Two Lectures on Classical Literature, Being Part of a Course Delivered at the New York Athenacum ...
]L9<0W]ftS SS< In considering the influence which the Revival of Classical Letters has exercised upon the literature, the arts, and the modes of thinking of Europe, to which I designed to devote this lecture, there arise so many various and striking results, that a full ex- amination of them would far exceed its limits. The era of their revival is prolific in improvements. Law, every branch of industry, politics, the fine arts, date their advance from it, and it would be no trivial discussion to ascertain how much is owing by each to Classical Literature. But it is necessary to circumscribe the circle of in- quiry to a few of the parts, instead of en- deavouring to embrace the whole. ^/ 46 The most obvious of these results are the refinement of taste, and the unprovement of literature. Omitting for the present the more prominent topics^ I would wish, though at the risk of tediousness, to turn aside to one, which, if less inviting, is certainly cu- rious, the influence of this revival upon scholarship. | How is it, that among the men most conversant with Classic studies, and therefore best fitted to apply to the perfecting of their native literature, the true taste, the judicious precepts, the beau- tifiil examples, which there abound, the vo- taries of Greek and Roman Letters have confined themselves to the dullest part of criticism, losing in the contemplation of words the strength and fire of consummate genius ? ' We may well believe, that if the spirits of the most eminent writers in an- cient timtes could have new-embodied them- selves, and visibly appeared to some of their commentators, they would have be- sought them to spare the toilsome labour of giving insipidity to their fancies, diluting their best thoughts by endless disquisitions, and barbarously mutilating the noblest pro- ductions for the sake of their own petty 47 inventions. It is difficult to view without astonishment men degrading the finest ta- lents in unimportant disputes, placing their chief merit in an obscure quotation, or chanting paeans for a happy conjecture. This class of scholars owes its existence entirely to Classic Letters, and it may not be unprofitable to trace their origin and influence on literature. Greece was early distinguished by the rise of a set of men, who, under the name of grammarians, opened regular schools for the illustration of the distinguished authors of their country. These schools, which often acquired great celebrity, were filled with pupils, whose exercise it was to write complete commentaries on any given au- thor. These commentaries were hence called scholia, and the writers received the name of scholiasts. In these scholia, acuteness and ingenuity were exerted ra- ther than taste, though the higher order of grammarians often exhibited a cultivated discrimination and judgment But in ge- neral they were much more addicted to the less elevated parts of criticism. Some of them became highly eminent, and main- / 48 tained a perfect despotism in the repub- lic of letters. They flourished most after Greece had lost its liberty. Their minds, no longer lifted by the excitements of free institutions, turned their natural acuteness to safer though less noble studies, and as their country exhibited no new glories to require the inspiring themes of poetry, they were satisfied with elucidating and dwelling upon the works, which were the remem- brancers of former trophies. Around the court of the Ptolemies, where a lesser con- stellation was shining, and the Pleiades, as seven of its poets were then called, were shedding a more mellowed light, a famous band of grammarians arose to give a new lustre to study. At the head of this school was Aristarchus, the greatest name in gram- marian learning, and saluted by the voice of posterity as the first of critics. At his nod a ready crowd of worshipping follow- ers awaited, sealing with an irrevocable doom the unhappy author whose polish did not reach to the required perfection. Upon every line of Homer he sat in judgment, drawing the dreadfiil obelos (in which prac- tice he has been but too well imitated by 49 his modem successors) through whatever displeased his imperial will, and condemn- ing it to eternal exile. ; He pretended that his taste was alone sufficient to separate the genuine from the false, and relying upon this guide he threw away this hook — he obliterated this verse, or rooted from its established place an offending word. Thus wc see in the prince of the gramma- rians the same qualities, which afterwards characterized the scholars who devoted themselves to the illustration of the Clas- sics ; the same arbitrary temper, the same blind opinion of his own skill, and the same disposition to rely entirely on his own judg- ment. Yet of the laborious learning, the de- votion to study, of Aristarchus and his at- tending tribe, we should not be forgetful. Still, to him I am often disposed, excuse an 7 50 unexercised judgment upon a point which has employed the greatest scholars, to attri- bute the. controversy of the authenticity of the poems of Homer, which a German Aris- tarchus has so ably revived. Doubts cast upon the genuineness of parts have been naturally transferred to the whole. From him certainly has' flowed the unmerciful privilege, most unmercifully exercised by modern critics, of mutilating at their fancy the author who is exposed to their dissec- tions, so that the poor ancient would hardly recognise his own productions. The grammarians filled the pages of the books they possessed with their learned glosses, interpreting to please themselves or their masters, or for the instruction gf others the doubtful passages. They thus formed a regularly organized corps, accomplished in every branch of recondite learning, versed in all the turns and varieties of their uncer- tain mythology, and eager to signalize their Grecian subtlety, but unfortunately too apt to waste them all in verbal pedantry, in seeking out unintended allegories and cu- rious meanings, rather than in analyzing the beauties of thought er style. Various 51 readings were their passion, and to show off an immense but unwieldy learning upon indifferent matters their ambition; but as for striking fancies, poetical inspirations, or delicate imagery, they had no joy in them. To explain, and in that explanation to puz- zle out a dozen interpretations of a pas- sage, obvious at first sight, was their aim, and their education was well adapted to assist them. For if the pupil came to com- ment upon a poet on whom various com- mentaries, previously made, lay before him, how could he distinguish himself, how dis- play his favourite subtlety, if not by adding to the store of scholia a new interpretation, however improbable ? And what could be more calculated to deaden in him every rising taste, than to set him to sift uncertain words and phrases to discover in them some unthought of meaning ? In such an exami- nation the godlike charms of poetry evapo- rate, while the dull grammarian is weighing every line with tedious accuracy. What a disgust to the tasteful scholar, when in the full glow of a passage of Pindar he is hurried rapidly along the tide of song, if perchance some doubtful word breaks the 52 enchantment, and forces him to turn for ex- planation to the scholiast, to find indeed the meaning there — but no answering fire — ^no sympathizing fancies — ^no rapturous excla- mations at the power of poetry. iThe gram- marian never lifts himself above the earth, but levels every thing in meagre and unsa- tisfying criticism, while the brilliant thought passes him unheeded, j These men (let me not call them pedants, for with all their faults our learning is greatly indebted to them) seem not to have imagined that there was any other object in commenting on an author, than, like the connoisseur sandal- maker of Athens whose eye rested on the slipper of the Venus of Apelles, to examine the outward part, the words which enve- lope his thoughts. But the magic spirit, which wakes the inspired chords of lyric harmony, neither elevates nor animates their notes — ^but dully they linger on the material part, while the soul of song es- capes their grosser touch. These scholi- asts, flourishing as they did in Greek and Roman times, survived the destruction of letters, and kept up at Constantinople a continued succession of learned men, al- 53 most solely bent on the illustration of the works of others. 54 who has by modern wit been severely, and not always justly, ridiculed. In the revival of Classic learning, many men of deep edu- cation, who had almost from infancy been taught to consider a Greek or Latin author as one of a superior class of human minds, soon became conscious of the total inade- quacy of their own powers by original works to rival these splendid models. They therefore had recourse to a less dif- ficult task, in which the manner and ex- tent of their instruction soon enabled them to excel, of taking advantage of the great reputation attached to erudition, by filling those authors with learned explanations. They thus at the same time devoted their industry and knowledge to less hazardous experiments, and entitled themselves to the gratitude of the world, adorning at once and supported by the pillars of their fame. But the learning they acquired they knew not properly to digest — if it was ancient, if it was the result of severe and closeted study, it was equally as estimable in their eyes, whether it treated of the sublime con- ceptions of the Platonic philosophy, or of the crown and garlands which freshened 55 and perfumed the feasts of antiquity — the source and not the quality formed its value. Controversies were waged between these scholars, not concerning the interesting questions of the knowledge and religion of the ancients, but upon the establishment of this or that sentence, the excellence of this manuscript, the genuineness of an unim- portant work. Their object was more to display their own learning than to add new lights to others, and words frequently en- grossed a greater attention than ideas. The Italians were the first to revive this faded grammarian school, but when the novelty of Classical studies wore off, their enthusi- asm went with it, and the duller but more deep and solid minds of the German scho- lars were attracted, and were soon, delight- edly to themselves, and admiringly by the great body of the learned world, invol- ved in the inextricable labyrinth of verbal interpretation and correction. Although the Germans certainly deserve the laurel, if there be one, for pre-eminence in this part of study, and the larger portion of best editions of Classical authors (by which are meant those editions which contain one 56 hundred words of comment to one word of text) has proceeded from the German press, England has not been without her full share of these critics. She has produced two most perfect specimens of the lower and higher orders of modern grammarians, Joshua Barnes and Richard Bentley. Barnes possessed all the industry of his predecessors ; manuscripts without number were scattered in his study, while he almost yearly presented the world with specimens of his various literary experiments. No re- gion of letters he left unvisited, but it was his acquaintance with the Greek language, in which he placed his greatest glory. Ho- mer especially was the object of his adora- tion : his earliest desire, and it was con- tinued through a laborious life of study, was to leave behind him a perfect edition of his works. To illustrate this master- poet forty years of his life were dedicated, and though poor, and dependant on a sa- lary, as Greek Professor, of forty pounds a year, he contrived to spend on this single edition 1000 pounds. It is indeed a splen- did book, and filled with the exhaustless re- search of its author, but, like the scholiasts 57 whom he imitated, it is the various read- ings, the differing interpretations, which occupy his notes, while the sublimity, the ims^nation, and beauty of his bard fade from before his sight. Writing and speak- ing Greek with as much facility as English, yet he was pronounced by the true critic to have no knowledge of the language. But I willingly pass from Barnes to the pride of English scholars. Dr. Bentley. Dr. Bentley possessed all the learning of Barnes, but ridiculed the knowledge which was confined to words, and declared the skill of Barnes in Greek to amount to no more than that of an Athenian blacksmith, while his own researches, guided equally by taste and the ambition of learning, car- ried him to every part and comer of an- cient literature. A Pythagorean, observing his acuteness, the true grammarian quality, and his superior mind, would have thought him endowed with the very spirit of Aris- tarchus, from his reckless corrections, and his dogmatical obliterations. He seemed to look upon the models of ancient taste as set before him merely for the display of ingenuity, and, where he could exercise 8 58 this, he was indifferent to all the opinions and all the authority of critics and manu- scripts. Yet he was notwithstanding a man of admirable talents, which would have made him eminent in whatever branch of literature he had chosen to attempt. He has left some lines of English poetry, which, though they prove the vigour of his under- standing rather than his fancy, are eviden- ces of the excellence, which, if he had thus bent his mind, he might have attained. But it was to Classical Letters that he turned as to the most congenial, though perhaps less useful study. A wide field was there before him, and buried in the learned re- cesses of Trinity College at Cambridge, like another Aristarchus, he issued his de- crees, while the admiring pedant idolized the man who graced with such talents his dull profession; and the true scholar, grieved yet gratified, lamented the stern- ness and dogmatism of his character, though he could not help being grateful for the information which he had so amply stored for the benefit of the lettered world. Poets and satirists soon took hold of the foibles which the rashness and self-sufficiency of 59 this great man were continuallj unveiling, and poured around him many a bitter ar- j^ow in revenge for unconcealed contempt ; but like a lion he shook them off powerless, or sent them back in tenfold strength, care- less of present fame, secure of the applause of posterity. It was not however to the commentator that this ardour for ancient learning was in the infancy of its revival confined. An universal spirit then seemed to reign, of imitating these re-opened authors — their thoughts were a thousand times repeated, and often in their verjuvords, in the servile copies of their worshippers. The language was alone deemed worthy of an ambitious writer, which had been consecrated by embodying the great reflections and me- morials of antiquity ; and nothing could be 61 considered out of the reach of neglect, which was not treasured in one of these perfect tongues. They had floated unharm- ed, while numberless intermediate barba- rous dialects had perished, and they almost contained a spell to bid defiance to obli- vion for the works that were composed in them. The languages of modem Europe, still fluctuating and unfi]|^ed, nor boasting of the lasting models that could establish them sacred from change, gave despair to the as- piring minds, that any works in these lan- guages could receive sufficient durability to outlive even their authors — and they felt an ambition, a rivalship honourable even when unsuccessful, that their productions should descend to posterity, by the side o^ and to be compared with, their noble proto- types. Such writings as were the offspring of leisure hours, or of relaxation from high- er studies, or which were thrown carelessly forth, little considered by the composers, were given in the vernacular tongue; but such as tested eminence in genius or learn- ing, and were to live forever as master- pieces of the time, such must be transmit- ted in the venerated accents of ancient 62 Rome. Dante, we may venture ta believe, would have written his Divina Commedia in Latin hexameters, if the interruptions and sorrows of a twenty years' exile had allowed it. He actually left several verses at the commencement of the Inferno trans- lated by himself, thus evidencing his wish to perpetuate, as he would have considered it, his golden work. Boccaccio, too, pre- pared all the laborious parts of his writings, on which his glory was to rest, in Latin, and would have scoffed at the idea, that the work composed for the amusement of Ita- lian ladies would survive the learned in- vestigations and commentaries of so many years of study. In like manner Petrarca bequeathed his reputation to his Latin pro- ductions. 63 It is surprising that the restorers of learn- ing, who followed within two or three cen- turies these lights of the world, did not from their examples discover the impossi- bility of equalling, or even of emulating, the ancient writers in the ancient langua- ges. A language is always adapted to the genius of the country which uses it. Dif- ferent in the infancy of civilization from that of a highly cultivated state of society, it assimilates itself to every change, and alters its form and compass with every pro- gressive a4vancement in refinement. The language of Chaucer is not our polished English — it is barren and rough in compa- rison — nor is the prose of Boccaccio, all smooth and harmonious as it is, the present tongue of Italy. As the people lose their rudeness, their tongue loses its original tone, and adopts another more congenial; it attends them in every incursion into the fields of science and letters, and gains from each some conquest — from this, grace, from another, flexibility — rising with every no- bler taste, and adding to its richness from every generous art. But a dead language is unsusceptible of these alterations, as we 64 receive so we must preserve it. Admirably adapted, as the Latin is, for expressing with force and freedom the manners of its pa- rent nation, it is stiff and indocile when violently transplanted to a foreign country. Full and complete as regards the ancient customs, it cannot suit itself to the compli- cated and intricate structure of modem in- stitutions, moulded out of systems of which the Romans never dreamt. The expres- sions lose their force — they do not apply in their extent to the interpretation a Roman would give them ; they belong to antiquity, to its mighty works, to its fanciful mytho- logy, and all the superstitions and traditions of an unenlightened world. But the great difficulty with regard to an ancient lan- guage is, that we cannot invent new terms for new ideas. We are forced to distort them to mean something different from their original significations, and one word may therefore have a double sense, an old, as it was understood in ancient days, a new, as it is applied to modern thoughts. The ex- treme admiration of the Augustan writers increased the difficulty. Every one was ambitious of writing prose like Cicero's, 65. and poetry like Virgil's, and therefore the successful author was sure to be a copyist — the more perfect the imitation the greater was the skill. Hence originality was less sought than purity. The scholar was fear- ful of employing a new phrase, lest it should be a solecism — a new term he dared not invent, and the vocabulary he possessed shrunk from the different and improved state of society. The same admiration, which made them waste their learning in imitations of the lan- guage and ideas of their models, gave im-^^ portance to the most trivial circumstances Ip connected with antiquity. Disputes arose concerning points, which were mere mat- ters of taste, or which were not of sufficient consequence to merit them. Poggio and Guarino waged a violent warfare with each other, in which every term of abuse was exhausted, upon the question whether the elder Scipio was to be preferred to Julius Caesar. In consequence of this unmeasured love, and the eagerness with which the discovery of an unknown author was hailed, many im- positions, either sportive or designed, were 9 .66 practised upon learned men. Muretus gave to the great Scaliger some Iambic verses, which Scaliger published with much pa- rade as the fragment of an old tragedian ; and almost immediately after Muretus ac- knowledged the imposture. A small poem de Lite being placed in the hands of Box- hornius, the learned German wrote a full commentary, as on a valuable relic of some ancient author; but soon the labour was found to be vain, as it was ascertained to be the production of Hospitalius, a Chan- ellor of France.* Alberti, an Italian scho- lar, composed in 1425 a Latin comedy call- ed Philodoxios, of which he circulated co- pies among his friends, as the work of a Roman poet named Lepidus. It was re- ceived as genuine and loaded with vast applause — Lepidus was elevated into a comparison with Plautus and Terence, and even a century after the younger Aldus printed it, gravely acknowledging in the preface his ignorance of the comic poet Lepidus.t A stratagem of a similar kind is said to have been successfully attempted * Beniley's Dissertation on Phalaris. t Roscoe'a Lorenzo de Medici. 67 by Michel Angelo. Incensed at the jealous criticism with which his rivals endeavoured to depreciate his productions, he finished in secrecy a statue of Bacchus, and breaking off one of its arms, buried it where he knew it would soon be dug up. It was found, and proclaimed by the united voice of the con- noisseurs, to be superior to every work of modem sculptor, when Michel Angelo very calmly produced the broken arm, and enjoy- ed in silent triumph their discomfiture. While on this subject it may not be in- apposite to mention the following curious mistake.^ At the time when the firagments of Petronius Arbiter were making a noise in the learned world, Meibomius, a Profes- sor of Lubec, chanced to light on this pas- sage in a letter from a Bolognese scholar : "We have here at Bologna an entire Pe- tronius." Meibomius, filled with the lite- rary mania, and fearing to be anticipated, starts post-haste for Italy, arrives at Bo- logna, and at once inquires for the librarian Capponi. " Have you," said he, " an entire Petronius?" "It is indeed true," replied the librarian. " Take me then at once to * D'lsraeli's Cariosities of Literature. .'■J 68 see it,^' exclaimed Meibomius in all the extasies of delightful expectation, Cap- poni escorts the Lubec Professor to the cathedral, and pointing to a cemetery said, " Here lies the real body of Saint Petro- nius.^' Meibomius, speechless with the disappointment, turned upon his heel, and the same day saw him some leagues from Bologna. In fact the ancient idolatry seemed now revived, with a change only of the objects of worship — the idols were the dead. Each scholar selected some individual of anti- quity, for whom he felt an unbounded vene- ration. Petrarca was an enthusiast of Ci- cero, Poggio of Pindar, Politian of Horace. Navagero yearly on his birth-day performed a solemn sacrifice to Virgil. Surrounded by his friends, after an eulogium on the honoured bard, he ordered a copy of Mar- tial to be brought to him, and, throwing it into the flames, added, that he considered as the most acceptable offering to the manes of Virgil, the destruction of a vo- lume filled with so much affectation and false taste.* * Stradae Prolusion. 69 From this, according to Lord Bacon,* sprung the excessive love of purity, which led more to niceness of style than atten- tion to thought. Cicero's works were read time after lime, more in order to catch the harmony of his periods and a familiarity with choice phrases, than to taste the beau- ties of his philosophy or the charms of his eloquence. Among the scholars whose names are most regarded by the lovers of Classical Letters, as their ornament and critic, Erasmus first perceived the folly of this over-chasteness of phraseology, and bent the finest weapons of his satire against the immoderate imitation of Cicero. His Ciceronianus was written to expose the absurdity, where he introduced " the scoflP- ing echo" to the Ciceroni an's exclamation, " Decem annos consumpsi in legendo Cice- rone," replying in Greek iivg, asine. So far was this idolatry carried by the scholars who restored ancient literature, that many serious men began to be alarm- ed lest Paganism should re-establish itself, and the worship of Jupiter and his attend- ing train supersede the religion of Christ. * Of the Advancement of Learning, book i. I J 70 This apprehension, which was among others expressed by the great Erasmus, was not altogether so visionary as in this age of in- formation it may appear. There have been many, who, bom in a Christian country, yet seduced by the charm of poetical mytho- logy, have wandered back into the foot- steps of an ancient faith. Among the ad- mirers whom the eloquence of Plato at- tracted, one, Gemisthus Pletho, in the fif- teenth century, enraptured with his noble abstractions, considered himself as a se- cond prophet born to bring back mankind to the creed of his favourite philosopher. A contemporary, enemy alike to Plato and Gemisthus^ thus records his opinions; ^^I have heard him myself, when we were to- gether at Florence, say, that in a short time all men would embrace one common reli- gion, which should be so simple as to allure every one by its mere exposition. I inqui- red, adds the narrator, if it would be the re- ligion of Christ or of Mahomet ? He repli- ed. Neither; but a third, little differing from Paganism." In the book containing an ac- count of his system, which was publicly burnt after his death, he is said to have 4* 71 advocated Polytheism, and over the vari- ous orders of deities to have set one su- preme king whom he styled Zeus or Jupi- ter; thus adopting the belief and nomen- clature of ancient worship. The following is another instance of the effect of Classic studies in tincturing religion with pagan errors. In the reign of Louis XII., a native of Abbeville, named Hemon de la Fosse, by continually perusing and dwelling on the ancient writers, at last persuaded him- self that the religion of Homer, Cicero, and Virgil, could not but be true. One day in 1503, being at church, he suddenly snatch- ed the host from the hands of the astonish- ed priest as he was raising it, exclaiming, " Away with this mummery." He was seiz- ed, imprisoned in the hope that he would abjure his folly, but in vain; he persisted that Jupiter was the Father of Heaven, and the Elysian Fields the Paradise of the Blest. He was condemned by the cruelty of the time to expiate his absurd fanaticism at the stake, a martyr to the religion of Greece and Rome.* * Disraeli's Cttriosities of Literature. 72 These extravagances, excusable as pro- ceeding from the first glances of those pre- cious authors who were fraught with so many and so various improvements to man- kind, were at length worn off by the more familiar acquaintance with them. A more enlightened spirit of criticism was lent by the Classical pages 'to open the eyes as well to their faults as their excellencies* The impropriety of quitting the modern langua- ges for the dead became manifest — the na- tive tongue of the writer was considered by him the most suitable vehicle to convey his thoughts to the world, but the influence of ancient literature was not thereby dimi- nished. No longer the plodding scholar appropriated to himself the joys of learn- ing, but Classic Letters made themselves felt in the beauties of modern composition ; they were seen giving method, delicacy, and ornament to poetry, opening exhaust- less sources of liberal enthusiasm and inspi- ring eloquence. Taste smiled once again on the shores of Italy, and from thence spread her influence to every clime, throw- ing back the monastic gloom and scholastic 73 subtleties of aged of barbarism. Uivine philosophy, assisted and enlightened by a truer religion, sprung from the mistaken yet sublime opinions of ancient times, to ele- vate and instruct mankind. The beauties which no age can dim, the fire which no neglect can extinguish, were transferred to rival pages. Science started from the goal set before her to take a farther progress than antiquity ever witnessed ; while free- dom, that kindling spark, which illumes the Classic volumes, and which never fails to find some proper fuel in the generous breast, taught the scholar to pride himself in the noble annals of republican, of self- governing peoples. Simplicity of thought and style was again admired, the false and affected glare of tawdry ornament faded before the superior elegance and chaste- ness of these early models. Precepts were supplied to guide the author, of the excel- lence of which the works, which contained or obeyed them, were the tests. Yet if the taste for antiquity has exer- cised so propitious an influence on modern letters, it has been productive of some dis- advantage. It has opened an immense field for imitation. It has excused the servile follower of Classic images and Classic themes, by displaying such a range of ideas, that he who thinks not deeply will think the power of creation exhausted; will give up the hope of originality, and 75 look for fame in tracking ancient steps. He will think every subject of morals and poli- tics pursued to its extent ; the imageries of poetry all pre- occupied, and as he finds a fa- vourite thought which he had appropriated to himself, rooted up from the Classic soil by some restless antiquary, he will be apt to exclaim with the modern wit, "Cursed be these ancients who have stolen my best thoughts." That this has been the conse- quence of Classical learning must be ac- knowledged ; and many a scholar has wish- ed for the burning of the already-treasured knowledge of the world, that the earth, its flowers, and its scenery, and the beautiful phenomena of nature, might be opened again for fanciful theory, or for poetical embellishment. Does a fine idea now rise in the ardent imagination — ^beware, it may be discovered in the middle of Homer — or Pindar, Virgil, or TuUy, may be evo- lved from the tomb to convict you of pla- giarism. Do the stars, in the inspiring hours of a summer^s mildness, suggest some image bright as themselves, or does the moon as she beams on you awake some stirring fancy, or the note of a favourites 76 air wafted from a distance almost convert you to believe in the music of nature — exult not too much — all these scenes have been witnessed, have been described, by poets more imaginative than yourself, and the fable of the music of the spheres was invented by Orpheus some 3000 years ago.* So it is that the imagination is thwarted, and the malicious critic, beyond every other delight, loves to trace the progress of a thought, as it first originated in Greek or Roman times, and has improved or degene- rated in its transmission to ourselves. It is to poetry that Classical Letters have most to answer. The light which they caused to stream on mankind, and the ap- petite for knowledge they awakened, broke up at once all the illusions which gave to common objects the poetical colouring of hope and fear. They led men more to think, more to limit the rovings of fiction, more to consult the realities of things ; and fimcy, ere she dared to indulge in her wild chimeras, was forced to ask of reason whether what she was to relate was pro- bable. New inventions were cut off, and ■^ Bo rayt Senrius in iEneid VI. v. 645. 77 combinations were to be made of the al- ready-acquired knowledge, nor could the adventurous spirit add to it of its own crea* tions, since men became too wise to be im- posed on. The poet no more could call from the tomb the restless spirit to predict the future, while the listener gazed in silent horror at the visitant of another world. The extravagance might perhaps be after- wards allowed, but it was not believed— the magic wand ceased to enchant — ^the in» visible ring worked no charm — and the ne- cromancer's art, fortified bj spells potent as the grave, and the whole train of su- pernatural agents, no more could terrify. They were spirits that fled at the approach of dawn, and superstition, unable to brook the revival of ancient learning, called them away with her to seek some darker region. But as she went, poetry lost half its terrors — ^it could indeed speak to the guilty con- science, but the victim no longer fled hor- ror-struck from the unearthly spectre or the hovering demon ready to seize on him. But ancient letters did not rob modem poetry merely of these, but it extinguished the most beautiful fancy^ which mankind 78 perhaps ever conceived, a fancy, too, near- ly allied to the finest Classical fiction^. I mean the belief of Fairies, These imagi- nary beings, which resembled some of the nymphs of former times, gave a delightful hue to poetry and romance. A sort of guardian spirits to the good— delicate in form, beneficent in action — preserving firom the dominion of evil passions, and appear- ing like angels in the time of danger or temptation, to assist in the one, to repel the other; they yet almost approached to hu- manity in a hundred little caprices and foibles, which but made them the more in- teresting. They did not confine themselves to the gay and the noble, the feudal chief- tain and the castled splendour, but they mixed themselves with rustic sports, they sweetened rustic labour — they gave a higher interest to every more verdant spot, to each fairer scene. Upon the green turf their fro- lic ring was traced, or perhaps dissatisfied with earth, they winged their fanciful flight to the realms of fairy-land. There what- ever of beauty of scenery, of delicacy of taste, of perfection of colour and perfume, the rich imagination of the poet could X 79 devise, these fairy-forms went to enjoy — returning for deeds of kindness, and often, when some stainless knight pleased them, or some lovely damsel asked their protec- tion, they would steal them from the min- gled sorrow and joy of the world, and carry them to their fairy shores of unchanging fe- licity. To these Classical Letters gave an irrecoverable shock. The whole current of fancy turned a different way. The Naiads and Mountain-Nymphs expelled them from their rural haunts, while the Elysian Fields and the Islands of the Blest usurped the fairy regions. They expired, graceful and fragile beings, under the universal neglect; but now and then some gentle enthusiast still arises, who hallows their memory, and loves to trace their long-lingering steps in their ancient spots, as he mourns their de^ parture. In place of them, and of the other fictions of less enlightened times, the more delicate parts of the Classic mytho- logy came to assist the poet. 80 whose barbarian names, in Grecian days, would have frightened him from theur waves. In the pastoral, imitative, vainly imitative, of the nature-breathing Idyls of Theocritus, the ancient gods and goddesses were called upon by Christian shepherds, and welcomed to plains which they had never visited. There seemed a magic in certain names, which were rung from mouth to mouth in endless changes ; while actual belief and the pretended rapture in mytho- logical fancies strangely warred, or were mingled in grotesque confusion. Here a saint — ^there a heathen god, — here a virgin- martyr — there a Venus — found themselves unnaturally pressed into each other's soci- ety, and poetry became a sort of mosaic- work, where pieces of every figure and colour were smoothed over and laid to- gether on a common ground. Not that the revival of ancient fictions is indiscriminately to be condemned. There are spots and scenes whose every associa- tion is so connected with them, that no lapse of time, no change of religion, can dispossess the imaginary inhabitants. The ruined temple, whose pillars are sinking 81 one by one in the dust, will ever call to mind the god once deemed to abide there ; the Athenian Acropolis, topped as it is with Christian shrines and Mahometan mosques, will still be kindling the Classic imagina- tion with the presence of Minerva; the grot of Egeria will be haunted by the nymph who inspired laws of peace and softened rites to the mild governor of a martial people ; and the waters of Clitum- nus, which bathed the victim ere it led the triumphing Roman to the capitol, hallowed to the god of its fountains by a temple, in- jured but not destroyed by time, will awake some ancient superstitions, and for a mo- ment revive the ancient idolatry. Here the poet may revel unchecked, and bring up from their sunken habitations, once more to circle round him, the visionary forms of elder days : — Bat thoQ, Clitamnos ! in thy sweetest ware Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nymph, to g^e and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks, whereon the milk-white steer Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! And on thy happy shore a temple still. Of small and delicate proportion, keeps ' Its memory of thee. i i ■ 11 82 Fas8 not unblest the Genius of the place I If through the air a zephyr more serene Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace Along his marg;in a more eloquent green. If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With Nature's baptism, — 'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust.* Literature now too lost the rich and gor- geous colours of romance. The institutions which had been so favourable, the manners which had been so adapted, to picturesque description, vanished gradually before the increase of knowledge. The outlaw, with his bow and clothyard shaft, and his dress of green, wandering through the forests, and gracing a hundred acts of violence with one of generosity, was banished from the poetic pages. The warlike tournament, where the feat of valour and skill dr6w down the applause of nobles and the fair- est dames, mingled with the throng of an empire's population — the splendid device *— the waving pennon — the noble exercises of chivalry, where perils were braved for the sake of rescuing a stranger, and the knightly arm was renowned in the minstrel- * ChUde Harold, Canto IV. 83 song as thie avenger of the oppressed — where the bright eye was the motive and reward of heroic &.chievement, and the silken scarf or the token-ring more prized than a monarches favour — fled from the eye of fancy, and every-day manners, and the substantial comforts of social life followed the entrance of Classical Letters. The laws of ancient Rome, now discovered and perused, were applied to mitigate the harshness of the feudal system. Society was established on a safer but a less imagi- native footing, and religion became more spiritual, abounding less in the superstitions and mysteries which made it so poetical. No religious pilgrims were seen mingling together of every variety and class of man- kind — the scallop shell and the palmer^s staff did not come to repay the nightly hospitality with tales of enchantment tinted with the brilliant hues of Eastern fable, while the wondering auditors trembled at the mighty name of Saladin, or transported themselves to the holy sepulchre, and fan- cied the palms of Judah shaking over their heads. The way-worn traveller did not unlock before the envying eye the leathern 84 scrip, loaded with the holy dust of Calvary, or the relic of virtue to guard from danger or trouble. Nor did the minstrel, abound- ing in legendary information, the repositary and the embellisher of numberless wild tra- ditions, sing • the triumphs of war and the rewards of faithful love, as he waiidered from castle to castle, ever welcomed by the smiling glance of its lady-mistress — and perchance, as he was chanting the perils of absent lover in some Provencal tale, and the high-bom damsel sat watching its chan- ges and incidents in weeping sympathy, the disguise would fly off^ and the minstrel would display the very features of the war- rior-youth treasured in her heart All these were now gone, and the poet and the ro- mancer found themselves tied down to the soberness of truth, or if they yet dared to wander into the fields of fiction, hoping only for a temporary illusion. Criticism nicely weighed to condemn every deviation from probability, and reason and philosophy rais- ed their trophies 'over the prostrate fancy. But though we may be permitted thus playfiiUy to lament the increase of light as i^nfavourable to poetry, and regret the lost 85 traditions and general credulity which al« lowed so fine a field for daring imaginations and fantastical descriptions, let us not be ungratefully regardless of the manifold ad- vantages which the revival of Classic Let- ters has conferred on literature and let- tered men. And surely we may be excused m our enthusiasm, when we observe the re- volution that took place in the system of education, and among the true scholars of Europe. The verbsil frivolousness of the schools disappeared from the universities — the monkish historians and the folios of quibbling philosophy yielded to the beauti- ful, tasteful, and delightful volumes of Gre- « cian and Roman learning. No more was the young ambition sent to dull its fancies in miserable subtleties, but it was taught to raise its glance, and direct its aspirations, to those at once models and instruments of perfection. The men of letters did not, as before, form a class strongly marked from the rest of the world, but Classic studies came forth into every rank of polished life ; they scorned the poor limits of monasteries and colleges, and entered into the elegant amusements, the pleasures of the finished J 86 gentleman. It was soon seen that refine-* ment could not be perfect unley adorned with the grace of letters; and the noble inheritant of immense estates found his riches powerless unless surmounted and distinguished by a cultivated taste. He no longer preferred to waste his hours in idleness, or destroy by riotous courses the insipidity of his existence, but he learnt to look for occupation, joy, and variety, in studies worthy of him. The arts of peace, too, now predominated to remove the proud attachment hitherto shown to war — the fe- rocity of feudal dissensions was softened away by companionship in literary pursuits, or shamed by the empire now extending of intellect. The exercises of the body gave place to those of the mind ; pride of birth was humbled by the pride of genius, and gentle courtesy prevailed over the brutality of a Scythian ancestry. Classic Letters have a farther claim to our gratitude, as the parents of that literary ardour — that ambition for literary distinc- tion — ^which they have so often infused into the worthy breast. That they have been sometimes misdirected to building up for the laborious student a reputation for mere learning, undigested and without judgment, cannot be denied ; but to the higher class of intellects they have inspired that taste- ful love of study, which continually increas- es, and looks with confidence for hours of 88 I I delight to a well-stored library. I speak not here of that unfruitful taste for study, the pleasure of learning for learning's sake, the pura voluptas literarum, which is con- tented with being gratified, and dies with the scholar without benefitting others. No — ^it is a higher object which chains him to his closet — at these ancient fountains he but stops to refresh, as it were, his mind for higher advances in knowledge — and invigo- rated he proceeds to rival his models if he cannot surpass them — he seeks to cull out for himself amid the immortal laurels which are blooming around him some amaranthine garland to cover his own brow — to cause to flourish in his own tongue something which may perpetuate his name, and make him a Classic for posterity. With these aims you will see the scholar, spuming the ambitions and temptations of life, toil on in the un- ceasing pursuit ; ransacking every corner of literature, spreading his researches to every part of antiquity, and never going in vain — but drawing here a fine idea, here a powerfiil stimulus, gathering here some of the poetical inspirings, which rise like the dew, healthfiil exhalations from the Classic 89 soil, to quicken and enrich his mind — ^then leaving the limits of ancient thoughts, and never resting till beauties as striking, in- ventions as new, and reflections, clothed in the eloquence just enthusiasm never fails to give, as profound as theirs, stand fixed in his own pages, to be in future times the begin- nings to others of superior discoveries. This is the ardour Classical Letters have awaken- ed and can awaken — and hence the thirst for increase in knowledge their admirers have acquired. And indeed what can create a greater de- sire of literafy fame, than to see it thus continued ages and ages after the authors themselves have sunk into the tomb.^ As the scholar is absorbed in such meditations, hope, hope raises herself before him, point- ing to unnumbered years as the noble meed of a life of letters. 