Curiosities of Literature Volume I Part 60

The custom of crowning poets is as ancient as poetry itself; it has, indeed, frequently varied; it existed, however, as late as the reign of Theodosius, when it was abolished as a remain of paganism.

When the barbarians overspread Europe, few appeared to merit this honour, and fewer who could have read their works. It was about the time of PETRARCH that POETRY resumed its ancient l.u.s.tre; he was publicly honoured with the LAUREL CROWN. It was in this century (the thirteenth) that the establishment of Bachelor and Doctor was fixed in the universities. Those who were found worthy of the honour, obtained the _laurel of Bachelor_, or the _laurel of Doctor_; _Laurea Baccalaureatus_; _Laurea Doctoratus_. At their reception they not only a.s.sumed this _t.i.tle_ but they also had a _crown of laurel_ placed on their heads.

To this ceremony the ingenious writer attributes the revival of the custom. The _poets_ were not slow in putting in their claims to what they had most a right; and their patrons sought to encourage them by these honourable distinctions.

The following _formula_ is the exact style of those which are yet employed in the universities to confer the degree of Bachelor and Doctor, and serves to confirm the conjecture of Resnel:--

"We, count and senator," (Count d'Anguillara, who bestowed the laurel on Petrarch,) "for us and our College, declare FRANCIS PETRARCH great poet and historian, and for a special mark of his quality of poet we have placed with our hands on his head a _crown of laurel_, granting to him, by the tenor of these presents, and by the authority of King Robert, of the senate and the people of Rome, in the poetic, as well as in the historic art, and generally in whatever relates to the said arts, as well in this holy city as elsewhere, the free and entire power of reading, disputing, and interpreting all ancient books, to make new ones, and compose poems, which, G.o.d a.s.sisting, shall endure from age to age."

In Italy, these honours did not long flourish; although Ta.s.so dignified the laurel crown by his acceptance of it. Many got crowned who were unworthy of the distinction. The laurel was even bestowed on QUERNO, whose character is given in the Dunciad:--

Not with more glee, by hands pontific crown'd, With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round, Rome in her capitol saw _Querno_ sit, Thron'd on seven hills, the Antichrist of wit.

CANTO II.

This man was made laureat, for the joke's sake; his poetry was inspired by his cups, a kind of poet who came in with the dessert; and he recited twenty thousand verses. He was rather the _arch-buffoon_ than the _arch-poet_ of Leo. X. though honoured with the latter t.i.tle. They invented for him a new kind of laureated honour, and in the intermixture of the foliage raised to Apollo, slily inserted the vine and the cabbage leaves, which he evidently deserved, from his extreme dexterity in clearing the pontiff's dishes and emptying his goblets.

Urban VIII. had a juster and more elevated idea of the children of Fancy. It appears that he possessed much poetic sensibility. Of him it is recorded, that he wrote a letter to Chiabrera to felicitate him on the success of his poetry: letters written by a pope were then an honour only paid to crowned heads. One is pleased also with another testimony of his elegant dispositions. Charmed with a poem which Bracciolini presented to him, he gave him the surname of DELLE-APE, of the bees, which were the arms of this amiable pope. He, however, never crowned these favourite bards with the laurel, which, probably, he deemed unworthy of them.

In Germany, the laureat honours flourished under the reign of Maximilian the First. He founded, in 1504, a Poetical College at Vienna; reserving to himself and the regent the power of bestowing the laurel. But the inst.i.tution, notwithstanding this well-concerted scheme, fell into disrepute, owing to a cloud of claimants who were fired with the rage of versifying, and who, though dest.i.tute of poetic talents, had the laurel bestowed on them. Thus it became a prost.i.tuted honour; and satires were incessantly levelled against the usurpers of the crown of Apollo: it seems, notwithstanding, always to have had charms in the eyes of the Germans, who did not reflect, as the Abbe elegantly expresses himself, that it faded when it pa.s.sed over so many heads.

The Emperor of Germany retains the laureats.h.i.+p in all its splendour. The selected bard is called _Il Poeta Cesareo_. APOSTOLO ZENO, as celebrated for his erudition as for his poetic powers, was succeeded by that most enchanting poet, METASTASIO.

The French never had a _Poet Laureat_, though they had _Regal Poets_; for none were ever solemnly crowned. The Spanish nation, always desirous of t.i.tles of honour, seem to have known that of the _Laureat_; but little information concerning it can be gathered from their authors.

Respecting our own country little can be added to the information of Selden. John Kay, who dedicated a History of Rhodes to Edward IV., takes the t.i.tle of his _humble Poet Laureat_. Gower and Chaucer were laureats; so was likewise Skelton to Henry VIII. In the Acts of Rymer, there is a charter of Henry VII. with the t.i.tle of _pro Poeta Laureato_, t hat is, perhaps, only _a Poet laureated at the university_, in the king's household.

Our poets were never solemnly crowned as in other countries. Selden, after all his recondite researches, is satisfied with saying, that some trace of this distinction is to be found in our nation. Our kings from time immemorial have placed a miserable dependent in their household appointment, who was sometimes called the _King's poet_, and the _King's versificator_. It is probable that at length the selected bard a.s.sumed the t.i.tle of _Poet Laureat_, without receiving the honours of the ceremony; or, at the most, the _crown of laurel_ was a mere obscure custom practised at our universities, and not attended with great public distinction. It was oftener placed on the skull of a pedant than wreathed on the head of a man of genius. Shadwell united the offices both of Poet Laureat and Historiographer; and by a MS. account of the public revenue, it appears that for two years' salary he received six hundred pounds. At his death Rymer became the Historiographer and Tate the Laureat: both offices seem equally useless, but, if united, will not prove so to the Poet Laureat.

ANGELO POLITIAN.

Angelo Politian, an Italian, was one of the most polished writers of the fifteenth century. Baillet has placed him amongst his celebrated children; for he was a writer at twelve years of age. The Muses indeed cherished him in his cradle, and the Graces hung round it their wreaths.

When he became professor of the Greek language, such were the charms of his lectures, that Chalcondylas, a native of Greece, saw himself abandoned by his pupils, who resorted to the delightful disquisitions of the elegant Politian. Critics of various nations have acknowledged that his poetical versions have frequently excelled the originals. This happy genius was lodged in a most unhappy form; nor were his morals untainted: it is only in his literary compositions that he appears perfect.

As a specimen of his Epistles, here is one, which serves as prefatory and dedicatory. The letter is replete with literature, though void of pedantry; a barren subject is embellished by its happy turns. Perhaps no author has more playfully defended himself from the incert.i.tude of criticism and the fastidiousness of critics.

MY LORD,

You have frequently urged me to collect my letters, to revise and to publish them in a volume. I have now gathered them, that I might not omit any mark of that obedience which I owe to him, on whom I rest all my hopes, and all my prosperity. I have not, however, collected them all, because that would have been a more laborious task than to have gathered the scattered leaves of the Sibyl. It was never, indeed, with an intention of forming my letters into one body that I wrote them, but merely as occasion prompted, and as the subjects presented themselves without seeking for them. I never retained copies except of a few, which, less fortunate, I think, than the others, were thus favoured for the sake of the verses they contained. To form, however, a tolerable volume, I have also inserted some written by others, but only those with which several ingenious scholars favoured me, and which, perhaps, may put the reader in good humour with my own.

There is one thing for which some will be inclined to censure me; the style of my letters is very unequal; and, to confess the truth, I did not find myself always in the same humour, and the same modes of expression were not adapted to every person and every topic. They will not fail then to observe, when they read such a diversity of letters (I mean if they do read them), that I have composed not epistles, but (once more) miscellanies.

I hope, my Lord, notwithstanding this, that amongst such a variety of opinions, of those who write letters, and of those who give precepts how letters should be written, I shall find some apology. Some, probably, will deny that they are Ciceronian. I can answer such, and not without good authority, that in epistolary composition we must not regard Cicero as a model. Another perhaps will say that I imitate Cicero. And him I will answer by observing, that I wish nothing better than to be capable of grasping something of this great man, were it but his shadow!

Another will wish that I had borrowed a little from the manner of Pliny the orator, because his profound sense and accuracy were greatly esteemed. I shall oppose him by expressing my contempt of all writers of the age of Pliny. If it should be observed, that I have imitated the manner of Pliny, I shall then screen myself by what Sidonius Apollinaris, an author who is by no means disreputable, says in commendation of his epistolary style. Do I resemble Symmachus? I shall not be sorry, for they distinguish his openness and conciseness. Am I considered in nowise resembling him? I shall confess that I am not pleased with his dry manner.

Will my letters be condemned for their length? Plato, Aristotle, Thucydides, and Cicero, have all written long ones. Will some of them be criticised for their brevity? I allege in my favour the examples of Dion, Brutus, Apollonius, Philostratus, Marcus Antoninus, Alciphron, Julian, Symmachus, and also Lucian, who vulgarly, but falsely, is believed to have been Phalaris.

I shall be censured for having treated of topics which are not generally considered as proper for epistolary composition. I admit this censure, provided, while I am condemned, Seneca also shares in the condemnation.

Another will not allow of a sententious manner in my letters; I will still justify myself by Seneca. Another, on the contrary, desires abrupt sententious periods; Dionysius shall answer him for me, who maintains that pointed sentences should not be admitted into letters.

Is my style too perspicuous? It is precisely that which Philostratus admires. Is it obscure? Such is that of Cicero to Attica. Negligent? An agreeable negligence in letters is more graceful than elaborate ornaments. Laboured? Nothing can be more proper, since we send epistles to our friends as a kind of presents. If they display too nice an arrangement, the Halicarna.s.sian shall vindicate me. If there is none; Artemon says there should be none.

Now as a good and pure Latinity has its peculiar taste, its manners, and, to express myself thus, its Atticisms; if in this sense a letter shall be found not sufficiently Attic, so much the better; for what was Herod the sophist censured? but that having been born an Athenian, he affected too much to appear one in his language. Should a letter seem too Attical; still better, since it was by discovering Theophrastus, who was no Athenian, that a good old woman of Athens laid hold of a word, and shamed him.

Shall one letter be found not sufficiently serious? I love to jest. Or is it too grave? I am pleased with gravity. Is another full of figures?

Letters being the images of discourse, figures have the effect of graceful action in conversation. Are they deficient in figures? This is just what characterises a letter, this want of figure! Does it discover the genius of the writer? This frankness is recommended. Does it conceal it? The writer did not think proper to paint himself; and it is one requisite in a letter, that it should be void of ostentation. You express yourself, some one will observe, in common terms on common topics, and in new terms on new topics. The style is thus adapted to the subject. No, no, he will answer; it is in common terms you express new ideas, and in new terms common ideas. Very well! It is because I have not forgotten an ancient Greek precept which expressly recommends this.

It is thus by attempting to be ambidextrous, I try to ward off attacks.

My critics, however, will criticise me as they please. It will be sufficient for me, my Lord, to be a.s.sured of having satisfied you, by my letters, if they are good; or by my obedience, if they are not so.

Florence, 1494.

ORIGINAL LETTER OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

In the Cottonian Library, Vespasian, F. III. is preserved a letter written by Queen Elizabeth, then Princess. Her brother, Edward the Sixth, had desired to have her picture; and in gratifying the wishes of his majesty, Elizabeth accompanies the present with an elaborate letter.

It bears no date of the _year_ in which it was written; but her place of residence was at Hatfield. There she had retired to enjoy the silent pleasures of a studious life, and to be distant from the dangerous politics of the time. When Mary died, Elizabeth was still at Hatfield.

At the time of its composition she was in habitual intercourse with the most excellent writers of antiquity: her letter displays this in every part of it; but it is too rhetorical. It is here now first published.

LETTER.

"Like as the riche man that dayly gathereth riches to riches, and to one bag of money layeth a greate sort til it come to infinit, so me thinkes, your Majestie not beinge suffised with many benefits and gentilnes shewed to me afore this time, dothe now increase them in askinge and desiring wher you may bid and comaunde, requiring a thinge not worthy the desiringe for it selfe, but made worthy for your highness request.

My pictur I mene, in wiche if the inward good mynde towarde your grace might as wel be declared as the outwarde face and countenance shal be seen, I wold nor haue taried the comandement but prevent it, nor haue bine the last to graunt but the first to offer it. For the face, I graunt, I might wel blusche to offer, but the mynde I shall neur be ashamed to present. For thogth from the grace of the pictur, the coulers may fade by time, may giue by wether, may be spotted by chance, yet the other nor time with her swift winges shall ouertake, nor the mistie cloudes with their loweringes may darken, nor chance with her slipery fote may ouerthrow. Of this althogth yet the profe could not be greate because the occasions hath bine but smal, notwithstandinge as a dog hathe a day, so may I perchaunce haue time to declare it in dides wher now I do write them but in wordes. And further I shal most humbly beseche your Maiestie that whan you shal loke on my pictur you wil witsafe to thinke that as you haue but the outwarde shadow of the body afore you, so my inwarde minde wischeth, that the body it selfe wer oftener in your presence; howbeit bicause bothe my so beinge I thinke coulde do your Maiestie litel pleasure thogth my selfe great good, and againe bicause I se as yet not the time agreing ther[=u]to, I shal lerne to folow this saing of Orace, Feras non culpes quod vitari non potest.

And thus I wil (troblinge your Maiestie I fere) end with my most humble thankes, beseching G.o.d long to preserue you to his honour, to your c[=o]fort, to the realmes profit, and to my joy. From Hatfilde this 1 day of May.

"Your Maiesties most humbly Sistar "and Seruante "ELIZABETH."

ANNE BULLEN.

That minute detail of circ.u.mstances frequently found in writers of the history of their own times is more interesting than the elegant and general narratives of later, and probably of more philosophical historians. It is in the artless recitals of memoir-writers, that the imagination is struck with a lively impression, and fastens on petty circ.u.mstances, which must be pa.s.sed over by the cla.s.sical historian. The writings of Brantome, Comines, Froissart, and others, are dictated by their natural feelings: while the pa.s.sions of modern writers are temperate with dispa.s.sionate philosophy, or inflamed by the virulence of faction. History instructs, but Memoirs delight. These prefatory observations may serve as an apology for Anecdotes which are gathered from obscure corners, on which the dignity of the historian must not dwell.

In Houssaie's _Memoirs_, Vol. I. p. 435, a little circ.u.mstance is recorded concerning the decapitation of the unfortunate Anne Bullen, which ill.u.s.trates an observation of Hume. Our historian notices that her executioner was a Frenchman of Calais, who was supposed to have uncommon skill. It is probable that the following incident might have been preserved by tradition in France, from the account of the executioner himself:--Anne Bullen being on the scaffold, would not consent to have her eyes covered with a bandage, saying that she had no fear of death.

All that the divine who a.s.sisted at her execution could obtain from her was, that she would shut her eyes. But as she was opening them at every moment, the executioner could not bear their tender and mild glances; fearful of missing his aim, he was obliged to invent an expedient to behead the queen. He drew off his shoes, and approached her silently; while he was at her left hand, another person advanced at her right, who made a great noise in walking, so that this circ.u.mstance drawing the attention of Anne, she turned her face from the executioner, who was enabled by this artifice to strike the fatal blow, without being disarmed by that spirit of affecting resignation which shone in the eyes of the lovely Anne Bullen.

The Common Executioner, Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humble neck But first begs pardon.