IVANHOE;
A ROMANCE.
Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,
And often took leave, - - but seemed loath to depart!*
* The motto alludes to the Author returning to the stage
* repeatedly after having taken leave.
Prior.
INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE.
The Author of the Waverley Novels had hitherto proceeded in an
unabated course of popularity, and might, in his peculiar
district of literature, have been termed "L'Enfant Gate" of
success. It was plain, however, that frequent publication must
finally wear out the public favour, unless some mode could be
devised to give an appearance of novelty to subsequent
productions. Scottish manners, Scottish dialect, and Scottish
characters of note, being those with which the author was most
intimately, and familiarly acquainted, were the groundwork upon
which he had hitherto relied for giving effect to his narrative.
It was, however, obvious, that this kind of interest must in the
end occasion a degree of sameness and repetition, if exclusively
resorted to, and that the reader was likely at length to adopt
the language of Edwin, in Parnell's Tale:
"'Reverse the spell,' he cries, 'And let it fairly now
suffice. The gambol has been shown.'"
Nothing can be more dangerous for the fame of a professor of the
fine arts, than to permit (if he can possibly prevent it) the
character of a mannerist to be attached to him, or that he should
be supposed capable of success only in a particular and limited
style. The public are, in general, very ready to adopt the
opinion, that he who has pleased them in one peculiar mode of
composition, is, by means of that very talent, rendered incapable
of venturing upon other subjects. The effect of this
disinclination, on the part of the public, towards the artificers
of their pleasures, when they attempt to enlarge their means of
amusing, may be seen in the censures usually passed by vulgar
criticism upon actors or artists who venture to change the
character of their efforts, that, in so doing, they may enlarge
the scale of their art.
There is some justice in this opinion, as there always is in such
as attain general currency. It may often happen on the stage,
that an actor, by possessing in a preeminent degree the external
qualities necessary to give effect to comedy, may be deprived of
the right to aspire to tragic excellence; and in painting or
literary composition, an artist or poet may be master exclusively
of modes of thought, and powers of expression, which confine him
to a single course of subjects. But much more frequently the
same capacity which carries a man to popularity in one department
will obtain for him success in another, and that must be more
particularly the case in literary composition, than either in
acting or painting, because the adventurer in that department is
not impeded in his exertions by any peculiarity of features, or
conformation of person, proper for particular parts, or, by any
peculiar mechanical habits of using the pencil, limited to a
particular class of subjects.
Whether this reasoning be correct or otherwise, the present
author felt, that, in confining himself to subjects purely
Scottish, he was not only likely to weary out the indulgence of
his readers, but also greatly to limit his own power of
affording them pleasure. In a highly polished country, where so
much genius is monthly employed in catering for public amusement,
a fresh topic, such as he had himself had the happiness to light
upon, is the untasted spring of the desert; - -
"Men bless their stars and call it luxury."
But when men and horses, cattle, camels, and dromedaries, have
poached the spring into mud, it becomes loathsome to those who at
first drank of it with rapture; and he who had the merit of
discovering it, if he would preserve his reputation with the
tribe, must display his talent by a fresh discovery of untasted
fountains.
If the author, who finds himself limited to a particular class of
subjects, endeavours to sustain his reputation by striving to add
a novelty of attraction to themes of the same character which
have been formerly successful under his management, there are
manifest reasons why, after a certain point, he is likely to
fail. If the mine be not wrought out, the strength and capacity
of the miner become necessarily exhausted. If he closely
imitates the narratives which he has before rendered successful,
he is doomed to "wonder that they please no more." If he
struggles to take a different view of the same class of subjects,
he speedily discovers that what is obvious, graceful, and
natural, has been exhausted; and, in order to obtain the
indispensable charm of novelty, he is forced upon caricature,
and, to avoid being trite, must become extravagant.
It is not, perhaps, necessary to enumerate so many reasons why
the author of the Scottish Novels, as they were then exclusively
termed, should be desirous to make an experiment on a subject
purely English. It was his purpose, at the same time, to have
rendered the experiment as complete as possible, by bringing the
intended work before the public as the effort of a new candidate
for their favour, in order that no degree of prejudice, whether
favourable or the reverse, might attach to it, as a new
production of the Author of Waverley; but this intention was
afterwards departed from, for reasons to be hereafter mentioned.
The period of the narrative adopted was the reign of Richard I.,
not only as abounding with characters whose very names were sure
to attract general attention, but as affording a striking
contrast betwixt the Saxons, by whom the soil was cultivated, and
the Normans, who still reigned in it as conquerors, reluctant to
mix with the vanquished, or acknowledge themselves of the same
stock. The idea of this contrast was taken from the ingenious
and unfortunate Logan's tragedy of Runnamede, in which, about the
same period of history, the author had seen the Saxon and Norman
barons opposed to each other on different sides of the stage. He
does not recollect that there was any attempt to contrast the two
races in their habits and sentiments; and indeed it was obvious,
that history was violated by introducing the Saxons still
existing as a high-minded and martial race of nobles.
They did, however, survive as a people, and some of the ancient
Saxon families possessed wealth and power, although they were
exceptions to the humble condition of the race in general. It
seemed to the author, that the existence of the two races in the
same country, the vanquished distinguished by their plain,
homely, blunt manners, and the free spirit infused by their
ancient institutions and laws; the victors, by the high spirit of
military fame, personal adventure, and whatever could distinguish
them as the Flower of Chivalry, might, intermixed with other
characters belonging to the same time and country, interest the
reader by the contrast, if the author should not fail on his
part.
Scotland, however, had been of late used so exclusively as the
scene of what is called Historical Romance, that the preliminary
letter of Mr Laurence Templeton became in some measure necessary.
To this, as to an Introduction, the reader is referred, as
expressing author's purpose and opinions in undertaking this
species of composition, under the necessary reservation, that he
is far from thinking he has attained the point at which he aimed.
It is scarcely necessary to add, that there was no idea or wish
to pass off the supposed Mr Templeton as a real person. But a
kind of continuation of the Tales of my Landlord had been
recently attempted by a stranger, and it was supposed this
Dedicatory Epistle might pass for some imitation of the same
kind, and thus putting enquirers upon a false scent, induce them
to believe they had before them the work of some new candidate
for their favour.
After a considerable part of the work had been finished and
printed, the Publishers, who pretended to discern in it a germ of
popularity, remonstrated strenuously against its appearing as an
absolutely anonymous production, and contended that it should
have the advantage of being announced as by the Author of
Waverley. The author did not make any obstinate opposition, for
he began to be of opinion with Dr Wheeler, in Miss Edgeworth's
excellent tale of "Maneuvering," that "Trick upon Trick" might be
too much for the patience of an indulgent public, and might be
reasonably considered as trifling with their favour.
The book, therefore, appeared as an avowed continuation of the
Waverley Novels; and it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge,
that it met with the same favourable reception as its
predecessors.
Such annotations as may be useful to assist the reader in
comprehending the characters of the Jew, the Templar, the Captain
of the mercenaries, or Free Companions, as they were called, and
others proper to the period, are added, but with a sparing hand,
since sufficient information on these subjects is to be found in
general history.
An incident in the tale, which had the good fortune to find
favour in the eyes of many readers, is more directly borrowed
from the stores of old romance. I mean the meeting of the King
with Friar Tuck at the cell of that buxom hermit. The general
tone of the story belongs to all ranks and all countries, which
emulate each other in describing the rambles of a disguised
sovereign, who, going in search of information or amusement, into
the lower ranks of life, meets with adventures diverting to the
reader or hearer, from the contrast betwixt the monarch's outward
appearance, and his real character. The Eastern tale-teller has
for his theme the disguised expeditions of Haroun Alraschid with
his faithful attendants, Mesrour and Giafar, through the midnight
streets of Bagdad; and Scottish tradition dwells upon the similar
exploits of James V., distinguished during such excursions by the
travelling name of the Goodman of Ballengeigh, as the Commander
of the Faithful, when he desired to be incognito, was known by
that of Il Bondocani. The French minstrels are not silent on so
popular a theme. There must have been a Norman original of the
Scottish metrical romance of Rauf Colziar, in which Charlemagne
is introduced as the unknown guest of a charcoal-man.*
* This very curious poem, long a desideratum in Scottish
* literature, and given up as irrecoverably lost, was
* lately brought to light by the researches of Dr Irvine of
* the Advocates' Library, and has been reprinted by Mr David
* Laing, Edinburgh.
It seems to have been the original of other poems of the kind.
In merry England there is no end of popular ballads on this
theme. The poem of John the Reeve, or Steward, mentioned by
Bishop Percy, in the Reliques of English Poetry,* is said to
* Vol. ii. p. 167.
have turned on such an incident; and we have besides, the King
and the Tanner of Tamworth, the King and the Miller of Mansfield,
and others on the same topic. But the peculiar tale of this
nature to which the author of Ivanhoe has to acknowledge an
obligation, is more ancient by two centuries than any of these
last mentioned.
It was first communicated to the public in that curious record of
ancient literature, which has been accumulated by the combined
exertions of Sir Egerton Brydges. and Mr Hazlewood, in the
periodical work entitled the British Bibliographer. From thence
it has been transferred by the Reverend Charles Henry Hartsborne,
M.A., editor of a very curious volume, entitled "Ancient Metrical
Tales, printed chiefly from original sources, 1829." Mr
Hartshorne gives no other authority for the present fragment,
except the article in the Bibliographer, where it is entitled the
Kyng and the Hermite. A short abstract of its contents will show
its similarity to the meeting of King Richard and Friar Tuck.
King Edward (we are not told which among the monarchs of that
name, but, from his temper and habits, we may suppose Edward IV.)
sets forth with his court to a gallant hunting-match in Sherwood
Forest, in which, as is not unusual for princes in romance, he
falls in with a deer of extraordinary size and swiftness, and
pursues it closely, till he has outstripped his whole retinue,
tired out hounds and horse, and finds himself alone under the
gloom of an extensive forest, upon which night is descending.
Under the apprehensions natural to a situation so uncomfortable,
the king recollects that he has heard how poor men, when
apprehensive of a bad nights lodging, pray to Saint Julian, who,
in the Romish calendar, stands Quarter-Master-General to all
forlorn travellers that render him due homage. Edward puts up
his orisons accordingly, and by the guidance, doubtless, of the
good Saint, reaches a small path, conducting him to a chapel in
the forest, having a hermit's cell in its close vicinity. The
King hears the reverend man, with a companion of his solitude,
telling his beads within, and meekly requests of him quarters
for the night. "I have no accommodation for such a lord as ye
be," said the Hermit. "I live here in the wilderness upon roots
and rinds, and may not receive into my dwelling even the poorest
wretch that lives, unless it were to save his life." The King
enquires the way to the next town, and, understanding it is by a
road which he cannot find without difficulty, even if he had
daylight to befriend him, he declares, that with or without the
Hermit's consent, he is determined to be his guest that night.
He is admitted accordingly, not without a hint from the Recluse,
that were he himself out of his priestly weeds, he would care
little for his threats of using violence, and that he gives way
to him not out of intimidation, but simply to avoid scandal.
The King is admitted into the cell - - two bundles of straw are
shaken down for his accommodation, and he comforts himself that
he is now under shelter, and that
"A night will soon be gone."
Other wants, however, arise. The guest becomes clamorous for
supper, observing,
"For certainly, as I you say,
I ne had never so sorry a day,
That I ne had a merry night."
But this indication of his taste for good cheer, joined to the
annunciation of his being a follower of the Court, who had lost
himself at the great hunting-match, cannot induce the niggard
Hermit to produce better fare than bread and cheese, for which
his guest showed little appetite; and "thin drink," which was
even less acceptable. At length the King presses his host on a
point to which he had more than once alluded, without obtaining a
satisfactory reply:
"Then said the King, 'by God's grace,
Thou wert in a merry place,
To shoot should thou here
When the foresters go to rest,
Sometyme thou might have of the best,
All of the wild deer;
I wold hold it for no scathe,
Though thou hadst bow and arrows baith,
Althoff thou best a Frere.'"
The Hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension that his guest
means to drag him into some confession of offence against the
forest laws, which, being betrayed to the King, might cost him
his life. Edward answers by fresh assurances of secrecy, and
again urges on him the necessity of procuring some venison. The
Hermit replies, by once more insisting on the duties incumbent
upon him as a churchman, and continues to affirm himself free
from all such breaches of order:
"Many day I have here been,
And flesh-meat I eat never,
But milk of the kye;
Warm thee well, and go to sleep,
And I will lap thee with my cope,
Softly to lye."
It would seem that the manuscript is here imperfect, for we do
not find the reasons which finally induce the curtal Friar to
amend the King's cheer. But acknowledging his guest to be such a
"good fellow" as has seldom graced his board, the holy man at
length produces the best his cell affords. Two candles are
placed on a table, white bread and baked pasties are displayed by
the light, besides choice of venison, both salt and fresh, from
which they select collops. "I might have eaten my bread dry,"
said the King, "had I not pressed thee on the score of archery,
but now have I dined like a prince - -if we had but drink enow."
This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite, who dispatches
an assistant to fetch a pot of four gallons from a secret corner
near his bed, and the whole three set in to serious drinking.
This amusement is superintended by the Friar, according to the
recurrence of certain fustian words, to be repeated by every
compotator in turn before he drank - -a species of High Jinks, as
it were, by which they regulated their potations, as toasts were
given in latter times. The one toper says "fusty bandias", to
which the other is obliged to reply, "strike pantnere", and the
Friar passes many jests on the King's want of memory, who
sometimes forgets the words of action. The night is spent in
this jolly pastime. Before his departure in the morning, the
King invites his reverend host to Court, promises, at least, to
requite his hospitality, and expresses himself much pleased with
his entertainment. The jolly Hermit at length agrees to venture
thither, and to enquire for Jack Fletcher, which is the name
assumed by the King. After the Hermit has shown Edward some
feats of archery, the joyous pair separate. The King rides home,
and rejoins his retinue. As the romance is imperfect, we are not
acquainted how the discovery takes place; but it is probably much
in the same manner as in other narratives turning on the same
subject, where the host, apprehensive of death for having
trespassed on the respect due to his Sovereign, while incognito,
is agreeably surprised by receiving honours and reward.
In Mr Hartshorne's collection, there is a romance on the same
foundation, called King Edward and the Shepherd,*
* Like the Hermit, the Shepherd makes havock amongst the
* King's game; but by means of a sling, not of a bow; like
* the Hermit, too, he has his peculiar phrases of
* compotation, the sign and countersign being Passelodion
* and Berafriend. One can scarce conceive what humour our
* ancestors found in this species of gibberish; but
* "I warrant it proved an excuse for the glass."
which, considered as illustrating manners, is still more curious
than the King and the Hermit; but it is foreign to the present
purpose. The reader has here the original legend from which the
incident in the romance is derived; and the identifying the
irregular Eremite with the Friar Tuck of Robin Hood's story, was
an obvious expedient.
The name of Ivanhoe was suggested by an old rhyme. All novelists
have had occasion at some time or other to wish with Falstaff,
that they knew where a commodity of good names was to be had. On
such an occasion the author chanced to call to memory a rhyme
recording three names of the manors forfeited by the ancestor of
the celebrated Hampden, for striking the Black Prince a blow with
his racket, when they quarrelled at tennis:
"Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe,
For striking of a blow,
Hampden did forego,
And glad he could escape so."
The word suited the author's purpose in two material respects,
- -for, first, it had an ancient English sound; and secondly, it
conveyed no indication whatever of the nature of the story. He
presumes to hold this last quality to be of no small importance.
What is called a taking title, serves the direct interest of the
bookseller or publisher, who by this means sometimes sells an
edition while it is yet passing the press. But if the author
permits an over degree of attention to be drawn to his work ere
it has appeared, he places himself in the embarrassing condition
of having excited a degree of expectation which, if he proves
unable to satisfy, is an error fatal to his literary reputation.
Besides, when we meet such a title as the Gunpowder Plot, or any
other connected with general history, each reader, before he has
seen the book, has formed to himself some particular idea of the
sort of manner in which the story is to be conducted, and the
nature of the amusement which he is to derive from it. In this
he is probably disappointed, and in that case may be naturally
disposed to visit upon the author or the work, the unpleasant
feelings thus excited. In such a case the literary adventurer
is censured, not for having missed the mark at which he himself
aimed, but for not having shot off his shaft in a direction he
never thought of.
On the footing of unreserved communication which the Author has
established with the reader, he may here add the trifling
circumstance, that a roll of Norman warriors, occurring in the
Auchinleck Manuscript, gave him the formidable name of
Front-de-Boeuf.
Ivanhoe was highly successful upon its appearance, and may be
said to have procured for its author the freedom of the Rules,
since he has ever since been permitted to exercise his powers of
fictitious composition in England, as well as Scotland.
The character of the fair Jewess found so much favour in the eyes
of some fair readers, that the writer was censured, because, when
arranging the fates of the characters of the drama, he had not
assigned the hand of Wilfred to Rebecca, rather than the less
interesting Rowena. But, not to mention that the prejudices of
the age rendered such an union almost impossible, the author may,
in passing, observe, that he thinks a character of a highly
virtuous and lofty stamp, is degraded rather than exalted by an
attempt to reward virtue with temporal prosperity. Such is not
the recompense which Providence has deemed worthy of suffering
merit, and it is a dangerous and fatal doctrine to teach young
persons, the most common readers of romance, that rectitude of
conduct and of principle are either naturally allied with, or
adequately rewarded by, the gratification of our passions, or
attainment of our wishes. In a word, if a virtuous and
self-denied character is dismissed with temporal wealth,
greatness, rank, or the indulgence of such a rashly formed or ill
assorted passion as that of Rebecca for Ivanhoe, the reader will
be apt to say, verily Virtue has had its reward. But a glance on
the great picture of life will show, that the duties of
self-denial, and the sacrifice of passion to principle, are
seldom thus remunerated; and that the internal consciousness of
their high-minded discharge of duty, produces on their own
reflections a more adequate recompense, in the form of that peace
which the world cannot give or take away.
Abbotsford,
1st September, 1830.
DEDICATORY EPISTLE
TO
THE REV. DR DRYASDUST, F.A.S.
Residing in the Castle-Gate, York.
Much esteemed and dear Sir,
It is scarcely necessary to mention the various and concurring
reasons which induce me to place your name at the head of the
following work. Yet the chief of these reasons may perhaps be
refuted by the imperfections of the performance. Could I have
hoped to render it worthy of your patronage, the public would at
once have seen the propriety of inscribing a work designed to
illustrate the domestic antiquities of England, and particularly
of our Saxon forefathers, to the learned author of the Essays
upon the Horn of King Ulphus, and on the Lands bestowed by him
upon the patrimony of St Peter. I am conscious, however, that
the slight, unsatisfactory, and trivial manner, in which the
result of my antiquarian researches has been recorded in the
following pages, takes the work from under that class which bears
the proud motto, "Detur digniori". On the contrary, I fear I
shall incur the censure of presumption in placing the venerable
name of Dr Jonas Dryasdust at the head of a publication, which
the more grave antiquary will perhaps class with the idle novels
and romances of the day. I am anxious to vindicate myself from
such a charge; for although I might trust to your friendship for
an apology in your eyes, yet I would not willingly stand
conviction in those of the public of so grave a crime, as my
fears lead me to anticipate my being charged with.
I must therefore remind you, that when we first talked over
together that class of productions, in one of which the private
and family affairs of your learned northern friend, Mr Oldbuck of
Monkbarns, were so unjustifiably exposed to the public, some
discussion occurred between us concerning the cause of the
popularity these works have attained in this idle age, which,
whatever other merit they possess, must be admitted to be hastily
written, and in violation of every rule assigned to the epopeia.
It seemed then to be your opinion, that the charm lay entirely in
the art with which the unknown author had availed himself, like a
second M'Pherson, of the antiquarian stores which lay scattered
around him, supplying his own indolence or poverty of invention,
by the incidents which had actually taken place in his country at
no distant period, by introducing real characters, and scarcely
suppressing real names. It was not above sixty or seventy years,
you observed, since the whole north of Scotland was under a state
of government nearly as simple and as patriarchal as those of our
good allies the Mohawks and Iroquois. Admitting that the author
cannot himself be supposed to have witnessed those times, he must
have lived, you observed, among persons who had acted and
suffered in them; and even within these thirty years, such an
infinite change has taken place in the manners of Scotland, that
men look back upon the habits of society proper to their
immediate ancestors, as we do on those of the reign of Queen
Anne, or even the period of the Revolution. Having thus
materials of every kind lying strewed around him, there was
little, you observed, to embarrass the author, but the difficulty
of choice. It was no wonder, therefore, that, having begun to
work a mine so plentiful, he should have derived from his works
fully more credit and profit than the facility of his labours
merited.
Admitting (as I could not deny) the general truth of these
conclusions, I cannot but think it strange that no attempt has
been made to excite an interest for the traditions and manners of
Old England, similiar to that which has been obtained in behalf
of those of our poorer and less celebrated neighbours. The
Kendal green, though its date is more ancient, ought surely to be
as dear to our feelings, as the variegated tartans of the north.
The name of Robin Hood, if duly conjured with, should raise a
spirit as soon as that of Rob Roy; and the patriots of England
deserve no less their renown in our modern circles, than the
Bruces and Wallaces of Caledonia. If the scenery of the south be
less romantic and sublime than that of the northern mountains, it
must be allowed to possess in the same proportion superior
softness and beauty; and upon the whole, we feel ourselves
entitled to exclaim with the patriotic Syrian - -"Are not Pharphar
and Abana, rivers of Damascus, better than all the rivers of
Israel?"
Your objections to such an attempt, my dear Doctor, were, you may
remember, two-fold. You insisted upon the advantages which the
Scotsman possessed, from the very recent existence of that state
of society in which his scene was to be laid. Many now alive,
you remarked, well remembered persons who had not only seen the
celebrated Roy M'Gregor, but had feasted, and even fought with
him. All those minute circumstances belonging to private life
and domestic character, all that gives verisimilitude to a
narrative, and individuality to the persons introduced, is still
known and remembered in Scotland; whereas in England,
civilisation has been so long complete, that our ideas of our
ancestors are only to be gleaned from musty records and
chronicles, the authors of which seem perversely to have
conspired to suppress in their narratives all interesting
details, in order to find room for flowers of monkish eloquence,
or trite reflections upon morals. To match an English and a
Scottish author in the rival task of embodying and reviving the
traditions of their respective countries, would be, you alleged,
in the highest degree unequal and unjust. The Scottish magician,
you said, was, like Lucan's witch, at liberty to walk over the
recent field of battle, and to select for the subject of
resuscitation by his sorceries, a body whose limbs had recently
quivered with existence, and whose throat had but just uttered
the last note of agony. Such a subject even the powerful Erictho
was compelled to select, as alone capable of being reanimated
even by "her" potent magic - -
- - - gelidas leto scrutata medullas,
Pulmonis rigidi stantes sine vulnere fibras
Invenit, et vocem defuncto in corpore quaerit.
The English author, on the other hand, without supposing him less
of a conjuror than the Northern Warlock, can, you observed, only
have the liberty of selecting his subject amidst the dust of
antiquity, where nothing was to be found but dry, sapless,
mouldering, and disjointed bones, such as those which filled the
valley of Jehoshaphat. You expressed, besides, your
apprehension, that the unpatriotic prejudices of my countrymen
would not allow fair play to such a work as that of which I
endeavoured to demonstrate the probable success. And this, you
said, was not entirely owing to the more general prejudice in
favour of that which is foreign, but that it rested partly upon
improbabilities, arising out of the circumstances in which the
English reader is placed. If you describe to him a set of wild
manners, and a state of primitive society existing in the
Highlands of Scotland, he is much disposed to acquiesce in the
truth of what is asserted. And reason good. If he be of the
ordinary class of readers, he has either never seen those remote
districts at all, or he has wandered through those desolate
regions in the course of a summer tour, eating bad dinners,
sleeping on truckle beds, stalking from desolation to desolation,
and fully prepared to believe the strangest things that could be
told him of a people, wild and extravagant enough to be attached
to scenery so extraordinary. But the same worthy person, when
placed in his own snug parlour, and surrounded by all the
comforts of an Englishman's fireside, is not half so much
disposed to believe that his own ancestors led a very different
life from himself; that the shattered tower, which now forms a
vista from his window, once held a baron who would have hung him
up at his own door without any form of trial; that the hinds, by
whom his little pet-farm is managed, a few centuries ago would
have been his slaves; and that the complete influence of feudal
tyranny once extended over the neighbouring village, where the
attorney is now a man of more importance than the lord of the
manor.
While I own the force of these objections, I must confess, at the
same time, that they do not appear to me to be altogether
insurmountable. The scantiness of materials is indeed a
formidable difficulty; but no one knows better than Dr Dryasdust,
that to those deeply read in antiquity, hints concerning the
private life of our ancestors lie scattered through the pages of
our various historians, bearing, indeed, a slender proportion to
the other matters of which they treat, but still, when collected
together, sufficient to throw considerable light upon the "vie
prive" of our forefathers; indeed, I am convinced, that however I
myself may fail in the ensuing attempt, yet, with more labour in
collecting, or more skill in using, the materials within his
reach, illustrated as they have been by the labours of Dr Henry,
of the late Mr Strutt, and, above all, of Mr Sharon Turner, an
abler hand would have been successful; and therefore I protest,
beforehand, against any argument which may be founded on the
failure of the present experiment.
On the other hand, I have already said, that if any thing like a
true picture of old English manners could be drawn, I would trust
to the good-nature and good sense of my countrymen for insuring
its favourable reception.
Having thus replied, to the best of my power, to the first class
of your objections, or at least having shown my resolution to
overleap the barriers which your prudence has raised, I will be
brief in noticing that which is more peculiar to myself. It
seems to be your opinion, that the very office of an antiquary,
employed in grave, and, as the vulgar will sometimes allege, in
toilsome and minute research, must be considered as
incapacitating him from successfully compounding a tale of this
sort. But permit me to say, my dear Doctor, that this objection
is rather formal than substantial. It is true, that such slight
compositions might not suit the severer genius of our friend Mr
Oldbuck. Yet Horace Walpole wrote a goblin tale which has
thrilled through many a bosom; and George Ellis could transfer
all the playful fascination of a humour, as delightful as it was
uncommon, into his Abridgement of the Ancient Metrical Romances.
So that, however I may have occasion to rue my present audacity,
I have at least the most respectable precedents in my favour.
Still the severer antiquary may think, that, by thus
intermingling fiction with truth, I am polluting the well of
history with modern inventions, and impressing upon the rising
generation false ideas of the age which I describe. I cannot but
in some sense admit the force of this reasoning, which I yet hope
to traverse by the following considerations.
It is true, that I neither can, nor do pretend, to the
observation of complete accuracy, even in matters of outward
costume, much less in the more important points of language and
manners. But the same motive which prevents my writing the
dialogue of the piece in Anglo-Saxon or in Norman-French, and
which prohibits my sending forth to the public this essay printed
with the types of Caxton or Wynken de Worde, prevents my
attempting to confine myself within the limits of the period in
which my story is laid. It is necessary, for exciting interest
of any kind, that the subject assumed should be, as it were,
translated into the manners, as well as the language, of the age
we live in. No fascination has ever been attached to Oriental
literature, equal to that produced by Mr Galland's first
translation of the Arabian Tales; in which, retaining on the one
hand the splendour of Eastern costume, and on the other the
wildness of Eastern fiction, he mixed these with just so much
ordinary feeling and expression, as rendered them interesting and
intelligible, while he abridged the long-winded narratives,
curtailed the monotonous reflections, and rejected the endless
repetitions of the Arabian original. The tales, therefore,
though less purely Oriental than in their first concoction, were
eminently better fitted for the European market, and obtained an
unrivalled degree of public favour, which they certainly would
never have gained had not the manners and style been in some
degree familiarized to the feelings and habits of the western
reader.
In point of justice, therefore, to the multitudes who will, I
trust, devour this book with avidity, I have so far explained our
ancient manners in modern language, and so far detailed the
characters and sentiments of my persons, that the modern reader
will not find himself, I should hope, much trammelled by the
repulsive dryness of mere antiquity. In this, I respectfully
contend, I have in no respect exceeded the fair license due to
the author of a fictitious composition. The late ingenious Mr
Strutt, in his romance of Queen-Hoo-Hall,*
* The author had revised this posthumous work of Mr Strutt.
* See General Preface to the present edition, Vol I. p. 65.
acted upon another principle; and in distinguishing between what
was ancient and modern, forgot, as it appears to me, that
extensive neutral ground, the large proportion, that is, of
manners and sentiments which are common to us and to our
ancestors, having been handed down unaltered from them to us, or
which, arising out of the principles of our common nature, must
have existed alike in either state of society. In this manner, a
man of talent, and of great antiquarian erudition, limited the
popularity of his work, by excluding from it every thing which
was not sufficiently obsolete to be altogether forgotten and
unintelligible.
The license which I would here vindicate, is so necessary to the
execution of my plan, that I will crave your patience while I
illustrate my argument a little farther.
He who first opens Chaucer, or any other ancient poet, is so much
struck with the obsolete spelling, multiplied consonants, and
antiquated appearance of the language, that he is apt to lay the
work down in despair, as encrusted too deep with the rust of
antiquity, to permit his judging of its merits or tasting its
beauties. But if some intelligent and accomplished friend points
out to him, that the difficulties by which he is startled are
more in appearance than reality, if, by reading aloud to him, or
by reducing the ordinary words to the modern orthography, he
satisfies his proselyte that only about one-tenth part of the
words employed are in fact obsolete, the novice may be easily
persuaded to approach the "well of English undefiled," with the
certainty that a slender degree of patience will enable him to
to enjoy both the humour and the pathos with which old Geoffrey
delighted the age of Cressy and of Poictiers.
To pursue this a little farther. If our neophyte, strong in the
new-born love of antiquity, were to undertake to imitate what he
had learnt to admire, it must be allowed he would act very
injudiciously, if he were to select from the Glossary the
obsolete words which it contains, and employ those exclusively of
all phrases and vocables retained in modern days. This was the
error of the unfortunate Chatterton. In order to give his
language the appearance of antiquity, he rejected every word that
was modern, and produced a dialect entirely different from any
that had ever been spoken in Great Britain. He who would imitate
an ancient language with success, must attend rather to its
grammatical character, turn of expression, and mode of
arrangement, than labour to collect extraordinary and antiquated
terms, which, as I have already averred, do not in ancient
authors approach the number of words still in use, though perhaps
somewhat altered in sense and spelling, in the proportion of one
to ten.
What I have applied to language, is still more justly applicable
to sentiments and manners. The passions, the sources from which
these must spring in all their modifications, are generally the
same in all ranks and conditions, all countries and ages; and it
follows, as a matter of course, that the opinions, habits of
thinking, and actions, however influenced by the peculiar state
of society, must still, upon the whole, bear a strong resemblance
to each other. Our ancestors were not more distinct from us,
surely, than Jews are from Christians; they had "eyes, hands,
organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions;" were "fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same
diseases, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer," as
ourselves. The tenor, therefore, of their affections and
feelings, must have borne the same general proportion to our own.
It follows, therefore, that of the materials which an author has
to use in a romance, or fictitious composition, such as I have