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Title: The works of Richard Hurd, volume 4 (of 8)

Author: Richard Hurd

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  THE

  WORKS

  OF

  RICHARD HURD, D. D.

  LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.

  VOL. IV.

  Printed by J. Nichols and Son,
  Red Lion Passage, Fleet-Street, London.




  THE

  WORKS

  OF

  RICHARD HURD, D. D.

  LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.

  IN EIGHT VOLUMES.

  VOL. IV.

  [Illustration]

  LONDON:
  PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.
  1811.




  MORAL AND POLITICAL
  DIALOGUES.

  VOL. II.




  MORAL AND POLITICAL

  DIALOGUES,

  WITH

  LETTERS

  ON

  CHIVALRY AND ROMANCE.




  CONTENTS

  OF

  THE FOURTH VOLUME.


                                                            Page

  DIALOGUE VI.
  _On the Constitution of the
  English Government._
  SIR J. MAYNARD, MR. SOMERS, BP. BURNET.                      9

  DIALOGUES VII, VIII.
  _On the Uses of Foreign Travel._
  LORD SHAFTESBURY, MR. LOCKE.                                85

  XII LETTERS
  _On Chivalry and Romance._                                 231




DIALOGUE VI.

ON THE

CONSTITUTION

OF THE

ENGLISH GOVERNMENT.

BETWEEN

SIR JOHN MAYNARD, MR. SOMERS,

AND

BISHOP BURNET.




DIALOGUE VI.

ON THE CONSTITUTION OF THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT.


SIR JOHN MAYNARD, MR. SOMERS, BISHOP BURNET.


TO DR. TILLOTSON.

Our next meeting at Sir JOHN MAYNARD’S was on the evening of that
day, when the war was proclaimed against _France_[1]. What the event
of it will be, is a secret in the counsels of Providence. But if the
goodness of our cause, his Majesty’s known wisdom and ability, and,
above all, the apparent zeal and firmness of all orders amongst us in
support of this great undertaking, may give a prospect of success, we
cannot, I persuade myself, but indulge in the most reasonable hopes and
expectations.

Perhaps, the time is approaching, my dear friend, which the divine
goodness hath decreed for putting a stop to that outrageous power,
which hath been permitted for so long a course of years to afflict
the neighbouring nations. It may be, the season is now at hand, when
God will vouchsafe to plead the cause of his servants, and let this
mighty persecutor of the faithful know that he may not be suffered any
longer to trample on the sacred rights of conscience. He may be taught
to feel, that the ravages he hath committed in the fairest provinces,
and the cruelties he hath exercised on the best subjects, of his own
kingdom, have at length awakened the divine displeasure against him.
And he may live to find in our great prince (raised up, as I verily
believe, to this eminence of place and power to be the scourge of
tyrants, and the vindicator of oppressed nations) an insurmountable
bulwark against that encroaching dominion, which threatens to deform
and lay waste the rest of _Europe_.

I have already lived to see those providences, which may encourage a
serious and good mind to believe that some great work is preparing in
our days. I was very early in my life a witness to the high measures
which were taken and carried on by an intolerant hierarchy, acting in
subserviency to an arbitrary court, in mine own country of _Scotland_.
And I have lamented the oppression in which good men were held for
conscience sake in all the three kingdoms. How far this tyranny was
carried, and how near we were brought to the destruction of all our
civil and religious rights, need not be told, and the occurrences of
the two last reigns will not suffer to be forgotten. It is sufficient
to observe, that when the danger was now brought to a crisis, and the
minds of all men were filled with the most alarming apprehensions,
it pleased God to rescue us, in a moment and by the most astonishing
display of his goodness, from the impending ruin. Our chains fell off
at once, as by a miracle of mercy. Our civil rights have been restored.
And the legal toleration[2], we have just now obtained in consequence
of the new settlement, hath put us into possession of that religious
liberty, which, as men, as Christians, and as Protestants, we cannot
but esteem the first of all public blessings.

And who knows but that, in the gracious designs of Heaven, the same
hand which hath redeemed these nations from the yoke of slavery and
of _Rome_, may be now employed to shake it off from the necks of our
Protestant brethren on the continent[3]? The world hath seen how long
and how severely they have groaned under that intolerant power, with
which we are now at war. When the violences of the late reign had
driven me into a sort of voluntary exile, and in the course of it I
traversed some of those unhappy provinces of _France_, which were most
exposed to the rigours of persecution[4], how have these eyes wept
over the distresses of the poor sufferers, and how hath my heart bled
for the merciless cruelties which I every where saw exercised upon
them! The fury which appeared on that occasion, was so general and so
contagious, that not only priests and court sycophants, but men of
virtuous minds and generous tempers, were transported, as it were, out
of their proper nature, and seemed to divest themselves of the common
notices and principles of humanity.

In this fiery trial it hath pleased God to exercise the faith and
virtues, and, as we may charitably hope, to correct the failings and
vices, of his poor servants. His mercy may now, in due time, be opening
a way for them to escape. And from the prosperous beginning of this
great work, what comfortable presages may we not, in all humility, form
to ourselves of still further successes?

We have a prince on the throne exactly qualified for the execution
of this noble enterprise; of the clearest courage and magnanimity,
and a wisdom tried and perfected in that best school, of Adversity;
of dispositions the most enlarged to the service of mankind; and
even quickened by his own personal resentment of former injuries to
retaliate against their common oppressor.

Nor can we doubt of the concurrence of his faithful subjects, who, with
one voice, have demanded the commencement of this war; and whose late
deliverance, from like circumstances of distress, may be expected to
animate their zeal in the support of it.

And oh! that I might see the day, when our deliverer shall become,
what a bold usurper nobly figured to himself in the middle of this
century[5], the soul and conductor of the Protestant cause through all
_Europe_! and, that, as _Rome_ hath hitherto been the centre of slavish
impositions and anti-christian politics, the court of _England_ may
henceforth be the constant refuge and asylum of fainting liberty and
religion!

But to turn from these flattering views, my good friend, to the recital
of our late conversation; which I proceed to lay before you with the
same exactness and punctuality that I did the former. You will see the
reason why I cannot promise you the same entertainment from it.

We had no sooner come together, than Sir JOHN MAYNARD began with his
usual vivacity.

I have been thinking, my lord, how dexterous a game I have played
with you, in this inquiry of ours into the _English_ government. What
was obvious enough in itself, and had indeed been undertaken by many
persons, I mean the vindication of our common liberties as founded in
the ancient feudal constitution, is the part I assumed to myself in
this debate; and have left it to your lordship to reconcile the FACT
to the RIGHT: which is not only the most material point of inquiry,
but the most difficult, and that which the patrons of liberty have
either less meddled with, or have less succeeded in explaining. For,
to own an unwelcome truth, however specious our claim may be to civil
liberty, the administration of government from the time of HENRY VII’s
accession to the crown, that is, for two entire centuries, has very
little agreed to this system. The regal power, throughout this period,
has been uniformly exercised in so high and arbitrary a manner, that
we can hardly believe there could be any certain foundation for the
people’s claim to a limited monarchy. Add to this, that the language of
parliaments, the decrees of lawyers, and the doctrines of divines, have
generally run in favour of the highest exertions of prerogative. So
that I cannot but be in some pain for the success of your undertaking,
and am at a loss to conjecture in what way your lordship will go about
to extricate yourself from these difficulties.


BP. BURNET.

I understand, Sir John, that your intention in setting forth the
difficulties of this attempt is only, in your polite way, to enhance
the merit of it. I must not however assume too much to myself. The way
is clear and easy before me. You have conducted us very agreeably
through the rough and thorny part of our journey. You have opened the
genius of our ancient constitution. You have explained the principles
on which it was raised. All that remains for me is, only to solve
doubts, and rectify appearances; a matter of no great difficulty, when,
instead of groping in the dark, we are now got into open daylight, and
are treading in the paths of known and authentic history.


MR. SOMERS.

And yet, my lord, I shall very readily acknowledge, with my Lord
Commissioner, the importance of the service. For, unless appearances be
strangely deceitful indeed, there is but too great reason to conclude,
from the recent parts of our history, either that there never was a
rightful claim in the people to civil liberty, or that they, as well
as their princes, had lost all sense of it. I doubt, the most your
lordship can make appear, is, that as our kings, from the coming of
the Tudor line, had usurped on the ancient privileges of the subject;
so the subject, at length, in our days, has, in its turn, usurped on
the undisputed and long-acknowledged prerogative of the sovereign.
In short, I doubt there is no forming a connected system on these
subjects; but that in our country, as well as in others, liberty and
prerogative have prevailed and taken the ascendant at different times,
according as either was checked or favoured by contingent circumstances.


BP. BURNET.

Still Mr. Somers, I see, is on the desponding side: and with better
reason than before; since, if the difficulty be half so great as is
pretended, this change of the speaker is little favourable to the
removal of it. However, I do not despair, whether these surmises of
difficulty be real or dissembled, to clear up the whole matter to
both your satisfactions. The stress of it lies here: That, whereas
a mixed and limited government is supposed to have been the ancient
constitution in this country, the appearances, in fact, for a couple
of centuries, have been so repugnant to this notion, that either the
supposition must be given up as too hastily formed, or sufficient
reasons must be assigned for these contradictory appearances. I embrace
the latter part of this alternative without hesitation or reserve; and
pretend to lay before you such unanswerable arguments for the cause
I have undertaken, as, in better hands, might amount to a perfect
vindication of ENGLISH LIBERTY.

I take my rise from the period which my Lord Commissioner has
prescribed to me; that is, from the accession of the TUDOR family.

We have henceforth, indeed, a succession of high despotic princes, who
were politic and daring enough to improve every advantage against the
people’s liberties. And their peculiar characters were well suited to
the places in which we find them. HENRY VII. was wise and provident;
jealous of his authority as well as title; and fruitful in expedients
to secure both. His son and successor, who had a spirit of the largest
size, and, as one says[6], _feared nothing but the falling of the
heavens_, was admirably formed to sustain and establish that power,
which the other had assumed. And after two short reigns, which afforded
the people no opportunity of recovering their lost ground, the crown
settled on the head of a princess, who, with the united qualifications
of her father and grandfather, surpassed them both in the arts of
a winning and gracious popularity. And thus, in the compass of a
century, the prerogative was now wound up to a height, that was very
flattering to the views and inclinations of the STUART family.

It may be further observed, that the condition of the times was such
as wonderfully conspired with the designs and dispositions of these
princes.

A long and bloody war, that had well nigh exhausted the strength and
vitals of this country, was, at length, composed by the fortunate
successes of _Bosworth-field_. All men were desirous to breathe a
little from the rage of civil wars. And the enormous tyranny of the
prince, whose death had made way for the exaltation of the earl of
RICHMOND, was a sort of foil to the new government, and made the
rigours of it appear but moderate when set against the cruelties of the
preceding reign.

The great change that followed, in the deliverance of the nation from
papal tyranny, and the suppression of religious houses, was a new
pretence for the extension of the royal prerogative; and the people
submitted to it with pleasure, as they saw no other way to support and
accomplish that important enterprise.

And, lastly, the regal power, which had gained so immensely by the
rejection of the papal dominion, was carried still higher by the great
work of reformation; which being conducted by a wise and able princess,
was easily improved, on every occasion, to the advantage of the crown.

And thus, whether we consider the characters of the persons, or the
circumstances of the times, every thing concurred to exalt the princes
of the house of TUDOR to a height of power and prerogative, which
had hitherto been unknown in _England_, and became, in the end, so
dangerous to the constitution itself.

But you expect me, I suppose, to point to the very examples of
usurpation, I have in view, and the means by which it took effect in
the hands of these and the succeeding princes.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

We do indeed expect that from your lordship. For otherwise it
will be thought that what you treat as an usurpation, was but the
genuine exercise of the regal authority; only favoured by fortunate
conjunctures, and, as you say, by great ability in the princes
themselves.


MR. SOMERS.

Perhaps, still more will be expected. For it may not be enough to tell
us, what usurpations there were, or even by what means they became
successful. It should further appear, methinks, that these usurpations,
though they suspended the exercise of the people’s liberties, did not
destroy them; did not, at least, annihilate the Constitution from which
those liberties were derived.


BP. BURNET.

All this will naturally come in our way, as we go along. And, since you
will have me usurp the chair on this occasion, and, like the princes I
am speaking of, take to myself an authority to which I have no right,
let me presume a little on my new dignity; and, in what follows,
discourse to you, as our manner is, without interruption or reply.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

This, it must be owned, is carrying the prerogative of the chair to
its utmost height. But, if we submit to it in other places, is it
reasonable you should require us to do so here? Besides, your lordship
forgets that I am too old to be a patient hearer. And Mr. SOMERS too—


MR. SOMERS.

I can engage, in this instance, for passive obedience. And my lord,
perhaps, does not insist on the full extent of his prerogative. It
is fit, however, we attend with reverence, while such an advocate is
pleading in such a cause.


BP. BURNET.

I was saying, that all your demands would be satisfied, as I went along
in this discourse. It is true, an attentive reader of our history, who
considers what is said of the mixed frame of our government, and the
struggles that were occasioned by it, is surprised to find that these
contentions at once subsided on the accession of the house of TUDOR;
and that the tenour of the government thenceforth for many successions
is as calm, and the popular influence as small, as in the most absolute
and despotic forms. This appearance tempts him to conclude, that the
crown had at length redeemed itself from a forced, unconstitutional
servitude; and that, far from usurping on the people, it only returned
to the exercise of its old and acknowledged rights. For otherwise it
will be said, how could the people at once become so insensible, and
their representatives in parliament so tame, as to bear with the most
imperious of their princes without reluctance; they, who had resented
much smaller matters from the gentlest and the best?

But those, who talk in this strain, have not considered, that there
were some circumstances in the state of things, from the time we are
speaking of, that DISABLED the nation from insisting, and many more
that INDISPOSED them to insist, on their ancient and undoubted rights.

I took notice, that the ruinous contentions of the two houses of YORK
and LANCASTER, from which the nation was at last delivered by the
accession of HENRY VII. disposed all men to submit with satisfaction
to the new government. Such a conjuncture was favourable, of itself,
to the increase of the regal power. But the truth is, there was little
danger of any successful opposition to the crown, if the nation had
been ever so ill inclined towards it. The great lords or barons were,
in former days, both by the feudal constitution, and by the vast
property they had in their hands, the proper and only check on the
sovereign. These had been either cut off, or so far weakened at least
by the preceding civil wars, that the danger seemed entirely over from
that quarter. The politic king was aware of his advantage, and improved
it to admiration. One may even affirm, that this was the sole object of
his government.

For the greater security, and majesty of his person, he began with the
institution of his LIFEGUARD. And having thus set out with enlarging
his own train, his next care was to diminish that of his nobles.
Hence the law, or rather laws (for, as Lord BACON observes, there was
scarcely a parliament through his whole reign which passed without
an act to that purpose) against RETAINERS. And with how jealous a
severity he put those laws into execution, is sufficiently known from
his treatment of one of his principal friends and servants, the earl of
OXFORD[7].

It was also with a view to this depression of the nobility, that the
court Of STAR-CHAMBER was considered so much, and confirmed by act
of parliament in his reign: “That which was principally aimed at by
it being, as his historian frankly owns, FORCE, and the two chief
supports of Force, COMBINATION OF MULTITUDES, and maintenance of
HEADSHIP OF GREAT PERSONS.”

To put them still lower in the public estimation, he affected to fill
the great offices with churchmen only. And it was perhaps, as much to
awe the nation by the terror of his prerogative as to fill his coffers,
that he executed the penal laws with so merciless a rigour on the very
greatest of his subjects.

Still further to prevent the possibility of a return, in any future
period, of the patrician power, this politic prince provided with great
care for the encouragement of trade, and the distribution of property.
Both which ends were effected at once by that famous act, which was
made to secure and facilitate the alienation of estates by fine and
proclamation.

All these measures, we see, were evidently taken by the king to
diminish the credit and suppress the influence of his nobles; and of
consequence, as he thought, to exalt the power of the crown above
control, if not in his own, yet in succeeding ages. And his policy had
this effect for some time; though in the end it served, beside his
expectation, to advance another and more formidable power, at that
time little suspected or even thought of, the POWER OF THE PEOPLE[8].

The truth is, HENRY’s policy was every way much assisted by the genius
of the time. Trade was getting up: and Lollardism had secretly made its
way into the hearts of the people. And, though _liberty_ was in the end
to reap the benefit of each, _prerogative_ was the immediate gainer.
Commerce, in proportion to its growth, brought on the decline of the
feudal, that is, aristocratic power of the barons: and the authority of
the church, that other check on the sovereign, was gradually weakened
by the prevailing spirit of reformation.

Under these circumstances, HENRY found it no difficulty to depress his
great lords; and he did it so effectually, that his son had little
else left him to do, but to keep them down in that weak and disabled
state, to which his father had reduced them. ‘Tis true, both he and
his successors went further. They never thought themselves secure
enough from the resistance of their old enemies, the barons[9]; and
so continued, by every method of artifice and rapine, to sink them
much lower than even the safety of their own state required. But the
effects of this management did not appear till long afterwards. For the
present, the crown received a manifest advantage by this conduct.

There was, besides, another circumstance of great moment attending the
government of the younger HENRY. He was the first heir of the white and
red roses: so that there was now an end of all dispute and disaffection
in the people. And they had so long and so violently contended about
the title to the crown, that, when that mighty point was once settled,
they did not readily apprehend that any other consideration deserved,
or could justify, resistance to their sovereign.

With these advantages of situation, HENRY VIII. brought with him to the
throne a spirit of that firm and steady temper as was exactly fitted
to break the edge of any rising opposition. Besides the confidence of
youth, he was of a nature so elate and imperious, so resolved and
fearless[10], that no resistance could succeed, hardly any thought of
it could be entertained against him. The commons, who had hitherto been
unused to treat with their kings but by the mediation of the great
lords, being now pushed into the presence, were half discountenanced in
the eye of majesty; and durst scarcely look up to the throne, much less
dispute the prerogatives with which so awful a prince was thought to be
invested.

And when the glaring abuse of his power, as in the exaltation of
that great instrument of his tyranny, WOLSEY, seemed afterwards to
provoke the people to some more vigorous resolutions, a singular event
happened, which not only preserved his greatness, but brought a further
increase to it. This was the famous rupture with the court of _Rome_:
in consequence of which, the yoke of papal usurpations, that yoke under
which our kings had groaned for so many ages, was in a moment broken
off, and the crown restored to its full and perfect independency.

Nor was this all. The throne did not only stand by itself, as having no
longer a dependence on the papal chair. It rose still higher, and was,
in effect, erected upon it. For the ecclesiastical jurisdiction was not
annihilated, but transferred; and all the powers of the _Roman_ pontiff
now centered in the king’s person. Henceforth then we are to regard him
in a more awful point of view; as armed with both swords at once; and,
as NAT. BACON expresses it in his way, as a strange kind of monster, “A
king with a pope in his belly[11].”

The remainder of his reign shews that he was politic enough to make
the best use of what his passions had brought on, and thus far
accomplished. For though the nation wished, and, without doubt, hoped
to go much further, the king’s quarrel was rather with the court, than
the church of _Rome_. And the high authority in spirituals, which he
had gained, enabled him to hold all men, who either feared or desired a
further reformation, in the most entire dependence.

In the mean time, the nation rejoiced with great reason at its
deliverance from a foreign tyranny: and the lavish distribution of
that wealth, which flowed into the king’s coffers from the suppressed
monasteries, procured a ready submission, from the great and powerful,
to the king’s domestic tyranny.

In a word, every thing contributed to the advancement of the regal
power; and, in that, to the completion of the great designs of
Providence. The amazing revolution, which had just happened, was, at
all events, to be supported: and thus, partly by fear, and partly by
interest, the parliament went along with the king, in all his projects;
and, beyond the example of former times, was constantly obsequious
to him, even in the most capricious and inconsistent measures of his
government.

And thus matters, in a good degree, continued till the accession of
Queen ELIZABETH. It is true, the weak administration of a minor king,
and a disputed title at his death, occasioned some disorders. But the
majesty of the crown itself was little impaired by these bustles; and
it even acquired fresh glory on the head of our renowned Protestant
princess.

For that astonishing work of reformation, so happily entered upon by
HENRY, and carried on by his son, was after a short interruption
(which only served to prove and animate the zeal of good men) brought
at length by her to its final establishment. The intolerable abuses
and shameless corruptions of popery were now so notorious to all the
world, and the spirit of reformation, which had been secretly working
since the days of WICKLIFF, had now spread itself so generally through
the nation, that nothing but an entire renunciation of the doctrine
and discipline of the church of _Rome_ could be expected. And, by the
happiest providence, the queen was as much obliged by the interest of
her government and the security of her title, as by her own unshaken
principles, to concur with the dispositions of her subjects.

Thus, in the end, Protestantism prevailed, and obtained a legal and
fixed settlement. But to maintain it, when made, against the combined
powers that threatened its destruction, the crown on which so much
depended, was to be held up in all its splendor to the eyes of our own
and foreign nations. Hence the height of prerogative in ELIZABETH’s
days, the submission of parliaments, and, I may almost say, the
prostration of the people.

And when this magnanimous princess, as well by her vast spirit and
personal virtues, as the constant successes of her long reign, had
derived the highest dignity and authority on the _English_ sceptre, it
passed into the hands of the elder JAMES; who brought something more
with him than a good will, the accession of a great kingdom, and the
opinion of deep wisdom, to enable him to wield it.

What followed in his and the succeeding reigns, I need not be at
the pains to recount to you. These things are too recent for me to
dwell upon: and you, my Lord Commissioner, do not only remember them
perfectly, but have yourself acted a great part in most of them. Allow
me only to say, that from this brief history of the regal authority,
and the means by which it arrived at so unusual a greatness, it is no
wonder that the STUART family were somewhat dazzled by the height to
which they were raised, and that more than half a century was required
to correct, if it ever did correct, the high but false notions they had
entertained of the imperial dignity.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

If you permit me, at last, to break in at the opening which this
conclusion of your discourse seems to give me; I would say, That, on
your principles, the house of STUART had great reason for the high
notions you ascribe to them. For what other conclusion could they make,
but that a power, which had domineered for so long a time, and that
by the full allowance of parliament and people, was, both in fact and
right, absolute and uncontrolable?


BP. BURNET.

It is certain, the STUART family did draw that conclusion. But a great
deal too hastily; as may appear from your own observation, that the
exercise of this extraordinary power was committed, or more properly
indulged to them, by the people. This is so strictly true, that from
the first to the last of the TUDOR line, imperious and despotic as
they were of their own nature, no extraordinary stretch of power was
ventured upon by any of them, but under the countenance and protection
of an act of parliament. Hence it was, that the STAR-CHAMBER, though
the jurisdiction of this court had the authority of the common law, was
confirmed by statute; that the proceedings of EMPSON and DUDLEY had the
sanction of parliament; that HENRY the VIIIth’s supremacy, and all acts
of power dependent upon it, had the same foundation: in a word, that
every thing, which wore the face of an absolute authority in the king,
was not in virtue of any supposed inherent prerogative in the crown,
but the special grant of the subject. No doubt, this compliance, and
particularly if we consider the lengths to which it was carried, may
be brought to prove the obsequious and even abject dispositions of the
times; though we allow a great deal, as I think we should, to prudence
and good policy. But then the parliaments, by taking care to make
every addition to the crown their OWN PROPER ACT, left their kings no
pretence to consider themselves as absolute and independent.


MR. SOMERS.

I doubt, considering the slavish disposition of the times, that, if
the people still possessed a shew of liberty, this advantage was owing
to the pure condescension of the crown, and not to their own policy. A
king that could obtain of his parliament to have his proclamations pass
for laws[12], might have ventured on this step without the concurrence
of parliament.


BP. BURNET.

I acknowledge the act you glance at was of an extraordinary kind;
and might seem, by implication at least, to deliver up the entire
legislative authority into the hands of the sovereign. But there is a
wide difference between the crown’s usurping this strange power, and
the parliament’s bestowing it. The case was (and nothing could be more
fortunate for the nation) that at the time when the people were least
able to controul their prince, their prince’s affairs constrained him
to court his people. For the rejection of the papal power and the
reformation of religion were things of that high nature, and so full
of hazard, that no expedient was to be overlooked, which tended to
make the execution of these projects safe or easy. Hence it was, that
no steps were taken by the crown but with the consent and approbation
of the two houses. And if these were compelled by the circumstances
of their situation to favour their prince’s interest or caprice by
absurd and inconsistent compliances, this benefit at least they
drew to themselves, that their power by that means would appear the
greater and more unquestionable. For what indeed could display the
omnipotency of parliaments more than their being called in to make and
unmake the measures of government, and give a sanction, as it were, to
contradictions? Of which there cannot be a stronger instance than the
changes they made from time to time, as HENRY VIII’s passions swayed
him, in the rule of succession.

Thus we see that, through the entire reigns of the house of TUDOR,
that is, the most despotic and arbitrary of our princes, the forms
of liberty were still kept up, and the constitution maintained, even
amidst the advantages of all sorts which offered for the destruction of
both. The parliament indeed was obsequious, was servile, was directed,
if you will; but every proceeding was authorised and confirmed by
parliament. The king in the mean time found himself at his ease;
perhaps believed himself absolute, and considered his application to
parliaments as an act of mere grace and popular condescension. At
least, after so long experience of their submission, the elder JAMES
certainly thought himself at liberty to entertain this belief of them.
But he was the first of our princes that durst avow this belief plainly
and openly. He was stimulated, no doubt, to this usurpation of power
in _England_, by the memory of his former subjection, of servitude
rather, to the imperious church of _Scotland_. But this was not all.
Succeeding to so fair a patrimony as that of a mighty kingdom, where
little or no opposition had been made for some reigns to the will of
the sovereign; to a kingdom too, securely settled in the possession
of its favoured religion, which had occasioned all the dangers, and
produced all the condescension, of the preceding princes; bringing,
besides, with him to the succession, an undisputed title and the
additional splendor of another crown; all these advantages meeting
in his person at that point of time, he ventured to give way to his
natural love of dominion, and told the people to their face, that the
pretended rights of their parliaments were but the free gifts and
graces of their kings: that every high point of government, that is,
every point which he chose to call by that name, was wrapt up in the
awful mystery of his prerogative: and, in a word, that “it was sedition
for them to dispute what a king may do in the height of his power[13].”

Such, you know, was the language, the public language to his
parliaments, of JAMES THE FIRST. But these pretences, which might have
been suffered perhaps, or could not have been opposed, under the TUDOR
line, were unluckily out of season, and would not pass on a people who
knew their own rights, had saved to themselves the exercise of them,
and came now at length to feel and understand their importance. For,
as I before observed, the principal cause that had lifted the crown so
high, was the depression of the barons. The great property which had
made them so formidable, was dispersed into other hands. The nobility
were therefore too low to give any umbrage to the crown. But the
commons were rising apace; and in a century had grown to that height,
that on the accession of the _Scotch_ family, the point of time when
the new king dreamed of nothing but absolute sovereignty[14], they were
now in a condition to assert the public liberty, and, as the event
shewed but too soon, to snatch the sceptre itself out of their king’s
hands.

However, in that interval of the dormant power of the commons it
was, that the prerogative made the largest shoots, till in the end
it threatened to overshadow law and liberty. And, though the general
reason is to be sought in the humiliation of the church, the low estate
of the barons, and the unexerted, because as yet unfelt, greatness of
the commons, the solution will be defective if we stop here. For the
regal authority, so limited by the ancient constitution, and by the
continued use of parliaments, could never in this short space have
advanced itself beyond all bounds, if other reasons had not co-operated
with the state of the people; if some more powerful and special causes
had not conspired to throw round the person of the sovereign those rays
of sacred opinion, which are the real strength as well as gilding of a
crown.

Of these I have occasionally mentioned several; such as “the personal
character and virtues of the princes themselves; the high adventurous
designs in which they were engaged; the interest, the people found
or promised to themselves in supporting their power; the constant
successes of their administration; and the unremitting spirit and
vigour with which it was carried on and maintained.” All these
considerations could not but dispose the people to look up with
reverence to a crown, which presented nothing to their view but what
was fitted to take their admiration, or imprint esteem. Yet all these
had failed of procuring to majesty that profound submission which
was paid to it, or of elevating the prince to that high conceit of
independency which so thoroughly possessed the imagination of King
JAMES, if an event of a very singular nature, and big with important
consequences, had not given the proper occasion to both.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

I understand you to mean the overthrow of the papal dominion, which
had so long eclipsed the majesty of our kings; and held them in a
state of vassalage, not only to the triple crown, but, which was more
disgraceful, to the mitre of their own subjects.


BP. BURNET.

Rather understand me to mean, what was indeed the consequence of that
event, THE TRANSLATION OF THE POPE’S SUPREMACY TO THE KING. This, as
I take it, was the circumstance of all others which most favoured
the sudden growth of the imperial power in this nation. And because
I do not remember to have seen it enlarged upon as it deserves,
give me leave to open to you, somewhat copiously, the nature of
this newly-acquired headship, and the numerous advantages which the
prerogative received from it.

The PAPAL SUPREMACY, as it had been claimed and exercised in this
kingdom, was a power of the highest nature. It controlled every rank
and order in the state, and, in effect, laid the prince and people
together at the mercy of the _Roman_ pontiff. There is no need to
recount the several branches of this usurped authority. It is enough to
say, that it was transcendant in all respects that could in any sense
be taken to concern religion. And who, that has looked into the papal
story, needs be told that, by a latitude of interpretation, every thing
was construed to be a religious concern, by which the pope’s power or
interest could be affected?

Under the acknowledgment then of this super-eminent dominion, no steps
could possibly be taken towards the reformation of religion, or even
the assertion of the just rights and privileges of the crown. But the
people were grown to have as great a zeal for the former of these
considerations, as the king for the latter. And in this juncture it
was, that HENRY, in a sudden heat, threw off the supremacy; which the
parliament, to prevent its return to the pope, very readily invested in
the king.

There was something so daring, and, according to the prejudices of that
time, so presumptuous and even prophane, in this attempt to transfer
the spiritual headship to a secular power, that the pope himself
little apprehended, and nothing but the king’s dauntless temper could
have assured, the success of it. The repugnancy which the parliament
themselves found in their own notions betwixt the exercise of the
spiritual and temporal power, was the reason perhaps for inserting in
the act of supremacy those qualifying clauses, we find in it[15].


MR. SOMERS.

It is possible, as you say, that the parliament might be at a loss
to adjust in their own minds the precise bounds of the spiritual
jurisdiction, as united to the civil, in the king’s person. Yet, in
virtue of these clauses, the regal supremacy was, in fact, restrained
and limited by act of parliament: and the import of them was clearly to
assert the independency of the crown on any foreign judicature, and not
to confer it in the extent in which it was claimed and exercised by the
see of _Rome_.


BP. BURNET.

It is true, that no more was expressed, or perhaps intended, in this
act. But the question is, how the matter was understood by the people
at large, and in particular by the king himself and his flatterers.
Now it seems to me that this transfer of the supremacy would be taken
for a solemn acknowledgment, not only of the ancient encroachments and
usurpations of the papacy, but of the king’s right to succeed to all
the powers of it. And I conclude this from the nature of the thing
itself, from the current notions of the time, and from the sequel of
the king’s government.

If we attend to the nature of the complaints which the kingdom was
perpetually making, in the days of popery, of the _Roman_ usurpations,
we shall find that they did not so much respect these usurpations
themselves, as the person claiming and enjoying them. The grievance
was, that appeals should be made to _Rome_; that provisions should come
from thence; in a word, that all causes should be carried to a foreign
tribunal, and that such powers should be exercised over the subjects
of this realm by a foreign jurisdiction. The complaint was, that the
pope exercised these powers; and not that the powers themselves were
exercised. So, on the abolition of this supremacy, the act that placed
it in the person of the king, would naturally be taken to transfer
upon him all the privileges and pre-eminencies, which had formerly
belonged to it. And thus, though the act was so properly drawn as to
make a difference in the two cases, yet the people at large, and much
more the king himself, would infer from the concession, “that the pope
had usurped his powers on the crown;” that therefore the crown had now
a right to those powers. And the circumstance of this translation’s
passing by act of parliament, does not alter the matter much, with
regard to the king’s notion of it. For in that time of danger, and for
the greater security of his new power, he would chuse to have that
ratified and confirmed by statute, which he firmly believed inherent in
his person and dignity.

Then, to see how far the current opinions of that time were favourable
to the extension of the regal authority, on this alliance with the
papal, we are to reflect, that, however odious the administration of
the pope’s supremacy was become, most men had very high notions of the
plenitude of his power, and the sacredness of his person. “CHRIST’S
vicar upon earth” was an awful title, and had sunk deep into the
astonished minds of the people. And though HENRY’s pretensions went no
further than to assume that vicarial authority within his own kingdom,
yet this limitation would not hinder them from conceiving of him,
much in the same way as of the pope himself. They, perhaps, had seen
no difference, but for his want of the pope’s _sacerdotal_ capacity.
Yet even this defect was, in some measure[16], made up to him by his
_regal_. So that between the majesty of the kingly character, and
the consecration of his person by this mysterious endowment of the
spiritual, it is easy to see how well prepared the minds of men were,
to allow him the exercise of any authority to which he pretended.

And to what degree this spiritual character of head of the church
operated in the minds of the people, we may understand from the
language of men in still later times, and even from the articles of our
church, where the prerogative of the crown is said to be that which
GODLY KINGS have always exercised: intimating that this plenitude
of power was inherent in the king, on account of that _spiritual
and religious_ character, with which, as head of the church, he was
necessarily invested. The illusion, as gross as we may now think it,
was but the same as that which blinded the eyes of the greatest and
wisest people in the old world. For was it not just in the same manner,
that by the policy of the _Roman_ emperors in assuming the office of
_pontifex maximus_, that is, incorporating the religious with their
civil character, not only their authority became the more awful, but
their _persons_ sacred?

We see then, as I said, how conveniently the minds of men were prepared
to acquiesce in HENRY’s usurped prerogative. And it is well known that
this prince was not of a temper to balk their expectations. The sequel
of his reign shews that he took himself to be invested with the whole
ecclesiastical power, legislative as well as executive; nay, that he
was willing to extend his acknowledged right of supremacy even to the
ancient papal infallibility, as appears from his sovereign decisions in
all matters of faith and doctrine. It is true the parliament was ready
enough to go before, or at least to follow, the head of the church in
all these decisions. But the reason is obvious. And I need not repeat
to you in what light the king regarded their compliance with him.


MR. SOMERS.

It is very likely, for these reasons, that the king would draw to
himself much authority and reverence, at least, from his new title of
supremacy. But it does not, I think, appear that the supremacy had all
that effect on the people’s rights and the ancient constitution, which
your lordship’s argument requires you to ascribe to it.


BP. BURNET.

I brought these general considerations only to shew the reverend
opinion which of course would be entertained of this mixt person, THE
SUPREME HEAD OF THE CHURCH, compounded of a king and a pope; and how
natural a foundation it was for the superstructure of despotic power in
all its branches. But I now hasten to the particulars which demonstrate
that this use was actually made of that title.

And, first, let me observe, that it gave birth to that great and
formidable court of the HIGH-COMMISSION; which brought so mighty an
accession of power to the crown, that, as experience afterwards shewed,
no security could be had for the people’s liberties, till it was
totally abolished. The necessity of the times was a good plea for the
first institution of so dangerous a tribunal. The restless endeavours
of papists and puritans against the ecclesiastical establishment gave
a colour for the continuance of it. But, as all matters that regarded
religion or conscience were subjected to its sole cognizance and
inspection, it was presently seen how wide an entrance it gave to the
most tyrannical usurpations.

It was, further, natural that the king’s power in civil causes should
keep pace with his authority in spiritual. And, fortunately for the
advancement of his prerogative, there was already erected within the
kingdom another court of the like dangerous nature, of ancient date,
and venerable estimation, under the name of the court of STAR-CHAMBER;
which brought every thing under the direction of the crown that could
not so properly be determined in the high-commission. These were the
two arms of absolute dominion; which, at different times, and under
different pretences, were stretched forth to the oppression of every
man that presumed to oppose himself to the royal will or pleasure. The
star-chamber had been kept, in former times, within some tolerable
bounds; but the high and arbitrary proceedings of the other court,
which were found convenient for the further purpose of reformation, and
were therefore constantly exercised, and as constantly connived at by
the parliament, gave an easy pretence for advancing the star-chamber’s
jurisdiction so far, that in the end its tyranny was equally
intolerable as that of the high-commission.

Thus the king’s authority in all cases, spiritual and temporal, was
fully established, and in the highest sense of which the words are
capable. Our kings themselves so understood it; and when afterwards
their parliaments shewed a disposition to interfere in any thing
relating either to church or state, they were presently reprimanded;
and sternly required not to meddle with what concerned their
prerogative royal and their high points of government. Instances of
this sort were very frequent in ELIZABETH’S reign, when the commons
were getting up, and the spirit of liberty began to exert itself in
that assembly. The meaning of all this mysterious language was, that
the royal pleasure was subject to no control, but was to be left to
take its free course under the sanction of these two supreme courts, to
which the cognizance of all great matters was committed.

This, one would think, were sufficient to satisfy the ambition of our
kings. But they went further, and still under the wing of their beloved
supremacy.

The parliament were not so tame, or the king’s grace did not require
it of them, to divest themselves entirely, though it was much checked
and restrained by these courts, of their legislative capacity. But
the crown found a way to ease itself of this curb, if at any time it
should prove troublesome to it. This was by means of the DISPENSING
POWER; which, in effect, vacated all laws at once, further than it
pleased the king to countenance and allow them. And for so enormous a
stretch of power (which, being rarely exercised, was the less minded)
there was a ready pretence from the papal privileges and pre-eminencies
to which the crown had succeeded. For this most invidious of all the
claims of prerogative had been indisputable in the church; and it
had been nibbled at by some of our kings, in former times, from the
contagious authority of the pope’s example, even without the pretence
which the supremacy in spirituals now gave for it.

The exercise of this power, in the popes themselves, was thought so
monstrous, that MATTHEW PARIS honestly complains of it in his time,
as _extinguishing all justice_—EXTINGUIT OMNEM JUSTICIAM[17]. And on
another occasion, I remember, he goes so far, in a spirit of prophecy,
almost, as to tell us the ill use that hereafter kings themselves might
be tempted to make of it[18]. His prediction was verified very soon:
for HENRY III. learned this lesson of tyranny, and put it in practice.
On which occasion one of his upright judges could not help exclaiming,
CIVILIS CURIA EXEMPLO ECCLESIASTICÆ CONQUINATUR[19]. And afterwards,
we know, HENRY VII. claimed and exercised this dispensing power in
the case of sheriffs, contrary to act of parliament[20]. It was early
indeed in his reign, and when the state of his affairs was thought to
give a colour to it.

I mention these things to shew, that since the pope’s example had
been so infectious in former times, it would now be followed very
resolutely, when the translation of the very supremacy, from which it
had sprung, seemed to justify it. And we have a remarkable instance
in ELIZABETH’S reign, by which it may appear that this prerogative
was publickly and solemnly avowed. For upon some scandal taken by the
popish party upon pretence that the book of consecration of bishops was
not established by law, the queen made no scruple to declare by her
letters-patent, that she had, by her supreme authority, dispensed with
all causes or doubts of any imperfection or disability in the persons
of the bishops. My learned friend, Dr. STILLINGFLEET, in commenting
this case, acknowledges the very truth. “It was customary,” says he,
“in the pope’s bulls, to put in such kind of clauses; and therefore she
would omit no power in that case to which the pope had pretended[21].”

And it is in this dispensing spirit that JAMES I, having delivered it
for a maxim of state, “that the king is above law,” goes on to affirm,
in one of his favourite works, that general laws, made publickly in
parliament, may, upon known respects to the king, by his authority be
mitigated and SUSPENDED upon causes only known to him[22].

We perceive the ground of that claim, which was carried so high by the
princes of the house of STUART, and, as we have just seen, brought
on the ruin of the last of them. And to how great a degree this
prerogative of the dispensing power had at length possessed the minds
even of the common lawyers, (partly from some scattered examples of
it in former times, and partly from reasons of expediency in certain
junctures, but principally from the inveteracy of this notion of the
papal supremacy) we had an alarming proof in HALE’S case, when eleven
out of the twelve judges declared for it.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

Your lordship has indeed shewn that the poison of the papal supremacy
began to work very fatally. If this blessed revolution had not
happened, what could have been expected but that the next step would
be, to set the crown above all divine as well as human law? And
methinks, after such a judgment in _Westminster-Hall_, it could not be
surprising if another set of men had served the king, in the office of
the pope’s janissaries, and maintained his right of dispensing with
the gospel itself[23], as well as the statute-book.


MR. SOMERS.

I must needs think, Sir JOHN, you are a little severe, not to say
unjust, in this insinuation; for which the churchmen of our days have
surely given you no reason. And as for the reverend judges, methinks my
lord of _Salisbury_ might be allowed to expose their determination, at
the same time that he so candidly accounts for it.


BP. BURNET.

I perceive, my Lord Commissioner, with all his goodness and moderation,
is a little apt to surmise the worst of our order. But I will try to
reconcile him to it; and it shall be in the way he most likes, by
making a frank confession of our infirmities.

For another source of the regal dominion in latter times, and still
springing from out of the rock of supremacy (which followed and
succoured the court-prerogative, wherever it went, just as the rock
of MOSES, the _Rabbins_ say, journeyed with the _Jewish_ camp, and
refreshed it in all its stations) was the opinion taken up and
propagated by churchmen, from the earliest æra of the Reformation,
concerning the irresistible power of kings, and the PASSIVE OBEDIENCE
that is due to it.


SIR. J. MAYNARD.

Aye, there it is, I am afraid, that we are principally to look for the
origin of the high pretences of our kings to absolute government.


BP. BURNET.

I shall dissemble no part of the clergy’s blame on this occasion; and
there is the less need, if I were ever so tender of their reputation,
as their inducements to preach up this doctrine were neither slight in
themselves, nor unfriendly to the public interest.

It cannot be doubted that the churchmen especially, both by interest
and principle, would be closely connected with the new head of the
church. Their former subjection in spirituals to the papal authority
would of itself create a prejudice in favour of it, as now residing
in the king’s person. And the disposal of bishopricks and other great
preferments being now entirely in the crown, they would of course, you
will say, be much addicted to his service.

But these were not the sole, or even the principal, reasons that
induced so wise and so disinterested persons, as our first reformers,
to exalt the royal prerogative. They were led into this pernicious
practice by the most excusable of all motives, in their situation, an
immoderate zeal against popery.

It is true, a very natural prejudice mixed itself with their other
reasonings. “The crown had been declared supreme, and to have chief
government of all estates of this realm, and in all causes.” And,
though this declaration was levelled only against the pretensions of
every foreign, and particularly the papal power, yet, the clergy were
given to conceive of it as a general proposition. The reason was, that
the people, from whom the just right of supremacy is derived, having,
at this juncture, not yet attained the consideration, which the nobles
had lost, they forwardly concluded, that if the royal estate were
independent of the pope, it was unquestionably so of every other power.
They could not, on the sudden, be brought to think so reverendly of the
poor people, even in their representatives, as to allow that they had
any pretension to restrain their sovereign.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

I could swear to the truth of this account. One of the popes, I forget
which, is said to have called the deputies of the third estate in
_France_, on a certain occasion, NEBULONES EX FÆCE PLEBIS[24]. And
though that might not be the language of churchmen in England, at this
time, it was not far, perhaps, from expressing their sentiments. It is
certain, they soon taught their princes, who put themselves to school
to the hierarchy[25], to talk in this strain; as appears from many of
ELIZABETH’S and JAMES’S speeches to the commons.


BP. BURNET.

Something of this sort, I grant you, but not in the degree you put it,
might have an influence on the political reasonings of the clergy.
But their zeal for reformation was what prevailed with them most, and
carried them furthest into these notions. It is something curious to
see how this happened.

HENRY’S usurpation of the supremacy, as it was called at _Rome_,
appeared so prodigious a crime to all good Catholics, that no
severities were great enough to inflict upon him for it. Their writers
proceeded to strange lengths. Even our cardinal POLE so far forgot the
greatness of his quality, and the natural mildness of his temper, as to
exceed the bounds of decency, in his invectives against him. And when
afterwards, in right of this assumed headship, the crown went so far as
to reject the authority of the church as well as court of Rome, all
the thunders of the Vatican were employed against this invader of the
church’s prerogative. The pope, in his extreme indignation, threatened
to depose EDWARD. He did put his threat in execution against ELIZABETH.
Yet, in spite of religious prejudices, this was esteemed so monstrous
a stretch of power, and so odious to all Christian princes, that the
jesuits thought it expedient, by all means, to soften the appearance
of it. One of their contrivances was, by searching into the origin
of civil power; which they brought rightly, though for this wicked
purpose, from the people. For they concluded, that, if the regal power
could be shewn to have no divine right, but to be of human and even
popular institution, the liberty, which the pope took in deposing
kings, would be less invidious. Thus the jesuits reasoned on the
matter. The argument was pushed with great vigour by HARDING and his
brethren in ELIZABETH’S reign, but afterwards with more learning and
address by BELLARMINE, MARIANA, and others[26].

To combat this dangerous position, so prejudicial to the power of
kings, and which was meant to justify all attempts of violence on the
lives of heretical princes, the Protestant divines went into the other
extreme; and, to save the person of their sovereign, preached up the
doctrine of DIVINE RIGHT. HOOKER, superior to every prejudice, followed
the truth. But the rest of our reforming and reformed divines stuck to
the other opinion; which, as appears from the HOMILIES, the INSTITUTION
OF A CHRISTIAN MAN, and the general stream of writings in those
days, became the opinion of the church, and was indeed the received
Protestant doctrine.

And thus unhappily arose in the church of England that pernicious
system of divine indefeasible right of kings: broached indeed by the
clergy, but not from those corrupt and temporizing views to which it
has been imputed. The authority of those venerable men, from whom
it was derived, gave it a firm and lasting hold on the minds of the
clergy: And being thought to receive a countenance from the general
terms, in which obedience to the civil magistrate is ordained in
scripture, it has continued to our days, and may, it is feared, still
continue, to perplex and mislead the judgments of too many amongst us.

Yet it could hardly have kept its ground against so much light and
evidence as has been thrown at different times on this subject[27],
but for an unlucky circumstance attending the days of reformation.
This was, the growth of puritanism and the republican spirit; which,
in order to justify its attack on the legal constitutional rights of
the crown, adopted the very same principles with the jesuited party.
And under these circumstances it is not to be thought strange that
a principle, however true, which was disgraced by coming through
such hands, should be generally condemned and execrated. The crown
and mitre had reason to look upon both these sorts of men as their
mortal enemies. What wonder then they should unite in reprobating
the political tenets, on which their common enmity was justified and
supported?

This I take to be the true account of what the friends of liberty so
often object to us, “That the despotism of our later princes has been
owing to the slavish doctrines of the clergy.” The charge, so far as
there is any colour for it, is not denied: and yet I should hope to
see it urged against us with less acrimony, if it were once understood
on what grounds these doctrines were taken up, and for what purposes
they were maintained by the clergy.


MR. SOMERS.

Besides the candour of this acknowledgment, the part, which our clergy
have lately acted, is, methinks, enough to abate and correct those hard
sentiments, which, as you say, have been entertained against them.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

This apology seems indeed the best that can be made for them. But
when one considers the baleful tendency of those doctrines, which
were calculated to enslave the very souls and consciences of men,
and by advancing princes into the rank of gods, to abet and justify
their tyranny, one cannot help feeling a strong resentment against the
teachers of them, however they might themselves be imposed upon by
several colourable pretences. Your lordship knows, I might proceed to
further and still harder reflexions. But I have no pretence to indulge
in them at this time, when a bishop is pleading so warmly in the cause
of liberty.


BP. BURNET.

This tenderness to your friends, Sir JOHN, is very obliging. But I
would willingly engage your candour, in behalf of our order. Let me
presume, for such a purpose, to second Mr. SOMERS’S observation, “That
the English clergy have at length atoned, in some measure, for former
miscarriages.”


SIR J. MAYNARD.

By their behaviour in a late critical conjuncture: and yet, to speak my
mind frankly, the merit of their services, even on that occasion, is a
little equivocal, when one reflects how unwilling they seemed to take
the alarm, till they were roused, at length, by their own immediate
object, the church’s danger!


BP. BURNET.

And can you wonder that what concerned them most, what they best
understood, and was their proper and peculiar charge, should engage
their principal attention? Besides, they went on principle, and with
reason too, in supposing that no slight or partial breaches of law
were sufficient to authorise resistance to the magistrate[28]. But
when a general attack was made upon it, and the dispensing power was
set up in defiance of all law, and to manifest the subversion of
the constitution, the clergy were then as forward as any others to
signalize themselves in the common cause of liberty.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

Their old favourite doctrine of _non-resistance_ was, I doubt, at
the bottom of this cautious proceeding. But it was high time for
them to lay it aside, when they saw it employed as the ready way for
the introduction of that popery, which, as you say, it was its first
intention to keep out.


BP. BURNET.

It certainly was.—But, not to pursue this argument any further, let
me return to the main point I had in view, which was, “to account for
the growth of the regal power from the influence of the transferred
supremacy.” There is still another instance behind, which shews how
well our princes understood the advantage they had gained, and how
dextrously they improved it.

It seems prodigious, at first sight, that when the yoke of _Rome_ was
thrown off, the new church, erected in opposition to it, should still
continue to be governed by the laws of the old. The pretence was, that
this was only by way of interim, till a body of ecclesiastical laws
could be formed; and, to cover this pretence the better, some steps
were, in fact, taken towards the execution of such a design. But the
meaning of the crown certainly was, to uphold its darling supremacy,
even on the old footing of the CANON LAWS.

This conclusion seems probable, if one considers that those canons
proceeded from an absolute spiritual monarch, and had a perpetual
reference to his dominion; that they were formed upon the very genius,
and did acknowledge the authority of the civil laws, the proper issue,
as my Lord Commissioner has shewn us, of civil despotism. Whoever, I
say, considers all this, will be inclined to think that the crown
contrived this interim from the use the canon law was of to the
extension of the prerogative. Accordingly it is certain, that the
succeeding monarchs, ELIZABETH, JAMES, and CHARLES, would never suffer
us to have a body of ecclesiastical laws, from a sense of this utility
in the old ones; and a consciousness, if ever they should submit a body
of new laws to the legislature, that the parliament would form them
altogether in the genius of a free church and state[29]; and perhaps
would be for assuming a share in their darling supremacy itself.

With those canon laws, and for the same purpose, as was observed to us,
these princes retained a great affection for the interpreters of them,
the canon and civil lawyers; till the genius of liberty rising and
prevailing in the end, over all the attempts of civil despotism, both
the one and the other fell into gradual desuetude and contempt: and
as the canonists were little regarded, so their law is now considered
no further than as it is countenanced and supported by the law of
_England_.

But to see how convenient the doctrine of the canon law was for the
maintenance of an absolute supremacy, it needs only be observed to
you, that one of these canons is, “That it is not lawful for any man
to dispute of the pope’s power.” And to see how exactly our kings
were disposed to act upon it, one needs only recollect that immortal
apophthegm of the elder JAMES, already taken notice of, “That it is
sedition for the subject to dispute what a king may do in the height of
his power.”

And as the canon laws are the pope’s laws, so we are told, on the same
supreme authority, that the _English_ laws are the king’s. For thus
on another occasion his majesty expresses himself.—“Although a just
prince” (I believe I repeat his very words) “will not take the life of
any of his subjects without a clear law: yet the same laws, whereby
he taketh them, are made by himself, or his predecessors; and so the
power flows always from himself.”—And again, “Although a good king
will frame all his actions to be according to the law, yet is he not
bound thereto but of his good will, and for good example giving to his
subjects[30].”

Thus decreed that _great school-master of the whole land_ (to give his
majesty no harder a title than he was pleased to give himself); and it
is difficult to say whence his supremacy extracted this golden rule of
_free monarchies_, if not from the pope’s own code of imperial canons.

Thus it appears what misconceptions arose, and what strange conclusions
were drawn, from the king’s supremacy in spirituals. One might proceed
further in contemplation of this subject; but I have wearied you too
much already. You will see from these several particulars how it came
to pass that the REFORMATION, which was founded on the principles
of liberty and supported by them, was yet for some time the cause
of strengthening the power of the crown. For though the exercise of
private judgment, which was essential to Protestantism, could not but
tend to produce right notions of civil liberty, as well as of religious
faith and discipline, and so in the end was fated to bring about a
just form of free government (as after some struggles and commotions,
we see, it has happened), yet the translation of supremacy from the
pope to the civil magistrate brought with it a mighty accession
of authority, which had very sensible effects for several reigns
afterwards. The mysterious sacredness and almost divinity which had
lodged in the pope’s person, was now inshrined in the king’s; and it is
not wonderful that the people should find their imaginations strongly
affected by this notion. And with this general preparation, it followed
very naturally, that, in the several ways here recounted, the crown
should be disposed and enabled to extend its prerogative, till another
change in the government was required to limit and circumscribe it,
almost as great as that of the Reformation.


MR. SOMERS.

I have listened with much pleasure to this deduction which your
lordship has made from that important circumstance of the crown’s
supremacy in spirituals. I think it throws great light on the subject
under consideration, and accounts in a clear manner for that appearance
of despotism which the _English_ government has worn from the times of
reformation. I have only one difficulty remaining with me: but it is
such an one as seems to bear hard on the great hypothesis itself, so
learnedly maintained by my Lord Commissioner in our late conversation,
of the original free constitution of the _English_ government. For,
allowing all you say to be true, does not the very translation of the
pope’s supremacy to the king, considered in itself, demonstrate that we
had then, at least, no free constitution at all, to be invaded by the
high claims of that prerogative? If we admit the existence of any such,
the supremacy of the church should, naturally, I think, have devolved
upon the supreme civil power; which with us, according to the present
supposition, is in the three estates of the legislature. But this
devolution, it seems, was on the king alone; a public acknowledgment,
as I take it, that the constitution of the government was at that
time conceived to be, in the highest sense of the word, absolutely
MONARCHICAL.


BP. BURNET.

I was not, I confess, aware of this objection to our theory, which is
very specious. Yet it may be sufficient, as I suppose, to reply to it,
that the work of reformation was carried on and established by the
whole legislature; and that the supremacy, in particular, though it of
right belonged to the three estates, was by free consent surrendered
and given up into the hands of the king. It is certain this power,
though talked of as the ancient right of the crown, was solemnly
invested in it by act of parliament.


SIR J. MAYNARD.

There may be something in this. Yet your lordship, I think, does
not carry the matter quite far enough; and, with your leave, I will
presume to give another, and perhaps the truer, answer to Mr. SOMERS’S
difficulty. The subject is a little nice, but I have not those scruples
which may reasonably be conceived to restrain your lordship from
enlarging upon it.

I reply then directly, and without softening matters, that this
irregular translation of the supremacy is no proof that there was not
then a FREE CONSTITUTION, with a legitimate power in it, to which
the supremacy belonged. And my reason, without offence to my lord of
_Salisbury_, is this. When the papal authority was abolished, and
the question came into parliament, “who now became the head of the
church;” the search after him was not carried, where it should have
been, into the constitution of the kingdom; but, as it was a matter
of religion, they mistook that, which was only an affair of church
discipline, to be a doctrine of theology; and so searched, for a
solution of the question, in the New Testament, and Ecclesiastical
History. In the New Testament, obedience is pressed to the person of
Cæsar, because an absolute monarchy was the only government in being:
and, for the same reason, when afterwards the empire became Christian,
the supremacy, as we know from _ecclesiastical story_, was assumed
by the emperor: just as it would have been by the consul and senate,
had the republic existed. Hence our Reformers, going altogether by
spiritual and ecclesiastical example, and hoping thereby to preserve
their credit against the reproaches of _Rome_, which, as your lordship
knows, was perpetually charging them with novelties and innovations in
both respects, recurred to early antiquity for that rule.

This attention to ecclesiastical example was, I suppose, a
consideration of convenience with the wise fathers of our church: the
other appeal to the Gospel, might be a matter of conscience with them.
And thus by force of one text, ill-understood, _render unto_ CÆSAR
_the things which are_ CÆSAR’S, they put the spiritual sword into the
king’s hands; just as by another, _he beareth not the sword in vain_
(for I know of no better authority), the temporal sword had also been
committed to his care.


MR. SOMERS.

This last intimation, I am apprehensive, would bear a further
debate[31]. But I acquiesce in your answer to my particular question; I
mean, unless the bishop of _Salisbury_ warns me against submitting to
so heretical a doctor.


BP. BURNET.

My Lord Commissioner chuses to let slip no opportunity of exposing
what he takes to be an error in ecclesiastical management. Either way,
however, I am not displeased to find that his main thesis keeps its
ground; and that, even according to his own account of the matter, the
nation, when it gave up the supremacy to the king, was in possession of
a free and legal constitution.

On the whole, you give me leave then to presume that the
considerations, now offered to you, afford a reasonable account of that
despotic form under which the _English_ government has appeared, from
the union of the two roses down to the subversion of the constitution
in CHARLES the First’s time.

Other causes concurred; but the Reformation was the chief prop and
pillar of the imperial dignity, while the constitution itself remained
the same, or rather was continually gaining strength even by the
necessary operation of those principles on which the Reformation was
founded. Religious liberty made way for the entertainment of civil, in
all its branches. It could not be otherwise. It disposed the minds of
men to throw off that sluggishness, in which they had slumbered for
many ages. A spirit of inquiry prevailed. Inveterate errors were seen
through; and prejudices of all sorts fell off, in proportion to the
growth of letters, and the progress of reason.

The increasing trade and wealth of the nation concurred with the
temper of the times. The circulation of property brought on a natural
relaxation of the feudal system. The plan of liberty was extended and
enlarged; and the balance of power soon fell into the hands of the
people. This appeared very plainly from the influence of parliaments,
and the daring attacks of many particular members on the highest and
most favoured claims of prerogative. Our kings were sensible of the
alteration: but, instead of prudently giving way to it, they flew into
the opposite extreme, and provoked the spirit of the times by the
very reluctance they shewed on all occasions to comply with it. Every
dormant privilege of the crown, every phantom of prerogative, which had
kept the simpler ages in awe, was now very unseasonably conjured up,
to terrify all that durst oppose themselves to encroaching royalty.
Lawyers and church-men were employed in this service. And in their
fierce endeavour to uphold a tottering throne by false supports, they
entirely overthrew it. The nation was out of all patience to hear the
one decree the empire of the kings of _England_ to be absolute and
uncontrolable by human law: and the other gave more offence, than they
found credit, by pretending that the right of kings to such empire
was divine[32]. Every artifice indeed of chicane and sophistry was
called in to the support of these maxims of law and theology. But the
season for religious and civil liberty to prevail over the impotent
attempts of each, was at hand. The near approach of the _divine form_
created an enthusiasm, which nothing could resist. It frustrated the
generous views even of her first and sincerest worshipers. In the
career of those ecstatic orgies, the unhappy king could not prevent his
ministers, first, and afterwards the constitution itself, from falling
a victim to that fury, which, in the end, forced off his own head.

Such was the issue of this desperate conflict between prerogative
and liberty. The wonder was, that this fatal experience should not
have rectified all mistakes, and have settled the government on a
sure and lasting basis at the Restoration. The people were convinced,
that nothing more was requisite to their happiness, than the secure
possession of their ancient legal constitution. The re-called family
were not so wise. And in their attempts to revive those old exploded
claims, which had succeeded so ill with their predecessors, they once
more fell from the throne, and left it to the possession of that
glorious prince whom the greatly-injured nation has now called to it.

This then will be considered by grateful posterity as the true æra of
_English_ liberty. It was interwoven indeed with the very principles of
the constitution. It was inclosed in the ancient trunk of the feudal
law, and was propagated from it[33]. But its operation was weak and
partial in that state of its infancy. It acquired fresh force and
vigour with age, and has now at length extended its influence to every
part of the political system.

Henceforward, may we not indulge in the expectation that both prince
and people will be too wise to violate this glorious constitution:
the only one in the records of time, which hath ever attained to the
perfection of civil government? All the blessings of freedom which
can consist with kingly rule, the people have: all the prerogatives
of royalty, which can consist with civil freedom, are indulged
to the king. From this just intermixture of the popular and regal
forms, planted together in the earliest days, but grown up at length
to full maturity, there arises a reasonable hope that the _English_
constitution will flourish to the latest ages; and continue, through
them all, the boast and glory of our country, and the envy and
admiration of the rest of the world.


MR. SOMERS.

How generous in your lordship is this patriot augury of immortality
to the _English_ constitution! Yet I dare not be so sanguine in my
expectations[35]. And Sir JOHN MAYNARD, I suspect, who has seen the
madness of kings and people, in their turns, will hardly expect it
from me. It may be sufficient that we put up our ardent vows to Heaven,
for the long continuance of it. Less than this cannot be dispensed with
in an honest man. Every blessing of civil policy is secured to us by
this new but constitutional settlement. And may our happy country enjoy
it, at least as long as they have the sense to value, and the virtue to
deserve it!


SIR J. MAYNARD.

When these fail, our wishes, and even prayers themselves, will hardly
preserve us. Vice and folly, as you say, may do much towards defeating
the purposes of the best government. What effect these may have, in
time, on the _English_ liberty, I would not, for the omen’s sake,
undertake to say. You, my lord, and Mr. SOMERS (who are so much younger
men) may be able, hereafter, to conjecture with more certainty of its
duration. It is enough for me that I have lived to see my country in
possession of it.




DIALOGUES VII. AND VIII.

ON THE

USES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.

BETWEEN

LORD SHAFTESBURY

AND

MR. LOCKE.




DIALOGUE VII.

ON THE USES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.

LORD SHAFTESBURY—MR. LOCKE;


TO ROBERT MOLESWORTH, ESQ.

I could not but be much surprised, my dear friend, to receive your
commands on a subject, of which You, of all men, are the greatest
master. For who could so well advise the party, you speak of, or
resolve the general question concerning _The Uses of Foreign Travel_,
considered as a part of modern breeding and education, as HE, who has
himself profited so much by this practice, and, in a late excellent
treatise[36], has given so convincing a proof of its utility?

Besides, your application to me is a little suspicious; and looks as
if you wanted to draw from me a confirmation of your own sentiments,
rather than a candid examination of them. For how was it possible
for you not to foresee the difficulty I must be under, in debating
this point with you? When have I been able to dissent from you in any
question of morals or policy? and especially what chance for my doing
it in this instance, when you know the bias which my own education,
conducted in this way, must have left upon me?

I am therefore at a loss, as I said, to account for your fancy in
making me of your council on this occasion. But, whatever your purpose
might be, since you have thought fit to honour me so far, I must own
your Letter of Inquiry could not possibly have found me in a fitter
season.

I happened just then to amuse myself with recollecting a conversation,
which, not many days before, had passed between me and a certain
Philosopher of great note, on that very subject.

You know the esteem I have of this Philosopher; I mean, for such of
his writings, as are most popular, and deserve to be so; such as his
pieces on _Government_, _Trade_, _Liberty_, and _Education_. No
man understands the world better; or reasons more clearly on those
subjects, in which that world takes itself to be most of all, and is,
in truth, very nearly concerned.

His Philosophy, properly so called, is not, I doubt, of so good a
taste; at least, his notion of morals is too modern for my relish: I
had put myself to school to other masters, and had learnt, you know,
from his betters what to think of _Life and Manners_; which they
treat in a style quite out of the way of these subverters of ideal
worlds[37], and architects on material principles[38].

But on this head, my dear Sir, you have heard me speak often, and may
hear from me more at large on some other occasion. With exception to
this one article (an important one, however), no man is more able,
than Mr. LOCKE, or more privileged by his long experience, to give us
Lectures on the good old chapter of _Education_; which many others
indeed have discussed; but none with so much good sense and with so
constant an eye to the use and business of the world as this writer.

The purpose of your inquiry, then, cannot, as I suppose, be any other
way so well answered, as by putting into your hands a faithful account
of his sentiments on the conduct and use of _Travelling_: especially,
as you will perceive at the same time what my notions are (if that be
of any importance to you) on the same subject.

If I were composing a Dialogue in the old mimetical, or poetic form,
I should tell you, perhaps, the occasion that led us into this track
of conversation. Nay, I should tell you what accident had brought us
together; and should even omit no circumstance of _time_ or _place_,
which might be proper to let you into the scene, and make you, as it
were, one of us.

But these punctilios of decorum are thought too constraining, and, as
such, are wisely laid aside, by the easy moderns. Nay the very notion
of Dialogue, such as it was in the politest ages of antiquity, is
so little comprehended in our days, that I question much, if these
papers were to fall into other hands than your own, whether they would
not appear in a high degree fantastic and visionary. It would never
be imagined that a point of morals or philosophy could be regularly
treated in what is called a _conversation-piece_; or that any thing so
unlike the commerce of our world could have taken place between men,
that had any use or knowledge of it.

This, I say, might be the opinion of men of better breeding; of those,
who are acquainted with the fashion, and are themselves practised in
the conversations, of the polite world. The _formalists_, on the other
hand, would be out of patience, I can suppose, at this sceptical manner
of debate, which ends in nothing; and after the waste of much breath,
leaves the matter at last undecided, and just as it was taken up.

All this, it must be owned, is very true. But as it is not my intention
to submit the following draught to such critics, you, who know me,
will accept this recital, made in my own way, and pretty much as it
passed. You may well be trusted to make your own conclusions from what
is offered on either side of the argument, and will need no officious
monitor to instruct you on which side the truth lies.

Not to detain you, by further preliminaries, from the entertainment
(such as it is) which I have promised you; you may suppose, if you
please, Mr. LOCKE and me, in company with some other of our common
friends, sitting together in my library, and entering on the subject in
the following manner.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

And is not TRAVELLING then, in your opinion, one of the best of those
methods, which can be taken to polish and form the manners of our
liberal youth, and to fit them for the business and conversation of the
world?


MR. LOCKE.

I think not. I see but little good, in proportion to the time it takes
up, that can be drawn from it, under any management; but, in the way
in which it commonly is and must be conducted, so long as _travel_ is
considered as a part of early education, I see nothing but mischiefs
spring from it.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

What! necessarily spring from it? And is there no way to stop their
growth; or at least prevent their choking the good plants, which that
soil is capable of producing?


MR. LOCKE.

This indeed I must not absolutely affirm: your Lordship’s example,
I confess, stands in my way. But if your own education, which was
conducted in this form, and creates a prejudice for it, be pleaded
against me, I may still say, that the argument extends no further than
to qualify the assertion; and that, as in other cases, the rule is
general, though with some exceptions.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

It was not my meaning to put your politeness to this proof. I would
even take no advantage of the exception which you might consent to
make in the case of many other travellers, who have, doubtless, a
better claim, than myself, to this indulgence. What I would gladly know
of you, is, Whether, in general, _Travel_ be not an excellent school
for our ingenuous and noble youth; and whether it may not, on the
whole, deserve the countenance of a philosopher, who understands the
world, and has himself been formed by it?


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship, I think, will do well to put _philosophy_ out of the
question. There is so much to be said against _Travel_ in that view,
that the matter would clearly be determined against you. It is by
other rules, and what are called the _maxims of the world_ (which your
Lordship understands too well, to join them with philosophy), that the
advocate for travelling must demand to have his cause tried, if he
would hope to come off, in the dispute, with any advantage.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Yet philosophy was not always of this mind. You know, when the best
proficients in that science gave a countenance to this practice, by
their own example: a good part of their life was spent in foreign
countries; and they did not presume to set up for masters of wisdom,
till experience and much insight into the manners of men had qualified
them for that great office. Hence they became the ablest and wisest men
of the whole world; and their wisdom was not in those days of the less
account for the politeness, that was mixed with it.


MR. LOCKE.

Those wise men might have their reasons for this different practice.
They most of them, I think, set up for Politicians and Legislators, as
well as Philosophers; and in that infancy of arts and commerce, when
distant nations had small intercourse with each other, it might be of
real advantage to them, at least it might serve their reputation with
the people, to spend some years in voyages to such countries as were in
the highest fame for their wisdom or good government.

Besides, the Sages of those times made a wondrous mystery of their
wisdom: a sure sign, perhaps, that they were not over-stocked with
it. It was confined to certain schools and fraternities; or was locked
up still more closely in the breasts of particular persons. Knowledge
was not then diffused in books and general conversation, as amongst
us; but was to be obtained by frequenting the academies or houses of
those privileged men, who, by a thousand ambitious arts, had drawn to
themselves the applause and veneration of the rest of the world.

All this might be said in favour of your Lordship’s old Sages. Yet one
of them, who deserved that name the best, was no great Traveller. I
remember to have read, that SOCRATES had never stirred out of _Athens_;
and that, when his admirers would sometimes ask him why he affected
this singularity, he was used to say, _That Stones and Trees did not
edify him_: intimating, I suppose, that the sight of fine towns and
fine countries, which the voyagers of those days, as of ours, made
a matter of much vanity, was the principal fruit they had reaped to
themselves from their fashionable labours.

However, allowing your lordship to make the most of these respectable
authorities for the use of travelling, it must still be remembered,
that they are wide of our present purpose. They were _Sages_, that
travelled: and we are now inquiring, whether this be the way for
young men to _become_ Sages. PLATO might pick up more learning in his
Voyages, than any body since has been able to understand; and yet a
youth of eighteen be little the wiser for staring away two or three
years in mysterious _Egypt_.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Why, truly, if he carried nothing abroad with him but the use of
his eye-sight, I should be much of your mind with regard to the
improvements he might be expected to bring back with him. But let him
hear and observe a little, as well as see; and methinks a youth of
eighteen might pick up something of value, though he should not return
laden with the mysteries of _Egypt_.

As to the gaiety on the ancient Sages, I could be much entertained
with it, if I did not recollect that the more enlightened moderns
have, also, been of their mind in this instance. To say nothing of
other countries, which yet have risen in reputation for knowledge and
civility in proportion to their acquaintance with the neighbouring
nations, surely it must be allowed of our _own_, that all its valuable
acquisitions in both have been forwarded at least, if not occasioned,
by this reasonable practice. We are now, without doubt, arrived at the
summit of politeness, and may subsist at length upon our own proper
stock. But was this always the case? And must it not be acknowledged,
that the brightest periods of our story are those, in which our noble
youth were fashioned in the school of foreign Travel? You will hardly
pretend that the ornaments of the second CHARLES’ and ELIZABETH’S
courts were cast in the coarse mould of this _home-breeding_.


MR. LOCKE.

I shall perhaps carry my pretensions still further, and affirm it had
been much better if they had been so.

I know what is to be said for the voyagers in ELIZABETH’S time. We
were just then emerging from ignorance and barbarity. Learning and the
Arts were but then getting up; and were best acquired, we will say, in
foreign schools, and the commerce of other nations, which might have
the start of us in such improvements. The state of _Europe_ at that
time was not unlike what I observed of the old world, when knowledge
was in few hands, and the exclusive property, as it were, of particular
persons. So that it was to be travelled for, and fetched home, by such
as would have it. _Italy_, in particular, was in those days, as it had
long been, the theatre of politeness, and without doubt could furnish
us with very much of the learning we most wanted.

This then was the fashionable route of our curious and courtly youth:
and many accomplished persons, I can readily admit, were to be found in
the number of our _Italian_ Travellers. Yet, methinks, they had done
better to stay at home, and at least import the arts of _Italy_, if
they were necessary to them, in sager heads than their own.

I say this, because it is no secret that the civility, we thus
acquired, was dearly paid for; and that irreligion, and even Atheism,
were packed up among their choicest gleanings, and shewn about, at
their return, as curiosities, which could not but very much enhance
the consideration of those who had been to gather them beyond the
mountains[39].


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Or, shall we say, that this impiety of the time was only employed to
correct its superstition? And that the philosophic spirits of that age
trafficked in these wares, as thinking them a proper antidote to such
as another set of missionaries largely dealt in: I mean, the _agnus
Dei’s, holy beads, and consecrated medals_?


MR. LOCKE.

Take it which way you will, the conclusion, I believe, will scarcely
be much in favour of our _Italian_ Travellers.—As to the worthies of
CHARLES’S court, your Lordship, without doubt, is disposed to divert
yourself with them. For, if they brought any thing with them from
_France_, besides the dress of its follies and vices (excepting always
the sacred babble of their language), it is a secret which it has not
been my fortune to be apprized of.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

And so, because Travelling may, by accident, be attended with some ill
effects, you roundly determine against the thing itself; as if the
national improvement in arts and civility, which unquestionably arose
from it, were to go for nothing!


MR. LOCKE.

I would have it go for no more than it is honestly worth; which surely
is something less than the price paid for it, our principles and our
morals. And I doubt the truth is, that this degeneracy in both was the
usual acquisition of our travelled youth, and the improvement, your
Lordship speaks of, only the accidental benefit.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Without doubt, there is no extending our acquaintance with the world,
but we run the risk of catching its vices, as well as virtues. Yet,
push this conclusion as far as it will go, and you shut up mankind in
absolute and incurable barbarism. Such is the unhappy condition of
human nature, that in striving to cultivate its powers, you furnish the
opportunities, at least, of its corruption. Yet to leave it in that
sordid state, for fear of those abuses, is methinks but acting with the
weak apprehension of fond mothers; who deny their children the liberty
of stirring from the fire-side, for fear of the dirt or damp air,
which, in their field-exercises, may chance to incommode them.


MR. LOCKE.

The allusion would be apt, if the health of the mind, as of the body,
depended on the use of such liberty; or if it were true, that one could
as little help breathing the air of vice, as that of the heavens. But,
though I have heard much of the dangers to which Virtue is exposed in
this bad world, I have never understood that Vice is its proper element.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Yet methinks, Sir, it will be hard to keep clear of it in any part of
the world, that I am acquainted with: unless perhaps you take this
happy Island of ours to be as free from Vice, as a Neighbouring one,
they say, is from Venom.


MR. LOCKE.

There are, however, degrees in Vice, as well as varieties of it; and I
cannot think it necessary for us to be greater proficients than we are,
or to import new species of it; by rambling into countries where it may
chance to rage with greater virulence, or where such modes of it, at
least, prevail, as are luckily unknown to us. And such, I doubt, were
the fruits of our _Italian_ and _French_ travels.

But allowing that Vice were of every clime, the same every where, and
equally malignant, I should still imagine our youth to be safer from
the infection at home, under the eye and wing of their own parents or
families, than wandering at large in foreign countries, with as little
care of others, as prudence of their own, to guard them from this
danger.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Yes, if they were turned loose into this wicked world, and left to
their own devices. But, what if some sage Philosopher—


MR. LOCKE.

Some God, you would say, in the shape of a Tutor; for a mere mortal
Guide of that stamp is not easily met with. Or, if He were, his wisdom,
I doubt, would hardly give him the authority, he stands in need of, for
the discharge of his function. But I take your Lordship’s raillery, and
could say in my turn, But what if some inquisitive and well-disposed
young Nobleman—

After all, we may let these two voyagers, so well matched and fitted
to each other, proceed on their journey. The question at present is of
no such rarities; but of raw, ignorant, ungovernable boys, on the one
hand, and of shallow, servile, and interested governors, on the other.
And if any good can arise from such worthies as these, sauntering
within the circle of the grand Tour, the magic of travelling can _call
up_ more than I have ever yet seen.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

It may be true, perhaps, that the advantages of travelling are not so
great, or so general, as is sometimes pretended. Yet, on the other
hand, that there are advantages, and considerable ones too, can hardly
be denied. And to come at length more closely to the point (for what
has hitherto passed is but a sort of prelude to the main argument)
let me have leave to state those advantages clearly and distinctly to
you, and then to request your own proper sense (I mean as a man of
the world, according to the advice you just now gave me, and not as a
Philosopher) of this practice.


MR. LOCKE.

Is this fair dealing in your Lordship? I supposed that by starting this
question you had meant only, as on other occasions, to engage an old
man in a little conversation; whereas your purpose, I now find, is to
make a formal debate of it.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Not a formal debate, but a free conference; for which we seem to have
leisure enough; and the subject is, besides, of real importance. I
may presume to answer for our friends here, that they will not be
displeased to assist at it.

I am aware, as you said, that the practice may be sometimes
inconvenient, as it is commonly managed, on the side of _morals_; and
I would not be thought to have benefited so little by yours, and the
instructions of my other masters, as not to lay the greatest stress on
that consideration.

But, after all, these inconveniences may be pretty well avoided, by
the choice of an honest and able governor. Such an one it will not be
impossible to find, if the persons concerned be in earnest to look
out for him: I do not say in _Cells_, for a Pedant without manners;
and still less, you will say, in _Camps_, for a mannered man, without
principles or letters; but, in the world at large, for some learned and
well-accomplished person, who, yet, may not disdain to be engaged in
this noblest office of conducting a young gentleman’s education.

Under such a Governor, as this, the danger, to which a young man’s
morals may be exposed by early travel, will be tolerably guarded
against; and to make amends for the hazard he runs in this respect, I
see, on the other hand, so many reasons for breeding young men in this
way, so many benefits arising from it at all times, and such peculiar
inducements with regard to the present state of our own country, that,
I think, we shall hardly be of two minds, when you have attended to
them.


MR. LOCKE.

We shall see that in due time. For the present, the serious air, you
assume, so different from your wonted manner, secures my attention.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

I cannot tell what may be the opinion of others; but ignorance and
barbarity seem to me to be the parents of the most and the worst vices.
Conceit, pride, bigotry, insolence, ferocity, cruelty, are the native
product of the human mind, kept uncultivated. Self-love, which makes so
predominant a part in the constitution of man, that some sufferers by
its excesses have mistaken it for the sole spring of all his actions,
naturally engenders these vices, when no care is taken to controul its
operations by another principle.

On this account, wise men have had recourse to various expedients;
such as the provision of Laws; the culture of Arts and Letters; and,
in general, all that discipline which comes under the notion of early
tutorage and education. But none of these has been found so effectual
to the end in view, or is so immediately directed to the purpose of
enlarging the mind, and curing it, at once, of all its obstinate and
malignant prejudices, as a knowledge of the world acquired in the way
of society, and general conversation.

To say nothing of the solitary sequestered life, which all men agree
to term _Savage_, look only on those smaller knots and fraternities
of men, which meet together in our provincial towns and cities, and,
without any larger commerce, are confined within the narrow enclosure
of their own walls or districts. In as much as this condition is more
social than the other, it is, without doubt, more eligible. Yet see how
many weak views are entertained by these separate clans, how many fond
conceits, and over-weening fancies! The world seems to them shrunk up
into their own private circle; just as the heavens appear to children
to be contained within the limits of their own horizon.

Extend this prospect of mankind to still greater combinations, to
states, kingdoms, nations, and what we call a whole people. By this
freer intercourse, indeed, their thoughts take a larger range, and
their minds open to more generous and manly conceptions. Yet their
native barbarism sticks close to them, and requires to be loosened and
worn off by a more social habit, by the experience of a still wider and
more thorough communication. Tribes of men, although very numerous,
yet, if shut up within one territory, and held closely together under
the influence of the same political constitution, easily assimilate,
as it were; run into the same common sentiments and opinions; and
presently take, in the whole extent of their community, one uniform
prevailing character.

Hence the necessity of their still looking beyond their _own_, into
other combinations and societies; that so, as the mind strengthens by
this exercise, they may be enabled to shake off their local, as we may
say, and territorial prejudices.

Those other societies may not be without their defects, which it will
be equally proper to keep clear of. But, by this free prospect of the
differences subsisting between different nations, each naturally gets
quit of his own peculiar and characteristic vices; and those of others,
presenting themselves to our unbiassed observation, are not so readily
entertained, or do not cling so fast to us, as what have grown up with
us, and, by long unquestioned use, are become, as we well express it, a
_second nature_.

Thus, by this near approach and attrition, as it were, of each other,
our rude parts give way; our rough corners are insensibly worn off; and
we are polished by degrees into a general and universal humanity.

    EXTERNI _nequid valeat per læve morari_,

to use the poet’s words, though with some small difference, I believe
in their application.

What says my friend to these principles? are they just and reasonable?
or, am I going to build on precarious and insecure foundations?


MR. LOCKE.

Whatever defect there may be in this foundation, your Lordship, as a
wise architect, is for sparing no cost or pains in providing for its
stability. Yet, methinks, you go deeper for it, than you need. At
least, I did not expect your defence of Travelling would require you to
make these profound researches into human nature.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

I take your meaning. These researches, you would say, are so little
profound, that I might have spared myself the trouble of making them
at all, at least in conversation with a philosopher. Be that as it
will; provided the principles themselves, I am contending for, be
well founded. For the conclusion necessarily follows, “That therefore
FOREIGN TRAVEL is, of all others, the most important and essential part
of Education.”

The youth of the most accomplished people in _Europe_ would have much
to correct in themselves, and something, perhaps, to learn, in their
voyages into the neighbouring nations; however inferior to their own,
in the general state of knowledge and politeness. What then must be
the case of our _English_ youth, confined in this remote corner among
themselves, and indulged in their own rustic and licentious habits?

Our country has never been famous for the civility of its inhabitants.
We have, rather, been stigmatized in all ages, and are still considered
by the rest of _Europe_, as proud, churlish, and unsocial. The very
circumstance of our Island-situation seems to expose us to the just
reproach of inhospitality. And if, with this disadvantage, we should
cherish, and not correct, those vices which so naturally spring from
it, what less could we expect than to be distinguished by such names,
as our ill-manners would well deserve, though our pride might suffer
from the application of them?

It seems then to be an inevitable consequence of what has been said,
that we of this country have a more than ordinary occasion for the
benefits of _foreign travel_. And the reason of the thing shews,
they cannot be obtained too soon. Young minds are the fittest to take
the ply of civility and good manners. The task is less easy, and the
success more uncertain, when we enter upon this business late in life;
when intractable humours have gathered strength, and the unsocial
manner is become habitual to us. Whatever may be objected to the
incapacity of this age in other respects, youth is out of question the
time for acquiring right propensities and virtuous habits.


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship has so many good words at command upon all occasions,
that one cannot but be entertained, at least, with your rhetoric,
if not convinced by it. But my present concern is, to have a clear
conception of your argument, which in plain terms, as I apprehend it,
stands thus; “That every nation has many vices and follies to correct
in itself; that this is perhaps more especially the case of our own;
and that early _Travel_ is the only, at least the most proper, cure for
them.”


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

That, Sir, is my meaning; and, though expressed in more words than
may be necessary, it is surely not coloured by any rhetorical
exaggerations. But you must allow me to proceed in my own way, and
enforce the general argument, I have delivered, by applying it to the
particular exigencies and necessities of our _English_ youth.

You, who have been abroad in the world, and have so just a knowledge
of other states and countries, tell me, if there can be any thing more
ridiculous than the idiot PREJUDICES of our home-bred gentlemen; which
shew themselves, whenever their own dear Island comes, in any respect,
to be the topic of conversation. What wondrous conceits of their own
prowess, wisdom, nay of their manners and politeness! With what disdain
is a foreigner mentioned by them, and with what apparent signs of
aversion is his very person treated! They scarcely give you leave to
suppose that any virtuous quality can thrive out of their own air, or
that good sense can be expressed in any foreign language. Nay, their
foolish prepossession extends to their very soil and climate. Such
warm patriots are they, such furious lovers of their country, that they
will have it to be the theatre of all convenience, delight, and beauty.

“To hear their discourse among themselves, one would imagine that
the finest lands near the _Euphrates_, the Babylonian or Persian
_Paradises_, the rich plains of _Egypt_, the Græcian _Tempe_, the
Roman _Campania_, _Lombardy_, _Provence_, the Spanish _Andalusia_, or
the most delicious tracts in the Eastern or Western _Indies_, were
contemptible countries in respect of what they dote upon under the name
of _Old England_[40].”

Now, if it were only for the sake of truth and decency, if it were but
to avoid the ridicule to which these palpable absurdities and childish
fancies expose them, one cannot but wish that our countrymen would open
their eyes, and extend their prospect beyond their own foggy air, and
dirty acres.

But this is the least inconvenience of their home breeding. How many
low HABITS and sordid practices grow upon our youth of fortune,
and even of quality, from the influence of their family, or at best
provincial, education!

They retain so much of their _Saxon_ or _Norman_ character, that their
noblest passion is that of the Chace; unless a horse-race may, haply,
contend with it. Their ideas are all taken from the stable or kennel;
and they have hardly words for any other sort of conversation.

In conjunction with this habit, or in direct consequence of it, they
plunge themselves into the brutalities of the bottle and table. Having
little use of the faculty of thinking or discoursing on any reasonable
subject, they care not how soon they disable themselves for either. To
this end, their surloins are of sovereign effect; and if any spark of
the _divine particle_ be still unsubdued, they quench it forthwith in
the strongest wines, or, which suits their taste and design best, in
their own country liquor.

This sottish debauch leads to others. My young master will be denied no
animal gratification. And thus low intrigues and vulgar amours follow
of course, in which the sum of his refined pleasures is, at length,
completed.

The rest of his life runs on in this drowzy tenour; unless perhaps
you except those intervals, which can hardly be called _lucid_, when
his half-closed understanding seems stunned, rather than awakened, by
party-rage, election bustle, and the noise of faction.

Admirable patriots these! and usefuller citizens by far, than if they
had acquired some relish of temperance, decency, and reason, in foreign
courts, and the more improved societies of _Europe_.

But suppose our young gentleman to have escaped this sordid taste,
and by better luck than ordinary to have finished his home education
without much injury to his morals. Nay, suppose him to be inured, in
good time, to better discipline, and to have had the advantage of
what is called amongst us, by a violent figure of speech, _a liberal
education_.

To put the case at the best, suppose him to have been well whipped
through one of our public schools, and to come full fraught, at length,
with _Latin_ and _Greek_, from his college. You see him, now, on the
verge of the world, and just ready to step into it. But, good heavens,
with what PRINCIPLES and MANNERS? His spirit broken by the servile
awe of pedants, and his body unfashioned by the genteeler exercises!
Timid at the same time, and rude; illiberal and ungraceful! An absurd
compound of abject sentiments, and bigoted notions, on the one hand;
and of clownish, coarse, ungainly demeanor, on the other! In a word,
both in mind and person, the furthest in the world from any thing that
is handsome, gentlemanlike, or of use and acceptation in good company!

Bring but one of these grown boys into a circle of well-bred people,
such as his rank and fortune entitle him, and in a manner oblige him,
to live with: and see how forbidding his air, how embarrassed all his
looks and motions! His awkward attempts at civility would provoke
laughter, if, again, his rustic painful bashfulness did not excite
one’s pity. What wonder if the young man, under these circumstances,
is glad to shrink away, as soon as possible, from so constraining a
situation; and to seek the low society of his inferiors, at least of
such as himself among his equals, where he can be at ease, and give a
loose to his unformed and disorderly behaviour!

But now, on the other hand, let a young gentleman, who has been trained
abroad; who has been accustomed to the sight and conversation of men;
who has learnt his exercises, has some use of the languages, and has
read his HORACE or HOMER in good company; let such an one, at his
return, make his appearance in the best societies; and see with what
ease and address he sustains his part in them! how liberal his air and
manner! how managed and decorous his delivery of himself! In short,
how welcome to every body, and how prepared to acquit himself in the
ordinary commerce of the world, and in conversation!

I should think, if there were no other advantage of early travel,
beside this of _manners_, it were well worth setting against all the
other inconveniences, whatever they be, of this sort of Education.


MR. LOCKE.

Good my Lord——


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

I know what you would say: that _manners_, in the proper acceptation
of the word, at least in the sense of wise men, implies much more
than the ease, assurance, civility, (call it what you will) which a
young Traveller is supposed to acquire in his intercourse with the
politer nations. Without doubt, it does. But give me this foundation
of good breeding to work upon; and if I had the tutorage of a noble
youth, I durst be answerable for all the rest, which even a philosopher
includes in his sublime notion of _manners_: whereas, without it, his
improvements of other sorts would be almost thrown away; nay, his
virtues themselves would be offensive and unlovely.

But do not imagine I confine myself to _manners_ in the obvious meaning
of that term. I further understand by it an ability for ingenuous,
useful, and manly conversation. For a traveller, that makes the proper
use of his opportunities, will be all of a piece, and return as
polished in his mind and understanding, as in his person.

And here, again, how deficient is the turn and course of our ordinary
education! Whither would you send our young pupil, to accomplish
himself in the necessary art of speaking handsomely and thinking
justly? What companions have you provided for him, or what instructors
in this man-science will you direct him to? shall he court the
acquaintance of some lettered pedagogue in the schools, or solicit the
precious communication of some famed professor in the occult sciences?
Wonderful models of correct wit, sublime sense, and elegant expression!

I have read of an ancient Rhetorician, that took upon him to teach
others the _art of speaking_; but in such a way, says my author, that
if a man had a mind to learn the art of _not speaking_, he could not
have been directed to an abler master.

I forbear the application of my little tale, out of pure respect to the
modern disciples and ornaments of this ancient school; and, without
pushing matters so far, it will be owned, that whatever advantage of
this sort may be left at home, the loss will be amply made up to an
inquisitive traveller, on the Continent. _France_, and even _Italy_,
abounds in men of distinguished literature and politeness. Nay, a
_German_ Professor may supply the place of an University Doctor.
Think, what illustrious persons may be sometimes met with even in a
_Dutch_ town: and how many instructive hours you and I have passed in
conversation with such knowing, candid, and accomplished scholars,
as LE CLERC and LIMBORCH. Philosophy, and even Divinity, could take
a liberal air, under their management; and eloquence itself might be
learned, on almost every subject, in their company.

I consider then the acquaintance and familiarity of men of eminent
parts and genius, as another considerable benefit resulting from this
way of foreign education.

Still there are higher things in view (for, now I have ventured
thus far in the dogmatic tone, I find myself, like our authorized
teachers, a little impatient of control, and in a humour to run myself
out without lett or interruption); still, I say, there are higher
advantages in view from travelled culture and education.

You may think as slightly as you please, of the exterior polish of
_manners_, or may even treat as superficial the _information_ that
can be acquired in good company. But what say you to that supreme
accomplishment, a KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD; a science so useful, as to
supersede or disgrace all the rest; and so profound, as to merit all
the honours, and to fill up all the measures of the best philosophy?
For, by _a knowledge of the world_, I mean that which results from the
observation of men and things; from an acquaintance with the customs
and usages of other nations; from some insight into their policies,
government, religion; in a word, from the study and contemplation
of men; as they present themselves on the great stage of the world,
in various forms, and under different appearances. This is that
master-science, which a gentleman should comprehend, and which our
schools and colleges never heard of.

I know this science is too difficult to be perfectly acquired, but by
long habit and mature reflection. I know it is not to be expected from
a slight survey of mankind; from a hasty passage through the different
countries, or a short residence in the great towns, of _Europe_. All
this I am not to be told; but it must be allowed me at the same time,
that so important a study cannot be entered upon too soon, and that the
rudiments at least of this science cannot be laid in too early.

The proper business of men, especially those of rank and quality,
lies among men. The first and last object of a Gentleman should be an
intimate study and knowledge of his species. Say, that some chapters
of this great book, the world, are above his reach, and too hard for
his decyphering. Yet others are easier and more manageable. Initiate
a young man betimes in these pursuits; and his progress, as in other
things, must be the more sure and successful.

Above all, let him be taught to give an early attention to the manners
of men, to observe their dispositions, to inspect and analyze their
characters. What a field is here for an intelligent young man, assisted
by the superior lights and experience of an able governor! And what a
harvest of true knowledge and learning must he gather and bring home
with him, from the numberless varied scenes he has passed through in
his voyages! With what lustre must such a person appear in the court or
senate of his own country! How secure against the attempts of artifice
and design! the plots of insidious enemies, or the pretences of false
friends! how apt for the business of life, and for bearing his part in
public debates and cabinet-consultations!


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship declaims so handsomely on this theme, that I am something
loth to spoil your panegyric by asking a plain question, “How this
knowledge of the public affairs of his own country is to be come at, by
foreign politics?”


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

As if the objects of that knowledge were not every where much
the same! Bigotry or Fanaticism in religion, selfish or factious
intrigues in government, neglected or ill-improved agriculture or
commerce, insolence and want of discipline in fleets and armies,
a bad-constituted police under venal magistrates, and a corrupt
administration; are not these the principal mischiefs to be guarded
against by our young citizen, or perhaps senator? And where is the
country, which does not afford opportunities of laying in useful
lessons on all these subjects?

To say the least, a little home-practice will go a great way, when
entered upon with so true a preparation of general knowledge. On the
other hand, it hardly needs to be observed, the disadvantage, with
which our young Islander must come into this scene; a novice to the
affairs of the world; a stranger to men and characters; and who has
never perhaps stretched his observation beyond the narrow circle of
his companions, or even his own family.

My panegyric, as you call this plain representation of facts and
things, would never have an end, if I were to take to myself all the
advantages, which this topic of an early knowledge of the world in a
young traveller affords me. But I leave the rest to be supplied out of
these hints; and pass on to other considerations, which seem of moment
to the credit and reputation of our country, and to the accomplishment,
at least, of our ingenuous youth; however they may rank in the
estimation of some, who in modern times have assumed to themselves the
name and office of Philosophers.

You, who have so much a nobler way of thinking than these nominal
sages, will allow me, I hope, to lay some stress on the LIBERAL ARTS;
which adorn and embellish human life; and, where they prevail to some
degree of perfection, are among the surest marks of the civility and
politeness of any people.

It is notorious enough how backward we have been, and still are, in
all these elegant and muse-like applications. There is little or
nothing in the way of _picture_, _sculpture_, and the arts of _design_
among us, that can stand the test of a knowing and judicious eye.
It is but of late we have begun to form to ourselves any thing like
an _ear_ in harmony and the proportions of just music. And whatever
magisterial airs our fashionable workmen in the dramatic and poetical
kinds may give themselves in their prologues and prefaces, it is no
secret to such as have looked into the ancient masters, or have made
an acquaintance with the style and manner of the politer moderns, that
we are far from possessing a right taste in these things, and that the
Muses have hitherto shewn themselves but little indulgent to us.

The courtship, we have paid to them, has been pressing and ardent, if
you will; but this circumstance, though it may do much, nay is thought
to do every thing with the sex, seems not to have succeeded with these
coy Ladies. Passion and assiduity are not the only things: somewhat
of an address and management is looked for in our advances. Wherever
the defect lies, and whatever be the cure for it, certain it is, there
is much of the Gothic manner in the performances of our best artists:
there is neither chasteness of design, nor elegance of hand, in our
manual operations: nothing like correctness of thought, simplicity of
style, or the grace of numbers, in our literate productions.

’Tis true, the strength and vigour of our genius has been exerted
in other things. We have been solicitous to procure a just taste in
policy and government, and have at length succeeded in this first and
highest emulation. It may now be proper to apply the liberty, we have
so happily gained, to other improvements. There is something, I have
ever observed, congenial to the liberal arts in the reigning spirit of
a free people. It must then be our own fault, if our progress in every
elegant pursuit do not keep pace with our excellent constitution.

But the likeliest way to quicken the growth of these studies, is to
turn our attention from the bad models of our own country, and enter
into a free commerce and generous struggle, as it were, with our more
advanced neighbours. And it is here again, as in the manners and arts
of life, the seeds of good taste cannot be committed to the mind
too soon. It were then to be wished, that our young men had right
impressions of _art_ in their tender years; and that, forming their
relish among the ablest proficients in _Europe_, they might afterwards
communicate their improvements to their own country.

Thus, it might be hoped, in some convenient time, we should have
something of our own to oppose to the wit, learning, and elegance of
_France_; and that, in the mechanic execution of the fine arts, we
should come at length to vye with the _Italian_ masters.

Nor think, that such an emulation as this would be without its use,
even in a moral and political view. Beauty and virtue are nearer of
kin, than every one is perhaps aware of: and the mind that is taken
with the charm of what is _true and becoming_ in the representation of
sensible things, cannot be inattentive to those qualities in the higher
species and moral forms. It is thither indeed the virtuoso passion
naturally tends; and there, it finally acquiesces.

    _Quid VERUM atque DECENS curo et rogo, et omnis in hoc sum._

But I see what you think of this language. Let me add then, that
policy, as well as philosophy, is on the side of these studies. Who
can doubt their virtue in softening and refining the manners of a
people? or, to take policy in its vulgar sense, where would be the
hurt, if _Britain_ were the seat of arts and letters, as well as of
trade and liberty? Then might _we_ be travelled to, in our turn, as
our neighbours are at present: and our country, amidst its other
acquisitions, be also enriched (I use the word in its proper, not
metaphorical sense) with a new species of commerce.

Not to insist, that the ascendant which one nation takes over another
in all public concerns, is very much owing to this pre-eminence of
taste and politeness, to its acknowledged superiority, I may say, in
the literate and virtuoso character; of which _France_ is an instance
in our days; as _Italy_ is well known to have been in the days of our
forefathers.

And, if there be use and value in such things, how shall our ingenuous
youth be tinctured with a right sense of them, but by early and
well-conducted travel? For what discipline, what examples, what
encouragements, have we at home? what academies for the genteel
exercises? what conferences for the improvement of art or language?
what societies for the cultivation of the liberal character?

The contemplation of these defects carries me still further; to the
source and fountain of them all, which I make no scruple to lay open to
you.

“Time was, Sir, when philosophy herself could appear with grace even
in courts, when the great and noble, nay and princes themselves, were
not ashamed to be of her train, but frequented her studious schools and
walks, and were even ambitious of her company in their hours of leisure
and recreation.

See now to what unpractised cells and ignoble societies she is
degraded! her graceful form faded and shrunk; her ingenuous sprightly
air deadened into I know not what gloom and austerity of the cloyster.

You, who have done more than any other, to retrieve her credit and
bring her back to the world, can best tell her present degenerate
condition. You know where she lies, unapproached by her former suitors;
her liberal manner soured into disdain and hate; her persuasive voice,
which spoke the language of the Gods, broken into untuned numbers
and discordant harshness; and her very sense corrupted into empty
sophisms and unintelligible jargon. The Graces, those companions of
her better days, are all fled: and in their room, a riotous band of
fauns and satyrs dance around her. Yet still she assumes a sort of
mock-sovereignty; and, under the new name of _Genius of the Schools_,
presides, in sullen majesty, over her numerous, servile, awe-struck
votaries.”

In some such way as this, were I at liberty to pursue the figured
speech, and to adopt the higher tone of the ancient masters, would
I presume to represent the present state of Erudition, as we see it
managed in certain sublime seats and authorized nurseries amongst us.

And would you invite our liberal and noble youth to resort thither?
could you expect that their free spirits would stoop to be lectured
by bearded boys; or that their minds could ever be formed and tutored
by such pedants, in a way that fits them for the real practice of the
world and of mankind?

Have we not long enough submitted to the inconveniencies of this
monkish education? Look on the generality of those persons who have
had their breeding in those seminaries. What principles in morals, in
government, in religion, have sprouted thence! what dispositions have
we known corrupted by their discipline! what understandings perverted
by their servile and false systems! Has truth, or liberty, or reason,
fair play from that quarter? Nay, has not truth, and liberty, and
reason, though speaking by ONE of their own sons, been calumniated and
rejected! In a word, have they not always set themselves to obstruct
the progress of true knowledge, and the cause of freedom?

If such then be the state of our own seats of literature and education,
what more needs be alleged in the behalf of FOREIGN TRAVEL; which is
the only means left to remedy these mischiefs, or at least to palliate
and correct them?




DIALOGUE VIII.

ON THE USES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.

LORD SHAFTESBURY—MR. LOCKE.


TO ROBERT MOLESWORTH, ESQ.

Here I concluded my defence: when Mr. LOCKE, perceiving, by the
attention we all paid to him, that we were now prepared to receive his
answer, raised himself in his chair, and, with a firmer tone and look
than I expected, addressed himself to me in the following manner.


MR. LOCKE.

Were the subject before us a matter of indifference or curiosity, such
as idle men are used to discourse of, I could allow your lordship
to pursue it in this way of Socratic raillery and declamation. But,
if ever there was a question, that deserved the examination of a
philosopher, properly so called, it is, surely, this of EDUCATION;
and, among the various parts of it, none is more strictly to be
inquired into, as none is, perhaps, so big with important consequences,
as that which comes recommended to us under the specious name of
FOREIGN TRAVEL.

I could not, therefore, but wonder to hear your lordship enlarge so
much, and so long, on I know not what varnish of manners and good
breeding; of the knowledge of men and the world; of arts, languages,
and other trappings and shewy appendages of education: just as if
an architect should entertain you with a discourse on Festoons and
Foliage, or the finishing of his Frize and Capitals, when you expected
him to instruct you in what way to erect a solid edifice on firm walls
and durable foundations.

What a reasonable man wants to know, is, the proper method of building
up _men_: whereas your lordship seems solicitous for little more than
tricking out a set of fine _gentlemen_. It seemed, indeed, as if
your lordship had calculated your defence of travelling for a knot
of Virtuosi, or a still more fashionable circle (where, doubtless,
it would pass with much ease and without contradiction); and had,
somehow, forgotten that your hearers are all plain men; one of them,
an old one; and he too, as your Lordship loves to qualify him, a
philosopher.

To speak my mind frankly, my Lord, your defence of foreign travel, as
lively and plausible as it seemed, has no solid basis to rest upon. You
tell us of many defects in the breeding of our _English_ youth, and you
would willingly redress them: but in what way this is best done, can
never be known from vague and general declamation.

To make this inquiry to purpose, some certain principles must be laid
down; some scheme of life and manners must be formed; some idea or
model of the character, you would imprint on young minds, must be
described; to which we may constantly refer, as we go along; and by
which, as a rule, we may estimate the fitness and propriety of that
sort of breeding, you would recommend to us.

Since your Lordship then will needs have me dictate to you on the
subject of Education, I must have leave to do it in another way, and
after a more solemn manner, than you perhaps expect from me in this
freedom of conversation.

I begin with this certain principle: That the business of education is
to form the UNDERSTANDING, and regulate the HEART. If man be a compound
of Reason and Passion, the only proper discipline of his nature is that
which accomplishes these two purposes.

So far we are, doubtless, agreed. But the subject requires a more
particular application of this principle.

You have laboured with much plausibility to persuade us, That the
only reasonable education is that which prepares and fits a man for
the commerce of the world: and I readily admit the notion, provided
we first agree about the meaning of this big word, the WORLD. Your
Lordship, it may be, in your sublime view of things, is projecting to
make of your Pupil, what is called, in the widest sense of the term, a
_Citizen of the World_. A great and awful character, my Lord! But let
us advance by just degrees.

First, if you please, let us provide that he be a worthy citizen of
_England_; and, by your favour, let me ennoble this small island of
ours with the pompous appellation of the world. It is that world,
at least, in which our adventurer is to play his part; and for the
commerce of which it concerns him most immediately to be prepared.

Now, as your Lordship’s chief care is directed, very properly, towards
its chief subjects; I mean, the men of rank and fortune, whose ample
property and noble birth give their country the greatest concern in
their education; let me ask in what manner they are likely to qualify
themselves best for the important parts, they are to act in it?


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Certainly, by acquiring that knowledge, and those accomplishments, that
are most proper for the discharge of them.


MR. LOCKE.

Undoubtedly, my Lord: there cannot be two answers to so plain a
question. As that education is, in general, the best which forms the
man, in the best manner; so, in this confined view, that education must
be thought the best, which forms the _Englishman_, in the best manner.

To proceed then on this reasonable concession.

An _English_ citizen, or, if you will, Senator, (for this is the
station to which our greater citizens do, and our best should aspire)
can never acquit himself of the duties he owes his country, under this
character, but by furnishing himself with all those qualities of the
_head_ and _heart_, which his superior rank and pretensions demand.

This _last_ chapter is an important one; and would be very long, if
justice were done to it. But a summary of the main articles, of which
it consists, may be given in few words.

I require then in our young aspirant to the name and honours of an
_English_ Senator, that his mind be early and thoroughly seasoned
with the principles of virtue and religion: that he be trained, by a
strict discipline, to the command of his temper and passions: that his
ambition be awakened, or rather directed, to its right object, the
_public good_; and to that end, that his soul be fired with the love
of excellence and true honour: above all, that he have a reverence for
the legal constitution of his country, and a fervent affection for the
great community to which he belongs.

Your Lordship has a due respect for these virtuous qualities of the
HEART, which will give this consideration its full weight with you.
But were they of no more account, than many institutors of youth seem
disposed to reckon them, still there are other qualities, those of the
HEAD, in every man’s account essentially requisite to the discharge of
those offices, which our greater citizens are destined to sustain.

I require, therefore, in the next place, that our young Senator have
a ready and familiar use, at least, of the _Latin_ tongue (your
Lordship, I know, will add, and of the _Greek_; but in this I am not
so peremptory): that he be competently instructed in the elements of
science, as well as what are called polite letters: that, especially,
he be well grounded in the principles of morals, public and private;
that he have made a thorough acquaintance with the history of his own
country, and with its constitution, Civil and Ecclesiastical: that
he have a general insight into the history of the world, ancient and
modern: above all, that he have a well-exercised understanding; I
mean, that he be taught to reason clearly and consequentially upon
any subject: and, further, to put all these abilities to use, that he
have a ready command of his own language, and the power of expressing
himself, whether in writing or speaking, with ease and perspicuity, at
least, if not with elegance.

Other ornamental qualities I omit for the present, which will almost
come of themselves, if his education be rightly conducted; or may be
acquired with little pains, and in the way of diversion only. But these
solid accomplishments I hold it necessary for our youth of quality to
possess, by the time in which they usually pass out of the hands of
their Tutors and Governors, I mean the age of twenty-one.

Am I unreasonable in these demands? or can any thing less be dispensed
with in a gentleman, who, by established custom, is to enter into the
world at those years, and to bear a part in the public business and
legislature of his country?


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Without doubt, these accomplishments are no more than may be reasonably
required in our young gentleman, or Senator. But how they are to be
come at in our vulgar way of _Education_, I do not easily apprehend.


MR. LOCKE.

Of that, in due time. At present, you accept this as a reasonable idea
or sketch of an _English_ gentleman’s character; such as the course of
his education ought to imprint upon him: and I shall now shew you very
clearly that it is not possible to be attained in the way of _foreign
Travel_.

Consider, _first_ of all, the unavoidable WASTE OF TIME; of that time
which is so precious in every view; not only as being the most proper
for making the acquisitions, I speak of; but as being the only period
of his life, which he will be at liberty to employ in that manner.

Early youth is flexible and docile: apt to take the impressions of
virtue, and ready to admit the principles of knowledge. The faculties
of the mind are then vigorous and alert: the conception quick, and
the memory retentive. The humble drudgery of acquiring the elements
of literature and science is to young minds an easy and a flattering
employment. A submissive reverence for their teachers disposes them
to proceed without reluctance in any path that is prescribed to them;
and a springing emulation, joined to a conscious sense of gradual
improvement, gives force and constancy to their pursuits. The objects
of their application seem important; not only from the novelty of them,
and the authority of those who have the direction of their studies,
but chiefly perhaps from a confused sense of their value, much above
what they would entertain, were they able to form a true and distinct
judgment of them.

This, then, is the season for laying the foundations of knowledge and
ability of every kind; and if you let it slip, without applying it
carefully to those purposes, you will in vain lament the omission in
riper years, when the cares or amusements of life afford little leisure
for such pursuits, and less inclination.

There may have been some few examples of those, whose superior industry
in advanced age has atoned for the defects of their education. But in
general the _man_ depends intirely on the _boy_; and he is all his life
long, what the impressions, he received in his early years, have made
him[41]. If therefore any considerable part of this precious season be
_wasted_ in foreign travel, I mean if it be actually _not employed_ in
the pursuits proper to it, this circumstance must needs be considered
as an objection of great weight to that sort of education.

Your Lordship may consider, _next_, the DISSIPATION OF MIND attending
on this itinerant education; while the scene is constantly changing;
and new objects perpetually springing up before him, to solicit the
admiration of our young traveller.

One of the greatest secrets in education is, to fix the attention
of youth: a painful operation! which requires long use and a steady
unremitting discipline; the very reverse of that roving, desultory
habit, which is inseparable from the sort of life you would recommend.
The young mind is naturally impatient of constraint: it hates to
be confined for any time in the same track; and is flying out, at
every turn, from the proper subject of its meditation. Instead of
counteracting this native infirmity, you indulge and flatter it;
till, by degrees, the mind loses its tone and vigour, and is utterly
incapable of paying a due attention to any thing.

I insist the more on this consideration, because in acquiring the
elements of learning it is of great importance that the learner proceed
uniformly in the course on which he has entered. It may now and then
be the privilege of a genius, to seize the principles of knowledge at
once, and to grow wise, as we may say, by intuition. But the common
sort of minds are of another make. It is by slow steps only that they
arrive at knowledge; and, if you stop or divert their progress, their
labour is all thrown away, or yields at best a shallow, superficial,
and ill-digested learning.

But were no account to be had of _the loss of time_, or of _this
dissipated turn of mind_, which is still more pernicious, I should
nevertheless object to this travelled education, on account of the very
objects to which our traveller’s APPLICATION is directed.

Instead of those necessary and fundamental parts of knowledge, which
I require him to have laid in, his attention, so much of it as can be
spared for any thing that looks like information, is wasted on things
either frivolous or unimportant.

His _first_ business is, to make himself perfect in the forms of
breeding, which he finds in use among those he lives with, or perhaps
in their forms of dress only.

His _next_ concern is, to acquire a readiness in the languages of
_Europe_; or, to shorten his labour as much as possible, at least in
the _French_ language. The pretence is, that he may fit himself for
conversation with his foreign acquaintance; which takes up much time to
little purpose, as the use ceases, in a good degree, with his return
home: and, that he may qualify himself for perusing their best books;
which takes him off from the study of those which are still better; in
the learned languages, and I will venture to say, in his own.

If any thing _further_ employ his attention, it is perhaps a little
virtuosoship. He inquires after fine pictures, fine statues, fine
buildings. He visits the shops of artificers; gets admission to
libraries, cabinets of medals, and repositories of curiosities; and,
for some relaxation from these arduous toils, is frequent at Churches,
Theatres, and Courts of Judicature, and stares at processions,
ceremonies, and other solemn shews.

And, now, when these three points have been duly attended to, I
leave your Lordship to guess what leisure he is likely to have for
accomplishing himself in those other studies, which you allow me to
suppose are of much greater importance.

In one word, my Lord, if he acquires any knowledge, it is only, or
chiefly, of such things as he may very well do without, or, at best,
are of an inferior and subordinate consideration: while the branches of
learning, he must neglect for these, are of the most constant use and
necessity to him in the commerce of his whole life.

Till then your Lordship can find a way to reconcile these different
pursuits, I must be of opinion that the boasted way of travel is the
worst that can be contrived for the proper instruction of our young
countrymen.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Without doubt, if these less important points engross all their
attention. But can there be a difficulty in carrying on the two designs
together; especially, if a good and attentive tutor be at hand to
direct his pupil’s pursuit and quicken his application?


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship, like the friends and parents of a young traveller, is
for exacting wonders at the hands of this important personage, a tutor.
But the truth is, so many, and so different things cannot be well
learned, even with the advantage of the best parts under the very best
direction.

Besides, your Lordship forgets that what we now inquire into, is,
whether the generality of our _English_ youth of quality should be
educated in this form; not, whether two or three young men, of the most
uncommon genius and application, may not possibly succeed in it. I
demand an education, which may ordinarily produce useful and able men:
your Lordship is providing only for, what comes of itself, a prodigy.

And now, my Lord, with this preparation, I think myself enabled
to reply distinctly to the several arguments you alleged for the
expediency of foreign travel. It is very clear, that the most solid
advantages are lost by it. But perhaps we shall find a recompense for
this loss, in the shewy and ornamental accomplishments, which travel
promises; and which your Lordship supposes the world will readily, and
with reason, accept instead of them.

These accomplishments are summed up in the BENEFITS of an enlarged
society and conversation; which, again, branch out into many heads; and
under different names, furnished, I think, the substance, as well as
governed the method, of your vindication.

This was the polite and popular theme, which you chose to dress out in
all the colours of your eloquence. To make way for these, and to lay
them on with more effect, your Lordship was pleased to tell us a very
melancholy story. _England_, it seems, is over-run with barbarism and
ignorance; its inhabitants are rude and uncivilized; and nothing can
be learnt among them, which is fit to appear in good company.

If this had been said of our forefathers in CÆSAR’S time, or even in
good King EDGAR’S, when the land, they say, was over-run with wolves
(by which, I suppose, the monkish mythology means _men_, as savage); I
could have found but little, it may be, to oppose to the accusation.
But at this time of the day, when arts and letters have at least made
some progress among us; when commerce has extended our acquaintance
with the rudest parts of the globe, and policy strengthened our
connexions with the most civilized; when our country is filled with
large flourishing towns, and even prides itself in a vast, opulent,
and splendid metropolis; I could not but think the charge was a little
aggravated, or that your Lordship had forgotten to speak of _England_,
as it now subsists, in the close of the seventeenth century. It seemed
to me as if the _English_ might now, at least, deserve to be considered
as _men_; and that in our courts and camps, if not in our colleges, we
might stand a chance of finding what your Lordship would not disdain to
qualify with the name of _gentlemen_.

But the other representation was more favourable to your Lordship’s
cause: and out of that representation arose the several BARBARITIES,
with which you thought fit to mortify and alarm us.

The first fire of your zeal is spent on that swarm of PREJUDICES,
with which our _English_, or at least provincial, youth are commonly
over-run.

PREJUDICES, my Lord, is an equivocal term; and may as well mean right
opinions taken upon trust, and deeply rooted in the mind, as false and
absurd opinions, so derived and grown into it.

The _former_ of these will do no hurt; on the contrary, perhaps, the
very best part of education is employed in the culture of them.

But admit, they are of the _latter_ sort: still they may be only the
excesses of right principles and notions. And in that case, I should
doubt whether the evil be of consequence enough to deserve your
indignation. Perhaps no man has enough of certain virtues, that does
not carry them something too far. The just degree, the precise mean, is
a nice point to hit. The condition of our common nature is such, that
we either overshoot the mark, or fall short of it; and your Lordship
easily apprehends which is the more convenient as well as more generous
part, in this moral archery.

Besides, reflexion and experience will come in, soon enough to moderate
these excesses. So that, for my part, though our young patriot should
happen to entertain the extravagant conceit, you diverted yourself
with, of the soil and climate of _Old England_, I should take that for
no great objection to his home-breeding, and should, possibly, not be
over-forward to disabuse him of such honest errors.

Surely, my Lord, there are certain _associations_ of ideas, which,
however oddly formed, your Lordship would be something loth to undo.

To take your own instance: What if the ideas of liberty chanced to be
closely connected with those of _Old England_; so as, by the magic
of this union, to convert her rude heaths and barren mountains into
pleasurable landskips; would you be forward, if you had it in your
power, to dissolve this charm, and, by setting those objects in their
true and proper light, disenchant the mind, at the same time, from the
idea, or warm love at least, of _English_ liberty?


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

You know well, I perceive, how to chuse your instances. The force of
this, you suppose, will hardly be lost on him, who professes himself an
adorer of that liberty. But, under favour, I see no such inconvenience,
as you suggest, in putting asunder two things which truth and nature
had no hand in bringing together. LIBERTY has charms enough to attach
the mind, wherever the place of her abode be; and I have never heard
that the loveliness of her form is impaired, or even disgraced, by the
homeliness of her habitation.


MR. LOCKE.

It may be so; and the reason, as in the case of the more selfish
affections, is, That the habitation of our idol, whatever be our
worship, is rarely thought homely. But convince us that our country
is scarce worth contending for, and, as lovely as its Goddess Liberty
may appear to enamoured eyes, the generality of her votaries will, I
doubt, be something slack in her defence.

But, after all, an illustration must not be questioned at this rate. It
is enough, that your Lordship sees I am not for discarding Principles,
under the opprobrious name of Prejudices. The tender minds of youth
are to be treated with indulgence. If they put forth too fast, and too
luxuriantly, let the ordinary methods of culture be applied to them.
A little dressing and pruning, at fit seasons, may do more good, than
_transplanting_: a fatal experiment, in many cases; which, in checking
the immoderate vigour of its growth, kills the tree, or, at best,
brings on a languishing and dwarfish imbecillity.

If, indeed, by Prejudices you mean _vicious principles_, properly so
called; that is, vicious in themselves, as well as in the degree:
these, it is certain, must be rooted up; and the sooner, the better:
but then there is no need of crossing the seas for the benefit of such
an operation.

For the proper cure of such prejudices, as I take it, is to be made by
the application of those truths that are common to all climes; not by
the partial manners or opinions which arise out of them in this or that
more polished society.

But your Lordship, I observed, as though you had taken up this charge
of Prejudices purely to introduce the satire on _Old England_, was
content to drop it, as soon as it had served your turn. You exchanged
it, however, for _another_ of more importance, THE LOW, SORDID, AND
IMMORAL HABITS; which strike into the lives and manners of our youth,
and are, as you conceive, epidemical and incurable in this Island.

It may be true, that too much of the complaint is well-founded. The
taste of our provincial gentry may be something coarse; and their
houses, none of the best schools of civility and politeness: so that
low and even immoral habits may be, and, I doubt, too often are, the
fruit of an ordinary domestic education. But then what remedy does your
Lordship prescribe for the removal of them? Why, you send them abroad
with all their imperfections upon their heads; to get rid of their bad
habits, as they can, and to pick up better, as they will: or, do you
perhaps imagine that the ill qualities, they take out with them, will
drop off, of themselves? and that the good ones they stand in need of,
like new leaves in the spring, will immediately put forth and take
their places?


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

I do but imagine, that bad habits are only to be expelled by better;
and that therefore the readiest way for our countrymen to get quit of
their ill manners, is, to force them into good company. And, with your
leave, I see nothing very absurd or unreasonable in this imagination.


MR. LOCKE.

Certainly not, in prescribing good habits as a cure for bad ones. But
your Lordship had done well to shew what there is in a foreign air,
that is so propitious to good habits, as that none but such can thrive
in it; or, if there be a mixture of good and bad, as with us, how your
traveller shall be secured against an ill choice. Otherwise our young
spark may pick up new habits indeed; but they may only be different
from what he took from home, not better or more reasonable.

I doubt, my Lord, that, when such rude and untutored boys find
themselves removed from that restraint which the eye of a parent,
though but little accustomed to civility himself, imposed upon them,
they will rather give way to a freer indulgence of their own froward
humours, than be in any disposition to check and reform them. What
inclination will such persons have to benefit by good company? or how
indeed will they gain admittance into it?

I appeal to your own observation, whether, when this sort of
ill-educated people get abroad, and settle for a time in some
frequented city, their usual way be not to keep at distance from
the better company of the place, and to flock together into little
knots and clubs of their own countrymen, or of such others as are
most resembling in taste and manners to themselves; where all their
low humours are freely indulged, and even inflamed, by the mutual
society and countenance of one another. This, your Lordship knows,
is most frequently the case; while the obsequious tutor is at length
more likely to be swayed by the importunity, and perverted by the ill
example, of his disciples, than they are to be restrained by his advice
and authority.

But, though foreign travel should be indeed a remedy for the mischiefs,
complained of, I still question whether it would be a _proper_ one.
Suppose our young gentleman to be of so pliant a make, as to lay aside
his rustic and illiberal habits in complaisance to the better company,
he is obliged to live with: does it immediately follow, that he will
adopt none but what are fit for him to assume; and, with so raw and
undiscerning a judgment as he carried out with him, that he will have
the skill to select only and assume such manners as are most becoming
and ornamental?


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

As if one needs be in any pain, on that head; when the habits, I spoke
of, are not only different from those he must assume abroad, but the
very reverse of them!


MR. LOCKE.

Alas, your Lordship is not to be told, that the reverse of wrong is not
always right. Even in the instance your Lordship puts, a young man may
be polished indeed out of his rusticity; yet, if he have no better
rule to go by, than the fashion of the place where he lives, he may
easily wear himself into the contrary defect, an effeminate and unmanly
foppery. And, for the probability of such miscarriage, your Lordship is
again referred to your own experience and observation.

As to what I take to be the proper remedy for these barbarities, that
is another question, which I may afterwards find occasion to explain
to you more at large. For the present, I must take leave to conclude,
that, under the circumstances here supposed, foreign travel is
generally an _insufficient_, always an _improper_, cure for them.

Your Lordship indeed goes further. You contend, that, if these sordid
and dirty habits could by any means be expelled, still our _English_
education is so essentially bad, that no liberal or graceful manners
could be derived from it. And here your Lordship’s rhetoric expatiates
in full security. You seem confident that, though a method might
be found out for making reasonable men, yet our home-breeding is
absolutely incapable of furnishing fine gentlemen.

On this occasion it was, that the servile discipline of our schools,
and the pedant tutorage of our colleges, afforded ample scope to your
resentment. From an over-charged picture of both these, your Lordship
finds means to dress up such a prodigy of ill manners, as must be the
scorn, or pity, of all good company: which, to move our pity, or our
scorn the more, your Lordship, I remember, took care to contrast to the
easy, the assured, the all-sufficient air of a finished traveller.

To this triumphant part of your harangue, I have only to oppose some
plain and simple truths.

The awkward bashfulness of a young man is a sin which, I know, admits
of no expiation, in good company. However, what good company will not
pardon, it will soon remove. And, till that blessed time comes, let
it _first_ be considered that the modesty of ingenuous youth, though
a terrible vice in itself, is yet favourable to some virtues. It is
full of deference and respect; it preserves innocence; nourishes
emulation; and, till reason be of age to take the rein into her hands,
suspends and controuls all the passions. Nay, if it did nothing more
than dispose a young man to observe much and talk little; even this
advantage might be some recompence for the ill figure it gives him in
the eyes of your Lordship’s good company.

Have a care, my Lord, lest by taking off this restraint too soon, you
emancipate your favoured youth from every principle of honour, and let
him run headlong into worthlessness, dissolution, and ruin!

I know what the world is ready to think of this talk. But a truce with
the world. I am a Philosopher, your Lordship knows: nay, your Lordship,
too, is a Philosopher. Let us for once then hazard an unfashionable
truth, that modesty in a young man is his grace and ornament; and that
a confident young booby, not a bashful one, is the prodigy that needs
the expiation.

Consider, _further_, my Lord, that bashfulness is not so much the
effect of an ill education, as the proper gift and provision of wise
nature. Every stage of life has its own set of manners, that is suited
to it, and best becomes it. Each is beautiful in its season; and you
might as well quarrel with the child’s rattle, and advance him directly
to the boy’s top and span-farthing, as expect from diffident youth the
manly confidence of riper age.

Lamentable in the mean time, I am sensible, is the condition of my good
Lady; who, especially if she be a mighty well-bred one, is perfectly
shocked at the boy’s awkwardness, and calls out on the taylor, the
dancing-master, the player, the travelled tutor, any body and every
body, to relieve her from the pain of so disgraceful an object.

She should however be told, if a proper season and words soft enough
could be found to convey the information, that the odious thing,
which disturbs her so much, is one of nature’s signatures impressed
on that age; that bashfulness is but the passage from one season of
life to another; and that as the body is then the least graceful, when
the limbs are making their last efforts and hastening to their just
proportion, so the manners are the least easy and disengaged, when the
mind, conscious and impatient of its imperfections, is stretching all
its faculties to their full growth.

If I had the honour of her Ladyship’s ear, I might further add, for her
comfort, that as to this over-whelming modesty, which muffles merit,
the boy, if she have but patience, will presently outgrow it, as he
does his cloaths; that when this cloak of shame has done its work of
warming and invigorating his young virtue, it may safely be laid aside,
or rather will drop off of itself; and that, as poor and sheepish a
thing as master now is, he may turn out, in the end, as forward a spark
as the best of them.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Fye, Mr. LOCKE; what, my philosopher give into this gaiety! he, who
reproached me just now for the way of raillery and declamation!


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship does well to upbraid me for treating in so light a manner
what deserves, indeed, the most indignant reproof. For, what is this
endeavour to quench ingenuous shame, but a blasphemous attempt to
counteract the designs of Providence, and obliterate, by main force,
one of the most natural, as well as most precious, distinctions of
early youth? Modesty is the blush of budding reason and virtue: and if
art could succeed in the preposterous project of forcing the fruit
without the bud, not only this prime grace of the year would be lost,
but the production itself, though it might be wondered at as a rarity,
could never pretend to the flavour and ripeness of that which is of
nature’s own growth.

In plain words, my Lord, modesty is the ornament of youth: and the
earnest or rather the proper cause, of all that is excellent in riper
age. It graces the boy, and, in due time, forms the man: whereas in
suppressing this young virtue, you precipitate, indeed, a sort of
manhood; which, yet, in effect, is only a perpetual boyism, or rather a
portentous mixture of both states, without the virtues of either.

I am far from meaning by all this, and your Lordship will be as far
from suspecting me to mean, that an easy unconstrained manner is not an
amiable and agreeable thing. I am only for waiting the proper time of
its appearance; which nature makes a little later than our impatient
fancies are ready to prescribe to her.

Consider too this polite accomplishment, this supreme finishing
of a well-formed character, can only be acquired, except in
some extraordinary instances, by long incessant use and habit in
conversation; which, besides the unfitness of the thing in other
respects, would dissipate the young mind too much, and take it off from
those other more important pursuits, which are proper to that age.

Nay, I might further say, and with much truth, that politeness, in your
Lordship’s, at least the court-sense of the word, is not to be attained
by the ablest men; and when it is attainable, would generally do hurt,
I mean beyond a certain degree, to its possessors.

No very great man was ever what the world calls, perfectly polite. Men
of that stamp cannot afford such attention to little things, as is
necessary to form and complete that character.

And even to men of a common make, that excessive sedulity about grace
and manner, which constitutes the essence of good-breeding, would be
injurious; as it tends to cramp their faculties, effeminate the temper,
and break that force and vigour of mind which is requisite in a man of
business for the discharge of his duty, in this free country.

So that, for any thing I see, this exquisite ease of good breeding
should be left to the ambition of still inferior spirits, of such
indeed as are conscious to themselves of an incapacity for any other.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

The concession is gracious; and the danger, no doubt, alarming, lest
our senators and men of business should be disabled for their high
functions by an excess of good manners. Yet ’tis some consolation, that
at present I see no symptoms of that enfeebling politeness among such
of the ornaments of either house, as I have the honour to be acquainted
with.


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship may divert yourself as you think fit, with an old man’s
fears. But if this mode of travelling, which has taken so much with us
since the peace[42], should continue for any time, the day may come but
too soon, when these fancies of mine will be realized: when politeness
shall be fatal to ability of every kind; and, at least in the higher
ranks of life, when our countrymen shall be too well bred to be good
for any thing.

And now, having ventured so far, shall I proceed one step further, and
take to myself the privilege of an old man, to express my sense of this
whole matter, a little unfashionably? The mighty value, that is set
upon manners, comes, as I have already hinted, from a quarter, which,
though it may imprint respect on a person of your Lordship’s age and
gallantry, must not pretend to be so much considered by grey hairs. If
you can forgive the liberty, I will then, at length, speak out, and
say, They are the ladies, only, or chiefly, that have affixed such an
idea of merit to this envied quality of good-breeding; and that, as
appearances are thought to sway full enough with that delicate sex,
they may perhaps have advanced the credit of it something higher than
such an accomplishment deserves.

And when I further consider the mighty influence which these fair
dispensers of reputation must needs have on our gallant and courtly
youth, I cannot wonder that the mode of foreign travel is become so
fashionable. Nay, I am half inclined to suppose, that, in this debate
between us, I have rather your politeness to contend with, than your
judgment: and that, if your Lordship would deal roundly with me, your
answer on this occasion would be the same with HIS, who, (as I have
heard you tell the story) being questioned by his friends why a person
of his acknowledged sense and bravery would accept the challenge of
a coxcomb, thought it vindication enough of himself to reply, “that,
for the _men_, he could safely trust their judgment; but how should he
appear, at night, before the _maids of honour_[43]?”

Whether I presume too much in this fancy, is not material. It is enough
to say, that what there is of use or beauty in polite carriage will
come of itself, with a little experience of the world and good company;
and shall not, with my consent, be purchased at the expence of far
better things.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Nor with mine: for, with all the courtliness and gallantry you make me
master of, I never intended by the _good company_, I mentioned with
so much respect, either those foolish men, or women, who prefer the
forward assurance of their boys to every other consideration. I only
think that a reasonable attention to the manners of our noble youth is
a matter of much consequence; as early impressions of this sort are
necessary to fit them for the commerce of the world, from which alone
they can hope to derive their best and most solid instruction: and your
gaiety on the fair sex must not restrain me from agreeing with them, in
this instance, that I see not how that world can be read and studied,
as it ought to be, without travelling.


MR. LOCKE.

Yes; now your Lordship comes to an important point indeed. From the
polish of manners, the least considerable, and the easiest to be
attained of all the parts of good breeding, your Lordship, as I now
remember, rose at once to a subject of real consequence, I mean, THE
KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD; a science, as you well termed it, the most
profound and useful. And if this MASTER-SCIENCE were to be acquired by
means of early travel, our young gentleman should have my consent to
shut up his books, and set forth on his adventures, directly.

But, good my Lord, consider with yourself the difficulty of this study;
the ripeness of age and judgment necessary for entering upon it; much
more, for making a real progress in it.

And why, as I before hinted, will your Lordship be so impatient to come
at the end, without the means? Why, in such haste to build up men, when
nature has allotted a season for their being boys?

Without doubt, if our youth could start up men, at once, armed at all
points, as the fable has it, and thoroughly furnished for the business
of life, we should gladly accept this benefit, and might then be
content to overlook or suppress all the cares of education. But this
is not the condition of humanity. Its improvements of every kind are
slow and gradual. Time and attention form each; and it is only through
the right application of preceding states, that we arrive, at length,
at the maturity of human wisdom. Let the child and boy be allowed to
perfect themselves in what belongs to those conditions, and it will
then be time enough to provide for the manly character.

Reflect with yourself, my Lord. When the young unfurnished traveller is
carried out into the world, with no principles to poize his conduct, no
maxims to direct his judgment, what can be expected from this untimely
enterprize? what, but fluctuating morals, and fortuitous deliberations?
He has not so much as the idea of what constitutes _man_. How then
should he obtain any real and useful knowledge of the human character?

If by a knowledge of the world, be only meant a knowledge of the
external modes and customs of it, this, no doubt, were best acquired
by surveying them as they present themselves in the various tribes
and societies of mankind. But your Lordship means more than this:
you understand a knowledge of a higher kind; such as respects the
creature _man_, considered in his essential parts, his _reason_ and
his _passions_. This is a different kind of study, my Lord, from that
other. Any one that has eyes, is qualified to observe the shapes and
masks of men; but to penetrate their interior frame, to inspect their
proper dispositions and characters, is the business of a well-informed
and well-disciplined understanding.

Can your Lordship seriously expect that a young boy should comprehend
the effect, which government, policy, institution, and other
circumstances of life, have on the pliant reason of mankind? or that he
should have the skill to disentangle the various folds and intricacies,
in which their real characters lie involved, through the insidious and
discordant working of the passions? He should surely know what truth
and reason is, before he can derive any benefit to himself from the
discourse of men: and he should have carefully watched the movements of
his own heart, before he presume to analyze, as your Lordship expressed
it, the characters of others.

You see, then, the unseasonableness and inutility of foreign travel,
as to the case in hand, even on the supposition that our traveller
were admitted into what is called, the best company. But how shall
this privilege be obtained? In what country can it be thought that
the politeness of eminent men will condescend to a free and intimate
communication with boys, of whatever promising hopes, or illustrious
quality? Certain slight and formal civilities, your Lordship knows, are
the utmost that can be looked for; and are indeed the whole of what our
ill-prepared traveller is capable.

Your Lordship did well to remind me of such societies as those in which
you and I have, at times, been engaged. The recollection is, of course,
flattering and agreeable. But let us presume upon ourselves, my Lord;
the LIMBORCHS and LE CLERCS are not so obvious to every body, as they
were to us; or, if they were, every body would not profit so well by
them. And if private scholars be thus inaccessible, how shall we think
to intrude on the business and occupations of experienced magistrates
and ministers? And, putting both these out of the question, who remain
for the tutorage and instruction of these travelled boys, but such raw,
unaccomplished companions, as they left at home, and may find every
where in abundance?

Still my objections go further. What if, by uncommon sagacity and
good luck, some acquaintance be made with superior persons, and some
little insight at length be gained into their real characters? Of
what mighty advantage will this be in life, when their business lies
amongst other men; and when the same industry and attention had brought
them acquainted with the characters of those, they must act and live
with? Foreigners are neither an easier study than our own countrymen,
nor a more useful one. The very modes and forms of external breeding
catch the attention of unexperienced youth; and are so many obstacles
to their real progress in this science. And, when all is done, the
modifications of the human character, as existing at home, and
exhibited in the lives and actions of their fellow-citizens, are, as I
said, the proper objects of their curiosity.

In short, the utmost I can allow to this discipline of foreign travel,
under the idea of its furnishing _a knowledge of the world_, is,
That it may possibly wear a young man into some studied and apish
resemblance of the models, he copies from, in his deportment and
manners; or that the various scenes, he has passed through, may furnish
matter, at his return, for much unprofitable babble in conversation:
but, that he should come back fraught with any solid information
concerning men and things, such as, in your Lordship’s sublime phrase,
may fit him to appear with lustre in the court or senate of his own
country, is what I can never promise myself from this fashionable mode
of education.

I am even disposed to promise myself the less from it, for an
_observation_, I have sometimes had the opportunity of making.

An old man has so little about him to provoke envy, that he may be
allowed to make the best of his former successes. And though I pride
myself in _one_, of a very delicate nature, the boast of it will not be
ill taken even there, where your Lordship, with all your pretensions,
would be heard with no patience. In short, I indulge myself in the
vanity of saying that I have, in my time, been well with the fair sex,
and have even been countenanced so far as to be admitted into a degree
of acquaintance and familiarity with some ladies of the highest quality
and distinction. And of these, I have constantly observed, that, though
bred up at home, they had a manifest advantage over their travelled
brothers, I was going to say, in learning and science, but certainly in
true politeness, good sense, and even a knowledge of the world.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

I understand this civility to the ladies, as a decent atonement for
your late freedoms with them. In this light I should be unwilling to
cavil at it: and yet I see not, how your high encomiums on the superior
good sense and politeness of these home-bred ladies can consist with
the passion, you before censured in them, for foreign travel, as
favourable, in their opinion, to the production of such virtues.


MR. LOCKE.

My consistency in this representation, I doubt, is less questionable,
than my civility. For the ladies, on whom I bestowed those high, but
just encomiums, were chiefly such as I had known in my younger days,
before the passion for travel had got among them. Now indeed the case
is altering apace, and the effects are answerable. The virtues of the
_English_ ladies, when they staid at home, were more conspicuous than
those of our travelled gentlemen. Now that they, too, begin to travel,
their follies are, also, more glaring: in either case, I am willing
to own, for the credit of my civility, from the same reason, that both
good and ill qualities strike us most, when _set_ in the precious metal
of that sex.

However, from the whole of my experience, I must needs conclude, that
this finishing of a travelled education only serves to corrupt good
qualities, or inflame bad ones.

But the ladies are not in my province. If they were, a knowledge of
the world is not the leading virtue I might wish to see them possessed
of. In the men, I confess, this accomplishment is of more importance;
and I am therefore solicitous, that no well-meaning youth, whom it so
much concerns to gain a knowledge of the world, should be misled in his
search of it.

Seriously, my Lord, the WORLD, which I am forced to repeat so often, is
a solemn word, and the study of it has an air of something plausible
and imposing. But those, who know what the world is, will think it best
that a young man begin with what is the first and last concern of every
man, the study of himself; and if, in due time, he come to understand,
and, still more, to value as they deserve, the characters of the great
and good men of his own country, the opprobrious name of _home-bred_
will not hinder him from acquiring the best fruit, with which a
knowledge of the world, rightly understood, can furnish him.

For, my Lord, I must not, on so inviting an occasion as this, conceal
an odd fancy of mine from your Lordship.

The affair of _knowing the world_, about which weak and fantastic
people make so much noise, and which one hears them perpetually
insisting upon with so much sufficiency, is of all others the nicest
and most momentous step that is made in education. And, though volumes
have been written to teach us how we may best become scholars, orators,
courtiers, what not; yet not one leaf do I ever remember to have seen,
composed by any capable man, that instructs us in the proper way of
getting into this great secret.

It is not a matter to be entered upon, if I were vain enough to think
myself capable of it, in this casual conversation; but thus much I may
presume to say, that whoever designs to let a young man into a safe and
useful knowledge of the world, must do it in a way very remote from
that which has hitherto been taken.

A young man, they tell us, must know the world; therefore, say they,
push him into it at once, that he may acquire that knowledge, which his
own experience, and not another’s, must procure for him.

I, on the other hand, take upon me to say, Therefore keep him out of
that world, as long as you can; and when you commit him to it, let the
ablest friend or tutor lend him his best experience, to conduct him
gradually, cautiously, imperceptibly, into an acquaintance with it.

You ask the reason of this mysterious procedure; yet methinks it should
be obvious enough. From _sixteen to one and twenty_ (a period, in which
the cares of an ordinary education cease, or are much relaxed) is that
precise season of life, which requires all the attention of the most
vigilant, and all the address of the wisest, governor. The passions are
then opening; curiosity awake; and the young mind ready to take its ply
from the seducements of fashion, and creditable example.

Nor is this the worst. An education, that deserves the name, has
inculcated maxims of honour and probity; has inspired the noblest
sentiments of moral duty; has impressed on the mind a veneration for
all the virtues, and an equal horror for all the vices, of humanity.

Full of these sublime ideas, which his parents, his tutors, his books,
and even his own ingenuous heart has rendered familiar to him, the
fatal time is at hand, when our well-instructed youth is now to make
his entrance into the world: but, good God, what a world! not that
which he has so long read, or dreamt of; but a world, new, strange, and
inconsistent with all his former notions and expectations.

He enters this scene with awe; and contemplates it with astonishment.
Vice, he sees assured, prosperous, and triumphant; virtue
discountenanced, unsuccessful, and degraded. He joins the first croud,
that presents itself to him: a loud laugh arises; and the edge of their
ridicule is turned on sobriety, industry, honesty, generosity, or some
other of those qualities, he has hitherto been most fond of.

He quits this clamorous set with disdain; and is glad to unite himself
with _another_, better dressed, better mannered, in all respects more
specious and attractive. His simplicity makes him for some time the
dupe of this plausible society: but their occasional hints, their
negligent sarcasms, their sallies of wit, and polite raillery on all
that he has been accustomed to hold sacred, shew him at last that he
has only changed his company, not mended it.

This discovery leads him to another. He attends to the lives of these
well-bred people, and finds them of a piece with their manners and
conversation; shewy indeed, and, on first view, decorous; but, in
effect, deformed by every impotent and selfish passion; wasted in
sloth and luxury; in ruinous play; criminal intrigues; or, at best,
unprofitable amusements.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

This painting, methinks, is a little strong. Besides, you might surely
have provided better company for your young inspector of the world,
than that shameless crew, or this corrupt one.


MR. LOCKE.

I take up, as he must do, with such company as the world is most apt
to throw in our way; and the colouring, your Lordship knows, is modest
enough for the occasion.

But I attend our boy-adventurer no further in his progress into the
world, and return now to ask you, what effect your Lordship thinks
these strange unexpected scenes must naturally have upon him? Certainly
one or the other of these two; either that the scorn of virtue, he
every where observes, will by degrees abate his reverence of it,
and at length obliterate all the better impressions of his education;
or, if these should still keep their hold of his young ingenuous
breast, that he will entertain the most indignant sentiments of
mankind, and suffer himself to be carried by them into a sour and
sullen misanthropy, at least; perhaps into a sceptical and prophane
impiety.

I have seldom known a young man of sense and parts, educated in this
way, escape from one or other of these mischiefs.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

But why then bring him up with those high notions of mankind, of which
the world must presently disabuse him, at the expence either of his
innocence, or good nature?


MR. LOCKE.

That question had been natural enough from most men. But your Lordship
knows very well, that, in this moral discipline, as in every other,
ideas of excellence are to be imprinted on the young mind, and the most
consummate models proposed for imitation: on this certain principle,
That, whoever would be moderately accomplished in any art, and most of
all in this supreme art of life, must take his aim high, and aspire to
absolute perfection. A painter or statuary of the lowest form, your
Lordship knows, is taught to work after a MADONNA _of_ RAPHAEL, or a
VENUS _of_ MEDICIS; yet is not likely to meet with either, among his
acquaintance.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

The observation is surely just; and I could only mean that those
high fancies should be checked and moderated in due time, before
our entrance into that world, which, it is foreseen, will so little
correspond to them.


MR. LOCKE.

And what is that _due time_, your Lordship sets apart for this delicate
operation?

Is it, before the young boy commences his travels? But that, according
to your Lordship’s scheme, is so early, that the regimen, you would now
abate, has not taken its full effect, and his weak unconfirmed virtue
would die under the experiment.

Is it then, when his travels are already begun? And is the sage tutor,
your Lordship anxiously flies to, as to some god, on every occasion
of distress, to charge himself with the solution of this difficulty?
Alas! now it is too late. You have brought the boy into the scene. He
will see and judge for himself. The torrent bears him away: the instant
impression is too strong to be counteracted by the feeble and, now,
disgusting admonitions of a tutor.

See then, if the proper way, to secure him from these inconveniences,
be not, To keep him yet at a distance from the world; and, when you
let him into some knowledge of it, to do it seasonably, gradually, and
circumspectly: to take the veil off from some parts, and leave it still
upon others; to paint what he does not see, and to hint at more than
you paint: to confine him, at first, to the best company, and prepare
him to make allowances even for the best: to preserve in his breast the
love of excellence, and encourage in him the generous sentiments, he
has so largely imbibed, and so perfectly relishes: yet temper, if you
can, his zeal with candour; insinuate to him the prerogative of such a
virtue, as his, so early formed, and so happily cultivated; and bend
his reluctant spirit to some aptness of pity towards the ill-instructed
and the vicious: by degrees to open to him the real condition of that
world, to which he is approaching; yet so as to present to him, at the
same time, the certain inevitable misery of conforming to it: last of
all, to shew him some examples of that vice, which he must learn to
bear in others, though detest in himself; to watch the effect these
examples have upon him; and, as you find his dispositions incline, to
fortify his abhorrence of vice, or excite his commiseration of the
vicious: in a word (for I am not now directing a tutor, but suggesting,
in very general terms, my ideas of his office) to inform the minds of
youth with such gradual intelligence, as may prepare them to see the
world without surprize, and live in it without danger.

This is that important chapter, which I presumed to say no institutor
of youth had yet composed, or so much as touched upon, in a treatise
of education. You will learn from this brief summary of its contents,
what, in my opinion, should be the employment of those precious years,
which are usually thrown away upon foreign travel.

In earnest, my Lord, there is a fatal mistake in this matter. People
speak of a knowledge of the world, as what may be acquired at any
time, and, for its importance, cannot be acquired too soon. Alas! they
forget, that a long and careful preparation is necessary, before we are
qualified so much as to enter on this task; and that they, who are
latest in setting out, will arrive the soonest, certainly the safest,
at their journey’s end.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

But where shall this mighty work of preparation be carried on? And in
what privileged sanctuary shall our good young man be kept from the
sight and contagion of this wicked world, and yet be gradually forming
for the use and practice of it?


MR. LOCKE.

Where, does your Lordship ask? Why, in his college; in a friend’s,
or his father’s house; any where, in short, rather than in a foreign
country, where every wholesome restraint is taken off, and the young
mind left a prey to every ill impression.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

And are there no inconveniences, on the other hand, which a provident
parent may be supposed to foresee, and may be willing to guard against?


MR. LOCKE.

I understand your Lordship. I know, that, for want of better arguments
in support of this foreign breeding, weak or unworthy parents are ready
to take up with such as these:

They tell us, especially if of rank and quality, that their children
have suffered more than enough already, in their passage through our
public and vulgar schools; that, together with many illiberal habits,
they have contracted many low and illiberal friendships, which are, in
all reason, to be shaken off; that these unworthy companions follow
them to the University, and are, if not the bane, yet the dishonour
and incumbrance of their future lives; that an absence of some years
abroad loosens these hasty and ill-timed connexions; and leaves them,
on their return, at full liberty to contract others, more suitable to
their birth and quality, and more conducive to their views of fortune,
as well as of reputation, in the world; that indeed they might remove
the young man immediately from his school into their own house; but
that much of their time is necessarily spent in the metropolis, the
licence of which is not to be guarded against by any care of their
own, or of the best governor; that his low illiberal acquaintance would
haunt him even there; at least, that the youth of his own age and rank
would naturally flock about him, and, under a thousand pretences of
civility or amusement, engage him in all the follies, and perhaps the
vices, of this great town; that, on the whole, his only refuge from
these mischiefs is in the way of foreign travel; whence, at length, he
may return in riper age and with better judgment to take his station
in the world.

To this popular talk (which your Lordship, I suppose, glanced at, but
would not condescend to enforce directly) it is enough to reply, that
part of the inconveniences, here enumerated, are feigned at pleasure,
and the rest exaggerated; that the authority of a father, if he
deserve that name, in concurrence with honest friends and an ordinary
governor, will prevent them all, or at least palliate them; and that,
to take matters at the worst, his son will be exposed to still greater
inconveniences any where else. But in truth I cannot see, if a college
be excepted against, and the business be to see the world, as it is
called, why _London_ should not be esteemed as fit a scene for the
purpose, as any other great town in _Europe_. I think it contains
as much good company as any other; and I doubt whether it be more
licentious; or, if it be, there are three restraints upon it, which, I
am sure, will not be found abroad: I mean, “the parental authority;”
“domestic government;” and “a regard to reputation, under the eye and
notice of his friends.”

So that, in every view, whether on your Lordship’s plan, of entering
directly on the great study of the world, or on mine, of only preparing
for it, our young man cannot possibly do better, at his years, than
stay at home; where, if your Lordship please, we will then leave
him; at least, till we have tried the force of your next, and, as I
remember, LAST argument in behalf of foreign travel, “which arose out
of the mighty benefits, supposed to attend the study and cultivation of
what are called the FINE ARTS; in short, from the lustre and importance
of the virtuoso character.”

Your Lordship, who has so acknowledged a taste in these things, and
of course has so exquisite a sense of their value, may be excused for
enlarging so particularly on this head. But to me, who am of a plainer
make and cooler disposition, they appear, if not frivolous, yet of
little importance, when compared with those other things, which are the
proper and more immediate objects of education.

It would, I doubt, disgust your Lordship, should I speak my mind freely
of them; or even insinuate, that I take these studies, when entered
upon in early youth, and proposed as matters of serious pursuit and
application, to have indeed the most pernicious tendency; as breaking
the nerves and force of the mind, and inspiring I know not what of a
trifling and superfluous vanity.

To render these pursuits serviceable in any degree, or even harmless,
they should in all reason be postponed to riper years, when the
confirmed judgment will of course take them but for what they are, for
nothing more than elegant and polite amusements.

Not to insist, that to excel in this species of taste, as in all
others, a previous foundation is required, of reflexion and good
sense: for I agree with your favourite poet; of every polite study and
indulgence even of the imagination,

    SAPERE, _est et principium et fons_.

These and still stronger objections might be made to your partiality
for the _fine arts_. But I am contented to wave them all; as indeed
they would come with an ill grace from one, who must acknowledge
himself to have no particular skill or discernment in them, and who
should not therefore presume to enter the lists with so consummate a
master of them as your Lordship.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

And so, under the cover of a civil speech, you escape from the most
specious, at least, of those arguments, which are alleged in favour
of an early travelled education. For, whether it be true, or no, that
other accomplishments may be as well acquired at home, it is past a
doubt that the polite and liberal arts can only be learnt abroad. And
of their use and ornament to our noble youth—


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship, I know, can say more, and finer things, than you expect
I should seriously dispute with you, on this occasion.

I have now, my Lord, (at least if my old memory has not betrayed me)
gone over the several heads and topics of your defence; and said
enough, I believe, on each, to shew that foreign travel is not, on
whatever side we view it, the most proper method of a young gentleman’s
education.

The benefits, you propose by it, are either of small account in
themselves, at least of much less account than those you must sacrifice
to them; or, when their importance is real and confessed, may be
attained more conveniently in some other way, and at some other season.

For, after all I have said, your Lordship is not to conclude that I am
wholly bent against the practice of foreign travel. I am as sensible,
as any man, of its important use, when undertaken at a proper time
and by fit persons. For, though I esteem it idleness, and something
worse, for a young boy to waste his prime and most precious years in
sauntering round _Europe_, yet I know what ends of wisdom and of virtue
may be answered by a capable man’s survey of it.

But then, my Lord, I reckon that capacity at no vulgar rate. He must
be of worth and consideration enough to be received into the wisest,
nay the greatest company. His natural insight into men and things must
be quick and penetrating. His faculties must all be at their height;
his studies matured; and his reading and observation extensive. With
these accomplishments, if a man of rank and fortune can find leisure to
employ a few years among the neighbouring nations, I readily agree, his
voyage may turn out to his own benefit, and to that of his country.

In this way it may be true, as your Lordship insisted, that our island
prejudices will be usefully worn off, and much real civility and
politeness be imported among us.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

I thank you for this concession. Although I cannot yet be convinced
of the total impropriety of an earlier voyage, I am pleased to find
you do not interdict the thing itself. Many wise persons among us have
even talked at that rate. But you are more reasonable; and indeed
that extravagance was not to be apprehended from your true sense and
superior knowledge of human nature.


MR. LOCKE.

I have that esteem of your Lordship’s kind opinion, as to be very
unwilling to forfeit any share of it. Yet what I have now to advance
will, I readily foresee, expose me to some risk, in that particular.

For now your Lordship has expressed your regard for _a superior
knowledge of human nature_, it emboldens me to add that such knowledge
(which I have small right to claim to myself) is not to be acquired but
by the largest and most extensive observation of the human species:
so that I may be found at last even a warmer advocate for the uses of
foreign travel, than your Lordship.

I hold then that the knowledge of human nature (the only knowledge, in
the largest sense of the expression, deserving a wise man’s regard)
can never be well attained but by seeing it under all its appearances;
I mean, not merely, or chiefly, in that fair and well-dressed form
it wears amid the arts and embellishments of our western world;
but in its naked simplicity, and even deformities; nay, under all
its disguises and distortions, arising from absurd governments and
monstrous religions, in every distant region and quarter of the globe.

The subject appears to me of that importance, that it almost warms me,
an old philosopher as I am, into some emulation of your Lordship’s
enthusiasm.

I would say then, “that, to study HUMAN NATURE to purpose, a traveller
must enlarge his circuit beyond the bounds of _Europe_. He must go,
and catch her undressed, nay quite naked, in _North-America_, and at
the Cape of _Good Hope_. He may then examine how she appears crampt,
contracted, and buttoned up close in the strait tunic of law and
custom, as in _China_ and _Japan_: or, spread out and enlarged above
her common size, in the loose and flowing robe of enthusiasm, among
the Arabs and Saracens: or, lastly, as she flutters in the old rags
of worn-out policy and civil government, and almost ready to run back
naked to the deserts, as on the _Mediterranean_ coast of _Africa_.”

These, my Lord, are the proper scenes for the philosopher, for the
citizen of the world, to expatiate in. The tour of _Europe_ is a paltry
thing: a tame, uniform, unvaried prospect: which affords nothing but
the same polished manners and artificial policies, scarcely diversified
enough to take, or merit, our attention.

It is from a wider and more extensive view of mankind that a just
estimate is to be made of the powers of human nature. Hence we collect
what its genuine faculties are: what ideas and principles, or if any,
are truly innate and essential to it; and what changes and modification
it is susceptible of from law and custom.

If you think I impose too great a task on our inquisitive traveller,
my next advice is, That he stay at home: read _Europe_ in the mirror
of his own country, which but too eagerly reflects and flatters every
state that dances before its surface; and, for the rest, take up with
the best information he can get from the books and narratives of the
best voyagers.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

That is, you discourage him from looking abroad into the world of
reason and civility, the most natural state of mankind; and require
him to waste his time and observation on slaves, madmen, or savages;
states, in which reason and civility have no place, and where humanity
itself, almost, disappears.

Admirable advice this, to come from a philosopher! and still better, to
send your disciple to take his information of this unnatural disordered
scene from the lying accounts of ignorant, ill-instructed, and gaping
tale-tellers!


MR. LOCKE.

I was afraid, I should not be able to secure to myself the good
opinion, which your Lordship was pleased to express of my _knowledge of
human nature_. This mortifying experience puts an end to my adventurous
flights, at once; and forces me back again into the narrower walk,
which your Lordship seems willing to prescribe to me.

Be it then, as you insist, that an _English_ gentleman’s care should
be, to accomplish himself in the school of reason and civility; to fit
himself, in short, for that state which your Lordship dignifies with
the name of _natural_. Still I declare against his _European_ travels.

The manners of each state are peculiar to itself, and best adapted to
it. The civility, that prevails in some places on the continent, may be
more studied and exquisite than ours; but not therefore to be preferred
before it. Those refinements have had their birth from correspondent
policies; to which they are well suited, and from which they receive
their whole value. In the more absolute monarchies of _Europe_, all are
courtiers. In our freer monarchy, all should be citizens. Let then the
arts of address and insinuation flourish in _France_. Without them,
what merit can pretend to success, what talents open the way to favour
and distinction? But let a manlier character prevail here. We have a
prince to serve, not to flatter: we have a country to embrace, not a
court to adore: we have, in a word, objects to pursue, and interests
to promote, from the care of which our finer neighbours are happily
disburthened.

Let our countrymen then be indulged in the plainness, nay, the
roughness of their manners: but let them atone for this defect, by
their useful sense, their superior knowledge, their public spirit, and,
above all, by their unpolished integrity.

Would your Lordship’s favourite Athens have done wisely (or rather did
it do so?) to exchange the simplicity and manly freedom of its ancient
character, for the fopperies and prostrations of the Asiatic courts?
Nay, would the softer accomplishments of Athens, in its best state,
have done well in a citizen of _Sparta_?

Your Lordship sees what to conclude from these hints. For my own part,
my Lord, I esteem politeness, in the reasonable sense of the word, as
the ornament, nay more, as the duty of humanity. But, under colour of
making this valuable acquisition, let no culture of the human mind, no
instruction in letters and business, no discipline of the passions, no
improvements of the head and heart, be neglected. Let the foundation
of these essential virtues be laid deep in the usual forms of our
_public_, if you will, or (as you know I had rather) in the way of
a more attentive and moral, because _private_, education. Let the
commerce of the world, in due time and under due regulation, succeed to
this care; and your Lordship will find your young gentleman as fully
accomplished in all respects as, in reason, you should wish to see him.
And for proof of it, if I were not restrained, by a common and perhaps
false delicacy, from bringing the names of our friends and acquaintance
into example in conversation, how many instances of this sort could I
point to, in such men as your Lordship has known in your own country,
and is most disposed to reverence; and some of them, possibly, in your
own family!


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Rather tell me, how we may reasonably expect to see such models
produced, according to the vulgar way of our home-breeding: that one or
two such may, perhaps, after strict search, be found among ourselves, I
shall not dispute with you.


MR. LOCKE.

The search would cost me small pains. But I press the matter no
further. It is enough that your Lordship sees I have my eye on some,
the most estimable, nay the most accomplished characters, that have
been formed among ourselves: and that even so envied a thing, as a fine
gentleman, has been fashioned on this side the water. But the rarity
of the production, you think, makes against me, and shews there is no
trusting to the stubborn soil and unfriendly climate of our country.
You conclude, upon the whole, for the expediency of foreign travel,
from the acknowledged defects of our authorized seats of learning;
which, according to your Lordship’s idea and representation of them,
are so degenerate and depraved, that nothing of worth and value can be
reasonably expected from that quarter.

This, after all, is your main reason for advising a foreign education.
Your spite is to our Universities; and, to bribe, or rather provoke me
into the same quarrel, your Lordship did not forget to remind me of the
little obligation, which I myself, who was trained in their discipline,
have had to them.

I could assent, perhaps, to some part of this charge. It is certain, at
least, that the prejudices, the bigotry, the false learning, and narrow
principles, which have prevailed too much, and still prevail, in
those famous seminaries, create an unfavourable opinion of them in the
minds of many liberal and discerning persons. Nay, I will not disown
to you, that I have at times been tempted myself to entertain, perhaps
to express, some resentment against them. But we are always severe,
generally unfair, judges in our own case. And, to say the truth, when
the matter comes to be considered impartially and coolly, their faults,
of whatever kind, will admit of much alleviation.

The UNIVERSITIES OF ENGLAND, your Lordship knows, had their rise in
the barbarous ages. The views of their institutors were, accordingly,
such as might be expected from men of their stamp, and in their
circumstances.

These seminaries were more immediately consecrated to the service of
the church; which is the less to be wondered at, as our statesmen,
you know, were, at that time, churchmen. Hence the plan of studies,
prescribed to the youth, would be such as was best adapted to the
occasions of that class of men, in whose instruction the public was
more directly interested.

Besides, the learning of that time was rude and barbarous; and, had
their views been more enlarged, the founders of our colleges had it
not in their power to provide for the encouragement of any other. The
supreme accomplishment even of our men of business was little more than
a readiness in the forms, and a dexterity in the quirks, of the canon
law: and the pride of the most profound scholars lay in applying the
subtleties of the Aristotelian philosophy to theologic and metaphysical
questions; whence too much stress was evidently laid on logical
exercises and scholastic disputations.

’Tis true, some few of our colleges were erected at a time, when
something more light and knowledge had broke in upon us; I mean, during
the progress of the _Reformation_. But the great object that filled all
men’s minds being the dispute with the see of _Rome_, the principal
circumstance that distinguishes these later foundations from the other
is, that their statutes provide more especially for the management of
that controversy. So that, even in these societies, the scholastic
disputative genius still prevailed, to the exclusion of that more
liberal plan of studies, which is fitted to all times, and would have
suited better to the general purpose of these established seats of
education.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

This account of the institution and genius of our _English_
Universities may be easily credited, even from what we now see of them.
But, though some causes may be assigned for the introduction of these
barbarous plans of education, what reason can be given why they should
be cherished in our days, or that men of sense should submit to them?


MR. LOCKE.

The reason is not far to seek. These barbarous plans of education had,
we have seen, in former times, both their reason and their use. Bodies
of men retain the character of their first institution very long; and,
all things considered, I am inclined to think it not amiss that they
do so. Universities and schools of learning, in particular, should not
be in haste to exchange established principles and practices, which
the best sense of former ages had introduced, for novel and untried
pretensions. The reason is plain: their instructions would have small
weight, and their discipline no stability, amid such easy and perpetual
changes. They are, indeed, the depositaries of the public wisdom
and virtue; and their business is, to inculcate both on the rising
generation, upon the footing on which they are received and understood
in the several countries where they are erected. Even if their local
statutes laid them under no restraint, an easiness in departing from
established rules were a levity not to be commended; and would, in the
end, be unfavourable to truth itself, when at any time it should come,
in its turn, to be entertained among them.

The truth is, my Lord, we are ready to consider these seminaries
as schools of philosophy, strictly so called: whereas their proper
character is that of schools of learning and education. Under this
last idea, much of that bigotry and prejudice is to be looked for, and
should be excused, which would rightly be objected to them under that
other denomination.

Hence then, I conceive, a just apology may be made for the present
condition of our Universities. If they have not, in all respects,
corrected the vices of their original institution, let the influence
and authority of such institution be pleaded in their excuse; and
if certain inveterate errors in speculation (for I know your
Lordship’s chief quarrel to them) not immediately connected with their
institution, happen still to maintain their credit in those places,
let it be considered that the general sense of the public should in
all reason be expected to go before their profession and propagation
even of right principles. Believe it, my Lord, as reason and sound
philosophy make a progress among us, these bodies will gradually,
though reluctantly indeed, reform themselves: and the service they will
then render to truth will be the greater for the opposition they now
make to it.

I have ventured to say, that this reformation will, in due time, come
of itself. I think, it certainly _will_; as well in regard to the
general plan of their studies, as their particular principles and
opinions. Yet, in respect of the _former_ at least, it might perhaps
be something quickened by external application. I know the attempt is
delicate and difficult; but it might possibly succeed, if carried on
under cover of some still greater reformation; which seizes the mind
with much force, turns it to a new bias, and makes it propitious to
every thing that tends to the attainment of its principal object.

Such occasions do not present themselves every day. One such we have
seen; but we missed the season. Whatever was fundamentally wrong in the
constitution of the Universities, should have been set right in that
great æra, when the church was reformed. The undertaking had been of a
piece with the rest of that extraordinary work; and the opportunity was
inviting. But whether the minds of men were then ripe for this other
reformation, or whether there was indeed light enough in the nation
at that time fully and properly to effect it, may not unreasonably, I
know, be made a question with your Lordship.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

It is no question at all with me, whether any service of that kind was
to be expected from those great dealers in church-work. Perhaps another
and _later_ æra may be pointed out, when the same office might, and
should, have been undertaken by our political craftsmen.


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship means at the _Revolution_; and, as the generous
principles of liberty, on which the Revolution was founded,
had received but little countenance from the Universities, this
consideration, you will say, afforded the best pretence for attempting
their reformation. But wise men saw, that the credit which those
learned bodies had drawn to themselves, and indeed deservedly, by
their late conduct, notwithstanding their speculative systems and
conclusions, was at that time too high, to suffer a rigorous inspection
to be made into their statutes and constitutions: they saw, in that
convulsion of the state, it would be impossible to carry on a design
of this nature, without endangering the new settlement, or exposing it
at least to many odious and inconvenient imputations: and they saw,
besides, that the spirit of liberty, which had prevailed so far as to
reform the state itself, would insensibly extend its influence to all
subordinate societies.

In a word, the close and immediate connexion, which the Universities
have with the church, made it natural and highly reasonable to expect
that both should have shared the same fate at the _Reformation_: but
the necessity was not so urgent, or so visible at least, that the
Universities should be new-modelled, at the _Revolution_.

However, my Lord, what the wisdom of _either_ age omitted, or was
unable to do, time, and that desuetude which attends upon it, will
gradually bring about; not to say, has in some measure accomplished.
And, to take matters as they now are, the studies and discipline of the
Universities are not without their use, and should not be too violently
declaimed against and degraded.

The elements of literature are reasonably well taught in those places.
At least, the familiarity, which men have with the learned languages
(the proper foundation, as I dare say your Lordship holds, of all real
learning and politeness) is very much owing to the lectures of our
colleges. And, though I am sensible what exceptions are to be made in
other respects, yet, on the whole, religion, and good morals, receive
an advantage from their institutions, and the regularity of their
discipline.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Yes; their religion is intolerance; and their morals, servility. For,
as to any freedom of manly thought, or the dignity of virtue—


MR. LOCKE.

You are ready to look for them any where else than in our _English_
Universities.

Come on then, my Lord: have the goodness to point out to us those
happier seminaries, where these and all other virtues are more
successfully propagated.

But which way will your Lordship direct us to take, in this search?
Shall we turn to the North of this country for those advantages,
which we despair of finding in the South? Or, because the grossness
of our island air may infect all parts alike, shall we shape our
course to the Continent? And does your Lordship encourage us to look
for some _Athens_ amidst the Protestant states of _Germany_, in the
_Netherlands_, or the _Swiss_ Cantons?

These, I take it, are the only scenes which your Lordship can have in
view; for, as high as their reputation may be in this respect, you
would hardly advise the breeding of our _English_ youth in the colleges
of the Jesuits.

One word then, if you please, on these Protestant Universities on the
Continent.

Your Lordship and I have had some experience of the state of literature
and education in those places. Eminent and excellent men they surely
have amongst them. But so, your Lordship will confess, have the
Universities of _England_. If we do not readily find those who, at this
day, may be opposed to a LIMBORCH or a LE CLERC; yet it is not long
since we had to boast of a CHILLINGWORTH, a CUDWORTH, and a WHICHCOT;
all, men of manly thought, generous minds, and incomparable learning.

But the question is not, you know, of particular men, which such great
bodies rarely want; but, of the general frame and constitution of
learned societies, fit for the purposes of polite and liberal education.

Shall we say then, that the scattered tribes of students in a _Dutch_
or _Swiss_ town are likely to be better instructed, or better governed,
than the young scholars in our colleges; or, that the good order,
discipline, and sobriety of these places, is to be compared with the
anarchy and licence of those other?

Your Lordship, I know, takes a pleasure to conceive of certain foreign
academies, as of that ANCIENT one, where the students visited, without
constraint, the schools of philosophers, and even bore a part in their
free conferences and disputations: you even love to paint the noble
youth to yourself, as of old, spatiating, at their leisure, in shady
walks and porticos, and imbibing the principles of science as they drop
upon them in the dews of Attic eloquence and politeness.

All this, my Lord, is very well: yet, setting aside a certain colouring
of expression which takes and amuses the imagination, I see but
little to admire in this picture; certainly not enough to make one
regret the want of the original, and seriously to prefer this easy
manner of breeding, to that stricter form which prevails in our own
Universities: where the day begins and ends with religious offices:
where the diligence of the youth is quickened and relieved, in turn,
by stated hours of study and recreation: where temperance and sobriety
are even _convivial_ virtues; and the two extremes of a festive jollity
and unsocial gloom are happily tempered by the decencies of a _common
table_; where, in a word, the discipline of Spartan HALLS and the
civility of Athenian BANQUETS are, or may be, united.

Surely, my Lord, these wholesome regulations, with many others that
might be mentioned, could we but strip them of the opprobrious name of
collegiate and monastic, are of another use and value in education,
than the lax unrestrained indulgence of foreign seminaries.

But, were there even no difference in this respect, as there is surely
a great deal, are we to reckon for nothing the disparity of civil and
religious constitutions?

Your Lordship, I dare say, will not suspect me of a bigoted adherence
to any mere _mode_ of civil or ecclesiastical regimen. But is it all
one, whether a young boy, who is destined to be a subject to the crown,
and a member of the church of _England_, be inured to the equality of
republican governments, and of calvinistical churches? It may be well
for men of confirmed age and ability to look into both; but would you
train up your son in a way that is likely to indispose him, right or
wrong, to the institutions of his own country?

Besides, are there fewer prejudices, think ye, in the men of other
churches and governments, than our own? or, are their professors
and institutors of youth more free from popular errors and blind
attachments, though of a different sort, than the tutors and masters of
education in our country?

Nay, consider with yourself, my Lord; is there not as much tyranny
in the administration of some they call _free states_; and as much
restraint and persecution in the principles of some they call _free
churches_, as can fairly be charged on the monarchy or church of
_England_?

So that what you could expect to gain by preferring these foreign
schools of learning to your own, I cannot easily imagine. All that is
worth acquiring in either, you have, at least, an equal chance to meet
with at home: and what should be avoided, may, nay must, with more
probability, be encountered abroad.

But your Lordship, perhaps, would confine your young traveller to no
_one_ seat of learning; and have it only in view to convey him hastily,
under the wing of a tutor, through many a famous academy, without
settling him in any. This, I must confess, is the way to keep clear of
prejudices; but, whether any solid instruction, or just science either
of men or things, is to be gathered from so cursory an education, your
Lordship will do well to consider.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

You have done me the favour to imagine many projects and designs for
me, which I was too dull to entertain in my own thoughts. But, if the
education of a young man of rank and quality cannot be carried on
without the assistance of academical instructors, I would much sooner
trust him to the care of such as the more free and liberal genius
of certain foreign Universities has formed, than submit him to the
tutorage of those priestly guides, to whom our narrow and slavish
institutions have consigned the province of education, in our own
country.


MR. LOCKE.

Your Lordship now indeed speaks out very plainly. Your objection, then,
is to CLERGY-TUTORS; and you think it absurd and even pernicious to
commit our noble and liberal youth to the care of churchmen. You would
rather see them in lay-hands; in the hands of philosophers, properly
so called; who, indifferent to every thing but pure truth and reason,
are in no danger of imbibing wrong principles themselves, and are
therefore under no temptation of instilling any such into the minds of
their followers.

The thought is happy, my Lord; and, if a number of these philosophers
could any where be found, I might be induced to fall into the project
of employing such only in the province of education. But, the
condition, in which truth and reason are now left, and seem likely
to continue, in this world of ours, affords little room for such
flattering expectations. An unprejudiced instructor, I doubt, is a
rarity not to be met with, I do not say in our Universities, but even
out of them: and, prejudices for prejudices, some persons may be apt to
think those of a churchman as tolerable as of any other.

But, my Lord, having no particular bias on my own mind in favour of
that order, and having something perhaps to _resent_ from several
individuals of it, it will not misbecome me to hazard a word or two, in
its vindication.

You will permit me then to say, that I see no peculiar unfitness in
the clergy for the office, they are called to, in this country, of
superintending the business of education. The leisure they enjoy;
the various learning and general studies, which that leisure enables
them, and their profession obliges them, to pursue; and, lastly, the
strictness of life and manners, or, if you will, the very decorum,
which their character imposes upon them; these circumstances seem
generally to have marked them out, as the properest persons to form
the manners and cultivate the minds of youth, in all countries. In our
_own_, that propriety strikes one the more, since their prejudices, of
whatever kind, are but in common to them with other speculative and
studious men; and since even their interest, rightly understood, and
as seen by the best and wisest of themselves, (whatever may have been
warmly and passionately said by some persons) is in no degree separate
from that of the great community, to which they belong.

Yes, your Lordship will say, their hopes and views of preferment—

Yet, in this respect, they are but on a level with other men of most
other professions; nay, with all men out of them, that aspire to rise,
by their merits or the favour of their superiors, to any distinction
in the world. And though we commonly say, that the clergy should be
_only_ animated by purer motives, yet you cannot expect, nay would not
seriously wish, that they should be altogether insensible to such as
these.

It is true, in countries where the clergy have a dependance on some
foreign power, or where they have usurped an independent power to
themselves, or where, lastly, the civil constitution is so ill defined
that the privileges of the subject lie at the mercy of the prince; in
each of these cases, the ambition of the clergy may be, and in fact
has been, productive of many public mischiefs. But our Protestant
clergy, who are in no foreign subjection, claim no independency, and
fill their place in a system all whose parts are, now at least, exactly
regulated by known laws, cannot, by their private ambition, disturb the
general interest, and have no peculiar inducements to attempt it. And
though particulars may sometimes, by their follies and indiscretions,
dishonour themselves, yet the effect cannot be considerable, and
certainly affords no good reason for taking the province of education,
for which on so many accounts they are well qualified, out of their
hands.

Your Lordship’s candour and equity will then, upon the whole, permit an
obvious distinction to be made between the MEN and their PROFESSION.
Too many of the sacred order, I confess, and am sorry for it, seem now
to have their minds perverted by those principles, and heated by those
passions, which do little credit to their function, or themselves; and
are equally inconsistent with the genius of that religion they profess
to teach, as they are unfriendly to that legal constitution both of
church and state, which they have bound themselves to support. But
their _profession_ is little concerned in all this; and in a succession
or two of these men (if the present set be, many of them, incorrigible)
you may surely reckon upon all those prejudices and passions being
worked off, which now administer the occasion of so much dislike to it.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

Well, but _clergy-manners_; will they, too, be worked off, with their
other infirmities?


MR. LOCKE.

Perhaps, they may; if not, forgive them this one defect; at least,
if it be their only one. But you do not mean, that the manners of
the clergy, _as such_, are more offensive than those of other people.
They are suited to their profession and way of life, from which they
naturally result; and if the clergy have not that gloss upon them,
which sets off the manners of finer men, they rarely disgust you with
the affectation of it. But, after all, if persons of your Lordship’s
quality and breeding would condescend to countenance them a little,
they would, doubtless, brighten under your eye; and might come in time
to reflect somewhat of that high polish, which glistens so much in the
address and conversation of their betters.


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

What transmutations they may undergo hereafter, and by what means, I
am not curious to enquire. On this head, their candid apologist is at
liberty to be as much in jest, or in earnest, as he thinks fit. But
from what appears at present, I must take leave, in my turn, to think
less reverendly, than He would have me, of our sacred instructors;
and though I value some particular persons of the order, as much as
any man, yet, till I see a greater change in the principles, temper,
and manners of that body, than, I fear, is likely to come to pass
in our days, I can have no very favourable sentiments of those rude,
illiberal, and monkish seminaries, where such worthies preside.


MR. LOCKE.

Let us have patience, my Lord. I have not scrupled to confess to you,
that much is, at present, amiss in those seminaries, and wants to
be set right. But so, God knows, there is every where else. As our
factions and parties both in religion and government die away, the
Universities will become more reasonable; and as the general manners
refine, they too will, of course, take a better air and polish. In a
word, they may not lead the public taste or judgment; but, as I said,
they will be sure to follow it.

And the happy period is not, perhaps, far off. For, now I have taken
upon me to divine so much of the future condition of our Universities,
let me paint to you more particularly what I conceive of their growing
improvements; and, in a kind of prophetic strain, such as old age, they
say, pretends to, and may be indulged in, delineate to you a faint
prospect of those brighter days, which I see rising upon us.

“The TIME will come, my Lord, and I even assure myself it is at
no great distance, when the Universities of _England_ shall be as
respectable, for the learning they teach, the principles they instil,
and the morals they inculcate, as they are now contemptible, in your
Lordship’s eye at least, on these several accounts.

“I see the day, when a scholastic theology shall give place to a
rational divinity, conducted on the principles of sound criticism and
well interpreted scripture: when their sums and systems shall fly
before enlightened reason and sober speculation: when a fanciful,
precarious, and hypothetic philosophy, shall desert their schools; and
be replaced by real science, supporting itself on the sure grounds of
experiment and cautious observation: when their physics shall be fact;
their metaphysics, common sense; and their ethics, human nature.

“Do I flatter myself with fond imaginations, my Lord? Or is not the
time at hand, when St. PAUL shall lecture our divines, and not CALVIN;
our BACONS and BOYLES expel ARISTOTLE; Mr. NEWTON fill the chair of
DES CARTES; and even your friend (if your Lordship can forgive the
arrogance of placing himself by the side of such men) take the lead of
BURGERSDICIUS?

“Still, my Lord, my prophetic eye penetrates further. Amidst these
improvements in real science, the languages shall be learnt for use,
and not pedantry: Your Lordship’s admired ancients shall be respected,
and not idolized: the forms of classic composition be emulated: and a
set of men arise, even beneath the shade of our academic cloysters,
that shall polish the taste, as well as advance the knowledge, of their
country.

“Yet, I am but half way in the portraiture of my vision. The appointed
lecturers of our youth, whom your Lordship loves to qualify with the
name of _bearded boys_, shall adopt the manners of men; shall instruct
with knowledge, and persuade with reason; shall be the first to
explode slavish doctrines and narrow principles; shall draw respect
to themselves, rather from the authority of their characters, than
of their places; and, which is the first and last part of a good
education, set the noble and ingenuous youth intrusted to their care,
the brightest examples of diligence, sobriety, and virtue.

“Perhaps in those days, a freer commerce shall be opened with the
world: the students of our colleges be ambitious of appearing in good
company: and a general civility prevail, where your Lordship sees
nothing, at present, but barbarism and rudeness.

“Nay, who knows but, in this different state of things, the arts
themselves may gain admission into these seminaries; and even the
exercises be taught there, which our noble youth are now sent to
acquire on the Continent?

“Such, I persuade myself, if the presage of old experience may pass
for any thing, is the happier scene which a little time shall disclose
to your view, in our _English_ Universities. What its duration may be,
I cannot discover. Much will depend on the general manners, and the
public encouragement. In the mean time, if any cloud rest upon it, it
will not, I assure myself, arise immediately from within, but from the
little, or, which is worse, the ill-directed favour, which the Great
shall vouchsafe to shew to places, so qualified, and so deserving their
protection.

“Yet, after all I have seen, or perhaps dreamt, as your Lordship
may rather object to me, of the future flourishing estate of our
Universities, and of their extreme fitness in all respects to answer
the ends of their institution, I cannot be mistaken in one prediction,
“that the mode of early Travel will still continue; perhaps its fury
will increase; and our youth of quality be still sent abroad for their
education, when every reason shall cease which your Lordship has now
alleged in favour of that practice.”


LORD SHAFTESBURY.

This last prediction may, perhaps, be true; I mean, if those others
should ever be accomplished. But as I have no great faith in modern
prophecy, and see at present no symptoms of this coming age of gold,
which your fancy has now presented to us, you must excuse me if these
_prophetic strains_, as you termed them, have no great weight with me
before their completion. Should that ever happen, I shall respect your
foresight, at least; and rejoice extremely at an event, which, I shall
then freely own, will leave my countrymen no excuse for their folly.

This, Sir, was the substance of what passed between us on the subject
in question. Our other friends interposed, indeed, at times; but
rarely, and in few words; and I have rather chosen to mix their
occasional observations with our own, than perplex and lengthen this
recital by a more punctilious exactness. Besides, I could not think
it civil to introduce my friends upon the scene, only to shew them,
as it were, for mutes; their politeness to us, who were principals
in the debate, being such, as to restrain them from bearing any
considerable part in it. Yet this way of relation would, no doubt, have
given something more of life to the sketch I here send you; as their
presence, you may believe, certainly did to the original conversation.

It is enough to say, that nothing more material, than what I have now
related to you, passed on the occasion. For by this time the day was
pretty well spent, and it was necessary for us to withdraw to our
several engagements.

For myself, I leave you to guess the effect which our philosopher’s
grave remonstrance left upon me. One thing you will think remarkable;
that the part of arraigning the present state of things should fall
to my share; while he, at an age that is naturally querulous and
dissatisfied, was employed in defending it. Whether this be a proof
of his wisdom, or good spirits, I pretend not to say. But it gave me
a pleasure to hear the old man indulging himself in the prospect of
better days, of which, as young as we are, and as warmly as we wish for
them, you and I had always despaired.




  LETTERS

  ON

  CHIVALRY AND ROMANCE.




  LETTERS

  ON

  CHIVALRY AND ROMANCE:

  SERVING TO ILLUSTRATE SOME

  PASSAGES IN THE THIRD DIALOGUE.

            _Guarda, che mal fato
    O giovenil vaghezza non ti meni
    Al magazino de le ciancie, ab fuggi,
    Fuggi quell incantato alloggiamento.
    Quivi habitan le maghe, che incantande
    Fan traveder, e traudir ciascuno._
                                    TASSO.




  CONTENTS OF THE LETTERS.


  Letter I. _The Subject proposed._

  II. _Origin of Chivalry._

  III. _Characteristics of, accounted for._

  IV. _Heroic and_ Gothic _manners_, _compared_.

  V. _Their differences, noted._

  VI. Gothic _manners more poetical_, _than
  the Heroic_.

  VII. _Their effect on_ SPENSER, MILTON,
  SHAKESPEAR.

  VIII. _Fairy Queen criticized—the method
  of that poem explained and justified._

  IX. TASSO’S Gier. Lib. _considered_—_history
  of the_ Italian _poetry_.

  X. _Fairy way of writing—vindicated._

  XI. Gothic _poetry_, _whence fallen into
  disrepute_.

  XII. _Steps of its decline, traced._




LETTERS

ON

CHIVALRY AND ROMANCE.


LETTER I.

The ages, we call barbarous, present us with many a subject of curious
speculation. What, for instance, is more remarkable than the _Gothic_
CHIVALRY? or than the spirit of ROMANCE, which took its rise from that
singular institution?

Nothing in human nature, my dear friend, is without its reasons. The
modes and fashions of different times may appear, at first sight,
fantastic and unaccountable. But they, who look nearly into them,
discover some latent cause of their production.

    “Nature once known, no prodigies remain,”

as sings our philosophical bard; but to come at this knowledge, is the
difficulty. Sometimes a close attention to the workings of the human
mind is sufficient to lead us to it: sometimes more than that, the
diligent observation of what passes without us, is necessary.

This last I take to be the case here. The prodigies we are now
contemplating, had their origin in the barbarous ages. Why then, says
the fastidious modern, look any further for the reason? Why not resolve
them at once into the usual caprice and absurdity of barbarians?

This, you see, is a short and commodious philosophy. Yet barbarians
have their _own_, such as it is, if they are not enlightened by our
reason. Shall we then condemn them unheard, or will it not be fair to
let them have the telling of their own story?

Would we know from what causes the institution of _Chivalry_ was
derived? The time of its birth, the situation of the barbarians amongst
whom it arose, must be considered: their wants, designs, and policies,
must be explored: we must inquire when, and where, and how, it came to
pass that the Western world became familiarized to this _prodigy_,
which we now start at.

Another thing is full as remarkable, and concerns us more nearly. The
spirit of Chivalry was a fire which soon spent itself: but that of
_Romance_, which was kindled at it, burnt long, and continued its light
and heat even to the politer ages.

The greatest geniuses of our own and foreign countries, such as ARIOSTO
and TASSO in _Italy_, and SPENSER and MILTON in _England_, were seduced
by these barbarities of their forefathers; were even charmed by the
_Gothic_ Romances. Was this caprice and absurdity in them? Or, may
there not be something in the _Gothic_ Romance peculiarly suited to
the views of a genius, and to the ends of poetry? And may not the
philosophic moderns have gone too far in their perpetual ridicule and
contempt of it?

To form a judgment in the case, the rise, progress, and genius of
_Gothic_ Chivalry must be explained.

The circumstances in the _Gothic_ fictions and manners, which are
proper to the ends of poetry (if any such there be) must be pointed
out.

Reasons, for the decline and rejection of the _Gothic_ taste in later
times, must be given.

You have in these particulars both the Subject and the PLAN of the
following Letters.


LETTER II.

I look upon Chivalry, as on some mighty river, which the fablings of
the poets have made immortal. It may have sprung up amidst rude rocks,
and blind deserts. But the noise and rapidity of its course, the extent
of country it adorns, and the towns and palaces it ennobles, may lead a
traveller out of his way, and invite him to take a view of those dark
caverns,

                              unde supernè
    Plurimus Eridani per sylvam volvitur amnis.

I enter, without more words, on the subject I began to open to you in
my last letter.

The old inhabitants of these North-West parts of _Europe_ were
extremely given to the love and exercise of arms. The feats of
CHARLEMAGNE and our ARTHUR, in particular, were so famous as in later
times, when books of Chivalry were composed, to afford a principal
subject to the writers of them[44].

But CHIVALRY, properly so called, and under the idea of “a distinct
military order, conferred in the way of investiture, and accompanied
with the solemnity of an oath and other ceremonies, as described in the
old historians and romancers,” was of later date, and seems to have
sprung immediately out of the FEUDAL CONSTITUTION.

The first and most sensible effect of this constitution, which brought
about so mighty a change in the policies of _Europe_, was the erection
of a prodigious number of petty tyrannies. For, though the great barons
were closely tied to the service of their Prince by the conditions of
their tenure, yet the power which was given them by it over their own
numerous vassals was so great, that, in effect, they all set up for
themselves; affected an independency; and were, in truth, a sort of
absolute Sovereigns, at least with regard to one another. Hence, their
mutual aims and interests often interfering, the feudal state was, in a
good degree, a state of war: the feudal chiefs were in frequent enmity
with each other: the several combinations of feudal tenants were so
many separate armies under their head or chief: and their castles were
so many fortresses, as well as palaces, of these puny princes.

In this state of things one sees, that all imaginable encouragement was
to be given to the use of arms, under every different form of attack
and defence, according as the safety of these different communities, or
the ambition of their leaders, might require. And this condition of the
times, I suppose, gave rise to that military institution, which we know
by the name of CHIVALRY.

Further, there being little or no security to be had amidst so many
restless spirits and the clashing views of a neighbouring numerous and
independent nobility, the military discipline of their followers, even
in the intervals of peace, was not to be relaxed, and their ardour
suffered to grow cool, by a total disuse of martial exercises. And
hence the proper origin of JUSTS and TURNAMENTS; those images of war,
which were kept up in the castles of the barons, and, by an useful
policy, converted into the amusement of the knights, when their arms
were employed on no serious occasion.

I call this the _proper origin_ of Justs and Turnaments; for the date
of them is carried no higher, as far as I can find, even in _France_
(where unquestionably they made their first appearance) than the
year 1066; which was not till after the introduction of the feudal
government into that country. Soon after, indeed, we find them in
_England_ and in _Germany_; but not till the feudal policy had spread
itself in those parts, and had prepared the way for them.

You see, then, my notion is, that Chivalry was no absurd and freakish
institution, but the natural and even sober effect of the feudal
policy; whose turbulent genius breathed nothing but war, and was fierce
and military even in its amusements.

I leave you to revolve this idea in your own mind. You will find, I
believe, a reasonable foundation for it in the history of the feudal
times, and in the spirit of the feudal government.


LETTER III.

If the conjecture, I advanced, of the rise of Chivalry, from the
circumstances of the feudal government, be thought reasonable, it will
not be difficult to account for the several CHARACTERISTICS of this
singular profession.

I. “The passion for arms; the spirit of enterprize; the honour of
knighthood; the rewards of valour; the splendour of equipages;” in
short, every thing that raises our ideas of the prowess, gallantry, and
magnificence of these sons of MARS, is naturally and easily explained
on this supposition.

Ambition, interest, glory, all concurred, under such circumstances, to
produce these effects. The feudal principles could terminate in nothing
else. And when, by the necessary operation of that policy, this turn
was given to the thoughts and passions of men, use and fashion would do
the rest; and carry them to all the excesses of military fanaticism,
which are painted so strongly, but scarcely exaggerated, in the old
Romances.

II. “Their romantic ideas of justice; their passion for adventures;
their eagerness to run to the succour of the distressed; and the pride
they took in redressing wrongs, and removing grievances;” all these
distinguishing characters of genuine Chivalry are explained on the
same principle. For, the feudal state being a state of war, or rather
of almost perpetual violence, rapine, and plunder, it was unavoidable
that, in their constant skirmishes, stratagems, and surprizes, numbers
of the tenants or followers of one Baron should be seized upon and
carried away by the followers of another: and the interest, each had
to protect his own, would of course introduce the point of honour, in
attempting by all means to retaliate on the enemy, and especially to
rescue the captive sufferers out of the hands of their oppressors.

It would be meritorious, in the highest degree, to fly to their
assistance, when they knew where they were to be come at; or to seek
them out with diligence, when they did not. This last _feudal_ service
soon introduced, what may be truly called _romantic_, the _going in
quest of adventures_; which at first, no doubt, was confined to those
of their own party, but afterwards, by the habit of acting on this
principle, would be extended much further. So that in process of time,
we find the Knights errant, as they were now properly styled, wandering
the world over in search of occasions on which to exercise their
generous and disinterested valour, indifferently to friends and enemies
in distress;

    Ecco quei, che le charte empion di sogni,
    LANCILOTTO, TRISTANO, e gli altri erranti.

III. “The courtesy, affability, and gallantry, for which these
adventurers were so famous, are but the natural effects and
consequences of their situation.”

For the castles of the Barons were, as I said, the courts of these
little sovereigns, as well as their fortresses; and the resort of
their vassals thither in honour of their chiefs, and for their own
proper security, would make that civility and politeness, which is seen
in courts and insensibly prevails there, a predominant part in the
character of these assemblies.

This is the poet’s own account of

          ——court and royal citadel,
    The great school-maistresse of all Courtesy.
                            B. III. C. vi. s. 1.

And again, more largely in B. VI. C. i. s. 1.

    Of Court it seems men Courtesie do call,
      For that it there most useth to abound;
    And well beseemeth that in Princes hall
      That Virtue should be plentifully found,
      Which of all goodly manners is the ground
    And root of civil conversation:
      Right so in _faery court_ it did resound,
    Where courteous knights and ladies most did won
    Of all on earth, and made a matchless paragon.

For _Faery Court_ means the _reign of Chivalry_; which, it seems, had
undergone a fatal revolution before the age of MILTON, who tells us
that _Courtesy_

        ——is sooner found in lonely sheds
    With smoaky rafters, than in tap’stry halls
    And courts of princes, where it first was nam’d,
    And yet is most pretended.
                                               MASK.

Further, the free commerce of the ladies, in those knots and circles of
the great, would operate so far on the sturdiest knights, as to give
birth to the attentions of gallantry. But this gallantry would take a
refined turn, not only from the necessity there was of maintaining the
strict form of decorum, amidst a promiscuous conversation under the
eye of the Prince and in his own family; but also from the inflamed
sense they must needs have of the frequent outrages committed, by their
neighbouring clans of adversaries, on the honour of the sex, when by
chance of war they had fallen into their hands. Violations of chastity
being the most atrocious crimes they had to charge on their enemies,
they would pride themselves in the merit of being its protectors: and
as this virtue was, of all others, the fairest and strongest claim of
the sex itself to such protection, it is no wonder that the notions of
it were, in time, carried to so platonic an elevation.

Thus, again, the great master of Chivalry himself, on this subject,

    It hath been thro’ all ages ever seen,
      That, with the praise of arms and chivalry,
    The prize of beauty still hath joined been;
      And that for reason’s special privity:
    For either doth on other much rely;
      For HE mee seems most fit the fair to serve,
    That can her best defend from villainy;
      And SHE most fit his service doth deserve,
    That fairest is, and from her faith will never swerve.
                                     SPENSER, B. IV. C. v.

Not but the foundation of this refined gallantry was laid in the
ancient manners of the _German_ nations. CÆSAR tells us how far they
carried their practice of chastity, which he seems willing to account
for on political principles. However that be, their consideration of
the sex was prodigious, as we see in the history of their irruptions
into the Empire; where among all their ravages and devastations of
other sorts, we find they generally abstained from offering any
violence to the honour of the women.

IV. It only remains to account for that “character of Religion,” which
was so deeply imprinted on the minds of all knights, and was essential
to their institution. We are even told, that _the love of God and of
the ladies_ went hand in hand, in the duties and ritual of Chivalry.

Two reasons may be assigned for this singularity:

First, the superstition of the times, in which Chivalry arose; which
was so great, that no institution of a public nature could have found
credit in the world, that was not consecrated by the churchmen, and
closely interwoven with religion.

Secondly, the condition of the Christian states; which had been
harassed by long wars, and had but just recovered a breathing-time from
the brutal ravages of the _Saracen_ armies. The remembrance of what
they had lately suffered from these grand enemies of the faith, made it
natural, and even necessary, to engage a new military order on the side
of religion.

And how warmly this principle, _a zeal for the faith_, was acted upon
by the professors of Chivalry, and how deeply it entered into their
ideas of the military character, we see from the term so constantly
used by the old Romancers, of RECREANT [_i. e._ Apostate] Knight; by
which they meant to express, with the utmost force, their disdain of
a dastard or vanquished knight. For, many of this order falling into
the hands of the _Saracens_, such of them as had not imbibed the full
spirit of their profession, were induced to renounce their faith, in
order to regain their liberty. These men, as sinning against the great
fundamental laws of Chivalry, they branded with this name; a name of
complicated reproach, which implied a want of the two most essential
qualities of a Knight, COURAGE and FAITH.

Hence too, the reason appears why the _Spaniards_, of all the
Europeans, were furthest gone in every characteristic madness of true
chivalry. To all the other considerations, here mentioned, their
fanaticism in every way was especially instigated and kept alive by the
memory and neighbourhood of their old infidel invaders.

And thus we seem to have a fair account of that PROWESS, GENEROSITY,
GALLANTRY, and RELIGION, which were the peculiar and vaunted
characteristics of the purer ages of Chivalry.

Such was the state of things in the Western world, when the Crusades
to the Holy Land were set on foot. Whence we see how well prepared the
minds of men were for engaging in that enterprize. Every object, that
had entered into the views of the institutors of Chivalry, and had been
followed by its professors, was now at hand, to inflame the military
and religious ardor of the knights, to the utmost. And here, in fact,
we find the strongest and boldest features of their genuine character:
_daring_ to madness, in enterprises of hazard: burning with zeal for
the delivery of the _oppressed_; and, which was deemed the height of
_religious_ merit, for the rescue of the holy city out of the hands of
infidels; and, lastly, exalting their honour of _chastity_ so high as
to profess celibacy; as they constantly did, in the several orders of
knighthood created on that extravagant occasion.


LETTER IV.

What think you, my good friend, of this learned deduction? Do not you
begin to favour my conjecture, as whimsical as it might seem, of the
_rise and genius_ of Knight-errantry.

And yet (so slippery is the ground, on which we system-makers stand)
from what I observed of the spirit, with which the Crusades were
carried on, a hint may be taken, which threatens to overturn my whole
system.

It is, “That, whereas I derive the Crusades from the spirit of
Chivalry, the circumstances attending the progress of the Crusades, and
even as pointed out by myself, seem to favour the opposite opinion of
Chivalry’s taking its rise from that enterprize.”

For thus the argument is drawn out by a learned person[45], to whom I
communicated the substance of my last Letter.

“On the crumbling of the Western empire into small states, with regular
subordinations of vassals and their chiefs, who looked up to a common
sovereign, it was soon found that those chiefs had it in their power
to make themselves very formidable to their masters; and, just in that
crisis of European manners and empire, the _Saracens_ having expelled
Christianity from the East, the Western Princes seized the opportunity,
and with great craft turned the warlike genius of their feudataries,
which would otherwise have preyed upon themselves, into the spirit of
Crusades against the common enemy.

But when, now, the ardour of the Crusades was abated in some sort,
though not extinguished, the _Gothic_ princes and their families
had settled into established monarchies. Then it was, that the
restless spirit of their vassals, having little employment abroad,
and being restrained in a good degree from exerting itself with
success in domestic quarrels, broke out in all the extravagances of
KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.

Military fame, acquired in the Holy land, had entitled the adventurers
to the _insignia_ of arms, the source of Heraldry; and inspired
them with the love of war and the passion of enterprize. Their late
expeditions had given them a turn for roving in quest of adventures;
and their religious zeal had infused high notions of piety, justice,
and chastity.

The scene of action being now more confined, they turned themselves,
from _the world’s debate_, to private and personal animosities.
Chivalry was employed in rescuing humble and faithful vassals, from the
oppression of petty lords; their women, from savage lust; and the hoary
heads of hermits (a species of Eastern monks, much reverenced in the
Holy land), from rapine and outrage.

In the mean time the courts of the feudal sovereigns grew magnificent
and polite; and, as the military constitution still subsisted, military
merit was to be upheld; but, wanting its old objects, it naturally
softened into the fictitious images and courtly exercises of war,
in _justs and tournaments_: where the honour of the ladies supplied
the place of zeal for the holy Sepulchre; and thus the courtesy of
elegant love, but of a wild and fanatic species, as being engrafted on
spiritual enthusiasm, came to mix itself with the other characters of
the Knights-errant.”

In this way, you see, all the characteristics of Chivalry, which I had
derived from the essential properties of the feudal government, are
made to result from the spirit of Crusades, which with me was only an
accidental effect of it: and this deduction may be thought to agree
best with the representation of the old Romancers.

This hypothesis, so plausible in itself, is very ingeniously supported.
Yet I have something to object to it; or rather, which flatters me
more, I think I can turn it to the advantage of my own system.

For what if I allow (as indeed I needs must) that _Chivalry_, such as
we have it represented in books of Romance, so much posterior to the
date of that military institution, took its colour and character from
the impressions made on the minds of men by the spirit of crusading
into the Holy land? Still it may be true, that Chivalry itself had,
properly, another and an earlier origin. And I must think it certainly
_had_, if for no other, yet, for this reason: that, unless the seeds
of that spirit, which appeared in the Crusades, had been plentifully
sown and indeed grown up into some maturity in the feudal times
preceding that event, I see not how it could have been possible for
the Western princes to give that politic diversion to their turbulent
vassals, which the new hypothesis supposes.

In short, there are TWO DISTINCT PERIODS to be carefully observed, in a
deduction of the rise and progress of Chivalry.

The FIRST is that in which the empire was overturned, and the feudal
governments were every where introduced on its ruins, by the Northern
nations. In this æra, that new policy settled itself in the West, and
operated so powerfully as to lay the first foundations, and to furnish
the remote causes, of what we know by the name of Chivalry.

The OTHER period is, when these causes had taken a fuller effect, and
shewed themselves in that signal enterprize of the Crusades; which not
only concurred with the spirit of Chivalry, already pullulating in the
minds of men, but brought a prodigious encrease, and gave a singular
force and vigour, to all its operations. In this æra, Chivalry took
deep root, and at the same time shot up to its full height and size. So
that now it was in the state of VIRGIL’S Tree—

        —Quæ quantum vertice ad auras
    Æthereas, tantum radice in Tartara tendit.
    Ergo non hiemes illam, non flabra, neque imbres
    Convellunt: immota manet, multosque per annos
    Multa virûm volvens durando sæcula vincit.

From this last period, the Romancers, whether in prose or verse, derive
all their ideas of Chivalry. It was _natural_ for them to do so; for
they were best acquainted with that period: and, besides, it suited
their _design_ best; for the manners, they were to paint, were then
full formed, and so distinctly marked as fitted them for the use of
description.

But that the former period, notwithstanding, really gave birth to this
institution may be gathered, not only from the reason of the thing, but
from the surer information of authentic history. For there are traces
of Chivalry, in its most peculiar and characteristic forms, to be found
in the age preceding the Crusades; and even justs and tournaments, the
_image_ of serious Knight-errantry, were certainly of earlier date than
that event, as I had before occasion to observe to you.

Though I think, then, my notion _of the rise of Chivalry_ stands
unimpaired, or rather is somewhat illustrated and confirmed, by what
the excellent person has opposed to it, yet I could not hold it fair to
conceal so specious and well supported an objection from you. You are
too generous to take advantage of the arms I put into your hands; and
are, besides, so far from any thoughts of combating my system itself,
that your concern, it seems, is only to know, where I learned the
several particulars, on which I have formed it.

You are willing, you say, to advance on sure grounds; and therefore
call upon me to point out to you the authorities, from which I pretend
to have collected the several marks and characteristics of true
Chivalry.

Your request is reasonable; and I acknowledge the omission, in not
acquainting you that my information was taken from its proper source,
the _old Romances_. Not that I shall make a merit with you in having
perused these barbarous volumes myself; much less would I impose the
ungrateful task upon you. Thanks to the curiosity of certain painful
collectors, this knowledge may be obtained at a cheaper rate. And I
think it sufficient to refer you to a learned and very elaborate memoir
of a _French_ writer, who has put together all that is requisite to
be known on this subject. Materials are first laid in, before the
architect goes to work; and if the structure, I am here raising out
of them, be to your mind, you will not think the worse of it because
I pretend not, myself, to have worked in the quarry. In a word, and
to drop this magnificent allusion, if I account to you for the rise
and genius of Chivalry, it is all you are to expect; for an idea of
what Chivalry was in itself, you may have recourse to tom. xx. of the
_Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres_.

And with this explanation I return, at length, to my proper business.

Supposing my idea of Chivalry to be fairly given, the conjecture I
advance on the _origin and nature_ of it, you incline to think, may
deserve to be admitted. But you will, perhaps, admit it the more
readily, if you reflect, “That there is a remarkable correspondency
between the manners of the old heroic times, as painted by their great
romancer, HOMER, and those which are represented to us in books of
modern knight-errantry.” A fact, of which no good account, I believe,
can be given but by the assistance of another, not less certain, “That
the political state of _Greece_, in the earlier periods of its story,
was similar in many respects to that of _Europe_, as broken by the
feudal system into an infinite number of petty independent governments.”

It is not my design to encroach on the province of the learned
person[46], to whom I owe this hint, and who hath undertaken, at his
leisure, to enlarge upon it. But some few circumstances of agreement
between the _Heroic_ and _Gothic_ manners, such as are most obvious and
occur to my memory, while I am writing, may be worth putting down, by
way of specimen only of what may be expected from a professed inquiry
into this curious subject.

And, FIRST, “the military enthusiasm of the Barons is but of a piece
with the fanaticism of the Heroes.” Hence the same particularity of
description, in the account of battles, wounds, deaths, in the _Greek_
poet, as in the _Gothic_ romancers: hence that perpetual succession
of combats and deeds of arms, even to satiety, in the _Iliad_: and
hence that minute curiosity, in the display of the dresses, arms,
accoutrements of the combatants, which we find so strange, in that
poem. The minds of all men being occupied and in a manner possessed
with warlike images and ideas, were much gratified by the poet’s
dwelling on the very slightest circumstances of these things, which
now, for want of their prejudices, appear cold and unaffecting to
modern readers.

But the correspondency holds in more particular considerations. For,

2. “We hear much of Knights-errant encountering _Giants_, and quelling
_Savages_, in books of Chivalry.”

These Giants were oppressive feudal Lords; and every Lord was to be met
with, like the Giant, in his strong hold, or castle. Their dependants
of a lower form, who imitated the violence of their superiors, and
had not their castles, but their lurking-places, were the Savages of
Romance. The greater Lord was called a Giant, for his power; the less
a Savage, for his brutality.

All this is shadowed out in the _Gothic_ tales, and sometimes expressed
in plain words. The objects of the Knight’s vengeance go indeed by the
various names of Giants, Paynims, Saracens, and Savages. But of what
family they all are, is clearly seen from the poet’s description:

    What Mister wight, quoth he, and how far hence
      Is he, that doth to travellers such harms?
    He is, said he, a man of great defence,
      Expert in battle, and in deeds of arms;
      And more embolden’d by the wicked charms
    With which his daughter doth him still support;
      Having _great Lordships got and goodly farms
    Thro’ strong oppression of his power extort_;
    By which he still them holds and keeps with strong effort.

    And daily he his wrong encreaseth more:
      For never wight he lets to pass that way
    Over his bridge, albee he rich or poor,
      But he him makes his passage penny pay.
      Else he doth hold him back or beat away.

    Thereto he hath a _Groom of evil guise_,
      Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth bewray,
    Which polls and pills the poor in piteous wise,
    But he himself upon the rich doth tyrannize.
                               SPENSER, B. V. C. ii.

Here we have the great oppressive Baron very graphically set forth:
and the _Groom of evil guise_ is as plainly the Baron’s vassal. The
Romancers, we see, took no great liberty with these respectable
personages, when they called the one a Giant, and the other a Savage.

“Another terror of the _Gothic_ ages was, _Monsters_, _Dragons_, and
_Serpents_.” These stories were received in those days for several
reasons: 1. From the vulgar belief of enchantments: 2. From their being
reported, on the faith of Eastern tradition, by the adventurers into
the Holy Land: 3. In still later times, from the strange things told
and believed, on the discovery of the new world.

This last consideration we find employed by SPENSER to give an air of
probability to his _Fairy Tales_, in the preface to his second book.

Now in all these respects _Greek_ antiquity very much resembles the
_Gothic_. For what are HOMER’S _Læstrigons_ and _Cyclops_, but bands
of lawless savages, with, each of them, a Giant of enormous size at
their head? And what are the _Grecian_ BACCHUS and HERCULES, but
Knights-errant, the exact counter-parts of Sir LAUNCELOT and AMADIS DE
GAULE?

For this interpretation we have the authority of our great poet:

    Such first was BACCHUS, that with furious might
      All th’ East, before untam’d, did overcome,
    And wrong repressed and establish’d right,
      Which lawless men had formerly fordonne.
    Next HERCULES his like ensample shew’d,
      Who all the West with equal conquest wonne,
    And monstrous tyrants with his club subdu’d,
    The club of justice drad, with kingly pow’r endu’d.
                                            B. V. C. i.

Even PLUTARCH’S life of THESEUS reads, throughout, like a modern
Romance: and Sir ARTHEGAL himself is hardly his fellow, for righting
wrongs and redressing grievances. So that EURIPIDES might well make
him say of himself, _that he had chosen the profession and calling
of a Knight-errant_: for this is the sense, and almost the literal
construction, of the following verses:

    Ἔθος τόδ’ εἰς Ἕλληνας ἐξελεξάμην
    Ἀεὶ ΚΟΛΑΣΤΗΣ ΤΩΝ ΚΑΚΩΝ καθεστάναι.
                Ἱκέτιδες, ver. 340.

Accordingly, THESEUS is a favourite Hero (witness the _Knight’s Tale_
in CHAUCER) even with the Romance-writers.

Nay, could the very castle of a _Gothic_ giant be better described than
in the words of HOMER,

    High walls and battlements the courts inclose,
    And the strong gates defy a host of foes.
                       Od. B. XVII. ver. 318.

And do not you remember that the _Grecian_ Worthies were, in their day,
as famous for encountering Dragons and quelling Monsters of all sorts,
as for suppressing Giants?

      ——per hos cecidere justâ
    Morte Centauri, cecidit tremendæ
               Flamma Chimæræ.

3. “The oppressions, which it was the glory of the Knight to avenge,
were frequently carried on, as we are told, _by the charms and
enchantments of women_.”

THESE _charms_, we may suppose, are often metaphorical; as expressing
only the blandishments of the sex, by which they either seconded
the designs of their Lords, or were enabled to carry on designs for
themselves. Sometimes they are taken to be real; the ignorance of those
ages acquiescing in such conceits.

And are not these stories matched by those of _Calypso_ and _Circe_,
the enchantresses of the _Greek_ poet?

Still there are conformities more directly to our purpose.

4. “Robbery and piracy were honourable in both; so far were they from
reflecting any discredit on the ancient or modern _redressers of
wrongs_.”

What account can be given of this odd circumstance, but that, in the
feudal times and in the early days of _Greece_, when government was
weak, and unable to redress the frequent injuries of petty sovereigns,
it would be glorious for private adventurers to undertake this work;
and, if they could accomplish it in no other way, to pay them in kind
by downright plunder and rapine?

This, in effect, is the account given us, of the same disposition of
the old _Germans_, by CÆSAR: “Latrocinia,” says he, “nullam habent
infamiam, quæ extra fines cujusque civitatis fiunt.” And the reason
appears from what he had just told us—“in pace, nullus est communis
magistratus; sed principes regionum atque pagorum inter suos jus
dicunt, controversiasque minuunt.” _De Bello Gall._ l. vi. § 21.

5. Their manners, in another respect, were the same. “Bastardy was
in credit with both.” They were extremely watchful over the chastity
of their own women; but such as they could seize upon in the enemy’s
quarter were lawful prize. Or, if at any time they transgressed in this
sort at home, the heroic ages were complaisant enough to cover the
fault by an ingenious fiction. The offspring was reputed divine.

Nay, so far did they carry their indulgence to this commerce, that
their greatest Heroes were the fruit of Goddesses approached by
mortals; just as we hear of the doughtiest Knights being born of
Fairies.

6. Is it not strange, that, together with the greatest fierceness and
savageness of character, “the utmost generosity, hospitality, and
courtesy, should be imputed to the heroic ages?” ACHILLES was at once
the most relentless, vindictive, implacable, and the friendliest of men.

We have the very same representation in the _Gothic_ Romances, where it
is almost true what BUTLER says humorously of these benign heroes, that

    They did in fight but cut work out
    T’ employ their courtesies about.

How are these contradictions, in the characters of the ancient and
modern men of arms, to be reconciled, but by observing that, as in
those lawless times dangers and distresses of all sorts abounded, there
would be the same demand for compassion, gentleness, and generous
attachments to the unfortunate, those especially of their own clan, as
of resentment, rage, and animosity against their enemies?

7. Again: consider the martial _Games_, which ancient _Greece_
delighted to celebrate on great and solemn occasions: and see if they
had not the same origin, and the same purpose, as the _Tournaments_ of
the _Gothic_ warriors.

8. Lastly, “the passion for adventures, so natural in their situation,
would be as naturally attended with the love of praise and glory.”

Hence the same encouragement, in the old _Greek_ and _Gothic_ times, to
panegyrists and poets; the BARDS being as welcome to the tables of the
feudal Lords, as the ΑΟΙΔΟΙ of old, to those of the _Grecian_ Heroes.

And, as the same causes ever produce the same effects, we find that,
even so late as ELIZABETH’S reign, the savage _Irish_ (who were much
in the state of the ancient _Greeks_, living under the anarchy, rather
than government, of their numberless puny chiefs) had their Rhymers in
principal estimation. It was for the reason just given, for the honour
of their panegyrics on their fierce adventures and successes. And thus
it was in _Greece_:

    For chief to Poets such respect belongs,
    By rival nations courted for their Songs;
    These, states invite, and mighty kings admire,
    Wide as the Sun displays his vital fire.
                                      Od. B. XVII.


LETTER V.

The purpose of the casual hints, suggested in my last letter, was
only to shew that the resemblance between the Heroic and _Gothic_
ages is great: so great that the observation of it did not escape
the old Romancers themselves, _with whom_, as an ingenious critic
observes, _the siege of THEBES and TROJAN WAR were favourite stories;
the characters and incidents of which they were mixing perpetually
with their Romances_[47]. And to this persuasion and practice of the
Romance-writers CERVANTES plainly alludes, when he makes Don QUIXOTE
say——_If the stories of Chivalry be lies, so must it also be, that
there ever was a HECTOR, or an ACHILLES, or a TROJAN WAR_[48]—a
sly stroke of satire, by which this mortal foe of Chivalry would, I
suppose, insinuate that the _Grecian_ Romances were just as extravagant
and as little credible, as the _Gothic_. Or, whatever his purpose might
be, the resemblance between them, you see, is confessed, and hath now
been shewn in so many instances that there will hardly be any doubt of
it. And though you say true, that ignorance and barbarity itself might
account for some circumstances of this resemblance; yet the parallel
would hardly have held so long, and run so closely, if the _civil_
condition of both had not been much the same.

So that when we see a sort of Chivalry, springing up among the
_Greeks_, who were confessedly in a state resembling that of the feudal
barons, and attended by the like symptoms and effects, is it not fair
to conclude that the Chivalry of the _Gothic_ times was owing to that
common corresponding _state_, and received its character from it?

And this circumstance, by the way, accounts for the constant mixture,
which the modern critic esteems so monstrous, of Pagan fable with the
fairy tales of Romance. The passion for ancient learning, just then
revived, might seduce the classic poets, such as SPENSER and TASSO
for instance, into this practice; but the similar turn and genius of
ancient manners, and of the fictions founded upon them, would make it
appear easy and natural in all.

I am aware, as you object to me, that, in the affair of _religion_ and
_gallantry_, the resemblance between the Hero and Knight is not so
striking.

But the religious character of the Knight was an accident of the times,
and no proper effect of his _civil_ condition.

And that his devotion for the sex should so far surpass that of the
Hero, is a fresh confirmation of my system.

For, though much, no doubt, might be owing to the different humour and
genius of the East and West, antecedent to any customs and forms of
government, and independent of them; yet the consideration had of the
females in the feudal constitution will, of itself, account for this
difference. It made them capable of succeeding to fiefs as well as the
men. And does not one see, on the instant, what respect and dependence
this privilege would draw upon them?

It was of mighty consequence who should obtain the grace of a rich
heiress. And though, in the strict feudal times, she was supposed to be
in the power and disposal of her superior Lord, yet this rigid state
of things did not last long; and, while it did last, could not abate
much of the homage that would be paid to the fair feudatary.

Thus, when interest had begun the habit, the language of love and
flattery would soon do the rest. And to what that language tended,
you may see by the constant strain of the Romances themselves. Some
distressed damsel was the spring and mover of every Knight’s adventure.
She was to be rescued by his arms, or won by the fame and admiration of
his prowess.

The plain meaning of all which was this: that, as in those turbulent
feudal times a protector was necessary to the weakness of the sex,
so the courteous and valorous knight was to approve himself fully
qualified for that office. And we find, he had other motives to set him
on work than the mere charms and graces, though ever so bewitching, of
the person addressed.

Hence then, as I suppose, the custom was introduced: and, when
introduced, you will hardly wonder it should operate much longer and
further than the reason may seem to require, on which it was founded.

If you still insist that I carry this matter too far, and that, in
fact, the introduction of the female succession into fiefs was too
late to justify me in accounting for the rise of feudal gallantry from
that circumstance; you will only teach me to frame my answer in a more
accurate manner.

First then, I shall confess that the way to avoid all confusion on this
subject would be, to distinguish carefully between the state of things
in the _early_ feudal times, and that in the _later_, when the genius
of the feudal law was much changed and corrupted; and that, whoever
would go to the bottom of this affair, should keep a constant eye on
this reasonable distinction.

But then, _secondly_, I may observe that this distinction is the less
necessary to be attended to in the present case, because the law of
female succession, whenever it was introduced, had certainly taken
place long before the Romancers wrote, from whom we derive all our
ideas of the feudal gallantry. So that, if you take their word for the
gallantry of those times, you may very consistently, if you please,
accept my account of it. For it is but supposing that the feudal
gallantry, such as they paint it, was the offspring of that privilege,
such as they saw the ladies then possess, of feudal succession. And the
connexion between these two things is so close and so natural, that we
cannot be much mistaken in deducing the one from the other.

In conclusion of this topic, I must just observe to you, that the two
poems of HOMER express in the liveliest manner, and were intended to
expose, the capital mischiefs and inconveniencies arising from the
_political state_ of old _Greece_; the _Iliad_, the dissensions that
naturally spring up amongst a number of independent chiefs; and the
_Odyssey_, the insolence of their greater subjects, more especially
when unrestrained by the presence of their sovereign.

These were the subjects of his pen. And can any thing more exactly
resemble the condition of the _feudal times_, when, on occasion
of any great enterprise, as that of the Crusades, the designs of
the confederate Christian states were perpetually frustrated, or
interrupted at least, by the dissensions of their leaders; and their
affairs at home as perpetually distressed and disordered by domestic
licence, and the rebellious usurpations of their greater vassals?

It is true, as to the charge of _domestic licence_, so exactly does
the parallel run between old _Greece_ and old _England_, I find one
exception to it, in each country: and that _one_, a Romance-critic
would shew himself very uncourteous, if he did not take a pleasure
to celebrate. GUY, the renowned earl of _Warwick_, old stories say,
returned from the holy wars to his lady in the disguise of a pilgrim
or beggar, as ULYSSES did to PENELOPE. What the suspicions were of the
Knight and the Hero, the contrivance itself but too plainly declares.
But their fears were groundless in both cases. Only the Knight seems to
have had the advantage of the Prince of ITHACA: for, instead of rioting
suitors to drive out of his castle, he had only to contemplate his good
lady in the peaceful and pious office of _distributing daily alms to
XIII poor men_.

No conclusion, however, is to be drawn from a single instance; and, in
general, it is said, the adventurers into the Holy Land could no more
depend on the fidelity of their spouses, than of their vassals. So
that, in all respects, _Jerusalem_ was to the _European_, what _Troy_
had been to the _Grecian_ heroes. And, though the _Odyssey_ found no
rival among the _Gothic_ poems, you will think it natural enough from
these corresponding circumstances, that TASSO’S immortal work should be
planned upon the model of the _Iliad_.


LETTER VI.

Let it be no surprise to you that, in the close of my last Letter, I
presumed to bring the _Gierusalemme liberata_ into competition with the
_Iliad_.

So far as the heroic and _Gothic_ manners are the same, the pictures of
each, if well taken, must be equally entertaining. But I go further,
and maintain that the circumstances, in which they differ, are clearly
to the advantage of the _Gothic_ designers.

You see, my purpose is to lead you from this forgotten Chivalry to a
more amusing subject; I mean, the _Poetry_ we still read, though it was
founded upon it.

Much has been said, and with great truth, of the felicity of HOMER’S
age, for poetical manners. But, as HOMER was a citizen of the world,
when he had seen in _Greece_, on the one hand, the manners he has
described, could he, on the other hand, have seen in the West the
manners of the feudal ages, I make no doubt but he would certainly
have preferred the latter. And the grounds of this preference would, I
suppose, have been, “_the improved gallantry of the Gothic knights_;
and the _superior solemnity of their superstitions_.”

If any great poet, like HOMER, had flourished in these times, and
given the feudal manners from the _life_ (for, after all, SPENSER and
TASSO came too late, and it was impossible for them to paint truly and
perfectly what was no longer seen or believed); this preference, I
persuade myself, had been very sensible. But their fortune was not so
happy:

        ——omnes illacrymabiles
    Urgentur, ignotique longâ
      Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.

As it is, we may take a guess of what the subject was capable of
affording to real genius, from the rude sketches we have of it in the
old Romancers. And it is but looking into any of them to be convinced,
that the GALLANTRY, which inspired the feudal times, was of a nature to
furnish the poet with finer scenes and subjects of description in every
view, than the simple and uncontrolled barbarity of the _Grecian_.

The principal entertainment arising from the delineation of these
consists in the exercise of the boisterous passions, which are
provoked and kept alive, from one end of the _Iliad_ to the other,
by every imaginable scene of rage, revenge, and slaughter. In the
other, together with these, the gentler and more humane affections are
awakened in us by the most interesting displays of love and friendship;
of love, elevated to its noblest heights; and of friendship, operating
on the purest motives. The mere variety of these paintings is a relief
to the reader, as well as writer. But their beauty, novelty, and
pathos, give them a vast advantage, on the comparison.

So that, on the whole, though the spirit, passions, rapine, and
violence, of the two sets of manners were equal, yet there was an
elegance, a variety, a dignity in the feudal, which the other wanted.

As to RELIGIOUS MACHINERY, perhaps the popular system of each was
equally remote from reason; yet the latter had something in it more
amusing, as well as more awakening to the imagination.

The current popular tales of Elves and Fairies were even fitter to
take the credulous mind, and charm it into a willing admiration of the
_specious miracles_ which wayward fancy delights in, than those of the
old traditionary rabble of Pagan divinities. And then, for the more
solemn fancies of witchcraft and incantation, the _Gothic_ are above
measure striking and terrible.

You will tell me, perhaps, that these fancies, as terrible as they
were, are but of a piece with those of Pagan superstition; and that
nothing can exceed what the classic writers have related or feigned of
its magic and necromantic horrors.

To spare you the trouble of mustering up against me all that your
extensive knowledge of antiquity would furnish, let me confess to you
that many of the ancient poets have occasionally adorned this theme.
If, among twenty others, I select only the names of OVID, SENECA, and
LUCAN, it is, because these writers, by the character of their genius,
were best qualified for the task, and have, besides, exerted their
whole strength upon it. LUCAN, especially, has drawn out all the pomp
of his eloquence in celebrating those THESSALIAN CHARMS,

            ficti quas nulla licentia monstri
    Transierat, quarum, quicquid non creditur, ars est.

Yet STILL I pretend to shew you that all his prodigies, fall short
of the _Gothic_: and you will come the less reluctantly into my
sentiments, if you reflect, “THAT the thick and troubled stream of
superstition, which flowed so plentifully in the classic ages, has been
constantly deepening and darkening by the confluence of those supplies,
which ignorance and corrupted religion have poured in upon it.”

First, you will call to mind that all the gloomy visions of dæmons and
spirits, which sprung out of the Alexandrian or Platonic philosophy,
were in the later ages of Paganism engrafted on the old stock of
classic superstition. These portentous dreams, _new hatched to the
woful time_, as SHAKESPEAR speaks, enabled APULEIUS to outdo LUCAN
himself, in some of his magic scenes and exhibitions.

Next, you will observe that a fresh and exhaustless swarm of the
direst superstitions took their birth in the frozen regions of the
North, and were naturally enough conceived in the imaginations of a
people involved in tenfold darkness; I mean, in the thickest shades
of ignorance, as well as in the gloom of their comfortless woods and
forests. I call these the _direst superstitions_; for though the South
and East may have produced some that shew more wild and fantastic, yet
those of the North have ever been of a more sombrous and horrid aspect,
agreeably to the singular circumstances and situation of that savage
and benighted people.

These dismal fancies, which the barbarians carried out with them in
their migrations into the North-west, took the readier and the faster
hold of men’s minds, from the kindred darkness into which the Western
world was then fallen, and from the desolation (so apt to engender all
fearful conceits and apprehensions) which every where attended the
incursions of those ravagers.

Lastly, before the Romancers applied themselves to dress up these
dreadful stories, Christian superstition had grown to its height,
and had transferred on the magic system all its additional and
supernumerary horrors.

Taking, now, the whole together, you will clearly see what we are to
conclude of the _Gothic_ system of prodigy and enchantment; which was
not so properly a single system, as the aggregate,

            —of all that nature breeds
    Perverse; all monstrous, all prodigious things,
    Which fables yet had feign’d or fear conceiv’d.

For, to the frightful forms of ancient necromancy (which easily
travelled down to us, when the fairer offspring of pagan invention lost
its way, or was swallowed up in the general darkness of the barbarous
ages) were now joined the hideous phantasms which had terrified the
Northern nations; and, to complete the horrid groupe, with these
were incorporated the still more tremendous spectres of Christian
superstition.

In this state of things, as I said, the Romancers went to work; and
with these multiplied images of terror on their minds, you will
conclude, without being at the pains to form particular comparisons,
that they must manage ill indeed, not to surpass, in this walk of
magical incantation, the original classic fablers.

But, if you require a comparison, I can tell you where it is to be
made, with much ease, and to great advantage: I mean, in SHAKESPEAR’S
_Macbeth_, where you will find (as his best critic observes) “the
_Danish_ or _Northern_, intermixed with the _Greek_ and _Roman_
enchantments; and all these worked up together with a sufficient
quantity of our own country superstitions. So that SHAKESPEAR’S
_Witch-Scenes_ (as the same writer adds) are like the _charms_ they
prepare in one of them: where the ingredients are gathered from every
thing shocking in the _natural_ world; as here, from every thing absurd
in the _moral_.”

Or, if you suspect this instance, as deriving somewhat of its force
and plausibility from the _magic_ hand of this critic, you may turn to
another in a great poet of that time; who has been at the pains to make
the comparison himself, and whose word, as he gives it in honest prose,
may surely be taken.

In a work of B. JONSON, which he calls THE MASQUE OF QUEENS, there are
some Witch-scenes; written with singular care, and in emulation, as it
may seem, of SHAKESPEAR’S; but certainly with the view (for so he tells
us himself) _of reconciling the practice of antiquity to the neoteric,
and making it familiar with our popular witchcraft_.

This Masque is accompanied with notes of the learned author, who
had rifled all the stores of ancient and modern _Dæmonomagy_, to
furnish out his entertainment; and who takes care to inform us, under
each head, whence he had fetched the ingredients, out of which it is
compounded.

In this elaborate work of JONSON you have, then, an easy opportunity of
comparing the ancient with the modern magic. And though, as he was an
idolater of the ancients, you will expect him to draw freely from that
source, yet from the large use he makes, too, of his other more recent
authorities, you will perceive that some of the darkest shades of his
picture are owing to hints and circumstances which he had catched, and
could only catch, from the _Gothic_ enchantments. Even such of these
circumstances, as, taken by themselves, seem of less moment, should not
be overlooked, since (as the poet well observes of them) _though they
be but minutes in ceremony, yet they make the act more dark and full of
horror_.

Thus MUCH, then, may serve for a cast of SHAKESPEAR’S and JONSON’S
magic: abundantly sufficient, I must think, to convince you of the
superiority of the _Gothic_ charms and incantations, to the classic.

Though, after all, the conclusion is not to be drawn so much from
particular passages, as from the _general impression_ left on our
minds, in reading the ancient and modern poets. And this is so much
in favour of the _latter_, that Mr. ADDISON scruples not to say, “The
ancients have not much of this poetry among them; for indeed (continues
he) almost the whole substance of it owes its original to the darkness
and superstition of later ages—Our forefathers looked upon nature with
more reverence and horror, before the world was enlightened by learning
and philosophy; and loved to astonish themselves with the apprehensions
of witchcraft, prodigies, charms, and inchantments. There was not a
village in _England_, that had not a ghost in it; the church-yards were
all haunted; every large common had a circle of fairies belonging to
it; and there was scarce a shepherd to be met with, who had not seen a
spirit.”

We are upon enchanted ground, my friend; and you are to think yourself
well used, that I detain you no longer in this fearful circle. The
glympse, you have had of it, will help your imagination to conceive
the rest. And without more words you will readily apprehend that
the fancies of our modern bards are not only more gallant, but, on
a change of the scene, more sublime, more terrible, more alarming,
than those of the classic fablers. In a word, you will find that the
_manners_ they paint, and the _superstitions_ they adopt, are the more
poetical for being _Gothic_.


LETTER VII.

But nothing shews the difference of the two systems under consideration
more plainly, than the effect they really had on the Two greatest of
our Poets; at least the two which an _English_ reader is most fond to
compare with HOMER; I mean, SPENSER and MILTON.

It is not to be doubted but that each of these bards had kindled his
poetic fire from classic fables. So that, of course, their prejudices
would lie that way. Yet they both appear, when most inflamed, to have
been more particularly rapt with the _Gothic_ fables of Chivalry.

SPENSER, though he had been long nourished with the spirit and
substance of HOMER and VIRGIL, chose the times of Chivalry for his
theme, and Fairy Land for the scene of his fictions. He could have
planned, no doubt, an heroic design on the exact classic model:
or, he might have trimmed between the _Gothic_ and classic, as his
contemporary TASSO did. But the charms of _fairy_ prevailed. And if
any think, he was seduced by ARIOSTO into this choice, they should
consider that it could be only for the sake of his subject; for the
genius and character of these poets was widely different.

Under this idea then of a _Gothic_, not classical poem, the _Fairy
Queen_ is to be read and criticized. And on these principles it would
not be difficult to unfold its merit in another way than has been
hitherto attempted.

MILTON, it is true, preferred the classic model to the _Gothic_. But
it was after long hesitation; and his favourite subject was ARTHUR
_and his Knights of the round table_. On this he had fixed for the
greater part of his life. What led him to change his mind was, partly,
as I suppose, his growing fondness for religious subjects; partly, his
ambition to take a different rout from SPENSER; but chiefly perhaps,
the discredit into which the stories of Chivalry had now fallen by the
immortal satire of CERVANTES. Yet we see through all his poetry, where
his enthusiasm flames out most, a certain predilection for the legends
of Chivalry before the fables of _Greece_.

This circumstance, you know, has given offence to the austerer and more
mechanical critics. They are ready to censure his judgment, as juvenile
and unformed, when they see him so delighted, on all occasions, with
the _Gothic_ romances. But do these censors imagine that MILTON did not
perceive the defects of these works, as well as they? No: it was not
the _composition_ of books of Chivalry, but the _manners_ described in
them, that took his fancy; as appears from his _Allegro_—

    Towred cities please us then
    And the busy hum of men,
    Where throngs of knights and barons bold
    In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
    With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
    Rain influence, and judge the prize
    Of wit, or arms, while both contend
    To win her grace, whom all commend.

And when in the _Penseroso_ he draws, by a fine contrivance, the same
kind of image to sooth melancholy which he had before given to excite
mirth, he indeed extols an _author_, or two, of these romances, as he
had before, in general, extolled the _subject_ of them: but they are
authors worthy of his praise; not the writers of _Amadis_, and _Sir
Launcelot of the Lake_; but Fairy SPENSER, and CHAUCER himself, who
has left an unfinished story on the _Gothic_ or feudal model.

    Or, call up him that left half-told
    The story of CAMBUSCAN bold,
    Of CAMBALL and of ALGARSIFF,
    And who had CANACE to wife,
    That own’d the virtuous ring and glass,
    And of the wondrous horse of brass,
    On which the Tartar king did ride;
    And if aught else great bards beside
    In sage and solemn tunes have sung
    Of turneys and of trophies hung,
    Of forests and inchantments drear,
    Where more is meant than meets the ear.

The conduct then of these two poets may incline us to think with more
respect, than is commonly done, of the _Gothic manners_; I mean, as
adapted to the uses of the greater poetry.

I shall add nothing to what I before observed of SHAKESPEAR, because
the sublimity (the divinity, let it be, if nothing else will serve) of
his genius kept no certain rout, but rambled at hazard into all the
regions of human life and manners. So that we can hardly say what he
preferred, or what he rejected, on full deliberation. Yet one thing
is clear, that even he is greater when he uses _Gothic_ manners and
machinery, than when he employs classical: which brings us again to
the same point, that the former have, by their nature and genius, the
advantage of the latter in producing the _sublime_.


LETTER VIII.

I spoke “of criticizing SPENSER’S poem under the idea, not of a
classical, but _Gothic_ composition.”

It is certain, much light might be thrown on that singular work, were
an able critic to consider it in this view. For instance, he might
go some way towards explaining, perhaps justifying, the general plan
and _conduct_ of the _Fairy Queen_, which, to classical readers, has
appeared indefensible.

I have taken the fancy, with your leave, to try my hand on this curious
subject.

When an architect examines a _Gothic_ structure by _Grecian_ rules, he
finds nothing but deformity. But the _Gothic_ architecture has its own
rules, by which when it comes to be examined, it is seen to have its
merit, as well as the _Grecian_. The question is not, which of the two
is conducted in the simplest or truest taste: but whether there be not
sense and design in both, when scrutinized by the laws on which each is
projected.

The same observation holds of the two sorts of poetry. Judge of the
_Fairy Queen_ by the classic models, and you are shocked with its
disorder: consider it with an eye to its _Gothic_ original, and you
find it regular. The unity and simplicity of the former are more
complete: but the latter has that sort of unity and simplicity, which
results from its nature.

The _Fairy Queen_ then, as a _Gothic_ poem, derives its METHOD, as well
as the other characters of its composition, from the established modes
and ideas of Chivalry.

It was usual, in the days of knight-errantry, at the holding of any
great feast, for knights to appear before the prince, who presided at
it, and claim the privilege of being sent on any adventure to which
the solemnity might give occasion. For it was supposed that, when such
a _throng of knights and barons bold_, as MILTON speaks of, were got
together, the distressed would flock in from all quarters, as to a
place where they knew they might find and claim redress for all their
grievances.

This was the real practice, in the days of pure and ancient Chivalry.
And an image of this practice was afterwards kept up in the castles
of the great, on any extraordinary festival or solemnity: of which, if
you want an instance, I refer you to the description of a feast made at
_Lisle_ in 1453, in the court of PHILIP the good, duke of _Burgundy_,
for a Crusade against the _Turks_: as you may find it given at large in
the memoirs of MATTHIEU DE CONCI, OLIVIER DE LA MARCHE, and MONSTRELET.

That feast was held for _twelve_ days: and each day was distinguished
by the claim and allowance of some adventure.

Now, laying down this practice as a foundation for the poet’s design,
you will see how properly the _Fairy Queen_ is conducted.

——“I DEVISE,” says the poet himself in his letter to Sir W. RALEIGH,
“that the _Fairy Queen_ kept her annual feaste xii days: upon which xii
several days, the occasions of the xii several adventures happened;
which being undertaken by xii several knights, are in these xii books
severally handled.”

Here you have the poet delivering his own method, and the reason of it.
It arose out of the order of his subject. And would you desire a better
reason for his choice?

Yes; you will say, a poet’s method is not that of his subject. I grant
you, as to the order of _time_, in which the recital is made; for here,
as SPENSER observes (and his own practice agrees to the rule), lies the
main difference between _the poet historical, and the historiographer_:
the reason of which is drawn from the nature of _Epic_ composition
itself, and holds equally let the subject be what it will, and whatever
the system of manners be, on which it is conducted. Gothic or Classic
makes no difference in this respect.

But the case is not the same with regard to the general plan of a work,
or what may be called the order of _distribution_, which is and must
be governed by the subject-matter itself. It was as requisite for the
_Fairy Queen_ to consist of the adventures of twelve Knights, as for
the _Odyssey_ to be confined to the adventures of one Hero: justice had
otherwise not been done to his subject.

So that if you will say any thing against the poet’s method, you must
say that he should not have chosen this subject. But this objection
arises from your classic ideas of Unity, which have no place here; and
are in every view foreign to the purpose, if the poet has found means
to give his work, though consisting of many parts, the advantage of
Unity. For in some reasonable sense or other, it is agreed, every work
of art must be _one_, the very idea of a work requiring it.

If you ask then, what is this _Unity_ of SPENSER’S Poem? I say, It
consists in the relation of its several adventures to one common
_original_, the appointment of the _Fairy Queen_; and to one common
_end_, the completion of the _Fairy Queen’s_ injunctions. The knights
issued forth on their adventures on the breaking up of this annual
feast: and the next annual feast, we are to suppose, is to bring them
together again from the atchievement of their several charges.

This, it is true, is not the classic Unity, which consists in the
representation of one entire action: but it is an Unity of another
sort, an unity resulting from the respect which a number of related
actions have to one common purpose. In other words, it is an unity of
_design_, and not of action.

This _Gothic_ method of design in poetry may be, in some sort,
illustrated by what is called the _Gothic_ method of design in
gardening. A wood or grove cut out into many separate avenues or
glades was among the most favourite of the works of art, which our
fathers attempted in this species of cultivation. These walks were
distinct from each other, had each their several destination, and
terminated on their own proper objects. Yet the whole was brought
together and considered under one view, by the relation which these
various openings had, not to each other, but to their common and
concurrent center. You and I are, perhaps, agreed that this sort of
gardening is not of so true a taste as that which _Kent and Nature_
have brought us acquainted with; where the supreme art of the designer
consists in disposing his ground and objects into an _entire landskip_;
and grouping them, if I may use the term, in so easy a manner, that the
careless observer, though he be taken with the symmetry of the whole,
discovers no art in the combination:

    In lieto aspetto il bel giardin s’aperse,
    Acque stagnanti, mobili cristalli,
    Fior vari, e varie piante, herbe diverse,
    Apriche collinette, ombrose valli,
    Selve, e spelunche in UNA VISTA offerse:
    E quel, che’l bello, e’l caro accresce à l’opre,
    L’arte, che tutto sà, nulla si scopre.
                          TASSO, C. XVI. s. ix.

This, I say, may be the truest taste in gardening, because the
simplest: yet there is a manifest regard to unity in the other method;
which has had its admirers, as it may have again, and is certainly not
without its _design_ and beauty.

But to return to our poet. Thus far he drew from _Gothic_ ideas; and
these ideas, I think, would lead him no further. But, as SPENSER knew
what belonged to classic composition, he was tempted to tie his subject
still closer together by _one_ expedient of his own, and by _another_
taken from his classic models.

His _own_ was, to interrupt the proper story of each book, by
dispersing it into several; involving by this means, and as it were
intertwisting the several actions together, in order to give something
like the appearance of one action to his twelve adventures. And for
this conduct, as absurd as it seems, he had some great examples in the
_Italian_ poets, though, I believe, they were led into it by different
motives.

The _other_ expedient, which he borrowed from the classics, was, by
adopting one superior character, which should be seen throughout.
Prince ARTHUR, who had a separate adventure of his own, was to have
his part in each of the other; and thus several actions were to be
embodied by the interest which one principal Hero had in them all. It
is even observable, that SPENSER gives this adventure of Prince ARTHUR,
in quest of GLORIANA, as the proper subject of his poem. And upon this
idea the late learned editor of the _Fairy Queen_ has attempted, but,
I think, without success, to defend the unity and simplicity of its
fable. The truth was, the violence of classic prejudices forced the
poet to affect this appearance of unity, though in contradiction to his
_Gothic_ system. And, as far as we can judge of the tenour of the whole
work from the finished half of it, the adventure of Prince ARTHUR,
whatever the author pretended, and his critic too easily believed, was
but an after-thought; and, at least, with regard to the _historical
fable_, which we are now considering, was only one of the expedients by
which he would conceal the disorder of his _Gothic_ plan.

And if this was his design, I will venture to say that both his
expedients were injudicious. Their purpose was, to ally two things, in
nature incompatible, the _Gothic_, and the classic unity; the effect
of which misalliance was to discover and expose the nakedness of the
_Gothic_.

I am of opinion then, considering the _Fairy Queen_ as an epic or
_narrative_ poem constructed on _Gothic_ ideas, that the poet had
done well to affect no other unity than that of _design_, by which
his subject was connected. But his poem is not simply narrative; it
is throughout _allegorical_: he calls it _a perpetual allegory or
dark conceit_: and this character, for reasons I may have occasion
to observe hereafter, was even predominant in the _Fairy Queen_. His
narration is subservient to his moral, and but serves to colour it.
This he tells us himself at setting out,

    Fierce wars and faithful loves shall _moralize_ my song;

that is, shall serve for a vehicle, or instrument to convey the moral.

Now under this idea, the _Unity_ of the _Fairy Queen_ is more apparent.
His twelve knights are to exemplify as many virtues, out of which
one illustrious character is to be composed. And in this view the
part of Prince ARTHUR in each book becomes _essential_, and yet not
_principal_; exactly, as the poet has contrived it. They who rest
in the literal story, that is, who criticize it on the footing of a
narrative poem, have constantly objected to this management. They say,
it necessarily breaks the unity of design. Prince ARTHUR, they affirm,
should either have had no part in the other adventures, or he should
have had the chief part. He should either have done nothing, or more.
This objection I find insisted upon by SPENSER’S best critic[49];
and, I think, the objection is unanswerable; at least, I know of
nothing that can be said to remove it, but what I have supposed above
might be the purpose of the poet, and which I myself have rejected as
insufficient.

But how faulty soever this conduct be in the literal story, it is
perfectly right in the _moral_: and that for an obvious reason, though
his critics seem not to have been aware of it. His chief hero was not
to have the twelve virtues in the _degree_ in which the knights had,
each of them, their own (such a character would be a monster;) but
he was to have so much of each as was requisite to form his superior
character. Each virtue, in its perfection, is exemplified in its own
knight; they are all, in a due degree, concentrated in Prince ARTHUR.

This was the poet’s _moral_: and what way of expressing this moral in
the _history_, but by making Prince ARTHUR appear in each adventure,
and in a manner subordinate to its proper hero? Thus, though inferior
to each in his own specific virtue, he is superior to all by uniting
the whole circle of their virtues in himself: and thus he arrives,
at length, at the possession of that bright form of _Glory_, whose
ravishing beauty, as seen in a dream or vision, had led him out into
these miraculous adventures in the land of Fairy.

The conclusion is, that, as an _allegorical_ poem, the method of
the _Fairy Queen_ is governed by the justness of the _moral_: as
a _narrative_ poem, it is conducted on the ideas and usages of
_Chivalry_. In either view, if taken by itself, the plan is defensible.
But from the union of the two designs there arises a perplexity and
confusion, which is the proper, and only considerable, defect of this
extraordinary poem.


LETTER IX.

No doubt, SPENSER might have taken one single adventure, of the TWELVE,
for the subject of his Poem; or he might have given the principal part
in every adventure to Prince ARTHUR. By this means his fable had been
of the classic kind, and its unity as strict as that of HOMER and
VIRGIL.

All this the poet knew very well; but his purpose was not to write a
classic poem. He chose to adorn a _Gothic_ story; and, to be consistent
throughout, he chose that the _form_ of his work should be of a piece
with his subject.

Did the poet do right in this? I cannot tell: but, comparing his work
with that of another great poet, who followed the system you seem to
recommend, I see no reason to be peremptory in condemning his judgment.

The example of this poet deserves to be considered. It will afford, at
least, a fresh confirmation of the point, I principally insist upon,
_the pre-eminence of the GOTHIC manners and fictions, as adapted to
the ends of poetry, above the classic_.

I observed of the famous TORQUATO TASSO, that, coming into the world a
little of the latest for the success of the pure _Gothic_ manner, he
thought fit to _trim_ between that and the classic model.

It was lucky for his fame, that he did so. For the _Gothic_ fables
falling every day more and more into contempt, and the learning of the
times, throughout all _Europe_, taking a classic turn, the reputation
of his work has been chiefly founded on the strong resemblance it has
to the ancient _Epic_ poems. His fable is conducted in the spirit of
the _Iliad_; and with a strict regard to that unity of _action_ which
we admire in HOMER and VIRGIL.

But this is not all; we find a studied and close imitation of those
poets, in many of the smaller parts, in the minuter incidents, and even
in the descriptions and similes of his poem.

The classic reader was pleased with this deference to the public
taste: he saw with delight the favourite beauties of HOMER and VIRGIL
reflected in the _Italian_ poet; and was almost ready to excuse, for
the sake of these, his magic tales and fairy enchantments.

I said, was _almost ready_; for the offence given by these tales to the
more fashionable sort of critics was so great, that nothing, I believe,
could make full amends, in their judgment, for such extravagancies.

However, by this means, the _Gierusalemme Liberata_ made its fortune
amongst the _French_ wits, who have constantly cried it up above the
_Orlando Furioso_, and principally for this reason, that TASSO was more
classical in his fable, and more sparing in the wonders of _Gothic_
fiction, than his predecessor.

The _Italians_ have indeed a predilection for their elder bard; whether
from their prejudice for his subject; their admiration of his language;
the richness of his invention; the comic air of his style and manner;
or from whatever other reason.

Be this as it will, the _French_ criticism has carried it before
the _Italian_, with the rest of _Europe_. This dextrous people have
found means to lead the taste, as well as set the fashions, of their
neighbours: and ARIOSTO ranks but little higher than the rudest
Romancer in the opinion of those who take their notions of these things
from their writers.

But the same principle, which made them give TASSO the preference to
ARIOSTO, has led them by degrees to think very unfavourably of TASSO
himself. The mixture of the _Gothic_ manner in his work has not been
forgiven. It has sunk the credit of all the rest; and some instances
of false taste in the expression of his sentiments, detected by their
nicer critics, have brought matters to that pass, that, with their good
will, TASSO himself should now follow the fate of ARIOSTO.

I will not say, that a little national envy did not perhaps mix itself
with their other reasons for undervaluing this great poet. They aspired
to a sort of supremacy in letters; and finding the _Italian_ language
and its best writers standing in their way, they have spared no pains
to lower the estimation of both.

Whatever their inducements were, they succeeded but too well in their
attempt. Our obsequious and over-modest critics were run down by their
authority. Their taste of letters, with some worse things, was brought
among us at the Restoration. Their language, their manners, nay their
very prejudices, were adopted by our polite king and his royalists. And
the more fashionable wits, of course, set their fancies, as my Lord
MOLESWORTH tells us the people of _Copenhagen_ in his time did their
clocks, by the court-standard.

Sir W. DAVENANT opened the way to this new sort of criticism in a very
elaborate preface to GONDIBERT; and his philosophic friend, Mr. HOBBES,
lent his best assistance towards establishing the credit of it. These
two fine letters contain, indeed, the substance of whatever has been
since written on the subject. Succeeding wits and critics did no more
than echo their language. It grew into a sort of cant, with which
RYMER, and the rest of that school, filled their flimsy essays and
rambling prefaces.

Our noble critic himself[50] condescended to take up this trite theme:
and it is not to be told with what alacrity and self-complacency
he flourishes upon it. The _Gothic manner_, as he calls it, is the
favourite object of his raillery; which is never more lively or
pointed, than when it exposes that “bad taste which makes us prefer an
ARIOSTO to a VIRGIL, and a Romance (without doubt he meant, of TASSO)
to an _Iliad_.” Truly, this critical sin requires an expiation; which
yet is easily made by subscribing to his sentence, “That the French
indeed may boast of legitimate authors of a just relish; but that the
_Italian_ are good for nothing but to corrupt the taste of those who
have had no familiarity with the noble antients[51].”

This ingenious nobleman is, himself, one of the _gallant votaries_ he
sometimes makes himself so merry with. He is perfectly enamoured of his
_noble ancients_; and will fight with any man who contends, not that
his Lordship’s mistress is not fair, but that his own is fair also.

It is certain the French wits benefited by this foible. For pretending,
in great modesty, to have formed themselves on the pure taste of his
noble ancients, they easily drew his Lordship over to their party:
while the _Italians_, more stubbornly pretending to a taste of their
own, and chusing to _lye_ for themselves, instead of adopting the
authorised _lyes_ of _Greece_, were justly exposed to his resentment.

Such was the address of the _French_ writers, and such their triumphs
over the poor _Italians_.

It must be owned, indeed, they had every advantage on their side, in
this contest with their masters. The taste and learning of _Italy_
had been long on the decline; and the fine writers under LOUIS XIV.
were every day advancing the _French_ language, such as it is (simple,
clear, exact, that is, fit for business and conversation; but for that
reason, besides its total want of numbers, absolutely unsuited to the
genius of the greater poetry), towards its last perfection. The purity
of the ancient manner became well understood, and it was the pride
of their best critics to expose every instance of false taste in the
modern writers. The _Italian_, it is certain, could not stand so severe
a scrutiny. But they had escaped better, if the most fashionable of the
_French_ poets had not, at the same time, been their best critic.

A lucky word in a verse, which sounds well and every body gets by
heart, goes further than a volume of just criticism. In short, the
exact, but cold BOILEAU happened to say something of the _clinquant_ of
TASSO; and the magic of this word, like the report of ASTOLFO’S horn in
ARIOSTO, overturned at once the solid and well-built reputation of the
_Italian_ poetry.

It is not perhaps strange that this potent word should do its business
in _France_. What was less to be expected, it put us into a fright
on this side the water. Mr. ADDISON, who gave the law in taste here,
took it up, and sent it about the kingdom in his polite and popular
essays[52]. It became a sort of watchword among the critics; and, on
the sudden, nothing was heard, on all sides, but the _clinquant_ of
TASSO.

After all, these two respectable writers might not intend the mischief
they were doing. The observation was just; but was extended much
further than they meant, by their witless followers and admirers. The
effect was, as I said, that the _Italian_ poetry was rejected in the
gross, by virtue of this censure; though the authors of it had said no
more than this, “that their best poet had some false thoughts, and
dealt, as they supposed, too much in incredible fiction.”

I leave you to make your own reflexions on this short history of the
_Italian_ poetry. It is not my design to be its apologist in all
respects. However, with regard to the _first_ of these charges, I
presume to say, that, as just as it is in the sense in which I persuade
myself it was intended, there are more instances of natural sentiment,
and of that divine simplicity we admire in the ancients, even in
GUARINI’S _Pastor Fido_, than in the best of the _French_ poets.

And as to the _last_ charge, I pretend to shew you, in my next Letter,
that it implies no fault at all in the _Italian_ poets.


LETTER X.

_Chi non sa che cosa sia Italia?_—If this question could ever be
reasonably asked on any occasion, it must surely be when the wit
and poetry of that people were under consideration. The enchanting
sweetness of their tongue, the richness of their invention, the fire
and elevation of their genius, the splendour of their expression on
great subjects, and the native simplicity of their sentiments on
affecting ones; all these are such manifest advantages on the side of
the _Italian_ poets, as should seem to command our highest admiration
of their great and capital works.

Yet a different language has been held by our finer critics. And,
in particular, you hear it commonly said of the tales of _Fairy_,
which they first and principally adorned, “that they are extravagant
and absurd; that they surpass all bounds, not of truth only, but of
probability; and look more like the dreams of children, than the manly
inventions of poets.”

All this, and more, has been said; and, if truly said, who would not
lament

    L’arte del poëtar troppo infelice?

For they are not the cold fancies of plebeian poets, but the golden
dreams of ARIOSTO, the celestial visions of TASSO, that are thus
derided.

But now, as to the _extravagance_ of these fictions, it is frequently,
I believe, much less than these laughers apprehend.

To give an instance or two, of this sort.

One of the strangest circumstances in those books, is that of
the _women-warriors_, with which they all abound. BUTLER, in his
_Hudibras_, who saw it only in the light of a poetical invention,
ridicules it, as a most unnatural idea, with great spirit. Yet in this
representation, they did but copy from the manners of the times. ANNA
COMNENA tells us, in the life of her father, that the wife of ROBERT
the _Norman_ fought side by side with her husband, in his battles; that
she would rally the flying soldiers, and lead them back to the charge:
and NICETAS observes, that, in the time of MANUEL COMNENA, there were
in one Crusade many women, armed like men, on horseback.

What think you now of TASSO’S _Clarinda_, whose prodigies of valour I
dare say you have often laughed at? Or, rather, what think you of that
constant pair,

    “GILDIPPE et ODOARDO amanti e sposi,
    In valor d’arme, e in lealtà famosi?”
                           C. III. s. 40.

Again: what can be more absurd and incredible, it is often said, than
the vast armies we read of in Romance? a circumstance, to which MILTON
scruples not to allude in those lines of his _Paradise Regained_—

      Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp,
    When AGRICAN with all his northern powers
    Besieg’d _Albracca_, as Romances tell,
    The city of GALLAPHRONE, from thence to win
    The fairest of her sex, ANGELICA.
                              B. III. ver. 337.

The classical reader is much scandalized on these occasions, and never
fails to cry out on the impudence of these lying fablers. Yet if he
did but reflect on the prodigious swarms which _Europe_ sent out in
the Crusades, and that the transactions of those days furnished the
Romance-writers with their ideas and images, he would see that the
marvellous in such stories was modest enough, and did not very much
exceed the strict bounds of historical representation.

The first army, for instance, that marched for the Holy Land, even
after all the losses it had sustained by the way, amounted, we are
told, when it came to be mustered in the plains of _Asia_, to no
less than seven hundred thousand fighting men: a number, which would
almost have satisfied the Romancer’s keenest appetite for wonder and
amplification.

A third instance may be thought still more remarkable.

“We read perpetually of walls of fire raised by magical art to stop
the progress of knights-errant. In TASSO, the wizard ISMENO guards
the inchanted forest with walls of fire. In the _Orlando Inamorato_,
L. III. c. i. MANDRICARDO is endeavoured to be stopped by enchanted
flames; but he makes his way through all.”

Thus far the learned editor of the _Fairy Queen_ [Notes on B. III.
c. xi. s. 25.] who contents himself, like a good Romance-critic,
with observing the fact, without the irreverence of presuming to
account for it. But if the profane will not be kept within this decent
reserve, we may give them to understand, that this fancy, as wild as
it appears, had some foundation in _truth_. For I make no question
but these _fires_, raised by magical art, to stop the progress of
assailants, were only the flames of FEUGREGEOIS, as it was called, that
is of WILDFIRE, which appeared so strange, on its first invention and
application, in the barbarous ages.

We hear much of its wonders in the history of the Crusades; and even so
late as SPENSER’S own time they were not forgotten. DAVILA, speaking of
the siege of _Poitiers_ in 1569, tells us——_Abbondavano nella citta
le provisioni da guerra; tra le quali, quantita inestimabile di FUOCHI
ARTIFICIATI, lavorati in diverse maniere, ne’quali avenano i defensori
posta grandissima speranza di respingere gli assalti de’nemici._ Lib. v.

Hence, without doubt, the _magical flames and fiery walls_, of the
_Gothic_ Romancers[53]; and who will say, that the _specious miracles_
of HOMER himself had a better foundation?

But, after all, this is not the sort of defence I mean chiefly to
insist upon. Let others explain away these _wonders_, so offensive to
certain philosophical critics. They are welcome to me in their own
proper form, and with all the extravagance commonly imputed to them.

It is true, the only criticism, worth regarding, is that which these
critics lay claim to, the philosophical. But there is a sort which
looks like philosophy, and is not. May not that be the case here?

This criticism, whatever name it deserves, supposes that the poets, who
are lyars by profession, expect to have their lyes believed. Surely
they are not so unreasonable. They think it enough, if they can but
bring you to _imagine_ the possibility of them.

And how small a matter will serve for this? A legend, a tale, a
tradition, a rumour, a superstition; in short, any thing is enough to
be the basis of their air-formed _visions_. Does any capable reader
trouble himself about the truth, or even the credibility of their
fancies? Alas, no; he is best pleased when he is made to conceive (he
minds not by what magic) the existence of such things as his reason
tells him did not, and were never likely to, exist.

But here, to prevent mistakes, an explanation will be necessary.
We must distinguish between the _popular belief_, and _that of the
reader_. The fictions of poetry do, in some degree at least, require
the _first_ (they would, otherwise, deservedly pass for _dreams_
indeed): but when the poet has this advantage on his side, and his
fancies have, or may be supposed to have, a countenance from the
current superstitions of the age in which he writes, he dispenses with
the _last_, and gives his reader leave to be as sceptical, and as
incredulous, as he pleases.

A fashionable _French_ critic diverts himself with imagining “what a
person, who comes fresh from reading Mr. ADDISON and Mr. LOCKE, would
be apt to think of TASSO’S Enchantments[54].”

The _English_ reader will, perhaps, smile at seeing these two writers
so coupled together: and, with the critic’s leave, we will put Mr.
LOCKE out of the question. But if he be desirous to know what a reader
of Mr. ADDISON would pronounce in the case, I can undertake to give him
satisfaction.

Speaking of what Mr. DRYDEN calls, _the Fairy way of writing_, “Men
of cold fancies and philosophical dispositions, says he, object to
this kind of poetry, that it has not probability enough to affect the
imagination. But—many are prepossest with such false opinions, as
dispose them to _believe_ these particular delusions: at least, we
have all _heard_ so many pleasing relations in favour of them, that
we do not care for seeing through the _falsehood_, and willingly give
ourselves up to so agreeable an imposture.” [_Spect._ N^{o} 419.]

Apply, now, this sage judgment of Mr. ADDISON to TASSO’S
_Enchantments_; and you see that a _falsehood convict_ is not to be
pleaded against a _supposed belief_, or even the _slightest hear-say_.

So little account does this wicked poetry make of philosophical or
historical truth: all she allows us to look for, is _poetical truth_;
a very slender thing indeed, and which the poet’s eye, when rolling in
a _fine frenzy_, can but just lay hold of. To speak in the philosophic
language of Mr. HOBBES, it is something much _beyond the actual bounds,
and only within the conceived possibility of nature_.

But the source of bad criticism, as universally of bad philosophy, is
the abuse of terms. A poet, they say, must follow _nature_; and by
nature we are to suppose can only be meant the known and experienced
course of affairs in this world. Whereas the poet has a world of his
own, where experience has less to do, than consistent imagination.

He has, besides, a supernatural world to range in. He has Gods, and
Fairies, and Witches, at his command: and,

            — — — —O! who can tell
    The hidden _pow’r_ of herbes, and might of magic spell?
                                      SPENSER, B. V. C. ii.

Thus, in the poet’s world, all is marvellous and extraordinary; yet
not _unnatural_ in one sense, as it agrees to the conceptions that are
readily entertained of these magical and wonder-working natures.

This trite maxim of _following Nature_ is further mistaken, in applying
it indiscriminately to all sorts of poetry.

In those species which have men and manners professedly for their
theme, a strict conformity with human nature is reasonably demanded.

    Non hic Centauros, non Gorgonas, Harpyiasque
      Invenies: hominem pagina nostra sapit;

is a proper motto to a book of epigrams; but would make a poor figure
at the head of an epic poem.

Still further in those species that address themselves to the heart,
and would obtain their end, not through the _imagination_, but through
the _passions_, there the liberty of transgressing nature, I mean the
real powers and properties of human nature, is infinitely restrained;
and _poetical_ truth is, under these circumstances, almost as severe a
thing as _historical_.

The reason is, we must first _believe_ before we can be _affected_.

But the case is different with the more sublime and creative poetry.
This species, addressing itself solely or principally to the
Imagination; a young and credulous faculty, which loves to admire
and to be deceived; has no need to observe those cautious rules of
credibility, so necessary to be followed by him who would touch the
affections and interest the heart.

This difference, you will say, is obvious enough: How came it then to
be overlooked? From another mistake, in extending a particular precept
of the drama into a general maxim.

The _incredulus odi_ of HORACE ran in the heads of these critics,
though his own words confine the observation singly to the stage:

    Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem
    Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quæ
    Ipse sibi tradit Spectator——

That, which passes in _representation_, and challenges, as it were, the
scrutiny of the eye, must be truth itself, or something very nearly
approaching to it. But what passes in _narration_, even on the stage,
is admitted without much difficulty—

                        multaque tolles
    Ex oculis, quæ mox narret facundia presens.

In the epic narration, which may be called _absens facundia_, the
reason of the thing shews this indulgence to be still greater.
It appeals neither to the _eye_ nor the _ear_, but simply to the
_imagination_, and so allows the poet a liberty of multiplying and
enlarging his impostures at pleasure, in proportion to the easiness and
comprehension of that faculty[55].

These general reflexions hardly require an application to the present
subject. The tales of Fairy are exploded, as fantastic and incredible.
They would merit this contempt, if presented on the stage; I mean, if
they were given as the proper subject of dramatic imitation, and the
interest of the poet’s plot were to be wrought out of the adventures of
these marvellous persons. But the epic muse runs no risque in giving
way to such fanciful exhibitions.

You may call them, as one does, “extraordinary dreams, such as
excellent poets and painters, by being over-studious, may have in the
beginning of fevers[56].”

The epic poet would acknowledge the charge, and even value himself upon
it. He would say, “I leave to the sage dramatist the merit of being
always broad awake, and always in his senses. The _divine dream_[57],
and delirious fancy, are among the noblest of my prerogatives.”

But the injustice done the _Italian_ poets does not stop here. The
cry is, “Magic and enchantments are senseless things. Therefore
the _Italian_ poets are not worth the reading.” As if, because the
superstitions of HOMER and VIRGIL are no longer believed, their poems,
which abound in them, are good for nothing.

Yes, you will say, their fine pictures of life and manners—

And may not I say the same, in behalf of ARIOSTO and TASSO? For it
is not true that all is _unnatural_ and monstrous in their poems,
because of this mixture of the wonderful. Admit, for example, ARMIDA’S
marvellous conveyance to the happy Island; and all the rest of the
love-story is as natural, that is, as suitable to our common notions of
that passion, as any thing in VIRGIL or (if you will) VOLTAIRE.

Thus, you see, the apology of the _Italian_ poets is easily made on
every supposition. But I stick to my point, and maintain that the
Fairy tales of TASSO do him more honour than what are called the more
natural, that is, the classical parts of his poem. His imitations of
the ancients have indeed their merit; for he was a genius in every
thing. But they are faint and cold, and almost insipid, when compared
with his _Gothic_ fictions. We make a shift to run over the passages he
has copied from VIRGIL. We are all on fire amidst the magical feats of
ISMEN, and the enchantments of ARMIDA.

    Magnanima mensogna, hor quando è il vero
    Si bello, che si possa à te preporre?

I speak at least for myself; and must freely own, if it were not for
these _lyes_ of _Gothic_ invention, I should scarcely be disposed to
give the _Gierusalem Liberata_ a second reading.

I readily agree to the lively observation, “That impenetrable armour,
inchanted castles, invulnerable bodies, iron men, flying horses, and
other such things, are easily feigned by them that dare[58].” But, with
the observer’s leave, not so feigned as we find them in the _Italian_
poets, unless the writer have another quality, besides that of courage.

One thing is true, that the success of these fictions will not be
great, when they have no longer any footing in the popular belief:
and the reason is, that readers do not usually do as they ought, put
themselves in the circumstances of the poet, or rather of those of whom
the poet writes. But this only shews, that some ages are not so fit
to write epic poems in, as others; not, that they should be otherwise
written.

It is also true, that writers do not succeed so well in painting what
they have heard, as what they believe, themselves, or at least observe
in others a facility of believing. And on this account I would advise
no modern poet to revive these Fairy tales in an epic poem. But still
this is nothing to the case in hand, where we are considering the
merit of epic poems, written under other circumstances.

The Pagan Gods and _Gothic_ Fairies were equally out of credit when
MILTON wrote. He did well therefore to supply their room with Angels
and Devils. If these too should wear out of the popular creed (and
they seem in a hopeful way, from the liberty some late critics have
taken with them) I know not what other expedients the epic poet might
have recourse to; but this I know, the pomp of verse, the energy of
description, and even the finest moral paintings, would stand him in
no stead. Without _admiration_ (which cannot be affected but by the
marvellous of celestial intervention, I mean, the agency of superior
natures really existing, or by the illusion of the fancy taken to be
so) no epic poem can be long-lived.

I am not afraid to instance in the _Henriade_ itself; which,
notwithstanding the elegance of the composition, will in a short time
be no more read than the _Gondibert_ of Sir W. DAVENANT, and for the
same reason.

Critics may talk what they will of _Truth and Nature_, and abuse
the _Italian_ poets as they will, for transgressing both in their
incredible fictions. But, believe it, my friend, these fictions with
which they have studied to delude the world, are of that kind of
creditable deceits, of which a wise ancient pronounces with assurance,
“_That they, who deceive, are honester than they who do not deceive;
and they, who are deceived, wiser than they who are not deceived._”


LETTER XI.

But you are weary of hearing so much of these exploded fancies; and are
ready to ask, if there be any truth in this representation, “Whence
it has come to pass, that the classical manners are still admired and
imitated by the poets, when the _Gothic_ have long since fallen into
disuse?”

The answer to this question will furnish all that is now wanting to a
proper discussion of the present subject.

One great reason of this difference certainly was, that the ablest
writers of _Greece_ ennobled the system of heroic manners, while it
was fresh and flourishing; and their works, being master-pieces of
composition, so fixed the credit of it in the opinion of the world,
that no revolutions of time and taste could afterwards shake it.

Whereas the _Gothic_ having been disgraced in their infancy by bad
writers, and a new set of manners springing up before there were any
better to do them justice, they could never be brought into vogue by
the attempts of later poets; who yet, in spite of prejudice, and for
the genuine charm of these highly poetical manners, did their utmost to
recommend them.

But, FURTHER, the _Gothic_ system was not only forced to wait long for
real genius to do it honour; real genius was even very early employed
against it.

There were two causes of this mishap. The old Romancers had even
outraged the truth in their extravagant pictures of Chivalry; and
Chivalry itself, such as it once had been, was greatly abated.

So that men of sense were doubly disgusted to find a representation
of things _unlike_ to what they observed in real life, and _beyond_
what it was ever possible should have existed. However, with these
disadvantages, there was still so much of the old spirit left, and the
fascination of these wondrous tales was so prevalent, that a more than
common degree of sagacity and good sense was required to penetrate the
illusion.

It was one of this character, I suppose, that put the famous question
to ARIOSTO, which has been so often repeated that I shall spare you
the disgust of hearing it. Yet long before his time an immortal genius
of our own (so superior is the sense of some men to the age they live
in) saw as far into this matter, as ARIOSTO’S examiner.

You will, perhaps, be as much surprised, as I was (when, many years
ago, the observation was, first, made to me) to understand, that this
sagacious person was DAN CHAUCER; who in a reign that almost realized
the wonders of Romantic Chivalry, not only discerned the absurdity of
the old Romances, but has even ridiculed them with incomparable spirit.

“HIS RIME OF SIR TOPAZ in the _Canterbury_ Tales (said the curious
observer, on whose authority I am now building) is a manifest banter
on these books, and may be considered as a sort of prelude to the
adventures of Don QUIXOTE. I call it _a manifest banter_: for we are
to observe that this was CHAUCER’S own tale; and that, when in the
progress of it the good sense of the Host is made to break in upon him,
and interrupt him, CHAUCER approves his disgust, and, changing his
note, tells the simple instructive tale of MELIBOEUS; _a moral tale
virtuous_, as he terms it; to shew, what sort of fictions were most
expressive of real life, and most proper to be put into the hands of
the people.

It is, further, to be noted, that the tale of _the Giant_ OLYPHANT _and
Chylde_ TOPAZ was not a fiction of his own, but a story of antique
fame, and very celebrated in the days of Chivalry: so that nothing
could better suit the poet’s design of discrediting the old Romances,
than the choice of this venerable legend for the vehicle of his
ridicule upon them.

But what puts the satyric purpose of _the Rime of Sir_ TOPAZ out of
all question, is, that this short poem is so managed as, with infinite
humour, to expose the leading impertinencies of books of Chivalry; the
very _same_, which CERVANTES afterwards drew out, and exposed at large,
in his famous history.

Indeed Sir TOPAZ is all Don QUIXOTE in little; as you will easily see
from comparing the two knights together; who are drawn with the same
features, are characterized by the same strokes, and differ from each
other but as a sketch in miniature from a finished and full-sized
picture.

1. CERVANTES is very particular in describing the _person_ and _habit_
of his Hero, agreeably to the known practice of the old Romancers.
CHAUCER does the same by his knight, and in a manner that almost equals
the arch-gravity of the _Spanish_ author:

    Sir TOPAZ was a doughty swaine,
    White was his face as paine maine,
      His lippes red as rose,
    His rudde is like scarlet in graine,
    And I you tell in good certaine,
      _He had a seemely nose_.

    His haire, his berde, was like safroune,
    That to his girdle raught adowne,
      His shoone of cordewaine,
    Of Bruges were his hosen broun.
    His robe was of chekelatoun,
      That cost many a jane.

2. CERVANTES tells us how Don QUIXOTE passed his time in the country,
before he turned Knight-errant. CHAUCER, in the same spirit, celebrates
his knight’s country diversions of _hunting_, _hawking_, _shooting_,
and _wrestling_, those known _prolusions_ to feats of arms:

    He couth hunt at the wilde dere,
    And ride an hauking for by the rivere
      With grey GOSHAUKE on honde,
    Thereto he was a good archere,
    Of wrastling was there none his pere
      There any Ram should stonde.

3. The Knights of Romance were used to dedicate their services to some
paragon of beauty, such as was only conceived to exist in the land of
Fairy, and could no where be found in this vulgar disenchanted world.
Hence one of the strongest features in Don QUIXOTE’S character is the
sublime passion he had conceived for an imaginary or fairy mistress.
Sir TOPAZ is not behind him in this extravagance:

    An Elfe-queene woll I love, I wis,
    For in this world no woman is
      To be my make in towne,
    All other women I forsake
    And to an Elfe-queene I me take
      By dale and eke by downe.

4. Don QUIXOTE’S passion for this idol of his fancy was so violent,
that, after all the bangs and bruises of the day, instead of suffering
his weary limbs to take any rest, it occupied him all night with
incessant dreams and reveries of his mistress. Sir TOPAZ is in the same
woful plight:

    Sir TOPAZ eke so weary was—
    That down he laid him in that place—
    Oh, Saint MARY, benedicite
    What aileth this love at me
      To blind me so sore?
    Me dreamed all this night parde
    An Elfe-queen shall my leman be
      And sleepe under my gore.

5. As the chastity of the hero of LA MANCHA is well known, from a
variety of trying temptations, so Sir TOPAZ distinguishes himself by
this knightly virtue:

    Full many a maide bright in boure
    They mourne for him their paramoure.
      _Whan hem were bet to sleepe_,
    But he was chaste and no lechoure,
    And sweet as is the bramble floure
      That bereth the red hipe.

6. The fight of Sir TOPAZ with the Giant of three heads, in honour of
his mistress,

    For needes must he fight
      With a giant with heads thre,
      For paramours and jolitie
    Of one that shone full bright—

together with his arming, and the whole ridiculous preparation for the
combat, described at large in several stanzas, is exactly in the style
and taste of CERVANTES, on similar occasions.

7. CERVANTES gives us to understand that it was familiar with his
knight to sleep in the open air, to endure all hardships that befell,
and to let his horse graze by him. CHAUCER, in like manner, of his
knight, with much humour:

    And for he was a knight auntrous,
    He nolde slepen in none house
      But liggen in his hood,
    His bright helme was his wanger
    And by him fed his destrer
      Of herbes fine and good.

8. And, lastly, as CERVANTES, after the example of the Romance-writers,
will have it, that his knight surpasses all others of ancient fame, so
DAN CHAUCER is careful to vindicate this high prerogative, to his hero:

    Men speaken of Romances of pris
    Of HORNECHILD and of IPOTIS,
      Of BEVIS and Sir GIE,
    Of Sir LIBEAUX and BLANDAMOURE;
    But Sir TOPAZ, he beareth the floure
      Of rial chivalrie.”

Thus far, at least to this effect, the concealed author (for the
dispensers of these fairy favours would not be inquired after) of this
new interpretation of the _Rime of Sir_ TOPAZ. Other circumstances of
resemblance might be added (for when a well-grounded hint of this sort
is once given, and opened in some instances, it is not difficult to
pursue it), but one needs go no further to be certain that the general
scope of this poem is, Burlesque.

Only, I would observe, that though, in this ridiculous ballad, the
poet clearly intended to expose the Romances of the time, as they were
commonly written, he did not mean, absolutely and under every form,
to condemn the kind of writing itself: as, I think, we must conclude
from the serious air, and very different conduct, of the SQUIRE’S TALE;
which SPENSER and MILTON were so particularly pleased with.

We learn too, from the same tale, that, though CHAUCER could be as
pleasant on the other fooleries of Romance, as any modern critic, he
let the _marvellous_ of it escape his ridicule, or rather esteemed
this character of the _Gothic_ Romance, no foolery. For the tale of
CAMBUSCAN is all over MARVELLOUS; and MILTON, by specifying the
_virtuous ring and glass_, and the _wondrous horse of brass_, as the
circumstances that charmed him most, shews very plainly, that, in his
opinion, these amusing fictions were well placed, and of principal
consideration, as they surely are, in this _Fairy way of writing_.

But, whatever our old Bard would insinuate by his management of this
enchanting tale, and whatever conclusions have, in fact, been drawn
from it by such superior and congenial spirits as our two epic poets,
the _half-told_ story of CAMBUSCAN could never atone for the mischiefs
done to the cause of Romance, by the pointed ridicule of _the Rime of
Sir_ TOPAZ. Common readers would be naturally induced by it to reject
the old Romances, in the gross: and thus it happened, according to the
observation I set out with, “that these phantoms of Chivalry had the
misfortune to be laughed out of countenance by men of sense, before the
substance of it had been fairly and truly represented by any capable
writer.”

Still, the principal cause of all, which brought disgrace on the
_Gothic_ manners of Chivalry, no doubt, was, That these manners,
which sprang out of the feudal system, were as singular, as that
system itself: so that when that political constitution vanished out
of _Europe_, the manners, that belonged to it, were no longer seen or
understood. There was no example of any such manners remaining on the
face of the earth: and as they never did subsist but once, and are
never likely to subsist again, people would be led of course to think
and speak of them, as romantic, and unnatural. The consequence of which
was a total contempt and rejection of them; while the classic manners,
as arising out of the customary and usual situations of humanity, would
have many archetypes, and appear natural even to those who saw nothing
similar to them actually subsisting before their eyes.

Thus, though the manners of HOMER are perhaps as different from ours,
as those of Chivalry itself, yet as we know that such manners always
belong to rude and simple ages, such as HOMER paints; and actually
subsist at this day in countries that are under the like circumstances
of barbarity; we readily agree to call them _natural_, and even take a
fond pleasure in the survey of them.

Your question then is easily answered, without any obligation upon me
to give up the _Gothic_ manners as visionary and fantastic. And the
reason appears, why the _Fairy Queen_, one of the noblest productions
of modern poetry, is fallen into so general a neglect, that all the
zeal of its commentators is esteemed officious and impertinent, and
will never restore it to those honours which it has, once for all,
irrecoverably lost.

In effect, what way of persuading the generality of readers that
the romantic manners are to be accounted _natural_, when not one in
ten-thousand knows enough of the barbarous ages, in which they arose,
to believe they ever really existed?

Poor SPENSER then,

      —— ——“in whose gentle spright
    The pure well-head of Poesie did dwell,”

must, for aught I can see, be left to the admiration of a few lettered
and curious men: while the many are sworn together to give no quarter
to the _marvellous_, or, which may seem still harder, to the _moral_ of
his song.

However, this great revolution in modern taste was brought about by
degrees; and the steps, that led to it, may be worth the tracing in a
distinct Letter.


LETTER XII.

The wonders of Chivalry were still in the memory of men, were still
existing, in some measure, in real life, when CHAUCER undertook to
expose the barbarous relaters of them.

This ridicule, we may suppose, hastened the fall both of Chivalry and
Romance. At least from that time the spirit of both declined very fast,
and at length fell into such discredit, that when now SPENSER arose,
and with a genius singularly fitted to immortalize the land of Fairy,
he met with every difficulty and disadvantage to obstruct his design.

The age would no longer bear the naked letter of these amusing stories;
and the poet was so sensible of the misfortune, that we find him
apologizing for it on a hundred occasions.

But apologies, in such circumstances, rarely do any good. Perhaps, they
only served to betray the weakness of the poet’s cause, and to confirm
the prejudices of his reader.

However, he did more than this. He gave an air of mystery to his
subject, and pretended that his stories of knights and giants were but
the cover to abundance of profound wisdom.

In short, to keep off the eyes of the prophane from prying too
nearly into his subject, he threw about it the mist of allegory:
he moralized his song: and the virtues and vices lay hid under his
warriors and enchanters. A contrivance which he had learned indeed
from his _Italian_ masters: for TASSO had condescended to allegorise
his own work; and the commentators of ARIOSTO had even converted the
extravagances of the _Orlando Furioso_, into moral lessons.

And this, it must be owned, was a sober attempt in comparison of some
projects that were made about the same time to serve the cause of
the old, and now-expiring Romances. For it is to be observed, that
the idolizers of those Romances did by them, what the votaries of
HOMER had done by him. As the times improved and would less bear his
strange tales, they _moralized_ what they could, and turned the rest
into mysteries of _natural science_. And as this last contrivance was
principally designed to cover the monstrous stories of the _Pagan
Gods_, so it served the lovers of Romance to palliate the no less
monstrous stories of _magic enchantments_.

The editor or translator of the 24th book of AMADIS DE GAULE, printed
at _Lyons_ in 1577, has a preface explaining the whole secret, which
concludes with these words, “Voyla, lecteur, le FRUIT, qui se peut
recueiller du sens mystique des Romans antiques par les ESPRITS ESLEUS,
le commun peuple soy contentant de la SIMPLE FLEUR DE LA LECTURE
LITERALE.”

But to return to SPENSER; who, as we have seen, had no better way to
take in his distress, than to hide his fairy fancies under the mystic
cover of moral allegory. The only favourable circumstance that attended
him (and this no doubt encouraged, if it did not produce, his untimely
project) was, that he was somewhat befriended in these fictions, even
when interpreted according to the Letter, by the Romantic Spirit of his
age; much countenanced, and for a time brought into fresh credit, by
the Romantic ELIZABETH. Her inclination for the fancies of Chivalry is
well known; and obsequious wits and courtiers would not be wanting, to
feed and flatter it. In short, tilts and tournaments were in vogue:
the _Arcadia_ and the _Fairy Queen_ were written.

With these helps the new spirit of Chivalry made a shift to support
itself for a time, when reason was but dawning, as we may say, and
just about to gain the ascendant over the portentous spectres of the
imagination. Its growing splendour, in the end, put them all to flight,
and allowed them no quarter even among the poets. So that MILTON, as
fond as we have seen he was of the _Gothic_ fictions, durst only admit
them on the bye, and in the way of simile and illustration only.

And this, no doubt, was the main reason of his relinquishing his
long-projected design of Prince ARTHUR, at last, for that of the
_Paradise Lost_; where, instead of Giants and Magicians, he had
Angels and Devils to supply him with the _marvellous_, with greater
probability. Yet, though he dropped the tales, he still kept to the
allegories of SPENSER. And even this liberty was thought too much, as
appears from the censure passed on his _Sin and Death_ by the severer
critics.

Thus at length the magic of the old Romances was perfectly dissolved.
They began with reflecting an image indeed of the feudal manners,
but an image magnified and distorted by unskilful designers. Common
sense being offended with these perversions of truth and nature (still
accounted the more monstrous, as the antient manners, they pretended to
copy after, were now disused, and of most men forgotten), the next step
was to have recourse to _allegories_. Under this disguise they _walked
the world_ a while; the excellence of the moral and the ingenuity of
the contrivance making some amends, and being accepted as a sort of
apology, for the absurdity of the literal story.

Under this form the tales of Fairy kept their ground, and even made
their fortune at court; where they became, for two or three reigns, the
ordinary entertainment of our princes. But reason, in the end (assisted
however by party, and religious prejudices), drove them off the scene,
and would endure these _lying wonders_, neither in their own proper
shape, nor as masked in figures.

Henceforth, the taste of wit and poetry took a new turn: and the
_Muse_, who had wantoned it so long in the world of fiction, was now
constrained, against her will,

    “To stoop with disenchanted wings to truth,”

as Sir JOHN DENHAM somewhere expresses her present enforced state, not
unhappily.

What we have gotten by this revolution, you will say, is a great deal
of good sense. What we have lost, is a world of fine fabling; the
illusion of which is so grateful to the _charmed Spirit_, that, in
spite of philosophy and fashion, _Fairy_ SPENSER still ranks highest
among the poets; I mean, with all those who are either come of that
house, or have any kindness for it.

Earth-born critics, my friend, may blaspheme:

      “But all the GODS are ravish’d with delight
    Of his celestial song, and music’s wondrous might.”


THE END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.


  NICHOLS and SON, Printers,
  Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.




INDEX

TO

VOLUMES III. AND IV.


  A.

  ACADEMY, the ancient, compared with a modern university, iv. 214.

  ACCOMMODATION, of one’s-self, a great art, in public life, iii. 82.

  ADDISON, Mr. his contemplation in the ruins of Kenelworth Castle,
      iii. 172.
    his political character exhibited in his Whig Examiner, 177. n.
    calls in question the praises bestowed on Queen Elizabeth, 178.
    his strictures on the manners of that age, 186.
    character of his treatise on medals, 24.
    his remark on the use of popular superstitions in poetry, iv. 289.
    his observation on the fairy way of writing, 323.

  ADMIRALTY COURT, the imperial law still obtains there, iii. 375.

  ALLODIAL estates, in France, what, iii. 318.

  AMADIS DE GAULE, remarkable passage in a preface to, iv. 347.

  ARBUTHNOT, Dr. discourses with Mr. Addison and Mr. Digby on the age
      of Queen Elizabeth, iii. 168.
    his veneration for the manners of those times, 180.
    his opinion on the influence of the nobility, 184.
    on the pageants at Kenelworth, 203.
    See Elizabeth.

  ARIOSTO, why considered inferior to Tasso by the French critics,
      iv. 310.
    his work admirable for its pictures of life and manners, 328.

  ARTHUR, a subject to the writers of romance, iv. 241.
    the superior character in the Fairy Queen, 303.

  ASCHAM, his remark on the pernicious tendency of books of chivalry,
      iii. 192. n.

  ATHEISM, imported by our travelling gentry, iv. 99.

  ATHENS, its manly character corrupted by Asiatic manners, iv. 201.


  B.

  BACCHUS, a knight errant, iv. 266.

  BACON, Lord, his remark on retirement, iii. 137.
    why he was neglected by Queen Elizabeth, iii. 243. n.
    his excuse for bribery, 269.
    his remark on depression of nobility, iv. 27. n.

  BACON, NAT. character of his discourses on government, iii. 307.
    his observation on the state of the law in Henry V’s reign, 378.
    his character of Henry VIII. iv. 29. n.

  BARONS, their contests with the king, whence arising, iii. 332.
    how reduced by Henry VII. 334.
    they originally formed the great council of the kingdom, _ib._
    their opposition to a law for legitimating bastards, 363.
    their castles courts, as well as fortresses, iv. 247.
    described in romances as giants, 264.

  BASHFULNESS in young persons, whence arising, iv. 161.
    a wise provision of nature, 162.

  BASTARDS, how legitimated by the imperial and canon laws, iii. 362.

  BEAR-BAITING practised in the reign of Elizabeth, iii. 186. n.

  BENEFICIARY ESTATES, in France, what, iii. 318.

  BERKELEY, Bishop, his “Minute Philosopher” excellent as a specimen
      of modern dialogue, iii. 24.

  BOILEAU, a word of his overturned the reputation of the Italian
      poetry, iv. 314.

  BRACTON, his notion of a free government, iii. 370.

  BREEDING, forms of, a primary concern in foreign travel, iv. 147.

  BRIBERY, common in Elizabeth’s reign, iii. 267.

  BURGHLEY, Lord, practised on the fears of Queen Elizabeth, iii. 257.

  BURNET, Bishop, his notion of the danger to be apprehended from the
      Pretender, iii. 293.
    Augurs favourably of the Revolution, iv. 9, 10.
    his inquiry into the increase of Prerogative under the Tudors, 19.
    and after the ecclesiastical supremacy was transferred, 46.
    his apology for the clergy, 58 _to_ 64.
    his opinion on resistance, 66. n.

  BUTLER, ridicules the circumstance of women warriors in romance,
      iv. 317.


  C.

  CÆSAR, tribute to, misapplication of that precept by our reformers,
      iv. 74.

  CAMDEN, Mr. his opinion of the Irish rebellion in the reign of
      Elizabeth, iii. 232. n.

  CANON LAW, introduction of, discountenanced by our Kings, iii. 355,
      358.
    retained in the church after the Reformation, iv. 67.
    its doctrine convenient for the maintenance of absolute supremacy,
      69.

  CAPET, HUGH, the nobles had become independent on his accession, iii.
      321.

  CERVANTES, his ridicule destroyed the remains of Spanish prowess, iii.
      199.
    keenly satirizes the Grecian epics, iv. 272.

  CHACE, the favourite passion of our home-bred gentry, iv. 116.

  CHALLENGE, accepted, through deference to the opinion of the ladies,
      iv. 168.

  CHARLEMAGNE, a subject to the writers of romance, iv. 241.

  CHARLES I. arguments of the lawyers in his time, for divine right, iv.
      78. n.

  CHARLES II. how far his court benefited by foreign travel, iv. 100.
    his restoration introduced the French manners and prejudices among
      us, 311.

  CHARMS, in romance, often metaphorical, iv. 268.

  CHARTERS, GREAT, by some considered as usurpations on the Prince, iii.
      298.

  CHAUCER, has left an unfinished story on the Gothic model, iv. 294.
    his Rime of Sir Topaz a banter on books of romances, 335.
    compared with the work of Cervantes, 336.
    his tale of Cambuscan a proof that he did not intend to ridicule the
      marvellous, 342.

  CHIVALRY, its tendency to refine the manners, iii. 189.
    its ill effects, 192. n.
    contributed to the revival of letters, 195.
    had its origin in a barbarous age, iv. 238.
    sprung out of the feudal constitution, 242.
    its characteristics accounted for, 245.
    passion for arms, _ib._
    romantic ideas of justice, 246.
    courtesy and gallantry, 247.
    love of God and of the Ladies, 250.
    its genuine character displayed in the Crusades, 252, 254.
    two distinct periods in deducing its rise and progress, 258.
    agreement between heroic and Gothic manners, 262.
    their differences noted, 272.
    custom which prevailed at festivals, 297.
    women-warriors, 317.
    Greek fire, 320.

  CHURCH, its revenues dilapidated by queen Elizabeth, iii. 273.
    more immediately subjected to the feudal system than the civil
      power, iii. 326.
    struggles between the ecclesiastics and the monarchs, thence
      arising, 331.
    distinction between ecclesiastical and temporal courts by William
      I. 352.
    canon law discountenanced by our Kings, 359.

  CICERO, introduced the writing of Dialogue among the Romans, iii. 20.
    his remark on the advantage of applying it to real personages, 26.
    his rule respecting the appropriate style and expression, 36.
    character of his dialogue defined, 40.

  CITIZENS _and_ BURGESSES, whence originating, iii. 338.

  CLARENDON, Lord, his character of Lord Falkland, iii. 67. n.
    of Waller, 69. n.
    his eulogium on Ben Jonson and Cowley, 140. n.

  CLERGY, justified in attending the courts of princes, iii. 145.
    in the reign of the Conqueror, turned common lawyers, 352.
    the Imperial law their favourite study, 361.
    opposed by the barons, 363.
    supported by the judges and great officers of the realm, 366.
    at the Reformation propagated the doctrine of passive obedience,
      iv. 57.
    and of divine right, 62.
    apology for them, 63, 64.

  COMBAT, a mode of deciding questions of right and property, iii. 200.

  COMNENA, MANUEL, a crusade in his time attended by women-warriors, iv.
      317.

  CONSTITUTION, English, enquiry into, iii. 284.
    hath at all times been free, 286.
    many have but crude notions of it, 297.
    summary of erroneous doctrines respecting it, 298.
    question proposed, 305.
    its origin in the Saxon institutions, 309.
    æra of the Conquest, 310.
    contest for liberty throughout the Norman and Plantagenet lines,
      313.
    council of the Kingdom originally consisting of such as held _in
      capite_ of the crown, by barony, or knight’s service, 334.
    origin of knights of shires, 337.
    of citizens and burgesses, 338.
    formation of a House of Commons, 340, 346.
    its freedom shewn in the perpetual opposition of the people to the
      civil and canon laws, 349 _to_ 358.
    proofs of it, 363, 367.
    Imperial law still prevails in certain of our Courts, and in the
      Universities, 375.
    fate and fortunes of the Civil law down to the present time, 378.
    contrasted with the free principles of the English law, 384 _to_
      386.
    increase of prerogative under the Tudor line, 392. iv. 16.
    state of the nation at the accession of Henry VII. 24, 27.
    Henry VIII. 28.
    Rupture with the Court of Rome, 29.
    high prerogative, 37.
    Commons house rising in importance, 39.
    causes of the increase of Royal authority, 40.
    translation of the Pope’s supremacy to the king, 41.
    use made of the title, Supreme head of the Church, 49.
    high commission court and star-chamber, 50.
    dispensing power, 52.
    instances of its exercise, 53, 54.
    passive obedience, 57.
    why inculcated by the clergy, 58.
    doctrine of divine right whence originating, 62.
    growth of Puritanism, 63.
    Canon laws retained after the yoke of Rome was thrown off, 67.
    influence of the crown, after the Reformation, required to be
      limited by another change in the government, 71.
    translation of the supremacy no argument against the freedom of
      the constitution, 73.
    causes concurring with the Reformation to favour liberty, in the
      time of Charles I. 76, 77.
    issue of the conflict between prerogative and liberty, 79, 80.
    what is meant by the free constitution of the English monarchy,
      81. n.

  COURT, but two sorts of men that should live in one, iii. 124.
    the clergy justified in attending, 145.

  COWLEY, Mr. his motives for retiring from the world, iii. 101.
    expatiates on the benefit of solitude, 104.
    grounds of his apology for seclusion, 110.
    his early habits, 112.
    his residence at Oxford, and friendship with Lord Falkland, 116.
    his peculiar disposition, 120.
    his invective against courts, 124.
    his pursuits in retirement, 127.
    uses of applying experiment and observation to natural science, 129.
    his cynical severity against courts, 135.
    eulogium on him by Lord Clarendon, 140. n.
    remonstrance of his friend on his seclusion, 147.
    his reply in the words of Spenser, 148.
    his resolution unshaken, 150.
    his purposed apology to Lord St. Alban’s begun in his Essays, 152.
    his poem, called “The Complaint,” 157.

  CRAIG, his opinion of the feudal law, iii. 328.

  CRITICISM, bad, arises from abuse of terms, iv. 324.

  CROMWELL, his design for setting up a Protestant Council, iv. 14.

  CRUSADES, state of things when they were set on foot, iv. 252.
    considered as the origin of knight errantry, 255.
    domestic disorders resulting from them, 277.
    vast armies which were sent out, 318.

  CUTTER OF COLEMAN STREET, origin and purpose of that comedy, iii. 122.
      n.


  D.

  DAVENANT, Sir W. a new sort of criticism in his preface to Gondibert,
      iv. 311.

  DECLARATION OF RIGHTS, a barrier against future encroachments of the
      crown, iii. 293.

  DECRETALS, of the popes, against the civil law, iii. 355.

  DIALOGUE, a favourite form of instruction with the ancients, iii. 19.
    its advantages, 21.
    only three in the English language worthy of mention, 24.
    real persons only to be introduced in it, 27.
    a new species, created by Lucian, 28.
    the serious and philosophic, the best, 32.
    its requisites, 34.
    rule for restraining the characteristic peculiarities of style, 39.
    modern writers cannot aspire to the elegance of the ancient, 43.
    remedies for their difficulties, ib. 46.
    the ancient notion of, very little comprehended in our days, iv. 90.

  DISPARITY, a passage from a tract so called, iii. 235. n.
    another, illustrative of Queen Elizabeth’s policy, 258. n.

  DISPENSING POWER of the Crown, iv. 52.
    exercised by various sovereigns, 53, 54.
    eleven out of twelve judges declared for it, 55.

  DISSIPATION OF MIND, caused by travel, iv. 145.

  DIVINE RIGHT, doctrine of, why preached up, iv. 62.
    arguments for it used by the lawyers in the time of Charles I. 78. n.

  DRAMA, a particular precept for, mistaken for a general maxim, iv. 326.

  DUTCH TOWNS, accomplished scholars sometimes met within them, iv. 121.


  E.

  EDUCATION, that commonly called liberal, wherein defective, iv. 117,
      118.
    its proper objects pointed out, 138.
    one of its great secrets, to fix the attention of youth, 145.
    private, why preferable to public, 210.

  EDWARD THE CONFESSOR, formed a digest of the Saxon laws, iii. 349.

  EDWARD I. dispute concerning the succession to the crown of Scotland
      in his reign, iii. 367.

  EDWARD III. a house of commons originating in his reign, iii. 340,
      344.

  ΕΙΡΗΝΑΡΧΙΑ, a Latin panegyric on Queen Elizabeth taught in schools,
      iii. 239. n.

  ELIZABETH, Queen, dialogue on the age of, iii. 167.
    humour of magnifying her character, whence arising, 177.
    her romantic spirit, 196.
    examples of it, _ib._ n.
    honours paid her at Kenelworth, 203.
    superiority of poets in her reign, to what owing, 209.
    language of that age, favourable to poetry, 210.
    inquiry into the merits of her government, 219.
    sketch of its history, 221, 222.
    splendour of her reign how far owing to fortunate circumstances,
      223.
    her enthusiasm for her Protestant subjects, 225.
    contending factions of Papists and Puritans, 226.
    condition of the Continental powers, 230.
      of Ireland, 231.
      of Scotland, 233.
    her prerogative uncontrouled, 234.
    passion for letters in her reign, 236.
    a Latin panegyric on her, taught in grammar-schools, 239. n.
    spirit and genius of the nation roused by the dangers of the time,
      241.
    manners of her subjects debased by servility and insolence, 242.
    her choice of ministers, _ib._
    her personal qualities, 245.
    her love for her people called in question, 250.
    her foreign and domestic policy glanced at, 252.
    her popularity in part ascribed to her vices, 255.
    her cowardice, 256.
    her avarice, 261.
    her fondness for shew, 265.
    sale of offices, 266.
    reason why she did not marry, 271. n.
    her government oppressive, 272.
    two great events which cast an uncommon lustre over her reign, 274.
    causes of her domestic successes, 275.
    her character, 276.
    vindicated, 279.
    established the Reformation, iv. 31, 32.
    exercised the dispensing power, 54.
    her inclination for the fancies of chivalry, iv. 347.

  EMPSON _and_ DUDLEY, how enabled to violate the constitution, iii.
      379.
    their proceedings sanctioned by Parliament, iv. 34.

  ENGLAND, a constitutional history of, highly desirable, iii. 286,
      288.
    its monarchy by some declared to be absolute, 298, 299.
    its lands were allodial in the Saxon times, 324.
    how possessed, _ib._
    introduction of feudal tenures at the conquest, why popular, 325.
    origin of the struggles between the Church and the King, 331.
    between the King and his Barons, 332.
    never famous for the civility of its inhabitants, iv. 112.
    early travel recommended as a cure for this defect, 113.
    prejudices and low habits of our youth, 115.
    liberal arts not much advanced, 127.
    foreign nations to be emulated, 129.
    qualifications for a Senator, 140.
    another view of the state of the country, 151.
    ideas of liberty connected with it, 153.

  EPIC NARRATION, less restricted to truth than the drama, iv. 327.

  ERASMUS, improved on the dialogue of Lucian, iii. 28.

  ERUDITION, present state of, iv. 132.

  ESPRIT, DE L’, remark on a work so called, iv. 89. n.

  EUROPE, why not fit for an Englishman to travel in, iv. 200.
    view of the Protestant Universities of, 212, 213.


  F.

  FAERY COURT, means the reign of chivalry, iv. 248.

  FAIRIES, more engaging than the rabble of Pagan divinities, iv. 283.

  FAIRY QUEEN of Spenser, to be criticized as a Gothic, and not a
      classical poem, 292, 296.
    derives its method from the established modes of chivalry, 297.
    in what its unity consists, 300.
    expedients of the poet in connecting the subject, 302.
    allegorical character of the poem, 304.
    conduct of the story justified by its moral, 305.
    principal defect arising from the union of two designs, 306.

  FAIRY WAY OF WRITING, vindicated, iv. 316.
    allegory its last resource, 349.

  FALKLAND, Lord, his scruples on accepting the office of Secretary of
      State, iii. 67.

  FEUGREGEOIS, wonders told of it in the history of the crusades, iv.
      320.

  FEUDAL LAW, instituted by William the Conqueror, iii. 313.
    or rather new-modelled by him, 317.
    previously adopted in France, 319, 320.
    its _fruits_, 321.
    favourable to the cause of liberty, 323.
    definition of the feudal system, 329.
    its defects, 333, 334.
    fitted itself to the varying situations of society, 345.

  FEUDAL CONSTITUTION, the origin of chivalry, iv. 242.
    consideration had of females under it, 274.
    distinction between the early and later feudal times, 276.
    dissensions of leaders, domestic disorders, and usurpations, 277,
      278.

  FOREIGNERS, their disputes with British subjects, by what laws
      decided, iii. 376.

  FORTESCUE, his distinction between regal and political forms of
      government, iii. 388. n.

  FORTUNE, the making of one, an indefinite expression, iii. 131.

  FRANC-ALMOIGN, a particular tenure in the Saxon times, iii. 327.

  FRANCE, its lands, under the Carlovingian line, of two kinds, iii.
      318.
    changes introduced, _ib._ 319, 320.
    most of its lands were beneficiary, 324.
    her pre-eminence in taste and politeness, iv. 130.

  FREEDOM, English, best supported by the ancient nobility, iii. 184.

  FREE MEN, persons holding _allodial_ estates in France, so called,
      iii. 318.

  FRENCH CRITICS, preferred the Gierusalemme Liberata to the Orlando
      Furioso, iv. 309.

  FYNES MORYSON, his remark on the condition of the English people,
      iii. 183. n.


  G.

  GARDENING, Gothic method of design in, iv. 301.

  GENIUS, men of, infelicities attending the sensibility of their
      gratitude, iii. 140.

  GENTLEMAN, what his chief object, iv. 123.

  GERMAN NATIONS, foundation of gallantry in their ancient manners,
      iv. 250.
    their predatory disposition, 269.

  GIANTS of Romance, were oppressive feudal lords, iv. 263.

  GOTHIC ROMANCE, incorporated with pagan fable, in a pageant given to
      Queen Elizabeth at Kenelworth, iii. 203.
    whence fallen into disrepute, iv. 333.
    steps of its decline traced, 345.

  —— MANNERS,
    in some circumstances agree with the heroic, iv. 262.
    military enthusiasm, _ib._
    giants and savages, 263.
    monsters, dragons, and serpents, 265.
    robbery and piracy, 268.
    bastardy, 269.
    hospitality and courtesy, 270.
    martial exercises, _ib._
    passion for adventures, 271.
    wherein they differed from the heroic, 272.
    in the affair of religion and gallantry, 274.
    more poetical than the heroic, 280.
    in the displays of love and friendship, 282.
    in religious machinery, 283.
    their effect on Spenser, 291.
    on Milton, 292.
    on Shakespear, 294.
    method of design in poetry, 300.

  GREEKS, a sort of chivalry prevailed among them, iv. 273.

  GROTIUS, his character of the English in Elizabeth’s reign, iii.
      242. n.
    his remark on the foreign policy of that Queen, 259. n.

  GUARINI, his Pastor Fido, for what admirable, iv. 315.

  GUY, EARL OF WARWICK, his return from the wars, compared with that
      of Ulysses, iv. 278.


  H.

  HABITS, low and immoral, how far likely to be corrected by foreign
      travel, iv. 157.

  HALE’S CASE, afforded an alarming proof of the influence of the
      dispensing power, iv. 55.

  HAMPDEN, Mr. his allegation in the great cause of ship-money, 78. n.

  HARRINGTON, Sir James, his opinion on the statutes against retainers,
      in Henry VII.’s reign, 184. n.

  HARRISON, his account of the progress of learning in Queen Elizabeth’s
      reign, iii. 237. n.

  HELMET, used as a signal of hospitality in the ages of chivalry, iii.
      182.

  HENRIADE, why not long-lived, iv. 331.

  HENRY III. issued a prohibition against the teachers of the Roman law
      in London, iii. 357, 358.

  HENRY VII. his character, iv. 19.
    increased his own authority and diminished that of his nobles, 25.
    filled the great offices with churchmen only, 26.
    exercised the dispensing power, contrary to act of parliament, 53.

  HENRY VIII. favoured the study of the civil law, though constrained to
      abolish it, iii. 380.
    his character, iv. 19.
    advantageous circumstances on his accession, 29.
    his rupture with the court of Rome, _ib._
    obtained of his parliament to have his proclamations pass for laws,
      34.

  HELVIDIUS, PRISCUS, a fine trait in his character, as given by
      Tacitus, iii. 142.

  HENTZNERUS, PAULUS, praises Queen Elizabeth’s skill in languages,
      iii. 257. n.

  HERBERT, Mr. GEORGE, commended king James as a greater orator than
      any of the ancients, iii. 240. n.

  HERCULES, a knight errant, iv. 266.

  HEROIC POETRY, why it has survived the Gothic, iv. 333.

  HIGH COMMISSION COURT, iii. 381.
    in what originating, iv. 49.

  HISTORY, ENGLISH, study of it essential to a young senator, iv. 142.

  HOBBES, Mr. assisted in establishing a new sort of criticism, iv. 311.
    his notion of poetical truth, 324.

  HOMER, correspondence of his descriptions with those of Gothic
      romance, iv. 266.
    his two poems intended to expose the evils arising from the
      political state of old Greece, 277.
    felicity of his age, for poetical manners, 280.

  HOSPITALITY, much practised by the great, in former times, iii. 181.
    species of it peculiar to the purer ages of chivalry, 182. n.

  HOUSE OF COMMONS, its origin, iii. 340.
    generated by the constitution, 346.

  HUMAN NATURE, how to be studied, iv. 197.

  HUME, ground of his apology for the House of Stuart, iii. 391. n.
    his account of the feudal times the best part of his history of
      England, iv. 80. n.
    his zeal for the house of Stuart a disgrace to his work, 82.


  I & J.

  JAMES I. favoured the study of the civil law, iii. 381.
    advantages under which he succeeded to the crown, iv. 33.
    believed himself absolute, 37.
    his bold language to his parliaments, 38.
    asserts the right of the King to suspend the laws, 54.
    considered a most able judge of _church work_, 59, 60. n.
    styles himself the great schoolmaster of the land, 69. n.

  JESUITS, their expedient to justify the pope in deposing kings, iv.
      61.

  IGNORANCE, the parent of many vices, iv. 108.

  INTEREST, of men in office, how connected with duty, iii. 139.

  JONSON, BEN, praised by Lord Clarendon, iii. 140. n.
    his encomium on legends of ancient chivalry, 194.
    contrasts them with real life and manners, 198.
    design of the witch-scenes in his Masque of Queens, iv. 287.

  IRELAND, distractions in, during the reign of Elizabeth, iii. 231.

  IRISH, savage, in the reign of Elizabeth, held their rhymers in
      principal estimation, iv. 271.

  ITALIAN POETRY, a short history of, 309 to 315.
    vindicated, 316, 328.
    its fictions ingenious as well as bold, 330.

  ITALY, the theatre of politeness in the age of Elizabeth, iv. 99.
    abounding with literary men, 121.

  JURY, trial by, when disgraced and rejected, iii. 379, 382.

  JUSTICES OF PEACE, in Queen Elizabeth’s reign, notoriously corrupt,
      iii. 270.

  JUSTINIAN LAW, when introduced into England, iii. 354.
    Why the chief study of the clergy, 361.
    opposed by the barons, 363.
    allows legitimation by subsequent marriage, 365.
    in what courts it obtains to this day, 375.
    its fate and fortunes down to the present time, 378.

  JUSTS AND TURNAMENTS, their origin, iv. 243.


  K.

  KENELWORTH CASTLE, contemplations in the ruins of, iii. 170.
    behaviour of Lord Leicester’s porter on Queen Elizabeth’s visit,
      174.
    pageants in honour of her, 203.

  KNIGHTS OF SHIRE, whence originating, iii. 337, 338.

  KNIGHTS ERRANT, iv. 247.
    their devotion to the fair sex, 248.
    their most essential qualities, courage and faith, 251.
    origin ascribed to the crusades, 255.
    objection to that hypothesis, 257.
    what the principal mover of their adventures, 275.

  KNOWLEDGE of the world, necessary for enlarging the mind, iv. 108.
    what is meant by it, 122, 123.
    not attainable by early travel, 170.
    to be acquired by degrees, 180.


  L.

  LADIES, attach a high degree of merit to good breeding, iv. 168.
    though bred at home, have a manifest advantage over their travelled
      brothers in liberal acquirements, 176.
    virtues and faults more conspicuous in them than in the other sex,
      177, 178.

  “LADY OF THE LAKE,” a pageant at Kenelworth Castle, iii. 203.

  LAGA, or LEAGA, the Saxon word for law, its extensive import, iii.
      308.

  LANGUAGE, ENGLISH, at what period most favourable to poetry, iii. 210.

  LANGUAGES, time sometimes wasted in studying, iv. 147.

  LAWS, how rendered necessary, iv. 108.

  LEARNING, revival of, began first by poetry, iii. 206.

  LEGISLATORS, ancient, why required to travel for instruction, iv. 95.

  LEGISLATURE, their right to settle the government, unquestionable,
      iii. 302.

  LEICESTER, Earl of, his splendid monument in the great church of
      Warwick, iii. 168.
    Strictures on his conduct, 176.

  LETTERS, the cultivation of, its own reward, iii. 130.

  LIBERAL ARTS, of late growth in England, iv. 127.
    study of them less important than other branches of education, 192.

  LIBERTY, a right understanding of its principles necessary to the
      security of the British government, iii. 295.
    religious, made way for the entertainment of civil, in all its
      branches, iv. 76.

  LIFE-GUARD, instituted by Henry VII. iv. 25.

  LIVY, his dialogues, if preserved, would have suffered by comparison
      with those of Cicero, iii. 41.

  LOCKE, Mr. Lord Shaftesbury’s opinion of him as a philosopher, iv. 88.
    his notion of education, opposed to that of his lordship, 136, 138.
    denies that its objects can be attained by foreign travel, 143.
    his remarks on England, 151.
    on national prejudices, 152, 154.
    on evil habits, 156.
    on bashfulness in youth, 161.
    on knowledge of the world, 170.
    on the means of instilling it into the minds of youth, 180.
    his objections to the study of the fine arts, 191, 193.
    of the fine arts, 191, 193.
    Declares against European travels, 200.
    his remarks on the universities, 204.
    on clergy tutors, 217.
    Presage of brighter days for the universities, 224.

  LOLLARDISM, spreading in the reign of Henry VII. iv. 27.

  LONDON, a fit scene for seeing the world, iv. 190.

  LUCAN, his magic scenes excelled by those of Apuleius, iv. 283, 284.

  LUCIAN, created a new species of dialogue, iii. 28.
    its nature defined, 30, 32.
    his remark on the social use of the table, 182.


  M.

  MANNERS, best acquired by early travel, iv. 119.
    meaning of the term, 120.
    a chief object of study, 124.

  MASKS and SHOWS, their origin and design, iii. 207.

  MATTHEW PARIS, his remark on the subjection of the ecclesiastical to
      the secular power at the Conquest, iii. 327. n.

  MAYNARD, Sir JOHN, one of the most accomplished lawyers of his time,
      iii. 289. n.
    traces the origin of the English Constitution, 306.
    was one of the _eleven members_ proceeded against, on the charge of
      the army, 383. n.
    his opinion that the power of the militia was not in the king, iv.
      75. n.

  MELVIL, Sir JAMES, his frank reply to Queen Elizabeth touching her
      celibacy, iii. 271. n.

  MILTON, recommends gymnastics in his Tractate of Education, iii. 188.
    why he preferred the classic to the Gothic model in poetry, iv. 292.
    pleased with the manners described in books of chivalry, 293.
    his allusion to the vast armies described in romance, 318.
    Pagan gods and Gothic fairies out of credit when he wrote, 331.
    admired Chaucer’s tale of Cambuscan, 342.
    His reason for relinquishing his design of Prince Arthur, 348.

  MODESTY, in young persons, a grace and ornament, iv. 162.
    the blush of budding reason and virtue, 164.

  MONTESQUIEU, his observation on the Gothic government, iii. 341. n.

  MORE, Dr. HENRY, his dialogue with Mr. Waller on sincerity, iii. 53.
    his character, according to Bishop Burnet, 93. n.

  MOUNTJOY, Lord, how reprimanded by Queen Elizabeth, iii. 249.


  N.

  NATIONS, improved by intercourse with each other, iv. 109.

  NATURE, how to be followed in poetry, iv. 324.

  NEUTRALITY, why another name for insincerity, iii. 66.

  NORHAM, great Council of, rejected the Cæsarean law, iii. 367.


  O.

  OBEDIENCE, PASSIVE, doctrine of, by whom propagated, iv. 57.


  P.

  PAGAN superstitions, fall short of the Gothic, iv. 284.

  PANDECTS, when and by whom introduced into England, iii. 354.
    their doctrine concerning the origin of government, 371.

  PAPAL SUPREMACY, its extent in this kingdom, iv. 42.
    how transferred to Henry VIII. 43.
    qualifying clauses, _ib._
    high notions entertained of the pope’s power, 46.
    dispensing power, 52.
    exercised by the popes against the Gospel itself, 56. n.
    indignation of the popes against our reforming sovereigns, 61.

  PARLIAMENTS, their authority acknowledged even under our most despotic
      Princes, iv. 37.
    transferred the papal supremacy to Henry VIII. 43.
    how curbed by the _dispensing power_, 51, 52.

  PERSONIFICATION, why frequent in old poetry, iii. 211, 212.

  PHILIP THE GOOD, duke of Burgundy, a festival given by him, for a
      crusade, iv. 298.

  PHILOSOPHERS, ancient, considered travel as a necessary part of their
      studies, iv. 95.

  PHILOSOPHY, how at present degraded, iv. 131.

  PLATO, the model, if not the inventor, of the Greek dialogue, iii. 20.

  PLOT, of Mr. Waller, its failure, iii. 71, 72.
    confounded with another of more dangerous tendency, 75.

  PLUTARCH, his life of Theseus reads like a modern romance, iv. 266.

  POETRY, what point in the revolutions of taste and language most
      favourable to it, iii. 210.
    the sublime species not subject to strict rules of credibility,
      iv. 325, 326.

  POETS, generally enamoured of solitude, iii. 113, 114.

  POLE, Cardinal, violent in his invectives against Henry VIII. iv. 60.

  POLITENESS, not attainable by great men, iv. 166.
    what its most reasonable sense, 201.

  PREJUDICES, of home-bred gentlemen, iv. 114.
    the term equivocal, 152.
    some ought not to be removed, 153.
    proper cure for vicious prejudices, 155.

  PREROGATIVE, of English monarchs, controuled by law, iii. 287.

  PROTESTANT COUNCIL, projected by Cromwell, iv. 14. n.

  PROTESTANTISM, had made considerable progress on the accession of
      Elizabeth, iii. 224.
    its effects on the public morals, 238.

  PROTESTANTS, French, persecution of, iv. 12. n.

  PURITANISM, growth of, iv. 63.

  PURITANS, how managed by Queen Elizabeth, iii. 227.


  R.

  RALEIGH, Sir Walter, his opinion on the conduct of the Spanish war,
      iii. 252.
    received money to use his interest with the Queen, 268.

  REASON, best exercised in society, iii. 106.

  RECREANT, why a term of disgrace for a vanquished knight, iv. 251.

  REFORMATION, established in the reign of Elizabeth, iv. 31, 32.
    though founded on principles of liberty, for a time favoured the
      power of the crown, 70.
    carried on and established by the whole legislature, 73.

  RELIGIOUS HOUSES, suppression of, favoured the extension of
      prerogative, iv. 20.

  REPRESENTATION, Dramatic, requires stricter adherence to truth than
      narration, iv. 326.

  RETAINERS, laws of Henry VII. against, iv. 25.

  RETIREMENT, foundation of the dialogue concerning, iii. 97. n.
    its good effects on the mind, 104.
    its disadvantages, 106.
    retirement of good men from public employments prejudicial to the
      state, 141.

  REVOLUTION of 1688, why justifiable, iii. 283.
    settlement introduced by it, how to be rendered secure, 295.

  RHETORICIAN, one who taught the art of _not speaking_, iv. 121.

  RICHARD II. the wonder-working parliament in his reign rejected the
      Roman civil law, iii. 367.
    his declaration that his will was law, 374.

  ROBERT THE NORMAN, his wife fought by his side in battle, iv. 317.

  ROMAN EMPERORS, their policy in assuming the title of Pontifex
      Maximus, iv. 47.

  ROME, Court of, its authority rejected by Henry VIII. iv. 29.

  ROMANCE, Spirit of, whence originating, iv. 239.
    principal subjects, 241.
    from what period its writers derive their ideas of chivalry, 259.
    practice of mixing Pagan fable with it, 272.
    Gothic superstitions introduced, 284.
    decline of this species of writing, 333, 345, 348.

  ROUSSEAU, his observation on the use of the marvellous in epic and
      dramatic compositions, iv. 327. n.

  ROYAL SOCIETY, much talked of, before it was instituted, iii. 143. n.

  RYSWICK, treaty of, wherein defective, iv. 12.


  S.

  ST. ALBAN’S, Lord, the patron of Cowley, iii. 97, 99, 102.

  SAXONS, the principles of their policy still maintained in our
      government, iii. 307.
    spirit of liberty prevailed among them, 309.
    their institutions, after the decline of the Romans, the standing
      laws of this kingdom, 349.

  SAVAGES of Romance, dependants of feudal lords, iv. 263.

  SELDEN, his character of Ben Jonson, iii. 209.
    a curious extract from his dissertation on Fleta, 370.

  SELF-LOVE, when uncontrouled, engenders vices, iv. 108.

  SENATOR, English, requisite qualifications of one, iv. 140.
    are not attainable by foreign travel, 143.

  SIDNEY, Sir PHILIP, the flower of knighthood, iii. 197.

  SINCERITY in the commerce of the world, a dialogue on, iii. 53.

  SHAFTESBURY, Lord, eminent as a writer of dialogue, iii. 24.
    his remarks on the difficulties attending that class of composition,
      42.
    represented in a dialogue with Mr. Locke, on the uses of foreign
      travel, iv. 87.
    states its advantages, 107.
    asserts it to be the most important part of education, 111.
    descants on the prejudices of home-bred gentlemen, 115.
    on the state of the arts in Britain, 126.
    on the decay of philosophy, 131.
    his raillery against the Gothic manner in poetry, 311.

  SHAKESPEAR, remark of his best critic on the witch-scenes in Macbeth,
      iv. 286.
    greater in the Gothic than in the classic manner, 295.

  SOCRATES, whence he took his name of Ironist, iii. 28.
    never stirred out of Athens, iv. 96.

  SOMERS, Mr. his fears that the principles of liberty are not
      thoroughly established in the minds of the people, iii. 295, 297.
    his notion of the varying ascendancy of liberty and prerogative,
      iv. 18.

  SPAIN, Queen Elizabeth’s triumph over, to what owing, iii. 274.

  SPENSER, had talent for business as well as for poetry, iii. 243.
    his funeral, _ib._ n.
    charmed by Gothic Romance, iv. 239.
    his account of the courtesy of chivalry, 247.
    of the connection of gallantry with the profession of Knighthood,
      249.
    his description of characters in romance, 264.
    his design in the Fairy Queen, 280.
    why he chose chivalry for his theme, and Fairy land for his scene,
      291.
    why he had recourse to allegory, 346.
    with whom he ranks highest among the poets, 350.

  SPRAT, the Rev. Mr. his account of a conversation with Mr. Cowley on
      retirement, iii. 99.

  STAR-CHAMBER, iii. 381.
    when confirmed by act of parliament, iv. 25, 34.
    its jurisdiction why extended, 50.

  STEPHEN, the Justinian laws introduced into England during his reign,
      iii. 354.
    interdicted the study of them, 356.

  STILLINGFLEET, Dr. his remark on the dispensing power, iv. 54.

  STUART, House of, part of their difficulties ascribed to the bad
      policy of their predecessor, iii. 228.
    English Government despotic under the first princes of that line,
      iii. 390.
    prerogative increased in the preceding reigns, iv. 20, 33.
    confirmed the jurisdiction of the Star-Chamber by statute, 34.
    exercised the dispensing power to a dangerous degree, 55.


  T.

  TACITUS, bears testimony to the free spirit of the German
      constitutions, iii. 309.

  TASSO, his Gierusalemme Liberata planned on the model of the Iliad,
      iv. 279.
    his description of a garden, iv. 301.
    his Gierusalemme Liberata considered, 308.
    how estimated by the French critics, 309, 310.
    his Clarinda not so extravagant a character as is generally
      supposed, 318.
    remark of a French critic on his enchantments, 322.
    his fairy tales do him more honour than the classical parts of his
      poem, 329.

  TERENCE, his characters all express themselves with equal elegance,
      iii. 39.

  THEOBALD, Archbishop, favoured the reading of the Justinian laws in
      England, iii. 354.

  THIRD ESTATE in France, their deputies how stigmatized by one of
      the popes, iv. 59. n.

  THUANUS, his remark on the romantic spirit of Queen Elizabeth,
      iii. 196.

  THURKEBY, Judge, exclaims against the dispensing power, iv. 53. n.

  TILT YARD, a school of fortitude and honour to our forefathers, iii.
      185.
    Its exercises excelled those of the Grecian gymnastics, 188.

  TOLERATION-ACT, when passed, iv. 11. n.

  TOPAZ, SIR, of Chaucer, a prelude to Don Quixote, iv. 336.

  TOUR OF EUROPE, too limited for a philosophic traveller, iv. 198.

  TRAVEL, foreign, dialogue on the uses of, iv. 87.
    considered as a part of early education, 93.
    question stated, 94.
    example of the ancient philosophers, 96.
    allusion to the court of Elizabeth, 98.
    of Charles II. 100.
    youth more exposed to vice abroad than at home, 103.
    arguments in favour of it, 107.
    its tendency to remove prejudices and correct low habits, 115.
    and to qualify a person for bearing his part in public affairs, 124.
    the argument refuted, 135.
    proper objects of education, 138.
    does not contribute to attain them, 143.
    waste of time, _ib._
    dissipation of mind, 145.
    objects to which the traveller’s application is directed, 146.
    hinder him from more important studies, 149.
    vicious prejudices may be removed without it, 155.
    low habits not likely to be corrected by it, 157, 158.
    precipitates youth into manhood, 165.
    is become fashionable through the influence of the ladies, 168.
    knowledge of the world not to be acquired by it, 172.
    unseasonable and useless in youth, 173.
    considered as a means of dissolving hasty and ill-timed connexions,
      188.
    of studying the fine arts, 191.
    when to be practised with most advantage, 195.
    to be extended beyond the tour of Europe, 198.
    foreign and English universities compared, 212.
    what tutorage most proper, 217.

  TUDOR LINE, government of England more despotic under them than in
      the preceding reigns, iii. 390.

  TUTOR, Travelling, how to be chosen, iv. 106.
    the best cannot teach every thing requisite, 149.
    what tutorage most proper, 217.


  V. and U.

  VACARIUS taught the civil law in England, iii. 355.

  VIRTUE, exists most in the offices of social life, iii. 106.
    not incompatible with ambition, 139.

  VIRTUOSOSHIP, one of the objects of foreign travel, iv. 146.

  ULYSSES, his return afforded an exception to the domestic licence of
      the time, iv. 278.

  UNITY of design in Gothic poems, iv. 300.

  UNIVERSITIES, the Imperial law still obtains in them, iii. 375.
    strictures on, iv. 132.
    a sketch of their institution and genius, 204.
    why the barbarous plans of education still prevail, 206.
    a reformation contemplated, 208.
    their studies and discipline not without their use, 211.
    compared with those of the continent, 212.
    their forms and regulations commended, 214.
    much room for improvement in them, 223.
    happy presage of their future condition, 224.


  W.

  WALLER, Mr. EDMUND, represented in dialogue with Dr. More, on
      sincerity in the commerce of the world, iii. 53.
    recites his history, 57.
    his introduction at court, where he recommended himself by his
      poetry, 60.
    engaged actively in the parliament of 1640, 63.
    his relationship and attachment to Mr. Hampden could never bias
      him from moderation, 65.
    his resolution to pursue the King’s interests, and yet keep clear
      with the Parliament, 69.
    his popularity drew him into difficulties, 71.
    failure of his _plot_, 72.
    his address in extricating himself from the danger thence arising,
      77.
    his hypocrisy, 79.
    retired into France during the troubles of the country, 83.
    ascribes his misfortunes to _sincerity_, and his escape from them,
      to _dissimulation_, 84.
    is admitted, on his return, to the confidence of the Protector,
      whom he panegyrized, 86.
    congratulated Charles II. on his restoration, 88.
    his arguments in justification of his conduct, 91.

  WALLS OF FIRE, mentioned in romance, what in reality, iv. 320.

  WALSINGHAM, Secretary, recounts the ill effects of Queen Elizabeth’s
      frugality, iii. 263. n.
    his illustrious poverty, 264.

  WARWICK, Great Church of, famous for its monuments, iii. 168.

  WILLIAM I. his Conquest by some considered as the foundation of
      absolute monarchy in England, iii. 298, 309.
    his claim to the crown not conquest but testamentary succession,
      311.
    instituted the feudal law, 313.
    consequences of his distribution of forfeited estates and
      seignories, 333.
    obliged to ratify the old standing laws of the kingdom, 349.
    illustration of his policy in his distinction of the ecclesiastical
      and temporal courts, 351, 352.
    styles himself _Bastard_, in one of his charters, 363.

  WILLIAM III. King, his character, iv. 14.

  WOLSEY, Cardinal, charged with subjecting the laws of the land to
      the imperial laws, iii. 380.

  WOMEN-WARRIORS, in times of chivalry, iv. 317.

  WORLD, the Commerce of, how to be prepared for, iv. 138.
    a knowledge of, the most momentous part of education, and least
      understood, 179.


  X.

  XENOPHON, why lavish in praise of hunting, iii. 189.


  Y.

  YORKE, the late Right Hon. CHARLES, extract from a letter of his,
      on the origin of chivalry, iv. 254.

  YOUTH, the season for acquiring right propensities and virtuous
      habits, iv. 113.
    education of, in England, wherein defective, iv. 117.
    value of time at that age, 144.
    bashfulness a favourable symptom, 161.
    what period of it requires most care and vigilance, 180.
    entrance into the world, 181.
    necessity of moral discipline, 184.


  Z.

  ZEAL for the faith, actuated the professors of chivalry, iv. 251.


THE END OF VOLUME IV.


  J. Nichols and Son, Printers,
  Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.




FOOTNOTES:


[1] _7 May, 1689._

[2] The act of toleration did not pass till _24 May, 1689_, which lets
us see at what time this preface is _supposed_ to have been drawn up.

[3] This was the talk of men at that time. It was perhaps in the king’s
intention. But the design, if it had ever been formed, miscarried; as
the Bishop himself observes in his History—“The most melancholy part
of the treaty of _Ryswick_ was, that no advantages were got by it,
in favour of the Protestants in _France_.” Vol. iv. p. 295. _Edinb._
1753.—Whether the blame of this lies in the king, or his parliaments,
or neither, the reader is left to judge for himself, from considering
the state and transactions of those times.

[4] These rigours the bishop gives a particular account of in THE
HISTORY OF HIS OWN TIMES, vol. iii. _Edinb._ 1753.—Speaking of the
persecution of the _French_ Protestants, he says, “I went over a great
part of _France_, while it was in its hottest rage, from _Marseilles_
to _Montpelier_, and from thence to _Lyons_, and so on to _Geneva_. I
saw and knew so many instances of their injustice and violence, that it
exceeded even what could have been well imagined; for all men set their
thoughts on work to invent new methods of cruelty. In all the towns
through which I passed, I heard the most dismal accounts of things
possible.” p. 60.—Again—“The fury that appeared on this occasion did
spread itself with a sort of contagion: for the intendants and other
officers, that had been mild and gentle in the former parts of their
life, seemed now to have laid aside the compassion of Christians, the
breeding of gentlemen, and the impressions of humanity.” p. 61.

[5] Meaning CROMWELL, who, it seems, had a design of setting up “a
council for the Protestant religion, in opposition to the congregation
_de propagandâ fide_ at _Rome_.” See the Bishop’s own account in his
Hist. vol. i. p. 109.

[6] NAT. BACON, in his Disc. part II. p. 125. _Lond._ 1739.

[7] The story is told by Lord BACON in his history of this prince.

[8] He did not consider that maxim of the Lord BACON, “Depression of
the nobility may make a king more absolute, but less safe.” Works, vol.
iii. p. 296.

[9] And yet Lord BACON tells us, that when HENRY VIII. came to the
crown, “There was no such thing as any great and mighty subject, who
might any way eclipse or overshade the imperial power.” Works, vol.
iii. p. 508.

[10] “A man, as Mr. BACON characterises him, underneath many passions,
but above fear.” DISC. Part II. p. 120.

[11] DISC. Part II. p. 125.

[12] This terrible act is 31 HEN. VIII. c. 8. It was repealed in 1 EDW.
VI. c. 12.

[13] Speech to the lords and commons at _Whitehall_. An. 1609.

[14] It was said well of this king—“That he spake peace abroad, and
sung lullaby at home: yet, like a dead calm in a hot spring, treasured
up in store sad distempers against a back-winter.” NAT. BACON.

[15] Meaning such clauses as these—_as by any spiritual or
ecclesiastical power or authority may LAWFULLY be exercised_, and,
_provided that nothing be done contrary to the LAWS of this realm._

[16] The bishop does well to say—_in some measure_. For, according
to popish prejudices, the sacerdotal character is vastly above the
regal. See POLE’S address to HEN. VIII. I. 1, where this high point is
discussed at large.

[17] HIST. ANG. p. 694.

[18] Something to this purpose occurs in p. 706.

[19] The name of this reverend judge was ROGER DE THURKEBY. A cause
was trying before him in _Westminster-hall_, when one of the parties
produced the king’s letters patent with a _non-obstante_ in it. “Quod
cum comperisset,” says the historian, “ab alto ducens suspiria, de
prædictæ adjectionis appositione, dixit; Heu, heu, hos ut quid dies
expectavimus? ecce jam civilis curia exemplo ecclesiasticæ conquinatur,
et a sulphureo fonte rivulus intoxicatur.” p. 784. HEN. III.

[20] Many statutes, and especially 23 HEN. VI. had forbidden the
continuance of any person in the office of sheriff for more than
one year. HENRY VII. dispensed with these statutes. And the twelve
judges resolved in 2 HEN. VII. that, by a _non-obstante_, a patent
for a longer time should be good.—It seems, the good old race of the
THURKEBYS was now worn out.

[21] See his Works, vol. iii. p. 806.

[22] _The true law of free monarchies_, in the King’s Works, p. 203.

[23] Alluding to the doctrine of the canonists, who say, _Papa
dispensare potest de omnibus præceptis_ VETERIS ET NOVI TESTAMENTI. See
_bishop_ JEWELL’S _defence of his apology of the church of England,
against_ HARDING, p. 313.

[24] See this particular taken notice of in K. JAMES’S Works, p. 384.

[25] One of them, King JAMES, profited so well by this discipline,
that, as we are told on very competent authority, “He was the most able
prince that ever this kingdom had, to JUDGE OF CHURCH-WORK.” _Ded. of
Bp. ANDREWS’S sermons to CHARLES I. by the bishops LAUD and BUCKERIDGE._

[26] This notion was started even so early as HENRY’s rejection of the
supremacy. Cardinal POLE insists strongly on this origin of kingship in
his book, _Pro ecclesiasticæ unitatis defensione_, lib. i. p. 74.

[27] In the writings, published by political men for twenty years
together before the Restoration; in which the great question of the
origin of civil government was thoroughly canvassed.

[28] The bishop declares his opinion to this purpose very fully in
several places of the History of his Own Times. His and his friend
TILLOTSON’S representations to the unhappy Lord RUSSELL, no doubt,
turned upon this principle.

[29] The bishop gives the same account of this matter in his History of
the Reformation, Part I. p. 330.

[30] TRUE LAW OF FREE MONARCHIES, p. 203.—What is said of the king’s
being the _great schoolmaster of the land_ is taken from the same
discourse, p. 204. His words are these—“The people of a borough cannot
displace their provost—yea, even the poor school-master cannot be
displaced by his scholars—How much less it is lawful upon any pretext
to control or displace the great provost and GREAT SCHOOL-MASTER OF THE
WHOLE LAND.”

[31] Mr. SOMERS had reason for saying this; for the intimation was no
less than that the power of the _militia_ was not in the king. Sir J.
MAYNARD was of this opinion, when the matter was debated in parliament
in 1642. See WHITLOCK, p. 56.

[32] The doctrines of divine right, as propagated by the churchmen
of that time in their books and sermons, are well known.—Those of
the lawyers were such as these—It had been alleged on the part of
Mr. HAMPDEN, in the great cause of ship-money, “that by a fundamental
policy in the creation of the frame of this kingdom, in case the
monarch of _England_ should be inclined to exact from his subjects at
his pleasure, he should be restrained, for that he could have nothing
from them, but upon a common consent of parliament.” Sir ROBERT
BERKELEY, one of the judges of the king’s-bench, affirmed—“That the
law knows no such king-yoking policy:”—Sir THOMAS TREVOR, one of
the barons of the exchequer, “That our king hath as much power and
prerogative belonging to him as any prince in Christendom:”—The
attorney-general, Sir JOHN BANKS, “That the king of _England_ hath an
entire empire; he is an absolute monarch: nothing can be given to an
absolute prince! but is inherent in his person.” _State Trials_, vol.
i. Such was the language of the guardians of the LAW, that temple or
sanctuary, as it has been called, whither the subject is to run for
shelter and protection. Had not Mr. ST. JOHN then much reason for
saying, as he did on that occasion, “We have the fabric of the temple
still; but the Gods, the DII TUTELARES, are gone?” There is the more
force and propriety in this censure, as it comes from a man who was
himself of the profession. And another of the same order, the best
and wisest perhaps that frequented the temple of law in those days,
proceeds with a just indignation still further—“These men (said Mr.
HIDE, in a speech to the lords) have, upon vulgar fears, delivered up
the precious forts they were trusted with, almost without assault; and,
in a tame easy trance of flattery and servitude, lost and forfeited
(shamefully forfeited) that reputation, awe, and reverence, which
the wisdom, courage, and gravity of their venerable predecessors had
contracted and fastened to their places; and have even rendered that
study and profession, which in all ages hath been, and I hope now shall
be, of honourable estimation, so contemptible and vile, that, had not
this blessed day come [the day of impeachment of the six judges],
all men would have had that quarrel to the Law itself, which MARCIUS
had to the _Greek_ tongue, who thought it a mockery to learn that
language, the masters whereof lived in bondage under others.”—Thus
these eloquent apologists for law and liberty. The conclusion is, that
though in the great bodies of churchmen and lawyers, some will always
be found to dishonour themselves, there have never been wanting others
to do justice to the public, and to assert, maintain, and preserve, the
dignity of their respective professions.

[33] This appears even from Mr. HUME’S own account of the feudal times;
incomparably the best part of his _History of England_. And it is to be
presumed that, if so ingenuous a writer had begun his work at the right
end, he would have been led, by the evidence of so palpable a truth,
to express himself more favourably, indeed more consistently, of the
_English_ constitution. But having, by some odd chance, written the
history of the STUARTS first, and afterwards of the TUDORS, (in both
which he found it for his purpose to adopt the notion of a despotic
independent spirit in the _English_ monarchy), he chuses in the last
part of his work, which contains the history of _England from_ JULIUS
CÆSAR _to_ HENRY VII. to abide by his former fancy; on this pretence,
that, in the administration of the feudal government, the liberty of
the subject was incomplete and partial; often precarious and uncertain:
a way, in which the learned historian might prove, that no nation under
heaven ever was, or ever will be, possessed of a FREE CONSTITUTION.

By the FREE CONSTITUTION of the _English_ monarchy, every advocate
of liberty, that understands himself, I suppose, means, that limited
plan of policy, by which the supreme legislative power (including
in this general term the power of levying money) is lodged, not in
the prince singly, but jointly in the prince and people; whether the
_popular_ part of the constitution be denominated _the king’s_ or
_kingdom’s great council_, as it was in the proper feudal times; or
_the parliament_, as it came to be called afterwards; or, lastly, _the
two houses of parliament_, as the style has now been for several ages.

To tell us, that this constitution has been different at different
times, because the regal or popular influence has at different times
been more or less predominant, is only playing with a word, and
confounding _constitution_ with _administration_. According to this way
of speaking, we have not only had _three or four_[34], but possibly
three or four score, different constitutions. So long as that great
distribution of the supreme authority took place (and it has constantly
and invariably taken place, whatever other changes there might be, from
the _Norman_ establishment down to our times) the nation was always
enabled, at least _authorized_, to regulate all subordinate, or, if
you will, supereminent claims and pretensions. This it effectually did
at the _Revolution_, and, by so doing, has not created a _new plan
of policy_, but perfected the old one. The great MASTER-WHEEL of the
_English_ constitution is still the same; only freed from those checks
and restraints, by which, under the specious name of _prerogatives_,
time and opportunity had taught our kings to obstruct and embarrass its
free and regular movements.

On the whole, it is to be lamented that Mr. HUME’s too zealous concern
for the honour of the house of STUART, operating uniformly through all
the volumes of his history, has brought disgrace on a work, which,
in the main, is agreeably written, and is indeed the most readable
_general_ account of the ENGLISH affairs, that has yet been given to
the public.

[34] Mr. HUME’S Hist. vol. v. p. 472, _n._ ed. 8vo, 1763.

[35] A great lawyer, however, and one of the ornaments of Mr. SOMERS’S
own house, is not afraid to indulge in these generous expectations.
In a late treatise, in which he explains, with exquisite learning,
the genius of the feudal policy, “These principles, says he, are
the principles of freedom, of justice, and safety. The _English_
constitution is formed upon them. Their reason will subsist, as long
as the frame of it shall stand; and being maintained in purity and
vigour, will preserve it from the usual mortality of government.”
_Considerations on the Law of Forfeiture_, 3d ed. Lond. 1748.

[36] Account of _Denmark_, as it was in the year 1692.

[37] Such as certain philosophers amused themselves with building, on
_Innate Ideas_.

[38] _Ideas of Sensation_—on which principles, indeed, a late writer
has constructed, but by no fault of Mr. LOCKE, a material system of
the grossest Epicurism. See a work entitled, _De l’Esprit_, in 2 tom.
_Amst._ 1759.

[39] “Infidelity is the natural product of restraint and spiritual
tyranny—Hence it is we see _France_ and _Italy_ over-run with the
worst kind of _Deism_. There our travelling gentry first picked it
up for a rarity. And, indeed, at first, without much malice. It was
brought home in a cargo of new fashions: and worn, for some time, with
that levity, by the importers, and treated with that contempt by the
rest, as suited, and was due, to the apishness of foreign manners: till
a set, &c.” Bishop of GLOUCESTER’S _Sermon on the Suppression of the
late Rebellion_, p. 78.

[40] CHARACT. Vol. iii. Dis. iii.

[41]

    Ἃ δ’ ἂν μάθοι τις, ταῦτα σώζεσθαι φιλεῖ
    Πρὸς γῆρας. οὕτω παῖδας εὖ παιδεύετε.
                      Eurip. ΙΚΕΤΙΔΕΣ.

[42] Of _Ryswick_, in 1697.

[43] _Advice to an Author_, P. II. S. III.

[44] See a discourse at the end of _Love’s Labour Lost_ in WARB. Ed. of
SHAKESPEAR; in which the _origin_, _subject_, and _character_ of these
books of Chivalry (or _Romances_, properly so called) are explained
with an exactness of learning, and penetration, peculiar to that
writer—

    In tenui labor, at tenuis non gloria—

[45] The late right honourable CHARLES YORKE; who to all the learning
of his own profession had joined an exact taste, and very extensive
knowledge, of polite literature. What follows is an extract from a
long letter which this excellent person did me the honour to write to
me on the subject of these letters, when he had read them in the first
edition.

[46] See the _Memoir_, just quoted.

[47] Mr. WARTON’S Observations on SPENSER, vol. i. p. 175.

[48] Don QUIXOTE, b. iv. c. 22.

[49] Mr. WARTON, _Obs. on the F. Q._ p. 7. vol. i. _Lond._ 1762.

[50] Lord SHAFTESBURY, _Adv. to an Author_.

[51] _Adv. to an Author_, Part III. S. II.

[52] _Spectator_, vol. i. N^{o} 5. vol. v. N^{o} 369.

[53] For an account of some other wonders in Romance, such as
_enchanted arms_, _invulnerable bodies_, _flying horses_, &c. see
_L’Esprit des Loix_, l. xxviii. c. 22.

[54] VOLTAIRE, _Essai sur la Poësie Epique_, ch. vii.

[55] A celebrated writer, whose good sense, or whose perverseness,
would not suffer him to be the dupe of French prejudices, declares
himself roundly of this opinion: “On a voulu mettre en _representation_
(says he, speaking of the absurd magnificence of the _French_ Opera) le
MERVEILLEUX, qui, n’etant fait que pour être imaginé, EST AUSSI BIEN
PLACE DANS UN POEME EPIQUE que ridiculement sur un theatre.” [_Nouv.
Heloise_, p. II. l. xxiii.]

[56] Sir W. DAVENANT’S Preface.

[57] Θεῖος ὄνειρος. HOMER.

[58] Mr. HOBBES’S Letter.




[Transcriber’s Note:

Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.]







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