes n'oi d'els se mal non et felonie et traison.' {Eneas 6221-22] I OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 79 'Pieca quil nen ot guerre sa paians non Tuit sunt conquis par force aquil felon.' [Oxford Rossillon (Boehmer Stud. V) 1542- 1543], 'Ains seriez a rome dins prat neiron Que luns ne requert lautre se p mort non.' [Ibid. 2851-2852] — 'E apreu de ma mort mon fil folcon Qui ne dera consel ia se bon non.' [Ibid. 3008-3009] 'Moinges saz utres noues del rei carlon Eu non co dist li moinges se males non.' [Ibid. 6774-677 s] 'E coilli les Girarz en sa maison Ainc rendre ne les voult se issi non [London Rossillon (Boehmer Stud. V) 2039-2040]. 'Qui domna garda tan s'i pert Si non la met en tal preiso, Que non la veja s'aquel no Que la deu gardar et aver ;' [Flamenca (P. Meyer) 1152-1155] 'Non s'i bainet si rix horn no.' [Ibid. 1493] 'Car non sai coraus n'i veirai se de cor no; — ' [Ibid. 2831-2832] 'Amiga, nom fai si mal no,' [Ibid. 4192] *Homz no pot re vezer Ad huelz, si color no Sobre caique faisso Moven o no moven.' [N'at de Mons (W. Bernhardt. Altfr. Bib. lO, I, 195-198] 'Car plazer non a res, Si de son semblan no.' [Ibid. 1040-1041] 'Car sabers ses sen bo No fa leu si mal no.' [Ibid. II, 529-530] 'Que pos elh non an fait envas nos traicio No los degratz destruire si per jutjamen no.' [Croisade contres les Albig. (Meyer) 5065-5066] 'E pauso lor amor e las manentias d'aquest segle, et el deleit de la charn don ia nol venra nula re se mala no.' [Bartsch Chr.* 28, 2-4] 80 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME Just as in old French there is found also in old Provengal the less frequent undivided form : 'aisso tenc eu per gran error, e per mon grat no seria, que ges no mou si non de cor caitiu,' [Appel Chr.^ 32, 37-39] 'que degun non podia annar per la ciutat, si non per la gent morta ayci que era mot fera causa de vezer ho.' [B. Lesehuch 177, 4-6]' By the XV century, however, the 'Trennung' no longer exists in Provenqal : 'Helas ! helas ! la ciutat de Tholosa \^oldria veser ! Mas guardar no la gauza. Si no qu' un pauc' — [Gay Saber (Gatieu-Arnoult) Til, 125] 'D'autre gazanh no vos qualha, Sino del celestial.' \Ihid. 263] 'Sola, san par, gentil, flor agradiva, Vostre nau pretz tot mon sentimen priva D'autra servir, sino vos, bel' e bona;' [Ibid. 252] IV No one has ever called attention to the fact that the 'Trennung' as found in old French and old Provencal is also the rule in the old Portuguese."* This is actually the case to the end of the XIV century. The regular old Portuguese form is se — non : 'Ca non e outre se en non, que mi-o tive de-la sazon.' [Cane, da Ajuda (Carolina Michaelis) I, 11] 'E pesa vus porque non ei eu poder no meu coragon d'amar, mia senhor, se vos non.' [Ibid. 28] 'Mais pos i foren dormiran, ca non desejan al, nen an outra coita se esta non.' [Ibid. 72] ^ For more cases see Ebeling {op. cit., p. 212). * Ebeling, however, cites one case {op. cit., p. 214). OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 81 ' por niun ben desejar eu de nulha ren eno mundo, se de vos non.' [Ibid. 117] 'Ca tal dona ! si Dens a mi perdon ! non a no mundo, se mia senhor non.' [Ibid. 109] 'E se m'esto contra vos non valer, non rte valra logu' i se morte non.' [Ibid. 178] 'Non me fez Deus tal dona ben querer, nen mi-a mostrou, se por aquesto non.' [Ibid. 181] 'pois Deus non quer que aja se mal non.' [Ibid. 257] 'Nunca Ihes por en faqan se mal non.' [Ibid. 268] 'E amigos, non me soub' en guardar per outra ren se per aquesta non :' [Ibid. 294] 'Mia senhor, nunca despois vi, per boa fe, se mui gran pesar non ;' [Ibid. 343] *Non jaz i al se morte non,' [Ibid. 571] *nen mi-o sab' outren, se Deus non !' [Ibid. 682] 'Ca nunca de vos ei d' aver i Mal pecado ! se coita non.' [Ibid. 713] 'Non tenh' eu se morte non.' [Ibid. 713] 'que nunca devedes fazer en nulha cousa se ben non!' [Ibid. 719] 'non mi valrra se Deus non !' [Ibid. 904] Just as in Provengal there are also found in old Portuguese rare examples of the undivided se non : 'nunca me pose tolher al mal nen gran coita, se non mal.' [Cane, da Ajuda I, 216] By the XV century the regular undivided form had become the rule : ' — ca elle nom ffezeera aquelo, senom pelo toruar de se non ir lancar sobre elle.' [Vasconcellos Text. Areh. 65, 23-24] ' — que OS libros nunca forom feitos senom pera aquelles que non sabem e querem aprender.' [Ibid. 55, 12-13] 82 MATZKE me:morial volume From the X\'I century the usual form has been senao :^ 'Nao tens aqui senao apparelhado O hospicio que o cru Doimedes dava.' — [Camoens Liisiadas II, 62] 'Em nenhuma outra cousa confiado, Senao no summo Deos que o ceo regia,' [Ibid. Ill, 43] 'Agora conheco com certeza que nao ha outro Deos em toda terra, senao o Deos de Israel.' [Roquete Hist. Sagr. II, 45] V A regular use of the 'Trennung,' as found in old French, old Provencal and old Portuguese, does not seem to exist in Italian and Spanish.® A. In Italian the usual forms are se non, se no, sown: 'La sete natural che mai non sazia Se non con I'acqua onde la femminetta Samaritana dimando la grazia' [Dante, Purg. XXI, 1-3] Other cases are: Inferno X, 21, XVII, 117, XIX, 114, XXV, 37; Purgatorio XII, 129, XIII, 6; Paradiso I, 137, X, 90, 148, XVII, 41, XXII, 54. 'Omai, care compagne, niuna cosa resta piu a fare al mio reggimento per la presente giornata se non darvi reina nuova,' [Bocc. Decam. I, 10] ' — m'ha trovato in prigione, della quale mai se non morto uscire non spero!' [Ibid. II, 6] ^ In Camoens, mas (cf. Spanish mas) is usually equivalent to senao, even after a negation, and by far more frequent. In the Spanish of the XVI-XVII centuries the line between mas, sino, pcro, was not clearly drawn, and salvo, excepto, mas que added to this confusion. See also Bello-Cuervo, Gram,'^^ §§ 1275-1278. For the curious forms nego, nega = senao found in Gil Vicente, see Cornu in Rom. XI, 89. In Sa de Miranda and other Portuguese poets sinon > son, and in the Alexandre sino > sin, see Carolina Michaelis, ZRPh. IV, 603. " In Spanish, however, a few isolated and curious cases are found, see C. For Italian, I know only the case cited by Rajmouard, Lc.xique Roman IV (1842) 325: 'A niun altro s'lia da attril)uire la causa se alle donne no.' [Castiglione, Cor teg. lib. Ill] OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 83 'Digli : un che non ti vide da ancor presso, Se non come per fama uom s'innamora ;' [Petrarca Rime I Cane VI] 'Vera Donna, ed a cui di nulla cala, Se non d'onor, che sovr' ogni altra mieti ;' [Ibid. Son. CCXXV] 'Non sa che far la timida donzella, Se non tenersi ferma in su la sella.' [Ariosto OH. Fur. VIII. 25] 'Questo cuore che amor mai non richiesse Se non forse a le idee E che ferito tra le sue contese Ora morir si dee.' [Carducci, Intermezzo IX, 9]' B. {i) In old Spanish the usual forms are si non, sy non, sinon, sino, si no : 'Que non yfincas ninguno, mugier nin varon. Si non amas sus mugieres dofia Eluira e dofia Sol :' [Cid 2709-2710] 'non lo sabrian dezir los que leen sermones, sy non los que suffrieron tales tribulaqiones.' [St. Do. de Silos, 74 be] 'Plus pavoroso dia nunqua amanecio, Sinon el viernes sancto quando Christo murio.' [San Milldn 379 cd] 'Asmo que lo non podrie en otra guisa matar sy non por aventura por aquel lugar.' [Alexandre (Morel Fatio) 708 ab] 'Non puede a nuyll omne la cosa mas durar. Si non quanto el fado le quiso otorgar;' [Appollonio 341 ab] 'e Julio Cesar en estos V annos non pudo ganar sino fasta Lerida.' [Pr. Cronica Gen. (Pidal) 9a, 4-5] 'Non queria cassar con una sola mente, Sy non con tres mugeres, tal era su talente.' [J. Ruiz 189 be] 'Ca non ha pobre honbre Sy non el cobdigioso;' [Sem. Tob. Prov. 214 ab] ' For more cases see Tommaseo-Bellini, Diziomnio IV, 795796. In Italian there is also used se non se = se no (T-B). 84 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME 'Et el dean le prometio et le aseguro que de qualqiiier bien que el oviese, que nunca faria sinon lo que el mandase. [Juan Manuel Lucanor, 47, 45] Other old Spanish instances of this regular use of si non, shio, are the following: Pr. Cronica Gen. I4ai9, 2ib2. 4^145, 571)30, 76b3i, 94ai8, I03b4i, iiibio, 119342, I22bii; San Milldn 42d, 2iid, 379d ; Sacriiigio 9d, i6c, 202b; Milagros 4od, 4id, 761c; Alixandre (M. Fatio) 7d, I96d, i6o9d ; Ferndn Gons. (Marden) 53d, ii9d, 23od, 348c; Cavallero Cifar (Michelant 1872) 19:23, 25:6, 51:18, 65:6, 77:6; Lucanor 6:11, 54:24, 56:3, 58:17, 64:22, 75:6, 80:3, 92:15, 110:17, 121:12; Jttan Ruiz 6o2d, 703c, 86od, 1423d. (2) Since the Classic period the regular form is sino: 'Mire vuestra merced, respondio Sancho, que aquellos que alii se parecen no son gigantes, sino molinos de viento, — {Don Quixote VII] 'Tu nuestro principe eres ; Ni admitimos ni queremos Sino al senor natural y no a principe extranjero.' [Calderon, La Vida es Sueno III, 2] 'Ni en su vida conocio otro mal, sino una especie de alferecia que le amagaba de cuando en cuando.' [Moratin, El Si de las ninas I, 4] G. The 'Trennung' in Spanish. Hanssen (Spanische Gram. § 66) says: 'Im Altspanischen konnen si und non getrennt werden,' giving as an example the well known case from the Egipciaqua. Ebeling (op. cit.) has already called attention to the fact that this may be a French construction. It should be added that in the Egipciaqua, sino is regularly used, and the 'Trennung' occurs only in the first case, evidently a French construction. To see how closely the Spanish poem follows the probable French original, it is sufficient to compare the two in the opening lines as given by Mussafia {Sitzungs- berichte der Phil.-Hist. Kl. der Kais. Acad, dcr Wissenschaften, Wien, V, XLIII, 157). With the exception of this very doubtful case, there does not exist, to my knowledge, a single case of the 'Trennung' for the OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 85 old Spanish period. Hanssen's statement, therefore, if based only on the example given, is a very bold one. Neither Hanssen nor Ebeling seem to know, however, that a few isolated cases of the 'Trennung' are found in the Spanish of the XV and XVI centuries. The total number of cases known to me is the following : (a) The two examples from the Arnadis, given by Bello (Bello- Cuervo, Gram}'^ § 1282 note). (b) The proverb used by Cervantes, *en ayunas si de pecar no.' (Bello-Cuervo, Ibid.). (c) '^A quien contare mis quexas si a ti no? ' (El Marques d'Astorga, Cancionero, cf. Raynouard, op. cit.) (d ) The cases found in the verses (some Spanish, some Portuguese) addressed to D. Joao III by Gil Vicente (Obras, Lisboa 1852, Vol. Ill) : '^ A quien contare mis quejas, Si a vos no?' 3-4, 11-12, 27-28 'Que no contare mis quejas Si a vos no.' 19-20 'Porque no cuento mis quejas Si a vos no.' 35-36 The cases from the Amadis are very interesting and curious, in view of the fact that the regular undivided sino is the rule and it is very frequent. Examples : 'porque el rey su marido nunca la consintio cubrir sus hermosos cabellos sino de una muy rica guirlanda,' la 9; 'Si me vos prometeis, dijo el Rey, como leal doncella, de lo no descubrir sino alii donde es razon, yo os lo dire,' 2b 31, etc., iib36, i6b54, 22a40, 24h2g, 26b39, 28b2, 35a7, 37b 13, 42b, 34, 5oa28, etc., etc. The cases from Astorga and Gil Vicente seem to be fixed formulas but I have not found any other cases. Gil Vicente uses the regular sino in all other places, and in his Portuguese writings he uses sendo, just as Camoens, and not the old Portuguese se — non: 'Eu nao quero de ti nada Senao abragar como amiga.' [Ohras, op. cit. I, 131] 'Eu nao vejo aqui maneira, Senao emfim concrudir.' [Ibid. 229] D. It is probable that in Catalan (XIII-XIV centuries) the 86 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME 'Trennung' may occur as in Provengal. I have had at my disposal only X\' century texts, and there it is not found, e. g. : ' corrents atzebres, ludries, vebres, hon bo ni bell sino la pell als no si troba:' [Jacme Roig (Chabas, 1905) 130a 75-76] VI No se — non; no, sino; si non; se non, are often strengthened by the additional use of such adverbs as solemcnt, solo or similar adjectives placed before or after non, sino : (a) Old French: 'Car il ne mena home o sei, Ne escuier ne compagnon, Se solement son cheval non.' [Thebes 574-576] 'Done amez vos je le vos prius, Car doucor an nul mal ne truis S' an amor non tan solemant.' [Cliges 31 15-31 17] 'Ne nus ne puet aparcevoir Qu'il i aut por nul acheison, Se por I'astor solemant non.' [Ibid. 6324-26]^ (b) Old Spanish: 'Todos yscamos fuera, que nadi non raste, Si non dos peones solos por la puerta guardar.' [Cid. 686-687] ' — porque la onra de Roma ficasse por todauia e la de Carthago fuesse destroyda por siempre, que non fincasse si no el nombre solo ;' [Pr. Cronica Gen. 51a 34-37] * For old Provengal cases, see Ebeling, op. cit, 213. OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 87 ' — et de guisa los sopo traer et reboluer en sus tonieos que todos los mato, sinon uno solo que finco y canssado, et a aquel non le quiso ya matar Roy Diaz mio Cid." [Ibid. 503a 18-22] ' — pero al cabo non le quiso ninguno tomar la yura, maguer que la el rey quisiese dar, sinon Roy Diaz el Cid solo.' [Ibid. 519a 6-8] ' — porque el rey don Alffonsso non dexara heredero fijo nin fija sinon a la reyna donna Vrraca sola.' [Ibid. 645b 41-43] 'esto non lo penssedes njn coydedes njn creades que sinon la muerte sola non parte las voluntades.' [Juan Ruiz 860 cd.] I have found in old Spanish one case of sinon — solo — solamientre : ' — ca de quantos alii son llegados non pudo ninguno ferir en somo del tablado sinon el solo tan solamientre;' [Pr. Cronica Gen. 432a 1-3] (c) Middle Spanish: ' — por aquella que en su tiempo par de sabiduria no tuvo en todas artes, sino solamente en la del enganoso amor de aquel que mas que a si mesma amaba.' [Amadis 400 a-14-16] 'i Que mas mala ventura quiere vuesa merced, que de once polios que me saco la gallina, no me han quedado sino solos cinco?' [Lope de Rueda (Acad.) II, 29] ' — Yo no vivo Sino solo de mi hacienda, Ni paje en mi vida fui.' [Tellez Don Gil I, 2, 245] 'Nunca, dixo a este punto Sancho Panza, he oido llamar con don a mi senora Dulcinea, sino solamente la senora Dulcinea del Toboso,' — [Don Quixote II, 3] *Y aunque nunca vi ni hable Sino a un hombre solamente, Que aqui mis desdichas siente, — ' [Calderon La Vida es sueTio I, 204J 88 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME (d) Italian: 'Noli calea niuna cosa Se non de morte solamente, Quando uedea suo fillio gente.' [Poesie Relig. 54, 11]* (e) Catalan (XV century) : 'No vull del mon sino sols vos, puys som abdos, ha jam plaer ab bon voler e fin amor.' [Jacme Roig 98, 59-63] VII When a new verb is introduced, sino que, se no che, sino che, sendo que are used in Spanish, ^° Italian, Catalan and Portuguese: (a) Spanish: 'ca numqua fiz otro yerro contra ti sino que te quiero bien — ' [Pr. Cronica Gen. 43a 29-30] 'ca si el consejo que da recude a bien, non ha otras gracias sinon que dizen que fizo su debdo en dar buen consejo, ' [Lucanor 52, 20-23] 'y no parecia sino que el diablo le traia a la memoria los cuentos acomodados a sus sucesos,' — [Don Quixote I, 5] ^ For more cases see Tomniaseo-Bellini, op. cit., 796a. 1° In old Spanish sino tanto que was also used: ' — no fallamos escriptas ningunas cosas que de contar sean, si no tanto que en el dozeno anno murio Cleto el papa,' — [Pf. Cronica Gen. 140a 28-30] ' — no fallamos escripta ninguna cosa que de contar sea, si no tanto que en el dezeno, segund cuentan las estorias, quexo el senado de Roma mucho a Traiano ell emperador — ' [Ibid., 144b 13-16] Cf. also 152a, 155a, i6ib, i68b, 176b, 177b, 183b, etc., etc. An emphatic tant is also used in the old French construction, fors tant que, [Tobler, 89.] OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 89 (b) Italian: 'E non so qui trovare altro compenso Se non che '1 tempo e breve, e i di son ratti ;' [Petrarca Rime II, 441] 'ma io non so chi egli si fu, se non che uno, avendomi recati danari che egH mi dovea dare di panno, etc' [Boccaccio Dec. I, i] *0 tranne tutti gli altri, e piu non chero, Se non che tu mi lasci il mio Ruggiero.' [Ariosto Orl. Fur. IV, 33] 'Egli non fece al suo disio piu schermi, Se non che cerco via di seco avermi.' [Ibid. XIII, 9] (c) Catalan: 'En bona fe, pare, dix micer Sipelleto, tal cosa jo no se que may fes, sino, que es ver que una vegada un home me havia comprats draps — ' [Boccaccio Dec. I, i, Trad. Cat. ed. Torrents] (d) Portuguese: 'E ainda, Nymphas minhas, nao bastava Que tamanhas miserias me cercassem ; Senao que aquelles que eu cantando andava, Tal premio de mens versos me tornassem :' [Os Lusiadas VII, 81] 'e nao so se farao senhores dos mesmos thesouros, sem d'elles deixar cousa alguma. senao, que ate a vossos proprios filhos captivarao, — ' [Roquete Hist. Sagr. II, 94] VIII The use of se — non, senon in positive questions without the preceding negation, but apparently, also with the negative idea, as found in old French : 'Sire, pour coi plores? aves vos se bien non?' Ch. lyon 4605 (Tobler, op. cit., p. 70) and which is also frequent later. 90 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME 'Qu' ai-je depuis men enfance, Sinon tout in juste offense Senti de mes plus prochains — ?' [Poet, dii XVIe Steele du Bellay p. 234] 'Pourquoi leur faisons — nous du genou tant d'honneurs, Sinon pour leur richesse? — ' [Ibid. Ronsard 181] is also a regular construction in old and modern Spanish : *Cosa tan con recabdo qui la ordenaria, Si non tu fijo, madre, por qui todo venia?' [Berceo Loores I53cd] 'Quando daqui saldremos i que vestido leuaremos Si non el conuiuio de Dios de aquell en que creyemos ?' [Appollonio 655 cd] *Sus infinitos tesoros, Sus villas y sus lugares, Su mandar, , I Que le fueron sino lloros? I Que fueron sino pesares Al dexar?' [Ant. poet. Uric. cast. Manrique III, 108] 'l A Quien debo yo llamar Vida mia, Sino a ti, Virgen Maria? ' [Ibid., Juan del Encina IV, 192]^^ The above construction is also found in Portuguese: 'Com quem foram contino sopeados Estes, de quem o estais agora vos, Por Diniz, e su filho, sublimados, Senao co'os vossos fortes pais, e avos?' [Camoens Lnsiddas IV, 17] 11 When a new verb is introduced sino que is used (cf. VII) : 'l Que quiso significar- Esto, sino que Castilla Devia' con gran mancilla- La tal perdida llorar ?' [Ant. Poet. Lir. Guzman, I, 240] 'i Que me ha de parecer, sino que almorcemos?' iThcbayda 158] OLD FRENCH NE - SE - KON — ESPINOSA 91 in Italian : 'Com que melhor podemos, hum dizia, Este tempo passar, que he tao pesado, Senao com algum conto de alegria, Com que nos deixe o somno carregado?' [Ibid. VI, 40] 'Che poss' io far, temendo il mio signore,^^ Se non star seco infin' all' ora estrema?' [Petrarca Rime I Son. CIX] and in Catalan 'i que als divisa sino gran fum?' [Jacme Roig 45a 4-5; IX The independent use of se non, sino, etc. (= except, only) without the preceding negation, as found in old French : 'Seur mer uint il en un sablon, Mes par tens li fera si mau non Vn gran serpens qui descendi.' [Octavian (Vollmoller 1883) 585-587] 'Et courtois, ou vosist ou non. Car amours a si courtois non.' [Antecrist (Wimmer) 70] (see also Tobler (op. cit. 70), has a much wider extension of use and meaning in Spanish, and is found also in other Romance languages. In Spanish and Italian sino que, se non che are used in the same manner when a new verb is introduced (see VII). '^- Se non che is used when a new verb is introduced (VII) : 'E che altro e da voi all' idolatre, Se non ch' egli uno, e voi n'orate cento?' [Dante Inf. XIX, 113-114] 92 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME (a) Spanish: 'Si yo yogues con ellos auria gran placimiento, Sine quando viene el dia del pasamiento.' [Appollonio 131 cd] 'Los ssantos monges ya sse partien Ssino los que romanegien.' {Egip. (1907) 846-847] 'trernio la tierra en Antiochia tan fuerte, que se destruyo toda la cibdat, sino fue muy poca cosa.' [Pr. Cronica Gen. 144b 33] ' — e orauan me todos todo bien et toda salud, si non uno solo^^ que estaua y, que nin se alegraua comigo nin riye como los otros.' [Ihid. 271a 32] 'Et el infante dixole que bien le parescia, sinon quel' fazian muy grand rroydo aquellos estrumentos.' [Lucanor 97] 'mas ruegovos por Dios que vos membreis del doncel que es desamparado de todos sino de mi.' [Amadis 7, b34] 'mas creo que lo faceis por no haber razon de os combatir, que a esta bora fallareis sino los diablos.' [Ibid, 31a 23] ' Dorotea (que era discreta y de gran donayre) como quien ya sabia el menguado humor de don Quixote, y que todos hazian burla del, sino Sancho Panga, no quiso ser para menos,' — [Don Quixote I, XXX] (b) Italian: 'Che piangon dentro, ov' ogni orecchia e sorda, Se non la mia;' [Petrarca Rime II Son. XXVI] 'Che 'n tutto quel mio passo er' io piu lieta Che qual d'esilio al dolce albergo riede ; Se non che mi stringea sol di te pieta.' [Ibid. II Tr. de Morte 2] 13 See VI b. OLD FRENCH NE - SE - NON — ESPINOSA 93 'Ivi cosi una cornice lega Dintorno il poggio, come la primaia, Se non che I'arco sno piu tosto piega.' [Dante Purg. XIII, 4-6] (c) Catalan: ' — totes vixqueren, sino 1 damnat Judes pen j at;' [Jacme Roig 209b 2-4] BENEDICITEE EWALD FlUGEL BENEDICITEE, inter j.^ Latin phrase taken from the song of praise of the three children protected in the fiery oven (Dan. 3, 57: Bene- dicite omnia opera Domini Domino laudate et snperexaltate eum in saecula, cf. Ps. 102, 22 Benedicite Domino omnia opera eius;- occur- ring also at the end of the Mass,'' cf. Missale Romanum Gratiarum actio post missam ; sung also on the Dom. ad Laudes, cf. Brev. Rom. Horae Diurnae 3), used from early times. — /. as interjection: ( i) as a blessing, especially in greeting and at meals; (2) at the beginning of the confes- sion; (5) superstitiously, and accompanied by the sign of the cross, as a formula of imprecation, to protect against evil influences,* evil spirits, ghosts, the Devil.^ In this latter use it is possibly connected less with Dan. 3, 57 than with Dan. 3, 86: Benedicite spiritus et animae iustorum Domino, laudate etc.,® Ps. 133, 2 Benedicite Dominum omnes servi Domini etc., although Wycliffe^ says expressly in his interpretation of Dan. 3, 57 : pus alle )?ingis blessen god but oonli yuele men and feendis. In English literature the phrase is first found bef. 1060 Cott. MS Cal. A. VII in the Charm against bewitched land:* Wende J?e J?onne iii sunganges, astrece pe )7onne on andlang and arim ]>xr let aias and cweS J?onne : Sanctus sanctus sanctus op ende. Sing ]?onne Benedicite aj^enedon earmon and ^ From the Chaucer Dictionary. For an explanation of the abbreviations see Anglia XXXIV, 1911: "Prolegomena and Side-Notes to the Chaucer Dictionary." -Myrroure of oure Layde 124 : god of hys specyall mercy . . . shall kepe hys chosen in that fyre of trybulacyon vnhurte . . . And in token thereof ys thys fyfte psalme Benedicite songe at laudes. ^G. Durandus Rationale Divin. Off. 4, 59 De benedictione novissima, ed. Koberger 1481 fol. 83. * The fear of evil influences is behind the words in Li Romans de Carite i, 75, quoted by Godefroy s. v. and explained as 'priere en general' : Bons cloistriers sans grande griete / Onkes silenche ne navra : Ne doit nis en necessite / Parler sans 'Benedicite' ; for the sense of 'exclamation comme : Grand Dieu' Godefroy has only one qu. from G. Chastellain + 1474. ^' A formula necessary in the times of Antichrist, see Myrrour of oure Ladye 124. *■' Cf. the German phrase : alle guten geister loben gott den herrn. " Works ed. Arnold 3, 62. « Grein-Wiilker Bibl. i, 314. BENEDICITEE — FLUGEL 95 Magnificat and Paternoster iii and bebeod hit Criste = used as a blessing to the field, as prayer and imprecation against evil influences ; later quota- tions : c 1205 Layamon A 2, 12^ Heo {vis. the Monks) comen to heore abbede? & hine gretten J^urh gode. Lauerd benedicite? we beoS icumen biuoren ]>t = used as a greeting addressed by an inferior to a superior ;^ c 1225 Ancren Ritvle 64 hwon 3e schulen to owre parlures )?urle . . . gof? forS mid godes drede [ : ] to preoste on erest siggeS confiteor ? & )?erefter benedicite J^ast he ouh to siggen? herkneS his wordes = as a greeting (possibly connected with the confession) ; ib. 44 bitweone mete hwo se drinken wule sigge benedicite potum nostrum fiUus Dei benedicat = as a grace at table ;^° c ijoo Interludiiim de Clerico et Puella 63 (ed. Heuser, Anglia 30, 308) Mome Ellwis: A son vat saystu? benedicite? Lift hup yi hand and blis ye! = as a strong remonstrance against the wishes of the Clericus, with the additional thought that the word might avert evil influences; c 1^00 Dame Siris 795 (Maetzn. Spr. Pr. i. 446 with excellent note) Benedicite! be herinne! == exclamation of remon- strance;^^ 7J77 Piers Plo7vman B 5. 397 (Accidia confessing) He bygan benedicite with a bolke and his brest knocked / And roxed and rored and rutte atte laste = at the beginning of the confession, used by the penitent ; 7jpo Gozver C. A. i, 48 The selue prest . . . Was redy there ... To hiere my confessioun. This worthi Prest . . . To me spekende thus began / And seide Benedicite / My sone . . . Thou schalt thee schrive = the confessor's blessing ; c 1400 Tale of Beryn 40 Benedicite quod the Pardonere = exclamation of horror at the behavior of the woman ; ib. J14 = excl. of the girl frightened in her sleep ; ib. i2/'i = imprecation against evil words; ib. lyiS == excl. of surprize; ib. 322^ = excl. of disgust and surprize; f 7 jo? Lydgate Ass. Gods 1594 A benedycyte noon ere cowde I aduert / To thynke on Andrew the Apostyll = excl. of astonishment on becoming aware of his omission ; c 1430 York Plays 449> 33 (Petrus) : On goddis name benedicite! What may ]?is mene? (Jacobus) : Itt is a sperite . . . that dose vse tene = excl. of fear at the apparition of Jesus; c 1450 Toivn. Plays 24 (Processus Noe) A bene- dicite what art thou that thus / Tellys afore that shalle be? Thou art fulle marvellus = excl. of fear addressed by the frightened Noe to the ^ It must have been the request of the inferior to the superior to pronounce the blessing : 'quia minor maiore praesente benedicere non debet . . . regulariter autem maior minori benedicat,' G. Durand, 1. c. fol. S^b. 10 Cf. Furnivall E. E. Meals 366 ff. 11 Maetzner takes it as "halb substantiviert" ; I take it as interj. and 'be herinne' as an exclamation Ccf. also the Town. PI. 85), a phrase lacking the subject, which is 'God,' cf. German 'Gott sei bei uns ! Gott steh uns bei ! viz.. against the Evil one, who, later, receives the name of the exclamation euphemistically. 96 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME voice of God ; ib. 83 Benste ! Benste ! be us among / And save alle that I se here in this thrang = excl. of horror ; ib. pp Benste and Dominus !^- What may this bemeyne? = excl. of fear; ib. loy Benste! be here in! So my hart qwakys! = excl. of the shepherd who awakes from a bad dream ; i^tli c. Edinb. MS Trent. Greg. 81 (Anglia 13, 305) \>t goste com \>Q }7yrde nyght . . . \>t pope . . . hade negh lost hys wytt / Bot at J^e laste vp he breyde / And rufuUy }?is wordis he sayde / Bene dicite in Godis name / Wo is J^er ? = excl. of horror at the apparition of the ghost, as in 15th c. Childe of Bristowe 239 qn. by Kaufmann Trentalle 55-'' NB as a formula of mere greeting, "vox salutationis apud monachos praesertim qua inferior superiorem salutat et adit" (Du Cange s. v.), the word is not quoted between Layamon, the Ancren Riwle and Shake- speare Meas. 2, 3, 39 where the Duke (disguised as a friar) blesses Juliet with the words 'Grace be with you! Benedicite !' (Exit) ; in Romeo 2, 3, 31 the word has been explained as a formula of greeting (see Alex. Schmidt), but it is rather an exclamation of surprize, and, originally, of fear at being called upon so early in the dawn of the day.^* //. Used like a substantive: (i) e 1323 Auchinl. MS Guy 3J44 (Murray) Gij . . . 3af him swiche brnrdicite / )?at he brak his nek ato = such a blessing on his back; (2) in Elizabethan writers transf. = con- fession; cf. Tho Nashe Have with you &c (Works ed. McKerrow 3, 74) vnder benedicite here in private be it spoken = in absolute secrecy, as at confession; Kemp Nine Daies Wonder 17 (qu. ib.) such Waytes (under Benedicite be it spoken) fewe Citties . . . have the like, none better = as at a confession of the absolute truth. Prosody. In ME the word, is generally used trisyllabic with two accents, riming with words in . . . ee : ben' distee' : occ. quadrisyllabic : Ben'edis'te (D Siriz?) ; also dissyllabic, as the spelling 'Benste' shows (Town. PI.) or the metre (Freir. Berw.) ; rarely quinquesyllabic with three accents, as in the Childe of Bristowe ("The child seid benedicite"; or is it here, too, rather trisyllabic: The childe seide ben'distee?). In Chaucer the spelling of MSS. II, III, IV, \' 3 proves that the word in its 12 This 'dominus' was originally the necessary answer to the 'benedicite,' cf. Caesarius v. Heisterbach qu. by Kaufmann Trentalle 55 ; see also Durand. 1. c. maior incipiens dicat Benedicite et cetcri respondent Dotninus. 13 Cf. also Cal. & Melib. 33 (Dodsley Coll. O. PI. i, 54) What amiss woman, Christ benedicite! and c 1540 Freir. Berw, (Schipper's Dunbar 421) Ha benedicitee! Quat may this mene? (Bannat. MS; 'Haly benedicite' in Maitl. MS) = exclamation of horror. '^* Romeo to Friar: Good morrow, father I Friar to Romeo: Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? BENEDICITEE — FLUGEL 97 fuller form had two accents and was pronounced Ben'distee ; a form which was still further contracted to * Bendstee Benste ; the contrac- tion * Bendcite * Bencite suggested by Ten Brink 263 was first given by Child Observations 1862, p. 492, § 96, and accepted also by Skeat 5, 166 ('we must say ben'cite'), — does not rest on any MS proof; cf. also Kittredge Obs. 381. Prosody of the ivord in Chancer. ( i ) Trisyllabic with two accents : Ben'distee Tr 3X CT iix; (2) quadrisyllabic with two accents: benedic'itee CT B 1974 (? D 1584); (3) dissyllabic: ben'ste CT D 1456, benstee' D 2170; (4) quinquesyllabic, with three accents: CT A 1785- Rimes. (Tr) : he pron. : be inf. (CT) : dignete s. : meynee s. : tree s. : see pres. subj. 3 sg. : flee inf. : be inf. : see inf. : me pron. 2x : thee pron. : he pron. : ye pron. — Spelling, benedicitee i 8x 2 5X 11; b^nedicitee 2; benedicite 6 13X 7 8x II 8x 5 7x 2 6x 4 6x I 5x I 3x VI 3x 3 3X II 2x V 2x 8 9 10 14 16 17 19 27; b^ne man so synfuUy to swere Shipm. Prol. 8 B 1170 BENEDICITEE — FLUGEL 99 O seinte Marie benedicite What eyleth / this loue at me To bynde me so soore Thopas 94 B 1974 Out of the hyue / cam the swarm of bees So hydous was the noyse / a hcnedicitee Certes / he lakke Straw . . . Ne made / neu^re / shoutes half so shille N Freest 627 B 4583 What dostow / at my neighebores hous Is she so fair / artow so amorous What rowne ye with our mayde benedicite Siive olde lecchour / lat thy Tapes be Wyf. Prol. D 241 chidyngf wyues / maken men to flee Out of hir owene house [] / a benedicitee What eyleth / swich an old man for to chide [house with benedicite 8] Wyf Prol. D 280 His olde wyf / lay smylynge eurremo And seyde / o deere housbonde benedicitee ffareth eu<7ry knyght / thus ivith his wyf / as ye ? Wyf Tale 231 D 1087 And whan this yeman / hadde this tale ytoM Vn-to oure boost / he seyde benedicitee This thyngi* is wonder mcnieillous to me Chan. Yem. 75 G 629 (3) exclamation (entirely?) of joy: euery lusty knyght^ . . . They wolde hir thankes / wilnen to be there To fighte for a lady / benedicitee It were a lusty sighte / for to see [O benedicite 5] Kn 1257 A 2115 PROPERTIANA B. O. Foster //. 75. I sq. O me felicem ! o nox mihi Candida ! et o tu lectule deliciis facte beate meis ! All the editors, beginning with Passerat, who comment on deliciis understand it to mean the poet's voluptas, but it is much more probable that Propertius meant it to signify his mistress. Elsewhere he has the word but twice, and in both places it is employed of a person — deliciaeque meae Latris, cui nomen ab usu est, ne speculum dominae porrigat ilia novae. iv. 7. 75 sq. felix intactum Corydon qui temptat Alexin agricolae domini carpere delicias ! ii. 34. 73 sq. Beate with an ablative of the person will then be used precisely as in the following passage — nee quae deletas potuit componere Thebas, Phryne tam multis facta beata viris. ii. 6. 5 sq. A parallel to this use of deliciae may be seen in the gaudia of i. 19. 9, sed cupidus falsis attingere gaudia palmis. The sentiment is similar to that in the epigram of Meleager — To aKv(f>Q<; '^8v yeyrjOe Xeyei S' otl Td<; (piXepooro'i Zr)vo(f>iXa<; yfravei rov XaXtov aro^jiaro^. oX^LOV €16' vtt' ifioi nee dicti studiosus erat Ennius, Ann. 221 sqq. He seems to have effectually ousted these precarious tenants — mere squatters, as it were, upon his claim — for Lucretius gives him a clear title to the premises — Ennius ut noster cecinit qui primus amoeno, detulit ex Helicone perenni fronde coronam per gentes Italos hominum quae clara clueret. Lucr. i. 117 sqq. ^ This is clear from the latter part of the poem, vv. 47 sqq. ^ Postgate, Selections ad loc. PROPERTIANA — FOSTER 105 and Propertius recognizes in him the (Latin) originator of epic — Visus eram molli recubans Hehconis in umbra, Bellerophontei qua fluit umor equi, reges, Alba, tuos et regum fata tuorum, tantum operis, nervis hiscere posse meis ; parvaque tam magnis admoram fontibus ora, 5 unde pater sitiens Ennius ante bibit ; et cecinit Curios fratres et Horatia pila, regiaque AemiHa vecta tropaea rate, etc. Prop. iii. 3. I sqq. In another department Lucretius makes the same assertion of priority in his own behalf — avia Pieridum peragro loca nullius ante trita solo, iuvat integros accedere fontis atque haurire, iuvatque novos decerpere flores insignemque meo capiti petere inde coronam unde prius nulli velarint tempora Musae ; Lucr. i. 926 sqq. In a like strain Vergil — primus ego in patriam mecum, modo vita supersit, Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas ; Verg. Geor. iii. 10 sq. and in another place — iuvat ire iugis qua nulla priorum Castaliam molli devertitur orbita clivo. Geor. iii. 292 sq. Horace too boasts himself princeps Aeolium carmen ad Italos deduxisse modos. Hor. Carm. iii. 30. 13 sq. and again- libera per vacuum posui vestigia princeps, non aliena meo pressi pede. qui sibi fidet 106 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME dux reget examen. Paries ego primus iambos ostendi Latio, numeros animosque secutus Archilochi, iion res et agentia verba Lycamben. Ep. i. 19. 21 sqq. and a few lines below — hunc [Alcaeum] ego, non alio dictum prius ore, Latinus vulgavi fidicen. iuvat immemorata ferentem ingenuis oculisque legi manibusque teneri. Ibid. 32 sqq/ Propertius, too, sets up a like claim in the beginning of his third book — Callimachi manes et Coi sacra Philetae, in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus. primus ego ingredior puro de fonte sacerdos Itala per Graios orgia ferre choros. Prop. iii. I. I sqq. and, a few lines further on — sed, quod pace legas, opus hoc de monte Sororum detulit intacta pagina nostra via. mollia, Pegasides, date vestro serta poetae : non faciet capiti dura corona meo. Ibid. 17 sqq. and again, dixerat, et plectro sedem mihi monstrat eburno, qua nova muscoso semita facta solo est. iii. 3. 25 sq. and, in the fourth book, the Babylonian says to the poet: at tu finge elegos, fallax opus : haec tua castra ! — scribat ut exemplo cetera turba tuo. iv. I. 135 sq. In these and other places originality — with the limitation already noted — is claimed for their work by the several poets. Their achievement ■'Contrast Serrti'. i. 10. 48, where Horace accounts himself in satire inventore minor. PROPERTIANA — FOSTER 107 is likened to scaling the mount whereon the Muses dwell (Ennius, Lucretius, Vergil, Propertius), whence they bring down (detulit Lucretius, Propertius; deducam Vergil; deduxisse, Horace) the Muse 5 (Vergil), or a garland (Lucretius, Propertius), or fresh draughts of water (Lucretius, Propertius), or simply their poetry itself (Horace, Propertius). In the light of these passages must be interpreted Prop. iv. 10. i sqq. Nunc lovis incipiam causas aperire Feretri armaque de ducibus trina recepta tribus. magnum iter ascendo, sed dat mihi gloria vires : non iuvat e facili lecta corona iugo. There can be no doubt that this last distich belongs with the places cited above. The 'easy ridge' is here that of erotic elegy, which the poet is quitting for a more arduous ascent, — of the peak where heroic elegy flourishes. Observe that the metaphor in iugo is essentially the same metaphor that we have found already in such passages as Lucretius i. 117 sqq., where Helicon means the source of poetry. In Propertius iv. 10 the iugiim is specialized ; no longer the hill of the Muses, the source of all poetry, it is become the particular hill set apart for a single kind of poetry. Corona is, of course, the emblem of supremacy in whatever department happens to be concerned. We are now ready to explain iugo in iii. 9. If we may not say that it is precisely Helicon, the home of the Sisters Nine, it is, at least, used in a figurative sense closely akin to the metaphorical Helicon, and derived from it, just as iugo was found to be used in iv. 10. We must not then with Professor Postgate (Selections) take it as a yoke, comparing the €^i plama > flama > flamma > flamina). Moreover palma 'palm- branch' is more concrete than fam-a, and corona at iv. lo. 4 is to be reckoned in its favor.^" Finally, if my view of aequo iugo be right, palma (implying supremacy) is more logical than fama (implying merely excellence). It is not true that one must outstrip all competitors to win fame, but certainly one can not otherwise gain the price. 8 It would be interesting to know how Propertius would have disposed of the claims of Catullus and Gallus, not to speak of Tibullus. " With Propertius's use of the figure of. also mollia Pegasides date vestro serfa poetae : non faciet capiti dura corona meo. iii. I. 19 sq. The word palma is similarly used as symbolical of supremacy, in the speech of the soothsayer: ilia parit : libris est data palma meis. iv. I. 102. and again, nam tibi victrices quascumque labore parasti eludit palmas una puella tuas r""""' Ibid. 139 sq. PROPERTIANA — FOSTER 109 Hertzberg's interpretation approximates that set forth above. He saw that the idea in our verse was somewhat different from that at iv. lo. 4, and showed the flaw in Lachmann's note, as I have said. But he failed to see that aequo meant 'level,' and tried to explain it as 'equal,' i. e., with another. This was overworking aequo, nor is there any need of it, if iugo be understood as a 'ridge' or 'range' rather than as a single 'peak.' That Propertius himself so used it at i. 12. 10, where he has the phrase Prometheis iugis, is the opinion of Schulze, who cites in support of this interpretation a passage in Caesar where it unquestionably bears the meaning 'ridge,' or 'range,' viz., B. G. vii. 36. 2 omnibus eius iugi coUibus occupatis; and I may add Liv. xxxiii. 6. 9 quia colles perpetuo iugo inter erant. The word aequus is used in the sense which I assign it here, e. g., at Caesar B. G. vii. 44. 3 constabat inter omnes dorsum esse eius iugi prope aequum. III. I "J. 2() sqq. Candida laxatis onerato coUa corymbis cinget Bassaricas Lydia mitra comas, 30 levis odorato cervix manabit olivo, et feries nudos veste fluente pedes, mollia Dircaeae pulsabunt tympana Thebae, capripedes calamo Panes hiante canent, vertice turrigero iuxta dea magna Cybelle 35 tundet ad Idaeos cymbala rauca choros. ante fores templi crater antistitis auro libatum fundens in tua sacra merum. The context shows that we must have a future verb in the last distich to complete the series cinget — manabit — feries — pulsabunt — canent — tundet. To supply est, or even erit, with the editors, would perhaps satisfy the demands of grammar, but the passage would be absurdly feeble, with such a conclusion. I suspect that Propertius wrote libabit in verse 38 — "Before the doors of the temple the bowl of the priest shall offer sacrifice of wine, pouring it from golden cup in honor of thy rites." The personification of the crater needs no justification here, as it is rightly understood by the editors, who compare, inter alia, pax aluit vites et sucos condidit uvae, funderet ut nato testa paterna merum: Tib. i. 10. 47 sq. 110 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME Propertius himself has something very similar in sit mensae ratio, noxque inter pocula currat, et crocino naris murreus ungat onyx. Prop. iii. 10. 21 sq. And it is worth noting that he twice elsewhere uses libare with an impersonal subject — dum vernat sanguis, dum rugis integer annus, utere, ne quid eras libet ab ore dies ! iv. 5. 59 sq. spargite me lymphis, carmenque recentibus aris tibia Mygdoniis libet eburna cadis. iv. 6. 7 sq. The corruption was perhaps owing to confusion of the contraction for libabit (viz., libab with a cross stroke through b) with that for libatum {libaf with an apostrophe over t). See Professor Lindsay's Con- tractions in Early Latin Minuscule MSS., p. 49 sq. I EARLY ETRUSCAN INSCRIPTIONS fabretti 2342-2346 George Hempl How I, a Germanic scholar, came to be interested in Venetic and Etrus- can, I have told in my report on the results of my Italic studies. This report has been delayed, chiefly by the difficulties inherent in such an undertaking, but it will now be published in a very short time. The present paper is an abstract from it. A few weeks before his death, Professor Matzke urged me to hasten the publication of my report. He said that my silence was being misinterpreted, and that I owed it not only to myself but also to my friends to publish something at once — if only a fragment. I was touched by what he said and the way in which he said it. It was almost exactly what another friend, Otto Jespersen, had written me from Copenhagen not long before, and what still others, as if by concert, now began to urge upon me. I saw the force of their arguments and decided to drop everything else and complete my report. And now that Fate has sud- denly cut short the life of one of them, I can find no more appropriate tribute to lay on his grave than the fragment he so recently urged me to publish. If it seems abrupt or takes things for granted that I have given in the report but could not well incorporate here, scholars will, I trust, con- sider the circumstances of publication. There are, however, a few matters of a general character that must be briefly touched upon before I proceed with the interpretation of the inscriptions. Etruscan is a sister of Latin. In their earlier stages the two languages can hardly be distinguished. But Etruscan matured far more rapidly and had already passed into old age when Latin was only attaining her majority. To put it otherwise, Etruscan is an Italic dialect that became a modern Romanic language in ancient times. Many of the forms, phonological changes, and other linguistic phenomena that we are wont to regard as char- acteristic of modern languages, are to be found in Etruscan long before the days of Julius Caesar. The development of the language, from the early stage when it was almost identical with Latin, down to the time when it was so different that the Romans regarded it as a totally alien tongue, can be traced step by step on the chiseled monuments that stand in our museums. In attempting to read Etruscan, scholars have, however, largely confined themselves to a study of late inscriptions, and have permitted the relatively 112 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME modern forms that they there found to bUnd them to the original character of the language — much as Old-English scholars once did with West Saxon. The situation in which the philological world at present finds itself with ref- erence to Etruscan is as regrettable as it is extraordinary. The kinship of Etruscan and Latin lies open for all men to observe, and yet this fact is denied by practically all Indo-European philologists. Moreover, the study of this important Italic language has been permitted to fall into the hands of a school, which has made of this denial a cardinal dogma and has prescribed for its disciples a rule of conduct, or only-legitimate method of study. Here, carefully screened from the light of Indo-European philology, ' ' Etrus- cologists " spin airy webs, while without, in the busy world of learning, scholars concern themselves with other things. It would be impossible for me here to discuss the situation in detail. I must, in this paper, restrict myself to the presentation of three very early inscriptions, and I shall be satisfied if I succeed in making it clear that early Etruscan can scarcely be distinguished from Old Latin. The inscriptions will be found in Fabretti's Corpiis, Tab. xlii, 2343- 2346. All I know about their origin is what Fabretti quotes* on page cciv, namely, that they are from various friezes or paintings found in ancient Etruscan tombs near Corneto-Tarquinii. So far as I can learn, their gen- uineness has never been questioned, nor their Etruscan character. A study of the forms of the letters shows that we have three, not four, inscriptions ; for 2345 and 2346 are parts of one and the same. The first two give the names etc. of the dead ; the last (2346-2345) pertains to the formalities of cremation. I can not detect any material difference in age, either epi- graphic or linguistic. Perhaps the forms of the letter for a prove 2344 to be the oldest, and 2346-2345 to be the youngest. According to Etruscan cus- tom, the writing runs from right to left, but I have reproduced it in our way. I have also substituted for the Etruscan characters the conventional transcription, in Italics, and have added the phonetic transcription in Roman. In the grammatical discussion, a prefixed asterisk (*) marks a recon- structed word or form ; a prefixed period (.) indicates phonetic spelling. An apostrophe (') before an .1 .m .n or .r signifies that the consonant is syllabic. The letters .y and .w represent the voiced fricative consonants heard in English ye and woo. The macron (~) is added to a long vowel, rather than placed over it. The pitch accents of Greek and Sanskrit are indicated by the usual signs. The sign for stress, in accordance with the best modern usage, precedes the stressed syllable ; but, to avoid misun- derstanding, I use the grave (^), in order that it may point toward the syl- *"essais des differ entes f rises ou peintures qui se troiivent dans les souterrains des anciens £.trusques pres de Corneto (Piranesi De Rom. niagnificentia et archi- tectura, Romae 1761)." EARLY ETRUSCAN INSCRIPTIONS — HEMPL 113 lable to be stressed, not away from it. I have indicated the stress only when it has shifted from the initial syllable. The phonetic characters employed are the usual ones, the vowels having their German values, and the consonants their English. The turned e (.a) stands for an obscure vowel, for example, that beginning the word ago and that ending the name Anna. Small capital .K and .G represent the velar stops in cook (.kuk) and good (.gu^), as dis- tinguished from the more palatal sounds in kick (.kik) and gh'e (.giv). A curl over a velar consonant indicates labialization. Thus we hear quick sometimes as .icik, sometimes as .Kwik. Compare also alive (.a'laiv), devout (.diVaut), eatable (.i"t3b'l), Wednesday (.wenzdi), purely (.pyu~rU), etc. s' is a conventional way of representing a distinct j-sound usually due to contraction ; it has nothing to do with accent, r' represents an Umbrian variety of r. It should be noted that, as in most other early scripts, no graphic distinc- tion is made between voiced, voiceless, and aspirated stop consonants. Thus / may stand for pure .t, for aspirated .t, or for .d, and p for .p, aspirated .p, or .b, etc. ; just as we use s for .s (as in so) and for .z (as in rose). Fur- thermore, 6 X are employed with exactly the same values as tp k (or c). Thus, while k stands for .k or .g , x too may stand for .k or .G . Simi- larly in English, while k stands for .k (for example, in /took), so too, c may stand for .k (as in cool), while it may also stand for .s (for example, in city etc.). Moreover, in Etruscan a u may stand for .u or .o , or for an obscure vowel (like that in Latin optumus or optimus), while v too may stand for .u or .o , or for a similar consonant (.w .f etc.). I should state that in Etruscan, as in primitive Italic generally, the stress originally fell on the first syllable. From this it shifted in Latin to a long penult or to the syllable preceding a short penult. In Etruscan a dif- ferent principle prevailed. The stress regularly stayed on the first syllable if that contained a long vowel or a diphthong. If it contained a short vowel, the stress shifted to the nearest long vowel or diphthong ; see 'Kermupi, (pericaru, stani, etc., below. This shift is often betrayed by the reduction of the vowel of the initial syllable (for example, ;z«(^(?^j' = .na^po'ts' < .nepo-ts, Latin nepo's, 'grandson,' Lemnos Stone ; also .a(n)n3^ke~, vari- ously spelled annice (F. iii, 391), eneke (F. 2614), uneke (F. i, 234), unuke (Gamurrini, 607 and 608) 'granted, gave,' Latin annuit 'assented, granted, ' see also raned below) ; or by its total disappearance (see fravvniv page 122 ; Bne < to/xt;, page 116; and eca s'udis (.e'Ka~ s'uttis < .Ksup-ti-s ' the down below ' ) 'this tomb,' F. Tab. xli. 2183, later ca suOi, F. 1933, CIE. 4539) ; sometimes by other phonological changes. Compare also Mliduns =- .mli'to"ns < MtXiTCoi/, Plunice =^ .plu^ni'ka < IToXui/et/c?;?, etc., which caused Skutsch and others trouble. The shift took place at a very early date, after the shortening of final -o~ (see VecaB below) but before the change of medial -d- to -1- (see dri^tent, page 121). 114 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME FABRETTI 2343 This inscription was cut on the beveled edges of the octagonal capital of a column. Unable to read the text, scholars did not know where it began, and guessed wrong. Vecad 'Kermupi <^ericaru :n stani puru hem: (.weKat kerma'bi" peri^Ka"ro n[a~to] stan^ni" pu~ro hem) 'Vecath, the beloved son of Chermupu, a man free of alloy,' It will be observed that there are two puncts at the end of the legend, and also before the abbreviation n = natu. Except for the loss of final -o" in Vecad and hem, the inscription might be Old Latin as well as Etruscan. Vecad (.weKat) < .wexato", Greek ^Fe/carcoi', 'E/caTwy, whence Latin Hecato. The true Latin form would be * Vecato, but I find no trace of such a name in Italy, see Y^enmipi below. In Etruscan a final long -o regularly shortened after a short syllable (compare iambic shortening in Latin*) and early fell away. The shortening obviously took place earlier than the shift of stress spoken of above. With Vecad from .weKato", com- pare hem from .hemo" below. Also Uni (.u~ni «< .u~nio ■< .u~nio~ < ,yu"no~) 'Juno,' and %iiplQa, page 115. With these, contrast names like Lam (.la~ro''), spelled Laaro in Latin, and Mam (.marVo~), page 116; and such a verb as niceOii (.nik(9)'to"') 'pledge,' Latin yiecto 'bind, oblige, pledge,' F. 2404. YL.ermupi (.kerma^bi") is the genitive of the name Kepa/jL/3o<;. Such changes as -am- > -am- > -ma- are common, c/. Greek Her-ac-les > Latin Her-ai-les. From the names Vecad and Y^ermupi, it is clear that we have to do with members of a Greek family. There evidently were not a few Greeks among the Etruscans, even in the earliest times (observe the V-, not //-, of the name Vecad), who acquired wealth and standing. A notable case is that recorded on the grande sepolcro (Gamurrino, 799) of Laris Pulena, who is stated to be 'the great-grand-son of Laris Pule the Greek' — prumts Pules Larisal Creices. Compare also the story of Demaratus, the reputed Greek progenitor of the Tarquin family. *In Etruscan we fortunatelj^ are not, as in Latin, dependent upon the evidence furnished by metrical texts and upon the conflicting interpretations that modern scholars have put upon ancient metrical usage. The loss of -o~ after a short syllable and its preservation after a long syllable are facts that can not be argued away. At another time I shall show that the Old-English loss of a final short -u after a long syllable and its retention after a short syllable, instead of offering (as argued by Sweet and Sonnenschein, Classical Philology, January, 191 1, page 3) evidence against the doctrine of iambic shortening, offers evidence for it. EARLY ETRUSCAN INSCRIPTIONS — HEMPL 115 encaru (.peri'Ka"ro) 'very dear,' Latin perca'rus. In all but the very oldest Etruscan (for example, apastvs ed palamneus tupanktvs^ F. 2341), final -s disappeared, as in Old Latin, after a short vowel, provided no vowel followed. At an early date, the j-less forms prevailed in Etruscan, the j-forms in Latin. Observe puru, sdvnimv, Titv, %sivieu, icanius, fravvmv below ; also eluri under driericaru, page 115. EARLY ETRUSCAN INSCRIPTIONS — HEMl'L 117 -m 'and,' here = .m, iis on the Lemnos Stone and often elsewhere. In F. 2345 below, it is syllabic ( = .'m) ; but we also find -em {les'c-em, Magliano) and -um {a'xr-nm F. 2598) = .am. This is the same word as Old-Latin em, im 'then,' seen also in Latin (inter)im, formed like inter- dum. Compare Umbrian enom ' then ' = Palignian inom ' and ' == Latin enim 'for.' Also Umbrian pun-um 'quando-que' (Buck's Oscan and Umbrian Grammar, §201, 5). For the relation of idea between 'and' and 'then,' compare the like use of "then , then , then ," and "and , and , and ," in narration. The Etruscan word is almost always enclitic ; in F. 2345 (page 122), it introduces a new clause. When so used, it seems to have retained the old sense 'then.' Titv (.tito) < .titos, Latin Titus. This .tito later became .tita, written Tite, see (f)ericaru, page 115. ^simeu (.Ksimeo), Latin eximius 'distinguished.' An initial short vowel was often lost in forms having the stress on a succeeding long vowel, compare e'ca', later ca~y page 113. Before a long vowel, i was consonantal (that is, .y) and assimilated to a preceding consonant, doub- ling it if immediately preceded by a short vowel. Thus .aksim^a's >■ .Ksim^ma~s. (This gemination of the preceding consonant after a short vowel is proved by Latin spellings like Spiirinna, Porse?i7ia, etc. ; see also raned, page 123.) Observe the masculine family names Tav)(^na''s and TardnoT < * Tarcni^a~s and * Tarcni'a' ( originally respectively genitive and ablative of the -ia feminine name of the family, which was added to the first name just as the tribal name in -ia was in Latin), also the derived feminine Tarx'nai ; and compare these with the original feminine nominative ^Tarxnid. As e- is lost in ')(si7neu too, it is clear that the comparatively few forms of the adjective that did not end in a long vowel adopted the shortened form of those that did ; but it is not cer- tain whether they also shifted their stress to the final syllable or simply had it on the first syllable of the shortened form. The medial i or e certainly did not disappear before the short -o. Moreover, it is clear that the initial stress of the nominative, accusative, and vocative (the most commonly used cases of a name) held its own in masculine names like Tavarsio (.taursio, Greek Tau/3€(cr)to9, Latin Taurius) on the Lemnos Stone, and the later Askamie (.asKamia < .asKanios, Greek 'Ao-zcai/to?, Lsiin Ascanius), F. 2614 quat., and the still younger Fulni (.folni < .folnia < .folnio(s) < .folwios, Lat- inized as Folnius, but in real Latin, Fulvius) F. 251 and 11. p. 28 Tab., CIE. 428. xsimeu and sdvnimv may be common adjectives or cognomens, I am not sure which. letive (.le'ti'we"), the nominative plural masculine of .le"ti"wo, Latin ^le'ti'vus 'killed,' 'dead,' is to le'tum 'death,' as furti'vus 'stolen' is to furtum 'theft,' and as capti'vus 'captured' is to captus 'capture,' etc. 118 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME The ending -e~ (compare Old-Latin ploinime' for the later plu~rimi~) is the intermediate stage between older (-oi >) -ei and later -i~. Compare (F. 314, Tab. XXV, CIE. ^2) fvimv — pace (.fu"imo paK^Ke", for kk < Kt, cf. 6ii')(tid, page 122), \j3X\n fuimus pacti~ ; W\\h fvhnv, com^zr efravvmv^ page 122. /t^/^z" (.i^a"ptsi"), genitive of ^lapzu (.iV~ptso) 'lapygian,' 'pertaining to the 'Ia7ru7e9' (the natives of 'Ia7ry7ta, whence Latin lapygia, the terri- tory about Tarentum, and thus northwest of Greece), of which 'laTru^ 'the northwest wind' is really the singular. For the origin of the name, see page 119. smalvi (.smalVi"), the genitive singular of ^smahu < .smalwom 'evil, disease,' Latin malutn 'evil, misfortune, injury.' The Etruscan form finally determines the etymology of the Latin word and establishes its connection with English small, the development of the idea 'small' into that of 'bad' being common the world over. For the -v- (.w) seen in the Etruscan form and in French mativais, see also Venetic mdiltia 'evils,' Pauli, AIF. iiL No. 201. With the use of malum in the sense of 'disease,' compare the like use of evil in early English, still more or less familiar in >^/«^' J ^^'z7 ' scrofula. ' Also tnalady (from Late-Latin male habitus), and illness (which formerly meant 'badness' ), and He' s very bad to-day ' He's very sick to-day.' My colleague Professor Elmore calls my attention to the following from Horace (Sat. I. 5, 62) : — Campanum in morbum, in faciem permulta jocattis, as to which Morris says : ' ' Some disease, not understood even by the scho- liasts." This naming of a disease from the place where it is found is not uncommon. We, too, speak of the Roman fever, Texas fever, Gambian disease, Syrian plagne, Aden ague, englische Krankheit, etc. Oanrider^ (.tanriter) 'at Tarentum.' Etruscan @anri6er, Latin Ta- rento- , and Greek Tapavr- (in Tdpa .cherche^n , genitive ch'r^ohenos. According as the stress permitted, the first syllable was .cher- or .ch'r- , and this variety was regularly reflected in Greek by forms with rep- and forms with Trap- . Thus, while the nominative was ^repO-qv, there were oblique forms like the genitive Trapdevot. A competition set in, whereby one of the rival forms (.ter- or .par-) won the day, or a compromise form (.tar-) resulted. In Greek we find the old genitive irapdevo^ employed, but regarded as the nominative of an <7-stem. This passed into North-Eastern Etruscan ; but with it the old nominative ^repdrjv also came in, becoming *The identity of the initial letter is partly concealed by an accidental mark, slighter and different from the strokes of the letters. EARLY ETRUSCAN INSCRIPTIONS — HEMPL 119 by metathesis tre'te~n. Thus at the beginning of the very old Novilara inscription we find : — Partemis poh'^n is'airon tet 'A maid presented this pedestal,' and at the close, in more elaborate form : — Treten telet auneni polem tis'ii s'otris eus *A maid presented this (same) pedestal in accordance with the testament of her benefactor.' tet (.de"d) is from tetet (deMe~d), while telet (.'deled) is from .Meded, see under rane6, page 123. polem < .podem = Tro'Sa. is'airon < .isto- + .aiso-m, cf. Latin iste and Oscan elsii-d . aiineni = Latin eundem, with reg- ular change of medial -nd- to -nn- . For other details see my report. The compromise form .tar- is found in Tdpa-a~l9K- , page 124. But in .tripo^de~nt, the -d- began the stressed syllable and was, therefore, virtually initial. Etruscan eluri corresponds to the Old-Latin variant edoris. Latin edo'ris would be .eMo"ri in Etruscan and would have been written ^eturi; cf. tetet nnder raned , page 123. -Xa (.Ka), Latin -que 'and.' The Capuan Tablet still has xue (.Sa), but Etruscan .ic early became .K,* hence we usually find -ce (F. 2598), -xe (F. 2327 ter b and very frequently elsewhere), or -xa (as here), all = .Ka, or we find -c (see under dri(f)tcnt above), with the obscure vowel lost. But unstressed -ga at times became -Kb, thus we find -c/e, -x/^^and -xla '-que,' which persisted after . ic had become . k in other words : Lautnes' -de caresri Aules 'of Lautne and dearest Aule' (F. 191 5, CIE. 4116). With the *Where .kw is found in later texts, it is foreign {Cvinte < Latin Quintus) or of secondary development {-xva < -trains) in the Mummy Ms., 8-3 etc.: celt Auffis' zadrumis' fler-Tova Nedunsl 'walk thirty-four times past the statue of Neptune'). celt is .Ke~le- < .Ke~de~, 'walk, stride.' From Latin ce-de we should expect eel, with loss of the short -e, certainly in so late a text, celi ( < .Ke-de~) makes more probable Brugmann's derivation from ce -+- \/sed (see Walde). It would seem actu- ally to be from ce-sedeo ' sit here,' 'come on over here and sit with me,' 'come along, don't stand there,' 'come on,' 'march,' etc. As in Umbrian etc., the .e- in Etruscan was very close and was often written z, especially when unstressed. 122 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME more usual Etruscan -xa, -x^, etc., compare Venetic -ka (No. 22), -ke (No. 9), -X^ (No. 291). The genitive ending -es (in northern spelling, -es), seen in Pules and Creices, page 114, and in Lautnes and Aides', is .e~s < .eis, Oscan -m, Umbrian -^i- / -^r (Buck. §171), which arose in the /-stems. /?' (.pi"), \j2Ltvci pii~ ox pi", 'the devout ones,' here probably the hired mourners. m- (.'m) 'then,' see -m, page 117. 6u')(tiB (.duKtit, Latin ductita~, imperative of ductito 'lead, lead along, lead forth.' In Etruscan this verb is of the third conjugation, with final short -e regularly lost. The -Kt- is a sign of great age, for . Kt early became .k(k) in Etruscan, cf. pace under letivey page 117. nvhunt (.no"o~nt) 'messenger.' The word originally meant 'new- comer,' being due to the conglomeration of ^neu(i)os ^uentos, nov(i)us ventus. The Etruscan word is the same as Latin nWntius 'messenger'; but the peculiar phonology led to changes that were not identical in the two languages. In considering these, it should not be forgotten that the Italic stress rested on the initial syllable. In Latin we find the development : ^neuios uentos, which by metathesis of -ios and -os and regular change of -sw- to -w- (Sommers, p. 231^) became *neuouentios > (Sommers, p. 97) *neuentios > (Sommers p. 74, 2) noiientios > (Sommers, §86) *nountios > (Sommers, p. 175) 7iu~ntius. Etruscan, on the other hand, developed as follows (in Latin spelling) *netws uentos > *ne7iouentos > *nououentos > *nouountos > no~o~ntos, the vocative of which (with regular loss of final -e) is our .no""o~nt, speld nvhunt. aisaru (.aissro") <^ .aisaro^m, genitive plural, 'of the gods.' The ' messenger of the gods ' was Mercury, who also conducted the souls of the dead to the lower world. The invocation is, therefore, to him. aisar {aesar Etrusca lingua ' deusl Suetonius) is a variant of aisos (alaol ^ OeoV vTTo Tvppi]vci)v, Hesychius), see Buck, page 12 etc. Contrast the retention of -u, which represents -o~ < -o~m, with the complete loss of short -om in fust below. ustvn (.usHo~n) < .us^to~r'm, Latin usto~rem, accusative of ustor 'cremator.' fravvmv (.fra~w3mo), Latin ^fera~vimus 'tulimus.' This form, by its loss of -e-, betrays the shift of stress spoken of above ; compare also 6ne, p. 116. "With fravvmv, compsire fvimv under letive, page 117. pid (.piki) < .piKim, Latin picem, accusative of pix, Lithuanian /i^/'j 'pitch.' For the loss of -m, see ta above. fust (.bust) < .bustom, Latin busium 'place of cremation.' I reg- ularly represent the Etruscan letter 8 by the conventional transcription f but it is obvious that it here still has its original function of representing the labial stop .b . Pauli was mistaken in deriving the Etruscan 8 from the old EARLY ETRUSCAN INSCRIPTIONS — HEMPL 123 three-barred h. It is nothing but a cursive form of B , and got the value .f as old .bh became the labial fricative. In the inscription Gamurrini 804, the first two /'s are written 8 , the following three have the form B . For the loss of -om, see ia, page 15. ramQ (.ranne~d < .ran'ye~d < .ranie^t) is the third singular future of Latin "Cranio, Greek paivta ' (be)sprinkle. ' The change of -t to -d is the same as in Oscan, Umbrian, and Latin ; compare Old-Latin sied, fhefhaked, etc. But this -d is found only in very old Etruscan, for it early became silent {tenue, F. 2033 bis, E a) and in time a preceding short -e disappeared {tenu, F. 2070, III. 329). The ending of Latin temiit is a reconstruc- tion on the basis of the present, which has -t < -ti, cf. Etruscan s'udit (.s'u(d)dit), Latin stibdit, F. 2335. Corresponding to Latin -it « -ed) and -i~i « -eid), Sommers, page 618, Etruscan had -ed and -e~d : the former in temie(d) (F. 2033, bis, E «), later tenu (F. 2070, in. 329), and in many other verbs, for example, (F. 2100) : eisne''v-c eprdne~v-c macstre~v-c, Latin aestmna~vit-que imperitaTvit-que niagistroTvit-que ; the latter in .anna'ke" 'gave' (see page 113), and in tetet ( de'de~d, cf. dri^tent, page 121), with which contrast telet (.deled), page 1 19. The form tetet is found in F. 2753, an inscription that is usually classed as "mixed Oscan and Etrus- can," but which is in reality pure Etruscan from beginning to end.* The only consideration that has led scholars to suppose that this inscription is not pure Etruscan is the fact that several words in it are obviously Indo- European, which was not compatible with the current doctrine that Etruscan is not Indo-European. It will be observed that that part of our inscription that is numbered 2346 forms a sense-unit. What is numbered 2345 falls into two sense-units. If we write the text in this way, we get three metrical lines : — ^i~Ka~mos ^a" tripMe~nt-K9 ^pi~. ^'m-duKtit, ^no~o~nt ^aisar(o~) us^to~n ; Tra~wamo ^piki, ^bust ran^ne~d. ' Let us strike up now, and let the devout ones dance the sacred dance. Then lead forth, O Messenger of the Gods, the burner of the dead ; We have brought the pitch, he will sprinkle the place of burning.' Each verse is a trochaic dimeter catalectic, with the substitution of a dactyl for the trochee in the first foot of the first dipody, less often of the second dipody. The meter is, of course, dynamic, that is, based on stress, not time. *Fabretti made a strange blunder in reading the perfectly distinct per aciam as aeraciam, and others carelessly followed him. 124 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME Note on the Numerals As there has been occasion to refer to the numerals, I may say that the correct order is that of Campanari : — max ^^' ^^^ ^"^^ ^^ ^^ sem(f) cezp- muv- mealxls 12345678 9 10 Every form is a regular derivative from primitive Indo-European. The puzzling zal (^.Ks2r\) is from older "^zar (.tsa~r), which arose by metathesis (cf English three but third') from .tsra" < .tis(3)Va~, Avestan tis'aro~, Sanskrit tisrds, Old-Irish teoir, etc. , ' three. ' The Etruscan numerals were often feminine abstracts like Greek otvr} ' the number one ' and German die Eins. The older ^zar (.tsa~r) is reflected in zadrm (.tsa~tr'm) < ^zarOm (.tsa~rt'm) ' thirty' < (.tis(9)Va" ' three,' + .deK'm ' ten '). As in this word the .-ra~ became .-a~r by metathesis, the .d of .dex'm came to stand next to the .r, and thus .tsa"rdeK'm became .tsa~rdK'm > .tsa~rt'm > .tsa~tr'm, spelled zadrm, zaBrum, etc. In other numerals, the final -a~ remained in position, and thus .-a"deK- became .-a'laK (seepage 121) > .-(a)lK- , spelled -(a)lx-, etc. : celc, cialx-iis, cealx-ls, etc., all forms of the word for ' fifty' ; 5'ialx-v(e)is ' sixty ' (the analogy of the preceding ci- of the word for 'fifty' caused the substitution of j'z- for s'a- 'six,' which is from ^zecsa (.tscK^sa"), compare, with initial stress, zecsans'l (.tscKsans'l) 'of a six-year- old,' Latin sexennis) ; etc. The tens usually appear in the adjective form, with the Indo-European adjective suffix -we~s, -tvents, seen in Avestan vi~ saiti-vant- ' twenty-fold ' and in Greek Terpd'?, -avro';, etc. (Brugmann, n. §182, 2, II*. §356). This -we~s appears as -veis and -vis (^z and i = close e~) on the Lemnos Stone {s'ialx-veis, -vis) ; as -us (.os < .wes < .we~s, cf. Latin soror < .sweso~r) in the Mummy Ms. {cealx-us etc.) ; and as -Is (a dull syllabic 1 + s) in ItaHan Etruscan {cealx-ls etc.). In Southern Etruria the final -s of this adjective suffix passed by analogy to the numbers below mealx^s ' ten ' when these were used as adjectives : thus maxs, hu6s, etc. , by the side of the max, h,uO^ etc. , found on the dice. This -s has been mistaken by some scholars for an inflectional ending, and has been used as shot to fire at the " Indo-Germanites " (Skutsch, Pauly-Wissowa, 805-47). ORIGIN OF THE LEGEND OF FLOIRE AND BLANCHEFLOR^ Oliver Martin Johnston FELIX, king of Spain, while invading a Christian land, attacks some pilgrims going to Saint James of Compostella. Among the pilgrims are a knight and his daughter who, after the death of her husband, had consecrated herself to the apostle Saint James. In the battle that follows the knight perishes and the daughter is taken captive to Naples, where she becomes the confidant and friend of the queen. Some months later a son is born to the queen and a daughter to the Christian captive. The children are born le jor de la Pasquc-florie and in honor of this festival they are called Floire and Blancheflor. They grow up together and love each other tenderly. However, the king seeing that his son loves the Christian slave resolves to have her slain as soon as possible. The queen opposes this plan and they finally decide to send Floire to M^ntoire, promising him that Blancheflor will join him soon. Floire goes away sad and at the end of a week begins to grieve and refuses to eat. As soon as the king learns the result of the separation of the two lovers he proposes again to have the young girl slain. How- ever, the queen still refuses to give her consent and suggests that it would be better to sell her to some merchants going to Babylon and then build a tomb in order to make Floire believe she was dead. When Floire sees the tomb^ he is so filled with sorrow and despair that he decides to kill himself with a grafe d'argenf which Blancheflor had given him. His mother prevents him from doing so, however, and informs the king of this new danger. Floire then learns that Blancheflor has been sold as a slave and sets out in search of her. By chance, he always stops at the hotels where Blancheflor had been and the innkeepers noticing the resemblance between him and Blancheflor give him the necessary informa- tion. He finally reaches Babylon, where the pontonnier Daires suggests the means by which he is able to enter the sultan's castle. After gaining the good-will of the guardian by playing chess with him Floire makes known to him the aim of his journey. Then with the aid of the gate- keeper he is concealed in a basket of flowers and carried into the castle 1 The following is an abstract of the first of the two Old French poems on Floire and Blancheflor published by Du Meril and will be referred to in this study as French I. 126 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME where he finds Blancheflor. When the sultan discovers him, both he and Blanchelior are condemned to death. However, they are later pardoned and, after their marriage, return to Spain. I. Theories Regarding the Origin of the Legend. 1. The theory that our legend originated in southern France- seems to have nothing to support it except the fact that there are seventeen* references to Floire and Blancheflor in Provengal literature. 2. Sommer* saw in our legend a Germanic myth. The love of Floire and Blancheflor who are still children reminded him of the stories of the elves who always remain children (small beings). 3. Paulin Paris^ and Wehrle" suggested that the legend of Floire and Blancheflor was of Spanish origin. Against this theory Gaston Paris offered the following objections.' In the first place, he says that when we consider the condition of Spanish poetry about the middle of the twelfth century, the date of the first references to Floire and Blancheflor in French and Provengal, we cannot believe that our legend passed from Spanish to the other literatures of Europe. The fact that a part of the story is represented as taking place in Spain does not mean anything. A pilgrimage to Saint James and the invasion of a Saracen king are motifs that are found elsewhere. Furthermore, the name Flores in the Spanish version must come from a French nominative. 4. In 1856 Du Meril published both of the Old French versions of the legend of Floire and Blancheflor and in an introduction of 258 pages discussed at length the origin of the story. He called attention to the large number of Greek elements in the Old French versions and came to the conclusion that the legend is of Byzantian origin. Although he was unable to find any Greek story from which our poem could have been derived, his theory was accepted by scholars for almost fifty years after the appearance of his edition. 5. Professor Italo Pizzi,^ in an article published in 1892, expressed ♦:he opinion that Persia is the home of our legend. His theory is based ^ See Crescini, // Cantare di Fiorio c Biancifiorc, I, p. 3 ff ; Joachim Reinhold, Floire ei Blancheflor, Paris, 1906, p. 120. 3 See Reinhold, op. cit., p. 9 ; Fauriel, Histoire de la Poesic Proven^ale, Paris, 1846, pp. 459-60. * See Reinhold, op. cit., pp. 120-1. 8 See Blume und Weisshlume, Freiburg, 1856, p. xlii ff. ' See Romancero frangais, Paris, 1833, p. 55. ^ See Romania, XXVIII, 445-6. " See Memorie delta rcale acadcmia delle .' eaTrepioa epirodvr}aav ova>v t dvh. fieaaov afiavprj (f>drvr) arifxaivovaa rh irpb^ vXoov evSia irdvra. These Unes describe the clear weather following the storm. The mention of the Crib is of interest ; it is visible only in the clearest weather. XXIV. I if., a/X09 5e (rrp4^€Tat, fieaovvKriov £9 Svaiv dpKTOi 'D,pi(iiva Kar avTov, S B' dfi/xop kt\. Here, too, a somewhat exact knowledge of the positions of the con- stellations is revealed,— a very different thing from mere poetic imagery, or the conventional epic use. This is seen e. g. in XXV. 85!, 17^X109 fi€v errena irorl ^6ov (^rpairtv tirirow heUXov rjfiap dyap ktX. It is clear that the two things are utterly different. Now I am not prepared to maintain that a single one of these passages is a reminiscence of any passage in Aratus. These poems come to us from a learned age in which any one might write learnedly. But when we weigh the fact that the passages cited from Theocritus are 144 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME one and all from poems later than the publication of Aratus' work ; that Aratus devoted his attention primarily to astronomy as bearing upon practical navigation ; that it is precisely this feature that strikes us in these Theocritean passages; that in the poems of Theocritus which date from a time before Aratus' work could have come to his notice (XVI. XI, and presumably others of the bucolic pieces) we see nothing of this sort; and finally that on other grounds we have seen reason to assume a connection between the two men, the conclusion appears irresistible that this assumption is well grounded. There remains one other passage in which some have seen a reference to Aratus, VII. 103 fif. Here Theocritus-Simichidas prays that Pan may grant Aratus the fulfilment of his desires. TOP jxoL II ay, 'O/idXa? iparov irehov oare XeXoyx^'i kt\. Hauler (De Vita Theocriti, p. 13) was the first to assume that the mention of Pan in this connection is due to the fact that Aratus (of Soli, of course) had composed a hymn to Pan. This hymn dates from 278 circa, and celebrated the victory of Antigonus over the Celts, a victory due, it was thought, to the help of Pan. This view has been energetically combatted by v. Wilamowitz {loc. cit.) and seems gratuitous. It should be noted, however, that Homole is a mountain in Thessaly, and that we. have no hint of any connection between it and Pan in any other ancient' writer. Hiller suggests that there may have been some mention of the mountain in Aratus' poem; but unless we can bring Homole into connec- tion with Antigonus' campaign against the Celts, this must remain a mere assumption. Such a connection I have sought; but I confess that in the meagre accounts which have come down to us of this period, I have not found it. Finally the Syrinx, which has come down to us among the Theocri- tean poems, and which, while not of indisputed authenticity, is yet commonly accepted as genuine, is concerned largely with Pan, and a passage in it has seemed to Haberlin (Carm. Fig. Grace . p. 55) to contain an allusion to Antigonus. I quote his words : "Pan enim qui in Fistula tantis laudibus celebratur, qui barbaros ex Europa pepulisse dicitur, nemo est nisi Antigonus Gonatas, qui Gallos ad Lysimachiam tanta caede devicit, ut reliqui in Asiam se convertere cogerentur." This may be taken for whatever it may be worth. The tendency on the part of some modern scholars to seek for these hidden allusions in Theocritus is strong; but Haberlin has convinced few, if any. (He holds that Theocritus spent some time at the court of Antigonus before he sought to win the favor of Hiero (275/4). At the same time the assumption ARATUS AND THEOCRITUS MURRAY 145 that the Syrinx of Theocritus like the hymn of Aratus, may have cele- brated the victory of Antigonus, would square well with a supposed allusion to Aratus' hymn in the passage of Idyl VII which we have just been considering. Another argument which strongly favors the belief that the Aratus of Theocritus was the famous poet may perhaps be based upon the assumed identifications of the personages mentioned in Idyl VII. If tht pseudonym Lycidas designates Leonidas of Tarentum (so Legrand, though he has convinced but few, and the identification is most uncertain > and Tityrus designates Alexander of Aetolia (so most scholars after Meineke; but great scepticism now prevails regarding the whole matter) ; or if on other grounds a connection between Theocritus and these two men is to be assumed ; then we may note the following interesting fact : both Leonidas and Alexander stand in close relation to Aratus. Leonidas addressed an epigram to him in praise of his Phaenomena (Anth. Pal. IX. 25; No. XLIV Geffcken), and Alexander went with him to the court of Antigonus, and must there have been intimately associated with him. We may go further ; Callimachus, too, addressed an epigram to Aratus, and, more than that, was his fellow student at Athens. The friendship between these two men is undeniable, and does not rest upon insecure combinations. Now Callimachus and Theocritus were friends, and friends at a date preceding the composition of Idyl VII. We therefore naturally think of the group, Alexander, Leonidas, Aratus, Theocritus and Callimachus as bound together both by ties of literary association and by personal friendship. It is important now to lay stress upon the fact that the literary friendships that have just been spoken of are to be accepted or rejected quite independently of the theory that there was a bucolic school at Cos under Philetas (circa 295-290), at which time it is difficult to believe that Aratus can have been in Cos. The belief in the existence of this bucolic school, once so wide-spread (see Susemihl's vigorous defence of it in the article in the Jahrbiicher for 1896, above alluded to), has of late been steadily losing ground, and I myself do not accept it. But a belief in the friendship of the literary men above mentioned, or, to be specific, a belief that Aratus and Theocritus were friends, is in no sense contingent upon a belief in the existence of this (hypothetical) bucolic school. Theocritus is known to have been the friend of Callimachus, Callimachus to have been the friend of Aratus, Leonidas and Alexander to have been friends of Aratus, and very probably friends of Theocritus. Now as to the time when Theocritus and Aratus may with the highest degree of probability be assumed to have been intimately associated. 146 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME Theocritus we know addressed his Xapire^ to Hiero in 275-4. The date has been disputed, but is now accepted by practically all scholars. That he was at that time in Sicily is an assumption so natural as to need no proof. He failed in his attempt to win Hiero's favor, and three or four years later we find him in Alexandria seeking the favor of Ptolemy. We may safely assume then that he turned eastward in 274, resolved to seek another patron, since Hiero had rejected his suit. Now what is more natural than that on his way eastward he should pay a visit to Cos, one of the great literary centres of the day? The statement made in the hypothesis to Idyl VH may be a mere guess, but it is to say the least extremely plausible : i7n8r]fii]aa<; yap ry vqaco 6 ©eoKptro^ ore ek 'A\e- ^dvSpeLav tt/jo? UroXefJialov a'rryei kt\. (See the present writer's paper in the Transactions of the American Philological Association, Vol. XXXVH, p, i35ff.). Of the events of the life of Aratus we know all too little that can be considered certain, but one of the incontestable facts is that he left Macedonia, when the literary circle at Pella was broken up by the return of Pyrrhus from Italy, and that he went thence to Syria. Is it not quite within the range of probability that he, too, paid a visit to Cos at this time? We do not know that he did, but the facts which we can be said to know about the movements of the men of letters of this period are few indeed, and we have, as a rule to be content with probabilities. But note that in a poem, written at a later date, but referring, it seems clear, to this time, Theocritus speaks of a dear friend of his named Aratus, and three years after this begins his UroXefialo'; with a quotation from the Phaenomena of the poet Aratus. Do not these facts naturally belong together ? We must now ask ourselves whether there are valid counter- arguments, to weaken the force of the facts and inferences with which we have been occupied. Not many concrete arguments against the view that Theocritus' Aratus was the poet have been advanced ; it has seemed enough to deny that we have any real proof that he was the poet. Four points may, however, be noticed. (i) The Aratus of Idyl VII is not spoken of as a poet, though even the insignificant ( ?) Aristis is characterized by the words, ov ovSe Kev avrot aeiSetv $ot/3o9 6p/xi,y'yL trapa rpiTroSeaa-L fiejatpoi. But apart from the fact that one who sings of the love affairs of a poet does not necessarily have to mention his poetry, is it not a little absurd to assume that at a date subsequent to the publication of the ARATUS AND THEOCRITUS — MURRAY 147 Phaenomena it was necessary for Theocritus to assure his readers that Aratus really was a poet? (2) The name Aratus frequently appears in Coan inscriptions, so that we need not think of the astronomer-poet. True, but does this fact prove that we may not think of him, especially if there are valid grounds for assuming that he and Theocritus were friends ? (3) In Idyl VII Aratus is called the |eW of Simichidas (Theocri- tus), and is therefore assumed to be a Coan resident. But the word feVo9 by no means necessarily means "host" ; what if it were Theocritus who entertained Aratus? (4) Lastly the word "A/saro? has the initial vowel short in Theocritus, but long in Leonidas and Callimachus (where it refers with certainty to the poet). But the name of the poet has the initial vowel short in Meleager {Anth. Pal. IV. i. 49) and in Strato {ibid. XII. i. i). Cholmeley is wholly wrong in saying "the name in Theocritus has a: in all Greek mention of the poet a-" But from Homer's 'Ape?, "A/ae? to Horace's Orion by the side of the normal Orion a shift of quantity in verse in the case of proper names is so common that this mere fact has but little weight. It should be said in justice to the eminent scholar whose view this paper seeks to combat, that his argument is based not upon these slight matters alone, but upon a thorough-going and subtle analysis of Idyls VI and VII, which has seemed to many scholars quite convincing. At the same time I must express my own conviction that valid grounds for denying that Theocritus' friend Aratus was the well-known poet have not been advanced, while the grounds advanced in this paper seem to me to give at least a strong presumption that he was the poet. {Note: I have in this paper retained the conventional spelling of the name Philetas. In Hermes, 1902, p. 212, Cronert argues for the spelling Philitas.] THE LAST WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE'S CHARACTERS Alphonso Gerald Newcomer EVIDENCE, in literature, of the interest attaching to the last words of the dying is very old. Andromache {Iliad, xxiv. 744) mourns that Hector could not have died upon a bed, speaking to her "some wise word" which she might have cherished in memory. The parting injunction of Socrates, as reported by Plato (Phacdo, 118), was, "Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius ; will you remember to pay the debt ?" Though the import of these words is doubtful, it is hard to resist the inference that Socrates wished to signify, by this tribute to the Great Healer, that he was about to be healed of his wound of living. Shakespeare has left some direct testimony on this subject in Richard II (H, i, 5) : Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. As a dramatist, moreover, dealing ideally with tragic death — death, that is to say, as an end of action or character, and not simply of life — Shakespeare had a peculiar opportunity for making effective the novissima verba. Yet not the least interesting result of a study of Shakespeare's practice in this respect is the realization that he is seldom so false to life or his art as to seek effectiveness for its own sake. The man who could write, for humorous or satirical purposes, the ridiculous mock-heroics of Pyramus and Thisbe ("O Fates, come, come," etc., M. N. D., V, i, 290) was fairly safe from descending to the theatrical in serious situations. He allows John of Gaunt, who has been quoted just above, to dally at some length with figures of setting suns and withered flowers, and to quibble grimly on his name ; but this is in a very early play, when the poet in Shakespeare was still contending with the dramatist. Richard the Second's theatrical end (V, v, 112) is so much in keeping with that king's character that it is not to be wholly ascribed to the dramatist's earlier manner: Rich. Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. LAST WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE's CHARACTERS NEWCOMER 149 Nevertheless, the manner was soon discarded. Rhyme, for instance, at the end of speeches, was a thoroughly established convention the artificiality of which was hardly felt, yet from nearly all the greatest death-scenes rhyme is absent. Outside of the English chronicle plays and Timon of Athens, all either early or doubtfully Shakespeare's, there are but four instances. Two are in Julius Caesar (Titinius, Brutus), which is the earliest of the Roman plays. Macbeth's last words are rhymed, but they are not dying words at all. In the fourth case, Othello's, there is the ecstasy of love seeking reunion in death, and the lyric note quite justifies itself (V, ii, 358) : Othello. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. In this, as in some other respects, the chronicle plays evince a less perfect freedom on the part of the dramatist, a consciousness as of something being staged rather than of life determining its own issues. In the plays altogether, some seventy characters die. About one fifth of these are unimportant — servants, it may be, or soldiers, who, like Salisbury and Gargrave in i Henry VI, utter nothing more signifi- cant than "O Lord, have mercy on us!" A few others are taken by surprise and allowed short shrift. Polonius, whose reflections would scarcely have been edifying anyway, says merely, "O, I am slain!" Even Hamlet's mother is granted but the one cry of natural affection which shows where her loyalty lay at the last: "O my dear Hamlet, — The drink, the drink! I am poisoned." Several of the most touching deaths are reported, not exhibited. Such is that of Ophelia, who died swan-like, floating down the stream and chanting "snatches of old tunes" ; her last words on the stage had been, very fittingly, a prayer for mercy on "all Christian souls, . . . God buy ye." Falstaff returned to the innocence of childhood, and, if Theobald's emendation is unassailable, "babbled of green fields." Cordelia's body is brought lifeless on the stage ; perhaps she and her father had beguiled the hours in prison with singing, and telling "old tales." Lady Macbeth's last appearance is in delirium. Again, several of the characters who meet death unexpectedly do not speak after the mortal stroke. Their last words have, of course, no significance as such, unless the dramatist chooses to give them an un- conscious significance, after the familiar eironeia of Greek tragedy. There may be an example of this in Troilus and Cressida (V, viii, 3) where Hector, weary of slaughter, puts off his helmet, saying, "Now is my day's work done ; I'll take good breath." Or Macbeth may be ironi- 150 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME cally made to pronounce his own eternal doom, when he cries (V, viii, 33): Macbeth. Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough !" Yet it is not likely. It is not easy to imagine Shakespeare breaking his reserve in a situation like this and giving such a palpable wink to the audience. What may have been Macbeth's consciously final thoughts, we are not told; and there is the same silence in the case of three other arch-criminals, Richard Third, Claudius, and lago. These cases aside, there remain about forty characters of varying importance whose last words are more or less consciously shaped by the knowledge of approaching dissolution. The words run through pretty much the whole gamut of what might be expected in actual conditions, from prayer to prophecy, from curses to blessings, from rebellious outcries to resignation or even rapturous joy. No one knew better than Shakespeare the incalculable ways of the human spirit, or has portrayed them with greater daring. This may be illustrated by the strong contrast in his treatment of two not very dissimilar deaths — Hotspur's in i Henry IV, and Mercutio's in Romeo and Juliet. Courageous men both, full of the lust of life, proud, chivalrous, they are suddenly confronted with the great arrest. Hotspur falls to moralizing in a lofty strain (V, iv, 77) : Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth ! I better brook the loss of brittle life Than those proud titles thou hast won of me. They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh. But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; And time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop. Though a little declamatory in tone, the words are dramatically true. To the impetuous soldier, checked thus in mid career, one of the sorest pangs of death lay in its arrest of action. Yet, with the wisdom to universalize that arrest, he reconciles himself, and us, to the pang. In a very different tone and to a very different effect, though apparently with no less dramatic truth, the wounded Mercutio rails {R. and J., Ill, i, 96) : Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'tis enough. . . . No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death ! LAST WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE's CHARACTERS NEWCOMER 151 Mercutio will not be reconciled, and he pours out the bitterness of his soul. Yet through it shines the contempt of a noble spirit for the pettiness of the toils in which Fate stoops to entrap us, a fine scorn for the order of things in which so slight a cause can bring such seemingly dispropor- tionate results. Bitter as the words are, there is a banter in the tone that saves them from any suspicion of a whine, and he dies the gallant Mercutio still. Dramatic truth is of course not necessarily opposed to self- expression, and it is scarcely to be denied that Shakespeare often reveals himself in his work, were we only discerning enough to know when. In the words of Mercutio above, one may very well read something of the dramatist's own intellectual bewilderment over the mysteries of existence, along with an emotional poise that can make light of the puzzle. Again, one may suspect a more than ordinary sensitiveness to the sadness of the unfulfilled promises of life, from the frequency with which this note is sounded. Observe Hotspur's "O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth !" Oswald exclaims, "O, untimely death !" And there are a dozen such mourners' comments as "How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd," and "Death lies on her like an untimely frost." One is tempted, too, to see something more than mere historical or dramatic truth in the fact that suicide, which is approved in the Roman plays, is elsewhere a very doubtful virtue. To Titinius it is "the Roman's part," to Cleopatra "the high Roman fashion." But Horatio, when he con- templates it, must half deny his race: "I am more an antique Roman than a Dane." Hamlet is convinced that the Almighty has "fixed his canon" against it. Macbeth flatly pronounces it cowardice or folly: "Why should I play the Roman fool?" And Gloucester protests that only intolerable suffering could make him "fall to quarrel" with the gods' "great opposeless wills." But to attempt to draw conclusions about Shakespeare's personal character or beliefs is a delicate task; we are much more safe in keeping to observations upon his art. There are limits to Shakespeare's variety. The chronicle plays disclose, in the death scenes, some similarities that may almost be felt to constitute a mannerism. Compare with the words of King Richard ("Mount, mount, my soul," see above) these of young Arthur {K. John IV, iii, 19) : Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ; and these of the Duke of York (5 Henry VI, I, iv, 168) : My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 152 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME There are three separate declarations that death is not the worst of evils : Hotspur. I better brook the loss of brittle life Than those proud titles thou hast won of me. — I King Henry IV, V, iv, 78. Clifford. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul ! — ^ K. Henry VI, II, vi, 3. K. Henry. My breast can better brook thy dagger's point Than can my ears that tragic history. — Idem, V, vi, 27. It is to be remembered, of course, that in some of the chronicle plays we cannot always be sure that we have Shakespeare's untrammeled hand ; he may be the reviser only, or sometimes not even that. The interesting thing, however, to note is that when we come to the tragedies proper, which are all later, we do not find anything approaching these simi- larities. Laertes and Antony both say 'T can no more," but this is altogether too slight a thing to attach any importance to. It is clear that the maturing of the dramatist's powers brought with it no tendency to fix or harden, but always a wider outlook, a more perfect freedom. Note another fact. In the chronicle plays the sufferers remark rather minutely upon their bodily symptoms. Clifford says (j Henry VI, II, vi, 27) : "The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint." Henry Fourth speaks of his "wasted lungs," Mortimer of his "fading breath" and "fainting words;" York says, "I am faint;" Warwick says (j Henry VI, V, ii, 7) : My mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows That I must yield my body to the earth. Now in the major tragedies there is practically none of this self-diagnosis. Shakespeare came to see that such words have no place in a really moving tragic scene. A striking corroboration is afforded by Hamlet. In the early draft of that play found in the 1603 quarto, very imperfectly printed and in all probability garbled, Hamlet's last words are: O, my heart sinks, Horatio. Mine eyes have lost their sight, my tongue his use : Farewell, Horatio ! Heaven receive my soul. This indeed is not Hamlet — it might be anybody. In the revised and LAST WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE'S CHARACTERS — NEWCOMER 153 enlarged version these lines disappear. For the diagnosis we have merely "The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit ;" and in place of the con- ventional prayer, the simple and impressive "The rest is silence." Hamlet. O, I die, Horatio ; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit. I cannot live to hear the news from England, But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice. So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence. —V, ii, 363. Over "more and less" death draws the veil, and Hamlet, like Mercutio, dies Hamlet still. Whether Hamlet meant to add to the word "solicited" any object not virtually contained in it, thus leaving the sentence unfinished, cannot certainly be determined. But, though many modern editions punctuate with a dash, Shakespeare's practice seems to be rather against such a construction. There seems to be only one certain instance of it : Hotspur, whose reflections were partly quoted above, concludes with a broken sentence addressed to himself, "No, Percy, thou art dust, And food for — " v/hich Prince Hal completes — "For worms, brave Percy." Cleopatra's last words, "What [= why] should I stay," are logically complete not- withstanding Charmian's continuation of "In this vile world." More natural, perhaps, than the abruptly broken speech, certainly more effective, are those cases in which the last utterance contracts to an exclamation or wanders into repetition and semi-articulateness. Thus, for instance, Mercutio, to the last throb of his vigorous life, ejaculates his surprise and indignation : "A plague of both your houses ! They have made worms' meat of me. I have it, and soundly too. Your houses !" And Cleopatra, applying the asps, sinks in a euthanasia, crooning as it were her own lullaby (V, ii, 311) : Cleo. Peace, peace! Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse asleep ? As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — O Antony! — Nay, I will take thee too: What should I stay—" The figures under which the dying speak of life and death are interesting, though perhaps in no wise instructive. The following will illustrate : 154 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME (Hour-glass) York. The sands are numbered that make up my life. —2 Henry VI, I, iv, 25. (Lamp) Clifford. Here burns my candle out. — 5 Henry VI, II, vi, i. (Compare Macbeth's "Out, out, brief candle!") Antony. The torch is out. — A. and C, IV, xiv, 46. (Voyage) K. John. The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd, And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail Are turned to one thread, one little hair. — K. John, V, vii, 52. Romeo. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! — R. and J., V, iii, 117. Othello. Here is my journey's end, here is my butt And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. — Othello, V, ii, 267. Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go. — King Lear, V, iii, 321. These are, of course, the commonplaces of poetry, though sometimes marked with Shakespeare's peculiar transmuting power. But more touching, one feels, than deliberate or conventional figures, are those remoter metaphors and euphemisms beneath which the coming doom is sometimes veiled. Though apparently employed only by minor characters, they carry a most effective challenge to the imagination. Thus Iras says {A. and C, V, ii, 193) : Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done, And we are for the dark. And Charmian, to whom Cleopatra had promised "I'll give thee leave to play till doomsday," addresses her dead mistress (V, ii, 321): Char. "Your crown's awry ; I'll mend it and then play — " With these, as similarly significant, I should unhesitatingly place the last words of Lear's Fool, who disappears in the middle of the play. Says Lear, "We'll go to supper in the morning," and the Fool responds (III, vi, 92): Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. LAST WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE's CHARACTERS — NEWCOMER 155 Indeed, it is not impossible that behind Lear's words themselves lay, in Shakespeare's mind, the thought which he had brought out in Hamlet when Hamlet says Polonius is "at supper" — "not where he eats, but where he is eaten." One can conceive of the poet's delighting in this eironeia even though he should not expect the audience to understand it. The typical death in the chronicle plays is a Christian death, with thoughts fixed on heaven, divine pardon, and the soul's peace. In the other tragedies, including the distinctly Christian play of Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet with its "ghostly confessor," these things color very little or not at all the actual final scenes. In the latter play, the domin- ating thought is of "triumphant death," of the all-devouring grave, and abode with worms. Romeo. Here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids ; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest. And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. —V. iii, io8. Yet the scenes are quite purged of sordid passions. Perhaps the nearest approach to selfish interests is in Brutus's and Antony's very Roman concern for glory ; even so, love, which is by no means to be regarded as selfish, divides with glory the conflict in Antony's breast. In the thoughts of Romeo, Juliet, Cleopatra, and Desdemona, love reigns almost sole; and even with Othello love rises above the bitterness of his tragic fate. Lear's last thoughts are centred upon Cordelia. Hamlet thinks first of his good report and last of the kingdom. Laertes begs for Hamlet's forgiveness, and Enobarbus despairs of Antony's ; Edmund vainly endeavors to make amends to Lear. Emilia dies full of devotion to Desdemona, as Iras and Charmian to Cleopatra. Thus, though the Christian note be absent, honor (with its counterpart, shame), love, and loyalty, make up a trinity of great and essentially noble passions domin- ating these spirits in the hour of death. A COMMENTARY ON VERSES 36-52 OF THE "EXCUSE A ARISTE" Colbert Searles ALL students of Corneille know that the Excuse a Ariste was written by Corneille, in response to a request for verses for a chanson from his correspondent, who is identified by Marty- Laveaux and Gaste^ with one Andre de Saint-Denis, a monk of the Couvent des Feuillants de Saint-Mesmin. Few writers on Corneille and the Quarrel of the Cid have failed to cite the verses which the poet in- serted, proclaiming his merits as a poet and insisting on the independent methods by which he had won his reputation. It will be convenient for the sake of reference to cite them once more. Je sgay ce que je vaux, et croy ce qu'on m'en dit Pour me faire admirer je ne fais point de ligue, J'ay peu de voix pour moy, mais je les ay sans brig^e, Et mon ambition pour faire plus de bruit 40 Ne les va point quester de Reduit en Reduit, Mon travail sans appuy monte sur le Theatre, Chacun en liberte I'y blasme ou I'idolatre, La sans que mes amis preschent leurs sentiments J'arrache quelque fois trop d'applaudissements, 45 La content du succes que le merite donne Par d'illustres avis je n'6blouis personne Je satisfaits ensemble et peuple et courtisans Et mes vers en tous lieux sont mes seuls partisans Par leur seule beaute ma plume est estimee 50 Je ne dois qu'a moy seul toute ma Renomm^e, Et pense toute fois n'avoir point de rival A qui je fasse tort en le traittant d'egal. Even Corneille's champions regretted, or tried to excuse, the "vanity" of these verses.* His enemies took advantage of them to throw the ^ Marty-Laveaux, Corneille, Gr. Ecri. fr. III., p. 29 ; Gast^, La Querelle du Cid, Paris, 1898, p. 9 f. ' Le Jugement du Cid composi par un Bourgeois de Paris, Gaste, op. cit., P- 239 f ; Discours d Cliton sur les Observations du Cid, Ibid., p. 241. In Chapelain's EXCUSE A ARISTE — SEARLES 157 responsibility of precipitating the Quarrel upon the poet himself. Cette scandaleuse lettre (Excuse a Ariste) doit estre appelee vostre pierre d'achopement puisque sans elle ny la Satyre de I'EspagnoP ny la Censure de rObservateur* n'eussent jamais este congeiies."^ Modern commentators, after repeating these observations or assertions, have contented them- selves with ridiculing or condemning, almost without reserve, the poet's rivals for criticizing the verses in question and for taking up the challenge which they contain. Gaste may serve as the spokesman of this view of the case. "If the rivals of Corneille, formerly his friends (i. e., Mairet and Scudery), but now his enemies, after the success of the Cid, had not been blinded by a ferocious hatred and especially by the basest jealousy, they would have overlooked this piece which, I repeat, was more of a jest than a serious utterance; but sure of pleasing Richelieu, they took in I'Excuse a Ariste, only those verses in which half seriously, half playfully Corneille speaks of himself a little too favorably."^ It is possible that if we had all the facts before us we should see the actions of all parties concerned in a light somewhat different from what they appear under the refracting influences of our admiration for the great poet. In the Epistre familier, his first signed contribution to the Quarrel, Mairet refers to verses 39 ff, in a way to suggest that he had felt from the first in them some reference to himself: Vous sgavez que je suis de ceux qui peuvent avoir entree en ces lieux d'honneur, a qui vous donnez un si plaisant nom, lors que vous dites en vous mocquant de ceux qui y sont receus: Et mon ambition etc.'' That Mairet's sensitiveness was not unfounded is proven by the first of two replies which this Epistre familier called forth : La Lettre du Des-interessee au Sieur Mairet, written by Corneille or one of his friends and almost certainly with his cognizance. S'il est du Parnasse comme du Paradis . . . Tombez d'accord avec tout le monde que vous en estes exclus, si vous ne restituez la plus grandq manuscript of the Sentiments de I'Academie Frangoise sur le Cid there is also a passage incdit which excuses Scudery for his action in attacking the Cid on the ground of this manifestation of vanity on the part of Corneille. Bibliotheque Nationale, Ms. Frangais, 15045, pp. 56-57. ^L'Autheur du vray Cid espagnol d. son traducteur francais. Gast6, op. cit., 67 f. * Observations sur le Cid (Scudery) Ibid., yi ff. 5 Epistre familier du Sieur Mayret, Ibid., p. 291. ^ Admiration for Corneille, the entirely different modern point of view, a sense of repulsion befor* the gross violence which characterized the quarrel of the Cid, are the reasons doubtless of this almost universal tendency to overlook the faults of Corneille, while condemning those of his rivals. T Gaste, op. cit., p. 288. 158 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME partie de vostre reputation, a iin maistre (le Comte de Belin) qui par excez de bonte ne s'est pas contente de vous recevoir chez luy genereuse- ment au fort de vos miseres: Mais qui par son approbation, et par I'honneur qu'il vous a fait en vous regardant d'assez bon oeil, a oblige tons ses amis a dire du bien de vos oiivrages: c'est de luy seul que vous tenez le peu d'estime que vous possedez ; non du merite de vos oeuvres, qui ne sont pas si parfaits, que tout le monde n'y ait remarque de grands deffauts.^ The second reply, Advertisscment an Besangonnois Mairet which is generally attributed to Corneille himself, is still more explicit upon this point. Nous voyons maintenant ce qui vous picque, vous vous fachez, de ce qu'on a deconvert vos brigiies, et les artifices que vous mettez en usage pour mandier un peu de reputation, vous vous plaignez de ce que dit M. Corneille : Que son ambition etc. . . . On sgait le petit commerce que vous pratique:::, et que vous n'avez point d'applaudissemens que vous ne gaigniez a force de Sonnets et de reverences. Si vous, envoyiez vos pieces de Besangon, comme Mr. Corneille envoye les siennes de Roiien, sans intercsser personne en leur siicces, vous tomberies bien bas, et je m'asseure que quclque adresse que vous apportiez a faire valoir vostre traduction du Solyman Italien, qui a desja couru les ruelles dix-huict mois, et qu'on reserve pour cet hyver, le bruit de cette import- ante piece de batterie ne fera point faire retraitte au Cid.^ Scudery had quite as much reason as Mairet for seeing in these verses a very thinly veiled allusion to his practices. It was with his Amant Liberal that the Hotel de Bourgogne strove to compete with the Cid triumphant at the Theatre du Marais.^° At the time when the Excuse a Ariste was being printed, Scudery had two volumes in press :^^ one containing La Mort de Cesar and a collection of miscellaneous poems in praise of the King and Richelieu, to whom the whole is dedicated ; the other volume contained the Didon and was dedicated to the Comte de Belin, who was second only to Richelieu as a patron of the theater. Now the Didon, as its author admits, had been rather cooly received. In the dedicatory epistle Scudery complains of the attacks of envious rivals, quite as bitterly as Corneille does in the Excuse a Ariste, and bespeaks the support of his patron. He was moreover cultivating the Count's friendship very assiduously in other ways. On the 22nd of February * Gaste, op. cit., p. 317. The italics in this and other citations of this paper are mine. ^ Ibid., p. 324 f. ^° See : L'Inconnu et Veritable Amy.de Messieurs de Scudery et Corneille, Gaste op. cit., p. 156. ^^ The privilege of both volumes is dated May 1636 but they did not appear in print till about the middle of the following year. EXCUSE A ARISTE — SEARLES 159 Chapelain wrote to the Comte de Belin : M. et Mile de Scudery sont icy qui se tiient de publier vos generosites et vos courtolsies, dont je suis extremement satisfait.^^ Under these conditions there was something more than badinage in verses like: Par d'illustres advis je n'chlou'is personne, or, if there was not, Mairet and Scudery may well be pardoned for thinking there was. All the facts brought out in the documents above cited must have been perfectly well known to the literary public of the time, and a considerable portion of this public can hardly have failed to see in these very clear insinuations, an attack by Corneille upon the artistic integrity of his two most important rivals. From this point of view, it is unjust to both Scudery and Mairet to attribute their action solely to the promptings of "la plus basse jalousie." The methods of securing support and patronage which they had put in practice were quite in vogue and they could hardly fail to resent the allegations of their rival. But was it merely vanity or "commodite de la rime" {Disc ours a Cliton) which led Corneille to indulge in this unfortunate expression of his sentiments ? To the poet of Rouen whose works had to stand or fall on their merits, these manoeuvres of his rivals in Paris must have been a source of considerable irritation. There are at least two other causes which may have contributed to his dissatisfaction. On the 15th of February, 1637, Chapelain writes a letter to Mile. Paulet, reporting the results of an interview which he has had with Desmarests de Saint-Sorlin, in accordance with the wishes of his corres- pondent: Suyvant done vos ordres, je vis hier M. Desmarests, auquel j'eus a peine propose de vostre part le retranchement des vers dont M. Scudery avoit este choque, qu'il me respondit de galand homme, que non seulement il les rayeroit pour I'amour de ceux qui y prenoient interest, mais encore osteroit ceux du Cid qui avoient cause ce petit scandale.^^ It is evident from the context of the letter that Desmarests had, in the Visionnaires, put in the mouth of one of his characters (Sestiane) a comparison setting the Cid above his own Aspasie, (1636 J and a play of Scudery's — doubtless L'Amant Liberal. As the passage quoted indicates, Desmarests was quite willing to put an end to the discussion (toute cette liderie) which this comparison had caused and the affair seemed to be settled to the satisfaction of all parties con- cerned. On the 6th of March Chapelain felt justified in writing to Balzac : Vous scavez que mon exercice joyeux du Carnival a este d'accomoder une guerre dans sa naissance entre les seconds poetes, qui vous firent un esclaircissement Tannee passee, ( ?) et M. Desmarests, auquel ces Mess- ^2 Lettres, Ed. Tamizey de Larroque, Paris 1880, i, p. 134. ^^ Lettres, T, p. 137. 160 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME ieurs a ma diligence ont fait reformer quelques endroits d'une comedie qu'il a donnee au public et ou il estoit parle d'eux et de Ieurs ouvrages moins dignement qu'ils ne croyent meriter." Now this bit of diplomacy on the part of Chapelain cost Corneille a very flattering bit of public recognition, and the result must have been much less satisfactory to him than to any of the other parties concerned. In his contributions to the Quarrel of the Cid, Mairet has much to say of the debt which Corneille's masterpiece owed to the actors who presented it, and Scudery touches upon this point in his Lettre a I'lllustre Academie}^ This allegation is probably not the afterthought which it has generally been represented to be. In 1636 there appeared in Paris, La Suitte de la Seconde Partie des Lettres de M. de Balzac}'^ x\mong these letters there is one addressed to Boisrobert, in which the Sage of Charente and literary oracle of his day gives the following appreciation of the art of Mondory, who played the role of the Cid : II est certain que la grace dont il prononce les Vers leur donne un degre de beaute qu'ils ne peuvent recevoir des Poetes. lis ont bien plus d'obligation a celuy qui les recite qu'a celuy qui les a faits, et ce second pere, pour le dire ainsi, les purge de taus les vices de leur naissance. Le son de sa voix, accompagne de la dignite de ses gestes annoblit les plus vulgaires et les plus viles conceptions. II n'est point d'ame si bien fortifiee contre les objets des sens, a qui il ne face violence, ny de jugement si fin et si prepare, qui se puisse garantir de I'imposture de sa parole. De sorte que s'il y a en ce monde quelque souverain bien pour les vers, il faut avoiier qu'elle est dans sa bouche et dans son recit, et que comme les mauvaises choses y prennent I'apparence du bien, les bonnes y trouvent leur perfection." Marty-Laveaux in this connection cites only the in-folio edition of Les Oeuvres de Balzac (1665), and apparently over- looked this special edition of 1636, which permits him to assert: La date de ces reflexions de Balzac ne permet pas de les appliquer au Cid.^^ They were newly acquired public property when the Cid appeared, and jealous rivals of the poet were doubtless quick to avail themselves of this power- ful auxiliary. Mairet was probably not the first to make use of them, when he declared in his Epistre Familier: C'est proprement du Cid et des pieces de telle nature que Monsieur de Balzac a voulu parler en la derniere de ses dernieres lettres, quand il a dit du Roscius Auvergnac, ^*l^ettres, I, p. 139- 1" Gaste, op. cit., p. 215. I'The Achevi d'imprimer is dated the 26th of February, 1636. "0/». cit., I, 322. "0/». cit.. Ill, 9, I (footnote) EXCUSE A ARISTE — SEARLES 161 que si les vers out quelque souverain bien c'est dans sa bouche qu'ils en jouyssent, qivils sont plus obligez a celuy qui les dit qu'a celuy qui les a taits, et bref qu'il en est le second et meilleur pere, d'autant que par une favorable adoption il les purge par maniere de dire des vices de leur naissance.^'-* At any rate the concentrated irritation of Corneille's reply suggests very clearly that it was not the first time that this altogether extravagant and unjust claim had come to his ears: Criez tant qu'il vous plaira, et donnez aux acteurs ce qui n'est deu qu'au Poete, servez vous du tesmoignage de Mr. de Balzac il ne vous sera point advantageux, ne traite-t-il pas Massinisse et Brutus de mesme que Jason qu'il nomme le premier, pour monstrer qu'il estime plus son Autheur que vous.^° It is very likely that the verses: Par leur seule heaute ma plume est estimee, Je ne dois qua may seul t\oute ma Renommee, have no wider significance than a reply to the insinuations which this letter of Balzac seemed to authorize. While both Mairet and Scudery could very reasonably feel that verses 37-50 were directed against them in common, the latter had some reason for seeing a special challenge to himself in the last two cited (51 and 52). It is too generally forgotten that the piece with which the Hotel de Bourgogne strove to compete with the Theatre du Marais and the Cid was precisely a play of Scudery's, L'Amant Liberal. The letter of Chapelain to Mile. Paulet, cited above, shows that early in this competi- tion a comparisom had been made, in the manuscript at least, of the Visionnaires, a comparison which, Desmarests asserted, had been sug- gested to him by another;-^ that out of this discussion there had arisen "a little scandal" and considerable wrangling (toute cette liderie) and that Chapelain had, as he thought, put an end to this "guerre dans sa naissance." All this is very evidently in Corneille's mind when he declares in his Lettre Apologitique : II n'est pas question de scavoir de combien vous estes noble ou plus vaillant que moy, pour juger de combien le Cid est meilleur que I'Amant Liberal.^^ Now it was in the midst of this efifervescence that the provocative verses : Et pense toute fois n'avoir point de rival A qui je fasse tort en le traittant d'egal, came to fall, and L'Inconnu et Veritable Amy de Messieurs de Scudery et Corneille evidently voices the opinion of a considerable number, when he 19 Gaste, op. cit., p. 289 f. ^°Ibid., p. 325. -^Chapelain, Letters, I, p. 137. 22 Gaste, op. cit., p. 147. 162 MATZKE MEMORIAL VOLUME declares : on trouve fort estrange que Monsieur Corneille, qui est sage, et doit estre sans presomption et vaine gloire, voulust pretendre un degre de preeminence audessus de Monsieur de Scudery, qui a fait une infinite des plus beaux Poemes qui se jouent a present sur le Theatre.^^ And in the passage inedit, above cited (page 2, note i), of Chapelain's manuscript of the Sentiments de I'Academie Frangoise, we find this excuse for Scudery: Nous Ten trouvous d'autant moins blasmable qu'il n'estoit hors de propos que la vanite a laquelle le Poete s'estoit laisse emporter fust un peu mortifiee, et qu'ayant use peu modestement de sa bonne fortune il se trouvast quelqu'un asses interesse a son abbaissement (var. humiliation) pour ne le luy pas pardonner de s'estre si fort esleve au dessus des autres. Under these circumstances it is not difficult to understand the action of Scudery, and there is little reason for questioning the sincerity of his claim in the Lettrc a rilltistre Academie: II suffit qu'on sgache que le sujet qui m'a fait escrire est equitable, et qu'il n'ignore pas luy-mesme, que j'ay raison d'avoir escrit. (i) At any rate Scudery receives a justification from no less a contemporary personage than Chapelain, not only in the passage just cited, but also in a private letter written to Balzac the 13th of June, 1637. En Italic, il (le Cid) eust passe pour barbare et il n'y a point d'Academie qui ne I'eust banni des confins de sa jurisdiction ; ce qui a donne beau jeu a Mr. de Scudery, corrival de Corneille, de luy opposer les fautes que vous verres remarques dans le volume que je vous envoye. . . . Maintenant ces chaleurs de poetes nous embarassent, car Scudery, se tenant fort de la verite, a retenu pour juge du different la noble Academie dont vous estes un des principau membres.-* -3 Gaste, op. cit., p. 155. ^^Letters, I, 156. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 305 De Neve Drive • Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. UC SOUTHFRN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY D 000 606 014 9