An introduction to the study of English fiction

Front matter

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Preface

There was a time when by people with pretensions to a careful conscience the " novel " was regarded somewhat dubiously. That time, let us hope, is of the past. The existence of the novel as a work of fiction requires no vindication ; no apology is needed for its pre-eminence in the popular taste of the day. Not only are we compelled to recognize the present supremacy of fiction, we have also come to the point of appreciating its utility and power.

The development of English fiction, the evolution of the English novel, forms in itself an interesting story; and an acquaintance with that story is essential to an apprehension of the real qualities of our fiction and to an intelligent estimate of its originality and its merits. To tell this story in outline and to indicate the characteristics of successive epochs in its growth is the purpose of this volume. The teacher may find it difficult to recognize the " text-book" in the preliminary chapters : he is reminded that these chapters form but the preface, and that his text-book begins with what comes after. ^

With reference to the Selections, a word may be not amiss. The translations from "Beowulf" and "King Horn" are rude enough, and it might have been wiser in the writer to utilize the labors of a more clever translator; he preferred, however, a version original albeit uncouth,

X PREFACE.

and has been as faithful as he was able to be to the spirit of the text. The Selection^ which follow are chosen because of special features which seem to fit them for the purpose. Those illustrative of the Elizabethan age are, outside the larger libraries, scarcely accessible to the general student. Because of this fact, a typical romance of that age, "Forbonius and Prisceria," has been incorporated entire. In other cases an incident or episode, in itself complete, has suggested the Selection which has been introduced.

The following pages contain no attempt at formal biography or scientific criticism. No reference has been made to " The Golden Ass " of Apuleius, nor does there appear any discussion of the relation of the novel to the drama; the inter-relation of the English and Spanish romances of the sixteenth century, and that of the French and English tales of an earlier period, receive slight comment. All these omissions will be noted, and may with many similar topics be made the subject of special investigation by the student. To provide a bare introduction to the study of English fiction is the purpose of the book. Its compiler believes thoroughly in the principles of the inductive method, and complacently recognizes the subordination of the essays to the texts they are intended to introduce. If through these pages there be gained a better, a more intelligent acquaintance with these works and with the literature which they represent, the purpose of this Introduction will be accomplished.

W. E. S.

Galesburg, Illinois,

Table Of Contents

Intratittcti'on.

Page

I. Old English Story-tellers 13

I. Old English Story-tellers

It is customary to date the rise of the English novel at about the middle of the eighteenth century. Between the years 1740 and 1750 it was, indeed, that Richardson and Fielding began to acquaint a surprised and delighted ^fjj„jj,„ circle of English readers with what appeared to be a new departure in literary creation. Now the novel, as a specific art form, is distinctively a picture of life in its actual experiences, grave or gay, familiar or extraordinary ; it is always the presentation of character that is or has been or might be real ; and if we think of the novel in this technical and restricted sense, as merely the plain story of the common hfe of every day, or if we regard the form the story then assumed, the garb it then adopted with the fashion of the times, the assignment of its origin to this period is approximately correct. But it is not so much the English novel as English fiction which we have chosen for our study; and as the first essential quality of fiction, whether in the novel or the romance, is the narrative, the story, it is to a far earlier period that we have to look for origins. Indeed it is with the whole long line of English story-tellers that we have to deal, the story-tellers and their heritage, when we undertake to trace the novel back to its earliest sources. The line is unbroken, the craft in this respect is one, whether we look for "its beginnings in the eighteenth century or in the eighth.

Were our old English ancestors story-loving, story-telling people ? Certainly they were, like all the Keltic and Teutonic

races from whom they inherited or with whom they The Glee- neighbored. Jutes, Angles, Saxons, on the island

as on the continent, had their gleemen, who could improvise as well as sing, who caught the story of popular heroes from the people's lips, their deeds that demonstrated not only strength of body but greatness of soul, their turns of fate, — themes which fascinated rude audiences in those rough days, as does the story of Lear the higher culture of the present. They improvised and added and arranged — for that was the province and the privilege of their art — until they wove a tale that held the warriors spell-bound, or brought them to their feet with the jangling of iron shirts of mail, and the ringing of steel on steel, and the hoarse shouting of human voices. It is not difficult to conjure up what must have been an ordinary scene : the long hall, its oaken walls well hung with skins of wolf and fox and bear, the armor glittering ruddy, shields dented by the blows of hostile swords as well as by the friendly poundings of the blacksmith's hammer, bows and arrows, spears for hurling, coats of mail. How the light would dart and sparkle on all this metal ornament, the light that flashed and flickered as the great fire crackled and roared upon the hearthstone ! The men — huge fellows, heroic in limb and muscle, rough and boisterous but cheery, good-humored among friends and kinsfolk — sit upon the benches, while they eat noisily of the hearty meal, and empty big horns of foaming ale, until possibly the flames that sparkle among the fir-boughs, and gleam red as blood from the trophies on the hall -side, seek another trysting- place, and shine bright and scorching in fiery glances which shoot from eyes now full of passion, — but for only a moment : the earl, the hall-lord, speaks the haughty word of quick command ; the roar of voices is huslied, the rattle of the tables ceases, the boasting, the rough play stop.

Again the master of the household speaks from his seat of honor on the dais, where, perhaps, his lady sits beside him. Now his tone is gentle; and at his word the gleeman, striking in personal appearance as in garb, advances bold and confident from the throng, and takes the place assigned him : he tunes his harp, and begins his song. Perhaps it was the Victory of King Aethelslan that he sang, or the Song of the Fight at Maldon. Very likely, if it were in the time of the Edmunds and Edwards and Harolds who reigned just before the Conquest. But if it was at an earlier day, possibly when good King Alfred reigned, and fought the Danes, it is more likely to have been a passage from the great epic of "Beowulf," the national poem which some Anglian singer generations before had brought in its germ from the old home on the bleak northern coast, when the Angles joined their kinsfolk in the historic movement westward, — " Beowulf," the oldest of English and Teutonic tales extant, which we know only in its late revision of the ninth century, as we suppose, although songs of Beowulf had been sung two centuries earlier than that, based upon the adventures of a thane who had lived many generations before this last-named date, and who for his exploits had been made the hero of a myth. What is this song that the gleeman sang, this tale which the Anglo-Saxon warriors so loved to hear?

Hrothgar the Dane, far famed for his victories and for his justice and generosity no less, grown old in years, builds for his men a great mead-hall. There the gray-haired chieftain assembles his vassals for feasting and mirth ; but Beo^i^JJ^ "* an unheard-of horror comes upon Heorot, great hall of Hrothgar. Out from the fen-land, when night falls, stealthily creeps the bog monster, Grendel ; enters the new house where the earls after carousal lie asleep on the benches. One and another and another of Hrothgar's warriors is devoured by the monster; night after night Grendel devastates the mead- hall. No one of Hrothgar's men is brave enough, is strong enough to cope with the demon. Heorot is deserted ; and the old chief l6 STUDY OF ENGLISH FICTION.

sits gloomily in his former home to mourn in silence the loss of men and of honor. Up in the Northland Hygelac's thane, Beowulf, young, bold, robust, already famous for a dariqg feat in swimming, and destined to be Hygelac's heir and successor, hears of Hrothgar's plight and of Grendel. Soon, with a band of chosen men, Beowulf travels southward, follows the whale-path, the swan-road, until he comes to Hrothgar's kingdom. The coast-guard- sees the warriors land, and challenges their bold front. Beowulf is led to Hrothgar, and tells his purpose to kill the monster and redeem the land. Gladly does the Dane listen, and generous welcome does he make for the Northmen. Night comes ; and once more is Heorot thrown open ; the hearth is ablaze ; again do the thanes hold revel in the great hall of Hrothgar. Wassail is drunk, stories are told, bold boasts made ; the walls re-echo the warriors' shouts. Hardly do they die away, and scarcely have the revellers lost themselves in slumber on the benches, when the fearful fen-dragon approaches ; he has heard the noise of feasting from afar, and now the black monster steals toward the hall, laughing as he thinks of his prey. The fire has died' out, and all is darkness. One of Hrothgar's men is seized and devoured. Raging, with lust for flesh aroused, Grendel grasps another in his claws. But it is the hero whom the bogmonster has unwittingly caught ; and now Beowulf, roused for vengeance, starts up to battle with Grendel. Unarmed the hero grapples with the enemy. The hall sways with the shock of the fighting. He clutches Grendel by the wrist ; never had the monster felt a grasp like that. The muscles ache, the cords of the demon's arm are snapping, the shoulder tears itself from the socket, the weary marsh-dweller gropes his way blindly forth, and weakly wends toward his foul home in the swampland. Grendel is wounded to the death. Beowulf rests after victory, and shows the hideous claw, his war-trophy, to the Danes. Great joy comes to Hrothgar with the dawn ; but with the night woe returns. Grendel's mother issues from the death-breeding marshes, and invades the hall of Heorot. Once more there is wailing among the thanes ; once more sorrow rests on Hrothgar's house ; but

OLD ENGLISH STORY-TELLERS.

once again the hero girds iiimself for battle. With his faithful men Beowulf enters the fatal fen-land ; he stands upon the shore of the mist-covered inlet where the marsh-demons breed. Strange and loathsome shapes appear, half shrouded in the fog ; the nickers and the water-sprites laugh exultant, with monstrous eyes glaring at the hero from the cloudy waves of the mere. Here Beowulf equips himself, — puts on his best corselet, grasps the strongest brand ; then he enters the dark water, presses down through the flood, beset by the sea-monsters, bruised by their sharp tusks, undaunted, down, down to the dwelling of Grendel and Grendel's mother : a day's journey is it for the hero before he reaches the abode of the demon. Meanwhile his men keep watch and ward above : gloom settles on them ; doubt fills their hearts with dread. The day drags by : no sight of their hero. Still they wait, and silent, stare on the sea. Now a commotion stirs the thick water ; the surface boils under the mists ; blood rolls up red through the foam ; and Beowulf s men yield to grief and despair. But grief gives place to joy, sorrow to gladness. The hero emerges from the horrible sea-flood, bringing news of the she-demon's slaughter and a new trophy, Grendel's head : this it was that sent the red blood welling up through the mere-flood when Beowulf smote the dead monster's body. Loud is the rejoicing ; triumphantly do the Northmen give the Danes warning of their home-coming. Rich are the gifts bestowed by Hrothgar ; great is the feasting. Then Beowulf's men think of the home-land ; the slippery searover is launched, the warriors embark with their presents, and Beowulf says farewell to Hrothgar, and steers north to Hygelac's land.

Beowulf achieves another adventure. Now he is old : as Hygelac's successor, fifty winters he has ruled well and wisely, and his land has prospered ; but an enemy now destroys his men, and by night the land is laid waste. This time it is a fire-drake with which Beowulf must battle ; and the hero-goes forth, dauntless as ever, to meet the monster. But now his men prove cowards ; the hero is left alone to fight with the dragon, — alone but for Wiglaf, who stands behind his lord's shield and helps as he may. Long they fight, monster and man : this is no Grendel,

this fire-spurter. The fierce heat shrivels up the shield; the

heroes are hard pressed ; at last Wiglaf disables the dragon,

Beowulf gives the death-blow. But Beowulf, too, has been hurt,

and, though victor, lies sick of his death-wound. Then Wiglaf

brings forth the hoard from the cave where the worm had so long

guarded it, and Beowulf feasts his eyes ere they close upon the

vast treasure he bequeaths to his people. The hero is dead :

rear his funeral pyre ! Upon the tall promontory, a beacon to

sailors, friends burn the body ; and the flame and smoke bear the

hero's soul upward.

Such are the stories that children love to tell, to which they

delight to listen. It is altogether idle to discuss whether or not

this be the record in allegory of the coast-dweller's

^it?!^'?^* ceaseless war on the terrible forces of ocean and 01 tbe Stoty.

Storm, or if it speaks of the stealthy approach of the malaria and the fever till the hero builds the dikes and drains the marshes. These are the tales our Anglo-Saxon forefathers loved, because they told the story of stout-hearted heroes, tireless and dauntless, who contended not only with flesh and blood, but with those mysterious hosts, those uncanny powers of sea and air, whose existence they believed and had sometimes proved, but whose nature and form he hidden in the darkness of fog and night.

Now for a long time there was no worthy product of EngUsh pen possessing the same character of narrative fiction which we have

found in the national epic of " Beowulf." Metrical HormMs''* paraphrases of Scripture history, legends of the saints

and martyrs, a rarely occasional lyric of notable sweetness and pathos, formed the literary matter of the period and the gleeman's stock in trade. But with the advent of the Normans in the eleventh century, a new stimulus was felt in this department of our hterature. - Over in Normandy French poets had already sung the " Song of Roland," in character and quality inferior as it was dissimilar to the old English song of which we have just been reading. And now the English gleeman gave place to the Norman minstrel, and tales of French heroes sung in a foreign tongue were heard in the banqueting-halls of William and his nobles, and echoed indeed beyond the walls through the length and breadth of England. Strange stories of Charlemagne and his twelve paladins, abounding in the reports of jousts and contests, of tricks and cunning ; the adventures of Grecian Alexander, too ; tales of the Fall of Troy ; and numerous other subjects, many of them borrowed from the East, — formed the theme of minstrel and jongleur, and kept their place through long years to come. More nearly related to English scenes, and yet an importation from the poetry of France, were the traditionary romances of Arthur and his knights, the scene of which belonged to Wales. The most important and the immediate effect of this Norman- French influence upon our own English literature was seen in the revival in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries of an interest in the deeds of English heroes and the traditions native to English soil. This interest speedily manifested itself in the similar treatment of English themes, and, a little later, a treatment of these themes in English speech ; for by that time the English spirit and the English language had proved stronger than the Norman, and now prevailed. The deeds of Hereward the Saxon had been told in Latin, and then in Norman verse ; English paraphrases now appeared. Similarly, also, the adventures of Guy of Warwick and Bevis of Hampton, local heroes of tradition, were sung by Anglo- Norman poets, and then in the English tongue. A second influence of the Norman- French poetry is traceable in a new element which now appears in the treatment of these English themes : this is the element of love. The old Saxons in their rude way had sung of battle and of booty ; wild tales of adventure and daring had been told, but never a word of the tenderer passion of love, no recognition of woman's subtle power in the hearts and lives of men, until the Norman troubadours had introduced their forms of courtly gallantry, and softly sung the devotion of brave knights to fair ladies, and spoken of the rewards of love. For the life and spirit of the time had changed ; the days of chivalry had dawned. Among the earliest of our English poems to reflect this influence of the French are the two metrical romances of " Havelok the Dane " and " King Horn."

" A song I shall you sing Of Murry the king,"

is the quaint beginning of this latter poem. Murry is king of South Daneland ; his queen is Godhild ; they have an only son,

whose name is Horn. One day the sea-robbers — hS^Hotd Saracens, the poem calls them — descend upon King

Murry's shores, the king is slain, his queen driven into hiding, and Horn, his son, with twelve comrades is taken prisoner. But the rare beauty of the youth excites the pity of the pagan leader, and instead of putting them to the sword, their captors place the boys in a boat and set them adrift on the open sea. Miraculously the waves drive the ship to Westernesse, where King Ailmar adopts Horn and provides for his education. Horn grows in favor with all men ; but most of all he is loved by the king's daughter. Maiden Rymenhild. Now the early comrades of the young prince are still in his company, and two of them are especially connected with the fate and fortunes of Childe Horn : one is Athulf, his trusty friend ; the other, Fikenhild, who is a traitor. By the treachery of this latter, Ailmar is deceived, and Horn is banished from the land. New adventures, new wanderings follow ; at last Horn arrives in Ireland, and becomes King Thurston's man. For seven years he remains in Ireland a banished man, but always faithful to his love. Meanwhile King Modi of Reynes sues for the hand of Maiden Rymenhild ; Ailmar assents, and the wedding-day is set. Rymenhild and Athulf send a messenger to search for Horn and to warn him to return. Horn is found in time, arrives in Westernesse on the day of the marriage, attends the feast disguised as a pilgrim, and in dramatic fashion expels the intruder and claims his own. But the course of true love does not yet run smoothly. Horn departs again, now to claim his rights in his home in Daneland. This he succeeds in doing, and discovers his mother, Queen Godhild, still alive. Again word comes from the bride in haste ; Rymenhild is once more in mortal peril, — this time at the hands of the traitor Fikenhild. Again Horn returns, rescues his betrothed, and all ends joyously with the wedding and a happy return to South Daneland, where Horn is king.

" King Horn " belongs, doubtless, to the thirteenth century, and is an excellent specimen of the old metrical romance. The love-story has now become an element in English literature : it is the very kernel in the romance of " King 3*,"°^ , Motive.

Horn," although oddly, as it seems to us, the heroine

woos the hero, and Horn is far too passive as a lover to suit the Rymenhilds of a later day.

Along with these metrical romances, there were circulating in popular form during the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, numerous shorter works of similar character, although differing from these more important crea- i^^"* tions and from each other in outward shape. For the most part this minor fiction was anecdotal in character. Collections of short stories in prose, like the " Gesta Romanorum " and the "Process of the Seven Sages,'' were translated into English. Short metrical tales were numerous, the best gradually appearing in the early ballads, — treasuries of folk-lore, if not of fact, the almost mysterious creations of the nameless poets of the people. Truly, they who told the tales of " Sir Patrick Spens " and " Chevy Chace " are worthy of a reference in the annals of English story- teUing; and they who first sang the gestes of " Robin Hood " will never fail of recognition, even though their names are lost in the dimness of obscurity. By far the most noteworthy of these early romances, however, are those which embalm the traditions and legends of King Arthur. The knightly exploits of Arthur's followers, the stories of courtly love and of unlawful passion, mystical tales of adventure in search of the holy graal, — these themes won all the greater interest and attention because they centred around a national hero who had found a home in Wales. Chretien de Troyes and German Wolfram had already sung the graal-saga ; but English story-tellers claimed, and have since claimed, blameless King Arthur as their own.

About the year 1 340 Geoffrey Chaucer was born ; and with his advent English literature advanced with almost incredible strides. A great writer whose title was indisputable was now arisen on Chaucer and English soil. A poet, a chronicler, a dramatist, a novae Canter- elist, — although he composed no actual drama and bury Tales. ^^^^^ ^^ formal novel, Chaucer was each of these, for his writings contain the germs of all these forms of literature ; he might have been the " morning-star " of all. Many of " The Canterbury Tales " are perfect examples of that popular branch of literature indicated by the name ; the story of the " dronken millere," for example, as well as the reeve's tale which follows it. Of a higher grade are the stories of Patient Griselde, related by the Oxford clerk, and the familiar tale of the " three riottoures" and Death. Yet it is far rather the entire collection of the Tales with their setting and their telling which displays the genius of this prince of story-tellers. Here is a little band of English people of all the orders, " wel nyne and twenty in a companye,'' to whom two or three others are afterward added ; each distinctly drawn in character and personality, from the gentle knight returned from following in his lord's wars abroad and the sentimental prioress with her greyhounds and her " Amor vincit omnia," to the coarse sailor and the thievish pardoner whose bag is stuffed full of clouts and pig's bones which he sells for relics. How artfully the stories are linked in their plausible arrangement ; what perfect self-revealing have we here of each person in the company, as the pilgrims wend their way toward Canterbury ! This it is that proves Chaucer's dramatic skill. " The Canterbury Tales " is not a mere collection of diverting narratives gathered by the author to amuse his readers : it is one book, is to be taken as a whole, a unit. It is a picture of Chaucer's England that we see, and the best example of ambitious character painting up to that time attempted. The Canterbury pilgrims were alive, and have lived as real characters in English literature ever since.

And yet Chaucer wrote one romance which more than " The

OLD ENGLISH STORY-TELLERS.

Canterbury Tales " contains the spirit of our modern novel. This

is the "Troylus and Criseyde." Here love is the theme and

motive ; here gallantry calls all its arts into play ; here, alas, the

perversity of fickle womanhood receives a careful portraiture in

a most heartless type. In the wooing of King Horn, Maiden

Rymenhjld played the hero's part ; but now that day

is gone forever. In Chaucer's romance the lover J™yl«san<l

Criseyde. languishes, while the lady is coy though not averse.

Success attends the wooing, but disaster follows, and the end is most affecting tragedy. No work in character drawing superior to some of that in this poem was ever done by Chaucer. The wily Pandar, the fickle Criseyde are inimitable; on the other hand, the portrait of the hero is less satisfactory : he is too languishing, too sentimental, too weak. None of the metrical romances which preceded Chaucer's time had been told with such sweet artfulness as this. The material he used had been borrowed, as was the case in most of the "Tales; " but the master touches were his own, and mark him greatly superior to Byron in practically the same field.

The stories of "Beowulf" and "King Horn," together with the numberless compositions similar in material and purpose, had been told in verse. It was natural enough that this should be : tales which were sung or chanted to the accompaniment of the harp, lengthy stories which were oftener confided to the singer's memory and rarely to the manuscript, — these should move to rhythm and possess some sort of rhyme, that the minstrel's recollection might be aided, and that the listener's ear might be not uncharmed with melody. When this form of entertainment passed away, and the minstrel gave place to the scribe and copyist, the accompaniment of verse became unnecessary and unnatural ; but it was long before this fact was realized, even though now and then a coarse story had already found its way into unmelodious prose. This slowness in the development of English prose narrative is not altogether to be wondered at. Force of example is strong ; and this is what made the "Troylus and Criseyde " a metrical romance — the last, as it was the best — rather than, as it might naturally have been, the first of English romances in prose. This was an accident in form. What is more remarkable is the fact that Chaucer had no immediate successor in the field of realistic art, in prose or poetry ; that he marked not only the climax, but the culmination of this new movement in English literature ; and that in the painting of character, of life actual and real, we meet no serious attempt in an interval of two hundred years.

II. The Romance At The Court Of Elizabeth

Sometime in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, while the struggle between the houses of York and Lancaster was not yet over, William Caxton, a well-to-do silk-merchant of London, made the acquaintance of certain Dutch in- IJf f*^^ ventors who told him of a new art for making books. So enamored with this art did Caxton become that he bought a press, and came with it home to London ; and thus at the very time when bold Duke Gloster was preparing the way for bad King Richard, this far-sighted merchant- tradesman set up in Westminster the first printing-shop in England, and began to manufacture books. Sixty-four volumes in all were printed on his presses ; of these a large proportion were works of fiction.

Among the earUest of Caxton's publications an edition of " The Canterbury Tales " found a conspicuous place. Indeed, this first edition was closely followed by a second, based upon a better text ; and Chaucer's popularity with the reading public is further attested by the appearance shortly after of his "Troylus and Criseyde," now for the first time in type. In 1485 Caxton's enterprise and good taste — for the one quality is always as prominent as the other — led him to print a volume which Sir Thomas Malory had completed fifteen years before. This was the story of King Arthur, told in graceful and melodious English prose, and, under the title of " Morte d'Arthur," familiar to every schoolboy of our time. Once more the old tales of the Knights of the Table Round had been sought and gathered for English readers ; nor were they to appear again in so attractive form until rewoven and retold by England's latest laureate in the " Idylls of the King."