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                                 ESSAYS

                           LITERARY, CRITICAL
                             AND HISTORICAL


                                   BY
                            THOMAS O’HAGAN,
                              M.A., Ph.D.

                      Author of “Canadian Essays,”
                        “Studies in Poetry,” “In
                         Dreamland,” “Songs of
                            the Settlement,”
                                  etc.


                            AUTHOR’S EDITION

                                TORONTO
                             WILLIAM BRIGGS
                                  1909




                      Copyright, Canada, 1909, by
                            THOMAS O’HAGAN.




                                   TO

                         HIS FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN,

                   THE FRENCH CANADIANS AND ACADIANS

                 Who, speaking the language of Bossuet
                    and Lamartine, have added Lustre
                      to our Canadian Citizenship,
                         Virtue to our Canadian
                         Homes, and Joy to our
                          Canadian Firesides,

                       THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED,

                         IN SINCERE ADMIRATION,

                             BY THE AUTHOR




                                PREFACE.


Four of the five essays which make up this volume have appeared during
the past few years in the _American Catholic Quarterly Review_ and the
_Champlain Educator_. The author begs to acknowledge particularly his
indebtedness to Dr. S. E. Dawson’s admirable work on Tennyson’s “The
Princess,” in the preparation of his study of that poem. Indeed, without
Dr. Dawson’s fine analysis of the poem the first essay in this volume
could never have been written.

The paper on “The Italian Renaissance and the Popes of Avignon” was
prepared while the writer was sojourning at Louvain University, Belgium,
in the autumn of 1903, and at Grenoble University, France, during the
summer of 1904. It may be well to add that the libraries of both these
ancient and renowned seats of learning are very rich in works relating
to medieval history and literature, and afforded the author unusual
opportunity in the preparation of the essay.

In the writing of the essay on “Poetry and History Teaching Falsehood,”
the author has been motived by a desire to set forth in the clearest
light possible the misrepresentation of Catholic truth which obtains in
much of the history and poetry of our day.

The third essay in the volume, “The Study and Interpretation of
Literature,” is based by the author upon ideals gained in post-graduate
courses pursued in this subject at several of the leading American
universities, as well as upon a practical knowledge in the teaching of
literature obtained in the High Schools of Ontario.

The paper on “The Degradation of Scholarship” has never before appeared
in print. Let the reader, divested of every predilection and bias,
examine it carefully, remembering that the courage to state the truth is
a more valuable asset of character than the gift of bestowing false
praise, though that praise should secure friends.

                                                              T. O’H.
   Toronto, Canada, March, 1909.




                               CONTENTS.


                                                     PAGE

             A STUDY OF TENNYSON’S “PRINCESS”          11

             POETRY AND HISTORY TEACHING               45
               FALSEHOOD

             THE STUDY AND INTERPRETATION OF           65
               LITERATURE

             THE DEGRADATION OF SCHOLARSHIP            83

             THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE AND THE          101
               POPES OF AVIGNON




                         A STUDY OF TENNYSON’S
                               “PRINCESS”




                   A STUDY OF TENNYSON’S “PRINCESS.”


Few poems written within the Victorian era of English literature have
been so singularly underrated and misunderstood as Tennyson’s
“Princess.” At its very birth—as if it had been born under an
unfavorable star—it encountered the adverse breath of criticism; and
even now, after nearly fifty years have rectified many a past error of
judgment in literary matters, this, the first long and sustained poem of
the late Poet Laureate, receives but grudging recognition and
commendation in a general review and study of the author’s works. We
think it was a little unfortunate that its second title, “A Medley,” was
tacked to it when the poem first appeared, for it gave some of the
critics who had neither the gifts nor disposition to study it aright a
pretext, and, in some measure, justification, for the violent onslaughts
which they from time to time made upon it.

In the light of the progressive views held to-day of the higher
education of woman, this poem may be regarded as a prophecy voicing the
advent of a broader, rounder and deeper culture for the race upon a
plane of civilization in which woman as a primal factor and true
complement of man shall unfold her being in a ceaseless striving for
truth, beauty and love. The attainment of this higher condition of life
will not, however, be hastened by isolated Idas walled within colleges
of their own pride and sex, and vainly and foolishly waging war upon
their own brothers; and every movement which starts out with the purpose
of setting up woman as a rival of man in achievement, is not only a
detriment to the cause of human progress, in which man and woman alike
are shareholders, but the end thereof must be abasement and defeat.

The “Princess” appeared first in print in 1847, at a time, by the way,
when the surface thought of England was largely given up to corn-laws
and free-trade; and this may account, in some measure, for the coldness
of the reception accorded it, as the English are a people who have
proverbially little time or thought for “bainting and boetry” when a
commercial or economic question is on the boards. The poem is a medley
in form, but not in essence, as it possesses the real and deep-seated
unity which all art demands—that of a consistent purpose and a
pervading harmony of tone. The medley consists in the poem being
serio-comic, constructed of ancient and modern materials—a show, as
Edmund Clarence Stedman says, of medieval pomp and movement observed
through an atmosphere of latter-day thought and emotion. It is such a
mixture as we find in Shakespeare’s “Winter’s Tale,” and, indeed, in the
prologue the name of that drama is introduced as if to justify by
precedent the incongruities of the narrative.

We think, however, that the critics have made too much out of the
improbability of the incidents in the poem. Surely to be consistent such
critics should extend their reproach to “The Tempest” and “Midsummer
Night’s Dream.” To us the impossible elements and anachronisms render
the poem more attractive. In estimating a poem we must always take for
granted the conditions assumed by the poet, and these being assumed, we
have only to inquire whether the poem possesses unity, congruity and a
definite and worthy object. There are, however, two things we have a
right to demand: that the characters are congruous with themselves, and
that the treatment of the incidents is poetic. But as far as art is
concerned, we should not lose our literary tempers or prepare to let
fall the axe of condemnation merely because some idealized scene in a
poem or drama does not harmonize in every particular with our own
workaday world. We mention this fact because in all fairness we consider
that this poem, “The Princess,” should be judged and appraised according
to some canons and rules that apply to similar works of imagination and
fancy.

The prologue and epilogue form the setting of the poem, and it would be
difficult to find in all English literature a more truly natural and
graceful picture than the scene from English life of to-day which the
poet paints for us in the opening lines of the poem. The place is the
South of England. The occasion a festival upon the grounds of a wealthy
baronet. Sir Walter Vivian has thrown open his grounds for a summer’s
day, and the people of the neighboring town, and especially the members
of its scientific institute, throng the park and give themselves up to
recreation and pleasure. A party of young collegians on vacation, in
company with some of the wellborn and cultured girls of the Hall and the
neighboring country seats, have made a select picnic of their own in a
ruined abbey. The baronet’s son, young Walter Vivian, is of the company.
One of the collegians, a dreamy youth—the poet himself—has been
looking through the library and has come across a book telling of
knightly deeds of the medieval ancestors of the stately Hall. Taking the
book with him, he joins the party, keeping his finger on the place where
is told the story of a fearless dame of the house, who, in defending her
castle against a lawless king, had armed

    “Her own fair head, and sallying thro’ the gate
    Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls.
    ‘O miracle of women,’ said the book;
    ‘O noble heart who, being strait besieged
    By this wild king to force her to his wish,
    Nor bent nor broke nor shunned a soldier’s death.’”

These last lines form a key to the story which Tennyson employs in
giving us his views as to the proper sphere of woman, for this “miracle
of women” is the prototype of the Princess Ida. While discussing the
character of this heroine who defended her castle in days agone, the
question at once arises among the members of the picnic party—are there
such women now? One of the young ladies, Lilia, the baronet’s daughter,
answers:

    “There are thousands now
    Such women, but convention beats them down,”

and in a half serious, half sportive way protests against the way in
which nowadays the powers of her sex are dwarfed by insufficient
culture, and as a consequence women are no longer capable of exhibiting
such heroic qualities. Young Walter Vivian in the course of his remarks,
which are banteringly addressed to his sister, mentions a favorite game
which he and his college companions used to play, of telling a story
from mouth to mouth, each one in succession taking up the thread till
among them they brought the story to a close. It is then forthwith
agreed that the seven youths should transfer this medieval miracle of
womanhood to modern times in a story to which each should contribute a
chapter. Of course, the conception out of which the plot is developed is
the founding of a Ladies’ University by the Princess Ida, who has set
before her the task of

    “Raising the woman’s fallen divinity
    Upon an equal pedestal with man.”

It may be added that the question discussed in this poem by Tennyson is
one of vital importance to the human race, and is in every way worthy of
the attention of the best and most earnest minds of our century. The
poem proper is made up of seven cantos, written in semi-heroic verse,
each story linked to and growing out of the previous canto. The first
canto represents the Prince, who is none other than the poet himself, as
longing for the bride betrothed to him in childhood. She, however,
disregarding all pledge and promise, has conceived the idea of founding
a University for Women, from which men are to be excluded on pain of
death. To carry out her strange project she obtains from her father one
of his castles with the domain surrounding it. Here the Princess Ida
establishes her faculty, and rains down the dews of knowledge upon the
thirsty flowers that bud and bloom under her high-souled care. This
lofty enterprise is, however, in no way acceptable to the Prince, nor to
the King, his father, who, inflamed with rage at her refusal to marry
his son, swears

    “That he will send a hundred thousand men
    And bring her in a whirlwind.”

The Prince, in company with two friends, Cyril and Florian, steals away
by night from his father’s court for the purpose of making a personal
appeal to his affianced bride, encouraged by a mysterious voice, borne
upon the winds in the woods, which whispered,

    “Follow, follow, thou shalt win.”

In his interview with Gama, the King, father of the Princess Ida, who,
by the way, was powerless to oppose the wishes and designs of his
daughter and her two widow companions, we learn the two fallacies which
mislead the Princess in her design to found a Ladies’ University: that
the woman is equal in all respects to the man, and that knowledge is all
in all. These are the very two fallacies which to-day are productive of
most mischief to the true advancement of woman.

The second book or canto brings the Prince and his two companions,
disguised as women, to the University, where the detection of Florian by
his sister, Lady Psyche, one of the lady lecturers, is narrated. The
description of the grounds and walks leading to the University shows
Tennyson’s keen knowledge of feminine nature. Just note, please, the
following appointments in the grounds. Do they not reflect the artistic
taste of woman?

    “We follow’d up the river as we rode,
    And rode till midnight, when the college lights
    Began to glitter firefly-like in copse
    And linden alley: then we past an arch,
    Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings
    From four wing’d horses dark against the stars;
    And some inscription ran along the front,
    But deep in shadow: further on we gained
    A little street, half garden and half house;
    But scarce could hear each other speak for noise
    Of clock and chimes, like silver hammers falling
    On silver anvils, and the splash and stir
    Of fountains spouted up and showering down
    In meshes of the jasmine and the rose:
    And all about us peal’d the nightingale,
    Rapt in her song and careless of the snare.”

The only thing wrong in this nice bit of description, as Dr. S. E.
Dawson has pointed out in his study of “The Princess,” is in reference
to the song of the nightingale. It is only the male bird which sings.
Scientifically, therefore, Tennyson is wrong, though historically and
poetically he is correct, for, according to the Greek myth, Philomela
was a princess who was turned into a nightingale which sang.

Lady Psyche having discovered that her three visiting friends are men,
not women, the Prince and his two companions, upon promising a speedy
departure, prevail upon the fair professor to conceal their real
identity. Disguised as women, and keeping their hoods about their faces,
the three young men stroll through the lecture-rooms and listen to the
“violet-hooded doctors” descant on the ancient glories of Greece and
Rome, now reciting some scrap of thunderous epic, now lilting off some
throbbing ode, now dipping into the science of star and bird and shell
and flower, electric, chemic laws and all the rest, and whatsoever can
be taught and known—with what result? We will let the Prince tell:

    “Till like three horses that have broken fence,
    And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn,
    We issued gorged with knowledge.”

Cyril, however, is not pleased with the condition of things, and thinks
that violence is done to woman’s nature in this isolated institution.
This plain-spoken fellow evidently regards the heart and its affections
in woman as of much more importance than the intellect, for how
otherwise are we to interpret his opinion, as expressed to Florian:

    “A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls,
    And round these halls a thousand baby loves
    Fly, twanging headless arrows at the hearts,
    Whence follows many a vacant pang.”

In the third canto the mock damsels pursue still further their studies,
and mounted on horses, in company with the Princess, make a geological
excursion in the neighboring country. The Prince and Princess ride side
by side, and out of their conversation grows a reference to her
betrothal to the young prince in the North. Her reply to the statement
of her disguised companion, that her persistence in refusing to make
good her pledge of marriage would surely lead to the death of the
Prince, is characteristic of a woman who is waging war with her womanly
instincts and the rooted affections of her heart, and undertakes the
heavy task of breasting the current of nature with its strong and
irresistible tide. Here is the crumb of consolation she offers him in
his disappointment:

    “‘Poor boy,’ she cried, ‘can he not read—no books?
    Quoit, tennis, ball—no games? nor deals in that
    Which men delight in, martial exercise?
    To nurse a blind ideal like a girl,
    Methinks he seems no better than a girl;
    As girls were once, as we ourself have been;
    We had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with them.’”

This reminds one of the advice given in Donald G. Mitchell’s “Reveries
of a Bachelor” to a disappointed lover—to adopt a diet of vegetables
and read Jeremy Taylor’s sermons.

The fourth canto contains the grand crash. It is also the canto which
closes the humorous or serio-comic part of the story, the transition
being made from jest to earnest at the request of Lilia, who, as
spokeswoman for the ladies in the poem, objected to the banter in the
first four cantos;

    “They hated banter, wished for something real,
    A gallant fight, a noble Princess—why
    Not make her true heroic,—true sublime?
    Or all, they said, as earnest as the close?
    Which yet,” replies the poet, “scarce could be.”

The crash comes when Cyril, honest-hearted Cyril, after the party, tired
from geologizing and astronomizing, are seated in a silken pavilion
indulging in meat, wine and song, responds to the request of the
Princess for a song that would have in it something of the flavor and
manners of his countrywomen in the North. Cyril is a merry fellow and
reminds one not a little of Shakespeare’s Mercutio. He is the least
sentimental of the three friends, and while the Prince has been dwelling
in cloudland, rocked in airy dreams, Cyril has given himself up