On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History 9780520911536

Table of contents :
Contents
Illustrations
Preface
Chronology of Carlyle's Life
Introduction
Note on the Text
On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History
Lecture I. The Hero as Divinity. Odin. Paganism: Scandinavian Mythology.
Lecture II. The Hero as Prophet. Mahomet: Islam.
Lecture III. The Hero as Poet. Dante; Shakspeare.
Lecture IV. The Hero as Priest. Luther; Reformation: Knox; Puritanism.
Lecture V. The Hero as Man of Letters. Johnson, Rousseau, Burns.
Lecture VI. The Hero as King. Cromwell, Napoleon: Modern Revolutionism.
Appendix: 1858 Summary and Index
Notes
Works Cited
Textual Apparatus
Index

Citation preview

On Heroes,

Hero-Worship, & the Heroic in History

Editor-in- Chief Murray Baumgarten University of California, Santa Cruz Managing Editor Mark Engel University of California, Santa Cruz Editorial Committee Joel J. Brattin Worcester Polytechnic Institute Horst Drescher Johannes Gutenberg Universitat Mainz Edwin Eigner University of California, Riverside Michael K. Goldberg University of British Columbia Fred Kaplan Queens College, City University of New York Robert Oakman University of South Carolina Clyde de L. Ryals Duke University Anne Skabarnicki Royal Military College of Canada Rodger L. Tarr Illinois State University Chris Vanden Bossche University of Notre Dame Textual Consultant David Nordloh Indiana University Advisory Board Rita Berner Bottoms University of California, Santa Cruz Ian M. Campbell University of Edinburgh K. J. Fielding University of Edinburgh Jerry D. James University of California, Santa Cruz Norris Pope Stanford University Press G. B. Tennyson University of California, Los Angeles

THE NORMAN AND CHARLOTTE STROUSE EDITION OF THE WRITINGS OF

Thomas Carlyle

On Heroes,

Hero-Worship, & the Heroic in History

Notes and Introduction by Michael K. Goldberg Text Established by

Michael K. Goldberg, Joel J. Brattin, and Mark Engel

University of California Press BERKELEY

LOS ANGELES

OXFORD

C E N T E R FOR E D I T I O N S OF AMERICAN AUTHORS

AN APPROVED TEXT MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF A M E R I C A

University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. Oxford, England © 1993 by The Regents of the University of California

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Carlyle, Thomas, 1795-1881. On heroes, hero-worship, & the heroic in history / notes and introduction by Michael K. Goldberg ; text established by Michael K. Goldberg, Joel J. Brattin, and Mark Engel. p. cm. — (The Norman and Charlotte Strouse edition of the writings of Thomas Carlyle) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-520-07515-3 1. Heroes. 2. Hero worship. I. Goldberg, Michael K. (Michael Kenneth) II. Brattin, Joel J., 1956III. Engel, Mark. IV. Tide. V. Tide: On heroes, hero-worship, and the heroic in history. VI. Series: Carlyle, Thomas, 1795-1881. Works. 1991. PR4426.A2G65 1993 824'.8—dc20 91-33937 CIP Printed in the United States of America This book is a print-on-demand volume. It is manufactured using toner in place of ink. Type and images may be less sharp than the same material seen in traditionally printed University of California Press editions. The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (R 1997) (Permanence of Paper).

CONTENTS List of Illustrations Preface Chronology of Carlyle's Life Introduction Note on the Text

vii

ix XV

xxi

lxxxi

On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History

Lecture I. The Hero as Divinity. Odin. Paganism: Scandinavian Mythology.

3

Lecture II. The Hero as Prophet. Mahomet: Islam.

37

Lecture III. The Hero as Poet. Dante; Shakspeare.

67

Lecture IV. The Hero as Priest. Luther; Reformation: Knox; Puritanism.

99

Lecture V. The Hero as Man of Letters. Johnson, Rousseau, Burns.

133

Lecture VI. The Hero as King. Cromwell, Napoleon: Modern Revolutionism.

169

Appendix: 1858 Summary and Index

211

Notes

227

Works Cited

393

Textual Apparatus Emendations of the Copy-Text Discussion of Editorial Decisions Line-End Hyphens in the Copy-Text Line-End Hyphens in the Present Text Historical Collation

421 431 441 443 445

Index

487

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ILLUSTRATIONS Following page ciii 1. Syllabus of the lectures. 2. Receipt for Carlyle's lecture fee. 3. Two pages of revised proof for the first edition. 4. Title page of the first edition. 5. Dante. 6. Martin Luther. 7. John Knox. 8. James Boswell. 9. Robert Burns. 10. Oliver Cromwell. 11. Statue of Cromwell.

vii

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PREFACE

ALTHOUGH Thomas Carlyle was acclaimed throughout the nineteenth century in both England and the United States as the "undoubted head of English letters,"1 reliable editions of his work, providing both an accurate text based on modern bibliographical principles and full explanatory annotation, have not been readily available. Even the standard edition, the Centenary, originally published 1896-99, is unsatisfactory: it is without annotation and textually inaccurate. 2 This injustice, both to Carlyle and his readers, the editors of the Strouse Carlyle Edition seek to redress. To establish an accurate text the editors have devised an integrated system for the computer-assisted production of the edition, based on the CASE (Computer Assistance to Scholarly Editing) programs. 3 The application of electronic technology in every stage of the editorial process, from the collection of evidence through the final typesetting of the text and apparatus, allows a high level of accuracy, while leaving all decisions requiring editorial judgment in the control of scholars. (A valuable byproduct of the use of computer technology throughout the project has been the creation of a machine-readable archive of Carlylean texts, textual apparatus, and annotation.) The text is preceded by a discussion of the evidence and editorial principles used to establish it, and a full textual apparatus is appended, including a list of all emendations of the copy-text and a complete collation of authoritative versions, keyed to the present text by page and line number. To facilitate reading, we present Carlyle's work as clear text, without added editorial or reference symbols. The historical introduction is intended to elaborate the significance of the work for Carlyle's era and to suggest its importance for our own, as well as explaining its origin and biographical context. The works cited in the introductory essay may be taken as a selected bibliography of Carlylean commentary and criticism, a starting point for the student of Carlyle and his influence. By providing a full critical and explanatory annotation, the editors hope to assist the contemporary reader in negotiating Carlyle's densely referential prose. A tissue of quotation from varied and disparate sources intertwined with the 1

"Literary Work of Thomas Carlyle," 92. (For complete citations, see the list of works cited, pp. 393-417.) 2 See "Note on the Text," pp. c-ci below. 3 For a description of the CASE programs, see Shillingsburg, Scholarly Editing in the Computer Age, 128-46. ix

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historic events of Victorian life, Carlyle's art weaves together multifarious references and allusions, which we have sought, wherever possible, to identify, gloss, and translate. The editors hope that the explanatory annotation, like the critical text, will be a starting point for the work of reading and interpretation, a foundation on which readers of the present and future may build the often-changing structures of cultural analysis. We have resisted the temptation to impose our own readings, offering instead the essential materials for interpretation, hoping thereby to approximate Carlyle's own ideal book, in which the reader is "excited . . . to self-activity."4 The materials of the edition, both on paper and in electronic form, have been added to the Norman and Charlotte Strouse Collection of Thomas Carlyle, housed in Special Collections, University Library, at the University of California, Santa Cruz. In recovering the impact of the original Carlyle and making his work accessible to readers of the present and the future, the edition fulfills the central purposes of the Strouse Collection, which has been our inspiration, base of operations, and invaluable resource. In recognition of their inestimable service to Carlyle studies, the edition is dedicated to Norman and Charlotte Strouse. This work would not have been possible without the assistance of many people and institutions. Their contributions can only imperfectly be acknowledged by a brief mention here. Funding for the edition was provided by research grants from the University of California, Santa Cruz, for which we must thank Chancellors Robert Sinsheimer, Robert B. Stevens, and Karl S. Pister; Academic Vice Chancellors Kivie Moldave, Isebill V. Gruhn, and Michael Tanner; Deans Michael Cowan, Gary Lease, and Geoffrey Pullum; and the Committee on Research of the Academic Senate. Other University officers who have aided the project, providing facilities and administrative support, include Assistant Vice Chancellor Daniel G. Aldrich III; University Librarian Alan Dyson; Janice Crooks and Richard W. Jensen of the Academic Vice Chancellor's office; Robert E. Jorgensen, Cindi Smith, and Kathie Kenyon of the office of the Dean of Humanities; and Peggy M. Hathcock and Joan A. Houston of the Humanities Business Office. Our funding was supplemented by generous contributions from private patrons including Lou and Isabell Bartfield, Donald and Emily Clark, Wendell B. Coon, Donald D. Cummins, Mrs. Fred C. Foy, Dr. 4

Sartor, 1.4.21

PREFACE

XI

James D. Hart, Frederick B. Henderson, Stephen G. Herrick, Alan and Judy Levin, Dean and Jane McHenry, Charles M. Merrill, Gurden Mooser, and of course Norman Strouse. Michael Goldberg wishes to express his gratitude to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for funding his research on this volume. In 1984-85 the Council awarded him a Leave Fellowship, and in 1988 further funding was provided under the Council's International Collaborative Research Programme. He also wishes to thank the Humanities and Social Sciences Grants Committee of the University of British Columbia for a research grant award in 1986, and the Work Study Programme of the Provincial Government. Our work has been assisted by the genuine collaboration of the members of the Editorial Board and the Advisory Board, who are listed facing the title page of this volume. These scholars travelled to Santa Cruz for a series of organizational meetings, participated in the formulation of policies for the edition, and read and commented on various stages of the manuscript. We must mention in particular the assistance of K. J. Fielding of the University of Edinburgh, whose detailed comments on the introduction and annotation were most helpful, and who, together with his colleagues Ian M. Campbell of Edinburgh and Clyde de L. Ryals of Duke University, made available to us the essential resources of their ongoing project to publish the Collected Letters of Thomas and Jane Welsh Carlyle. Carlyle biographer Fred Kaplan of the City University of New York prepared the Chronology of Carlyle's Life that appears on pp. xv-xix, and Carlyle bibliographer Rodger L. Tarr of Illinois State University guided us in our collection of materials. Jerry D. James, UC Santa Cruz librarian and bibliographer, was a heroic detective in the underworld of footnote sources. Our textual advisor, David Nordloh of Indiana University, shared his experience and expertise and helped us to understand the range of issues involved in establishing the text. We must also thank Robert Hirst, the general editor of the Mark Twain Project, who was appointed our inspector by the Committee for Scholarly Editions of the Modern Language Association, and who functioned in that capacity as our advisor as well as our judge. Other scholars who have assisted our work include Michael J. Warren, professor of English, UC Santa Cruz; Professor I. B. Cowan of the Department of Scottish History, University of Glasgow; Professor Scott Cook of the Department of Philosophy, San Jose State University; Professor Catherine Kerrigan of the University of Guelph; Michael

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Wolfe of Santa Cruz, California; and at the University of British Columbia Professors James Russell and Elizabeth Bongie of the Department of Classics, Edward Mornin of the Department of Germanic Studies, Hanna E. Rassis of the Department of Religious Studies, and J. A. Lavin of the Department of English. We have needed and received the help of many libraries and librarians, above all University Archivist Rita B. Bottoms and her staff, Carol Champion, Paul S. Stubbs, Irene Crawley Berry, and Paul Machlis of Special Collections, University Library, UC Santa Cruz, the worthy keepers of the Strouse Carlyle Collection, as well as the staff of Interlibrary Loan headed by Betty Rentz and Judith A. Steen, and the Reference staff including Margaret N. Gordon, Alan Ritch, and Deborah Murphy. In addition, grateful use has been made of the rich resources of institutions including the University Library of the University of British Columbia, the University of Michigan Libraries, the Bibliotheque Nationale du Quebec, the National Trust, Carlyle House, the British Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the University Library Cambridge, and the Trinity College Cambridge Library. Permission to quote from unpublished correspondence or to use illustrations from their collections was graciously granted by Paul C. Allen of the Beinecke Library, Yale University; Michael Komanecky of the Yale University Art Gallery; Don C. Skemer of the Princeton University Libraries; R. C. Andrew of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge; and Lorna MacEchern, private secretary to the Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry. For the loan of their Hinman Collator, we must thank Donald Kunitz and John Skarstad of Special Collections, Shields Library, University of California, Davis. Our use of computer technology in all stages of the project has of course required the assistance of many programmers and consultants who are to us as heroes in their arcane skills and technical competence. Professor Peter L. Shillingsburg of Mississippi State University generously shared with us the CASE collation programs that were developed under his supervision for the Thackeray Edition of which he is the general editor. Rob Strand of the UC Santa Cruz Computer Center modified the CASE programs so that they could be run on a CMS-based IBM mainframe. Much of the pre- and post-collation processing of the text and collation lists was done on the UC Santa Cruz campuswide unix-based mainframe system, while typesetting and layout was done on Macintosh personal computers in the edition office. James Ganong, programmer extraordinaire, currently Unix Systems Administrator for the College of Environmental Design at

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UC Berkeley, designed our system and wrote magical filter programs that make it possible for us to move our complex text files freely among the CMS, unix, and Macintosh platforms. Noah Kaplan, besides assisting James Ganong with the unix programming, showed endless patience in carrying out the tedious experimentation needed to make everything work. In addition we must thank Jeff Berryman, Bruce Joliffe, and Mike Patterson of the University of British Columbia Computing Centre, and at UC Santa Cruz Daniel Wenger, computing director of the Division of Humanities, and the staff of Computer and Telecommunications Services, especially Assistant Vice Chancellor Alan Schlenger, User Services Manager Dennie Van Tassel, and Senior Data Analysis Consultant James P. Mulherin. We have had the support throughout of our publishers, the University of California Press, and must mention in particular our sponsoring editors, Dr. Jack R. Miles and William J. McClung, design assistance from Czeslaw Jan Grycz, Jeanne Sugiyama, and Steve Renick, and editorial assistance from Marilyn Schwartz, Douglas Abrams, and our acute copy editor Nancy Evans. The index was prepared by Shirley J. Manley. Among the many who have labored valiantly on this book are the typists of the UCSC Services to Academic Staff office, supervised by Happy H. Hunter and Cheryl Van De Veer, and Betsy G. Wootten of the Kresge College Services to Academic Staff office. Our own yeoman staff of clerical and research assistants has included Pam Dunn, Elizabeth Jones, Rosemarie Milazzo, Marc Moskowitz, Mary Kate St. Clair, Leslie Sweeney, Erik Trump, and Hesper Wilson. The Strouse Carlyle Edition is administered by the Dickens Project, a multicampus research group of the University of California. Our special thanks go to its past and present staff including Dorene Blake, Tom Graves, and T. Lark Letchworth—and notably Linda M. Hooper, who gave us indispensable assistance with production and layout— and its director, Professor John O. Jordan, without whom our list of heroes would not be complete. All of those mentioned here have made this volume better than it would have been without their help; none are responsible for any errors that may remain in it. — Murray Baumgarten Editor-in-Chief

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CHRONOLOGY OF CARLYLE'S LIFE 1795

Thomas Carlyle born on December 4 in Ecclefechan, Scotland.

1801

Jane Baillie Welsh born in Haddington, near Edinburgh, on July 14.

1806

Carlyle enrolls as a day student at Annan Academy.

1809

Begins his education at the University of Edinburgh.

1813

Enrolls in Divinity Hall to fulfill his parents' expectation that he will become a minister.

1814

Leaves the university and returns to Annan Academy as mathematics tutor.

1816

Meets Edward Irving, a teacher and minister. Begins teaching in parish school in Kirkcaldy near Edinburgh.

1817

Tours the Highlands and western Scotland with Irving. Writes articles, letters to newspapers, and occasional poems on scientific and philosophic subjects.

1819

Moves to Edinburgh.

1820

Does translations from the French; writes a series of encyclopedia articles.

1821

Irving introduces him to Jane Welsh. Carlyle takes a wellpaid position, arranged by Irving, as a private tutor to Charles and Arthur Buller.

1822

Has a conversion experience in Leith Walk, near Edinburgh, in which he commits himself to the primacy and importance of work, rather than belief or theology, as the essence of personal self-definition. With his brother John's help, he translates Legendre's Elements of Geometry.

1823

Translates Goethe's Wilhelm Meister (1824) and expands an article on Schiller into The Life of Schiller (1825).

1824

Beginning in June, makes an extended visit to London. A guest of the Buller family and the Irving circle, he is introduced to London literary society, including Coleridge and Charles Lamb. XV

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1825

Translates various German authors, and falls strongly under the influence of Goethe.

1826

Marries Jane Baillie Welsh on October 17. Begins an autobiographical bildungsroman, the unfinished Wotton Reinfred.

1827

Francis Jeffrey, editor of the Edinburgh Review, becomes his patron and family friend. Jeffrey publishes a series of Carlyle's review-essays, mainly on German literature and culture, which initiate his Scottish and English reputation. German Romance published in four volumes.

1828

Unsuccessful efforts to find suitable employment. Carlyles move to Craigenputtoch, a remote farm near Dunscore.

1828-29 Publishes "Burns" and "Signs of the Times" in the Edinburgh Review and articles on German literature in the Foreign Review.

1830

"On History" published in Fraser's Magazine. Begins Sartor Resartus.

1831

In London for an extended visit, he renews contact with the Buller- Irving circle, begins a friendship with John Stuart Mill, and unsuccessfully tries to find a publisher for Sartor Resartus. "Characteristics" published in the Edinburgh Review.

1832

Death of his father, James Carlyle. Thomas writes a substantial memoir of him, later included in Reminiscences (1881). Carlyles return to Craigenputtoch.

1833

Sartor Resartus is published serially in Fraser's Magazine from November 1833 to August 1834. Encouraged by Mill, he begins to write about the French Revolution ("The Diamond Necklace"). In August, Emerson visits Carlyle at Craigenputtoch, the beginning of a lifelong friendship. Carlyle gives thought to emigrating to America.

1834

The Carlyles move to 24 Cheyne Row, London, their residence for the remainder of their lives. Edward Irving dies. In September, Carlyle begins to write The French Revolution.

1835

In March he is forced to begin The French Revolution again when the only copy of the manuscript (one-third completed) is accidentally destroyed while in the keeping of John Stuart Mill. Meets Southey and Wordsworth, and becomes friends

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with John Sterling. In the next five years his circle of London friends expands to include Leigh Hunt, Harriet Martineau, Erasmus Darwin, Monckton Milnes, John Forster, Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, FitzGerald, and Browning.

1836

Sartor Resartus first published in book form in Boston.

1837

Gives seven public lectures on German literature beginning in May. The French Revolution is published.

1838

Course of twelve lectures on European literature. Sartor Resartus is published in book form in London. With Emerson's help, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays is published in Boston.

1839

Six lectures on the revolutions of modern Europe. "On Chartism" published. Plays a formative role in the creation of the London Library.

1840

Delivers six lectures on heroes. Spends the summer in Scotland, henceforth an annual practice, and considers writing a biography of Cromwell.

1841

On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History published.

1842

While visiting the Bury St. Edmunds area, he conceives the idea for Past and Present.

1843

Past and Present published.

1844

John Sterling dies.

1845

Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches published.

1847

Emerson visits England and spends time with the Carlyles.

1848

Carlyle meets Sir Robert Peel, whom he admires and whose leading role in the repeal of the Corn Laws he has supported.

1849

Carlyle tours Ireland with his friend Gavan Duffy and finds English policies substantially responsible for the condition of Ireland. Writes his Reminiscences of My Irish Journey, published posthumously in 1882. Anger and despair about political and cultural conditions in Britain expressed in reviews and essays, including "Occasional Discourse on the Negro Question," published in Fraser's Magazine; contemplates a work on the negative effects of democracy, materialism, and sexual permissiveness.

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1850

Publishes Latter-Day Pamphlets, a series of eight satirical essays on the condition of modern Britain. Ruskin visits Carlyle for the first time and soon becomes a disciple. Friendships with a younger generation of intellectuals and writers, including William Allingham and John Tyndall.

1851

Life of John Sterling. In the fall, he visits Paris, accompanied by Robert and Elizabeth Browning. Begins to consider Frederick the Great as a subject for a biography.

1852

In the late summer, travels to Germany for the first time, visiting sites associated with Luther, Goethe, and Frederick the Great.

1856

Completes the writing of the first two volumes of Frederick the Great.

1857-58 Collected Works (the Uniform Edition) published in sixteen

volumes.

1858

First two volumes of Frederick the Great published. In late summer, makes a second visit to Germany to complete a survey of sites associated with Frederick.

1863

Jane Carlyle's health deteriorates. Volume 3 of Frederick the Great is published.

1864

Volume 4 of Frederick the Great is published.

1865

Completes Frederick the Great; volumes 5 and 6 are published. In November he is elected Lord Rector of Edinburgh University, an honorary position.

1866

On April 2, Carlyle delivers his "Inaugural Address" in Edinburgh. On April 21, Jane Carlyle dies of a stroke. Carlyle writes a biographical and autobiographical memoir of Jane and another of Edward Irving, both later included in Reminiscences. In the fall joins the Governor Eyre committee whose purpose is to defend Eyre against the charge that his suppression of the Jamaican slave revolt (1865) was too harsh.

1867

Writes brief memoirs of Southey, Wordsworth, and William Hamilton. In August, he publishes a satiric attack on the Reform Bill of 1867, "Shooting Niagara: And After?" The essay also attacks environmental pollution. Ruskin and Carlyle become estranged.

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1868-69 Works sporadically at a selected edition of Jane's letters, then decides to postpone publication. 1869

A second edition of the Collected Works (the Library Edition, thirty volumes) begins publication. In March, he has an interview with Queen Victoria.

1870

Publishes a letter in the Times strongly supporting Germany in the Franco-Prussian War.

1871

Turns over to James Anthony Froude some personal papers and manuscripts, particularly Jane's letters, in effect appointing Froude his biographer and Jane's editor. In 1873 he gives Froude most of the remaining documents. His right hand becomes palsied, making it difficult for him to write.

1872

He dictates Early Kings of Norway (1875), but finds dictation an unsatisfactory way of writing.

1873

Carlyle's portrait is painted by Whistler.

1874-75 Enters the controversy about the authenticity of a portrait of John Knox and dictates an essay, "Portraits of John Knox" (1875). 1875

His eightieth birthday in December is the occasion for an international celebration, with gifts, honorary degrees, testimonial letters, and an engraved gold medallion. He declines Disraeli's offer of a tide.

1875-76 Publishes two letters in the Times opposing Disraeli's policy of support for the Turks against the Russians. 1879

Visits Scotland. With the death of his favorite younger brother John, he has outlived most of his family and personal and professional friends.

1881

On February 5, Carlyle dies at Cheyne Row. He is buried on February 10 next to his parents in the churchyard at Ecclefechan.

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INTRODUCTION I. CARLYLE AS LECTURER ON Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History is Carlyle's literary reconstruction of a series of six public lectures, delivered between May 5 and 22, 1840, which were the culmination of his four-year experiment as a public lecturer. Considering his distrust of cant, his puritanically inspired phobia about the "swim gloat" of popularity which he feared and thought ruinous, and his deep-rooted suspicion of oratory as inherently insincere, it is perhaps surprising that he ventured onto the public platform at all. As a matter of fact, however, between 1837 and 1840 he made annual excursions to the public podium to lecture fashionable London society on literature, politics, and history.1 Carlyle's explanation was that he was "driven into that Lectureroom" by the "bayonets of Necessity."2 In 1837, when he first began to lecture, he fully expected to have to quit a literary career, for, as he had informed his brother John, "with only Literature for shelter there is I think no continuance." Better, like Teufelsdrockh, to take a stick and roam Europe or emigrate to the backwoods of America in search of alternative employment.3 Though his French Revolution was finished, no immediate financial return could be expected from it, and it was only by extraordinary thrift that the Carlyles were able to live off the proceeds of "Mirabeau" and "The Diamond Necklace," empty "in purse and in hope."4 Finance then, rather than fame, was the spur that first prodded Carlyle onto the public platform, where he began to lecture "for subsistence,"5 and it remained a keen incentive 1

The four series were: in 1837 "German Literature," seven lectures, unpublished (but see Hill Shine's edition of Carlyle's Unfinished History of German Literature [1951]); in 1838 "The History of Literature," twelve lectures, published in two posthumous editions as Lectures on the History of Literature (New York, 1892, and Bombay, 1892; see p. 279 below); in 1839 "Revolutions of Modern Europe," six lectures, unpublished (but see Shepherd, Memoirs of Carlyle 1:197-214 for reports of them taken from the Examiner); in 1840 the six lectures on heroes on which the present work is based. 2 Letters 10:52, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, March 16, 1838. 3 Letters 9:78, TC to John A. Carlyle, October 20, 1836; see also Froude, Life in London 1:83; Letters 8:18, TC to Alexander Carlyle, January 28, 1835; Letters 9:311, TC to John A. Carlyle, September 21, 1837. 4 Froude, Life in London 1:82. 5 Wilson, Carlyle on Cromwell, 39. xxi

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the following year. "If dire famine drive me, I must . . . lecture, but not otherwise," he wrote to his brother John in July 1838.6 Financial considerations aside, Carlyle was fascinated as well as repelled by the idea of lecturing. "A mixture of prophecy and playacting," it was something to be cultivated as a powerful instrument for the conveying of moral truths.7 Though he found it difficult to "unite the characters of the prophet and the mountebank" as his wife is reported to have put it,8 public speaking, he wrote, was "a thing I have always had some hankering after: it seems to me I could really Swim in that element, were I once thrown into it; that in fact it would develope several things in me, which struggle violently for developement."9 With this in mind he was "inclined to experiment,"10 and felt that, were he "once girded up for it," lecturing had a "far greater capability in it" than book writing.11 Despite his determination, he felt "a kind of shudder" through his "whole heart" at the thought. 12 The feeling was proleptic, for on the evidence of his journals and letters, lecturing was always to be an ordeal and sometimes a martyrdom to him, which may account for the "sort of crucified Expression" Edward FitzGerald recalled him wearing during his lectures on heroes.13 "However, it is a thing I have long wanted and meant to try,"14 and so, in 1837, with a series of seven lectures on German literature,15 he embarked on his first experiment. He had been invited by Emerson to lecture in America, but when Harriet Martineau and several others sought among their friends two hundred subscribers willing to pay a guinea each to hear Carlyle, he found himself launched on his new career in London. A comfortable four months away from his first appearance, he jocularly minimized the difficulties of public speaking. Once furnished with a subject and the "impudence . . . to lecture at all," one needed only "to turn up 6

Letters 10:134, July 27, 1838. Froude, Life in London 1:136. Fox, Memories, 117. 9 Letters 8:42, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, February 3, 1835. 10 Letters 9:109, TC to Jean Carlyle Aitken, December 29, 1836. II Letters 9:343, TC to John A. Carlyle, November 7, 1837. 12 Letters 9:164, TC to Alexander Carlyle, March 5, 1837. 13 FitzGerald, Letters 3:651. 14 Letters 9:164, TC to Alexander Carlyle, March 5, 1837. 15 J. A. Froude (Life in London 1:98-99) and David Alec Wilson (Carlyle on Cromwell, 7) follow the printed 1837 prospectus which lists six lectures. However, Carlyle's letter of May 19, 1837, to his mother (Letters 9:206) makes it clear that he gave an unscheduled seventh lecture. 7

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xxill

any tub, and get upon it, and open your mouth!" he wrote to Jane Wilson.16 His misgivings about authorship, which were deeper than the problem of how to make a living from it, had to be temporarily laid aside or, as the months passed, replaced with more immediate anxieties about lecturing. "Heaven only knows what I shall say," he fretted as all public speakers tend to do. "I feel as if I were to be flung overboard, and bid swim or drown."17 Many literary figures had preceded and many were to follow him onto the public platform, among them Coleridge, Hazlitt, De Quincey, Sydney Smith, Thackeray, and Dickens. The first half of the century was replete with speakers and audiences who had got hold of the "strange opinion," as Dr. Johnson called it, "that every thing should be taught by lectures."18 The whole world, said Carlyle, cried "Lecture! . . . Lecture on German Literature, on European Literature, on the French Revolution, on Things in General!" As he followed the world's advice, he felt the lack of three things: "I want knowledge, of my audience, of myself; I want impudence, I want health."19 He remained diffident rather than impudent, his health was always a worry, but he began to acquire knowledge of his audience and of himself as a lecturer. As the first day approached, he speculated that his likely audience would "surely be the strangest set of people . . . that ever I talked to."20 Obviously apprehensive, he determined "to take it as coolly as possible: it is neither death nor men's lives whether I speak well or speak ill, or even decline to speak at all, and do nothing but^flu^."21 At times he could not help worrying that on the day of the lecture he might have to say that "it has become entirely impossible for me to talk to you about German or any Literature or terrestrial thing; . . . be kind enough to cover me under a tub . . . and to go your ways all with my blessing!"22 After the lecture he recalled his "furious determination" not to "break down,"23 that his tongue had been as "dry as charcoal" and that he had been obliged to "stumble in, and start."24 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Letters 9:115, January 15, 1837. Letters 9:175, TC to John A. Carlyle, March 21, 1837. Boswell, Life of Johnson, 356. Letters 9:378, TC to John Sterling, December 25, 1837. Letters 9:196, TC to Alexander Carlyle, April 23, 1837. Letters 9:199, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, April 28, 1837. Letters 9:200, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, April 28, 1837. Fronde, Life in London 1:103. Letters 9:215, TC to John A. Carlyle, May 30, 1837.

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His sponsor, who was "deaf as a Post,"25 the "poor Miss Martineau," who two years later "not only lost her ear-trumpet, but her health,"26 was infected by Carlyle's "unconcealable nervousness," which reflected itself in his "broken speech" and the way his fingers "picked at the desk before him." As "he scarcely slept," and "grew more dyspeptic and nervous every day," she concluded that "no fame and no money . . . could counterbalance the misery which the engagement caused him."27 However, if Carlyle lacked, as the Times said, the "mere technicalities of public speaking," he revealed many of the art's "higher and nobler attributes, gathering self-possession as he proceeded."28 The "pecuniary net-result" of his first efforts in 1837 was £135 once expenses had been deducted.29 It may seem now a modest sum, but to Carlyle at that time it offered financial safety. Better still, another course of lectures was soon proposed that promised to yield at least as much, and the thrifty family might live a year off the proceeds, and be virtually immune to fortune. "Life and labour were now made possible on honest terms, and literary recognition, if it was to come at all, could be waited for without starvation."30 There was no further talk in Cheyne Row of emigrating or roaming Europe. Lecturing bought Carlyle time, and saved him for a literary career. Carlyle learned the craft of lecturing as he went along, and his second series in 1838, on the history of literature, found him in not quite "such a dreadful fry" as he had been the previous year.31 Jane noted that although he was as "white as a pocket handkerchief" he made "no gasping and spluttering" as he had done in the earlier lectures.32 For his part, Carlyle wrote in his journal, he felt at times like a man "singing through a fleece of wool," and he was frustrated by the sense that while he retained a clear image of his subject, all that his hearers got was a "false impotent scrawl."33 But the lectures ended with fireworks, with people weeping and applauding. To his 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

Letters 9:102, TC to John A. Carlyle, December 2, 1836. Letters 11:234, TC to Richard Monckton Milnes, December 28, 1839. Martineau, Autobiography 1:289. Cited in Letters 9:205n. Letters 9:214, TC to John A. Carlyle, May 30, 1837. Froude, Life in London 1:106. Letters 10:53, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, March 30, 1838. Letters 10:72, JWC to Jean Carlyle Aitken, May 1, 1838. Froude, Life in London 1:136-37.

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family he wrote that the series had gone on better and better until it "grew at last . . . quite a flaming affair,"34 and had led people to say he had made "a new profession" for himself.35 Carlyle's material reward was £300, which was some comfort to a man who "had been haunted by the squalid spectre of beggary."36 With success, however, the fear of popularity arose again to chill his Puritan bones. "I know not what I should do if I were to become an established Popular" he fretted. The beggar's wallet was bad, but not so frightful as popularity, "the darkest curse" God could lay on a man.37 Nevertheless, April 1839 found him "again upon the threshold of extempore lecturing," and though he was "no longer driven by Poverty as heretofore," he had felt it best to keep this avenue of employment open.38 Carlyle's health was uncertain and throughout this series, on the revolutions of modern Europe, he was haunted by a sense of failure. For two days after each lecture he felt "a sentiment of pain and remorse at the poor figure" he believed he had made.39 Even Jane, who considered herself "a perfectly unprejudiced judge,"40 did not think he was at his best. To Emerson, however, Carlyle boasted of a newfound confidence. "I care less about" lecturing "than I did; it is not agony, and wretched trembling to the marrow of the bone, as it was the last two times."41 Jane proffered the more sober assessment that unless her husband could "get hardened in this trade, he certainly ought to discontinue it; for no gain or eclat that it can yield, is compensation enough for the martyrdom it is to himself, and thro' him to me."42 To outward appearance, she conceded, he had got through the series "more smoothly and quite as brilliantly as last year" but in place of his usual "agitation beforehand'" he had "taken to the new and curious crotchet of being ready to hang himself after, in the idea that he has made 'a horrible pluister [mess] of it.'"43 The audience, however, "larger than last year, and even more distinguished," seemed not to notice, broke into "loud plaudits," and was full of 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Letters 10:93, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, June 12, 1838. Letters 10:134, TC to John A. Carlyle, July 27, 1838. Froude, Life in London 1:139. Letters 10:54, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, March 30, 1838. Letters 11:81, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, April 13, 1839. Letters 11:100, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, May 20, 1839. Letters 11:93, JWC to Margaret A. Carlyle, May 5, 1839. Letters 11:81, April 13, 1839. Letters 11:98, JWC to Grace Welsh, May 17, 1839. Letters 11:98, JWC to Grace Welsh, May 17, 1839.

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praise.44 The concluding lecture, according to Jane the "most splendid" Carlyle had yet delivered, ended with even more audience frenzy, and the Carlyles left the hall "in a sort of whirlwind of '^/ory.'"45 In the weeks immediately before he began the 1839 series of lectures, Carlyle anticipated that he would perhaps be lecturing "for the last time,—at least till I get some inward call to speak,"46 but instead of retiring, he was in fact, with the series of lectures on heroes, about to advance to his greatest triumph on the public platform. The success of the lectures on heroes in 1840 was due to several factors. Carlyle's treatment of his earlier lecture subjects had been broad-ranging, discursive, and necessarily thin. He could touch, as Leigh Hunt remarked, "only the mountain-tops."47 This time there was a specific and clear thesis that bound the six lectures together and forged a unit of what might otherwise have remained miscellaneous essays. The arrangement of his new subject was "not so much historic as didactic,"48 and it was close to Carlyle's heart. "I am telling the people matters that belong much more to myself this year; which is far more interesting to me," he said,49 and the series had, therefore, an intensity and a focus lacking from the panoramic surveys of cultural and historical topics he had chosen before. As the Examiner forecast on May 3, Carlyle's "six lectures on 'Heroes'" seemed "a subject better adapted to the thoughts and style of the lecturer than any he has treated yet."50 Perhaps this accounts for the speed with which the scheme for the lectures took shape in Carlyle's mind. On February 24, 1840, he wrote to his mother, "I think I shall lecture this year too, to my old audience! I seem to have a kind of hold of a subject; but it is not yet got into any shape," and to his brother John, three days later, he announced that he seemed to have "got the primordium of a subject in me,—tho' not nameable as yet."51 Within a week after his letter to his mother, he was able to assign to his lectures a theme, a six-fold division of their subject matter, and a central hypothesis about the enduring nature of hero-worship. On March 2 he wrote to John, "I am to talk about gods, prophets, priests, kings, poets, teachers (six 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

Letters 11:93, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, May 5, 1839. Letters 11:102, JWC to Margaret A. Carlyle, May 20, 1839. Letters 11:84, TC to John A. Carlyle, April 15, 1839. Nichol, Carlyle, 75. Letters 12:94, TC to John A. Carlyle, April 2, 1840. Letters 12:148, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, May 20, 1840. Cited in Letters 12:132n. Letters 12:55, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, February 24, 1840; Letters 12:58, TC to John A. Carlyle, February 27, 1840.

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sorts of them); and may probably call it 'On the Heroic.' Odin, Mahomet, Cromwell are three of my figures; I mean to shew that 'Hero-worship never ceases,' that it is at bottom the main or only kind of worship."52 The rapidity with which the plan for the lectures took shape in Carlyle's mind did little to facilitate their actual production. During the third week of March he was still "revolving and tumbling about among my projected 'Lectures,'" which remained "dim and horrible; but I suppose I shall get them worked out."53 These alternations between a clear sense of purpose and a depressed feeling of confusion and anxiety were the usual accompaniments of Carlyle's efforts at composition. By the end of March he was still complaining that the "Lecture-project hardly advances into clearness; stands waiting for a 'glimpse of health,' which, alas, refuses to arrive."54 Nevertheless he entertained the thought "of writing them down; then flaming about, over both hemispheres with them (too like a Cagliostroccio!), to earn as much as will buy the smallest peculium of annuity whereon to retire into some hut by the sea-shore."55 As he wrote to his brother John, it was his daily ride on his horse Citoyenne, an activity to which he turned for exercise and therapy when the lectures began "to oppress me sore," that was "the recipe" that brought "clearness of spirits and nerves."56 By April 1, with a month to go to the opening talk, he invited Emerson to consider his "frightful outlook with a Course of Lectures to give 'On Heroes and Hero-Worship'—from Odin to Robf Burns!"57 or as he wrote facetiously to Henrietta Stanley, "I seem to be fixed to lecture: 'on Heroes'—from the Creation downwards!—'Sport to you but death to us!' Pity me."58 During April Carlyle adopted a strict discipline, "rigorous as Rhadamanthus, that I am to dine nowhere till once these unfortunate 'Heroes' are out of me."59 "I scribble away at my Lectures; refuse all invitations whatsoever."60 Throughout the month he wrote furiously. Daily "I ... splash down (literally as fas[t] as my pen will go) some kind of paragraph on some point or other of my 'Course' that has 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

Letters Letters TC to Letters Letters Letters Letters Letters Letters Letters

12:67. 12:77, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, March 17, 1840; Letters 12:79, John A. Carlyle, March 17, 1840. 12:89, TC to John A. Carlyle, March 30, 1840. 12:89, TC to John A. Carlyle, March 30, 1840. 12:94, April 2, 1840. 12:94, April 1, 1840. 12:107, [April 13?, 1840]. 12:114, TC to Henrietta Maria Stanley, April 17, 1840. 12:116, TC to Alexander Carlyle, April 22, 1840.

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INTRODUCTION

b[een] salient and visible to me; paragraph after paragraph, till at least 4 pages daily are full: in this way I put down legibly, if not something that I shall say, yet something that I might and should say. I can clip the paragrap[h]s out, and string them together any way I like."61 By May 1, with the first lecture only four days away, Carlyle declared to John that they were "'prepared, as far as preparation will go; I tremble for Tuesday yet not more than is needful."62 Jane was unafraid about the lectures, fearful only for the lecturer, for the "subject is a fine one—he has well reflected on it—and has already clashed out matter enough on paper to carry him triumphan[t]ly thro."63 II. THE LECTURES ON HEROES Of the lectures on heroes themselves, presented in days innocent of the now-ubiquitous tape recorder, we can form only a limited impression, though some glimpses are afforded by those who attended and took an interest in the proceedings. Samuel Wilberforce, who did attend, was asked by Richard Chenevix Trench, later archbishop of Dublin, to supply some of Carlyle's sayings and passed on to him a rumor that the first lecture had been a failure, "as indeed they always are, unless he works himself up into the true Berserker fury, which on that occasion (though it would have been one of the meetest) he certainly failed to do."64 Carlyle himself felt he had not got much more than a tenth of his meaning across to his audience but fancied he should do better in his next attempt, "though Mahomet is not a very intimate friend to any of us."65 In fact by common accord the second lecture was what Carlyle himself claimed for it, "the best I ever delivered." If anything it was "far too good'," he ruefully complained, for it had "shivered" his "nerves all in pieces" and made it impossible for him to sleep.66 The subject of this lecture fully engaged Carlyle's passion against the injustice of historical testimony. He gave "a larger audience than ever . . . to know that the poor Arab had points about him which it were good for all of them to imitate,"67 indeed that Muhammad "is a better Christian, with his 'bastard Christianity,' 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Letters 12:114-15, TC to John A. Carlyle, April 18, 1840. Letters 12:128. Letters 12:113, JWC to Margaret A. Carlyle, April 15, 1840. Trench, Letters and Memorials 1:248-49. Froude, Life in London 1:181. Letters 12:142, TC to Alexander Carlyle, May 12, 1840. Froude, Life in London 1:181.

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XXIX

than the most of us shovel-hatted."68 Despite this provocative tone, or more likely because of it, "the people seemed greatly astonished and greatly pleased. I vomited forth on them like wild Annandale grapeshot. They laughed, applauded, &c."69 Henry Crabb Robinson, among others, felt the force of Carlyle's presentation. The lecture, he wrote, "gave great satisfaction, for it had uncommon thoughts, and was delivered with unusual animation," Carlyle declaring his conviction that "Mahomet was no mere sensualist, or vulgar impostor, but a real reformer."70 By such challenging claims Carlyle no doubt expected to surprise his listeners, who mainly represented the English political and religious establishment, for he set out not only to vindicate a supposed Arab impostor, but to defend a Puritan regicide, a Scottish preacher who had insulted his queen, and a Corsican general who had tried to invade England. By and large, his audience reacted to his provocations with approval rather than outrage. There were naturally some exceptions. On May 9, the Globe, which criticized Carlyle's "germanised" thought, also pointed to his affection for some "mighty great ruffians." 71 William Thomson, later Archbishop of York, responding to the published lectures, was roused to object. "Such a menagerie!" he said of Carlyle's heroes. "Elisha, Cyprian, George Herbert, Robert Nelson, Charles I. on one side: Mahomet, Luther, Shakspeare, Rousseau, Cromwell, on the other. Who will weigh the list of the Syncretist with the list of the Churchman?" 72 Frederick Denison Maurice reported that among his clerical colleagues, Sewell was denouncing Carlyle, "and Whewell is very indignant, and believes he is doing the greatest mischief. Hare has much the same opinion." Though Maurice was himself somewhat alarmed at the "wild pantheistic rant" of Carlyle's lecture, he consoled himself with the thought that however much Carlyle "may abuse Churchmen, he will be better able than most men to make us feel our need of a Church." The lecture itself was "by far the most animated and vehement I ever heard from him. It was a passionate defence of Mahomet from all the charges that have been brought against him, and a general panegyric upon him and his doctrine."73 68 69 70 71 72 73

Letters 12:183, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, July 2, 1840. Froude, Life in London 1:181. Robinson, Diary 2:287. Cited in Letters 12:157n. Cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 177, 176. Maurice, Life 1:280, 283, 279, 282.

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Records of audience reaction to the third and fourth lectures, on the hero as poet and priest, are much scantier than those for the first two lectures, but records of the final two, on the hero as man of letters and king, are the most abundant we have, because of the attendance at these last two lectures of Caroline Fox, whose journal not only provides a clear summary of the talks, but a graphic portrait of the lecturer: Carlyle soon appeared, and looked as if he felt a well-dressed London crowd scarcely the arena for him to figure in as a popular lecturer. He is a tall, robustlooking man; rugged simplicity and indomitable strength are in his face, and such a glow of genius in it,—not always smouldering there, but flashing from his beautiful grey eyes, from the remoteness of their deep setting under that massive brow. His manner is very quiet, but he speaks like one tremendously convinced of what he utters, and who had much—very much—in him that was quite unutterable, quite unfit to be uttered to the uninitiated ear; and when the Englishman's sense of beauty or truth exhibited itself in vociferous cheers, he would impatiently, almost contemptuously, wave his hand, as if that were not the sort of homage which Truth demanded. He began in a rather low nervous voice, with a broad Scotch accent, but it soon grew firm, and shrank not abashed from its great task.74 When it was over Carlyle for once agreed with popular opinion: "The people seem agreed, and I partly think so too, that it was my best course of Lectures."75 In the "fire of the moment" he "all but decided on setting out for America . . . and preaching far and wide . . . on 'Heroes, Hero-Worship and the Heroic.'" But the sterner side of his nature reasserted itself, "the fire of determination died away again," and Carlyle turned his back on a lecturing career at the moment of his greatest lecturing triumph.76 The calculation of April, that "it will be better not to try it any more in future years," hardened into 74 75 76

Fox, Memories, 105. Letters 12:151, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, May 23, 1840. Letters 12:184, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, July 2, 1840.

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certainty.77 Only financial compulsion could drive him once more onto the platform. "Four times spitted on the spear's point like a Surinam fire-fly to give light to the fashionable classes: this is enough of times!"78 He resolved instead to remain in the brick Babylon of London and to "write down" the lectures.79 Accordingly, he spent the summer of 1840 transcribing his notes into book form. III. THE BOOK The process of conversion was not easy, for the lectures, "wanting all the unction of personal sincerity expressed by voice and face," looked "entirely dull and tame on paper."80 Records of the first lecture, prepared by a reporter hired by Fraser, were "like soda-water with the gas out of it," so Carlyle decided to write out the lectures himself "if not what was said, yet what might and should have been said."81 The problem of getting the lecture notes into this perfected form was essentially one of style. Carlyle felt this should be "low-pitched, as like talk as possible," or "somewhat in the style of speech; as they were, or rather as they might have been . . . delivered."82 The style he sought was that of the ideal lecture, and in this Carlyle succeeded so well that it is easy for readers to forget that the book is no entirely reliable guide to the way the lectures sounded to his original audience. For that we have to rely on hearsay, and the few reports which have come down to us.83 Perhaps he did speak "as graphically as his 'French Revolution,'"84 or as Frederic Harrison said, roll forth "Latter-Day Pamphlets by the hour together in the very words, with all the nicknames, expletives, and ebullient tropes that were so familiar to us in print, with the full voice, the Dumfries burr, and the kindling eye which all his friends recall." But the answer to Harrison's rhetorical question "Could printed essay and spoken words be so absolutely the same?"85 is, in fact, No, they could not, 77 78

79 80 81 82 83

84 85

Letters 12:98, TC to Alexander Carlyle, April 8, 1840. Letters 12:141, TC to Thomas Ballantyne, May 11, 1840; see On Heroes, 167, and note at 167.9. Letters 12:167, TC to Jean Carlyle Aitken, June 15, 1840. Letters 12:210, TC to John A. Carlyle, August 1, 1840. Letters 12:144, TC to Henry Cole, May 14, 1840. Letters 12:230, TC to John A. Carlyle, August 23, 1840; Letters 12:168, TC to Jean Carlyle Aitken, June 15, 1840. See, for example, the report, "however imperfect," of the first lecture in the Tablet, May 16, 1840, 12-13; and Letters 12:145n. Reid, Life of Milnes 1:220. Harrison, Memories, 99-100.

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as the manuscript fragments of his other writings, notably Latter-Day Pamphlets and Past and Present, clearly prove.86 It is easy to be misled, as Wilde was, into thinking that "Carlyle's stormy rhetoric" sprang from enthusiasm. But "even prophets correct their proofs."87 Whenever Carlyle writes down his thought as it first arose, in the language of his ordinary speech, it lacks much of the literary embellishment of its published version. Carlyle actually roughens his language into growls, barks, and quixotic wrenchings to emulate the strain inherent in the process of thought, and he retains these signs to convey the struggle by which his finished style has been achieved. His style resembles speech in its dramatic immediacy, but Carlyle arrived at his invented language as a deliberate artistic strategy, no less than Wordsworth had done in inventing a poetic version of the language of "ordinary men." In short, for all its colloquial vitality, Carlyle's written prose was the result of considerable artifice and careful contrivance. Carlyle's account of his experience in writing On Heroes bears this out. The labor began in June and ended in September, a period considerably longer than the time he gave to preparing the lectures for oral delivery. By mid-June he had finished the first lecture, ten days later was in sight of completing the second, and confused, "umgenebelt" as he was, approached the third.88 Early July found him "recreating" himself in preparation for this task and confessing that he had no "overplus of heart to the business."89 Then followed one of his usual outbursts of self-loathing and a familiarly adopted contempt for the enterprise. "These Lectures are pure trash: I could write one of them straight on, if I had a body that would stand it. I take ten or twelve days to each; and get into violent extremes of indigestion, this way and that, by means of it."90 He continued to fret that the lectures seemed "absolutely worth nothing at all,"91 that they were a "wearisome triviality . . . yet toilsome to produce, which I could like to throw into the fire!" Nothing, he said, "I have ever written pleases me so ill. They have nothing new, nothing that to me is not old."92 86 87 88

89 90 91 92

See Goldberg and Seigel, eds., Carlyle's Latter-Day Pamphlets, Ixxii-lxxviii; Calder, The Writing of Past and Present, 120-97. Wilde, "Mr. Pater's Last Volume," 229. Letters 12:167, TC to John A. Carlyle, June 15, 1840; Letters 12:173, TC to Alexander Carlyle, June 26, 1840; Letters 12:180, TC to John A. Carlyle, July 1, 1840. Letters 12:188, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, July 3, 1840. Letters 12:192, TC to John A. Carlyle, July 15, 1840. Letters 12:210, TC to John A. Carlyle, August 1, 1840. Letters 12:230, TC to John A. Carlyle, August 23, 1840.

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The misery of spirit and ill health that accompanied his writing was no doubt real, but it was also, one suspects, part of a creative strategy that acted as a spur to his energies, for, as he noted, "when I once get rightly ill, the writing goes along like a fire well kindled."93 Sometimes he was aware of advantages in converting the spoken to the written word. The third lecture, on the hero as poet, "which was far the worst of all as I delivered it, is considerably the best hitherto as written." With improvements, it would in its final shape "do as well as any of the rest."94 But even with this satisfaction, the predominant feeling was one of painful struggle. As he said of the fourth, it had been finished, "tho' not till after the toughest fight."95 By the first week in September the writing was completed and ready "for Printing, for Combustion, or whatever else. Most probably, after it has lain a while, I shall go over it again, and with certain parings and addings send it to the Press."96 IV. THE SUBJECT It is no surprise that Carlyle chose the subject of heroism for his 1840 lectures. The heroic was a central element in his thinking, and was to become, after several anticipatory treatments in "Goethe" (1828), "Schiller" (1831), and Sartor Resartus (1833), the "leading principle of all his later social writing."97 The subject was also a major Victorian preoccupation. Though Carlyle's intensity was his own, his sentiments were widely shared by his fellow Victorians who, said Edmund Gosse, turned admiration "from a virtue into a religion, and called it Hero Worship."98 One factor behind Victorian hero-worship was the Romantic rediscovery of enthusiasm. In the neoclassical period it had been applied as a term of ridicule to religious zealots who felt themselves literally evQeoq (en-theos), possessed by God or having God within them. Romantic theory and sensibility converted enthusiasm from an intellectually ludicrous delusion to a sign of emotional depth and power. The characteristic "romantic passions" thus came to include enthusiasm or unfettered admiration, which, according to Ruskin, 93 94 95 96 97 98

Letters 12:233, TC to Jean Carlyle Aitken, August 25, 1840. Letters 12:192, TC to John A. Carlyle, July 15, 1840; Letters 12:194, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, July 15, 1840. Letters 12:229, TC to John A. Carlyle, August 23, 1840. Letters 12:238, TC to John A. Carlyle, September 5, 1840. Raymond Williams, Culture and Society, 76. Gosse, "Agony of the Victorian Age," 295.

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meant "primarily all the forms of Hero Worship."99 Despite dissenting voices like those of T. H. Huxley, who considered hero-worship a form of "idolatry,"100 and Macaulay, who saw it as a certain index to feeble intellect, hero-worship, as Walter Houghton has said, was an essential "nineteenth century phenomenon. At no other time would it have been called 'the basis of all possible good.' . . . In no other age were men so often told to take 'the great ones of the earth' as models for imitation." For the half century from 1830, "the worship of the hero was a major factor in English culture."101 Carlyle's 1840 lectures were, therefore, an incursion into the mainstream of Victorian thought, and his theory of the hero "merely the final, high doctrine in a movement which had been for some years under way."102 The doctrine itself would have needed little or no defense at the time. Even religious leaders who opposed Carlyle's thinking on other grounds saw no objection to his advocacy of heroes as such, but only to his failure to select appropriate Christian models. They did not find him lending support to tyrannical arbitrary power, an objection sometimes attributed to him by later commentators preoccupied with the nightmares of recent history. Carlyle's originality lay in the depth and seriousness of his treatment and the imaginative richness with which he invested the subject. Furthermore, by means of his chosen historical models he attempted to reshape the public perception of Muhammad, Cromwell, and Knox, while he sought a deeper and more sympathetic understanding of Norse mythology and the figures of Dante and Burns. He also set himself against certain contemporary attitudes to history that, like Disraeli's Coningsby, he felt had destroyed human individuality. Specifically this meant the scientific conception of history as an impersonal play of forces, which found a locus in such "positivistic fabrications" as "Buckle's attempt to discover historical laws."103 By such reckoning, the individual leader was fundamentally no different from others and was merely in a position to hasten a development which would have eventually taken place in any event. Carlyle acknowledged the prevalence of such current theories, but he preferred to believe that "Man is heaven-born; not the thrall of 99 100 101 102 103

Ruskin, Works 33:292. Huxley, Life and Letters 1:304. Houghton, Victorian Frame of Mind, 305, 310; also Thatcher, Nietzsche in England, 12. Lehman, Carlyle's Theory of the Hero, 132; but see Harrison, Studies in Early Victorian Literature, 55. Collingwood, Idea of History, 144.

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Circumstances, of Necessity, but the victorious subduer thereof."104 He felt, perhaps wrongly, certainly intensely, that he inhabited an age that "denies the existence" and "the desirableness of great men. Shew our critics a great man, a Luther for example, they begin to what they call 'account' for him. . . . He was the 'creature of the Time,' they say; the Time called him forth, the Time did everything, he nothing—but what we the little critic could have done too!"105 He shared Coleridge's belief that "all the great. . . things that have been achieved in the world, have been so achieved by individuals," but that the "rage now-a-days is all the other way: the individual is supposed capable of nothing; there must be organisation, classification, machinery . . . as if the capital of national morality could be increased by making a joint stock of it."106 Such prevailing notions were exactly those Carlyle set out to disprove in his lectures, to posit instead the view that "every advance which humanity had made was due to special individuals supremely gifted in mind and character, whom Providence sent among them at favoured epochs." This was the "principle which he proposed to illustrate in ... 'Heroes and Hero-Worship.'"107 Since criticism of On Heroes has often been preoccupied with Carlyle's "theory" of heroism and the heroic principle, it is worth recalling two correctives: Rene Wellek's estimate that "Carlyle's achievement as a literary historian and critic is surely rather in his portraits . . . than in any wider historical schemes"108 and Charles Frederick Harrold's comment that Carlyle's interest in history was, in contrast to Fichte's, "pictorial and psychological."109 Given his focus on individual heroes, the strong visual character of his imagination, his abiding interest in physiognomy, and his constant reference to these subjects throughout the lectures, it seems not only apt, but a view sanctioned by his own practice, to see him as a painter of historical portraits. As a "physiognomic reader,"110 Carlyle believed that a person's inner character impressed itself on every action and utterance. He never wavered in his adherence to this ancient belief in the ability to 104

"Boswell's Life of Johnson" (1832), Essays 3:90. On Heroes, 12; also "Signs of the Times" (1829), Essays 2:75. 106 Coleridge, Table Talk (July 24, 1832), 187. 107 Froude, Life in London 1:175-76. 108 Wiielc, Confrontations, 97; see also Louise Merwin Young, Carlyle and the Art of History; Shine, Carlyle and the Saint-Simonians; and Wellek's review of both, "Carlyle and the Philosophy of History." 105

109

Harrold, Carlyle and German Thought, 180, 196. 110 «portraits of Knox" (1875), Essays 5:320.

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find moral and spiritual features reflected in the face and its expressions. He never shared the reservations of Shakespeare's Duncan, that "there's no art / To find the mind's construction in the face,"111 but rather, like Fielding's Parson Adams, he felt that "Nature generally imprints such a Portraiture of the Mind in the Countenance, that a skilful Physiognomist will rarely be deceived."112 Carlyle had a "craze for portraits of great men."113 He saluted the "worthy wonderful Lavater, the wandering Physiognomist"114 for his shrewd analyses of Diderot115 and Cagliostro,116 and in his own work as historian Carlyle invariably attempted to "procure a bodily likeness of the personage inquired after; a good Portrait if such exists; failing that, even an indifferent if sincere one." Often, he said, he had found "a Portrait superior in real instruction to half-a-dozen written 'Biographies.'"117 From these remarks one can see that Carlyle used physiognomy in both its narrowest and its widest signification. Most narrowly it meant that inner character revealed itself in the face. But such inward character also impressed itself on every action and statement, and manifested itself in every form of expression whether in "painting, singing, fighting, ever with the same physiognomy."118 Actions were thus "physiognomic" of the person. Secondly, since all moral and intellectual faculties were organically linked, "what we call imagination, fancy, understanding, . . . are but different figures of the same Power of Insight, all indissolubly connected with each other, physiognomically related," so that "if we knew one of them, we might know all of them."119 Finally, Carlyle, following Herder, extends physiognomy to national as well as individual characteristics. It was the critic's job to construe the character of that "national physiognomy" and trace the record of its expression through history.120 This bias in favor of dramatic portraiture and a belief in its significance for grasping historical truth was not new to Carlyle at the time of his 1840 lectures. As early as 1822 he had planned to "come out with a kind of Essay on the Civil Wars, . . . not to write a history . . . 111

Macbeth, 1.4.11-12. Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews, 182. 113 Wylie, Carlyle, 387. 114 "German Poetry" (1831), Essays 2:362. 115 "Diderot" (1833), Essays 3:246. 116 "Count Cagliostro" (1833), Essays 3:246. 117 "Scottish Portraits" (1854), Essays 4:404-5. 118 History of Literature, 156. 119 On Heroes, 90-91. 120 Wellek, Confrontations, 98. 112

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but to exhibit if I can some features of the national character as it was then displayed, supporting my remarks by mental portraits, drawn to the best of my ability, o f . . . the most distinguished of the actors in this great scene."121 The plan was not carried out, but it suggests many of the features Carlyle employed in On Heroes. The concept of a "mental portrait," a picture derived by penetrating the appearance of a face to the life of the mind behind it, is exactly the type of characterological study Carlyle attempted in 1840. Physiognomy lay at the heart of his interest in portraiture and it furnishes a guide to his approach to the pictures he offered of his heroes. It is, in many ways, the animating principle of his treatment of the subject of his 1840 lectures. For this reason the illustrations included in this volume not only reflect the importance Carlyle attached to pictorial reference but also have an intimate bearing on the text itself. In preparing for On Heroes, he sought out portraits and used them as physiognomic pointers to insights into the characters of his chosen figures. Repeatedly he harped on the "look" of his historical subjects. "In Kranach's best portraits I find the true Luther. A rude, plebeian face; with its huge crag-like brows and bones, the emblem of rugged energy; at first, almost a repulsive face. Yet in the eyes especially there is a wild silent sorrow; . . . giving to the rest the true stamp of nobleness"122 (see Plate 6). He found confirmatory evidence of his opinion of Rousseau in the philosopher's face, which was "expressive of him. A high, but narrow contracted intensity in it: bony brows; deep, strait-set eyes, in which there is something bewilderedlooking,—bewildered, peering with lynx-eagerness."123 Dante's "painting," which is how Carlyle alludes to the Divine Comedy, is "physiognomical of the whole man,"124 and in the third lecture he pauses over the supposed Giotto portrait, not only to recall its appearance but also to wonder at its provenance and legitimacy125 (see Plate 5). Norse mythology is "in some sort the Portraiture" of Odin.126 The "very look of Boswell" signified so much: "In that cocked nose, cocked partly in triumph over his weaker fellow-creatures, partly to snuff-up the smell of coming pleasure, and scent it from afar; in those bag-cheeks, hanging like half-filled wine-skins, still able to contain 121 122 123 124 125 126

Letters 2:94, TC to Alexander Carlyle, April 27, 1822. On Heroes, 121. On Heroes, 158. On Heroes, 80. On Heroes, 73-74. On Heroes, 26.

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more; in that coarsely-protruded shelf-mouth, that fat dewlapped chin; in all this, who sees not sensuality, pretension, boisterous imbecility enough."127 Only the truly discerning eye could penetrate the face of the flunky to see his merits. At the end of his life, Carlyle wrote a commentary on a sixteenth-century book of Reformation portraits, in which he confronted the question of the portraits of the Scottish reformer John Knox. He rejected the most widely available picture of Knox as "very difficult indeed to accept as a bodily physiognomy of the man you have elsewhere got an image of,"128 that is, from Knox's deeds and writings. As he perused the "dead and boiled-looking" Knox of Beza's engraving,129 Carlyle saw only a man "content to take things as they come, if only they will let him digest his victuals, and sleep in a whole skin"130 (see Plate 7). Such a picture violated Carlyle's conception of Knox as a magnificent firebrand kindling Scotland to a sacred blaze, and he sought every means at his disposal to rectify the misleading effect of "this poor Icon."131 He not only offered his own portrait of Knox in On Heroes, a verbal picture that presented a more humane and amiable Knox than that supplied by tradition, but he adopted as authentic an alternative portrait that had been published in 1836 for the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. This image, which became known as the Somerville portrait, matched Carlyle's own intuitive sense of how Knox looked, and appealed to his theory that external appearance and inner spirit could not be in conflict. In his last essay he set out to prove, mistakenly as it turned out, the authenticity of the Somerville portrait and to establish it as the "one extant Portrait of the hero."132 Similarly he denounced, as a chimera spawned by hatred, popular accounts of Cromwell which were not to his mind "portraits of the man,"133 any more than those academic paintings of the civil war that consist of "an angry man and horse (man presumably intended for Cromwell, but not like him),—man, with heavy flapping Spanish cloak, etc., and no hat to his head, firing a pistol over his shoulder." What, he asked, "can be the use of such things, except to persons who have turned their back on real interests, and gone wool-gathering in search 127

"Boswell's Life of Johnson" (1832), Essays 3:69-70. 128 «portraits of Knox" (1875), Essays 5:318. 129 Essays 5:328. 130 Essays 5:319. 131 Essays 5:319. 132 Kaplan, Thomas Carlyle, 516-17. 133 On Heroes, 182.

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of imaginary?"134 And earlier, in reviewing the nine volumes of Varnhagen von Ense's Memoirs, Carlyle studied the portrait of Rahel Levin, von Ense's wife, that "woman of true genius,"135 and then wrote a twelve-line physiognomic analysis of it.136 During the writing of The French Revolution, Carlyle also "dug out" a series of engraved portraits that affected his conception of the participants. "Mirabeau's ugliness is now a kind of truth for me; Danton suffered dreadfully, on physiognomic survey; alas, his energy looks too like that of some Game Chicken or Dutch Sam, true heroism never dwelt in such a tabernacle. I fear Thiers has quite misled me. Lafayette looks puppy ish; Robespierre like a narrow, exasperated, exacerbated Methodist Precentor . . . ; Camille Desmoulins is full of spirit, talent, halfblackguard gaiety."137 A vivid sense of the actuality and the living presence of the past excited Carlyle's imagination and governed his conception of history. It led to his fascination with faces and also places, wherever some vestige of the past could still be detected by direct observation. When Edward FitzGerald undertook some excavations at Naseby, the famous battlefield lying on his family's estate, Carlyle impressed upon him that his own picture of the battle had been "gathered with industry from some seven or eight eye-witnesses, looking at the business with their own eyes from seven or eight different sides" and that no "'theory,' by what Professor soever, can be of any use to me in comparison."138 The opening of a burial heap, he wrote, "blazes strangely in my thoughts: these are the very jawbones that were clenched together in deadly rage, on this very ground, 197 years ago! It brings the matter home to one, with a strange veracity,—as if for the first time one saw it to be no fable and theory but a dire fact. I will beg for a tooth and a bullet; authenticated by your own eyes and word of honour!"139 Such objects as Carlyle's bullet are, in the words of Vladimir Nabokov, "transparent things, through which the past shines."140 If such objects give a fleeting glimpse of the past, it is a past constantly sliding into obscurity. "How pale, thin, ineffectual do the great figures we would fain summon from History rise before us! . . . The great spirits that have gone before us can survive only as 134 135 136 137 138 139 140

"Scottish Portraits" (1854), Essays 4:410. "Varnhagen von Ense" (1838), Essays 4:109. Essays 4:107-8. Letters 6:331-32, TC to John Stuart Mill, February 22, 1833. Letters 15:90, TC to Edward FitzGerald, September 18, 1842. Letters 15:101-2, TC to Edward FitzGerald, September 24, 1842. Nabokov, Transparent Things, 1.

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disembodied Voices; their form and distinctive aspect, outward and even in many respects inward, . . . has passed into another sphere; from which only History, in scanty memorials, can evoke some faint resemblance of it."141 It was this Carlylean "feeling for the poetic value of all historical facts" that attracted the historian G. M. Trevelyan,142 and earlier Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who praised Carlyle's "great power of re-production" that enabled him to "bring back his man from the grave of years, not like a ghost, but with all his vital flesh as well as his thoughts about him."143 V. THE HEROES Carlyle's book resists easy schematization. Nevertheless, his own tripartite arrangement of the subject, as suggested by the book's full title, provides a convenient framework for discussion, while at the same time reminding us that he understood there to be close connections between the hero, the attitude of hero-worship, and the historical environment in which the hero worked out his life. Within Carlyle's collection of heroes one can distinguish several groupings. The heroes of the first two lectures, Odin and Muhammad, whose teachings would have struck his Victorian audience as arcane (and, in the case of paganism, almost unrecognizable as a system of religious belief), enabled Carlyle to illustrate his conviction that genuine religious feeling is grounded in the permanent fact of hero-worship rather than in any outward framework of myths subject by their very nature to constant historical revision. Since the impulse to hero-worship was the essence not only of outmoded "Paganism" but of "far higher . . . religions,"144 the seemingly outlandish myths of the Norsemen offered a clear parallel to nineteenth-century Christianity, which was itself outgrowing its original mythology by stripping off the vesture of supernatural belief. The "Mythus of the Christian Religion" did not look in the nineteenth century "as it did in the eighth" and it was the task of Carlyle's era to "embody the divine Spirit of that Religion in a new Mythus" appropriate to itself.145 In selecting Odin as his representative divinity in place of Jesus, the "greatest of all Heroes,"146 just as he chose 141 142 143 144 145 146

"Schiller" (1831), Essays 2:166-67. Trevelyan, Autobiography, 13. Cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 243-44. On Heroes, 11. Sartor, 2.9.154. On Heroes, 12.

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Muhammad in place of Moses and the Biblical prophets, Carlyle provoked his audience to think afresh about the evolution of their own religion while his indirection took him clear of giving offense or of becoming entangled in theological difficulties. Equally, through his treatment of Islam and Scandinavian paganism he could stress the shared nature of all religious experience and the centrality of heroworship itself. Aside from his designated role in this larger strategy, Muhammad also belongs to that group of heroes who had been vilified by history. The major figures of Muhammad and Cromwell, and the minor ones of Boswell and Knox, imposed on Carlyle a task not unlike that of a picture restorer who must first erase the dull film that has obscured the original image before the portrait can emerge. Carlyle's aim in these portraits was to show his heroes in a true light, freed from the "falsifying nimbus'" of their fame and the obscuring lies of their detractors.147 There was daring in this venture into intellectual history, for he sought to overturn the traditional Western view of the prophet of Islam as impostor, fraud, and even Antichrist. It was in his 1838 lectures on literature that he first expressed his opinion that Muhammad was "no imposter at all,"148 and David Alec Wilson speculates that the surprised response of his audience on that occasion may have led Carlyle to return to the subject in 1840.149 That medieval Christendom held so adverse a view of the founder of Islam is hardly surprising given that Islamic forces were dominant on every frontier of the Holy Roman Empire. This opinion of Muhammad and his religion persisted in the later internecine disputes of the Reformation in which it was customary for both Catholic and Protestant parties to discredit each other's doctrines by charging them with affinities to Islam; it was perpetuated by the attempts of eighteenth-century skepticism to discredit all religion as irrational superstition, which gave rise to such works as Voltaire's Le Fanatisme ou Mahomet le prophets (1741). Even the partial rehabilitation of Muhammad's reputation at the hands of Gibbon, "the smoothly shaven historian so ironically civil to Christianity,"150 was undertaken for the ulterior purpose of scoring points against Christianity.151 147

148

"Sir Walter Scott" (1838), Essays 4:35.

History of Literature, 112. 149 Wilson, Carlyle on Cromwell, 33. 150 Hardy, Jude the Obscure, 65.

151 see vVatt, "Carlyle on Muhammad," 247-54; apRoberts, Ancient Dialect, 87-101; and Nash, "Thomas Carlyle and Islam," 9-22.

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It was against the weight of this long adverse tradition that Carlyle proposed to move in his second lecture. He knew he was attempting a revision of current prejudices, but he hoped to sweep away as an absurdity the belief that teachings that were a "life-guidance" for which millions had lived and died were "a miserable piece of spiritual legerdemain."152 Humphrey Prideaux, among others, had represented the Qur'an "as a mere bundle of juggleries; chapter after chapter got up to excuse and varnish the author's successive sins, forward his ambitions and quackeries."153 To Carlyle, the hypothesis that Muhammad was a "Falsehood incarnate, that his religion is a mere mass of quackery and fatuity," was no longer tenable.154 But that view was still current. The eminent churchman William Thomson remained unconvinced by Carlyle, preferring to think Muhammad might be "an impostor for all his millions of dupes," and he speculated that the prophet's "preternatural communings" were either "dyspeptic visions" or "mendaciti salubria, wholesome lies, used . . . to make firm the feeble tottering faith of invalid adherents."155 It was then no vain boast that led Carlyle to say "it was altogether a new kind of thing" his audience was hearing.156 Muhammad's claim of "supreme Prophethood" dragged "along with it such a coil of fables, impurities, intolerances, as makes it a questionable step for me here and now to say, as I have done, that Mahomet was a true Speaker at all, and not rather an ambitious charlatan, perversity and simulacrum," he added in his next lecture.157 In spite of such reservations, he did come out and publicly declare his conviction, the "first strong affirmation in the whole of European literature, medieval and modern, of a belief in the sincerity of Muhammad." He was furthermore "the first writer in either east or west to attempt to fathom the inner experience of the founder of Islam. Others in Europe had seen in Muhammad's ideas an expression of the essence of all true religions. Even Goethe seems to have been concerned mainly with Muhammad's historical achievement. Carlyle alone was interested in the man, the human person, grappling with the problems of human life and destiny that are common to all men." That is the view of a distinguished modern Arabist, W. Montgomery Watt, who adds that in the picture Carlyle presents of the prophet there "is perhaps more of Carlyle than 152 153 154 155 156 157

On Heroes, 39. On Heroes, 57. On Heroes, 38. Cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 180. Froude, Life in London 1:181. On Heroes, 95.

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Muhammad. Yet in its essence Carlyle's conception . . . is a true one, and one that is still of value in its broad outlines to the historian of to-day."158 In fact, the revolution in historical estimates of Muhammad since the latter part of the nineteenth century must be attributed in large measure to the influence of Carlyle's lecture. The unstinting praise modern scholarship has offered Carlyle in this particular area is the more surprising in that he came to the subject late and without any specialized skills, yet he managed to seize upon and articulate the essential truths that had eluded most of the trained scholars who preceded him. It is a conspicuous vindication of his own theory of hero-worship, with its collateral notion that it takes a heroic spirit to recognize one. The second major portrait that needed restoration was that of Cromwell. Carlyle intended to "sweep off all the royalist cobwebs" that had obscured Cromwell's "fair fame."159 While many of the antiRoyalists of the civil war—Eliot, Pym, Hampden, Ludlow, Hutchinson, and Vane—had been "as good as canonized" by popular opinion, and "admitted to be a kind of Heroes," Cromwell alone seemed to Carlyle "to hang yet on the gibbet, and find no hearty apologist anywhere."160 Carlyle had decided to become Cromwell's "apologist" by the time of his lecture, and within a few months of its completion he had collected an "immense stock of reading about English Puritanism and Oliver Cromwell."161 Even during his prodigious researches into the civil war correspondence at the British Museum, which led to the publication in 1845 of Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches, the problem remained the same he had set himself in the lectures, the fashioning of a true portrait of the Protector free from historical distortion and the blur of mediocre reporting. It was no easy task. In September he wrote, "I am now over head and ears in Cromwellean Books; studying, for perhaps the fourth time in my life, to see if it be possible to get any credible face-to-face acquaintance with our English Puritan period; or whether it must be left forever a mere hearsay and echo to one?"162 As Carlyle noted in December 1840, "Poor Oliver lies like grains of gold dust scattered under continents of cinders and rubbish. I fear much I shall never be able to collect him: our greatest man irrecoverably 158 159 160 161 162

Watt, "Carlyle on Muhammad," 247, 253-54. Hallam Tennyson, Memoir 1:226. On Heroes, 178-79. Letters 12:283, TC to Thomas Ballantyne, October 8, 1840. Letters 12:267, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, September 26, 1840.

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lost to History!"163 It was specifically during the twelve months that included his researches for the sixth lecture that Carlyle came "actually, as it were, to see that this Cromwell was one of the greatest souls ever born of the English kin; a great amorphous semi-articulate Baresark; very interesting to me."164 The lecture in which Carlyle employed the same terms to describe Cromwell was, therefore, an important stage in developing an interest he had shown in the period and its main figures since 1822 when he had planned a brief study of it. It was a daring plan to take this last of the Puritans down from the gibbet of infamy, and Carlyle knew that there was an element of rashness in his being "among the first that ever ventured to pronounce" Cromwell "not a knave and liar, but a genuinely honest man!"165 Probably it was the first time since Milton that a voice of undisputed literary genius had been heard in support of the Puritans, for the history of the civil war had been written by Cromwell's enemies. Though the Puritans were, in Macaulay's succinct phrase, "the conquerors, their enemies were the painters." Nor was the question of literary skill irrelevant, for with the major exception of Milton, the Puritan side showed little regard for literature as such, and thereby forfeited a valuable means of claiming the attention of posterity. The best book on the Puritan side, as Macaulay noted, is probably "the charming narrative of Mrs. Hutchinson," but ranged against it are "the most authoritative and the most popular historical works in our language, that of Clarendon, and that of Hume."166 Carlyle recognized that the eighteenth century had done most to enshrine the view of Cromwell as a falsity, hated alike by the Tories of the period because he overthrew the king, and by the Whigs because he overthrew Parliament. "Except for a couple of books, the popular historians of the century followed the Royalist party line, whether the fabrications of James Heath's Flagellum (1663) or the rolling periods of the first Earl of Clarendon's History of the Rebellion (1702)."167 Well into the nineteenth century, in fact as late as 1839, the year before Carlyle's lecture, John Forster "held it to be 'indisputably true' that Cromwell had 'lived a hypocrite and died a traitor.'" After reading Carlyle's Cromwell, some six years later, Forster 163 164

165 166

167

Letters 12:345, TC to Mary Rich, December 5, 1840. Letters 12:267, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, September 26, 1840.

On Heroes, 203.

Macaulay, "Milton" (1825), Essays 1:172.

Ashley, Greatness of Cromwell, 12.

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acknowledged that "'Cromwell was as far removed on the one hand from fanaticism, as on the other from hypocrisy.'" Only "an author of genius" could have succeeded in disturbing "so broadly based and tirelessly repeated a verdict" as that reflected in Forster's earlier comment.168 In fact Carlyle's own opinion had undergone a similar transformation, and he knew from personal experience the seductive pull of this reiterated and traditional viewpoint. In March 1822 he was reading Clarendon's History with some thoughts of writing his own account of the civil war, and it is interesting to note how much at this stage his views conformed to Clarendon's. He thought, for instance, that Charles was "a very good man, though weakish and ill-brought up." Cromwell and his Puritans looked "much like a pack of fanatical knaves—a compound of religious enthusiasm, and of barbarous selfishness; which made them stick at no means for gratifying both the one and the other."169 Carlyle was certainly taking up a novel position, though in fairness one should note that Macaulay, who so often traversed the same subject matter, had written a favorable account of Cromwell in 1828 when he reviewed Henry Hallam's Constitutional History of England. Hallam was among the "fanatic" theorists Carlyle excoriated in his lecture, who believed that Cromwell "sucked only the dregs of a besotted fanaticism" in contrast to Napoleon to whom "the stores of reason and philosophy were open."170 Macaulay, however, argued that though "every device has been used to blacken [his reputation], though to praise him would long have been a punishable crime, truth and merit at last prevail. . . . Even to the present day his character, though constantly attacked, and scarcely ever defended, is popular with the great body of our countrymen."171 Macaulay's efforts to rectify the imbalance of historical report about Cromwell preceded Carlyle's, as did John Robertson's attempted vindication in 1839,172 though they were on a much smaller scale and, for Carlyle, lacking in passion. Carlyle also tried to set to rights what he denounced as "sorrowful theories" about Dante, Luther, Knox, and Boswell. In each instance, some aspects of the traditionally received portraits were in need of restoration. He set out to show that Knox was "no hateful man" or 168 169 170 171 172

Ashley, Greatness of Cromwell, 13-14. Two Notebooks, 17. Cited in Macaulay, "Hallam's Constitutional History" (1828), Essays 1:51. Macaulay, Essays 1:54. London and Westminster Review 33 (October 1839): 181-256. See Letters 10:251n.

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"gloomy, spasmodic, shrieking fanatic,"173 but one whose brusque encounters with the queen were forced upon him by duty and principle. He sought to dispel the "terrestrial libel" which held that the Divine Comedy was Dante's splenetic attempt to put those in Hell "whom he could not be avenged upon on earth."174 Likewise he rejected the often repeated canard, originating with Leo X, that Luther's attack on indulgences derived from purely mercenary motives, because his order had lost to the Dominicans the lucrative prerogative of dispensing papal pardons.175 As for Boswell, the world had written him off as a sycophant. Carlyle conceded his many weaknesses, yet wondered why, with so many glittering and wealthy people who would have better rewarded his sycophancy,176 he should have attached himself to the "great dusty irascible Pedagogue in his mean garret."177 Poor Bozzy, whose mind Macaulay likened to one of those "creepers which the botanists call parasites,"178 had nevertheless discerned the greatness that lay in the impoverished giant of Gough Street. Macaulay saw no "more certain indication of a weak and ill-regulated intellect than that propensity which, for want of a better name, we will venture to christen Boswellism."179 Carlyle admired what Macaulay scorned. Since "Bad is by its nature negative, and can do nothing," it was the falsest possible hypothesis to imagine that "it were the very fact of his being among the worst men in this world" that had enabled Boswell "to write one of the best books therein!"180 VI. THE ARTIST AS HERO Dante and Shakespeare have a special place in Carlyle's schema and a particular relevance to his subject. One might think that in comparison with heroes working in what modern jargon calls the "real world," or in the sphere of religious and moral conflict, Carlyle's two representative poets would seem to be less significant or influential. This is particularly so since Carlyle was reluctant to endorse fully the formulation he found in Goethe and Schiller that the beautiful exceeded 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180

On Heroes, 129. On Heroes, 81. On Heroes, 113. "Boswell's Life of Johnson" (1832), Essays 3:72. On Heroes, 157. Macaulay, "Samuel Johnson" (1856), Miscellaneous Works 7:98. Macaulay, "Milton" (1825), Essays 1:193. "Boswell's Life of Johnson" (1832), Essays 3:76.

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the good,181 so that a defense of art along purely aesthetic lines was not possible. What he offers in fact is a variation on the traditional ars longa, vita, brevis theme. Toward the conclusion of his section on Dante, Carlyle recalls that within a hundred years of Muhammad's death the Arabians were "at Grenada and at Delhi; Dante's Italians seem to be yet very much where they were. Shall we say, then, Dante's effect on the world was small in comparison? Not so: his arena is far more restricted; but also it is far nobler, clearer;—perhaps not less but more important." The wisdom of Muhammad was for mass consumption and was, therefore, cast in a dialect crude and inconsistent, whereas Dante "speaks to the noble, the pure and great, in all times and places. Neither does he grow obsolete, as the other does. . . . Dante, one calculates, may long survive Mahomet."182 Carlyle stresses the durability and the universality of art, for "even in Arabia . . . Mahomet will have exhausted himself and become obsolete, while this Shakspeare, this Dante may still be young;—while this Shakspeare may still pretend to be a Priest of Mankind, of Arabia as of other places, for unlimited periods to come!"183 A collateral issue Carlyle raises is the criterion to be used for gauging effectiveness. "The uses of this Dante?" he asks, invoking the terminology of the utilitarians, and thus provocatively establishing that the question cannot be put in such a form without absurdity, for the value of Dante exists in "a way that 'utilities' will not succeed well in calculating! We will not estimate the Sun by the quantity of gaslight it saves us; Dante shall be invaluable, or of no value."184 As to Shakespeare, what item would we not surrender rather than him? "Will you give up your Indian Empire or your Shakspeare?" he asked his fashionable audience. "Indian Empire will go, at any rate, some day," he judged prophetically, "but this Shakspeare does not go, he lasts forever with us; we cannot give up our Shakspeare!"185 Carlyle concludes this comparison that plays upon the difference between the immediately powerful and the spiritually enduring with a discussion of Dante and the Russian czar. Despite his command of infinite bayonets and his binding so vast an area together politically, the czar is still a "dumb monster" who must learn to speak. "His cannons and Cossacks will all have rusted into nonentity, while that Dante's voice is 181 182 183 184 185

See note to "The Hero as Poet" at 70.15-17. On Heroes, 85. On Heroes, 95. On Heroes, 85. On Heroes, 96.

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still audible. The Nation that has a Dante is bound together as no dumb Russia can be."186 The very qualities that produce lasting work unite the great artist with other forms of heroism. For "the Poet who could merely sit on a chair, and compose stanzas, would never make a stanza worth much. He could not sing the Heroic warrior, unless he himself were at least a Heroic warrior too."187 By hero-king Carlyle does not mean "sovereign" in the literal sense, but all "able men." Thus Shakespeare is an "English King, whom no time or chance, Parliament or combination of Parliaments, can dethrone!"188 Luther's role in the Reformation required a "kingly faculty,"189 and Knox maintained a "virtual Presidency and Sovereignty" over Scotland.190 In the Carlylean meritocracy, men of letters and poets may equally belong to the heroic fraternity. Johnson was, through the influence of his books, effectively the "Primate of England,"191 and there was no "chancellor, king, senator" in England so momentous as Burns.192 Skeptics might question whether power would have "changed the rustic rake and thirsty exciseman into a Nero or Caligula,"193 but the idea of Burns as a statesman retained its appeal for Carlyle, as his friend Tennyson remembered.194 The artist-hero combines the politician, thinker, legislator, and philosopher; "in one or the other degree, he could have been, he is all these." The reverse is true too, for there is something of the poet in all other heroes. Napoleon has words in him "like Austerlitz Battles," the marshals of Louis XIV were "poetical men," and Mirabeau must have been a great writer had the course of his life led him that way.195 VII. THE UNSUNG HERO One of the critical puzzles of On Heroes is the absence of Goethe from Carlyle's roster, for he was to Carlyle the most triumphant example of the modern man of letters as hero, "the first of the 186

On Heroes, 97. On Heroes, 67-68. 188 On Heroes, 97. 189 On Heroes, 118. 190 On Heroes, 128. 191 On Heroes, 140. 192 "Varnhagen von Ense's Memoirs" (1838), Essays 4:116-17. 193 \vui;am Thomson, cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 181. 194 Hallam Tennyson, Memoir 1:279. 195 On Heroes, 68. 187

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moderns"196 who had personally inspired Carlyle and "convincingly proclaimed" to him the possibility of heroism even in his own "scandalous" generation.197 Although Carlyle's ostensible reason for neglecting Goethe was the sheer difficulty of making him fully understood by an English audience,198 fifteen years later G. H. Lewes would acknowledge Carlyle as the man who "first taught England to appreciate Goethe."199 In his 1828 essay on Goethe, Carlyle had conceded that his "countrymen" had heard "much of Goethe; but heard, for the most part, what excited and perplexed rather than instructed them." There was then little hope of making Goethe properly known but "only to prove that he is worthy of being known."200 But for this problem, Carlyle's "chosen specimen of the Hero as Literary Man would be this Goethe," he told his audience in 1840.201 There is no reason to discount the difficulty raised by Carlyle, yet one remembers that it did not deter him from extensive presentations in essay form of Richter, Schiller, and other German authors no better known in England than Goethe. Nor did Carlyle hesitate in On Heroes to present to his London audience the little-understood figures of Odin and Muhammad. It is true that with his translations and writings on Goethe he felt by 1834 that his labors in the field of German literature had come, if not to an end, at least to a temporary halt, and that his mission of making German literature better known in England had been fulfilled. But three years later he made Goethe the subject of his unscheduled seventh lecture in the 1837 series on German literature, and he spoke on Goethe again in the final lecture of the 1838 series. One possible explanation for the omission of Goethe, and for what appears on the surface to be a curious lapse, may lie in the intellectual structure of On Heroes. In it, Carlyle offers no modern example of the hero as writer. Yet on the stage before their eyes his audience had in their lecturer a clear picture of the inspired writer. With Burns, Rousseau, and Johnson, he came no closer to his own age than the end of the eighteenth century, and all three of these writers were in Carlyle's view crippled by living in an age "all calculated for strangling of heroisms."202 Yet the implications of what he was saying 196 197 198 199 200 201 202

Reminiscences, 282. Letters 8:39, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, February 3, 1835. On Heroes, 136. Lewes, Life of Goethe, ix. "Goethe" (1828), Essays 1:199, 209. On Heroes, 136. "The Opera" (1852), Essays 4:402.

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about these heroes carried over from past history into the present world in which he himself struggled to find a prophetic voice. No self-portrait being directly possible, he had to associate himself with his heroic models by extension, by implication, by analogy, and sometimes by way of contrast. To insert Goethe would have been to deal explicitly with a connection which Carlyle preferred to leave unstated but strongly implied. There is no doubt that by the time of his lectures Carlyle conceived of himself as a writer in the heroic tradition he was describing. Yet when he began lecturing in 1837, Carlyle was unsure whether "there ought to be any such thing as a literary man,"203 and he doubted whether such a role was compatible with honesty, "Bookwriting" being "in a ruined state for all men except quacks."204 But in the process of preparing and delivering his 1840 lectures, Carlyle clarified his ideas on the literary hero. As he thought about authorship in the context of heroes, and brought his chosen exemplars before his own mind and his audience, he recognized a line of literary kings into which he might fit himself. Rather than moneygrubbing quacks, he now conceived writers to be, as he had once, more optimistically, believed, "the only Sovereigns of the world in these days,"205 a "perpetual priesthood" appointed to interpret the "Divine Idea"206 and to carry the prophetic torch as "the Firepillars in this dark pilgrimage of mankind."207 Upon the writer, if worthy, devolved by direct lineal descent the mantle of the prophet and the scepter of the sovereign. In the tradition of heroism that Carlyle was establishing, he himself was the latest avatar. Thus while On Heroes deals with six types of heroes, "it points inexorably toward a seventh hero—the hero as oneself."208 In fact, the association of Carlyle with his heroes was sometimes made by his contemporaries. Declaring that Carlyle was "himself the hero, as literary man," Thoreau found in his writing a "direct and effectual teaching . . . almost like Mahomet, like Luther."209 Modern critics have discerned the same tendency. Wellek suggests that if we "read Carlyle on Jean Paul we feel as if he were speaking of himself," Watt finds a good 203 204 205 206 207 208 209

Froude, Life in London 1:130. Letters 9:109, TC to Jean Carlyle Aitken, December 29, 1836. Two Notebooks, 184. "State of German Literature" (1827), Essays 1:58. "Schiller" (1831), Essays 2:166. Rosenberg, Seventh Hero, 202. Cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 288, 285.

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deal of Carlyle in his portrait of Muhammad, and Fred Kaplan considers that Carlyle in his last essay "created a portrait of Knox that was unwitting self-portraiture."210 Carlyle's presence among his heroes takes many forms. As he struggled to bring his heroic portraits into clear focus he often transferred to himself images he had applied to them. Carlyle's description of brave Samuel Johnson, "a Hercules with the burning Nessus'-shirt on him,"211 or of Mirabeau, to whom he applied the same classical image,212 expressed Carlyle's perception of his own predicament and heroic struggles. After completing his lectures on heroes, Carlyle complained that none could "unwrap the baleful Nessus shirt of perpetual pain and isolation in which I am . . . swathed," recalling his earlier and more hopeful vow to make it "almost my sole rule of life: to clear myself of Cants and formulas, as of poisonous Nessus' shirts; to strip them off me, . . . and follow, were it down to Hades, what I myself know and see."213 The tragic image of Burns sacrificed to popular adulation with which Carlyle closed the fifth lecture—the poet as a fire-fly on a spit, an allusion to Richter—returned in his letters, now applied to his own predicament as a popular lecturer.214 A more subtle example of indirect self-definition lies in the relationship of Carlyle's prophet and writer to reality. The sincere writer, like the prophet, saw through trend, fashion, falsehood. The "great Mystery of Existence . . . glared in upon him" as on Muhammad in the desert fastnesses.215 The true writer could also be defined by reverse analogy, as in the essay on Sir Walter Scott (1838) where Carlyle defines his own conception of the writer's role by analyzing the limitations of his subject. "The great Mystery of Existence was not great to him; did not drive him into rocky solitudes to wrestle with it for an answer."216 What Scott is not, Carlyle perceives himself and his heroes to be, for as Meredith observed, "the spirit of the prophet was in him" and he had only contempt for "mere literary aptitude."217 210 211 212 213 214 215

Wellek, Confrontations, 64; Watt, "Carlyle on Muhammad," 254; Kaplan, Thomas Carlyle, 513. On Heroes, 153. French Revolution 2:3.7.140. Froude, Life in London 1:185; Letters 8:253, TC to JWC, November 22, 1835. Letters 12:141, TC to Thomas Ballantyne, May 11, 1840; see above, p. xxxi; On Heroes, 167; and note at 167.9. On Heroes, 47.

216 usir Waiter Scott" (1838), Essays 4:36. 217 Meredith, Letters 2:661.

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Whether his heroes were a partial projection of himself or he an extension of them—ideal selves, or exemplary models for the role he felt himself to be following as heroic and prophetic writer—his very selection of them was the affirmation of a kind of identity. "Show me the man you honour," he wrote, and "I know by that symptom . . . what kind of man you yourself are. For you show me there what your ideal of manhood is; what kind of man you long inexpressibly to be."218 A. J. P. Taylor has proposed the thesis that the hero Carlyle worshipped "was his own opposite." For he denounced long books, but "no one wrote longer"; he admired honest manual toil but did none himself; he preached the virtues of humble obscurity yet lived and became famous "writing successful books for rich industrialists. The rage in his books is rage against himself. The hero that he worshipped was his own opposite—silent, imperturbable, a man of action."219 His heroes may have represented his opposite self, his suppressed self, or the artistic mask he adopted in his writings and through which he was able to speak in a certain way. Certainly his estimate of them was highly personal, and he felt there to be a series of connections which linked them to him. The strongest of these links was the view of language which they shared. VIII. THE HEROIC VOICE In Caroline Fox's picture of Carlyle as a man "convinced of what he utters, and who had much . . . in him that was quite unutterable," 220 we catch a glimpse of Carlyle assuming an attitude to speech held by many of his heroes. None of Carlyle's true heroes is eager to speak, but must be forced to do so, compelled by destiny to undertake what is at hand. Only the speech that the speaker is reluctant to speak is worth hearing. The ground plan of his lectures, Carlyle insisted in his concluding talk, was rough-hewn, "I have had to tear it up in the rudest manner in order to get into it at all," and he thanked his distinguished audience for listening patiently to his "rude words."221 In short, Carlyle, concluding the most eloquent lectures he ever gave, affected an awkwardness and darkness of utterance that associated him with the very strengths he had attributed to his greatest heroes. His rude style recalls Cromwell's blurted utterances to the Long Parliament, the incondite jumble of Muhammad's Qur'an, the taci218 219 220 221

Pamphlets, 255. Taylor, Englishmen, 23. Fox, Memories, 105; see above, p. xxx. On Heroes, 209.

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turn and rugged simplicity of the speech of Luther and of Knox. Like them he must struggle to bring his words into being out of chaos. His models serve to define his role as he finds himself caught in the act of defining theirs. Their past struggles with surrounding events and howling inner confusion correspond to his struggle to clear the mountains of debris that encumber their memories. It is only by his own heroic effort of intellect that he can bring himself and his listeners to grasp the essential character of his heroes.222 The difficulties confronting the Carlylean hero in speaking his mind stem from several sources. As the message is revelatory, and therefore totally new, there can be nothing rehearsed about it, and the speaker is as much astounded by his message as his auditors. The message being God-given, in character if not in literal fact, there is an implicit lack of control, since the speaker is not truly the author but more the vehicle of its expression. Furthermore, he does not frame his speech to delight his audience, entertain, or even take very much account of them. His reason for speaking is not a reason at all but a form of compulsion to discharge a message and unburden himself. Since the message does not precede its utterance, it cannot be rehearsed, and consequently it can have none of the reassuring familiarity of proverbial or generalized wisdom, "what oft was thought but ne'er so well expressed." The half-mad incoherence of Cromwell and the towering awkwardness of Richter are in a continuous tradition uniting Moses and Longinus with such self-denying orators and truth speakers as Marc Antony, the stammering Billy Budd, and, at the more trivial end of the same tradition, the tongue-tied cowboy of Hollywood films. Such a definition of speech as Carlyle proposes excludes selfconscious oratory, the elegant formulation, and the bon mot. In fact it deliberately shuns them for much the same reasons that led Paul to address the sophisticated Greeks of Corinth "not with wisdom of words."223 The picture Carlyle offers of Cromwell, the great "dumb Prophet"224 making speeches that are "incondite in phrase and conception,"225 no doubt reflects the great Puritan's distaste for Cavalier ornament, but it also corresponds to Carlyle's own views of language and lecturing. Cromwell's declaration to Parliament, "I never did affect, nor do, nor I hope shall" propose "to have played the 222 223 224 225

See Murray Baumgarten, "Revolution as Context," 188-89. 1 Corinthians 1:17. On Heroes, 204. Cromwell 3:167.

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Orator,"226 insists on the same distrust of fine speaking as animated the Puritanically descended Carlyle. Fine speaking is, almost by definition for Carlyle, false speaking. If hypocrisy—from hypocrites, "the Greek word for 'actor'"—"be the first, second, and third thing in eloquence," he wrote, "then why have it at all? Why not insist, as a first and inexorable condition, that all speech be a reality; that every speaker be verily what he pretends or play-acts to be?" He then offers the contrast of Cromwell's speeches: "So soon as by long scanning you can read them clearly, nowhere in the world did I find such persuasion, such powers of compelling belief, there and then, if you did really hear with open ear and heart."227 In parallel terms Carlyle finds Luther's quartos "not well written," yet in no other books could he discern "a more robust, genuine, . . . noble faculty."228 Cromwell's speeches are difficult to read; that is their merit, the guarantee of their authenticity. "Practical Heroes . . . do not speak in blank-verse. . . . Useless to look here for a Greek Temple with its porticoes and entablatures, and styles. But the Alp Mountain, with its chasms and cataracts and shaggy pine-forests, and huge granite masses rooted in the Heart of the World: this too is worth looking at, to some."229 As in the case of pagan mythology, "superior sincerity . . . consoles us for the total want of old Grecian grace."230 Carlyle applies a similar set of images to Richter. His is "not an articulate voice, but like the sound of cataracts falling among the wild pineforests! It goes deep in the human heart."231 And Luther was great, "not as a hewn obelisk; but as an Alpine mountain." 232 The Classical/Gothic antithesis provided Walt Whitman with the terms he used to describe Carlyle in 1881 as "neither Latin nor Greek, but altogether Gothic. Rugged, mountainous, volcanic."233 These images glance backward most immediately to the Romantic crags and chasms of the Prelude, Gray's Alpine torrents and cliffs "pregnant with religion and poetry,"234 and more distantly to the tradition of Longinus and the eighteenth-century sublime. Through such contrasting images Carlyle formulates an aesthetic doctrine that 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234

Cromwell 3:169. Froude, Life in London 2:385. On Heroes, 119. Cromwell 3:167-68. On Heroes, 27. History of Literature, 222. On Heroes, 122. Cited in Scigel, Critical Heritage, 456. Gray, Correspondence 1:128.

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shuns facility as much as classical grace. Carlyle expresses in positive terms what a contemporary journalist perceived only pejoratively when he contrasted Carlyle's "uncouth" manner with the more "polished deportment" fashionable audiences were accustomed to.235 What emerges is an aesthetic contrast between smooth classicism and roughhewn Gothic integrity. Roughness, organic form, and veracity are Carlyle's central criteria, not conventional polish, fluency, or grace. Works like Thiers's history of the French Revolution may convey a "superficial air of order" but "inwardly, it is waste, inorganic,"236 in diametric contrast to Cromwell's outwardly confused and jumbled speech that was lit by an inner clarity. Cromwell's speeches are "chaotic," but the superficial histories and biographies of him, however smoothly written, "are far more obscure."237 Carlyle further extends the distinction into a contrast between creation and manufacture. Creation is inherently difficult for the prophet and the writer whose message is heavily charged with meaning. It "cannot be easy; your Jove has severe pains, and fire-flames, in the head out of which an armed Pallas is struggling! As for manufacture," he contemptuously observes, "that is a different matter."238 IX. HISTORY AND HERO-WORSHIP The most frequent critical issues raised by On Heroes are the problem of structure presented by the last two lectures and the attempt to resolve apparent contradictions in Carlyle's theory of heroism. The first problem is that the general chronological movement Carlyle traces throughout On Heroes is interrupted by his penultimate lecture on the eighteenth-century "man of letters." This is followed in the final lecture by a return to the seventeenth century for an extended account of Cromwell and his times. A strictly chronological arrangement would have put Cromwell after Luther, thus substituting the sixth for the fifth lecture, and would have concluded the series with the eighteenth century and the few words Carlyle devoted to that "portentous mixture" of quack and hero, Napoleon.239 Carlyle's failure to do so has disconcerted numerous critics, who contend that as Cromwell is not a "modern hero," his "presence in the final lecture 235

Cited in Wilson, Carlyle on Cromwell, 86. 236 "Parliamentary History of the French Revolution" (1837), Essays 4:3. 237 On Heroes, 201. 238 «sir Walter Scott" (1838), Essays 4:80. 239 On Heroes, 204.

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smashes the general chronological pattern," leading to the "collapse of the general framework" of the book.240 Had Carlyle's overriding concern been with chronology, such objections would be irresistible. However, the chronological framework was essentially artificial, a matter of convenience suggested by the six-part format of the lectures. Thematically and polemically it is probably more useful to regard the last two lectures as a continuous unit, since they are, after all, bound together by Carlyle's conception of modernity. Both the man of letters and the king, as Carlyle defines them, are modern forms of heroism. Carlyle's Cromwell is a "post-revolutionary King who comes to impose an order upon Sanscullotism. He is ... a King of the future, not of the past, and the fact that England had its revolution in the seventeenth century does not matter in this essentially philosophical development."241 Taking this view of the series, Cromwell is still out of time, but he is not out of place. He stands as a shining example to Carlyle's nineteenth-century audience, and beyond that to the world Carlyle wished to address, of heroic possibility. Monarchs were in fact fleeing their thrones in the decade of Carlyle's lecture, but what Carlyle meant by the king as a modern hero was the "Able-man" of whom Cromwell was modern history's best example. Cromwell embodied Carlyle's hope that despite the dismal showing of heroism in the eighteenth century, some revolutionary revival of the heroic spirit was still possible. Cromwell as hero is not for Carlyle a distant historical figure separated by two hundred years from Carlyle and his audience. Carlyle's view of history was less concerned with the pastness of the past than with its continuing presence. He actively sought the effect produced on Friedrich Althaus: "It is just as if we were not modern descendants, divided from them by a gulf of two hundred years of history, but rather contemporaries of those men and parties, the Roundheads and the Cavaliers, the Independents and the Levellers, . . . Charles I and Cromwell."242 Carlyle viewed history as exemplary and valued it for its relevance. Thus, he wrote to Emerson, "do the two centuries stand related to me, the seventeenth worthless except precisely in so far as it can be made the nineteenth."243 Not only is history seen as magister vitae, but it is only worthwhile if it is preoccupied with what is alive and relevant. In this way Cromwell could speak to the nineteenth century as could no hero from the eighteenth. 240 241 242 243

La Valley, Carlyle and the Idea of the Modern, 251. Culler, Victorian Mirror of History, 70. Clubbe, Two Reminiscences, 104. Letters 15:57, August 29, 1842.

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By ignoring the prophets of Israel and Greece, and by beginning his historical survey with Odin, a figure lying in mythological prehistory, Carlyle had clearly abandoned any strictly calibrated chronological scheme before he started his lectures on heroes, preferring instead a scheme broadly suggestive and representative of heroic types and societies. This scheme has a thematic depth and a conceptual unity lacking from the strictly chronological ordering of his previous lecture series. Though Carlyle did not allow chronology to become the determining factor in On Heroes, his schema does imply an evolutionary process in the history of ideas and beliefs. Paganism is the "infant Thought of man,"244 while the replacement of the divine hero by the divinely inspired prophet represents a "second phasis of Hero-worship."245 This forward movement is deflected from time to time by historical countercurrents. As society advances and becomes more sophisticated it makes certain heroic forms obsolete. The hero as god and prophet are the "productions of old ages; not to be repeated in the new. They presuppose a certain rudeness of conception, which the progress of mere scientific knowledge puts an end to."246 Later Carlyle adds poets and priests to the list of outmoded heroic forms, so that the only two modern forms of heroism are those described in his two final lectures, the man of letters and king. Not only are older heroic forms made obsolete, but as society advances the role of the hero diminishes, though the full effects of this restrictive process are not felt until Carlyle brings the modern period into the center of his discussion. In contrast to the buoyant evolutionary vision of Darwin, Carlyle's historical pattern presents a pessimistic, descending scale. The heroic form contracts with time, and evolving social conditions make it increasingly difficult for the heroic spirit to manifest itself, so that as Carlyle nears his own age he is forced to concentrate on the conditions that inhibit the growth of heroism. In 1840 he entertained some hope that this pattern might be reversed, but by 1850 he saw heroic values actually inverted, so that George Hudson the Railway "king" became, in Latter-Day Pamphlets, the object of veneration for a Mammon-worshipping society, in place of the Cromwell who had been the central figure of his final lecture. Two years later, yielding still further to a sense of pessimism, his answer to the question "Why heroes are not born now, why heroisms are not done now?" was that 244 245 246

On Heroes, 18. On Heroes, 37. On Heroes, 67.

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the world had become a place "all calculated for strangling of heroisms. At every ingress into life, the genius of the world lies in wait for heroisms, and by seduction or compulsion unweariedly does its utmost to pervert them or extinguish them."247 Yet another configuration in the pattern of history Carlyle weaves is marked by revolutionary outbreaks in which essentially idolatrous beliefs are violently destroyed and replaced by genuine vision. Many of Carlyle's heroes are necessary iconoclasts. Muhammad breaks the wooden idols of Arabia just as Luther offers the "first stroke of honest demolition" to a papacy "grown false and idolatrous," while Puritanism resists the hollow ceremonies of Laud, and the French Revolution burns up the imposture of the age of reason. On the wide spectrum of history, the Reformation was the potential begetter of a "new genuine sovereignty" because it too was a revolt against "false sovereigns."248 The problem of consistency in Carlyle's theory of heroism most often turns on his heroes' relation to ordinary people and to the historical situation. The problem of the hero in history stems from the paradox that allows Carlyle to combine "a determinist view of history with a belief in willed effort." He both exhorts and condemns "men as though they were wholly responsible for their views and actions, yet he holds too that they are trapped in history." It is, of course, true that "more systematic minds than Carlyle's have been baffled by this problem."249 On the evidence of On Heroes alone, Carlyle's answer to the question, Do heroes create historical events? is both yes and no. Their superior insights, and the actions based on them, crystallize what is merely latent. Heroes provide a dramatic impetus to events. They are not merely creatures of the age in which they live. At the same time they do not act in a vacuum or in social isolation. Others feel more dimly what they perceive most sharply. Their effect upon others is like that of a catalyst or, in Carlyle's metaphor, a lightning rod or conductor. There is then a dynamic balance between human will and the forces of the age. The difficulty Carlyle confronts and acknowledges is thus more of a true paradox than a flat contradiction. In rejecting materialistic theories of history Carlyle stressed the importance of the individual, but he was not blind to the fact that the hero was restricted and conditioned by surrounding forces. In On 247 248 249

"The Opera" (1852), Essays 4:402. On Heroes, 106. Daiches, "Carlyle: The Paradox Reconsidered," 380.

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Heroes he says that history is at bottom the "Biography of great men,"250 but elsewhere he wrote that history was the aggregate of innumerable biographies. This aggregate includes the legion of those whose only record may be the date of their birth in parish registers. From time to time some incident may illuminate one of them, like the poor rustic who shared food and shoes with Charles I or the foolish laird who became famous because he recognized a hero in the form of an eccentric writer in a garret in Gough Street. The Carlylean hero does not create history out of titanic will, but rather responds to the monitions and the forces alive in his world. The "Reformation simply could not help coming," but Luther was its voice and its instrument. Had his resolution failed at the Diet of Worms, the course of modern history "had all been otherwise!"251 But Luther, like all Carlyle's heroes, is initially reluctant to assume the burden of conflict and does so only when drawn into the ring of action by moral compulsion. A parallel can be seen in the life of Luther's modern-day counterpart, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who with his "somewhat ponderous, theologically orientated mind . . . was . . . edged, inch by inch . . . into becoming an authentic hero of his time."252 Cromwell's mission too is launched only in response to events he did not himself shape. "After twelve years silent waiting, all England stirs itself; there is to be once more a Parliament." Only then did Cromwell throw "down his ploughs" and hasten onto the stage of history.253 Before a prophet like Muhammad can arise, "many men must have begun dimly to doubt" the value of old forms of worship.254 What the hero says, "all men were not far from saying."255 The hero is thus time-bound and culture-bound, but hears more clearly than others the promptings of the age and directs its struggles. It is this ability to recognize reality in the midst of convention and falsehood that raises the hero to the heroic level. The hero's distinguishing mark is an informing intelligence, an insight that reveals, as it does to Luther, "the awful realities of things."256 A Knox cannot live "but by fact,"257 or a Muhammad evade a reality that "glared in 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257

On Heroes, 26. On Heroes, 116. Muggeridge, Third Testament, 189. On Heroes, 194. On Heroes, 105. On Heroes, 20. On Heroes, 105. On Heroes, 127.

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upon him."258 For the hero, "fly as he will . . . cannot get out of the awful presence of this Reality."259 The effect the hero achieves is like that of the inspired poet, "the original man, the Seer; whose shaped spoken Thought awakes the slumbering capability of all into Thought."260 The hero sums up and completes a general will and impulse; his actions merely authenticate a commonly held sentiment. These relations between heroes and those to whom they speak are reciprocal. To shudder at the hell of Dante is to become a poet; we are all poets when we read a poem well, all heroes when we recognize heroism. As Carlyle traces the development of the religious sentiment he calls hero-worship, the eighteenth century is thrown into prominence by way of contrast. The towering heroes of earlier periods were the beneficiaries of eras of strenuous faith. The eighteenth century is a spiritual wasteland and even the status of its heroes is sadly diminished. Rousseau, philosophical harbinger of the French Revolution, is a "contracted Hero,"261 Voltaire is a "withered Pontiff of Encyclopedism,"262 helping to kill superstition, but unable to provide a positive alternative to the system of beliefs he had undermined. Even Johnson could offer only the advice of "Moral Prudence" and the rejection of cant,263 while Napoleon's heroism was tainted by an admixture of quackery. The eighteenth century is, in this sense, thematically crucial, for there Carlyle traces the societal beginnings of the paralysis that had penetrated his own time. Earlier heroes contended with adversities enough. The banished Locke wrote his Essay Concerning Human Understanding in a Dutch garret, Milton was impoverished and endangered when he wrote Paradise Lost, and Cervantes was maimed and imprisoned yet finished his work. All possessed what Burns and more modern heroes lacked—they lived in a period "in which heroism and devotedness were still practised, or at least not yet disbelieved in."264 For them it was not true, as Carlyle could say of his own time, that the godhead had been replaced by an "iron, ignoble circle of Necessity" and that all "Heroic Action is paralysed."265 However, even the arid soil of the eighteenth century could not 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265

On Heroes, 47. On Heroes, 40. On Heroes, 20. On Heroes, 159. On Heroes, 14. On Heroes, 156. "Burns" (1828), Essays 1:312-13. "Characteristics" (1831), Essays 3:30.

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entirely extinguish hero-worship. Boswell was a "practical witness, or real martyr, to this high everlasting truth."266 The skeptical French worshipped their Voltaire; the "old antediluvian feeling," forcing itself "into unexpected shapes, asserts its existence in the newest man: and the Chaldeans or old Persians, with their Zerdusht, differ only in vesture and dialect from the French, with their Voltaire."267 Precisely because of the cramped conditions of modern spiritual life, hero-worship becomes the "one fixed point in modern revolutionary history."268 Though Carlyle derived the idea of hero-worship from history, it was for him essentially an article of faith. He found it "cheering to consider that no sceptical logic, or general triviality, insincerity and aridity of any Time and its influences can destroy this noble inborn loyalty and worship."269 The feeling for it might decline, might attach itself to unworthy objects, but hero-worship remained an unfailing fact of human experience and the basis of social organization. "Veneration of great men is perennial in the nature of man. . . . Show the dullest clodpole, show the haughtiest featherhead, that a soul higher than himself is actually here; were his knees stiffened into brass, he must down and worship." Hero-worship was the primary creed and would prove to be the ultimate creed of mankind. Like the protean hero, "changing in shape, but in essence unchangeable,"270 hero-worship was the guarantee of social survival even in an age pulled apart by social disruptions, revolutionary tendencies, and false ideologies. The darkness of unbelief would promote revolutions, but Carlyle saw in the "indestructibility of Hero-worship the everlasting adamant lower than which the confused wreck of revolutionary things cannot fall." In his own revolutionary time the ruin would "get down so far; no farther."271 The perennial feeling of hero-worship "waits, even in these dead days, only for occasions to unfold it, and inspire all men with it, and again make the world alive!"272 Hero-worship is just as important as the heroism it admires and fosters by its acknowledgment. To recognize the hero is itself a form of heroism, and is possible only "by being ourselves of heroic mind."273 Carlyle's lectures themselves were a demonstration of hero-worship in 266 267 268 269

"Boswell's Life of Johnson" (1832), Essays 3:74. "Goethe's Works" (1832), Essays 2:391. On Heroes, 15. On Heroes, 14.

270 «sir Walter Scott" (1838), Essays 4:24. 271 On Heroes, 14-15. 272 "Boswell's Life of Johnson" (1832), Essays 3:74. 273 Past and Present, 35.

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action. Through his own heroic vision of the past which he asked his audience to grasp, he made it possible to put the question to them, "why may not every one of us be a Hero?"274 What he sought was a heroic audience, the microcosm of a heroic society, that had once existed "as a practised fact."275 What was needed to summon it again into existence was not only a hero "but a world fit for him,"276 an exhortation recalled perhaps in David Lloyd George's appeal, in a speech in September 1914, "to make Britain a fit country for heroes to live in."277 This was one of the aims of the lectures, to make society receptive to the idea of the hero, to make it ready to "be worthy." Then, and only then, we shall "be as good as sure of his arriving; sure of many things, let him arrive or not."278 As he looked back over modern history, Carlyle saw events moving toward some yet unrealized goal. "In all this wild revolutionary work, from Protestantism downwards, I see the blessedest result preparing itself: not abolition of Hero-worship, but rather what I would call a whole World of Heroes. . . . A world all sincere, a believing world." In this hope, the past was the prophetic guarantor of the future world he anticipated, for such a world had already been, and its "like will again be,—cannot help being."279 Like Tennyson's Ulysses, he gestured his audience to the prospect of the Happy Isles where all heroes dwell, "and will dwell: thither, all ye heroic-minded!"280 X. THE RESPONSE TO ON HEROES In June 1841 John Ruskin wrote from Geneva to enquire about "these Carlyle lectures." People, he said, are "making a fuss about them, and from what I see in the reviews, they seem absolute bombast."281 Given the feeble and scanty reports of the lectures that filtered through to him, this reaction was reasonable enough, as was Ruskin's conclusion that Carlyle sounded remarkably like Dickens's Horatio Sparkins. Ruskin compared Carlyle's, "What is it? Ay, what? At bottom we do not yet know; we can never know at all,"282 which had been quoted in one of the reviews that had reached him, to 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282

On Heroes, 109. On Heroes, 124. On Heroes, 186. Bartktt, Familiar Quotations, 866. Past anil Present, 260. On Heroes, 109. Past and Present, 37. Ruskin, Works 36:25. On Heroes, 8.

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Sparkins's "And after all, sir, what is man? . . . I say, we know that we exist. . . . What more do we know?"283 In the summer of 1842, however, Ruskin was able to read the book for himself at Chamonix. Evidently the impact of the written work was enough to efface his original bad impression, for in 1854, in his "Addresses on Decorative Colour," he made his first public admission that Carlyle was the man to whom he "owed more than to any other living writer" and he quoted extensively from Carlyle's first lecture on divinity. In a letter published in 1867 Ruskin said, "I only speak of myself together with him as a son might speak of his father and himself, not on any term of other equality." In 1878 he was still making use of On Heroes, for he wrote to Carlyle, calling him "My dearest Papa," to say he was studying him along with Gibbon on Muhammad.284 Edward FitzGerald greeted the first edition of On Heroes with derision. "No new books," he wrote to Frederick Tennyson on March 21, 1841, "(except a perfectly insane one of Carlyle, who is becoming very obnoxious now that he is become popular.)" A few days later he wrote to W. H. Thompson: "Have you read poor Carlyle's raving book about heroes? Of course you have—or I would ask you to buy my copy. I don't like to live with it in the house. It smoulders."285 By 1876 he had revised his estimate. To C. E. Norton he recalled that he had heard Carlyle lecture: "I heard his 'Heroes' which now seems to me one of his best Books"; and he speculated on "what a Fortune" Carlyle might have made by "showing himself about as a Lecturer, as Thackeray and Dickens did."286 One measure of the book is the variety and quality of the minds it affected. Richard Garnett claims that On Heroes was "echoed by all the best minds" of Carlyle's day and that it destroyed the "shallow sneer" that "no one is a hero to his valet-de-chambre."287 Of course, it is not always possible to separate On Heroes from other works that represented Carlyle in the public mind, for when On Heroes was first published Carlyle's name "was running like wildfire through the British Islands and through English-speaking America; there was the utmost avidity for his books . . . especially among the young men; phrases from them were in all young men's mouths."288 Carlyle's influence at the old universities was considerable. Macaulay, warily regarding the 283 284 285 286 287 288

Dickens, Sketches by Boz, 360; see Ruskin, Works 36:25. Ruskin, Works 12:507; 17:476; 37:248-49. FitzGerald, Letters 1:272, 276. FitzGerald, Letters 3:650-51. Garnett, Life of Carlyle, 102. Masson, Carlyle Personally, 67.

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Oxford of 1859 where his nephew was an undergraduate, feared that he was living in the "midst of an atmosphere reeking with Carlylism,"289 although in 1843 On Heroes in particular seems to have run afoul of Oxford's academic authorities. Responding with unconcealed amazement to a report on conditions at the university by Henry Gary, the Dante translator who had just retired from the British Museum, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, "Carlyle's Hero-worship to be cast out!! Is it not the open confession that nobody there is a hero, or wishes to be a hero, or cares for anybody who ir? I think so."290 The editors of her letters to Mary Russell Mitford surmise that the "rejection of Carlyle's book may have been based on objections to the 'romanticism' of his chapter on the Hero as Divinity or, more generally, on the anti-dogmatic and anti-establishment cast of his religious ideas."291 Carlyle's appeal was not confined to the Victorian intelligentsia. He was also, in Yeats's words, the "chief inspirer of self-educated men in the 'eighties and early 'nineties,"292 a fact reflected in Samuel Butler's The Way of All Flesh (1903), where Ernest Pontifex is assured that he will "make a kind of Carlyle sort of a man some day."293 Nor was the influence of this book confined to the English-speaking world, as the innumerable editions of the work in languages ranging from Chinese to Hebrew testify. Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo in 1883 that he had "read a very beautiful little book of Carlyle's: 'Heroes and Hero-worship.'"294 Van Gogh's diaries and letters refer quite frequently to Carlyle, in whose work he found "much more of love for mankind than bitter criticism. Carlyle has learned a great deal from Goethe, but even more from a certain MAN who did not write books himself but whose words, though not written down, still remain—I mean Jesus."295 From the first appearance of On Heroes in book form, in 1841, the response of reviewers was tied to the fluctuations in Carlyle's general reputation, and also to broad trends in the climate of opinion. Both of these factors shaped critical reaction to the book's contents. The main topic raised by contemporary reviewers was the "great man" 289 290 291 292 293 294 295

Macaulay, Letters 6:206. Browning, Letters 2:176. Browning, Letters 2:177-78n. Yeats, Autobiographies, 264. Butler, Way of All Flesh, 358. Van Gogh, Letters to His Brother 2:314. Van Gogh, Letters to an Artist, 138.

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view of history, which came under suspicion initially from the democratic side of the Victorian political spectrum. It was also questioned by clerical and scientific critics for somewhat different reasons. The gospel of heroes met resistance from nineteenth-century liberalism for ignoring the masses; from Engels, at least, among nineteenthcentury Marxists for being too religious and mystical; from some segments of the established church for being too radical; and later from some twentieth-century democrats for being too tyrannical. Over succeeding decades, this central idea tended also to run afoul of other theoretical fashions in politics, science, and history. On the political front, On Heroes has been assailed for being on the extreme political right, and proto-fascist, and equally on the extreme left as a close relative of militant Chartism. On the whole the main complaint of nineteenth-century democrats was made in the name of the excluded many, against the perceived exclusivity of Carlyle's heroes, whereas early and mid-twentieth-century democrats directed their complaints against Carlyle's assumed ideological affinities with fascism. In either case, criticism tended to fix upon Carlyle's two statements in "The Hero as Divinity," that the "History of the world is but the Biography of great men," and that universal history "is at bottom the History of the Great Men who have worked here."296 This clear enunciation of the "great man theory of history" has frequently been taken out of context or simply left to stand as Carlyle's last or only word on the subject. One needs to recall that ten years earlier, in "On History" (1830), he had offered a more democratic and broadly based conception of history: "Social Life is the aggregate of all the individual men's Lives who constitute society; History is the essence of innumerable Biographies."297 Even in On Heroes itself the "innumerable biographies" are not discounted, but for obvious reasons they are off center stage. However, their presence is implied in the reciprocating relationship between hero and hero-worshipper and in the ordinary deficient mortal's representative, Boswell. One of the earliest democratically inspired objections to On Heroes came from the Italian patriot Giuseppe Mazzini, who knew Carlyle. History, insisted Mazzini, directly confuting Carlyle, "is not the biography of great men." Great men are the priests of the religion of humanity but no priest "is equal in the balance to the whole religion of which he is a minister." For Mazzini, Carlyle comprehended "only 296 297

On Heroes, 26, 3. "On History" (1830), Essays 2:86.

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the individual; the true sense of the unity of the human race escapes him."298 Thus the nationality of Italy in his eyes is the glory of having produced Dante . . . of Germany that of having given birth to Luther. . . . The shadow thrown by these gigantic men appears to eclipse from his view every trace of the national thought of which these men were only the interpreters and prophets, and of the people, who alone are its depository.299 The consequence of Carlyle's perceived inability to recognize any collective life or aim condemned him to "regard as the offspring of individual impulse, deeds, which others recognise as having derived their source or inspiration from the wants and desires of the multitude." In the "name of the democratic spirit of the age," declared Mazzini, "I protest against such views."300 Mazzini's response is a typical one, recurring frequently in later estimates of On Heroes, whether sympathetic or hostile. Whitman too articulated the undemocratic implications of Carlyle's hero theory: "The great masses of humanity stand for nothing—at least nothing but nebulous raw material; only the big planets and shining suns for him."301 It was an inevitable consequence of Carlyle's exalting his heroes that he should appear to diminish his fellows, for "if Gulliver is to be a giant, he must go to Lilliput." Yet as Leslie Stephen pointed out, one may accept that the "chosen few tower above the average" and still "hold to the superior wisdom of the mass." Not that Carlyle accepted the doctrine that "though a man may be wiser than anybody there is something wiser than he—namely, everybody."302 Lord Morley kept these familiar objections alive in the latter part of the nineteenth century. In his general account of Carlyle's thought he also points to Carlyle's "deficiency of sympathy with masses of men," and his willingness to "fall down before the individual." For Morley's Carlyle the "victorious hero is the true Paraclete. . . . This is really the kernel," he says, "of the Carlylean doctrine. The whole human race toils and moils, straining and energising, doing and suffering things multitudinous and unspeakable under the sun, in order that like the aloe-tree it may once in a hundred years produce a 298 299 300 301 302

Mazzini, Essays, Mazzini, Essays, Mazzini, Essays, Whitman, Prose Stephen, Hours

126, 124. 125. 152-53, 125. Works 1:256. in a Library 4:268.

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flower. It is this hero that age offers to age, and the wisest worship him."303 Although their relationship cooled somewhat in later years, John Stuart Mill was by his own acknowledgment "during a long period one of [Carlyle's] most fervent admirers." Carlyle's works were one of the channels through which he "received the influences which enlarged my early narrow creed."304 By natural sympathy Mill was drawn to Carlyle's hero theory as an account of individual genius, but characteristically he qualified it with the standard checks and balances formula of nineteenth-century political liberalism. "Hero worship, as Carlyle calls it, is doubtless a fine thing," he wrote, "but then it must be the worship not of a hero but of heroes. . . . One hero and sage is necessary to correct another."305 In his 1832 speculations on genius, Mill anticipated the Carlylean thought frequently asserted in On Heroes, and particularly in "The Hero as King,"306 that in the modern age the hero might be becoming an endangered species and that society was perhaps supplying its "deficiency of giants" by "the united efforts of a constantly increasing multitude of dwarfs."307 Mill was as much concerned at the tyranny of the majority, the "collective mediocrity," as he was by the tyranny of the despot. He freely acknowledged that "the initiation of all wise or noble things" came from individuals, "generally at first from some one individual. The honour and glory of the average man," he wrote in terms reminiscent of Carlyle's hero-worshipper, "is that he is capable of following that initiative; that he can respond internally to wise and noble things, and be led to them with his eyes open." Of course, Mill made it clear that he was not "countenancing the sort of'hero-worship' which applauds the strong man of genius for forcibly seizing on the government of the world and making it do his bidding in spite of itself."308 Matthew Arnold read and responded favorably to Carlyle when he was at Oxford as an undergraduate in 1841. Among the many voices in the air at that time was the "puissant voice of Carlyle," a voice that still haunted Arnold's memory forty years later.309 He shared Carlyle's 303

Morley, Critical Miscellanies 1:186, 189-90. Mill, Autobiography and Literary Essays, 183, 181. 305 Mill, Letters 2:384. 306 See note at 174.34-35. 307 Mill, Autobiography and Literary Essays, 330. 308 Mill, "On Liberty," Essays on Politics, 268-69. 309 See Arnold's "Emerson" in Philistinism in England and America, 16566; Kathleen Tillotson, "Matthew Arnold and Carlyle," 218-25, which re-creates the atmosphere at Oxford in the 1840s; and David J. DeLaura, "Arnold and Carlyle," 104-29, which deals with the ambivalence of Arnold's response to the older writer. 304

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perception of the unheroic spirit of the modern age. In his assessment of the dispiriting condition of modernity, Arnold noted, in a letter to Arthur Clough, "the absence of great natures" and "the unavoidable contact with millions of small ones"—a Carlylean point about the decline of heroism. However, in the same letter, Carlyle, once the "beloved man," had become for Arnold one of the "moral desperadoes," and a part of the problem.310 One might have thought that Arnold's diagnosis of the age, which is compatible with Carlyle's, and his comparable yearning for a heroic temper to replace modern enervation would predispose him to a more enthusiastic view of Carlyle's heroes. But Arnold's changing estimates of Carlyle reveal that as time went on he felt Carlyle could not save him from those very conditions that Carlyle had first exposed and brought to his attention. With Clough, Arnold felt that Carlyle had led his contemporaries "out into the desert," and "left us there."311 In Thomas Hughes's novel Tom Brown at Oxford (1861), Tom is a "sedulous believer" in "hero worship," a fact that probably reflects popular opinion at Oxford when Hughes himself was there some twenty years earlier in the decade of Carlyle's lectures, although the novel also contains allusions to Carlyle's later works. A fellow student describes Tom as longing for the "rule of the ablest man. . . . To find your ablest man, and then give him power, and obey him—that you hold to be about the highest act of wisdom which a nation can be capable of?" 312 Tom eagerly assents to the proposition, whose terms are drawn largely from Carlyle's lecture on the hero as king. The heroic governor as an alternative to Victorian democracy had an obvious appeal to those Victorians who associated democratic aspiration with revolutionary turmoil and mob violence. For many people the Chartist movement in the 1840s awakened memories of the French Revolution and provided an immediate focus and urgency to Carlylean calls for the emergence of new Cromwells and Napoleons. They shared Carlyle's hope that the heroic leader would be a bulwark against social disintegration, and that hero-worship, by evoking loyally for a common leader, would counteract the antisocial forces of personal rather than communal ambition.

310 311 312

Arnold, Letters to Clouj/h, 75, 111. Arnold, Letters to dough, 47. Hughes, Tom Brown at Oxford, 405.

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Some Victorians who were willing to follow Carlyle in his admiration for earlier strongmen, including Cromwell and Napoleon, drew back from his later support of Dr. Francia and Governor Eyre, fearing, as John Davidson did later, that Carlylean hero-worship pointed to the "dull hell of the drill-sergeant and the knout."313 These later enthusiasms are often represented as aspects of Carlylean degeneration, the corruption through age and frustration of his more vigorous early ideas. However, it has also been argued, most recently by Raymond Williams, that even the heroes of Carlyle's 1840 lectures reflect his "steady withdrawal from genuinely social thinking into the preoccupations with personal power."314 Out of isolation and a sense of frustration, combined with a belief in his superior insight into the problems of his time, Carlyle creates "the image of the hero, 'the strong man who stands alone,' . . . the leader possessed by vision, who shall be listened to, revered, obeyed." This image is often explained in terms of personal psychology—Carlyle's "impotence projecting itself as power"—but, as Williams points out, this is to ignore both the general nature of the phenomenon and the question of the ends for which the power is wanted. In Carlyle's case these "purposes are positive and ennobling," but as Williams sees it Carlyle's tragedy is that he succumbs at last to the disease he was among the first to diagnose. Thus Carlyle's judgment of early Victorian society in "Signs of the Times," "we worship and follow after Power,"315 returns to his later efforts "as a mocking echo."316 Whatever Carlyle's own relationship, politically and psychologically, to his heroes, On Heroes seemed somewhat reactionary to many, certainly the more fervent of nineteenth-century democrats. To certain elements in the established church, however, it appeared politically subversive. By a curious coincidence, observed William Thomson in a review in the Christian Remembrancer of 1843, all Carlyle's heroes "offend against magistrate, priest, or law." This high Tory sentiment led Thomson to the estimate that in Carlyle's work "true heroism, it seems, is a nearer relation to chartism, and corn-lawleaguerism, than most persons suspect."317 The supposed affinities of On Heroes with the far left and the Chartist agitation of the 1840s was 313 314 315 316 317

Davidson, Tbeatocrat, 14-15. Raymond Williams, Culture and Society, 83. "Signs of the Times" (1829), Essays 2:79. Raymond Williams, Culture and Society, 77. Cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 186, 185.

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a critical aberration of the decade itself, and was only overshadowed in the history of the book's reception by later political claims of its affinities with the far right and with twentieth-century fascism. An important if odd feature of the critical response to On Heroes is how much of it has focused not on what Carlyle actually wrote but rather on what he was assumed to have written. Sometimes this results from importing into the discussion of On Heroes expressions from later works or actions. Thus T. H. Huxley, writing in 1866 to Charles Kingsley over the Governor Eyre case, characterized his opponents as "hero-worshippers who believe that the world is to be governed by its great men, who are to lead the little ones, justly if they can; but if not, unjustly drive or kick them the right way."318 This sentiment appears nowhere in On Heroes, and is a gross parody of isolated statements in "Occasional Discourse on the Negro Question" (1849) and Latter-Day Pamphlets (1850), but Huxley, while not naming On Heroes, evokes its central doctrine to disparage Carlyle, who supported Governor Eyre's brutal suppression of an uprising in Jamaica in 1865. A similar example of telescoping appears in Leonard Woolf's claim that Carlyle's "bias towards savagery is shown not only by his theory of hero-worship, but by the heroes whom he worshipped." They were, in Woolf's view, "all ruffians, the best of them belonging to that class of great conquerors who have always been . . . the greatest pests in human history."319 It hardly needs pointing out that Woolf's "ruffians" are not members of the team Carlyle assembled in On Heroes, and it comes as no surprise to discover that for Woolf the worst of Carlyle's heroes is Governor Eyre. Another factor in the often blurred reaction to On Heroes may be the vehemence of Carlyle's conversation, in which he expressed himself with more exaggeration and violence than he did in print. As his prominence grew, his every gesture of impatience, every extempore utterance, was preserved and given weight. If we can rely on Margaret Fuller's record of an encounter between Mazzini and Carlyle in 1846, "all Carlyle's talk that evening was a defence of mere force, success the test of right. If people would not behave well, put collars round their necks. Find a hero, and let them be his slaves. It was very Titanic and Anticelestial." Mazzini, she reports, "after some efforts to remonstrate, became very sad."320 318 319 320

Huxley, Life and Letters 1:304. Woolf, Quack, 123-24. Cited in Froude, Life in London 1:402.

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Whatever the value of these speculations, the fact remains that no evidence can in any way be derived from On Heroes itself for the belief that Carlyle's hero represents unbridled force, the doctrine that might is right, or the notion that the only criterion for the hero is success. Nor do such parodies take into account Carlyle's belief that only a man who conforms to the law of God's universe can "in the long-run have any 'might,'"321 for "Moral Force . . . is the parent of all other Force."322 Thus Carlyle's heroes are not "Nietzschean supermen . . . beyond good and evil, but rather instruments of God's will, executors of a decree which is not of their choosing."323 Such determined misconceptions of Carlyle's views may have come from his conversation, fairly reported or not: Darwin, after having met Carlyle, noted that "in his eyes might was right,"324 and in 1881 Lord Acton remarked that the "doctrine of heroes, the doctrine that will is above law, comes next in atrocity to the doctrine that the flag covers the goods."325 Nevertheless, a decade earlier Sir Leslie Stephen had been at pains to expose the shallowness of the frequently made charge that "Carlyle was a cynic who believed in nothing but brute force." He wondered how a "doctrine . . . implying an unqualified belief in the absolute supremacy of right" could "get itself transmuted into an appearance of the opposite, of being a kind of Hobbism, deducing all morality from sheer force?"326 It was too often assumed that Carlyle espoused the cause of unregulated power, or, as A. R. Orage put it, "the Prussian error of identifying Might with Right."327 It was an error that was to reappear with renewed vehemence in estimates of Carlyle in the period of the two world wars. Stephen's attempts at correction reveal that there were many Victorian anticipations of the sort of objections to Carlyle's heroworship that were to become popular in the 1940s and 1950s. Charles Reade's bitter comment in "It Is Never Too Late to Mend" (1856), that the brutal prison governor Hawes after committing a series of atrocities against prisoners "bade fair to become one of Mr. Carlyle's great men," provides one such example.328 The Southern Literary 321

Life of Sterling, 192. "Signs of the Times" (1829), Essays 2:73. 323 Wellek, Confrontations, 100. 324 Reported by Acton, History of Freedom, 223. 325 Acton, Letters to Mary Gladstone, 70. 326 Stephen, Hours in a Library 4:252, 254. 327 Orage, Readers and Writers, 22. 328 Reade, "It Is Never Too Late to Mend" 1:256. 322

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Messenger, reviewing Carlyle's Latter-Day Pamphlets in 1850, noted that the very word "heroism" was for Carlyle's admirers like the "Shibboleth of the Illuminati—it unlocks all," and deduced that there could be no mistaking that his "monstrous" opinions advocated "pure unadulterated despotism."329 Such critics have been misled, in G. K. Chesterton's view, "by those hasty and choleric passages" in which Carlyle "sometimes expressed a preference for mere violence, passages which were a great deal more connected with his temperament than with his philosophy." From this misreading they have "finally imbibed the notion that Carlyle's theory of hero worship was a theory of terrified submission to stern and arrogant men."330 In view of later twentieth-century attempts to associate Carlyle's hero with the Nazi Fuhrerprinzip, it is interesting to note that it was essentially cautious Victorian liberalism that promoted the charge of despotism against Carlyle. Friedrich Engels, whose view of Carlyle was much more favorable than that of the liberals, objected to Carlyle's hero not because of his unchecked power but because he was the product of Carlyle's religious outlook on life; a messiah rather than a dictator, a god rather than a man.331 The rise of twentieth-century fascism produced a political climate in which Carlyle's ideas, and predominantly the idea of the hero, could be transformed to brutal purposes. As Carlyle's theories of heroic authority stimulated the appetites of a new constituency of readers, the rapprochements between Carlylean ideas and the theories of emerging fascism were expressed in a series of articles, both for and against him. As early as 1920, Guido Fornelli published articles on Carlyle's conception of history that served as a basis for his fuller study, Tommaso Carlyle: la, nuova aristocrazia. Even the politically precise George Orwell succumbed to the spirit of the age in linking Carlyle with modern fascism. Reviewing Alfred Noyes's The Edge of the Abyss in the Observer in 1944, he described Carlyle as "one of the founders of the modern worship of power and success, . . . who applauded the third German war of aggression as vociferously as Pound did the fifth." Later in that same year he described Carlyle bowing 329 330 331

Southern Literary Messenger (June 16, 1850), 330, 339. Chesterton, Twelve Types, 132. See a review by Engels in Neue Rheinische Zeitunj. Politisch-Okonomische Revue, IV (April, 1850), reprinted in Marx and Engels, Werke 7:255-65. For an overview of Engels' response to Carlyle, see his comments in The Condition of the Working Class in England, and Steven Marcus, Engels, Manchester, and the Working Class.

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"down before German militarism" and "worshipping power and successful cruelty."332 Carlyle was seen in the light of recent history as a "prophet with a sinister message. . . . His views on social and political problems, divested of their moral appeal by the march of time, are revealed to be those of a fascist in their essential implications."333 If British Fascists, as G. M. Trevelyan suggested, "had nothing to do with the long-forgotten opinions of Carlyle but with the living doctrine and practice of Mussolini,"334 there is no doubt that Carlyle was well remembered and read avidly in Nazi Germany. In the closing days of the war in the underground bunker below the Chancellery, Goebbels read to Hitler from Carlyle's History of Frederick the Great, "one of the Fuehrer's favorite books."335 The "cult of heroes" was fashionable in Germany in the late 1920s,336 and Carlyle's On Heroes was "required reading" for students during the Nazi era.337 Nazi propagandists saw in Carlyle a respectable support for their beliefs. His admiration for strong leaders and obedience and his friendship for Germany all found enthusiastic echoes in a spate of publications produced during the early Nazi period. Many of these are chronicled in G. B. Tennyson's excellent survey of Carlyle studies, which offers one of the best treatments of this aspect of Carlyle's influence. 338 The mass of such misleading tracts, directly or indirectly, and no doubt the atmosphere of the war itself, produced a somewhat shrill response from anti-Nazis, who berated Carlyle for having been admired by Nazis. The central role accorded Carlyle's hero-worship in this debate is indicated by such titles as "The Hero and the Fiihrer," "Carlyle Rules the Reich," and "Carlyle and Kaiser-Worship." Significantly, though Professor Herbert Grierson's 1930 lecture "Carlyle and the Hero" was balanced in all other respects, its title was changed on publication in 1933 to Carlyle and Hitler because "the recent happenings in Germany illustrate the conditions which lead up to, or at least make possible, the emergence of the Hero as Carlyle chiefly thought of him." In the ominous years before the war, Carlyle's teachings and particularly his "cult of the Hero" had "acquired a new interest and significance from the social and political condition of 332 333 334 335 336 337 338

Orwell, Collected Essays 3:100, 222. Schapiro, "Carlyle, Prophet of Fascism," 97. Trevelyan, Carlyle: An Anthology, 5. Shirer, Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, 1108. Speer, Inside the Third Reich, 12. G. I. Morris, "Divine Hitler," cited in G. B. Tennyson, "The Carlyles," 78. G. B. Tennyson, "The Carlyles," 77-80.

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England and Europe to-day."339 In response to the same political climate, Leonard Woolf had judged that Carlyle's hero-worship "anticipates Nietzsche and the fascists by providing a philosophical excuse for political magic, war, slavery, intolerance, and the destruction of any vestiges of liberty or democracy."340 By 1940, with the war raging in earnest, Grierson was ready to proclaim that Carlyle's "hero is well on the way to become a Hitler or a Stalin." He argued that Carlyle's "increasing impatience with democracy" put him "on his way to the Fiihrer, the leader who has become his own policy, who, however he may have begun with the help o f . . . popular or influential support, retains that leadership by dint of secret police, concentration camps, and the murder of inconvenient individuals."341 More sober estimates acknowledge that whatever elements in Carlyle's writing appealed to twentieth-century authoritarianism, it is still a "long way from Victorian anti-democratic currents of thought to the horrors of Germany under Hitler."342 The tendency to blame Carlyle for some of his unsavory latterday admirers and to accuse him of begetting or harboring their political vices is, as John Rosenberg has neatly described it, "guilt by a-historical association." Besides, as Rosenberg points out, the finest scene in On Heroes focuses on Luther and "portrays not the worship of authority but its defiance," and he concludes that the book "Carlyle actually wrote is not the proto-Nazi tract he is popularly supposed to have written."343 Ernst Cassirer's The Myth of the State (1946) rejects the imputations of Carlylean fascism fashionable in the 1940s: "to charge Carlyle with all the consequences that have been drawn from his theory would be against all the rules of historical objectivity."344 This, together with Rosenberg's comments and the carefully documented history of this aspect of Carlylean criticism in G. B. Tennyson's bibliography, should have served to correct such critical aberrations. But, as Tennyson notes, even though the historical circumstances that led to so many of these charges being laid at Carlyle's door have receded, the Nazi "ghost continues to haunt the old premises."345 Perhaps the best antidote of all is to read On Heroes itself. For, as 339 340 341 342 343 344 345

Grierson, Carlyle and Hitler, 5, 21. Woolf, Quack, 123. Grierson, "The Hero and the Fuhrer," 105, 102-3. Clive, Not by fact Alone, 87. John Rosenberg, Carlyle anil the Burden of History, 115. Cassirer, Myth of the State, 216. G. B. Tennyson, "The Carlyles," 80.

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Basil Willey observed in 1949, to do so is to realize that Carlyle's heroes are not all Fiihrers: they are also the Prophets—Buddha, Mahomet, Christ; the poets—Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, Burns; the men of letters—Johnson or Rousseau. True, they are above all the kings, soldiers, and governors: Caesar, Cromwell, Frederick, Napoleon; but Cromwell was the chief of Heroes, because he was the soldier of God. I do not think that Carlyle would have mistaken Hitler for a Cromwell, any more than Plato would have mistaken him for a Philosopher-king.346 On a broader intellectual scale, and in an attempt to fit the Carlylean hero into the history of ideas, Bertrand Russell attributes the Carlylean "cult of the hero" to the philosophical movement beginning with Rousseau. "Byron was the poet of this movement; Fichte, Carlyle, and Nietzsche were its philosophers." Russell sees hero-worship as an offshoot of liberalism, in which he distinguishes two schools, "the hardheaded and the soft-hearted." The first "developed, through Bentham, Ricardo, and Marx, by logical stages into Stalin," the second "through Fichte, Byron, Carlyle, and Nietzsche, into Hitler." Russell conceded that such a formulation was "too schematic to be quite true,"347 but others have been less reserved in making the same connection. Chesterton, for one, suggested that out of Carlyle "flows most of the philosophy of Nietzsche,"348 a point echoed decades later by Professor Grierson. Thus the Carlylean hero is seen to foreshadow the Nietzschean Ubermensch as an influence on Nazi theory. It is, of course, a double irony that Nietzsche, who regarded Carlyle as a humbug and "muddle-head,"349 should have been identified with the very man whose theories he tried to distance himself from, and also that he should have suffered with him an almost identical fate at the hands of hostile critics and fascist admirers. For Nietzsche, like Carlyle, fell victim to serious misrepresentation by virtue of his adoption by the Nazis; such unscrupulous attempts were made to identify him with Nazi aspirations as Richard Oehler's Friedrich Nietzsche und die Deutsche Zukunft (1935), to say nothing of the efforts of his 346 wiiiey) Nineteenth Century Studies, 130. 347 Russell, History of Western Philosophy, 600, 642. 348

349

Chesterton, Twelve Types, 137. Nietzsche, The Dawn of Day, 264.

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pro-Nazi sister Elisabeth who informed Hitler that he was what her brother meant by an Ubermensch. In the words of Walter Kaufmann, "no other German writer of equal stature has been so thoroughly opposed to all proto-nazism. . . . If some Nazi writers cited him . . . it was at the price of incredible misquotation and exegetical acrobatics."350 Nor were the Nazis the only ones to misread him. George Bernard Shaw inveighed against the glib assumption held in England that Nietzsche had "gained his European reputation by a senseless glorification of selfish bullying" and equally the mistaken belief that his own use of Nietzsche's Ubermensch meant that he expected the world to be saved by "the despotism of a single Napoleonic Superman."351 In fact Nietzsche's own favorite example of the Ubermensch was "not Napoleon, but Goethe."352 As for Carlyle leading to Nietzsche, Nietzsche could not have done more to discourage such a view and to separate his own theory of the Ubermensch from Carlyle's heroes. The word overman, he wrote, had been everywhere misunderstood. A consequence was that some "scholarly oxen" had even suspected him of following "the 'hero worship' of that unconscious and involuntary counterfeiter, Carlyle, which I have repudiated so maliciously."353 Nietzsche credits Carlyle with having "discovered" the formulae of "romantic prostration before 'genius' and 'hero,' so foreign to the spirit of enlightenment." 354 Carlyle was "lured by the craving for a strong faith" and at the same time the "feeling of his incapacity for it," which made him, in Nietzsche's eyes, a "typical romantic." Thus Carlyle "drugs something in himself with the fortissimo of his veneration of men of strong faith."355 In addition to changing political currents, intellectual forces both in science, especially evolutionary theory, and in history were also moving sympathy away from the "great man theory of history." Herbert Spencer was perhaps the first to approach the doctrine from the point of view of Darwinian theory, and in doing so he found the great man theory an impediment to the scientific study of social phenomena. In The Study of Sociology (1873) Spencer cites Carlyle's statement in On Heroes that "Universal History . . . is at bottom the History of the 350 351 352

Kaufmann, "Introduction," Portable Nietzsche, 14; see also Jaspers, Nietzsche and Christianity, vii. Shaw, "First Aid to Critics," 162. Lloyd-Jones, Blood for the Ghosts, 166.

353 Nietzsche, Ecce Homo, 261. 354

355

Nietzsche, Dawn of Day, 257. Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, 521.

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Great Men who have worked" in the world356 as the popular view in which most people are educated. That "class which sees in the course of civilization little else than a record of remarkable persons and their doings" was, in Spencer's view, "unprepared to interpret sociological phenomena scientifically."357 If for Spencer the hero theory was an impediment to serious social study, to John Addington Symonds it appeared as an irrelevance. "If there is truth in the Hegelian Darwinian theory of Evolution," he wrote in 1884, "we have no room left for caprice, for Carlylean Heroes,"358 echoing the Benthamite worldview against which Carlyle had written. Carlyle's historical style inspired Oscar Wilde to exclaim, "How great he was! He made history a song for the first time in our language. He was our English Tacitus."359 But this view of Carlyle was a minority one. For at least in the academic study of history, fashions at the end of the nineteenth century were running counter to the sort of history produced by Carlyle. In general the response to historical elements in Carlyle's On Heroes WAS affected by the reaction, rampant at the end of the last century, against what was scornfully called "literary history." Carlyle and Macaulay were among the earliest major casualties of this "scientific" reaction within the discipline. A personal graph of this change in historical approach can be observed in G. M. Trevelyan's brief "Autobiography of an Historian." He recalls being given at Harrow in the 1890s doses of "the modern type of scientific history" as an antidote to Gibbon, Macaulay, and Carlyle. A few years later at Cambridge he was told by the Regius Professor of History that "history was a science and had nothing to do with literature" and that "Carlyle and Macaulay were charlatans."360 Another perceived impediment to the scientific study of society was subjectivity, or what Spencer called "automorphic interpretation." In his attempt to show how subjective factors balk the proper scientific estimate of rulers, Spencer chose the warped conceptions long held of Charles I and Cromwell.361 He did not, of course, credit Carlyle with in any way effecting the change to a more accurate estimate of those two historical figures, though it would have been fair and reasonable to do so. W. C. Abbott, whose 1937 edition of 356 357 358 359 360 361

On Heroes, 3. Spencer, Study of Sociology, 26. Symonds, Letters 2:964. Mikhail, Wilde 2:378. Trevelyan, Autobiography, 12, 17. Spencer, Study of Sociology, 104, 159-60.

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Cromwell's letters brought Carlyle up to date by adding some seven hundred items and omitting the discredited Squire papers, acknowledges that Carlyle's work on Cromwell "helped to inspire so much historical interest and investigation in that period."362 After Cromwell's death "a simulacrum or false image of him was set up by his enemies" which lasted as a "butt for popular reprobation for nearly two centuries." If people now take "a more unprejudiced view" of Cromwell, the work Carlyle started in his final lecture has had much to do with it.363 Carlyle's picture of Cromwell, said Leslie Stephen, "has at least exploded once for all the simple-minded 'hypocrisy' theory, as the essay upon Johnson destroyed the ingenious doctrine that a man could write a good book simply because he was a fool." Carlyle "has done more than any writer to make such barren and degrading explanations impossible for all serious thinkers."364 As for Muhammad, it is equally true that most nineteenth-century readers "who do not condemn the Arabian prophet unheard, derive what favourable notions of him they have, not from Gibbon, but from Carlyle." R. Bosworth Smith recalled in 1874 the "shock of surprise, the epoch in our intellectual and religious life, when we found that [Carlyle] chose for his 'Hero as prophet,' not Moses, or Elijah, or Isaiah, but the so-called impostor Mohammed!"365 It should be remembered that when Carlyle was delivering his lectures upon heroworship it was thought proper to explain Mahometanism . . . as a simple imposture. Carlyle still speaks like a man advancing a disputed theory when he urges . . . that to explain the power of Mahomet's sword, you must explain the force which wielded the sword; and that the ingenious hypothesis of a downright cheat will by no means serve the turn. This doctrine is now generally accepted, unless by a few clever people who still cherish the wire-pulling heresy which makes history a puppet-show manipulated by ingenious scoundrels, instead of a vast co-operation of organic forces.366 362 363 364 365 366

Abbott, Writings and Speeches of Cromwell l:xvi. Trevelyan, Autobiography, 174. Stephen, Hours in a Library 4:263. Smith, Mohammed, 87. Stephen, Hours in a Library 4:262-63.

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Certainly, as Richard Garnett noted, since Carlyle wrote, no one "has cast a stone at Mahomet."367 In the portraits of both Cromwell and Muhammad, Carlyle succeeded in his avowed objective of altering current prejudices. In doing so he took essentially a religious position revised into new terms. Every hero conveys . . . a new revelation to mankind. . . . You may recognise it, as the Puritan recognised the authority of his Bible, by the spontaneous witness of your higher nature, and you will recognise it so long as you have not given yourself up to believe a lie. And if you demand some external proofs, you must be referred, not to some particular signs and wonders, but to what you may, if you please, call the 'success' of the message. . . . The hero may be confounded with the sham, . . . but they differ for all that, and the true man recognises the difference as the religious man knows the hypocrite from the saint.368 Carlyle's general effect on nineteenth-century fiction, not only on its subject matter but on its form, began to be most strongly felt in the decade of his lectures on heroes. "Although the novel of the forties makes no clear break with the past, anyone reading the major novelists in chronological order would be more struck by change than continuity," and one of the main reasons for this, according to Kathleen Tillotson, is "the influence of Carlyle." In "Dickens, Thackeray, and Kingsley alone there is material for a full-length study,"369 several of which have appeared since Tillotson's view was first aired.370 367 368 369 370

Garnett, Life of Carlyle, 102. Stephen, Hours in a Library 4:260-61. Tillotson, Novels, 150, 153. To the three novelists cited one should add Disraeli, George Eliot, Hardy, Meredith, who claimed the introductory chapter of the T^goist was "in the vein of Carlyle" (Meredith, Letters 3:1295), Charles Reade, Buder, Kipling, Conan Doyle, Melville, and Twain, all of whose connections with Carlyle have been the subject of recent scholarship. Similarly Carlyle's influence on the poets Arnold, the Brownings, Clough, Tennyson, and Whitman, among others, has been explored, as well as his connection with playwrights, controversialists, and critics such as Ruskin, Morris, Shaw, and Chesterton. See Tarr, Bibliography of English-Language Criticism; and G. B. Tennyson, "The Carlyles."

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Carlyle's influence was protean, his interaction with other writers and thinkers extensive, and his effect upon the imagination of the whole century profound. The heroic theme was central to that influence. Thoreau goes so far as to say that "all of Carlyle's works might well enough be embraced under the title of ... On Heroes, Heroworship, and the Heroic in History. Of this department, he is the Chief Professor in the World's University, and even leaves Plutarch behind."371 This judgment was echoed by the skeptical George Bernard Shaw: "Carlyle, with his vein of peasant inspiration, apprehended the sort of greatness that places the true hero of history so far beyond the mere preux chevalier. . . . This one ray of perception became Carlyle's whole stock-in-trade; and it sufficed to make a literary master of him."372 371 372

Cited in Seigel, Critical Heritage, 298. Shaw, Three Plays, xxxiv.

NOTE ON THE TEXT

ON Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History was published eight times during Carlyle's lifetime in editions in which he is known or has been claimed to have participated. The manuscript from which the earliest of these editions was typeset is lost. With the exception of two pages of corrected proofs for the first edition, discussed below, no other documents that could provide direct evidence of authorial intervention, such as printer's copies or proof sheets with revisions indicated in Carlyle's hand, are known to survive. Therefore, the only documentary evidence for the text of On Heroes is the eight versions of the work that are embodied in those eight lifetime editions. The text of On Heroes that we present in this volume is a critical text. That is to say, it does not correspond in detail to any of the extant authoritative texts. These source texts differ among themselves: none were free of typographical errors; there were changes in spelling that reflect the regularization and modernization of British orthography during the three decades that separate the earliest from the last version; there were other minor changes, in punctuation for example, that may have been introduced by Carlyle's printers or editorial assistants on their own authority; and there is evidence that Carlyle himself ordered revisions in each version except the last. Faced with these differences among the various editions of On Heroes, and the virtual absence of conclusive, holographic evidence that Carlyle made or did not make any particular change, our goal has nevertheless been to produce a text that includes only those changes that we can confidently attribute to the author, rather than to his typesetters, proofreaders, or editors. This criterion obliges us to err on the side of excluding some possibly authorial changes, since some undecidable cases very likely represent changes made by Carlyle, but it has the effect of ensuring that as much as possible of the text is what Carlyle wrote, even though we may not have included all his later revisions. The evidence of the source texts has been assembled by the process of collation: comparing the earliest edition, as a baseline, with each of the others in turn and recording each point of difference, or variant. These variants from the first edition are then assembled in tabular form as a historical collation, showing for each variant the edition or editions in which it occurs. The complete Historical Collation of On Heroes is given in the textual apparatus of this volume, beginning on page 445, and the history of the text that it reveals is summarized in the discussion of the various editions below. In addition

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to providing the reader with all the textual evidence on which the present edition is based, the Historical Collation will enable a reader interested in any particular source text to reconstruct it in detail. Collation confirms that each new edition of On Heroes was typeset from a copy of the most recent previous edition. From Carlyle's correspondence we know that it was his usual practice, when a new edition of one of his works was being prepared, to supply his printers with such a copy, in which he had entered his revisions by hand. (At least this was his practice through the 1852 Fourth Edition of On Heroes. The issues raised by the versions of On Heroes included in the three lifetime collected editions, beginning in 1858, are dealt with below.) There were then further opportunities for Carlyle or others to make alterations in the text of each edition during the process of typesetting and proofreading. In preparing the present critical edition, it was the work of editorial judgment to distinguish between those variants that most probably represent Carlyle's own revisions and those that might have been introduced by typesetters or by proofreaders other than Carlyle. It might seem that such judgments should be based on a prior literary analysis of Carlyle's preferred style, diction, and usage, so that for each variant the editors would consider whether or not the change in the text conformed to such authorial preferences, whether, in other words, a given variant was "Carlylean" in its literary effect. However, such a procedure would be impossible for several reasons. First, it would not be possible to formulate a set of rules that would adequately embody Carlyle's stylistic preferences. The evidence will not support being reduced to such rules: each punctuation mark, for example, has its unique context, and there is no reason to suppose that Carlyle's stylistic choices were sufficiently regular and unchanging. Second, to the extent that a variant reading seems to be more consistent with Carlyle's style elsewhere than the earlier reading, to that extent the variant might well be the work of a proofreader other than the author, since proofreaders in every age must consider consistency a desideratum. Third, it is clearly impossible to reach any reliable and usefully detailed conclusions about Carlyle's stylistic preferences by studying a text that is not reliably Carlylean; in other words, the work of establishing a text that can claim to be, as nearly as possible, authorial in every detail—the task of the present editors— must obviously precede the work of characterizing in detail the author's style, a task for which we have provided the materials but that we leave to others.

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To establish the present text, therefore, we began by noting that the 1841 first edition, although not, of course, a perfect copy of the lost manuscript—as proved by the handful of self-evident typographical errors it contains—is closer to that manuscript (the only version of the text that was authorial in every detail) than any of the other source texts, all of which descend from it. We therefore chose the first edition as our copy-text. For each variant reading disclosed by collation in later editions, it was necessary to consider whether the best explanation for the variant is authorial revision or whether, on the other hand, we could not confidently attribute the change to the author rather than to a typesetter or to a proofreader other than the author. If the former, we emended our text to include the revision. If the latter, we followed the first edition copy-text at that place. Consider two extreme examples: In the 1846 Third Edition (and the 1846 American edition; see below), 11 words in Lecture VI on Cromwell's assumption of the protectorship are replaced by 280 words (beginning at 199.331). Even ignoring the biographical fact that, since the appearance of the Second Edition of On Heroes in 1842, Carlyle had been engaged in research on Cromwell for his documentary biography, Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches (1845; Second Edition, 1846), it is obvious that no one but Carlyle could or would have authored this revision. To fail to include this passage in our text would be (from the point of view of establishing an authorial text) to deny Carlyle the right to amplify in 1846 what he had written in 1841, and (from the point of view of establishing a complete, historically relevant text) to omit a page of text that has been part of the work for all readers since 1846. On the other hand, consider the multitude of spelling changes found in every lifetime edition, which illustrate the trend toward regularization and "modernization" of English orthography that began in America with the publication of Noah Webster's Blue-Bucked Speller in 1783 and continued through the nineteenth century in Britain. Although it is possible that Carlyle's own orthographic preferences evolved in step with the times (and the continuing publication of his Collected Letters will provide further evidence on this point), it is at least as likely that these spelling variants represent silent—perhaps unconscious—emendations by the various typesetters employed by Carlyle's printers. We know that typesetters and proofreaders then 1

Numbers in this form are page and line numbers in the present edition. See the textual apparatus at the corresponding place for the details of the variants referred to in this Note.

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and now routinely "correct" what they perceive as misspellings in ordinary prose texts and impose "house style" preferred spellings when variant forms of a word are currently acceptable. There is no reason to think that Carlyle was strongly committed to the somewhat old-fashioned spellings that appear in the first edition of On Heroes ("Shakspeare," as Carlyle spells it in all lifetime editions of all his writings, is the exception that proves the rule; the spelling of proper names is the business of the author—or the modern copy editor—not of typesetters or proofreaders), but there is good reason to think that the first-edition spellings were Carlyle's spellings, or as close to them as we can get lacking the manuscript, and there is no reason to believe that any of the subsequent modernizations of them in later editions are Carlyle's revisions. Therefore, to include these modernizations in our text (as distinct from our Historical Collation, where they can all be found) would be to deprive the text of the interesting features of Carlyle's original spelling, with no evidence that the author's intention was being followed and no gain in intelligibility. As these two clear-cut examples show, our task was to distinguish between those alterations in the text that more probably represent authorial revision, which we therefore accept as emendations, and those that typesetters or proofreaders might have considered themselves authorized to make, which we therefore cannot confidently vouch for as authorial and which we accordingly list in the Historical Collation but do not include in our critical text. Although each variant must be examined individually and in the context of the entire collation (as well as in the context of whatever external evidence from biographical sources can be brought to bear), we can say that, in general, the former category includes especially changes in the wording of the text, but also such matters as the spelling of proper names and significant changes in punctuation that could not plausibly have seemed called for by rules of usage or house style. The latter category includes changes in such minor—and rule-governed—aspects of the text as spelling, capitalization, word division, and routine punctuation.2 The present critical text therefore follows the first edition of On Heroes as copy-text, but has been emended to follow the reading of one or more of the later editions in four categories of cases: First, in a few places, such as "eartnestness" at 34.26, the reading of the first 2

This policy of giving precedence to variants in wording over variants in spelling and punctuation is not a reflection of any prejudice on our part as editors for "content" over "form" or any such abstract principle. It is rather our application of a distinction made by both authors and printers in the

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edition is evidently the result of a typographical error. All such errors were corrected in the 1842 Second Edition, and these corrections have been adopted. Second, because the 1846 American edition and the 1846 British Third Edition were set from "identical" printer's copies—two copies of the 1842 Second Edition marked for revision by Carlyle himself—it follows that, with a few exceptions, new readings that are found in both of the 1846 editions must be attributed to the author and so have been adopted.3 Exceptions are considered individually in the Discussion of Editorial Decisions, which begins on page 431. Third, variants found in any of the British lifetime editions that constitute a change in the wording of the text—that is, variants that amount to the deletion, the substitution, or, as in the great majority of such changes in On Heroes, the addition of one or more words—may be regarded as almost certainly authorial revisions, and have in general been adopted as emendations. Exceptions to this rule have been made only where the change can more probably be attributed to typographical error or to a proofreader "correcting" Carlyle's grammar. Such exceptions are also explained in the Discussion of Editorial Decisions. Fourth, a few changes of punctuation have for various reasons been accepted as authorial (e.g., 166.10 and 172.33); these are all treated fully in the Discussion of Editorial Decisions. The critical text that we have constructed according to this policy is presented as clear text; that is, no editorial symbols or other indications of emendations appear on the page. A list of all emendations of the copy-text is given in the textual apparatus beginning on page 421. No attempt has been made to reproduce non-textual design features of the copy-text (typeface, lineation, pagination, etc.), but the titles and running heads, including the dates of the original lectures, appear as they do in the first four British editions. A "Summary" and an index, prepared under Carlyle's supervision, first appeared in the 1858 Uniform Edition and were retained in all subsequent editions. We have included both as an appendix to the present text. nineteenth century, a distinction between the creative "wording as content," which was, as a matter of historical fact, ordinarily the exclusive domain of authors, and the rule-bound "formal" aspects of a text, which printers saw as within their province to "correct." Specialists will recognize, and nonspecialists may be interested to know, that this editorial procedure is the one suggested by W. W. Greg in his influential essay "The Rationale of Copy-Text" (1949). For a thoughtful exposition of Greg's position, including a useful discussion of some of its critics' arguments, see G. Thomas Tanselle, "Greg's Theory of Copy-Text" (1975). 3 See the discussion of the 1846 American edition below, pp. xcv-xcviii.

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SOURCES OF THE TEXT Using the first edition as the standard of collation,4 we have recorded all variant readings to be found in six subsequent British editions in which Carlyle has been claimed to have participated—the Second Edition of 1842, the Third Edition of 1846, the Fourth Edition of 1852, the Uniform Edition of 1858, the Library Edition of 1870, and the People's Edition of 1872—as well as the historically and textually interesting authorized American edition of 1846.5 The 4

The copy of the 1841 first edition, Tarr A12.1.a, used as the standard of collation is owned by Michael Goldberg and is deposited, along with the other materials of the Strouse Edition, in the Norman and Charlotte Strouse Collection of Thomas Carlyle, housed in Special Collections, McHenry Library, University of California, Santa Cruz. This copy (Copy A [PR4426.A1 1841 c. 5]) was compared with another copy of the first edition in the Strouse Collection (Copy E [PR4426.A1 1841 c. 1]) using a Hinman Collator. No textual variants were found. One character that was partially broken in Copy A (on page 45, line 22 of that edition, the first character on that line) was whole in Copy E, and one character, correctly positioned in Copy A (on page 82, line 26, again the first character), was found shifted into the left margin in Copy E. Three other copies of the first edition in the Strouse Collection ([PR4426A1 1841 c. 2-4]) were judged by the conservators of the Collection too fragile to be submitted to the Hinman Collator. These were compared by eye with the other two copies. No textual differences were found; the shifted character was discovered in intermediate positions, and the broken character in intermediate stages of breakage, suggesting that the two copies that had been machine collated bracketed, in order of printing, the three that could not be. Only 1,000 copies of the first edition were printed. See Tarr, Descriptive Bibliography, 89. 5 The following copies of editions subsequent to the first edition were collated in the preparation of the present text: the 1842 British Second Edition, Tarr A12.3.a, in the University Library of the University of British Columbia (PR4426.A2.1842); the 1846 British Third Edition, Tarr A12.3.b, in the University of Michigan Libraries [Rare Book Room PR4426.A1.1846a]; the 1846 American edition, Tarr A12.6.a, in the Bibliotheque Nationale du Quebec (824.82.C22hh); the 1852 British Fourth Edition, Tarr A12.3.C, in Special Collections, Thomas Cooper Library, University of South Carolina; the 1858 Uniform Edition, Tarr D2.a, in the Strouse Collection, McHenry Library, University of California, Santa Cruz (PR4426.A1.1858 v. 6); the 1870 Library Edition, Tarr D3.a,, in the Northern Regional Library Facility of the University of California (952e.l869 v. 12); the 1872 People's Edition, Tarr D4.a!, owned by K. J. Fielding and deposited in the Strouse Collection; and an undated reprint of the People's Edition, Tarr D4.b, in the Strouse Collection (PR4426.A1.1870 v. 13). In addition the 1897 Centenary Edition (see Dyer, Bibliography, 60, 108) in the library of San Jose State University (PR4420.E98 v. 5), was collated, although the variants in this posthumous edition are not included in the Historical Collation (see below, p. cii).

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Historical Collation provides the complete record of these variants, but it is appropriate here to make some general remarks about the various editions. THE CORRECTED PROOF PAGES The earliest extant form of the complete text of On Heroes is the British first edition of 1841. Of earlier versions of the text, the only known extant fragments are two proof pages, corresponding to pages 25 and 26 of the first edition (15.13-16.14 of the present edition), in the collection of Carlyle House, Chelsea (see Plate 3). No other proof sheets, manuscript pages, or printer's copies of On Heroes are known to survive. On these two proof pages, six corrections are marked in Carlyle's hand, all of which were incorporated into the text of the first edition and, of course, into the present text: a comma and dash are replaced by a full stop after "ways" (15.19), "geyrers" is corrected to "geysers" (15.28), "of" is inserted (15.33), "Saemund" is changed to "S*mund" in two places (16.1 and 16.8), and a comma is added (16.8). On the other hand, two commas appear in the first edition (both at 15.14) that had neither been set in proof nor indicated for insertion on the proof pages that survive. Since no other revisions were ordered for that or adjacent lines on the extant proof pages, and since the lineation of the proof pages exactly corresponds to that of the published edition, there would have been no occasion to reset that line unless the author ordered the change on some subsequent set of proofs. Therefore these commas, too, have been included in the present text. THE 1841 FIRST EDITION Although the manuscript of On Heroes was completed in September 1840 (see Introduction, p. xxxiii), Carlyle was in no hurry to publish. By the beginning of October, negotiations had begun with James Fraser, Carlyle's publisher: Jane enfgjages herself in selling my Ms. Lectures to Fraser! She can do it better, she thinks. I incline to decide that if I can get no money for them, I will not print them. Cut bono? To loose the jaw of all the gomerils [fools] in England!6 6

Letters 12:273, TC to John A. Carlyle, October 3, 1840.

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Six weeks later there had been no progress in the negotiations (the Carlyles were asking for £150, which Fraser maintained would leave no profit for him7) nor in Carlyie's attitude to the book: Jane has had a long negociation with Fraser about publishing the Lectures for a sum of money down; money down is a thing Fraser stands aghast at,— . . . the negociation has ended; the Ms. has come back. . . . There is happily no haste to publish the thing at all. I consider it a paltry thing; really care not if it were burnt: till some stronger temptation outward or inward arise, we will let it lie there.8 A month after that, Carlyie's attitude was improving, though there had been no better offer from Fraser: My Lectures are never yet gone to Press. I am sweer [reluctant] about publishing them; expecting a great quantity of useless cackle if I do; and not being either tempted by money, or necessitated by the want of it, to set them forth till my own time,—which latter is a great blessing. I begin to find it probable that they will be printed now, some time in the course of the winter. We shall see.9 It was not until late January 1841 that Carlyle accepted Fraser's terms. As Carlyle wrote to his brother on January 26: In the course of last week I bargained with Fraser for my Lecture-Book. £75 the dog would give me no more; but he also gives a £75 for a thousand Sartors, the edition of that being run out too: so we go on printing both, with all imaginable velocity; and I am to have £150 for the two. We must be content. "4 sheets of each, 8 of both" are to come to me every week credat Judaeus! I am very busy revising the Lectures; am now thro' the First. I design to make

7

Letters 12:277, Jane Welsh Carlyle to Anna Brownell Jameson, [October 6?, 1840]. 8 Letters 12:326, TC to John A. Carlyle, November 16, 1840. 9 Letters 12:365, TC to Alexander Carlyle, December 16, 1840.

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few changes. In five or six weeks I may fairly expect the quit of the concern;—free for another.10 In fact, both books were published exactly six weeks later, but those weeks were filled with much stressful work. The next day he wrote, Today I have finished my revisal of Mahomet: very poor stuff. I am in a terrible fright too about certain leaves of the end of Odin, which I thought to have found here; but which I hope are at the Printer's! I must go and see. No Proofsheet as yet.11 By February 5, the proofreading was well under way: Proofsheets have much occupied me. We are now far into the second Lecture: the First needed very heavy correction; paragraphs to be added &c: twice I sat a whole day; sometimes like the cooking of a cucumber, after getting something all ready with great labour, I flung it out of window, as the best course! We are thro' all that now, in tolerable fashion. I find these Lectures not so bad a thing. Nothing new in them for me; but much like to be new enough for many others.12 The next day he reassured his mother, "already we are almost as good as half done,"13 but twelve days later he complained happily to her: I am kept in a perpetual Kippitch [confusion] with the Printers at present. But they are getting on very swiftly and well; both the Books are two-thirds done; I think we shall be almost thro', at the end of next week. I like my Lecture Book considerably better as I go on with it in clear type: it is a gowsterous [boisterous] determined speaking out of the truth about several things; the people will be no worse for it at present! The astonishment of many of them is likely to be considerable.14 10 11 12 13 14

Letters Letters Letters Letters Letters

13:24, 13:27, 13:29, 13:32, 13:38,

TC TC TC TC TC

to to to to to

John A. Carlyle, January 26, 1841. John A. Carlyle, January 27, 1841. John A. Carlyle, February 5, 1841. Margaret A. Carlyle, February 6, 1841. Margaret A. Carlyle, February 18, 1841.

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On February 24 he was "nearly done,"15 and by March 2 he was completely finished with the proofs and had collapsed "under the frightfullest despotism of Influenza": Sartor and the Hero-Lectures are both printed, and away from me. With great pleasure I bequeath them both to the Prince of the Power of the Air to work his good pleasure with them: it is not probable that he dislikes them much worse than I do,—under many points of view.16 Finally, by March 9, the two books were bound and Carlyle was directing Fraser to send copies of On Heroes to Scottish relatives and friends.17 The first edition of On Heroes was printed by "Robson, Levey, and Franklyn" of 46 St. Martin's Lane.18 Carlyle's association with these printers had begun in 1837, when Fraser gave the third volume of The French Revolution to be printed by the firm of "Levey, Robson, and Franklyn" because the firm of James Moyes was making slow progress on the first two volumes.19 When the work on The French Revolution was completed, Carlyle wrote to Fraser concerning "the Robsons," saying that "they are accurate punctual Printers, and have been extremely helpful to me in this business."20 In 1839 Carlyle wrote to Fraser, "I am glad you have given the Meister to Robson; my imagination has all along represented him as a paragon in comparison with the others. We shall see."21 In 1840 Robson's firm printed the third, fourth, and fifth volumes of the first British edition of Critical and Miscellaneous Essays, and in June 1841 Carlyle told Emerson that Fraser's British edition of "Emerson's Essays, the Book so-called" was "in the hands of that invaluable Printer, Robson, who did the Miscellanies.'"22 In August 1841, Carlyle wrote Emerson, 15 16 17 18

19 20 21

22

Letters 13:46, TC to John Stuart Mill, February 24, 1841. Letters 13:48, TC to John Sterling, March 2, 1841. Letters 13:54, TC to John A. Carlyle, March 9, 1841. According to the printer's imprint on p. ii. On the last page of the first edition another printer's imprint gives the firm's name as "Levey, Robson, and Franklyn." Letters 9:129-30, TC to John Stuart Mill, January 28, 1837. Letters 9:201, TC to James Fraser, May 1, 1837. Letters 11:176, TC to James Fraser, August 24, 1839. The reference is to the second edition of Carlyle's translation of Wilheltn Meister's Apprenticeship and Travels (Tarr A2.3.I-III.a). Letters 13:163, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, June 25, 1841.

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Three sheets of the Essays lay waiting for me at my Mother's, for correction; needing as good as none. The type and shape is the same a[s that] of late Lectures on Heroes. Robson the Printer, who is a very punctual intelligent man, a scholar withal, undertook to be himself the Corrector of the other sheets: I hope that you will find them "exactly conformable to the text, minus mere typographical blunders and the more salient American spellings (labor for labour &c)."23 In the last sentence, Carlyle is apparently quoting Robson himself,24 and the quotation illustrates the extent to which the printer, while taking no doubt justified pride in the exactness of his transcription, at the same time felt himself authorized to emend, silently but for this blanket notice, what he considered "blunders" and to conform spellings to contemporary British norms. By 1843 Carlyle was congratulating himself for having found Robson, though the credit would seem to belong to Fraser: "He is a good clever man my Printer, whom I discovered several years ago, and whom I have insisted on sticking to ever since. They say, 'He is a little dearer.'—'Well,' I answer, 'ought he not; being considerably better?'"25 The printing of each edition of On Heroes during Carlyle's lifetime continued to be done by the firm with which Charles Robson, Carlyle's "paragon" among printers, was associated.26 23 24 25 26

Letters 13:218-19, TC to Ralph Waldo Emerson, August 18, 1841. Letters 13:219n. Letters 16:96, TC to Margaret A. Carlyle, March 24, 1843. Between the 1841 first edition and the 1842 Second Edition, the firm of "Robson, Levey, and Franklyn" apparendy left its office on St. Martin's Lane. The 1842 colophon gives the firm's address as "Great New Street, Fetter Lane." (The London Post Office directory for 1842 locates the firm at 24 Great New Street, Fetter Lane. In 1843 it moved to number 23.) In the 1846 Third Edition, the name of the firm is given as "Levey, Robson, and Franklyn," still at "Great New Street, Fetter Lane." In the 1852 Fourth Edition as well as the 1858 Uniform Edition, the colophon reads, "Printed by Robson, Levey, and Franklyn, Great New Street and Fetter Lane." By the 1870 Library Edition, the printer's imprint reads, "Robson and Sons, Printers, Pancras Road, N.W."; the 1872 People's Edition has the same. The undated reprint of the People's Edition we examined carries the colophon "Bungay: Clay and Taylor, Printers" although it is clear that at least some of the 1872 plates were still being used in its production and were showing signs of wear. The 1897 Centenary Edition was "Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press."

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THE 1842 SECOND EDITION On February 25, 1842, Carlyle wrote to John Forster, who was acting as intermediary with Carlyle's new publishers, "Pray thank Messrs Chapman and Hall; and say that the Book on Heroes lies ready here, whenever Robson's devil comes for it; and that the large and cheappriced edition (since you and they recommend it) is the one we will prefer. Let them consult Robson therefore; I particularly wish and request that Robson may be printer."27 The "Book" lying ready would have been a copy of the first edition of On Heroes, marked for revision by Carlyle, and ready to serve as the printer's copy for the Second Edition. Five days later Carlyle wrote again to Forster: "The Printer has got the Book, and will proceed on it, I calculate, rapidly and satisfactorily without farther aid of mine. I have gone over it all, in these two days, and made it what it is finally to be. Robson can be depended on for correctness."28 This last suggests that Carlyle, having marked his ordered revisions in the printer's copy, intended to leave the proofreading to Robson. The circumstances of Carlyle's life at this period make it unlikely that he would have had time for this task—his motherin-law died suddenly on February 25, Carlyle was in Scotland by March 5 and did not return to London until May 7—and the absence of any further mention in his correspondence of his working on the Second Edition virtually excludes the possibility that he read proofs.29 Beginning with the Second Edition of 1842, all British editions of On Heroes were published by Chapman and Hall, James Fraser having died in October 1841. In the Second, Third, and Fourth Editions the same font is used as in the first, and the lineation of the first edition is followed where possible. However, whereas the first edition has a normal page of twenty-eight lines, the Second, Third, and Fourth Editions have twenty-nine lines on a normal page. The Second Edition makes several corrections of apparent errors in the first edition, ranging from the correction of typographical errors (e.g., "eartnestness" at 34.26) and inferable misreadings of the 27 28 29

Letters 14:50, TC to John Forster, February 25, 1842. Letters 14:56, TC to John Forster, March 2, 1842. Carlyle wrote from Scotland to Forster in London on March 14: "I know not what [more] you can at this moment accomplish for me, if it were not perhaps that you stept over to Robson the Printer (New Street, Fetter Lane) some day, and saw with your own eyes that he was proceeding,—as indeed I doubt not he is doing, in a satisfactory manner" (Letters 14:71-72).

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manuscript (e.g., "desires" for "devises" at 101.32; other instances at 147.10 and 202.21), to the change of a reference to "Mr. Hamilton's" writings on Tibet to "Mr. Turner's" (6.19) and the correction of Luther's daughter's name from Margaret to Magdalene (120.35 and 121.2). Also, one mysterious revision, for which only Carlyle could have been responsible, changes a correct reference to Luther's "Patmos" as "the Wartburg" in the first edition to an apparently incorrect reference to "the Castle of Coburg" in the Second (121.4; see note). On the other hand, the Second Edition contains five new typographical errors (at 55.3, 66.9, 89.21, 102.27, and 114.6), two of which ("abkar'" for "a/thar" at 55.3 and again at 66.9) were followed in the Third Edition and in the 1846 American edition and were not corrected until the Fourth Edition in 1852. Besides the obviously deliberate correction of errors, the Second Edition contains some seventy separate alterations in the wording of the text (including changes in the spelling of proper names) plainly attributable to the author, including significant revisions of passages in each of the lectures. Whole sentences are added in three places (at 56.27, 128.17, and 141.14), and many phrases are amplified, sometimes by the addition of several lines of text (e.g., 120.1 and 147.22). Some changes of wording are very minor (e.g., "only" for "merely" at 33.23—the opposite change occurs at 102.32—or "There" for "These" at 137.2) but for most of these variants in wording in the Second Edition—as in later editions—the most probable explanation is revision intended by Carlyle. Along with these alterations of wording, the Second Edition contains nearly 150 variations in punctuation and spelling (including capitalization, word division, and the like). These are difficult to characterize. For example, colons in the first edition are changed to semi-colons in the second, or vice versa, some twenty times. Some patterns in these minor variants do emerge. For example, in the first edition "shew" (or "shewn," "shews," and so on) occurs thirty-three times, and "show" fifteen times. ("Show" is always used as a noun, "shew" indifferently as noun or verb.) In the Second Edition, in what seems a failed attempt at consistency, "shew" occurs forty-six times, and "show" twice. Similarly, "woe" occurs four times in the first edition, "wo" three times. All three occurrences of "wo" in the first edition are changed to "woe" in the Second. Also, it may be thought to be a pattern that more than twice as many commas are added in the Second Edition (twenty-six) as are deleted (twelve).

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Some of these changes in punctuation and spelling were very likely among the revisions indicated by Carlyle in the printer's copy for this edition, but, unlike changes of wording, it is seldom possible to be confident that any given variant was introduced by the author rather than by Robson or another typesetter or proofreader in his shop. We must consider the historical context of nineteenth-century publishing, in which printers, as members of a skilled craft that was striving for recognition as a profession, when correcting their own proofs, might have considered themselves to be authorized by the evolving norms of style and usage to "correct" such aspects of a text as spelling, word division, punctuation, and perhaps even grammar. On the other hand, there is reason to believe that in revising and in proofreading his texts, Carlyle concerned himself, far more than most authors do, with correcting and revising his punctuation, capitalization, and to some degree hyphenation. Indeed, when the documentary evidence exists to establish Carlyle as the most likely agent of such changes (as in the case of new variants that appear in both 1846 editions, as explained below), we adopt them as emendations of the copy-text. In addition, we have the evidence of a remarkable document recently obtained by the Strouse Collection—a complete set of "press proofs" for the 1841 second book edition of Sartor Resartus, which was typeset and proofread simultaneously with the first edition of On Heroes (see pp. Ixxxviii-lxxxix above). These proofs were extensively marked, by more than one hand, and among the changes are many corrections and revisions by Carlyle (though not exclusively by Carlyle) of the punctuation and capitalization, while most of the spelling changes are in another hand, probably that of the printer's proofreader. It is indeed tempting to regard this rare holographic evidence as the basis for adopting more of the later variants in punctuation and capitalization than the documentary evidence for On Heroes otherwise warrants. Unfortunately the Sartor proofs afford, at best, an argument by analogy that Carlyle also made such changes in On Heroes. They can give us no assurance that Carlyle made, when revising On Heroes in 1842 or later, the kind of changes he manifestly did sometimes make when marking proofs for Sartor in 1841, and of course they can give us no guidance at all with respect to particular variants. We have therefore not relied, in our editing of On Heroes, on this detailed documentary evidence of printing-house practice, preserved in these proofs for Sartor Resartus, but will of course do so in editing that work for the Strouse Edition.

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THE 1846 BRITISH THIRD EDITION The British Third Edition was evidently set from a copy of the Second Edition, as it reproduces nearly all of the variants of that edition. At the same time, it introduces over ninety additional alterations of wording, including some major revisions of passages on Cromwell in Lecture VI that reflect Carlyle's study of the Civil War for his Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches. Like the Second Edition, the Third contains over 150 changes of punctuation and spelling. So far as there is a pattern among these, it lies in an extended regularization of Carlyle's orthography. Verbs ending in -ize in the first edition are changed to -ise, consonants are doubled before such suffixes as -est, silent e's are dropped before such suffixes as -able, and so on. In addition to the changes of wording and of punctuation and spelling, seven typographical errors appear in the Third Edition, including a cluster of five between 77.11 and 95.2, suggesting a less than usually careful typesetter or proofreader. Three of these errors were followed in the Fourth Edition, and one, "or" for "our" at 83.5, was sufficiently plausible to escape detection in all subsequent British editions. The evidence of Carlyle's correspondence is explicit that he did not himself read proofs of this edition (see the discussion of the 1846 American edition below). Another feature of the Third Edition should be noted, though it is not textual and has not been recorded in the apparatus. Beginning in 1846, in both the British Third Edition and the American edition and continuing through all British lifetime editions, quotations that extend for more than one line (for example the quotation from Novalis at 11.2-6 of the present text) are marked by a left inverted comma, i.e., an opening single quotation mark, at the beginning of each line of the quotation. This style, the ancestor of the modern practice of indenting multi-line quotations from both margins while omitting quotation marks, we take to be a non-textual design feature.

THE 1846 AMERICAN EDITION The American edition of 1846 was published by Wiley and Putnam in New York, "Stereotyped by T. B. Smith, 216 William St." Although at least three pirated American versions of On Heroes had appeared earlier, the first within a month of the publication of the first British edition, this was the first authorized American publication. It bears the following "Imprimatur":

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This Book, "HEROES AND HERO-WORSHIP," I have read over and revised into a correct state for Messrs. WILEY & PUTNAM, of New York, who are hereby authorised, they and they only, so far as I can authorise them, to print and vend the same in the United States. London, June 18, 1846.

THOMAS CARLYLE.

Collation discloses that the 1846 American edition contains about half of the new variants found in the British Third Edition of the same year, including nearly all the changes of wording. But in many of the places where the British edition shows changes in spelling and punctuation, the American follows the 1842 British Second Edition. From this data, we can immediately conclude that the 1846 American edition was set from some version of the text later than the 1842 Second Edition but earlier than the 1846 British Third. The textual evidence supports the hypothesis that both 1846 editions were set from the same printer's copy, a copy of the Second Edition marked with his revisions by Carlyle. In fact, Carlyle's correspondence for this period30 reveals that the author marked his revisions in one copy of the Second Edition, to serve as the printer's copy for the American edition, and then duplicated his markings in another copy of the Second Edition for his London printers. In 1846 Carlyle was entering into a comprehensive agreement with Wiley and Putnam, the New York publishers, to publish all of his books in America, and George Putnam himself was in London, where he negotiated the agreement with Carlyle personally. On April 28, Carlyle wrote to Edward Chapman, his British publisher, asking him to "send me a Copy of the Hero-worship and of the F. Revolution . . . for I have to revise them at any rate for the American people. I find Hero-worship will be the one to begin with;—and there is no Copy here fit for my purpose."31 Soon after this, Carlyle agreed with Chapman on the publication of a third edition of On Heroes in London, and must have obtained from him a second copy of the Second Edition, to be marked for the setting of the new British edition. On May 3, Carlyle wrote to his brother John to report on 30

31

The complete evidence will be found in volume 20 of the Letters, forthcoming in 1992. Letter of TC to Edward Chapman, April 28, 1846, in General Manuscripts, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Libraries. Published with permission of Princeton University Library.

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a meeting with Putnam, adding, "Chapman was here yesterday to settle about a new Edition of Heroes and the Miscellanies for the English Market: we have not yet come to close quarters about the monies.'"32 In another letter to John on May 20, Carlyle reported that he had finished "revising those old Books of mine, Heroes, Sartor &c for the Yankees, and some of them for both Yankees and English."33 On June 15, he wrote to George Putnam, "I have had two of the books, Sartor and Heroes, carefully revised for your printer. Copies for him are now in readiness precisely identical with those that our English printer will bring out."34 In fact, the printer's copy for the new British edition was already being typeset, as Carlyle wrote to Chapman on June 17, "Heroes has been in Robson's hands for a good while," adding, "I do not design to trouble him with any Proofsheets."35 On June 18, Carlyle wrote to Emerson, "Yesterday Putnam was here, and we made our bargain, and are to have it signed this day at his shop. . . . I have given Putnam two Books (Heroes & Sartor) ready, corrected."36 The "Imprimatur" for the American edition of On Heroes, quoted above, was dated the same day. To summarize, between April 18 and May 20, 1846, Carlyle prepared two copies of the Second Edition, marked with "precisely identical" revisions.37 One of these copies was sent to his London printer "a good while" before the middle of June. The other was given or sent to his American publisher on June 17 or soon thereafter, Carlyle taking no further part in the American publication. It follows that it is often possible to reconstruct, at those points in the text where identical new variants appear in both the British and American editions, the revisions that Carlyle must have indicated in both printer's copies. Many of these common readings are changes of wording that in any case would be considered most probably authorial. By contrast, 32 33 34 35

36 37

Letter of TC to John A. Carlyle, May 3, 1846, National Library of Scotland. Letter of TC to John A. Carlyle, May 20, 1846, National Library of Scotland. The letter was published in Putnam, Memoir of G. P. Putnam 1:183-84. Letter of TC to Edward Chapman, June 17, 1846, Edinburgh University Library. Carlyle repeated his intention not to read proofs in a letter to John two weeks later: "Our other republications, Heroes and the Miscellanies are also gone to press. . . . I do not intend to trouble myself with the proof sheets for either of these Books" (June 30, 1846, National Library of Scotland). Emerson and, Carlyle, 402. One point where the two copies may not have been identical is the revision from "Jena" to "Erlangen" (135.2), which occurs in the British but not the American edition. See Discussion of Editorial Decisions.

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the new readings found in the British but not in the American edition are nearly all minor changes of punctuation or spelling, and can in general be plausibly explained as having been introduced by the printer in the course of the typesetting and proofreading of the British edition. Thus the new variants that occur in both 1846 editions, whether changes of wording or not, have a strong claim to be considered authorial, and we have in general emended the text to include them. Exceptions to this policy are explained in the Discussion of Editorial Decisions, beginning on page 431. The "Imprimatur" notwithstanding, the Wiley and Putnam edition as printed contains many egregious corruptions. Of the more than three hundred new variants that appear in it but not in the British Third Edition, none can be considered authorial, of course, and nearly all must be the result of typesetters' errors, with the possible exception of a pattern of Americanization of spelling that may have been deliberate. There are almost twenty impossible forms (e.g., "Neutonic" for "Teutonic" at 26.15) and nearly fifty changes of wording, which must all be mistakes, though some (e.g., "picture" for "piece" at 205.18 or "sudden" for "certain" at 64.30) are hard to account for. The more than 250 variants in punctuation and spelling likewise can be explained for the most part as typographical lapses. THE 1852 FOURTH EDITION The collation includes the now rare Fourth Edition of 1852. It too was published by Chapman and Hall and printed by Charles Robson's firm, again preserving the style and lineation of the earlier editions and preserving likewise the bulk of the new variants in the British Third Edition, from which it was evidently set. The Fourth Edition contains far fewer new variants, either in wording or in punctuation or spelling, than the Second or Third: twelve changes of wording, of which ten are in Lecture I, and about forty changes of punctuation or spelling. Most of the alterations of wording in this edition are corrections of errors of reference: "Aristotle" to "Plato" and attendant changes (8.17-8.26), "Havamar to "Viiluspti" (30.26 and 34.32), "Childe Etin" to "Hynde Etin" (32.12), and "Sordello" to "Brunetto Latini" (79.31). Of these revisions, all but the last were prompted by a letter to Carlyle from Joseph Neuberg38 on March 20, 1852. Neuberg was preparing a German translation of On He38

On Neuberg see Kaplan, Thomas Carlyle, 388.

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roes,39 and wrote with several queries to which Carlyle responded on May 31 and June 1. (For the details of this interesting correspondence, see the notes at 8.17, 19.1-2, 30.26, 31.18, 32.12, 167.6-7, and 177.34.) On July 6, Carlyle again wrote to Neuberg, announcing the publication of the Fourth Edition: The editw of Heroes is out again; a "copy" not to be procured with? difficulty; I have therefore copied the small totality of changes to be made; and have sen[t] it to you. . . . I have introduced, for this fourth editw, the corrections you suggested, and all is ready on my part, but the Bookseller (in this downbreak of the old modes of trade) seems to pause in a kind of amazef, uncertain rather how to shape himself,—forecasting in the distance what he calls "a general cheap edition."40 No pattern emerges from the few changes of punctuation and spelling introduced by the Fourth Edition. Five new typographical errors appear, only one of which was not corrected in the Uniform Edition of 1858. THE 1858 UNIFORM EDITION The Uniform Edition of 1857-58, the first collected edition of Carlyle's works, includes On Heroes, bound together with Sartor Resartus, as volume 6, published in 1858. Although the Uniform Edition was also published by Chapman and Hall and printed by Robson, Levey, and Franklyn, it is set in a smaller typeface, in longer lines, and with more lines to the page than the earlier editions of On Heroes. This version contains over five hundred new variants, of which only three amount to changes of wording, the addition of one word in Lecture II (46.35) and the substitution of one word in Lecture I and one in Lecture III (16.4 and 94.36). The many changes of punctuation and spelling, on the other hand, are unmistakable signs of an editor's activity throughout, and it is known from external evidence that Carlyle had at least one and possibly several editorial assistants working on the preparation of On Heroes, as well as other works, for the Uniform Edition. 39 40

Thomas Carlyle iiber Helden, Heldenverehrung and das Heldentbiimliche in der Geschichte, Berlin, 1853 (Tarr A12.7.a). These letters between Carlyle and Neuberg are all in the National Library of Scotland.

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Alexander Gilchrist, Henry Larkin, Joseph Neuberg,41 and especially Vernon Lushington42 variously helped Carlyle in the preparation of the Uniform Edition, creating chapter summaries and indexes and probably assisting with proofreading. Although neither the extent nor the division of these helpers' editorial responsibilities can now be determined, the significant fact for the history of the text of On Heroes is that, beginning with this edition, there are known to have been others besides Carlyle and his printers who were involved in the preparation of the published text. The collation offers what we take to be evidence of that editorial activity. For example, over 320 hyphens were added to the text of On Heroes in the Uniform Edition, of which more than 260 join verbs to following prepositions at every opportunity, as if in parody of Carlyle's occasional "Germanic" hyphenation. Carlyle's spelling is further regularized: in the 1852 edition, the spelling "shew" had continued to be used forty-three times, while "show" occurred four times (one instance of "shew" was revised out of the text in 1846,43 and two instances of "shew" became "show" in 1852, presumably by typesetter's slip), but in the Uniform Edition, and thereafter, the spelling is "show" on all forty-seven occasions.44 The other patterns of orthographic regularization begun in the 1846 Third Edition are made consistent throughout the Uniform Edition text: "symbolises" for "symbolizes" (7.29), "lovable" for "loveable" (10.26), and so on. Relatively few alterations of punctuation occur. Five new variants are clearly the result of typographical errors, none surviving into the 1870 Library Edition. THE 1870 LIBRARY EDITION In 1870, On Heroes WAS published as volume 12 of the Library Edition of 1869-71, which generally follows the wording, punctuation, and spelling of the Uniform Edition. Six apparently deliberate changes of wording appear (at 10.6, 93.3,100.14,107.30, 151.14, and 198.10), two of which could well have been the result of a printer's or editorial assistant's effort to regularize Carlyle's grammar (at 107.30 and 198.10). The rest have been adopted. Preliminary collation of Sartor Resartus shows a similar pattern of minor changes of wording in the 41 42 43 44

Kaplan, Thomas Carlyle, 414-16. K. J. Fielding, "Vernon Lushington," 16. In the long revision beginning at 182.25. See Murray Baumgarten, "Mind is a Muscle," 43-105.

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Library Edition of that work, adding weight to the rather meager evidence of authorial involvement in this edition of On Heroes. On May 20, 1871, Thomas's brother John Carlyle, who lived nearby and was a daily visitor, wrote to their friend the American financier Charles Butler (1802-1897) reporting on Thomas's activities: He has got the whole of his works published in what is called the "Library Edition" of thirty volumes; corrected the final proofs himself, making no alterations at all, only rectifying errors wherever he could discover any. A "People's Edition" in the same number of volumes has been begun, but he has no charge of it at all, the printers merely having to follow the Library Edition which is stereotyped.45 Among nearly two hundred changes of punctuation and spelling in the Library Edition there are eighteen new paragraph breaks. Twenty changes involve moving question marks and exclamation points from the inside to the outside of closing quotation marks. Other new variants are of even less interest. Eight obvious errors appear, of which four are the changes from "euphuism" to "euphemism" at 179.38, 180.12, 180.14, and 187.1. These four errors were continued in the 1872 People's Edition. THE 1872 PEOPLE'S EDITION The last authorized publication of On Heroes m Carlyle's lifetime was as volume 13 (1872) of the People's Edition of 1871-74, and its many reprints that continued to be produced at least through 1901.46 The People's Edition was clearly based on the Library Edition, preserving most of its punctuation and spelling, but it is a complete resetting, not using the "stereotyped" plates of the Library Edition, contrary to the implication in John Carlyle's letter to Butler quoted above. The type in the People's Edition is considerably smaller, and the lineation and pagination do not correspond. Except for the correction of "Schwiednitz" to "Schweidnitz" at 125.9, which we take to be authorial (or at any rate the fulfillment of the author's intention), the over thirty new variants of the People's 45 46

Unpublished letter in the collection of the Edinburgh University Library. A table on the verso of the title leaf of a 1901 reprint of the On Heroes volume gives the number of copies year by year, showing that 130,000 copies had been printed since 1872 (Tarr, Descriptive Bibliography, 451).

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Edition are no more than the usual result of compositorial activity, including four obvious new typographical errors (e.g., "Thunger-god" at 31.24). In the On Heroes volume at least, the collation of the People's Edition confirms John Carlyle's statement that the author had "no charge of it at all." THE CENTENARY EDITION Although the posthumous publication of On Heroes as volume 5 (1897 of the Centenary Edition of Carlyle's Collected Works—edited by H. D. Traill and published by Chapman and Hall, 1896-99—has no textual authority, we decided to collate it in the preparation of this first volume of the Strouse Edition. Through its widespread availability, the Centenary Edition has acquired the status of the standard edition of Carlyle and has been taken as the copy-text for some modern editions of individual titles, including On Heroes. It has, in that sense, become part of the history of the text. On the other hand, the quality of its text had never been investigated. We have not included in the Historical Collation the more than four hundred new variants found in the Centenary Edition,47 but a number of generalizations about its text are now possible. The Centenary Edition of On Heroes unfortunately used as its copy-text the 1872 People's Edition, in accordance with the general nineteenth-century editorial practice of accepting the last lifetime edition of a work as the definitive text. Moreover, the copy used by the editor was not an original issue of the People's Edition but a later reprint. An undated reprint of the People's Edition of On Heroes that we examined48 contains twenty variants from the original issue, though it was clearly printed using many of the original plates, which show signs of wear. Eight of these variants consist of missing punctuation at line-ends caused by worn or broken type. In three of these places the Centenary Edition is also unpunctuated; in another place where punctuation is necessary the Centenary supplied a comma where all editions through 1872 had a period. A serious typographical error in the reprint not found in the original issue of the People's Edition, "halt, articulating" for "half-articulating" at 65.9, is followed in the Centenary Edition. 47 48

The collation of the Centenary Edition is available on request to interested scholars. See note 5 above. The variants found in this reprint are not included in the Historical Collation.

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Some of the errors in the People's Edition and its reprint are corrected by the Centenary, but at least twelve new typographical errors are committed.49 Aside from these apparent errors, over four hundred new variants appear, of which only the nine instances in which "farther" has been changed to "further" could be considered to amount to changes of wording. "Forever" is changed to "for ever" thirty-five times, and Carlyle's spelling of "Brobdignag" is corrected to "Brobdingnag" in three places (19.3, 32.5, and 34.25).50 For the rest, more than half of the variants in the Centenary Edition consist of the substitution of single quotation marks for double quotation marks, destroying Carlyle's deliberate distinction between the two in favor of modern British style. In On Heroes, Carlyle uses single quotation marks to indicate common expressions or implied speech, e.g., We call that fire of the black thunder-cloud 'electricity,' and lecture learnedly about it. (9.4-6) On the other hand, he uses double quotation marks to indicate fictional or actual speech or dialogue, e.g., Those are critics of small vision, I think, who cry: "See, is it not the sticks that made the fire?" (13.16-17) This pattern was maintained through all the lifetime editions of O Heroes with little change. The Centenary Edition, on the other hand, imposes modern British style on all quotations, using single quotation marks everywhere, except double quotation marks for quotes within quotes (the reverse of standard American practice). Thus Carlyle's double quotation marks are changed to singles in 224 places (counting left and right quotation marks as separate variants) and singles are changed to doubles in four places. In general, then, the Centenary Edition inaccurately attempts to reproduce the text of the last lifetime edition, regardless of whether its readings were authorial, and it arbitrarily imposes a style of its own on spelling and punctuation. As a result the edition of Carlyle's works that has been most respectfully and generally used is textually the worst. 49

50

For the record, the changes of wording in the Centenary Edition, which must be taken to be either typographical errors or unjustifiable editorial emendations, are as follows: "take" is omitted at 33.30, "some" is omitted at 40.25, "in" is substituted for "as" at 80.19, "earthly" for "earthy" at 89.21, "this" for "his" at 137.35, "wilderness" for "wildernesses" at 138.32, "wild" for "wide" at 187.14, and "now" is added after "not" at 189.29. See Discussion of Editorial Decisions at 19.3.

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PLATES

PLATE 1. The syllabus for Carlylc's 1840 lecture series on heroes. Beinecke Library.

PLATE 2. The receipt for Carlyle's lecture fee. Beineckc Library.

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PLATE 4. The title page of the first edition of On Heroes. Strousc Collection, University Libraries, University of California, Santa Cruz.

PLATK 5. The portrait of Dante "commonly attributed to Giotto" (see 73.35-36 and note) was not actually by Giotto. Carlyle's source was almost certainly an engraving prepared for RafFael Morghcn by Stefano Tofanelli (left) from a lost original that some critics have identified as the "Yale" Dante (above). A copy of the engraving, which Carlyle owned at his death, is quite likely to be the one that Carlyle mentions receiving from his brother John in 1834 (Letters 7:109). Another version of the same portrait, engraved by R. Young, appears as the frontispiece of John Carlyle's edition of the Inferno (1849). James Jackson Jarves Collection, Yale University Art Gallery.

PLATE 6. "In Kranach's best portraits I find the true Luther" (121.28-29). One of the finest of Cranach's portraits that captures the qualities Carlyle discerned in Luther is this watcrcolor on parchment, circa 1532. Collection of The Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry, K. T., Boughton House, Kcttcring, England.

IQANMES CNOXYS.

PLATE 7. This picture of Knox, published in Theodore Beza's hones (1580), was rejected by Carlyle on physiognomic grounds, as being irreconcilable with the man who kindled Scotland to a blaze of religious fervor. "Here," he wrote, "is a gentleman seemingly of a quite eupeptic, not to say stolid and thoughtless frame of mind; much at his ease in Zion, and content to take things as they come, if only they will let him digest his victuals, and sleep in a whole skin" ("Portraits of John Knox" [18751, Essays 5:319; the engraving itself appears as an illustration at 5:318). Carlyle preferred a portrait painted for Lord Somerville in about 1760 from an earlier engraving, "the only probable likeness of [Knox], anywhere known to exist" (Essays 5:361), but few now share his confidence about its authenticity.

PLATE 8. Boswell in the costume of a Corsican chief at the Shakespeare Jubilee at Stratford (see 192.17-18 and note). The picture accompanied Boswell's anonymous account of the masquerade in the London Magazine for September 1769, p. 455, which began-. "One of the most remarkable masks upon this occasion was James Boswell, Esq; in the dress of an armed Corsican chief. He entered the amphitheatre about twelve o'clock. He wore a short dark-coloured coat of coarse cloth, scarlet waistcoat and breeches, and black spatterdashes & his cap or bonnet was of black cloth; on the front of it was embroidered in gold letters, Viva La Liberta; and on one side of it was a handsome blue feather and cockade, so that it had an elegant, as well as a warlike appearance."

PLATE 9. Robert Burns, the subject of Carlyle's review essay of 1828 and one of the figures of his lecture on the hero as man of letters. Painting by Alexander Nasmyth. National Portrait Gallery, London.

PLATE 10. A portrait of Cromwell by Sir Peter Lely that Carlyle saw in September 1842 in Cromwell's own Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. It remained his favorite image of the man whose reputation Carlyle worked hard to rehabilitate both in On Heroes and in Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches (1845). Cromwell "is not a quack^" Carlyle wrote to John Forster in 1842, "he rather seems to me a god: but how shall I ever convince you of that!" (Letters 15:70). By kind permission of the Master and Fellows of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge.

PI ATE 11. Ten years after his Cromwell lecture, Carlyle urged the erection of a statue to Cromwell, but it was not until 1901 that this monument to the Lord Protector was finally put up in St. Ives, Huntingdonshire. Photo by Michael K. Goldberg.

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On Heroes,

Hero-Worship, & the Heroic in History. Six Lectures.

Reported, With Emendations and Additions. By Thomas Carlyle.

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LECTURE I. [Tuesday, 5th May, 1840.] THE HERO AS DIVINITY. ODIN. PAGANISM: SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY.

WE have undertaken to discourse here for a little on Great Men, their manner of appearance in our world's business, how they have shaped themselves in the world's history, what ideas men formed of them, what work they did;—on Heroes, namely, and on their reception and performance; what I call Hero-worship and the Heroic in human affairs. Too evidently this is a large topic; deserving quite other treatment than we can expect to give it at present. A large topic; indeed, an illimitable one; wide as Universal History itself. For, as I take it, Universal History, the history of what man has accomplished in this world, is at bottom the History of the Great Men who have worked here. They were the leaders of men, these great ones; the modellers, patterns, and in a wide sense creators, of whatsoever the general mass of men contrived to do or to attain; all things that we see standing accomplished in the world are properly the outer material result, the practical realisation and embodiment, of Thoughts that dwelt in the Great Men sent into the world: the soul of the whole world's history, it may justly be considered, were the history of these. Too clearly it is a topic we shall do no justice to in this place! One comfort is, that Great Men, taken up in any way, are profitable company. We cannot look, however imperfectly, upon a great man, without gaining something by him. He is the living lightfountain, which it is good and pleasant to be near. The light which enlightens, which has enlightened the darkness of the world: and this not as a kindled lamp only, but rather as a natural luminary shining 3

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by the gift of Heaven; a flowing light-fountain, as I say, of native original insight, of manhood and heroic nobleness;—in whose radiance all souls feel that it is well with them. On any terms whatsoever, you will not grudge to wander in such neighbourhood for a while. These Six classes of Heroes, chosen out of widely distant countries and epochs, and in mere external figure differing altogether, ought, if we look faithfully at them, to illustrate several things for us. Could we see them well, we should get some glimpses into the very marrow of the world's history. How happy, could I but, in any measure, in such times as these, make manifest to you the meanings of Heroism; the divine relation (for I may well call it such) which in all times unites a Great Man to other men; and thus, as it were, not exhaust my subject, but so much as break ground on it! At all events, I must make the attempt. It is well said, in every sense, that a man's religion is the chief fact with regard to him. A man's, or a nation of men's. By religion I do not mean here the church-creed which he professes, the articles of faith which he will sign and, in words or otherwise, assert; not this wholly, in many cases not this at all. We see men of all kinds of professed creeds attain to almost all degrees of worth or worthlessness under each or any of them. This is not what I call religion, this profession and assertion; which is often only a profession and assertion from the outworks of the man, from the mere argumentative region of him, if even so deep as that. But the thing a man does practically believe (and this is often enough without asserting it even to himself, much less to others); the thing a man does practically lay to heart, and know for certain, concerning his vital relations to this mysterious Universe, and his duty and destiny there, that is in all cases the primary thing for him, and creatively determines all the rest. That is his religion; or, it may be, his mere scepticism and no-religion: the manner it is in which he feels himself to be spiritually related to the Unseen World or No-world; and I say, if you tell me what that is, you tell me to a very great extent what the man is, what the kind of things he will do is. Of a man or of a nation we inquire, therefore, first of all, What religion they had? Was it Heathenism,—plurality of gods, mere sensuous representation of this Mystery of Life, and for chief recognised element therein Physical Force? Was it Christianism;

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faith in an Invisible, not as real only, but as the only reality; Time, through every meanest moment of it, resting on Eternity; Pagan empire of Force displaced by a nobler supremacy, that of Holiness? Was it Scepticism, uncertainty and inquiry whether there was an Unseen World, any Mystery of Life except a mad one;—doubt as to all this, or perhaps unbelief and flat denial? Answering of this question is giving us the soul of the history of the man or nation. The thoughts they had were the parents of the actions they did; their feelings were parents of their thoughts: it was the unseen and spiritual in them that determined the outward and actual;—their religion, as I say, was the great fact about them. In these Discourses, limited as we are, it will be good to direct our survey chiefly to that religious phasis of the matter. That once known well, all is known. We have chosen as the first Hero in our series, Odin the central figure of Scandinavian Paganism; an emblem to us of a most extensive province of things. Let us look, for a little, at the Hero as Divinity, the oldest primary form of Heroism. Surely it seems a very strange-looking thing this Paganism; almost inconceivable to us in these days. A bewildering, inextricable jungle of delusions, confusions, falsehoods, and absurdities, covering the whole field of Life! A thing that fills us with astonishment, almost, if it were possible, with incredulity,—for truly it is not easy to understand that sane men could ever calmly, with their eyes open, believe and live by such a set of doctrines. That men should have worshipped their poor fellow-man as a God, and not him only, but stocks and stones, and all manner of animate and inanimate objects; and fashioned for themselves such a distracted chaos of hallucinations by way of Theory of the Universe: all this looks like an incredible fable. Nevertheless it is a clear fact that they did it. Such hideous inextricable jungle of misworships, misbeliefs, men, made as we are, did actually hold by, and live at home in. This is strange. Yes, we may pause in sorrow and silence over the depths of darkness that are in man; if we rejoice in the heights of purer vision he has attained to. Such things were and are in man; in all men; in us too. Some speculators have a short way of accounting for the Pagan religion: mere quackery, priestcraft, and dupery, say they; no sane man ever did believe it,—merely contrived to persuade other men, not worthy of the name of sane, to believe it! It will be often our duty

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to protest against this sort of hypothesis about men's doings and history; and I here, on the very threshold, protest against it in reference to Paganism, and to all other isms by which man has ever for a length of time striven to walk in this world. They have all had a truth in them, or men would not have taken them up. Quackery and dupery do abound; in religions, above all in the more advanced decaying stages of religions, they have fearfully abounded: but quackery was never the originating influence in such things; it was not the health and life of such things, but their disease, the sure precursor of their being about to die! Let us never forget this. It seems to me a most mournful hypothesis, that of quackery giving birth to any faith even in savage men. Quackery gives birth to nothing; gives death to all things. We shall not see into the true heart of anything, if we look merely at the quackeries of it; if we do not reject the quackeries altogether; as mere diseases, corruptions, with which our and all men's sole duty is to have done with them, to sweep them out of our thoughts as out of our practice. Man everywhere is the born enemy of lies. I find Grand Lamaism itself to have a kind of truth in it. Read the candid, clear-sighted, rather sceptical Mr. Turner's Account of his Embassy to that country, and see. They have their belief, these poor Thibet people, that Providence sends down always an Incarnation of Himself into every generation. At bottom some belief in a kind of Pope! At bottom still better, belief that there is a Greatest Man; that he is discoverable; that, once discovered, we ought to treat him with an obedience which knows no bounds! This is the truth of Grand Lamaism; the 'discoverability' is the only error here. The Thibet Priests have methods of their own of discovering what Man is Greatest, fit to be supreme over them. Bad methods: but are they so much worse than our methods,—of understanding him to be always the eldest-born of a certain genealogy? Alas, it is a difficult thing to find good methods for! We shall begin to have a chance of understanding Paganism, when we first admit that to its followers it was, at one time, earnestly true. Let us consider it very certain that men did believe in Paganism; men with open eyes, sound senses, men made altogether like ourselves; that we, had we been there, should have believed in it. Ask now, What Paganism could have been? Another theory, somewhat more respectable, attributes such things to Allegory. It was a play of poetic minds, say these theorists;

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a shadowing forth, in allegorical fable, in personification, and visual form, of what such poetic minds had known and felt of this Universe. Which agrees, add they, with a primary law of human nature, still everywhere observably at work, though in less important things, That what a man feels intensely, he struggles to speak out of him, to see represented before him in visual shape, and as if with a kind of life and historical reality in it. Now doubtless there is such a law, and it is one of the deepest in human nature;, neither need we doubt that it did operate fundamentally in this business. The hypothesis which ascribes Paganism wholly or mostly to this agency, I call a little more respectable; but I cannot yet call it the true hypothesis. Think, would we believe, and take with us as our life-guidance, an allegory, a poetic sport? Not sport but earnest is what we should require. It is a most earnest thing to be alive in this world; to die is not sport for a man. Man's life never was a sport to him; it was a stern reality, altogether a serious matter to be alive! I find, therefore, that though these Allegory-theorists are on the way towards truth in this matter, they have not reached it either. Pagan Religion is indeed an Allegory, a Symbol of what men felt and knew about the Universe; and all Religions are symbols of that, altering always as that alters: but it seems to me a radical perversion, and even twversion, of the business, to put that forward as the origin and moving cause, when it was rather the result and termination. To get beautiful allegories, a perfect poetic symbol, was not the want of men; but to know what they were to believe about this Universe, what course they were to steer in it; what, in this mysterious Life of theirs, they had to hope and to fear, to do and to forbear doing. The Pilgrim's Progress is an Allegory, and a beautiful, just and serious one: but consider whether Bunyan's Allegory could have preceded the Faith it symbolizes! The Faith had to be already there, standing believed by everybody;—of which the Allegory could then become a shadow; and, with all its seriousness, we may say a sportful shadow, a mere play of the Fancy, in comparison with that awful Fact and scientific certainty, which it poetically strives to emblem. The Allegory is the product of the certainty, not the producer of it; not in Bunyan's nor in any other case. For Paganism, therefore, we have still to inquire, Whence came that scientific certainty, the parent of such a bewildered heap of allegories, errors and confusions? How was it, what was it?

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Surely it were a foolish attempt to pretend 'explaining,' in this place, or in any place, such a phenomenon as that far-distant distracted cloudy imbroglio of Paganism,—more like a cloudfield, than a distant continent of firm-land and facts! It is no longer a reality, yet it was one. We ought to understand that this seeming cloudfield was once a reality; that not poetic allegory, least of all that dupery and deception was the origin of it. Men, I say, never did believe idle songs, never risked their soul's life on allegories: men, in all times, especially in early earnest times, have had an instinct for detecting quacks, for detesting quacks. Let us try if, leaving out both the quacktheory and the allegory one, and listening with affectionate attention to that far-off confused rumour of the Pagan ages, we cannot ascertain so much as this at least, That there was a kind of fact at the heart of them; that they too were not mendacious and distracted, but in their own poor way true and sane! You remember that fancy of Plato's, of a man who had grown to maturity in some dark distance, and was brought on a sudden into the upper air to see the sun rise. What would his wonder be, his rapt astonishment at the sight we daily witness with indifference! With the free open sense of a child, yet with the ripe faculty of a man, his whole heart would be kindled by that sight, he would discern it well to be Godlike, his soul would fall down in worship before it. Now, just such a childlike greatness was in the primitive nations. The first Pagan Thinker among rude men, the first man that began to think, was precisely this child-man of Plato's. Simple, open as a child, yet with the depth and strength of a man. Nature had as yet no name to him; he had not yet united under a name the infinite variety of sights, sounds, shapes and motions, which we now collectively name Universe, Nature, or the like,—and so with a name dismiss it from us. To the wild deep-hearted man all was yet new, not veiled under names or formulas; it stood naked, flashing in on him there, beautiful, awful, unspeakable. Nature was to this man, what to the Thinker and Prophet it forever is, preternatural. This green flowery rock-built earth, the trees, the mountains, rivers, many-sounding seas;—that great deep sea of azure that swims overhead; the winds sweeping through it; the black cloud fashioning itself together, now pouring out fire, now hail and rain: what is it? Ay, what? At bottom we do not yet know; we can never know at all. It is not by our superior insight

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that we escape the difficulty; it is by our superior levity, our inattention, our want of insight. It is by not thinking that we cease to wonder at it. Hardened round us, encasing wholly every notion we form, is a wrappage of traditions, hearsays, mere words. We call that fire of the black thunder-cloud 'electricity,' and lecture learnedly about it, and grind the like of it out of glass and silk: but what is it? What made it? Whence comes it? Whither goes it? Science has done much for us; but it is a poor science that would hide from us the great deep sacred infinitude of Nescience, whither we can never penetrate, on which all science swims as a mere superficial film. This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it. That great mystery of TIME, were there no other; the illimitable, silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the Universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not: this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing to strike us dumb,—for we have no word to speak about it. This Universe, ah me!—what could the wild man know of it; what can we yet know? That it is a Force, and thousandfold Complexity of Forces; a Force which is not we. That is all; it is not we, it is altogether different from us. Force, Force, everywhere Force; we ourselves a mysterious Force in the centre of that. 'There is not a leaf rotting on the highway but has Force in it: how else could it rot?' Nay surely, to the Atheistic Thinker, if such a one were possible, it must be a miracle too, this huge illimitable whirlwind of Force, which envelopes us here; neverresting whirlwind, high as Immensity, old as Eternity. What is it? God's Creation, the religious people answer; it is the Almighty God's! Atheistic science babbles poorly of it, with scientific nomenclatures, experiments and what not, as if it were a poor dead thing, to be bottled up in Leyden jars, and sold over counters: but the natural sense of man, in all times, if he will honestly apply his sense, proclaims it to be a living thing,—ah, an unspeakable, godlike thing; towards which the best attitude for us, after never so much science, is awe, devout prostration and humility of soul; worship if not in words, then in silence. But now I remark farther: What in such a time as ours it requires a Prophet or Poet to teach us, namely, the stripping off of those poor undevout wrappages, nomenclatures and scientific hearsays,—this, the

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ancient earnest soul, as yet unencumbered with these things, did for itself. The world, which is now divine only to the gifted, was then divine to whosoever would turn his eye upon it. He stood bare before it face to face. 'All was Godlike or God:'—Jean Paul still finds it so; the giant Jean Paul, who has power to escape out of hearsays: but there then were no hearsays. Canopus shining down over the desert, with its blue diamond brightness (that wild blue spirit-like brightness, far brighter than we ever witness here), would pierce into the heart of the wild Ishmaelitish man, whom it was guiding through the solitary waste there. To his wild heart, with all feelings in it, with no speech for any feeling, it might seem a little eye, that Canopus, glancing out on him from the great deep Eternity; revealing the inner Splendour to him. Cannot we understand how these men worshippe Canopus; became what we call Sabeans, worshipping the stars? Such is to me the secret of all forms of Paganism. Worship is transcendent wonder; wonder for which there is now no limit or measure; that is worship. To these primeval men, all things and everything they saw exist beside them were an emblem of the Godlike, of some God. And look what perennial fibre of truth was in that. To us also, through every star, through every blade of grass, is not a God made visible, if we will open our minds and eyes? We do not worship in that way now: but is it not reckoned still a merit, proof of what we call a 'poetic nature,' that we recognise how every object has a divine beauty in it; how every object still verily is 'a window through which we may look into Infinitude itself?' He that can discern the loveliness of things, we call him Poet, Painter, Man of Genius, gifted, loveable. These poor Sabeans did even what he does,—in their own fashion. That they did it, in what fashion soever, was a merit: better than what the entirely stupid man did, what the horse and camel did,—namely, nothing! But now if all things whatsoever that we look upon are emblems to us of the Highest God, I add that more so than any of them is man such an emblem. You have heard of St. Chrysostom's celebrated saying, in reference to the Shekinah, or Ark of Testimony, visible Revelation of God, among the Hebrews: "The true Shekinah is Man!" Yes, it is even so: this is no vain phrase; it is veritably so. The essence of our being, the mystery in us that calls itself "I,"—ah, what words have we for such things?—is a breath of Heaven; the Highest

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Being reveals himself in man. This body, these faculties, this life of ours, is it not all as a vesture for that Unnamed? 'There is but one temple in the Universe,' says the devout Novalis, 'and that is the Body of Man. Nothing is holier than that high form. Bending before men is a reverence done to this Revelation in the Flesh. We touch Heaven when we lay our hand on a human body!' This sounds much like a mere flourish of rhetoric; but it is not so. If well meditated, it will turn out to be a scientific fact; the expression, in such words as can be had, of the actual truth of the thing. We are the miracle of miracles,—the great inscrutable mystery of God. We cannot understand it, we know not how to speak of it; but we may feel and know, if we like, that it is verily so. Well; these truths were once more readily felt than now. The young generations of the world, who had in them the freshness of young children, and yet the depth of earnest men, who did not think that they had finished off all things in Heaven and Earth by merely giving them scientific names, but had to gaze direct at them there, with awe and wonder: they felt better what of divinity is in man and Nature;—they, without being mad, could worship Nature, and man more than anything else in Nature. Worship, that is, as I said above, admire without limit: this, in the full use of their faculties, with all sincerity of heart, they could do. I consider Hero-worship to be the grand modifying element in that ancient system of thought. What I called the perplexed jungle of Paganism sprang, we may say, out of many roots: every admiration, adoration of a star or natural object, was a root or fibre of a root; but Hero-worship is the deepest root of all; the tap-root, from which in a great degree all the rest were nourished and grown. And now if worship even of a star had some meaning in it, how much more might that of a Hero! Worship of a Hero is transcendent admiration of a Great Man. I say great men are still admirable; I say there is, at bottom, nothing else admirable! No nobler feeling than this of admiration for one higher than himself dwells in the breast of man. It is to this hour, and at all hours, the vivifying influence in man's life. Religion I find stand upon it; not Paganism only, but far higher and truer religions,—all religion hitherto known. Heroworship, heartfelt prostrate admiration, submission, burning, boundless, for a noblest godlike Form of Man,—is not that the germ of

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Christianity itself? The greatest of all Heroes is One—whom we do not name here! Let sacred silence meditate that sacred matter; you will find it the ultimate perfection of a principle extant throughout man's whole history on earth. Or coming into lower, less unspeakable provinces, is not all Loyalty akin to religious Faith also? Faith is loyalty to some inspired Teacher, some spiritual Hero. And what therefore is loyalty proper, the life-breath of all society, but an effluence of Hero-worship, submissive admiration for the truly great? Society is founded on Heroworship. All dignities of rank, on which human association rests, are what we may call a Heroarchy (Government of Heroes),—or a Hierarchy, for it is 'sacred' enough withal! The Duke means Dux, Leader; King is Kon-ning, Kan-ning, Man that knows or cans. Society everywhere is some representation, not >»supportably inaccurate, of a graduated Worship of Heroes;—reverence and obedience done to men really great and wise. Not t'wsupportably inaccurate, I say! They are all as bank-notes, these social dignitaries, all representing gold;— and several of them, alas, always are forged notes. We can do with some forged false notes; with a good many even: but not with all, or the most of them forged! No: there have to come revolutions then; cries of Democracy, Liberty and Equality, and I know not what:—the notes being all false, and no gold to be had for them, people take to crying in their despair that there is no gold, that there never was any!—'Gold,' Hero-worship, is nevertheless, as it was always and everywhere, and cannot cease till man himself ceases. I am well aware that in these days Hero-worship, the thing I call Hero-worship, professes to have gone out, and finally ceased. This, for reasons which it will be worth while some time to inquire into, is an age that as it were denies the existence of great men; denies the desirableness of great men. Shew our critics a great man, a Luther for example, they begin to what they call 'account' for him; not to worship him, but take the dimensions of him,—and bring him out to be a little kind of man! He was the 'creature of the Time,' they say; the Time called him forth, the Time did everything, he nothing—but what we the little critic could have done too! This seems to me but melancholy work. The Time call forth? Alas, we have known Times call loudly enough for their great man; but not find him when they called! He was not there; Providence had not sent him; the Time,

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calling its loudest, had to go down to confusion and wreck because he would not come when called. For if we will think of it, no Time need have gone to ruin, could it have found a man great enough, a man wise and good enough: wisdom to discern truly what the Time wanted, valour to lead it on the right road thither; these are the salvation of any Time. But I liken common languid Times, with their unbelief, distress, perplexity, with their languid doubting characters and embarrassed circumstances, impotently crumbling down into ever worse distress towards final ruin;—all this I liken to dry dead fuel, waiting for the lightning out of Heaven that shall kindle it. The great man, with his free force direct out of God's own hand, is the lightning. His word is the wise healing word which all can believe in. All blazes round him now, when he has once struck on it, into fire like his own. The dry mouldering sticks are thought to have called him forth. They did want him greatly; but as to calling him forth—! — Those are critics of small vision, I think, who cry: "See, is it not the sticks that made the fire?" No sadder proof can be given by a man of his own littleness than disbelief in great men. There is no sadder symptom of a generation than such general blindness to the spiritual lightning, with faith only in the heap of barren dead fuel. It is the last consummation of unbelief. In all epochs of the world's history, we shall find the Great Man to have been the indispensable saviour of his epoch;—the lightning, without which the fuel never would have burnt. The History of the World, I said already, was the Biography of Great Men. Such small critics do what they can to promote unbelief and universal spiritual paralysis; but happily they cannot always completely succeed. In all times it is possible for a man to arise great enough to feel that they and their doctrines are chimeras and cobwebs. And what is notable, in no time whatever can they entirely eradicate out of living men's hearts a certain altogether peculiar reverence for Great Men; genuine admiration, loyalty, adoration, however dim and perverted it may be. Hero-worship endures forever while man endures. Boswell venerates his Johnson, right truly even in the Eighteenth century. The unbelieving French believe in their Voltaire; and burst out round him into very curious Hero-worship, in that last act of his life, when they 'stifle him under roses.' It has always seemed to me extremely curious this of Voltaire. Truly, if Christianity be the highest

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instance of Hero-worship, then we may find here in Voltairism one of the lowest! He whose life was that of a kind of Antichrist, does again on this side exhibit a curious contrast. No people ever were so little prone to admire at all as those French of Voltaire. Persiflage was the character of their whole mind; adoration had nowhere a place in it. Yet see! The old man of Ferney comes up to Paris; an old, tottering, infirm man of eighty-four years. They feel that he too is a kind of Hero; that he has spent his life in opposing error and injustice, delivering Calases, unmasking hypocrites in high places;—in short that he too, though in a strange way, has fought like a valiant man. They feel withal that, if persiflage be the great thing, there never was such a persifleur. He is the realized ideal of every one of them; the thing they are all wanting to be; of all Frenchmen the most French. He is properly their god,—such god as they are fit for. Accordingly all persons, from the Queen Antoinette to the Douanier at the Porte St. Denis, do they not worship him? People of quality disguise themselves as tavern-waiters. The Maitre de Poste, with a broad oath, orders his Postilion: "Va ban train; thou art driving M. de Voltaire." At Paris his carriage is 'the nucleus of a comet, whose train fills whole streets.' The ladies pluck a hair or two from his fur, to keep it as a sacred relic. There was nothing highest, beautifullest, noblest in all France, that did not feel this man to be higher, beautifuller, nobler. Yes, from Norse Odin to English Samuel Johnson, from the divine Founder of Christianity to the withered Pontiff of Encyclopedism, in all times and places, the Hero has been worshipped. It will ever be so. We all love great men; love, venerate and bow down submissive before great men: nay can we honestly bow down to anything else? Ah, does not every true man feel that he is himself made higher by doing reverence to what is really above him? No nobler or more blessed feeling dwells in man's heart. And to me it is very cheering to consider that no sceptical logic, or general triviality, insincerity and aridity of any Time and its influences can destroy this noble inborn loyalty and worship that is in man. In times of unbelief, which soon have to become times of revolution, much down-rushing, sorrowful decay and ruin is visible to everybody. For myself in these days, I seem to see in this indestructibility of Hero-worship the everlasting adamant lower than which the confused wreck of revolutionary things cannot fall. The confused wreck of things crumbling and even crash-

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ing and tumbling all round us in these revolutionary ages, will get down so far; no farther. It is an eternal corner-stone, from which they can begin to build themselves up again. That man, in some sense or other, worships Heroes; that we all of us reverence and must ever reverence Great Men: this is, to me, the living rock amid all rushings down whatsoever;—the one fixed point in modern revolutionary history, otherwise as if bottomless and shoreless. So much of truth, only under an ancient obsolete vesture, but the spirit of it still true, do I find in the Paganism of old nations. Nature is still divine, the revelation of the workings of God; the Hero is still worshipable: this, under poor cramped incipient forms, is what all Pagan religions have struggled, as they could, to set forth. I think Scandinavian Paganism, to us here, is more interesting than any other. It is, for one thing, the latest; it continued in these regions of Europe till the eleventh century; eight hundred years ago the Norwegians were still worshippers of Odin. It is interesting also as the creed of our fathers; the men whose blood still runs in our veins, whom doubtless we still resemble in so many ways. Strange: they did believe that, while we believe so differently. Let us look a little at this poor Norse creed, for many reasons. We have tolerable means to do it; for there is another point of interest in these Scandinavian mythologies: that they have been preserved so well. In that strange island Iceland,—burst up, the geologists say, by fire from the bottom of the sea; a wild land of barrenness and lava; swallowed many months of every year in black tempests, yet with a wild gleaming beauty in summer-time; towering up there, stern and grim, in the North Ocean; with its snow-jokuls, roaring geysers, sulphur-pools and horrid volcanic chasms, like the waste chaotic battle-field of Frost and Fire;—where of all places we least looked for Literature or written memorials, the record of these things was written down. On the seabord of this wild land is a rim of grassy country, where cattle can subsist, and men by means of them and of what the sea yields; and it seems they were poetic men these, men who had deep thoughts in them, and uttered musically their thoughts. Much would be lost had Iceland not been burst up from the sea, not been discovered by the Northmen! The old Norse Poets were many of them natives of Iceland.

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Sajmund, one of the early Christian Priests there, who perhaps had a lingering fondness for Paganism, collected certain of their old Pagan songs, just about becoming obsolete then,—Poems or Chaunts of a mythic, prophetic, mostly all of a religious character: that is what Norse critics call the Elder or Poetic Edda. Edda, a word of uncertain etymology, is thought to signify Ancestress. Snorro Sturleson, an Iceland gentleman, an extremely notable personage, educated by this Saemund's grandson, took in hand next, near a century afterwards, to put together, among several other books he wrote, a kind of Prose Synopsis of the whole Mythology; elucidated by new fragments of traditionary verse. A work constructed really with great ingenuity, native talent, what one might call unconscious art; altogether a perspicuous clear work, pleasant reading still: this is the Younger or Prose Edda. By these and the numerous other Sagas, mostly Icelandic, with the commentaries, Icelandic or not, which go on zealously in the North to this day, it is possible to gain some direct insight even yet; and see that old Norse system of Belief, as it were, face to face. Let us forget that it is erroneous Religion; let us look at it as old Thought, and try if we cannot sympathise with it somewhat. The primary characteristic of this old Northland Mythology I find to be Impersonation of the visible workings of Nature. Earnest simple recognition of the workings of Physical Nature, as a thing wholly miraculous, stupendous and divine. What we now lecture of as Science, they wondered at, and fell down in awe before, as Religion. The dark hostile Powers of Nature they figure to themselves as ijotuns^ Giants, huge shaggy beings of a demonic character. Frost, Fire, Seatempest; these are Jotuns. The friendly Powers again, as Summerheat, the Sun, are Gods. The empire of this Universe is divided between these two; they dwell apart, in perennial internecine feud. The Gods dwell above in Asgard, the Garden of the Asen or Divinities; Jotunheim, a distant dark chaotic land, is the Home of the Jotuns. Curious all this; and not idle or inane, if we will look at the foundation of it! The power of Fire, or Flame, for instance, which we designate by some trivial chemical name, thereby hiding from ourselves the essential character of wonder that dwells in it as in all things, is with these old Northmen, Loke, a most swift subtle Demon, of the brood of the Jotuns. The savages of the Ladrones Islands too

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(say some Spanish voyagers) thought Fire, which they never had seen before, was a devil or god, that bit you sharply when you touched it, and that lived upon dry wood. From us too, no Chemistry, if it had not Stupidity to help it, would hide that Flame is a wonder. What is Flame?—Frost the old Norse Seer discerns to be a monstrous Hoary Jotun, the Giant Thrym, Hrym; or Rime, the old word now nearly obsolete here, but still used in Scotland to signify hoar-frost. Rime was not then as now a dead chemical thing, but a living Jotun or Devil; the monstrous Jotun Rime drove home his Horses at night, sat 'combing their manes,'—which Horses were Hail-Clouds, or fleet Frost-winds. His Cows—No, not his, but a kinsman's, the Giant Hymir's Cows are Ice-ber0s: this Hymir 'looks at the rocks' with his devil-eye, and they split in the glance of it. Thunder was not then mere Electricity, vitreous or resinous; it was the God Donner (Thunder) or Thor,—God also of beneficent Summer-heat. The thunder was his wrath; the gathering of the black clouds is the drawing down of Thor's angry brows; the fire-bolt bursting out of Heaven is the all-rending Hammer flung from the hand of Thor: he urges his loud chariot over the mountain-tops,— that is the peal: wrathful he 'blows in his red beard;' that is the rustling stormblast before the thunder begin. Balder again, the White God, the beautiful, the just and benignant (whom the early Christian Missionaries found to resemble Christ), is the Sun,—beautifullest of visible things; wondrous too, and divine still, after all our Astronomies and Almanacs! But perhaps the notablest god we hear tell of is one of whom Grimm the German Etymologist finds trace: the God Wunsch, or Wish. The God Wish; who could give us all that we wished! Is not this the sincerest and yet rudest voice of the spirit of man? The rudest ideal that man ever formed; which still shews itself in the latest forms of our spiritual culture. Higher considerations have to teach us that the God Wish is not the true God. Of the other Gods or Jotuns I will mention only for etymology's sake, that Sea-tempest is the Jotun Aegir, a very dangerous Jotun;— and now to this day, on our river Trent, as I learn, the Nottingham bargemen, when the River is in a certain flooded state (a kind of backwater, or eddying swirl it has, very dangerous to them), call it Eager; they cry out, "Have a care, there is the Eager coming!" Curious; that word surviving, like the peak of a submerged world!

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The oldest Nottingham bargemen had believed in the God Aegir. Indeed our English blood too in good part is Danish, Norse; or rather, at bottom, Danish and Norse and Saxon have no distinction, except a superficial one,—as of Heathen and Christian, or the like. But all over our Island we are mingled largely with Danes proper,— from the incessant invasions there were: and this, of course, in a greater proportion along the east coast; and greatest of all, as I find, in the North Country. From the Humber upwards, all over Scotland, the speech of the common people is still in a singular degree Icelandic; its Germanism has still a peculiar Norse tinge. They too are 'Normans,' Northmen,—if that be any great beauty! — Of the chief god, Odin, we shall speak by and by. Mark at present so much; what the essence of Scandinavian and indeed of all Paganism is: a recognition of the forces of Nature as godlike, stupendous, personal Agencies,—as Gods and Demons. Not inconceivable to us. It is the infant Thought of man opening itself, with awe and wonder, on this ever-stupendous Universe. To me there is in the Norse System something very genuine, very great and manlike. A broad simplicity, rusticity, so very different from the light gracefulness of the old Greek Paganism, distinguishes this Scandinavian System. It is Thought; the genuine Thought of deep, rude, earnest minds, fairly opened to the things about them; a face-to-face and heart-to-heart inspection of the things,—the first characteristic of all good Thought in all times. Not graceful lightness, half-sport, as in the Greek Paganism; a certain homely truthfulness and rustic strength, a great rude sincerity, discloses itself here. It is strange, after our beautiful Apollo statues and clear smiling mythuses, to come down upon the Norse Gods 'brewing ale' to hold their feast with Aegir, the Sea-J6tun; sending out Thor to get the cauldron for them in the Jotun country; Thor, after many adventures, clapping the Pot on his head, like a huge hat, and walking off with it,—quite lost in it, the ears of the Pot reaching down to his heels! A kind of vacant hugeness, large awkward gianthood, characterises that Norse System; enormous force, as yet altogether untutored, stalking helpless with large uncertain strides. Consider only their primary mythus of the Creation. The Gods, having got the Giant Ymer slain, a Giant made by 'warm winds,' and much confused work, out of the conflict of Frost and Fire,—determined on constructing a world with him. His blood made the Sea; his

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flesh was the Land, the Rocks his bones; of his eyebrows they formed Asgard their Gods'-dwelling; his scull was the great blue vault of Immensity, and the brains of it became the Clouds. What a HyperBrobdignagian business! Untamed Thought, great, giantlike, enormous;—to be tamed in due time into the compact greatness, not giantlike, but godlike and stronger than gianthood, of the Shakspeares, the Goethes!—Spiritually as well as bodily these men are our progenitors. I like, too, that representation they have of the Tree Igdrasil. All Life is figured by them as a Tree. Igdrasil, the Ash-tree of Existence, has its roots deep down in the kingdoms of Hela or Death; its trunk reaches up heaven-high, spreads its boughs over the whole Universe: it is the Tree of Existence. At the foot of it, in the Death-kingdom, sit Three Nornas, Fates,—the Past, Present, Future; watering its roots from the Sacred Well. Its 'boughs,' with their buddings and disleafings,—events, things suffered, things done, catastrophes,— stretch through all lands and times. Is not every leaf of it a biography, every fibre there an act or word? Its boughs are Histories of Nations. The rustle of it is the noise of Human Existence, onwards from of old. It grows there, the breath of Human Passion rustling through it;—or stormtost, the stormwind howling through it like the voice of all the gods. It is Igdrasil, the Tree of Existence. It is the past, the present, and the future; what was done, what is doing, what will be done; 'the infinite conjugation of the verb To do.' Considering how human things circulate, each inextricably in communion with all,— how the word I speak to you today is borrowed, not from Ulfila the Mcesogoth only, but from all men since the first man began to speak,—I find no similitude so true as this of a Tree. Beautiful; altogether beautiful and great. The 'Machine of the Universe,'—alas, do but think of that in contrast! Well, it is strange enough this old Norse view of Nature; different enough from what we believe of Nature. Whence it specially came, one would not like to be compelled to say very minutely! One thing we may say: It came from the thoughts of Norse men;—from the thought, above all, of the first Norse man who had an original power of thinking. The First Norse 'man of genius,' as we should call him! Innumerable men had passed by, across this Universe, with a dumb

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vague wonder, such as the very animals may feel; or with a painful, fruitlessly inquiring wonder, such as men only feel;—till the great Thinker came, the original man, the Seer; whose shaped spoken Thought awakes the slumbering capability of all into Thought. It is ever the way with the Thinker, the spiritual Hero. What he says, all men were not far from saying, were longing to say. The Thoughts of all start up, as from painful enchanted sleep, round his Thought; answering to it, Yes, even so! Joyful to men as the dawning of day from night;—wit not, indeed, the awakening for them from no-being into being, from death into life? We still honour such a man; call him Poet, Genius, and so forth: but to these wild men he was a very magician, a worker of miraculous unexpected blessing for them; a Prophet, a God!—Thought once awakened does not again slumber; unfolds itself into a System of Thought; grows, in man after man, generation after generation,—till its full stature is reached, and such System of Thought can grow no farther, but must give place to another. For the Norse people, the Man now named Odin, and Chief Norse God, we fancy, was such a man. A Teacher, and Captain of soul and of body; a Hero, of worth immeasurable; admiration for whom, transcending the known bounds, became adoration. Has he not the power of articulate Thinking; and many other powers, as yet miraculous? So, with boundless gratitude, would the rude Norse heart feel. Has he not solved for them the Sphinx-enigma of this Universe; given assurance to them of their own destiny there. By him they know now what they have to do here, what to look for hereafter. Existence has become articulate, melodious by him; he first has made Life alive! We may call this Odin the origin of Norse Mythology: Odin, or whatever name the First Norse Thinker bore while he was a man among men. His view of the Universe once promulgated, a like view starts into being in all minds; grows, keeps ever growing, while it continues credible there. In all minds it lay written, but invisibly, as in sympathetic ink; at his word it starts into visibility in all. Nay, in every epoch of the world, the great event, parent of all others, is it not the arrival of a Thinker in the world!— One other thing we must not forget; it will explain, a little, the confusion of these Norse Eddas. They are not one coherent System of Thought; but properly the summation of several successive sys-

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terns. All this of the old Norse Belief which is flung out for us, in one level of distance in the Edda, like a Picture painted on the same canvass, does not at all stand so in the reality. It stands rather at all manner of distances and depths, of successive generations since the Belief first began. All Scandinavian thinkers, since the first of them, contributed to that Scandinavian System of Thought; in ever new elaboration and addition, it is the combined work of them all. What history it had, how it changed from shape to shape, by one thinker's contribution after another, till it got to the full final shape we see it under in the Edda, no man will now ever know: its Councils of Trebisond, Councils of Trent, Athanasiuses, Dantes, Luthers, are sunk without echo in the dark night! Only that it had such a history we can all know. Wheresoever a thinker appeared, there in the thing he thought of was a contribution, accession, a change or revolution made. Alas, the grandest 'revolution' of all, the one made by the man Odin himself, is not this too sunk for us like the rest! Of Odin what history? Strange rather to reflect that he had a history! That this Odin, in his wild Norse vesture, with his wild beard and eyes, his rude Norse speech and ways, was a man like us; with our sorrows, joys, with our limbs, features;—intrinsically all one as we; and did such a work! But the work, much of it, has perished; the worker, all to the name. "Wednesday," men will say tomorrow; Odin's day! Of Odin there exists no history: no document of it; no guess about it worth repeating. Snorro indeed, in the quietest manner, almost in a brief business style, writes down, in his Heimskringla, how Odin was a heroic Prince, in the Black-Sea region, with Twelve Peers, and a great people straitened for room. How he led these Asen (Asiatics) of his out of Asia; settled them in the North parts of Europe, by warlike conquest; invented Letters, Poetry and so forth,—and came by and by to be worshipped as Chief God by these Scandinavians, his Twelve Peers made into Twelve Sons of his own, Gods like himself: Snorro has no doubt of this. Saxo Grammaticus, a very curious Northman of that same century, is still more unhesitating; scruples not to find out a historical fact in every individual mythus, and writes it down as a terrestrial event in Denmark or elsewhere. Torfeus, learned and cautious, some centuries later, assigns by calculation a date for it: Odin, he says, came into Europe about the Year 70 before Christ. Of

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all which, as grounded on mere uncertainties, found to be untenable now, I need say nothing. Far, very far beyond the Year 70! Odin's date, adventures, whole terrestrial history, figure and environment, are sunk from us forever into unknown thousands of years. Nay Grimm, the German Antiquary, goes so far as to deny that any man Odin ever existed. He proves it by etymology. The word Wuotan, which is the original form of Odin, a word spread, as name of their chief Divinity, over all the Teutonic Nations everywhere; this word, which connects itself, according to Grimm, with the Latin vadere, with the English wa.de and such like,—means primarily Movement, Source of Movement, Power; and is the fit name of the highest god, not of any man. The word signifies Divinity, he says, among the old Saxon, German and all Teutonic Nations; the adjectives formed from it all signify divine, supreme, or something pertaining to the chief god. Like enough! We must bow to Grimm in matters etymological. Let us consider it fixed that Wuotan means Wading, force of Movement. And now still, what hinders it from being the name of a Heroic Man and Mover, as well as of a god? As for the adjectives, and words formed from it,—did not the Spaniards in their universal admiration for Lope, get into the habit of saying 'a Lope flower,' 'a Lope dama,'' if the flower or woman were of surpassing beauty? Had this lasted, Lope would have grown, in Spain, to be an adjective signifying godlike also. Indeed Adam Smith, in his Essay on Language, surmises that all adjectives whatsoever were formed precisely in that way: some very green thing, chiefly notable for its greenness, got the appellative name Green, and then the next thing remarkable for that quality, a tree for instance, was named the green tree,—as we still say 'the steam coach,' 'four-horse coach,' or the like. All primary adjectives, according to Smith, were formed in this way; were at first substantives and things. We cannot annihilate a man for etymologies like that! Surely there was a First Teacher and Captain; surely there must have been an Odin, palpable to the sense at one time; no adjective, but a real Hero of flesh and blood! The voice of all tradition, history or echo of history, agrees with all that thought will teach one about it, to assure us of this. How the man Odin came to be considered zgod, the chief god?— that surely is a question which nobody would wish to dogmatise upon. I have said, his people knew no limits to their admiration of him; they had as yet no scale to measure admiration by. Fancy your

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own generous heart's-love of some greatest man expanding till it transcended all bounds, till it filled and overflowed the whole field of your thought! Or what if this man Odin,—since a great deep soul, with the afflatus and mysterious tide of vision and impulse rushing on him he knows not whence, is ever an enigma, a kind of terror and wonder to himself,—should have felt that perhaps be was divine; that be was some effluence of the 'Wuotan,' 'Movement^ Supreme Power and Divinity, of whom to his rapt vision all Nature was the awful Flame-image; that some effluence of Wuotan dwelt here in him! He was not necessarily false; he was but mistaken, speaking the truest he knew. A great soul, any sincere soul, knows not what he is,—alternates between the highest height and the lowest depth; can, of all things, the least measure—Himself! What others take him for, and what he guesses that he may be; these two items strangely act on one another, help to determine one another. With all men reverently admiring him; with his own wild soul full of noble ardours and affections, of whirlwind chaotic darkness and glorious new light; a divine Universe bursting all into godlike beauty round him, and no man to whom the like ever had befallen, what could he think himself to be? "Wuotan?" All men answered, "Wuotan!"— And then consider what mere Time will do in such cases; how if a man was great while living, he becomes tenfold greater when dead. What an enormous camera-obscura magnifier is Tradition! How a thing grows in the human Memory, in the human Imagination, when love, worship and all that lies in the human Heart, is there to encourage it. And in the darkness, in the entire ignorance; without date or document, no book, no Arundel-marble; only here and there some dumb monumental cairn. Why, in thirty or forty years, were there no books, any great man would grow mythic^ the contemporaries, who had seen him, being once all dead. And in three hundred years, and in three thousand years—!—To attempt theorising on such matters would profit little: they are matters which refuse to be theoremed and diagramed; which Logic ought to know that she cannot speak of. Enough for us to discern, far in the uttermost distance, some gleam as of a small real light shining in the centre of that enormous cameraobscura image; to discern that the centre of it all was not a madness and nothing, but a sanity and something. This light, kindled in the great dark vortex of the Norse Mind, dark but living, waiting only for light: this is to me the centre of the

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whole. How such light will then shine out, and with wondrous thousandfold expansion spread itself, in forms and colours, depends not on it, so much as on the National Mind recipient of it. The colours and forms of your light will be those of the cut-glass it has to shine through.—Curious to think how, for every man, any the truest fact is modelled by the nature of the man! I said, The earnest man, speaking to his brother men, must always have stated what seemed to him a fact, a real Appearance of Nature. But the way in which such Appearance or fact shaped itself,—what sort of fact it became for him,—was and is modified by his own laws of thinking; deep, subtle, but universal, ever-operating laws. The world of Nature, for every man, is the Fantasy of Himself; this world is the multiplex 'Image of his own Dream.' Who knows to what unnameable subtleties of spiritual law all these Pagan Fables owe their shape! The number Twelve, divisiblest of all, which could be halved, quartered, parted into three, into six, the most remarkable number,—this was enough to determine the Signs of the Zodiac, the number of Odin's Sons, and innumerable other Twelves. Any vague rumour of number had a tendency to settle itself into Twelve. So with regard to every other matter. And quite unconsciously too,—with no notion of building up 'Allegories!' But the fresh clear glance of those First Ages would be prompt in discerning the secret relations of things, and wholly open to obey these. Schiller finds in the Cestus of Venus an everlasting aesthetic truth as to the nature of all Beauty; curious:—but he is careful not to insinuate that the old Greek Mythists had any notion of lecturing about the 'Philosophy of Criticism!' On the whole, we must leave those boundless regions. Cannot we conceive that Odin was a reality? Error indeed, error enough: but sheer falsehood, idle fables, allegory aforethought,—we will not believe that our Fathers believed in these. Odin's Runes are a significant feature of him. Runes, and the miracles of 'magic' he worked by them, make a great feature in tradition. Runes are the Scandinavian Alphabet; suppose Odin to have been the inventor of Letters, as well as 'magic,' among that people! It is the greatest invention man has ever made, this of marking down the unseen thought that is in him by written characters. It is a kind of second speech, almost as miraculous as the first. You remember the astonishment and incredulity of Atahualpa the Peru-

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vian King; how he made the Spanish Soldier who was guarding him scratch Dios on his thumb-nail, that he might try the next soldier with it, to ascertain whether such a miracle was possible. If Odin brought Letters among his people, he might work magic enough! Writing by Runes has some air of being original among the Norsemen; not a Phenician Alphabet, but a native Scandinavian one. Snorro tells us farther that Odin invented Poetry; the music of human speech, as well as that miraculous runic marking of it. Transport yourselves into the early childhood of nations; the first beautiful morning-light of our Europe, when all yet lay in fresh young radiance as of a great sunrise, and our Europe was first beginning to think, to be! Wonder, hope; infinite radiance of hope and wonder, as of a young child's thoughts, in the hearts of these strong men! Strong sons of Nature; and here was not only a wild Captain and Fighter; discerning with his wild flashing eyes what to do, with his wild lionheart daring and doing it; but a Poet too, all that we mean by a Poet, Prophet, great devout Thinker and Inventor,—as the truly Great Man ever is. A Hero is a Hero at all points; in the soul and thought of him first of all. This Odin, in his rude semi-articulate way, had a word to speak. A great heart laid open to take in this great Universe, and man's Life here, and utter a great word about it. A Hero, as I say, in his own rude manner; a wise, gifted, noble-hearted man. And now, if we still admire such a man beyond all others, what must these wild Norse souls, first awakened into thinking, have made of him! To them, as yet without names for it, he was noble and noblest; Hero, Prophet, God; Wuotan, the greatest of all. Thought is Thought, however it speak or spell itself. Intrinsically, I conjecture, this Odin must have been of the same sort of stuff as the greatest kind of men. A great thought in the wild deep heart of him! The rough words he articulated, are they not the rudimental roots of those English words we still use? He worked so, in that obscure element. But he was as a light kindled in it; a light of Intellect, rude Nobleness of heart, the only kind of lights we have yet; a Hero, as I say: and he had to shine there, and make his obscure element a little lighter,—as is still the task of us all. We will fancy him to be the Type-Norseman; the finest Teuton whom that race had yet produced. The rude Norse heart burst up into boundless admiration round him; into adoration. He is as a root of so many great things; the fruit of him is found growing, from deep

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thousands of years, over the whole field of Teutonic Life. Our own Wednesday, as I said, is it not still Odin's Day? Wednesbury, Wansborough, Wanstead, Wandsworth: Odin grew into England too, these are still leaves from that root! He was the Chief God to all the Teutonic Peoples: their Pattern Norseman;—in such way did they admire their Pattern Norseman; that was the fortune he had in the world. Thus if the man Odin himself have vanished utterly, there is this huge Shadow of him which still projects itself over the whole History of his People. For this Odin once admitted to be God, we can understand well that the whole Scandinavian Scheme of Nature, or dim No-scheme, whatever it might before have been, would now begin to develope itself altogether differently, and grow thenceforth in a new manner. What this Odin saw into, and taught with his runes and his rhymes, the whole Teutonic People laid to heart and carried forward. His way of thought became their way of thought:—such, under new conditions, is the history of every great thinker still. In gigantic confused lineaments, like some enormous camera-obscura shadow thrown upwards from the dead deeps of the Past, and covering the whole Northern Heaven, is not that Scandinavian Mythology in some sort the Portraiture of this man Odin? The gigantic image of his natural face, legible or not legible there, expanded and confused in that manner! Ah, Thought, I say, is always Thought. No great man lives in vain. The History of the world is but the Biography of great men. To me there is something very touching in this primeval figure of Heroism; in such artless, helpless, but hearty entire reception of a Hero by his fellow-men. Never so helpless in shape, it is the noblest of feelings, and a feeling in some shape or other perennial as man himself. If I could shew in any measure, what I feel deeply for a long time now, That it is the vital element of manhood, the soul of man's history here in our world,—it would be the chief use of this discoursing at present. We do not now call our great men Gods, nor admire without limit; ah no, with limit enough! But if we have no great men, or do not admire at all,—that were a still worse case. This poor Scandinavian Hero-worship, that whole Norse way of looking at the Universe, and adjusting oneself there, has an indestructible merit for us. A rude childlike way of recognising the divine-

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ness of Nature, the divineness of Man; most rude, yet heartfelt, robust, giantlike; betokening what a giant of a man this child would yet grow to! It was a truth, and is none. Is it not as the half-dumb stifled voice of the long-buried generations of our own Fathers, calling out of the depths of ages to us, in whose veins their blood still runs: "This then, this is what we made of the world: this is all the image and notion we could form to ourselves of this great mystery of a Life and Universe. Despise it not. You are raised high above it, to large free scope of vision; but you too are not yet at the top. No, your notion too, so much enlarged, is but a partial, imperfect one; that matter is a thing no man will ever, in time or out of time, comprehend; after thousands of years of ever-new expansion, man will find himself but struggling to comprehend again a part of it: the thing is larger than man, not to be comprehended by him; an Infinite thing!" The essence of the Scandinavian, as indeed of all Pagan Mythologies, we found to be recognition of the divineness of Nature; sincere communion of man with the mysterious invisible Powers visibly seen at work in the world round him. This, I should say, is more sincerely done in the Scandinavian than in any Mythology I know. Sincerity is the great characteristic of it. Superior sincerity (far superior) consoles us for the total want of old Grecian grace. Sincerity, I think, is better than grace. I feel that these old Northmen were looking into Nature with open eye and soul: most earnest, honest; childlike, and yet manlike; with a greathearted simplicity and depth and freshness, in a true, loving, admiring, unfearing way. A right valiant, true old race of men. Such recognition of Nature one finds to be the chief element of Paganism: recognition of Man, and his Moral Duty, though this too is not wanting, comes to be the chief element only in purer forms of religion. Here, indeed, is a great distinction and epoch in Human Beliefs; a great landmark in the religious development of Mankind. Man first puts himself in relation with Nature and her Powers, wonders and worships over those; not till a later epoch does he discern that all Power is Moral, that the grand point is the distinction for him of Good and Evil, of Thou shalt and Thou shaft not. With regard to all these fabulous delineations in the Edda, I will remark, moreover, as indeed was already hinted, that most probably they must have been of much newer date; most probably, even from

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the first, were comparatively idle for the old Norsemen, and as it were a kind of Poetic sport. Allegory and Poetic Delineation, as I said above, cannot be religious Faith; the Faith itself must first be there, then Allegory enough will gather round it, as the fit body round its soul. The Norse Faith, I can well suppose, like other Faiths, was most active while it lay mainly in the silent state, and had not yet much to say about itself, still less to sing. Among those shadowy Edda matters, amid all that fantastic congeries of assertions, and traditions, in their musical Mythologies, the main practical belief a man could have was probably not much more than this: of the Valkyrs and the Hall of Odin; of an inflexible Destiny, and that the one thing needful for a man was to be brave. The Valkyrs are Choosers of the Slain; a Destiny inexorable, which it is useless trying to bend or soften, has appointed who is to be slain: this was a fundamental point for the Norse believer;—as indeed it is for all earnest men everywhere, for a Mahomet, a Luther, for a Napoleon too. It lies at the basis this for every such man; it is the woof out of which his whole system of thought is woven. The Valkyrs; and then that these Choosers lead the brave to a heavenly Hall of Odin; only the base and slavish being thrust elsewhither, into the realms of Hela the Death-goddess: I take this to have been the soul of the whole Norse Belief. They understood in their heart that it was indispensable to be brave; that Odin would have no favour for them, but despise and thrust them out, if they were not brave. Consider too whether there is not something in this! It is an everlasting duty, valid in our day as in that, the duty of being brave. Valour is still value. The first duty for a man is still that of subduing Fear. We must get rid of Fear; we cannot act at all till then. A man's acts are slavish, not true but specious; his very thoughts are false, he thinks too as a slave and coward, till he have got Fear under his feet. Odin's creed, if we disentangle the real kernel of it, is true to this hour. A man shall and must be valiant; he must march forward, and quit himself like a man,—trusting imperturbably in the appointment and choice of the upper Powers; and, on the whole, not fear at all. Now and always, the completeness of his victory over Fear will determine how much of a man he is. It is doubtless very savage that kind of valour of the old Northmen. Snorro tells us they thought it a shame and misery not to die

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in battle; and if natural death seemed to be coming on, they would cut wounds in their flesh, that Odin might receive them as warriors slain. Old kings, about to die, had their body laid into a ship; the ship sent forth, with sails set and slow fire burning it; that, once out at sea, it might blaze up in flame, and in such manner bury worthily the old hero, at once in the sky and in the ocean! Wild bloody valour; yet valour of its kind; better, I say, than none. In the old Sea-kings too, what an indomitable rugged energy! Silent, with closed lips, as I fancy them, unconscious that they were specially brave; defying the wild ocean with its monsters, and all men and things;—progenitors of our own Blakes and Nelsons. No Homer sang these Norse Sea-kings; but Agamemnon's was a small audacity, and of small fruit in the world, to some of them;—to Hrolf's of Normandy, for instance! Hrolf, or Rollo Duke of Normandy, the wild Sea-king, has a share in governing England at this hour. Nor was it altogether nothing, even that wild sea-roving and battling, through so many generations. It needed to be ascertained which was the strongest kind of men; who were to be ruler over whom. Among the Northland Sovereigns, too, I find some who got the title Wood-cutter; Forest-felling Kings. Much lies in that. I suppose at bottom many of them were forest-fellers as well as fighters, though the Skalds talk mainly of the latter,—misleading certain critics not a little; for no nation of men could ever live by fighting alone; there could not produce enough come out of that! I suppose the right good fighter was oftenest also the right good forest-feller,—the right good improver, discerner, doer and worker in every kind; for true valour, different enough from ferocity, is the basis of all. A more legitimate kind of valour that; shewing itself against the untamed Forests and dark brute Powers of Nature, to conquer Nature for us. In the same direction have not we their descendants since carried it far? May such valour last forever with us! That the man Odin, speaking with a Hero's voice and heart, as with an impressiveness out of Heaven, told his People the infinite importance of Valour, how man thereby became a god; and that his People, feeling a response to it in their own hearts, believed this message of his, and thought it a message out of Heaven, and him a Divinity for telling it them: this seems to me the primary seed-grain of the Norse Religion, from which all manner of mythologies,

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symbolic practices, speculations, allegories, songs and sagas would naturally grow. Grow,—how strangely! I called it a small light shining and shaping in the huge vortex of Norse darkness. Yet the darkness itself was alive; consider that. It was the eager inarticulate uninstructed Mind of the whole Norse People, longing only to become articulate, to go on articulating ever farther! The living doctrine grows, grows;—like a Banyan-tree; the first seed is the essential thing: any branch strikes itself down into the earth, becomes a new root; and so, in endless complexity, we have a whole wood, a whole jungle, one seed the parent of it all. Was not the whole Norse Religion, accordingly, in some sense, what we called 'the enormous shadow of this man's likeness?' Critics trace some affinity in some Norse mythuses, of the Creation and such like, with those of the Hindoos. The Cow Adumbla, 'licking the rime from the rocks,' has a kind of Hindoo look. A Hindoo Cow, transported into frosty countries. Probably enough; indeed we may say undoubtedly, these things will have a kindred with the remotest lands, with the earliest times. Thought does not die, but only is changed. The first man that began to think in this Planet of ours, he was the beginner of all. And then the second man, and the third man;—nay every true Thinker to this hour is a kind of Odin, teaches men his way of thought, spreads a shadow of his own likeness over sections of the History of the World. Of the distinctive poetic character or merit of this Norse Mythology I have not room to speak; nor does it concern us much. Some wild Prophecies we have, as the Voluspa in the Elder Edda; of a rapt, earnest, sibylline sort. But they were comparatively an idle adjunct of the matter, men who as it were but toyed with the matter, these later Skalds; and it is their songs chiefly that survive. In later centuries, I suppose, they would go on singing, poetically symbolizing, as our modern Painters paint, when it was no longer from the innermost heart, or not from the heart at all. This is everywhere to be well kept in mind. Gray's fragments of Norse Lore, at any rate, will give one no notion of it;—any more than Pope will of Homer. It is no squarebuilt gloomy palace of black ashlar marble, shrouded in awe and horror, as Gray gives it us: no; rough as the North rocks, as the Iceland deserts, it is; with a heartiness, homeliness, even a tint of

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goodhumour and robust mirth in the middle of these fearful things. The strong old Norse heart did not go upon theatrical sublimities; they had not time to tremble. I like much their robust simplicity; their veracity, directness of conception. Thor 'draws down his brows' in a veritable Norse rage; 'grasps his hammer till the knuckles grow white.' Beautiful traits of pity too, an honest pity. Balder 'the white God' dies; the beautiful, benignant; he is the Sungod. They try all Nature for a remedy; but he is dead. Frigga, his mother, sends Hermoder to seek or see him: nine days and nine nights he rides, through gloomy deep valleys, a labyrinth of gloom; arrives at the Bridge with its gold roof: the Keeper says, "Yes, Balder did pass here; but the Kingdom of the Dead is down yonder, far towards the North." Hermoder rides on; leaps Hell-gate, Hela's gate; does see Balder, and speak with him: Balder cannot be delivered. Inexorable! Hela will not, for Odin or any God, give him up. The beautiful and gentle has to remain there. His Wife had volunteered to go with him, to die with him. They shall forever remain there. He sends his ring to Odin; Nanna his wife sends her thimble to Frigga, as a remembrance.—Ah me! — For indeed Valour is the fountain of Pity too;—of Truth, and all that is great and good in man. The robust homely vigour of the Norse heart attaches one much, in these delineations. Is it not a trait of right honest strength, says Uhland, who has written a fine Essay on Thor, that the old Norse heart finds its friend in the Thunder-god? That it is not frightened away by his thunder; but finds that Summerheat, the beautiful noble summer, must and will have thunder withal! The Norse heart loves this Thor and his hammer-bolt; sports with him. Thor is Summer-heat; the god of Peaceable Industry as well as Thunder. He is the Peasant's friend; his true henchman and attendant is Thialfi, Manual Labour. Thor himself engages in all manner of rough manual work, scorns no business for its plebeianism; is ever and anon travelling to the country of the Jotuns, harrying those chaotic Frost-monsters, subduing them, at least straitening and damaging them. There is a great broad humour in some of these things. Thor, as we saw above, goes to Jotun-land, to seek Hymir's Cauldron, that the Gods may brew beer. Hymir the huge Giant enters, his grey beard all full of hoar-frost; splits pillars with the very

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glance of his eye; Thor, after much rough tumult, snatches the Pot, claps it on his head; the 'handles of it reach down to his heels.' The Norse Skald has a kind of loving sport with Thor. This is the Hymir whose cattle, the critics have discovered, are Ice-bergs. Huge untutored Brobdignag genius,—needing only to be tamed down; into Shakspeares, Dantes, Goethes! It is all gone now, that old Norse work,—Thor the Thundergod changed into Jack the Giant-killer: but the mind that made it is here yet. How strangely things grow, and die, and do not die! There are twigs of that great world-tree of Norse Belief, still curiously traceable. This poor Jack of the Nursery, with his miraculous shoes of swiftness, coat of darkness, sword of sharpness, he is one. Hynde Etin, and still more decisively Red Etin of Ireland, in the Scottish Ballads, these are both derived from Norseland; Etin is evidently a Jotun. Nay, Shakspeare's Hamlet is a twig too of this same world-tree; there seems no doubt of that. Hamlet, Amleth, I find, is really a mythic personage; and his Tragedy, of the poisoned Father, poisoned asleep by drops in his ear, and the rest, is a Norse mythus! Old Saxo, as his wont was, made it a Danish history; Shakspeare, out of Saxo, made it what we see. That is a twig of the worldtree that has grown, I think;—by nature or accident that one has grown! In fact, these old Norse songs have a truth in them, an inward perennial truth and greatness,—as, indeed, all must have that can very long preserve itself by tradition alone. It is a greatness not of mere body and gigantic bulk, but a rude greatness of soul. There is a sublime uncomplaining melancholy traceable in these old hearts. A great free glance into the very deeps of thought. They seem to have seen, these brave old Northmen, what Meditation has taught all men in all ages, That this world is after all but a shew,—a phenomenon or appearance, no real thing. All deep souls see into that,—the Hindoo Mythologist, the German Philosopher,—the Shakspeare, the earnest Thinker wherever he may be: 'We are such stuff as Dreams are made of!'

One of Thor's expeditions, to Utgard (the Outer Garden, central seat of Jotun-land), is remarkable in this respect. Thialfi was with him, and Loke. After various adventures, they entered upon Giant-

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land; wandered over plains, wild uncultivated places, among stones and trees. At nightfall they noticed a house; and as the door, which indeed formed one whole side of the house, was open, they entered. It was a simple habitation; one large hall, altogether empty. They staid there. Suddenly in the dead of the night loud noises alarmed them. Thor grasped his hammer; stood in the door, prepared for fight. His companions within ran hither and thither in their terror, seeking some outlet in that rude hall; they found a little closet at last, and took refuge there. Neither had Thor any battle: for, lo, in the morning it turned out that the noise had been only the snoring of a certain enormous but peaceable Giant, the Giant Skrymir, who lay peaceably sleeping near by; and this that they took for a house was merely his Glove, thrown aside there; the door was the Glove-wrist; the little closet they had fled into was the Thumb! Such a glove;— I remark too that it had not fingers as ours have, but only a thumb, and the rest undivided: a most ancient, rustic glove! Skrymir now carried their portmanteau all day; Thor, however, had his own suspicions, did not like the ways of Skrymir; determined at night to put an end to him as he slept. Raising his hammer, he struck down into the Giant's face a right thunderbolt blow, of force to rend rocks. The Giant merely awoke; rubbed his cheek, and said, Did a leaf fall? Again Thor struck, so soon as Skrymir again slept; a better blow than before; but the Giant only murmured, Was that a grain of sand? Thor's third stroke was with both his hands (the 'knuckles white' I suppose), and seemed to dint deep into Skrymir's visage; but he merely checked his snore, and remarked, There must be sparrows roosting in this tree, I think; what is that they have dropt?—At the gate of Utgard, a place so high, that you had to 'strain your neck bending back to see the top of it,' Skrymir went his ways. Thor and his companions were admitted; invited to take share in the games going on. To Thor, for his part, they handed a Drinking-horn; it was a common feat, they told him, to drink this dry at one draught. Long and fiercely, three times over, Thor drank; but made hardly any impression. He was a weak child, they told him: could he lift that Cat he saw there? Small as the feat seemed, Thor with his whole godlike strength could not; he bent up the creature's back, could not raise its feet off the ground, could at the utmost raise one foot. Why, you are

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no man, said the Utgard people; there is an Old Woman that will wrestle you! Thor, heartily ashamed, seized this haggard Old Woman; but could not throw her. And now on their quitting Utgard, the chief Jotun, escorting them politely a little way, said to Thor: "You are beaten then:—yet be not so much ashamed; there was deception of appearance in it. That Horn you tried to drink was the Sea; you did make it ebb; but who could drink that, the bottomless! The Cat you would have lifted,—why, that is the Midgard-make, the Great World-serpent, which, tail in mouth, girds and keeps up the whole created world; had you torn that up, the world must have rushed to ruin. As for the Old Woman, she was Time, Oid Age, Duration: with her what can wrestle? No man nor no god with her; gods or men, she prevails over all! And then those three strokes you struck,—look at these three valleys; your three strokes made these!" Thor looked at his attendant Jotun: it was Skrymir;—it was, say Norse critics, the old chaotic rocky Earth in person, and that glove-house was some Earth-cavern! But Skrymir had vanished; Utgard with its skyhigh gates, when Thor grasped his hammer to smite them, had gone to air; only the Giant's voice was heard mocking: "Better come no more to Jotunheim!"— This is of the allegoric period, as we see, and half play, not of the prophetic and entirely devout: but as a mythus, is there not real antique Norse gold in it? More true metal, rough from the Mimerstithy, than in many a famed Greek mythus shaped far better! A great broad Brobdignag grin of true humour is in this Skrymir; mirth resting on earnestness and sadness, as the rainbow on black tempest: only a right valiant heart is capable of that. It is the grim humour of our own Ben Jonson, rare old Ben; runs in the blood of us, I fancy; for one catches tones of it, under a still other shape, out of the American Backwoods. That is also a very striking conception that of the Ragnarok, Consummation, or Twilight of the Gods. It is in the Voluspa Song; seemingly a very old, prophetic idea. The Gods and Jotuns, the divine Powers and the chaotic brute ones, after long contest and partial victory by the former, meet at last in universal world-embracing wrestle and duel; World-serpent against Thor, strength against strength; mutually extinctive; and ruin, 'twilight' sinking into darkness, swallows the created Universe. The old Universe with its Gods

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is sunk; but it is not final death: there is to be a new Heaven and a new Earth; a higher supreme God, and Justice to reign among men. Curious: this law of mutation, which also is a law written in man's inmost thought, had been deciphered by these old earnest Thinkers in their rude style; and how, though all dies, and even gods die, yet all death is but a Phoenix fire-death, and new-birth into the Greater and the Better! It is the fundamental Law of Being for a creature made of Time, living in this Place of Hope. All earnest men have seen into it; may still see into it. And now, connected with this, let us glance at the last mythus of the appearance of Thor; and end there. I fancy it to be the latest in date of all these fables; a sorrowing protest against the advance of Christianity,—set forth reproachfully by some Conservative Pagan. King Olaf has been harshly blamed for his over-zeal in introducing Christianity; surely I should have blamed him far more for an underzeal in that! He paid dear enough for it; he died by the revolt of his Pagan people, in battle, in the year 1033, at Stickelstad, near that Drontheim, where the chief Cathedral of the North has now stood for many centuries, dedicated gratefully to his memory as Saint Olaf. The mythus about Thor is to this effect. King Olaf, the Christian Reform King, is sailing with fit escort along the shore of Norway, from haven to haven; dispensing justice, or doing other royal work: on leaving a certain haven, it is found that a stranger, of grave eyes and aspect, red beard, of stately robust figure, has stept in. The courtiers address him; his answers surprise by their pertinency and depth: at length he is brought to the King. The stranger's conversation here is not less remarkable, as they sail along the beautiful shore; but after some time, he addresses King Olaf thus: "Yes, King Olaf, it is all beautiful, with the sun shining on it there; green, fruitful, a right fair home for you; and many a sore day had Thor, many a wild fight with the rock Jotuns, before he could make it so. And now you seem minded to put away Thor. King Olaf, have a care!" said the stranger, drawing down his brows;—and when they looked again, he was nowhere to be found.—This is the last appearance of Thor on the stage of this world! Do we not see well enough how the Fable might arise, without unveracity on the part of any one: it is the way most Gods have come to appear among men: thus if in Pindar's time 'Neptune was seen

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once at the Nemean Games,' what was this Neptune too but a 'stranger of noble grave aspect,'—fit to be 'seen!' There is something pathetic, tragic for me, in this last voice of Paganism. Thor is vanished, the whole Norse world has vanished; and will not return ever again. In like fashion to that, pass away the highest things. All things that have been in this world, all things that are or will be in it, have to vanish: we have our sad farewell to give them. That Norse Religion, a rude but earnest, sternly impressive Consecration of Valour (so we may define it), sufficed for these old valiant Northmen. Consecration of Valour is not a bad thing! We will take it for good, so far as it goes. Neither is there no use in knowing something about this old Paganism of our Fathers. Unconsciously, and combined with higher things, it is in MJ yet, that old Faith withal! To know it consciously, brings us into closer and clearer relation with the Past,—with our own possessions in the Past. For the whole Past, as I keep repeating, is the possession of the Present; the Past had always something true, and is a precious possession. In a different time, in a different place, it is always some other side of our common Human Nature that has been developing itself. The actual True is the sum of all these; not any one of them by itself constitutes what of Human Nature is hitherto developed. Better to know them all than misknow them. "To which of these Three Religions do you specially adhere?" inquires Meister of his Teacher. "To all the Three!" answers the other: "To all the Three; for they by their union first constitute the True Religion."

LECTURE II. [Friday, 8th May, 1840.] THE HERO AS PROPHET. MAHOMET: ISLAM.

FROM the first rude times of Paganism among the Scandinavians in the North, we advance to a very different epoch of religion, among a very different people: Mahometanism among the Arabs. A great change; what a change and progress is indicated here, in the universal condition and thoughts of men! The Hero is not now regarded as a God among his fellow-men; but as one God-inspired, as a Prophet. It is the second phasis of Hero-worship: the first or oldest, we may say, has passed away without return; in the history of the world there will not again be any man, never so great, whom his fellow-men will take for a god. Nay we might rationally ask, Did any set of human beings ever really think the man they saw there standing beside them a god, the maker of this world? Perhaps not: it was usually some man they remembered, or had seen. But neither can this, any more, be. The Great Man is not recognised henceforth as a god any more. It was a rude gross error, that of counting the Great Man a god. Yet let us say that it is at all times difficult to know what he is, or how to account of him and receive him! The most significant feature in the history of an epoch is the manner it has of welcoming a Great Man. Ever, to the true instincts of men, there is something godlike in him. Whether they shall take him to be a god, to be a prophet, or what they shall take him to be? that is ever a grand question; by their way of answering that, we shall see, as through a little window, into the very heart of these men's spiritual condition. For at bottom the Great 37

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Man, as he comes from the hand of Nature, is ever the same kind of thing: Odin, Luther, Johnson, Burns; I hope to make it appear that these are all originally of one stuff; that only by the world's reception of them, and the shapes they assume, are they so immeasurably diverse. The worship of Odin astonishes us,—to fall prostrate before the Great Man, into deliquium of love and wonder over him, and feel in their hearts that he was a denizen of the skies, a god! This was imperfect enough: but to welcome, for example, a Burns as we did, was that what we can call perfect? The most precious gift that Heaven can give to the Earth; a man of 'genius' as we call it; the Soul of a Man actually sent down from the skies with a God's-message to us,— this we waste away as an idle artificial firework, sent to amuse us a little, and sink it into ashes, wreck and ineffectuality: such reception of a Great Man I do not call very perfect either! Looking into the heart of the thing, one may perhaps call that of Burns a still uglier phenomenon, betokening still sadder imperfections in mankind's ways, than the Scandinavian method itself! To fall into mere unreasoning deliquium of love and admiration, was not good; but such unreasoning, nay irrational, supercilious no-love at all is perhaps still worse!—It is a thing forever changing, this of Hero-worship; different in each age, difficult to do well in any age. Indeed the heart of the whole business of the age, one may say, is to do it well. We have chosen Mahomet not as the most eminent Prophet; but as the one we are freest to speak of. He is by no means the truest of Prophets; but I do esteem him a true one. Farther, as there is no danger of our becoming, any of us, Mahometans, I mean to say all the good of him I justly can. It is the way to get at his secret: let us try to understand what he meant with the world; what the world meant and means with him, will then be a more answerable question. Our current hypothesis about Mahomet, that he was a scheming Impostor, a Falsehood incarnate, that his religion is a mere mass of quackery and fatuity, begins really to be now untenable to any one. The lies, which well-meaning zeal has heaped round this man, are disgraceful to ourselves only. When Pococke inquired of Grotius, Where the proof was of that story of the pigeon, trained to pick peas from Mahomet's ear, and pass for an angel dictating to him? Grotius

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answered that there was no proof! It is really time to dismiss all that. The word this man spoke has been the life-guidance now of one hundred and eighty millions of men these twelve hundred years. These hundred and eighty millions were made by God as well as we. A greater number of God's creatures believe in Mahomet's word, at this hour, than in any other word whatever. Are we to suppose that it was a miserable piece of spiritual legerdemain, this which so many creatures of the Almighty have lived by and died by? I, for my part, cannot form any such supposition. I will believe most things sooner than that. One would be entirely at a loss what to think of this world at all, if quackery so grew and were sanctioned here. Alas, such theories are very lamentable. If we would attain to knowledge of anything in God's true Creation, let us disbelieve them wholly! They are the product of an Age of Scepticism; they indicate the saddest spiritual paralysis, and mere death-life of the souls of men: more godless theory, I think, was never promulgated in this Earth. A false man found a religion? Why, a false man cannot build a brick house! If he do not know and follow truly the properties of mortar, burnt clay and what else he works in, it is no house that he makes, but a rubbish-heap. It will not stand for twelve centuries, to lodge a hundred and eighty millions; it will fall straightway. A man must conform himself to Nature's laws, be verily in communion with Nature and the truth of things, or Nature will answer him, No, not at all! Speciosities are specious—ah me!—a Cagliostro, many Cagliostros, prominent world-leaders, do prosper by their quackery, for a day. It is like a forged bank-note; they get it passed out of their worthless hands: others, not they, have to smart for it. Nature bursts up in fire-flames, French Revolutions and such like, proclaiming with terrible veracity that forged notes are forged. But of a Great Man especially, of him I will venture to assert that it is incredible he should have been other than true. It seems to me the primary foundation of him, and of all that can lie in him, this. No Mirabeau, Napoleon, Burns, Cromwell, no man adequate to do any thing, but is first of all in right earnest about it; what I call a sincere man. I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls itself sincere; ah no, that is a very poor matter indeed;—a shallow

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braggart conscious sincerity; oftenest self-conceit mainly. The Great Man's sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of: nay, I suppose, he is conscious rather of msincerity; for what man can walk accurately by the law of truth for one day? No, the Great Man does not boast himself sincere, far from that; perhaps does not ask himself if he is so: I would say rather, his sincerity does not depend on himself; he cannot help being sincere! The great Fact of Existence is great to him. Fly as he will, he cannot get out of the awful presence of this Reality. His mind is so made; he is great by that, first of all. Fearful and wonderful, real as Life, real as Death, is this Universe to him. Though all men should forget its truth, and walk in a vain show, he cannot. At all moments the Flame-image glares in upon him; undeniable, there, there!—I wish you to take this as my primary definition of a Great Man. A little man may have this, it is competent to all men that God has made: but a Great Man cannot be without it. Such a man is what we call an original man; he comes to us at first hand. A messenger he, sent from the Infinite Unknown with tidings to us. We may call him Poet, Prophet, God;—in one way or other, we all feel that the words he utters are as no other man's words. Direct from the Inner Fact of things;—he lives, and has to live, in daily communion with that. Hearsays cannot hide it from him; he is blind, homeless, miserable, following hearsays; it glares in upon him. Really his utterances, are they not a kind of 'revelation;'—what we must call such for want of some other name? It is from the heart of the world that he comes; he is portion of the primal reality of things. God has made many revelations: but this man too, has not God made him, the latest and newest of all? The 'inspiration of the Almighty giveth him understanding:' we must listen before all to him. This Mahomet, then, we will in no wise consider as an Inanity and Theatricality, a poor conscious ambitious schemer; we cannot conceive him so. The rude message he delivered was a real one withal; an earnest confused voice from the unknown Deep. The man's words were not false, nor his workings here below: no Inanity and Simulacrum; a fiery mass of Life cast up from the great bosom of Nature herself. To kindle the world; the world's Maker had ordered it so. Neither can the faults, imperfections, insincerities even, of Mahomet,

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if such were never so well proved against him, shake this primary fact about him. On the whole, we make too much of faults; the details of the business hide the real centre of it. Faults? The greatest of faults, I should say, is to be conscious of none. Readers of the Bible above all, one would think, might know better. Who is called there 'the man according to God's own heart?' David, the Hebrew King, had fallen into sins enough; blackest crimes; there was no want of sins. And thereupon the unbelievers sneer and ask, Is this your man according to God's heart? The sneer, I must say, seems to me but a shallow one. What are faults, what are the outward details of a life; if the inner secret of it, the remorse, temptations, true, often-baffled, never-ended struggle of it, be forgotten? 'It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.' Of all acts is not, for a man, repentance the most divine? The deadliest sin, I say, were that same supercilious consciousness of no sin;—that is death; the heart so conscious is divorced from sincerity, humility and fact; is dead: it is 'pure' as dead dry sand is pure. David's life and history, as written for us in those Psalms of his, I consider to be the truest emblem ever given of a man's moral progress and warfare here below. All earnest souls will ever discern in it the faithful struggle of an earnest human soul towards what is good and best. Struggle often baffled, sore baffled, down as into entire wreck; yet a struggle never ended; ever, with tears, repentance, true unconquerable purpose, begun anew. Poor human nature! Is not a man's walking, in truth, always that: 'a succession of falls?' Man can do no other. In this wild element of a Life, he has to struggle onwards; now fallen, deep-abased; and ever, with tears, repentance, with bleeding heart, he has to rise again, struggle again still onwards. That his struggle be a faithful unconquerable one: that is the question of questions. We will put up with many sad details, if the soul of it were true. Details by themselves will never teach us what it is. I believe we mis-estimate Mahomet's faults even as faults: but the secret of him will never be got by dwelling there. We will leave all this behind us; and assuring ourselves that he did mean some true thing, ask candidly, what it was or might be. These Arabs Mahomet was born among are certainly a notable people. Their country itself is notable; the fit habitation for such a

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race. Savage inaccessible rock-mountains, great grim deserts, alternating with beautiful strips of verdure: wherever water is, there is greenness, beauty; odoriferous balm-shrubs, date-trees, frankincense-trees. Consider that wide waste horizon of sand, empty, silent, like a sandsea, dividing habitable place from habitable. You are all alone there, left alone with the Universe; by day a fierce sun blazing down on it with intolerable radiance; by night the great deep Heaven with its stars. Such a country is fit for a swift-handed, deep-hearted race of men. There is something most agile, active, and yet most meditative, enthusiastic in the Arab character. The Persians are called the French of the East; we will call the Arabs Oriental Italians. A gifted noble people; a people of wild strong feelings, and of iron restraint over these: the characteristic of noblemindedness, of genius. The wild Bedouin welcomes the stranger to his tent, as one having right to all that is there; were it his worst enemy, he will slay his foal to treat him, will serve him with sacred hospitality for three days, will set him fairly on his way;—and then, by another law as sacred, kill him if he can. In words too, as in action. They are not a loquacious people, taciturn rather; but eloquent, gifted when they do speak. An earnest, truthful kind of men. They are, as we know, of Jewish kindred: but with that deadly terrible earnestness of the Jews they seem to combine something graceful, brilliant, which is not Jewish. They had 'Poetic contests' among them before the time of Mahomet. Sale says, at Ocadh, in the South of Arabia, there were yearly fairs, and there, when the merchandising was done, Poets sang for prizes:—the wild people gathered to hear that. One Jewish quality these Arabs manifest; the outcome of many or of all high qualities: what we may call religiosity. From of old they had been zealous worshippers, according to their light. They worshipped the stars, as Sabeans; worshipped many natural objects,— recognised them as symbols, immediate manifestations, of the Maker of Nature. It was wrong; and yet not wholly wrong. All God's works are still in a sense symbols of God. Do we not, as I urged, still account it a merit to recognise a certain inexhaustible significance, 'poetic beauty,' as we name it, in all natural objects whatsoever? A man is a poet, and honoured, for doing that, and speaking or singing it,—a kind of diluted worship. They had many Prophets these Arabs; Teachers each to his tribe, each according to the light he had. But

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indeed, have we not from of old the noblest of proofs, still palpable to every one of us, of what devoutness and noble-mindedness had dwelt in these rustic thoughtful peoples? Biblical critics seem agreed that our own Book of Job was written in that region of the world. I call that, apart from all theories about it, one of the grandest things ever written with pen. One feels, indeed, as if it were not Hebrew; such a noble universality, different from noble patriotism or sectarianism, reigns in it. A noble Book; all men's Book! It is our first, oldest statement of the never-ending Problem,—man's destiny and God's ways with him here in this earth. And all in such free flowing outlines; grand in its sincerity, in its simplicity; in its epic melody, and repose of reconcilement. There is the seeing eye, the mildly understanding heart. So true, every way; true eyesight and vision for all things; material things no less than spiritual: the Horse,—'hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?''—he 'laughs at the shaking of the spear!' Such living likenesses were never since drawn. Sublime sorrow, sublime reconciliation; oldest choral melody as of the heart of mankind;—so soft, and great; as the summer midnight, as the world with its seas and stars! There is nothing written, I think, in the Bible or out of it, of equal literary merit.— To the idolatrous Arabs one of the most ancient universal objects of worship was that Black Stone, still kept in the building called Caabah, at Mecca. Diodorus Siculus mentions this Caabah in a way not to be mistaken, as the oldest, most honoured temple in his time; that is, some half-century before our Era. Silvestre de Sacy says there is some likelihood that the Black Stone is an aerolite. In that case, some man might see it fall out of Heaven! It stands now beside the Well Zemzem; the Caabah is built over both. A Well is in all places a beautiful affecting object, gushing out like life from the hard earth;—still more so in those hot dry countries, where it is the first condition of being. The Well Zemzem has its name from the bubbling sound of the waters, zem-zem; they think it is the Well which Hagar found with her little Ishmael in the wilderness: the aerolite and it have been sacred now, and had a Caabah over them, for thousands of years. A curious object that Caabah! There it stands at this hour, in the black cloth-covering the Sultan sends it yearly; 'twenty-seven cubits high;' with circuit, with double circuit of pillars, with festoonrows of lamps and quaint ornaments: the lamps will be lighted again

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this night,—to glitter again under the stars. An authentic fragment of the oldest Past. It is the Keblah of all Moslem: from Delhi all onwards to Morocco, the eyes of innumerable praying men are turned towards it, five times, this day and all days: one of the notablest centres in the Habitation of Men. It had been from the sacredness attached to this Caabah Stone and Hagar's Well, from the pilgrimings of all tribes of Arabs thither, that Mecca took its rise as a Town. A great town once, though much decayed now. It has no natural advantage for a town; stands in a sandy hollow amid bare barren hills, at a distance from the sea; its provisions, its very bread, have to be imported. But so many pilgrims needed lodgings: and then all places of pilgrimage do, from the first, become places of trade. The first day pilgrims meet, merchants have also met: where men see themselves assembled for one object, they find that they can accomplish other objects which depend on meeting together. Mecca became the Fair of all Arabia. And thereby indeed the chief staple and warehouse of whatever Commerce there was between the Indian and the Western countries, Syria, Egypt, even Italy. It had at one time a population of 100,000; buyers, forwarders of those Eastern and Western products; importers for their own behoof of provisions and corn. The government was a kind of irregular aristocratic republic, not without a touch of theocracy. Ten Men of a chief tribe, chosen in some rough way, were Governors of Mecca, and Keepers of the Caabah. The Koreish were the chief tribe in Mahomet's time; his own family was of that tribe. The rest of the Nation, fractioned and cut asunder by deserts, lived under similar rude patriarchal governments by one or several: herdsmen, carriers, traders, generally robbers too; being oftenest at war, one with another, or with all: held together by no open bond, if it were not this meeting at the Caabah, where all forms of Arab Idolatry assembled in common adoration;—held mainly by the inward indissoluble bond of a common blood and language. In this way had the Arabs lived for long ages, unnoticed by the world; a people of great qualities, unconsciously waiting for the day when they should become notable to all the world. Their Idolatries appear to have been in a tottering state; much was getting into confusion and fermentation among them. Obscure tidings of the most important Event ever transacted in this world, the Life and Death of the Divine Man in Judea, at once the symptom and cause of immeasurable change to all people in the

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world, had in the course of centuries reached into Arabia too; and could not but, of itself, have produced fermentation there. It was among this Arab people, so circumstanced, in the year 570 of our Era, that the man Mahomet was born. He was of the family of Hashem, of the Koreish tribe as we said; though poor, connected with the chief persons of his country. Almost at his birth he lost his Father; at the age of six years his Mother too, a woman noted for her beauty, her worth and sense: he fell to the charge of his Grandfather, an old man, a hundred years old. A good old man: Mahomet's Father, Abdallah, had been his youngest favourite son. He saw in Mahomet, with his old life-worn eyes, a century old, the lost Abdallah come back again, all that was left of Abdallah. He loved the little orphan Boy greatly; used to say, They must take care of that beautiful little Boy, nothing in their kindred was more precious than he. At his death, while the boy was still but two years old, he left him in charge to Abu Thaleb the eldest of the Uncles, as to him that now was head of the house. By this Uncle, a just and rational man as everything betokens, Mahomet was brought up in the best Arab way. Mahomet, as he grew up, accompanied his Uncle on trading journeys and such like; in his eighteenth year one finds him a fighter following his Uncle in war. But perhaps the most significant of all his journeys is one we find noted as of some years' earlier date: a journey to the Fairs of Syria. The young man here first came in contact with a quite foreign world,—with one foreign element of endless moment to him: the Christian Religion. I know not what to make of that 'Sergius, the Nestorian Monk,' whom Abu Thaleb and he are said to have lodged with; or how much any monk could have taught one still so young. Probably enough it is greatly exaggerated, this of the Nestorian Monk. Mahomet was only fourteen; had no language but his own: much in Syria must have been a strange unintelligible whirlpool to him. But the eyes of the lad were open; glimpses of many things would doubtless be taken in, and lie very enigmatic as yet, which were to ripen in a strange way into views, into beliefs and insights one day. These journeys to Syria were probably the beginning of much to Mahomet. One other circumstance we must not forget: that he had no school-learning; of the thing we call school-learning none at all. The art of writing was but just introduced into Arabia; it seems to be the

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true opinion that Mahomet never could write! Life in the Desert, with its experiences, was all his education. What of this infinite Universe he, from his dim place, with his own eyes and thoughts, could take in, so much and no more of it was he to know. Curious, if we will reflect on it, this of having no books. Except by what he could see for himself, or hear of by uncertain rumour of speech in the obscure Arabian Desert, he could know nothing. The wisdom that had been before him or at a distance from him in the world, was in a manner as good as not there for him. Of the great brother souls, flame-beacons through so many lands and times, no one directly communicates with this great soul. He is alone there, deep down in the bosom of the Wilderness; has to grow up so,—alone with Nature and his own Thoughts. But, from an early age, he had been remarked as a thoughtful man. His companions named him 1AI Amin, The Faithful.' A man of truth and fidelity; true in what he did, in what he spake and thought. They noted that he always meant something. A man rather taciturn in speech; silent when there was nothing to be said; but pertinent, wise, sincere, when he did speak; always throwing light on the matter. This is the only sort of speech worth speaking! Through life we find him to have been regarded as an altogether solid, brotherly, genuine man. A serious, sincere character; yet amiable, cordial, companionable, jocose even;—a good laugh in him withal: there are men whose laugh is as untrue as anything about them; who cannot laugh. One hears of Mahomet's beauty: his fine sagacious honest face, brown florid complexion, beaming black eyes;—I somehow like too that vein on the brow, which swelled up black, when he was in anger: like the "•horse-shoe vein' in Scott's Redgauntlet. It was a kind of feature in the Hashem family, this black swelling vein in the brow; Mahomet had it prominent, as would appear. A spontaneous, passionate, yet just, truemeaning man! Full of wild faculty, fire and light; of wild worth, all uncultured; working out his life-task in the depths of the Desert there. How he was placed with Kadijah, a rich Widow, as her Steward, and travelled in her business, again to the Fairs of Syria; how he managed all, as one can well understand, with fidelity, adroitness; how her gratitude, her regard for him grew: the story of their marriage is altogether a graceful intelligible one, as told us by the Arab

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authors. He was twenty-five; she forty, though still beautiful. He seems to have lived in a most affectionate, peaceable, wholesome way with this wedded benefactress; loving her truly, and her alone. It goes greatly against the impostor-theory, the fact that he lived in this entirely unexceptionable, entirely quiet and commonplace way, till the heat of his years was done. He was forty before he talked of any mission from Heaven. All his irregularities, real and supposed, date from after his fiftieth year, when the good Kadijah died. All his 'ambition,' seemingly, had been, hitherto, to live an honest life; his 'fame,' the mere good-opinion of neighbours that knew him, had been sufficient hitherto. Not till he was already getting old, the prurient heat of his life all burnt out, and peace growing to be the chief thing this world could give him, did he start on the 'career of ambition;' and, belying all his past character and existence, set up as a wretched empty charlatan to acquire what he could now no longer enjoy! For my share, I have no faith whatever in that. Ah no: this deep-hearted Son of the Wilderness, with his beaming black eyes, and open social deep soul, had other thoughts in him than ambition. A silent great soul; he was one of those who cannot but be in earnest; whom Nature herself has appointed to be sincere. While others walk in formulas and hearsays, contented enough to dwell there, this man could not screen himself in formulas; he was alone with his own soul and the reality of things. The great Mystery of Existence, as I said, glared in upon him; with its terrors, with its splendours; no hearsays could hide that unspeakable fact, "Here am I!" Such sincerity, as we named it, has in very truth something of divine. The word of such a man is a Voice direct from Nature's own Heart. Men do and must listen to that as to nothing else;—all else is wind in comparison. From of old, a thousand thoughts, in his pilgrimings and wanderings, had been in this man: What am I? What is this unfathomable Thing I live in, which men name Universe? What is Life; what is Death! What am I to believe? What am I to do? The grim rocks of Mount Hara, of Mount Sinai, the stern sandy solitudes answered not. The great Heaven rolling silent overhead, with its blue-glancing stars, answered not. There was no answer. The man's own soul, and what of God's inspiration dwelt there, had to answer! It is the thing which all men have to ask themselves; which we too have to ask, and answer. This wild man felt it to be of infinite

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moment; all other things of no moment whatever in comparison. The jargon of argumentative Greek Sects, vague traditions of Jews, the stupid routine of Arab Idolatry: there was no answer in these. A Hero, as I repeat, has this first distinction, which indeed we may call first and last, the Alpha and Omega of his whole Heroism, That he looks through the shews of things into things. Use and wont, respectable hearsay, respectable formula: all these are good, or are not good. There is something behind and beyond all these, which all these must correspond with, be the image of, or they are—Idolatries; 'bits of black wood pretending to be God:' to the earnest soul a mockery and abomination. Idolatries never so gilded, waited on by heads of the Koreish, will do nothing for this man. Though all men walk by them, what good is it? The great Reality stands glaring there upon him. He there has to answer it, or perish miserably. Now, even now, or else through all Eternity never! Answer it; thou must find an answer.— Ambition? What could all Arabia do for this man; with the crown of Greek Heraclius, of Persian Chosroes, and all crowns in the Earth;— what could they all do for him? It was not of the Earth he wanted to hear tell; it was of the Heaven above and of the Hell beneath. All crowns and sovereignties whatsoever, where would they in a few brief years be? To be Shiek of Mecca or Arabia, and have a bit of gilt wood put into your hand,—will that be one's salvation? I decidedly think, not. We will leave it altogether, this impostor-hypothesis, as not credible; not very tolerable even, worthy chiefly of dismissal by us. Mahomet had been wont to retire yearly, during the month Ramadhan, into solitude and silence; as indeed was the Arab custom; a praiseworthy custom, which such a man, above all, would find natural and useful. Communing with his own heart, in the silence of the mountains; himself silent; open to the 'small still voices:' it was a right natural custom! Mahomet was in his fortieth year, when having withdrawn to a cavern in Mount Hara, near Mecca, during this Ramadhan, to pass the month in prayer, and meditation on those great questions, he one day told his wife Kadijah, who with his household was with him or near him this year, That by the unspeakable special favour of Heaven he had now found it all out; was in doubt and darkness no longer, but saw it all. That all these Idols and Formulas were nothing, miserable bits of wood; that there was One God in and over all; and we must leave all Idols, and look to Him.

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That God is great; and that there is nothing else great! He is the Reality. Wooden Idols are not real; He is real. He made us at first, sustains us yet; we and all things are but the shadow of Him; a transitory garment veiling the Eternal Splendour. ''Allah akbar, God is great;'—and then also 'Islam,' That we must submit to God. That our whole strength lies in resigned submission to Him, whatsoever He do to us. For this world, and for the other! The thing He sends to us, were it death and worse than death, shall be good, shall be best; we resign ourselves to God.—'If this be Islam,'' says Goethe, 'do we not all live in Islam?' Yes, all of us that have any moral life; we all live so. It has ever been held the highest wisdom for a man not merely to submit to Necessity,—Necessity will make him submit,— but to know and believe well that the stern thing which Necessity had ordered was the wisest, the best, the thing wanted there. To cease his frantic pretension of scanning this great God's-World in his small fraction of a brain; to know that it had verily, though deep beyond his soundings, a Just Law, that the soul of it was Good;—that his part in it was to conform to the Law of the Whole, and in devout silence follow that; not questioning it, obeying it as unquestionable. I say, this is yet the only true morality known. A man is right and invincible, virtuous and on the road towards sure conquest, precisely while he joins himself to the great deep Law of the World, in spite of all superficial laws, temporary appearances, profit-and-loss calculations; he is victorious while he cooperates with that great central Law, not victorious otherwise;—and surely his first chance of cooperating with it, or getting into the course of it, is to know with his whole soul that it is; that it is good, and alone good! This is the soul of Islam; it is properly the soul of Christianity,—for Islam is definable as a confused form of Christianity; had Christianity not been, neither had it been. Christianity also commands us, before all, to be resigned to God. We are to take no counsel with flesh and blood; give ear to no vain cavils, vain sorrows and wishes: to know that we know nothing; that the worst and cruellest to our eyes is not what it seems; that we have to receive whatsoever befals us as sent from God above, and say, It is good and wise, God is great! "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." Islam means in its way Denial of Self, Annihilation of Self. This is yet the highest Wisdom that Heaven has revealed to our Earth.

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Such light had come, as it could, to illuminate the darkness of this wild Arab soul. A confused dazzling splendour as of life and Heaven, in the great darkness which threatened to be death: he called it revelation and the angel Gabriel;—who of us yet can know what to call it? It is the 'inspiration of the Almighty' that giveth us understanding. To know; to get into the truth of anything, is ever a mystic act,—of which the best Logics can but babble on the surface. 'Is not Belief the true god-announcing Miracle?' says Novalis.—That Mahomet's whole soul, set in flame with this grand Truth vouchsafed him, should feel as if it were important and the only important thing, was very natural. That Providence had unspeakably honoured him by revealing it, saving him from death and darkness; that he therefore was bound to make known the same to all creatures: this is what was meant by 'Mahomet is the Prophet of God;' this too is not without its true meaning.— The good Kadijah, we can fancy, listened to him with wonder, with doubt; at length she answered: Yes, it was true this that he said. One can fancy too the boundless gratitude of Mahomet; and how of all the kindnesses she had done him, this of believing the earnest struggling word he now spoke was the greatest. 'It is certain,' says Novalis, 'my Conviction gains infinitely, the moment another soul will believe in it.' It is a boundless favour.—He never forgot this good Kadijah. Long afterwards, Ayesha his young favourite wife, a woman who indeed distinguished herself among the Moslem, by all manner of qualities, through her whole long life; this young brilliant Ayesha was, one day, questioning him: "Now am not I better than Kadijah? She was a widow; old, and had lost her looks: you love me better than you did her?"—"No, by Allah!" answered Mahomet: "No, by Allah! She believed in me when none else would believe. In the whole world I had but one friend, and she was that!"—Seid, his Slave, also believed in him; these with his young Cousin Ali, Abu Thaleb's son, were his first converts. He spoke of his Doctrine to this man and that; but the most treated it with ridicule, with indifference: in three years, I think, he had gained but thirteen followers. His progress was slow enough. His encouragement to go on, was altogether the usual encouragement that such a man in such a case meets. After some three years of small

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success, he invited forty of his chief kindred to an entertainment; and there stood up and told them what his pretension was: that he had this thing to promulgate abroad to all men; that it was the highest thing, the one thing: which of them would second him in that? Amid the doubt and silence of all, young Ali, as yet a lad of sixteen, impatient of the silence, started up, and exclaimed in passionate fierce language, That he would! The assembly, among whom was Abu Thaleb, Ali's Father, could not be unfriendly to Mahomet; yet the sight there, of one unlettered elderly man, with a lad of sixteen, deciding on such an enterprise against all mankind, appeared ridiculous to them; the assembly broke up in laughter. Nevertheless it proved not a laughable thing; it was a very serious thing! As for this young Ali, one cannot but like him. A noble-minded creature, as he shews himself, now and always afterwards; full of affection, of fiery daring. Something chivalrous in him; brave as a lion; yet with a grace, a truth and affection worthy of Christian knighthood. He died by assassination in the Mosque at Bagdad; a death occasioned by his own generous fairness, confidence in the fairness of others: he said, If the wound proved not unto death, they must pardon the Assassin; but if it did, then they must slay him straightway, that so they two in the same hour might appear before God, and see which side of that quarrel was the just one! Mahomet naturally gave offence to the Koreish, Keepers of the Caabah, superintendents of the Idols. One or two men of influence had joined him: the thing spread slowly, but it was spreading. Naturally he gave offence to everybody: Who is this that pretends to be wiser than we all; that rebukes us all, as mere fools and worshippers of wood! Abu Thaleb the good Uncle spoke with him: Could he not be silent about all that; believe it all for himself, and not trouble others, anger the chief men, endanger himself and them all, talking of it? Mahomet answered: If the Sun stood on his right hand and the Moon on his left, ordering him to hold his peace, he could not obey! No: there was something in this Truth he had got which was of Nature herself; equal in rank to Sun, or Moon, or whatsoever thing Nature had made. It would speak itself there, so long as the Almighty allowed it, in spite of Sun and Moon, and all Koreish and all men and things. It must do that, and could do no other. Mahomet answered

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so; and, they say, 'burst into tears.' Burst into tears: he felt that Abu Thaleb was good to him; that the task he had got was no soft, but a stern and great one. He went on speaking to who would listen to him; publishing his Doctrine among the pilgrims as they came to Mecca; gaining adherents in this place and that. Continual contradiction, hatred, open or secret danger attended him. His powerful relations protected Mahomet himself; but by and by, on his own advice, all his adherents had to quit Mecca, and seek refuge in Abyssinia over the sea. The Koreish grew ever angrier; laid plots, and swore oaths among them, to put Mahomet to death with their own hands. Abu Thaleb was dead, the good Kadijah was dead. Mahomet is not solicitous of sympathy from us; but his outlook at this time was one of the dismal lest. He had to hide in caverns, escape in disguise; fly hither and thither; homeless, in continual peril of his life. More than once it seemed all over with him; more than once it turned on a straw, some rider's horse taking fright or the like, whether Mahomet and his Doctrine had not ended there, and not been heard of at all. But it was not to end so. In the thirteenth year of his mission, finding his enemies all banded against him, forty sworn men, one out of every tribe waiting to take his life, and no continuance possible at Mecca for him any longer, Mahomet fled to the place then called Yathreb, where he had gained some adherents; the place they now call Medina, or iMedinat al Nabi, the City of the Prophet,' from that circumstance. It lay some 200 miles off, through rocks and deserts; not without great difficulty, in such mood as we may fancy, he escaped thither, and found welcome. The whole East dates its era from this Flight, Hegira, as they name it: the Year 1 of this Hegira is 622 of our era, the fifty-third of Mahomet's life. He was now becoming an old man; his friends sinking round him one by one; his path desolate, encompassed with danger: unless he could find hope in his own heart, the outward face of things was but hopeless for him. It is so with all men in the like case. Hitherto Mahomet had professed to publish his Religion by the way of preaching and persuasion alone. But now, driven foully out of his native country, since unjust men had not only given no ear to his earnest Heaven's-message, the deep cry of his heart, but would not even let him live if he kept speaking it,—the wild Son of the Desert

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resolved to defend himself, like a man and Arab. If the Koreish will have it so, they shall have it. Tidings, felt to be of infinite moment to them and all men, they would not listen to these; would trample them down by sheer violence, steel and murder: well, let steel try it then! Ten years more this Mahomet had; all of fighting, of breathless impetuous toil and struggle; with what result we know. Much has been said of Mahomet's propagating his Religion by the sword. It is no doubt far nobler what we have to boast of the Christian Religion, that it propagated itself peaceably in the way of preaching and conviction. Yet withal, if we take this for an argument of the truth or falsehood of a religion, there is a radical mistake in it. The sword indeed: but where will you get your sword! Every new opinion, at its starting, is precisely in a minority of one. In one man's head alone, there it dwells as yet. One man alone of the whole world believes it; there is one man against all men. That he take a sword, and try to propagate with that, will do little for him. You must first get your sword! On the whole, a thing will propagate itself as it can. We do not find, of the Christian Religion either, that it always disdained the sword, when once it had got one. Charlemagne's conversion of the Saxons was not by preaching. I care little about the sword: I will allow a thing to struggle for itself in this world, with any sword or tongue or implement it has, or can lay hold of. We will let it preach, and pamphleteer, and fight, and to the uttermost bestir itself, and do, beak and claws, whatsoever is in it; very sure that it will, in the long-run, conquer nothing which does not deserve to be conquered. What is better than itself, it cannot put away, but only what is worse. In this great Duel, Nature herself is umpire, and can do no wrong: the thing which is deepest-rooted in Nature, what we call truest, that thing and not the other will be found growing at last. Here however, in reference to much that there is in Mahomet and his success, we are to remember what an umpire Nature is; what a greatness, composure of depth and tolerance there is in her. You take wheat to cast into the Earth's bosom: your wheat may be mixed with chaff, chopped straw, barn-sweepings, dust and all imaginable rubbish; no matter: you cast it into the kind just Earth; she grows the wheat,—the whole rubbish she silently absorbs, shrouds it in, says nothing of the rubbish. The yellow wheat is growing there; the good Earth is silent about all the rest,—has silently turned all the rest to

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some benefit too, and makes no complaint about it! So everywhere in Nature. She is true and not a lie; and yet so great, and just, and motherly, in her truth. She requires of a thing only that it be genuine of heart; she will protect it if so; will not, if not so. There is a soul of truth in all the things she ever gave harbour to. Alas, is not this the history of all highest Truth that comes or ever came into the world? The body of them all is imperfection, an element of light in darkness: to us they have to come embodied in mere Logic, in some merely scientific Theorem of the Universe; which cannot be complete; which cannot but be found, one day, incomplete, erroneous, and so die and disappear. The body of all Truth dies; and yet in all, I say, there is a soul which never dies; which in new and ever-nobler embodiment lives immortal as man himself! It is the way with Nature. The genuine essence of Truth never dies. That it be genuine, a voice from the great Deep of Nature, there is the point at Nature's judgment-seat. What we call pure or impure, is not with her the final question. Not how much chaff is in you; but whether you have any wheat. Pure? I might say to many a man: Yes, you are pure; pure enough; but you are chaff,—insincere hypothesis, hearsay, formality; you never were in contact with the great heart of the Universe at all; you are properly neither pure nor impure; you are nothing, Nature has no business with you. Mahomet's Creed we called a kind of Christianity; and really, if we look at the wild rapt earnestness with which it was believed and laid to heart, I should say a better kind than that of those miserable Syrian Sects, with their vain janglings about Homoiousion and Homoousion, the head full of worthless noise, the heart empty and dead! The truth of it is embedded in portentous error and falsehood; but the truth of it makes it be believed, not the falsehood: it succeeded by its truth. A bastard kind of Christianity, but a living kind; with a heart-life in it; not dead, chopping barren logic merely! Out of all that rubbish of Arab idolatries, argumentative theologies, traditions, subtleties, rumours and hypotheses of Greeks and Jews, with their idle wiredrawings, this wild man of the Desert, with his wild sincere heart, earnest as death and life, with his great flashing natural eyesight, had seen into the kernel of the matter. Idolatry is nothing: these Wooden Idols of yours, 'ye rub them with oil and wax, and the flies stick on them,'—these are wood, I tell you! They can do nothing for you;

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they are an impotent blasphemous pretence; a horror and abomination, if ye knew them. God alone is; God alone has power; He made us, He can kill us and keep us alive: "Allah akbar, God is great." Understand that His will is the best for you; that howsoever sore to flesh and blood, you will find it the wisest, best: you are bound to take it so; in this world and in the next, you have no other thing that you can do!—And now if the wild idolatrous men did believe this, and with their fiery hearts lay hold of it to do it, in what form soever it came to them, I say it was well worthy of being believed. In one form or the other, I say it is still the one thing worthy of being believed by all men. Man does hereby become the high-priest of this Temple of a World. He is in harmony with the Decrees of the Author of this World; cooperating with them, not vainly withstanding them: I know, to this day, no better definition of Duty than that same. All that is right includes itself in this of cooperating with the real Tendency of the World: you succeed by this (the World's Tendency will succeed), you are good, and in the right course there. Homoiousion, Homoottsion, vain logical jangle, then or before or at any time, may jangle itself out, and go whither and how it likes: this is the thing it all struggles to mean, if it would mean anything. If it do not succeed in meaning this, it means nothing. Not that Abstractions, logical Propositions, be correctly worded or incorrectly; but that living concrete Sons of Adam do lay this to heart: that is the important point. Islam devoured all these vain jangling Sects; and I think had right to do so. It was a Reality, direct from the great Heart of Nature once more. Arab idolatries, Syrian formulas, whatsoever was not equally real, had to go up in flame,—mere dead fuel, in various senses, for this which was fire. It was during these wild warfarings and strugglings, especially after the Flight to Mecca, that Mahomet dictated at intervals his Sacred Book, which they name Koran, or Reading, 'Thing to be read.' This is the Work he and his disciples made so much of, asking all the world, Is not that a miracle? The Mahometans regard their Koran with a reverence which few Christians pay even to their Bible. It is admitted everywhere as the standard of all law and all practice; the thing to be gone upon in speculation and life: the message sent direct out of Heaven, which this Earth has to conform to, and walk

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by; the thing to be read. Their Judges decide by it; all Moslem are bound to study it, seek in it for the light of their life. They have mosques where it is all read daily; thirty relays of priests take it up in succession, get through the whole each day. There, for twelve hundred years, has the voice of this Book, at all moments, kept sounding through the ears and the hearts of so many men. We hear of Mahometan Doctors that had read it seventy thousand times! Very curious: if one sought for 'discrepancies of national taste,' here surely were the most eminent instance of that! We also can read the Koran; our Translation of it, by Sale, is known to be a very fair one. I must say, it is as toilsome reading as I ever undertook. A wearisome confused jumble, crude, incondite; endless iterations, longwindedness, entanglement; most crude, incondite;—insupportable stupidity, in short! Nothing but a sense of duty could carry any European through the Koran. We read in it, as we might in the StatePaper Office, unreadable masses of lumber, that perhaps we may get some glimpses of a remarkable man. It is true we have it under disadvantages: the Arabs see more method in it than we. Mahomet's followers found the Koran lying all in fractions, as it had been written down at first promulgation; much of it, they say, on shoulder-blades of mutton, flung pellmell into a chest: and they published it, without any discoverable order as to time or otherwise;—merely trying, as would seem, and this not very strictly, to put the longest chapters first. The real beginning of it, in that way, lies almost at the end; for the earliest portions were the shortest. Read in its historical sequence it perhaps would not be so bad. Much of it, too, they say, is rhythmic; a kind of wild chaunting song, in the original. This may be a great point; much perhaps has been lost in the Translation here. Yet with every allowance, one feels it difficult to see how any mortal ever could consider this Koran as a Book written in Heaven, too good for the Earth; as a well-written book, or indeed as a book at all; and not a bewildered rhapsody; written, so far as writing goes, as badly as almost any book ever was! So much for national discrepancies, and the standard of taste. Yet I should say, it was not unintelligible how the Arabs might so love it. When once you get this confused coil of a Koran fairly off your hands, and have it behind you at a distance, the essential type of it begins to disclose itself; and in this there is a merit quite other

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than the literary one. If a book come from the heart, it will contrive to reach other hearts; all art and authorcraft are of small amount to that. One would say the primary character of the Koran is this of its genuineness, of its being a bond-fide book. Prideaux, I know, and others have represented it as a mere bundle of juggleries; chapter after chapter got up to excuse and varnish the author's successive sins, forward his ambitions and quackeries: but really it is time to dismiss all that. I do not assert Mahomet's continual sincerity: who is continually sincere? But I confess I can make nothing of the critic, in these times, who would accuse him of deceit prepense; of conscious deceit generally, or perhaps at all;—still more, of living in a mere element of conscious deceit, and writing this Koran as a forger and juggler would have done! Every candid eye, I think, will read the Koran far otherwise than so. It is the confused ferment of a great rude human soul; rude, untutored, that cannot even read; but fervent, earnest, struggling vehemently to utter itself in words. With a kind of breathless intensity he strives to utter himself; the thoughts crowd on him pellmell; for very multitude of things to say he can get nothing said. The meaning that is in him shapes itself into no form of composition, is stated in no sequence, method, or coherence;— they are not shaped at all, these thoughts of his; flung out unshaped, as they struggle and tumble there, in their chaotic inarticulate state. We said 'stupid:' yet natural stupidity is by no means the character of Mahomet's Book; it is natural uncultivation rather. The man has not studied speaking; in the haste and pressure of continual fighting, has not time to mature himself into fit speech. The panting breathless haste and vehemence of a man struggling in the thick of battle for life and salvation; this is the mood he is in! A headlong haste; for very magnitude of meaning he cannot get himself articulated into words. The successive utterances of a soul in that mood, coloured by the various vicissitudes of three-and-twenty years; now well uttered, now worse: this is the Koran. For we are to consider Mahomet, through these three-and-twenty years, as the centre of a world wholly in conflict. Battles with the Koreish and Heathen, quarrels among his own people, backslidings of his own wild heart; all this kept him in a perpetual whirl, his soul knowing rest no more. In wakeful nights, as one may fancy, the wild soul of the man, tossing amid these vortices, would hail any light of

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a decision for them as a veritable light from Heaven; any making up of his mind, so blessed, indispensable for him there, would seem the inspiration of a Gabriel. Forger and juggler? No, no! This great fiery heart, seething, simmering like a great furnace of thoughts, was not a juggler's. His Life was a Fact to him; this God's Universe an awful Fact and Reality. He has faults enough. The man was an uncultured semi-barbarous Son of Nature, much of the Bedouin still clinging to him: we must take him for that. But for a wretched Simulacrum, a hungry Impostor without eyes or heart, practising for a mess of pottage such blasphemous swindlery, forgery of celestial documents, continual high-treason against his Maker and Self, we will not and cannot take him. Sincerity, in all senses, seems to me the merit of the Koran; what had rendered it precious to the wild Arab men. It is, after all, the first and last merit in a book; gives rise to merits of all kinds,—nay, at bottom, it alone can give rise to merit of any kind. Curiously, through these incondite masses of tradition, vituperation, complaint, ejaculation in the Koran, a vein of true direct insight, of what we might almost call poetry, is found straggling. The body of the Book is made up of mere tradition, and as it were vehement enthusiastic extempore preaching. He returns forever to the old stories of the Prophets as they went current in the Arab memory: how Prophet after Prophet, the Prophet Abraham, the Prophet Hud, the Prophet Moses, Christian and other real and fabulous Prophets, had come to this Tribe and to that, warning men of their sin; and been received by them even as he Mahomet was,—which is a great solace to him. These things he repeats ten, perhaps twenty times; again and ever again, with wearisome iteration; has never done repeating them. A brave Samuel Johnson, in his forlorn garret, might con over the Biographies of Authors in that way! This is the great staple of the Koran. But curiously, through all this, comes ever and anon some glance as of the real thinker and seer. He has actually an eye for the world, this Mahomet: with a certain directness and rugged vigour, he brings home still, to our heart, the thing his own heart has been opened to. I make but little of his praises of Allah, which many praise; they are borrowed I suppose mainly from the Hebrew, at least they are far surpassed there. But the eye that flashes direct into the heart of things, and sees the truth of them; this is to me a highly interesting

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object. Great Nature's own gift; which she bestows on all; but which only one in the thousand does not cast sorrowfully away: it is what I call sincerity of vision; the test of a sincere heart. Mahomet can work no miracles; he often answers impatiently: I can work no miracles. I? 'I am a Public Preacher;' appointed to preach this doctrine to all creatures. Yet the world, as we can see, had really from of old been all one great miracle to him. Look over the world, says he; is it not wonderful, the work of Allah; wholly 'a sign to you,' if your eyes were open! This Earth, God made it for you; 'appointed paths in it;' you can live in it, go to and fro on it.—The clouds in the dry country of Arabia, to Mahomet they are very wonderful: Great clouds, he says, born in the deep bosom of the Upper Immensity, where do they come from! They hang there, the great black monsters; pour down their rain-deluges 'to revive a dead earth,' and grass springs, and 'tall leafy palm-trees with their date-clusters hanging round. Is not that a sign?' Your cattle too,—Allah made them: serviceable dumb creatures; they change the grass into milk; you have your clothing from them, very strange creatures; they come ranking home at evening time, 'and,' adds he, 'and are a credit to you!' Ships also,—he talks often about ships: Huge moving mountains, they spread out their cloth wings, go bounding through the water there, Heaven's wind driving them; anon they lie motionless, God has withdrawn the wind, they lie dead, and cannot stir! Miracles? cries he: What miracle would you have? Are not you yourselves there? God made you, 'shaped you out of a little clay.' Ye were small once; a few years ago ye were not at all. Ye have beauty, strength, thoughts, 'ye have compassion on one another.' Old age comes on you, and grey hairs; your strength fades into feebleness; ye sink down, and again are not. 'Ye have compassion on one another:' this struck me much: Allah might have made you having no compassion on one another,—how had it been then! This is a great direct thought, a glance at first-hand into the very fact of things. Rude vestiges of poetic genius, of whatsoever is best and truest, are visible in this man. A strong untutored intellect; eyesight, heart: a strong wild man,—might have shaped himself into Poet, King, Priest, any kind of Hero. To his eyes it is forever clear that this world wholly is miraculous. He sees what, as we said once before, all great thinkers, the rude Scandinavians themselves, in one way or other, have contrived to see:

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That this so solid-looking material world is, at bottom, in very deed, Nothing; is a visual and tactual Manifestation of God's power and presence,—a shadow hung out by Him on the bosom of the void Infinite; nothing more. The mountains, he says, these great rockmountains, they shall dissipate themselves 'like clouds;' melt into the Blue as clouds do, and not be! He figures the Earth, in the Arab fashion, Sale tells us, as an immense Plain or flat Plate of ground, the mountains are set on that to steady it. At the Last Day, they shall disappear 'like clouds;' the whole Earth shall go spinning, whirl itself off into wreck, and as dust and vapour vanish in the Inane. Allah withdraws his hand from it, and it ceases to be. The universal empire of Allah, presence everywhere of an unspeakable Power, a Splendour, and a Terror not to be named, as the true force, essence and reality, in all things whatsoever, was continually clear to this man. What a modern talks of by the name, Forces of Nature, Laws of Nature; and does not figure as a divine thing; not even as one thing at all, but as a set of things, undivine enough,—saleable, curious, good for propelling steam-ships! With our Sciences and Cyclopaedias, we are apt to forget the divineness, in those laboratories of ours. We ought not to forget it! That once well forgotten, I know not what else were worth remembering. Most sciences, I think, were then a very dead thing; withered, contentious, empty;—a thistle in late autumn. The best science, without this, is but as the dead timber; it is not the growing tree and forest,—which gives ever-new timber among other things! Man cannot know either, unless he can worship in some way. His knowledge is a pedantry, and dead thistle, otherwise. Much has been said and written about the sensuality of Mahomet's Religion; more than was just. The indulgences, criminal to us, which he permitted, were not of his appointment; he found them practised, unquestioned from immemorial time in Arabia; what he did was to curtail them, restrict them, not on one but on many sides. His Religion is not an easy one; with rigorous fasts, lavations, strict complex formulas, prayers five times a day, and abstinence from wine, it did not 'succeed by being an easy religion.' As if indeed any religion, or cause holding of religion, could succeed by that! It is a calumny on men to say that they are roused to heroic action by ease, hope of pleasure, recompense,—sugar-plums of any kind, in this world or the next! In the meanest mortal there lies something nobler.

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The poor swearing soldier, hired to be shot, has his 'honour of a soldier,' different from drill-regulations and the shilling a day. It is not to taste sweet things, but to do noble and true things, and vindicate himself under God's Heaven as a god-made Man, that the poorest son of Adam dimly longs. Shew him the way of doing that, the dullest daydrudge kindles into a hero. They wrong man greatly who say he is to be seduced by ease. Difficulty, abnegation, martyrdom, death are the allurements that act on the heart of man. Kindle the inner genial life of him, you have a flame that burns up all lower considerations. Not happiness, but something higher: one sees this even in the frivolous classes, with their 'point of honour' and the like. Not by flattering our appetites; no, by awakening the Heroic that slumbers in every heart, can any Religion gain followers. Mahomet himself, after all that can be said about him, was not a sensual man. We shall err widely if we consider this man as a common voluptuary, intent mainly on base enjoyments,—nay on enjoyments of any kind. His household was of the frugalest; his common diet barley-bread and water: sometimes for months there was not a fire once lighted on his hearth. They record with just pride that he would mend his own shoes, patch his own cloak. A poor, hard-toiling, illprovided man; careless of what vulgar men toil for. Not a bad man, I should say; something better in him than hunger of any sort,—or these wild Arab men, fighting and jostling three and twenty years at his hand, in close contact with him always, would not have reverenced him so! They were wild men, bursting ever and anon into quarrel, into all kinds of fierce sincerity; without right worth and manhood, no man could have commanded them. They called him Prophet, you say? Why, he stood there face to face with them; bare, not enshrined in any mystery; visibly clouting his own cloak, cobbling his own shoes; fighting, counselling, ordering in the midst of them: they must have seen what kind of a man he was, let him be called what you like! No emperor with his tiaras was obeyed as this man in a cloak of his own clouting. During three and twenty years of rough actual trial. I find something of a veritable Hero necessary for that, of itself. His last words are a prayer; broken ejaculations of a heart struggling up, in trembling hope, towards its Maker. We cannot say that his religion made him worse; it made him better; good, not bad.

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Generous things are recorded of him: when he lost his Daughter, the thing he answers is, in his own dialect, every way sincere, and yet equivalent to that of Christians, 'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.' He answered in like manner of Seid, his emancipated well-beloved Slave, the second of the believers. Seid had fallen in the War of Tabuc, the first of Mahomet's fightings with the Greeks. Mahomet said, It was well; Seid had done his Master's work, Seid had now gone to his Master: it was all well with Seid. Yet Seid's daughter found him weeping over the body;—the old gray-haired man melting in tears! "What do I see?" said she.—"You see a friend weeping over his friend."—He went out for the last time into the mosque, two days before his death; asked, If he had injured any man? Let his own back bear the stripes. If he owed any man? A voice answered, "Yes, me three drachms," borrowed on such an occasion. Mahomet ordered them to be paid: "Better be in shame now," said he, "than at the Day of Judgment."— You remember Kadijah, and the "No, by Allah!" Traits of that kind shew us the genuine man, the brother of us all, brought visible through twelve centuries,—the veritable Son of our common Mother. Withal I like Mahomet for his total freedom from cant. He is a rough self-helping son of the wilderness; does not pretend to be what he is not. There is no ostentatious pride in him; but neither does he go much upon humility: he is there as he can be, in cloak and shoes of his own clouting; speaks plainly to all manner of Persian Kings, Greek Emperors, what it is they are bound to do; knows well enough, about himself, 'the respect due unto thee.' In a life-and-death war with Bedouins, cruel things could not fail; but neither are acts of mercy, of noble natural pity and generosity, wanting. Mahomet makes no apology for the one, no boast of the other. They were each the free dictate of his heart; each called for, there and then. Not a mealymouthed man! A candid ferocity, if the case call for it, is in him; he does not mince matters! The War of Tabuc is a thing he often speaks of: his men refused, many of them, to march on that occasion; pleaded the heat of the weather, the harvest, and so forth; he can never forget that. Your harvest? It lasts for a day. What will become of your harvest through all Eternity? Hot weather? Yes, it was hot; but 'Hell will be hotter!' Sometimes a rough sarcasm turns up: He says to the unbelievers, Ye shall have the just measure of your deeds

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at that Great Day. They will be weighed out to you; ye shall not have short weight!—Everywhere he fixes the matter in his eye; he sees it: his heart, now and then, is as if struck dumb by the greatness of it. 'Assuredly,' he says: that word, in the Koran, is written down sometimes as a sentence by itself: 'Assuredly.' No Dilettantism in this Mahomet; it is a business of Reprobation and Salvation with him, of Time and Eternity: he is in deadly earnest about it! Dilettantism, hypothesis, speculation, a kind of amateursearch for Truth, toying and coquetting with Truth: this is the sorest sin. The root of all other imaginable sins. It consists in the heart and soul of the man never having been open to Truth;—'living in a vain show.' Such a man not only utters and produces falsehoods, but is himself a falsehood. The rational moral principle, spark of the Divinity, is sunk deep in him, in quiet paralysis of life-death. The very falsehoods of Mahomet are truer than the truths of such a man. He is the insincere man: smooth-polished, respectable in some times and places; inoffensive, says nothing harsh to anybody; most cleanly,—just as carbonic acid is, which is death and poison. We will not praise Mahomet's moral precepts as always of the superfinest sort; yet it can be said that there is always a tendency to good in them; that they are the true dictates of a heart aiming towards what is just and true. The sublime forgiveness of Christianity, turning of the other cheek when the one has been smitten, is not here: you are to revenge yourself, but it is to be in measure, not over much, or beyond justice. On the other hand, Islam, like any great Faith, and insight into the essence of man, is a perfect equalizer of men: the soul of one believer outweighs all earthly kingships; all men, according to Islam too, are equal. Mahomet insists not on the propriety of giving alms, but on the necessity of it: he marks down by law how much you are to give, and it is at your peril if you neglect. The tenth part of a man's annual income, whatever that may be, is the property of the poor, of those that are afflicted and need help. Good all this: the natural voice of humanity, of pity and equity dwelling in the heart of this wild Son of Nature speaks so. Mahomet's Paradise is sensual, his Hell sensual: true; in the one and the other there is enough that shocks all spiritual feeling in us. But we are to recollect that the Arabs already had it so; that Mahomet, in whatever he changed of it, softened and diminished all this.

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The worst sensualities, too, are the work of doctors, followers of his, not his work. In the Koran there is really very little said about the joys of Paradise; they are intimated rather than insisted on. Nor is it forgotten that the highest joys even there shall be spiritual; the pure Presence of the Highest, this shall infinitely transcend all other joys. He says, 'Your salutation shall be, Peace.' Salam, Have Peace!—the thing that all rational souls long for, and seek, vainly here below, as the one blessing. 'Ye shall sit on seats, facing one another: all grudges shall be taken away out of your hearts.' All grudges! Ye shall love one another freely; for each of you, in the eyes of his brothers, there will be Heaven enough! In reference to this of the sensual Paradise and Mahomet's sensuality, the sorest chapter of all for us, there were many things to be said; which it is not convenient to enter upon here. Two remarks only I shall make, and therewith leave it to your candour. The first is furnished me by Goethe; it is a casual hint of his which seems well worth taking note of. In one of his Delineations, in Meister's Travels it is, the hero comes upon a Society of men with very strange ways, one of which was this: "We require," says the Master, "that each of our people shall restrict himself in one direction," shall go right against his desire in one matter, and make himself do the thing he does not wish, "should we allow him the greater latitude on all other sides." There seems to me a great justness in this. Enjoying things which are pleasant; that is not the evil: it is the reducing of our moral self to slavery by them that is. Let a man assert withal that he is king over his habitudes; that he could and would shake them off, on cause shewn: this is an excellent law. The Month Ramadhan for the Moslem, much in Mahomet's Religion, much in his own Life, bears in that direction; if not by forethought, or clear purpose of moral improvement on his part, then by a certain healthy manful instinct, which is as good. But there is another thing to be said about the Mahometan Heaven and Hell. This namely, that, however gross and material they may be, they are an emblem of an everlasting truth, not always so well remembered elsewhere. That gross sensual Paradise of his; that horrible flaming Hell; the great enormous Day of Judgment he perpetually insists on: what is all this but a rude shadow, in the rude Bedouin imagination, of that grand spiritual Fact, and Beginning of Facts,

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which it is ill for us too if we do not all know and feel: the Infinite Nature of Duty? That man's actions here are of infinite moment to him, and never die or end at all; that man, with his little life, reaches upwards high as Heaven, downwards low as Hell, and in his threescore years of Time holds an Eternity fearfully and wonderfully hidden: all this had burnt itself, as in flame-characters, into the wild Arab soul. As in flame and lightning, it stands written there; awful, unspeakable, ever present to him. With bursting earnestness, with a fierce savage sincerity, half-articulating, not able to articulate, he strives to speak it, bodies it forth in that Heaven and that Hell. Bodied forth in what way you will, it is the first of all truths. It is venerable under all embodiments. What is the chief end of man here below? Mahomet has answered this question, in a way that might put some of us to shame! He does not, like a Bentham, a Paley, take Right and Wrong, and calculate the profit and loss, ultimate pleasure of the one and of the other; and summing all up by addition and subtraction into a net result, ask you, Whether on the whole the Right does not preponderate considerably? No: it is not better to do the one than the other; the one is to the other as life is to death,—as Heaven is to Hell. The one must in nowise be done, the other in nowise left undone. You shall not measure them; they are incommensurable: the one is death eternal to a man, the other is life eternal. Benthamee Utility, virtue by Profit and Loss; reducing this God's-world to a dead brute Steam-engine, the infinite celestial Soul of Man to a kind of Hay-balance for weighing hay and thistles on, pleasures and pains on:—If you ask me which gives, Mahomet or they, the beggarlier and falser view of Man and his Destinies in this Universe, I will answer, It is not Mahomet!— — On the whole, we will repeat that this Religion of Mahomet's is a kind of Christianity; has a genuine element of what is spiritually highest looking through it, not to be hidden by all its imperfections. The Scandinavian God Wish, the god of all rude men,—this has been enlarged into a Heaven by Mahomet; but a Heaven symbolical of sacred Duty, and to be earned by faith and welldoing, by valiant action, and a divine patience which is still more valiant. It is Scandinavian Paganism, and a truly celestial element superadded to that. Call it not false; look not at the falsehood of it, look at the truth of it. For these twelve centuries, it has been the religion and

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life-guidance of the fifth part of the whole kindred of Mankind. Above all things, it has been a religion heartily believed. These Arabs believe their religion, and try to live by it! No Christians, since the early ages, or only perhaps the English Puritans in modern times, have ever stood by their Faith as the Moslem do by theirs,—believing it wholly, fronting Time with it, and Eternity with it. This night the watchman on the streets of Cairo when he cries, "Who goes?" will hear from the passenger, along with his answer, "There is no God but God." Allah akbar, Islam, sounds through the souls, and whole daily existence, of these dusky millions. Zealous missionaries preach it abroad among Malays, black Papuans, brutal Idolaters;—displacing what is worse, nothing that is better or good. To the Arab Nation it was as a birth from darkness into light; Arabia first became alive by means of it. A poor shepherd people, roaming unnoticed in its deserts since the creation of the world: a Hero-Prophet was sent down to them with a word they could believe: see, the unnoticed becomes world-notable, the small has grown world-great; within one century afterwards, Arabia is at Grenada on this hand, at Delhi on that;—glancing in valour and splendour and the light of genius, Arabia shines through long ages over a great section of the world. Belief is great, life-giving. The history of a Nation becomes fruitful, soul-elevating, great, so soon as it believes. These Arabs, the man Mahomet, and that one century,—is it not as if a spark had fallen, one spark, on a world of what seemed black unnoticeable sand; but lo, the sand proves explosive powder, blazes heaven-high from Delhi to Grenada! I said, the Great Man was always as lightning out of Heaven; the rest of men waited for him like fuel, and then they too would flame.

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[Tuesday, 12th May, 1840.] THE HERO AS POET. DANTE; SHAKSPEARE.

THE Hero as Divinity, the Hero as Prophet, are productions of old ages; not to be repeated in the new. They presuppose a certain rudeness of conception, which the progress of mere scientific knowledge puts an end to. There needs to be, as it were, a world vacant, or almost vacant of scientific forms, if men in their loving wonder are to fancy their fellow man either a god or one speaking with the voice of a god. Divinity and Prophet are past. We are now to see our Hero in the less ambitious, but also less questionable, character of Poet; a character which does not pass. The Poet is a heroic figure belonging to all ages; whom all ages possess, when once he is produced, whom the newest age as the oldest may produce;—and will produce, always when Nature pleases. Let Nature send a Hero-soul; in no age is it other than possible that he may be shaped into a Poet. Hero, Prophet, Poet,—many different names, in different times and places, do we give to Great Men; according to varieties we note in them, according to the sphere in which they have displayed themselves! We might give many more names, on this same principle. I will remark again, however, as a fact not unimportant to be understood, that the different sphere constitutes the grand origin of such distinction; that the Hero can be Poet, Prophet, King, Priest or what you will, according to the kind of world he finds himself born into. I confess, I have no notion of a truly great man that could not be all sorts of men. The Poet who could merely sit on a chair, and compose stanzas, would never make a stanza worth much. He could not sing 67

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the Heroic warrior, unless he himself were at least a Heroic warrior too. I fancy there is in him the Politician, the Thinker, Legislator, Philosopher;—in one or the other degree, he could have been, he is all these. So too I cannot understand how a Mirabeau, with that great glowing heart, with the fire that was in it, with the bursting tears that were in it, could not have written verses, tragedies, poems, and touched all hearts in that way, had his course of life and education led him thitherward. The grand fundamental character is that of Great Man; that the man be great. Napoleon has words in him which are like Austerlitz Battles. Louis Fourteenth's Marshals are a kind of poetical men withal; the things Turenne says are full of sagacity and geniality, like sayings of Samuel Johnson. The great heart, the clear deep-seeing eye: there it lies; no man whatever, in what province soever, can prosper at all without these. Petrarch and Boccaccio did diplomatic messages, it seems, quite well: one can easily believe it; they had done things a little harder than these! Burns, a gifted songwriter, might have made a still better Mirabeau. Shakspeare,—one knows not what he could not have made, in the supreme degree. True, there are aptitudes of Nature too. Nature does not make all great men, more than all other men, in the self-same mould. Varieties of aptitude doubtless; but infinitely more of circumstance; and far oftenest it is the latter only that are looked to. But it is as with common men in the learning of trades. You take any man, as yet a vague capability of a man, who could be any kind of craftsman; and make him into a smith, a carpenter, a mason: he is then and thenceforth that and nothing else. And if, as Addison complains, you sometimes see a street-porter staggering under his load on spindleshanks, and near at hand a tailor with the frame of a Samson, handling a bit of cloth and small Whitechapel needle,—it cannot be considered that aptitude of Nature alone has been consulted here either!—The Great Man also, to what shall he be bound apprentice? Given your Hero, is he to become Conqueror, King, Philosopher, Poet? It is an inexplicably complex controversial-calculation between the world and him! He will read the world and its laws; the world with its laws will be there to be read. What the world, on this matter, shall permit and bid is, as we said, the most important fact about the world.—

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Poet and Prophet differ greatly in our loose modern notions of them. In some old languages, again, the titles are synonymous; Vates means both Prophet and Poet: and indeed at all times, Prophet and Poet, well understood, have much kindred of meaning. Fundamentally indeed they are still the same; in this most important respect especially, That they have penetrated both of them into the sacred mystery of the Universe; what Goethe calls 'the open secret!' "Which is the great secret?" asks one.—"The open secret,"—open to all, seen by almost none! That divine mystery, which lies everywhere in all Beings, 'the Divine Idea of the World, that which lies at the bottom of Appearance,' as Fichte styles it; of which all Appearance, from the starry sky to the grass of the field, but especially the Appearance of Man and his work, is but the vesture, the embodiment that renders it visible. This divine mystery win all times and in all places; veritably is. In most times and places it is greatly overlooked; and the Universe, definable always in one or the other dialect, as the realised Thought of God, is considered a trivial, inert, commonplace matter,—as if, says the Satirist, it were a dead thing, which some upholsterer had put together! It could do no good, at present, to speak much about this; but it is a pity for every one of us if we do not know it, live ever in the knowledge of it. Really a most mournful pity;—a failure to live at all, if we live otherwise! But now, I say, whoever may forget this divine mystery, the Vates, whether Prophet or Poet, has penetrated into it; is a man sent hither to make it more impressively known to us. That always is his message; he is to reveal that to us,—that sacred mystery which he more than others lives ever present with. While others forget it, he knows it;— I might say, he has been driven to know it; without consent asked of him, he finds himself living in it, bound to live in it. Once more, here is no Hearsay, but a direct Insight and Belief; this man too could not help being a sincere man! Whosoever may live in the shows of things, it is for him a necessity of nature to live in the very fact of things. A man, once more, in earnest with the Universe, though all others were but toying with it. He is a Vates, first of all, in virtue of being sincere. So far Poet and Prophet, participators in the 'open secret,' are one. With respect to their distinction again: The Vates Prophet, we might say, has seized that sacred mystery rather on the moral side, as

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Good and Evil, Duty and Prohibition; the Vates Poet on what the Germans call the xsthetic side, as Beautiful, and the like. The one we may call a revealer of what we are to do, the other of what we are to love. But indeed these two provinces run into one another, and cannot be disjoined. The Prophet too has his eye on what we are to love: how else shall he know what it is we are to do? The highest Voice ever heard on this Earth said withal, "Consider the lilies of the field; they toil not, neither do they spin: yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." A glance, that, into the deepest deep of Beauty. 'The lilies of the field,'—dressed finer than earthly princes, springing up there in the humble furrow-field; a beautiful eye looking out on you, from the great inner Sea of Beauty! How could the rude Earth make these, if her Essence, rugged as she looks and is, were not inwardly Beauty?—In this point of view, too, a saying of Goethe's, which has staggered several, may have meaning: 'The Beautiful,' he intimates, 'is higher than the Good; the Beautiful includes in it the Good.' The true Beautiful; which however, I have said somewhere, 'differs from the false, as Heaven does from Vauxhall!' So much for the distinction and identity of Poet and Prophet.-— In ancient and also in modern periods, we find a few Poets who are accounted perfect; whom it were a kind of treason to find fault with. This is noteworthy; this is right: yet in strictness it is only an illusion. At bottom, clearly enough, there is no perfect Poet! A vein of Poetry exists in the hearts of all men; no man is made altogether of Poetry. We are all poets when we read a poem well. The 'imagination that shudders at the Hell of Dante,' is not that the same faculty, weaker in degree, as Dante's own? No one but Shakspeare can embody, out of Saxo Grammaticus, the story of Hamlet as Shakspeare did: but every one models some kind of story out of it; every one embodies it better or worse. We need not spend time in defining. Where there is no specific difference, as between round and square, all definition must be more or less arbitrary. A man that has so much more of the poetic element developed in him as to have become noticeable, will be called Poet by his neighbours. World-Poets too, those whom we are to take for perfect Poets, are settled by critics in the same way. One who rises so far above the general level of Poets will, to such and such critics, seem a Universal Poet; as he ought to do. And yet it is, and must be, an arbitrary distinction. All Poets, all

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men, have some touches of the Universal; no man is wholly made of that. Most Poets are very soon forgotten: but not the noblest Shakspeare or Homer of them can be remembered forever;—a day comes when he too is not! Nevertheless, you will say, there must be a difference between true Poetry and true Speech not poetical: what is the difference? On this point many things have been written, especially by late German Critics, some of which are not very intelligible at first. They say, for example, that the Poet has an infinitude in him; communicates an Unendlichkeit, a certain character of 'infinitude' to whatsoever he delineates. This, though not very precise, yet on so vague a matter is worth remembering: if well meditated, some meaning will gradually be found in it. For my own part, I find considerable meaning in the old vulgar distinction of Poetry being metrical, having music in it, being a Song. Truly, if pressed to give a definition, one might say this as soon as anything else: If your delineation be authentically musical, musical not in word only, but in heart and substance, in all the thoughts and utterances of it, in the whole conception of it, then it will be poetical; if not, not.—Musical: how much lies in that! A musical thought is one spoken by a mind that has penetrated into the inmost heart of the thing; detected the inmost mystery of it, namely the melody that lies hidden in it; the inward harmony of coherence which is its soul, whereby it exists, and has a right to be, here in this world. All inmost things, we may say, are melodious; naturally utter themselves in Song. The meaning of Song goes deep. Who is there that, in logical words, can express the effect music has on us? A kind of inarticulate unfathomable speech, which leads us to the edge of the Infinite, and lets us for moments ga/e into that! Nay all speech, even the commonest speech, has something of song in it: not a parish in the world but has its parish-accent;—the rhythm or tune to which the people there sing what they have to say! Accent is a kind of chaunting; all men have accent of their own,— though they only notice that of others. Observe too how all passionate language does of itself become musical,—with a finer music than the mere accent; the speech of a man even in zealous anger becomes a chaunt, a song. All deep things are Song. It seems somehow the very central essence of us, Song; as if all the rest were but wrappages and hulls! The primal element of us; of us, and of all things. The

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Greeks fabled of Sphere-Harmonies: it was the feeling they had of the inner structure of Nature; that the soul of all her voices and utterances was perfect music. Poetry, therefore, we will call musical Thought. The Poet is he who thinks in that manner. At bottom, it turns still on power of intellect; it is a man's sincerity and depth of vision that makes him a Poet. See deep enough, and you see musically; the heart of Nature being everywhere music, if you can only reach it. The Vates Poet, with his melodious Apocalypse of Nature, seems to hold a poor rank among us, in comparison with the Vates Prophet; his function, and our esteem of him for his function, alike slight. The Hero taken as Divinity; the Hero taken as Prophet; then next the Hero taken only as Poet: does it not look as if our estimate of the Great Man, epoch after epoch, were continually diminishing? We take him first for a god, then for one god-inspired; and now in the next stage of it, his most miraculous word gains from us only the recognition that he is a Poet, beautiful verse-maker, man of genius, or such like!—It looks so; but I persuade myself that intrinsically it is not so. If we consider well, it will perhaps appear that in man still there is the same altogether peculiar admiration for the Heroic Gift, by what name soever called, that there at any time was. I should say, if we do not now reckon a Great Man literally divine, it is that our notions of God, of the supreme unattainable Fountain of Splendour, Wisdom and Heroism, are ever rising higher; not altogether that our reverence for these qualities, as manifested in our like, is getting lower. This is worth taking thought of. Sceptical Dilettantism, the curse of these ages, a curse which will not last forever, does indeed in this the highest province of human things, as in all provinces, make sad work; and our reverence for great men, all crippled, blinded, paralytic as it is, comes out in poor plight, hardly recognisable. Men worship the shows of great men; the most disbelieve that there is any reality of great men to worship. The dreariest, fatalest faith; believing which, one would literally despair of human things. Nevertheless look, for example, at Napoleon! A Corsican lieutenant of artillery; that is the show of him: yet is he not obeyed, worshipped after his sort, as all the Tiaraed and Diademed of the world put together could not be? High duchesses, and ostlers of inns, gather round the Scottish rustic, Burns;—a strange feeling dwelling in each that they never heard a

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man like this; that on the whole this is the man! In the secret heart of these people it still dimly reveals itself, though there is no accredited way of uttering it at present, that this rustic, with his black brows and flashing sun-eyes, and strange words moving laughter and tears, is of a dignity far beyond all others, incommensurable with all others. Do not we feel it so? But now, were Dilettantism, Scepticism, Triviality, and all that sorrowful brood, cast out of us,—as, by God's blessing, they shall one day be; were faith in the shows of things entirely swept out, replaced by clear faith in the things, so that a man acted on the impulse of that only, and counted the other non-extant, what a new livelier feeling towards this Burns were it! Nay here in these ages, such as they are, have we not two mere Poets, if not deified, yet we may say beatified? Shakspeare and Dante are Saints of Poetry; really, if we will think of it, canonized, so that it is impiety to meddle with them. The unguided instinct of the world, working across all these perverse impediments, has arrived at such result. Dante and Shakspeare are a peculiar Two. They dwell apart, in a kind of royal solitude; none equal, none second to them: in the general feeling of the world, a certain transcendentalism, a glory as of complete perfection, invests these two. They are canonized, though no Pope or Cardinals took hand in doing it! Such, in spite of every perverting influence, in the most unheroic times, is still our indestructible reverence for heroism.—We will look a little at these Two, the Poet Dante and the Poet Shakspeare: what little it is permitted us to say here of the Hero as Poet, will most fitly arrange itself in that fashion. Many volumes have been written by way of commentary on Dante and his Book; yet, on the whole, with no great result. His Biography is, as it were, irrecoverably lost for us. An unimportant, wandering, sorrowstricken man, not much note was taken of him while he lived; and the most of that has vanished, in the long space that now intervenes. It is five centuries since he ceased writing and living here. After all commentaries, the Book itself is mainly what we know of him. The Book;—and one might add that Portrait commonly attributed to Giotto, which, looking on it, you cannot help inclining to think genuine, whoever did it. To me it is a most touching face; perhaps of all faces that I know, the most so. Lonely there, painted as on vacancy,

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with the simple laurel wound round it; the deathless sorrow and pain, the known victory which is also deathless;—significant of the whole history of Dante! I think it is the mournfulest face that ever was painted from reality; an altogether tragic, heart-affecting face. There is in it, as foundation of it, the softness, tenderness, gentle affection as of a child; but all this is as if congealed into sharp contradiction, into abnegation, isolation, proud hopeless pain. A soft ethereal soul looking out so stern, implacable, grim-trenchant, as from imprisonment of thick-ribbed ice! Withal it is a silent pain too, a silent scornful one: the lip is curled in a kind of godlike disdain of the thing that is eating out his heart,—as if it were withal a mean insignificant thing, as if he whom it had power to torture and strangle were greater than it. The face of one wholly in protest, and life-long unsurrendering battle, against the world. Affection all converted into indignation: an implacable indignation; slow, equable, silent, like that of a god! The eye too, it looks out as in a kind of surprise, a kind of inquiry, Why the world was of such a sort? This is Dante: so he looks, this 'voice often silent centuries,' and sings us 'his mystic unfathomable song.' The little that we know of Dante's Life corresponds well enough with this Portrait and this Book. He was born at Florence, in the upper class of society, in the year 1265. His education was the best then going; much school-divinity, Aristotelean logic, some Latin classics,—no inconsiderable insight into certain provinces of things: and Dante, with his earnest intelligent nature, we need not doubt, learned better than most all that was learnable. He has a clear cultivated understanding, and of great subtlety; this best fruit of education he had contrived to realize from these scholastics. He knows accurately and well what lies close to him; but, in such a time, without printed books or free intercourse, he could not know well what was distant: the small clear light, most luminous for what is near, breaks itself into singular chiaroscuro striking on what is far off. This was Dante's learning from the schools. In life, he had gone through the usual destinies; been twice out campaigning as a soldier for the Florentine State, been on embassy; had in his thirty-fifth year, by natural gradation of talent and service, become one of the Chief Magistrates of Florence. He had met in boyhood a certain Beatrice

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Portinari, a beautiful little girl of his own age and rank, and grown up thenceforth in partial sight of her, in some distant intercourse with her. All readers know his graceful affecting account of this; and then of their being parted; of her being wedded to another, and of her death soon after. She makes a great figure in Dante's Poem; seems to have made a great figure in his life. Of all beings it might seem as if she, held apart from him, far apart at last in the dim Eternity, were the only one he had ever with his whole strength of affection loved. She died: Dante himself was wedded; but it seems not happily, far from happily. I fancy, the rigorous earnest man, with his keen excitabilities, was not altogether easy to make happy. We will not complain of Dante's miseries: had all gone right with him as he wished it, he might have been Prior, Podesta, or whatsoever they call it, of Florence, well accepted among neighbours,—and the world had wanted one of the most notable words ever spoken or sung. Florence would have had another prosperous Lord Mayor; and the ten dumb centuries continued voiceless, and the ten other listening centuries (for there will be ten of them and more) had no Divina Commedia to hear! We will complain of nothing. A nobler destiny was appointed for this Dante; and he, struggling like a man led towards death and crucifixion, could not help fulfilling it. Give him the choice of his happiness! He knew not more than we do what was really happy, what was really miserable. In Dante's Priorship, the Guelf-Ghibelline, Bianchi-Neri, or some other confused disturbances rose to such a height, that Dante, whose party had seemed the stronger, was with his friends cast unexpectedly forth into banishment; doomed thenceforth to a life of woe and wandering. His property was all confiscated and more; he had the fiercest feeling that it was entirely unjust, nefarious in the sight of God and man. He tried what was in him to get reinstated; tried even by warlike surprisal, with arms in his hand: but it would not do; bad only had become worse. There is a record, I believe, still extant in the Florence Archives, dooming this Dante, wheresoever caught, to be burnt alive. Burnt alive; so it stands, they say: a very curious civic document. Another curious document, some considerable number of years later, is a Letter of Dante's to the Florentine Magistrates, written in answer to a milder proposal of theirs, that he should return

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on condition of apologizing and paying a fine. He answers, with fixed stern pride, "If I cannot return without calling myself guilty, I will never return, nunquam reverta.r." For Dante there was now no home in this world. He wandered from patron to patron, from place to place; proving, in his own bitter words, 'How hard is the path, Come e duro called The wretched are not cheerful company. Dante, poor and banished, with his proud earnest nature, with his moody humours, was not a man to conciliate men. Petrarch reports of him that being at Can della Scala's court, and blamed one day for his gloom and taciturnity, he answered in no courtier-like way. Della Scala stood among his courtiers, with mimes and buffoons (nebulones ac histriones) making him heartily merry; when turning to Dante, he said: "Is it not strange, now, that this poor fool should make himself so entertaining; while you, a wise man, sit there day after day, and have nothing to amuse us with at all?" Dante answered bitterly: "No, not strange; your Highness is to recollect the Proverb, Like to Like;"—given the amuser, the amusee must also be given! Such a man, with his proud silent ways, with his sarcasms and sorrows, was not made to succeed at court. By degrees, it came to be evident to him that he had no longer any resting place, or hope of benefit, in this earth. The earthly world had cast him forth, to wander, wander; no living heart to love him now; for his sore miseries there was no solace here. The deeper naturally would the Eternal World impress itself on him; that awful reality over which, after all, this Time-world, with its Florences and banishments, only flutters as an unreal shadow. Florence thou shalt never see: but Hell and Purgatory and Heaven thou shalt surely see! What is Florence, Can della Scala, and the World and Life altogether? ETERNITY: thither, of a truth, not elsewhither, art thou and all things bound! The great soul of Dante, homeless on earth, made its home more and more in that awful other world. Naturally his thoughts brooded on that, as on the one fact important for him. Bodied or bodiless, it is the one fact important for all men:— but to Dante, in that age, it was bodied in fixed certainty of scientific shape; he no more doubted of that Malebolge Pool, that it all lay there with its gloomy circles, with its altijjuai, and that he himself should see it, than we doubt that we should see Constantinople if we went thither. Dante's heart, long filled with this, brooding over it in

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speechless thought and awe, bursts forth at length into 'mystic unfathomable song;' and this his Divine Comedy, the most remarkable of all modern Books, is the result. It must have been a great solacement to Dante, and was, as we can see, a proud thought for him at times, that he, here in exile, could do this work; that no Florence, nor no man or men, could hinder him from doing it, or even much help him in doing it. He knew too, partly, that it was great; the greatest a man could do. 'If thou follow thy star, Se tu segui tua Stella'—so could the Hero, in his forsakenness, in his extreme need, still say to himself: "Follow thou thy star, thou shalt not fail of a glorious haven!" The labour of writing, we find, and indeed could know otherwise, was great and painful for him; he says, This Book 'which has made me lean for many years.' Ah yes, it was won, all of it, with pain and sore toil,—not in sport, but in grim earnest. His Book, as indeed most good Books are, has been written, in many senses, with his heart's blood. It is his whole history this Book. He died after finishing it; not yet very old, at the age of fifty-six;—broken-hearted rather, as is said. He lies buried in his death-city Ravenna: Hie cla.ud.or Dantes patriis extorris ab oris. The Florentines begged back his body, in a century after; the Ravenna people would not give it. "Here am I Dante laid, shut out from my native shores." I said, Dante's Poem was a Song: it is Tieck who calls it 'a mystic unfathomable Song;' and such is literally the character of it. Coleridge remarks very pertinently somewhere, that wherever you find a sentence musically worded, of true rhythm and melody in the words, there is something deep and good in the meaning too. For body and soul, word and idea, go strangely together, here as everywhere. Song: we said before, it was the Heroic of Speech! All old Poems, Homer's and the rest, are authentically Songs. I would say, in strictness, that all right Poems are; that whatsoever is not sung is properly no Poem, but a piece of Prose cramped into jingling lines,—to the great injury of the grammar, to the great grief of the reader, for most part! What we want to get at is the thought the man had, if he had any: why should he twist it into jingle, if he could speak it out plainly? It is only when the heart of him is rapt into true passion of melody, and the very tones of him, according to Coleridge's remark, become musical by the greatness, depth and music of his thoughts, that we can give

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him right to rhyme and sing; that we call him a Poet, and listen to him as the Heroic of Speakers,—whose speech wSong. Pretenders to this are many; and to an earnest reader, I doubt, it is for most part a very melancholy, not to say an insupportable business, that of reading rhyme! Rhyme that had no inward necessity to be rhymed;— it ought to have told us plainly, without any jingle, what it was aiming at. I would advise all men who can speak their thought, not to sing it; to understand that, in a serious time, among serious men, there is no vocation in them for singing it. Precisely as we love the true song, and are charmed by it as by something divine, so shall we hate the false song, and account it a mere wooden noise, a thing hollow, superfluous, altogether an insincere and offensive thing. I give Dante my highest praise when I say of his Divine Comedy that it is, in all senses, genuinely a Song. In the very sound of it there is a canto fcrmo; it proceeds as by a chaunt. The language, his simple terza rima, doubtless helped him in this. One reads along naturally with a sort of lilt. But I add, that it could not be otherwise; for the essence and material of the work are themselves rhythmic. Its depth, and rapt passion and sincerity, makes it musical;—go deep enough, there is music everywhere. A true inward symmetry, what one calls an architectural harmony, reigns in it, proportionates it all: architectural; which also partakes of the character of music. The three kingdoms, Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradise, look out on one another like compartments of a great edifice; a great supernatural world-cathedral, piled up there, stern, solemn, awful; Dante's World of Souls! It is, at bottom, the sincerest of all Poems; sincerity, here too, we find to be the measure of worth. It came deep out of the author's heart of hearts; and it goes deep, and through long generations, into ours. The people of Verona, when they saw him on the streets, used to say, "Eccovi I' uom ch' e stato all' Inferno, See, there is the man that was in Hell!" Ah, yes, he had been in Hell;—in Hell enough, in long severe sorrow and struggle; as the like of him is pretty sure to have been. Commedias that come out divine, are not accomplished otherwise. Thought, true labour of any kind, highest virtue itself, is it not the daughter of Pain? Born as out of the black whirlwind;—true effort, in fact, as of a captive struggling to free himself: that is Thought. In all ways we are 'to become perfect through suffering."1— But, as I say, no work known to me is so elaborated as this of Dante's.

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It has all been as if molten, in the hottest furnace of his soul. It had made him 'lean' for many years. Not the general whole only; every compartment of it is worked out, with intense earnestness, into truth, into clear visuality. Each answers to the other; each fits in its place, like a marble stone accurately hewn and polished. It is the soul of Dante, and in this the soul of the middle ages, rendered forever rhythmically visible there. No light task; a right intense one: but a task which is done. Perhaps one would say, intensity, with the much that depends on it, is the prevailing character of Dante's genius. Dante does not come before us as a large catholic mind; rather as a narrow, and even sectarian mind: it is partly the fruit of his age and position, but partly too of his own nature. His greatness has, in all senses, concentered itself into fiery emphasis and depth. He is world-great not because he is world-wide, but because he is world-deep. Through all objects he pierces as it were down into the heart of Being. I know nothing so intense as Dante. Consider, for example, to begin with the outermost development of his intensity, consider how he paints. He has a great power of vision; seizes the very type of a thing; presents that and nothing more. You remember that first view he gets of the Hall of Dite: red pinnacle, redhot cone of iron glowing through the dim immensity of gloom;—so vivid, so distinct, visible at once and forever! It is as an emblem of the whole genius of Dante. There is a brevity, an abrupt precision in him: Tacitus is not briefer, more condensed; and then in Dante it seems a natural condensation, spontaneous to the man. One smiting word; and then there is silence, nothing more said. His silence is more eloquent than words. It is strange with what a sharp decisive grace he snatches the true likeness of a matter; cuts into the matter as with a pen of fire. Plutus, the blustering giant, collapses at Virgil's rebuke; it is 'as the sails sink, the mast being suddenly broken.' Or that poor Brunette Latini, with the cotto aspftto, 'face bakedj parched brown and lean; and the 'fiery snow' that falls on them there, a 'fiery snow without wind,' slow, deliberate, never-ending! Or the lids of those Tombs; square sarcophaguses, in that silent dim-burning Hall, each with its Soul in torment; the lids laid open there; they are to be shut at the Day of Judgment, through Eternity. And how Farinata rises; and how Cavalcante falls— at hearing of his Son, and the past tense '•fuel'1 The very movements

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in Dante have something brief; swift, decisive, almost military. It is of the inmost essence of his genius this sort of painting. The fiery, swift Italian nature of the man, so silent, passionate, with its quick abrupt movements, its silent 'pale rages,' speaks itself in these things. For though this of painting is one of the outermost developments of a man, it comes like all else from the essential faculty of him; it is physiognomical of the whole man. Find a man whose words paint you a likeness, you have found a man worth something; mark his manner of doing it, as very characteristic of him. In the first place, he could not have discerned the object at all, or seen the vital type of it, unless he had, what we may call, sympathized with it,—had sympathy in him to bestow on objects. He must have been sincere about it too; sincere and sympathetic: a man without worth cannot give you the likeness of any object; he dwells in vague outwardness, fallacy and trivial hearsay, about all objects. And indeed may we not say that intellect altogether expresses itself in this power of discerning what an object is? Whatsoever of faculty a man's mind may have will come out here. Is it even of business, a matter to be done? The gifted man is he who sees the essential point, and leaves all the rest aside as surplusage: it is his faculty too, the man of business's faculty, that he discern the true likeness, not the false superficial one, of the thing he has got to work in. And how much of morality is in the kind of insight we get of anything; 'the eye seeing in all things what it brought with it the faculty of seeing!' To the mean eye all things are trivial, as certainly as to the jaundiced they are yellow. Raphael, the Painters tell us, is the best of all Portrait-painters withal. No most gifted eye can exhaust the significance of any object. In the commonest human face there lies more than Raphael will take away with him. Dante's painting is not graphic only, brief, true, and of a vividness as of fire in dark night; taken on the wider scale, it is everyway noble, and the outcome of a great soul. Francesca and her Lover, what qualities in that! A thing woven as out of rainbows, on a ground of eternal black. A small flute-voice of infinite wail speaks there, into our very heart of hearts. A touch of womanhood in it too; delta bella persona, che mifu tolta; and how, even in the Pit of woe, it is a solace that he will never part from her! Saddest tragedy in these alti guai. And the racking winds, in that aer bruno, whirl them away again, to wail forever!—Strange to think: Dante was the friend of this poor Francesca's father; Francesca herself may have sat upon the Poet's

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knee, as a bright innocent little child. Infinite pity, yet also infinite rigour of law: it is so Nature is made; it is so Dante discerned that she was made. What a paltry notion is that of his Divine Comedy's being a poor splenetic impotent terrestrial libel; putting those into Hell whom he could not be avenged upon on earth! I suppose if ever pity, tender as a mother's, was in the heart of any man, it was in Dante's. But a man who does not know rigour cannot pity either. His very pity will be cowardly, egoistic,—sentimentality, or little better. I know not in the world an affection equal to that of Dante. It is a tenderness, a trembling, longing, pitying love: like the wail of /Eolean harps, soft, soft; like a child's young heart;—and then that stern, sore-saddened heart! These longings of his towards his Beatrice; their meeting together in the Paradiso; his gazing in her pure transfigured eyes, her that had been purified by death so long, separated from him so far:—one likens it to the song of angels; it is among the purest utterances of affection, perhaps the very purest, that ever came out of a human soul. For the intense Dante is intense in all things; he has got into the essence of all. His intellectual insight, as painter, on occasion too as reasoner, is but the result of all other sorts of intensity. Morally great, above all, we must call him; it is the beginning of all. His scorn, his grief are as transcendent as his love;—as indeed, what are they but the inverse or converse of his love? 1A Dio spiacenti, ed a' nemici sui, Hateful to God and to the enemies of God:' lofty scorn, unappeasable silent reprobation and aversion: 'Non ragionam di lor, We will not speak of them, look only and pass.' Or think of this: 'They have not the hope to die, Non ban speranza di morte.J One day, it had risen sternly benign on the scathed heart of Dante, that he, wretched, never-resting, worn as he was, would full surely die; 'that Destiny itself could not doom him not to die.' Such words are in this man. For rigour, earnestness and depth, he is not to be paralleled in the modern world; to seek his parallel we must go into the Hebrew Bible, and live with the antique Prophets there. I do not agree with much modern criticism, in greatly preferring the Inferno to the two other parts of the Divine Commedia. Such preference belongs, I imagine, to our general Byronism of taste, and is like to be a transient feeling. The Purgatorio and Paradise, especially the former, one would almost say, is even more excellent than it. It is a noble thing that Purgatorio, 'Mountain of Purification;' an

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emblem of the noblest conception of that age. If Sin is so fatal, and Hell is and must be so rigorous, awful, yet in Repentance too is man purified; Repentance is the grand Christian act. It is beautiful how Dante works it out. The tremolar dell' onde, that 'trembling' of the ocean-waves, under the first pure gleam of morning, dawning afar on the wandering Two, is as the type of an altered mood. Hope has now dawned; never-dying Hope, if in company still with heavy sorrow. The obscure sojourn of dxmons and reprobate is under foot; a soft breathing of penitence mounts higher and higher, to the Throne of Mercy itself. "Pray for me," the denizens of that Mount of Pain all say to him. "Tell my Giovanna to pray for me," my daughter Giovanna; "I think her mother loves me no more!" They toil painfully up by that winding steep, 'bent down like corbels of a building,' some of them,—crushed together so 'for the sin of pride;' yet nevertheless in years, in ages and aeons, they shall have reached the top, which is Heaven's gate, and by Mercy shall have been admitted in. The joy too of all, when one has prevailed; the whole Mountain shakes with joy, and a psalm of praise rises, when one soul has perfected repentance, and got its sin and misery left behind! I call all this a noble embodiment of a true noble thought. But indeed the Three compartments mutually support one another, are indispensable to one another. The Paradiso, a kind of inarticulate music to me, is the redeeming side of the Inferno; the Inferno without it were untrue. All three make up the true Unseen World, as figured in the Christianity of the Middle Ages; a thing forever memorable, forever true in the essence of it, to all men. It was perhaps delineated in no human soul with such depth of veracity as in this of Dante's; a man sent to sing it, to keep it long memorable. Very notable with what brief simplicity he passes out of the every-day reality, into the Invisible one; and in the second or third stanza, we find ourselves in the World of Spirits; and dwell there, as among things palpable, indubitable! To Dante they were so; the real world, as it is called, and its facts, was but the threshold to an infinitely higher Fact of a World. At bottom, the one was as preternatural as the other. Has not each man a soul? He will not only be a spirit, but is one. To the earnest Dante it is all one visible Fact; he believes it, sees it; is the Poet of it in virtue of that. Sincerity, I say again, is the saving merit, now as always.

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Dante's Hell, Purgatory, Paradise, are a symbol withal, an emblematic representation of his Belief about this Universe:—some Critic in a future age, like those Scandinavian ones the other day, who has ceased altogether to think as Dante did, may find this too all an 'Allegory,' perhaps an idle Allegory! It is a sublime embodiment, our sublimest, of the soul of Christianity. It expresses, as in huge worldwide architectural emblems, how the Christian Dante felt Good and Evil to be the two polar elements of this Creation, on which it all turns; that these two differ not by prefer ability of one to the other, but by incompatibility absolute and infinite; that the one is excellent and high as light and Heaven, the other hideous, black as Gehenna and the Pit of Hell! Everlasting Justice, yet with Penitence, with everlasting Pity,—all Christianism, as Dante and the Middle Ages had it, is emblemed here. Emblemed: and yet, as I urged the other day, with what entire truth of purpose; how unconscious of any embleming! Hell, Purgatory, Paradise: these things were not fashioned as emblems; was there, in our Modern European Mind, any thought at all of their being emblems! Were they not indubitable awful facts; the whole heart of man taking them for practically true, all Nature everywhere confirming them? So is it always in these things. Men do not believe an Allegory. The future Critic, whatever his new thought may be, who considers this of Dante to have been all got up as an Allegory, will commit one sore mistake!—Paganism we recognised as a veracious expression of the earnest awe-struck feeling of man towards the Universe; veracious, true once, and still not without worth for us. But mark here the difference of Paganism and Christianism; one great difference. Paganism emblemed chiefly the Operations of Nature; the destinies, efforts, combinations, vicissitudes of things and men in this world: Christianism emblemed the Law of Human Duty, the Moral Law of Man. One was for the sensuous nature; a rude helpless utterance of the first Thought of men,—the chief recognised virtue, Courage, Superiority to Fear. The other was not for the sensuous nature, but for the moral. What a progress is here, if in that one respect only! — And so in this Dante, as we said, had ten silent centuries, in a very strange way, found a voice. The Divina Commedia is of Dante's writing; yet in truth it belongs to ten Christian centuries, only the

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finishing of it is Dante's. So always. The craftsman there, the smith with that metal of his, with these tools, with these cunning methods,—how little of all he does is properly his work! All past inventive men work there with him;—as indeed with all of us, in all things. Dante is the spokesman of the Middle Ages; the Thought they lived by stands here, in everlasting music. These sublime ideas of his, terrible and beautiful, are the fruit of the Christian Meditation of all the good men who had gone before him. Precious they; but also is not he precious? Much, had not he spoken, would have been dumb; not dead, yet living voiceless. On the whole, is it not an utterance, this mystic Song, at once of one of the greatest human souls, and of the highest thing that Europe had hitherto realised for itself? Christianism, as Dante sings it, is another than Paganism in the rude Norse mind; another than 'Bastard Christianism' half-articulately spoken in the Arab Desert, seven hundred years before!—The noblest idea, made real hitherto among men, is sung, and emblemed forth abidingly, by one of the noblest men. In the one sense and in the other, are we not right glad to possess it? As I calculate, it may last yet for long thousands of years. For the thing that is uttered from the inmost parts of a man's soul, differs altogether from what is uttered by the outer part. The outer is of the day, under the empire of mode; the outer passes away, in swift endless changes; the inmost is the same yesterday, today and forever. True souls, in all generations of the world, who look on this Dante, will find a brotherhood in him; the deep sincerity of his thoughts, his woes and hopes, will speak likewise to their sincerity; they will feel that this Dante too was a brother. Napoleon in SaintHelena is charmed with the genial veracity of old Homer. The oldest Hebrew Prophet, under a vesture the most diverse from ours, does yet, because he speaks from the heart of man, speak to all men's hearts. It is the one sole secret of continuing long memorable. Dante, for depth of sincerity, is like an antique Prophet too; his words, like theirs, come from his very heart. One need not wonder if it were predicted that his Poem might be the most enduring thing our Europe has yet made; for nothing so endures as a truly spoken word. All cathedrals, pontificalities, brass and stone, and outer arrangement never so lasting, are brief in comparison to an unfathomable heartsong like this: one feels as if it might survive, still of importance to

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men, when these had all sunk into new irrecognisable combinations, and had ceased individually to be. Europe has made much; great cities, great empires, encyclopedias, creeds, bodies of opinion and practice: but it has made little of the class of Dante's Thought. Homer yet is, veritably present face to face with every open soul of us; and Greece, where is it? Desolate for thousands of years; away, vanished; a bewildered heap of stones and rubbish, the life and existence of it all gone. Like a dream; like the dust of King Agamemnon! Greece was; Greece, except in the words it spoke, is not. The uses of this Dante? We will not say much about his 'uses.' A human soul who has once got into that primal element of Song, and sung forth fitly somewhat therefrom, has worked in the depths of our existence; feeding through long times the life-roott of all excellent human things whatsoever,—in a way that 'utilities' will not succeed well in calculating! We will not estimate the Sun by the quantity of gas-light it saves us; Dante shall be invaluable, or of no value. One remark I may make: the contrast in this respect between the HeroPoet and the Hero-Prophet. In a hundred years, Mahomet, as we saw, had his Arabians at Grenada and at Delhi; Dante's Italians seem to be yet very much where they were. Shall we say, then, Dante's effect on the world was small in comparison? Not so: his arena is far more restricted; but also it is far nobler, clearer;—perhaps not less but more important. Mahomet speaks to great masses of men, in the coarse dialect adapted to such; a dialect filled with inconsistencies, crudities, follies: on the great masses alone can he act, and there with good and with evil strangely blended. Dante speaks to the noble, the pure and great, in all times and places. Neither does he grow obsolete, as the other does. Dante burns as a pure star, fixed there in the firmament, at which the great and the high of all ages kindle themselves: he is the possession of all the chosen of the world for uncounted time. Dante, one calculates, may long survive Mahomet. In this way the balance may be made straight again. But, at any rate, it is not by what is called their effect on the world, by what we can judge of their effect there, that a man and his work are measured. Effect? Influence? Utility? Let a man do his work; the fruit of it is the care of Another than he. It will grow its own fruit; and whether embodied in Caliph Thrones and Arabian Conquests, so that it 'fills all Morning and Evening Newspapers,' and all Histories,

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which are a kind of distilled Newspapers; or not embodied so at all;— what matters that? That is not the real fruit of it! The Arabian Caliph, in so far only as he did something, was something. If the great Cause of Man, and Man's work in God's Earth, got no furtherance from the Arabian Caliph, then no matter how many scimetars he drew, how many gold piastres pocketed, and what uproar and blaring he made in this world,—he was but a loud-sounding inanity and futility; at bottom, he was not at all. Let us honour the great empire of Silence, once more! The boundless treasury which we do not jingle in our pockets, or count up and present before men! It is perhaps, of all things, the usefulest for each of us to do, in these loud times.— — As Dante, the Italian man, was sent into our world to embody musically the Religion of the Middle Ages, the Religion of our Modern Europe, its Inner Life; so Shakspeare, we may say, embodies for us the Outer Life of our Europe as developed then, its chivalries, courtesies, humours, ambitions, what practical way of thinking, acting, looking at the world, men then had. As in Homer we may still construe Old Greece; so in Shakspeare and Dante, after thousands of years, what our Modern Europe was, in Faith and in Practice, will still be legible. Dante has given us the Faith or soul; Shakspeare, in a not less noble way, has given us the Practice or body. This latter also we were to have; a man was sent for it, the man Shakspeare. Just when that chivalry-way of life had reached its last finish, and was on the point of breaking down into slow or swift dissolution, as we now see it everywhere, this other sovereign Poet, with his seeing eye, with his perennial singing voice, was sent to take note of it, to give longenduring record of it. Two fit men: Dante, deep, fierce as the central fire of the world; Shakspeare, wide, placid, far-seeing, as the Sun, the upper light of the world. Italy produced the one world-voice; we English had the honour of producing the other. Curious enough how, as it were by mere accident, this man came to us. I think always, so great, quiet, complete and self-sufficing is this Shakspeare, had the Warwickshire Squire not prosecuted him for deer-stealing, we had perhaps never heard of him as a Poet! The woods and skies, the rustic Life of Man in Stratford there, had been enough for this man! But indeed that strange outbudding of our whole English Existence, which we call the Elizabethan Era, did not

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it too come as of its own accord? The 'Tree Igdrasil' buds and withers by its own laws,—too deep for our scanning. Yet it does bud and wither, and every bough and leaf of it is there, by fixed eternal laws; not a Sir Thomas Lucy but comes at the hour fit for him. Curious, I say, and not sufficiently considered: how every thing does cooperate with all; not a leaf rotting on the highway but is indissoluble portion of solar and stellar systems; no thought, word or act of man but has sprung withal out of all men, and works sooner or later, recognisably or irrecognisably, on all men! It is all a Tree: circulation of sap and influences, mutual communication of every minutest leaf with the lowest talon of a root, with every other greatest and minutest portion of the whole. The Tree Igdrasil, that has its roots down in the Kingdoms of Hela and Death, and whose boughs overspread the highest Heaven! — In some sense it may be said that this glorious Elizabethan Era with its Shakspeare, as the outcome and flowerage of all which had preceded it, is itself attributable to the Catholicism of the Middle Ages. The Christian Faith, which was the theme of Dante's Song, had produced this Practical Life which Shakspeare was to sing. For Religion then, as it now and always is, was the soul of Practice; the primary vital fact in men's life. And remark here, as rather curious, that Middle-Age Catholicism was abolished, so far as Acts of Parliament could abolish it, before Shakspeare, the noblest product of it, made his appearance. He did make his appearance nevertheless. Nature at her own time, with Catholicism or what else might be necessary, sent him forth; taking small thought of Acts of Parliament. King-Henrys, Queen-Elizabeths go their way; and Nature too goes hers. Acts of Parliament, on the whole, are small, notwithstanding the noise they make. What Act of Parliament, debate at St. Stephen's, on the hustings or elsewhere, was it that brought this Shakspeare into being? No dining at Freemasons' Tavern, opening subscription-lists, selling of shares, and infinite other jangling and true or false endeavouring! This Elizabethan Era, and all its nobleness and blessedness, came without proclamation, preparation of ours. Priceless Shakspeare was the free gift of Nature; given altogether silently;—received altogether silently, as if it had been a thing of little account. And yet, very literally, it is a priceless thing. One should look at that side of matters too.

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Of this Shakspeare of ours, perhaps the opinion one sometimes hears a little idolatrously expressed is, in fact, the right one; I think the best judgment not of this country only, but of Europe at large, is slowly pointing to the conclusion, That Shakspeare is the chief of all Poets hitherto; the greatest intellect who, in our recorded world, has left record of himself in the way of Literature. On the whole, I know not such a power of vision, such a faculty of thought, if we take all the characters of it, in any other man. Such a calmness of depth; placid joyous strength; all things imaged in that great soul of his so true and clear, as in a tranquil unfathomable sea! It has been said, that in the constructing of Shakspeare's Dramas there is, apart from all other 'faculties' as they are called, an understanding manifested, equal to that in Bacon's Novum Orgctnum. That is true; and it is not a truth that strikes every one. It would become more apparent if we tried, any of us for himself, how, out of Shakspeare's dramatic materials, we could fashion such a result! The built house seems all so fit,—everyway as it should be, as if it came there by its own law and the nature of things,—we forget the rude disorderly quarry it was shaped from. The very perfection of the house, as if Nature herself had made it, hides the builder's merit. Perfect, more perfect than any other man, we may call Shakspeare in this: he discerns, knows as by instinct, what condition he works under, what his materials are, what his own force and its relation to them is. It is not a transitory glance of insight that will suffice; it is deliberate illumination of the whole matter; it is a calmly seeing eye; a great intellect, in short. How a man, of some wide thing that he has witnessed, will construct a narrative, what kind of picture and delineation he will give of it,—is the best measure you could get of what intellect is in the man. Which circumstance is vital and shall stand prominent; which unessential, fit to be suppressed; where is the true beginning, the true sequence and ending? To find out this, you task the whole force of insight that is in the man. He must understand the thing; according to the depth of his understanding, will the fitness of his answer be. You will try him so. Does like join itself to like; does the spirit of method stir in that confusion, so that its embroilment becomes order? Can the man say, Fiat lux, Let there be light; and out of chaos make a world? Precisely as there is light in himself, will he accomplish this.

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Or indeed we may say again, it is in what I called Portrait-painting, delineating of men and things, especially of men, that Shakspeare is great. All the greatness of the man comes out decisively here. It is unexampled, I think, that calm creative perspicacity of Shakspeare. The thing he looks at reveals not this or that face of it, but its inmost heart and generic secret: it dissolves itself as in light before him, so that he discerns the perfect structure of it. Creative, we said: poetic creation, what is this too but seeing the thing sufficiently? The word that will describe the thing follows, of itself, from such clear intense sight of the thing. And is not Shakspeare's morality, his valour, candour, tolerance, truthfulness; his whole victorious strength and greatness, which can triumph over such obstructions, visible there too? Great as the world! No twisted, poor convex-concave mirror, reflecting all objects with its own convexities and concavities; a perfectly level mirror;—that is to say withal, if we will understand it, a man justly related to all things and men, a good man. It is truly a lordly spectacle how this great soul takes in all kinds of men and objects, a Falstaff, an Othello, a Juliet, a Coriolanus; sets them all forth to us in their round completeness; loving, just, the equal brother of all. Novum Organum, and all the intellect you will find in Bacon, is of a quite secondary order; earthy, material, poor in comparison with this. Among modern men, one finds, in strictness, almost nothing of the same rank. Goethe alone, since the days of Shakspeare, reminds me of it. Of him too you say that he saw the object; you may say what he himself says of Shakspeare: 'His characters are like watches with dial-plates of transparent crystal; they shew you the hour like others, and the inward mechanism also is all visible.' The seeing eye! It is this that discloses the inner harmony of things; what Nature meant, what musical idea Nature has wrapped up in these often rough embodiments. Something she did mean. To the seeing eye that something were discernible. Are they base, miserable things? You can laugh over them, you can weep over them; you can in some way or other genially relate yourself to them;—you can, at lowest, hold your peace about them, turn away your own and others' face from them, till the hour come for practically exterminating and extinguishing them! At bottom, it is the Poet's first gift, as it is all men's, that he have intellect enough. He will be a Poet if he have: a

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Poet in word; or failing that, perhaps still better, a Poet in act. Whether he write at all; and if so, whether in prose or in verse, will depend on accidents: who knows on what extremely trivial accidents,—perhaps on his having had a singing-master, on his being taught to sing in his boyhood! But the faculty which enables him to discern the inner heart of things, and the harmony that dwells there (for whatsoever exists has a harmony in the heart of it, or it would not hold together and exist), is not the result of habits or accidents, but the gift of Nature herself; the primary outfit for a Heroic Man in what sort soever. To the Poet, as to every other, we say first of all, See. If you cannot do that, it is of no use to keep stringing rhymes together, jingling sensibilities against each other, and name yourself a Poet; there is no hope for you. If you can, there is, in prose or verse, in action or speculation, all manner of hope. The crabbed old Schoolmaster used to ask, when they brought him a new pupil, "But are ye sure he's not a dunce?" Why, really one might ask the same thing, in regard to every man proposed for whatsoever function; and consider it as the one inquiry needful: Are ye sure he's not a dunce? There is, in this world, no other entirely fatal person. For, in fact, I say the degree of vision that dwells in a man is a correct measure of the man. If called to define Shakspeare's faculty, I should say superiority of Intellect, and think I had included all under that. What indeed are faculties? We talk of faculties as if they were distinct, things separable; as if a man had intellect, imagination, fancy, &c., as he has hands, feet and arms. That is a capital error. Then again, we hear of a man's 'intellectual nature,' and of his 'moral nature,' as if these again were divisible, and existed apart. Necessities of language do perhaps prescribe such forms of utterance; we must speak, I am aware, in that way, if we are to speak at all. But words ought not to harden into things for us. It seems to me, our apprehension of this matter is, for most part, radically falsified thereby. We ought to know withal, and to keep forever in mind, that these divisions are at bottom but names; that man's spiritual nature, the vital Force which dwells in him, is essentially one and indivisible; that what we call imagination, fancy, understanding, and so forth, are but different figures of the same Power of Insight, all indissolubly connected with each other, physiognomically related; that if we knew one of

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them, we might know all of them. Morality itself, what we call the moral quality of a man, what is this but another side of the one vital Force whereby he is and works? All that a man does is physiognomical of him. You may see how a man would fight, by the way in which he sings; his courage, or want of courage, is visible in the word he utters, in the opinion he has formed, no less than in the stroke he strikes. He is one; and preaches the same Self abroad in all these ways. Without hands a man might have feet, and could still walk: but, consider it,—without morality, intellect were impossible for him; a thoroughly immoral man could not know anything at all! To know a thing, what we can call knowing, a man must first love the thing, sympathize with it: that is, be virtuously related to it. If he have not the justice to put down his own selfishness at every turn, the courage to stand by the dangerous-true at every turn, how shall he know? His virtues, all of them, will lie recorded in his knowledge. Nature with her truth remains to the bad, to the selfish and the pusillanimous, forever a sealed book: what such can know of Nature is mean, superficial, small; for the uses of the day merely.—But does not the very Fox know something of Nature? Exactly so: it knows where the geese lodge! The human Reynard, very frequent everywhere in the world, what more does he know but this and the like of this? Nay, it should be considered too, that if the Fox had not a certain vulpine morality, he could not even know where the geese were, or get at the geese! If he spent his time in splenetic atrabiliar reflexions on his own misery, his ill usage by Nature, Fortune and other Foxes, and so forth; and had not courage, promptitude, practicality, and other suitable vulpine gifts and graces, he would catch no geese. We may say of the Fox too, that his morality and insight are of the same dimensions; different faces of the same internal unity of vulpine life! — These things are worth stating, for the contrary of them acts with manifold very baleful perversion, in this time: what limitations, modifications they require, your own candour will supply. If I say, therefore, that Shakspeare is the greatest of Intellects, I have said all concerning him. But there is more in Shakspeare's intellect than we have yet seen. It is what I call an unconscious intellect; there is more virtue in it than he himself is aware of. Novalis beautifully remarks of him, that those Dramas of his are Products of

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Nature too, deep as Nature herself. I find a great truth in this saying. Shakspeare's Art is not Artifice; the noblest worth of it is not there by plan or precontrivance. It grows up from the deeps of Nature, through this noble sincere soul, who is a voice of Nature. The latest generations of men will find new meanings in Shakspeare, new elucidations of their own human being; 'new harmonies with the infinite structure of the Universe; concurrences with later ideas, affinities with the higher powers and senses of man.' This well deserves meditating. It is Nature's highest reward to a true simple great soul, that he get thus to be a part of herself. Such a man's works, whatsoever he with utmost conscious exertion and forethought shall accomplish, grow up withal «wconsciously, from the unknown deeps in him;—as the oak-tree grows from the Earth's bosom, as the mountains and waters shape themselves; with a symmetry grounded on Nature's own laws, conformable to all Truth whatsoever. How much in Shakspeare lies hid; his sorrows, his silent struggles known to himself; much that was not known at all, not speakable at all: like roots, like sap and forces working under ground! Speech is great; but Silence is greater. Withal the joyful tranquillity of this man is notable. I will not blame Dante for his misery: it is as battle without victory; but true battle,—the first, indispensable thing. Yet I call Shakspeare greater than Dante, in that he fought truly, and did conquer. Doubt it not, he had his own sorrows: those Sonnets of his will even testify expressly in what deep waters he had waded, and swum struggling for his life;—as what man like him ever failed to have to do? It seems to me a heedless notion, our common one, that he sat like a bird on the bough; and sang forth, free and offhand, never knowing the troubles of other men. Not so; with no man is it so. How could a man travel forward from rustic deer-poaching to such tragedy-writing, and not fall in with sorrows by the way? Or, still better, how could a man delineate a Hamlet, a Coriolanus, a Macbeth, so many suffering heroic hearts, if his own heroic heart had never suffered?—And now, in contrast with all this, observe his mirthfulness, his genuine overflowing love of laughter! You would say, in no point does he exaggerate but only in laughter. Fiery objurgations, words that pierce and burn, are to be found in Shakspeare: yet he is always in measure here; never what Johnson would remark as a specially 'good hater.'

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But his laughter seems to pour from him in floods; he heaps all manner of ridiculous nicknames on the butt he is bantering, tumbles and tosses him in all sorts of horse-play; you would say, with his whole heart laughs. And then, if not always the finest, it is always a genial laughter. Not at mere weakness, at misery or poverty; never. No man who can laugh, what we call laughing, will laugh at these things. It is some poor character only desiring to laugh, and have the credit of wit, that does so. Laughter means sympathy; good laughter is not 'the crackling of thorns under the pot.' Even at stupidity and pretension this Shakspeare does not laugh otherwise than genially. Dogberry and Verges tickle our very hearts; and we dismiss them covered with explosions of laughter: but we like the poor fellows only the better for our laughing; and hope they will get on well there, and continue Presidents of the City-watch.—Such laughter, like sunshine on the deep sea, is very beautiful to me. We have no room to speak of Shakspeare's individual works; though perhaps there is much still waiting to be said on that head. Had we, for instance, all his Plays reviewed as Hamlet, in Wilhelm Meister, is! A thing which might, one day, be done. August Wilhelm Schlegel has a remark on his Historical Plays, Henry Fifth and the others, which is worth remembering. He calls them a kind of National Epic. Marlborough, you recollect, said, he knew no English History but what he had learned from Shakspeare. There are really, if we look to it, few as memorable Histories. The great salient points are admirably seized; all rounds itself off, into a kind of rhythmic coherence: it is, as Schlegel says, epic;—as indeed all delineation by a great thinker will be. There are right beautiful things in those Pieces, which indeed together form one beautiful thing. That battle of Agincourt strikes me as one of the most perfect things, in its sort, we anywhere have of Shakspeare's. The description of the two hosts: the worn-out, jaded English; the dread hour, big with destiny, when the battle shall begin; and then that deathless valour: "Ye good yeomen, whose limbs were made in England!" There is a noble Patriotism in it,—far other than the 'indifference' you sometimes hear ascribed to Shakspeare. A true English heart breathes, calm and strong, through the whole business; not boisterous, protrusive; all the better for that. There is a sound in it like the ring of steel. This man too had a right stroke in him, had it come to that!

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But I will say, of Shakspeare's works generally, that we have no full impress of him there; even as full as we have of many men. His works are so many windows, through which we see a glimpse of the world that was in him. All his works seem, comparatively speaking, cursory, imperfect, written under cramping circumstances; giving only here and there a note of the full utterance of the man. Passages there are that come upon you like splendour out of Heaven; bursts of radiance, illuminating the very heart of the thing: you say, "That is true, spoken once and forever; wheresoever and whensoever there is an open human soul, that will be recognised as true!" Such bursts, however, make us feel that the surrounding matter is not radiant; that it is, in part, temporary, conventional. Alas, Shakspeare had to write for the Globe Playhouse: his great soul had to crush itself, as it could, into that and no other mould. It was with him, then, as it is with us all. No man works save under conditions. The sculptor cannot set his own free Thought before us; but his Thought as he could translate it into the stone that was given, with the tools that were given. Disjecta, membra are all that we find of any Poet, or of any man. Whoever looks intelligently at this Shakspeare may recognise that he too was a Prophet, in his way; of an insight analogous to the Prophetic, though he took it up in another strain. Nature seemed to this man also divine; «wspeakable, deep as Tophet, high as Heaven: 'We are such stuff as Dreams are made of!' That scroll in Westminster Abbey, which few read with understanding, is of the depth of any Seer. But the man sang; did not preach, except musically. We called Dante the melodious Priest of Middle-Age Catholicism. May we not call Shakspeare the still more melodious Priest of a true Catholicism, the 'Universal Church' of the Future and of all times? No narrow superstition, harsh asceticism, intolerance, fanatical fierceness or perversion: a Revelation, so far as it goes, that such a thousandfold hidden beauty and divineness dwells in all Nature; which let all men worship as they can! We may say without offence, that there rises a kind of universal Psalm out of this Shakspeare too; not unfit to make itself heard among the still more sacred Psalms. Not in disharmony with these, if we understood them, but in harmony!—I cannot call this Shakspeare a 'Sceptic,' as some do; his indifference to the creeds

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and theological quarrels of his time misleading them. No: neither unpatriotic, though he says little about his Patriotism; nor sceptic, though he says little about his Faith. Such 'indifference' was the fruit of his greatness withal: his whole heart was in his own grand sphere of worship (we may call it such); these other controversies, vitally important to other men, were not vital to him. But call it worship, call it what you will, is it not a right glorious thing, and set of things, this that Shakspeare has brought us? For myself, I feel that there is actually a kind of sacredness in the fact of such a man being sent into this Earth. Is he not an eye to us all; a blessed heaven-sent Bringer of Light?—And, at bottom, was it not perhaps far better that this Shakspeare, every way an unconscious man, was conscious of no Heavenly message? He did not feel, like Mahomet, because he saw into those internal Splendours, that he specially was the 'Prophet of God:' and was he not greater than Mahomet in that? Greater; and also, if we compute strictly, as we did in Dante's case, more successful. It was intrinsically an error that notion of Mahomet's, of his supreme Prophethood; and has come down to us inextricably involved in error to this day; dragging along with it such a coil of fables, impurities, intolerances, as makes it a questionable step for me here and now to say, as I have done, that Mahomet was a true Speaker at all, and not rather an ambitious charlatan, perversity and simulacrum, no Speaker, but a Babbler! Even in Arabia, as I compute, Mahomet will have exhausted himself and become obsolete, while this Shakspeare, this Dante may be still young;—while this Shakspeare may still pretend to be a Priest of Mankind, of Arabia as of other places, for unlimited periods to come! Compared with any speaker or singer one knows, even with yEschylus or Homer, why should he not, for veracity and universality, last like them? He is sincere as they; reaches deep down like them, to the universal and perennial. But as for Mahomet, I think it had been better for him not to be so conscious! Alas, poor Mahomet; all that he was conscious of was a mere error; a futility and triviality,—as indeed such ever is. The truly great in him too was the unconscious: that he was a wild Arab lion of the desert, and did speak out with that great thunder-voice of his, not by words which he thought to be great, but by actions, by feelings, by a history which were great! His

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Koran has become a stupid piece of prolix absurdity; we do not believe, like him, that God wrote that! The Great Man here too, as always, is a Force of Nature; whatsoever is truly great in him springs up from the in articulate deeps. Well: this is our poor Warwickshire Peasant, who rose to be Manager of a Playhouse, so that he could live without begging; whom the Earl of Southampton cast some kind glances on; whom Sir Thomas Lucy, many thanks to him, was for sending to the Treadmill! We did not account him a god, like Odin, while he dwelt with us;— on which point there were much to be said. But I will say rather, or repeat: In spite of the sad state Hero-worship now lies in, consider what this Shakspeare has actually become among us. Which Englishman we ever made, in this land of ours, which million of Englishmen, would we not give up rather than the Stratford Peasant? There is no regiment of highest Dignitaries that we would sell him for. He is the grandest thing we have yet done. For our honour among foreign nations, as an ornament to our English Household, what item is there that we would not surrender rather than him? Consider now, if they asked us, Will you give up your Indian Empire or your Shakspeare, you English; never have had any Indian Empire, or never have had any Shakspeare? Really it were a grave question. Official persons would answer doubtless in official language; but we, for our part too, should not we be forced to answer: Indian Empire, or no Indian Empire; we cannot do without Shakspeare! Indian Empire will go, at any rate, some day; but this Shakspeare does not go, he lasts forever with us; we cannot give up our Shakspeare! Nay, apart from spiritualities; and considering him merely as a real, marketable, tangibly useful possession. England, before long, this Island of ours, will hold but a small fraction of the English: in America, in New Holland, east and west to the very Antipodes, there will be a Saxondom covering great spaces of the Globe. And now, what is it that can keep all these together into virtually one Nation, so that they do not fall out and fight, but live at peace, in brotherlike intercourse, helping one another? This is justly regarded as the greatest practical problem, the thing all manner of sovereignties and governments are here to accomplish: what is it that will accomplish this? Acts of Parliament, administrative prime-ministers cannot.

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America is parted from us, so far as Parliament could part it. Call it not fantastic, for there is much reality in it: Here, I say, is an English King, whom no time or chance, Parliament or combination of Parliaments, can dethrone! This King Shakspeare, does not he shine, in crowned sovereignty, over us all, as the noblest, gentlest, yet strongest of rallying-signs; mdestructible; really more valuable in that point of view, than any other means or appliance whatsoever? We can fancy him as radiant aloft over all the Nations of Englishmen, a thousand years hence. From Paramatta, from New York, wheresoever, under what sort of Parish-Constable soever, English men and women are, they will say to one another: "Yes, this Shakspeare is ours; we produced him, we speak and think by him; we are of one blood and kind with him." The most common-sense politician too, if he pleases, may think of that. Yes, truly, it is a great thing for a Nation that it get an articulate voice; that it produce a man who will speak forth melodiously what the heart of it means! Italy, for example, poor Italy lies dismembered, scattered asunder, not appearing in any protocol or treaty as a unity at all; yet the noble Italy is actually one: Italy produced its Dante; Italy can speak! The Czar of all the Russias, he is strong, with so many bayonets, Cossacks and cannons; and does a great feat in keeping such a tract of Earth politically together; but he cannot yet speak. Something great in him, but it is a dumb greatness. He has had no voice of genius, to be heard of all men and times. He must learn to speak. He is a great dumb monster hitherto. His cannons and Cossacks will all have rusted into nonentity, while that Dante's voice is still audible. The Nation that has a Dante is bound together as no dumb Russia can be.—We must here end what we had to say of the Hero-Poet.

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LECTURE IV. [Friday, 15th May, 1840.] THE HERO AS PRIEST. LUTHER; REFORMATION: KNOX; PURITANISM.

OUR present discourse is to be of the Great Man as Priest. We have repeatedly endeavoured to explain that all sorts of Heroes are intrinsically of the same material; that given a great soul, open to the Divine Significance of Life, then there is given a man fit to speak of this, to sing of this, to fight and work for this, in a great, victorious, enduring manner; there is given a Hero,—the outward shape of whom will depend on the time and the environment he finds himself in. The Priest too, as I understand it, is a kind of Prophet; in him too there is required to be a light of inspiration, as we must name it. He presides over the worship of the people; is the Uniter of them with the Unseen Holy. He is the spiritual Captain of the people; as the Prophet is their spiritual King with many captains: he guides them heavenward, by wise guidance through this Earth and its work. The ideal of him is, that he too be what we can call a voice from the unseen Heaven; interpreting, even as the Prophet did, and in a more familiar manner unfolding the same to men. The unseen Heaven,— the 'open secret of the Universe,' which so few have an eye for! He is the Prophet shorn of his more awful splendour; burning with mild equable radiance, as the enlightener of daily life. This, I say, is the ideal of a Priest. So in old times; so in these, and in all times. One knows very well that, in reducing ideals to practice, great latitude of tolerance is needful; very great. But a Priest who is not this at all, who does not any longer aim or try to be this, is a character—of whom we had rather not speak in this place. 99

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Luther and Knox were by express vocation Priests, and did faithfully perform that function in its common sense. Yet it will suit us better here to consider them chiefly in their historical character, rather as Reformers than Priests. There have been other Priests perhaps equally notable, in calmer times, for doing faithfully the office of a Leader of Worship; bringing down, by faithful heroism in that kind, a light from Heaven into the daily life of their people; leading them forward, as under God's guidance, in the way wherein they were to go. But when this same way was a rough one, of battle, confusion and danger, the spiritual Captain who led through that, becomes, especially to us who live under the fruit of his leading, more notable than any other. He is the warfaring and battling Priest; who led his people, not to quiet faithful labour as in smooth times, but to faithful valorous conflict, in times all violent, dismembered: a more perilous service, and a more memorable one, be it higher or not. These two men we will account our best Priests, inasmuch as they were our best Reformers. Nay I may ask, Is not every true Reformer, by the nature of him, a Priest first of all? He appeals to Heaven's invisible justice against Earth's visible force; knows that it, the invisible, is strong and alone strong. He is a believer in the divine truth of things; a seer, seeing through the shows of things; a worshipper, in one way or the other, of the divine truth of things: a Priest, that is. If he be not first a Priest, he will never be good for much as a Reformer. Thus then, as we have seen Great Men, in various situations, building up Religions, heroic Forms of human Existence in this world, Theories of Life worthy to be sung by a Dante, Practices of Life by a Shakspeare,—we are now to see the reverse process; which also is necessary, which also may be carried on in the Heroic manner. Curious how this should be necessary: yet necessary it is. The mild shining of the Poet's light has to give place to the fierce lightning of the Reformer: unfortunately the Reformer too is a personage that cannot fail in History! The Poet indeed, with his mildness, what is he but the product and ultimate adjustment of Reform, or Prophecy, with its fierceness? No wild Saint Dominies and Thebaid Eremites, there had been no melodious Dante; rough Practical Endeavour, Scandinavian and other, from Odin to Walter Raleigh, from Ulfila to Cranmer, enabled Shakspeare to speak. Nay the finished Poet, I

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remark sometimes, is a symptom that his epoch itself has reached perfection and is finished; that before long there will be a new epoch, new Reformers needed. Doubtless it were finer, could we go along always in the way of music; be tamed and taught by our Poets, as the rude creatures were by their Orpheus of old. Or failing this rhythmic musical way, how good were it could we get so much as into the equable way; I mean, if peaceable Priests, reforming from day to day, would always suffice us! But it is not so; even this latter has not yet been realised. Alas, the battling Reformer too is, from time to time, a needful and inevitable phenomenon. Obstructions are never wanting: the very things that were once indispensable furtherances become obstructions; and need to be shaken off, and left behind us,—a business often of enormous difficulty. It is notable enough, surely, how a Theorem or spiritual Representation, so we may call it, which once took-in the whole Universe, and was completely satisfactory in all parts of it to the highly discursive acute intellect of Dante, one of the greatest in the world,—had in the course of another century become dubitable to common intellects; become deniable; and is now, to every one of us, flatly incredible, obsolete as Odin's Theorem! To Dante, human Existence, and God's ways with men, were all well represented by those Malebolges, Purgatories; to Luther not well. How was this? Why could not Dante's Catholicism continue; but Luther's Protestantism must needs follow? Alas, nothing will continue. I do not make much of 'Progress of the Species,' as handled in these times of ours; nor do I think you would care to hear much about it. The talk on that subject is too often of the most extravagant, confused sort. Yet I may say, the fact itself seems certain enough; nay we can trace out the inevitable necessity of it in the nature of things. Every man, as I have stated somewhere, is not only a learner but a doer: he learns with the mind given him what has been; but with the same mind he discovers farther, he invents and devises somewhat of his own. Absolutely without originality there is no man. No man whatever believes, or can believe, exactly what his grandfather believed: he enlarges somewhat, by fresh discovery, his view of the Universe, and consequently his Theorem of the Universe,—which is an infinite Universe, and can never be embraced wholly or finally by

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any view or Theorem, in any conceivable enlargement: he enlarges somewhat, I say; finds somewhat that was credible to his grandfather incredible to him, false to him, inconsistent with some new thing he has discovered or observed. It is the history of every man; and in the history of Mankind we see it summed up into great historical amounts,—revolutions, new epochs. Dante's Mountain of Purgatory does not stand 'in the ocean of the other Hemisphere,' when Columbus has once sailed thither! Men find no such thing extant in the other Hemisphere. It is not there. It must cease to be believed to be there. So with all beliefs whatsoever in this world,—all Systems of Belief, and Systems of Practice that spring from these. If we add now the melancholy fact that when Belief waxes uncertain, Practice too becomes unsound, and errors, injustices and miseries everywhere more and more prevail, we shall see material enough for revolution. At all turns, a man who will do faithfully, needs to believe firmly. If he have to ask at every turn the world's suffrage; if he cannot dispense with the world's suffrage, and make his own suffrage serve, he is a poor eye-servant; the work committed to him will be wmdone. Every such man is a daily contributor to the inevitable downfal. Whatsoever work he does, dishonestly, with an eye to the outward look of it, is a new offence, parent of new misery to somebody or other. Offences accumulate till they become insupportable; and are then violently burst through, cleared off as by explosion. Dante's sublime Catholicism, incredible now in theory, and defaced still worse by faithless, doubting and dishonest practice, has to be torn asunder by a Luther; Shakspeare's noble Feudalism, as beautiful as it once looked and was, has to end in a French Revolution. The accumulation of offences is, as we say, too literally exploded, blasted asunder volcanically; and there are long troublous periods, before matters come to a settlement again. Surely it were mournful enough to look only at this face of the matter, and find in all human opinions and arrangements merely the fact that they were uncertain, temporary, subject to the law of death! At bottom, it is not so: all death, here too we find, is but of the body, not of the essence or soul; all destruction, by violent revolution or howsoever it be, is but new creation on a wider scale. Odinism was Valour; Christianism was Humility, a nobler kind of Valour. No thought that ever dwelt honestly as true in the heart of man but was

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an honest insight into God's truth on man's part, and has an essential truth in it which endures through all changes, an everlasting possession for us all. And, on the other hand, what a melancholy notion is that, which has to represent all men, in all countries and times except our own, as having spent their life in blind condemnable error, mere lost Pagans, Scandinavians, Mahometans, only that we might have the true ultimate knowledge! All generations of men were lost and wrong, only that this present little section of a generation might be saved and right. They all marched forward there, all generations since the beginning of the world, like the Russian soldiers into the ditch of Schweidnitz Fort, only to fill up the ditch with their dead bodies, that we might march over and take the place! It is an incredible hypothesis. Such incredible hypothesis we have seen maintained with fierce emphasis; and this or the other poor individual man, with his sect of individual men, marching as over the dead bodies of all men, towards sure victory: but when he too, with his hypothesis and ultimate infallible credo, sank into the ditch, and became a dead body, what was to be said?—Withal, it is an important fact in the nature of man, that he tends to reckon his own insight as final, and goes upon it as such. He will always do it, I suppose, in one or the other way; but it must be in some wider, wiser way than this. Are not all true men that live, or that ever lived, soldiers of the same army; enlisted, under Heaven's captaincy, to do battle against the same enemy, the empire of Darkness and Wrong? Why should we misknow one another, fight not against the enemy but against ourselves, from mere difference of uniform? All uniforms shall be good, so they hold in them true valiant men. All fashions of arms, the Arab turban and swift scimetar, Thor's strong hammer smiting down Jotuns, shall be welcome. Luther's battle-voice, Dante's march-melody, all genuine things are with us, not against us. We are all under one Captain, soldiers of the same host.—Let us now look a little at this Luther's fighting; what kind of battle it was, and how he comported himself in it. Luther too was of our spiritual Heroes; a Prophet to his country and time. As introductory to the whole, a remark about Idolatry will perhaps be in place here. One of Mahomet's characteristics, which indeed belongs to all Prophets, is unlimited implacable zeal against Idolatry.

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It is the grand theme of Prophets: Idolatry, the worshipping of dead Idols as the Divinity, is a thing they cannot away with, but have to denounce continually, and brand with inexpiable reprobation; it is the chief of all the sins they see done under the sun. This is worth noting. We will not enter here into the theological question about Idolatry. Idol is Eidolon, a thing seen, a symbol. It is not God, but a Symbol of God; and perhaps one may question whether any the most benighted mortal ever took it for more than a Symbol. I fancy, he did not think that the poor image his own hands had made was God; but that God was emblemed by it, that God was in it some way or other. And now in this sense, one may ask, Is not all worship whatsoever a worship by Symbols, by eidola, or things seen? Whether seen, rendered visible as an image or picture to the bodily eye; or visible only to the inward eye, to the imagination, to the intellect: this makes a superficial, but no substantial difference. It is still a Thing Seen, significant of Godhood; an Idol. The most rigorous Puritan has his Confession of Faith, and intellectual Representation of Divine things, and worships thereby; thereby is worship first made possible for him. All creeds, liturgies, religious forms, conceptions that fitly invest religious feelings, are in this sense eidola, things seen. All worship whatsoever must proceed by Symbols, by Idols:—we may say, all Idolatry is comparative, and the worst Idolatry is only more idolatrous. Where then lies the evil of it? Some fatal evil must lie in it, or earnest prophetic men would not on all hands so reprobate it. Why is Idolatry so hateful to Prophets? It seems to me as if, in the worship of those poor wooden symbols, the thing that had chiefly provoked the Prophet, and filled his inmost soul with indignation and aversion, was not exactly what suggested itself to his own thought, and came out of him in words to others, as the thing. The rudest heathen that worshipped Canopus, or the Caabah Black-stone, he, as we saw, was superior to the horse that worshipped nothing at all! Nay there was a kind of lasting merit in that poor act of his; analogous to what is still meritorious in Poets: recognition of a certain endless divine beauty and significance in stars and all natural objects whatsoever. Why should the Prophet so mercilessly condemn him? The poorest mortal worshipping his Fetish, while his heart is full of it, may be an object of pity, of contempt and avoidance, if you will; but cannot

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surely be an object of hatred. Let his heart be honestly full of it, the whole space of his dark narrow mind illuminated thereby; in one word, let him entirely believe in his Fetish,—it will then be, I should say, if not well with him, yet as well as it can readily be made to be, and you will leave him alone, unmolested there. But here enters the fatal circumstance of Idolatry, that, in the era of the Prophets, no man's mind is any longer honestly filled with his Idol, or Symbol. Before the Prophet can arise who, seeing through it, knows it to be mere wood, many men must have begun dimly to doubt that it was little more. Condemnable Idolatry is insincere Idolatry. Doubt has eaten out the heart of it: a human soul is seen clinging spasmodically to an Ark of the Covenant, which it half-feels now to have become a Phantasm. This is one of the balefulest sights. Souls are no longer filled with their Fetish; but only pretend to be filled, and would fain make themselves feel that they are filled. "You do not believe," said Coleridge; "you only believe that you believe." It is the final scene in all kinds of Worship and Symbolism; the sure symptom that death is now nigh. It is equivalent to what we call Formulism, and Worship of Formulas, in these days of ours. No more immoral act can be done by a human creature; for it is the beginning of all immorality, or rather it is the impossibility henceforth of any morality whatsoever: the innermost moral soul is paralyzed thereby, cast into fatal magnetic sleep! Men are no longer sincere men. I do not wonder that the earnest man denounces this, brands it, prosecutes it with inextinguishable aversion. He and it, all good and it, are at death-feud. Blameable Idolatry is Cawf, and even what one may call Sincere-Cant. Sincere-Cant: that is worth thinking of! Every sort of Worship ends with this phasis.—I find Luther to have been a Breaker of Idols, no less than any other Prophet. The wooden gods of the Koreish, made of timber and bees'-wax, were not more hateful to Mahomet than Tetzel's Pardons of Sin, made of sheepskin and ink, were to Luther. It is the property of every Hero, in every time, in every place and situation, that he come back to reality; that he stand upon things, and not shows of things. According as he loves, and venerates, articulately or with deep speechless thought, the awful realities of things, so will the hollow shows of things, however regular, decorous, accredited by Koreishes or Conclaves, be intolerable and detestable to him. Protestantism too is the work of a Prophet:

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the prophet-work of that sixteenth century. The first stroke of honest demolition to an ancient thing grown false and idolatrous; preparatory afar off to a new thing, which shall be true, and authentically divine! — At first view it might seem as if Protestantism were entirely destructive to this that we call Hero-worship, and represent as the basis of all possible good, religious or social, for mankind. One often hears it said that Protestantism introduced a new era, radically different from any the world had ever seen before: the era of 'private judgment,' as they call it. By this revolt against the Pope, every man became his own Pope; and learnt, among other things, that he must never trust any Pope, or spiritual Hero-captain, any more! Whereby, is not spiritual union, all hierarchy and subordination among men, henceforth an impossibility? So we hear it said.—Now I need not deny that Protestantism was a revolt against spiritual sovereignties, Popes and much else. Nay I will grant that English Puritanism, revolt against earthly sovereignties, was the second act of it; that the enormous French Revolution itself was the third act, whereby all sovereignties earthly and spiritual were, as might seem, abolished or made sure of abolition. Protestantism is the grand root from which our whole subsequent European History branches out. For the spiritual will always body itself forth in the temporal history of men; the spiritual is the beginning of the temporal. And now, sure enough, the cry is everywhere for Liberty and Equality, Independence and so forth; instead of Kings, Ballot-boxes and Electoral suffrages: it seems made out that any Hero-sovereign, or loyal obedience of men to a man, in things temporal or things spiritual, has passed away forever from the world. I should despair of the world altogether, if so. One of my deepest convictions is, that it is not so. Without sovereigns, true sovereigns, temporal and spiritual, I see nothing possible but an anarchy; the hatefulest of things. But I find Protestantism, whatever anarchic democracy it have produced, to be the beginning of new genuine sovereignty and order. I find it to be a revolt against false sovereigns; the painful but indispensable first preparative for true sovereigns getting place among us! This is worth explaining a little. Let us remark, therefore, in the first place, that this of 'private judgment' is, at bottom, not a new thing in the world, but only new at that epoch of the world. There is nothing generically new or

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peculiar in the Reformation; it was a return to Truth and Reality in opposition to Falsehood and Semblance, as all kinds of Improvement and genuine Teaching are and have been. Liberty of private judgment, if we will consider it, must at all times have existed in the world. Dante had not put out his eyes, or tied shackles on himself; he was at home in that Catholicism of his, a free-seeing soul in it,— if many a poor Hogstraten, Tetzel and Dr. Eck had now become slaves in it. Liberty of judgment? No iron chain, or outward force of any kind, could ever compel the soul of a man to believe or to disbelieve: it is his own indefeasible light, that judgment of his; he will reign, and believe there, by the grace of God alone! The sorriest sophistical Bellarmine, preaching sightless faith and passive obedience, must first, by some kind of conviction, have abdicated his right to be convinced. His 'private judgment' indicated that, as the adviseablest step he could take. The right of private judgment will subsist, in full force, wherever true men subsist. A true man believes with his whole judgment, with all the illumination and discernment that is in him, and has always so believed. A false man, only struggling to 'believe that he believes,' will naturally manage it in some other way. Protestantism said to this latter, Woe! and to the former, Well done! At bottom, it was no new saying; it was a return to all old sayings that ever had been said. Be genuine, be sincere: that was, once more, the meaning of it. Mahomet believed with his whole mind; Odin with his whole mind,—he, and all true Followers of Odinism. They, by their private judgment, had 'judged'—so. And now I venture to assert, that the exercise of private judgment, faithfully gone about, does by no means necessarily end in selfish independence, isolation; but rather ends necessarily in the opposite of that. It is not honest inquiry that makes anarchy; but it is error, insincerity, half-belief, and untruth that makes it. A man protesting against error is on the way towards uniting himself with all men that believe in truth. There is no communion possible among men who believe only in hearsays. The heart of each is lying dead; has no power of sympathy even with things,—or he would believe them and not hearsays. No sympathy even with things; how much less with his fellow-men! He cannot unite with men; he is an anarchic man. Only in a world of sincere men is unity possible;—and there, in the longrun, it is as good as certain.

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For observe one thing, a thing too often left out of view, or rather altogether lost sight of in this controversy: That it is not necessary a man should himself have discovered the truth he is to believe in, and never so sincerely to believe in. A Great Man, we said, was always sincere, as the first condition of him. But a man need not be great in order to be sincere; that is not the necessity of Nature and all Time, but only of certain corrupt unfortunate epochs of Time. A man can believe, and make his own, in the most genuine way, what he has received from another;—and with boundless gratitude to that other! The merit of originality is not novelty; it is sincerity. The believing man is the original man; whatsoever he believes he believes it for himself, not for another. Every son of Adam can become a sincere man, an original man, in this sense; no mortal is doomed to be an insincere man. Whole ages, what we call ages of Faith, are original,— all men in them, or the most of men in them, sincere. These are the great and fruitful ages: every worker, in all spheres, is a worker not on semblance but on substance; every work issues in a result: the general sum of such work is great; for all of it, as genuine, tends towards one goal; all of it is additive, none of it subtractive. There is true union, true kingship, loyalty, all true and blessed things, so far as the poor Earth can produce blessedness for men. Hero-worship? Ah me, that a man be self-subsistent, original, true, or what we call it, is surely the farthest in the world from indisposing him to reverence and believe other men's truth! It only disposes, necessitates and invincibly compels him to disbelieve other men's dead formulas, hearsays and untruths. A man embraces truth with his eyes open, and because his eyes are open: does he need to shut them before he can love his Teacher of truth? He alone can love, with a right gratitude and genuine loyalty of soul, the Hero-Teacher who has delivered him out of darkness into light. Is not such a one a true Hero, and Serpentqueller; worthy of all reverence! The black monster, Falsehood, our one enemy in this world, lies prostrate by his valour; it was he that conquered the world for us!—See, accordingly, was not Luther himself reverenced as a true Pope, or Spiritual Father, being verily such? Napoleon, from amid boundless revolt of Sansculottism, became a King. Hero-worship never dies, nor can die. Loyalty and Sovereignty are everlasting in the world:—and there is this in them, that they are grounded not on garnitures and semblances, but on

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realities and sincerities. Not by shutting your eyes, your 'private judgment;' no, but by opening them, and by having something to see! Luther's message was deposition and abolition to all false Popes and Potentates, but life and strength, though afar off, to new genuine ones. All this of Liberty and Equality, Electoral Suffrages, Independence and so forth, we will take, therefore, to be a temporary phenomenon, by no means a final one. Though likely to last a long time, with sad enough embroilments for us all, we must welcome it, as the penalty of sins that are past, the pledge of inestimable benefits that are coming. In all ways, it behoved men to quit simulacra and return to fact; cost what it might, that did behove to be done. With spurious Popes, and believers having no private judgment,—quacks pretending to command over dupes,—what can you do? Misery and mischief only. You cannot make an association out of insincere men; you cannot build an edifice except by plummet and level,—at right-angles to one another! In all this wild revolutionary work, from Protestantism downwards, I see the blessedest result preparing itself: not abolition of Hero-worship, but rather what I would call a whole World of Heroes. If Hero mean sincere man, why may not every one of us be a Hero? A world all sincere, a believing world: the like has been; the like will again be,—cannot help being. That were the right sort of Worshippers for Heroes: never could the truly Better be so reverenced as where all were True and Good!—But we must hasten to Luther and his Life. Luther's birthplace was Eisleben in Saxony; he came into the world there on the 10th of November, 1483. It was an accident that gave this honour to Eisleben. His parents, poor mine-labourers in a village of that region, named Mohra, had gone to the Eisleben Winter-Fair: in the tumult of this scene the Frau Luther was taken with travail, found refuge in some poor house there, and the boy she bore was named MARTIN LUTHER. Strange enough to reflect upon it. This poor Frau Luther, she had gone with her husband to make her small merchandisings; perhaps to sell the lock of yarn she had been spinning, to buy the small winter-necessaries for her narrow hut or household: in the whole world, that day, there was not a more entirely unimportant-looking pair of people than this Miner and his

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Wife. And yet what were all Emperors, Popes and Potentates, in comparison? There was born here, once more, a Mighty Man; whose light was to flame as the beacon over long centuries and epochs of the world; the whole world and its history was waiting for this man. It is strange, it is great. It leads us back to another Birth-hour, in a still meaner environment, Eighteen Hundred years ago,—of which it is fit that we say nothing, that we think only in silence; for what words are there! The Age of Miracles past? The Age of Miracles is forever here! — I find it altogether suitable to Luther's function in this Earth, and doubtless wisely ordered to that end by the Providence presiding over him and us and all things, that he was born poor, and brought up poor, one of the poorest of men. He had to beg, as the schoolchildren in those times did; singing for alms and bread, from door to door. Hardship, rigorous Necessity was the poor boy's companion; no man nor no thing would put-on a false face to flatter Martin Luther. Among things, not among the shows of things, had he to grow. A boy of rude figure, yet with weak health, with his large greedy soul, full of all faculty and sensibility, he suffered greatly. But it was his task to get acquainted with realities, and keep acquainted with them, at whatever cost: his task was to bring the whole world back to reality, for it had dwelt too long with semblance! A youth nursed up in wintry whirlwinds, in desolate darkness and difficulty, that he may step forth at last from his stormy Scandinavia, strong as a true man, as a god: a Christian Odin,—a right Thor once more, with his thunder-hammer, to smite asunder ugly enough Jotuns and Giant-monsters! Perhaps the turning incident of his life, we may fancy, was that death of his friend Alexis, by lightning, at the gate of Erfurt. Luther had struggled up through boyhood, better and worse; displaying in spite of all hindrances the largest intellect, eager to learn: his father judging doubtless that he might promote himself in the world, set him upon the study of Law. This was the path to rise; Luther, with little will in it either way, had consented: he was now nineteen years of age. Alexis and he had been to see the old Luther people at Mansfeldt; were got back again near Erfurt, when a thunderstorm came on; the bolt struck Alexis, he fell dead at Luther's feet. What

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is this Life of ours;—gone in a moment, burnt up like a scroll, into the blank Eternity! What are all earthly preferments, Chancellorships, Kingships? They lie shrunk together—there! The Earth has opened on them; in a moment they are not, and Eternity is. Luther, struck to the heart, determined to devote himself to God, and God's service alone. In spite of all dissuasions from his father and others, he became a Monk in the Augustine Convent at Erfurt. This was probably the first light-point in the history of Luther, his purer will now first decisively uttering itself; but, for the present, it was still as one light-point in an element all of darkness. He says he was a pious monk, icb bin ein frommer Monch jfewesen; faithfully, painfully struggling to work out the truth of this high act of his; but it was to little purpose. His misery had not lessened; had rather, as it were, increased into infinitude. The drudgeries he had to do, as novice in his Convent, all sorts of slave-work, were not his grievance: the deep earnest soul of the man had fallen into all manner of black scruples, dubitations; he believed himself likely to die soon, and far worse than die. One hears with a new interest for poor Luther that, at this time, he lived in terror of the unspeakable misery; fancied that he was doomed to eternal reprobation. Was it not the humble sincere nature of the man? What was he, that he should be raised to Heaven! He that had known only misery, and mean slavery: the news was too blessed to be credible. It could not become clear to him how, by fasts, vigils, formalities and mass-work, a man's soul could be saved. He fell into the blackest wretchedness; had to wander staggering as on the verge of bottomless Despair. It must have been a most blessed discovery, that of an old Latin Bible which he found in the Erfurt Library about this time. He had never seen the Book before. It taught him another lesson than that of fasts and vigils. A brother monk too, of pious experience, was helpful. Luther learned now that a man was saved not by singing masses, but by the infinite grace of God: a more credible hypothesis. He gradually got himself founded, as on the rock. No wonder he should venerate the Bible, which had brought this blessed help to him. He prized it as the Word of the Highest must be prized by such a man. He determined to hold by that; as through life and to death he firmly did.

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This then is his deliverance from darkness, his final triumph over darkness, what we call his conversion; for himself the most important of all epochs. That he should now grow daily in peace and clearness; that, unfolding now the great talents and virtues implanted in him, he should rise to importance in his Convent, in his country, and be found more and more useful in all honest business of life, is a natural result. He was sent on missions by his Augustine Order, as a man of talent and fidelity fit to do their business well: the Elector of Saxony, Friedrich, named the Wise, a truly wise and just prince, had cast his eye on him as a valuable person; made him Professor in his new University of Wittenberg, Preacher too at Wittenberg; in both which capacities, as in all duties he did, this Luther, in the peaceable sphere of common life, was gaining more and more esteem with all good men. It was in his twenty-seventh year that he first saw Rome; being sent thither, as I said, on mission from his Convent. Pope Julius the Second, and what was going on at Rome, must have filled the mind of Luther with amazement. He had come as to the Sacred City, throne of God's Highpriest on Earth; and he found it—what we know! Many thoughts it must have given the man; many which we have no record of, which perhaps he did not himself know how to utter. This Rome, this scene of false priests, clothed not in the beauty of holiness, but in far other vesture, is false: but what is it to Luther? A mean man he, how shall he reform a world? That was far from his thoughts. A humble, solitary man, why should he at all meddle with the world? It was the task of quite higher men than he. His business was to guide his own footsteps wisely through the world. Let him do his own obscure duty in it well; the rest, horrible and dismal as it looks, is in God's hand, not in his. It is curious to reflect what might have been the issue, had Roman Popery happened to pass this Luther by; to go on in its great wasteful orbit, and not come athwart his little path, and force him to assault it! Conceivable enough that, in this case, he might have held his peace about the abuses of Rome; left Providence, and God on high, to deal with them! A modest quiet man; not prompt he to attack irreverently persons in authority. His clear task, as I say, was to do his own duty; to walk wisely in this world of confused wickedness, and save his own soul alive. But the Roman Highpriesthood did come

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athwart him: afar off at Wittenberg he, Luther, could not get lived in honesty for it; he remonstrated, resisted, came to extremity; was struck at, struck again, and so it came to wager of battle between them! This is worth attending to, in Luther's history. Perhaps no man of so humble, peaceable a disposition ever filled the world with contention. We cannot but see that he would have loved privacy, quiet diligence in the shade; that it was against his will he ever became a notoriety. Notoriety: what would that do for him? The goal of his march through this world was the Infinite Heaven; an indubitable goal for him: in a few years, he should either have attained that, or lost it forever! We will say nothing at all, I think, of that sorrowfulest of theories, of its being some mean shopkeeper grudge, of the Augustine Monk against the Dominican, that first kindled the wrath of Luther, and produced the Protestant Reformation. We will say to the people who maintain it, if indeed any such exist now, Get first into the sphere of thought by which it is so much as possible to judge of Luther, or of any man like Luther, otherwise than distractedly; we may then begin arguing with you. The Monk Tetzel, sent out carelessly in the way of trade, by Leo Tenth,—who merely wanted to raise a little money, and for the rest seems to have been a Pagan rather than a Christian, so far as he was anything,—arrived at Wittenberg, and drove his scandalous trade there. Luther's flock bought Indulgences; in the confessional of his Church, people pleaded to him that they had already got their sins pardoned. Luther, if he would not be found wanting at his own post, a false sluggard and coward at the very centre of the little space of ground that was his own and no other man's, had to step forth against Indulgences, and declare aloud that they were a futility and sorrowful mockery, that no man's sins could be pardoned by them. It was the beginning of the whole Reformation. We know how it went; forward from this first public challenge of Tetzel, on the last day of October 1517, through remonstrance and argument;—spreading ever wider, rising ever higher; till it became unquenchable, and enveloped all the world. Luther's heart's-desire was to have this grief and other griefs amended; his thought was still far other than that of introducing separation in the Church, or revolting against the Pope, Father of Christendom.—The elegant Pagan Pope cared little about this Monk and his doctrines; wished, however, to have done with the

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noise of him: in a space of some three years, having tried various softer methods, he thought good to end it by fire. He dooms the Monk's writings to be burnt by the hangman, and his body to be sent bound to Rome—probably for a similar purpose. It was the way they had ended with Huss, with Jerome, the century before. A short argument, fire. Poor Huss: he came to that Constance Council, with all imaginable promises and safe-conducts; an earnest, not rebellious kind of man: they laid him instantly in a stone dungeon 'three feet wide, six feet high, seven feet long;' burnt the true voice of him out of this world; choked it in smoke and fire. That was not well done! I, for one, pardon Luther for now altogether revolting against the Pope. The elegant Pagan, by this fire-decree of his, had kindled into noble just wrath the bravest heart then living in this world. The bravest, if also one of the humblest, peaceablest; it was now kindled. These words of mine, words of truth and soberness, aiming faithfully, as human inability would allow, to promote God's truth on Earth, and save men's souls, you, God's vicegerent on earth, answer them by the hangman and fire? You will burn me and them, for answer to the God's-message they strove to bring you? You are not God's vicegerent; you are another's than his, I think! I take your Bull, as an emparchmented Lie, and burn it. You will do what you see good next; this is what I do.—It was on the tenth of December 1520, three years after the beginning of the business, that Luther 'with a great concourse of people,' took this indignant step of burning the Pope's fire-decree 'at the Elster-Gate of Wittenberg.' Wittenberg looked on 'with shoutings;' the whole world was looking on. The Pope should not have provoked that 'shout!' It was the shout of the awakening of nations. The quiet German heart, modest, patient of much, had at length got more than it could bear. Formulism, Pagan Popism, and other Falsehood and corrupt Semblance had ruled long enough: and here once more was a man found who durst tell all men that God'sworld stood not on semblances but on realities; that Life was a truth, and not a lie! At bottom, as was said above, we are to consider Luther as a Prophet Idol-breaker; a bringer back of men to reality. It is the function of great men and teachers. Mahomet said, These idols of yours are wood; you put wax and oil on them, the flies stick on them: they are not God, I tell you, they arc black wood! Luther said to the

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Pope, This thing of yours that you call a Pardon of Sins, it is a bit of rag-paper with ink. It is nothing else; it, and so much like it, is nothing else. God alone can pardon sins. Popeship, spiritual Fatherhood of God's Church, is that a vain semblance, of cloth and parchment? It is an awful fact. God's Church is not a semblance, Heaven and Hell are not semblances. I stand on this, since you drive me to it. Standing on this, I a poor German Monk am stronger than you all. I stand solitary, friendless, but on God's Truth; you with your tiaras, triple-hats, with your treasuries and armories, thunders spiritual and temporal, stand on the Devil's Lie, and are not so strong! — The Diet of Worms, Luther's appearance there on the 17th of April 1521, may be considered as the greatest scene in Modern European History; the point, indeed, from which the whole subsequent history of civilization takes its rise. After multiplied negotiations, disputations, it had come to this. The young Emperor Charles Fifth, with all the Princes of Germany, Papal nuncios, dignitaries spiritual and temporal, are assembled there: Luther is to appear and answer for himself, whether he will recant or not. The world's pomp and power sits there on this hand: on that, stands up for God's Truth, one man, the poor miner Hans Luther's Son. Friends had reminded him of Huss, advised him not to go; he would not be advised. A large company of friends rode out to meet him, with still more earnest warnings; he answered, "Were there as many Devils in Worms as there are roof-tiles, I would on." The people, on the morrow, as he went to the Hall of the Diet, crowded the windows and housetops, some of them calling out to him, in solemn words, not to recant: "Whosoever denieth me before men!" they cried to him,—as in a kind of solemn petition and adjuration. Was it not in reality our petition too, the petition of the whole world, lying in dark bondage of soul, paralysed under a black spectral Nightmare and triple-hatted Chimera, calling itself Father in God, and what not: "Free us; it rests with thee; desert us not!" Luther did not desert us. His speech, of two hours, distinguished itself by its respectful, wise and honest tone; submissive to whatsoever could lawfully claim submission, not submissive to any more than that. His writings, he said, were partly his own, partly derived from the Word of God. As to what was his own, human infirmity entered into it; unguarded anger, blindness, many things doubtless which it were a blessing for him could he abolish

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altogether. But as to what stood on sound truth and the Word of God, he could not recant it. How could he? "Confute me," he concluded, "by proofs of Scripture, or else by plain just arguments: I cannot recant otherwise. For it is neither safe nor prudent to do aught against conscience. Here stand I; I can do no other: God assist me!"—It is, as we say, the greatest moment in the Modern History of Men. English Puritanism, England and its Parliaments, Americas, and vast work these two centuries; French Revolution, Europe and its work everywhere at present: the germ of it all lay there: had Luther in that moment done other, it had all been otherwise! The European World was asking him: Am I to sink ever lower into falsehood, stagnant putrescence, loathsome accursed death; or, with whatever paroxysm, to cast the falsehoods out of me, and be cured and live?— Great wars, contentions, and disunion followed out of this Reformation; which last down to our day, and are yet far from ended. Great talk and crimination has been made about these. They are lamentable, undeniable; but after all, what has Luther or his cause to do with them? It seems strange reasoning to charge the Reformation with all this. When Hercules turned the purifying river into King Augeas's stables, I have no doubt the confusion that resulted was considerable all around: but I think it was not Hercules's blame; it was some other's blame! The Reformation might bring what results it liked when it came, but the Reformation simply could not help coming. To all Popes and Popes' advocates, expostulating, lamenting and accusing, the answer of the world is: Once for all, your Popehood has become untrue. No matter how good it was, how good you say it is, we cannot believe it; the light of our whole mind, given us to walk by from Heaven above, finds it henceforth a thing unbelievable. We will not believe it, we will not try to believe it,—we dare not! The thing is untrue; we were traitors against the Giver of all Truth, if we durst pretend to think it true. Away with it; let whatsoever likes come in the place of it: with it we can have no farther trade!—Luther and his Protestantism is not responsible for wars; the false Simulacra that forced him to protest, they are responsible. Luther did what every man that God has made has not only the right, but lies under the sacred duty, to do: answered a Falsehood when it questioned him,

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Dost thou believe me?—No!—At what cost soever, without counting of costs, this thing behoved to be done. Union, organisation spiritual and material, a far nobler than any Popedom or Feudalism in their truest days, I never doubt, is coming for the world; sure to come. But on Fact alone, not on Semblance and Simulacrum, will it be able either to come, or to stand when come. With union grounded on falsehood, and ordering us to speak and act lies, we will not have anything to do. Peace? A brutal lethargy is peaceable, the noisome grave is peaceable. We hope for a living peace, not a dead one! And yet, in prizing justly the indispensable blessings of the New, let us not be unjust to the Old. The Old was true, if it no longer is. In Dante's days it needed no sophistry, self-blinding or other dishonesty, to get itself reckoned true. It was good then; nay there is in the soul of it a deathless good. The cry of'No Popery,' is foolish enough in these days. The speculation that Popery is on the increase, building new chapels, and so forth, may pass for one of the idlest ever started. Very curious: to count up a few Popish chapels, listen to a few Protestant logic-choppings,—to much dull-droning drowsy inanity that still calls itself Protestant, and say: See, Protestantism is dead; Popism is more alive than it, will be alive after it!—Drowsy inanities, not a few, that call themselves Protestant are dead; but Protestantism has not died yet, that I hear of! Protestantism, if we will look, has in these days produced its Goethe, its Napoleon; German Literature and the French Revolution; rather considerable signs of life! Nay, at bottom, what else is alive but Protestantism? The life of most else that one meets is a galvanic one merely,—not a pleasant, not a lasting sort of life! Popery can build new chapels; welcome to do so, to all lengths. Popery cannot come back, any more than Paganism can,—which also still lingers in some countries. But, indeed, it is with these things, as with the ebbing of the sea: you look at the waves oscillating hither, thither on the beach; for minutes you cannot tell how it is going: look in half an hour where it is,—look in half a century where your Popehood is! Alas, would there were no greater danger to our Europe than the poor old Pope's revival! Thor may as soon try to revive.—And withal this oscillation has a meaning. The poor old Popehood will not die away entirely, as Thor has done, for some time

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yet; nor ought it. We may say, the Old never dies till this happen, Till all the soul of good that was in it have got itself transfused into the practical New. While a good work remains capable of being done by the Romish form; or, what is inclusive of all, while a pious life remains capable of being led by it, just so long, if we consider, will this or the other human soul adopt it, go about as a living witness of it. So long it will obtrude itself on the eye of us who reject it, till we in our practice too have appropriated whatsoever of truth was in it. Then, but also not till then, it will have no charm more for any man. It lasts here for a purpose. Let it last as long as it can.— Of Luther I will add now, in reference to all these wars and bloodshed, the noticeable fact that none of them began so long as he continued living. The controversy did not get to fighting so long as he was there. To me it is proof of his greatness in all senses, this fact. How seldom do we find a man that has stirred up some vast commotion, who does not himself perish, swept away in it. Such is the usual course of revolutionists. Luther continued, in a good degree, sovereign of this greatest revolution; all Protestants, of what rank or function soever, looking much to him for guidance: and he held it peaceable, continued firm at the centre of it. A man to do this must have a kingly faculty: he must have the gift to discern at all turns where the true heart of the matter lies, and to plant himself courageously on that, as a strong true man, that other true men may rally round him there. He will not continue leader of men otherwise. Luther's clear deep force of judgment, his force of all sorts, of silence, of tolerance and moderation, among others, are very notable in these circumstances. Tolerance, I say; a very genuine kind of tolerance: he distinguishes what is essential, and what is not; the unessential may go very much as it will. A complaint comes to him that such and such a Reformed Preacher 'will not preach without a cassock.' Well, answers Luther, what harm will a cassock do the man? 'Let him have a cassock to preach in; let him have three cassocks if he find benefit in them!' His conduct in the matter of Karlstadt's wild image-breaking; of the Anabaptists; of the Peasants' War, shews a noble strength, very different from spasmodic violence. With sure prompt insight he discrimi-

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nates what is what: a strong just man, he speaks forth what is the wise course, and all men follow him in that. Luther's Written Works give similar testimony of him. The dialect of these speculations is now grown obsolete for us; but one still reads them with a singular attraction. And indeed the mere grammatical diction is still legible enough; Luther's merit in literary history is of the greatest: his dialect became the language of all writing. They are not well written, these Four-andtwenty Quartos of his; written hastily, with quite other than literary objects. But in no Books have I found a more robust, genuine, I will say noble faculty of a man than in these. A rugged honesty, homeliness, simplicity; a rugged sterling sense and strength. He flashes out illumination from him; his smiting idiomatic phrases seem to cleave into the very secret of the matter. Good humour too, nay tender affection, nobleness, and depth: this man could have been a Poet too! He had to work an Epic Poem, not write one. I call him a great Thinker; as indeed his greatness of heart already betokens that. Richter says of Luther's words, 'his words are half-battles.' They may be called so. The essential quality of him was that he could fight and conquer; that he was a right piece of human Valour. No more valiant man, no mortal heart to be called braver, that one has record of, ever lived in that Teutonic Kindred, whose character is valour. His defiance of the 'Devils' in Worms was not a mere boast, as the like might be if now spoken. It was a faith of Luther's that there were Devils, spiritual denizens of the Pit, continually besetting men. Many times, in his writings, this turns up; and a most small sneer has been grounded on it by some. In the room of the Wartburg where he sat translating the Bible, they still shew you a black spot on the wall; the strange memorial of one of these conflicts. Luther sat translating one of the Psalms; he was worn down with long labour, with sickness, abstinence from food: there rose before him some hideous indefinable Image, which he took for the Evil One, to forbid his work: Luther started up, with fiend-defiance; flung his inkstand at the spectre, and it disappeared! The spot still remains there; a curious monument of several things. Any apothecary's apprentice can now tell us what we are to think of this apparition, in a scientific sense: but the man's heart that dare rise defiant, face to face, against Hell itself, can give no higher proof of fearlessness. The thing he will quail before, exists

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not on this Earth or under it.—Fearless enough! 'The Devil is aware,' writes he on one occasion, 'that this does not proceed out of fear in me. I have seen and defied innumerable Devils. Duke George,' of Leipzig, a great enemy of his, 'Duke George is not equal to one Devil,'—far short of a Devil! 'If I had business at Leipzig, I would ride into Leipzig, though it rained Duke-Georges for nine days running.' What a reservoir of Dukes to ride into! — At the same time, they err greatly who imagine that this man's courage was ferocity, mere coarse disobedient obstinacy and savagery, as many do. Far from that. There may be an absence of fear which arises from the absence of thought or affection, from the presence of hatred and stupid fury. We do not value the courage of the tiger highly! With Luther it was far otherwise; no accusation could be more unjust than this of mere ferocious violence brought against him. A most gentle heart withal, full of pity and love, as indeed the truly valiant heart ever is. The tiger before a stronger foe—flies: the tiger is not what we call valiant, only fierce and cruel. I know few things more touching than those soft breathings of affection, soft as a child's or a mother's, in this great wild heart of Luther. So honest, unadulterated with any cant; homely, rude in their utterance; pure as water welling from the rock. What, in fact, was all that downpressed mood of despair and reprobation, which we saw in his youth, but the outcome of preeminent thoughtful gentleness, affections too keen and fine? It is the course such men as the poor Poet Cowper fall into. Luther, to a slight observer, might have seemed a timid, weak man; modesty, affectionate shrinking tenderness the chief distinction of him. It is a noble valour which is roused in a heart like this, once stirred up into defiance; all kindled into a heavenly blaze. In Luther's Table-talk, a posthumous Book of anecdotes and sayings collected by his friends, the most interesting now of all the Books proceeding from him, we have many beautiful unconscious displays of the man, and what sort of nature he had. His behaviour at the deathbed of his little Daughter, so still, so great and loving, is among the most affecting things. He is resigned that his little Magdalene should die, yet longs inexpressibly that she might live;— follows, in awestruck thought, the flight of her little soul through those unknown realms. Awestruck; most heartfelt, we can see; and

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sincere,—for after all dogmatic creeds and articles, he feels what nothing it is that we know, or can know: His little Magdalene shall be with God, as God wills; for Luther too that is all; Islam is all. Once, he looks out from his solitary Patmos, the Castle of Coburg, in the middle of the night: The great vault of Immensity, long flights of clouds sailing through it,—dumb, gaunt, huge:—who supports all that? "None ever saw the pillars of it; yet it is supported." God supports it. We must know that God is great, that God is good; and trust, where we cannot see.—Returning home from Leipzig once, he is struck by the beauty of the harvest-fields: How it stands, that golden yellow corn, on its fair taper stem, its golden head bent, all rich and waving there,—the meek Earth, at God's kind bidding, has produced it once again; the bread of man!—In the garden at Wittenberg one evening at sunset, a little bird has perched for the night: That little bird, says Luther, above it are the stars and deep Heaven of worlds; yet it has folded its little wings; gone trustfully to rest there as in its home: the Maker of it has given it too a home!— —Neither are mirthful turns wanting: there is a great free human heart in this man. The common speech of him has a rugged nobleness, idiomatic, expressive, genuine; gleams here and there with beautiful poetic tints. One feels him to be a great brother man. His love of Music, indeed, is not this, as it were, the summary of all these affections in him? Many a wild unutterability he spoke forth from him in the tones of his flute. The Devils fled from his flute, he says. Death-defiance on the one hand, and such love of music on the other: I could call these the two opposite poles of a great soul; between these two all great things had room. Luther's face is to me expressive of him; in Kranach's best portraits I find the true Luther. A rude, plebeian face; with its huge craglike brows and bones, the emblem of rugged energy; at first, almost a repulsive face. Yet in the eyes especially there is a wild silent sorrow; an unnameable melancholy, the element of all gentle and fine affections; giving to the rest the true stamp of nobleness. Laughter was in this Luther, as we said; but tears also were there. Tears also were appointed him; tears and hard toil. The basis of his life was Sadness, Earnestness. In his latter days, after all triumphs and victories, he expresses himself heartily weary of living; he considers that God alone

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can and will regulate the course things are taking, and that perhaps the Day of Judgment is not far. As for him, he longs for one thing: that God would release him from his labour, and let him depart and be at rest. They understand little of the man who cite this in discredit of him!—I will call this Luther a true Great Man; great in intellect, in courage, affection and integrity; one of our most loveable and precious men. Great, not as a hewn obelisk; but as an Alpine mountain,—so simple, honest, spontaneous, not setting up to be great at all; there for quite another purpose than being great! Ah yes, unsubduable granite, piercing far and wide into the Heavens;—yet in the clefts of it fountains, green beautiful valleys with flowers! A right Spiritual Hero and Prophet; once more, a true Son of Nature and Fact, for whom these centuries, and many that are to come yet, will be thankful to Heaven. The most interesting phasis which the Reformation anywhere assumes, especially for us English, is that of Puritanism. In Luther's own country, Protestantism soon dwindled into a rather barren affair: not a religion or faith, but rather now a theological jangling of argument, the proper seat of it not the heart; the essence of it sceptical contention: which indeed has jangled more and more, down to Voltairism itself,—through Gustavus-Adolphus contentions onward to French-Revolution ones! But in our Island there arose a Puritanism, which even got itself established as a Presbyterianism and National Church among the Scotch; which came forth as a real business of the heart; and has produced in the world very notable fruit. In some senses, one may say it is the only phasis of Protestantism that ever got to the rank of being a Faith, a true heart-communication with Heaven, and of exhibiting itself in History as such. We must spare a few words for Knox; himself a brave and remarkable man; but still more important as Chief Priest and Founder, which one may consider him to be, of the Faith that became Scotland's, New England's, Oliver Cromwell's. History will have something to say about this, for some time to come! We may censure Puritanism as we please; and no one of us, I suppose, but would find it a very rough defective thing. But we, and all men, may understand that it was a genuine thing; for Nature has adopted it, and it has grown, and grows. I say sometimes, that all

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goes by wager of battle in this world; that strength, well understood, is the measure of all worth. Give a thing time; if it can succeed, it is a right thing. Look now at American Saxondom; and at that little Fact of the sailing of the Mayflower, two hundred years ago, from Delft Haven in Holland! Were we of open sense as the Greeks were, we had found a Poem here; one of Nature's own Poems, such as she writes in broad facts over great continents. For it was properly the beginning of America: there were straggling settlers in America before, some material as of a body was there; but the soul of it was first this. These poor men, driven out of their own country, not able well to live in Holland, determine on settling in the New World. Black untamed forests are there, and wild savage creatures; but not so cruel as Star-chamber hangmen. They thought the Earth would yield them food, if they tilled honestly; the everlasting Heaven would stretch, there too, overhead; they should be left in peace, to prepare for Eternity by living well in this world of Time; worshipping in what they thought the true, not the idolatrous way. They clubbed their small means together; hired a ship, the little ship Mayflower, and made ready to set sail. In Neat's History of the Puritans1 is an account of the ceremony of their departure: solemnity, we might call it rather, for it was a real act of worship. Their minister went down with them to the beach, and their brethren whom they were to leave behind; all joined in solemn prayer, That God would have pity on His poor children, and^o with them into that waste wilderness, for He also had made that, He was there also as well as here.—Hah! These men, I think, had a work! The weak thing, weaker than a child, becomes strong one day, if it be a true thing. Puritanism was only despicable, laughable then; but nobody can manage to laugh at it now. Puritanism has got weapons and sinews; it has fire-arms, war-navies; it has cunning in its ten fingers, strength in its right arm: it can steer ships, fell forests, remove mountains;—it is one of the strongest things under this sun at present! In the history of Scotland too, I can find properly but one epoch: we may say, it contains nothing of world-interest at all but this Reformation by Knox. A poor barren country, full of continual broils, dissensions, massacrings; a people in the last state of rudeness and 1

Neal (London, 1755), i. 490.

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destitution, little better perhaps than Ireland at this day. Hungry fierce barons, not so much as able to form any arrangement with each other how to divide what they fleeced from these poor drudges; but obliged, as the Columbian Republics are at this day, to make of every alteration a revolution; no way of changing a ministry but by hanging the old ministers on gibbets: this is a historical spectacle of no very singular significance! 'Bravery' enough, I doubt not; fierce fighting in abundance: but not braver or fiercer than that of their old Scandinavian Sea-king ancestors; whose exploits we have not found worth dwelling on! It is a country as yet without a soul; nothing developed in it but what is rude, external, semi-animal. And now at the Reformation, the internal life is kindled, as it were, under the ribs of this outward material death. A cause, the noblest of causes kindles itself, like a beacon set on high; high as Heaven, yet attainable from Earth;—whereby the meanest man becomes not a Citizen only, but a Member of Christ's visible Church; a veritable Hero, if he prove a true man! Well; this is what I mean by a whole 'nation of heroes;' a believing nation. There needs not a great soul to make a hero; there needs a god-created soul which will be true to its origin; that will be a great soul! The like has been seen, we find. The like will be again seen, under wider forms than the Presbyterian: there can be no lasting good done till then.—Impossible! say some. Possible? Has it not been, in this world, as a practised fact? Did Hero-worship fail in Knox's case? Or are we made of other clay now? Did the Westminster Confession of Faith add some new property to the soul of man? God made the soul of man. He did not doom any soul of man to live as a Hypothesis and Hearsay, in a world filled with such, and with the fatal work and fruit of such!— — But to return: This that Knox did for his Nation, I say, we may really call a resurrection as from death. It was not a smooth business; but it was welcome surely, and cheap at that price, had it been far rougher. On the whole, cheap at any price;—as life is. The people began to live: they needed first of all to do that, at what cost and costs soever. Scotch Literature and Thought, Scotch Industry; James Watt, David Hume, Walter Scott, Robert Burns: I find Knox and the Reformation acting in the heart's core of every one of these persons

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and phenomena; I find that without the Reformation they would not have been. Or what of Scotland? The Puritanism of Scotland became that of England, of New England. A tumult in the High Church of Edinburgh spread into a universal battle and struggle over all these realms;—there came out, after fifty years struggling, what we all call the 'Glorious Revolution,' a Habeas-Corpus Act, Free Parliaments, and much else!—Alas, is it not too true what we said, That many men in the van do always, like Russian soldiers, march into the ditch of Schweidnitz, and fill it up with their dead bodies, that the rear may pass over them dry-shod, and gain the honour? How many earnest rugged Cromwells, Knoxes, poor Peasant Covenanters, wrestling, battling for very life, in rough miry places, have to struggle, and suffer, and fall, greatly censured, bemired,—before a beautiful Revolution of Eighty-eight can step over them in official pumps and silkstockings, with universal three-times-three! It seems to me hard measure that this Scottish man, now after three hundred years, should have to plead like a culprit before the world; intrinsically for having been, in such way as it was then possible to be, the bravest of all Scotchmen! Had he been a poor Halfand-half, he could have crouched into the corner, like so many others; Scotland had not been delivered; and Knox had been without blame. He is the one Scotchman to whom, of all others, his country and the world owe a debt. He has to plead that Scotland would forgive him for having been worth to it any million 'unblameable' Scotchmen that need no forgiveness! He bared his breast to the battle; had to row in French galleys, wander forlorn in exile, in clouds and storms; was censured, shot at through his windows; had a right sore fighting life: if this world were his place of recompense, he had made but a bad venture of it. I cannot apologize for Knox. To him it is very indifferent, these two hundred and fifty years or more, what men say of him. But we, having got above all those details of his battle, and living now in clearness on the fruits of his victory, we for our own sake ought to look through the rumours and controversies enveloping the man, into the man himself. For one thing, I will remark that this post of Prophet to his Nation was not of his seeking; Knox had lived forty years quietly obscure, before he became conspicuous. He was the son of poor

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parents; had got a college-education; become a Priest; adopted the Reformation, and seemed well content to guide his own steps by the light of it, nowise unduly intruding it on others. He had lived as Tutor in gentlemen's families; preaching when any body of persons wished to hear his doctrine: resolute he to walk by the truth, and speak the truth when called to do it; not ambitious of more; not fancying himself capable of more. In this entirely obscure way he had reached the age of forty; was with the small body of Reformers who were standing siege in St. Andrew's Castle,—when one day in their chapel, the Preacher after finishing his exhortation to these fighters in the forlorn hope, said suddenly, That there ought to be other speakers, that all men who had a priest's heart and gift in them ought now to speak;—which gifts and heart one of their own number, John Knox the name of him, had: Had he not? said the Preacher, appealing to all the audience: What then is his duty? The people answered affirmatively; it was a criminal forsaking of his post, if such a man held the word that was in him silent. Poor Knox was obliged to stand up; he attempted to reply; he could say no word;—burst into a flood of tears, and ran out. It is worth remembering, that scene. He was in grievous trouble for some days. He felt what a small faculty was his for this great work. He felt what a baptism he was called to be baptized withal. He 'burst into tears.' Our primary characteristic of a Hero, that he is sincere, applies emphatically to Knox. It is not denied anywhere that this, whatever might be his other qualities or faults, is among the truest of men. With a singular instinct he holds to the truth and fact; the truth alone is there for him, the rest a mere shadow and deceptive nonentity. However feeble, forlorn the reality may seem, on that and that only can he take his stand. In the Galleys of the River Loire, whither Knox and the others, after their Castle of St. Andrew's was taken, had been sent as Galley-slaves,—some officer or priest, one day, presented them an Image of the Virgin Mother, requiring that they, the blasphemous heretics, should do it reverence. Mother? Mother of God? said Knox, when the turn came to him: This is no Mother of God: this is "a pented. bredd,"—a piece of wood, I tell you, with paint on it! She is fitter for swimming, I think, than for being worshipped, added Knox: and flung the thing into the river. It was not very cheap jesting there:

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but come of it what might, this thing to Knox was and must continue nothing other than the real truth; it was a pented bredd: worship it he would not. He told his fellow-prisoners, in this darkest time, to be of courage; the Cause they had was the true one, and must and would prosper; the whole world could not put it down. Reality is of God's making; it is alone strong. How many pented bredds, pretending to be real, are fitter to swim than to be worshipped!—This Knox cannot live but by fact: he clings to reality as the shipwrecked sailor to the cliff. He is an instance to us how a man, by sincerity itself, becomes heroic: it is the grand gift he has. We find in Knox a good honest intellectual talent, no transcendent one;—a narrow, inconsiderable man, as compared with Luther: but in heartfelt instinctive adherence to truth, in sincerity, as we say, he has no superior; nay, one might ask, What equal he has? The heart of him is of the true Prophet cast. "He lies there," said the Earl of Morton at his grave, "who never feared the face of man." He resembles, more than any of the moderns, an Old-Hebrew Prophet. The same inflexibility, intolerance, rigid narrow-looking adherence to God's truth, stern rebuke in the name of God to all that forsake truth: an Old-Hebrew Prophet in the guise of an Edinburgh Minister of the Sixteenth Century. We are to take him for that; not require him to be other. Knox's conduct to Queen Mary, the harsh visits he used to make in her own palace, to reprove her there, have been much commented upon. Such cruelty, such coarseness fills us with indignation. On reading the actual narrative of the business, what Knox said, and what Knox meant, I must say one's tragic feeling is rather disappointed. They are not so coarse, these speeches; they seem to me about as fine as the circumstances would permit! Knox was not there to do the courtier; he came on another errand. Whoever, reading these colloquies of his with the Queen, thinks they are vulgar insolences of a plebeian priest to a delicate high lady, mistakes the purport and essence of them altogether. It was unfortunately not possible to be polite with the Queen of Scotland, unless one proved untrue to the Nation and Cause of Scotland. A man who did not wish to see the land of his birth made a hunting-field for intriguing ambitious Guises, and the Cause of God trampled under foot of Falsehoods, Formulas and the Devil's Cause, had no method of making himself agreeable!

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"Better that women weep," said Morton, "than that bearded men be forced to weep." Knox was the constitutional opposition-party in Scotland: the Nobles of the country, called by their station to take that post, were not found in it; Knox had to go, or no one. The hapless Queen;—but the still more hapless Country, if she were made happy! Mary herself was not without sharpness enough, among her other qualities: "Who are you," said she once, "that presume to school the nobles and sovereign of this realm?"—"Madam, a subject born within the same," answered he. Reasonably answered! If the 'subject' have truth to speak, it is not the 'subject's' footing that will fail him here.— We blame Knox for his intolerance. Well, surely it is good that each of us be as tolerant as possible. Yet, at bottom, after all the talk there is and has been about it, what is tolerance? Tolerance has to tolerate the w«essential; and to see well what that is. Tolerance has to be noble, measured, just in its very wrath, when it can tolerate no longer. But, on the whole, we are not altogether here to tolerate! We are here to resist, to control and vanquish withal. We do not 'tolerate' Falsehoods, Thieveries, Iniquities, when they fasten on us; we say to them, Thou art false, thou art not tolerable! We are here to extinguish Falsehoods, and put an end to them, in some wise way! I will not quarrel so much with the way; the doing of the thing is our great concern. In this sense, Knox was, full surely, intolerant. A man sent to row in French Galleys, and such like, for teaching the Truth in his own land, cannot always be in the mildest humour! I am not prepared to say that Knox had a soft temper; nor do I know that he had what we call an ill temper. An ill nature he decidedly had not. Kind honest affections dwelt in the much-enduring, hard-worn, ever-battling man. That he could rebuke Queens, and had such weight among those proud turbulent Nobles, proud enough whatever else they were; and could maintain to the end a kind of virtual Presidency and Sovereignty in that wild realm, he who was only 'a subject born within the same:' this of itself will prove to us that he was found, close at hand, to be no mean acrid man; but at heart, a healthful, strong, sagacious man. Such alone can bear rule in that kind. They blame him for pulling down cathedrals, and so forth, as if he were a seditious rioting demagogue: precisely the reverse is seen to be the

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fact, in regard to cathedrals and the rest of it, if we examine! Knox wanted no pulling down of stone edifices; he wanted leprosy and darkness to be thrown out of the lives of men. Tumult was not his element; it was the tragic feature of his life that he was forced to dwell so much in that. Every such man is the born enemy of Disorder; hates to be in it: but what then? Smooth Falsehood is not Order; it is the general sumtotal of Disorder. Order is Truth,—each thing standing on the basis that belongs to it: Order and Falsehood cannot subsist together. Withal, unexpectedly enough, this Knox has a vein of drollery in him; which I like much, in combination with his other qualities. He has a true eye for the ridiculous. His History, with its rough earnestness, is curiously enlivened with this. When the two Prelates, entering Glasgow Cathedral, quarrel about precedence; march rapidly up, take to hustling one another, twitching one another's rochets, and at last flourishing their crosiers like quarter-staves, it is a great sight for him every way! Not mockery, scorn, bitterness alone; though there is enough of that too. But a true, loving, illuminating laugh mounts up over the earnest visage; not a loud laugh; you would say, a laugh in the eyes most of all. An honesthearted, brotherly man; brother to the high, brother also to the low; sincere in his sympathy with both. He had his pipe of Bourdeaux too, we find, in that old Edinburgh house of his; a cheery social man, with faces that loved him! They go far wrong who think this Knox was a gloomy, spasmodic, shrieking fanatic. Not at all: he is one of the solidest of men. Practical, cautioushopeful, patient; a most shrewd, observing, quietly discerning man. In fact, he has very much the type of character we assign to the Scotch at present: a certain sardonic taciturnity is in him; insight enough; and a stouter heart than he himself knows of. He has the power of holding his peace over many things which do not vitally concern him,—"They? what are they?" But the thing which does vitally concern him, that thing he will speak of; and in a tone the whole world shall be made to hear: all the more emphatic for his long silence. This Prophet of the Scotch is to me no hateful man!—He had a sore fight of an existence; wrestling with Popes and Principalities; in defeat, contention, life-long struggle; rowing as a galley-slave,

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wandering as an exile. A sore fight: but he won it. "Have you hope?" they asked him in his last moment, when he could no longer speak. He lifted his finger, 'pointed upwards with his finger,' and so died. Honour to him. His works have not died. The letter of his work dies, as of all men's; but the spirit of it never. One word more as to the letter of Knox's work. The unforgiveable offence in him is, that he wished to set up Priests over the head of Kings. In other words, he strove to make the Government of Scotland a Theocracy. This indeed is properly the sum of his offences; the essential sin, for which what pardon can there be? It is most true, he did, at bottom, consciously or unconsciously, mean a Theocracy, or Government of God. He did mean that Kings and Prime Ministers, and all manner of persons, in public or private, diplomatising or whatever else they might be doing, should walk according to the Gospel of Christ, and understand that this was their Law, supreme over all laws. He hoped once to see such a thing realised; and the Petition, Thy Kingdom come, no longer an empty word. He was sore grieved when he saw greedy worldly Barons clutch hold of the Church's property; when he expostulated that it was not secular property, that it was spiritual property, and should be turned to true churchly uses, education, schools, worship;—and the Regent Murray had to answer, with a shrug of the shoulders, "It is a devout imagination!" This was Knox's scheme of right and truth; this he zealously endeavoured after, to realise it. If we think his scheme of truth was too narrow, was not true; we may rejoice that he could not realise it; that it remained, after two centuries of effort, unrealisable, and is a 'devout imagination' still. But how shall we blame him for struggling to realise it? Theocracy, Government of God, is precisely the thing to be struggled for! All Prophets, zealous Priests, are there for that purpose. Hildebrand wished a Theocracy; Cromwell wished it, fought for it; Mahomet attained it. Nay, is it not what all zealous men, whether called Priests, Prophets, or whatsoever else called, do essentially wish, and must wish? That right and truth, or God's Law, reign supreme among men, this is the Heavenly Ideal (well-named in Knox's time, and nameable in all times, a revealed 'Will of God'), towards which the Reformer will insist that all be more and more approximated. All true Reformers, as I said, are by the nature of them Priests, and strive for a Theocracy.

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How far such Ideals can ever be introduced into Practice, and at what point our impatience with their non-introduction ought to begin, is always a question. I think we may say safely, Let them introduce themselves as far as they can contrive to do it! If they are the true faith of men, all men ought to be more or less impatient always where they are not found introduced. There will never be wanting Regent-Murrays enough to shrug their shoulders, and say, "A devout imagination!" We will praise the Hero-Priest rather, who does what is in him to bring them in; and wears out, in toil, calumny, contradiction, a noble life, to make a God's Kingdom of this Earth. The Earth will not become too godlike!

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LECTURE V. [Tuesday, 19th May, 1840.] THE HERO AS MAN OF LETTERS. JOHNSON, ROUSSEAU, BURNS. HERO-GODS, Prophets, Poets, Priests are forms of Heroism that belong to the old ages, make their appearance in the remotest times; some of them have ceased to be possible long since, and cannot any more shew themselves in this world. The Hero as Man of Letters, again, of which class we are to speak today, is altogether a product of these new ages; and so long as the wondrous art of Writing, or of Ready-writing which we call Printing, subsists, he may be expected to continue, as one of the main forms of Heroism for all future ages. He is, in various respects, a very singular phenomenon. He is new, I say; he has hardly lasted above a century in the world yet. Never, till about a hundred years ago, was there seen any figure of a Great Soul living apart in that anomalous manner; endeavouring to speak forth the inspiration that was in him by Printed Books, and find place and subsistence by what the world would please to give him for doing that. Much had been sold and bought, and left to make its own bargain in the marketplace; but the inspired wisdom of a Heroic Soul never till then, in that naked manner. He, with his copy-rights and copy-wrongs, in his squalid garret, in his rusty coat; ruling (for this is what he does), from his grave, after death, whole nations and generations who would, or would not, give him bread while living,— is a rather curious spectacle! Few shapes of Heroism can be more unexpected. Alas, the Hero from of old has had to cramp himself into strange shapes: the world knows not well at any time what to do with him, 133

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so foreign is his aspect in the world! It seemed absurd to us that men, in their rude admiration, should take some wise great Odin for a god, and worship him as such; some wise great Mahomet for one godinspired, and religiously follow his Law for twelve centuries: but that a wise great Johnson, a Burns, a Rousseau, should be taken for some idle nondescript, extant in the world to amuse idleness, and have a few coins and applauses thrown him, that he might live thereby; this perhaps, as before hinted, will one day seem a still absurder phasis of things!—Meanwhile, since it is the spiritual always that determines the material, this same Man-of-Letters Hero must be regarded as our most important modern person. He, such as he may be, is the soul of all. What he teaches, the whole world will do and make. The world's manner of dealing with him is the most significant feature of the world's general position. Looking well at his life, we may get a glance as deep as is readily possible for us into the life of those singular centuries which have produced him, in which we ourselves live and work. There are genuine Men of Letters, and not genuine; as in every kind there is a genuine and a spurious. If Hero be taken to mean genuine, then I say the Hero as Man of Letters will be found discharging a function for us which is ever honourable, ever the highest; and was once well known to be the highest. He is uttering forth, in such way as he has, the inspired soul of him; all that a man, in any case, can do. I say inspired; for what we call 'originality,' 'sincerity,' 'genius,' the heroic quality we have no good name for, signifies that. The Hero is he who lives in the inward sphere of things, in the True, Divine and Eternal, which exists always, unseen to most, under the Temporary, Trivial: his being is in that; he declares that abroad, by act or speech as it may be, in declaring himself abroad. His life, as we said before, is a piece of the everlasting heart of Nature herself: all men's life is,—but the weak many know not the fact, and are untrue to it, in most times; the strong few are strong, heroic, perennial, because it cannot be hidden from them. The Man of Letters, like every Hero, is there to proclaim this in such sort as he can. Intrinsically it is the same function which the old generations named a man Prophet, Priest, Divinity for doing; which all manner of Heroes, by speech or by act, are sent into the world to do.

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Fichte the German Philosopher delivered, some forty years ago at Erlangen, a highly remarkable Course of Lectures on this subject: 'Ueber das Wesen des Gelehrten, On the Nature of the Literary Man.' Fichte, in conformity with the Transcendental Philosophy, of which he was a distinguished teacher, declares first, That all things which we see or work with in this Earth, especially we ourselves and all persons, are as a kind of vesture or sensuous Appearance; that under all there lies, as the essence of them, what he calls the 'Divine Idea of the World;' this is the Reality which 'lies at the bottom of all Appearance.' To the mass of men no such Divine Idea is recognisable in the world; they live merely, says Fichte, among the superficialities, practicalities and shews of the world, not dreaming that there is anything divine under them. But the Man of Letters is sent hither specially that he may discern for himself, and make manifest to us, this same Divine Idea: in every new generation it will manifest itself in a new dialect; and he is there for the purpose of doing that. Such is Fichte's phraseology; with which we need not quarrel. It is his way of naming what I here, by other words, am striving imperfectly to name; what there is at present no name for: The unspeakable Divine Significance, full of splendour, of wonder and terror, that lies in the being of every man, of every thing,—the Presence of the God who made every man and thing. Mahomet taught this in his dialect; Odin in his: it is the thing which all thinking hearts, in one dialect or another, are here to teach. Fichte calls the Man of Letters, therefore, a Prophet, or as he prefers to phrase it, a Priest, continually unfolding the Godlike to men: Men of Letters are a perpetual Priesthood, from age to age, teaching all men that a God is still present in their life; that all 'Appearance,' whatsoever we see in the world, is but as a vesture for the 'Divine Idea of the World,' for 'that which lies at the bottom of Appearance.' In the true Literary Man there is thus ever, acknowledged or not by the world, a sacredness: he is the light of the world; the world's Priest;—guiding it, like a sacred Pillar of Fire, in its dark pilgrimage through the waste of Time. Fichte discriminates with sharp zeal the true Literary Man, what we here call the Hero as Man of Letters, from multitudes of false unheroic. Whoever lives not wholly in this Divine Idea, or living partially in it, struggles not, as for the one good, to live wholly in it,—he is, let him live where else he like,

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in what pomps and prosperities he like, no Literary Man; he is, says Fichte, a 'Bungler, Stumper.' Or at best, if he belong to the prosaic provinces, he may be a 'Hodman;' Fichte even calls him elsewhere a 'Nonentity,' and has in short no mercy for him, no wish that he should continue happy among us! This is Fichte's notion of the Man of Letters. It means, in its own form, precisely what we here mean. In this point of view, I consider that, for the last hundred years, by far the notablest of all Literary Men is Fichte's countryman, Goethe. To that man too, in a strange way, there was given what we may call a life in the Divine Idea of the World; vision of the inward divine mystery: and strangely, out of his Books, the world rises imaged once more as godlike, the workmanship and temple of a God. Illuminated all, not in fierce impure fire-splendour as of Mahomet, but in mild celestial radiance;—really a Prophecy in these most unprophetic times; to my mind, by far the greatest, though one of the quietest, among all the great things that have come to pass in them! Our chosen specimen of the Hero as Literary Man would be this Goethe. And it were a very pleasant plan for me here, to discourse of his heroism: for I consider him to be a true Hero; heroic in what he said and did, and perhaps still more in what he did not say and did not do; to me a noble spectacle: a great heroic ancient man, speaking and keeping silence as an ancient Hero, in the guise of a most modern, high-bred, high-cultivated Man of Letters! We have had no such spectacle; no man capable of affording such, for the last hundred and fifty years. But at present, such is the general state of knowledge about Goethe, it were worse than useless to attempt speaking of him in this case. Speak as I might, Goethe, to the great majority of you, would remain problematic, vague; no impression but a false one could be realised. Him we must leave to future times. Johnson, Burns, Rousseau, three great figures from a prior time, from a far inferior state of circumstances, will suit us better here. Three men of the Eighteenth Century; the conditions of their life far more resemble what those of ours still are in England, than what Goethe's in Germany were. Alas, these men did not conquer like him; they fought bravely, and fell. They were not heroic bringers of the light, but heroic seekers of it. They lived under galling conditions; struggling as under mountains of impediment, and could not unfold themselves into clearness, or victorious interpretation of that 'Divine Idea.' It is

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rather the Tombs of three Literary Heroes that I have to shew you. There are the monumental heaps, under which three spiritual giants lie buried. Very mournful, but also great and full of interest for us. We will linger by them for a while. Complaint is often made, in these times, of what we call the disorganised condition of society: how ill many arranged forces of society fulfil their work; how many powerful forces are seen working in a wasteful, chaotic, altogether unarranged manner. It is too just a complaint, as we all know. But perhaps if we look at this of Books and the Writers of Books, we shall find here, as it were, the summary of all other disorganization;—a sort of heart, from which and to which all other confusion circulates in the world! Considering what Bookwriters do in the world, and what the world does with Book-writers, I should say, It is the most anomalous thing the world at present has to shew.—We should get into a sea far beyond sounding, did we attempt to give account of this: but we must glance at it for the sake of our subject. The worst element in the life of these three Literary Heroes was, that they found their business and position such a chaos. On the beaten road there is tolerable travelling; but it is sore work, and many have to perish, fashioning a path through the impassable! Our pious Fathers, feeling well what importance lay in the speaking of man to men, founded churches, made endowments, regulations; everywhere in the civilised world there is a Pulpit, environed with all manner of complex dignified appurtenances and furtherances, that therefrom a man with the tongue may, to best advantage, address his fellow-men. They felt that this was the most important thing; that without this there was no good thing. It is a right pious work, that of theirs; beautiful to behold! But now with the art of Writing, with the art of Printing, a total change has come over that business. The Writer of a Book, is not he a Preacher preaching, not to this parish or that, on this day or that, but to all men in all times and places? Surely it is of the last importance that he do his work right, whoever do it wrong;—that the eye report not falsely, for then all the other members are astray! Well; how he may do his work, whether he do it right or wrong, or do it at all, is a point which no man in the world has taken the pains to think of. To a certain shopkeeper, trying to get some money for his books, if lucky, he is of some importance; to no

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other man of any. Whence he came, whither he is bound, by what ways he arrived, by what he might be furthered on his course, no one asks. He is an accident in society. He wanders like a wild Ishmaelite, in a world of which he is as the spiritual light, either the guidance or the misguidance! Certainly the Art of Writing is the most miraculous of all things man has devised. Odin's Runes were the first form of the work of a Hero; Books, written words, are still miraculous Runes, the latest form! In Books lies the soul of the whole Past Time; the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream. Mighty fleets and armies, harbours and arsenals, vast cities, high-domed, many-engined,—they are precious, great: but what do they become? Agamemnon, the many Agamemnons, Pericleses, and their Greece; all is gone now to some ruined fragments, dumb mournful wrecks and blocks: but the Books of Greece! There Greece, to every thinker, still very literally lives; can be called up again into life. No magic Rune is stranger than a Book. All that Mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of Books. They are the chosen possession of men. Do not Books still accomplish miracles, as Runes were fabled to do? They persuade men. Not the wretchedest circulating-library novel, which foolish girls thumb and con in remote villages, but will help to regulate the actual practical weddings and households of those foolish girls. So 'Celia' felt, so 'Clifford' acted: the foolish Theorem of Life, stamped into those young brains, comes out as a solid Practice one day. Consider whether any Rune in the wildest imagination of Mythologist ever did such wonders as, on the actual firm Earth, some Books have done! What built St. Paul's Cathedral? Look at the heart of the matter, it was that divine HEBREW Book,— the word partly of the man Moses, an outlaw tending his Midianitish herds, four thousand years ago, in the wildernesses of Sinai! It is the strangest of things, yet nothing is truer. With the art of Writing, of which Printing is a simple, an inevitable and comparatively insignificant corollary, the true reign of miracles for mankind commenced. It related, with a wondrous new contiguity and perpetual closeness, the Past and Distant with the Present in time and place; all

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times and all places with this our actual Here and Now. All things were altered for men; all modes of important work of men: teaching, preaching, governing, and all else. To look at Teaching, for instance. Universities are a notable, respectable product of the modern ages. Their existence too is modified, to the very basis of it, by the existence of Books. Universities arose while there were yet no Books procurable; while a man, for a single Book, had to give an estate of land. That, in those circumstances, when a man had some knowledge to communicate, he should do it by gathering the learners round him, face to face, was a necessity for him. If you wanted to know what Abelard knew, you must go and listen to Abelard. Thousands, as many as thirty thousand, went to hear Abelard and that metaphysical theology of his. And now for any other teacher who had also something of his own to teach, there was a great convenience opened: so many thousands eager to learn were already assembled yonder; of all places the best place for him was that. For any third teacher it was better still; and grew ever the better, the more teachers there came. It only needed now that the King took notice of this new phenomenon; combined or agglomerated the various schools into one school; gave it edifices, privileges, encouragements, and named it Universitas, or School of all Sciences: the University of Paris, in its essential characters, was there. The model of all subsequent Universities; which down even to these days, for six centuries now, have gone on to found themselves. Such, I conceive, was the origin of Universities. It is clear, however, that with this simple circumstance, facility of getting Books, the whole conditions of the business from top to bottom were changed. Once invent Printing, you metamorphosed all Universities, or superseded them! The teacher needed not now to gather men personally round him, that he might speak to them what he knew: print it in a Book, and all learners far and wide, for a trifle, had it each at his own fireside, much more effectually to learn it! — Doubtless there is still peculiar virtue in Speech; even writers of Books may still, in some circumstances, find it convenient to speak also,— witness our present meeting here! There is, one would say, and must ever remain while man has a tongue, a distinct province for Speech as well as for Writing and Printing. In regard to all things this must

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remain; to Universities among others. But the limits of the two have nowhere yet been pointed out, ascertained; much less put in practice: the University which would completely take in that great new fact, of the existence of Printed Books, and stand on a clear footing for the Nineteenth Century as the Paris one did for the Thirteenth, has not yet come into existence. If we think of it, all that a University, or final highest School can do for us, is still but what the first School began doing,—teach us to read. We learn to rend, in various languages, in various sciences; we learn the alphabet and letters of all manner of Books. But the place where we are to get knowledge, even theoretic knowledge, is the Books themselves! It depends on what we read, after all manner of Professors have done their best for us. The true University of these days is a Collection of Books. But to the Church itself, as I hinted already, all is changed, in its preaching, in its working, by the introduction of Books. The Church is the working recognised Union of our Priests or Prophets, of those who by wise teaching guide the souls of men. While there was no Writing, even while there was no Easy-writing, or Printing, the preaching of the voice was the natural sole method of performing this. But now with Books!—He that can write a true Book, to persuade England, is not he the Bishop and Archbishop, the Primate of England and of all England? I many a time say, the writers of Newspapers, Pamphlets, Poems, Books, these are the real working effective Church of a modern country. Nay, not only our preaching, but even our worship, is not it too accomplished by means of Printed Books? The noble sentiment which a gifted soul has clothed for us in melodious words, which brings melody into our hearts,—is not this essentially, if we will understand it, of the nature of worship? There are many, in all countries, who, in this confused time, have no other method of worship. He who, in any way, shews us better than we knew before that a lily of the fields is beautiful, does he not shew it us as an effluence of the Fountain of all Beauty; as the handwriting, made visible there, of the great Maker of the Universe? He has sung for us, made us sing with him, a little verse of a sacred Psalm. Essentially so. How much more he who sings, who says, or in any way brings home to our heart the noble doings, feelings, darings and endurances of a brother man! He has verily touched our hearts as with a live coal from the altar. Perhaps there is no worship more

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authentic. Literature, so far as it is Literature, is an 'apocalypse of Nature,' a revealing of the 'open secret.' It may well enough be named, in Fichte's style, a 'continuous revelation' of the Godlike in the Terrestrial and Common. The Godlike does ever, in very truth, endure there; is brought out, now in this dialect, now in that, with various degrees of clearness: all true gifted Singers and Speakers are, consciously or unconsciously, doing so. The dark stormful indignation of a Byron, so wayward and perverse, may have touches of it; nay, the withered mockery of a French sceptic,—his mockery of the False, a love and worship of the True. How much more the sphereharmony of a Shakspeare, of a Goethe; the cathedral-music of a Milton! They are something, too, those humble genuine lark-notes of a Burns,—skylark, starting from the humble furrow, far overhead into the blue depths, and singing to us so genuinely there! For all true singing is of the nature of worship; as indeed all true working may be said to be,—whereof such singing is but the record, and fit melodious representation, to us. Fragments of a real 'Church Liturgy' and 'body of Homilies,' strangely disguised from the common eye, are to be found weltering in that huge froth-ocean of Printed Speech we loosely call Literature! Books are our Church too. Or turning now to the Government of men. Witenagemote, old Parliament, was a great thing. The affairs of the nation were there deliberated and decided; what we were to do as a nation. But does not, though the name Parliament subsists, the parliamentary debate go on now, everywhere and at all times, in a far more comprehensive way, out of Parliament altogether? Burke said there were Three Estates in Parliament; but, in the Reporters' Gallery yonder, there sat a Fourth Estate more important far than they all. It is not a figure of speech, or a witty saying; it is a literal fact,—very momentous to us in these times. Literature is our Parliament too. Printing, which comes necessarily out of Writing, I say often, is equivalent to Democracy: invent Writing, Democracy is inevitable. Writing brings Printing; brings universal every-day extempore Printing, as we see at present. Whoever can speak, speaking now to the whole nation, becomes a power, a branch of government, with inalienable weight in law-making, in all acts of authority. It matters not what rank he has, what revenues or garnitures: the requisite thing is, that he have a tongue which others will listen to; this and nothing more is requisite.

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The nation is governed by all that has tongue in the nation: Democracy is virtually there. Add only that whatsoever power exists will have itself by and by organised; working secretly under bandages, obscurations, obstructions, it will never rest till it get to work free, unincumbered, visible to all. Democracy virtually extant will insist on becoming palpably extant.— On all sides, are we not driven to the conclusion that, of the things which man can do or make here below, by far the most momentous, wonderful and worthy are the things we call Books! Those poor bits of rag-paper with black ink on them;—from the Daily Newspaper to the sacred Hebrew BOOK, what have they not done, what are they not doing!—For indeed, whatever be the outward form of the thing (bits of paper, as we say, and black ink), is it not verily, at bottom, the highest act of man's faculty that produces a Book? It is the Thought of man; the true thaumaturgic virtue; by which man works all things whatsoever. All that he does, and brings to pass, is the vesture of a Thought. This London City, with all its houses, palaces, steamengines, cathedrals, and huge immeasurable traffic and tumult, what is it but a Thought, but millions of Thoughts made into One;—a huge immeasurable Spirit of a THOUGHT, embodied in brick, in iron, smoke, dust, Palaces, Parliaments, Hackney Coaches, Katherine Docks, and the rest of it! Not a brick was made but some man had to think of the making of that brick.—The thing we called 'bits of paper with traces of black ink,' is the purest embodiment a Thought of man can have. No wonder it is, in all ways, the activest and noblest. All this, of the importance and supreme importance of the Man of Letters in modern Society, and how the Press is to such a degree superseding the Pulpit, the Senate, the Senatus Academicus and much else, has been admitted for a good while; and recognised often enough, in late times, with a sort of sentimental triumph and wonderment. It seems to me, the Sentimental by and by will have to give place to the Practical. If Men of Letters are so incalculably influential, actually performing such work for us from age to age, and even from day to day, then I think we may conclude that Men of Letters will not always wander like unrecognised unregulated Ishmaelites among us! Whatsoever thing, as I said above, has virtual unnoticed power will cast off its wrappages, bandages, and step forth one day with palpably

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articulated, universally visible power. That one man wear the clothes, and take the wages, of a function which is done by quite another: there can be no profit in this; this is not right, it is wrong. And yet, alas, the making of it right,—what a business, for long times to come! Sure enough, this that we call Organisation of the Literary Guild is still a great way off, incumbered with all manner of complexities. If you asked me what were the best possible organisation for the Men of Letters in modern society; the arrangement, of furtherance and regulation, grounded the most accurately on the actual facts of their position and of the world's position,—I should beg to say that the problem far exceeded my faculty! It is not one man's faculty; it is that of many successive men turned earnestly upon it, that will bring out even an approximate solution. What the best arrangement were, none of us could say. But if you ask, Which is the worst? I answer: This which we now have, that Chaos should sit umpire in it; this is the worst. To the best, or any good one, there is yet a long way. One remark I must not omit, That royal or parliamentary grants of money are by no means the chief thing wanted! To give our Men of Letters stipends, endowments, and all furtherance of cash, will do little towards the business. On the whole, one is weary of hearing about the omnipotence of money. I will say rather that, for a genuine man, it is no evil to be poor; that there ought to be Literary Men poor,—to shew whether they are genuine or not! Mendicant Orders, bodies of good men doomed to beg, were instituted in the Christian Church; a most natural and even necessary development of the spirit of Christianity. It was itself founded on Poverty, on Sorrow, Contradiction, Crucifixion, every species of worldly Distress and Degradation. We may say that he who has not known those things, and learned from them the priceless lessons they have to teach, has missed a good opportunity of schooling. To beg, and go barefoot, in coarse woollen cloak with a rope round your loins, and be despised of all the world, was no beautiful business;—nor an honourable one in any eye, till the nobleness of those who did so had made it honoured of some! Begging is not in our course at the present time: but for the rest of it, who will say that a Johnson is not perhaps the better for being poor? It is needful for him, at all rates, to know that outward profit, that success of any kind is not the goal he has to aim at. Pride, vanity, ill-conditioned egoism of all sorts, are bred in his heart, as in every

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heart; need, above all, to be cast out of his heart,—to be, with whatever pangs, torn out of it, cast forth from it, as a thing worthless. Byron, born rich and noble, made out even less than Burns, poor and plebeian. Who knows but, in that same 'best possible organisation' as yet far off, Poverty may still enter as an important element? What if our Men of Letters, men setting up to be Spiritual Heroes, were still then, as they now are, a kind of 'involuntary monastic order;' bound still to this same ugly Poverty,—till they had tried what was in it too, till they had learned to make it too do for them! Money, in truth, can do much, but it cannot do all. We must know the province of it, and confine it there; and even spurn it back, when it wishes to get farther. Besides, were the money-furtherances, the proper season for them, the fit assigner of them, all settled,—how is the Burns to be recognised that merits these? He must pass through the ordeal, and prove himself. This ordeal; this wild welter of a chaos which is called Literary Life: this too is a kind of ordeal! There is clear truth in the idea that a struggle from the lower classes of society, towards the upper regions and rewards of society, must ever continue. Strong men are born there, who ought to stand elsewhere than there. The manifold, inextricably complex, universal struggle of these constitutes, and must constitute, what is called the progress of society. For Men of Letters, as for all other sorts of men. How to regulate that struggle? There is the whole question. To leave it as it is, at the mercy of blind Chance; a whirl of distracted atoms, one cancelling the other; one of the thousand arriving saved, nine hundred and ninety-nine lost by the way; your royal Johnson languishing inactive in garrets, or harnessed to the yoke of Printer Cave, your Burns dying brokenhearted as a Gauger, your Rousseau driven into mad exasperation, kindling French Revolutions by his paradoxes: this, as we said, is clearly enough the worst regulation. The best, alas, is far from us! And yet there can be no doubt but it is coming; advancing on us, as yet hidden in the bosom of centuries: this is a prophecy one can risk. For so soon as men get to discern the importance of a thing, they do infallibly set about arranging it, facilitating, forwarding it; and rest not till, in some approximate degree, they have accomplished that. I say, of all Priesthoods, Aristocracies, Governing Classes at present extant in the world, there is no class comparable for importance to that Priesthood of the Writers of Books. This is a fact which

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he who runs may read,—and draw inferences from. "Literature will take care of itself," answered Mr. Pitt, when applied to for some help for Burns. "Yes," adds Mr. Southey, "it will take care of itself; and of you too, if you do not look to it!" The result to individual Men of Letters is not the momentous one; they are but individuals, an infinitesimal fraction of the great body; they can struggle on, and live or else die, as they have been wont. But it deeply concerns the whole society, whether it will set its light on high places, to walk thereby; or trample it under foot, and scatter it in all ways of wild waste (not without conflagration), as heretofore! Light is the one thing wanted for the world. Put wisdom in the head of the world, the world will fight its battle victoriously, and be the best world man can make it. I called this anomaly of a disorganic Literary Class the heart of all other anomalies, at once product and parent; some good arrangement for that would be as the punctum saliens of a new vitality and just arrangement for all. Already, in some European countries, in France, in Prussia, one traces some beginnings of an arrangement for the Literary Class; indicating the gradual possibility of such. I believe that it is possible; that it will have to be possible. By far the most interesting fact I hear about the Chinese is one on which we cannot arrive at clearness, but which excites endless curiosity even in the dim state: this namely, that they do attempt to make their Men of Letters their Governors! It would be rash to say, one understood how this was done, or with what degree of success it was done. All such things must be very «»successful; yet a small degree of success is precious; the very attempt how precious! There does seem to be, all over China, a more or less active search everywhere to discover the men of talent that grow up in the young generation. Schools there are for every one: a foolish sort of training, yet still a sort. The youths who distinguish themselves in the lower school are promoted into favourable stations in the higher, that they may still more distinguish themselves,—forward and forward: it appears to be out of these that the Official Persons, and incipient Governors, are taken. These are they whom they try first, whether they can govern or not. And surely with the best hope; for they are the men that have already shewn intellect. Try them, they have not governed or administered as yet; perhaps they cannot; but there is no doubt they have

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some understanding,—without which no man can! Neither is Understanding a tool, as we are too apt to figure; 'it is a hand which can handle any tool.' Try these men: they are of all others the best worth trying.—Surely there is no kind of government, constitution, revolution, social apparatus or arrangement, that I know of in this world, so promising to one's scientific curiosity as this. The man of intellect at the top of affairs: this is the aim of all constitutions and revolutions, if they have any aim. For the man of true intellect, as I assert and believe always, is the noblehearted man withal, the true, just, humane and valiant man. Get him for governor, all is got; fail to get him, though you had Constitutions plentiful as blackberries, and a Parliament in every village, there is nothing yet got! — These things look strange, truly; and are not such as we commonly speculate upon. But we are fallen into strange times; these things will require to be speculated upon; to be rendered practicable, to be in some way put in practice. These, and many others. On all hands of us, there is the announcement, audible enough, that the old Empire of Routine has ended; that to say a thing has long been, is no reason for its continuing to be. The things which have been are fallen into decay, are fallen into incompetence; large masses of mankind, in every society of our Europe, are no longer capable of living at all by the things which have been. When millions of men can no longer by their utmost exertion gain food for themselves, and 'the third man for thirty-six weeks each year is short of third-rate potatoes,' the things which have been must decidedly prepare to alter themselves!—I will now quit this of the organisation of Men of Letters. Alas, the evil that pressed heaviest on those Literary Heroes of ours was not the want of organisation for Men of Letters, but a far deeper one; out of which, indeed, this and so many other evils for the Literary Man, and for all men, had, as from their fountain, taken rise. That our Hero as Man of Letters had to travel without highway, companionless, through an inorganic chaos,—and to leave his own life and faculty lying there, as a partial contribution towards pushing some highway through it: this, had not his faculty itself been so perverted and paralysed, he might have put up with, might have considered to be but the common lot of Heroes. His fatal misery was

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the spiritual paralysis, so we may name it, of the age in which his life lay; whereby his life too, do what he might, was half-paralysed! The Eighteenth was a Sceptical Century; in which little word there is a whole Pandora's Box of miseries. Scepticism means not intellectual Doubt alone, but moral Doubt; all sorts of iwfidelity, insincerity, spiritual paralysis. Perhaps, in few centuries that one could specify since the world began, was a life of Heroism more difficult for a man. That was not an age of Faith,—an age of Heroes! The very possibility of Heroism had been, as it were, formally abnegated in the minds of all. Heroism was gone forever; Triviality, Formulism and Commonplace were come forever. The 'age of miracles' had been, or perhaps had not been; but it was not any longer. An effete world; wherein Wonder, Greatness, Godhood could not now dwell;—in one word, a godless world! How mean, dwarfish are their ways of thinking, in this time,— compared not with the Christian Shakspeares and Miltons, but with the old Pagan Skalds, with any species of believing men. The living TREE Igdrasil, with the melodious prophetic waving of its world-wide boughs, deep-rooted as Hela, has died out into the clanking of a World-MACHiNE. 'Tree' and 'machine:' contrast these two things. I, for my share, declare the world to be no Machine; I say that it does not go by wheel-and-pinion 'motives,' self-interests, checks, balances; that there is something far other in it than the clank of spinningjennies, and parliamentary majorities; and, on the whole, that it is not a machine at all!—The old Norse Heathen had a truer notion of God's-world than these poor Machine-Sceptics: the old Heathen Norse were sincere men. But for these poor Sceptics there was no sincerity, no truth. Half-truth and hearsay was called truth. Truth, for most men, meant plausibility; to be measured by the number of vote you could get. They had lost any notion that sincerity was possible, or of what sincerity was. How many Plausibilities asking, with unaffected surprise and the air of offended virtue, What! am not I sincere? Spiritual Paralysis, I say, nothing left but a Mechanical life, was the characteristic of that century. For the common man, unless happily he stood below his century and belonged to another prior one, it was impossible to be a Believer, a Hero; he lay buried, unconscious, under these baleful influences. To the strongest man, only with infinite

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struggle and confusion was it possible to work himself half-loose; and lead as it were, in an enchanted, most tragical way, a spiritual deathin-life, and be a Half-Hero! Scepticism is the name we give to all this; as the chief symptom, as the chief origin of all this. Concerning which so much were to be said! It would take many Discourses, not a small fraction of one Discourse, to state what one feels about that Eighteenth Century and its ways. As indeed this, and the like of this, which we now call Scepticism, is precisely the black malady and life-foe, against which all teaching and discoursing since man's life began has directed itself: the battle of Belief against Unbelief is the never-ending battle! Neither is it in the way of crimination that one would wish to speak. Scepticism, for that century, we must consider as the decay of old ways of believing, the preparation afar off for new better and wider ways,—an inevitable thing. We will not blame men for it; we will lament their hard fate. We will understand that destruction of old forms is not destruction of everlasting substances; that Scepticism, as sorrowful and hateful as we see it, is not an end but a beginning. The other day speaking, without prior purpose that way, of Bentham's theory of man and man's life, I chanced to call it a more beggarly one than Mahomet's. I am bound to say, now when it is once uttered, that such is my deliberate opinion. Not that one would mean offence against the man Jeremy Bentham, or those who respect and believe him. Bentham himself, and even the creed of Bentham, seems to me comparatively worthy of praise. It is a determinate being what all the world, in a cowardly half-and-half manner, was tending to be. Let us have the crisis; we shall either have death or the cure. I call this gross, steamengine Utilitarianism an approach towards new Faith. It was a laying down of cant; a saying to oneself: "Well then, this world is a dead iron machine, the god of it Gravitation and selfish Hunger; let us see what, by checking and balancing, and good adjustment of tooth and pinion, can be made of it!" Benthamism has something complete, manful, in such fearless committal of itself to what it finds true; you may call it Heroic, though a Heroism with its eyes put out! It is the culminating point, and fearless ultimatum, of what lay in the half-and-half state, pervading man's whole existence in that Eighteenth Century. It seems to me, all deniers of Godhood, and all lip-believers of it, are bound to be Benthamites, if they have

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courage and honesty. Benthamism is an eyeless Heroism: the Human Species, like a hapless blinded Samson grinding in the Philistine Mill, clasps convulsively the pillars of its Mill; brings huge ruin down, but ultimately deliverance withal. Of Bentham I meant to say no harm. But this I do say, and would wish all men to know and lay to heart, that he who discerns nothing but Mechanism in the Universe, has in the fatalest way missed the secret of the Universe altogether. That all Godhood should vanish out of men's conception of this Universe seems to me precisely the most brutal error,—I will not disparage Heathenism by calling it a Heathen error,—that men could fall into. It is not true; it is false at the very heart of it. A man who thinks so will think wrong about all things in the world; this original sin will vitiate all other conclusions he can form. One might call it the most lamentable of Delusions,—not forgetting Witchcraft itself! Witchcraft worshipped at least a living Devil; but this worships a dead iron Devil; no God, not even a Devil!—Whatsoever is noble, divine, inspired, drops thereby out of life. There remains everywhere in life a despicable caput-mortuum; the mechanical hull, all soul fled out of it. How can a man act heroically? The 'Doctrine of Motives' will teach him that it is, under more or less disguise, nothing but a wretched love of Pleasure, fear of Pain; that Hunger, of applause, of cash, of whatsoever victual it may be, is the ultimate fact of man's life. Atheism, in brief;—which does indeed frightfully punish itself. The man, I say, is become spiritually a paralytic man; this godlike Universe a dead mechanical Steamengine, all working by motives, checks, balances, and I know not what; wherein, as in the detestable belly of some Phalaris'-Bull of his own contriving, he the poor Phalaris sits miserably dying! — Belief I define to be the healthy act of a man's mind. It is a mysterious indescribable process that of getting to believe;—indescribable, as all vital acts are. We have our mind given us, not that it may cavil and argue, but that it may see into something, give us clear belief and understanding about something, whereon we are then to proceed to act. Doubt, truly, is not itself a crime. Certainly we do not rush out, clutch up the first thing we find, and straightway believe that! All manner of doubt, inquiry,CTKEV/I$as it is named, about all manner of objects, dwells in every reasonable mind. It is the mystic working of the mind, on the object it is getting to know and believe.

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Belief comes out of all this, above ground, like the tree from its hidden roots. But now if, even on common things, we require that a man keep his doubts silent, and not babble of them till they in some measure become affirmations or denials; how much more in regard to the highest things, impossible to speak of in words at all! That a man parade his doubt, and get to imagine that debating and logic (which means at best only the manner of telling us your thought, your belief or disbelief, about a thing) is the triumph and true work of what intellect he has: alas, this is as if you should overturn the tree, and instead of green boughs, leaves and fruits, shew us ugly taloned roots turned up into the air,—and no growth, only death and misery going on! For the Scepticism, as I said, is not intellectual only; it is moral also; a chronic atrophy and disease of the whole soul. A man lives by believing something; not by debating and arguing about many things. A sad case for him when all that he can manage to believe is something he can button in his pocket, and with one or the other organ eat and digest! Lower than that he will not get. We call those ages in which he gets so low the mournfulest, sickest and meanest of all ages. The world's heart is palsied, sick: how can any limb of it be whole? Genuine Acting ceases in all departments of the world's work; dexterous Similitude of Acting begins. The world's wages are pocketed, the world's work is not done. Heroes have gone out; Quacks have come in. Accordingly, what Century, since the end of the Roman world, which also was a time of scepticism, simulacra and universal decadence, so abounds with Quacks as that Eighteenth? Consider them, with their tumid sentimental vapouring about virtue, benevolence,—the wretched Quack-squadron, Cagliostro at the head of them! Few men were without quackery; they had got to consider it a necessary ingredient and amalgam for truth. Chatham, our brave Chatham himself, comes down to the House, all wrapt and bandaged; he "has crawled out in great bodily suffering," and so on;—forgets, says Walpole, that he is acting the sick man; in the fire of debate, snatches his arm from the sling, and oratorically swings and brandishes it! Chatham himself lives the strangest mimetic life, half-hero, half-quack, all along. For indeed the world is full of dupes; and you have to gain the world's suffrage! How the duties of the world will be done in that case, what quantities of error, which means failure,

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which means sorrow and misery, to some and to many, will gradually accumulate in all provinces of the world's business, we need not compute. It seems to me, you lay your finger here on the heart of the world's maladies, when you call it a Sceptical World. An insincere world; a godless untruth of a world! It is out of this, as I consider, that the whole tribe of social pestilences, French Revolutions, Chartisms, and what not, have derived their being,—their chief necessity to be. This must alter. Till this alter, nothing can beneficially alter. My one hope of the world, my inexpugnable consolation in looking at the miseries of the world, is that this is altering. Here and there one does now find a man who knows, as of old, that this world is a Truth, and no Plausibility and Falsity; that he himself is alive, not dead or paralytic; and that the world is alive, instinct with Godhood, beautiful and awful, even as in the beginning of days! One man once knowing this, many men, all men, must by and by come to know it. It lies there clear, for whosoever will take the spectacles off his eyes and honestly look, to know! For such a man the Unbelieving Century, with its unblessed Products, is already past; a new century is already come. The old unblessed Products and Performances, as solid as they look, are Phantasms, preparing speedily to vanish. To this and the other noisy, very great-looking Simulacrum with the whole world huzzahing at its heels, he can say, composedly stepping aside: Thou art not true; thou art not extant, only semblant; go thy way!—Yes, hollow Formulism, gross Benthamism, and other unheroic atheistic Insincerity is visibly and even rapidly declining. An unbelieving Eighteenth Century is but an exception,—such as now and then occurs. I prophesy that the world will once more become sincere; a believing world; with many Heroes in it, a Heroic World! It will then be a victorious world; never till then. Or indeed what of the world and its victories? Men speak too much about the world. Each one of us here, let the world go how it will, and be victorious or not victorious, has he not a Life of his own to lead? One Life; a little gleam of Time between two Eternities; no second chance to us forevermore! It were well for us to live not as fools and simulacra, but as wise and realities. The world's being saved will not save us; nor the world's being lost destroy us. We should look to ourselves: there is great merit here in the 'duty of staying at home!'

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And, on the whole, to say truth, I never heard of 'worlds' being 'saved' in any other way. That mania of saving worlds is itself a piece of the Eighteenth Century with its windy sentimentalism. Let us not follow it too far. For the saving of the world I will trust confidently to the Maker of the world; and look a little to my own saving, which I am more competent to!—In brief, for the world's sake, and for our own, we will rejoice greatly that Scepticism, Insincerity, Mechanical Atheism, with all their poison-dews, are going, and as good as gone. Now it was under such conditions, in those times of Johnson, that our Men of Letters had to live. Times in which there was properly no truth in life. Old Truths had fallen nigh dumb; the new lay yet hidden, not trying to speak. That Man's Life here below was a Sincerity and Fact, and would forever continue such, no new intimation in that dusk of the world, had yet dawned. No intimation; not even any French Revolution,—which we define to be a Truth once more, though a Truth clad in hellfire! How different was the Luther's pilgrimage, with its assured goal, from the Johnson's girt with mere traditions, suppositions, grown now incredible, unintelligible! Mahomet's Formulas were of 'wood waxed and oiled,' and could be burnt out of one's way: poor Johnson's were far more difficult to burn.—The strong man will ever find work, which means difficulty, pain, to the full measure of his strength. But to make out a victory, in those circumstances of our poor Hero as Man of Letters, was perhaps more difficult than in any. Not obstruction, disorganisation, Bookseller Osborne and Fourpence-halfpenny a day; not this alone; but the light of his own soul was taken from him. No landmark on the Earth; and, alas, what is that to having no loadstar in the Heaven! We need not wonder that none of those Three men rose to victory. That they fought truly, is the highest praise. With a mournful sympathy we will contemplate, if not three living victorious Heroes, as I said, the Tombs of three fallen Heroes! They fell for us too; making a way for us. There are the mountains which they hurled abroad in their confused War of the Giants; under which, their strength and life spent, they now lie buried. I have already written of these three Literary Heroes, expressly or incidentally; what I suppose is known to most of you; what need not be spoken or written a second time. They concern us here as the singular Prophets of that singular age; for such they virtually were; and

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the aspect they and their world exhibit, under this point of view, might lead us into reflexions enough! I call them, all three, Genuine Men more or less; faithfully, for most part unconsciously, struggling to be genuine, and plant themselves on the everlasting truth of things. This to a degree that eminently distinguishes them from the poor artificial mass of their contemporaries; and renders them worthy to be considered as Speakers, in some measure, of the everlasting truth, as Prophets in that age of theirs. By Nature herself a noble necessity was laid on them to be so. They were men of such magnitude that they could not live on unrealities,—clouds, froth and all inanity gave way under them: there was no footing for them but on firm earth; no rest or regular motion for them, if they got not footing there. To a certain extent, they were Sons of Nature once more in an age of Artifice; once more, Original Men. As for Johnson, I have always considered him to be, by nature, one of our great English souls. A strong and noble man; so much left undeveloped in him to the last: in a kindlier element what might he not have been,—Poet, Priest, sovereign Ruler! On the whole, a man must not complain of his 'element,' of his 'time,' or the like; it is thriftless work doing so. His time is bad: well then, he is there to make it better!—Johnson's youth was poor, isolated, hopeless, very miserable. Indeed, it does not seem possible that, in any the favourablest outward circumstances, Johnson's life could have been other than a painful one. The world might have had more of profitable work out of him, or less; but his effortagainst the world's work could never have been a light one. Nature, in return for his nobleness, had said to him, Live in an element of diseased sorrow. Nay, perhaps the sorrow and the nobleness were intimately and even inseparably connected with each other. At all events, poor Johnson had to go about girt with continual hypochondria, physical and spiritual pain. Like a Hercules with the burning Nessus'-shirt on him, which shoots in on him dull incurable misery: the Nessus'-shirt not to be stript off, which is his own natural skin! In this manner, he had to live. Figure him there, with his scrofulous diseases, with his great greedy heart, and unspeakable chaos of thoughts; stalking mournful as a stranger in this Earth; eagerly devouring what spiritual thing he could come at: school-languages and other merely grammatical stuff, if there were nothing better! The largest soul that was in all England; and provision made for it of'fourpence-halfpenny a day.' Yet a giant invincible

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soul; a true man's. One remembers always that story of the shoes at Oxford: the rough, seamy-faced, rawboned College Servitor stalking about, in winter-season, with his shoes worn out; how the charitable Gentleman Commoner secretly places a new pair at his door; and the rawboned Servitor, lifting them, looking at them near, with his dim eyes, with what thoughts,—pitches them out of window! Wet feet, mud, frost, hunger or what you will; but not beggary: we cannot stand beggary! Rude stubborn self-help here; a whole world of squalor, rudeness, confused misery and want, yet of nobleness and manfulness withal. It is a type of the man's life, this pitching away of the shoes. An original man;—not a secondhand, borrowing or begging man. Let us stand on our own basis, at any rate! On such shoes as we ourselves can get. On frost and mud, if you will, but honestly on that;—on the reality and substance which Nature gives us, not on the semblance, on the thing she has given another than us! — And yet with all this rugged pride of manhood and self-help, was there ever soul more tenderly affectionate, loyally submissive to what was really higher than he? Great souls are always loyally submissive, reverent to what is over them; only small mean souls are otherwise. I could not find a better proof of what I said the other day, That the sincere man was by nature the obedient man; that only in a World of Heroes was there loyal Obedience to the Heroic. The essence of originality is not that it be new: Johnson believed altogether in the old; he found the old opinions credible for him, fit for him; and in a right heroic manner, lived under them. He is well worth study in regard to that. For we are to say that Johnson was far other than a mere man of words and formulas; he was a man of truths and facts. He stood by the old formulas; the happier was it for him that he could so stand: but in all formulas that he could stand by, there needed to be a most genuine substance. Very curious how, in that poor Paper-age, so barren, artificial, thick-quilted with Pedantries, Hearsays, the great Fact of this Universe glared-in forever, wonderful, indubitable, unspeakable, divine-infernal, upon this man too! How he harmonised his Formulas with it, how he managed at all under such circumstances: that is a thing worth seeing. A thing 'to be looked at with reverence, with pity, with awe.' That Church of St. Clement Danes, where Johnson still worshipped in the era of Voltaire, is to me a venerable place.

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It was in virtue of his sincerity, of his speaking still in some sort from the heart of Nature, though in the current artificial dialect, that Johnson was a Prophet. Are not all dialects 'artificial?' Artificial things are not all false;—nay every true Product of Nature will infallibly shape itself; we may say all artificial things are, at the starting of them, true. What we call 'Formulas' are not in their origin bad; they are indispensably good. Formula is method, habitude; found wherever man is found. Formulas fashion themselves as Paths do, as beaten Highways, leading towards some sacred or high object, whither many men are bent. Consider it. One man, full of heartfelt earnest impulse, finds out a way of doing somewhat,—were it of uttering his soul's reverence for the Highest, were it but of fitly saluting his fellow-man. An inventor was needed to do that, a poet; he has articulated the dimstruggling thought that dwelt in his own and many hearts. This is his way of doing that; these are his footsteps, the beginning of a 'Path.' And now see: the second man travels naturally in the footsteps of his foregoer, it is the easiest method. In the footsteps of his foregoer; yet with improvements, with changes where such seem good; at all events with enlargements, the Path ever -widening itself as more travel it;— till at last there is a broad Highway whereon the whole world may travel and drive. While there remains a City or Shrine, or any Reality to drive to, at the farther end, the Highway shall be right welcome! When the City is gone, we will forsake the Highway. In this manner all Institutions, Practices, Regulated Things in the world have come into existence, and gone out of existence. Formulas all begin by being full of substance; you may call them the skin, the articulation into shape, into limbs and skin, of a substance that is already there: they had not been there otherwise. Idols, as we said, are not idolatrous till they become doubtful, empty for the worshipper's heart. Much as we talk against Formulas, I hope no one of us is ignorant withal of the high significance of true Formulas; that they were, and will ever be, the indispensablest furniture of our habitation in this world.-----Mark, too, how little Johnson boasts of his 'sincerity.' He has no suspicion of his being particularly sincere,—of his being particularly anything! A hard-struggling, weary-hearted man, or 'scholar' as he calls himself, trying hard to get some honest livelihood in the world, not to starve, but to live—without stealing! A noble unconsciousness is in him. He does not 'engrave Truth on his watch-seal;' no, but he

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stands by truth, speaks by it, works and lives by it. Thus it ever is. Think of it once more. The man whom Nature has appointed to do great things is, first of all, furnished with that openness to Nature which renders him incapable of being twsincere! To his large, open, deep-feeling heart Nature is a Fact: all hearsay is hearsay; the unspeakable greatness of this Mystery of Life, let him acknowledge it or not, nay even though he seem to forget it or deny it, is ever present to him,—fearful and wonderful, on this hand and on that. He has a basis of sincerity; unrecognised, because never questioned or capable of question. Mirabeau, Mahomet, Cromwell, Napoleon: all the Great Men I ever heard of have this as the primary material of them. Innumerable commonplace men are debating, are talking everywhere their commonplace doctrines, which they have learned by logic, by rote, at second-hand: to that kind of man all this is still nothing. He must have truth; truth which he feels to be true. How shall he stand otherwise? His whole soul, at all moments, in all ways, tells him that there is no standing. He is under the noble necessity of being true. Johnson's way of thinking about this world is not mine, any more than Mahomet's was: but I recognise the everlasting element of heartsincerity in both; and see with pleasure how neither of them remains ineffectual. Neither of them is as chaffsown; in both of them is something which the seed-field will grow. Johnson was a Prophet to his people; preached a Gospel to them,—as all like him always do. The highest Gospel he preached we may describe as a kind of Moral Prudence: 'in a world where much is to be done and little is to be known,' see how you will do it! A thing well worth preaching. 'A world where much is to be done and little is to be known:' do not sink yourselves in boundless bottomless abysses of Doubt, of wretched godforgetting Unbelief;—you were miserable then, powerless, mad: how could you do or work at all? Such Gospel Johnson preached and taught;—coupled, theoretically and practically, with this other great Gospel, 'Clear your mind of Cant!' Have no trade with Cant: stand on the cold mud in the frosty weather, but let it be in your own real torn shoes: 'that will be better for you,' as Mahomet says! I call this, I call these two things joined together, a great Gospel, the greatest perhaps that was possible at that time.

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Johnson's Writings, which once had such currency and celebrity, are now as it were disowned by the young generation. It is not wonderful; Johnson's opinions are fast becoming obsolete: but his style of thinking and of living, we may hope, will never become obsolete. I find in Johnson's Books the indisputablest traces of a great intellect and great heart;—ever welcome, under what obstructions and perversions soever. They are sincere words, those of his; he means things by them. A wondrous buckram style,—the best he could get to then; a measured grandiloquence, stepping or rather stalking along in a very solemn way, grown obsolete now; sometimes a tumid size of phraseology not in proportion to the contents of it: all this you will put up with. For the phraseology, tumid or not, has always something within it. So many beautiful styles, and books, with nothing in them;—a man is a malefactor to the world who writes such! They are the avoidable kind!—Had Johnson left nothing but his Dictionary, one might have traced there a great intellect, a genuine man. Looking to its clearness of definition, its general solidity, honesty, insight and successful method, it may be called the best of all Dictionaries. There is in it a kind of architectural nobleness; it stands there like a great solid square-built edifice, finished, symmetrically complete: you judge that a true Builder did it. One word, in spite of our haste, must be granted to poor Bozzy. He passes for a mean, inflated, gluttonous creature; and was so in many senses. Yet the fact of his reverence for Johnson will ever remain noteworthy. The foolish conceited Scotch Laird, the most conceited man of his time, approaching in such awestruck attitude the great dusty irascible Pedagogue in his mean garret there: it is a genuine reverence for Excellence; a worship for Heroes, at a time when neither Heroes nor worship were surmised to exist. Heroes, it would seem, exist always, and a certain worship of them! We will also take the liberty to deny altogether that of the witty Frenchman, That no man is a Hero to his valet-de-chambre. Or if so, it is not the Hero's blame, but the Valet's: that his soul, namely, is a mean valet-soul\ He expects his Hero to advance in royal stage-trappings, with measured step, trains borne behind him, trumpets sounding before him. It should stand rather, No man can be a Grand-Monarque to his valet-dechambre. Strip your Louis Quatorze of his king-gear, and there is left

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nothing but a poor forked radish with a head fantastically carved;— admirable to no valet. The Valet does not know a Hero when he sees him! Alas, no: it requires a kind of Hero to do that;—and one of the world's wants, in this as in other senses, is for most part want of such. On the whole, shall we not say, that BoswelPs admiration was well bestowed; that he could have found no soul in all England so worthy of bending down before? Shall we not say, of this great mournful Johnson too, that he guided his difficult confused existence wisely; led it well, like a right valiant man? That waste chaos of Authorship by Trade; that waste chaos of Scepticism in religion and politics, in life-theory and life-practice; in his poverty, in his dust and dimness, with the sick body and the rusty coat: he made it do for him, like a brave man. Not wholly without a loadstar in the Eternal; he had still a loadstar, as the brave all need to have: with his eye set on that, he would change his course for nothing in these confused vortices of the lower sea of Time. 'To the Spirit of Lies, bearing death and hunger, he would in no wise strike his flag.' Brave old Samuel: ultimus Romanorum! Of Rousseau and his Heroism I cannot say so much. He is not what I call a strong man. A morbid, excitable, spasmodic man; at best, intense rather than strong. He had not 'the talent of Silence,' an invaluable talent; which few Frenchmen, or indeed men of any sort in these times, excel in! The suffering man ought really 'to consume his own smoke;' there is no good in emitting smoke till you have made it into fire,—which, in the metaphorical sense too, all smoke is capable of becoming! Rousseau has not depth or width, not calm force for difficulty; the first characteristic of true greatness. A fundamental mistake to call vehemence and rigidity strength! A man is not strong who takes convulsion-fits; though six men cannot hold him then. He that can walk under the heaviest weight without staggering, he is the strong man. We need forever, especially in these loud-shrieking days, to remind ourselves of that. A man who cannot hold his peace, till the time come for speaking and acting, is no right man. Poor Rousseau's face is to me expressive of him. A high, but narrow contracted intensity in it: bony brows; deep, strait-set eyes, in which there is something bewildered-looking,—bewildered, peering with lynx-eagerness. A face full of misery, even ignoble misery, and

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also of the antagonism against that; something mean, plebeian there, redeemed only by intensity: the face of what is called a Fanatic,—a sadly contracted Hero! We name him here because, with all his drawbacks, and they are many, he has the first and chief characteristic of a Hero: he is heartily in earnest. In earnest, if ever man was; as none of these French Philosophes were. Nay, one would say, of an earnestness too great for his otherwise sensitive, rather feeble nature; and which indeed in the end drove him into the strangest incoherences, almost delirations. There had come, at last, to be a kind of madness in him: his Ideas possessed him like demons; hurried him so about, drove him over steep places! — The fault and misery of Rousseau was what we easily name by a single word, Egoism; which is indeed the source and summary of all faults and miseries whatsoever. He had not perfected himself into victory over mere Desire; a mean Hunger, in many sorts, was still the motive principle of him. I am afraid he was a very vain man; hungry for the praises of men. You remember Genlis's experience of him. She took Jean Jacques to the Theatre; he bargaining for a strict incognito,—"He would not be seen there for the world!" The curtain did happen nevertheless to be drawn aside: the Pit recognised Jean Jacques, but took no great notice of him! He expressed the bitterest indignation; gloomed all evening, spake no other than surly words. The glib Countess remained entirely convinced that his anger was not at being seen, but at not being applauded when seen. How the whole nature of the man is poisoned; nothing but suspicion, self-isolation, fierce moody ways! He could not live with anybody. A man of some rank from the country, who visited him often, and used to sit with him, expressing all reverence and affection for him, comes one day; finds Jean Jacques full of the sourest unintelligible humour. "Monsieur," said Jean Jacques, with flaming eyes, "I know why you come here. You come to see what a poor life I lead; how little is in my poor pot that is boiling there. Well, look into the pot! There is half a pound of meat, one carrot and three onions; that is all: go and tell the whole world that, if you like, Monsieur!"—A man of this sort was far gone. The whole world got itself supplied with anecdotes, for light laughter, for a certain theatrical interest, from these perversions and contorsions of poor Jean Jacques. Alas, to him they were not laughing or theatrical; too real to him! The contorsions of a dying

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gladiator: the crowded amphitheatre looks on with entertainment; but the gladiator is in agonies and dying. And yet this Rousseau, as we say, with his passionate appeals to Mothers, with his Contrat-social, with his celebrations of Nature, even of savage life in Nature, did once more touch upon Reality, struggle towards Reality; was doing the function of a Prophet to his Time. As he could, and as the Time could! Strangely through all that defacement, degradation and almost madness, there is in the inmost heart of poor Rousseau a spark of real heavenly fire. Once more, out of the element of that withered mocking Philosophism, Scepticism, and Persiflage, there has arisen in this man the ineradicable feeling and knowledge that this Life of ours is true; not a Scepticism, Theorem, or Persiflage, but a Fact, an awful Reality. Nature had made that revelation to him; had ordered him to speak it out. He got it spoken out; if not well and clearly, then ill and dimly,—as clearly as he could. Nay what are all errors and perversities of his, even those stealings of ribbons, aimless confused miseries and vagabondisms, if we will interpret them kindly, but the blinkard dazzlement and staggerings to and fro of a man sent on an errand he is too weak for, by a path he cannot yet find? Men are led by strange ways. One should have tolerance for a man, hope of him; leave him to try yet what he will do. While life lasts, hope lasts for every man. Of Rousseau's literary talents, greatly celebrated still among his countrymen, I do not say much. His Books, like himself, are what I call unhealthy; not the good sort of Books. There is a sensuality in Rousseau. Combined with such an intellectual gift as his, it makes pictures of a certain gorgeous attractiveness: but they are not genuinely poetical. Not white sunlight: something operatic; a kind of rosepink, artificial bedizenment. It is frequent, or rather it is universal, among the French since his time. Madame de Stael has something of it; St. Pierre; and down onwards to the present astonishing convulsionary 'Literature of Desperation,' it is everywhere abundant. That same rosepink is not the right hue. Look at a Shakspeare, at a Goethe, even at a Walter Scott! He who has once seen into this, has seen the difference of the True from the Sham-True, and will discriminate them ever afterwards. We had to observe in Johnson how much good a Prophet, under all disadvantages and disorganisations, can accomplish for the world.

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In Rousseau we are called to look rather at the fearful amount of evil which, under such disorganisation, may accompany the good. Historically it is a most pregnant spectacle, that of Rousseau. Banished into Paris garrets, in the gloomy company of his own Thoughts and Necessities there; driven from post to pillar; fretted, exasperated till the heart of him went mad, he had grown to feel deeply that the world was not his friend nor the world's law. It was expedient, if any way possible, that such a man should not have been set in flat hostility with the world. He could be cooped into garrets, laughed at as a maniac, left to starve like a wild beast in his cage;—but he could not be hindered from setting the world on fire. The French Revolution found its Evangelist in Rousseau. His semi-delirious speculations on the miseries of civilised life, the preferability of the savage to the civilised, and such like, helped well to produce a whole delirium in France generally. True, you may well ask, What could the world, the governors of the world, do with such a man? Difficult to say what the governors of the world could do with him! What he could do with them is unhappily clear enough,—guillotine a great many of them! Enough now of Rousseau. It was a curious phenomenon, in the withered, unbelieving, secondhand Eighteenth Century, that of a Hero starting up, among the artificial pasteboard figures and productions, in the guise of a Robert Burns. Like a little well in the rocky desert places,—like a sudden splendour of Heaven in the artificial Vauxhall! People knew not what to make of it. They took it for a piece of the Vauxhall fire-work; alas, it let itself be so taken, though struggling half-blindly, as in bitterness of death, against that! Perhaps no man had such a false reception from his fellow-men. Once more a very wasteful life-drama was enacted under the sun. The tragedy of Burns's life is known to all of you. Surely we may say, if discrepancy between place held and place merited constitute perverseness of lot for a man, no lot could be more perverse than Burns's. Among those secondhand acting-figures, mimes for most part, of the Eighteenth Century, once more a giant Original Man; one of those men who reach down to the perennial Deeps, who take rank with the Heroic among men: and he was born in a poor Ayrshire hut. The largest soul of all the British lands came among us in the

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shape of a hard-handed Scottish Peasant.—His Father, a poor toiling man, tried various things; did not succeed in any; was involved in continual difficulties. The Steward, Factor as the Scotch call him, used to send letters and threatenings, Burns says, 'which threw us all into tears.' The brave hard-toiling, hard-suffering Father, his brave heroine of a wife; and those children, of whom Robert was one! In this Earth, so wide otherwise, no shelter for them. The letters 'threw us all into tears:' figure it. The brave Father, I say always;—a silent Hero and Poet; without whom the son had never been a speaking one! Burns's Schoolmaster came afterwards to London, learnt what good society was; but declares that in no meeting of men did he ever enjoy better discourse than at the hearth of this peasant. And his poor 'seven acres of nursery-ground,'—not that, nor the miserable patch of clay-farm, nor anything he tried to get a living by, would prosper with him; he had a sore unequal battle all his days. But he stood to it valiantly; a wise, faithful, unconquerable man;—swallowing down how many sore sufferings daily into silence; fighting like an unseen Hero,—nobody publishing newspaper-paragraphs about his nobleness; voting pieces of plate to him! However, he was not lost; nothing is lost. Robert is there; the outcome of him,—and indeed of many generations of such as him. This Burns appeared under every disadvantage: uninstructed, poor, born only to hard manual toil; and writing, when it came to that, in a rustic special dialect, known only to a small province of the country he lived in. Had he written, even what he did write, in the general language of England, I doubt not he had already become universally recognised as being, or capable to be, one of our greatest men. That he should have tempted so many to penetrate through the rough husk of that dialect of his, is proof that there lay something far from common within it. He has gained a certain recognition, and is continuing to do so over all quarters of our wide Saxon world: wheresoever a Saxon dialect is spoken, it begins to be understood, by personal inspection of this and the other, that one of the most considerable Saxon men of the Eighteenth century was an Ayrshire Peasant named Robert Burns. Yes, I will say, here too was a piece of the right Saxon stuff: strong as the Harz-rock, rooted in the depths of the world;—rock, yet with wells of living softness in it! A wild impetuous whirlwind of passion and faculty slumbered quiet there;

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such heavenly melody dwelling in the heart of it. A noble rough genuineness; homely, rustic, honest; true simplicity of strength; with its lightning-fire, with its soft dewy pity;—like the old Norse Thor, the Peasant-god! — Burns's Brother Gilbert, a man of much sense and worth, has told me that Robert, in his young days, in spite of their hardship, was usually the gayest of speech; a fellow of infinite frolic, laughter, sense, and heart; far pleasanter to hear there, stript cutting peats in the bog, or such like, than he ever afterwards knew him. I can well believe it. This basis of mirth ('fonii£ailla.rdSas old Marquis Mirabeau calls it), a primal-element of sunshine and joyfulness, coupled with his other deep and earnest qualities, is one of the most attractive characteristics of Burns. A large fund of Hope dwells in him; spite of his tragical history, he is not a mourning man. He shakes his sorrows gallantly aside; bounds forth victorious over them. It is as the lion shaking 'dew-drops from his mane;' as the swift-bounding horse, that laughs at the shaking of the spear.—But indeed, Hope, Mirth, of the sort like Burns's, are they not the outcome properly of warm generous affection,—such as is the beginning of all to every man? You would think it strange if I called Burns the most gifted British soul we had in all that century of his: and yet I believe the day is coming when there will be little danger in saying so. His writings, all that he did under such obstructions, are only a poor fragment of him. Professor Stewart remarked very justly, what indeed is true of all Poets good for much, that his poetry was not any particular faculty; but the general result of a naturally vigorous original mind expressing itself in that way. Burns's gifts, expressed in conversation, are the theme of all that ever heard him. All kinds of gifts: from the gracefulest utterances of courtesy, to the highest fire of passionate speech; loud floods of mirth, soft wailings of affection, laconic emphasis, clear piercing insight: all was in him. Witty duchesses celebrate him as a man whose speech 'led them off their feet.' This is beautiful: but still more beautiful that which Mr. Lockhart has recorded, which I have more than once alluded to, How the waiters and ostlers at inns would get out of bed, and come crowding to hear this man speak! Waiters and ostlers:—they too were men, and here was a man! I have heard much about his speech; but one of the best things I ever heard of it was, last year, from a venerable gentleman long familiar with him,

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That it was speech distinguished by always having something in it. "He spoke rather little than much," this old man told me; "sat rather silent in those early days, as in the company of persons above him; and always when he did speak, it was to throw new light on the matter." I know not why any one should ever speak otherwise!—But if we look at his general force of soul, his healthy robustness every way, the rugged downrightness, penetration, generous valour and manfulness that was in him,—where shall we readily find a better gifted man? Among the great men of the Eighteenth Century, I sometimes feel as if Burns might be found to resemble Mirabeau more than any other. They differ widely in vesture; yet look at them intrinsically. There is the same burly thicknecked strength of body as of soul;— built, in both cases, on what the old Marquis calls a fondgaillard. By nature, by course of breeding, indeed by nation, Mirabeau has much more of bluster; a noisy, forward, unresting man. But the characteristic of Mirabeau too is veracity and sense, power of true insight, superiority of vision. The thing that he says is worth remembering. It is a flash of insight into some object or other: so do both these men speak. The same raging passions; capable too in both of manifesting themselves as the tenderest noble affections. Wit, wild laughter, energy, directness, sincerity: these were in both. The types of the two men are not dissimilar. Burns too could have governed, debated in National Assemblies; politicised, as few could. Alas, the courage which had to exhibit itself in capture of smuggling schooners in the Solway Frith; in keeping silence over so much, where no good speech, but only inarticulate rage was possible: this might have bellowed forth Ushers de Breze and the like; and made itself visible to all men, in managing of kingdoms, in ruling of great ever-memorable epochs! But they said to him reprovingly, his Official Superiors said, and wrote: 'You are to work, not think.' Of your thinking-faculty,the greatest in this land, we have no need; you are to gauge beer there; for that only are you wanted. Very notable;—and worth mentioning, though we know what is to be said and answered! As if Thought, Power of Thinking, were not, at all times, in all places and situations of the world, precisely the thing that was wanted. The fatal man, is he not always the wwthinking man, the man who cannot think and see; but only grope, and hallucinate, and misscc the nature of the thing he works with? He missees it, mistakes it, as we say; takes it for one

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thing, and it is another thing,—and leaves him standing like a Futility there! He is the fatal man; unutterably fatal, put in the high places of men.—"Why complain of this?" say some. "Strength is mournfully denied its arena; that was true from of old." Doubtless; and the worse for the arena, answer I! Complaining profits little; stating of the truth may profit. That a Europe, with its French Revolution just breaking out, finds no need of a Burns except for gauging beer,—is a thing I, for one, cannot rejoice at! — Once more we have to say here that the chief quality of Burns is the sincerity of him. So in his Poetry, so in his Life. The Song he sings is not of fantasticalities; it is of a thing felt, really there; the prime merit of this, as of all in him, and of his Life generally, is truth. The Life of Burns is what we may call a great tragic sincerity. A sort of savage sincerity,—not cruel, far from that; but wild, wrestling naked with the truth of things. In that sense, there is something of the savage in all great men. Hero-worship,—Odin, Burns? Well; these Men of Letters too were not without a kind of Hero-worship: but what a strange condition has that got into now! The waiters and ostlers of Scotch inns, prying about the door, eager to catch any word that fell from Burns, were doing unconscious reverence to the Heroic. Johnson had his Boswell for worshipper. Rousseau had worshippers enough; princes calling on him in his mean garret; the great, the beautiful doing reverence to the poor moonstruck man. For himself a most portentous contradiction; the two ends of his life not to be brought into harmony. He sits at the tables of grandees; and has to copy music for his own living. He cannot even get his music copied: "By dint of dining out," says he, "I run the risk of dying by starvation at home." For his worshippers too a most questionable thing! If doing Hero-worship well or badly be the test of vital well-being or illbeing to a generation, can we say that these generations are very first-rate?—And yet our heroic Men of Letters do teach, govern, are kings, priests, or what you like to call them; intrinsically there is no preventing it by any means whatever. The world has to obey him who thinks and sees in the world. The world can alter the manner of that; can either have it as blessed continuous summer-sunshine, or as unblessed black thunder and tornado,—with unspeakable difference of profit for the world! The manner of it is very alterable; the matter and fact of it is not

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alterable by any power under the sky. Light; or, failing that, lightning: the world can take its choice. Not whether we call an Odin god, prophet, priest or what we call him; but whether we believe the word he tells us: there it all lies. If it be a true word, we shall have to believe it; believing it, we shall have to do it. What name or welcome we give him or it, is a point that concerns ourselves mainly. It, the new Truth, new deeper revealing of the Secret of this Universe, is verily of the nature of a message from on high; and must and will have itself obeyed.-----My last remark is on that notablest phasis of Burns's history,—his visit to Edinburgh. Often it seems to me as if his demeanour there were the highest proof he gave of what a fund of worth and genuine manhood was in him. If we think of it, few heavier burdens could be laid on the strength of a man. So sudden; all common Lionism, which ruins innumerable men, was as nothing to this. It is as if Napoleon had been made a King of, not gradually, but at once from the Artillery Lieutenancy in the Regiment La Fere. Burns, still only in his twenty-seventh year, is no longer even a ploughman; he is flying to the West Indies to escape disgrace and a jail. This month he is a ruined peasant, his wages seven pounds a year, and these gone from him: next month he is in the blaze of rank and beauty, handing down jewelled Duchesses to dinner; the cynosure of all eyes! Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man; but for one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will stand adversity. I admire much the way in which Burns met all this. Perhaps no man one could point out, was ever so sorely tried, and so little forgot himself. Tranquil, unastonished; not abashed, not inflated, neither awkwardness nor affectation: he feels that he there is the man Robert Burns; that the 'rank is but the guinea-stamp;' that the celebrity is but the candlelight, which will shew what man, not in the least make him a better or other man! Alas, it may readily, unless he look to it, make him a worse man; a wretched inflated windbag,—inflated till he burst, and become a dead lion; for whom, as some one has said, 'there is no resurrection of the body:' worse than a living dog!—Burns is admirable here. And yet, alas, as I have observed elsewhere, these Lion-hunters were the ruin and death of Burns. It was they that rendered it impossible for him to live! They gathered round him in his Farm;

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hindered his industry; no place was remote enough from them. He could not get his Lionism forgotten, honestly as he was disposed to do so. He falls into discontents, into miseries, faults; the world getting ever more desolate for him; health, character, peace of mind, all gone;—solitary enough now. It is tragical to think of! These men came but to see him; it was out of no sympathy with him, nor no hatred to him. They came to get a little amusement: they got their amusement;—and the Hero's life went for it! Richter says, in the Island of Sumatra there is a kind of 'Lightchafers,' large Fire-flies, which people stick upon spits, and illuminate the ways with at night. Persons of condition can thus travel with a pleasant radiance, which they much admire. Great honour to the Fire-flies! But—! —

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LECTURE VI. [Friday, 22d May, 1840.] THE HERO AS KING. CROMWELL, NAPOLEON: MODERN REVOLUTIONISM.

WE come now to the last form of Heroism; that which we call Kingship. The Commander over Men; he to whose will our wills are to be subordinated, and loyally surrender themselves, and find their welfare in doing so, may be reckoned the most important of Great Men. He is practically the summary for us of all the various figures of Heroism; Priest, Teacher, whatsoever of earthly or of spiritual dignity we can fancy to reside in a man, embodies itself here, to command over us, to furnish us with constant practical teaching, to tell us for the day and hour what we are to do. He is called Rex, Regulator, Roi: our own name is still better; King, Konning, which means Qzw-ning, Able-man. Numerous considerations, pointing towards deep, questionable, and indeed unfathomable regions, present themselves here: on the most of which we must resolutely for the present forbear to speak at all. As Burke said that perhaps fair Trial by Jury was the soul of Government, and that all legislation, administration, parliamentary debating, and the rest of it, went on, in order 'to bring twelve impartial men into a jury-box;'—so, by much stronger reason, may I say here, that the finding of your Able-man, and getting him invested with the symbols of ability, with dignity, worship (worth-ship), royalty, kinghood, or whatever we call it, so that he may actually have room to guide according to his faculty of doing it,—is the business, well or ill accomplished, of all social procedure whatsoever in this world! Hustings-speeches, Parliamentary motions, Reform Bills, French 169

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Revolutions, all mean at heart this; or else nothing. Find in any country the Ablest Man that exists there; raise him to the supreme place, and loyally reverence him: you have a perfect government for that country; no ballot-box, parliamentary eloquence, voting, constitution-building, or other machinery whatsoever can improve it a whit. It is in the perfect state; an ideal country. The Ablest Man; he means also the truest-hearted, justest, the Noblest Man: what he tells us to do must be precisely the wisest, fittest, that we could anywhere or anyhow learn;—the thing which it will in all ways behove us, with right loyal thankfulness, and nothing doubting, to do! Our doing and life were then, so far as government could regulate it, well regulated; that were the ideal of constitutions. Alas, we know very well that Ideals can never be completely embodied in practice. Ideals must ever lie a very great way off; and we will right thankfully content ourselves with any not intolerable approximation thereto! Let no man, as Schiller says, too querulously 'measure by a scale of perfection the meagre product of reality' in this poor world of ours. We will esteem him no wise man; we will esteem him a sickly, discontented, foolish man. And yet, on the other hand, it is never to be forgotten that Ideals do exist; that if they be not approximated to at all, the whole matter goes to wreck! Infallibly. No bricklayer builds a wall perfectlyperpendicular, mathematically this is not possible; a certain degree of perpendicularity suffices him; and he, like a good bricklayer, who must have done with his job, leaves it so. And yet if he sway too much from the perpendicular; above all, if he throw plummet and level quite away from him, and pile brick on brick heedless, just as it comes to hand—! Such bricklayer, I think, is in a bad way. He has forgotten himself: but the Law of Gravitation does not forget to act on him; he and his wall rush down into confused welter of ruin! — This is the history of all rebellions, French Revolutions, social explosions in ancient or modern times. You have put the too C/»able Man at the head of affairs! The too ignoble, unvaliant, fatuous man. You have forgotten that there is any rule, or natural necessity whatever, of putting the Able Man there. Brick must lie on brick as it may and can. Unable Simulacrum of Ability, quack, in a word, must adjust himself with quack, in all manner of administration of human things;—which accordingly lie unadministered, fermenting into

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unmeasured masses of failure, of indigent misery: in the outward, and in the inward or spiritual, miserable millions stretch out the hand for their due supply, and it is not there. The 'law of gravitation' acts; Nature's laws do none of them forget to act. The miserable millions burst forth into Sansculottism, or some other sort of madness: bricks and bricklayer lie as a fatal chaos! — Much sorry stuff, written some hundred years ago or more, about the 'Divine right of Kings,' moulders unread now in the Public Libraries of this country. Far be it from us to disturb the calm process by which it is disappearing harmlessly from the earth, in those repositories! At the same time, not to let the immense rubbish go without leaving us, as it ought, some soul of it behind,—I will say that it did mean something; something true, which it is important for us and all men to keep in mind. To assert that in whatever man you chose to lay hold of (by this or the other plan of clutching at him); and clapt a round piece of metal on the head of, and called King,—there straightway came to reside a divine virtue, so that he became a kind of god, and a Divinity inspired him with faculty and right to rule over you to all lengths: this,—what can we do with this but leave it to rot silently in the Public Libraries? But I will say withal, and that is what these Divine-right men meant, That in Kings, and in all human Authorities, and relations that men god-created can form among each other, there is verily either a Divine Right or else a Diabolic Wrong; one or the other of these two! For it is false altogether, what the last Sceptical Century taught us, that this world is a steamengine. There is a God in this world; and a God's-sanction, or else the violation of such, does look out from all ruling and obedience, from all moral acts of men. There is no act more moral between men than that of rule and obedience. Wo to him that claims obedience when it is not due; wo to him that refuses it when it is! God's law is in that, I say, however the Parchment-laws may run: there is a Divine Right or else a Diabolic Wrong at the heart of every claim that one man makes upon another. It can do none of us harm to reflect on this: in all the relations of life it will concern us; in Loyalty and Royalty, the highest of these. I esteem the modern error, That all goes by self-interest and the checking and balancing of greedy knaveries, and that in short there is nothing divine whatever in the association of men, a still more

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despicable error, natural as it is to an unbelieving century, than that of a 'divine right' in people called Kings. I say, Find me the true Kiinninjf, King, or Able-man, and he has a divine right over me. That we knew in some tolerable measure how to find him, and that all men were ready to acknowledge his divine right when found: this is precisely the healing which a sick world is everywhere, in these ages, seeking after! The true King, as guide of the practical, has ever something of the Pontiff in him,—guide of the spiritual, from which all practice has its rise. This too is a true saying, That the King is head of the Church.—But we will leave the Polemic stuff of a dead century to lie quiet on its book-shelves. Certainly it is a fearful business, that of having your Able-man to seek, and not knowing in what manner to proceed about it! That is the world's sad predicament in these times of ours. They are times of revolution, and have long been. The bricklayer with his bricks, no longer heedful of plummet or the law of gravitation, have toppled, tumbled, and it all welters as we see! But the beginning of it was not the French Revolution; that is rather the end, we can hope. It were truer to say, the beginning was three centuries farther back: in the Reformation of Luther. That the thing which still called itself Christian Church had become a Falsehood, and brazenly went about pretending to pardon men's sins for metallic coined money, and to do much else which in the everlasting truth of Nature it did not now do: here lay the vital malady. The inward being wrong, all outward went ever more and more wrong. Belief died away; all was Doubt, Disbelief. The builder cast away his plummet; said to himself, "What is gravitation? Brick lies on brick there!" Alas, does it not still sound strange to many of us, the assertion that there is a God's-truth in the business of god-created men; that all is not a kind of grimace, an 'expediency,' diplomacy, one knows not what! — From that first necessary assertion of Luther's, "You, self-styled Papa, you are no Father in God at all; you are—a Chimera, whom I know not how to name in polite language!"—from that onwards to the shout which rose round Camille Desmoulins in the Palais-Royal, "Aux armes!" when the people had burst up against all manner of Chimeras,—I find a natural historical sequence. That shout too, so frightful, half-infernal, was a great matter. Once more the voice of

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awakened nations;—starting confusedly, as out of nightmare, as out of death-sleep, into some dim feeling that Life was real; that God'sworld was not an expediency and diplomacy! Infernal;—yes, since they would not have it otherwise. Infernal, since not celestial or terrestrial! Hollowness, insincerity has to cease; sincerity of some sort has to begin. Cost what it may, reigns of terror, horrors of French Revolution or what else, we have to return to truth. Here is a Truth, as I said: a Truth clad in hellfire, since they would not but have it so! — A common theory among considerable parties of men in England and elsewhere used to be, that the French Nation had, in those days, as it were gone mad; that the French Revolution was a general act of insanity, a temporary conversion of France and large sections of the world into a kind of Bedlam. The Event had risen and raged; but was a madness and nonentity,—gone now happily into the region of Dreams and the Picturesque!—To such comfortable philosophers, the Three Days of July, 1830, must have been a surprising phenomenon. Here is the French Nation risen again, in musketry and deathstruggle, out shooting and being shot, to make that same mad French Revolution good! The sons and grandsons of those men, it would seem, persist in the enterprise: they do not disown it; they will have it made good; will have themselves shot, if it be not made good! To philosophers who had made up their life-system on that 'madness' quietus, no phenomenon could be more alarming. Poor Niebuhr, they say, the Prussian Professor and Historian, fell broken-hearted in consequence; sickened, if we can believe it, and died of the Three Days! It was surely not a very heroic death;—little better than Racine's, dying because Louis Fourteenth looked sternly on him once. The world had stood some considerable shocks in its time; might have been expected to survive the Three Days too, and be found turning on its axis after even them! The Three Days told all mortals that the old French Revolution, mad as it might look, was not a transitory ebullition of Bedlam, but a genuine product of this Earth where we all live; that it was verily a Fact, and that the world in general would do well everywhere to regard it as such. Truly, without the French Revolution, one would not know what to make of an age like this at all. We will hail the French Revolution, as shipwrecked mariners might the sternest rock, in a world otherwise

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all of baseless sea and waves. A true Apocalypse, though a terrible one, to this false withered artificial time; testifying once more that Nature is /wternatural, if not divine, then diabolic; that Semblance is not Reality; that it has to become Reality, or the world will take fire under it,—burn it into what it is, namely Nothing! Plausibility has ended; empty Routine has ended; much has ended. This, as with a Trump of Doom, has been proclaimed to all men. They are the wisest who will learn it soonest. Long confused generations before it be learned; peace impossible till it be! The earnest man, surrounded, as ever, with a world of inconsistencies, can await patiently, patiently strive to do his work, in the midst of that. Sentence of Death is written down in Heaven against all that; sentence of Death is now proclaimed on the Earth against it: this he with his eyes may see. And surely, I should say, considering the other side of the matter, what enormous difficulties lie there, and how fast, fearfully fast, in all countries, the inexorable demand for solution of them is pressing on,—he may easily find other work to do than labouring in the Sansculottic province at this time of day! To me, in these circumstances, that of 'Hero-worship' becomes a fact inexpressibly precious; the most solacing fact one sees in the world at present. There is an everlasting hope in it for the management of the world. Had all traditions, arrangements, creeds, societies that men ever instituted, sunk away, this would remain. The certainty of Heroes being sent us; our faculty, our necessity, to reverence Heroes when sent: it shines like a pole-star through smoke-clouds, dust-clouds, and all manner of down-rushing and conflagration. Hero-worship would have sounded very strange to those workers and fighters in the French Revolution. Not reverence for Great Men; not any hope, or belief, or even wish, that Great Men could again appear in the world! Nature, turned into a 'Machine,' was as if effete now; could not any longer produce Great Men:—I can tell her, she may give up the trade altogether, then; we cannot do without Great Men!—But neither have I any quarrel with that of 'Liberty and Equality;' with the faith that, wise great men being impossible, a level immensity of foolish small men would suffice. It was a natural faith then and there. "Liberty and Equality; no Authority needed any longer. Hero-worship, reverence for such Authorities, has proved false, is itself a falsehood; no more of it! We have had such forgeries,

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we will now trust nothing. So many base plated coins passing in the market, the belief has now become common that no gold any longer exists,—and even that we can do very well without gold!"—I find this, among other things, in that universal cry of Liberty and Equality; and find it very natural, as matters then stood. And yet surely it is but the transition from false to true. Considered as the whole truth, it is false altogether;—the product of entire sceptical blindness, as yet only struggling to see. Hero-worship exists forever, and everywhere: not Loyalty alone; it extends from divine adoration down to the lowest practical regions of life. 'Bending before men,' if it is not to be a mere empty grimace, better dispensed with than practised, is Hero-worship; a recognition that there does dwell in that presence of our brother something divine; that every created man, as Novalis said, is a 'revelation in the Flesh.' They were Poets too, that devised all those graceful courtesies which make life noble! Courtesy is not a falsehood or grimace; it need not be such. And Loyalty, religious Worship itself, are still possible; nay still inevitable. May we not say, moreover, while so many of our late Heroes have worked rather as revolutionary men, that nevertheless every Great Man, every genuine man, is by the nature of him a son of Order, not of Disorder? It is a tragical position for a true man to work in revolutions. He seems an anarchist; and indeed a painful element of anarchy does encumber him at every step,—him to whose whole soul anarchy is hostile, hateful. His mission is Order; every man's is. He is here to make what was disorderly, chaotic, into a thing ruled, regular. He is the missionary of Order. Is not all work of man in this world a making of Order'? The carpenter finds rough trees; shapes them, constrains them into square fitness, into purpose and use. We are all born enemies of Disorder: it is tragical for us all to be concerned in image-breaking and down-pulling; for the Great Man, more a man than we, it is doubly tragical. Thus too all human things, maddest French Sansculottisms, do and must work towards Order. I say, there is not a man in them, raging in the thickest of the madness, but is impelled withal, at all moments, towards Order. His very life means that; Disorder is dissolution, death. No chaos but it seeks a centre to revolve round. While man is man, some Cromwell or Napoleon is the necessary finish of a

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Sansculottism.—Curious: in those days when Hero-worship was the most incredible thing to every one, how it does come out nevertheless, and assert itself practically, in a way which all have to credit. Divine right, take it on the great scale, is found to mean divine might withal! While old false Formulas are getting trampled everywhere into destruction, new genuine Substances unexpectedly unfold themselves indestructible. In rebellious ages, when Kingship itself seems dead and abolished, Cromwell, Napoleon step forth again as Kings. The history of these men is what we have now to look at, as our last phasis of Heroism. The old ages are brought back to us; the manner in which Kings were made, and Kingship itself first took rise, is again exhibited in the history of these Two. We have had many civil-wars in England; wars of Red and White Roses, wars of Simon de Montfort; wars enough, which are not very memorable. But that war of the Puritans has a significance which belongs to no one of the others. Trusting to your candour, which will suggest on the other side what I have not room to say, I will call it a section once more of that great universal war which alone makes up the true History of the World,—the war of Belief against Unbelief! The struggle of men intent on the real essence of things, against men intent on the semblances and forms of things. The Puritans, to many, seem mere savage Iconoclasts, fierce destroyers of Forms; but it were more just to call them haters of untrue Forms. I hope we know how to respect Laud and his King as well as them. Poor Laud seems to me to have been weak and ill-starred, not dishonest; an unfortunate Pedant rather than anything worse. His 'Dreams' and superstitions, at which they laugh so, have an affectionate, loveable kind of character. He is like a College-Tutor, whose whole world is forms, College-rules; whose notion is that these are the life and safety of the world. He is placed suddenly, with that unalterable luckless notion of his, at the head not of a College but of a Nation, to regulate the most complex deep-reaching interests of men. He thinks they ought to go by the old decent regulations; nay that their salvation will lie in extending and improving these. Like a weak man, he drives with spasmodic vehemence towards his purpose; cramps himself to it, heeding no voice of prudence, no cry of pity: He will have his College-rules obeyed by his Collegians; that first; and till that, nothing. He is an ill-starred Pedant, as I said. He would have it the world

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was a College of that kind, and the world was not that. Alas, was not his doom stern enough? Whatever wrongs he did, were they not all frightfully avenged on him? It is meritorious to insist on forms; Religion and all else naturally clothes itself in forms. Everywhere the formed world is the only habitable one. The naked formlessness of Puritanism is not the thing I praise in the Puritans; it is the thing I pity,—praising only the spirit which had rendered that inevitable! All substances clothe themselves in forms: but there are suitable true forms, and then there are untrue unsuitable. As the briefest definition, one might say, Forms which grow round a substance, if we rightly understand that, will correspond to the real nature and purport of it, will be true, good; forms which are consciously put round a substance, bad. I invite you to reflect on this. It distinguishes true from false in Ceremonial Form, earnest solemnity from empty pageant, in all human things. There must be a veracity, a natural spontaneity in forms. In the commonest meeting of men, a person making, what we call, 'set speeches,' is not he an offence? In the mere drawing-room, whatsoever courtesies you see to be grimaces, prompted by no spontaneous reality within, are a thing you wish to get away from. But suppose now it were some matter of vital concernment, some transcendent matter (as Divine Worship is), about which your whole soul, struck dumb with its excess of feeling, knew not how to form itself into utterance at all, and preferred formless silence to any utterance there possible,—what should we say of a man coming forward to represent or utter it for you in the way of upholsterer-mummery? Such a man,— let him depart swiftly, if he love himself! You have lost your only son; are mute, struck down, without even tears: an importunate man importunately offers to celebrate Funeral Games for him in the manner of the Greeks! Such mummery is not only not to be accepted; it is hateful, unendurable. It is what the old Prophets called 'Idolatry,' worshipping of hollow shows; what all earnest men do and will reject. We can partly understand what those poor Puritans meant. Laud dedicating that St. Catherine Creed's Church, in the manner we have it described; with his multiplied ceremonial bowings, gesticulations, exclamations: surely it is rather the rigorous formal Pedant, intent on his 'College-rules,' than the earnest Prophet, intent on the essence of the matter!

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Puritanism found such forms insupportable; trampled on such forms;—we have to excuse it for saying, No form at all rather than such! It stood preaching in its bare pulpit, with nothing but the Bible in its hand. Nay, a man preaching from his earnest soul into the earnest souls of men: is not this virtually the essence of all Churches whatsoever? The nakedest, savagest reality, I say, is preferable to any semblance, however dignified. Besides, it will clothe itself with due semblance by and by, if it be real. No fear of that; actually no fear at all. Given the living man, there will be found clothes for him; he will find himself clothes. But the suit-of-clothes pretending that it is both clothes and man—! We cannot 'fight the French' by three hundred thousand red uniforms; there must be men in the inside of them! Semblance, I assert, must actually not divorce itself from Reality. If Semblance do,—why then there must be men found to rebel against Semblance, for it has become a lie! These two Antagonisms at war here, in the case of Laud and the Puritans, are as old nearly as the world. They went to fierce battle over England in that age; and fought out their confused controversy to a certain length, with many results for all of us. In the age which directly followed that of the Puritans, their cause or themselves were little likely to have justice done them. Charles Second and his Rochesters were not the kind of men you would set to judge what the worth or meaning of such men might have been. That there could be any faith or truth in the life of a man, was what these poor Rochesters, and the age they ushered in, had forgotten. Puritanism was hung on gibbets,—like the bones of the leading Puritans. Its work nevertheless went on accomplishing itself. All true work of a man, hang the author of it on what gibbet you like, must and will accomplish itself. We have our Habeas-Corpus, our free Representation of the People; acknowledgment, wide as the world, that all men are, or else must, shall, and will become, what weczllfree men;—men with their life grounded on reality and justice, not on tradition, which has become unjust and a chimera! This in part, and much besides this, was the work of the Puritans. And indeed, as these things became gradually manifest, the character of the Puritans began to clear itself. Their memories were, one after another, taken down from the gibbet; nay a certain portion of them are now, in these days, as good as canonized. Eliot, Hampden,

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Pym, nay Ludlow, Hutchinson, Vane himself, are admitted to be a kind of Heroes; political Conscript Fathers, to whom in no small degree we owe what makes us a free England: it would not be safe for anybody to designate these men as wicked now. Few Puritans of note but find their apologists somewhere, and have a certain reverence paid them by earnest men. One Puritan, I think, and almost he alone, our poor Cromwell, seems to hang yet on the gibbet, and find no hearty apologist anywhere. Him neither saint nor sinner will acquit of great wickedness. A man of ability, infinite talent, courage, and so forth: but he betrayed the Cause! Selfish ambition, dishonesty, duplicity; a fierce, coarse, hypocritical Tartufe; turning all that noble Struggle for constitutional Liberty into a sorry farce played for his own benefit: this and worse is the character they give of Cromwell. And then there come contrasts with Washington and others; above all, with these noble Pyms and Hampdens, whose noble work he stole for himself, and ruined into a futility and deformity. This view of Cromwell seems to me the not unnatural product of a century like the Eighteenth. As we said of the Valet, so of the Sceptic: He does not know a Hero when he sees him! The Valet expected purple mantles, gilt sceptres, bodyguards and flourishes of trumpets: the Sceptic of the Eighteenth century looks for regulated respectable Formulas, 'Principles,' or what else he may call them; a style of speech and conduct which has got to seem 'respectable,' which can plead for itself in a handsome articulate manner, and gain the suffrages of an enlightened sceptical Eighteenth century! It is, at bottom, the same thing that both the Valet and he expect: the garnitures of some acknowledged royalty, which then they will acknowledge! The King coming to them in the rugged wwformulistic state shall be no King. For my own share, far be it from me to say or insinuate a word of disparagement against such characters as Hampden, Eliot, Pym; whom I believe to have been right worthy and useful men. I have read diligently what books and documents about them I could come at;—with the honestest wish to admire, to love, and worship them like Heroes; but I am sorry to say, if the real truth must be told, with very indifferent success! At bottom, I found that it would not do. They are very noble men these; step along in their stately way, with their measured euphuisms, philosophies, parliamentary eloquences, Ship-monies, Monarchies of Man; a most constitutional, unblameable,

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dignified set of men. But the heart remains cold before them; the fancy alone endeavours to get up some worship of them. What man's heart does, in reality, break forth into any fire of brotherly love for these men? They are become dreadfully dull men! One breaks down often enough in the constitutional eloquence of the admirable Pym, with his 'seventhly and lastly.' You find that it may be the admirablest thing in the world, but that it is heavy,—heavy as lead, barren as brick clay; that, in a word, for you there is little or nothing now surviving there! One leaves all these Nobilities standing in their niches of honour: the rugged outcast Cromwell, he is the man of them all, in whom one still finds human stuff. The great savage Baresark: he could write no euphuistic Monarchy of Man; did not speak, did not work with glib regularity; had no straight story to tell for himself anywhere. But he stood bare, not cased in euphuistic coat-of-mail; he grappled like a giant, face to face, heart to heart, with the naked truth of things! That, after all, is the sort of man for one. I plead guilty to valuing such a man beyond all other sorts of men. Smooth-shaven Respectabilities not a few one finds, that are not good for much. Small thanks to a man for keeping his hands clean, who would not touch the work but with gloves on! Neither, on the whole, does this constitutional tolerance of the Eighteenth century for the other happier Puritans seem to be a very great matter. One might say, it is but a piece of Formulism and Scepticism like the rest. They tell us, It was a sorrowful thing to consider that the foundation of our English Liberties should have been laid by 'Superstition.' These Puritans came forward with Calvinistic incredible Creeds, Anti-Laudisms, Westminster Confessions; demanding, chiefly of all, that they should have liberty to worship in their own way. Liberty to tax themselves: that was the thing they should have demanded! It was Superstition, Fanaticism, disgraceful ignorance of Constitutional Philosophy to insist on the other thing!— Liberty to tax oneself? Not to pay out money from your pocket except on reason shewn? No century, I think, but a rather barren one would have fixed on that as the first right of man! I should say, on the contrary, A just man will generally have better cause than money in what shape soever, before deciding to revolt against his Government. Ours is a most confused world; in which a good man will be thankful to see any kind of Government maintain itself in a not

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insupportable manner: and here in England, to this hour, if he is not ready to pay a great many taxes which he can see very small reason in, it will not go well with him, I think! He must try some other climate than this. Taxgatherer? Money? He will say: "Take my money, since you can, and it is so desirable to you; take it,—and take yourself away with it; and leave me alone to my work here. 7am still here; can still work, after all the money you have taken from me!" But if they come to him, and say, "Acknowledge a Lie; pretend to say you are worshipping God, when you are not doing it: believe not the thing that you find true, but the thing that I find, or pretend to find true!" He will answer: "No; by God's help, No! You may take my purse; but I cannot have my moral Self annihilated. The purse is any Highwayman's who might meet me with a loaded pistol: but the Self is mine and God my Maker's; it is not yours; and I will resist you to the death, and revolt against you, and on the whole front all manner of extremities, accusations and confusions, in defence of that!"— Really, it seems to me the one reason which could justify revolting, this of the Puritans. It has been the soul of all just revolts among men. Not Hunger alone produced even the French Revolution; no, but the feeling of the insupportable all-pervading Falsehood which had now embodied itself in Hunger, in universal material Scarcity and Nonentity, and thereby become indisputably false in the eyes of all! We will leave the Eighteenth century with its 'liberty to tax itself.' We will not astonish ourselves that the meaning of such men as the Puritans remained dim to it. To men who believe in no reality at all, how shall a real human soul, the intensest of all realities, as it were the Voice of this world's Maker still speaking to us,—be intelligible? What it cannot reduce into constitutional doctrines relative to 'taxing,' or other the like material interest, gross, palpable to the sense, such a century will needs reject as an amorphous heap of rubbish. Hampdens, Pyms and Ship-money will be the theme of much constitutional eloquence, striving to be fervid;—which will glitter, if not as fire does, then as ice does: and the irreducible Cromwell will remain a chaotic mass of 'Madness,' 'Hypocrisy,' and much else. From of old, I will confess, this theory of Cromwell's falsity has been incredible to me. Nay, I cannot believe the like, of any Great Man whatever. Multitudes of Great Men figure in History as false

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selfish men; but if we will consider it, they are but figures for us, unintelligible shadows: we do not see into them as men that could have existed at all. A superficial unbelieving generation only, with no eye but for the surfaces and semblances of things, could form such notions of Great Men. Can a great soul be possible without a conscience in it, the essence of all real souls, great or small?—No, we cannot figure Cromwell as a Falsity and Fatuity; the longer I study him and his career, I believe this the less. Why should we? There is no evidence of it. Is it not strange that, after all the mountains of calumny this man has been subject to, after being represented as the very prince of liars, who never, or hardly ever, spoke truth, but always some cunning counterfeit of truth, there should not yet have been one falsehood brought clearly home to him? A prince of liars, and no lie spoken by him. Not one that I could yet get sight of. It is like Pococke asking Grotius, Where is your proof of Mahomet's Pigeon? No proof!—Let us leave all these calumnious chimeras, as chimeras ought to be left. They are not portraits of the man; they are distracted phantasms of him, the joint product of hatred and darkness. Looking at the man's life with our own eyes, it seems to me, a very different hypothesis suggests itself. What little we know of his earlier obscure years, distorted as it has come down to us, does it not all betoken an earnest, affectionate, sincere kind of man? His nervous melancholic temperament indicates rather a seriousness too deep for him. Of those stories of 'Spectres;' of the white Spectre in broad daylight, predicting that he should be King of England, we are not bound to believe much;—probably no more than of the other black Spectre, or Devil in person, to whom the Officer saw him sell himself before Worcester Fight! But the mournful, over-sensitive, hypochondriac humour of Oliver, in his young years, is otherwise indisputably known. The Huntingdon Physician told Sir Philip Warwick himself, He had often been sent for at midnight; Mr. Cromwell was full of hypochondria, thought himself near dying, and "had fancies about the Town-cross." These things are significant. Such an excitable deepfeeling nature, in that rugged stubborn strength of his, is not the symptom of falsehood; it is the symptom and promise of quite other than falsehood! The young Oliver is sent to study Law; falls, or is said to have fallen, for a little period, into some of the dissipations of youth; but

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if so, speedily repents, abandons all this: not much above twenty, he is married, settled as an altogether grave and quiet man. 'He pays back what money he had won at gambling,' says the story;—he does not think any gain of that kind could be really his. It is very interesting, very natural, this 'conversion,' as they well name it; this awakening of a great true soul from the worldly slough, to see into the awful truth of things;—to see that Time and its shows all rested on Eternity, and this poor Earth of ours was the threshold either of Heaven or of Hell! Oliver's life at St. Ives and Ely as a sober industrious Farmer, is it not altogether as that of a true and devout man? He has renounced the world and its ways; its prizes are not the thing that can enrich him. He tills the earth; he reads his Bible; daily assembles his servants round him to worship God. He comforts persecuted ministers, is fond of preachers; nay, can himself preach,—exhorts his neighbours to be wise, to redeem the time. In all this, what 'hypocrisy,' 'ambition,' 'cant,' or other falsity? The man's hopes, I do believe, were fixed on the other Higher World; his aim to get well thither by walking well through his humble course in this world. He courts no notice: what could notice here do for him? 'Ever in his great Taskmaster's eye.'—It is striking, too, how he comes out once into public view; he, since no other is willing to come: in resistance to a public grievance. I mean, in that matter of the Bedford Fens. No one else will go to law with Authority; therefore he will. That matter once settled, he returns back into obscurity, to his Bible and his Plough. 'Gain influence?' His influence is the most legitimate; derived from personal knowledge of him, as a just, religious, reasonable and determined man. In this way he has lived till past forty; old age is now in view of him, and the earnest portal of Death and Eternity;—it was at this point that he suddenly became 'ambitious!' I do not interpret his Parliamentary mission in that way! His successes in Parliament, his successes through the war, are honest successes of a brave man; who has more resolution in the heart of him, more light in the head of him than other men. His prayers to God; his spoken thanks to the God of Victory, who had preserved him safe, and carried him forward so far, through the furious clash of a world all set in conflict, through desperate-looking envelopments at Dunbar; through the death-hail of so many battles; mercy after mercy; to the 'crowning mercy' of Worcester Fight: all

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this is good and genuine for a deephearted Calvinistic Cromwell. Only to vain unbelieving Cavaliers, worshipping not God but their own 'love-locks,' frivolities and formalities, living quite apart from contemplations of God, living without God in the world, need it seem hypocritical. Nor will his participation in the King's death involve him in condemnation with us. It is a stern business killing of a King! But if you once go to war with him, it lies there; this and all else lies there. Once at war, you have made wager of battle with him: it is he to die, or else you. Reconciliation is problematic; may be possible, or, far more likely, is impossible. It is now pretty generally admitted that the Parliament, having vanquished Charles First, had no way of making any tenable arrangement with him. The large Presbyterian party, apprehensive now of the Independents, were most anxious to do so; anxious indeed as for their own existence; but it could not be. The unhappy Charles, in those final Hampton-Court negotiations, shews himself as a man fatally incapable of being dealt with. A man who, once for all, could not and would not understand:—whose thought did not in any measure represent to him the real fact of the matter; nay, worse, whose word did not at all represent his thought. We may say this of him without cruelty, with deep pity rather: but it is true and undeniable. Forsaken there of all but the name of Kingship, he still, finding himself treated with outward respect as a King, fancied that he might play off party against party, and smuggle himself into his old power by deceiving both. Alas, they both discovered that he was deceiving them. A man whose word will not inform you at all what he means or will do, is not a man you can bargain with. You must get out of that man's way, or put him out of yours! The Presbyterians, in their despair, were still for believing Charles, though found false, unbelievable again and again. Not so Cromwell: "For all our fighting," says he, "we are to have a little bit of paper?" No! — In fact, everywhere we have to note the decisive practical eye of this man; how he drives towards the practical and practicable; has a genuine insight into what is fact. Such an intellect, I maintain, does not belong to a false man: the false man sees false shows, plausibilities, expediencies: the true man is needed to discern even practical truth. Cromwell's advice about the Parliament's Army, early in the contest, How they were to dismiss their city-tapsters, flimsy riotous

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persons, and choose substantial yeomen, whose heart was in the work, to be soldiers for them: this is advice by a man who saw. Fact answers, if you see into Fact! Cromwell's Ironsides were the embodiment of this insight of his; men fearing God; and without any other fear. No more conclusively genuine set of fighters ever trod the soil of England, or of any other land. Neither will we blame greatly that word of Cromwell's to them; which was so blamed: "If the King should meet me in battle, I would kill the King." Why not? These words were spoken to men who stood as before a Higher than Kings. They had set more than their own lives on the cast. The Parliament may call it, in official language, a fighting 'for the King:' but we, for our share, cannot understand that. To us it is no dilettante work, no sleek officiality; it is sheer rough death and earnest. They have brought it to the calling forth of War; horrid internecine fight, man grappling with man in fire-eyed rage,— the infernal element in man called forth, to try it by that! Do that therefore; since that is the thing to be done.—The successes of Cromwell seem to me a very natural thing! Since he was not shot in battle, they were an inevitable thing. That such a man, with the eye to see, with the heart to dare, should advance, from post to post, from victory to victory, till the Huntingdon Farmer became, by whatever name you might call him, the acknowledged Strongest Man in England, virtually the King of England, requires no magic to explain it! — Truly it is a sad thing for a people, as for a man, to fall into Scepticism, into dilettantism, insincerity; not to know a Sincerity when they see it. For this world, and for all worlds, what curse is so fatal? The heart lying dead, the eye cannot see. What intellect remains is merely the vulpine intellect. That a true King be sent them is of small use; they do not know him when sent. They say scornfully, Is this your King? The Hero wastes his heroic faculty in bootless contradiction from the unworthy; and can accomplish little. For himself he does accomplish a heroic life, which is much, which is all; but for the world he accomplishes comparatively nothing. The wild rude Sincerity, direct from Nature, is not glib in answering from the witness-box: in your small-debt pie-powder court, he is scouted as a counterfeit. The vulpine intellect 'detects' him. For being a man

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worth any thousand men, the response your Knox, your Cromwell gets, is an argument for two centuries whether he was a man at all. God's greatest gift to this Earth is sneeringly flung away. The miraculous talisman is a paltry plated coin, not fit to pass in the shops as a common guinea. Lamentable this! I say, this must be remedied. Till this be remedied in some measure, there is nothing remedied. 'Detect quacks?' Yes do, for Heaven's sake; but know withal the men that are to be trusted! Till we know that, what is all our knowledge; how shall we even so much as 'detect?' For the vulpine sharpness, which considers itself to be knowledge, and 'detects' in that fashion, is far mistaken. Dupes indeed are many: but, of all dupes, there is none so fatally situated as he who lives in undue terror of being duped. The world does exist; the world has truth in it, or it would not exist! First recognise what is true, we shall then discern what is false; and properly never till then. 'Know the men that are to be trusted:' alas, this is yet, in these days, very far from us. The sincere alone can recognise sincerity. Not a Hero only is needed, but a world fit for him; a world not of Valets;—the Hero comes almost in vain to it otherwise! Yes, it is far from us: but it must come; thank God, it is visibly coming. Till it do come, what have we? Ballot-boxes, suffrages, French Revolutions:— if we are as Valets, and do not know the Hero when we see him, what good are all these? A heroic Cromwell comes; and for a hundred and fifty years he cannot have a vote from us. Why, the insincere, unbelieving world is the natural property of the Quack, and of the Father of Quacks and Quackeries! Misery, confusion, unveracity are alone possible there. By ballot-boxes we alter the figure of our Quack; but the substance of him continues. The Valet-World has to be governed by the Sham-Hero, by the King merely dressed in King-gear. It is his; he is its! In brief, one of two things: We shall either learn to know a Hero, a true Governor and Captain, somewhat better, when we see him; or else go on to be forever governed by the Unheroic;—had we ballot-boxes clattering at every street-corner, there were no remedy in these. Poor Cromwell,—great Cromwell! The inarticulate Prophet; Prophet who could not speak. Rude, confused, struggling to utter himself, with his savage depth, with his wild sincerity; and he looked

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so strange, among the elegant Euphuisms; dainty little Falklands, didactic Chillingworths, diplomatic Clarendons! Consider him. An outer hull of chaotic confusion, visions of the Devil, nervous dreams, almost semi-madness; and yet such a clear determinate man's-energy working in the heart of that. A kind of chaotic man. The ray as of pure starlight and fire, working in such an element of boundless hypochondria, «wformed black of darkness! And yet withal this hypochondria, what was it but the very greatness of the man? The depth and tenderness of his wild affections; the quantity of sympathy he had with things,—the quantity of insight he would yet get into the heart of things, the mastery he would yet get over things: this was his hypochondria. The man's misery, as man's misery always does, came of his greatness. Samuel Johnson too is that kind of man. Sorrowstricken, half-distracted; the wide element of mournful black enveloping him,—wide as the world. It is the character of a prophetic man; a man with his whole soul seeing and struggling to see. On this ground, too, I explain to myself Cromwell's reputed confusion of speech. To himself the internal meaning was sun-clear; but the material with which he was to clothe it in utterance was not there. He had lived silent; a great unnamed sea of Thought round him all his days; and in his way of life little call to attempt naming or uttering that. With his sharp power of vision, resolute power of action, I doubt not he could have learned to write Books withal, and speak fluently enough;—he did harder things than writing of Books. This kind of man is precisely he who is fit for doing manfully all things you will set him on doing. Intellect is not speaking and logicizing; it is seeing and ascertaining. Virtue, Vir-tus, manhood, herohood, is not fairspoken immaculate regularity; it is first of all, what the Germans well name it, Tttgend (Taugend, dow-ing or Doughtiness), Courage and the Faculty to do. This basis of the matter Cromwell had in him. One understands moreover how, though he could not speak in Parliament, he might preach, rhapsodic preaching; above all, how he might be great in extempore prayer. These are the free outpouring utterances of what is in the heart: method is not required in them; warmth, depth, sincerity are all that is required. Cromwell's habit of prayer is a notable feature of him. All his great enterprises were commenced with prayer. In dark inextricable-looking difficulties, his

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Officers and he used to assemble, and pray alternately, for hours, for days, till some definite resolution rose among them, some 'door of hope,' as they would name it, disclosed itself. Consider that. In tears, in fervent prayers, and cries to the great God, to have pity on them, to make His light shine before them. They, armed Soldiers of Christ, as they felt themselves to be; a little band of Christian Brothers, who had drawn the sword against a great black devouring world not Christian, but Mammonish, Devilish,—they cried to God in their straits, in their extreme need, not to forsake the Cause that was His. The light which now rose upon them,—how could a human soul, by any means at all, get better light? Was not the purpose so formed like to be precisely the best, wisest, the one to be followed without hesitation any more? To them it was as the shining of Heaven's own Splendour in the waste-howling darkness; the Pillar of Fire by night, that was to guide them on their desolate perilous way. Was it not such? Can a man's soul, to this hour, get guidance by any other method than intrinsically by that same,—devout prostration of the earnest struggling soul before the Highest, the Giver of all Light; be such prayer a spoken, articulate, or be it a voiceless, inarticulate one? There is no other method. 'Hypocrisy?' One begins to be weary of all that. They who call it so, have no right to speak on such matters. They never formed a purpose, what one can call a purpose. They went about balancing expediencies, plausibilities; gathering votes, advices; they never were alone with the truth of a thing at all.— Cromwell's prayers were likely to be 'eloquent,' and much more than that. His was the heart of a man who could pray. But indeed his actual Speeches, I apprehend, were not nearly so ineloquent, incondite, as they look. We find he was, what all speakers aim to be, an impressive speaker, even in Parliament; one who, from the first, had weight. With that rude passionate voice of his, he was always understood to mean something, and men wished to know what. He disregarded eloquence, nay despised and disliked it; spoke always without premeditation of the words he was to use. The Reporters, too, in those days, seem to have been singularly candid; and to have given the Printer precisely what they found on their own note-paper. And withal, what a strange proof is it of Cromwell's being the premeditative ever-calculating hypocrite, acting a play

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before the world, That to the last he took no more charge of his Speeches! How came he not to study his words a little, before flinging them out to the public? If the words were true words, they could be left to shift for themselves. But with regard to Cromwell's 'lying,' we will make one remark. This, I suppose, or something like this, to have been the nature of it. All parties found themselves deceived in him; each party understood him to be meaning this, heard him even say so, and behold he turns out to have been meaning that! He was, cry they, the chief of liars. But now, intrinsically, is not all this the inevitable fortune, not of a false man in such times, but simply of a superior man? Such a man must have reticences in him. If he walk wearing his heart upon his sleeve for daws to peck at, his journey will not extend far! There is no use for any man's taking up his abode in a house built of glass. A man always is to be himself the judge how much of his mind he will shew to other men; even to those he would have work along with him. There are impertinent inquiries made: your rule is, to leave the inquirer «»informed on that matter; not, if you can help it, misinformed, but precisely as dark as he was! This, could one hit the right phrase of response, is what the wise and faithful man would aim to answer in such a case. Cromwell, no doubt of it, spoke often in the dialect of small subaltern parties; uttered to them a part of his mind. Each little party thought him all its own. Hence their rage, one and all, to find him not of their party, but of his own party! Was it his blame? At all seasons of his history, he must have felt, among such people, how, if he explained to them the deeper insight he had, they must either have shuddered aghast at it, or believing it, their own little compact hypothesis must have gone wholly to wreck. They could not have worked in his province any more; nay perhaps they could not now have worked in their own province. It is the inevitable position of a great man among small men. Small men, most active, useful, are to be seen everywhere, whose whole activity depends on some conviction which to you is palpably a limited one; imperfect, what we call an error. But would it be a kindness always, is it a duty always or often, to disturb them in that? Many a man, doing loud work in the world, stands only on some thin traditionality, conventionality; to

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him indubitable, to you incredible: break that beneath him, he sinks to endless depths! "I might have my hand full of truth," said Fontenelle, "and open only my little finger." And if this be the fact even in matters of doctrine, how much more in all departments of practice. He that cannot withal keep his mind to himselfcannot practise any considerable thing whatever. And we call it 'dissimulation,' all this? What would you think of calling the general of an army a dissembler because he did not tell every corporal and private soldier, who pleased to put the question, what his thoughts were about everything?—Cromwell, I should rather say, managed all this in a manner we must admire for its perfection. An endless vortex of such questioning 'corporals' rolled confusedly round him through his whole course; whom he did answer. It must have been as a great true-seeing man that he managed this too. Not one proved falsehood, as I said; not one! Of what man that ever wound himself through such a coil of things will you say so much?— But, in fact, there are two errors, widely prevalent, which pervert to the very basis our judgments formed about such men as Cromwell; about their 'ambition,' 'falsity,' and such like. The first is what I might call substituting the goal of their career for the course and starting-point of it. The vulgar Historian of a Cromwell fancies that he had determined on being Protector of England, at the time when he was ploughing the marsh lands of Cambridgeshire. His career lay all mapped out; a program of the whole drama; which he then step by step dramatically unfolded, with all manner of cunning, deceptive dramaturgy, as he went on,—the hollow, scheming 'YnoKpnfiq or Playactor that he was! This is a radical perversion; all but universal in such cases. And think for an instant how different the fact is! How much does one of us foresee of his own life? Short way ahead of us it is all dim; an unwound skein of possibilities, of apprehensions, attemptabilities, vague-looming hopes. This Cromwell had not his life lying all in that fashion of Program, which he needed then, with that unfathomable cunning of his, only to enact dramatically, scene after scene! Not so. We see it so; but to him it was in no measure so. What absurdities would fall away of themselves, were this one undeniable fact kept honestly in view by History! Historians indeed will tell you that they do keep it in view;—but look whether such is practically the

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fact! Vulgar History, as in this Cromwell's case, omits it altogether; even the best kinds of History only remember it now and then. To remember it duly, with rigorous perfection, as in the fact it stood, requires indeed a rare faculty; rare, nay impossible. A very Shakspeare for faculty; or more than Shakspeare; who could enact a brother man's biography, see with the brother man's eyes at all points of his course what things he saw; in short, know his course and him, as few 'Historians' are like to do. Half or more of all the thick-plied perversions which distort our image of Cromwell, will disappear, if we honestly so much as try to represent them so; in sequence, as they were; not in the lump, as they are thrown down before us. But a second error, which I think the generality commit, refers to this same 'ambition' itself. We exaggerate the ambition of Great Men; we mistake what the nature of it is. Great Men are not ambitious in that sense; he is a small poor man that is ambitious so. Examine the man who lives in misery because he does not shine above other men; who goes about producing himself, pruriently anxious about his gifts and claims; struggling to force everybody, as it were begging everybody for God's sake, to acknowledge him a great man, and set him over the heads of men! Such a creature is among the wretchedest sights seen under this sun. A great man? A poor morbid prurient empty man; fitter for the ward of a hospital, than for a throne among men. I advise you to keep out of his way. He cannot walk on quiet paths; unless you will look at him, wonder at him, write paragraphs about him, he cannot live. It is the emptiness of the man, not his greatness. Because there is nothing in himself, he hungers and thirsts that you would find something in him. In good truth, I believe no great man, not so much as a genuine man who had health and real substance in him of whatever magnitude, was ever much tormented in this way. Your Cromwell, what good could it do him to be 'noticed' by noisy crowds of people? God his Maker already noticed him. He, Cromwell, was already there; no notice would make him other than he already was. Till his hair was grown grey; and Life from the downhill slope was all seen to be limited, not infinite but finite, and all a measurable matter how it went,—he had been content to plough the ground, and read his Bible. He in his old days could not support it any longer, without selling himself to Falsehood, that he might ride

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in gilt carriages to Whitehall, and have clerks with bundles of papers haunting him, "Decide this, decide that," which in utmost sorrow of heart no man can perfectly decide! What could gilt carriages do for this man? From of old, was there not in his life a weight of meaning, a terror and a splendour as of Heaven itself? His existence there as man, set him beyond the need of gilding. Death, Judgment and Eternity: these already lay as the background of whatsoever he thought or did. All his life lay begirt as in a sea of nameless Thoughts, which no speech of a mortal could name. God's Word, as the Puritan prophets of that time had read it: this was great, and all else was little to him. To call such a man 'ambitious,' to figure him as the prurient windbag described above, seems to me the poorest solecism. Such a man will say: "Keep your gilt carriages and huzzaing mobs, keep your red-tape clerks, your influentialities, your important businesses. Leave me alone, leave me alone; there is too much of lifein me already!" Old Samuel Johnson, the greatest soul in England in his day, was not ambitious. 'Corsica BoswelP flaunted at public shows with printed ribbons round his hat; but the great old Samuel staid at home. The world-wide soul wrapt up in its thoughts, in its sorrows;—what could paradings, and ribbons in the hat, do for it? Ah yes, I will say again: The great silent men! Looking round on the noisy inanity of the world, words with little meaning, actions with little worth, one loves to reflect on the great Empire of Silence. The noble silent men, scattered here and there, each in his department; silently thinking, silently working; whom no Morning Newspaper makes mention of! They are the salt of the Earth. A country that has none or few of these is in a bad way. Like a forest which had no roots; which had all turned into leaves and boughs;—which must soon wither and be no forest. Wo for us if we had nothing but what we can shew, or speak. Silence, the great Empire of Silence: higher than the stars; deeper than the Kingdoms of Death! It alone is great; all else is small.—I hope we English will long maintain our grand talent pour le silence. Let others that cannot do without standing on barrel-heads, to spout, and be seen of all the market-place, cultivate speech exclusively,—become a most green forest without roots! Solomon says, There is a time to speak; but also a time to keep silence. Of some great silent Samuel, not urged to writing, as old Samuel Johnson says he was, by want of money, and nothing other, one might ask, "Why

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do not you too get up and speak; promulgate your system, found your sect?"—"Truly," he will answer, "I am continent of my thought hitherto; happily I have yet had the ability to keep it in me, no compulsion strong enough to speak it. My 'system' is not for promulgation first of all; it is for serving myself to live by. That is the great purpose of it to me. And then the 'honour?' Alas, yes;—but as Cato said of the statue: So many statues in that Forum of yours, may it not be better if they ask, Where is Cato's statue?"__ __ But now, by way of counterpoise to this of Silence, let me say that there are two kinds of ambition; one wholly blameable, the other laudable and inevitable. Nature has provided that the great silent Samuel shall not be silent too long. The selfish wish to shine over others, let it be accounted altogether poor and miserable. 'Seekest thou great things, seek them not:' this is most true. And yet, I say, there is an irrepressible tendency in every man to develope himself according to the magnitude which Nature has made him of; to speak out, to act out, what Nature has laid in him. This is proper, fit, inevitable; nay it is a duty, and even the summary of duties for a man. The meaning of life here on earth might be defined as consisting in this: To unfold your self, to work what thing you have the faculty for. It is a necessity for the human being, the first law of our existence. Coleridge beautifully remarks that the infant learns to speak by this necessity it feels.—We will say therefore, To decide about ambition, whether it is bad or not, you have two things to take into view. Not the coveting of the place alone, but the fitness of the man for the place withal: that is the question. Perhaps the place was his; perhaps he had a natural right, and even obligation, to seek the place! Mirabeau's ambition to be Prime Minister, how shall we blame it, if he were 'the only man in France that could have done any good there?' Hopefuler perhaps had he not so clearly felt how much good he could do! But a poor Necker, who could do no good, and had even felt that he could do none, yet sitting broken-hearted because they had flung him out, and he was now quit of it, well might Gibbon mourn over him.—Nature, I say, has provided amply that the silent great man shall strive to speak withal; too amply, rather! Fancy, for example, you had revealed to the brave old Samuel Johnson, in his shrouded-up existence, that it was possible for him to do a priceless divine work for his country and the whole world. That

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the perfect Heavenly Law might be made Law on this Earth, that the prayer he prayed daily, 'Thy kingdom come,' was at length to be fulfilled! If you had convinced his judgment of this; that it was possible, practicable; that he the mournful silent Samuel was called to take a part in it! Would not the whole soul of the man have flamed up into a divine clearness, into noble utterance and determination to act; casting all sorrows and misgivings under his feet, counting all affliction and contradiction small,—the whole dark element of his existence blazing into articulate radiance of light and lightning? It were a true ambition this! And think now how it actually was with Cromwell. From of old, the sufferings of God's Church, true zealous Preachers of the truth flung into dungeons, whipt, set on pillories, their ears cropt off, God's Gospel-cause trodden under foot of the unworthy: all this had lain heavy on his soul. Long years he had looked upon it, in silence, in prayer; seeing no remedy on Earth; trusting well that a remedy in Heaven's goodness would come,—that such a course was false, unjust, and could not last forever. And now behold the dawn of it; after twelve years silent waiting, all England stirs itself; there is to be once more a Parliament, the Right will get a voice for itself: inexpressible well-grounded hope has come again into the Earth. Was not such a Parliament worth being a member of? Cromwell threw down his ploughs, and hastened thither. He spoke there,—rugged bursts of earnestness, of a self-seen truth, where we get a glimpse of them. He worked there; he fought and strove, like a strong true giant of a man, through cannon-tumult and all else,— on and on, till the Cause triumphed, its once so formidable enemies all swept from before it, and the dawn of hope had become clear light of victory and certainty. That he stood there as the strongest soul of England, the undisputed Hero of all England,—what of this? It was possible that the Law of Christ's Gospel could now establish itself in the world! The Theocracy which John Knox in his pulpit might dream of as a 'devout imagination,' this practical man, experienced in the whole chaos of most rough practice, dared to consider as capable of being realised. Those that were highest in Christ's Church, the devoutest wisest men, were to rule the land: in some considerable degree, it might be so and should be so. Was it not true, God's truth? And if true, was it not then the very thing to do? The strongest

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practical intellect in England dared to answer, Yes! This I call a noble true purpose: is it not, in its own dialect, the noblest that could enter into the heart of Statesman or man? For a Knox to take it up was something; but for a Cromwell, with his great sound sense and experience of what our world was,—History, I think, shews it only this once in such a degree. I account it the culminating point of Protestantism; the most heroic phasis that 'Faith in the Bible' was appointed to exhibit here below. Fancy it: that it were made manifest to one of us, how we could make the Right supremely victorious over Wrong, and all that we had longed and prayed for, as the highest good to England and all lands, an attainable fact! Well, I must say, the vulpine intellect, with its knowingness, its alertness and expertness in 'detecting hypocrites,' seems to me a rather sorry business. We have had but one such Statesman in England; one man, that I can get sight of, who ever had in the heart of him any such purpose at all. One man, in the course of fifteen hundred years; and this was his welcome. He had adherents by the hundred or the ten; opponents by the million. Had England rallied all round him,—why, then, England might have been a Christian land! As it is, vulpine knowingness sits yet at its hopeless problem, 'Given a world of Knaves, to educe an Honesty from their united action;'—how cumbrous a problem you may see in Chancery LawCourts, and some other places! Till at length, by Heaven's just anger, but also by Heaven's great grace, the matter begins to stagnate; and this problem is becoming to all men a palpablyhopeless one.— But with regard to Cromwell and his purposes: Hume, and a multitude following him, come upon me here with an admission that Cromwell was sincere at first; a sincere 'Fanatic' at first, but gradually became a 'Hypocrite' as things opened round him. This of the Fanatic-Hypocrite is Hume's theory of it; extensively applied since,— to Mahomet and many others. Think of it seriously, you will find something in it; not much, not all, very far from all. Sincere herohearts do not sink in this miserable manner. The Sun flings forth impurities, gets balefully incrusted with spots; but it does not quench itself, and become no Sun at all, but a mass of Darkness! I will venture to say that such never befel a great deep Cromwell; I think,

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never. Nature's own lion-hearted Son; Antxus-like, his strength is got by touching the Earth, his Mother; lift him up from the Earth, lift him up into Hypocrisy, Inanity, his strength is gone. We will not assert that Cromwell was an immaculate man; that he fell into no faults, no insincerities among the rest. He was no dilettante professor of 'perfections,' 'immaculate conducts.' He was a rugged Orson, rending his rough way through actual true work,—doubtless with many a fall therein. Insincerities, faults, very many faults daily and hourly: it was too well known to him; known to God and him! The Sun was dimmed many a time; but the Sun had not himself grown a Dimness. Cromwell's last words, as he lay waiting for death, are those of a Christian heroic man. Broken prayers to God, that He would judge him and this Cause, He since man could not, in justice yet in pity. They are most touching words. He breathed out his wild great soul, its toils and sins all ended now, into the presence of his Maker, in this manner. I, for one, will not call the man a Hypocrite! Hypocrite, mummer, the life of him a mere theatricality; empty barren quack, hungry for the shouts of mobs? The man had made obscurity do very well for him till his head was grey; and now he was, there as he stood recognised unblamed, the virtual King of England. Cannot a man do without King's Coaches and Cloaks? Is it such a blessedness to have clerks forever pestering you with bundles of papers in red tape? A simple Diocletian prefers planting of cabbages; a George Washington, no very immeasurable man, does the like. One would say, it is what any genuine man could do; and would do. The instant his real work were out in the matter of Kingship,—away with it! Let us remark, meanwhile, how indispensable everywhere a King is, in all movements of men. It is strikingly shewn, in this very War, what becomes of men when they cannot find a Chief Man, and their enemies can. The Scotch Nation was all but unanimous in Puritanism; zealous and of one mind about it, as in this English end of the Island was always far from being the case. But there was no great Cromwell among them; poor tremulous, hesitating, diplomatic Argyles and such like: none of them had a heart true enough for the truth, or durst commit himself to the truth. They had no leader; and the scattered Cavalier party in that country had one: Montrose, the

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noblest of all the Cavaliers; an accomplished, gallant-hearted, splendid man; what one may call the Hero-Cavalier. Well, look at it: on the one hand subjects without a King; on the other a King without subjects! The subjects without King can do nothing; the subjectless King can do something. This Montrose, with a handful of Irish or Highland savages, few of them so much as guns in their hand, dashes at the drilled Puritan armies like a wild whirlwind; sweeps them, time after time, some five times over, from the field before him. He was at one period, for a short while, master of all Scotland. One man; but he was a man: a million zealous men, but without the one; they against him were powerless! Perhaps of all the persons in that Puritan struggle, from first to last, the single indispensable one was verily Cromwell. To see and dare, and decide; to be a fixed pillar in the welter of uncertainty;—a King among them, whether they called him so or not. Precisely here, however, lies the rub for Cromwell. His other proceedings have all found advocates, and stand generally justified; but this dismissal of the Rump Parliament and assumption of the Protectorship, is what no one can pardon him. He had fairly grown to be King in England, Chief Man of the victorious party in England: but it seems he could not do without the King's Cloak, and sold himself to perdition in order to get it. Let us see a little how this was. England, Scotland, Ireland, all lying now subdued at the feet of the Puritan Parliament, the practical question arose, What was to be done with it? How will you govern these Nations, which Providence in a wondrous way has given up to your disposal? Clearly those hundred surviving members of the Long Parliament, who sit there as supreme authority, cannot continue forever to sit. What is to be done?—It was a question which theoretical constitution-builders may find easy to answer; but to Cromwell, looking there into the real practical facts of it, there could be none more complicated. He asked of the Parliament, What it was they would decide upon? It was for the Parliament to say. Yet the Soldiers too, however contrary to Formula, they who had purchased this victory with their blood, it seemed to them that they also should have something to say in it! We will not "for all our fighting have nothing but a little piece of paper." We

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understand that the Law of God's Gospel, to which He through us has given the victory, shall establish itself, or try to establish itself, in this land! For three years, Cromwell says, this question had been sounded in the ears of the Parliament. They could make no answer; nothing but talk, talk. Perhaps it lies in the nature of parliamentary bodies; perhaps no Parliament could in such case make any answer but even that of talk, talk! Nevertheless the question must and shall be answered. You sixty men there, becoming fast odious, even despicable, to the whole nation, whom the nation already call Rump Parliament, you cannot continue to sit there: who or what then is to follow? 'Free Parliament,' right of Election, Constitutional Formulas of one sort or the other,—the thing is a hungry Fact coming on us, which we must answer or be devoured by it! And who are you that prate of Constitutional Formulas, rights of Parliament? You have had to kill your King, to make Pride's Purges, to expel and banish by the law of the stronger whosoever would not let your Cause prosper: there are but fifty or three-score of you left there, debating in these days. Tell us what we shall do; not in the way of Formula, but of practicable Fact! How they did finally answer, remains obscure to this day. The diligent Godwin himself admits that he cannot make it out. The likeliest is, that this poor Parliament still would not, and indeed could not dissolve and disperse; that when it came to the point of actually dispersing, they again, for the tenth or twentieth time, adjourned it,—and Cromwell's patience failed him. But we will take the favourablest hypothesis ever started for the Parliament; the favourablest, though I believe it is not the true one, but too favourable. According to this version: At the uttermost crisis, when Cromwell and his Officers were met on the one hand, and the fifty or sixty Rump Members on the other, it was suddenly told Cromwell that the Rump in its despair was answering in a very singular way; that in their splenetic envious despair, to keep out the Army at least, these men were hurrying through the House a kind of Reform Bill,—Parliament to be chosen by the whole of England; equable electoral division into districts; free suffrage, and the rest of it! A very questionable, or indeed for them an unquestionable thing. Reform Bill, free suffrage of Englishmen? Why, the Royalists themselves, silenced indeed but not exterminated, perhaps outnumber us; the great numerical major-

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ity of England was always indifferent to our Cause, merely looked at it and submitted to it. It is in weight and force, not by counting of heads, that we are the majority! And now with your Formulas and Reform Bills, the whole matter, sorely won by our swords, shall again launch itself to sea; become a mere hope, and likelihood, small even as a likelihood? And it is not a likelihood; it is a certainty, which we have won, by God's strength and our own right hands, and do now hold here. Cromwell walked down to these refractory Members; interrupted them in that rapid speed of their Reform Bill;—ordered them to begone, and talk there no more.—Can we not forgive him? Can we not understand him? John Milton, who looked on it all near at hand, could applaud him. The Reality had swept the Formulas away before it. I fancy, most men who were Realities in England might see into the necessity of that. The strong daring man, therefore, has set all manner of Formulas and logical superficialities against him; has dared appeal to the genuine Fact of this England, Whether it will support him or not? It is curious to see how he struggles to govern in some constitutional way; find some Parliament to support him; but cannot. His first Parliament, the one they call Barebones's Parliament, is, so to speak, a Convocation of the Notables. From all quarters of England the leading Ministers and chief Puritan Officials nominate the men most distinguished by religious reputation, influence and attachment to the true Cause: these are assembled to shape out a plan. They sanctioned what was past; shaped as they could what was to come. They were scornfully called Barebones's Parliament:the man's name, it seems, was not Barebones, but Barbone,—a good enough man. Nor was it a jest, their work; it was a most serious reality,—a trial on the part of these Puritan Notables how far the Law of Christ could become the Law of this England. There were men of sense among them, men of some quality; men of deep piety I suppose the most of them were. They failed, it seems, and broke down, endeavouring to reform the Court of Chancery! They dissolved themselves, as incompetent; delivered up their power again into the hands of the Lord General Cromwell, to do with it what he liked and could. What will he do with it! The Lord General Cromwell, 'Commander-in-chief of all the Forces raised and to be raised;' he hereby sees himself, at this unexampled juncture, as it were the one available Authority left in England, nothing between

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England and utter Anarchy but him alone. Such is the undeniable Fact of his position and England's, there and then. What will he do with it! After deliberation, he decides that he will accept it; will formally, with public solemnity, say and vow before God and men, "Yes, the Fact is so, and I will do the best I can with it!" Protectorship, Instrument of Government,—these are the external forms of the thing; worked out and sanctioned as they could in the circumstances be, by the Judges, by the leading Official people, 'Council of Officers and Persons of interest in the Nation:' and as for the thing itself, undeniably enough, at the pass matters had now come to, there was no alternative but Anarchy or that. Puritan England might accept it or not; but Puritan England was, in real truth, saved from suicide thereby!—I believe the Puritan People did, in an inarticulate, grumbling, yet on the whole grateful and real way, accept this anomalous act of Oliver's; at least, he and they together made it good, and always better to the last. But in their Parliamentary articulate way, they had their difficulties, and never knew fully what to say to it! — Oliver's second Parliament, properly his first regular Parliament, chosen by the rule laid down in the Instrument of Government, did assemble, and worked;—but got, before long, into bottomless questions as to the Protector's right, as to 'usurpation,' and so forth; and had at the earliest legal day to be dismissed. Cromwell's concluding Speech to these men is a remarkable one. So likewise to his third Parliament, in similar rebuke for their pedantries and obstinacies. Most rude, chaotic, all these Speeches are; but most earnest-looking. You would say, it was a sincere helpless man; not used to speak the great inorganic thought of him, but to act it rather! A helplessness of utterance, in such bursting fulness of meaning. He talks much about 'births of Providence:' All these changes, so many victories and events, were not forethoughts, and theatrical contrivances of men, of me or of men; it is blind blasphemers that will persist in calling them so! He insists with a heavy sulphurous wrathful emphasis on this. As he well might! As if a Cromwell in that dark huge game he had been playing, the world wholly thrown into chaos round him, had foreseen it all, and played it all off like a precontrived puppetshow by wood and wire! These things were foreseen by no man, he says; no man could tell what a day would bring forth: they were 'births of Providence,' God's finger guided us on, and we came at last to clear height of victory, God's Cause triumphant in these Nations; and you

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as a Parliament could assemble together, and say in what manner all this could be organised, reduced into rational feasibility among the affairs of men. You were to help with your wise counsel in doing that. "You have had such an opportunity as no Parliament in England ever had." Christ's Law, the Right and True, was to be in some measure made the Law of this land. In place of that, you have got into your idle pedantries, constitutionalities, bottomless cavillings and questionings about written laws for my coming here;—and would send the whole matter into Chaos again, because I have no Notary's parchment, but only God's voice from the battle-whirlwind, for being President among you! That opportunity is gone; and we know not when it will return. You have had your constitutional Logic; and Mammon's Law, not Christ's Law rules yet in this land. "God be judge between you and me!" These are his final words to them: Take you your constitution-formulas in your hand; and I my wformal struggles, purposes, realities and acts; and "God be judge between you and me!"— We said above what shapeless, involved chaotic things the printed Speeches of Cromwell's are. Wilfullyambiguous, unintelligible, say the most: a hypocrite shrouding himself in confused Jesuistic jargon! To me they do not seem so. I will say rather, they afforded the first glimpses I could ever get into the reality of this Cromwell, nay into the possibility of him. Try to believe that he means something, search lovingly what that may be: you will find a real speech lying imprisoned in these broken rude tortuous utterances; a meaning in the great heart of this inarticulate man! You will, for the first time, begin to see that he was a man; not an enigmatic chimera, unintelligible to you, incredible to you. The Histories and Biographies written of this Cromwell, written in shallow sceptical generations that could not know or conceive of a deep believing man, are far more obscure than Cromwell's Speeches. You look through them only into the infinite vague of Black and the Inane. 'Heats and jealousies,' says Lord Clarendon himself: 'heats and jealousies,' mere crabbed whims, theories, and crotchets; these induced slow sober quiet Englishmen to lay down their ploughs and work; and fly into red fury of confused war against the best-conditioned of Kings! Try if you can find that true. Scepticism writing about Belief may have great gifts; but it is really ultra vires there. It is Blindness laying down the Laws of Optics.—

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Cromwell's third Parliament split on the same rock as his second. Ever the constitutional Formula: How came you there? Shew us some Notary parchment! Blind pedants:—"Why, surely the same power which makes you a Parliament, that, and something more, made me a Protector!" If my Protectorship is nothing, what in the name of wonder is your Parliamenteership, a reflex and creation of that?— Parliaments having failed, there remained nothing but the way of Despotism. Military Dictators, each with his district, to coerce the Royalist and other gainsayers, to govern them, if not by act of Parliament, then by the sword. Formula shall not carry it, while the Reality is here! I will go on, protecting oppressed Protestants abroad, appointing just judges, wise managers, at home, cherishing true Gospel ministers; doing the best I can to make England a Christian England, greater than old Rome, the Queen of Protestant Christianity; I, since you will not help me; I while God leaves me life!—Why did he not give it up; retire into obscurity again, since the Law would not acknowledge him? cry several. That is where they mistake. For him there was no giving of it up! Prime Ministers have governed countries, Pitt, Pombal, Choiseul; and their word was a law while it held: but this Prime Minister was one that could not get resigned. Let him once resign, Charles Stuart and the Cavaliers waited to kill him; to kill the Cause and him. Once embarked, there is no retreat, no return. This Prime Minister could retire no-whither except into his tomb. One is sorry for Cromwell in his old days. His complaint is incessant of the heavy burden Providence has laid on him. Heavy; which he must bear till death. Old Colonel Hutchinson, as his wife relates it, Hutchinson his old battle-mate, coming to see him on some indispensable business, much against his will,—Cromwell 'follows him to the door,' in a most fraternal, domestic, conciliatory style; begs that he would be reconciled to him, his old brother in arms; says how much it grieves him to be misunderstood, deserted by true fellow soldiers, dear to him from of old: the rigorous Hutchinson, cased in his Republican formula, sullenly goes his way.—And the man's head now white; his strong arm growing weary with its long work! I think always too of his poor Mother, now very old, living in that Palace of his; a right brave woman; as indeed they lived all an honest God-fearing Household there: if she heard a shot go off, she

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thought it was her son killed. He had to come to her at least once a day that she might see with her own eyes that he was yet living. The poor old Mother!What had this man gained; what had he gained? He had a life of sore strife and toil, to his last day. Fame, ambition, place in History? His dead body was hung in chains; his 'place in History'—place in History forsooth—has been a place of ignominy, accusation, blackness and disgrace; and here, this day, who knows if it is not rash in me to be among the first that ever ventured to pronounce him not a knave and liar, but a genuinely honest man! Peace to him. Did he not, in spite of all, accomplish much for us? We walk smoothly over his great rough heroic life; step over his body sunk in the ditch there. We need not spurn it, as we step on it!—Let the Hero rest. It was not to men's judgment that he appealed; nor have men judged him very well. Precisely a century and a year after this of Puritanism had got itself hushed up into decent composure, and its results made smooth, in 1688, there broke out a far deeper explosion, much more difficult to hush up, known to all mortals, and like to be long known, by the name of French Revolution. It is properly the third and final act of Protestantism; the explosive confused return of mankind to Reality and Fact, now that they were perishing of Semblance and Sham. We call our English Puritanism the second act: "Well then, the Bible is true; let us go by the Bible!" "In Church," said Luther; "In Church and State," said Cromwell, "let us go by what actually is God's Truth." Men have to return to reality; they cannot live on semblance. The French Revolution, or third act, we may well call the final one; for lower than that savage Sansculottism men cannot go. They stand there on the nakedest haggard Fact, undeniable in all seasons and circumstances; and may and must begin again confidently to build up from that. The French explosion, like the English one, got its King,— who had no Notary parchment to shew for himself. We have still to glance for a moment at Napoleon, our second modern King. Napoleon does by no means seem to me so great a man as Cromwell. His enormous victories which reached over all Europe, while Cromwell abode mainly in our little England, are but as the high stilts on which the man is seen standing; the stature of the man is not altered thereby. I find in him no such sincerity as in Cromwell; only

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a far inferior sort. No silent walking, through long years, with the Awful, Unnameable of this Universe; 'walking with God,' as he called it; and faith and strength in that alone: latent thought and valour, content to lie latent, then burst out as in blaze of Heaven's lightning! Napoleon lived in an age when God was no longer believed; the meaning of all Silence, Latency, was thought to be Nonentity: he had to begin not out of the Puritan Bible, but out of poor Sceptical Encyclopedia. This was the length the man carried it. Meritorious to get so far. His compact, prompt, every-way articulate character is in itself perhaps small, compared with our great chaotic Jwarticulate Cromwell's. Instead of ''dumb Prophet struggling to speak,' we have a portentous mixture of the Quack withal! Hume's notion of the Fanatic-Hypocrite, with such truth as it has, will apply much better to Napoleon, than it did to Cromwell, to Mahomet or the like,— where indeed taken strictly it has hardly any truth at all. An element of blameable ambition shews itself, from the first, in this man; gets the victory over him at last, and involves him and his work in ruin. 'False as a bulletin' became a proverb in Napoleon's time. He makes what excuse he could for it: that it was necessary to mislead the enemy, to keep up his own men's courage, and so forth. On the whole, there are no excuses. A man in no case has liberty to tell lies. It had been in the long-run better for Napoleon too if he had not told any. In fact, if a man have any purpose reaching beyond the hour and day, meant to be found extant next day, what good can it ever be to promulgate lies? The lies are found out; ruinous penalty is exacted for them. No man will believe the liar next time even when he speaks truth, when it is of the last importance that he be believed. The old cry of wolf!—A Lie is wo-thing; you cannot of nothing make something; you make nothing at last, and lose your labour into the bargain. Yet Napoleon had a sincerity: we are to distinguish between what is superficial and what is fundamental in insincerity. Across these outer manceuvrings and quackeries of his, which were many and most blameable, let us discern withal that the man had a certain instinctive ineradicable feeling for reality; and did base himself upon fact, so long as he had any basis. He has an instinct of Nature better than his culture was. His savans, Bourrienne tells us, in that voyage to Egypt were one evening busily occupied arguing that there could be no

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God. They had proved it, to their satisfaction, by all manner of logic. Napoleon looking up into the stars, answers, "Very ingenious, Messieurs: but who made all that?" The Atheistic logic runs off from him like water; the great Fact stares him in the face: "Who made all that?" So too in Practice: he, as every man that can be great, or have victory in this world, sees, through all entanglements, the practical heart of the matter; drives straight towards that. When the steward of his Tuileries Palace was exhibiting the new upholstery, with praises, and demonstration how glorious it was, and how cheap withal, Napoleon, making little answer, asked for a pair of scissors, dipt one of the gold tassels from a window-curtain, put it in his pocket, and walked on. Some days afterwards, he produced it at the right moment, to the horror of his upholstery functionary: it was not gold but tinsel! In Saint Helena, it is notable how he still, to his last days, insists on the practical, the real. "Why talk and complain; above all, why quarrel with one another? There is no result in it; it comes to nothing that one can do. Say nothing, if one can do nothing!" He speaks often so, to his poor discontented followers; he is like a piece of silent strength in the middle of their morbid querulousness there. And accordingly was there not what we can call a faith in him, genuine so far as it went? That this new enormous Democracy asserting itself here in the French Revolution is an insuppressible Fact, which the whole world, with its old forces and institutions, cannot put down: this was a true insight of his, and took his conscience and enthusiasm along with it,—a faith. And did he not interpret the dim purport of it well? 'La carriere ouverte aux talens, The implements to him who can handle them:' this actually is the truth, and even the whole truth; it includes whatever the French Revolution or any Revolution could mean. Napoleon, in his first period, was a true Democrat. And yet by the nature of him, fostered too by his military trade, he knew that Democracy, if it were a true thing at all, could not be an anarchy: the man had a heart-hatred for anarchy. On that Twentieth of June (1792), Bourrienne and he sat in a coffee-house, as the mob rolled by: Napoleon expresses the deepest contempt for persons in authority that they do not restrain this rabble. On the Tenth of August he wonders why there is no man to command these poor Swiss; they would conquer if there were. Such a faith in

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Democracy, yet hatred of anarchy, it is that carries Napoleon through all his great work. Through his brilliant Italian Campaigns, onwards to the Peace of Leoben, one would say, his inspiration is: 'Triumph to the French Revolution; assertion of it against these Austrian Simulacra that pretend to call it a Simulacrum!' Withal, however, he feels, and has a right to feel, how necessary a strong Authority is; how the Revolution cannot prosper or last without such. To bridle in that great devouring, self-devouring French Revolution; to tame it, so that its intrinsic purpose can be made good, that it may become organic, and be able to live among other organisms and formed things, not as a wasting destruction alone: is not this still what he partly aimed at, as the true purport of his life; nay what he actually managed to do? Through Wagrams, Austerlitzes; triumph after triumph,—he triumphed so far. There was an eye to see in this man, a soul to dare and do. He rose naturally to be the King. All men saw that he was such. The common soldiers used to say on the march: "These babbling Avocats, up at Paris; all talk and no work! What wonder it runs all wrong? We shall have to go and put our Petit Caporal there!" They went, and put him there; they and France at large. Chief-consulship, Emperorship, victory over Europe;—till the poor Lieutenant of La Fere, not unnaturally, might seem to himself the greatest of all men that had been in the world for some ages. But at this point, I think, the fatal charlatan-element got the upper hand. He apostatised from his old faith in Facts, took to believing in Semblances; strove to connect himself with Austrian Dynasties, Popedoms, with the old false Feudalities which he once saw clearly to be false;—considered that he would found "his Dynasty" and so forth; that the enormous French Revolution meant only that! The man was 'given up to strong delusion, that he should believe a lie;' a fearful but most sure thing. He did not know true from false now when he looked at them,—the fearfulest penalty a man pays for yielding to untruth of heart. Self And false ambition had now become his god: ^//-deception once yielded to, all other deceptions follow naturally more and more. What a paltry patchwork of theatrical paper-mantles, tinsel and mummery, had this man wrapt his own great reality in, thinking to make it more real thereby! His hollowPope's-Concordat, pretending to be a re-establishment of Catholicism, felt by himself to

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be the method of extirpating it, "la vaccine de la religion:" his ceremonial Coronations, consecrations by the old Italian Chimera in Notre-Dame,—"wanting nothing to complete the pomp of it," as Augereau said, "nothing but the half-million of men who had died to put an end to all that!" Cromwell's Inauguration was by the Sword and Bible; what we must call a genuinely true one. Sword and Bible were borne before him, without any chimera: were not these the real emblems of Puritanism; its true decoration and insignia? It had used them both in a very real manner, and pretended to stand by them now! But this poor Napoleon mistook: he believed too much in the Dupeability of men; saw no fact deeper in man than Hunger and this! He was mistaken. Like a man that should build upon cloud: his house and he fall down in confused wreck, and depart out of the world. Alas, in all of us this charlatan-element exists; and might be developed, were the temptation strong enough. 'Lead us not into temptation!' But it is fatal, I say, that it be developed. The thing into which it enters as a cognisable ingredient is doomed to be altogether transitory; and, however huge it may look, is in itself small. Napoleon's working, accordingly, what was it with all the noise it made? A flash as of gunpowder wide-spread; a blazing-up as of dry heath. For an hour the whole Universe seems wrapt in smoke and flame; but only for an hour. It goes out: the Universe with its old mountains and streams, its stars above and kind soil beneath, is still there. The Duke of Weimar told his friends always, To be of courage; this Napoleonism was unjust, a falsehood, and could not last. It is true doctrine. The heavier this Napoleon trampled on the world, holding it tyrannously down, the fiercer would the world's recoil against him be, one day. Injustice pays itself with frightful compound-interest. I am not sure but he had better have lost his best park of artillery, or had his best regiment drowned in the sea, than shot that poor German Bookseller, Palm! It was a palpable tyrannous murderous injustice, which no man, let him paint an inch thick, could make out to be other. It burnt deep into the hearts of men, it and the like of it; suppressed fire flashed in the eyes of men, as they thought of it,— waiting their day! Which day came: Germany rose round him.—What Napoleon did will in the long-run amount to what he did justly; what Nature with her laws will sanction. To what of reality was in him; to

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that and nothing more. The rest was all smoke and waste. La, carriere ouverte aux talens: that great true Message, which has yet to articulate and fulfil itself everywhere, he left in a most inarticulate state. He was a great ebauche, a rude-draught never completed; as indeed what great man is other? Left in too rude a state, alas! His notions of the world, as he expresses them there at St. Helena, are almost tragical to consider. He seems to feel the most unaffected surprise that it has all gone so; that he is flung out on the rock here, and the World is still moving on its axis. France is great, and all-great; and at bottom, he is France. England itself, he says, is by Nature only an appendage of France; 'another Isle of Oleron to France.' So it was by Nature, by Napoleon-Nature; and yet look how in fact—HERE AM I! He cannot understand it: inconceivable that the reality has not corresponded to his program of it; that France was not all-great, that he was not France. 'Strong delusion,' that he should believe the thing to be which is not! The compact, clear-seeing, decisive Italian nature of him, strong, genuine, which he once had, has enveloped itself, half dissolved itself, in a turbid atmosphere of French Fanfaronade. The world was not disposed to be trodden down underfoot; to be bound into masses, and built together, as he liked, for a pedestal to France and him: the world had quite other purposes in view! Napoleon's astonishment is extreme. But alas, what help now? He had gone that way of his; and Nature also had gone her way. Having once parted with Reality, he tumbles helpless in Vacuity; no rescue for him. He had to sink there, mournfully as man seldom did; and break his great heart, and die,—this poor Napoleon: a great implement too soon wasted, till it was useless: our last Great Man! Our last, in a double sense. For here finally these wide roamings of ours through so many times and places, in search and study of Heroes, are to terminate. I am sorry for it: there was pleasure for me in this business, if also much pain. It is a great subject, and a most grave and wide one, this which, not to be too grave about it, I have named Hero-worship. It enters deeply, as I think, into the secret of Mankind's ways and vitalest interests in this world, and is well worth explaining at present. With six months, instead of six days, we might have done better. I promised to break ground on it; I know not

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whether I have even managed to do that. I have had to tear it up in the rudest manner in order to get into it at all. Often enough, with these abrupt utterances thrown out isolated, unexplained, has your tolerance been put to the trial. Tolerance, patient candour, all-hoping favour and kindness, which I will not speak of at present. The accomplished and distinguished, the beautiful, the wise, something of what is best in England, have listened patiently to my rude words. With many feelings, I heartily thank you all; and say, Good be with you all!

THE END.

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APPENDIX:

1858 SUMMARY AND INDEX

A "Summary" and an "Index" of On Heroes were prepared under Carlyle's supervision for the 1858 Uniform Edition (see Note on the Text, pp. Ixxxv, c) and were included in the two subsequent lifetime collected editions. Both are presented here, their texts as they appeared in the 1858 edition, their page references renumbered to correspond to the present edition as nearly as possible.

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SUMMARY.

LECTURE I. THE HERO AS DIVINITY. ODIN. PAGANISM: SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY.

HEROES: Universal History consists essentially of their United Biographies. Religion not a man's church-creed, but his practical belief about himself and the Universe: Both with Men and Nations it is the One fact about them which creatively determines all the rest. Heathenism: Christianity: Modern Scepticism. The Hero as Divinity. Paganism a fact; not Quackery, nor Allegory: Not to be pretentiously 'explained;' to be looked at as old Thought, and with sympathy, (p. 3).—Nature no more seems divine, except to the Prophet or Poet, because men have ceased to think: To the Pagan Thinker, as to a child-man, all was either Godlike or God. Canopus: Man. Heroworship the Basis of Religion, Loyalty, Society. A Hero, not the 'creature of the time:' Hero-worship, indestructible. Johnson: Voltaire. (8).—Scandinavian Paganism, the Religion of our Fathers. Iceland, the home of the Norse Poets, described. The Edda. The primary characteristic of Norse Paganism, the impersonation of the visible workings of Nature. Jotuns and the Gods. Fire: Frost: Thunder: The Sun: Sea-Tempest. Mythus of the Creation: The Life-Tree Igdrasil. The modern '•Machine of the Universe.' (15).—The Norse Creed, as recorded, the summation of several successive systems: Originally the shape given to the national thought by their first 'Man of Genius.' Odin: He has no history or date; but was no mere adjective, but a man of flesh and blood. How deified. The World of Nature, to every man a Fantasy of Himself. (19).—Odin the inventor of Runes, of Letters and Poetry. His reception as a Hero: The pattern 213

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Norse-Man; a God: His shadow over the whole History of his People. (24).—The essence of Norse Paganism, not so much Morality, as a sincere recognition of Nature: Sincerity better than Gracefulness. The Allegories, the after-creations of the Faith. Main practical Belief: Hall of Odin: Valkyrs: Destiny: Necessity of Valour. Its worth: Their SeaKings, Wood-cutter Kings, our spiritual Progenitors. The growth of Odinism. (27).—The strong simplicity of Norse lore quite unrecognised by Gray. Thor's veritable Norse rage: Balder, the white Sungod. How the old Norse heart loves the Thunder-god, and sports with him: Huge Brobdignag genius, needing only to be tamed-down, into Shakspeares, Goethes. Truth in the Norse Songs: This world a show. Thor's Invasion of Jotunheim. The Ragnarok, or Twilight of the Gods: The Old must die that the New and Better may be born. Thor's last appearance. The Norse Creed a Consecration of Valour. It and the whole Past a possession of the Present. (30).

LECTURE II. THE HERO AS PROPHET. MAHOMET: ISLAM.

THE HERO no longer regarded as a God, but as one God-inspired. All Heroes primarily of the same stuff; differing according to their reception. The welcome of its Heroes, the truest test of an epoch. Odin: Burns, (p. 37).—Mahomet a True Prophet; not a scheming Imposter. A Great Man, and therefore first of all a sincere man: No man to be judged merely by his faults. David the Hebrew King. Of all acts for man repentance the most divine: The deadliest sin, a supercilious consciousness of none. (38).—Arabia described. The Arabs always a gifted people; of wild strong feelings, and of iron restraint over these. Their Religiosity: Their Star-worship: Their Prophets and inspired men; from Job downwards. Their Holy Places. Mecca, its site, history and government. (41).—Mahomet. His youth: His fond Grandfather. Had no book-learning: Travels to the Syrian Fairs; and first comes in contact with the Christian Religion. An altogether solid, brotherly, genuine man: A good laugh, and a good flash of anger in him withal. (45).—Marries Kadijah. Begins his Prophetcareer at forty years of age. Allah Akbar; God is great: Islam; we must

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submit to God. Do we not all live in Islam? Mahomet, 'the Prophet of God.' (46).—The good Kadijah believes in him: Mahomet's gratitude. His slow progress: Among forty of his kindred, young Ali alone joined him. His good Uncle expostulates with him: Mahomet, bursting into tears, persists in his mission. The Hegira. Propagating by the sword: First get your sword: A thing will propagate itself as it can. Nature a just umpire. Mahomet's Creed unspeakably better than the wooden idolatries, and jangling Syrian Sects extirpated by it. (50).—The Koran, the universal standard of Mahometan life: An imperfectly, badly written, but genuine book: Enthusiastic extempore preaching, amid the hot haste of wrestling with flesh-and-blood and spiritual enemies. Its direct poetic insight. The World, Man, human Compassion; all wholly miraculous to Mahomet. (55).—His religion did not succeed by 'being easy:' None can. The sensual part of it not of Mahomet's making. He himself, frugal; patched his own clothes; proved a hero in a rough actual trial of twenty-three years. Traits of his generosity, and resignation. His total freedom from cant. (60).— His moral precepts not always of the superfinest sort; yet is there always a tendency to good in them. His Heaven and Hell sensual, yet not altogether so. Infinite Nature of Duty. The evil of sensuality, in the slavery to pleasant things, not in the enjoyment of them. Mahometanism, a religion heartily believed. To the Arab Nation it was as a birth from darkness into light: Arabia first became alive by means of it. (63).

LECTURE III. THE HERO AS POET. DANTE; SHAKSPEARE.

THE HERO as Divinity or Prophet, inconsistent with the modern progress of science: The Hero Poet, a figure common to all ages. All Heroes at bottom the same: The different sphere constituting the grand distinction: Examples. Varieties of aptitude, (p. 243).—Poet and Prophet meet in Vates: Their Gospel the same, for the Beautiful and the Good are one. All men somewhat of poets; and the highest Poets far from perfect. Prose, and Poetry or musical Thought. Song, a kind of inarticulate unfathomable speech: All deep things are Song.

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The Hero as Divinity, as Prophet, and then only as Poet, no indication that our estimate of the Great Man is diminishing: The Poet seems to be losing caste, but it is rather that our notions of God are rising higher. (69).—Shakspeare and Dante, Saints of Poetry. Dante: His history, in his Book and Portrait. His scholastic education, and its fruit of subtlety. His miseries: Love of Beatrice: His marriage not happy. A banished man: Will never return, if to plead guilty be the condition. His wanderings: "'Come e duro calle."" At the Court of Delia Scala. The great soul of Dante, homeless on earth, made its home more and more in Eternity. His mystic, unfathomable Song. Death: Buried at Ravenna. (73).—His Divina Commedia, a Song: Go deep enough, there is music everywhere. The sincerest of Poems: It has all been as if molten, in the hottest furnace of his soul. Its Intensity; and Pictorial power. The three parts make-up the true Unseen World of the Middle Ages: How the Christian Dante felt Good and Evil to be the two polar elements of this Creation. Paganism and Christianism. (77).—Ten silent centuries found a voice in Dante. The thing that is uttered from the inmost parts of a man's soul, differs altogether from what is uttered by the outer. The 'uses' of Dante: We will not estimate the Sun, by the quantity of gas it saves us. Mahomet and Dante contrasted. Let a man do his work; the fruitof it is the care of Another than he. (83).—As Dante embodies musically the Inner Life of the Middle Ages, so does Shakspeare embody the Outer Life which grew therefrom. The strange outbudding of English Existence which we call 'Elizabethan Era.' Shakspeare the chief of all Poets: His calm, all-seeing Intellect: His marvellous Portrait-painting. (86).—The Poet's first gift, as it is all men's, that he have intellect enough,—that he be able to see. Intellect the summary of all human gifts: Human intellect and vulpine intellect contrasted. Shakspeare's instinctive unconscious greatness: His works a part of Nature, and partaking of her inexhaustible depth. Shakspeare greater than Dante; in that he not only sorrowed, but triumphed over his sorrows. His mirthfulness, and genuine overflowing love of laughter. His Historical Plays, a kind of National Epic. The Battle of Agincourt: A noble Patriotism, far other than the 'indifference' sometimes ascribed to him. His works, like so many windows, through which we see glimpses of the world that is in him. (89).—Dante the melodious Priest of Middle Age Catholicism: Out of this Shakspeare too there rises a

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kind of Universal Psalm, not unfit to make itself heard among still more sacred Psalms. Shakspeare an 'unconscious Prophet;' and therein greater and truer than Mahomet. This poor Warwickshire Peasant, worth more to us than a whole regiment of highest Dignitaries: Indian Empire, or Shakspeare,—which? An English King, whom no time or chance can dethrone: A rallying-sign and bond of brotherhood for all Saxondom: Wheresoever English men and women are, they will say to one another, 'Yes, this Shakspeare is ours!'' (94).

LECTURE IV. THE HERO AS PRIEST. LUTHER; REFORMATION: KNOX; PURITANISM.

THE PRIEST, a kind of Prophet; but more familiar, as the daily enlightener of daily life. A true Reformer, he who appeals to Heaven's invisible justice against Earth's visible force. The finished Poet often a symptom that his epoch itself has reached perfection, and finished. Alas, the battling Reformer, too, is at times a needful and inevitable phenomenon: Offences do accumulate, till they become insupportable. Forms of Belief, modes of life must perish; yet the good of the Past survives, an everlasting possession for us all. (p. 99).—Idols, or visible recognised Symbols, common to all Religions: Hateful only when insincere: The property of every Hero, that he come back to sincerity, to reality: Protestantism, and 'private judgment.' No living communion possible among men who believe only in hearsays. The Hero-Teacher, who delivers men out of darkness into light. Not abolition of Hero-worship, does Protestantism mean; but rather a whole World of Heroes, of sincere, believing men. (103).—Luther; his obscure, seemingly-insignificant birth. His youth schooled in adversity and stern reality. Becomes a Monk. His religious despair: Discovers a Latin Bible: No wonder he should venerate the Bible. He visits Rome. Meets the Pope's fire by fire. At the Diet of Worms: The greatest moment in the modern History of men. (109).—The Wars that followed, are not to be charged to the Reformation. The Old Religion, once true: The cry of'No Popery,' foolish enough in these days. Protestantism not dead: German Literature and the French Revolution, rather considerable signs of life! (116).—How Luther

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held the sovereignty of the Reformation and kept Peace while he lived. His written Works: Their rugged homely strength: His dialect became the language of all writing. No mortal heart to be called braver, ever lived in that Teutonic Kindred, whose character is valour: Yet a most gentle heart withal, full of pity and love, as the truly valiant heart ever is: Traits of character from his Table-Talk: His daughter's Death-bed: The miraculous in Nature. His love of Music. His Portrait. (118).—Puritanism, the only phasis of Protestantism that ripened into a living faith: Defective enough, but genuine. Its fruit in the world. The sailing of the Mayflower from Delft Haven, the beginning of American Saxondom. In the history of Scotland, properly but one epoch of world-interest,—the Reformation by Knox: A 'nation of heroes;' a believing nation. The Puritanism of Scotland became that of England, of New England. (122).—Knox, 'guilty' of being the bravest of all Scotchmen: Did not seek the post of Prophet. At the siege of St. Andrew's Castle. Emphatically a sincere man. A Galley-slave on the River Loire. An Old-Hebrew Prophet, in the guise of an Edinburgh Minister of the Sixteenth Century. (125).— Knox and Queen Mary: 'Who are you, that presume to school the nobles and sovereign of this realm?'—'Madam, a subject born within the same.' His intolerance,—of falsehoods and knaveries. Not a mean acrid man; else he had never been virtual President and Sovereign of Scotland. His unexpected vein of drollery: A cheery social man; practical, cautious-hopeful, patient. His 'devout imagination' of a Theocracy, or Government of God. Hildebrand wished a Theocracy; Cromwell wished it, fought for it: Mahomet attained it. In one form or other, it is the one thing to be struggled for. (127).

LECTURE V. THE HERO AS MAN OF LETTERS. JOHNSON, ROUSSEAU, BURNS.

THE HERO as Man of Letters, altogether a product of these new ages: A Heroic Soul in very strange guise. Literary Men; genuine and spurious. Fichte's 'Divine Idea of the World:' His notion of the True Man of Letters. Goethe, the Pattern Literary Hero. (p. 133).—The disorganised condition of Literature, the summary of all other modern

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disorganisations. The Writer of a true Book, our true modern Preacher. Miraculous influence of Books: The Hebrew Bible. Books are now our actual University, our Church, our Parliament. With Books, Democracy is inevitable. Thought the true thaumaturgic influence, by which man works all things whatsoever. (137).—Organisation of the 'Literary Guild:' Needful discipline; 'priceless lessons' of Poverty. The Literary Priesthood, and its importance to society. Chinese Literary Governors. Fallen into strange times; and strange things need to be speculated upon. (142).—An age of Scepticism: The very possibility of Heroism formally abnegated. Benthamism, an eyeless Heroism. Scepticism, Spiritual Paralysis, Insincerity: Heroes gone-out; Quacks come-in. Our brave Chatham himself lived the strangest mimetic life, all along. Violent remedial revulsions: Chartisms, French Revolutions: The Age of Scepticism, passing away. Let each Man look to the mending of his own Life. (146).—Johnson, one of our Great English Souls. His miserable Youth and Hypochondria: Stubborn Self-help. His loyal submission to what is really higher than himself. How he stood by the old Formulas: Not less original for that. Formulas; their Use and Abuse. Johnson's unconscious sincer-ity. His Twofold Gospel, a kind of Moral Prudence and clear Hatred of Cant. His writings, sincere and full of substance. Architectural nobleness of his Dictionary. Boswell, with all his faults, a true hero-worshiper of a true Hero. (152).— Rousseau, a morbid, excitable, spasmodic man; intense rather than strong. Had not the invaluable 'talent of Silence.' His Face, expressive of his character. His Egoism: Hungry for the praises of men. His books: Passionate appeals, which did once more struggle towards Reality: A Prophet to his Time; as he could, and as the Time could. Rosepink, and artificial bedizenment. Fretted, exasperated, till the heart of him went mad: He could be cooped, starving, into garrets; laughed at as a maniac; but he could not be hindered from setting the world on fire. (158).—Burns, a genuine Hero, in a withered, unbelieving, secondhand Century. The largest soul of all the British lands, came among us in the shape of a hard-handed Scottish Peasant. His heroic Father and Mother, and their sore struggle through life. His rough, untutored dialect: Affectionate joyousness: His writings, a poor fragment of him. His conversational gifts: High duchesses and low ostlers alike fascinated by him. (161).—Resemblance between Burns and Mirabeau. Official Superiors: The greatest 'thinking-faculty'

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in this land superciliously dispensed with. Hero-worship under strange conditions. The notablest phasis of Burns's history, his visit to Edinburgh. For one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will stand adversity. Literary Lionism. (164).

LECTURE VI. THE HERO AS KING. CROMWELL, NAPOLEON: MODERN REVOLUTIONISM.

THE KING, the most important of Great Men; the summary of all the various figures of Heroism. To enthrone the Ablest Man, the true business of all Social procedure: The Ideal of Constitutions. Tolerable and intolerable approximations. Divine Rights and Diabolic Wrongs, (p. 169).—The world's sad predicament; that of having its Able-Man to seek, and not knowing in what manner to proceed about it. The era of Modern Revolutionism dates from Luther. The French Revolution, no mere act of General Insanity: Truth clad in hell-fire; the Trump of Doom to Plausibilities and empty Routine. The cry of 'Liberty and Equality' at bottom the repudiation of sham Heroes. Hero-worship exists forever and everywhere; from divine adoration down to the common courtesies of man and man: The soul of Order, to which all things, Revolutions included, work. Some Cromwell or Napoleon, the necessary finish of a Sansculottism. The manner in which Kings were made, and Kingship itself first took rise. (172).— Puritanism, a section of the universal war of Belief against Makebelieve. Laud, a weak ill-starred Pedant; in his spasmodic vehemence, heeding no voice of prudence, no cry of pity. Universal necessity for true Forms: How to distinguish between True and False. The nakedest reality, preferable to any empty semblance, however dignified. (176).—The work of the Puritans. The Sceptical Eighteenth Century, and its constitutional estimate of Cromwell and his associates. No wish to disparage such characters as Hampden, Eliot, Pym; a most constitutional, unblamable, dignified set of men. The rugged outcast Cromwell, the man of them all in whom one still finds human stuff. The One thing worth revolting for. (178).—Cromwell's 'hypocrisy,' an impossible theory. His pious Life as a Farmer until forty years of age. His public successes, honest successes of a brave man. His par-

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ticipation in the King's death, no ground of condemnation. His eye for facts, no hypocrite's gift. His Ironsides, the embodiment of this insight of his. (181).—Know the men that may be trusted: Alas, this is yet, in these days, very far from us. Cromwell's hypochondria: His reputed confusion of speech: His habit of prayer. His Speeches unpremeditated and full of meaning. His reticences; called 'lying' and 'dissimulation:' Not one falsehood proved against him. (185).—Foolish charge of'ambition.' The great Empire of Silence: Noble silent men, scattered here and there, each in his department; silently thinking, silently hoping, silently working. Two kinds of ambition; one wholly blamable, the other laudable, inevitable: How it actually was with Cromwell. (190).—Hume's Fanatic-Hypocrite Theory: How indispensable everywhere a King is, in all movements of men. Cromwell, as King of Puritanism, of England. Constitutional palaver: Dismissal of the Rump Parliament. Cromwell's Parliaments, and Protectorship: Parliaments having failed, there remained nothing for him but the way of Despotism. His closing days: His poor old Mother. It was not to men's judgments that he appealed; nor have men judged him very well. (195).—The French Revolution, the 'third act' of Protestantism. Napoleon, infected with the Quackeries of his age: Had a kind of Sincerity,—an instinct towards the practical. His faith,—'the Tools to him that can handle them,'—the whole truth of Democracy. His heart-hatred of Anarchy. Finally, his quackeries got the upper hand: He would found a 'Dynasty:' Believed wholly in the dupeability of Men. This Napoleonism was unjust, a falsehood; and could not last. (203).

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1858 INDEX.

AGINCOURT, Shakspeare's battle of, 93. Ali, young, Mahomet's kinsman and convert, 50. Allegory, the sportful shadow of earnest Faith, 6, 28. Ambition, foolish charge of, 191; laudable ambition, 193. Arabia and the Arabs, 41. Balder, the white Sungod, 17, 31. Belief, the true god-announcing miracle, 50, 66, 124, 149; war of, 176. See Religion, Scepticism. Benthamism, 65, 148. Books, miraculous influence of, 138, 142; our modern University, Church and Parliament, 140. Boswell, 157. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 7. Burns, 161; his birth, and humble heroic parents, 161; rustic dialect, 162; the most gifted British soul of his century, 163; resemblance to Mirabeau, 164; his sincerity, 165; his visit to Edinburgh; Lionhunted to death, 166. Caabah, the, with its Black Stone and sacred Well, 43. Canopus, worship of, 10. Charles I., fatally incapable of being dealt with, 184. China, literary governors of, 145.

Church. See Books. Cromwell, 179; his hypochondria, 182, 187; early marriage and conversion; a quiet farmer, 183; his Ironsides, 185; his Speeches, 188, 201; his 'ambition,' and the like, 190; dismisses the Rump Parliament, 197; Protectorship, and Parliamentary Futilities, 199; his last days, and closing sorrows, 202. Dante, 73; biography in his Book and Portrait, 73; his birth, education and early career, 74; love for Beatrice; unhappy marriage; banishment, 75; uncourtier-like ways, 76; death, 77; his Divina Commedia genuinely a song, 78; the Unseen World, as figured in the Christianity of the Middle Ages, 82;'uses'of Dante, 85. David, the Hebrew King, 41. Divine Right of Kings, 171. Duty, 27, 55; infinite nature of, 65, 83; sceptical spiritual paralysis, 147. Edda, the Scandinavian, 16. Eighteenth Century, the sceptical, 147-152, 179. Elizabethan Era, 86.

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Faults, his, not the criterion of any man, 41. Fichte's theory of literary men, 135. Fire, miraculous nature of, 16. Forms, necessity for, 177. Frost. See Fire. Goethe's 'characters,' 89; notablest of Literary Men, 136. Graphic, secret of being, 79. Gray's misconception of Norse lore, 30. Hampden, 178. Heroes, Universal-History the united biographies of, 3, 26; how 'little critics' account for great men, 12; all Heroes fundamentally of the same stuff, 25, 37, 67, 99, 133, 164; Heroism possible to all, 109, 124, 151; Intellect the primary oufit, 90; no man a hero to a valet-soul, 157, 179, 186. Hero-worship the tap-root of all Religion, 11-15, 37; perennial in man, 13,72,108,175. Hutchinson and Cromwell, 179, 202. Iceland, the home of Norse Poets, 15. Idolatry, 103; criminal only when insincere, 105. Igdrasil, the Life-Tree, 19, 87. Intellect, the summary of man's gifts, 90, 146. Islam, 49. Job, the Book of, 43. Johnson's difficulties, poverty, hypochondria, 153; rude self-help; stands genuinely by the old formulas, 154; his noble unconscious sincerity, 155; twofold Gospel, of Prudence and hatred of Cant, 156; his Dictionary, 157; the brave old Samuel, 193. Jotuns, 16, 32.

Kadijah, the good, Mahomet's first Wife, 46, 50. King, the, a summary of all the various figures of Heroism, 169; indispensable in all movements of men, 196. Knox's influence on Scotland, 123; the bravest of Scotchmen, 125; his unassuming career; sent to the French Galleys, 126; his colloquies with Queen Mary, 127; vein of drollery; a brother to high and to low; his death, 129. Koran, the, 56. Lamaism, Grand, 6. Leo X. the elegant Pagan Pope, 113. Liberty and Equality, 109, 174. Literary Men, 133; in China, 145. Literature, chaotic condition of, 137; not our heaviest evil, 146. Luther's birth and parentage, 109; hardship and rigorous Necessity; death of Alexis; becomes monk, 110; his religious despair; finds a Bible; deliverance from darkness, 111; Rome; Tetzel, 112; burns the Pope's Bull, 114; at the Diet of Worms, 115; King of the Reformation, 118; 'Duke Georges nine days running,' 120; his little daughter's deathbed; his solitary Patmos, 120; his Portrait, 121. Mahomet's birth, boyhood, and youth, 45; marries Kadijah, 46; quiet, unambitious life, 47; divine commission, 48; the good Kadijah believes him; Seid; young Ali, 50; offences, and sore struggles, 51; flight from Mecca; being driven to take the sword, he uses it, 52; the Koran, 56; a veritable Hero, 61; Seid's death, 62; freedom from Cant, 62; Infinite nature of Duty, 65. Mary, Queen, and Knox, 127. Mayflower, sailing of the, 123. Mecca, 44.

1858 INDEX

Middle Ages, represented by Dante and Shakspeare, 83, 84, 86. Montrose, the Hero-Cavalier, 196. Musical, all deep things, 71. Napoleon, a portentous mixture of Quack and Hero, 203; his instinct for the practical, 204; his democratic faith, and heart-hatred for anarchy, 205; apostatised from his old faith in Facts, and took to believing in Semblances, 206; this Napoleonism was unjust, and could not last, 207. Nature, all one great Miracle, 8, 59, 121; a righteous Umpire, 53. Novalis, on Man, 11; Belief, 50, SO1; Shakspeare, 91. Odin, the first Norse 'man of genius,' 19; historic rumours and guesses, 21; how he came to be deified, 22; invented 'runes,' 24; Hero, Prophet, God, 25. Olaf, King, and Thor, 35. Original, the, man, the sincere man, 40, 108. Paganism, Scandinavian, 5; not mere Allegory, 6; Nature-worship, 8, 27; Hero-worship, 11; creed of our fathers, 15, 32, 34; Impersonation of the visible workings of Nature, 16; contrasted with Greek Paganism, 18; the first Norse Thinker, 19; main practical Belief; indispensable to be brave, 28; hearty, homely, rugged Mythology; Balder, Thor, 30; Consecration of Valour, 36.

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Parliaments, superseded by Books, 141; Cromwell's Parliaments, 197. Past, the whole, the possession of the Present, 36. Poet, the, and Prophet, 69, 85, 94. Poetry and Prose, distinction of, 71, 77. Popery, 117. Poverty, advantages of, HO.2 Priest, the true, a kind of Prophet, 99. Printing, consequences of, 141. Private judgment, 106. Progress of the Species, 101. Prose. See Poetry. Protestantism, the root of Modern European History, 106; not dead yet, 117; its living fruit, 122, 172. Purgatory, noble Catholic conception of, 81. Puritanism founded by Knox, 122; true beginning of America, 123; the one epoch of Scotland, 123; Theocracy, 130; Puritanism in England, 176, 178, 194. Quackery originates nothing, 6, 38; age of, 150; Quacks and Dupes, 186. Ragnarok, 34. Reformer, the true, 100. Religion, a man's, the chief fact with regard to him, 4; based on Heroworship, 11; propagating by the sword, 53; cannot succeed by being 'easy,' 60. Revolution, 170; the French, 172, 203. Richter, 10. Right and Wrong, 65, 83.

[Reference is made to two different quotes from Novalis on belief that occurred on consecutive pages in the 1858 edition.] 2 [Conjectural. All three lifetime editions that include this index refer at this point to approximately page 87 in this edition, which seems to be an error. In the earliest version of the index in the 1858 edition, the reference is to page "261." An emendation to "281" gives the present reference.]

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Rousseau, not a strong man; his Portrait; egoism, 158; his passionate appeals, 160; his Books, like himself, unhealthy; the Evangelist of the French Revolution, 160. Scepticism, a spiritual paralysis, 147152, 179. Scotland, awakened into life by Knox, 123. Secret, the Open, 69. Seid, Mahomet's slave and friend, 50, 62. Shakspeare and the Elizabethan Era, 86; his all-sufficing intellect, 88, 90; his Characters, 89; his Dramas, a part of Nature herself, 91; his joyful tranquillity, and overflowing love of laughter, 92; his hearty Patriotism, 93; glimpses of the world that was in him, 94; a heaven-sent Light-Bringer, 95; a King of Saxendom, 96. Shekinah, Man the true, 10. Silence, the great empire of, 86, 192. Sincerity, better than gracefulness, 27; the first characteristic of

heroism and originality, 39, 47, 108, 109, 134. Theocracy, a, striven for by all true Reformers, 130,194. Thor, and his adventures, 17, 31, 32; his last appearance, 35. Thought, miraculous influence of, 20, 26,142; musical Thought, 71. Thunder. See Thor. Time, the great mystery of, 9. Tolerance, true and false, 118, 128. Turenne, 68. Universities, 139. Valour, the basis of all virtue, 28, 31; Norse Consecration of, 36; Christian Valour, 102. Voltaire-worship, 13. Wish, the Norse god, 17; enlarged into a heaven by Mahomet, 65. Worms, Luther at, 115. Worship, transcendent wonder, 10. See Hero-worship. Zemzem, the sacred Well, 43.

NOTES

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(Complete citations for all works referred to by page number will be found in the list of works cited, beginning on page 393.) NOTES TO LECTURE I. THE HERO AS DIVINITY. Sources: Early in 1840, about a month before the precise subject matter of the lectures was fixed in his mind, Carlyle was "reading Scandinavian things" (Letters 12:32n). His interest had been excited by reading Fripjof's Saga, in the 1825 retelling by the Swedish poet Esaias Tegner (1782-1846) of the fourteenth-century saga of the same title (Letters 12:32n). Reading it in George Stephens's translation, Fritbiof's Saga, a Legend of the North (1839)—"'translated,' it is said, 'from Ejorner's Kdmpa Dater'''" (Letters 12:33n)—Carlyle expressed some skepticism about Tegner's "modern aqueous" and sentimental version of the original "right old block of Swedish iron" (Letters 12:28). The saga made such an impression on Carlyle that he wrote a summary of it two years later (K. J. Fielding, "Carlyle and Esaias Tegner: An Unpublished MS"). "The old Saga of Frithiof" gave Carlyle "a great appetite" for more such material (Letters 12:28). His fascination for these Norse sagas and his desire to try them in the original are attested to by his having "some thoughts of learning Danish" (Letters 12:35n), as he had wanted to learn Arabic for the sake of the Qur'an and did study Italian for his reading of Dante. On February 4, 1840, he wrote to Richard Monckton Milnes to ask his friend John Kemble to recommend a Danish grammar in English, French, or German. He also wanted to know from Kemble, who had studied philology with Jacob Grimm, whether Peter Erasmus Miiller's Sagabibliothek med Anmarkninger og indledende Afkandlinger (1817-20) was available in German (Letters 12:28). (Carlyle persisted in this linguistic interest, later acquiring a copy of A Grammar of the Icelandic or Old Norse Tongue, translated from the Swedish of Erasmus Rask by George Webbe Dasent [London, 1843]. This work is bound together with Rask's Danish Grammar for Englishmen [1847]. Carlyle's copy is in the Strouse Collection.) In his journal, he notes borrowing the Heims Kringla, eller Snorre Sturlusons, edited by J. Peringskiold (1697) from Hensleigh Wedgwood (Letters 12:32n). In these readings Carlyle found nothing that interested him "more than old Snorro" (Letters 12:34n). Later in February, Carlyle was still "puddling in the Norse matters" (Letters 12:49). He read with enjoyment Paul Henri Mallet's L'introduction a I'histoire de Dannemarc, ou I'on traite de la religion,

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des loix, des moeurs, et des usages des anciens Danois (1755-56). Other "Scandinavian things" Carlyle looked at included Ebenezer Henderson's Iceland; or the Journal of a Residence in that Island, during the years 1814 and 1815 (1818); Sir George Steuart Mackenzie's Travels in the Island of Iceland (1811); G. Gordon MacDougall's translation of Captain W. A. Graah's Narrative of an Expedition to the East Coast of Greenland (1837); "Lindl's Faroe Isles," presumably meaning the Rev. J0rgen Jcrgensen Landt's A Description of the Feroe Islands, Containing an Account of Their Situation, Climate, and Productions (1810); Dr. John Jamieson's Hermes Scythicus; or, the Radical Affinities of the Greek and Latin Languages to the Gothic (1814); the Rev. James Johnstone's translation of The Norwegian Account of Haco's Expedition against Scotland A.D. 1263 (1782) and his volume Antiquitates Celto-Normanicae (1786) (Letters 12:32-33n). Many of these works on Norse matters were read by Carlyle before he had fixed upon the topic of his lecture series. 3.5. Hero-worship: The subject of heroes and hero-worship took shape gradually in Carlyle's mind from 1824, and there are numerous anticipations of the concept in his essays; for example, "Sir Walter Scott" ([1838], Essays 4:24): "Understand it well, this of'hero-worship' was the primary creed, . . . and will be the ultimate and final creed of mankind." He considered hero-worship the basis of society and "a chief aim of Education" ("Goethe's Works" [1832], Essays 2:395). It was not only a property of past heroic ages but a perennial power in the human heart that "waits, even in these dead days, only for occasions to unfold it, and inspire all men with it, and again make the world alive!" ("Boswell's Life of Johnson" [1832], Essays 3:74). Carlyle's thinking on the subject was influenced specifically by Fichte's liber das Wesen des Gelehrten (1806), Goethe's Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1796, translated by Carlyle in 1824), and D. Heynig's Theorie der Sammtlicben Religionsarten (1799), and more generally by various works of the English Romantics. The term itself he may have derived from David Hume's The Natural History of Religion (1757), which considers hero-worship to be a form of polytheism arising from a tendency to "deify mortals" of superior ability (40). Despite antecedent treatments, literary interest in hero-worship was essentially a nineteenth-century phenomenon. See Lehman, Carlyle's Theory of the Hero, 130-70.

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3.9-11. Universal History ... is ... the History of the Great Men who have worked here: This and the later statement in On Heroes, "The History of the world is but the Biography of great men" (26.2425 below), are frequently quoted and often misrepresented as Carlyle's exclusive view of the subject. See, however, his view of history as "the essence of innumerable Biographies" ("Biography" [1832], Essays 3:46), and compare as a possible source the opening paragraph of Henry Fielding's Jonathan Wild: "The Lives of [great and eminent Men] may be justly and properly styled the Quintessence of History." 3.22-23. The light which enlightens: An echo of John 1:9: "'That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world." 4.16. a man's religion is the chief fact: A point made in a letter to Emerson on May 13, 1835: "Man lives by Belief" (Letters 8:121). 4.17-18. By religion I do not mean here the church-creed which he professes: The association of religion not with ritual, liturgy, or creed but with practicality echoes Sartor, 3.2.170-73, and anticipates Past and Present, 3.11.196, and "Hudson's Statue," Pamphlets, 7.25560. William Allingham reports Carlyle as saying, "I have for many years strictly avoided going to church, or having anything to do with Mumbo-Jumbo" (Diary, 217). But compare apRoberts, Ancient Dialect, 1-7, 73-86. 5.14-15. Odin the central figure of Scandinavian Paganism: Odin was the principal deity of both Scandinavian and Teutonic paganism. Odin and twelve other Aesir were chief deities, but Odin's supremacy is considered by Jacob Grimm to show a tendency toward monotheism (Teutonic Mythology 1:164). In Old German he was known as Wuotan, in Anglo-Saxon, Woden. Carlyle follows an anglicized spelling of the Norse Odinn. The name signifies "fury" or "frenzy." Among the ancient Germans Odin was also identified with the Roman Mercurius, with whom he shared the office of captain of the dead. 5.25-26. stocks and stones: Possibly recalling Milton's "On the Late Massacre in Piedmont" (line 4): "When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones." According to the Concise Scots Dictionary (672), stock is a "block of wood, log; a tree-stump." Compare Deuteronomy 29:17: "And ye have seen their abominations, and their idols, wood and stone."

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5.35-36. Some speculators have a short way of accounting for the Pagan religion: In defending paganism against the charge of quackery, Carlyle is reverting to a position he took in defense of Greek polytheism in his 1838 lecture series on the history of literature (History of Literature, 12; see the note on Sources for "The Hero as Poet," p. 279 below). Among the speculators he probably had in mind is David Hume, particularly in The Natural History of Religion (1757).

5.38. It will be often our duty: See Introduction, pp. xli-xlvi. 6.19. Mr. Turner's Account: An Account of an Embassy to the Court of the Teshoo Lama, in Tibet; Containing a Narrative of a Journey Through Bootan, and Part of Tibet (1800), by Captain Samuel Turner. The expedition was launched in 1783 on behalf of the East India Company on the recommendation of Turner's cousin, Warren Hastings. Turner arrived to "joyful tidings of the Lama's re-appearance in the world," an infant lama having been discovered in the valley of Painom; he was assured that "the present and the late Teshoo Lama, were one and the same" (238). Turner's book contains only sparse details of Tibetan religion (in part 2, chapter 4). In the first edition of On Heroes, Carlyle referred not to Turner's Account but to Francis Buchanan Hamilton's An Account of the Kingdom of Nepal and of the territories annexed to this dominion by the House ofGorkha (1819); see textual apparatus. Presumably Carlyle's knowledge of Tibetan religious practices was derived from these published sources, though he may also have been aware of the expeditions by George Bogle and Alexander Hamilton in 1774 and Thomas Manning in 1811. 6.26-27. The Thibet Priests have methods: According to a twentiethcentury Dalai Lama, a dying lama would often designate the place and circumstances of his rebirth. Three or four years following the lama's death, the Tashi Lama and fifteen other high priests would indicate where the reincarnated lama was to be discovered. Their inquiries would produce several candidates whose miraculous births had occurred at the right place and time. At the age of four, the prospective lama was required to prove himself by recognizing religious items he had owned in his former existence and recounting events of his previous life. The boy would also exhibit physical signs that would distinguish him from ordinary mortals. See Bell, Tibet, 50-53.

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6.30. eldest-born of a certain genealogy: By 1866, however, Carlyle thought there was "a great deal more in genealogy than is generally believed at present. . . . It goes for a great deal, the hereditary principle,—in Government as in other things" ("Inaugural Address at Edinburgh" [1866], Essays 4:463-64). 6.37-38. Another theory . . . attributes such things to Allegory: In History of Literature (11-12), Carlyle had likewise rejected the allegorical theory as implausible, preferring euhemerism, the explanation of myths as traditional accounts of historical persons and events, which corresponds more closely to the doctrine of hero-worship. Hume, in section 5 of his Natural History of Religion, discusses the creation of fable and allegory among vulgar polytheists, and Mallet, one of Carlyle's chief sources, saw in Eddie tales a "spirit of allegory" (Northern Antiquities 1:91). 7.27. Pilgrim's Progress: The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to that Which is to Come (1678) by John Bunyan (1628-1688). 8.17. that fancy of Plato's: An imperfect recollection of Phaedo 109 and the allegory of the cave from Republic 7. Until the Fourth Edition (1852), all editions read "Aristotle's" here and at 8.26 below; see textual apparatus. On March 20, 1852, Joseph Neuberg, who was then preparing a German translation of On Heroes, wrote to Carlyle with a number of queries (see Note on the Text, pp. xcviii-xcix), among them: "'page 11. 'that fancy of Aristotle's,' about a man brought up in the dark.—I remember such a fancy of Plato's, I believe in the Republic; should Aristotle have had it too? and should not Plato's be considered the original?" Carlyle replied, on May 31, "p. 11. (Aristotle's fancy), I have very little doubt Plato is the word,—tho' Plato's 'fancy,' too, in his Republic, does not too well suit (if I remember now) what is there said of the Sun and the man. However, say 'Plato,' beyond doubt. I read the thing, forty years ago, in some poor Book or other, neither Aristotle nor Plato; and have ignorantly but now irremediably, twisted it to my own uses a little." The page references in his letter show that Neuberg was working from a copy of the 1841 first edition. 9.4. hearsays: One of Carlyle's leitmotivs. Aside from the conventional meaning, Carlyle applied the term pejoratively to connote abstraction, as in the "faint hearsays" of some histories, which he

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contrasted to the animated history he found in Scott's historical novels ("Sir Walter Scott" [1838], Essays 4:78). He also condemned "the common English mode of writing" which "has to do with what I call hearsays of things; and the great business for me . . . is recording the presence, bodily concrete coloured presence of things" (Letters 9:15; see also Letters 12:267). 9.6. grind the like of it out of glass and silk: Early experiments with electricity involved the rubbing of fur or silk against amber (Greek, elektron), sulfur, or glass to produce electrostatic charges. In 1768, for example, Jesse Ramsden, an English instrument maker, built an electrostatic generator consisting of a large glass disk, driven by a hand crank, that rubbed against leather pads covered with silk. 9.20-21. a Force which is not we: Carlyle's phrasing probably derives from the Icb and Nicht-Ich of Fichte, as recalled in "Novalis" ([1829], Essays 2:25). It is also an anticipation of Matthew Arnold's celebrated and sometimes criticized definition of God as "'The Eternal, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness" (God and the Bible, 156). 9.23-24. 'There is not a leaf rotting . . .': "The withered leaf is not dead and lost, there are Forces in and around it, though working in inverse order; else how could it rot'}'" (Sartor, 1.11.56). The idea is also found in Wilhelm Meister 1:2.1.106. 9.31. Leyden jars: Devices for storing electrical charges, invented at the University of Leyden in the eighteenth century and used in early experiments with electricity. Benjamin Franklin proved that atmospheric electricity was identical with the electrostatic charge on a Leyden jar. The young Carlyle published two long letters on Franklin's theory of electricity in the Dumfries and Galloway Courier in June 1815 (see Letters 1:59 and Tarr, Descriptive Bibliography, 415). 10.4. 'All was Godlike or God': A quotation from Jean Paul Richter's Life of Quintus Fixlein (1796), which Carlyle translated: "I look up to the starry sky . . . and all is godlike or God" (German Romance 2:331). See also "Jean Paul Friedrich Richter" (1827), Essays 1:24. 10.6. Canopus: Star in the southern constellation of Argo, second only to Sirius in brilliance. It served Arab travelers in the desert as a southern pole star.

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10.9. Ishmaelitish: Of the tribe of Ishmael, the son of Abraham and Hagar, who was cast out with his mother at Sarah's insistence (Genesis 17:20 and 21:9ff). Arabs claim descent from Ishmael. Beginning his career in London in 1834, Carlyle thought himself "fated to be an Ishmaelite, his hand against every man and every man's hand against him" (Froude, Life in London 1:11, echoing Genesis 16:12). 10.14. Sabeans: Inhabitants of the kingdom of Saba, in pre-Islamic Arabia, described by the historian Diodorus Siculus (3.46-47). The Sabeans are referred to in the Bible; for example, Job 1:15, Isaiah 45:14, and Joel 3:8. The kingdom of Saba, or Sheba, appears in Psalms 72:10, while the story of Solomon and the queen of Sheba is described in 1 Kings 10:1-13, 2 Chronicles 9:1-12, and Chapter 27 of the Qur'an, which closely follows the account given in the Aggadic Targum Sheni. The polytheistic religion of the Sabeans focused on a triad of deities: the Venus star, the moon god, and the sun goddess. The moon god, essentially a national deity whose cult unified the Sabean tribes, was worshipped under the name Ilmugah; the term "children of Ilmugah" was synonymous with "citizens of Saba." See George Sale's "Preliminary Discourse" to the Koran (15-17). 10.24-25. 'a window . . . into Infinitude itself: "All objects are as windows, through which the philosophic eye looks into Infinitude itself" (Sartor, 1.11.57). 10.33. St. Chrysostom's: Saint John Chrysostom (347?-407), the "golden-mouthed" preacher of the early Greek church. In "Count Cagliostro" ([1833], Essays 3:296), Carlyle dubbed the fraudulent adventurer "Pinchbeckostom, or Mouth-of-Pinchbeck," after Christopher Pinchbeck, the eighteenth-century inventor of a zinc-copper alloy resembling gold that was often used in cheap jewelry. 10.34. the Shekinah, or Ark of Testimony: The Shekinah was not the ark itself but the divine Presence around it. The term was often adopted in Rabbinic exegesis to designate the holy Presence in those biblical passages where it is described as a cloud or glory (Exodus 40:34), a presence or a face (Exodus 33:14). It is also a favored term in the Kabbalah (see Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, 11 Iff). The "Ark of Testimony" was the wooden chest into which Moses placed the tables of law (Exodus 25:10-16, 40:20; Numbers 7:89).

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10.35-36. "The true Shekinah is Man!": Echoing Sartor, 1.10.52: "Well said Saint Chrysostom, with his lips of gold, 'the true SHEKINAH is Man.'" Carlyle's allusion is not taken directly from Chrysostom but from Sterne's Tristram Shandy, 5.1.239: "MAN . . . the miracle of nature, as Zoroaster . . . called him the SHEKINAH of the divine presence, as Chrysostom the image of God, as Moses the ray of divinity, as Plato the marvel of marvels, as Aristotle . . . ," which is a playful adaptation of the opening paragraph of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy (1621). The source in Chrysostom may be: "Augustior quippe est homo magisque venerandus, quam Ecclesia. Non enim propter parietes mortuus est Christus, sed propter ista Spiriti Sancti templa" (Surely man is more venerable, greater, more to be reverenced than the Church. For not on account of walls did Christ die, but on account of those dwelling places of the Holy Spirit; Collected, Works 4:351). Though Chrysostom does not use the postbiblical Hebrew noun shekhinah, in rabbinic exegesis it was frequently adopted as a synonym for "the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit." 10.37. the mystery in us that calls itself "I": Possibly a recollection of "Jean Paul Friedrich Richter" ([1830], Essays 2:111): "Never shall I forget that inward occurrence . . . wherein I witnessed the birth of my Self-consciousness. . . . I was standing, a very young child, in the outer door, . . . when all at once the internal vision, 'I am a ME (ich bin ein Ich},'' came like a flash from heaven before me." Compare the final passage in Coleridge's Biqgrapbia Literaria: "It is Night, sacred Night! the upraised Eye views only the starry Heaven which manifests itself alone: and the outward Beholding is fixed on the sparks twinkling in the aweful depth, though Suns of other Worlds, only to preserve the Soul steady and collected in its pure Act of inward Adoration to the great I AM, and to the filial WORD that re-affirmeth it from Eternity to Eternity, whose choral Echo is the Universe" (Biographia Literaria 2:247-48). 11.2-6. 'There is but one temple in the Universe. . . . We touch Heaven when we lay our hand on a human body!': Novalis, Schriften 2:126: "Es giebt nur Einen Tempel in der Welt, und das ist der menschliche Korper. Nichts ist heiliger als diese hohe Gestalt. Das Biicken vor Menschen ist eine Huldigung dieser Offenbarung im Fleisch. Man beriihrt den Himmel, wenn man einen Menschenleib betastet." "'There is but one temple in the universe,' says Novalis, 'and that is the body of man'" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:87; see

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also "Novalis" [1829], Essays2:39). Novalis was adapting Paul, "Know ye not that ye are the temple of God" (1 Corinthians 3:16). Along with the debt to Novalis, Harrold sees the "reverence" passage in chapter 11 of Goethe's Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre as Carlyle's "unmistakeable source" here (Carlyle and German Thought, 193). 11.3. the devout Novalis: Baron Friedrich Leopold von Hardenberg (1772-1801), German poet who wrote under the pseudonym Novalis. He also wrote the influential novels Heinrich von Ofterdingen (1799) and Die Lehrlinge zu Sais (The Disciples at Sais; 1798-99). 11.4-5. Bending before . . . this Revelation in the Flesh: "Bending before men is a reverence done to this Revelation in the Flesh" ("Novalis" [1829], Essays 2:39). Carlyle also quotes the passage in "Goethe's Works" (1832), Essays2:390; Sartor, 3.6.190-91; and Past and Present, 2.16.124. 12.1. The greatest of all Heroes: Jesus. 12.13. Kon-ning, Kan-ning: This etymology of king, though popular with Carlyle (see, for example, French Revolution 1:1.2.9; Sartor, 3.7.198; and "The Hero as King" at 169.10-11 below), is now discredited. King is derived from the Anglo-Saxon cyning, meaning "tribe" or "people" as in kin, rather than the Anglo-Saxon cunnan, meaning "to know" as in ken. See, among others, Sweet's Anglo-Saxon Reader (314, 113); Bosworth's Compendious Anglo-Saxon Dictionary (64, 62); F. Holthausen, Altenglisches Etymologisches Worterbuch (67, 63); and Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm's Deutsches Worterbuch (1691). Though lacking sound philological basis, Carlyle's imaginative etymological speculations perfectly suit his rhetorical and ideological purposes in these lectures. 13.10. lightning out of Heaven: See also "The Hero as Prophet" at 66.27. Kathleen Tillotson points to this image in Arnold's "The Scholar-Gipsy" (lines 120 and 171) and also to echoes of Carlyle's first lecture in "Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse" and Balder Dead (Tillotson, "Matthew Arnold and Carlyle," 217, 234). 13.37. 'stifle him under roses': Describing Voltaire's triumphal reception in Paris in 1778, Carlyle finds a dramatic justice in the fact that Voltaire, "who had all his life hungered and thirsted after public

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favour, should at length die by excess of it; should find the door of his Heaven-on-earth unexpectedly thrown wide open, and enter there, only to be, as he himself said, 'smothered under roses'" ("Voltaire" [1829], EssayslA37; compare "Goethe's Works" [1832], Essays2:391). An engraving of the "Crowning of Voltaire" hung in the Carlyles' house at 24 Cheyne Row (Carlyle's House, Chelsea: Illustrated Catalogue, 24). The details of Voltaire's reception in Paris were mostly derived from the Memoires sur Voltaire et sur ses Ouvrages (1826), including accounts by Voltaire's secretaries Longchamp and Wagniere and by the Marquise du Chatelet, which Carlyle reviewed in 1829 for the foreign Review (Essays 1:396-468). These, especially the account by Longchamp, are now thought to be unreliable (see for instance Noyes, Voltaire, 350-54). Carlyle's treatment of Voltaire here should be compared not only with his 1829 essay but with his account in Frederick, which is less dependent on Longchamp. 14.2. Antichrist: Carlyle adds Voltaire to the more familiar roster of suggested Antichrists, which has included the Samaritan sorcerer Simon Magus (Acts 8:9-24); the Roman emperors Caligula, Nero, and Diocletian; Muhammad; and, during the Reformation, both Luther and the Pope. The term, which appears in the New Testament only in the Epistles of John, is used to designate the false Christs whose presence is to herald the ending of the world. 14.4. Persiflage: Light raillery or banter. Carlyle calls Voltaire "the greatest of all Persifleurs" ("Voltaire" [1829], Essays 1:436). See Henry Crabb Robinson's comments on Carlyle's "admirable article on Voltaire," which represented him in the character "of a persifleur" (Diary 2:284-85). 14.6. Ferney: The village on the French-Swiss border where Voltaire lived in near exile from 1759 until his triumphal return to Paris where he died. See note at 13.37 above. 14.9. delivering Calases: Galas was a Huguenot who in 1762 was tortured because of a false accusation that he had murdered his own son to stop him from turning Catholic. To escape further persecution the family fled to Geneva, where they were protected by Voltaire. In "Voltaire" ([1829], Essays 1:439), Carlyle describes how a woman in the street pointed to Voltaire, saying, ulC'est le sauveur des Galas'" Carlyle's source for this incident, which occurred in 1778, is Condorcet, Oeuvres 4:112.

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14.12. the realized ideal: Carlyle tided the second chapter of French Revolution "Realised Ideals." The chapter deals with the French political and social atmosphere between 1744 and 1774. 14.15-16. the Douanier at the Porte St. Denis: When stopped at the customs barrier in Paris, according to Carlyle's translation of Wagniere, Voltaire declared, "'I believe there is nothing contraband here except myself.'" One of the guards recognized Voltaire and, "all gazing with the greatest astonishment mingled with respect, begged M. de Voltaire to pass on whither he pleased" ("Voltaire" [1829], Essays 1:438). 14.17. tavern-waiters: At the Golden Cross tavern in Dijon, people of distinction dressed as waiters that they might serve Voltaire at supper ("Voltaire" [1829], Essays 1:438). 14.18. "Va ban train; thou art driving M. de Voltaire": "The Maitrede-poste ordered his postillion to yoke better horses, and said to him with a broad oath: lVa ban train, creve mes chevaux, je m'en f- ; tu menes M. de Voltaire!'''''' (Go like the wind. Don't spare the horses. I don't give a damn. You are driving M. Voltaire!; "Voltaire" [1829], Essays 1:438). 14.19-20. 'the nucleus of a comet, whose train fills whole streets': Voltaire's carriage "was as the nucleus of a comet, whose train extended over whole districts of the city" ("Voltaire" [1829], Essays 1:439). 14.20. The ladies pluck a hair or two from his fur: Carlyle translates Wagniere: "On his entering the playhouse, a crowd of more elegance, and seized with true enthusiasm for genius, surrounded him: the ladies, above all, threw themselves in his way, and stopped it, the better to look at him; some were seen squeezing forward to touch his clothes; some plucking hair from his fur" ("Voltaire" [1829], Essays 1:441). Compare Julius Caesar, 3.2.136: "beg a hair of him for memory." 14.24. the withered Pontiff of Encyclopedism: Referring to Voltaire, who was one of the contributors to the Encyclopedic of Diderot and D'Alembert, published 1751-77 (see note at 204.7-8 below). Withered suggests both Carlyle's response to the skeptical and rational spirit of the enterprise and Voltaire's appearance. Dr. John Moore, who visited Voltaire in 1776, described the philosopher as being like

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"a skeleton" (Noyes, Voltaire, 561). See "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 141.9 below and note. 15.28. snow-jokuls: Jokull is Icelandic for "glacier." 15.28. geysers: Geyser, or "boiling spring," is derived from the Icelandic geysa meaning "to rage." 15.29-30. chaotic battle-field of Frost and Fire: In the Old Norse creation myth, chaos was Ginnungagap, at the southern end of which was the abode of Fire (Mitspell) and at the northern end the land of frost (Niflheimr). 16.1. Saemund: Saemund Sigfusson (1056-1133), medieval priest, poet, and historian, to whom was sometimes ascribed the thirteenth-century collection of tales and songs known as the Elder or Poetic Edda. Brynjolf Sveinsson (1605-1675) discovered the codex containing the Poetic Edda in 1643, and, believing it to be a compilation of Saemund Sigfusson, titled it Edda S&mundi multiscii (Edda of Saemund the Learned). Carlyle follows Mallet in regarding Saemund as the compiler of these poems (Northern Antiquities 2:151). Modern scholars tend to the view of Lee Hollander (The Poetic Edda, xii): "The connection of Satmundr with the Poetic Edda has no documentary evidence whatever. Moreover, it is inherently improbable." 16.5. Elder or Poetic Edda: The Elder Edda is distinguished from the Prose Edda, attributed to Snorri Sturluson. Carlyle notes that some philologists have derived the word from Oddi in southwest Iceland, "where Saemund Sigfusson (elder Edda) had his abode" (Letters 12:33n), a suggestion adopted by Eirik Magnusson (see Hollander, Poetic Edda, xiii). Still others have derived it from Old Norse obr meaning "poem." Edda may also be translated as "poetics." See Young, Prose Edda, 8; Hollander, Poetic Edda, xiii. 16.6. Snorro Sturleson: Snorri Sturluson (1179-1241), Icelandic historian generally regarded as the author of the Prose Edda (1220?) and the Heimskrinjjla (1223-35?). The Prose Edda is an "Ars Poetica" containing rules for verse making and poetic diction, and it includes a summary of the Scandinavian myths. Carlyle read the Heimskrinjjla, a history of the kings of Norway, in the edition of G. Olafsson, revised by J. Peringskiold, Heims Kringla, eller Snorre

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Sturlusons(l697), which he had borrowed from Hensleigh Wedgwood (Letters 12:32n). Carlyle said it is "built out of these old Sagas; and has in it a great deal of poetic fire, . . . and, in a word, deserves, were it once well-edited, . . . to be reckoned among the great historybooks of the world" ("Early Kings of Norway" [1875], Essays 5:201). 16.14. Sagas: From the Old Norse for "saw" or "saying." Prose narratives of medieval Iceland and Scandinavia. In his journal of January 21, 1840, Carlyle wrote: "Reading Scandinavian things; set on by Frithiof's Saga" (Letters 12:32n). 16.25-26. '•Jotuns^ Giants: According to Jacob Grimm in Teutonic Mythology (2:519), the "oldest and most comprehensive" term for "giant" in Norse is not j'otunn but iotunn, which is cognate with the Anglo-Saxon eoten and the Old English etin, and he conjectures that it may be derived from the Norse verb eta, to eat, and might therefore be rendered by "'noX\>§ayoq, devourer." Swinburne recalled this passage when he wrote to William Bell Scott, March 1, 1881, on learning of Carlyle's death: "Let us hope he is and will remain happier and more contented among 'the Fire-Jotuns'" (Swinburne Letters4:201). 16.30. Asgard: The abode of the gods or ^sir, an enormous enclosure connected to the human world by the bridge Bifrost. Gar, gard, and its cognates in Indo-European languages usually signify an enclosure, as in Old Norse Mifrgard, Utgard, and Asgard, hence the English verb gird. The further relationship to the English garden is implied by Carlyle's "Garden of the Asen." Asgard was not eternal but doomed to ruin with the destruction of the gods. See the note on Ragnarok at 34.31 below. 16.37. Loke: According to Snorri Sturluson, one of the sons of the giant Farbauti and a giantess, Luafey. In Scandinavian mythology, Lolci is evil and fickle, the counterpart of the devil in Christianity. Jacob Grimm records the view of Rask that Loki is "akin to Finn. lokki, wolf; some may think it an abbrev. of Lucifer!" (Teutonic Mythology 4:1362). The name has also been linked to logi ("flame"), and loka ("to shut"), which is the root of the English lock. 16.38. Ladrones Islands: Magellan's discovery of the Ladrones or Mariana Islands in 1521 was described by his companion Antonio Pigafetta in Le voyage et navigation aux isles de Mollucque (1525). In

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that account Pigafetta makes no mention of fire being unknown to the islanders. In fact, this suggestion was first made 180 years later by the Jesuit Father Le Gobien, in his Histoire des Isles Marianes (1700), who claimed that the islanders had "never seen fire" and at first regarded it "as a kind of animal which attached itself to the wood on which it fed" (cited by Tylor, see below). This latter detail may derive from a similar claim made regarding the Egyptians by Herodotus (3.16). The whole matter is described by Tylor, Researches into the Early History of Mankind, 246-47. 17.6. Thrym, Hrym; or Rime: The "Lay of Thrym" (Prymskvida) in the Elder Edda describes how the giant Thrym was slain by Thor in Jotunheim for stealing the god's hammer. The Icelandic for "rime" or "hoarfrost" is brim, not thrym. 17.11-12. the Giant Hymir: The Norse poem Hymiskvida relates how Thor fished for the Mi6gar6 snake and encountered and slew the sea giant Hymir. That Hymir "'looks at the rocks'" and splits them is presumably an imprecise rendering of section 1, stanza 12 of Hymiskvida. See Edda: Die Lieder des Codex regius 1:90. 17.15. Thor: Thor (Par) was the second most important god in the Scandinavian pantheon, after Odin. Thor, with his hammer Mjollnir, is the thunder god; he is also associated with agriculture. "The Edda calls him expressly the most valiant of the sons of Odin" and the "defender and avenger of the gods" (Mallet, Northern Antiquities 1:81-82). Carlyle frequently linked Thor and Robert Burns: "Burns, remarkable modern Thor, a Peasant god of these sunk ages" (Frederick 1:395); "This new Norse Thor had to put-up with what was going; to gauge ale, and be thankful" (Pamphlets, 3.119). See "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 163.3 below and note. 17.20. 'blows in his red beard': According to Jacob Grimm there is a traditional association in the sagas of Thor's red beard and lightning. When "the god is angry, he blows in his red beard, and thunder peals through the clouds" (Teutonic Mythology 1:177). The Flateyjarbok reveals how by blowing out his beard Thor raised a tempest against Olaf Tryggvason. 17.21-23. Balder . . . found to resemble Christ: The second son of Odin and Frigg, Baldr was fair-skinned, wise, and merciful. Apart

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from personal qualities, the main resemblances between Baldr and Christ lie in the story of Baldr's descent into Hela, and the prophecy that he would return from death to inaugurate a new heaven and earth. Sir James Frazer, in The Golden Bough, links Baldr with other resurrected gods such as Osiris, Thammuz, and Adonis. The resemblances between Christ and Baldr were noticed in the Viking age, and the ending of the Vpluspa in the Hauksbpk version is read by some scholars as "an adumbration of the coming of Christ. . . but at present the best scholarship" regards such traces of Christianity in the poem as interpolations (Hollander, Poetic Edda, 1, 13n). 17.27. Wiinsch: "The sum total of well-being and blessedness, the fulness of all graces, seems in our ancient language to have been expressed by a single word, whose meaning has since been narrowed down; it was named wunsch (wish) . . . , perfection in whatever kind, what we should call the Ideal" (Jacob Grimm, Teutonic Mythology 1:138; see also 4:1328). 17.33. Aegir: The name of the giant Mgir is Old Norse for "sea, ocean." Finn Magnusen derives Mgir from the verb a0a, "to flow" (cited by I. A. Blackwell in his revised edition of Mallet, Northern Antiquities, 546). According to Jacob Grimm, Oegir, who "bears the name of the terrible," also signifies the sea. "The boisterous element awakened awe, and the sense of a god's immediate presence" (Jacob Grimm, Teutonic Mythology 1:237). Carlyle's connection here of the eager on the Trent with the sea giant /Egir is adopted by Grimm (4:1361). Carlyle correctly identifies eager as a provincial English survival of this word, meaning a sea wave or tidal bore on a river. 18.27-28. 'brewing ale': In "The Lay of Hymir" (Hollander, Poetic Edda, 83-89). 18.35. primary mythus of the Creation: As given in Snorri Sturluson's Edda, the giant Ymir appears out of melting ice when the hot winds from Miispell meet the cold vapors of Niflheimr, two regions on the outskirts of Ginnungagap, the central chaos (see the note at 15.2930 above). Ymir was fed on milk from the cow Au&umbla (see 30.14 below), which licked salty blocks of rime into the shape of a man, Buri, grandfather of Odin and his two brothers, Vili and Ve. These gods slew Ymir and formed the earth out of his parts.

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19.1-2. of his eyebrows they formed Asgard their Gods'-dwelling: In his letter to Carlyle of March 20, 1852 (see Note on the Text, pp. xcviii-xcix), Joseph Neuberg suggested, "Was it not rather MtWgard, wcw^-dwelling, that was formed out of those materials? So, at least, I learn from Simrock's Edda page 246 & 247." (Neuberg was referring to Die Edda, die Ultere undjungere, translated and edited by Karl Simrock [Stuttgart, 1851].) Carlyle replied to Neuberg on May 31, "Follow Simrock; my knowledge is vague, and quite second hand." But this passage was unchanged in the 1852 Fourth Edition (or any later version), although Carlyle did revise that edition elsewhere in response to other suggestions by Neuberg in the same letter (see notes at 8.17 above and 30.26 and 32.12 below). 19.3-4. Hyper-Brobdignagian: From Gulliver's Travels, part 2, where Gulliver encounters the giants of Brobdingnag. The deviation from Swift's spelling here and at 32.5 and 34.25 below was not exclusive to Carlyle. See, for example, Pope's Epistle to Burlington, line 104. 19.9. Tree Igdrasil: The ash tree Yggdrasill, whose branches extended over the world and whose three roots reached the realms of the yEsir, the Hrimpursar (frost-giants), and the underworld. Hollander explains the name as "Ygg's ('the Terrible One's,' Othin's) Horse ('the gallows')" (Hollander, Poetic Eddct, 36n). The world tree was a favorite image with Carlyle, providing perhaps the central structure of On Heroes. See Kusch, "Pattern and Paradox," 148-49, and also the note to "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 147.18-20 below. For Carlyle's "IflArasil. from the Norse," published in 1890, see Tarr, Descriptive Bibliography, 436. 19.11. Hela: Hel, the death-goddess of the infernal regions, and in later personification used instead of Helheimr for the regions themselves. The dead are sent to her, except for those who fall in battle and people Valhalla. On their conversion to Christianity, the Teutonic nations used the word to denote a place for the punishment of wicked souls, though it originally had no such connotation. 19.14. Nornas: Three female deities, Ur&r, Ver&andi, and Skuld, who fixed the allotted lifetimes of all men. They are often said to represent fate, being, and necessity, as well as the past, present, and future, which Carlyle probably derived from Mallet (Northern Antiquities

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1:87). There were various other Norns, but the prominence of this trinity reflects the influence of the Parcae of classical mythology. 19.24. 'the infinite conjugation of the verb To do': Untraced. 19.26-27. Ulfila the Mcesogoth: Ulfilas, or Wulfila (311?-381>), was consecrated bishop of the Arian Visigoths in 341 and ministered to the Gothic settlements in Moesia and Thrace. In 369 he translated the Bible into Gothic, chiefly from Greek manuscripts. Fragments of his translation are extant in the Codex Argenteum at Uppsala. Carlyle borrowed an edition, probably Ulfilas Gotbische Bibeliibersetzung (1805), from Hensleigh Wedgwood in 1837. That same year he mentioned Ulfilas in his lecture of May 1, the first in his course of lectures on the history of German literature (Letters 9:136n; 5:105). According to Carlyle, the translation is "faithfully, and even with a stiff closeness, rendered from the Septuagint; on which account, and being at the same time of such antiquity, it is still valued by the Biblical Critic, as well as by the Philologer" (German Literature, 25). 19.29. 'Machine of the Universe': Possibly alluding to the fivevolume Mechanique celeste (1798-1827) by Pierre-Simon, Marquis de Laplace (1749-1827). Note Carlyle's reference to "Laplace's Book on the Stars" and the "Mechanism of the Heavens" in Sartor, 3.8.2045; also "Signs of the Times" (1829), Essays 2:64. 20.24. the Sphinx-enigma of this Universe: A reference to the riddle of the Theban sphinx, which was solved by Oedipus. 20.33. sympathetic ink: So-called invisible ink, an acid-based ink that remained invisible until heated or treated with chemicals. Dr. Thomas Chalmers told Carlyle that Christianity was "all written in us already, as in sympathetic ink; Bible awakens it, and you can read!" (Reminiscences, 215). 21.10-11. Councils of Trebisond: The first traces of Christianity in Trabzon, or Trebizond, in northeastern Turkey, date from the reign of Diocletian. In 1260 Trebizond secured a measure of religious independence from Nicaea and Constantinople, but there is no record of a council having met there. Note Carlyle's further references to "Trebisond" in connection with Cagliostro ("Count Cagliostro" [1833], Essays 3:254, 276).

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21.11. Councils of Trent: The Council of Trent sat between 1545 and 1563. It was summoned into being by Charles V and sought, without success, to heal the schism in Christendom caused by the Protestant Reformation. 21.11. Athanasiuses: An early church father, Athanasius (293?-373) was engaged throughout his life in theological struggles against the Arian heresy, which culminated at the Council of Nicaea. There he formulated the homoousian doctrine, which holds, contrary to Arian formulas, that the Son of God is of the same essence or substance as the Father (see "The Hero as Prophet" at 54.26 below and note). Froude referred to Carlyle as "'Athanasius contra munduni" (Clubbe, Introduction, Froude's Life of Carlyle, 11). 21.22. "Wednesday": Woden's day, from the Old Norse 6dinsda0r; Anglo-Saxon, Wednesday. Woden is a variant of &5inn. Similarly, Tuesday derives from the Old Norse Tysdagr (after the god Tyr), Thursday from Old Norse Porsdagr (after Thor), and Friday from Old Norse Freydagr (after Freyja) (Mallet, Northern Antiquities 1:77-83). 21.26. Heimskringla: A title derived from the first words in the saga of the kings of Norway by Snorri Sturluson (see note at 16.6 above). Heimskringla means "world's circle." The account of a human Odin occurs in the "Tnglinfjasaga, which forms the first section of Heimskringla. 21.33. Saxo Grammaticus: (1150?-1216?) Danish poet, historian, and author of the Latin Historia Danica, or Gesta Danorum. Compare "The Hero as Poet" at 70.28 below. 21.36. Torfaeus: t>orm65ur Torfason (Thormodus Torfxus, 16361719), Icelandic scholar, author of the Orcades (Prolegomena in Historiam Norwegicam & Orcadensem, 1697). Mallet (Northern Antiquities 1:19) cites Torfa^us's claim that an historical Odin and his followers arrived in Scandinavia from Asia "about 70 years before the birth of Christ." The whole question of the historical Odin, in Saxo and Torfasus, which Carlyle raises here, is probably derived from Mallet's discussion in chapter 2 of Northern Antiquities (1:18-35). 22.5. Grimm: Jacob Grimm (1785-1863), German philologist, popularly known for the collection of fairy tales he wrote with his brother Wilhelm (1786-1859). Apart from his massive work on Teutonic

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mythology, he is known for his work on the mutations of consonants in Germanic languages. 22.5-6. deny that any man Odin ever existed: Grimm questions on etymological grounds the humanity but not the divinity of Odin. Discussing sacred sites, the names of which are compounded with Odin's, he says it is "very unlikely that they should be due to men bearing the same name as the god, instead of to the god himself; Wuotan, O&inn, as a man's name, does occur, but not often; and the meaning of the second half of the compounds . . . are altogether in favour of their being attributable to the god" (Teutonic Mythology 1:157-58). Snorri Sturluson, however, clearly states that Odin settled in Sigtunir, now Sigtuna near Stockholm, engaged in numerous battles, had many sons, and finally died in his bed in Sweden. See Sturluson, Heimskringla, 10-13. Mallet also accepts as "facts" the tradition that "an extraordinary person" named Odin "formerly reigned in the north: that he made great changes in the government" and had "divine honours paid him" (Northern Antiquities 1:50). 22.9-10. Latin vadere: Though Carlyle says below, "we must bow to Grimm in matters etymological" (22.15-16), he did not in this instance do so, for Grimm derives the Norse O6inn from the Old High German watan, but specifically denies that watan is "identical with Lat. vadere" (Teutonic Mythology 1:131). Some philologists, however, do connect the two words, and others have associated Wodan with the Latin pates (Skeat, Concise Etymological Dictionary, under "Wednesday"). 22.19-20. universal admiration for Lope: Frey Lope Felix de Vega Carpio (1562-1635). See also History of Literature, 119. 22.23. Essay on Language: Considerations Concerning the First Formation of Languages (1761) by Adam Smith (1723-1790) (Early Writings of Adam Smith, 225-51). Carlyle is mistaken about Smith's argument (see especially 228-29). 23.23. camera-obscura: From the Latin, literally a "dark chamber," a camera consisting of a dark room with an opening or lens through which an image can be projected onto an opposite surface. The device was very popular in the seventeenth century. The first description of a portable reflex camera obscura is contained in Collegium Curiosum

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(1676-85) by Johannes Christoph Sturm. By the end of the century, a portable model was on sale in London. 23.27. Arundel-marble: The collection of Greek antiquities presented to Oxford University by the Earl of Arundel in 1677. Among them is the Parian Chronicle, which records Greek historical events. 24.12-13. 'Image of his own Dream': From chapter 2 of Novalis's Lehrlinge zu Saiz, and translated by Carlyle in "Boswell's Life of Johnson" ([1832], Essays 3:76): "Is not that Universe even Himself, the reflex of his own fearful and wonderful being, 'the waste fantasy of his own dream'?" 24.23. Cestus of Venus: A magic girdle compelling love, given by Aphrodite to Hera (Iliad 14.213-45). Carlyle's reference is specifically to Schiller's essay "Uber Anmuth und Wurde," which makes a distinction between charm and beauty. 24.32. Odin's Runes: The Heimskringla claims Odin as the discoverer of runes, magical inscriptions that conferred immense power on anyone who could inscribe them. 24.39-25.1. Atahualpa the Peruvian King: The last Inca ruler of Peru, imprisoned and, after he had submitted to Christian baptism, garroted by the Spanish explorer Francisco Pizarro. The incident of the writing on thumbnails to which Carlyle alludes is in William Robertson's History of America (1777) 3:153-54. The book was "an early favourite" of Carlyle's (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:358). 25.6. Phenician Alphabet: The alphabet found on clay tablets at Ras Shamra is a Semitic script of thirty signs, representing consonants only, and written like cuneiform. The Phoenician language belonged to the Canaanite group of the Semitic family, which included Hebrew. A version of the Phoenician alphabet was adopted by the Greeks and transmitted to the Romans, from whom it spread throughout the Western world. 28.11. Valkyrs: Maidens who served Odin in Valhalla. The Valkyries (Icelandic Valkyrur, Anglo-Saxon Walcyrijjan) were sent to battlefields, where they chose who must be slain.

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28.11. Hall of Odin: The chief hall of Asgar6 was Valhalla (Valhpll, "hall of the slain"), the banquet hall of the gods. There were 640 vast portals to Valhalla, where Odin presided over the festivals of the gods and heroes. A brave death entitled the Norse warrior to a seat in Valhalla. 28.12. the one thing needful: Echoing Luke 10:42: "But one thing is needful." Perhaps recalled by Dickens in the title of the first chapter of Hard Times (1854), "The One Thing Needful." The novel was dedicated to Carlyle. Compare Letters 10:231: "An old blind schoolmaster in Annan used to ask with endless anxiety when a new scholar was offered him, 'But are ye sure he's not a Dunce?'' It is really the one thing needful in a man." 28.26. Valour is still value: Latin valor signifies both "value" and "valor." 28.38-29.1. Snorro tells us they thought it a shame and misery not to die in battle: In the Heimskringla, Snorri Sturluson says that dying heroes were carried into battle to die, or hurled themselves from cliffs into the sea. Even after the advent of Christianity, Norsemen would call for their armor so that they could travel to the next world in battle harness (Mallet, Northern Antiquities 1:175-82). 29.3-4. the ship sent forth, with sails set and slow fire burning it: See, for example, the sea burial of Baldr (Jean Young, Prose Edda, 82). Father Klaeber in his edition of Beowulf (122) notes the prevalence of sea burial in Scandinavia from the fourth to the mid-sixth century. Sometimes the dead were burned in ships, a custom started in Sweden that spread to England. The Sutton Hoo burial ship of the seventh century reflects the modification by Christianity of the pagan custom in Anglo-Saxon England. There are numerous literary illustrations of the practice, among them the sea burials of Scyld Scefing in Beowulf (lines 4-52); of King Haki of Sweden in Ynglingasaga (chapter 23), the first saga in Heimskringla; and, in modern literature, the deaths of Tennyson's Lady ofShalott (part 4) and Longfellow's Hiawatha (final canto). 29.11.Blakes and Nelsons: Robert Blake (1599-1657) commanded Cromwell's navy and was a member of both the Short Parliament and Barebones Parliament (see note at 199.20-21 below). Admiral Horatio Nelson (1758-1805) was the hero of the battles of the Nile and Trafalgar.

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29.11. No Homer sang these Norse Sea-kings: See Horace, Odes, 4.9.25-28: "vixere fortes ante Agamemnona / multi; sed omnes inlacrimabiles / urgentur ignotique longa / nocte, carent quia vate sacro" (Many heroes lived before Agamemnon, but all are overwhelmed in unending night, unwept, unknown, because they lack a sacred bard). 29.14. Hrolf, or Rollo Duke of Normandy: Hrolf the Ganger (876932) became the first duke of Normandy and was an ancestor of William the Conqueror. After his banishment from Norway, Hrolf sailed up the Seine to Rouen and by force of arms secured parts of Neustria that were later called Normandy. See Mallet, Northern Antiquities1:222-26; also "Early Kings of Norway" (1875), Essays 5:205. 29.19-20. some who got the title Wood-cutter: Olaf Tretelgja, the son of King Ingjald. The Trig lingasago, tells how Olaf and his followers cleared woods near Lake Vaenir and called the district Vernaland. Olaf was contemptuously nicknamed "Wood-cutter" (Sturluson, Heimskrinjjla, 42-44). See also Mallet's exaggerated version of the king of Sweden "sirnamed the WOOD-CUTTER, for having grubbed up and cleared vast provinces, and felled the trees" that covered them (Northern Antiquities 1:345-46). 29.22. Skalds: SkAld, an Old Norse word signifying a "bard" or "court singer." Skaldic poetry deals mostly with the deeds of contemporary kings and warriors. Unlike the writers of the Elder Edda, the authors of skaldic poetry were often known by name, the names of around 250 skalds having come down to us. See "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 147.17 below. 30.7. Banyan-tree: An East Indian fig tree whose branches take root and become new trunks. 30.14. Cow Adumbla: Au&umbla or Au6humla, the primeval cow of the Norse creation myth, who nourished the first being, the giant Ymir (see note at 18.35 above). 30.14. 'licking the rime from the rocks': See Young, Prose Edda, 34. 30.26. Vdluspa: Vpluspa, one of the Poetic Eddas; a sibylline lay containing the whole system of Scandinavian mythology. The Vpluor Vplo-spA is a compound signifying "a song of a prophetess." All

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Teutonic tribes had valas, or prophetesses. See for instance Tacitus, History 4.61, on the Veleda of the Bructeri. Until the 1852 Fourth Edition, all editions read "Havamal" here and at 34.32 below (see textual apparatus), but Joseph Neuberg, in his letter of March 20, 1852 (see Note on the Text, pp. xcviii-xcix, and the note at 19.1-2 above), noted: "page 55. the Havamal described as prophetic: 'rapt, earnest, sibylline.'—I find this description to fit the Voluspa (the first Lied in Simrock's Edda) but not the Havamal; which latter (#13 in Simrock) consists of a series of wise saws after the manner of King Solomon, but not what you would call 'sybilline'.—The prophecy of the 'Consummation,' too, ascribed (page 60 of the Hero-Worship) to the Havamal, I find not in it, but in the said Voluspa.'" Carlyle replied simply, "p. 55 (Havamal, Voluspa) do do." 30.34. Gray's fragments of Norse Lore: Thomas Gray (1716-1771) produced two poems from the Norse, "The Fatal Sisters" and "The Descent of Odin," both of which were composed in 1761 (Complete Poems of Gray, 25-34, 211-20). In both poems Gray relied on a Latin translation of the Old Norse by Bartholinus, Antiquitatum Danicarum de causis contemptae . . . mortis (1689), and in "The Fatal Sisters" he also drew on the Orcades of Torfaeus (see note at 21.36 above). 30.35. any more than Pope will of Homer: Carlyle objected to Pope's translation as "a very false, and though ingenious and talented, yet bad translation" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:97). While Gray's knowledge of Old Norse might have been unreliable, Pope's knowledge of Greek was undoubted. See Boswell, Life of Johnson, 1033. 31.4-6. 'draws down his brows' . . . 'grasps his hammer till the knuckles grow white'1: See Young, Prose Edda, 70. 31.6-7. Balder 'the white God' dies: See Young, Prose Edda, 81-82. 31.8. Frigga: Frigg, the wife of Odin and mother of Baldr. 31.9. Hermoder: Hermo&r, one of the sons of Odin, who rides into the land of Hel to bargain for the return of his dead brother Baldr. The name is given as "Hermode" throughout the first and second editions of On Heroes (1841 and 1842).

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31.11. the Keeper: M66gu6r, "the maiden who kept the bridge" over the river Gjoll, on the way to Hel, where she confronts Herm66r in his search for the dead Baldr (Young, Prose Edda, 83). 31.18. Nanna . . . sends her thimble to Frigga: In his letter of March 20, 1852, Joseph Neuberg observed to Carlyle that "according to Simrock (page 282) she sends her . . . a cloak. . . . I find no mention of a thimble." (The reference is to Die Edda, die altere und jungere, trans. Karl Simrock [Stuttgart, 1851].) Carlyle replied, "(thimble).—I got this from Mallet (Northern Antiquities,—"ran dez"), and have since repeatedly seen it different in better authorities; but liking the poor thimble, I always kept it." 31.23. Uhland: Johann Ludwig Uhland (1787-1862), German poet and professor of German literature at Tubingen (1830-35), was the author of Der Mythus von Thor (1836). Armstrong ("Carlyle and Uhland," 221) traces one possible connection between a section of Sartor and Uhland's lines on the death of a child. 31.30. Thialfi, Manual Labour: tjalfi (literally "a delver, digger"), Thor's retainer, a farmer's son he encountered on the journey to Jotunheim, as described in the Gylfaginning. 32.2. 'handles of it reach down to his heels': From "The Lay of Hymir": Thor "heaved on his head the heavy kettle: / hard on his heels the handles rang" (Hollander, Poetic Edda, 89). 32.10. Jack of the Nursery: A ubiquitous figure in folklore. Carlyle's reference is to the English fairy tale set in Cornwall during the time of King Arthur. It is from his uncle, a three-headed giant, that Jack obtains a magical cap, a rusty sword, a cloak, and the slippers that make him fleet of foot. 32.12. Hynde Etin, and still more decisively tied, Etin of Ireland: Hynde Etin and Red Etin are giants in Scottish folklore. All editions before 1852 mentioned only "Childe Etin" here (see textual apparatus). Joseph Neuberg, in his letter of March 20, 1852, queried, "page 58. ''Childe Etin\ where can I find some thing about him, with a view to an explanatory note?" Carlyle replied on May 31, "There is a Ballad of Childe-Etin, whh I have read in some Scotch collection (hardly Scott's, I think), but cannot say where. I have written to R/.

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Chambers to tell me; and if his answer, which is already due, come before tomorrow's post go, you shall still have it. ... Meanwhile here is the Red Etin of Ireland (still more decisively a Jotun; who changes people into stone; has married the King of Scotland's daughter, and daily beats her;—a truly ugly scoundrel and son of Chaos;—but gets his monstrous heads well cut off at last, by a dextrous pious little fellow (Thor in modern coat): of him you will find lively enough account in a German Book Geschicbte der Volkstbumlichen schottischen Liederdichtung, von Eduard Fideler (2 voll Zerbst, 1846) ii. 261-7;— and this will do for you whatever befal. Fideler (some poor schoolmaster I suppose) gives the fullest account of Scotch songwriting I have anywhere seen,—the good faithful soul!" Carlyle had written to Robert Chambers on May 27, and Chambers replied to him on May 31: "There is no ballad called Childe Etin, but there is one called Hynde Etin, which you will find in Chambers's Scottish Ballads, 1829. . . . In my Popular Rhymes of Scotland the tale of the Red Etin was first printed—a totally different thing from the ballad, as you will see by a copy which I enclose." ("Hynde Etin" in Chambers, ed., Scottish Ballads, 193-200; "Red Etin of Ireland" in Chambers, ed., Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 8995.) As promised, Carlyle sent Chamber's reply along to Neuberg on June 1, with the comment, "Childe Etin, apparently, is a mistake, and should be Hynde Etin (Hind means, drudge, slave): the baptism of the child (or rather non-baptism) seems to be the chief jotunish feature of the ''Hynde'';—it must have been in Chambers that I read of him. Red Etin, which I also send if you can read Scotch, is a much more conspicuously Norse business. He is also, you see, of venerable age as a myth. On the whole, you had better say, in translating the Text, ''Hynde Etin in the Scottish Ballads, and still more conspicuously Red Etin, are Norse myths: Etin' &c. And add what brief Note, manufactured out of these materials, you find suitable." 32.13. Scottish Ballads . . . derived from Norseland: Robert Jamieson in Popular Ballads and Songs . . . with Translations of Similar Pieces from the Ancient Danish Language . . . (1806) was the first to point out parallels in incident and language between the ballads of Scotland and those of Scandinavia, a connection also suggested by Mallet. 32.15. Hamlet, Amleth: The earliest known reference to the Hamlet story is in a verse preserved in Snorri Sturluson's Skaldskaparmdl.

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Hamlet appears in books 3 and 4 of Saxo Grammaticus's Gesta Danorum, where his name is Amlethus, a latinization of Amlodi, "an imbecile, weakling." Saxo's story was retold in Belleforest's Histoires Tragiques (1576). Shakespeare's Hamlet was written in 1600-1601 and first performed in 1602. 32.30-31. the Hindoo Mythologist: A reference to the doctrine of maya (illusion) in Hindu mythology. Compare Emerson, Journals 16:29-33. 32.31. the German Philosopher: Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) and his school. See note to "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 135.4. 32.33. 'We are such stuff as Dreams are made of!': A variant quotation of The Tempest, 4.1.156-57: "We are such stuff/ As dreams are made on." Carlyle may have been influenced by George Steevens (1736-1800), whose fifteen-volume edition of Shakespeare (1793) gives the quotation exactly as Carlyle has it, as does Boswell's Malone edition (1821), which includes Steevens's notes. 32.34. One of Thor's expeditions: In Snorri Sturluson's Ed da (see Young, Prose Edda, 69-80). An account is also given in Mallet (Northern Antiquities2:87-91). In January 1840, Carlyle described Mallet's book as a "kind of translation of Snorro's Edda, . . . which seems a very ingenious didactic Fiction" (Letters 12:35n). 32.34. Utgard: Utgard, a realm outside Asgar6, was ruled by the giant Utgar6aloki. 33.28-29. 'strain your neck bending back to see the top of it': Thor and his companions reach Utgar6, a city "so lofty, that one could not look up to the top of it, without throwing one's head quite back upon the shoulders" (Snorri Sturluson, "The Prose Edda," in Mallet, Northern Antiquities 2:90; also Jean Young, Prose Edda, 73). 34.9. Midgard-snake: Midgardormr, the serpent of Mi6gar6. The oceanic snake surrounds Mi6gar6, the abode of men, the "middle land" between Niflheimr and Muspellheimr. In Norse legend, Thor tries but fails to kill the Mi6gar6 snake, but his ultimate success is prophesied in the Vpluspa. See Hollander, Poetic Edda, 14.

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34.23-24. Mimer-stithy: The forge of Mimer. Carlyle's image is the forge out of which emerged the allegorical tales of Norse mythology. The skalds were called Ljodasmidir, literally, lay-smiths or verse-smiths. Stithy is an archaic term for "anvil" or "forge." Jacob Grimm (Teutonic Mythology 1:378) identifies a "smith, Mimir" in the Vilkinasaga. Carlyle may be associating him with the smith Hephaestus in classical mythology, who makes thunderbolts, and is therefore connected to Thor the thunder-god in the paragraph immediately above. 34.29-30. out of the American Backwoods: What precise example of American humor Carlyle had in mind is impossible to determine. However, he cites observations by Morris Birkbeck about "society in the backwoods of America" in "Burns" ([1828], Essays 1:261). 34.31. Ragnarbk: Literally, "Doom of the Reigners," the twilight of the gods, signaling the end of the world, the destruction of Asgar6 and Mi6gar6, and the slaying of the gods by monsters. 35.1-2. a new Heaven and a new Earth: The final part of the Vpluspd pictures the earth rising a second time, fresh and green from the sea. Compare Revelation 21:1. 35.6. Phoenix fire-death: The phoenix is the legendary Arabian bird that by tradition consumed itself by fire, a new bird rising from the ashes. Herodotus describes the phoenix but confesses, "I myself have never seen it, but only pictures of it, for the bird comes but seldom into Egypt, once in five hundred years, as the people of Heliopolis say" (2.73). Tacitus reported the appearance of a phoenix in Egypt during the reign of Tiberius (Annals 6.28). Early Christianity adopted the phoenix as a symbol of immortality and resurrection. The principle of perpetual renewal was also central to post-Kantian philosophy and occurs in the work of Goethe and Fichte. For Carlyle the phoenix was a popular symbol of "palingenetic" change; it occurs frequently in Sartor. See, for example, chapter 5 of book 3, which is called "The Phoenix": "Thus is Teufelsdrockh content that old sick Society should be deliberately burnt (alas, with quite other fuel than spicewood); in the faith that she is a Phcenix; and that a new heavenborn young one will rise out of her ashes!" (3.5.189). 35.14. King Olaf: Olaf II Haraldsson (995?-1030), Saint 6laf, King of Norway 1016-28. "The new Olaf . . . set himself with all his

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strength to mend such a state of matters [the relapse into semiheathenism]. . . . His method was by no means soft; on the contrary, it was hard, rapid, severe. . . . There was a great deal of mauling, vigorous punishing. . . . 'Too severe,' cried many; to whom one answers, 'Perhaps in part yes, perhaps also in great part no; depends altogether on the previous question, How far the law was the eternal one of the God Almighty in the universe, How far the law merely of Olaf (destitute of right inspiration) left to his own passions and whims?'" ("Early Kings of Norway" [1875], Essays 5:260-61). 35.16-17. revolt of his Pagan people: Instigated by the Danish King Cnut, Olaf's own people revolted and he was driven into exile for two years. His efforts to regain his kingdom led to the battle of Stiklestad, in which he was killed. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for 1030, "In this year King Olaf was killed in Norway by his own people, and was afterwards holy" (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 101). Carlyle gives a detailed description of the battle in his "Early Kings of Norway" ([1875], Essays 5:280-83). The saga of Saint Olaf is recorded in the Heimskringla. The story of the conflict between the Christianizing king and the displaced pagan god Thor, which Carlyle gives below (35.21—35), concerns not Saint Olaf but Olaf Trygvason (968-1000), and is recorded in the so-called Great Olaf Trygvason Saga, not the life of Trygvason in the Heimskringla. See Saga of King Olaf Tryggwason, 332-33. 35.38-36.1. 'Neptune was seen once at the Nemean Games': Poseidon (Neptune), "who oft cometh from Aegae to the famous Dorian Isthmus, where the joyous bands welcome the god with the music of the flute, and wrestle with all the hardy prowess of their limbs" (Pindar; the passage is from the third strophe of the fifth Nemean ode). The Nemean festival took place in the valley of Nemea near Cleonae in Argos. 36.22. Three Religions: In Goethe's Wilhelm Meister's Travels, religious instruction is given in three stages. "The Religion which depends on reverence for what is above us, we denominate the Ethnic. . . . The Second Religion, which founds itself on reverence for what is around us, we denominate the Philosophical. . . . The Third Religion, grounded on reverence for what is beneath us: this we name the Christian. . . . 'To which of these Religions do you specially adhere?' inquired Wilhelm. 'To all the three,' replied they: 'for in their union

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they produce what may properly be called the true religion'" (Wilhelm Meister 2:10.267-68).

NOTES TO LECTURE II. THE HERO AS PROPHET. Sources: Carlyle first read Edward Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776-88) during his Kirkcaldy period in 1816 (Froude, Life in London 2:461). Chapter 50 of that work deals with the character, doctrines, and history of Muhammad, and Carlyle drew on it extensively for his picture of the founder of Islam. Supplementary sources of information include Humphry Prideaux's The True Nature of Imposture Fully Display'd in the Life of Mahomet (1678), Edward Pococke's Specimen Historic Arabum (1650), and Hugo Grotius' De Veritate Christiana (1627). In October 1839, Carlyle read the "Arabian Tales by Lane" (Froude, Life in London 1:176), being volume one of the first edition of Edward William Lane's The Thousand and One Nights... (1839-41). Perhaps Carlyle's most important direct source was the Qur3an itself, which he was reading in February 1840 "partly with a view to lecturing" (Letters 12:64). In early March he was still "deep in perusal of the Koran; a strange crowdie [thick gruel] of a thing" (Letters 12:68), which he finished by March 17, about a month and a half before his lecture. Carlyle, who had no Arabic though he was tempted at this stage to learn, knew the Qur'an in the translation of George Sale (1734; see note on Sale at 42.23 below), whose "Preliminary Discourse" was one of his principal sources. (All citations to the Qur3an are to Sale's translation, in the absence of a standard English version.) In June 1837, he found "an excellent Arabian thing," Friedrich Riickert's translation into German of al-Hariri's "Ebu Seid" (Letters9:228), Die Verve an Alungen ties Abu Seid von Serug (1837), which inspired Carlyle to go "searching" through "Sylvestre de Sacy and others" (Letters 9:384; see note at 43.25 below). Carlyle's other sources would have included Goethe, whose West-ostlicher Divan (1819) Carlyle alluded to in this lecture. The system of transliteration of Arabic names and terms follows that of the Library of Congress as modified by Hanna E. Kassis in A Concordance of the Qur^an, xi, xv-xvi. 38.6. deliquium: Latin, meaning "a melting" or "swooning." 38.13. such reception: See "The Hero as Man of Letters" below at 161.28-29 and also "Burns" (1828), Essays 1:258-318.

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38.24. Mahomet: Muhammad (570?-632), the prophet and founder of Islam. Faced with such orthographic variants as "Mahommed, Mohammed, Mahmet, Mouhmed, Mahomet, Mahmoud," Carlyle, like Macaulay, stuck to the "common practice" in writing "Mahomet" (Macaulay, Letters 5:195). 38.31-32. a scheming Impostor: The commonly held European view of Muhammad for many centuries before Carlyle's lecture. Embodied in the title of Prideaux's The True Nature of Imposture Fully Displayed in the Life of Mahomet (1678), it is echoed by Gibbon: "A politician will suspect that he secretly smiled (the victorious impostor!) at the enthusiasm of his youth and the credulity of his proselytes" (Decline and Fall 5:50.401). Sale notes the "general opinion of Christian writers" that Muhammad's love of women "sufficiently proves him to have been a wicked man, and consequently an impostor" ("Preliminary Discourse," 41-43). Carlyle had first made the claim that Muhammad was not an impostor but an intensely sincere teacher two years earlier, in his lecture of May 18, 1838 (History of Literature, 112). 38.35-39.1. Pococke inquired of Grotius . . . there was no proof!: The inquiry Carlyle refers to is in Specimen Historic Arabum, 191ff, by Edward Pococke (1604-1691). In De Veritate Religionis Christiana, 389, Hugo Grotius (1583-1645) had written: "Secuti tamen sunt, qui ei & miracula attribuerent, at qualia? Nempe quae aut arte humana facile possunt effecta reddi, ut de columba ad aurem advolante" (Yet there followed those who also attributed miracles to him; but what kind of miracles? Why, those of course that can either be easily executed by human skill as in the case of a pigeon flying to his ear). Prideaux also claimed that Muhammad "bred up Pigeons to come to his Ears, to make show thereby, as if the Holy Ghost conversed with him" (True Nature of Imposture, 42). See also Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.400n. Mallet, who was one of Carlyle's sources for the first lecture, associates Odin's pretense of having restored the use of speech to the decapitated head of Mimer with "the Pigeon, which brought to Mahomet the commands of heaven" (Northern Antiquities 1:60). 39.24. Cagliostro: Giuseppe Balsamo (1743-1795), the shopkeeper's son who, posing as the Count Cagliostro, deceived a fashionable and credulous European society. He practiced as a physician, necromancer, and alchemist, claiming knowledge of Egyptian magic and occult

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wisdom. Carlyle devoted an essay to this "King of Quacks" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:339) and "born scoundrel" ("Count Cagliostro" [1833], Essays 3:266), who spent time in the Bastille for his supposed involvement in the affair of "The Diamond Necklace" ([1837], Essays 3:324-402) and was arrested in Rome by the Holy Inquisition. 39.33. Mirabeau: Honore Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de Mirabeau (1749-1791), Carlyle's hero of French revolutionary history, whose Memoires he reviewed in the Westminster Review in 1837 (Essays 3:40380). Carlyle considered Mirabeau "of a genius equal in strength . . . to Napoleon's; but a much humaner genius, almost a poetic one" ("Mirabeau" [1837], Essays 3:412). See "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 156.10 below and note. 40.11. walk in a vain show: Psalms 39:6: "Surely every man walketh in a vain shew." 40.27. has not God made him: See 59.24-25 below and note. 40.28-29. 'inspiration . . . understanding': Job 32:8: "The inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understanding." 41.6-7. 'the man according to God's own heart': 1 Samuel 13:14: "The Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart." Compare Acts 13:22. 41.13-14. 'It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps': Jeremiah 10:23. 41.25. 'a succession of falls': Possibly echoing Arthur Schopenhauer, "we know our walking to be only a constantly prevented falling" (World as Will and Representation 1:311). Carlyle had used the idea in "Sir Walter Scott" ([1838], Essays 4:30): Man's "walk, like all walking (say the mechanicians), is a series of falls"; also in a letter to Thomas Spedding in August 1839 (Letters 11:160). Compare Emerson: "The walking of man and all animals is a falling forward. All our manual labor and works of strength, as prying, splitting, digging, rowing, and so forth, are done by dint of continual falling, and the globe, earth, moon, comet, sun, star, fall forever and ever" (Emerson, "Spiritual Laws" [1841], Essays, 80). Also, "They fall successive, and successive rise" (Pope, Iliad 1:6.184).

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42.10-11. The Persians are called the French of the East: In De Quincey's "Kant on National Character in Relation to the Sense of the Sublime and the Beautiful: A Translation" (1824): "If the Arabs are as it were the Asiatic Spaniards, the Persians are the Asiatic Frenchmen. They are good poets, courteous, and of tolerably refined taste" (Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey 14:55). 42.20. Jewish kindred: According to Watt, "the Jewish tribes had many customs identical with those of their pagan Arab neighbours and intermarried with them" (Muhammad at Medina, 192). 42.23. Sale: George Sale (1697?-1736). His translation of the Qur'an into English, The Koran, was first published in 1734. It had "no rival in the field" when it appeared, and had "been superseded by no subsequent translations," wrote Sir Edward Denison Ross in his introduction to the 1927 edition (vi). Ross finds that Sale's annotations reflect little direct use of Arabic commentators except for al-Baydawi, and that he relies heavily on Pococke as well as Luigi Marracci's translation published in Padua in 1698. 42.23. at Ocadh: c Ukaz. "To keep up an emulation among their poets, the tribes had, once a year, a general assembly at Ocadh, a place famous on this account. This annual meeting lasted a whole month, during which time they employed themselves, not only in trading, but in repeating their poetical compositions, contending and vying with each other for the prize; whence the place, it is said, took its name" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 30). 42.30. Sabeans: See "The Hero As Divinity" above at 10.14 and note. 43.14-16. the Horse . . . 'laughs at the shaking of the spear!': Carlyle conflates two quotations from Job, only one of which refers to the horse, Job 39:19: "Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?" The second phrase, Job 41:29, "he laugheth at the shaking of a spear," describes Leviathan. 43.22-23. Black Stone . . . in the building called Caabah: The black stone was built into the southeastern corner of the Kacbah during renovations to repair flood damage in A.D. 605. Muhammad assisted in the reconstruction and arbitrated tribal feuding over who should place the sacred stone. See Muir, Life of Mohammad, 27-30,

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who relies on the accounts of Ibn Hisham, a{-Tabari, and Ibn Sacd. The stone is semicircular, about six inches high and eight inches broad (Muir, Life of Moframmad, 28; Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 126; Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.351). Among numerous observances, pilgrims to Mecca are required to make seven circuits around the Kacbah and to greet the black stone (Muir, Life ofMoframmad, cii-ciii). 43.23. Mecca: Makkah, the birthplace of Muhammad. 43.23. Diodorus Siculus: The Sicilian historian who flourished under Caesar and Augustus. Carlyle follows Gibbon (Decline and Fall 5:50.350) in attributing to Diodorus an early identification of the Kacbah. His reference to a temple "revered by all Arabians" (3.44.2) is not as unmistakeable an allusion to the Ka'bah as Carlyle and Gibbon supposed. 43.25. Silvestre de Sacy: Antoine Isaac Silvestre de Sacy (17581838), orientalist, translator, and commentator of, among other works, Les Seances de Hariri publiees en Ara.be, avec un commentaire choisi par M. Le Baron Silvestre de Sacy (1822). Carlyle searched through de Sacy "tho' with little effect" in December 1837 (Letters 9:384), after reading, in June of that year, a German translation of al-Harirl's book, Die Verwandlungen des Abu Seid von Serujj, oder die Makamen des Hariri (1837) by Friedrich Ruckert (Letters 9:228). The "little effect" was doubtless due to the fact that Les Seances is in Arabic. However, de Sacy did, in his Chrestomathie Arabe . . . (1806), translate into French two of the fifty Assemblies of al-Hariri. Goethe's Westostlicher Divan ends with a dedication to de Sacy (Goethe, Werke 2:267). 43.28. Zemzem: Zamzam, the well at Mecca, situated on the east side of the Kacbah. Muslims are "persuaded it is the very spring which gushed out for the relief of Ishmael, when Hagar his mother wandered with him in the desert" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 127; see also Sale's note to Chapter 14, Koran, 249n). The derivation of Zemzem at 43.31-32 below is also given by Sale ("Preliminary Discourse," 127). 43.33. Hagar . . . Ishmael: Hagar, the handmaid of the barren Sarah, became Abraham's concubine and gave birth to Ishmael (Genesis 16, 21:1-21). In Islamic tradition, Hagar is Abraham's true wife, just as Ishmael (Ismail), rather than Isaac, is his favored son.

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43.36-37. 'twenty-seven cubits high': "The length of this edifice, from north to south, is twenty-four cubits, its breadth from east to west twenty-three cubits, and its height twenty-seven cubits" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 123). See also Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.350. 44.2. Keblah: Qiblah, "direction of prayer." Jerusalem was the first qiblah of Muhammad. In a subsequent revelation "Jerusalem was abandoned" and the Kacbah became the qiblah of Islam. See Muir, Life of Mohammad, 189-90. The Qur3anic version of these decisions and revelations is given in Koran, Chapters 2 (21) and 10 (207), and the change from Jerusalem to Mecca is described by Gibbon (Decline and Fall, 5:50.388, 369-70). Carlyle used the term "Keblah" in a letter in August 1840 (Letters 12:208). 44.19. a population of 100,000: The source of this figure has not been located. 44.22. Ten Men: Sale mentions a prevailing tribal aristocracy at Mecca ("Preliminary Discourse," 13). The early guardians of the Kacbah were from the tribe of the BanI Jurham who were displaced in A.D. 207 by the Khuza'a tribe who in turn were displaced after A.D. 400 by the "Kinana clan of the Qoraish tribe" (Gaury, Rulers of Mecca, 36-37; see next note). "The Government of Mecca . . . was . . . an oligarchy composed of the leading members of the house of Kossay. After the discovery of the sacred well of Zemzem . . . the governing body consisted of ten senators, who were styled Sharifs" (Ali, Life and Teachings of Mohammed, 65). 44.24. Koreish: Tribe said to be direct descendants of Ishmael. Muhammad's father was of the family of Hashim of the Quraysh tribe (see below at 45.5-6). "The tribe of Koreish, by fraud or force, had acquired the custody of the Caaba: the sacerdotal office devolved through four lineal descents to the grandfather of Mahomet" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.350). 44.35. Idolatries . . . in a tottering state: Pre-Islamic idolatry is described by Sale ("Preliminary Discourse," 15-21). It included Sabian beliefs that showed some influences of Christianity, especially baptism. The Qur3an refers to three major tribal idols, Al-Lat, Alc Uzza, and Manat, and the Kacbah itself contained, according to tradition, 360 idols "of men, eagles, lions, and antelopes" (Gibbon,

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Decline and Fall 5:50.351; see also Muir, Life of Mohammad, 408). After the conquest of Mecca, Muhammad purified the temple. As he touched each of them with his staff, the idols of the Kacbah fell down (Sale, Koran, Chapter 17, 280n). 45.4. in the year 570: Gibbon places Muhammad's birth in A.D. 569, "four years after the death of Justinian," the "old Arabian calendar" being too "dark and uncertain" to support Benedictine calculations that would "remove the birth of Mahomet to the year of Christ 570, the 10th of November" (Decline and Fall 5:50.35657n). Sale, however, gives the year 570 ("Preliminary Discourse," 39n). Muir suggests the autumn of 570, though the "materials are too vague and discrepant for any close calculation" (Life of Mohammad, 5). 45.27. 'Sergius, the Nestorian Monk': A Nestorian monk, known in the east as Bahlrah, who according to Prideaux assisted Muhammad in writing at least those sections of the Qur'an relating to Christianity (True Nature of Imposture, 38-42). Carlyle's reservations concerning this story are probably due to Sale's rejection of the theory. See Sale's extensive note to Chapter 16 (Koran, 267n). 46.1. Mahomet never could write: Muhammad could "neither write nor read" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 45). He rejoiced "in the title of An-Nebi al-Ummi, or the Illiterate Prophet" (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 512; see Koran, Chapter 7, 160), and he used this fact as evidence of the divine inspiration of the Qur3an, since it was inconceivable that a person who "could neither write nor read should be able to compose a book of such excellent doctrine . . . and style" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 45; see also Sale's note to Chapter 16 cited in the preceding note and Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.358). 46.15. 'AlAmin, The Faithful': Muhammad's youthful resistance to the temptations of Mecca led his fellow citizens to award him the title of Al-Amln, "the Faithful" (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 19-20). The title appears to have stuck. See Muir, 29. 46.24-25. One hears of Mahomet's beauty: A "comely, agreeable person" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 44). "According to the tradition of his companions, Mahomet was distinguished by the beauty of his person" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.357). Muir, following the account of al-Waqidl, refers to Muhammad's attractive face and

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expression, which "gained the confidence and love of strangers, even at first sight" (Life of Mohammad, 510). 46.26-27. vein on the brow: In his journal for October 1839, Carlyle noted of Muhammad, "the 'vein of anger' between his brows" (Froude, Life in London 1:176). See also Past and Present, 4.6.288. The same characteristic is noted by Washington Irving in his Mahomet and His Successors (192) and Muir (Life of Mohammad, 27). 46.28. 'horse-shoe vein' in Scott's Redgauntlet: A family trait of the Redgauntlets. Sir Robert had a "visible mark of a horse-shoe in his forehead" and his son John, when very angry, seemed to have "that selfsame fearful shape of a horse's shoe in the middle of his brow" (Scott, Redgauntlet, 105, 109). See also Past and Present, 4.6.288. 46.34. Kadijah: Muhammad's first wife. His marriage in A.D. 595 to Khadljah bint Khuwaylid ibn Asad was a turning point in the prophet's early career. The traditional account is that the wealthy, twice-married widow invited Muhammad to act as her agent on a caravan journey to Syria. She was so pleased with his stewardship that she offered to marry him. She was then forty and Muhammad twenty-five years old. At critical junctures of his life she encouraged him in his prophetic mission. See Letters 15:190 and 248 for two references to Khadljah in letters by Jane Welsh Carlyle. 46.38-47.1. the Arab authors: The early biographers whose works are the primary sources for Muhammad's life include Ibn Ishaq (d. A.M. 151 [A.D. 773]), Ibn Hisham (d. A.H. 213 [A.D. 835]), al-Waqidl (d. A.H. 207 [A.D. 829]), his secretary Ibn Sacd (d. A.H. 230 [A.D. 852]), who wrote fifteen volumes on Muhammad's companions and successors, and af-Tabari (d. A.H. 310 [A.D. 932]), called by Gibbon the "Livy of the Arabians" (Decline and Fall 5:50.428n). See Muir, Life of Mohammad, Ixxvi-lxxxvi. 47.23-24. great Mystery of Existence . . . glared in upon him: An almost exact reversal of Carlyle's judgment of Scott, "the great Mystery of Existence was not great to him; did not drive him into rocky solitudes to wrestle with it for an answer" ("Sir Walter Scott" [1838], Essays 4:36). See above at 40.12 and 40.23 and below at 48.13, and Introduction, p. li.

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47.25-26. "Here am I!": Recalling the words of Moses in response to God's calling to him from the burning bush (Exodus 3:4). 47.33. Mount Hara . . . Mount Sinai: It was to a cave in Mount Hira° near Mecca that Muhammad often retired during the month of Ramadan to meditate; the mountain is since called "Jebel Nur, or Mountain of Light, because Mohammad is said to have received his first revelation there" (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 37n). See also Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 42; Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.360. Sinai or Horeb in the peninsula between the gulfs of Suez and Aqaba is, by tradition, the mountain on which Moses received the Ten Commandments (Exodus 19). 48.2. jargon of argumentative Greek Sects: Though the sects are not specifically named, nor their "jargon" identified, the Qur'an describes a religious schism that caused the Rum, the Byzantine Christians, to divide "into various sects" (Koran, Chapter 30, 397). Arab idolatry and various Jewish traditions, which Carlyle links together, are likewise objects of attack in the Qur'an. 48.5. Alpha and Omega: Revelation 21:6: "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end." 48.9-10. 'bits of black wood . . . ': Untraced. 48.17. Heraclius . . . Chosroes: Heraclius (575?-641), Byzantine emperor 610-41, and Khosrow II ParvTz, king of Persia 590-628. In 627 Muhammad unsuccessfully attempted their conversion to Islam. See Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 57, and Koran, Chapter 30, 395n; Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.395ff. Based on Ibn-al-Athir, Ali gives details of Muhammad's embassies to Heraclius and Chosroes and their reactions (Life and Teachings of Mohammed, 185-86). 48.26. Ramadhan: Ramadan, the ninth month of the Muslim year, is observed as a fast from dawn to sunset. See Koran, Chapter 2, 26. 48.29. 'small still voices': 1 Kings 19:12: "and after the fire a still small voice" heard by Elijah. 49.4. transitory garment: An idea adapted from Goethe's Faust, part 1, line 509. What the Erdgeist calls "'the living visible Garment

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of God" (Sartor, 1.8.43; see note to "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 135.6-7 below). 49.4-5. 'Allah akbar, God is great': The phrase proved popular with Carlyle at this period and appears fairly frequently in his letters. See for instance Letters 10:215, 11:22, and 13:116. 49.5. 'Islam': Carlyle follows Sale ("Preliminary Discourse," 75): The "word signifies resignation, or submission to the service and commands of God." For a different interpretation see Ali, Life and Teachings of Mohammed, 226, and for a more technical discussion of the subject see Jane I. Smith, Historical and Semantic Study of the Term 'Islam.' 49.9-10. 'If this be Islam,' says Goethe: "Wenn Islam Gott ergeben heifk, / Im Islam leben und sterben wir alle" (If Islam means devoted to God, we all live and die in Islam; Goethe, "Hikmet Nameh: Buch derSpruche," verse 40, West-b'stlicherDivan [1819], Werke2:56). Carlyle expressed the same idea in a letter to Geraldine Jewsbury on April 12, 1840: "We are bound to say with the Moslem . . . 'God is Great. Islam; I submit to God'" (Letters 12:106). 49.15. pretension of scanning: An adaptation of Pope's lines: "presume not God to scan, / The proper study of mankind is man" (An Essay on Man, Epistle 2, lines 1-2). 49.31. take no counsel with flesh and blood: Galatians 1:16: "I conferred not with flesh and blood." 49.35-36. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in him.": Job 13:15. 49.36-37. Annihilation of Self: Derived from Novalis: "The true philosophical Act is annihilation of self (Selbsttodtunj}); this is the real beginning of all Philosophy. . . . This Act alone corresponds to all the conditions and characteristics of transcendental conduct" ("Novalis" [1829], Essays 2:39). In Sartor, Carlyle described "Annihilation of Self" as "the first preliminary moral Act" (2.9.149). Though the phrasing is from Novalis, Carlyle's idea is closer to Goethe's Entsagen, and even closer to the Christian ideal of losing one's life to save it (see Matthew 16:24-25).

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50.4. Gabriel: According to al-Waqidl, at-Tabari, and Ibn Hisham, Gabriel appeared to Muhammad on Mount Hira° and revealed to him the first five lines of the first Surah, Chapter 96, of the Qur'an (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 50; Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.365; Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 45, and Koran, Chapter 96, 585n). Gabriel was already established in the angelology of both Old and New Testaments as the revealer of divine will, as in his interpretation of the prophetic vision of Daniel (Daniel 8:15-26) and his annunciations of John the Baptist and Jesus (Luke 1:11-19, 1:26-38). To the Persians, Gabriel was "'the angel of revelations'" (Sale, Kordn, Chapter 2, 15n). 50.5. 'inspiration of the Almighty': See above at 40.28-29 and note. 50.7-8. '. . . god-announcing Miracle': As Carlyle translated for his 1829 essay on Novalis: "Is not real Conviction, this highest function of our soul and personality, the only true God-announcing Miracle?" (Essays 2:42). 50.14. 'Mahomet is the Prophet of God': Part of the Adhdn, or call to prayer, adopted by Muhammad in A.H. 20 (A.D. 642) in place of the earlier and simpler summons "To public prayer!" and in preference to alternative suggestions that included a horn and a bell or wooden gong (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 195; see also Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.420). Sale gives the sequence of calls entoned by the muezzin that includes the twice-uttered statement: "I testify that Mohammed is the Apostle of God" ("Preliminary Discourse," 115n). 50.20-22. 'It is certain,' says Novalis: Carlyle's translation of a passage in Novalis (Schriften 2:104): "Es ist gewiss, das cine Meinung sehr viel gewinnt, sobald ich weiss, dass irgend jemand davon iibergengt ist, sic wahrhaft annimmt." See also "Characteristics" (1831), Essays 3:11; and Sartor, 3.2.171. Compare: "Religion has to be made and produced (gemacht und hervorgebracht) by the union of a number of persons" ("Novalis" [1829], Essays 2:43), and Matthew 18:20. In his journal Carlyle notes: "Religion, as Novalis thinks, is a social thing. Without a church there can be little or no religion. The action of mind on mind is mystical, infinite; religion, worship can hardly . . . support itself without this aid. The derivation of Schwarmerey indicates some notion of this in the Germans. To schwdrmen (to be enthusiastic) means, says Coleridge, to swarm, to crowd together and excite one another" (Froude, First Forty Years 2:80). Compare

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Walter Pater's use of Coleridge's etymological speculation in Greek Studies, 56-57. 50.26. Ayesha was, one day, questioning him: 'A'ishah bint Abl Bakr. The anecdote Carlyle refers to is in Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.405. See also Muir, Life of Mohammad, 25. A fiery, independent spirit, 'A'ishah is the inspiration of modern Arabic feminism. 50.30-31. Seid, his Slave: Zayd ibn Harithah was captured by bandits and sold into slavery when still a child. As a young man he was presented by Khadljah as a gift to Muhammad shortly after their marriage. His father attempted to ransom Zayd, who preferred to remain with Muhammad and was adopted by him as his own son. As a freedman he took the name Zayd ibn Muhammad (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 34-35). 50.31. young Cousin Ali: CA1I ibn Abl Talib, the self-styled "first of the believers." The story Carlyle quotes of cAlI's discipleship is given by Sale as fact ("Preliminary Discourse," 47). Muir, however, regards it as apocryphal (Life of Mohammad, 61n). According to Watt, even if true, "for the Western historian" the claim of CA1I "cannot be significant, since CA1T was admittedly only nine or ten at the time and a member of Muhammad's household" (Muhammad at Mecca, 86). 51.17. assassination in the Mosque at Bagdad: On January 24, 661. After cAlI's murder, dissension between his opponents and his adherents led to the first schism in Islam, the split between ShPites, the followers of CA1I, and Sunnites. For 'All's dying comments at 51.18-22, see Washington Irving, Mahomet and His Successors, 422. Irving's book was published after Carlyle's lecture. However, a draft had been completed in 1820 and revised in 1831 before finally appearing in 1849. Carlyle knew Irving and some of his work (see Letters 2:134, 137, 142-43, 150, 468, and 3:11). Whether Irving's book was a source for this lecture or not, many of its details were drawn from the translations of "Abulfeda" (Abu al-Fida°), whose work was accessible to Carlyle through the footnotes to chapter 50 of Gibbon's Decline and Fall. 51.31. Mahomet answered: Sale ("Preliminary Discourse," 47) repeats the anecdote based on "Abulfeda" (Abu al-Fida°). Carlyle's reference to Muhammad's tears at 52.1-2 is derived from some source

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other than Sale or Gibbon. Muir suggests that Muhammad wept not out of gratitude, as Carlyle interprets it, but fear that he was to be abandoned by Abl falib (Life of Mohammad, 87-88). 52.9. Abyssinia: Ethiopia, the appointed place of refuge for the followers of Muhammad who were forced to evacuate Mecca in A.D. 615 because of the hostility of the Quraysh. For details surrounding the two emigrations, and the causes behind them, see Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 48; Muir, Life of Mohammad, 69-70, 86-87. 52.14-17. hide in caverns . . . some rider's horse: The cavern was in Mount Thaur (Jabal al-Thawr), a few miles south of Mecca. A slightly different version of the episode of the rider's horse is given by Ibn Hisham; see Muir, Life of Mohammad, 142, and Ali, Life and Teachings of Mohammed, 127, who cites both Ibn-Hisham and Ibn-al-Athir. 52.23. Yathreb: Yathrib, the name for Medina before Muhammad's retreat there, after which it became known as the city of the prophet, or Madinat an-Nabi. For Islam, it is second to Mecca in sanctity. 52.24-25. lMedinat al Nabi, the City of the Prophet': "Medina is the usual English form of al-Madinah, the city (or perhaps 'place of justice'); it is said to be a shortening of Madinat an-Nabi, the city of the Prophet" (Watt, Muhammad at Mecca, 141). 52.28. The whole East dates its era: Thus A.D. 622, the date of the Hijrah, is considered A.M. 1. 52.28. Hegirtt: The Latin form for the Arabic hijrah. 53.7-8. propagating his Religion by the sword: From Medina in the years 622-32 Muhammad "was now commanded to propagate his religion by the sword," and in the first months of his reign "the martial apostle fought in person at nine battles or sieges" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.383). Gibbon also quotes Muhammad: "The sword . . . is the key of heaven and of hell: a drop of blood shed in the cause of God . . . is of more avail than two months of fasting or prayer" (5:50.384). See also Koran, Chapter 47, 489: "When ye encounter the unbelievers, strike off their heads, until ye have made a great slaughter." Also Chapters 8 and 9. Ross, however, suggests that the simplicity of Muhammad's monotheism was "a more potent

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factor in the spread of Islam than the sword of the Ghazis" (Introduction, Koran, vii). 53.13. minority of one: The phrase, which seems to have originated with Carlyle, appeared a number of times in his correspondence with Emerson (see Emerson and Carlyle, 384, 434). Emerson used the phrase "a pretty good minority of one" to describe Carlyle's LatterDay Pamphlets (Emerson and Carlyle, 497). The phrase later proved popular; for instance, Herbert Spencer, Autobiography (1877); O. W. Holmes in a speech in 1913; George Orwell in 1984. Compare Thoreau's phrase "majority of one" ("Resistance to Civil Government," 74). Also see Thoreau's 1847 review essay, "Thomas Carlyle and His Works." After reading the highly favorable review, Carlyle wrote to Emerson, "I like Mr Thoreau very well; and hope yet to hear good and better news of him" (Emerson and Carlyle, 422). 53.19-20. conversion of the Saxons: In 777, after victorious campaigns against the Saxons and the destruction of the sanctuary of Odin, Charlemagne received the submission of the Saxon confederation, and forcibly baptized many of them, at Paderborn, where he had earlier installed a bishop. 54.26. Homoiousion and Homoousion: From the Greek homoios("similar") and ousia ("substance"), the homoiousian doctrine, propounded by Arius (250?-336), contended that the Son was of similar rather than identical substance to the Father and was, therefore, not eternal. The homoousian doctrine (from homos, "same"), first introduced at the Council of Nicaea to correct the error, was formulated by Athanasius (293?-373) and adopted as one of the three creeds of Christendom by the Catholic Church. After re-reading Gibbon in 1877, Carlyle spoke to Froude about the Athanasian controversy and "of the Christian world torn in pieces over a dipthong, and he would ring the changes in broad Annandale on the Homoousion and the Homo'ousion. . . . He perceived Christianity itself to have been at stake. If the Arians had won, it would have dwindled away into a legend" (Froude, Life in London 2:462). 54.33-34. wiredrawings: Compare Letters 9:183. 54.37-38. Idols of yours, 'ye rub them with oil and wax, and the flies stick on them': "The commentators say, that the Arabs used to

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anoint the images of their gods with some odoriferous composition, and with honey, which the flies eat, though the doors of the temple were carefully shut, getting in at the windows or crevices. Perhaps Mohammed took this argument from the Jews, who pretend that the temple of Jerusalem, and the sacrifices there offered to the true God, were never annoyed by flies (Pirke Aboth, c. 5, Sect. 6, 7); whereas swarms of those insects infested the heathen temples" (Sale, KorAn, Chapter 22, 334n). 55.31. Flight to Mecca: Actually from Mecca to Medina. 55.32. Koran, or Reading: Sale derives "Koran" from the verb "karaa [qara}a~\, to read," which signifies "the reading, or rather, that which ought to be read" ("Preliminary Discourse," 60). The chapters of the Qur'an recorded by his adherents during Muhammad's lifetime were first collected two years after his death, and the first authorized version was established during the Caliphate of Othman (644-56). The Qur'an was introduced into Europe in 1143 in a Latin version by Robert of Retina and Hermann of Dalmatia, ultimately printed in Basel in 1543. 55.34. Is not that a miracle?: The response, especially of the Meccans, to the Qur'an and to the selection of Muhammad as a prophet was, "this is manifest sorcery" (KorAn, Chapter 10, 199). To the charge that he had "forged" the Qur'an, Muhammad challenged his detractors to produce ten chapters comparable to it in doctrine and eloquence (Chapter 11, 211-13), though elsewhere he reduced this to one chapter (Chapter 10, 203). 56.6-7. We hear of Mahometan Doctors that had read it seventy thousand times!: Seven thousand, not seventy thousand. Sale, citing Pococke, notes: "It is said that he [Abu Hanlfa] read the Koran in the prison where he died, no less than seven thousand times" (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 116). 56.8. 'discrepancies of national taste': "Here are strange diversities of taste; 'national discrepancies' enough, had we time to investigate them!" ("Goethe" [1828], Essays 1:230). Perhaps Carlyle recalled that Francis Jeffrey had pointed to "diversities of National Taste" in his unfavorable review of Carlyle's translation of Goethe's Wilkelm Meister in the Edinburgh Review (42 [1825]: 409).

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56.10-11. a very fair one: See note on Sale at 42.23 above. 56.19. found the Koran lying all in fractions: Since Muhammad could not write, he recited the Qur'anic passages to friends and followers who wrote them on palm leaves, leather, stones, or other available materials. During Muhammad's prophetic period of twentythree years, the recorded utterances were never collected or systematically arranged, or preserved in any single depository. During his life many fragments were produced. In his Meccan period Muhammad must have relied upon the writing ability of Khadljah, CA1I, or Abl Bakr, and at Medina he had many Arab amanuenses. After his death, the Qur3anic fragments were sought out. See Muir, Life of Mohammad, xiv-xv; Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.365. 56.20-21. shoulder-blades of mutton: "The word of God and of the apostle was diligently recorded by his disciples on palm-leaves and the shoulder-bones of mutton" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.365). 57.4. Prideaux: Humphrey Prideaux (1648-1724), Dean of Norwich and author of The True Nature of Imposture Fully Display'd in the Life of Mahomet (1678). 57.10. deceit prepense: The Qur'an itself addresses contemporary allegations of its fraudulent composition, for instance Chapters 16, 267; 10, 203. However, the charge of outright imposture "has been increasingly opposed by scholarly opinion" since it was "vigorously attacked by Thomas Carlyle over a hundred years ago" (Watt, Muhammad at Medina, 325). Carlyle ignored the more subtle charge of self-deception, the claim that Muhammad's revelations closely corresponded to his personal desires. The subject is fully dealt with by Watt, Muhammad at Medina, 324-35. 58.7. semi-barbarous Son of Nature: Perhaps suggested by Gibbon's description of Muhammad as "an illiterate barbarian" (Decline and Fall 5:50.358), or perhaps Carlyle uses "Son of Nature" in contrast with the Christian use of "Son of Man" or "Son of God" in reference to Jesus. Compare "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 153.12-14 below: "To a certain extent, they were Sons of Nature once more in an age of Artifice; once more, Original Men."

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58.23. the Prophet Hud: See Koran, Chapter 11, entitled "Hud," in which the story of this prophet is told. 59.5. 'I am a Public Preacher': Koran, Chapter 11, 212: Noah said, "Verily I am a public preacher unto you." Also Chapter 29, 392: "Signs are in the power of GOD alone; and I am wo more than a public preacher." 59.8. 'a sign to you': Biblical sources include 1 Samuel 2:34, 2 Kings 19:29, Jeremiah 44:29, and Luke 2:12. Also see an instance in the Qur'an quoted in the note at 59.26-27 below. 59.9. 'appointed paths in it': Perhaps Koran, Chapters 20, 308 and 43, 473: "and hath made you paths therein." 59.14. 'to revive a dead earth': Koran, Chapter 25, 357-58: "and we send down pure water from heaven, that we may thereby revive a dead country." 59.14-16. 'tall leafy palm-trees with their date-clusters . . .': Koran, Chapter 6, 130: "and palm-trees from whose branches proceed clusters of dates hanging close together." 59.16-19. Your cattle too,—Allah made them . . . 'and are a credit to you!': Kordn, Chapter 16, 257: "He hath likewise created the cattle for you: from them ye have wherewith to keep yourselves warm, and other advantages; and of them do ye also eat. And they are likewise a credit unto you, when ye drive them home in the evening, and when ye lead them forth to feed in the morning." 59.19-20. he talks often about ships: For example, Koran, Chapters 16, 257, and 40, 463. 59.24-25. 'shaped you out of a little clay': Koran, Chapter 22, 327: "created you of the dust of the ground"; Chapter 6, 118: "of clay"; Chapter 15, 253: "of dried clay, of black mud"; Chapter 55, 513-14: "of dried clay like an earthen vessel." Also see following note. 59.26-27. 'ye have compassion on one another': Koran, Chapter 30, 396: "Of his signs one is, that he hath created you of dust, and behold, ye are become men, spread over the face of the earth. And of his signs another is, that he hath created you, out of yourselves, wives,

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that ye may cohabit with them; and hath put love and compassion between you: verily herein are signs unto people who consider." 60.4-5. rock-mountains . . . dissipate themselves 'like clouds': Koran, Chapter 27, 376-77: "And thou shalt see the mountains, and shalt think them firmly fixed; but they shall pass away, even as the clouds pass away." 60.7. Sale tells us: "The Mohammedans suppose that the earth, when first created, was smooth and equal, and thereby liable to a circular motion as well as the celestial orbs; and that the angels asking who could be able to stand on so tottering a frame, God fixed it the next morning by throwing the mountains on it" (Sale, Koran, Chapter 16, 258n). 60.34. 'succeed by being an easy religion': Untraced. 61.14-15. not a sensual man: Carlyle attempts to refute such claims as those of Prideaux: "The gratifying of his Ambition and his Lust, was the main end of his Imposture'" (True Nature of Imposture, 126), and of Gibbon: "Perfumes and women were the two sensual enjoyments which his nature required and his religion did not forbid" (Decline and Fall 5:50.402). 61.17-18. household was of the frugalest; his common diet barleybread and water: Muir, citing both al-Waqidl and Ibn Sacd, indicates the relatively frugal habits of Muhammad (Life of Mohammad, 511). "What he most relished was a mess of bread cooked with meat, and a dish of dates dressed with butter and milk" (527). 61.19. They record: Both al-Waqidl and Ibn Sacd record that Muhammad cobbled his sandals and mended his clothes. See Muir, Life of Mohammad, 511, 524, and Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.402. 61.29. clouting: Patching. Carlyle re-used this detail of Muhammad "clouting" his own cloak in "Dr. Francia" ([1843], Essays4:305) and in Past and Present, 4.6.288. 61.36. His last words: Carlyle probably had in mind Gibbon's version: "O God! . . . pardon my sins . . . Yes, . . . I come, . . . among my fellow-citizens on high" (Decline and Fall 5:50.399, ellipses in Gibbon). According to Muir, Muhammad whispered: "'Lord, grant

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me pardon; and join me to the companionship on high.' Then at intervals: 'Eternity in Paradise!' 'Pardon!' 'The blessed companionship on high!'" (Life of Mohammad, 495). 62.1. his Daughter: Muhammad had four daughters by Khadljah, only one of whom survived him. Carlyle probably meant Ruqayyah, the news of whose death awaited Muhammad on his return to Medina after his victory at Badr in A.D. 624. See Muir, Life of Mohammad, 232. 62.3-4. 'The Lord giveth . . .': Job's response to news of the multiple disasters that had befallen his house: "Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21). 62.6. War of Tabuc: The expedition to Tabuk in the ninth year of the Hijrah (A.D. 630) followed the year in which Zayd had been slain while leading a Muslim army against the Greeks at Mu'tah. The expedition did not engage in heavy fighting, mainly because of disaffection among the troops (see Koran, Chapter 9, and Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.396-97). 62.9. Seid's daughter: Muhammad wept with the grief-stricken daughter of Zayd after he had informed her of her father's death at the battle of Mu'tah. See Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.396. The next morning a smiling Muhammad explained that he had seen Zayd in paradise (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 396n). 62.14. ". . . three drachms": From the pulpit Muhammad learned of a debt of three drachms of silver (darabim, plural of dirham, a small silver coin). He "satisfied the demand, and thanked his creditor for accusing him in this world rather than at the day of judgment" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.398). 62.26. 'the respect due unto thee': After becoming established at Medina, according to Gibbon, Muhammad "assumed the exercise of the regal and sacerdotal office." The people had "exalted the fugitive of Mecca to the rank of a sovereign" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 5:50.381-82). His increasing power "may be traced in the reverence and submission prescribed in the Kor'an as due to him" (Muir, Life of Mohammad, 330).

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62.37. 'Hell will be hotter!': "Hell is much hotter," Muhammad's retort to complaints about heat and other difficulties experienced by his troops during the expedition to Tabuk (Gibbon, Decline and, fall 5:50.396). The hell reserved for erring Muslims is "Jehennam" (Jahannam) (Sale, "Preliminary Discourse," 98-99), the name of which is derived from the Hebrew Ge' Hinnom (Greek Geenna, Latin Gehenna, as in the Vulgate Matthew 5:22, 5:29, and Epistle to James 3:6; see "The Hero as Poet" at 83.11 below), meaning "Valley of Hinnom," the ravine near Jerusalem where children were burnt alive as a sacrifice to Baal (see Jeremiah 19:2-6). 63.1. weighed out: Koran, Chapter 21, 319: "We will appoint just balances for the day of resurrection; neither shall any soul be injured at all: although the merit or guilt of an action be of the weight of a grain of mustard-seed only, we will produce it publicly; and there will be sufficient accountants with us" and Chapter 7, 140: "The weighing of men's actions on that day shall be just; and they whose balances laden with their good, works shall be heavy, are those who shall be happy; but they whose balances shall be light, are those who have lost their souls." 63.4. 'Assuredly': For example, in Sale's translation "Assuredly" occurs as a separate sentence three times in the short Chapter 96 (585-86), by tradition the first Surah to be revealed (see note at 50.4 above). 63.11-12. 'living in a vain show': See above at 40.11 and note. 63.18. carbonic acid: A weak acid formed by dissolving carbon dioxide in water. Carlyle no doubt meant carbolic acid, i.e., phenol, a powerful disinfectant derived from coal tar that was applied as an antiseptic in Victorian surgery. Lethal amounts were sometimes absorbed through the wound. 63.22-23. turning of the other cheek: Luke 6:29: "And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other." 63.24. revenge . . . not over much: Koran, Chapter 17, 275: Private revenge for murder is allowed, "but let him not exceed the bounds of moderation in putting to death the murderer in too cruel a manner, or by revenging his friend's blood on any other than the person who killed him."

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63.27-28. all men, according to Islam too, are equal: Islam being in concept a world religion, there is "no tribe or race triumphant in the Koran, but absolute equality in Islam" (Campbell, Masks of God 3:433). 63.28-29. giving alms: Almsgiving, zakdt, is prescribed by Qur'anic law. Voluntary almsgiving, called sadaqah, is also urged and honored but not legally required. Sale offers a discussion of the subject in section 4 of his "Preliminary Discourse" (118-20). 63.35. Paradise is sensual: Kordn, Chapter 52, 506, pictures the pious in the afterlife "leaning on couches disposed in order: and we will espouse them unto virgins having large black eyes" (also Chapters 55, 515; 56, 517). These houris (from hiir, pi. of hctwra-^) were perfect creatures formed not out of clay but of musk. A carnal paradise was, according to Sir Richard Burton, preached only to the ignorant (Love, War and Fancy, 105). Sale, however, says that, in depicting the sensual pleasures of Paradise, Muhammad "chose rather to imitate the indecency of the Magians than the modesty of the Christians" ("Preliminary Discourse," 109). 64.4. the highest joys . . . shall be spiritual: Koran, Chapter 9, 189: "but goodwill from GOD shall be their most excellent reward." 64.6. 'Your salutation shall be, Peace': True believers shall in the afterlife have "rivers flowing through gardens of pleasure. Their prayer therein shall be, Praise be unto thee, O GOD! and their salutation therein shall be, Peace!" (Kordn, Chapter 10, 200). This single verse, says Burton, "is sufficient refutation" of the claim made either through "ignorance or pious fraud" that the Muslim paradise is "wholly sensual" (Love, War and Fancy, 105). 64.8-9. 'Ye shall sit ... all grudges . . .': Kordn, Chapter 56, 517: "These are they who shall approach near unto God: they shall dwell in gardens of delight. . . . Reposing on couches adorned with gold and precious stones; sitting opposite to one another thereon. . . . They shall not hear therein any vain discourse, or any charge of sin; but only the salutation, Peace! Peace!" Also Chapter 7, 143: "And we will remove all grudges from their minds." 64.19-23. "We require . . . greater latitude on all other sidesw. "Every one that means to live with us must agree to constrain himself

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in some particular point, if the greater freedom be left him in all other points" (Wilhelm Meister 1:15.346). 65.14. Bentham: Jeremy Bentham (1743-1832), political philosopher and writer on ethics and jurisprudence, whose Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789) contains a fundamental statement of the doctrine of utilitarianism. He is mainly remembered for applying the principle of utility to ethical decisions, arguing that the "greatest happiness of the greatest number" was the measure of "whatever is right or wrong, useful, useless, or mischievous in human conduct, whether in the field of morals or of politics" (Bentham, Works 10:79). Carlyle was consistently hostile to Bentham's philosophy. "What is Jeremy Bentham's significance? Altogether intellectual, logical. I name him as the representative of a class important only for their numbers, intrinsically wearisome, almost pitiable and pitiful. Logic is their sole foundation, no other even recognised as possible; wherefore their system is a machine and cannot grow or endure" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:90). Carlyle attacked Bentham for the effort to establish morality on the basis of happiness, since it undermined religious teaching and Carlyle's own view of the central importance of duty. The parallels in Dickens's work are striking. See K. J. Fielding, "Benthamite Utilitarianism and Oliver Twist" 62ff; and Goldberg, "From Bentham to Carlyle: Dickens' Political Development," 61-76. 65.14. Paley: William Paley (1743-1805), the main exponent of theological utilitarianism. In his Evidences of Christianity (1794), he finds a proof of God's existence in natural phenomena, and refutes the adaptation of the organism to its circumstances. Carlyle wrote: "To prove the existence of God as Paley has attempted to do ... is like lighting a lantern to seek for the Sun" (Two Notebooks, 103). 65.22-23. Benthamee Utility: A conflation of Bentham and the utilitarian movement of which he was the figurehead. The contemptuous adjectival form was adopted by Carlyle as early as 1836, when he denounced the "Benthamee Gospel,—to me a miserablest chimera" (Letters 8:289). When Carlyle pronounced the word "beggarlier" (at 65.26), John Stuart Mill stood up "with an emphatic No!" (Garnett, Life of Carlyle, 171). Mill's protest led to Carlyle's qualified apology in the fifth lecture. See "The Hero as Man of Letters" below at 148.19-25 and note at 148.19-20.

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65.32. God Wish: Wunsch, a God principle in Scandinavian paganism that Carlyle learned of from Jacob Grimm's etymological studies. See "The Hero as Divinity" above at 17.27 and note. 66.18. Arabia is at Grenada: After Muhammad's death in A.D. 632, armies of the first Caliphate swept through the Middle East and North Africa. They invaded Spain in 711. See "The Hero as Poet" below at 85.19 and note. 66.27. lightning out of Heaven: Compare "The Hero as Divinity" above at 13.10.

NOTES TO LECTURE III. THE HERO AS POET. Sources: With the help of Count Carlo Pepoli (1796-1881), a former professor of philosophy at Bologna who was living in exile in London, Carlyle read Dante every Wednesday night during the summer of 1835 (Letters 8:212). Two and a half years later, in preparation for his 1838 lectures on the history of literature, the fifth of which focused on Dante, he was reading the Inferno as a matter of daily study and finding the "great and enduring" poem "uphill work" (Letters 10:19n). Carlyle may also have discussed Dante with Giuseppi Mazzini, who had been a political exile in London since 1837. In April 1840, Carlyle recommended him to Henry Cole as "a man of true genius, an honourable, brave and gifted man" (Letters 12:82). "I like Mazzini," Carlyle wrote to his brother John, on the same day that he finished the manuscript of the third lecture (Letters 12:194). The allusions to the Divine Comedy in On Heroes are frequently a reprise of passages Carlyle had used in his 1838 lecture on Dante. The 1838 lecture series is known from notes taken by Thomas Chisholm Anstey (1816-1873), "a youth from van Diemen's Land," who presented them to Carlyle in the form of "a manuscript volume. . . . It is one of the strangest things: not a miniature, but an entire larjje-as-Iife only half eaten away as with moths!" (Letters 10:121). Lectures on the History of Literature (1892), edited by J. Reay Greene, was based on copies of these notes. The original manuscript, now lost, was deposited by Anstey at the Asiatic Society in Bombay, where it was edited and published by R. P. Karkaria, also in 1892. Greene's edition has been cited here, as being more accessible, but interesting variants in Karkaria's edition are noted. There is no certain evidence as to what editions of the Divine Comedy Carlyle may have consulted. In November 1837 Carlyle sought to borrow

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again a copy of the poem from Leigh Hunt in order to resume his careful reading of it (Letters9:35l), but the edition is unknown. In the spring of 1840, when he was preparing the lecture on the hero as poet, Carlyle returned Leigh Hunt's edition, noting that his own, which he would now have to rely on, was "as good as any of the others" (Letters 12:90). Once again, neither his "own" nor the "other" editions have been identified. Shine (Carlyle's Early Reading, 182) cites the uDivina comedia di Dante Alleghieri di Firenze, Foligno, 1472," translated into English verse by H. Boyd in 1802, as the source of Carlyle's reference to Dante in his 1828 essay on Burns. Carlyle himself makes no mention of this edition. Whether he used Boyd's eccentric edition in 1828 is uncertain, but by 1838 or 1839 he had certainly gone beyond what it had to offer. He did know the edition by Henry Francis Gary (1772-1844), for in a preface to the first American publication of that work (1844), the editor acknowledged his debt to Carlyle, "one of the most original thinkers of our time," who had taken the trouble to point out "oversights" in earlier printings (Gary, The Vision, 5). Despite such circumstantial evidence, Carlyle's references to Dante in On Heroes do not follow either Boyd or Gary, and several idiosyncrasies of translation such as that at 82.13 suggest that Carlyle's translations were largely his own, though he may have received help from his brother John, who published his own edition and prose translation of the Inferno in 1849, or from Count Pepoli. John Carlyle's preface acknowledges "the kindness of one highly accomplished friend, whose name I am not allowed to mention: he read over the proofs of the first eight Cantos, and suggested some useful additions and amendments." In the following notes, all quotations and translations from the Divine Comedy, other than Carlyle's, are taken from the edition by Charles S. Singleton. Carlyle is known to have owned a copy of The Works of Shakespear, 8 vols. (Edinburgh, 1761), which is probably a reprint of the edition of Hugh Blair (but see the note to "The Hero as Divinity" at 32.33 above). In these notes, references to the plays employ the text and lineation of the Riverside Shakespeare. 68.2. Legislator: Though not an admirer of Shelley's poetry, Carlyle echoes Shelley's statement in the Defence of Poetry (written 1821, first published 1840): "Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world" (80). Carlyle's view of the poet as rates (see below at 69.2 and note) may also be found in Shelley's Defence (31). 68.4. Mirabeau: Honore Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de Mirabeau (17491791), Carlyle's hero of French revolutionary history. See notes to

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"The Hero as Prophet" at 39.33 above and to "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 156.10 below. 68.9. Napoleon has words: An adaptation of a comment about Luther by Richter in Vorscbule der Aestbetik, "Luther's prose is a half-battle; few deeds are equal to his words" ("Jean Paul Friedrich Richter" [1830], Essays 2:148). See "The Hero as Priest" at 119.17 below and note. 68.10. Austerlitz Battles: The battle fought on December 2, 1805, between the French, the Austrians, and the Russians. See "The Hero as King" at 206.13 below and note. 68.10-11. Louis Fourteenth's Marshals . . . the things Turenne says: Henri de La Tour d'Auvergne, Vicomte de Turenne (1611-1675), marshal of France, commanded the armies of Louis XIV. The sayings are in his Memoires, eight editions of which were published in the eighteenth century. Napoleon annotated and added to them with his Precis des dernieres campagnes de Turenne. See Weygand, Turenne, 149-50. 68.14. Petrarch and Boccaccio: Giovanni Boccaccio (1313-1375) undertook various diplomatic services for the city government of Florence after settling there about 1350. Francesco Petrarca (1304-1374) travelled widely in the service of the church and the Visconti family. 68.26. as Addison complains: Joseph Addison (1672-1719). The complaint has not been traced. 69.2. Vates: Latin, "prophet," "seer," "bard." "The true Poet is ever, as of old, the Seer; . . . we can still call him a Vates and Seer; for he sees into this greatest of secrets, 'the open secret'" ("Death of Goethe" [1832], Essays 2:377). Compare "Sir Walter Scott" (1838), £^4:53. 69.7. what Goethe calls 'the open secret!': Carlyle's translation of Goethe's phrase "das offentliche Geheimnis," as in Wilhelm Meister's Travels(Wilhelm Meister 2:13.305): "While Nature unfolded the open secret of her beauty, he could not but feel an irresistible attraction towards Art, as towards her most fit expositor." Carlyle's identification here of Goethe's "open secret" with Fichte's "Divine Idea" behind appearances (see following note) was "a fusion of ideas which neither Goethe nor Fichte would have accepted without heavy qualifications"

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(Harrold, Carlyle and German Thought, 117). Compare "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 141.1-2 below and note. 69.10-11. 'the Divine Idea . . . ,' as Fichte styles it: In Uber das Wesen des Gelehrten, a series of lectures delivered in 1805, Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762-1814), the German idealist philosopher and disciple of Kant, said: "The whole material world, . . . and in particular the life of man in this world, are by no means . . . that which they seem to be to the uncultivated and natural sense of man; but there is something higher, which lies concealed behind all natural appearance. This concealed foundation of all appearance may, in its greatest universality, be aptly named the Divine Idea [die gbttliche Idee]" (Fichte, Nature of the Scholar, 210). Compare Emerson's lecture "Shakspeare, or the Poet" in Representative Men, 109-25, especially 124; and see "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 135.1-10 below. 69.18. the Satirist: Carlyle himself, in French Revolution 1:4.1.212. Compare also Sartor, 3.8.202-12. 70.1-2. what the Germans call the aesthetic side: The term "aesthetic" was coined in the eighteenth century by Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten. His definition of "the science of perception, or aesthetic" concludes his 1735 Meditationes philosophicae de nonnullis ad poema pertinentibus (Aschenbrenner and Holther, trans., 78), which formed the basis for his more widely known Msthetica (1750). Carlyle refers to Baumgarten in his Life of Schiller (111). Aesthetics was a major preoccupation of German Romantic thought, attracting the attention of Winckelmann, Kant, Lessing, Schiller, Fichte, and Hegel, among others. 70.7-9. "Consider the lilies of the field; . . .": Matthew 6:28-29. 70.15-17. 'The Beautiful . . . is higher than the Good . . .': An idea derived from Goethe and Schiller that had occupied Carlyle's thoughts in February 1831: "I wish I could define to myself the true relation of moral genius to poetic genius; of Religion to Poetry. Are they one and the same, different forms of the same; and if so which is to stand higher, the Beautiful or the Good? Schiller and Goethe seem to say the former, as if it included the latter and might supersede it: how truly I can never well see" (Two Notebooks, 188). Basically, Carlyle thought the proposition was "Sehr einseittfj! [very one-sided] Yet perhaps there is a glimpse of the truth here" (Two Notebooks, 204). See also Froude,

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First Forty Tears 2:93-94. The idea that the beautiful subsumed the good was widespread in German Romantic writing. Specifically, Carlyle may have been alluding to the three volumes of correspondence between Schiller and Goethe that he reviewed for Fruser's Magazine ("Schiller" [1831], Essays 2:165-215). Similar speculations are also the subject of Schiller's Briefe iiber die asthetische Erziehung desMenschen (1795), to which Carlyle refers in "Schiller" (Essays 2:191-92) and in Life of Schiller, 11 Iff. 70.17-18.1 have said somewhere: In "Diderot" (1833), Essays 3:240: "The true Beautiful (differing from the false, as Heaven does from Vauxhall) comprehends in it the Good." 70.18-19. Vauxhall: The Vauxhall Gardens, a popular pleasure resort, were laid out in the mid-seventeenth century on the south bank of the Thames and finally closed in July 1859. 70.25-26. 'imagination that shudders . . .': Quoting himself: "The imagination, which shudders at the Hell of Dante, is the same faculty, weaker in degree, which called that picture into being" ("Burns" [1828], Essays 1:278). 70.28. Saxo Grammaticus: (1150?-1216?) Danish poet and historian. See "The Hero as Divinity" at 21.33 above and note. 70.34. World-Poets: Carlyle may be recalling and adapting Goethe's term Weltliteratur, which first appeared in his Uber Kunst und Altertum (1827). See Strich, Goethe and World Literature, 349. In a letter to Goethe in 1831, Carlyle writes that he has concluded his review of Taylor's Historic Survey of German Poetry with some "speculations . . . on what I have named World-Literature, after you" (Letters 5:220). 71.7-8. late German Critics: The German critics Carlyle had in mind, as dealing with the distinction between poetry and speech, must include Franz Horn, whose three-volume work on poetry and oratory, Die Poesie und Eeredsamkeit der Deutschen, von Lutbers Zeit bis zur Gejjenwart (1822-24), Carlyle reviewed for the Edinburgh Review ("State of German Literature" [1827], Essays 1:26-86; see 1:27 for Carlyle's complaint against Horn's overuse of the word infinite). According to Carlyle, Germany was the foremost nation "in the practice or science of Criticism. . . . Criticism has assumed a new form in

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Germany," of "rigorous scientific inquiry" appealing to principles deduced from philosophy (Essays 1:51-52). For his earlier and less favorable estimate of German critics, see Two Notebooks, 33. 71.16. musical: Below (77.24-27), Carlyle attributes this thought to Coleridge. In his 1838 lecture Carlyle said that the Divine Comedy "was so musical that it got up to the length of singing itself, his soul was in it; and when we read there is a tune which hurries itself along [which hums itself along (Karkaria, 80)]" (History of Literature, 92). 72.1. Greeks fabled of Sphere-Harmonies: The Pythagorean belief, repeated by Plato, that on each heavenly sphere there stood a Siren, "borne around in its revolution and uttering one sound, one note, and from all the eight there was the concord of a single harmony" (Republic 10.617b). Though Aristotle (De Calo 2.9) scoffed at the idea, Renaissance Platonists adapted it to Christian use by suggesting that the angels who moved the spheres were identical with the Sirens. Carlyle refers to "sphere-melody" in Sartor (3.8.210), and Teufelsdrockh, after his conversion, awakens to a new Evangel "like soft streamings of celestial music" (Sartor, 2.9.150). In his notebooks, Carlyle said: "The highest melody dwells only in silence (the Sphere melody, the melody of Health)" (Two Notebooks, 228). 72.36-37. High duchesses: The Duchess of Gordon was leader of Edinburgh society at the time of Burns's visit. He was also noticed by the Duchess of Atholl. "High duchesses were captivated with the chivalrous ways of the man; recognised that here was the true chivalry" (Pamphlets, 5.197). See "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 163.31 below and note. 73.35-36. Portrait commonly attributed to Giotto: The portrait was not by Giotto. Most probably Carlyle had in mind an engraving by Gio Paolo Lorenzi of a Dante portrait by Stefano Tofanelli, which Carlyle owned at the time of his death. The few details Carlyle offers, such as the "simple laurel," match precisely the features of the Tofanelli portrait (see Plate 5). The first identification of Carlyle's description with the Tofanelli painting was made by F. N. Scott in 1903 in a letter in the Nation. This suggestion was followed by Paget Toynbee in Dante in English Literature (2:498n), and by Richard Holbrook in Portraits of Dante (183). All three critics identify the engraver as Raffael Morghen, whose illustration was reproduced in

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the 1795 Palma edition of the Divine Comedy. In February 1834 Carlyle was given a Dante portrait by his brother John (Letters7:109), whose 1849 prose translation of the Infernohad as frontispiece the Tofanelli portrait, engraved in some copies by R. Young and in others by J. Halpin. Two months after Carlyle's lecture, while he was preparing the text for publication, a Dante portrait was rediscovered in the Bargello at Florence, formerly the Palazzo de Podesta, where it had been covered over by whitewash. On the authority of Giorgio Vasari (1511-1574), whose work Carlyle was again reading in 1840 (Letters 12:90), it was accepted by many Victorians as a Giotto. See W. S. Lander's 1840 letter in the Examiner. Modern art historians consider the portrait to have been painted after Giotto's death by his pupils (Battisti, Giotto, 21). 74.9. thick-ribbed ice: Measure for Measure, 3.1.122: "In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice." In a letter of September 23, 1835, Carlyle uses a similar image: "A grand old Puritan this Dante; depth and Ferocity without limit; implacable, composed; as if covered with winter and ice, and like Hecla, his interior is molten fire!" (Letters 8:212). 74.18. 'voice of ten silent centuries': I.e., the ten centuries of Christianity between the conversion of the emperor Constantine and Dante's poem. Compare below at 75.17 and 83.36. 74.18-19. 'his mystic unfathomable song': Quoting Tieck on Novalis: "He, alone among the moderns, resembles the lofty Dante; and sings us, like him, an unfathomable mystic song" ("Novalis" [1829], Essays 2:53). See below at 77.1-2, 77.23-24, and 84.11. 74.32. chiaroscuro: Striking contrast of light and shadow, especially in painting. 75.4. wedded to another: Dante, however, nowhere refers to the marriage of Beatrice Portinari (1266-1290) to the banker Simone de' Bardi in 1287. Paget Toynbee says that in Carlyle's two lectures on Dante "he mistranslates, and misquotes, and puts into Dante's mouth fictitious statements, such as that 'he says he knew Francesca's father,' and that he mentions Beatrice's wedding. These inaccuracies are more marked in the later lecture . . . than in the earlier one, suggesting that Carlyle got up the subject on the first occasion and neglected to refresh his memory afterwards" (Dante in English Literature 2:481).

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75.13. Prior, Podesta: As Carlyle mentions in the next paragraph, Dante was one of the six priors of Florence from June 15 to August 15, 1300. The six members of the Priore formed an executive committee of the City Council; they were appointed for two months. The podesta was an outsider brought in and made responsible for the maintenance of public order, with soldiers at his disposal. He was obligated to obey the orders of the Priore. 75.24. Guelf-Ghibelline, Bianchi-Neri: Guelphs and Ghibellines were opposing factions in medieval Italy. The Guelphs, whom Dante initially supported, favored the Papacy against Imperial authority. The Bianchi and Neri ("Whites" and "Blacks") were factions within the Guelph party of Florence. The Neri, after seizing power in Florence in 1302, banished Dante, fined him in absentia, and later condemned him to death if he returned to the city. During his exile in Northern Italy, Dante converted to the Ghibelline cause. For Carlyle's thoughts on the Guelph-Ghibelline factions, see History of Literature, 87. 75.27. banishment: Dante was not exiled during his priorate, but two years later. See following note. 75.33. Florence Archives: "There is still to be seen an act of that time in the archives of Florence, charging all magistrates to burn Dante alive when he should be taken" (History of Literature, 88). The document is dated March 10, 1302, and names fourteen others besides Dante. 75.36-76.3. Letter of Dante's . . . "•nunquam revertar": Dante's actual words were "nunquam Florentiam introibo." The letter, written probably in May 1315, was not to the Florentine magistrates but to a Florentine friend. The "milder proposal" in the amnesty of May 19, 1315, was that Dante should pay a fine and seek pardon by making an offering at the Baptistery of San Giovanni, conditions he rejected as degrading. "Quod si per nullam talem Florentia introitur, nunquam Florentiam introibo" (But if Florence may be entered by no other path, then I will never enter Florence; Dante, Epistolae, 9.4.158). 76.6. 'How hard is the path, . . .': Paradiso 17.58-60: "si come sa di sale / lo pane altrui, e come e duro calle / lo scendere e '1 salir per Paltrui scale" (how salt is the taste of another's bread, and how hard the path to descend and mount by another man's stairs). The

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passage is also quoted in "Mirabeau" ([1837], Essays 3:420). In his Commentary on the Paradise, Singleton interprets this, "How bitter is the bread of another, i.e., bread that must be begged" (294). However, by long tradition, the bread of Tuscany, whose principal city was Florence, was salt free. See Carol Field, Italian Baker, 110. 76.9. Petrarch reports: In his Rerum Memorandarum Libri (134345), 2.83.98-99. Though probably apocryphal, such anecdotes represent "the popular conception of what Dante was like in ordinary life" (Toynbee, Dante Alighieri, 144-45). 76.9. Can delta Scala: The Ghibelline prince Can Francesco della Scala (1291-1329), called Can Grande, sole Lord of Verona in 1311, to whom Dante dedicated the Paradise (Dante, Epistolae, 10.3.16970). He is thought by some to be the "greyhound" of Inferno 1.10111. Dante praises him in the Paradiso (17.76ff). 76.12. nebulones ac kistriones: Petrarch has "histriones ac nebulones" (actors and worthless people; Rerum Memorandarum Libri, 2.83.98). 76.35. Mnlebolge: Inferno18.1: "Luogo e in inferno detto Malebolge" (There is a place in Hell called Malebolge), where the fraudulent, who have abused the privilege of reason, are punished. The name, invented by Dante, is a compound of malo (evil) and bolgia (pouch). It was sometimes applied by Carlyle to London; see Letters 11:24 and 12:112. 76.36. altiguai: Literally, deep groans or wails. "Quivi sospiri, pianti e alti guai / risonavan per 1'aere sanza stelle" (Here sighs, laments, and loud wailings were resounding through the starless air; Inferno 3.22-23). See below at 80.36. 77.8. 'If thou follow thy star, . . . ': Inferno15.55-56: "Se tu segui tua Stella, / non puoi fallire a glorioso porto" (If you follow your star you cannot fail of a glorious port), the opening of Bruno Latini's speech to Dante. Latini had been Dante's schoolmaster and was an adept of judicial astrology. In History of Literature (97) Carlyle translates: "His old schoolmaster tells him: 'If thou follow thy star, thou canst not miss a happy harbour.'" Carlyle quoted this passage in a letter, June 23, 1847, to Robert Browning commenting on the poet's marriage (Mill, Sterling and Browning, 281).

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77.12-13. '. . . made me lean . . .': Paradise 25.1-3: "che '1 poema sacro / al quale ha posto mano e cielo e terra, / si che m'ha fatto per molti anni macro" (that the sacred poem to which heaven and earth have so set hand that it has made me lean for many years). This passage was suggested to Carlyle by Leigh Hunt. In November 1837, Carlyle recalled it inaccurately and asked Hunt to send him the passage where Dante "speaks about the toil of his Divine Comedy having made him grey" (Letters 9:351). See also "Sir Walter Scott" (1838), Essays 4:80; Letters 1:336; and Past and Present, 3.12.205. 77.18-19. Hie claudor Dantes patriis extorris ctb oris: The fifth line of the epitaph Dante was said to have composed for himself, one of two carved on his tomb in Ravenna. It is now known to be the work of an acquaintance, Bernardo Canaccio. For the Latin text and a translation, see Toynbee, Dante Alighieri, 106. 77.24-25. Coleridge remarks . . . somewhere: Perhaps a conflation of several remarks in Coleridge's Table Talk, which Carlyle read in 1835, and his comment in the Biographia Literaria (2:15.14): "'The man that hath not music in his soul' can indeed never be a genuine poet." 78.15. canto fermo: The ancient vocal music of the Church, plainsong or Gregorian chant. 78.16. terza rima: The measure adopted by Dante for the Divine Comedy, also used by Boccaccio and Petrarch. It consists of a series of interlocking three-line stanzas in which the second line of each tercet rhymes with the first and third of the following, e.g., aba bcb cdc. 78.30-31. "Eccovi I'uom . . . the man that was in Hell!": Carlyle's version of the anecdote recorded by Boccaccio in his Trattatello in laude di Dante (465). See also James Smith, Lives of Dante, 42-43. 78.33. Commedias that come out divine: Dante's epic was called La Commedia (The Comedy) because it had a happy ending in Heaven. The adjective "Divina" was first added two centuries after Dante's death in an edition of 1555. 78.37. 'to become perfect through suffering'': Hebrews 2:10. The Authorized Version reads, "to make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings."

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79.20-21. Hall of Dite: red pinnacle: Not the hall, but the city of Dis, "la citta c'ha nome Dite" (the city that is named Dis), in Inferno 8.68. Compare Aeneid 6.541, "Ditis magni sub moenia" (under the walls of great Dis). The "red pinnacle" (Inferno 8.70-72) is more literally "vermilion mosques" ("meschite . . . vermiglie"). They were also commented on by John Carlyle in his translation of the Inferno(xxxiii). 79.24. Tacitus is not briefer: Cornelius Tacitus (55?-117?), Roman historian whose accounts of the Roman Empire and the Julian emperors are noted for their concise expression. 79.29-31. Plutus . . . 'suddenly broken': Inferno 7.13-15: "Quali dal vento le gonfiate vele / caggiono awolte, poi che Palber fiacca / tal cadde a terra la fiera crudele" (As sails swollen by the wind fall in a heap when the mainmast snaps, so fell that cruel beast to the ground). Dante apparently did not clearly distinguish between Pluto, the god of the underworld, and Plutus, the god of wealth. See Singleton's Commentary on the Inferno, 109-10. 79.31. Brunette Latini: Carlyle's reference is to Inferno15.26-27. See also History of Literature, 93-94. The figure with the baked face, "cotto aspetto," is Bruno Latini (see note at 77.8 above). In the first three editions of On Heroes Carlyle confused him with Sordello, who appears in the Purgatorio, cantos 6-9. See textual apparatus. 79.32-33. 'fiery snow': Inferno 14.28-30. Compare History of Literature, 93. 79.34-36. those Tombs . . . to be shut at the Day of Judgment: Inferno 10.1-18. Dante compares the tombs of the Epicureans to the Roman cemetery at Aries in Provence, which still preserves many sarcophagi. See Inferno 9.112-21. In History of Literature (96), Carlyle noted: "The description is striking of the sarcophaguses in which these people are enclosed, [some red-hot, others brown-hot, (Karkaria, 84)] 'more or less heated' . . . ; the lids are to be kept open till the last day, and are then to be sealed down forever." Carlyle's interpretation of the word sospeci (suspended) in this passage is more confident than that of modern scholars. See for example Singleton'sCommentary on the Inferno,142.

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79.36-37. Day of Judgment, through Eternity: Inferno10.10-12. Carlyle's rendering of Dante's reference to "losafat" (Jehoshaphat), the valley where, according to Jewish and Moslem tradition, the Last Judgment is to occur. See Joel 3:12. 79.37. how Farinata rises: Farinata degli Uberti (d. 1264), a Ghibelline noble who took part in the massacre of Guelphs at Montaperti in 1260. The Guelphs, among whom were Dante's ancestors, never forgave him, burning the Farinata palaces and exiling the family. As a follower of Epicurus, he is confined in hell among the heretics (Inferno10.22-51). At 10.35-36, Farinata rises from his sarcophagus "upright with chest and brow thrown back as if he had great scorn of Hell." See also History of Literature, 96. 79.37. how Cavalcante falls: Inferno 10.52-72. Cavalcante de' Cavalcanti, a Guelph leader who like Farinata was noted for his Epicureanism. His son Guido (1255?-1300) was a poet, friend to Dante, who dedicated the Vita Nuova to him, and son-in-law to Farinata. Cavalcante, who had risen to his knees in his sarcophagus to ask news of his son, "fell supine again and showed himself no more" (10.72) when Dante spoke of Guido in the past tense. 79.38. 'fuel':In fact "ebbe," not "fue." "Di subito drizzato grido: 'Come? / dicesti "elli ebbe"? non viv' elli ancora?'" (Suddenly straightening up, he cried, "How? Did you say 'he had'? Does he not still live?"; Inferno 10.67-68). 80.7. physiognomical: Carlyle admired the physiognomical studies of Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741-1801) ("Count Cagliostro" [1833], Essays 3:297) and himself relied on the belief that human character was reflected in the face. See, for example, "Scottish Portraits" (1854), Essays 4:404-5; "Portraits of John Knox" (1875), Essays 5:309-67; and Mill, Sterling and Browning, 40; and see the discussion of Carlyle's interest in physiognomy in the Introduction, pp. xxxv-xxxix. 80.11. sympathizedwith it: The value of sympathy to the artist is a central Carlylean theme. See "Biography" (1832), Essays 3:57, where he explains that the secret of being "graphic" is "To have an open loving heart."

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TO P A G E 80

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80.23-24. 'the eye seeing in all things what it brought with it the faculty of seeing!': An echo of French Revolution 1:1.2.5: "In every object there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees in it what the eye brings means of seeing." See also "Count Cagliostro" (1833), Essays 3:317. Carlyle states a familiar Romantic formula; compare Blake's letter of August 23, 1799: "As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers" (Blake, Letters, 62). Their common source is probably Plotinus's first Ennead, sixth Tractate, "On Beauty": "To yap 6pci)v npoq TO 6pd>nevov avyyevei; KUI ofj,oiov Jioiriaa/j£vov Set emfiakXeiv rfi flepc" (For one must come to the sight with a seeing power made akin and like to what is seen; 1.6.9). 80.25. Raphael: Raffaello, surnamed Santi or Sanzio, of Urbino (14831520), the Renaissance painter. 80.31. Francesca and her Lover: Inferno 5.73ff. "There are many of his greatest qualities in the celebrated passage about Francesca. . . . I know nowhere of a more striking passage. . . . It is as tender as the voice of mothers, full of the gentlest pity, though there is much stern tragedy in it. It is very touching" (History of Literature, 94; Karkaria [82] has ". . . stern tragedy in it. He appears there both as he was environed outwardly, and as he was in his inward feeling; it is very touching"). Francesca, daughter of Guido da Polenta, lord of Ravenna, made a political marriage with Gianciotto da Rimini but fell in love with his younger brother, Paolo. According to tradition, shortly after the wedding the lovers were surprised and killed by the angry husband. The story is told by Boccaccio in his Esposizioni on the Divine Comedy (315-17), a series of lectures he delivered in Florence from 1372 to 1374. 80.34-35. delta bella persona: Inferno5.101-2: "de la bella persona / che me fu tolta" (for the fair form that was taken from me). In the first edition these words from the episode of Francesca and Paolo are given as "questa forma." The words of Francesca do not include "questa forma" as Carlyle must subsequently have recalled, since later editions were corrected. See textual apparatus. 80.36. he will never part from her!: Carlyle paraphrases Francesca's words, Inferno 5.135: "questi, che mai da me non fia diviso" (this one, who never shall be parted from me).

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80.37. tier bruno: Inferno 2.1: "acre bruno" (dark air); literally "brown air." Similar to the "acre perso" of Inferno 5.89, perso being a color predominantly black, but mingled with purple. 81.4. terrestrial libel: "Some have regarded the poem as a kind of satire upon his enemies, on whom he revenged himself by putting them into hell. Now, nothing is more unworthy of Dante than such a theory. If he had been of such an ignoble nature, he never could have written the Divina Commedia. It was written in the purest spirit of justice" (History of Literature, 95). 81.10-11. ^Eolean harps: Wind harps, which were extremely popular during the Romantic period, as in Coleridge's "Dejection: An Ode" and Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind." In his essay "The Correspondent Breeze: A Romantic Metaphor," M. H. Abrams established the centrality of this image for the English Romantic writers. 81.12-13. their meeting together in the Paradiso: Actually the Purgatorio, at 30.28ff and 32.Iff. 81.23-24. 'A Dio spiacenti, ed a' nemici sui, . . .': Inferno3.63: "a Dio spiacenti e a' nemici sui" (displeasing to God and to his enemies). In September 1835 Carlyle was reading about "that class of Damned Souls in Dante, infesti a Dio ed a i suin Nemici, precisely 'the respectable people' of this present generation of the world!" (Letters 8:212). 81.25-26. lNon ragionam di lor, . . .': Inferno 3.51: "Non ragioniam di lor." "These . . . were a kind of trimmers; men that had not even the merit to join with the devil. He adds: ''Non rajfioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa!'—'Let us say nothing of them, but look and pass!'" (History of Literature, 91). The "trimmers," as Carlyle calls them, are the neutrals, neither rebellious nor faithful, who are rejected by both Heaven and Hell. Their retribution takes the form of the contrapasso in which their previous passivity is replaced by posthumous frenzy. Compare "Mirabeau" ([1837], Essays 3:410), quoted in the note at 81.29-30 below. 81.26-27. '. . . Non ban speranza di morte': Inferno3.46: "Questi non hanno speranza di morte" (these have no hope of death). "That is a fine thing which he says of those in a state of despair, 'They have

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not the Hope to die'—'Non hanno speranza di morter What an idea that is in Dante's mind there of death" (History of Literature, 90). See Revelation 9:6, and the following note. 81.29-30. 'that Destiny itself could not doom him not to die': Attributed to Teufelsdrockh in Sartor, 2.7.134. In "Mirabeau" (1837), Carlyle described the fate of those "plausible persons, who, in the Dantean Hell, are found doomed to this frightful penalty, that 'they have not the hope to die'" (Essays 3:410). Carlyle considered "it to be the most dreadful doom not to be suffered to die," even if granted eternal youth (History of Literature, 90). Dante shared this belief: "Death I so prize / that I am envious of whoever dies" (Odes, ode 27, lines 12-13, page 71). 81.34. I do not agree: "The 'Inferno' has become of late times mainly the favorite of the three. . . . It is no doubt a great thing; but to my mind the 'Purgatorio' is excellent also, and I question even whether it is not a better and a greater thing on the whole" (History of Literature, 98). Carlyle preferred the "cantica of penitence . . . at a time when popular taste strongly favoured the Inferno'" (Brand, Thomas Carlyle and Dante, 6). 81.36. Byronism of taste: "So bounteous was Nature to us [i.e., by giving us Scott and William Cobbett]; in the sickliest of recorded ages, when British Literature lay all puking and sprawling in Werterism, Byronism, and other Sentimentalism tearful or spasmodic (fruit of internal wind)" ("Sir Walter Scott" [1838], Essays 4:39). See "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 141.8 below and note. 82.4. tremolar dell' onde: Actually "tremolar de la marina" (Purgatorio 1.117). Carlyle also quoted the line in his 1838 lecture (History of Literature, 99). 82.11-12. "Tell my Giovanna . . .": Purgatorio 8.71-73. Compare History of Literature,99: "One man says: 'Tell my Giovanna that I think her mother does not love me now'—that she has laid aside her weeds!" Giovanna was the daughter of Nino Visconti of Pisa. Her mother, Beatrice, took a second husband, Galeazzo Visconti of Milan, after Nino's death in 1296.

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N O T E S TO P A G E S 8 2 - 8 5

82.13. 'bent down like corbels': Carlyle's rather loose version of Purgatorio 10.130-37: "Come per sostentar solaio o tetto, / per mensola talvolta unafigura/ si vede giugner le ginocchia al petto, / . . . / Vero £ che piu e meno eran contratti / secondo ch'avien phi e meno a dosso" (As for corbel to support a ceiling or a roof, sometimes a figure is seen to join the knees to the breast. . . . They were truly more or less contracted according as they had more and less upon their backs). 82.16. Heaven's gate: Compare Shakespeare, Sonnet 29; Paradise Lost, 3.541. See also Sartor, 2.5.115. 82.17-18. Mountain shakes . . . a psalm of praise rises: Purgatorio 20.124-51. Compare Psalms 46:3, 114:4, and 148:9. 83.11. Gehenna: A name for Hell, from the Vulgate. See note to "The Hero as Prophet" at 62.37 above. 83.14. as I urged the other day: In his comments on allegory in "The Hero as Divinity" above, 7.16-7.38. 83.36. as we said: At 74.18 and 75.17 above. 84.23-24. yesterday, today and forever: Hebrews 13:8: "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever." 84.27-28. Napoleon in Saint-Helena: "The Emperor greatly admired the Iliad. 'It was,' he said, 'like the Books of Moses, the token and the pledge of the age in which it was produced'" (Las Cases, Memoirs2:137). On St. Helena, Napoleon frequently read aloud from the Iliad (3:289) and the Odyssey (3:315, 332, 359). For Carlyle's comparison of the exiled Napoleon and Burns see "Burns" (1828), Essays 1:264. 84.28-29. oldest Hebrew Prophet: Probably a reference to Moses, as the author of the Hebrew Bible. "And there arose not a prophet since in Israel like unto Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face" (Deuteronomy 34:10). 85.8. the dust of King Agamemnon: In Greek mythology, the son of Atreus, king of Mycenae, and leader of the Greek army in the

NOTES

TO P A G E S 85-86

295

Trojan War. In literature he figures in both the title and action of the first segment of the Oresteia by Aeschylus; in Homer's Iliad; and in the Agamemnon, a tragedy by Seneca. Compare "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 138.13 below. 85.10. The uses of this Dante?: A jibe at utilitarianism. Carlyle frequently made this implicit contrast between value and utility, for example: "Art is to be loved, not because of its effects, but because of itself; not because it is useful for spiritual pleasure, or even for moral culture, but because it is Art. . . . To inquire after its utility, would be like inquiring after the utility of & God" ("State of German Literature" [1827], Essays 1:56). But compare the tide of the first chapter of Emerson's essay Representative Men (1850): "Uses of Great Men." 85.19. Arabians at Grenada and at Delhi: Less than a hundred years after Muhammad's death, Arab armies of the first Caliphate swept over the Middle East and North Africa. Spain was invaded in 711. The golden age of Islam in India, however, was during the Mogul empire (1525-1857). See "The Hero as Prophet" at 66.18 above and note. 85.35-36. Let a man do his work; the fruit of it is the care of Another than he: Perhaps a version of Bhagavad Glta 2.47: "karmany eva 'dhikaras te / ma phalesu kadacana" (On action alone be thy interest, / Never on its fruits) (trans. Edgerton, 24-25). Emerson was an enthusiastic reader of the Bhagavad Glta, and alluded to it in an 1850 letter to Carlyle that presupposes Carlyle's familiarity with the book (Emerson and Carlyle, 261), but whether Carlyle knew this passage in 1840 is uncertain. See, however, the claim of T. R. Sharma (Carlyle, "The Hero as Poet," 92). 85.38. 'fills all Morning and Evening Newspapers': Compare "Varnhagen von Ense's Memoirs" (1838), Essays 4:116. Compare also below, "The Hero as King," 192.25-26: "whom no Morning Newspaper makes mention of!" 86.34. Warwickshire Squire: The story of Shakespeare poaching game on the Charlecote estate of Sir Thomas Lucy was initially recorded by Nicholas Rowe ("Some Account," v). The punishments alluded to by Carlyle are not in Rowe but in a later memorandum by Richard Davies. Though several aspects of the story are questionable, the

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N O T E S TO P A G E S 86-89

legend has persisted and won the allegiance of several noted Elizabethan scholars. For a survey of the evidence, see Schoenbaum, William Shakespeare, 78-80. 87.1. 'Tree Igdrasil': The world tree of Scandinavian mythology. See "The Hero as Divinity" above at 19.9 and note. 87.4. Sir Thomas Lucy: See note at 86.34 above. 87.6. not a leaf rotting: A reference to Sartor, 1.11.56. See "The Hero as Divinity" at 9.23-24 above and note. 87.29. St. Stephen's: St. Stephen's chapel, Westminster, was used for meetings of the House of Commons until 1834 when it was destroyed by fire. By a figure of speech, the House of Commons was sometimes called St. Stephen's even after 1834. See also Sartor, 1.9.49; Life of Schiller, 113. 87.31. Freemasons' Tavern: The meeting place of the debating society established by John Stuart Mill between 1825 and 1830 as a London counterpart to the Speculative Society at Edinburgh (Mill, Autobiography and Literary Essays, 129-31). Six weeks after this lecture, on June 24, 1840, Carlyle's efforts to establish the London Library brought together a group of influential men who met at the Freemasons' Tavern and agreed to the founding of the library (Froude, Life in London 1:188-89). Compare "Signs of the Times" (1829), Essays 2:71. 88.10-13. It has been said . . . Bacon's Novum Organum: See "Burns" ([1828], Essays 1:278): "Shakspeare, it has been well observed, in the planning and completing of his tragedies, has shown an Understanding . . . which might have governed states, or indited a Novum Organum." The Novum Organum by Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam (1561-1626), published in 1620, revolutionized the methods of science. 88.35-36. Fiat Lux, Let there be light: Genesis 1:3. 89.13. convex-concave mirror: The image is found in the first chapter of Richter's Siebenkas, which Carlyle translates in his second essay on that writer: "Is this beside me yet a Man? Unhappy one! Your little

N O T E S TO P A G E S 89-91

297

life is the sigh of Nature, or only its echo; a convex-mirror throws its rays into that dust-cloud of dead men's ashes down on the Earth; and thus you cloud-formed wavering phantasms, arise" ("Jean Paul Friedrich Richter" [1830], Essays 2:158). Compare Carlyle's use of the image in his earlier essay on Richter ("Jean Paul Friedrich Richter" [1827], Essays 1:2). 89.25-27. 'His characters are like watches . . .': A rather free rendering by Carlyle of a passage in Goethe's Wilbelm Meister's Apprenticeship (Wilbelm Meister 1:3.11.226): Shakespeare's characters "appear like natural men, and yet they are not. These, the most mysterious and complex productions of creation, here act before us as if they were watches, whose dial-plates and cases were of crystal; which pointed out, according to their use, the course of the hours and minutes; while, at the same time, you could discern the combination of wheels and springs that turned them." The passage echoes a famous comment of Samuel Johnson distinguishing between Fielding and Richardson (Boswell, Life of Johnson., 389), which is paralleled by a phrase of Sir Walter Scott's (see Allott, Novelists on the Novel, 202-3). 90.14-16. crabbed old Schoolmaster: In a letter to Emerson in December 1838, Carlyle recalled "an old blind schoolmaster in Annan" who "used to ask with endless anxiety when a new scholar was offered him, 'But are ye sure he's not a Dunce?' It is really the one thing needful in a man" (Letters 10:231). See 28.12 above and note. 90.23. We talk of faculties: "I know that there have been distinctions drawn between intellect, imagination, fancy, and so on, . . . but at the same time we must keep this fact in view, that the mind is one, and consists not of bundles of faculties at all, showing ever the same features however it exhibits itself—whether in painting, singing, fighting, ever with the same physiognomy" (History of Literature, 156). Carlyle's rejection of "faculty psychology," which regarded "will," "reason," "imagination," etc., to be separate powers composing the mind, parallels the thinking of Johann Friedrich Herbart (1776-1841). Coleridge also used the term "faculties" while rejecting the concept of a divided intelligence. See Table Talk ([July 29, 1830], 106-7), and Shawcross's introduction to Biographia Literaria (l:lxxxvi). 91.20. The human Reynard: Reynard the Fox, legendary hero of numerous satirical "bestiaries" collected during the Middle Ages in

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N O T E S T O P A G E S9 1 - 9 2

France under the general title Roman de Renart. The fox represents a man who artfully preys on society and, through cunning, escapes punishment. 91.33. greatest of Intellects: Compare History of Literature, 15556: "In a word, if I were bound to describe him, I should be inclined to say that his intellect was far greater than that of any other man who has given an account of himself by writing books." 91.35. unconscious intellect: That Shakespeare was unconscious of his genius is a point Carlyle repeats here from "Characteristics" ([1831], Essays 3:5; compare "The Hero as Man of Letters" at 155.37 below and note). The importance of the unconscious is a major idea in Carlyle's writing and in Romantic theory generally. This aspect of Carlyle's teaching was identified by John Stuart Mill as being similar to conclusions he reached as a major consequence of his secular conversion (Mill, Autobiography, 145). Although Gottfried Leibniz (16461716) had earlier asserted the existence of perceptions of which the mind was unconscious, the unconscious was largely the discovery of the nineteenth century. See Barfield, What Coleridge Thought; Coleridge, Biographia Literaria 1:12.164, 174, 2:250. 91.36-92.8. Novalis beautifully remarks . . . 'new harmonies . . . with the higher powers and senses of man': On Novalis, see the note to "The Hero as Divinity" at 11.3 above. The quotation is among the selections from Novalis that Carlyle translated in his 1829 essay on that author: "When we speak of the aim and Art observable in Shakspeare's works, we must not forget that Art belongs to Nature; that it is, so to speak, self-viewing, self-imitating, self-fashioning Nature. . . . Shakspeare was no calculator, no learned thinker; he was a mighty, many-gifted soul, whose feelings and works, like products of Nature, bear the stamp of the same spirit; and in which the last and deepest of observers will still find new harmonies with the infinite structure of the Universe; concurrences with later ideas, affinities with the higher powers and senses of man" ("Novalis," Essays 2:41). 92.13. as the oak-tree grows: "This all-producing earth knows not the symmetry of the oak which springs from it. It is all beautiful, not a branch is out of its place, all is symmetry there; but the earth has itself no conception of it, and produced it solely by the virtue that was in itself" (History of Literature, 157).

N O T E S TO P A G E S 9 2 - 9 3

299

92.18. Speech is great: Compare Goethe's Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship (Wilbelm Meister 2:7.9.76): "Words are good, but they are not the best. The best is not to be explained by words." See also Froude, First Forty Tears 2:91. 92.38. 'good hater': According to Mrs. Hester Thrale, afterwards Mrs. Piozzi (1741-1821), Johnson said of Dr. Richard Bathurst (16201704?), "Bathurst was a man to my very heart's content: he hated a fool, and he hated a rogue, and he hated a Whig; he was a very good hater" (Piozzi, "Anecdotes," 31). The "Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, by Mrs. Piozzi" were included in J. W. Croker's 1831 edition of Boswell's Life, which Carlyle reviewed in Fraser's Magazine ("BoswelPs Life of Johnson" [1832], Essays 3:62-135). 93.9. 'the crackling of thorns under the pot': Ecclesiastes 7:6. 93.11. Dogberry and Verges: The two constables in Much Ado About Nothing, 3.3ff. 93.18-19. Hamlet, in Wilhelm Meister: In Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship (Wilhelm Meister 1:4.3.251-53 and 1:5.11.358-12.366). In his earlier lecture series, Carlyle said: "One of the finest things of the kind ever produced is Goethe's criticism on Hamlet. . . . I may call it the reproduction of Hamlet in a shape addressed to the intellect, as Hamlet is already addressed to the imagination" (History of Literature, 154—55). 93.19-20. August Wilhelm Schlegel: Schlegel (1767-1845) began his translations of Shakespeare into German at Jena in 1796. By 1801 he had published sixteen of the plays, one of the great achievements of German Romanticism. In Vienna in 1808 Schlegel delivered a series of lectures, later published as Uber dramatische Kunst und Literatur (1809-11), in which he describes Shakespeare's history plays as a national epic. 93.22-23. Marlborough . . . learned from Shakspeare: "I can wel understand how the Duke of Marlborough once declared that all his acquaintance with the history of England was owing to Shakespeare" (History of Literature, 156). Also "On History" (1830), Essays 2:85. 93.29. Agincourt: The battle fought on October 25, 1415, between the English under King Henry V and the French under Charles

300

N O T E S TO P A G E S 9 3 - 9 6

d'Albret, Constable of France; it is described in the fourth act of Henry V. 93.32-33. "Ye good yeomen, . . .": Henry V, 3.1.25: "And you, good yeomen,. . ." The quotation is from Henry's speech at Harfleur rather than at Agincourt. 94.13. Globe Playhouse: The new Globe theater, in which Shakespeare had a vested interest, was built in 1598 or 1599. The cylindrical, thatched building was destroyed by fire during a performance of Henry VIII on June 29, 1613. It was rebuilt within a year. 94.18. Disjecta membra: Literally, "scattered limbs." Horace, Satires 1.4.62: "Invenias etiam disiecti membra poetae" (even when he is dismembered you would find the limbs of a poet). Carlyle said of himself: "I am a 'dismembered limb,' and feel it again too deeply" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:80). 94.23. deep as Tophet: Isaiah 30:33. 94.24. 'We are such stuff as Dreams are made of!' That scroll: A variant quotation of The Tempest, 4.1.156-57. See "The Hero as Divinity" at 32.33 above and note. The lines are inscribed on a scroll held in the left hand of the statue of Shakespeare in Westminster Abbey. 95.28. ^schylus: The earliest of the Greek tragic poets (525-456 B.C.). Carlyle's point had been made by Jonson in lines 31-34 of the poem to Shakespeare's memory published in the First Folio: "And though thou hadst small Latine and lesse Greeke, / From thence to honor thee, I would not seeke / For names; but call forth thund'ring jEschilus, / Euripides, and Sophocles to us." 96.1. prolix absurdity: See "The Hero as Prophet" above, 56.11-14. 96.8. Earl of Southampton: Henry Wriothesley (1573-1624), to whom Shakespeare dedicated Venus and Adonis in 1593 and The Rape ofLucrece in 1594. Carlyle's allusion to Southampton's patronage is derived from Nicholas Rowe ("Some Account," x), who passed on a story handed down by Sir William D'Avenant that the Earl had given Shakespeare a thousand pounds.

N O T E S TO P A G E S 97-99

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96.8-9. Sir Thomas Lucy: See note at 86.34 above. 96.9. sending to the Treadmill: The treadmill, an instrument for the punishment of prisoners sentenced to hard labor, was invented by William Cubitt in 1822. Its use was ended by the Prison Act of 1898. 96.25-26. Indian Empire will go, at any rate, some day: Carlyle's prophecy was fulfilled in 1947 with the granting of Indian independence. He makes a similar contrast in "Goethe's Portrait" ([1832], Essays 2:373): "Napoleon, with his Austerlitzes, Waterloos and Borodinos, is quite gone. . . . While this other!—he still shines with his direct radiance." Also in "Death of Goethe" (1832), Essays 2:378-79. 96.31. New Holland: The Dutch colony in the northwest of Australia, and by extension an early name for the entire continent. 97.9. Paramatta: City in New South Wales, Australia. 97.17. Italy lies dismembered: Partitioned by various foreign powers, especially Austria and France, following Napoleon's invasion of 1796. In the decade during which Carlyle prepared his lectures on heroes, insurrections in the Papal States provided early signs of the risorgimento, the movement that led to the reunification of Italy in 1870. 97.20. The Czar of all the Russias: The czar in 1840 was Nicolai Pavlovich, Nicholas I (1796-1855). The Russian Empire included Russia proper, the Caucasus, Siberia, the Steppes, and Turkestan.

NOTES TO LECTURE IV. THE HERO AS PRIEST. Sources: The German reformer Luther had been of keen interest to Carlyle for many years. In 1829 he wrote that Luther's character was "the most worth discussing of all modern men's" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:75). He thought of spending the winter of 1831 in Weimar to prepare a life of "the great German lion" (Froude, First Forty Tears 2:101), and in September 1831 he offered the idea of an article on Luther to the Edinburgh Review. Since neither book nor article came to fruition, the lecture on the hero as priest gave Carlyle a long-awaited opportunity to deal in some depth widi the subject of Luther, which he had briefly touched on in his earlier lectures on the history of literature.

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99-100

It was Luther's Tiscbredin or Table Talk that gave Carlyle the most revealing insights into Luther's nature, and he cites a number of details from that work at 120.29-121.3 of On Heroes. However, six months after the lecture Carlyle asked Karl August Varnhagen von Ense, "Is there anywhere a legible Life of Luther; so much as an attainable edition of his Tiscbredin? I fear the answer is, No" (Letters 12:316; see note at 120.29 below). Carlyle's comment makes it clear that his knowledge of the Table Talk in 1840 was indirect. In fact it was probably derived from the large excerpts contained in Memoirs de Luther, ecrits par lui meme, translated and edited by Jules Michelet (1835), to which Carlyle referred in a letter of October 1842 (Letters 15:145). Knox had also for some time been a subject of interest to Carlyle. In March 1833 he was impressed by Thomas M'Crie's Life of John Knox (1811), a copy of which he had obtained the previous year, and he felt a growing inclination to write a book about "Scotch worthies and martyrs" (Froude, First Forty Years 2:340). He relied heavily on M'Crie's Life for his lecture, but he also drew on Knox's The History of the Reformation in Scotland (1587), which was soon (1846) to be superbly edited by Carlyle's correspondent David Laing. In January 1837, Carlyle had planned an essay on Knox (Letters 7:71), but the section in his fourth lecture was his only published account of the Scottish cleric until the "Portraits of John Knox" ([1875], Essays 5:313-67). 99.17. 'open secret of the Universe': See "The Hero as Poet" above at 69.7 and note. 100.1. Luther: Martin Luther (1483-1546), founder of the Protestant Reformation and translator of the Bible into German. Luther was Carlyle's mother's "chief Saint in the Christian calendar" (Froude, Life in London 2:108) and no praise pleased her son more than her response to his fourth lecture on Luther and Knox (Letters 13:9394). During his 1852 visit to Germany to research his life of Frederick the Great, Carlyle detoured to Marburg, Eisenach, and other locations associated with Luther (see notes at 119.26, 119.28, and 119.32 below). 100.1. Knox: John Knox (1514 or 1515-1572). Knox's birthdate was given as 1505 in David Buchanan's 1644 edition of Knox's History of the Reformation in Scotland and remained unchallenged until 1904, when Hay Fleming produced evidence in support of the later date of 1514 or 1515. This is now generally accepted. See Ridley, John Knox.,

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531-34. Carlyle claimed that his wife was a "lineal descendant of John Knox himself," but this genealogy is "exceedingly doubtful" (Mill, Sterling and Browning, 27 and note). For Carlyle's view of Knox's life and significance see pp. 123-31 below and notes. 100.12. warfaring and battling Priest: Perhaps a Carlylean echo of Milton's "true warfaring Christian" (Areopagitica [1644], Complete Prose 2:515). 100.34. wild Saint Dominies: The Dominican Order founded in France in 1214 by Saint Dominic, born Domingo de Guzman (11701221). It is not immediately clear what Dominican "wildness" Carlyle had in mind. The order was marked by extreme ascetic austerity and was entrusted with the conduct of the Inquisition. It was founded mainly to counteract the Albigensian heresy and had the right to enforce its doctrines by fire and sword. 100.34. Thebaid Eremites: Thebes in Egypt was a popular haunt for hermits in the third and fourth centuries. "They often usurped the den of some wild beast whom they affected to resemble; they buried themselves in some gloomy cavern which art or nature had scooped out of the rock; and the marble quarries of Thebais are still inscribed with the monuments of their penance" (Gibbon, Decline and Fall 4:37.79). The reference was popular with Carlyle; see, for example, Letters 15:193 and New Letters 2:335. 100.36. Walter Raleigh: Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618), English explorer, courtier, and author. 100.36. Ulfila: Bishop of the Goths in the fourth century. See "The Hero as Divinity" above at 19.26-27 and note. 100.37. Cranmer: Thomas Cranmer (1489-1556), first Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury. Among his "practical Endeavours" was seeking the annulment of the marriage of Henry VIII to Catherine of Aragon and legitimizing the king's later marriage to Anne Boleyn. He was also a powerful agent in separating the new Church of England from Rome, and he drew up the doctrinal statements of the new church that later became the Thirty-nine Articles. Having incurred the anger of Mary Tudor over the succession, Cranmer was condemned for treason and later tried for heresy. Under severe ex-

304

N O T E S TO P A G E S 1 0 0 - 1 0 4

animation he recanted his earlier beliefs and declared in favor of the articles of the Roman Catholic Church. However, during his execution by burning at the stake he repudiated his recantations and plunged into the flames the hand that had signed them. 101.6. Orpheus: The mythological Greek musician who was able with his lyre to enchant trees and rocks, tame wild beasts, turn rivers in their course, and drown out the song of the Sirens. 101.14-15. Theorem or spiritual Representation: An unusual rendering of theorem, from the Greek tewpTj/ia, meaning "a spectacle" or "subject for contemplation." 102.18. eye-servant: A servant who works only when supervised, i.e., under the eye of his master. 103.11. Schweidnitz Fort: An episode in the capture of the fort from Frederick on October 1, 1761, by Gideon Ernest von Laudon (17171790), the Austrian field marshal. See also 125.9 below and textual apparatus. The probably apocryphal story of Russian Grenadiers being marched into a chasm between two ramparts to make a roadway for those behind is recounted by Carlyle in Frederick 7:20.8.394. 103.28. Arab turban: More likely a slip for tulwar, the Pathan curved sword. However, "turban" appears in all editions of On Heroes published in Carlyle's lifetime. At the time of Carlyle's lecture, AngloIndian forces were making their first encounter with the Afghan tulwar during the first Afghan war (1838-42). Crossed tulwars were the emblem of the Pathan Queen's Own Guides, an elite corps operating on the Northwest Frontier whose exploits were widely reported by the English press at the time. 103.28-29. Thor's strong hammer smiting down Jiituns: In various mythic adventures Thor used Mjollnir, his magic hammer, to destroy giants, but principally in Hymir's hall, in the Kingdom of Geirro6, and in the realm of Utgar&aloki. See "The Hero as Divinity" above, especially 33.19-28. 104.2. cannot away with: Isaiah 1:13: "Bring no more vain oblations; incense is an abomination unto me; the new moons and sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away with."

N O T E S TO P A G E S 104-105

305

104.4. done under the sun: Ecclesiastes 1:14: "I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit." 104.6. Idol is Eidolon: ei'572 Am

The plural is more correct (see note at 18.35), and the change was apparently not made at the same time as most of the other changes of wording that appear in the 1846 British Third Edition, since the plural is still found in the 1846 American edition (see 83.5 below). The change to the singular, therefore, does not appear to be authorial. On the other hand, the addition of the comma in both 1846 editions has been accepted. 19.3 Hyper-Brobdignagian 41 Hyper-Brobdingnagian Centenary Edition The spelling Brobdignag rather than Brobdingncy;, the correct Swiftian form, is consistent throughout all lifetime editions, here and at 32.5 and 34.25. The Oxford English Dictionary gives three citations under "Brobdingnag" for the currency of the alternative spelling Brobdignajf: from Pope, Southey, and the instance at 32.5 of the present work. 21.22 "Wednesday," "WWwwday,"

41 70 72

The change from roman to italic type or the reverse, while not amounting to a change of wording, is nevertheless a change that is likely to represent the preference of the author, except in those cases, such as 43.4 and 123.19 below, in which such a change might be thought to be called for by some rule of style, and can therefore be explained as a regularization. In the present instance, the italicization of part of a word is typically Carlylean. 25.36 Type-Northman; Type Norseman; Type-Norseman;

41 46 52->72 Am

The change of wording from "Northman" to "Norseman" must have been ordered by Carlyle in both printer's copies for the two 1846 editions, but the loss of the hyphen in the British edition is more likely to have occurred during the setting of that edition, inadvertently or as a regularization by the typesetter.

DISCUSSION

OF EDITORIAL

DECISIONS

433

41 one: it 42 one? it one? It 46-»72 The change from colon to question mark in 1842 is a regularization that does not commend itself as probably authorial. The capitalization of the following word, though occurring in both of the 1846 editions, is a necessary correction, given the question mark, that could well have been made by both typesetters independently.

35.37

39.2 one hundred and eighty millions 41 one-hundred-and-eighty-millions 58 70 72 a hundred-and-eighty millions Although this is a change of wording, we see it as a response, not necessarily by the author, to the excessive 1858 hyphens (see Note on the Text, p. c). 43.4 Book of Job 41 Book of Job Am -> 72 This italicization of a title can be seen as a regularization. That it first occurred in the 1846 American edition but not in the 1846 British edition suggests that it was not indicated on the common printer's copy. That it occurred again independently in the 1852 British edition is merely evidence that the force of the rule was felt on both sides of the Atlantic. years 41 42-»72 years' We regard the addition of the needed apostrophe as a correction expressive of Carlyle's intention. 45.23

41 57.4 bonA-fide 42->72 bona-fide We are indebted to Ian Campbell for the observation that the circumflex here is Carlyle's usual device for indicating a long vowel to distinguish the ablative from the nominative in first-declension Latin nouns and adjectives. Compare "invitd Minerva" in Letters 1:188.

80.36 80.36

he 'will be wi\\

41 42->72 41 42-»72

her.' her! The four changes of punctuation and italicization encompassed in these linked revisions are clearly a part of the simultaneous revision of this passage, 80.34-37, in the Second Edition, and have therefore been accepted.

434

D I S C U S S I O N OF E D I T O R I A L

DECISIONS

83.5 our 41 or 46 52 -» 72 Although the later reading is plausible, we judge it to be more probably the result of a typographical error. That the change is not found in the 1846 American edition suggests that it was not indicated in the printer's copy for that edition, unlike most of the changes of wording that appear in the 1846 British Third Edition. See the Note on the Text, pp. xcvi-xcviii, and further examples at 193.38 and 201.20 below. 86.24

chivalry-way chivalry way See 7.17 above. 87.27

King Henrys, King-Henrys,

Queen Elizabeths Queen-Elizabeths See below at 120.6. 87.27

41 46-472

41 42->72 41 42 46 52 -> 72

87.29

Stephen's, 41 Stephens, 46 52 58 Although the change in spelling of a proper name would ordinarily be taken as authorial, the fact that the change did not occur in both 1846 editions counts against it, as does the fact that the copy-text spelling was restored in 1870. 41 91.24 reflexions reflections 46->72 This modernization of spelling, though it occurs in both 1846 editions, is far more likely to be the coincidental activity of both typesetters than to represent Carlyle's altered preference, especially since the same change occurs at 153.2 in the British but not in the American edition.

95.25

be still 41 still be 46 52->72 Although technically a change of wording, this transposition, which does not occur in the American 1846 edition, is most likely a typesetter's error. 100.34

Thebaid 41 Thebaid 46 52-•»72 This situation is similar to that of 87.29 above, except that whereas that change could be considered an error (and was so considered in 1870), this one could be considered a regularization.

D I S C U S S I O N OF E D I T O R I A L D E C I S I O N S

435

41 downfal. downfall. 46-•»72 As in the variant at 91.24, it is easier to imagine that typesetters on both sides of the Atlantic saw the earlier spelling (incidentally the spelling in Johnson's Dictionary) as unacceptably obsolete than that Carlyle changed his orthographic preference.

102.20

104.16

41 Godhood; 46 52->72 Godhead; Am God; Whether the revision in the 1846 British Third Edition represents a change in Carlyle's choice of words or a typographer's emendation from a less familiar to a more familiar usage is impossible to say, and the evidently erroneous reading in the 1846 American edition gives no guidance. "Godhood" is elsewhere attested in Carlyle's writings.

Kings, 41 70 72 Kings, Italicization here is certainly a clarification of the passage, but not a necessary regularization. The author's preference is therefore the most probable explanation. 106.25

107.14

adviseablest 41 46-»72 advisablest The arguments of 91.24 and 102.20 above apply here as well, with the additional observation that there are twelve analogous instances of the change from an -ectbl- form to -abl- that occur in the 1846 British edition but not in the 1846 American. (The latest citation of the spelling adviseable in the Oxford English Dictionary is 1790.) 107.30

makes it 41 make it 70 72 Like the analogous instances at 145.13 and 198.10 below, this change from the singular to the plural verb could have been regarded, by someone other than the author, as a necessary correction of Carlyle's grammar.

120.6 Duke Georges 41 Duke - G eorges 42-472 This occurs within an extensive revision of the passage, 120.1-7, and is typically Carlylean. We have therefore accepted it, and also the two analogous added hyphens in the same edition at 87.27. 121.4 'Patmos,' the Wartburg 41 42-» 72 Patmos, the Castle of Coburg, Although this revision changes a correct allusion to an apparently incorrect one (see note at 121.4-5), there can be little doubt that Carlyle himself intended it.

436

D I S C U S S I O N OF E D I T O R I A L D E C I S I O N S

123.19

Neale's

Neal's Neal's

41

46->58 70 72

The correction of the spelling of Neal's name, contemporary with the addition of the footnote in 1846, is clearly Carlyle's revision. The change from italic to roman in 1870, on the other hand, is likely a regularization. 123.38

*Neal ^eal

46 52-*72

In the 1846 British Third Edition, in which this footnote first appeared, the reference symbol in the text is a superscript numeral 1, while the reference symbol leading the footnote itself is an asterisk. The asterisk was changed to a superscript 1 in the 1852 Fourth Edition. Since the inconsistency in the Third Edition cannot have been intended, we have followed the correction as it was made in the Fourth Edition.

135.2

Jena, Erlangen,

41 46 52->72

This is the only unambiguously authorial revision that occurs in the 1846 British but not the 1846 American edition. It is impossible to say when Carlyle made the revision, or whether it represents a divergence between the "precisely identical" printer's copies, but that it is Carlyle's revision cannot be doubted. For the explanation of the revision itself, see note at 135.1.

144.7 order; order;'

41 42-»72

An opening quotation mark without a closing quotation mark is clearly an error. We follow the Second Edition in supplying the missing punctuation at this point. 145.13

called call

41 72

In fact, Carlyle hail made this point earlier in the lecture, at 137.10-16. It is therefore likely that this change was made by the typographer, under the impression that he was correcting a grammatical error. See 107.30 and 198.10. 147.22

not go not go

41 42->72

This instance of italicization, like that at 80.36 above, appears to be part of the simultaneous authorial revision of the passage in which it occurs, in this case 147.21-25, and has therefore been accepted as such.

D I S C U S S I O N OF E D I T O R I A L D E C I S I O N S

159.37

and contorsions and contortions

437

41 46->72

41 The contorsions 46->72 The contortions As with the similar cases at 91.24, 102.20, and 107.14 discussed above, in which spellings that were rare or obsolete in the nineteenth century were modernized in both 1846 editions, we believe it more probable that both typesetters would have made the changes independently than that Carlyle would have changed his preferred spelling. (The latest citation of the spelling contortion in the Oxford English Dictionary is 1773.)

159.38

41 history his 42 46 52->72 history, —his Am history — his The absence of punctuation at this point in the first edition is unlikely to have been a typesetter's error, as the line is very widely spaced and the typesetter would not have overlooked any punctuation present in his copy that might have tightened it. But the sense requires some punctuation here, and the characteristic comma-dash combination is typically Carlylean. We therefore take this to be an authorial revision.

166.10

171.3 it 41 42-•»72 it The loss of italics here seems at least as likely to have been inadvertent as deliberate.

172.33

are a Chimera, 41 42-+ 72 are — a Chimera, In contrast to the case of 166.10 above, it is precisely because the sense does not require any punctuation here that we conclude that this dash must also have been added by the author. 179.11 Turtuffe; 41 Tartufe; 46-»72 Although the modern French word for "hypocrite," tartufe, is spelled with one /, it is derived from the eponymous character in Moliere's Le Tartuffe, ou I'Imposteur (1669), where the spelling, like the commonest spelling in both Britain and America in all centuries, is with two. Why Carlyle would have indicated this change in the printer's copies of both 1846 editions is a mystery, but the fact of the change in both editions is more easily explained by his having done so than by both compositors independently changing from a more to a less familiar spelling.

438

D I S C U S S I O N OF E D I T O R I A L D E C I S I O N S

179.38

euphuisms, euphemisms,

41 70 72

180.12

no euphuistic no euphemistic

41 70 72

180.14

in euphuistic in euphemistic

41 70 72

187.1

Euphuisms; Euphuisms, Euphuism, Euphemisms,

41 42 46 52 58 Am 70 72

Beyond doubt, the word that Carlyle intended here was euphuism, not euphemism (see note at 179.38). The typesetter of the Library Edition must have made the change from a word he did not recognize to one he knew, under the impression that he was only modernizing the spelling. 193.38

do a priceless do priceless

41 46 52-»72

The dropping of the somewhat unidiomatic article here seems at least as likely to have been unintended as deliberate. (See 83.5 above.) 197.6 hand, hands,

41 46 52-* 72

Although technically changes of wording, this and the variant at 201.19 below, which do not occur in the 1846 American edition, are judged to be more probably regularizations by the London printers, who we know read their own proofs in 1846, than authorial revisions. 198.10

call calls

41 70 72

This is likely to be a regularization of Carlyle's grammar, like the similar changes at 107.30 and 145.13. 201.9 into Chaos in Chaos

41 72

We judge this alteration a typographical error, not an authorial revision. 201.19

Cromwell's Cromwell See 197.6 above.

41 46 52->72

DISCUSSION OF E D I T O R I A L D E C I S I O N S

201.20

Jesuistic Jesuitic

439

41 46 52-»72

The Oxford English Dictionary cites the later version of this passage, dating the citation "1840," in establishing the form Jesuitic as a "now rare" equivalent of Jesuitical. There is no citation for the copy-text form Jesuistic; Jesuist is called both obsolete and rare, with no citation later than 1645. Nevertheless, we do not feel that the copy-text form is so impossible that we can conclude that it was unintended. Also, we see that here again the 1846 American edition follows the copy-text form, reducing the probability that the change was a deliberate revision. We therefore do not feel entitled to emend in favor of the later form, though only by doing so could we have preserved the accuracy of the OED citation.

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LINE-END HYPHENS IN THE COPY-TEXT THE following are the editorially established forms of possible compounds that were hyphenated at the ends of lines in the 1841 first edition. A slash (/) indicates the position of the line-break in the copy-text where this is not obvious.

6.30 7.12 8.34 12.13 12.26 14.17 14.36 16.20 16.27 17.12 19.4 23.2 23.35 24.23 25.36 27.24 29.11 29.25 32.19 34.9 34.35 37.8 38.20 38.34 39.2 42.8 47.10 50.8 56.20 57.18 61.27 62.5 62.10 63.14 65.4 74.23 77.17 81.12 84.27 93.11 94.13 106.12

eldest-born life-guidance rock-built Kon-ning Hero-worship tavern-waiters Hero-worship Northland Summer-heat Ice-bergs giantlike overflowed camera-obscura everlasting Type-North/man childlike Sea-kings forest-feller world-tree Midgard-snake world-embracing Hero-worship Hero-worship well-meaning life-guidance swift-handed good-opinion god-announcing shoulder-blades pellmell manhood well-beloved gray-haired life-death three-score school-divinity broken-hearted sore-saddened Saint-Helena Dogberry Playhouse Hero-captain

108.25 108.30 108.37 114.19 114.31 115.30 117.18 117.34 120.37 123.13 124.24 125.19 127.18 128.28 131.7 143.38 146.11 148.2 148.36 149.35 150.28 150.35 151.22 152.25 153.37 154.32 155.15 156.19 156.22 157.36 160.4 162.1 162.14 162.36 165.29 165.30 166.18 167.13 169.19 170.4 170.27 171.25

441

rfwbelieve Serpent-queller everlasting God's-message God's-world Nightmare dull-droning Popehood Awestruck Star-chamber Hero-worship Scotchmen narrow- loo king much-enduring Regent-Murrays ill-conditioned blackberries death-/in-life half-and-/half straightway Quack-squadron half- hero great-looking Fourpence - half/penny school-languages glared -in footsteps everlasting seed-field valet-de-/chambre Contrat-social hard-handed clay-farm Harz-rock Hero-worship well-being ploughman Fire-flies Able-man ballot-box bricklayer steamengine

442

171.36 172.24 173.2 173.15 173.23 176.29 185.37 186.22 186.28 186.29 187.27 190.22 193.32 195.3

L I N E - E N D HYPHENS IN THE COPY-TEXT

self-interest everlasting death-sleep nonentity life-system College-rules pie-powder Ballot-boxes ballot-boxes Valet-World herohood, starting-point broken-hearted Statesman

196.1 197.2 197.30 198.37 199.20 200.30 200.34 202.23 202.28 204.13 206.2 206.23 206.33 207.3

lion-hearted Hero-Cavalier constitution - builders Englishmen Barebones's forethoughts foreseen no-whither battle-mate Fanatic-Hypocrite onwards charlatan-element ^//-deception Notre-Dame

NOTES 17.12. The only other instance of "iceberg" in the copy-text is at 32.4 where it reads "Ice-bergs" (in-line hyphen). All other editions print it as a single unhyphenated word unless at line ends. Following the copy-text, the hyphen has been retained. 25.36. "Type-North-/man" in the copy-text at 25.36 was revised to "Type Norse-/man" in the 1846 British edition, "Type-Norseman" in the American. The present text follows the latter reading. 77.17. "Broken-hearted" occurs four times in the copy-text. Besides these two instances (here and at 193.32) where the hyphen is at a line end, one of the others is hyphenated in-line (at 173.25) and the other (at 144.27) is unhyphenated. Clearly the hyphenated form is normal, and the hyphens will therefore be retained in the ambiguous cases. However there seems to be no reason to impose a hyphen at 144.27 for the sake of mere consistency. 120.37. "Awestruck" occurs four times in the copy-text. It is hyphenated (inline) at 83.24, but unhyphenated at 120.36 and at 157.26. Because the word is unhyphenated on the line above the line-end hyphen, the hyphen has been dropped. 123.13. This is the only instance of "Star-chamber" in the text. The OED gives many variations of spelling, but only two instances (from 1560 and 1596) of an unhyphenated compound. The OED's preferred spelling is with a hyphen. The hyphen has therefore been retained. 154.32. "Glared in" occurs twice in the text. Besides this case, it is printed at 47.24 as two words. The Uniform Edition adds the hyphen at 47.24 in keeping with its pattern, and this added hyphen is kept through subsequent editions. But the hyphen at 154.32 is not kept by the Library Edition or subsequent editions, a distinct departure from the pattern (see "Note on the Text" above, p. c). 171.25. "Steam-engine" occurs with an in-line hyphen at 65.24; "steamengine" occurs unhyphenated at 148.28 and 149.25. Following both the more common and the more proximate form, the hyphen is dropped here. 193.32. See 77.17 above.

LINE-END HYPHENS IN THE PRESENT TEXT IN quotations from the present edition, no line-end hyphens are to be retained except the following:

3.21 8.10 9.26 11.36 12.9 16.26 16.27 19.3 23.35 25.15 30.35 31.25 32.19 32.37 34.23 35.15 42.4 43.37 46.30 56.15 60.4 61.20 62.30 63.8 65.4 68.16 68.27 83.6 84.27 84.37

85.17 86.27 88.16 107.37 108.30 110.13 114.31 119.7 121.29 125.14 125.19 129.25 134.3 137.13 141.10 147.23 148.2 155.13 156.19 157.36 166.29 167.9 173.2 173.18 182.33 187.13 190.27 195.22 195.33

light-fountain quack-theory never-resting Hero-worship Hero-worship Sea-tempest Summer-heat Hyper- B robdignagian camera-obscura lion-heart square-built Summer-heat world-tree Giant-land Mimer-stithy under-zeal sand-sea festoon-rows true-meaning State -Paper rock-mountains ill-provided mealy-mouthed amateur-search three -score song-writer spindle-shanks world-wide Saint-Helena heart-song

443

Hero-Poet long-enduring every-way long-run Serpent-queller school-children God's-world Four-and- twenty crag-like silk-stockings Half-and-half cautious-hopeful god-inspired Book-writers sphere - harmony spinning -jennies death-in-life dim-struggling heart- sincerity valet-de-chambre candle-light Light-chafers God's-world death-struggle deep-feeling Sorrow-stricken Play-actor Law- Courts hero-hearts

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HISTORICAL COLLATION FOLLOWING is a complete historical collation of On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History. All variant readings found in the collated versions of the text are reported. The standard of collation (the copy-text of the present edition) is com posite: the 1841 first edition is the earliest extant form of the text, except for the two proof pages corresponding to pages 25 and 26 of the first edition, 15.13-16.14 of the present text. Each item is keyed to the present edition by the number of the page and line on which the variant begins (lecture tides are not counted as lines, but the blank lines that separate some paragraphs are counted). For each item, the top line gives the copy-text reading—which for most items will be the same as the reading in the present text—followed by the symbol of the version serving as copy-text at that point. The other lines of each item report all variant readings in chronological order. Where a variant has been accepted as an emendation, the emended reading that will be found in the present edition is printed in boldface. Items treated in the Discussion of Editorial Decisions (pp. 431-39) are marked with an asterisk. Each variant reading is followed by the symbols of all versions in which that reading occurred, as given in the table below. An arrow between two such symbols (e.g., 46 —» 72) signifies that the reading in question is found in all intervening versions. (For this purpose, the 1846 American edition is considered as intervening between the 1846 British Third Edition and the 1852 Fourth Edition.) Any version not accounted for in this way agrees with the copy-text reading. For example, from the second line of the item at 8.38, where the symbols "46 52 —> 72" appear, one can conclude that "42" and "Am" agree with the copy-text reading, while "46, "52," "58," "70," and "72" agree with the variant reading. Double brackets ([ ]) signify that one character or punctuation mark is absent at that point in the indicated version, but that extra blank space is found at that point, suggesting broken type. The symbol "^" indicates that a new paragraph begins at that point. The symbol "/" indicates the end of a line when relevant. Symbol U

R

41 42 46 Am 52 58 70 72

Version Unrevised proof sheets for the first edition (15.13-16.14 only). Revisions in Carlyle's hand on proof sheets for the first edition (15.13-16.14 only). First edition. London: James Fraser, 1841. Second Edition. London: Chapman and Hall, 1842. Third Edition. London: Chapman and Hall, 1846. First authorized American edition. New York: Wiley and Putnam, 1846. Fourth Edition. London: Chapman and Hall, 1852. Volume 6 (1858) of the Uniform Edition. 16 vol. London: Chapman and Hall, 1857-58. Volume 12 (1870) of the Library Edition. 30 vol. London: Chapman and Hall, 1869-71. Volume 13 (1872) of the People's Edition. 37 vol. Lon don: Chapman and Hall, 1871-74.

445

446

HISTORICAL

Lecture I . The Hero as Divinity, 41 3.15 embodiment, embodyment, Am 41 3.23 world: world; 42 -* 72 widely distant 41 4.5 widely-distant 58 —* 72 4.9 but, 41 Am but 4.33 No-world; 41 70 72 No-World; 5.9 unseen 41 unseen and 46-* 72 5.16 look, 41 look 70 72 5.16 little, 41 little 70 72 41 5 .20 falsehoods, falsehoods 72 5.21 life there. 41 46 -> 72 Life! 5 .24 worshipped 41 worshiped 58 6.12 savage 41 sovage Am 6.12 all. 41 46 -> 72 all things. 41 6.14 at into Am 6 .19 Hamilton's Travels into 41 Turner's Account of his 42 -> 72 Embassy to 41 6.27 Priests priests 70 72 41 6..27 Man man Am shadowing forth, 7,,1 41 shadowing-forth, 58 -> 72 personification, 41 7..1 personification 58-* 72

COLLATION

7.5

speak out 41 speak-out 58 -> 72 7.13 should 41 would Am 41 7.16 I 11 70 72 41 7.17* Allegory- theorists Allegory theorists 46 -> 72 41 7.20 Symbols 46-* 72 symbols 41 7 .29 symbolizes! 58 -> 72 symbolises! 41 7 .33 certainty, certainty 70 72 41 7 .38 what was Am what is 41 cloudfield, 8.3 70 72 cloudfield 41 8.4* firm-land 46 -> 72 firm land 41 men, 8.8 70 72 men 41 8 .10* quack-theory 46 -> 72 quack theory 41 8.17 Aristotle's, 52 -> 72 Plato's, 41 8.18 were 52-* 72 was 8 .19 be, says the Philosopher, 41 be, 52-* 72 41 8..26 the 52-* 72 this 41 8..26 Aristode. Plato's. 52-* 72 41 8..31 unveiled not veiled 46 -> 72 41 8..32 flashing in flashing-in 58 -> 72 41 8. 38 rain: rain; 46 52 -> 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

9.19

9.22 9.26 9.28 9.29 9.30 9.31 9.31 9.38 10.3 10.6 10.6 10.11 10.13 10.14 10.25 10.25 10.26 10.29 10.34 10.36

me!—what me —what us. us. envelopes envelops Creation, creation, of at what not, what-not, bottled up bottled-up jars, jars stripping off stripping-off eye eyes then there there then shining down shining-down glancing out glancing-out worshipped worshiped worshipping worshiping infinitude Infinitude itself?' itself? loveable. lovable. did, — namely, did, namely saying, saying Man!" man!"

41 70 72 41 Am 41 58-»72 41 72 41 Am 41 58->72 41 58-»72 41 70 72 41 S8-+72 41 Am 41 70 72 41 58-»72 41 58->72 41 58 41 58 41 46-* 72 41 70 72 41 58->72 41

Am 41

70 72

41 Am

11.1

Being being 11.3 temple Temple turn out 11.8 turn-out 11.16 finished off finished -off 12.19* even: even; 12.27 gone out, gone -out, 12.28 some time sometime 12.30 Shew Show 13.2 For \For 13.8 crumbling down crumbling-down 13.27* paralysis; paralysis: 13.35 burst out burst-out 13.37 life life 14.1 Voltairism Voltaireism 14.6 comes up comes-up 14.12 realized realised 14.17 Maitre Maitre 14.18 Postilion: Postillion: Postillion, 14.21 beautifullest, beautifulest, 14.22 beautifuller, beautifiiler, 14.25 worshipped. worshiped. 1JAV-,

447

41 Am 41 70 72 41 58 41 58->72 41 46->72 41 58 41 Am 41 58-* 72 41 70 72 41 58->72 41 46->72 41 58->72 41 58 -» 72 41 70 72 41 58 41 58->72 41 52->72 41 Am 70 72 41 70 72 41 70 72 41 58

448

HISTORICAL COLLATION

bow down bow-down 14.27 nay nay, 14.27 bow down bow-down 14.38 things, things rushings down 15.5 rushings-down 15.12 incipient recipient 15.13 set forth. set-forth. 15.14* Paganism Paganism, 15.14* here here, 15.16 century; century: 15.16 eight hundred eight-hundred 15.17 worshippers worshipers 15.19 ways, — strange: ways. Strange: 15.24 burst up, burst-up, 15.28 snow-jokuls, snow jokuls, 15.28 geyrers, geysers, 15.29 sulphur pools sulphur-pools 15.32 seabord seaboard 15.33 and what and of what R-»46 15.36 lost lost, burst up 15.36 burst-up

14.26

41 58 41 Am 41 58 41 46-»72 41 58-»72 41 Am U 58 U 41-»72 U 41 -> 72 U 42 ->72 U 58->72 U 58 U R->72 U 58->72 U 70 72 U R->72 U 46->72 U 72 U 52->72 U 70 72 U 58->72

16.1

16.3 16.4 16.6 16.8 16.8 16.13 16.21 16.24 16.26 16.26 16.30 16.31

17.2

Saemund, Sxmund, Chaunts Chants this that Sturleson, Sterleson, Saemund's Sxmund's afterwards afterwards, still: still; be be the before, before demonic demoniac Frost, Forest, Asen Asen, Home home

god, God, lived there that lived too, too Norse North Hoary hoary or fleet i^v-ru.}

17.3 17.3 17.5 17.5 17.10

or

17.11

Frost-winds. Frost-Winds.

17.12

Ice-bergs: Icebergs:

U R->72 U 58-»72 U 58->72 U 58 U R->72 U R->72 U Am 41 Am 41 Am 41 Am 41 Am 41 70 72 41 52->72 41 Am 41 46-»72 41 58 -> 72 41 Am 41 52->72 41 Am 41 52-* 72 41 42->72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

17.17

drawing down drawing-down 17.20 peal: peal; 17.20 beard;' that beard,' — that 17.23 beauti fullest beautifulest 17.25 hear tell of hear tell-of 17.29 shews shows 18.9 speech Speech 46 18.13 Scandinavian Scandinavianism 18.27 come down come-down 18.28 sending out sending-out 18.29 cauldron caldron 18.31 walking off wal king-off 18.36* winds' wind,' 46 winds,' 18.37 work work, 19.2 scull skull 46 19.4 enormous; — to enormous; to 19.10 Ash -tree Ashtree 19.11 deep down deep-down 19.37 First first 20.18 Man man 20.24 Sphinx -enigma sphinx-enigma

41 58 -»72 41 58 -»72 41 58 ->72 41 70 72 41 58 ->72 41 58 ->72 41 52 -»72 41 Am 41 58 41 58 41 70 72 41 58 41 52 ->72 Am 41 46 -+72 41 52 ->72 41 Am 41 Am 41 58 -*72 41 Am 41 Am 41 42 -»72

20 .25

there. there? 46 20 .28 this Odin this Odin, 20 .28 origin of origin of the 20 .29 First first 20 .29 was a man was 21 .1 flung out flung-out 21 .2 Picture picture 21 .3 canvass, canvas, 21 .6 ever new ever-new 21 .14 thought of thought-of 21 .20 we; we: 46 21 .22* "Wednesday," "Wednesd&y," 21 .23 history: history; 21 .30 forth, — and forth, and 21 .31 worshipped worshiped 21 .34 find out find-out 22 .3 environment, environment 22 .10 such like, suchlike, 22,.18 adjectives, adjectives 22. 19 it,— did it, did 22..21 were was

449

41 52->72 41 58-»72 41 Am 41 Am 41 Am 41 58->72 41 42-»72 41 58->72 41 58->72 41 58-»72 41 52 —> 72 41 70 72 41

42->72

41 Am 41 58 41 58 41

70 72

41

70 72

41 Am 41 Am 41 Am

450

22.23 22.24 22.27 22.36

23.3 23.6 23.20 23.20 23.29 23.30

23.31 23.38 23.39

24.1 24.5 24.12 24.20 24.20 24.26 24.36

25.6

HISTORICAL COLLATION

41 Indeed Indeed, 70 72 41 whatsoever 58 whatsover 41 tree, — as Am tree, as 41 god?— that Am god? that 41 Odin, — since Am Odin, since 41 himself, — should Am himself, should 41 "Wuotan?" Am "Woutan?" 41 "Wuotan!"— Am "Woutan!"— 41 contemporaries, contemporaries 52 ->72 41 three hundred three -hundred 58 ->72 41 three thousand three-thousand 58 ->72 41 Mind, 72 mind, 41 light: light; 46 52 -»72 41 shine out, 58 shine -out, 41 through. — Curious Am through. Curious 41 Fantasy 72 Phantasy 41 building up building-up 58 ->72 41 'Allegories!' 'Allegories'! 70 72 Criticism!' On 41 Criticism'! On 70 72 41 marking down marking-down 58 ->72 Norsemen; 41 Norsemen: 42 -»72

41 Phenician Phoenician 70 72 41 25.25 noblest; noblest: Am 41 25.27 howsoever however 52->72 41 25.33 light kind of lights 46->72 41 25.36* Type-Northman; Type Norseman; 46 52-»72 Type-Norseman; Am 41 25.37 burst up burst-up 58->72 41 day? 26.2 Day? 46-* 72 Peoples: 41 26.5 Peoples; 58->72 Norseman, in 41 26.5 Norseman; — in 46->72 Northman; 41 26.6 Norseman; 46->72 41 26.13 develope 58->72 develop 26.15 Teutonic 41 Am Neutonic 26.30 shew 41 58->72 show 41 27.3 to! It 58-»72 to!— It 41 27.25 greathearted great-hearted 70 72 41 28.11 Destiny, 42->72 Destiny; 41 28.13 Slain; 58 ->72 Slain: 41 28.14 slain: 58->72 slain; 41 28.15 believer; — as believer; as Am 41 28.24 out, Am out

25.6

HISTORICAL COLLATION

28.33 28.34 28.34

29.1 29.3 29.4 29.5 29.7 29.11 29.12 29.13 29.22 29.25 29.28

man, — trusting man, trusting Powers; and Powers; and, whole whole, coming on, coming-on, a ship; a ship, sent forth, sent-forth, blaze up blaze-up say, say

so, so

30.11

'the "the likeness?' likeness'? such like, suchlike,

30.12 30.13 30.20 30.26 30.29

symbolizing, symbolising, fragments fragment's goodhumour good humour

41 58 —> 72 41 72 41

31.9

rides, rides

41 52 -» 72

58->72

31.13

41 Am 41

31.18

Hermode 41 Hermoder 46 -> 72 remembrance. — Ah 41 remembrance —Ah 72 Thunder-god? 41 Thunger-god? 72 Jotun-land, 41 Jotun land, Am Cauldron, 41 Caldron, 70 72 grey 41 gray 58 -» 72 Ice-bergs. 41 Icebergs. 42 -> 72 tamed down; 41

41 Am 41

46->72

41

46->72

41 58 41 Am 41 58 41

Nelsons. 58-»72 Nelsons! 41 audacity, Am audacity 41 them; — to Am them; to latter, — misleading 41 latter, misleading Am forest-feller, — the 41 forest-feller — the Am shewing 41 showing 58->72

30.9

nay

nay, Havamal Viiluspa their their

451

41 Am 41 Am

41 70 72 41 70 72

30.30 30.34

31.1 31.4 31.9

31.24 31.36 31.37 31.38

32.4 32.5 32.7 32.10 32.12

41

46 52 -> 72

41

52->72

41

46->72

32.13

Am 70 72 'draws down 41 'draws-down 58 Hermode 41 Hermoder 46 -> 72

tamed-down;

58 —> 72

Thundergod 41 Thunder-god Am 72 Thunder-/god 70 Belief, 41 Belief 42 -> 72 ChiUe Etin 41 Hynde Etin, and still more decisively Red Etin of Ireland, 52 -» 72 Ballads is a Norse mythus; Etin was 41 Ballads, these are both derived from Norseland; Etin is evidently 5 2 —> 72

452

HISTORICAL COLLATION

shew, show, 32.32 Thinker Thinker, staid 33.5 stayed 46 33.10 turned out turned -out 33.23 merely only 33.28 high, high 46 33.36 bent up bent-up now 34.4 now, Midgard-snake, 34.9 Midgardsnake, 34.10 keeps up keeps-up 34.11 ruin. ruin! 34.22 mythus, mythus 34.24 mythus Mythus 34.26 eartnestness earnestness 34.32 Ha.va.mal Voluspa 34.32 song; Song; 35.3 Curious: Curious' Phoenix 35.6 phoenix 35.33 drawing down drawing -down 35.37* one: it one? it one? It 35.38 thus thus, 32.29

41 52-»72 41 52-»72 41 52-* 72 41 58->72 41 42->72 41 52->72 41 58->72 41 70 72 41 Am 41 58-»72 41 70 72 41 70 72 41 42->72 41 42-* 72 41 52->72 41 46->72 41 72 41 70 72 41 58->72 41 42 46->72 41 42->72

36.2

36.3 36.5

'seen!' 'seen'! me, me that, that

41 70 72 41 70 72 41 72

Lecture II . The Hero as Prophet. 41 37.12 god, god Am 41 37.14 this, any more, this any more 70 72 41 37.17 he is, he is Am

38.14 38.19 38.20

38.21 38.22

39.2 39.2*

39.3 39.4

call call very irrational, irrational Hero-worship; Hero worship; Hero-worship:

41 46 -> 72 41 70 72 41 Am 58 —> 72

Indeed 41 Indeed, 70 72 well, [extra leading between paragraphs] IWe 41 well. JWc 70 72 life-guidance 41 life guidance Am one hundred and eighty millions 41 one-hundred-and-eightymillions 58 a hundred-and-eighty millions 70 72 41 twelve hundred twelve-hundred 58 —> 72 hundred and eighty millions 41 hundred-and-eightymillions 58 hundred-and-eighty millions 70 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

39.5 39.6 39.14 39.15 39.21

39.27 39.28 39.33

40.12 40.17 40.23 40.35 40.36

41.7 41.14 41.23 41.25 41.30 41.32

Mahomet's word 41 Mahomet's word, 46->58 hour 41 hour, 46 -> 70 Scepticism; 41 Scepticism; they A i —>v m 42 72 paralysis, 41 paralysis Am hundred and eighty millions; 41 hundred-and-eightymillions; 58 hundred-and-eighty millions; 70 72 bursts up 41 bursts-up 58 -> 72 such like, 41 suchlike, 70 72 any thing, 41 anything, 42 -» 72 glares in 41 glares-in 58 —> 72 first hand. 41 first-hand. 70 72 glares in 41 glares-in 58 -> 72 below: 41 below; 46 52 -> 72 cast up 41 cast-up 58 -> 72 heart?' 41 heart'? 70 72 acts 41 acts, 42 -» 72 wreck; 41 wreck, Am falls?' 41 falls'? 70 72 put up 41 put-up 58 -» 72 mis-estimate 41 misestimate 42 —» 72

41.35 42.13

42.29 42.30 42.35 42.37 43.2 43.2

candidly, 41 candidly 58 -> 72 them: 41 these: 42 -> 72 They worshipped 41 They worshiped 58 Sabeans; worshipped 41 Sabeans; worshiped 58 beauty,' 41 beauty' 42 -> 72 Prophets 41 Prophets, 70 72 devoutness 41 devotedness Am noble-mindedness 41 noblemindedness

43.4*

Book of Job

43.9

destiny destiny, true, true everyway; everyway; Horse, — 'hast Horse, 'hast Caabah, at Caabah at half-century half century gushing out gushing-out these those zem-zem; zem zem; them, them object object, cut asunder cut-asunder

Book of Job

43.13 43.13 43.14

43.23 43.25 43.29 43.30 43.32 43.34 43.35 44.26

453

42->72 41

Am -> 72

41 70 72 41 58 -» 72 41 58 —> 72 41 Am 41 72 41 52 41 58 41 46 -> 72 41 58 41 Am 41 70 72 41 58 —> 72

454

44.28

HISTORICAL

war,

war 45.1 world, world. 45.19 brought up brought-up 45.21 such like; suchlike; 45.23* years years' 45.33 taken in, taken-in, 46.4 take in, take-in, 46.24 untrue un true 46.27 swelled up swelled-up 46.27 black, black 46.32 working out working-out 46.35 business business, again 46.37 grew: grew; impostor-theory, 47.4 impostor theory, 46 47.10 good-opinion good opinion

41

70 72

41 72 41 58-»72 41

70 72

41 42->72 41 58->72 41 58 41 46 41 58->72 41 42-* 72 41 58 41 58->72 41 Am 41

52->72 41

Am 70 72

47.12 47.14 47.18 47.24 47.24

burnt out, burnt-out, set up set-up eyes, eyes glared in glared-in him; him,

41 58 41 58-»72 41

70 72

41 58->72 41 58->72

COLLATION

47.32

48.6 48.7 48.7 48.10 48.11 48.21 48.23 49.24 49.25 49.25 49.28

49.31 49.33 49.34

50.17 50.30 50.34

51.2 51.6

Death! 41 Death? Am 58 -» 72 shews 41 shows 58 -» 72 this is 41 these are 46 -> 72 or is 41 or are 46 —> 72 God:' 41 God;' 42 -> 72 waited on 41 waited-on 58 Shiek 41 Sheik Am 58 -> 72 impostor-hypothesis, 41 impostor hypothesis, 46 52->72 cooperates 41 cooperates 58 —> 72 otherwise; — and 41 otherwise: — and 42 —> 72 cooperating 41 cooperating 58 —> 72 Christianity, — for 41 Christianity; — for 46 52->72 flesh and blood; 41 flesh-and-blood; 58 -> 72 cruellest 41 cruelest Am 70 72 befals 41 befalls 70 72 doubt; 41 doubt: 42 -> 72 friend, 41 friend Am indifference: 41 indifference; 58 —> 72 stood up 41 stood-up 58 -> 72 started up, 41 started -up, 58 —» 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

51.9 51.11 51.14 51.18 51.20 51.27 51.27

52.4 52.9 52.13 52.16 52.21 52.29 52.29 53.25 53.34 53.36

54.2 54.3 55.3 55.3

41 there, Am there 41 broke up 58->72 broke-up 41 shews 58-* 72 shows 41 said, If said, if Am two 41 too Am we all; 41 we all: Am worshippers 41 58 worshipers 41 went on 58 went-on 41 quit 46 quite 41 dismallest. dismalest. 70 72 41 all over 58->72 all-over 41 tribe 46 52-* 72 tribe, 41 our era, 42-* 72 our Era, 41 fifty-third Am fifty third 41 long-run, 58 longrun, 41 dust Am dust 41 wheat, — the Am wheat — the 41 Nature. 70 72 Nature! 41 motherly, Am 58-* 72 motherly 41 "Allah 58-* 72 'Allah 41 akbar, 42 -> Am abkar,

55.3 55.5 55.7 55.8 55.13 55.15 55.28

55.33 55.37

56.4 56.7 56.13 56.19 56.24 56.27 56.27

57.4*

455

great." 41 great.' 58 -> 72 flesh and blood, 41 flesh-and-blood, 58 -> 72 do!—And 41 do! And Am do! JAnd 70 72 lay hold 41 lay-hold 58 cooperating 41 co-operating Am cooperating 58 —» 72 cooperating 41 co-operating Am cooperating 58 —> 72 fire, [extra leading between paragraphs] ^[It 41 fire.\lt Am Work 41 Work, Am gone upon 41 gone-upon 58 —» 72 twelve hundred 41 twelve-hundred 58 —* 72 seventy thousand 41 seventy-thousand 58 -» 72 longwindedness, 41 long-windedness, 72 written down 41 written -down 58 -> 72 end; 41 end: 42 -> 72 chaunting 41 chanting 58 -* 72 original. 41 original. This may be a great point; much perhaps has been lost in the Translation here. 42-* 72 bona-fide 41 bona-fide 42 -* 72

456

57.6 57.18 57.18 57.21

HISTORICAL COLLATION

got up

got-up pell-mell; pellmell; pellmell: say say, flung out flung-out

57.29

meaning meaning,

57.32

worse: worse. making up making-up Ah, no! No, no!

58.1 58.3 58.5

Life life

58.19

made up made-up

58.29

study con over con-over

59.3

Mahomet 1[Mahomet see, see pour down pour-down palm-trees palm trees date-clusters date clusters

59.6 59.13 59.15 59.15 59.16 59.17 59.18

41 58-* 72

59.18

41 Am 58-* 72 41 58-»72

59.19

41

58-* 72

41

59.19 59.20 59.23

58->72

59.24

41 58 41

59.25

58->72

41

59.27

46-* 72

59.27

41 72

59.33

41 58->72

60.3

41

60.8

42->52 58 -> 72 41 70 72

60.12

41 Am 41

60.24

60.15

58->72

41 Am 41 Am 41

them: them; 46 52 -> 72 41 make change 42->72 creatures; 41 creatures; they come ranking home at evening 42-* 72 time,

60.32

61.3 61.5 61.9 61.17 61.23

42 evening time, 58-* 72 evening-time, 41 'and they are 42-* 72 'and are 41 Ships, 46->72 Ships also, 41 spread out 58-* 72 spread-out 41 cries he: Am cries he. 41 you, 46-* 72 you, Ye were 41 Am You were 41 comes on comes-on 58 -* 72 41 grey gray Am 58-* 72 41 eyesight, 70 eye -sight, 41 hung out 58-* 72 hung-out Day, 41 Day 70 72 41 Splendour, Am Splendour 41 talks of 58->72 talks-of 41 timber among timber, among 46 52-* 72 one; with 41 one: with 42 46 52-* 72 things, and 41 things and Am 41 Shew Show 58->72 41 burns up 58-* 72 burns-up frugalest; 41 frugallest; 46 52 58 three and twenty 41 three-and-twenty42 —> 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

61.31 61.33 61.36

62.1 62.2 62.10 62.18 62.21 62.28 62.30 62.36 62.37 62.37

63.1 63.4 63.11 63.17 63.24 63.26 63.27 63.27

ofman 41 52 ->72 of a man 41 three and twenty three-and-twenty 42 -»72 41 struggling up, struggling-up, 58 -»72 41 him: Am him; 41 every way everyway 58 ->72 41 gray-haired grey-haired 46 52 72 41 shew 58 ->72 show 41 rough Am rough, 41 generosity, 42 ->72 generosity 41 called for, 58 ->72 called-for, 41 Eternity? Am eternity? 41 but 'Hell 42 ->72 'but Hell 41 turns up: turns-up: 58 ->72 41 weighed out weighed-out 58 ->72 41 written down 58 ->72 written-down 41 Truth; — 'living Am Truth: — 'living 41 cleanly, —just Am cleanly — just 41 over much, overmuch, 58 ->72 41 equalizer equaliser 58 ->72 41 kingships; Am kingships: 41 men, Am men

63.29 63.37

64.7 64.8 64.18 64.27 64.30

65.3 65.4 65.18 65.26 65.28

66.7 66.9 66.11 66.17 66.21 66.26

457

41 marks down marks-down 58 ->72 Mahomet, 41 Mahomet Am 41 long for, 58 long-for, 41 seats, Am seats 41 comes upon comes-upon 58 -»72 41 shewn: shown: 58 ->72 41 certain Am sudden 41 man, Am man 41 three-score threescore Am 58 ->72 41 No: No; 42 ->72 41 beggarlier beggalier Am Mahomet!––\On 41 Mahomet! — ^[On Am cries, 41 Am cries akbar, 41 abkar, 42 --> Am Idolaters; 41 Idolaters; Am 58 ->72 41 see, Am see life-giving, 41 live-giving. 72 41 said, Am said

Lecture III. The Hero as Poet. Prophet 41 67.1 Prophet, 46 -»72 fellow man 41 67.6 fellow-man 58 ->72

458

67.8 67.17 68.15 68.16

68.28 68.37

69.7 69.21 69.31

69.33 70.7 70.11 70.12 70.14 70.18

70.20 71.2 71.10 71.23 71.28

H I S T ORICALCOLLATION

41 questionable, questionable Am 41 names, Am names 41 well: Am well; 41 that! 46->72 these! 41 Samson, 42->72 Samson 41 world. — ^Poet world. — [extra leading between paragraphs] KPoet 46 52->72 41 secret!' 42-»72 secret.' 41 pity;— a Am pity: — a 41 shows 42->52 shews 41 man, once 70 72 man once 41 Earth 52->72 earth 41 springing up 58-»72 springing-up 41 looking out 58-»72 looking-out 41 Beauty? — In 58->72 Beauty? In 41 false, 70 72 false 41 periods, 70 72 periods 41 forgotten: Am forgotten; 41 'infinitude' 70 72 'infinitude,' 41 be 46->72 be, 41 that! Am that.

71.32 71.36 72.17 72.21 72.30

72.31 72.32 72.35 72.35

chaunting; chanting; chaunt, chant, such like! suchlike! was. I was. T[I comes out comes -out shows shews fatalest fatallest show shew him: him;

41 58->72 41 58-»72 41

70 72

41

70 72

41

58 70

41 42-»52 41

46 52 58

41 42->52 41 Am

41 58

72.35

•worshipped worshiped

72.37

41 duchesses, 58->72 Duchesses, 41 that 46 52->72 that, 41 whole whole, 46 52-»72 41 cast out 58->72 cast-out 41 shows shews 42->52 41 swept out, swept-out, 58->72 non -extant, 41 non-extant; 46 52->72 canonized, 41 canonised, 58->72 41 Shakspeare Skakspeare 58 41 them: them; Am 41 canonized, canonised, 58->72

73.1 73.1 73.7 73.8 73.9 73.10 73.14 73.17 73.18 73.20

HISTORICAL COLLATION

73.25 73.26

73.38 73.38

74.3 74.8 74.11 74.13 74.15 74..16 74,.28 74,.29

74 .35 75 .1

75.16 75 .22 75 .22 76 .1

76.2

Poet, will 41 Poet will 42 -> 72 fashion, [extra leading between paragraphs] ^Many 41 fashion. ^Many 58 Blank 41 Lonely 42 -> 72 painted 41 painted as 42 46 52 -» 72 paint-/ted as Am mournfulest 41 mournfullest 46 52 58 looking out 41 looking-out 58 -» 72 eating out 41 58 —> 72 eating-out life-long 41 lifelong 46 52 -» 70 life-/long 72 equable, implacable, 41 46 -> 72 equable, looks out 41 58 -> 72 looks-out 41 realize realise 58 -> 72 41 but. Am but 41 state, 46 -> 72 State, grown up 41 grown-up 58 -> 72 41 Florence Florence would have 46 -> 72 knew not 41 42 -> 72 knew not, 41 do do, 42 -> 72 41 apologizing 58 -> 72 apologising 41 pride, 42 -> 72 pride: LSUL^

76.13 76.14

76.16

76.20 76.21

77.1 77.3 77.5 77..8

77.8 77..10

77 .11 77 .12 77 .16 77 .19 77 .21

77.21

459

strange now 41 strange, now, 46 —» 72 do so much to amuse us, 41 make himself so entertaining; 46 —» 72 it is not strange, if you think of 41 it is not strange; you are to recollect 42 not strange; your Highness is to recollect 46->72 resting place, 41 resting-place, 58 —> 72 to wander, wander; 41 to wander; Am bursts forth 41 bursts-forth 58 It 41 \lt 70 72 times, that 41 times, That 42 -> 72 41 sejfui lit segui 46 —> 72 41 Stella? — so Stella,'—,so 58 -» 72 41 "Follow "Follow thou 42 -> 72 haven!" 41 46 heaven!" 41 This Book 70 72 This Book, history 41 history, 70 72 41 oris. Am orris. 41 shut out 58-* 72 shut-out shores." [extra leading between paragraphs] ^1 41 shores." 11 70 72

460

77.28 78.15 78.23 78.24 78.31 78.33 78.33

79.3 79.13 79.22 79.29 79.29 79.31 79.38

HISTORICAL COLLATION

together, 41 together 42 -» 72 chaunt. 41 chant. 58 -» 72 look out 41 look-out 58 -» 72 piled up 41 piled-up 58 -> 72 Ah, 41 Ah 70 72 come out 41 come-out 58 —» 72 divine, 41 divine 46 52 -» 72 worked out, 41 worked-out, 58 -> 72 greatness 41 greatness, Am gloom; — so 41 gloom; so Am a matter; 41 a matter: 70 72 cuts into 41 cuts-into 58 Sordello, 41 Brunette Latini, 52->72 '/«*/' 41 '/»*'.' 70 72

80.11

sympathized sympathised

80.17

come out 41 come-out 58 surplusage: 41 surplusage; Am of seeing!' 41 ofseeing'! 70 72 take away 41 take-away 58 -> 72 too; she speaks of 'questa forma;'' — so innocent; 41 too: delta bella persona, che mifu tolta; 42 -» 72

80.19 80.24 80.28 80.34

41 58 —> 72

80.36* heSvill 41 be will 42 -» 72 41 80.36* her.' her! 42 -> 72 41 80.37 again, again, to wail 42 —> 72 81.5 avenged upon 41 avenged-upon 58 —> 72 81.15 far: ah, one 41 far: — one 46 —> 72 81.19 insight, 41 insight 70 72 41 81.23 spiacenti, spiacenti 58 -> 72 41 81.25 aversion: aversion; 58 —> 72 41 81.26 this: this; 58 -» 72 82.8 underfoot; 41 underfoot; 58 -> 72 41 82.13 'bent down 'bent-down 58 -> 72 82.13 corbels' 41 corbels 46 -> 72 41 82.13 building, building,' 46 -> 72 82.14 crushed together 41 crushed-together 58 -> 72 82.15 top, 41 top, which is 46 —> 72 82.16 Mercy 41 Mercy shall have 4-fi —i7 /77 ^/ ^\J

82.18 82.24 83.5*

83.6 83.18

repentance, 41 repentance 58 —> 72 make up 41 make-up 58 —> 72 our 41 or 46 52->72 world- wide 41 worldwide 72 facts; 41 facts, 58

HISTORICAL COLLATION

41 an Allegory. Am in Allegory. 41 83.22 got up got-up 58 ->72 41 83.29 world: world; 58 ->72 41 83.30 nature; nature: 42 -472 41 84.15 Desert, 72 Desert 41 84.15 seven hundred seven-hundred 58 ->72 41 84.17 emblemed forth emblemed-forth 58 ->72 41 84.27 Saint-Helena Am Saint Helena 41 84.36 arrangement, arrangement 46 ->72 41 85.3 bodies 46 bo dies 41 85.4 practice: Am practice; 41 85.12 sung forth sung-forth 58 ->72 41 piastres 86.6 piasters 42 -> 72 41 86.9 more! Ah yes, the more! The 46 ->72 41 86.10 count up 58 count- up 41 86.10 men. men! 46 ->72 41 86.11 usefulest usefullest 46 52 58 41 86.11 times.—— times. Am 86.17 thinking, 41 Am thing, 86.20 Modern 41 modern 58 ->72 86.24* chivalry-way 41 chivalry way 46 ->72

83.21

86.24

461

on 41 no 52 every thing 41 87.5 everything Am 58 —> 72 cooperate 41 87.5 cooperate 58 —> 72 87.27* King Henrys, 41 King-Henrys, 42 -> 72 87.27* Queen Elizabeths 41 Queen-Elizabeths 42 46 52->72 87.29* Stephen's, 41 Stephens, 46 52 58 41 87.31 Freemasons' Freemason's Am 70 vision, 41 88.7 vision, such a 46 —» 72 depth, 41 88.8 depth; 46 -» 72 88.16 fit, every way 41 fit, — cvery-way 46 —» 52 fit, — everyway 58 —> 72 88.18 things; we 41 things, — we 46 —» 72 88.34 like; the 41 like; does the 46 -> 72 88.35 lux, 41 lux, Let there be light; 42->72 heart 41 89.6 heart, 52 —> 72 thing follows, of itself, 41 89.9 thing, follows of itself 42->72 89.12 triumph over 41 triumph -over 58 41 89.17 takes in takes-in 58 -> 72 89.21 quite 41 qnite [ « in quite set upside down] 42 41 89.26 crystal; chrystal; Am

462

89.26

HISTORICAL COLLATION

shew 41 show 58 -» 72 89.29 wrapped up 41 wrapped-up 58 —> 72 41 90.20 a man a man, Am 90.25 feet 41 feet, Am 90.28 indeed require us so to speak; 41 perhaps prescribe such forms of utterance; 46 -4 72 him. You 41 91.4 him. you Am it, without 41 91.9 it,— without 46 -» 72 him, he 41 91.9 him; a thoroughly immoral man 46 —> 72 91.12 sympathize 41 sympathise 58 —» 72 91.15 Nature with 41 Nature, with 46 52 -4 72 41 91.16 truth truth, 46 52->72 91.16 bad, the 41 bad, to the 46 -4 72 41 91.16 pusillanimous, pusillanimous 46 52-472 41 91.18 merely. — But merely. But Am 41 91.24* reflexions reflections 46 -> 72 41 91.29 dimensions; dimensions, Am 41 91.30 stating, stating; 46 52 —> 72 41 91.34 about concerning 46 —> 72 92.3 precontrivance. 41 pre-contrivance. Am

92.3 92.13 92.18 92.23 92.26 92.28 92.31 92.37

93.2 93.3 93.13 93.14 93.15

93.18 93.25 94.26 94.36

95.2 95.12

grows up 41 grows-up 58 —> 72 him; — as 41 him: — as Am under ground! 41 underground! 58 —» 72 truly, 41 truly Am had not 41 failed to have 46 -> 72 offhand, 41 off hand, Am fall in 41 fall-in 58 -4 72 Shakspeare: 41 Shakspeare; 42 -» 72 butt, 41 butt he is bantering, 46->72 roars and 41 with his whole heart 70 72 hope that they 41 hope they 46 -4 72 City- watch. — Such 41 City-watch. Such 70 72 me. !\Ye 41 me. [extra leading between paragraphs] ^[We 70 72 Plays 41 plays 70 72 coherence: 41 coherence; 46 52 -4 72 Seer. 41 seer. 58 -4 72 unison! 41 harmony! 58 -4 72 nor sceptic, 41 no sceptic, 46 52 every way 41 every- way 58 everyway 70 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

95.15 95.23

God:' I ask, was God:' and was 46 —» simulacrum, simulacrum; 70

95.25* be still still be 46 95.28 Compared ^Compared 95.35 speak out speak-out 96.3 Nature; Nature: 46 96.3 springs up springs-up 96.10 us; — on us; on 96.12 repeat, repeat: 96.15 give up give -up 96.20 give up give-up 96.24 Empire, no Empire, or no 96.27 give up give-up 96.28 him him, 96.29

tangibly useful tangibly-useful

96.34

fall out fall-out view, view

97.7 97.13 97.16 97.23

politician politician, speak forth speak-forth greatness. He greatness He

41 72 41 72

41 52-»72 41 70 72 41 58 -» 72 41 52 -> 72 41 58 -> 72 41 Am 41 46 ->72 41 58 ->72 41 58 ->72 41 42 ->72 41 58 -*72 41 Am 41 58 -»72 41 58 -»72 41 70 72 41 58 -»72 41 58 -»72 41 Am

463

Lecture IV. The Hero as Priest. 99.17 Universe,' which 41 Universe,' — which 58-* 72 41 100.10 Captain Captain, 70 72 100.14 service, a 41 service, and a 70 72 100.20 things, a seer, 41 tilings; a seer, 46 —> 72 100.21 shows 41 shews 42 46 52 100.21 worshipper, 41 58 worshiper, 100 .22 things: a Priest, 41 things; a Priest, 58 ->72 100 .25 building up 41 58 -»72 building-up 100 .28 carried on 41 58 ->72 carried-on 100.34* Thebaid 41 Thebaid 46 52 ->72 101 .13 shaken off, 41 shaken -off, 58 -»72 41 101.17 highly discursive highly-discursive 58 -»72 41 101 .29 trace out 58 ->72 trace -out 41 101 .32 desires devises 42 -*72 41 summed up 102.5 summed-up 58 -»72 102..6 epochs, 41 Am epochs, 102, ,12 fact 41 fact, 70 72 102..16 suffrage; if 41 suffrage, if Am 102..20* downfal. 41 downfall. 46 ->72 102..23 cleared off 41 58 cleared-off

464

HISTORICAL

beautiful 41 beau-/ful 42 41 102.32 only the merely the 42 —> 72 41 102.34 too, too 46 -» 72 Pagans, 41 103.6 pagans, Am 103.11 fill up 41 fill-up 58 -> 72 103.12 march over 41 march-over 58 —> 72 41 103.17 too, too Am 41 103.23 army; army, 58 -> 72 Prophets: 41 104.1 Prophets; Am worshipping 41 104.1 worshiping 58 away with, 41 104.2 away-with, 58 —> 72 must 41 104.2 have to 46 -> 72 Idol 41 104.6 Idle Am 41 104.16* Godhood; Godhead; 46 52 -> 72 God; Am 41 104.21 say, sayy Am 41 104.24 Where then Where, then, 70 72 104.31 worshipped Canopus, 41 worshiped Canopus, 58 41 104.31 Caabah Cabaah Am 41 104.31 Black-stone, Black-Stone, 42 46 52 -* 72 Black Stone, Am 104.32 worshipped nothing 41 worshiped nothing 58 102.27

COLLATION

104.34

Poets: 41 Poets; Am 41 104.37 worshipping worshiping 58 41 word, 105.3 Am word 41 Idol, 105.8 52-»72 Idol 41 105.11 eaten out eaten-out 58->72 41 105.13 balefulest 46 52 58 balefullest 41 105.22 paralyzed paralysed 46 52-* 72 41 105.26 Blameable 46 52->72 Blamable 41 105.28 phasis. —I phasis. ^1 70 72 41 105.30 bees' -wax, bees-wax, 46 52->72 41 105.33 stand Am stands 41 105.34 not shows not shews 42->52 41 105.36 hollow shows hollow shews 42-»52 41 106.17 of it; of it: Am 106.21 branches out. 41 branches-out. 58 41 106.25* Kings, 70 72 Kinjs, 41 106.29 is, that Am is that 41 106.31 hatefulest 46 52 58 hatefullest 41 107.4 we ATV» u*> Am ne 41 107.5 put out 58->72 put-out 41 Tetzel 107.7 Am Tetzel,

HISTORICAL

COLLATION

41 reign, Am reign 41 107.11 there, Am there 41 107.14* adviseablest 46-* 72 advisablest 41 107.21 bottom, Am bottom 41 107.28 isolation, 46->72 isolation; 41 107.30 half-belief, half-belief 46 52-* 72 41 107.30* makes it 70 72 make it 41 107.37 long-run, 58->72 longrun, 41 of in 108.2 58->72 of, in 41 believe in 108.3 believe in, and 42-* 72 sincerely. 41 108.4 sincerely to believe in.

109.28

41 believes he 42->72 believes, he 41 original, — all 70 72 original; all 41 Hero-worship? 70 72 fHero-worship? 41 Hero, 70 72 Hero 41 valour; Am valour: 41 Suffrages, 42->72 suffrages, 41 take, Am take 41 believers 42->72 Believers 41 World Am world 41 Worshippers 58 Worshipers

110.37

107.11

4Z -» /2.

108.11 108.14 108.21 108.30 108.32 109.6 109.7 109.13 109.19 109.23

109.37 109.38 110.12 110.17 110.23 110.24 110.30 110.30 110.31 110.34

111.1 111.1 111.5 111.8 111.12 112.1 112.15 112.17 113.3

465

41 November, 58->72 November 41 household: 58-* 72 household; unimportant-•looking 41 unimportant looking Am 41 brought up 58-* 72 brought-up 41 shows 42->52 shews 41 nursed up 58->72 nursed -up 41 step forth 58-* 72 step -forth 41 struggled up 58-* 72 struggled-up 41 displaying displaying, 46 52-* 72 41 hindrances hindrances, 46 52->72 41 consented: 58 consented 41 hand. 46->72 feet. 41 ours; — gone 42-* 72 ours? — gone 41 burnt up 58-* 72 burnt-up 41 God, God 70 72 41 Luther, 72 Lutherf] 41 work out 58->72 work-out 41 This then 70 72 This, then, 41 Rome; 58 Rome, 41 going on going-on

58-* 72

struck at, struck-at,

58-* 72

41

466

113.4 113.11 113.15 113.27 113.34 113.35 113.37 114.4 114.6 114.8 114.9 114.9 114.9 114.20

114.22 114.22 114.23 114.25

HISTORICAL COLLATION

attending to, 41 52 —» 72 attending to sorrowfulest 41 sorrowfullest 46 52 58 now, 41 now: 42 -» 72 step forth 41 step-forth 58 -> 72 heart's desire 41 heart's-desire 46 -» 72 from 41 other than that of 46->72 Christendom. The 41 Christendom. — The 46->72 Rome — probably 41 Rome, — probably 58-* 72 Constance 41 Constant 42 'three feet 41 'three-feet 58 -> 72 six feet 41 six-feet 58 -> 72 seven feet 41 seven-feet 58 -> 72 voice 41 voice of him 46 —> 72 another's, 41 another's, 42 another's than his, 46-»72 next; 41 next: 42 -» 72 tenth 41 10th 58 -> 72 Luther 41 Luther, 70 72 in the market-place of Wittenberg. 41 'at the Elster-Gatc of Wittenberg.' 42 -» 72

114.25 114.26 114.27 114.29 114.35 115.8 115.8 115.14 115.18 115.19 115.20

115.22 115.32 115.38 116.15 116.21 116.29 116.33 116.36 117.1

41 looked on 58 looked -on looking on. 41 58 looking-on. 41 'shout!' 70 72 'shout'! Popism, 41 70 72 Popeism, bringer back 41 58-»72 bringer-back 41 friendless, Am friendless 41 one man, on 46->72 but on 41 civilization civilisation 46 52->72 41 himself, Am himself stands up 41 58->72 stands-up man, Hans Luther the poor miner's Son. 41 man, the poor miner Hans Luther's Son. 42->72 rode out 41 rode-out 58-* 72 Luther 41 ^Luther 70 72 doubtless 41 doubtless, Am contentions, 41 contentions 58->72 Augeas's 41 Augea's Am walk by 41 walk- by 58 ->72 of it: 41 of it; Am the right, 41 a right, Am me? — No! 41 me?— /—No! Am

HISTORICAL

117.14 117.16 117.17 117.19 117.20 117.32 118.16 118.17 118.17 118.29 118.30 118.31 118.36

119.1 119.1 119.2 119.6 119.7

119.11

Popery,' 41 Popery' 70 72 chapels, and 41 chapels and Am 70 72 count up 41 count-up 58 —> 72 See, 41 See Am Popism 41 Popeism 70 72 going: 41 going; 46 52 -» 72 stirred up 41 stirred -up 58 —> 72 swept away 41 swept-away 58 —> 72 it. Such 41 it! Such 42 -> 72 tolerance: he 41 tolerance; he Am go as 41 go very much as 46->72 comes that 41 comes to him that 42 -> 72 shews 41 shows 58 -> 72 man 41 man, he 46 -> 72 speaks forth 41 speaks-forth 58 -» 72 written works 41 Written Works 46 -* 72 greatest: 41 greatest; 72 four-and-twenty quartos 41 Four-and-twenty Quartos 46 -» 72 41 flashes out flashes-out 58 -» 72

COLLATION

119.18 119.19 119.25 119.27 119.29 119.32 119.32 119.37

120.1 120.1

120.4

120.6 120.6 120.6*

467

was that 41 was, that 42 -> 72 human 41 Am Human turns up; 41 turns-up; 58 —» 72 shew 41 show 58 —> 72 worn down 41 worn-down 58 —> 72 started up, 41 started-up, 58 -> 72 fiend-defiance; 41 fiend defiance; Am before, 41 before 70 72 Earth 41 earth Am They spoke once about his not being at Leipzig, as if 'Duke George had hindered him,' 41 'The Devil is aware,' writes he on one occasion, 'that this does not proceed out of fear in me. I have seen and defied innumerable Devils. Duke George,' of Leipzig, 42 —> 72 his. It was not for Duke George, answered he: No; "if 41 his, 'Duke George is not equal to one Devil,' — far short of a Devil! 'If 42->72 go, 41 ride into Leipzig, 42-»72 Leipzig, 42 Leipzig Am Duke Georges 41 Duke- Georges 42 -> 72

468

120.7

120.23 120.25 120.25 120.28 120.28 120.29 120.35 121.2 121.4 121.4*

121.4 121.6 121.17 121.23 121.25 121.29 121.32 121.35

HISTORICAL COLLATION

running." 41 running.' What a reservoir of Dukes to ride into!— 42 -* 72 preeminent 41 preeminent 58 70 pre-/eminent 72 Luther, 41 Luther 58 -> 72 observer, 41 observer 70 72 stirred up 41 stirred-up 58 —> 72 defiance; 41 defiance, 52 —> 72 Table-talk, 41 Table-Talk, 58 -» 72 Margaret 41 Magdalene 42 —> 72 Margaret 41 Magdalene 42 -> 72 looks out 41 looks-out 58 -> 72 'Patmos,' the Wartburg 41 Patmos, the Castle of Coburg, 42 -» 72 Coburg, 42 Coburg Am huge, — who 41 huge: — who 46 —> 72 home!——Neither 41 home! Neither Am spoke forth 41 spoke-forth 58 -> 72 other: 41 other; 58 -> 72 rude, 41 rude 70 72 unnameable 41 unnamable 46 52 —> 72 him; 41 him: Am

loveable 41 lovable 46 52 -> 72 setting up 41 122.8 58 —> 72 setting-up 41 122.10 Heavens; — yet Heavens; yet 58 -> 72 122.14 Heaven, [extra leading between paragraphs] T[The 41 Heaven. ^The 72 122.18 country, 41 country 70 72 41 122.22 Voltairism Voltaireism 70 72 wager of battle 41 123.1 wager-of-battle 58 —> 72 two hundred 41 123.4 two-hundred 58 —> 72 41 123.10 driven out driven-out 58 —> 72 41 123.13 Star-chamber Starchamber 58 -» 72 41 123.14 Heaven heaven 58 -> 72 41 123.16 worshipping worshiping 58 41 123.19 In fin 70 72 41 123.19* Neale's Neat's 46 -> 58 Neal's 70 72 41 123.19 Puritans Puritans 1 46 52 -> 72 41 123.20 departure: departure:* Am 41 123.22 brethren brethern Am 123.23 prayer (the Prayer too is given), 41 prayer, 46 52 -» 72 prayer Am 41 123.30 arm: arm; 46 52 -» 72 122.6

HISTORICAL COLLATION

123.33

Scotland 41 Scotland, 70 72 123.38 [no footnote] 41 * Neal (London, 1755), i. 490. 46 -»72 123.38* *Neal 46 52 ->72 ^eal 41 124.10 dwelling on! dwelling-on! 58 41 124.10 soul; soul: 42 -» 72 41 125.5 came out, 58 came-out, 41 125.5 fifty years fifty-years ' 46 52 -*72 41 125.9 Schwiednitz, 72 Schweidnitz, 41 125.10 pass over 58 ->72 pass-over 41 125.14 step over 58 ->72 step-over 41 125.17 three hundred three-hundred 58 -»72 41 125.24 'unblameable' 'unblamable' 46 52 ->72 41 125.25 to the battle Am to battle 41 125.27 shot at 58 -472 shot-at 41 125.29 apologize apologise 46 52 ->72 Am apolgize 125.30 two hundred and fifty 41 two-hundred-and-fifty 58 ->72 41 125.32 we for we, for 46 52 -»72 41 125.33 sake sake, 46 52 ->72 41 125.33 ought ougth Am

126.1 126.5 126.15 126.17 126.19 126.22 126.34 126.34 126.35 126.36 126.36 127.3 127.7 127.18 127.36 128.16 128.17

469

college -education; 41 college education; 52->72 doctrine: 41 doctrine; Am What 41 what 70 72 stand up; 41 stand-up; 58 -» 72 tears, 41 tears Am baptized 41 baptised 46 52 -> 72 God: this 41 God; this Am "a 41 'a 42 -» 72 bredd," 41 bredd? 42 46 52 -> 72 bredd, Am 41 worshipped, worshiped, 58 Knox: 41 Knox; 42 -> 72 He 41 fHe 70 72 worshipped! 41 worshiped! 58 narrow-looking 41 narrow looking Am under foot 41 underfoot 58 -> 72 just 41 just, 42 Am tolerate! We do 41 tolerate! We are here to resist, to control and vanquish, withal. We do AT T^ t±2, — ^ / 2j

128.18 128.18

vanquish, 42 vanquish 46 —> 72 tolerate Falsehoods, 41 'tolerate' Falsehoods, Thieveries, 42 -> 72

470

128.20 128.20

128.23

128.24 128.24 128.34 128.34 128.36 129.2 129.8 129.17 129.18 129.20 129.28 130.4 130.6 130.7 130.9 130.10 130.18

HISTORICAL COLLATION

false and unjust! 41 false, them art not tolerable! 42 -» 72 extinguish Falsehoods 41 extinguish Falsehoods, and put an end to them, 42->72 sense, Knox was, 41 sense Knox was, 46 52->72 sense, Knox, was Am such like, 41 suchlike, 70 72 teaching 41 teacing Am heart, 41 heart 46 52 -» 72 healthful, strong, 41 healthful strong Am pulling down 41 pulling-down 58 —> 72 pulling down 41 pulling-down 58 —> 72 subsist 41 exist Am every way! 41 everyway! 58 —> 72 mounts up 41 mounts-up 58 -> 72 honesthearted, 41 honest- hearted, 58 —> 72 present: 41 present; Am him. 41 him! 70 72 unforgiveable 41 unforgivable 46 52 —> 72 set up 41 set-up 58 -> 72 offences; 41 offences, 46 52 -> 72 sin, 41 sin; 42 —> 72 clutch hold 41 clutch-hold 58

130.25 130.26 130.34 130.35 130.35 131.8 131.9

true; 41 46 52->72 true, 41 remained, 70 72 remained 41 (well-named 52->72 (well named 41 nameable 46 52->72 namable 41 God'), 46 52-»72 God') 41 Hero- Priest 42->72 Hero-priest 41 wears out, 58-»72 wears-out,

Lecture V., The Hero as Man of Letters. 41 shew 133.4 58->72 show 41 133.5 today, Am to-day, 41 133.13 speak forth speak-forth 58->72 134.1 41 us us, 42->72 134.1 41 men, Am men 41 134.15 glance 42-472 glance, 41 134.15 us us. 42 —> 72 134.22 uttering forth, 41 uttering-forth, 58 —> 72 134.27 Divine 41 Divine, Am 134.31 it not, 41 not the fact, and are untrue to it, 42-»72 135.2* Jena, 41 Erlangen, 46 52->72 135.5 first, 41 first: 42->72 Mf,

HISTORICAL

135.7 135.12 135.24 136.16 136.18 136.24 136.25 136.38 137.1 137.2 137.7 137.12 137.12 137.12 137.16 137.17 137.24 137.31 138.17 138.30 138.32

41 Appearance; 42->72 Appearance: 41 shews 58->72 shows 41 Fichte T[Fichte 70 72 41 them! 42-* 72 them. 41 here, 42->72 here 41 hundred and fifty hundred-and-fifty 58 -> 72 41 But 70 72 tBut JL 41 clearness, 46->72 clearness, or 41 shew 58->72 show 41 These 42->72 There 41 society: Am society; 41 disorganization; disorganisation; 42->72 41 from which 70 72 from which, 41 to which 70 72 to which, 41 shew. 58 -> 72 show. 41 give Am give an 41 civilised Am civilized 41 preaching, 58-> 72 preaching 41 called up 58->72 called-up 41 HEBREW Book, Hebrew BOOK, 52->72 41 four thousand 58->72 four-thousand

COLLATION

139.5 139.6 139.12 139.29 140.1 140.3 140.18 140.22 140.24 140.30 140.31 141.1 141.9 141.12

141.12 141.14

471

existence too 41 existence, too, Am Books. 41 Books, Am thirty thousand, 41 thirty-thousand, 70 72 teacher 41 Teacher 42 -> 72 others. But 41 others But Am take in 41 take-in 58 -» 72 Easy -writing, 41 Easy-writing 72 all 41 All 70 72 Nay, 41 Nay 70 72 shews 41 shows 58 —> 72 shew 41 show 58 -» 72 authentic. Literature, 41 authentic. ^[Literature, 70 72 nay, 41 nay 70 72 Milton; the humble 41 Milton! They are something, too, those humble 42 -> 72 something, 42 something 46 52 —> 72 there! Fragments 41 there! For all true singing is of the nature of worship; as indeed all true working may be said to be, — whereof such singing is but the record, and fit melodious representation, to us. Fragments 42 —> 72

472

141.17 141.28 142.2 142.3 142.4 142.18 142.22 142.23 142.36 142.38 142.38 143.2 143.6 143.8 143.12 143.19 143.23 143.28 143.34 144.1 144.2

HISTORICAL COLLATION

'body 41 42->72 'Body 41 figure of a speech figure of speech, 42 —> 72 only 41 only, 42->72 41 itself by and by itself, by and by, 42-»72 41 unincumbered, unencumbered, 70 72 41 steamengines, steam-engines, Am 41 Katherine Katharine Am 41 brick.— The Am brick. The 41 unrecognised Am unrecognised, 41 cast off 58 -> 72 cast-off 41 step forth 58->72 step-forth 41 another: Am another; 41 incumbered encumbered 70 72 41 arrangement, 52-»72 arrangement 41 bring out 58-»72 bring-out 41 endowments, endowments 46 52->72 41 shew 58-* 72 show 41 say say, 70 72 41 Begging 70 72 ^[Begging 41 cast out 58->72 cast-out 41 torn out 58->72 torn -out

144.2

cast forth 41 cast-forth 58 -» 72 144.3 made out 41 made-out 58 -> 72 144.6 setting up 41 setting-up 58 —> 72 144.7 are, 41 are Am 144.7* order; 41 order;' 42 -» 72 144.9 make it too do 41 make it to do 52 58 144.12 money-furtherances, 41 money-futherances, 58 144.25 nine hundred and ninetynine 41 nine-hundred-and-ninetynine 58 —> 72 144.27 Cave, 41 Cave; 46 52 -> 72 144.27 brokenhearted 41 broken-hearted 70 72 41 144.28 Gauger, Gauger; 46 52 —> 72 145.2 applied to 41 applied-to 58 -> 72 answers 41 145.3 adds 42 -> 72 41 145.12 it will the world will 42 -> 72 145.12 its 41 it[] 52 145.13* called 41 call 72 145.36 hope; 41 hope: 46 52 -> 72 145.37 shewn 41 shown Am 58 —> 72 145.37 them, 41 them: 42 -» 72 146.1 some understanding, 41 some Understanding, 70 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

146.2

are too apt 41 are apt Am 146.9 noblehearted 41 noble-hearted Am 146.10 humane 41 humane, 52 146.16 These, 41 These Am 41 146.36 put up put-up 58 -> 72 age 41 147.1 Age Am -> 72 moral Doubt; 41 147.5 moral doubt; Am 41 147.10 Formalism Formulism 42 46 52->72 41 147.17 men. men! 42 —» 72 41 147.19 died out died-out 58 -> 72 147.20 and 'machine:' 41 and 'Machine:' 42 -> 72 41 147.21 no Machine; no machine: 42 Am no machine! 46 52 —> 72 147.21 it 41 I say that it 42 -> 72 41 147.22* not go not go 42 —> 72 147.22 wheels and pinions at all! The 41 wheel-and-pinion 'motives,' self-interests, checks, balances; that there is something far other in it than the clank of spinning-jennies, and parliamentary majorities; and, on the whole, that it is not a machine at all!—The 42 -> 72 148.22 one would 41 one word would Am

148.28 148.29 148.36

149.6 149.7 149.15 149.25

149.28 149.29 149.30 149.35

150.5 150.7 150.10 150.11 150.12 150.19 150.22 150.23 150.24

473

steamengine 41 steam-engine Am laying down 41 laying-down 58->72 half-and-half 41 half-and half Am Universe, has 41 58->72 Universe has fatalest 41 46 52 58 fatallest 41 worshipped 58 worshiped Steamengine, 41 steamengine, 42 46 52 -> 72 steam-engine, Am dying! — 41 dying! 46 52 -> 72 the healthy 41 Am a healthy 41 process 42->72 process, 41 clutch up 58->72 clutch-up 41 speak of 58-»72 speak-of 41 thought, belief thought, your belief 46->72 41 shew 58-»72 show 41 turned up turned-up 58->72 going on! 41 going-on! 58-»72 mournfulest, 41 mournfullest, 46 52 58 dexterous 41 dextrous 58->72 gone out; 41 gone-out; 58->72 come in. 41 come-in. 58->72

474

150. 32 150. 32

150.32 151.. 14 151..24 151..29 151..38 152. 1 152.6

152..8 152..11 152..13

H I S T O R I C A LC O L L A T I O N

"has 'has crawled out crawled-out suffering," suffering,' and the and that the semblant; semblant, Heroic World! Heroic World. heroic world! home!' home'! 'worlds' 'world's' world's world's' gone. ^[Now gone. — ^Now 46 Truths truths intimation in intimation, in

46 152.117 Johnson's girt Johnson's, girt 152.22 make out make-out 152..29 truly, truly 46 reflexions 153.2. reflections 46 struggling 153..3 struggling, 153..10 gave way gave-way 153..12 got not 153..14

got no more, Original more Original

41 42->72

153.31

41 58 41

153 .32

42->72 41 70 72 41 Am 41 Am 52-»72 41 70 72 41 70 41 70 41 52-»72 41 58-»72 41 52-»72 41 42->72 41 58->72 41 52-»72 41 52-»72 41 42->72 41 58->72 41 Am 41 Am

153 .32 153 .33 153.39

154 .2

154.3 154 .6

154.7 154 .10 154.25

154 .32 154 .32 154.37

155.3 155.11 155.11

155,.18 155.29 155.34

shoots in 41 58 -.>72 shoots-in 41 misery: Am misery; 41 stript off, stript-off, 58 H>72 41 manner, manner 70 72 'fourpence halfpenny 41 'fourpcnce-halfpenny 46->72 41 seamy-faced, Am seamed-faced, 41 worn out; 58->72 worn-out; 41 of window! Am of the window! 41 beggary: we Am beggary; we 41 pitching away 58->72 pitching-away 41 manner, 42 -i> 72 manner 41 glared-in glared in, 70 72 41 forever, 70 -H> 7 2 forever 41 worshipped 58 worshiped 41 'artificial?' 70 72 'artificial'? 41 finds out 58 H>72 finds-out 41 somewhat, —were Am somewhat — were improvements, changes 41 improvements, with 42 -H>72 changes 41 worshipper's 58 worshiper's 41 sincere, — of Am sincere, of

HISTORICAL

155.35

156.8 156.11 156.14 156.20 156.24 156.26 156.27 156.29 156.31 156.35

157.2 157.2 157.8 157.12 157.13 157.20 157.31

158.1 158.5 158.9

hard-struggling, 41 Am hard struggling, 41 him, — fearful Am him — fearful 41 heard of 58->72 heard-of 41 second-hand: 42->72 secondhand: 41 pleasure Am pleasure, 41 them, — as Am them — as 41 done 70 72 done, 41 done 70 72 done, 41 godforgetting 70 72 god-forgetting 41 coupled, Am coupled 41 this, call 42->72 this, I call 41 now 72 now, 41 were 72 were, 41 style, — the Am style— the 41 put up with. 58 put-up-with. 70 72 put-up with. 41 styles, 70 72 styles 41 finished, Am finished 41 Frenchman, That 70 72 Frenchman, that 41 radish 70 72 raddish 41 whole, Am whole 41 right valiant 70 72 right-valiant

COLLATION

158.10

475

Trade; 41 trade; 70 72 158.35 high, 41 high 70 72 159.6 Philosophies 41 Philosophers Am 41 159.19 "He 'He 42 72 41 159.19 world!" world!' 42 72 41 159.33 onions; onions: Am 159.37* and con torsions 41 and contortions 46 —> 72 159.38* The contorsions 41 The contortions 46 —> 72 looks on 41 160.1 looks-on 58 —> 72 160.10 Scepticism, 41 Scepticism 70 72 160.30 Madame 41 Madam Am 161.7 any way 41 anyway 58 -> 72 161.10 wild beast 41 wild-beast 58 -> 72 161.14 such like, 41 suchlike, 70 72 161.22 Century, 41 Century 42 41 161.22 up, up Am 161.34 acting-figures, 41 actingfigures, Am 162.1 Peasant. — His 41 Peasant. ^His 70 72 brave 41 162.5 brave, 70 72 162.13 nursery-ground,' nor 41 nursery-ground,' — not that, nor 42 -» 72 162.16 swallowing down 41 swallowing-down 72

476

162 .18 162 .27 162 .37 162 .38 163 .7 163 .9 163 .10 163 .28 163 .31

163.35 163 .38 164 .6 164 .8 164 .12 164 .22 164 .36

164,.38 165..3 165..3 165 .3 165 .3

HISTORICAL

newspaper-paragraphs 41 newspaper paragraphs 52 ->72 41 recognised recognized 52 41 world; — rock, world; rock, Am 41 whirlwind in 46 ->72 whirlwind of 41 sense, sense 58 -»72 41 such like, 70 72 suchlike, 41 This basis The basis Am 41 gracefulest 46 52 58 gracefullest insight: 41 insight; 58 ->72 41 bed, Am bed with him, That 41 with him. That 58 ->72 every way, 41 58 ->72 everyway, better gifted 41 better-gifted 42 ->72 thicknecked 41 thick-necked 72 men were not 41 42 ->72 men are not «wthinking 41 wwthinkg Am it, as 41 it as 58 ->72 Why 41 "Why 46 -»72 41 this? 46 -»72 this?" 41 some. some: 42 ->72 41 Strength "Strength 46 ->72

COLLATION

old. 41 46->72 old." 41 165.5 say I! answer I! 42->72 41 here 165.9 here, 70 72 41 165.10 Poetry, in Poetry, so in 42-) 72 41 165.11 fantasticalities; fantasticalities: 58 41 165.22 for worshipper. for worshiper. 58 41 165.22 had worshippers 58 had worshipers 41 165.28 his worshippers his worshipers 58 41 165.30 well-being wellbeing Am 58->72 41 165.36 summer-sunshine, summer sunshine, 70 72 41 165.38 it not, by it is not alterable bv 46 52->72 it is not alterable, by Am 41 166.3 priest priest, 52-* 72 166.9 obeyed.—— 41 Am obeyed. 52-»72 obeyed. — 166.10* history his 41 history, — his 42 46 52->72 history — his Am 166.19 jail. 41 Jail. 52 58 166.30 shew 41 58-) 72 show 166.32 burst 41 46->72 burst, 41 166.33 whom, whom 52 58 166.34 body:' 41 body;' 58->72 165.4

HISTORICAL

167.8

amusement; — and amusement: — and

41 Am

Lecture VI. The Hero as King. 41 summary 169.5 46 -»72 summary 41 169.8 us, furnish us, to furnish 46 ->72 teaching, tell 169.8 41 teaching, to tell 46 ->72 41 169.11 Able-man. 58 Ableman. 169.17 order 'to 41 52 ->72 'order to 41 169.19 Able-man, Ableman, 58 Ableman 70 72 170.12 regulated; 41 Am regulated: 170.29 rush down 41 58 ->72 rush -down stretch out 171.2 41 58 -»72 stretch-out 41 171.3* it 42 ->72 it 41 burst forth 171.5 58 -»72 burst-forth 41 171.12 behind, — I 70 72 behind — I 41 171.21 Divine-right men Am Divine right men 41 171.25 steamengine. Am steam-engine. 41 171.27 look out 58 ->72 look-out 41 171.29 Wo 42 -»72 Woe 171.30 wo 41 42 ->72 woe 41 171.37 that in short that, in short, 46 52 ->72

COLLATION

477

41 book-shelves. 42 ->72 bookshelves. 172.33* are a Chimera, 41 are — a Chimera, 42 ->72 41 172.35 Palais Royal, 46 ->72 Palais-Royal, 172.36 burst up 41 58 ->72 burst-up 173.17 July, 1830, 41 58 ->72 July 1830 173.18 Nation 41 nation Am 41 173.23 made up 58 ->72 made-up 173.23 madness-quietus, 41 'madness' quietus, 46 ->72 41 173.29 shocks shocks, 42 ->72 173.34 Fact, and the 41 Fact, and that the 46 ->72 174.3 prefer natural, 41 /wter natural; 46 52 -» 72 174.4 take fire 41 take -fire 58 -»72 174.25 pole-star 41 polestar 70 72 174.28 Men; not 41 men; not Am 174.29 hope, 41 hope 58 ->72 174.32 give up 41 give -up 58 ->72 174.38 it! 41 it. Am 175.1 in 41 into Am 175.3 gold!"— I 41 gold!" I 42 ->72

172.11

478

175.12

175.24

176.2 176.8 176.12

176.18 176.19 176.27 176.37 177.24 177.30 177.30 177.32 177.32 177.36 177.37

178.5 178.10 178.11

HISTORICAL COLLATION

Hero-worship; a 41 52 Hero-worship[] a Hero-worship, — a 58 H> 7 2 41 whose whole soul Am whose soul 41 come out come-out 58 —.> 7 2 41 step forth step-forth 58 H> 7 2 41 Two. fWe Two. [extra leading between paragraphs] ^Wc 42 -H> 7 2 41 makes up makes-up 58 —•>72 41 World, Am world, 41 loveable lovable 46 52^> 7 2 41 College-rules Am College rules 41 utterance at all Am utterance all 41 is not only Am is only 41 accepted; it accepted, — it 58 —i> 7 2 worshipping 41 58 worshiping 41 shows; shews; 42 46 52 Am shews: 41 Pedant, Am Pedant 'College-rules,' 41 Am 'College rules,' 41 men: Am men; 41 him; him: 46 52 41 man — ! We man— !—We 70 72

178.12

three hundred thousand 41 three - hundred - thousand 58->72 41 178.18 fought out 58->72 fought-out 41 178.26 ushered in, ushered-in, 58-* 72 41 178.38 nay Am nay, 41 178.39 canonized. canonised. 46 52->72 41 179.1 nay Am nay, 41 179.1 Hutcheson, Hutchinson, 46->72 179.4 anybody 41 Am any body 41 179.4 wicked. 42-472 wicked now. 41 179.10 forth: forth; Am 41 179.10 Cause! Cause. 52->72 41 179.11* Tartuffe; Tartufe; 46-»72 41 179.20 bodyguards Am bodyguards, 41 179.34 love, love 46 52-* 72 41 179.37 men men, 70 72 41 179.38* euphuisms, 70 72 euphemisms, 41 179.39 Ship-monies, Ship-moneys, 46 52->72 41 179.39 unblameable, unblamable, 46 52->72 41 180.2 get up 58->72 get-up 41 180.3 break forth 58->72 break- forth

HISTORICAL

180.4 180.7 180.10

breaks down breaks-down brick clay; brick-clay; all,

41

58-»72

41

70 72

him

181.11 181.12 181.15 181.15 181.17 181.26 181.34

Am

41 worshipping 58 worshiping 41 help, No! 42 -> 72 help, no! 41 The cash is 42-* 72 The purse is 41 you, and on 70 72 you, and, on 41 whole 70 72 whole, 41 revolting, Am revolting 41 soul, 58 soul 'Madness,' 'Hypocrisy,' 41 'madness,' 'hypocrisy,' 5R _k T)

181.37

Nay,

182.2

shadows: shadows;

Nay

182.22 182.24

41

52->72 all 41 180.12* no euphuistic 70 72 no euphemistic 41 180.14* in euphuistic 70 72 in euphemistic 41 180.24 Scepticism Scepticism, 42 46 52->72 41 180.28 demanding, Am demanding 41 180.32 pay out 58-* 72 pay-out 41 180.33 shewn? 58 -> 72 shown? 41 him, 181.3

181.9

COLLATION

41

58->72

41

Am 58->72

182.24 182.25 182.25 182.25

479

earnest, hearty, sincere 41 earnest, affectionate, sincere 46 —> 72 You remember that story of his having a vision 41 Of those stories of 'Spectres;' 46 -> 72 Evil Spirit, 41 white Spectre in broad daylight, 46 -> 72 would be Sovereign 41 should be King 46 -» 72 England, and so forth. In broad 41 England. In broad 42 England, and so forth. In broad daylight, some huge white Spectre, which he took to be the Devil, with preternatural monitions of some sort, shews itself to him: the Royalists made immense babble about it; but apart from their speculations, we can suppose this story of the Spectre to be true. Then r there are afterwards those hypochondriacal visions: the Doctor sent for; Oliver imagining that 'the steeple of Huntingdon was about to tumble on him.' 41 England, we are not bound to believe much; — probably no more than of the other black Spectre, or Devil in person, to whom the Officer saw him sell himself before Worcester Fight! But the mournful, over- sensitive, hypochondriac humour of Oliver, in his young

480

182.31 182.33 (182.25)

(182.25) (182.25) (182.25) (182.25)

182.34

HISTORICAL COLLATION

years, is otherwise indisputably known. The Huntingdon Physician told Sir Philip Warwick himself, He had often been sent for at midnight; Mr. Cromwell was full of hypochondria, thought himself near dying, and "had fancies about the Town-cross." The things are significant. 46 —* 72 sent for 46 sent-for 58 Town -cross." The 46 Town-cross." These Am-> 72 the Royalists made immense babble about it; but 41 it is a universal story of those times; and, 42 their speculations, 41 all Royalist and other speculations on it, 42 can 41 can well 42 those 41 those other 42 imagining that 'the steeple of Huntingdon was about to tumble on him.' 41 'has fancies about the town -cross of Huntingdon. ' These things are significant. 42 bulk of his; in other words, a soul of such intensity, such sensibility, with all its strength! 41 strength of his, is not the symptom of falsehood; it is the symptom and promise of quite other than falsehood! 42 -» 72

182.37 182.38 183.2 183.2 183.3 183.7 183.9

law; falls, 41 Law; falls, or is said to have fallen, 46 -> 72 but speedily 41 but if so, speedily

46 — » 72 He 41 'He 46 -> 72 pays back 41 pays- back 58 -> 72 gambling; —he 41 gambling,' says the story;— he 46 -> 72 shows 41 shews 42 —> Am at Ely as 41 at St. Ives and Ely, as *n —>v /z T) 4/

183.10 183.14 183.15 183.18 183.20 183.20 183.25 183.28 183.29 183.33 184.1 184.2

true devout 41 true and devout 46 —> 72 nay, 41 nay 70 72 this, 41 this 70 72 thither 41 thither, 42 —> 72 eye.'— It eye.' Jit comes out comes-out influence?' influence'? Eternity; — it Eternity; it 'ambitious!' 'ambitious'! men. His men His deephearted deep-hearted worshipping worshiping

41 42 -> 72 41 58 —> 72 41 70 72 41 58 -» 72 41 70 72 41 58 41 42 —» 72 41 58

H I S T O R I CAL C O L L A T I O N

184.9

184.10 184.16 184.20 184.24 184.35 184.36 185.12 185.14 186.7 186.9

186.10 186.10 186.24 186.27

186.31 186.33 187.1*

187.9

him: it is 41 him; it is Am or, far 41 or far Am shews 41 shows 58 -» 72 nay, 41 nay 46 52 -> 72 play off 41 play-off 58 -> 72 shows, 41 shews, 42 —» 52 expediencies: 41 expediences: 70 72 King:' but 41 King;' but 58 -> 72 calling forth 41 calling-forth 58 -> 72 quacks?' 41 quacks'? 70 72 shall we so 41 shall we even so 46 —> 72 'detect?' 41 'detect'? 70 72 The vulpine 41 For the vulpine 46 —> 72 41 hundred andfifty hundred-and-fifty 58 —» 72 Quacks and Quackeries!

41

quacks and quackeries! 42->72 One 41 42 —> 72 In brief, one go on 41 go-on 58 Euphuisms; 41 Euphuisms, 42 46 52 58 Euphuism, Am Euphemisms, 70 72 affections; 41 affections: 58 —> 72

187.16 187.23 187.26 187.28 187.29 188.10 188.20 188.34

189.8 189.14 189.16 189.26

190.1 190.5 190.6 190.12 190.18 190.20 190.25 190.27

481

41 seeing 70 72 seeing, 41 withal, Am withal 41 logicizing; logicising; 46 52-»72 41 fairspoken 70 fair-/spoken 72 fair-spoken 41 DcM^tiness), 72 Doujjih-tincss), 41 them, — how Am them, how 41 'Hypocrisy?' 70 72 'Hypocrisy'? 41 days, 58->72 days 41 turns out 58->72 turns-out 41 taking up 58->72 taking-up 41 shew 58->72 show 41 history, 70 72 history 41 incredible: Am incredible; 41 practice. 52-»72 practice! 41 practise Am practice 41 through 52 though 41 But, in fact, 58->72 But in fact 41 such like. 70 such-/like. 72 suchlike

mapped out; mapped-out: Play-actor Play-actor,

41 58->72 41 Am

482

190.30 190.36

191.3 191.11 191.23 191.34

192.6 192.14 192.15 192.17 192.18 192.19 192.20 192.20 192.29 192.30

193.2 193.3 193.6 193.8

HISTORICAL

does does does fall away fall -away duly, duly thrown down thrown-down keep out keep-out grey;

41 72 41

58-»72 41 70 72 41 58->72 41 58->72 41 58->72 gray; 41 man, 58->72 man businesses. 41 Am business. 41 much life much of life 46->72 41 shows 42-»52 shews 41 staid stayed 46 52->72 41 wrapt up 58->72 wrapt- up 41 paradings paradings, 46->72 41 hat do 46->72 hat, do 41 Wo 42-»72 Woe 41 shew, 58->72 show, 41 sect >"— "Truly," sect?" "Truly," 58-»72 41 I happily 46->72 happily I 41 'honour?' 70 72 'honour'? statue? than say, There it 41 is!" statue? than say, There it 42 is!"—— statue?"—— 46-»72

COLLATION

193.10

blameable, blamable, 46 193.15 develope develop 193.16 speak out, speak-out, 193.17 act out, act-out, 193.23 therefore, therefore: 193.30 there?' there'? 193.30 Hopefuler Hopefuller 193.38* do a priceless do priceless 46 194.1 Earth, Earth; flamed up 194.5 flamed-up 194.13 cropt off, cropt-off, 194.20 for itself: for itself; 194.22 thither. He thither. ^He purpose: 195.2 purpose; shews 195.5 shows 195.16 fifteen hundred 195.18 195.19 195.21 195.22 195.33

41 52->72 41 58->72 41 58->72 41 58->72 41 42->72 41 70 72 41 52 58 41 52-»72 41 42->72 41 58-* 72 41 58->72 41 Am 41 70 72 41 42->72 41 58->72 41 fifteen-hundred 58->72 ten; 41 ten: 52 him, — England 41 him, — why, then, England 42 -> 72 joint 41 42 -> 72 united problem 41 problem, 46 52->72 hero-hearts 41 hero hearts 70 72

HISTORICAL

195.34 195.37 196.12 196.13 196.14 196.20 196.29 196.29 196.32

41 flings forth 58->72 flings-forth 41 befel befell 46 52 70 72 41 God, that He Am God, that he 41 him, He him and this Cause, He 46->72 41 breathed out 58->72 breathed-out grey; 41 58->72 gray; 41 shewn, shown, 58-»72 41 war, 46->72 War, 41 it, it

196.35

such like: suchlike: suchlike; 196.37 one: one; 197.2 it: it; 46 197.6* hand, hands 46 197.21 England, Chief England; Chief 197.21 England: but England; but 197.27 given up given-up 197.37 "for "For 198.2 itself, in itself in 198.10* call calls 198.19 do; do:

58 41 70 72 41 Am 41

52->72

41

52 -> 72 41 42->72 41 Am

41 58->72 41

70 72

41

52 58

41

70 72

41 46

COLLATION

198.27 198.32 199.13 199.24 199.32 199.33

483

According 41 ^According 70 72 keep out 41 keep-out 58 —> 72 Realities 41 realities 52 -» 72 shape out 41 shape-out 58 -> 72 broke down, 41 broke-down, 58 -> 72 They appointed Cromwell Protector, and went their ways. The second Parliament, 41 They dissolved themselves, as incompetent; delivered up their power again into the hands of the Lord General Cromwell, to do with it what he liked and could. What will he do with it! The Lord General Cromwell, 'Commander-in-chief of all the Forces raised and to be raised;' he hereby sees himself, at this unexampled juncture, as it were the one available Authority left in England, nothing between England and utter Anarchy but him alone. Such is the undeniable Fact of his position and England's, there and then. What will he do with it! After deliberation, he decides that he will accept it; will formally, with public solemnity, say and vow before God and men, "Yes, the Fact is so, and I will do the best I can with it!" Protectorship,

484

199.33 199.35 200.3 200.7

HISTORICAL COLLATION

Instrument of Government, — these arc the external forms of the thing; worked out and sanctioned as they could in the circumstances be, by the Judges, by the leading Official people, 'Council of Officers and Persons of interest in the Nation:' and as for the thing itself, undeniably enough, at the pass matters had now come to* there was no alternative but Anarchy or that. Puritan England might accept it or not; but Puritan England was, in real truth, saved from suicide thereby! —I believe the Puritan People did, in an inarticulate, grumbling, yet on the whole grateful and real way, accept this anomalous act of Oliver's; at least, he and they together made it good, and always better to the last. But in their Parliamentary articulate way, they had thendifficulties, and never knew fully what to say to it! — 5Oh'vcr's second Parliament, properly his first regular Parliament, 46-»72 delivered up 46 delivered-up 58 —» 72 it! 46 it? 58 -» 72 it! 46 it? 58 -» 72 worked out 46 worked-out 58

200.7 200.8 200.19

200.19 200.23

in the 46 in these Am Judges, 46 judges, Am rule these Notables had fixed upon, 41 rule laid down hi the Instrument of Government, 46 -» 72 laid down 46 laid-down 58 -> 72 one. Most 41 one. So likewise to his third Parliament, hi similar rebuke for their pedantries and obstinacies. Most Af* T) 4O —r± /Z

200.25

chaotic, as all his chaotic, all these

41

46-* 72 200.33 might! 41 might. 42 -» 72 200.35 all, played 41 all, and played 46 -» 72 200.35 puppetshow 41 puppetshew 42 —» 52 201.9* into Chaos 41 in Chaos 72 201.13 Christ's Law 41 Christ's Law, 58 -» 72 201.18 things these 41 dungs the 46 -> 72 201.19* Cromwell's 41 Cromwell 46 52 -> 72 201.20* Jesuistic 41 Jesuitic 46 52 -» 72 201.33 theories, 41 theories 58 -> 72 201.35 lay down 41 lay-down 58 201.38 laying down 41 laying-down 58 -» 72

HISTORICAL COLLATION

202.2 202.19 202.21 202.23 202.27 202.28 202.33 202.33 202.34 202.38

203.1 203.2 203.6 203.6 203.9 203.11 203.17 203.18 203.19 203.23 203.30

Shew Show Choiseul; Choiseul, wanted waited no-whither nowhither Hutcheson, Hutchinson, Hutcheson Hutchinson Hutchinson, fellow soldiers, fellow-soldiers, Hutcheson, Hutchinson, Presbyterian Republican gooff, go-off, twice at least once day day, History' — place History,' — place forsooth — has forsooth! — has man! man? step over step -over hushed up hushed-up broke out broke-out hush up, hush -up, then then, build up build-up

41 58 -» 72 41 Am 41 42 —> 72 41 Am 41 46 —> 72 41 46 —» 52 58 —> 72 41 70 72 41 46 —» 72 41

46 -> 72 41 58 -> 72

41

46 -> 72 41 42 -> 72 41 70 72 41 70 72 41 Am 41 58 -» 72 41 58 -> 72 41 58 -> 72 41 58 -> 72 41 46 -» 72 41 58 -» 72

203.32 204.2 204.2 204.4 204.9 204.13 204.14 204.16 204.16 204.20 204.21 204.21 204.22 204.22 204.25 204.32 204.33 204.35 205.3 205.5 205.9

485

shew 41 show 58 —» 72 Awfiil, 41 Awful 58 -> 72 Unnameable 41 Unnamable 46 52 -> 72 burst out 41 burst-out 58 every- way 41 everyway 58 —» 72 Fanatic-Hypocrite, 41 Fanatic Hypocrite, Am Napoleon, 41 Napoleon 52 —» 72 blameable 41 blamable 46 52 -> 72 shews 41 58->72 shows 41 keep up 58->72 keep-up 41 these are 46->72 there arc 41 has any liberty 42->72 has liberty 41 been 42->72 been, 41 long-run 42->72 long-run, 41 found out; 58->72 found-out; 41 manoeuvrings 70 72 manoeuverings 41 blameable, blamable, 46 52->72 41 Nature Am nature 41 runs off 58->72 runs-off 41 Practice: Am practice: 41 Napoleon, Am Napoleon

486 205.13 205.16 205.18 205.24 205.28 205.29 206.3 206.6 206.7 206.24 206.29 206.31 206.37 207.3 207.5 207.12

H I S T O R.ICAL C O L L A T I O N 41 functionary: functionary; 42 ->72 41 resultat result 46 -»72 41 piece Am picture 41 down: down; 46 52 ->72 41 Revolution or Revolution, or 42 -»72 41 Revolution could Revolution, could 42 -> 72 41 Lceben, Leoben, 42 ->72 41 feels, Am feels 41 bridle in bridle-in 42 -»72 41 apostatised Am apostatized 41 'given up 'given-up 58 -»72 41 fearfulest fearfullest 46 52 58 41 re-establishment 70 reestablishment re-/establishment 72 Notre-Dame there, 41 Notre-Dame, 46 ->72 41 that!" that"! 70 72 41 cloud: cloud; 58 -»72

207.15

207.32 208.4 208.5 208.8 208.11 208.11 208.17 208.18 208.18 208.19 208.27

208.36 208.38 209.3

41 into temptation!' into temptation'! 70 72 41 make out make-out 58 —> 72 41 rude -draught; a rude-draught never completed; 46 —> 72 41 not? other? 46 -> 72 41 flung out flung-out 58 -> 72 41 'another "another 42 —> 72 41 France.' France." 42 -> 72 41 half dissolved half-dissolved 58 -> 72 41 turbid turpid Am 41 Fanfaronade. fanfaronade. 70 72 41 trodden down trodden -down 58 —> 72 Man! [double extra leading between 41 paragraphs] \Our Man! [extra leading between paragraphs] \Our 42 -> 52 70 72 Man! \Our 58 41 vitalest vitallest 46 52 58 break ground 41 break-ground 58 —> 72 41 thrown out thrown-out 58 —> 72

INDEX

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INDEX Abbott, Wilbur Cortez, Ixxvii-lxxviii; The Writings and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, Ixxviii, 379, 395 Abelard, Peter, 139, 332 Abrams, M. H., "The Correspondent Breeze: A Romantic Metaphor," 292, 395 Account of an Embassy to the Court of the Teshoo Lama, in Tibet, An (Turner), 6, 232, 416 Account of Corsica (Boswell), 344, 377 Account of the Kingdom of Nepal, An (Hamilton), 232 Acton, first baron (John Emerich Edward Dalberg), Ixxi; The History of Freedom and Other Essays, Ixxi, 395; Letters of Lord Acton to Mary, Daughter of the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, Ixxi, 395 Addison, Joseph, 68, 281 Aeneid (Virgil), 289 Aeschylus, 95, 300; Oresteia, 295, 331 jEsthetica (A. Baumgarten), 282 Aesthetics, xlvi-xlvii, 64, 70, 282-83 Agamemnon (Seneca), 295 Age of Louis XIV, The (Voltaire), 350, 417 "Agony of the Victorian Age, The" (Gosse), xxxiii, 403 Alembert, Jean Le Rond d', Encyclopedic, 239,351, 387 Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir by His Son (H. Tennyson), xlviii, 357, 415 C A1I, 50-51, 268, 272 Ali, Syed Ameer, A Critical Examination of the Life and Teachings of Mohammed, 262, 265-66, 269, 395 Allegory, 6-8, 28, 83, 233 Allemagne (Stael), 360 Allingham, William, A Diary, 231, 329-30, 395 Allott, Miriam, Novelists on the Novel, 297, 395 Altenglisches Etymologisches Wb'rterbuch (Holthausen), 237, 405

Althaus, Friedrich, Ivi America, xxi-xxii, xxx, Ixiii, 34, 116, 255; Puritanism as beginning of, 123, 318; War of Independence, 307, 371 Anabaptists, 118, 314, 384 Anatomy of Melancholy, The (Robert Burton), 236 Ancient Dialect: Thomas Carlyle and Comparative Religion, The (apRoberts), xli, 231, 395 "Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson" (Piozzi), 299,411 Anglicanism, 303-5, 314 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, The, 256, 395 Annals (Tacitus), 255, 351 Antichrist, 14, 238, 318 Antiquitates Celto-Normanicae (Johnstone), 230 apRoberts, Ruth, The Ancient Dialect: Thomas Carlyle and Comparative Religion, xli, 231, 395 Arabs, 41-42, 235; black stone and worship by, 43-44, 104, 260-61, 305; idolatry of, 43-45, 48, 54-55, 262-63, 265, 270-71, 344; love of Qur'an by, 56-57, 271; meditation by, 48-49, 265; religiosity of, 42-45 Argyll, eighth earl of (Archibald Campbell), 196, 381 Aristotle, 233, 236, 284 Anus and Arianism, 245-46, 270 Ark of the Covenant, 105, 305 Ark of Testimony. See Shekinah Armstrong, T. Percy, "Carlyle and Uhland: Parallel Passages," 252, 395 "Arnold and Carlyle" (DeLaura), Ixvii, 400 Arnold, Matthew, Ixvii-lxviii, Ixxix; God and the Bible, 234, 395; Lectures and Essays in Criticism, 320, 339, 395; Letters of Matthew Arnold to Arthur Hugh dough, Ixviii, 395; "Memorial Verses," 329; Philistinism in England and America, Ixvii, 396; "The Scholar Gypsy," 237

489

490

INDEX

Artist, xlvi-xlviii, 363. See also Writerhero Asgard, 16, 19,241,249 Ashley, Maurice, The Greatness of Oliver Cromwell, xliv-xlv, 370, 373, 380-81,396 Athanasius, 21, 246 Aubrey, John, Brief Lives, 375, 396 Augereau, Pierre-Francois-Charles, 207, 391 Austen, Jane, Northanger Abbey, 331 Autobiographies: Reveries Over Childhood and Youth and The Trembling of the Veil (Yeats), Ixiv, 418 Autobiography of Leigh Hunt, The (Hunt), 351,405 Autobiography and Literary Essays (Mill), kvii, 296, 298, 341, 409; "On Genius," 365-66 Autobiography and Other Essays, An (Trevelyan), xj, Ixxvii-lxxviii, 416 Bacon, Francis, Novum Organum, 88-89, 296 Bailey, Nathan: An Universal Etymological Dictionary, 349; Dictionarium Britannicum, 349 Baillie, Robert, Letters and Journals, 362 Baldr, 31, 249, 251-52; as parallel to Christ, 17, 242-43 Balsamo, Giuseppe ("Count Cagliostro"), xxvii, xxxvi, 39, 150, 235, 245, 258-59, 342 Bannatyne, Richard, Memorials of Transactions in Scotland, 324, 396 Barfield, Owen, What Coleridge Thought, 298, 396 Bartholomew Fair (Jonson), 375 Bartlett, John, Familiar Quotations, Ixii, 396 Battisti, Eugenio, Giotto, 285, 396 Baumgarten, Alexander Gottlieb: jfsthetica, 282; Reflections on Poetry, 282, 396 Baumgarten, Murray: "The Mind is a Muscle: Carlyle, Literary Revolution, and Linguistic Nationalism," c, 396; "Revolution as Context:

Carlyle and the Example of Cagliostro," liii, 396 Baxter, Richard, Reliquiae Baxterianae, 362, 373 Bellarmine, Robert. See Robert Bellarmine, Saint Bell, Sir Charles, Tibet Past and Present, 232, 396 Bentham, Jeremy, Ixxv, 278; Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, 278; utilitarianism of, Ixxvii, 65, 148-49, 151, 278, 341-42; The Works of Jeremy Bentham, 342, 397 "Benthamite Utilitarianism and Oliver Twist" (K. J. Fielding), 278, 401 Beowulf and The Fight at Finnsburg, 249, 406 Bernardin de St. Pierre, Jacques Henri, 160, 353; La Chaumiere Indienne, 353; Etudes de la Nature, 353; Paul et Virginie, 353-54 Bhagavad Glta, The, 295, 397 Bible, Ixxix, 41, 55, 324; individual interpretation of, 106-7, 306; Luther on grace and, 111-12, 3089; translations of, 119, 245, 302, 315 Biblical allusions: Alpha and Omega, 48, 265; angel Gabriel, 50, 267; Antichrist, 14, 238; Ark of Covenant, 105, 305; body as temple of God, 11, 237; cannot away with, 104, 304; consume your own smoke, 158, 351; counsel with flesh and blood, 49, 266; creation of man, 40, 59, 259, 273; deep as Tophet, 94, 300; deny Me, deny My Father, 115, 313; done under the sun, 104, 305; door of hope, 188, 376; Elijah, 48, 265; finger of God, 200, 385; given the horse strength, 43, 260; hold your peace, 158, 351; holy Presence, 10, 235; hypocrites, 377; idols, 5, 231; inspiration and understanding, 40, 259; Ishmael, 10, 43, 235, 261; Job, 43, 260; John the Evangelist and Isle of Patmos, 121, 317; laughter, 163, 357; lead us not into temptation,

INDEX

207, 391; let there be light, 88, 296; light of the world, 135, 328; lilies of the fields, 70, 140, 282, 333; live coal, 140, 333; living without God in the world, 184, 374; Lord gives and takes away, 62, 275; losing life to save it, 49, 266; man after his own heart, 41, 259; man that walks to direct his steps, 41, 259; Moses, 47, 84, 138, 265, 294, 305, 332; not as fools, 151, 343; one thing needful, 28, 249; perfection through suffering, 78, 288; pillar of fire, 135, 188, 328, 376; psalms of praise, 82, 294; revenge, 312; Sabeans, 10, 42, 235, 260; sacrifices to God, 276; salt of the earth, 192, 378; Samson, 149, 342; second coming, 35, 255; seekest thou great things, 193, 378; shaking of a spear, 43, 260; a sign to you, 59, 273; Solomon, 192, 235, 378; strong delusion, 206, 390; thorns under the pot, 93, 299; true Light, 3, 231; trust in God, 49, 266; turning the other cheek, 63, 276; walk with God, 204, 387; walk in vain show, 40, 63, 259, 276; words of truth, 114, 311; yesterday, today and forever, 84, 294 Bibliography of Thomas Carlyle's Writings and Ana, A (Dyer), Ixxxvi, 401 Biographia Literaria (Coleridge), 236, 288, 297-98, 315, 340, 399 Blake, Robert, 29, 249 Blake, William, The Letters of William Blake, 291, 397 Bleak House (Dickens), 385 Blood for the Ghosts: Classical Influences in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (Lloyd-Jones), Ixxvi, 407 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 68, 281, 288; Esposizioni sopra la Comedia di Dante, 291, 397; Trattatello in laude di Dante, 288, 397 Books, 137-38, 141-42; booksellers system, 152, 158, 326, 331, 336,

491

344, 350; as universities, 139-40, 332-33 BoswelJ, James, Ixv, 349; Account of Corsica, 344, 377; Boswell in Search of a Wife, 377, 397; as Corskan liberty supporter, 192, 377-78; hero-worship of Johnson by, xlvi, 13, 157-58, 165, 349; Life of Samuel Johnson, xxiii, 236, 251, 297, 325, 335-36, 338, 344-48, 368, 377-78, 397; as martyr to truth, Ixi, 157-58, 348-49; portrait of, xxxvii-xxxviii, xli; public perception of, xlv-xlvi, 157, 349 Boswell in Search of a Wife (Boswell), 377, 397 Bosworth, Joseph, A Compendious Anglo-Saxon and English Dictionary, 237, 397 Bourrienne, Louis-Antoine Farvelet de, 204-5; Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, 362, 388-91, 397 Brand, C. P., Thomas Carlyle and Dante, 293, 397 Brandis, Johannes, The Life and Letters ofBarthold George Niebuhr, 398 Bravery. See Valor Brecht, Martin, Martin Luther: His Road to Reformation, 312, 397 Brief Chronicle of the Late Intestine Wars in the Three Kingdoms, A (Heath), 361-62 Brief Lives (Aubrey), 375, 396 Brown, P. Hume: John Knox, A Biography, 324, 397; A Short History of Scotland, 323, 397 Browne, Sir Thomas, Keligio Medici and Other Works, 333, 397 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, xl, Ixxix; The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning to Mary Russell Mitford, Ixiv, 398 Browning, Robert, Ixxix, 287 Bryant, Arthur, Samuel Pepys: The Man in the Making, 379, 398 Bunsen, Karl Josias von, The Life and Letters ofBarthold George Niebuhr, 365, 398

492

INDEX

Bunyan, John, The Pilgrim's Progress, 7,233 Burke, Edmund, 141, 169, 335, 352, 363; The Writings and Speeches of Edmund Burke, 363, 398 Burnet, Gilbert, History of His Own Time, 362 Burns, Robert, xxvii, xxxiv, xlviii, Ixxv, 68, 124, 141; dialect of, 162, 35556; disadvantageous beginnings of, 161-63, 307, 354-56; for a'that and a' that, 360; French Revolution sympathies by, 164-65, 359; heroworship of, 38, 72-73, 165-66, 284; humor and hope of, 163-64, 357; insight of, 163-65, 358; The Letters of Robert Burns, 325, 355, 398; Mirabeau and resemblance by, 16465, 358-59; names mare Jenny Geddes, 320; Napoleon and resemblance by, 294; The Poems and Songs of Robert Burns, 355, 360, 398; poverty of, 134, 144, 326-27, 337; sincerity of, 39, 165; society's lionization of, 163, 166-67, 334, 35758, 360; struggles of, xlix-li, Ix, 144, 338-39, 355; as tax official, 144, 164, 338, 358; as Thor, 163, 242, 356; The Two, Dogs, 355; The Works of Robert Burns, 325 Burton, Robert, The Anatomy of Melancholy, 236 Burton, Sir Richard, Love, War and Fancy, 277, 398 Butler, Samuel, Ixxix; The Way of All Flesh, Ixiv, 398 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, Ixxv, 81, 293; Don Juan, 334; as melodramatic, 141, 334; wealth of, 144, 337 Cagliostro, Count. See Balsamo, Giuseppe CaJder, Grace J., The Writing of Past and Present: A Study of Carlyle's Manuscripts, xxxii, 398 Campbell, Joseph, The Masks of God, 277, 398 Can della Scala, Francesco, 76, 287

Canopus, 10, 104, 234, 305 Carlyle: An Anthology (Trevelyan), Ixxiii, 416 Carlyle: "The Hero as Poet" and The Everlasting Te«J>(Sharma), 295, 413 Carlyle, Jane Welsh, xxiv-xxvi, xxviii, 264 "Carlyle: The Paradox Reconsidered" (Daiches), Iviii, 400 Carlyle and the Burden of History (J. Rosenberg), Ixxiv, 412 "Carlyle and Cromwell: The Writing of History and 'DRYASDUST'" (K. J. Fielding), 361,402 Carlyle on Cromwell and Others (1837-48) (Wilson), xxi-xxii, xli, Iv, 418 "Carlyle and Esaias Tegner: An Unpublished MS" (K J. Fielding), 229, 402 Carlyle and German Thought: 18191834 (Harrold), xxxv, 237, 281-82, 334, 404 Carlyle and Hitler (Grierson), IxxiiiIxxv, 403 Carlyle and the Idea of the Modern (LaValley), Ivi, 407 "Carlyle on Muhammad" (Watt), xlixliii, 1-li, 417 Carlyle Personally and in His Writings (Masson), Ixiii, 408 "Carlyle and the Philosophy of History" (Wellek), xxxv, 417 "Carlyles, The" (G. B. Tennyson), Ixxiii-lxxiv, Ixxix, 415 Carlyle and the Saint-Simonians: The Concept of Historical Periodicity (Shine), xxxv, 413 Carlyle's Early Reading (Shine), 280, 413 "Carlyle's Gropings about Montrose" (Parsons), 381, 410 Carlyle's House, Chelsea: Illustrated Catalogue, 238, 398 "Carlyle's Pen Portrait of John Pym" (Trela), 369, 416 Carlyle's Theory of the Hero (Lehman), xxxiv, 230, 407

INDEX

Carlyle's Unfinished. History of German Literature (Carlyle), xxi, 245, 315, 317, 393 "Carlyle and Uhland: Parallel Passages" (Armstrong), 252, 395 Cassirer, Ernst, The Myth of the State, Ixxiv, 399 Castle ofOtranto, The (Walpole), 343 Catholicism, xli, 117, 314, 385. See also Roman Catholic Church; Dante as priest of, 86-87, 94, 101-2, 107; Shakespeare as priest of, 94-95 Chalmers, Alexander, "Memoir," 308, 310,312-13, 399 Chambers, Robert, 252-53; Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 253; Scottish Ballads, 253 Charlemagne, 53, 270 Charles I (king of Great Britain), xxix, xlv, Ivi, lix, Ixxvii, 196-97, 376; divine right of kings, 363-64; execution of, 184, 364, 368-69, 374, 381-82; taxes by, 179-81, 370-71 Charles II (king of Great Britain), 178, 367, 376, 381 Charles V (Holy Roman emperor), 115,312 Charles X (king of France), 365 Chartism, Ixv, Ixix-lxx; adult male suffrage, 106, 109, 306-7, 343; movement, Ixviii-lxx, 151, 343 Chatham (Harrison), 343, 404 Chatham, first earl of (William Pitt, the elder), 150, 343, 377, 386 Chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde, 376 Chaumiere Indienne, La (Bernardin de St. Pierre), 353 Chesterton, G. K., Ixxix; Twelve Types, Ixxii, Ixxv, 399 Chillingworth, William, 186-87, 37576; The Religion of the Protestants, 376 Chinese Civilization (Y. Cotterell and A. Cotterell), 321, 400 Chinese system, 145-46, 321, 339 Christianity, 4-5, 53, 102, 241, 284, 285. See also individual sects; difference between paganism and, 83; first traces of, 245; hero-worship

493

in, 13-14; homoiousian and homoousian doctrines, 54, 270; influences of, 262; Islam as parallel to, 49, 54-55, 65-66; losing one's life to save it, 266; of Middle Ages, xli, 82-83; noble ideas made real in poetry, 84; phoenix as symbol of, 255; Qur'an's relationship to, 45, 263; Scandinavian mythology as parallel to, xl; schism in, 246, 265; Teutonic conversion to, 35, 244, 249 Chrysostom, Saint John. See John Chrysostom, Saint Church of England, 140-41,172, 231, 303, 333, 364 Clarendon, first earl of (Edward Hyde), 186-87, 201, 376; The History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in England, xliv-xlv, 361, 369-70, 376, 391, 399 Clive, John, Not by Fact Alone: Essays on the Writing and Reading of History, Ixxiv, 399 Clough, Arthur Hugh, Ixviii, Ixxix Clubbe, John, Two Reminiscences of Thomas Carlyle, Ivi, 399 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, xxiii, xxxv, 193, 267-68; believe that you believe, 105, 305; Biographia Literaria, 236, 288, 297-98, 315, 340, 399; "Dejection: An Ode," 292; The Friend, 352, 399; poetry as music, 77-78, 284, 288; Rousseau's vanity, 352; Specimens of the Table Talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, xxxv, 288, 297, 399 Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell, The (Orwell), Ixxii-lxxiii, 410 Collected Letters of Thomas ana Jane Welsh Carlyle, The (Carlyle), xi, xxixxxiii, xxxvii, xxxix, xliii-xlv, xlix-li, Ivi, Ixxxvii-xcii, xcvi, 229-31, 234, 240-41, 245, 249, 254, 257-59, 26162, 264, 266, 268, 270, 278-80, 283, 285, 287-88, 292, 297, 302-3, 313, 316-17, 319-20, 323, 325-28, 330, 334, 336, 340, 342, 348, 350-51,

494

INDEX

Collected Letters of Thomas and Jane Welsh Carlyle, The (continued), 353-54, 357-58, 360-62, 365, 36871, 381-83, 394 Collected Works (John Chrysostom), 236, 399 Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey, The (De Quincey), 260, 400 Collingwood, R. G., The Idea of History, xxxiv, 399 Compendious Anglo-Saxon and English Dictionary, A (Bosworth), 237, 397 Complete Plays of Ben Jonson, The (Jonson), 375, 406 Complete Poems of Thomas Gray, The (Gray), 251, 368, 403 Complete Prose Works of John Milton (Milton), 303, 382-84, 409, 418 Conan Doyle. See Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan Concise Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, A (Skeat), 247, 345, 414 Concise Scots Dictionary, The, 231, 399 Concordance of the Qur3an, A (Kassis), 257, 406 Condition of the Working Class in England, The (Engels), Ixxii, 401 Condorcet, marquis de (Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas de Caritat), 351; Oeuvres de Condorcet, 238, 400 Confessions of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The (Rousseau), 352-53, 359, 412 Confrontations (Wellek), xxxv-xxxvi, 1-li, Ixxi, 417 Considerations sur Us Principaux Evenemens de la Revolution Francoise (Stael), 362, 390-91, 414 Constitutional History of England (Hallam), xlv, 380, 387 Continuation of Baker's Chronicle (Phillips), 320 Contrat social, Le (Rousseau), 325, 338, 352-53 Correspondence Between Goethe and Carlyle (Carlyle), 329, 393 Correspondence of Emerson and

Carlyle, The (Carlyle), xcvii, 270, 295, 343, 348, 393 Correspondence of Thomas Gray (Gray), liv, 403 "Correspondent Breeze: A Romantic Metaphor, The" (Abrams), 292, 395 Cotterell, Arthur, Chinese Civilization, 321, 400 Cotterell, Yong Yap, Chinese Civilization, 321, 400 Cowper, William, 120, 316 Cox, J. Stevens, An Illustrated Dictionary of Hairdressing & Wigmaking, 374, 400 Craigie, William A., A Primer of Burns, 355, 400 Cranmer, Thomas (archbishop of Canterbury), 100, 303-4 Critical Examination of the Life and Teachings of Mohammed, A (Ali), 262, 265-66, 269, 395 Critical and Historical Essays (Macaulay), 310, 325, 335, 343, 367-70, 375, 380, 387, 408 Critical and Miscellaneous Essays (Carlyle), xc, xcvii, 393; "Baillie the Covenanter," 320; "Biography," 231, 290; "Boswell's Life of Johnson," xxxv, xxxviii, xlvi, Ixi, 230, 248, 299, 326, 329, 333, 335-38, 340,344,346-51,357,377; "Burns," Ix, 255, 257, 280, 283, 294, 296, 325, 334, 337-38, 344-45, 355-60; "Characteristics," Ix, 267, 298, 307, 340, 347; "Chartism," 306, 318, 326-27, 335, 338-40, 344-45; "Count Cagliostro," xxxvi, 235, 245, 290-91, 335; "Death of Goethe," 281, 301; "The Diamond Necklace," xxi-xxii, 259, 335, 365; "Diderot," xxxvi, 283, 339, 345, 376, 387; "Dr. Francia," 274; "Early German Literature," 311; "Early Kings of Norway," 241, 250, 25556; "An Election to the Long Parliament," 382; "Goethe," xxxiii, xlix, 271, 330, 334, 348; "Goethe's Portrait," 301; "Goethe's Works,"

INDEX

Ixi, 230, 237-38, 330; "Historic Survey of German Poetry," xxxvi, 310, 363, 377; "Inaugural Address at Edinburgh," 233, 332-33, 344, 385; "Jean Paul Friedrich Richter," 234, 236, 281, 297, 315, 334, 350; "Luther's Psalm," 313, 315, 317; "Mirabeau," xxi-xxii, 259, 286-87, 29293, 357, 389; "Novalis," 234, 23637, 266-67, 285, 327-28, 366; "On History," Ixv, 299, 333, 384; "The Opera," xlix, Iviii; "Parliamentary History of the French Revolution," lv; "Portraits of John Knox," xxxv, xxxviii, 290, 302, 322-24; "Schiller," xxxiii, xl, 1, 283, 328-29, 350; "Scottish Portraits," xxxvi, xxxix, 290, 372; "Signs of the Times," xxxv, Ixix, Ixxi, 245, 296, 333, 339, 341, 370-72; "Sir Walter Scott," xli, li, lv, Ixi, 230, 233-34, 259, 264, 281, 288, 293, 327, 334, 342, 354, 389; "State of German Literature," 1, 283-84, 295, 325-26, 328-29, 334, 363; "Varnhagen von Ense's Memoirs," xxxix, xlviii, 295, 355, 357, 390; "Voltaire," 238-39, 345 Critical Miscellanies (Morley), IxviIxvii, 409 Critique of Pure Reason (Kant), 327 Cromwell, Oliver, xxvii, xxix, xliii-xlv, lix, Ixxv, 130, 369; ambition of, 183, 190-95, 373; chronology and arrangement in lectures, Iv-lvi; Court of Chancery, 195, 199, 380, 384-85; fanaticism of, xlv, 180, 195-96, 380; as hypocrite, 179, 181-83, 190-92, 195-96, 201, 372; inauguration by sword and Bible, 207, 391; Johnson as parallel to, 187; last days and death of, 178-79, 196, 202-3, 38081; as Lord Protector, 197-202; morality of, 184-85, 374; Napoleon as contrasted with, 203-4, 380, 387; navy of, 29, 249; nervous temperament of, 182, 187, 372; participation in death of Charles I, 184, 374; popular perception of, xxxiv, Ixxviibcxix, 179, 370; portraits of, xxxviii,

495

xli, 182, 372; as prophet, 186-87, 204; sincerity of, 39, 156,182, 18789, 195-96, 200, 203, 385; speeches by, lii-lv, 186-90, 200-201, 204, 376, 385; successes in parliament and war, 183-85, 373-75; troops of, 184-85, 366, 374; valor of, 18384, 373-74; Victorians and appeal of, Ixviii-lxix; youthful indiscretions by, 182-83, 373 Cromwell: Our Chief of Men (Fraser), 372-73, 402 Culler, A. Dwight, The Victorian Mirror of History, Ivi, 400 Culture and Society, 1780-1950 (R. Williams), xxxiii, Ixix, 418 Daiches, David: "Carlyle: The Paradox Reconsidered," Iviii, 400; Robert Burns, 355,400 d'Alembert. See Alembert, Jean Le Rond d' Danish Grammar for Englishmen (Rask), 229 Dante Alighieri, xlvi-xlviii, Ix, Ixvi, Ixxv, 229, 279-80; banishment of, 75-76, 286; Catholicism of, 86-87, 94, 101-2, 107; Dantis Alagherii Epistolae, 286-87, 400; The Divine Comedy, xxxvii, 76-87, 101-2, 280, 287-94, 400, 414; early life of, 7475; epitaph of, 77, 288; intensity of, 79-81, 85; as Middles Ages spokesman, 74, 83-84, 86, 94, 285; miseries of, 75-76, 78-79, 286; The Odes of Dante, 293, 400; as painter with words, xxxvii, 80-81; poetry as music, 100, 103, 284; portrait of, 73-74, 284-85; as prophet, 81, 8485, 94; public perception of, xxxiv, xlv-xlvi; sincerity of, 78, 80, 82, 84; Shakespeare as greater than, 92, 95; La Vita. Nuova, 290 Dante Alighieri (Toynbee), 287-88, 416 Dante in English Literature (Toynbee), 284-85, 416 Dante's Divine Comedy: The Inferno (trans. J. Carlyle), 280, 398

496

INDEX

Dantis Alagherii Epistolae (Dante), 286-87, 400 Danton, Georges Jacques, xxxix, 364 Darwin, Charles Robert, Ivii, Ixxi, Ixxvi-lxxvii Davidson, John, The Theatocrat: A Tragic Play of Church and Stage, Ixix, 400 Dawn of Day, The (Nietzsche), IxxvIxxvi, 410 Defence of Poetry, A (Shelley), 280, 413 "Dejection: An Ode" (Coleridge), 292 DeLaura, David J., "Arnold and Carlyle," Ixvii, 400 Democracy, Ixv-lxvi, Ixviii, Ixxiv, 14142; anarchy vs., 205-7, 389-90; French Revolution and, 205, 335, 371 De Quincey, Thomas, xxiii; The Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey, 260, 400 Description of the Ferae Islands, A (Landt), 230 Desmoulins, Camille, xxxix, 172, 36465 Deutsches Wb'rterbuch (J. Grimm and W. Grimm), 237, 404 De Veritate Religionis Christian* (Grotius), 38-39, 257-58, 404 Diaries, Prayers, and Annals (Johnson), 348, 406 Diary, A (Allingham), 231, 329-30, 395 Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson, Barrister-at-Laiv (Robinson), xxix, 238,412 Dickens, Charles, xxiii, Ixii-lxiii, Ixxix, 278; Bleak House, 385; Hard Times, 249, 340; Sketches by Boz, Ixii-lxiii, 400 Dickinson, William Croft, 322, 400 Dictionarium Britannicum (Bailey), 349 Dictionary of the English Language, A (Johnson), 157, 326, 344, 349, 406 Diderot, Denis, xxxvi, 351; Encyclo-

pedic, 239, 387 Diet of Augsburg, 317 Diet of Worms: abduction of Luther from, 119, 309, 315-16; interrogation of Luther at, lix, 115, 306, 312-13 Diocletian (Roman emperor), 196, 381 Diodorus Siculus, 43, 235, 261 Discourssur Vorigint fit I'inegalite des hommes (Rousseau), 325, 352-54, 359 Disputation on Heresy (Bellarmine), 306-7 Disraeli, Benjamin, Ixxix Divine Comedy, The (Dante), xxxvii, 79, 400, 414; as ageless, 83-86; Carlyle's allusions to, 279-80; parts support each other in, 82-83; satire of, xlvi, 292; as song of Dante, 7678, 84, 87, 284; terza rima, 78, 288 Divine Comedy: The Inferno, The (Dante), 101, 279, 287, 292; as allegory, 78, 83; Francesca and Paolo in, 80, 291; Last Judgment in, 79, 289-90; popular view of, 81, 293 Divine Comedy: The Paradise, The (Dante), 286-88; as allegory, 78, 83; Beatrice, 81, 292; popular view of, 81, 293 Divine Comedy: The Purgatorio, The (Dante), 101-2, 289, 294; as allegory, 78, 83; Beatrice in, 82, 292-93; popular view of, 81-82, 293 Dr. Martin Luther's Divine Discourses at His Table (Luther), 316 "Dr Samuel Johnson's movement disorder" (Murray), 346, 409 Documentary History of England, 1559-1931, A (E. N. Williams), 367, 418 Don Juan (Byron), 334 Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan, Ixxix Dumfries and Galloway Courier, letter by Carlyle in, 234 Dumont, Etienne, Souvenir sur Mirabeau, 350

INDEX

Dyer, Isaac W., A Bibliography of Thomas Carlyle's Writings and Ana, Ixxxvi, 401 Earliest Lives of Dante, The (J. R, Smith), 288, 414 Early Writings of Adam Smith, The (A. Smith), 247, 414 Ecce Homo (Nietzsche), Ixxvi, 410 Echard, Laurence, History of England, 372 Eck, Johann, 107, 306 Edda, die altere undjungere, Die (trans. Simrock), 244, 251-52 Edda: Die Lieder des Codex regius nebst verwandten Denkmalern, 242, 401 Edge of the Abyss, The (Noyes), Ixxii Eichhorn, J. G., Einleitung ins Alte Testament, 319 Einleitung ins Alte Testament (Eichhorn), 319 Elder Edda. See Poetic Edda, The Electricity, 9, 17, 234, 314 Elegant, Robert, Manchu, 321, 401 Eliot, George (Mary Ann Evans), Ixxix Eliot, Sir John, xliii, 178-80, 368; Monarchies of Man, 179-80, 371 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, Ivi, 231, 270, 295, 297, 331, 334, 343, 362, 371; Carlyle as lecturer, xxii-xxiii, xxv, xxvii; English Traits, 348, 401; The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 259, 401; The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 254, 401; Representative Men, 282, 295, 401 Emile: or On Education (Rousseau), 325, 352,412 Encyclopedic (Diderot and Alembert), 204,239,351, 387 Engels, Friedrich, Ixv; The Condition of the Working Class in England, Ixxii, 401; Werke, Ixxii, 408 Engels, Manchester, and the Working Class (Marcus), Ixxii, 408 Englishmen and Others (A. J. P. Taylor), lii, 415

497

English Traits (Emerson), 348, 401 Enneads (Plotinus), 291 Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals (Hume), 340, 405 Epistle to Burlington (Pope), 244 Esposizioni sopra la Comedia di Dante (Boccaccio), 291, 397 Essay Concerning Human Understanding, An (Locke), Ix Essay on Language (A. Smith), 22, 247 Essays: Selected from the Writings, Literary, Political, and Religious, of Joseph Mazzini (Mazzini), Ixv-lxvi, 408 Essays on Politics and Society (Mill), "On Liberty," Ixvii, 409 Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson, The (Emerson), 401; "Spiritual Laws," 259 Etudes de la Nature (Bernardin de St. Pierre), 353 Evidences of Christianity (Paley), 278 Expedition of Humphry Clinker, The (Smollett), 331 Eyre, Governor, Ixix-lxx Faerie Queen, The (Spenser), 307 Falkland, second viscount (Lucius Gary), 186-87, 375 Familiar Quotations (Bartlett), Ixii, 396 Fanatisme ou Mahomet le prophete, Le (Voltaire), xli Farley-Hills, David, Rochester: The Critical Heritage, 367, 401 Fascism, Ixv, Ixix-lxx, Ixxii-lxxv Faust (Goethe), 265-66, 328, 356 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, xxxv, Ixxv, 234, 325; aesthetics, 282; bookselling as trade, 326; notion of writing by, 135-36, 141, 325-26, 328-29; On the Nature of the Scholar and Its Manifestations, 230, 281-82, 32729, 401; phoenix as symbol, 255 Field, Carol, The Italian Baker, 287, 401 Fielding, Henry, 297; Jonathan Wild, 231; Joseph Andrews, xxxvi, 401

498

INDEX

Fielding, K. J.: "Benthamite Utilitarianism and Oliver Twist," 278, 401; "Carlyle and Cromwell: The Writing of History and 'DRYASDUST,'" 361, 402; "Carlyle and Esaias Tegner: An Unpublished MS," 229, 402; "Vernon Lushington: Carlyle's Friend and Editor," c, 402 "First Aid to Critics" (Shaw), Ixxvi, 413 FitzGerald, Edward, xxxix; The Letters of Edward FitzGerald, xxii, Ixiii, 402 Flagellum (Heath), xliv, 370, 372 Flateyjarbok, 242 Fletcher, Henry, The Perfect Politician, 373 Fontenelle, Bernard Le Bovier, 190, 377 Forcefulness: of Carlyle's heroes, IxxIxxvi; of Muhammad, 53-55, 5758, 62, 65-66, 269-70 Fornelli, Guido, Tommaso Carlyle: la nuova, aristocrazia, Ixxii Forster, John, xliv-xlv, xcii, 320, 36162 Fox, Caroline, 332; Memories of Old Friends, xxii, xxx, lii, 332, 352, 36061, 364, 386, 388, 402 Fraser, Antonia, xxxi; Cromwell: Our Chief of Men, 372-73, 402; King Charles II, 367, 402 Fraser, John, xxxi, Ixxxvii-lxxxviii, xc-xcii Frazer, Sir James, The Golden Bough, 243 Frederick the Great (Carlyle). See History of Friedrich II of Prussia Called Frederick the Great Frederick II (king of Prussia), Ixxv Frederick III (elector of Saxony), 112, 309-10,313,316 French Revolution, Iv-lvi, Iviii, 15152, 206, 307, 339, 371; Burns's sympathies with, 164-65, 359; convocation of notables, 199, 384; democracy, Ixviii, 205, 335, 371; Desmoulins, 364-65; falsehood that produced, 181, 371-72; horrors of,

172-74; Luther and Reformation as influence for, Iviii, Ixii, 116, 172, 313, 364; Mirabeau as hero of, 259, 280, 348; Protestantism in, 117, 203; as revolt against kings and feudalism, 102, 106; Rousseau as influence for, Ix, 144, 161, 338; slogans of, 109, 307 French Revolution, The (Carlyle), xxi, xxxi, xc, xcvi, 237, 239, 282, 291, 350, 362, 389, 393, 415; convocation of notables, 384; Desmoulins, 364-65; "The Fourth Estate," 335; Ireland, 339-40; Mirabeau, li, 193, 358, 378; Napoleon, 359, 362, 389-90; Necker, 379; portraits of historical persons, xxxix; Rousseau, 338, 345; de Stael, 353; Bernardin de St. Pierre, 353 Friedenthal, Richard, Luther, 311-13, 402 Friedrich Nietzsche und die Deutsche Zukunft (Oehler), Ixxv-lxxvi Friend, The (Coleridge), 352, 399 Frithiof's Saga, a Legend of the North, 229, 241 Fripjof's Saga (Tegner), 229 "From Bentham to Carlyle: Dickens' Political Development" (Goldberg), 278, 403 Froude, J. A., 246; Thomas Carlyle: A History of the First Forty Tears of His Life, 236, 248, 251, 259, 267, 278, 282-83, 299-302, 317, 327-31, 334, 337, 342, 374, 402; Thomas Carlyle: A History of His Life in London, 1834-1881, xxi-xxv, xxviii-xxix, xxxv, xlii, 1-li, liv, Ixx, 235, 257, 264, 270, 296, 302, 308, 315-16, 341, 345, 354, 371, 377, 402 Froude, Richard Hurrell, Literary Remains, 314 Galvani, Luigi, 314 Garnett, Richard, Life of Thomas Carlyle, Ixiii, Ixxix, 278, 341, 402 Gaury, Gerald de, Rulers of Mecca, 262,402

INDEX

Geddes, Jenny, 320, 361 Genlis, comtesse de (Stephanie Felicite), Memoires inedits de Madame La. Comtesse de Genlis, 159, 325, 352, 402 George III (king of England), 343 German Literature (Carlyle). See Carlyle's Unfinished History of German Literature German Romance (Carlyle), 234, 337, 344, 359, 393 Gesta Danorum (Saxo Grammaticus), 21,246,254 Ghibellines (Italian political faction), 75, 286-87, 290 Gibbon, Edward, Ixiii, Ixxvii; The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 257-58, 261-65, 267-69, 272, 274-76, 303, 381, 402; The Letters of Edward Gibbon, 379, 403; love for Suzanne Churchod, 353, 379; Memoirs of My Life, 379, 403; Necker's ambition, 193, 379; perception of Muhammad, xli, Ixxviii, 258, 272 Giotto (Battisti), 285, 396 God, xxxiii, Ixxi, 9-10, 234. See also Idolatry; idol as symbol of, 10-11, 104, 305; nature as, 18, 27 God and the Bible (Arnold), 234, 395 God-hero, 3-36, 67, 72; as error, 3738; Odin as, 22-25, 29, 134; sources for lecture on, 229-30 Godwin, William, History of the Commonwealth of England, 198, 382-83,403 Goebbels, Joseph, Ixxiii Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, Ixiv, Ixxv-lxxvi, 117, 283, 301, 316, 325, 350; aesthetics, xlvi-xlvii, 282-83; Faust, 265-66, 356; Goethes Werke, 403; harmony of, 141; as heroic subject, xlviii-1, 136-37, 330; influence of, 329-30; Islam and Muhammad, xlii, 49, 266; literature of desperation, 160, 354; "open secret," 69, 141, 281-82, 333-34; phoenix as symbol, 255; on Shakespeare, 89, 297, 299; sincerity of,

499

160; West-ostlicber Divan, 257, 261, 266; Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, 93, 230, 237, 271, 297, 299, 329, 375, 405; Wilhelm Meister's Travels, 64, 256-57, 281-82, 33334; as world-poet, 89 Goethes Werke (Goethe), 261, 266, 403 Goethe and World Literature (Strich), 283,415 Gogh, Vincent van: Letters to an Artist: From Vincent van Gogh to Anton Ridder van Rappard, Ixiv, 417; The Letters of Vincent van Gogh to His Brother, Ixiv, 417 Goldberg, Michael K., xxxii, 403; "From Bentham to Carlyle: Dickens' Political Development," 278, 403 Golden Bough, The (Frazer), 243 Gosse, Edmund, "The Agony of the Victorian Age," xxxiii, 403 Governor Eyre case, Ixix-lxx Graah, W. A., Narrative of an Expedition to the East Coast of Greenland, 230 Grammar of the Icelandic or Old Norse Tongue, A (Rask), 229 Grand Lamaism, 6, 232 Gravitation, law of, 170-71, 363 Gray, Thomas, 30, 251; The Complete Poems of Thomas Gray, 251, 368, 403; Correspondence of Thomas Gray, liv, 403; The Prelude, liv Greatness of Oliver Cromwell, The (Ashley), xliv-xlv, 370, 373, 38081, 396 Great Rebellion, 176, 366, 381 Greek Studies: A Series of Essays (Pater), 267-68, 411 Greg, W. W., "The Rationale of CopyText," Ixxxv, 403 Gregory VII, Saint (pope), 130, 325 "Greg's Theory of Copy-Text and the Editing of American Literature" (Tanselle), Ixxxv, 415 Grierson, H. J. C.: Carlyle and Hitler, Ixxiii-lxxv, 403; "The Hero and the Fuhrer," Ixxiv, 403 Grimm, Harold J., 309-10, 403

500

INDEX

Grimm, Jacob, 17, 22, 229, 243, 24647, 279; Deutsches Worterbuch, 237, 404; Odin, 231; Teutonic Mythology, 231, 241-43, 247, 255, 403; Thor, 17, 242 Grimm, Wilhelm, 246; Deutsches Worterbuch, 237, 404 Grotius, Hugo, 182, 372; De Veritate Religionis Christians, 38-39, 25758, 404 Guelphs (Italian political faction), 75, 286, 290 "'Guises': Thomas Carlyle's Lost Renaissance History, The" (Tarr), 323,415 Gulliver's Travels (Swift), Ixvi, 244 Gustavus II Adolphus (king of Sweden), 122, 318 Habeas Corpus Act, 125, 178, 320-21, 368, 371 Hallam, Henry, Constitutional History of England, xlv, 380, 387 Hamilton, Buchanan, An Account of the Kingdom of Nepal, 232 Hamlet (Shakespeare), 70, 347, 357, 381, 392; criticism of, 93, 299; Scandinavian references, 32, 253-54 Hampden, John, xliii, 178-81, 36869 Hansard, T. C., The Parliamentary Debates, 363, 404 Hardenberg, Friedrich Leopold von (Novalis), 50, 237, 266-67, 285, 333; art belongs to nature, 91-92, 298; body as temple, 11, 175, 23637, 366; Heinrich von Ofterdingen, 237; Die Lehrlinge zu Sais, 237, 248; Novalis Schriften, 236, 267, 366, 410 Hard Times (Dickens), 249, 340 Hardy, Thomas, Ixxix; Jude the Obscure, xli, 404 al-Harlri, 257, 261 Harriet Martineau's Autobiography (Martineau), xxiv, 408 Harrison, Frederic: Chatham, 343, 404; Memories and Thoughts, xxxi, 404; Studies in Early Victorian Literature, xxxiv, 404

Harrold, Charles Frederick, Carlyle and German Thought: 1819-1834, xxxv, 237, 281-82, 334, 404 Hawkins, Sir John, The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., 346, 404 Hazlitt, William, xxiii, 314, 316-17; Life of Napoleon, 404 Heath, James, 373; A Brief Chronicle of the Late Intestine Wars in the Three Kingdoms, 361-62; Flagellum, xliv, 370, 372 Hegel, G. W. F., Ixxvii, 282; Introduction to the Lectures on the History of Philosophy, 340-41, 404 Heimskringla (Sturluson), 246, 250, 256, 415; death in battle, 28-29, 249; Odin, 21, 246-48; as source, 229, 240-41 Heinrich von Ofterdingen (Hardenberg), 237 Hela, 19, 28, 31, 147, 243-44, 341 Henderson, Ebenezer, Iceland; or the Journal of a Residence in that Island, 230 Henry III (king of England), 366 Henry IV (Holy Roman emperor), 325 Henry V (king of England), 299-300 Henry F (Shakespeare), 93, 299-300 Henry VI (king of England), 366 Henry VII (king of England), 366 Henry VIII (king of England), 172, 303, 364 Henry VIII (Shakespeare), 300 Heraclius (Byzantine emperor), 48, 265 Herbert, George, Outlandish Proverbs, 376 Hermes Scythicus (Jamieson), 230 "The Hero and the Fuhrer" (Grierson), Ixxiv, 403 Heynig, D., Theorie der Sammtlichen Religionsarten, 230 Hibbert, Christopher, The Personal History of Samuel Johnson, 344, 404 Hildebrand. See Gregory VII, Saint (pope) Historical Collections of Private Passages of State (Rushworth), 362

INDEX

Historical and. Semantic Study of the Term fIslam' As Seen in a Sequence ofQur^an Commentaries, An (]. I. Smith), 266, 414 Historical Sketches of Notable Persons and Events in the Reigns of James I and Charles I (Carlyle), 379, 393 Historic Survey of German Poetry (W. Taylor), 310, 363 History of America, The (W. Robertson), 248,411 History of the Commonwealth of England (Godwin), 198, 382-83, 403 History of the Covenanters in Scotland (Sime), 361 History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, The (Gibbon), 25758, 261-65, 267-69, 272, 274-76, 303,353,381,402 History of England (Echard), 372 History of England from the Invasion of Julius C&sar to the Revolution in 1688, The (Hume), xliv, 370, 373, 380, 405 History of Freedom and Other Essays, The (Acton), kxi, 395 History ofFriedrich II of Prussia Called Frederick the Great (Carlyle), Ixxiii, 238, 242, 304, 356, 393 History of His Own Time (Burnet), 362 History of the Puritans or Protestant Non-Conformists, The (Neal), 123, 319, 361-62, 367, 409 History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in England, The (Clarendon), xliv-xlv, 361, 369-70, 376, 391, 399 History of the Reformation in Scotland (Knox), 129, 302, 323-24, 400, 406 History (Tacitus), 251 History of Western Philosophy, A (Russell), Ixxv, 352, 412 Hitler, Adolf, Ixxiii-lxxvi Hogstraten, Jacobus van, 107, 306 Holbrook, Richard Thayer, Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael, 284-85, 404 Holthausen, F., Altenglisches Etymo-

501

kgisches Worterbuch, 237, 405 Homer, 29-30, 77, 84-86, 250-51; Iliad, 248, 294-95, 331; Odyssey, 294 Homoiousian and homoousian doctrines, 54, 270 Horace: Odes, 250; Satires, 300 Houghton, Walter E., The Victorian Frame of Mind, xxxiv, 405 Hours in a Library (Stephen), Ixvi, bod, Ixxviii-lxxix, 414 Hrolf. See Rollo Hughes, Thomas, Tom Brown at Oxford, Ixviii, 405 Hume, David, 124, 204, 323; Cromwell, 195, 373; Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals, 340, 405; The History of England from the Invasion of Julius C&sar to the Revolution in 1688, xliv, 370, 373, 380, 405; The Natural History of Religion, 230, 232-33, 405 Hunt, Leigh, xxvi, 280, 288; The Autobiography of Leigh Hunt, 351, 405 Hus, Jan, 114-15, 310-11 Hutchinson, John, xliii, 178-79, 202, 369, 386 Hutchinson, Lucy, xliv; Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson, 386, 405 Huxley, Thomas Henry, Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley, xxxiv, Ixx, 405 Ibn Hisham, 261, 264, 267, 269 Ibn Ishaq, 264 Ibn Sacd, 261, 264, 274 Iceland; or the Journal of a Residence in that Island (Henderson), 230 Idea of History, The (Collingwood), xxxiv, 399 Idolatry, 5, 126-27, 231, 322; of Arabs, 43-45, 48, 54-55, 262-63, 265, 270-71, 344; black stone, 4344, 104, 260-61, 305; insincerity in, 103-5, 155, 177, 347; Muhammad's zeal against, 48-49, 51, 103-5, 114, 312

502

INDEX

"Igdrasil. from the Norse'" (Carlyle), 244 Iliad (Homer), 248, 294-95, 331 Iliad of Homer, The (Pope), 30, 251, 259,411 Illustrated Dictionary of Hairdressing & Wigmaking, An (Cox), 374, 400 Immanuel Kant in England (Wellek), 328, 417 Inside the Third Reich (Speer), Ixxiii, 414 Introduction to the Lectures on the History of Philosophy (Hegel), 34041,404 Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (Bentham), 278 Irving, Washington, Mahomet and His Successors, 264, 268, 405 Ishmaelites, 10, 138, 142, 235, 26162, 330 Islam, xli-xlii, 103, 257-58, 261-62, 265-66, 269; equality of, 63, 277; first schism in, 51, 268; golden age of, 295; noble ideas made real in poetry, 84; paradise and hell, 63-65, 276-77; parallel to Christianity, 49, 54-55, 65-66; sensuality of, 60-66 Italian Baker, The (Field), 287, 401 "It Is Never Too Late to Mend." A Matter of Fact Romance (Reade), kxi, 411 James II (king of England, Scotland, Ireland), 320 James V (king of Scotland), 323-24 James VI (king of Scotland), 323-24 Jamieson, John, Hermes Scythicus, 230 Jamieson, Robert, Popular Ballads and Songs from Traditions, Manuscripts, and Scarce Editions, 253, 405 Jaspers, Karl, Nietzsche and Christianity, Ixxvi, 405 Jean-Jacques Rousseau (Josephson), 352, 406 Jean Paul. See Richter, Jean Paul Friedrich Jeffrey, Francis, 271, 405 Jesus Christ, Ixiv, 14, 44-45, 236, 267, 325, 331, 334; Baldr as parallel to,

17, 242-43; as greatest of all Heroes, xl-xli, 12, 237; humble beginnings of, 110, 307; Muhammad as parallel to, 272 John Chrysostom, Saint, 10, 235-36; Collected Works, 236, 399 John Huss: His Life, Teachings and Death, After Five Hundred Tears (Schaff), 311,412 John Knox, A Biography (Brown), 324, 397 John Knox (Ridley), 302-3, 321-22, 324,411 Johnson, Samuel, xxiii, Ixxv, 68, 297, 325, 368, 377; Ad Urbanem, 338; A Dictionary of the English Language, 157, 326, 344, 349, 406; being a good hater, 92, 299; Boswell's hero-worship for, 13-14, 157-58, 165, 349; Cromwell as parallel to, 187; Diaries, Prayers, and Annals, 348, 406; disadvantageous beginnings of, 153, 307; as heroic subject, xlix-li; hero-worship of, 14, 157-58, 349; influence of, xlviii, 333; lack of ambition by, 192; literature during time of, 152, 326; moral prudence, Ix, 156, 348; patronage and bookseller system, 152, 344-45; physical problems of, 153-54, 345-46; poverty of, 134, 143-44, 326-27, 336-38, 344-45; as prophet, 152-53, 156, 160; sincerity and loyalty of, 154-57, 34648; Rousseau's "paradoxes," 338; "Senate of Lilliput Debates," 335; "The Vanity of Human Wishes," 326; watch-dial of, 155-56, 347; writing for money, 336, 378 Johnstone, James: Antiquitates CeltoNormanicae, 230; The Norwegian Account ofHaco's Expedition against Scotland, 230 Jonathan Wild (H. Fielding), 231 Jonson, Ben, 34, 300; Bartholomew Fair, 375; The Complete Plays of Ben Jonson, 375, 406 Joseph Andrews (H. Fielding), xxxvi, 401

INDEX

Josephson, Matthew, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 352, 406 Jotuns, 16-19, 241-44, 252-53; Thor's adventures with, 31-34, 103, 110, 252, 304 Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson, The (Emerson), 254, 401 Jude the Obscure (Hardy), xli, 404 Julius II (pope), 112, 309-10 Julius Caesar (Shakespeare), 239, 351, 373 Kant, Immanuel, 32, 254, 260, 282, 325, 325; Critique of Pure Reason, 327; Fichte as disciple of, 282, 327; transcendental philosophy of, 32728 Kaplan, Fred: "'Phallus Worship' (1848)," 354, 406; Thomas Carlyle: A Biography, xxxviii, li, xcviii, c, 406 Karkaria, R. P., 279, 284, 289, 291, 406 Kassis, Hanna E., A Concordance of the Qur'an, 257, 406 Kaufmann, Walter, Ixxvi, 406 Khadljah, 46-48, 264, 268, 272; daughters of, 62, 275; death of, 52; faithfulness by, 50 Khosrow II (king of Persia), 48, 265 King Charles II (Eraser), 367, 402 King-hero, xlviii, 29, 106, 169-209; Cromwell as, 197-202; divine right of kings, 171-72, 176, 363-64; Knox as, xlviii, 128-29; Napoleon as, 203, 206; prophets as spiritual kings, 99; Shakespeare as, 96-97; sham-hero vs., 185-86; sources for lecture on, 361-62; as sum of all heroes, 169; writers as, 326 Kipling, Rudyard, Ixxix Knox, John, li, lix, 194-95, 302-3, 321-25; death of, 130, 324; disadvantageous beginnings of, 125-26, 307; exchanges with Queen Mary, 323; eulogy for, 127, 322; History of the Reformation in Scotland, 129, 302, 323-24, 400, 406; idolatry, 126-27, 322; imprisonment and suffering of, 125,

503

128-30, 321-22; as king-hero, xlviii, 128-29; portraits of, xxxviii, xli; as prophet, 125-27, 129; public perception of, xxxiv, xlv-xlvi; sincerity of, 126-27, 130; style and voice of, liii, 129, 324; valor of, 124-25; The Works of John Knox, 323-24, 406 Koran, The (trans. Sale), 260-63, 265, 267, 269-71, 273-77, 305, 406, 412. See also Qur'an Kusch, Robert W, "Pattern and Paradox in Heroes and Hero-Worship," 244, 406 Ladrones Islands, 16-17, 241-42 Lady ofShalott (A. Tennyson), 249 Landor, W. S., 285, 406 Landt, Jorgen Jorgensen, A Description of the Ferae Islands, 230 Lane, Edward William, The Thousand and One Nights, 257, 407 Laplace, marquis de (Pierre-Simon), Mechanique celeste, 245 Larousse World Mythology, 371, 407 Las Cases, comte de (Emmanuel): Memoirs of the Life, Exile, and Conversations of the Emperor Napoleon, 294, 388-90, 392, 407; Memorial de Sainte-Helene, 362 La Tour d'Auvergne, Henri de. See Turenne, vicomte de Latter-Day Pamphlets (Carlyle), lii, Ivii, Ixx, 270, 394, 403, 407; Burns, 242, 284, 356, 358; democracy, 335; "Downing Street," 338; "Hudson's Statue," 231; lecture format vs. book format, xxxi-xxxii; limits to tolerance, 323-24; "Model Prisons," 363; parliaments, 382; "The Present Time," 339; Reformation and French Revolution, 313, 364; review of, Ixxii Laud, William (archbishop of Canterbury), Iviii, 176-78, 320, 366-67, 381 LaValley, Albert J., Carlyle and the Idea of the Modern, Ivi, 407 Lavater, Johann Kaspar, xxxvi, 290

504

INDEX

Lectures. See also individual lecture themes; in book form, xxxi-xxxiii; chronological framework in, Iv-lvii; heroic grouping in, xl-xlvi; impressions of, xxviii-xxxi; lecturing as craft, xxi-xxviii, lii; responses to book form of, Ixii-lxxx; subject of heroism for, xxxiii -xl Lectures and Essays in Criticism (Arnold), 395; "The Function of Criticism," 320; "The Literary Influence of Academies," 339 Lectures on the History of Literature (Carlyle), xxi, xxxvi, liv, 247, 279, 297, 325, 341, 356, 394, 406; allegorical theory, 232-33; "Berserker," 371; Dante, 279, 284, 28687, 289-93; Goethe, 330; GuelphGhibelline factions, 286; Knox, 321-24; Luther, 308-10, 313, 315, 318; Muhammad, xli, 258; Napoleon, 389; Rousseau, 353; Shakespeare, 298-99 Lehman, B. H., Carlyle's Theory of the Hero, xxxiv, 230, 407 Lehrlinge zu Sais, Die (Hardenberg), 237, 248 Leo X (pope), xlvi, 113-15, 305-6, 309-10 Letters of Edward FitzGerald, The (FitzGerald), xxii, Ixiii, 402 Letters of Edward Gibbon, The (Gibbon), 379, 403 Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning to Mary Russell Mitford, The (Browning), Ixiv, 398 Letters of George Meredith, The (Meredith), li, Ixxix, 408 Letters of John Addington Symonds, The (Symonds), Ixxvii, 415 Letters of John Stuart Mill, The (Mill), Ixvii, 354, 409 Letters and Journals (Baillie), 362 Letters of Lord Acton to Mary, Daughter of the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone (Acton), Ixxi, 395 Letters of Matthew Arnold to Arthur Hugh Clough, The (Arnold), Ixviii, 395

Letters and Memorials (Trench), xxviii, 416 Letters of Robert Burns, The (Burns), 325, 355, 398 Letters of Thomas Babington Macaulay, The (Macaulay), Ixiv, 258, 408 Letters of Thomas Carlyle to John Stuart Mill, John Sterling and Robert Browning (Carlyle), 287, 290, 303, 351, 394 Letters to an Artist: From Vincent van Gogh to Anton Ridder van Rappard (van Gogh), Ixiv, 417 Letters of Vincent van Gogh to His Brother, The (van Gogh), Ixiv, 417 Letters of William Blake, The (Blake), 291, 397 Lettres sur les ecrits et le caractere de J.J. Rousseau (Stael), 353 Levin, Rahel, xxxix Lewes, George Henry, The Life of Goethe, xlix, 407 Liberalism, Ixv, Ixvii, bcxii, Ixxv Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, The (Maurice), xxix, 408 Life ofFriedrich Schiller, The (Carlyle), 282-83, 296, 394 Life of Goethe, The (Lewes), xlix, 407 Life of John Knox (M'Crie), 302, 32223, 325, 408 Life of John Sterling, The (Carlyle), Ixxi, 305-6, 394 Life and Letters ofBarthold George Niebuhr, The (Bunsen, Brandis, and Loebell), 365, 398 Life, Letters, and Friendships of Richard Monckton Milnes, First Lord Houghton, The (Reid), xxxi, 411 Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley (Huxley), xxxiv, Ixx, 405 Life of Luther Gathered from His Own Writings, The (Mkhelet), 302, 306, 308-10, 313-18, 360, 408-9 Life of Mohammad from Original Sources, The (Muir), 260-65, 26769, 272, 274-75, 409 Life of Napoleon (Hazlitt), 404 Life of Quintus Fixlein (Richter), 234, 337, 344, 359

INDEX

Life of the Right Honourable William Pitt (Stanhope), 338, 414 Life of Robert Burns (Lockhart), 163, 325, 338-39, 355, 358-59, 407 Life of Samuel Johnson (Boswell), xxiii, 154, 236, 251, 297, 325, 335-36, 338, 344-48, 368, 377-78, 397 Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., The (Hawkins), 346, 404 Life of Thomas Carlyle (Garnett), Ixiii, Ixxix, 278, 341, 402 Literary Remains (R. H. Froude), 314 "Literary Work of Thomas Carlyle, The," ix, 407 Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans, The (Plutarch), 351, 378, 411 Lloyd George, David, Ixii Lloyd-Jones, Hugh, Blood for the Ghosts: Classical Influences in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Ixxvi, 407 Locke, John, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Ix Lockhart, John G., 320, 358, 361; Life of Robert Burns, 163, 325, 338-39, 355, 358-59, 407 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, The Song of Hiawatha, 249 Longinus, liii - liv Louis XIV (king of France), xlviii, 68, 157,173,281,350,365 Louis XV (king of France), 386 Louis XVI (king of France), 358-59, 364, 378-79 Louis Philippe (king of France), 365 Love, War and Fancy (Richard Burton), 277, 398 Ludlow, Edmund, xliii, 178-79, 369, 387 Luther (Friedenthal), 311-13, 402 Luther, Martin, xxix, xxxv, Iv, Ixvi, Ixxiv, 102, 152, 203, 301, 356; as Antichrist, 238; Bible translation by, 119, 315; at Diet ofWorms, 115, 119, 306, 309, 312-13, 315; disadvantageous beginnings of, 109-10, 307-8; Dr. Martin Luther's Divine Discourses at his Table, 316; epitaph

505

for daughter of, 120-21, 316-17; final days of, 121-22, 318; as founder of Reformation, xlviii, lix, 113, 172, 302; grace and the Bible, 11112, 308-9; hero-worship of, 108-9; as iconoclast, Iviii; love of music by, 121, 317-18; Luther's Works, 111, 306, 308, 310-12, 316-18, 403, 407, 415; Memoirs de Luther, ecritspar lui meme (trans. Michelet), 302; Ninety-five Theses, 306, 310; Peasants' War, 314-15; portraits of, xxxvii, 121, 315, 318; promise to become a monk, 110-11, 308; as prophet, 103, 105-6; public perception of, xlv-xlvi, 12-13; sincerity of, 112-13, 119-21; sale of indulgences, xlvi, 105, 107, 113-16, 3056, 309-11; style and voice of, 1, liiiliv; sufferings of, 110-11, 308; The Table Talk of Martin Luther, 120, 302, 316, 407; tolerance of, 118-19, 314; valor of, 119-21; Why the Books of the Pope and His Disciples Were Burned by Doctor Martin Luther, 312; words of, as half-battles, 119, 281,315 Luther's Works (Luther), 306, 310-11, 317-18, 403, 407, 415; Tischreden oder Colloquia Doctor Martin Luthers, 111, 302, 308, 316; Why the Books of the Pope and His Disciples Were Burned by Doctor Martin Luther, 312 Macaulay, Thomas, Ixxvii, 335, 343, 350, 368-69; Boswell, xlvi, 325, 349; Critical and Historical Essays, xliv-xlvi, 310, 325, 335, 343, 36770, 375, 380, 387, 408; Cromwell, 375, 380, 387; hero-worship, xxxiv; influence of Carlyle, Ixiii-lxiv; The Letters of Thomas Babington Macaulay, Ixiv, 258, 408; The Miscellaneous Works of Lord Macaulay, xlvi, 34950, 408; Muhammad, 258; Napoleon, 387; Puritans, xliv-xlv Mackenzie, Sir George Steuart, Travels in the Island of Iceland, 230

506

INDEX

MacMechan, Archibald, 408 Mahomet and His Successors (Irving), 264, 268, 405 Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (Scholem), 235, 413 Mallet, Paul Henri, Northern Antiquities, 229-30, 233, 240, 24247, 249-50, 252-54, 397, 408 Manchu (Elegant), 321, 401 Mandarin system. See Chinese system Man of letters. See Writer-hero Marcus, Steven, Engels, Manchester, and the Working Class, Ixxii, 408 Mariana Island. See Ladrones Islands Martineau, Harriet, xxii, xxiv; Harriet Martineau's Autobiography, xxiv, 408 Martin Luther: His Road to Reformation (Brecht), 312, 397 Marx, Karl, Ixv, Ixxv; Werke, Ixxii, 408 Mary I (queen of England), 303 Mary II (queen of Great Britain), 320 Mary Stuart (queen of Scotland), 127-28,322-23 Masks of God, The (Campbell), 277, 398 Masson, David, Carlyle Personally and in His Writings, Ixiii, 408 "Matthew Arnold and Carlyle" (Tillotson), Ixvii, 237, 416 Maurice, Frederick Denison, xxix, 319, 361; The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, xxix, 408 Mazzini, Giuseppe, Ixv-lxvi, Ixx, 279, 351; Essays: Selected from the Writings, Literary, Political, and Religious, of Joseph Mazzini, Ixvi, 408 M'Crie, Thomas, Life of John Knox, 302,322-23,325,408 Measure for Measure (Shakespeare), 285 Mecca, 43, 261-63, 272; evacuation of, 52, 55, 269, 271; Mount Hira° near, 47-48, 265; rise of, 44-45 Mechanique celeste (Laplace), 245 Medina, 52-53, 55, 269, 271-72, 275 Melville, Herman, Ixxix "Memoir" (Chalmers), 308, 310, 312-13,399

Memoires inedits de Madame La Comtesse de G«»/w(Genlis), 159, 325, 352, 402 Memoires sur Voltaire et sur ses Ouvrages, 238 Memoir of George Palmer Putnam (Putnam), xcvii, 411 Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson (Hutchinson), xliv, 386, 405 Memoirs of the Life, Exile, and Conversations of the Emperor Napoleon (Las Cases), 294, 388-90, 392, 407 Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Thomas Carlyle (ed. Shepherd), xxi, 413 Memoirs de Luther, ecrits par lui meme (Luther), 302 Memoirs of My Life (Gibbon), 379, 403 Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte (Bourrienne), 362, 388-91, 397 Memoirs of the Protectorate—House of Cromwell (Noble), 362 Memoirs of the Reign of King Charles I (Warwick), 372-73, 417 Memoirs of the Reign of King George the Third (Walpole), 343, 417 Memorial de Sainte-Helene (Las Cases), 362 Memorials of the English Affairs (Whitelocke), 362 Memorials of Transactions in Scotland (Bannatyne), 324, 396 Memories of Old Friends (Fox), xxii, xxx, lii, 332, 352, 360-61, 364, 386, 388, 402 Memories and Thoughts (Harrison), xxxi, 404 Meredith, George, Ixxix; The Letters of George Meredith, li, Ixxix, 408 Michelet, Jules, The Life of Luther Gathered from His Own Writings, 302, 306, 308-10, 313-18, 360, 408-9 Middle Ages, xli, 82, 297-98, 349; Catholicism of, 86-87, 94, 101; Dante as spokesman for, 74, 83-84, 86, 94, 101, 285 Mill, James, 342

INDEX

Mill, John Stuart, Ixvii, 332, 354; Autobiography and Literary Essays, Ixvii, 296, 298, 341, 365-66, 409; Benthamism, 278, 341; Essays on Politics and Society, Ixvii, 409; The Letters of John Stuart Mill, Ixvii, 354, 409 Mills, John, 387 Milnes, Richard Monckton, 229 Milton, John, xliv, 141, 231, 319-20, 350, 356, 360, 373; Complete Prose Works of John Milton, 303, 382-84, 409, 418; Paradise Lost, Ix, 294, 336; parliamentary politics of, 199, 383-84 Milton: A Biography (Parker), 384, 410 "Mind is a Muscle: Carlyle, Literary Revolution, and Linguistic Nationalism, The" (M. Baumgarten), c, 396 Mirabeau, comte de (Honore Gabriel Riqueti), li, 68, 280-81, 348; ambitions of, 193, 378; Burns as resemblance to, 164-65, 358-59; as poet, xJviii; popularity of, 163-64, 357-58; portraits of, xxxix; sincerity of, 39, 156, 259 Miscellaneous Works of Lord Macaulay, The (Macaulay), xlvi, 349-50, 408 "Mr. Pater's Last Volume" (Wilde), xxxii, 417 Mohammed and Mohammedanism (R. B. Smith), Ixxviii, 414 Moliere, Le Tartuffe, ou I'Imposteur, 179, 370 Monarchies of Man (J. Eliot), 179-80, 371 Montaigne and Other Essays, Chiefly Biographical (Carlyle), 343, 394 Montfort, Simon de, 176, 366 Montrose, marquis and earl of (James Graham), 196-97, 381 Montrose and the Covenanters (Napier), 361,381 Morality, xxii, xxxv, Ixxi, 27, 49, 91, 105, 266, 333, 344, 348; aesthetics, xlvi-xlvii, 70, 282-83, 295; Benthamism, Ixxvii, 278, 342; divine

507

right of kings, 171; of poets and prophets, 69-70 Moray, earl of (Lord James Stewart), 130-31, 324 Morley, John, Critical Miscellanies, Ixvi-Ixvii, 409 Morris, William, Ixxix Much Ado About Nothing (Shakespeare), 299 Muggeridge, Malcolm, A Third Testament, lix, 409 Muhammad, xlvii, li, btiii, 130, 13435; as Antichrist, 238; biographers of, 47, 264, 267; birth of, 261, 263; call to prayer by, 50, 262, 267; as Christian and reformer, xxviii-xxix; death of, 61, 274-75, 279; early life of, 45-46, 263; family and tribe of, 44-48, 50-52, 62, 262, 264, 268, 272, 275; flight to Medina by, 5253, 269; forcefulness of, 53-55, 5758, 62, 65-66, 136, 269-70; frugality and simplicity of, 60-61, 274; Gabriel's appearance to, 50, 58, 267; as heroic subject, xl-xli, xlix, 38; as iconoclast, Iviii; illiteracy of, 45-46, 263, 272; as impostor, 3839, 48, 258, 272, 372; meditations of, 48-49, 265; mission of, 47, 5052, 265, 268-69; parallel to Jesus Christ, 272; personality of, 41, 46, 195, 263-64; popular perception of, xxxiv, xli, Ixxviii-lxxix, 38-39, 47, 57, 95-96, 258; propagation of religion by sword, 53-55, 57-58, 62, 85-86, 269-70, 279, 295; Qur'an, 55-59, 271; as response to doubts of men, lix-lx; revelations of, 265, 272; sincerity of, xlii-xliii, 39-41, 46, 48, 57, 59, 62-63, 107, 156, 258, 263-64, 275; sensuality of, 60-66, 274, 277; Shakespeare as greater than, 95; slave and adopted son of, 50, 62, 268, 275; style and voice of, 1, lii-liii; zeal against idolatry, 48-49, 51, 103-5, 114, 152,263,312 Muhammad at Mecca (Watt), 268-69, 417

508

INDEX

Muhammad at Medina (Watt), 260, 272,417 Muir, Sir William, The Life of Mohammad from Original Sources, 260-65, 267-69, 272, 274-75, 409 Murray, T. J., "Dr Samuel Johnson's movement disorder," 346, 409 Mythology, 23, 32,138, 254, 331. See also Scandinavian mythology Myth of the State, The (Cassirer), Ixxiv, 399 Mythus von Thor, Der (Uhland), 252 Nabokov, Vladimir, Transparent Things, xxxix, 409 Napier, Mark, Montrose and the Covenanters, 361, 381 Napoleon I, Ixxv-lxxvi, 117, 301, 351, 386; admiration for Iliad, 84, 294; anarchy, 205, 389; campaigns, 206, 301, 389-90; Cromwell as compared with, xlv, 203-4, 380, 387; exile of, 84, 205, 208, 294, 388, 392; faith in democracy by, 205-7, 38990; as fanatic and hypocrite, 203-4, 388; hero-worship of, 108; Mirabeau compared with, 259; as poet, xlviii; Precis des derniere campagnes de Turenne, 281; as quack, Iv, Ix, 204, 206-8, 390-91; regiment of, 166, 206, 359, 390; sincerity of, 39, 156, 204-5; Victorian appeal of, Ixviii-lxix; words of, as batdes, 68, 281 Napoleon in Exile (O'Meara), 389, 410 Narrative of an Expedition to the East Coast of Greenland (Graah), 230 Nash, Geoffrey, "Thomas Carlyle and Islam," xli, 409 Natural History of Religion, The (Hume), 230, 232-33, 405 Nazism, Ixxii-lxxvi Neal, Daniel, The History of the Puritans or Protestant Non-Conformists, 123, 319, 361-62, 367, 409 Necker, Jacques, 160,193,353, 378-79 Nelson, Horatio, 29, 249 Neuberg, Joseph, xcviii-c, 233, 244, 251-53, 360, 367

New Letters of Thomas Carlyle (Carlyle), 303, 394 Nichol, John, Thomas Carlyle, xxvi, 409 Niebuhr, Barthold Georg, 173; Romische Geschichte, 365 Nietzsche, Friedrich, Ixxi, Ixxiv-lxxvi; The Dawn of Day, Ixxv-lxxvi, 410; Ecce Homo, Ixxvi, 410; Twilight of the Idols, or, How One Philosophizes With a Hammer, Ixxvi, 410 Nietzsche and Christianity (Jaspers), Ixxvi, 405 Nietzsche in England 1890-1914 (Thatcher), xxxiv, 416 1984 (Orwell), 270 Nineteenth Century Studies: Coleridge to Matthew Arnold (Willey), Ixxv, 418 Njal'sSaga, 371,410 Noble, Mark, Memoirs of the Protectorate—House of Cromwell, 362 Northanger Abbey (Austen), 331 Northern Antiquities (Mallet), 240, 242-47, 249-50, 252-54, 258, 397, 408 Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, 356, 410 Norwegian Account ofHaco's Expedition against Scotland, The (Johnstone), 230 Not by Fact Alone: Essays on the Writing and Reading of History (Clive), Ixxiv, 399 Novalis Schriften (Hardenberg), 236, 267, 366, 410 Novalis. See Hardenberg, Friedrich Leopold von Novelists on the Novel (Allott), 297, 395 Novels of the Eighteen-Forties (Tillotson), Ixxix, 416 Novum Organum (Bacon), 88-89, 296 Noyes, Alfred: The Edge of the Abyss, Ixxii; Voltaire, 238, 240, 410 Odes of Dante, The (Dante), 293, 400 "Ode to the West Wind" (Shelley), 292

INDEX

Odin, xxxvii, Ivii, 100-101, 258, 270, 371; as Carlyle's choice of hero, xxvii, xl-xli, xlix; creation of, 18-19, 30, 243-44, 250; existence of, 2122, 24, 246-47; family of, 24, 24243, 251; as God, 22-25, 29, 134; God in all creatures and things, 135; hero-worship of, 14-15, 21, 38, 165-66; importance of, 242, 356; Luther as Christian Odin, 110; as origin of Scandinavian mythology, 5, 20-21, 231; as prophet, 2526; sincerity of, 107; runes, 24-26, 138, 248, 330; Valhalla and Valkyries, 28, 248-49; valor, 28-30, 102; Wednesday, 26, 246 Odyssey (Homer), 294 Oehler, Richard, Friedrich Nietzsche und die Deutsche Zukunft, IxxvIxxvi Oeuvres de Condorcet (Condorcet), 238, 400 Olaf II Harraldsson, 35, 255-56 Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches with Elucidations (Carlyle), xliii, Ixxxiii, xcv, 319, 361, 369-76, 37982, 384-87, 393; Forster's view on, xliv-xlv; Jenny Geddes, 320, 361; Laud's ceremonial preferences, 367; research for, 361-62, 364, 370 O'Meara, Barry E., Napoleon in Exile, 389,410 On the Aesthetic Education of Man (Schiller), 283, 363 On the Nature of the Scholar and Its Manifestations (Fichte), 69, 135, 230,281-82, 326-29,401 Orage, A. R_, Readers and Writers, Ixxi, 410 Orcades (Torfieus), 246, 251 Oresteia (Aeschylus), 295, 331 Orwell, George: The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell, Ixxii-lxxiii, 410; 1984, 270 Oscar Wilde: Interviews and Recollections (ed. Mikhail), Ixxvii, 409 Outlandish Proverbs (Herbert), 376 Oxford Dictionary of English Proverbs, The, 376, 410

509

Oxford English Dictionary, The, 335, 432,435, 437,439 Oxford Movement, 314 Oxford University, Ixiii-lxiv, IxviiIxviii, 154, 248, 314, 336, 346, 37576 Paganism, 24, 83-84, 249, 356. See also Scandinavian paganism; evolutionary process of, Ivii, 36; as existing in modern times, 117; hero-worship as essence of, xl-xli, 10-12,15; nature as godlike in, 18, 27; quackery, 5-6, 232; search for knowledge through, 103; theories about, 5-8; tragic last voice of, 3536, 256 Paley, William, 65; Evidences of Christianity, 278 Papacy, 112, 116-18, 238, 286, 30912, 325, 333, 364, 390 Paradise Lost (Milton), Ix, 294, 336 Parker, William Riley, Milton: A Biography, 384, 410 Parliamentary or Constitutional History of England, The, 362 Parliamentary Debates, The (Hansard), 363, 404 Parsons, C. O., "Carlyle's Gropings about Montrose," 381, 410 Past and Present (Carlyle), xxxii, IxiIxii, 231, 237, 288, 326, 391, 394; Chinese system, 339; Muhammad, 264, 274 Pater, Walter, Greek Studies: A Series of Essays, 267-68,411 "Pattern and Paradox in Heroes and Hero-Worship'" (Kusch), 244, 406 Paul et Virginie (Bernardin de St. Pierre), 353-54 Pepoli, Count Carlo, 279-80 Perfect Politician, The (Fletcher), 373 Pericles, 138, 331 Personal History of Samuel Johnson, The (Hibbert), 344, 404 Petrarca, Francesco, 68, 76, 281, 288; Rerum Memorandarum Libri, 287, 411 Phaedo( Plato), 233

510

INDEX

"'Phallus Worship' (1848)" (Kaplan), 354, 406 Philistinism in England and America. (Arnold), Ixvii, 396 Phillips, Edward, Continuation of Baker's Chronicle, 320 Physiognomy, xxxv-xxxix, 80, 90-91, 158-59, 290, 297, 318 Pigafetta, Antonio, Le voyage et navigation aux isles de Mollucque, 241-42 Pilgrim's Progress, The (Bunyan), 7, 233 Piozzi, Hester, "Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson," 299,411 Pitt, William (the elder), 150, 343, 377 Pitt, William (the younger), 145, 202, 338, 386, 390 Pius VII (pope), 390 Plato, Ixxv, 8, 284; Phaedo, 233; Republic, 233 Plotinus, Enneads, 291 Plutarch, Ixxx; The Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans, 351, 378, 411 Pocockio, Edvardo (Edward Pococke), Specimen Historic Arabum, 38-39, 182, 257-58, 260, 271, 372,411 Poems and Songs of Robert Burns, The (Burns), 355, 360, 398 Poet-hero, 67-97,101. See also Poetry; aesthetics, 70, 282-83; faults of, 70-71; as indicator of end of an age, 72,100-101; intellect as first gift of, 89-90; sincerity of, 69; sources for lecture on, 279-80; world-poets as, 70-71, 88 Poetic Edda, The, 20-21, 243-44, 405, 411; compiler of, 16, 240; date of, 27-28; "Lay of Hymir," 242-43; "Lay of Thrym," 242; song of prophetess in, 30, 250-51, 254 Poetry, 25, 84. See also Poet-hero; distinction between speech and, 7172, 283-84; as song, 71, 76-78, 101,284 Polytheism, 230, 232-33, 235 Pope, Alexander, 251; Epistle to

Burlington, 244; An Essay on Man, 266; The Iliad of Homer, 259, 411 Popular Ballads and Songs from Traditions, Manuscripts, and Scarce Editions (Jsunieson), 253, 405 Popular Novel in England, 17701800, The (Tompkins), 331, 416 Popular Rhymes of Scotland (Chambers), 253, 399 Portable Nietzsche, The (ed. Kaufmann), Ixxvi, 406 Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael (Holbrook), 284-85, 404 Portraits in Miniature and Other Essays (Strachey), 349, 380, 414 Portraiture, xxxv-xxxix, 26, 291; of Cromwell, xxxviii, 182, 372; of Dante, xxxvii, 73-74, 284-85; of Knox, xxxviii, xli; of Luther, xxxvii, 121, 315, 318; of Rousseau, 158-59 "Preliminary Discourse" (Sale), 235, 257-58, 260-63, 265-69, 271, 276-77,412 Prelude, The (Gray), liv Pride, Thomas, 198, 382, 384 Prideaux, Humphrey, xlii, 57; The True Nature of Imposture fully Display'd in the Life of Mahomet, 257-58, 263, 272, 274, 411 Priest-hero, 99-131; as reformer, 100101, 130; sources for lecture on, 301-2; writers as, 135, 325-26, 328 Primer of Burns, A (Craigie), 355, 400 Prophet-hero, 37-66, 69-70; Burns as, 152-53; Cromwell as, 186-87, 204; Dante as, 81, 84-85, 94; Johnson as, 152-53, 156, 160; Knox as, 125-27, 129; Luther as, 103, 105-6; Muhammad as, xliii; old stories in Qur'an of, 58; priest as, 99; Rousseau as, 152-53; Shakespeare as, 94; sources for lecture on, 257; writers as, 135, 326 Prose Edda, The, 16, 240, 251-52, 254, 411, 418; date of, 27-28; Odin's creation, 18-19, 30, 243-44, 250; sea burial, 249; as summation of many systems of thought, 20-21 Prose Works 1892 (Whitman), Ixvi, 417

INDEX

Protestantism, 101, 122, 203, 340; individual Bible interpretation, 106-7, 109, 306-7; Luther on hopelessness of, 318; papacy and, 116-17; as work of prophet, 105-6 Puritanism, xliii-xlv, liii-liv, 106; Confession of Faith in, 104, 124, 319, 371; Cromwell and parliament, 187, 194-95, 197-202, 381-87; Great Rebellion, 176, 366, 381; heroes of, 178-79, 368-69; iconoclasm, Iviii, 176-78; Luther's importance to, 116; religiosity in, 66; sincerity of, 122-23; in Scotland, 125, 196-97; sword and Bible as emblems of, 207 Putnam, George Haven, A Memoir of George Palmer Putnam, xcvii, 411 Pym, John, xliii, 178-81, 369 Pythagoras, 284, 334 Quackery, xlii, 1, Iv-lvi, Ix, 8, 150; and heroes, 185-86; paganism, 5-6, 232 Quack, Quack! (Woolf), Ixx, Ixxiv, 418 Qur'an, xlii, lii-liii, 95-96. See also Koran, The; afterlife in, 277; allusions to, 58-59, 273-74; almsgiving in, 277; background and use of, 5556, 271; as Carlyle's research tool, 229, 257; Christianity's relationship with, 45, 263; conversions to Islam, 265; direction of prayer, 262; divine inspiration of, 263; ferocity and bloodshed in, 63, 269, 275-76; fragmented writing of, 272; Gabriel's appearance to Muhammad in, 267; idolatry, 262., 265; illiteracy of Muhammad, 263; justice in, 63, 276; merits of, 58-59; polytheistic religion, 235; Ramadan in, 64, 265; Solomon and queen of Sheba in,235 Racine, Jean Baptiste, 173, 365 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 100, 303 Rape ofLucrece, The (Shakespeare), 300 Raphael, 80, 291,309

511

Rask, Erasmus, 241; Danish Grammar for Englishmen, 229; A Grammar of the Icelandic or Old Norse Tongue, 229 "Rationale of Copy-Text, The" (Greg), Ixxxv, 403 Reade, Charles, Ixxix; "It Is Never Too Late to Mend." A Matter of Fact Romance, bod, 411 Readers and Writers (Orage), Ixxi, 410 Redgauntlet (Scott), 46, 264, 413 Reflections on Poetry (A. Baumgarten), 282, 396 Reformation, xxxviii, xli, 238, 246; as beginning of modern history, 11617, 313; as difficult time, 123-24, 314; iconoclasm, Iviii, 314; individual Bible interpretation in, 106-7; as influence to French Revolution, 172, 364; Luther as founder of, xlviii, lix, 113, 172, 302; Peasants' War, 118, 314-15; Scotland during, 124-25; slogan of, 195, 380 Reid, T. Wemyss, The Life, Letters, and Friendships of Richard Monckton Milnes, First Lord Houghton, xxxi, 411 Religio Medici and Other Works (Browne), 333, 397 Religion, 12, 27, 87, 177, 231. See also individual religions; Scandinavian mythology; as allegory, 6-8, 28, 233; Benthamism, 278; definitions of, 101-3, 267; Goethe and three religions, 256-57; mechanical tendencies in, 341; of Middle Ages, 86; myths as erroneous religion, 16; Napoleon's vaccine against, 39091; no-religion and, 4; propagation of, 53; quackery, 5-6, 8; reformers of, 100; symbols in, 104; of Tibet, 6,232 Religion of the Protestants, The (Chillingworth), 376 Reliquiae Baxterianae (Baxter), 362, 373 Reminiscences by Thomas Carlyle (Carlyle), xlix, 245, 329, 351, 394

512

INDEX

Report of the Irish Poor-Law Commission, 340 Representative Men (Emerson), 401; "Shakspeare, or the Poet," 282; "Uses of Great Men," 295 Republic (Plato), 233 Rerum Memorandarum Libri (Petrarch), 287, 411 Researches into the Early History of Mankind and the Development of Civilization (Tylor), 242, 416 "Resistance to Civil Government" (Thoreau), 270, 416 "Revolution as Context: Carlyle and the Example of Cagliostro" (M. Baumgarten), liii, 396 Revolutions, 14-15, 146; history of, 170-71; Industrial Revolution, 341 Richard III (king of England), 366 Richter, Jean Paul Friedrich, xlix, li, liii-liv, 167, 236, 342, 345, 360; Carlyle's notion on artistic nature from, 325; Life of Quintus Fixlein, 234, 337, 344, 359; Siebenkas, 29697; Vorschule derAesthetik, 281 Ridley, Jasper, John Knox, 302-3, 321-22, 324,411 Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, The (Shirer), Ixxiii, 414 Rivals, The (Sheridan), 331 Riverside Shakespeare, The (Shakespeare), 280, 413 Robert Bellarmine, Saint, Disputation on Heresy, 107, 306-7 Robert Burns (Daiches), 355, 400 Robertson, William, The History of America, 248, 411 Robinson, Henry Crabb, Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson, Barristerat-Lava, xxix, 238, 412 Robson, Charles, xc-xcii, xciv, xcviixcix Rochester: The Critical Heritage (Farley-Hills), 367, 401 Rollo (duke of Normandy), 29, 250 Roman Catholic Church, 172, 206, 390-91. See also Catholicism; councils of, 21, 114, 243, 245-46, 270,

306, 311; Henry VUPs break with, 303-4, 364; heresies in, 246, 270, 303; mendicant orders of, 143-44, 336-37; Protestant claims against, 306-7; sale of indulgences by, 105, 107, 113-16, 305-6, 309-13 Romantic period, 292, 326; heroworship in, xxxiii-xxxiv; miseries of civilized life, 160-61, 353-54 Romische Geschichte (Niebuhr), 365 Rosenberg, John D., Carlyle and the Burden of History, Ixxiv, 412 Rosenberg, Philip, The Seventh Hero: Thomas Carlyle and the Theory of Radical Activism, 1, 412 Ross, Sir Edward Denison, 260, 26970, 412 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, Ixxv, 160, 345; The Confessions of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 352-53, 359, 412; Le Contratsocial, 325, 352-53; Discours sur I'originc de I'inegalite des hommes, 325, 352-54, 359; egoism of, 159-60, 352; Entile: or On Education, 325, 352, 412; French Revolution and influences by, Ix, 144, 161, 338; heroic struggles of, xlix-1, Ix; hero-worship of, 165, 359; intensity and sincerity of, 15859; miseries of, 134, 159, 161, 32627; portraits of, xxxvii, 158-59 Rowe, Nicholas, "Some Account of the Life, &c. of Mr. William Shakespear," 295-96, 300, 412 Rulers of Mecca (Gaury), 262, 402 Rushworth, John, Historical Collections of Private Passages of State, 362 Ruskin, John, xxxiii-xxxiv, Ixii-lxiii, Ixxix; The Works of John Ruskin, xxxiv, Ixii-lxiii, 412 Russell, Bertrand, A History of Western Philosophy, Ixxv, 352, 412 Sacy, Antoine Isaac Sylvestre de, 43, 257, 261 Sasmund Sigfusson, 16, 240 Saga of King OlafTryggwason, The, 256,412 St. Andrews castle, 126, 321-22

INDEX

St. Pierre, Jacques Henri Bernardin de. See Bernardin de St. Pierre, Jacques Henri Sale, George, 42, 60, 260, 274; Koran, The, 257, 260-61, 263, 265, 267, 271-72, 274, 276; "Preliminary Discourse," 235, 257-58, 260-63, 265-69,271,276-77,412 Samuel Pepys: The Man in the Making (Bryant), 379, 398 Sartor Kesartus (Carlyle), x, xxxiii, xl, Ixxxviii-xc, xciv, xcvii, xcix-ci, 237, 265-66, 282, 345, 350-51, 394; annihilation of self, 266; doom as no hope of death, 293; "The Everlasting No," 329; Goethe, 330, 334; heaven's gate, 294; St. John Chrysostom, 236; Laplace, 245; literature and liturgy, 335; man as apparition, 328; Napoleon on equality, 389; nature as God's handwriting, 333; phoenix, 255; religion, 231, 267; as reviewed by Mazzini, 351; rotting leaf, 234, 296; silence, 330; skepticism, 334, 342; sphere-melody, 284; thought and miracles, 336; Uhland, 252; window into infinitude, 235 Satires (Horace), 300 Saxo Grammaticus, 70, 283; Gesta Danorum, 21, 246, 254 Scandinavian mythology, xl, 29-30, 36, 84, 100; as allegorical, 34, 83, 255; chaos in, 15, 240; creation of earth in, 59-60; impersonation of nature in, 16-19, 240-45; nature as divine in, 18, 27; Odin as origin of, 5, 20-21, 231; as portrait of Odin, xxxvii, 26; prophetesses in, 250-51; public perception of, xxxiv; sincerity in, 27, 32, 147-48, 340-41; search for knowledge through, 103; writings in, 16, 240-41 Scandinavian paganism: xli. See also Paganism; God principle in, 65, 279; heaven in, 65-66; nature as godlike in, 18, 27 Schaff, David S., John Huss: His Life, Teachings and Death, After Five Hundred Tears, 311, 412

513

Schapiro, J. Salwyn, "Thomas Carlyle, Prophet of Fascism," Ixxiii, 412 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von, 328, 333 Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich von, xlix, 333, 391; aesthetics, xlvixlvii, 282-83; On the Aesthetic Education of Man, 363; "Uber Anmuth und Wurde," 248 Schlegel, August Wilhelm, Uber dramatische Kunst und Literatur, 93, 299 Schoenbaum, Samuel, William Shakespeare: A Documentary Life, 296, 412 Scholarly Editing in the Computer Age (Shillingsburg), ix, 413 Scholem, Gershom G., Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, 235, 413 Schopenhauer, Arthur, The World as Will and Representation, 259, 413 Schweidnitz Fort, 103, 125, 304, 321 Science, 16, 67; explanation of mysteries by, 9-10, 60; of social phenomena, Ixxvi-lxxvii Scott, F. N., 284-85, 413 Scott, Sir Walter, li, 124, 252, 264, 293, 297, 327, 358; animated history of, 234; Redgauntlet, 46, 264, 413; true vs. sham-true in, 160, 354 Scottish Ballads, The (Chambers), 253, 399 Scottish folklore, 32, 252-53 Seigel, Jules P., xxxii, 403; Thomas Carlyle: The Critical Heritage, xxix, xl, xlii, xlviii, 1, liv, Ixix, Ixxx, 351, 413 "Senate of Lilliput Debates" (Johnson), 335 Seneca, Agamemnon, 295 Seventh Hero: Thomas Carlyle and the Theory of Radical Activism, The (P. Rosenberg), 1, 412 Shakespeare, William, 68,100, 102, 191; characters of, 297, 299; as greater than Dante, 92; as greater than Muhammad, 95; Hamlet, 32, 70, 93, 253-54, 299, 347, 357, 381, 392; Henry V, 93, 300; Henry VIII,

514

INDEX

Shakespeare, William (continued), 300; as heroic subject, 73, 95-96; humor of, 92-93; influence of, xlvi-xlviii; intellect and vision of, 88-92, 296, 298, 347; Julius Caesar, 239, 351, 373; as king, 96-97; Macbeth, xxxvi; Measure far Measure, 285; Much Ado About Nothing, 299; as poacher, 86-87, 92, 96, 295-96; popular perception of, 94-95; The Rape ofLucrece, 300; sincerity of, 92, 160; The Riverside Shakespeare, 280, 413; Sonnets, 92, 294; The Tempest, 254, 300, 347; valor in plays by, 93, 300; Venus and Adonis, 300; words as music, 94, 141; The Works of Shakespear, 280; as world-poet, xlvii, 70-71, 86, 88 Sharma, T. R., Carlyle: The Hero as Poet" and "The Everlasting Tea", 295,413 Shaw, George Bernard, Ixxix; "First Aid to Critics," Ixxvi, 413; Three Plays for Puritans: The Devil's Disciple, Caesar and Cleopatra, and Captain Erassbound's Conversion, Ixxx, 413 Sheldnah, 10-11,235-36 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 351; A Defence of Poetry, 280, 413; "Ode to the West Wind," 292 Shepherd, Richard Herne, xxi, 413 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, The Rivals, 331 Shillingsburg, Peter L., Scholarly Editing in the Computer Age, ix, 413 Shine, Hill, xxi; Carlyle and the SaintSimonians: The Concept of Historical Periodicity, xxxv, 413; Carlyle's Early Reading, 280, 413 Shirer, William L., The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, Ixxiii, 414 Short History of Scotland, A (Brown), 323, 397 Siebenkas (Richter), 296-97 Silence, 284, 299, 330; nobility of, 192-95, 378; talent of, 79, 158, 192, 351, 378 Sime, William, History of the Cove-

nanters in Scotland, 361 Skeat, Walter W., A Concise Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, 247, 345, 414 Skepticism, 5, 334, 340; of eighteenth century, xli, Ix-lxi, 39, 147-52, 171, 180; quackery and heroes, 72, 18586 Sketches by Boz (Dickens), Ixii-lxiii, 400 Smith, Adam: The Early Writings of Adam Smith, 247, 414; Essay on Language, 22, 247 Smith, James Robinson, The Earliest Lives of Dante, 288, 414 Smith, Jane I., An Historical and Semantic Study of the Term 'Islam' As Seen in a Sequence ofQur^an Commentaries, 266, 414 Smith, R. Bosworth, Mohammed and Mohammedanism, Ixxviii, 414 Smith, Sydney, xxiii Smollett, Tobias George, The Expedition of Humphry Clinker, 331 Snorri Sturluson, 25, 253; creation of Odin, 18-19, 30, 243-44; Heimskringla, 21, 28-29, 229, 240-41, 246-50, 256, 415; The Prose Edda, 16, 20-21, 27-28, 240, 243-44, 249-52,254,411,418 "Some Account of the Life, &c. of Mr. William Shakespear" (Rowe), 295-96, 300, 412 Song of Hiawatha, The (Longfellow), 249 Sonnets (Shakespeare), 92, 294 Southern Literary Messenger, IxxiIxxii, 407 Souvenir sur Mirabeau (Dumont), 350 Specimen Historic Arabum (Pococke), 38-39, 182, 257-58, 260, 271, 372, 411 Specimens of the Table Talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Coleridge), xxxv, 288, 297, 399 Speech, lii-lv, 299, 330; of Cromwell, 186-90, 200-201, 204, 385; distinction between poetry and, 71-72, 283-84

INDEX

Speer, Albert, Inside the Third Reich, Ixxiii, 414 Spencer, Herbert: Autobiography, 270; The Study of Sociology, IxxviIxxvii, 414 Spenser, Edmund, The Faerie Queen, 307 Stael, Madame la Baronne de (Anne Louise Germaine), 160, 351; Allemagne, 360; Considerations sur les Principaux Evenemens de la Revolution Francoise, 362, 390-91, 414; Lettres sur les ecrits et le caractere de J. J. Rousseau, 353 Stanhope, fifth earl of (Philip Henry), Life of the Right Honourable William Pitt, 338, 414 Stephen, Sir Leslie, Hours in a Library, Ixiv, Ixxi, Ixxviii-lxxix, 414 Sterne, Laurence, Tristram Shandy, 236,414 Strachey, Lytton, Portraits in Miniature and Other Essays, 349, 380, 414 Strich, Fritz, Goethe and World Literature, 283,415 Studies in Early Victorian Literature (Harrison), xxxiv, 404 Study of Sociology, The (Spencer), Ixxvi-lxxvii, 414 Srurluson, Snorri. See Snorri Sturluson Sweet's Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse, 237, 415 Swift, Jonathan, Gulliver's Travels, 244 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, The Swinburne Letters, 241, 346, 415 Swinburne Letters, The (Swinburne), 241, 356,415 Symonds, John Addington, The Letters of John Addington Symonds, Ixxvii, 415 at-Tabari, 261,264, 267 Table Talk of Martin Luther, The (Luther), 120, 302, 316, 407 Tabuk expedition, 62, 275-76 Tacitus, Cornelius, Ixxvii, 79, 289; Annals, 255, 351; History, 251 Tanselle, G. Thomas, "Greg's Theory

515

of Copy-Text and the Editing of American Literature," Ixxxv, 415 Tappert, Theodore G., 316, 415 Tarr, Rodger L.: "'The Guises': Thomas Carlyle's Lost Renaissance History," 323, 415; Thomas Carlyle: A Bibliography of English-Language Criticism, Ixxix, 415; Thomas Carlyle: A Descriptive Bibliography, Ixxxvi, ci, 234, 244, 415 Tartuffe, ou I'Imposteur, Le (Moliere), 179, 370 Taylor, A. J. P., Englishmen and Others, lii, 415 Taylor, W., Historic Survey of German Poetry, 310, 363 Teaching, 139-40, 332-33; Chinese system of, 145-46, 339; priest as teacher of truth, 108-9 Tegner, Esaias, Fripjof's Saga, 229 Tempest, The (Shakespeare), 254, 300, 347 Tennyson, Alfred Lord, xlviii, Ixii, Ixxix, 343, 357; Lady ofShalott, 249 Tennyson, Frederick, Ixiii Tennyson, G. B., "The Carlyles," Ixxiii-Ixxiv, Ixxix, 415 Tennyson, Hallam, Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir by His Son, xlviii, 357, 415 Tetzel, Johann, 105, 107, 113, 305-6, 309-10 Teutonic Mythology (J. Grimm), 231, 241-43, 247, 255, 403 Thackeray, William Makepeace, xxiii, Ixiii, Ixxix, 350, 415 Thatcher, David S., Nietzsche in England 1890-1914, xxxiv, 416 Theatocrat: A Tragic Play of Church and Stage, The (Davidson), Ixix, 400 Theorie der Sammtlichen Religionsarten (Heynig), 230 Thiers, Louis-Adolphe, xxxix, Iv Third Testament, A (Muggeridge), lix, 409 Thomas Carlyle (Nichol), xxvi, 409 Thomas Carlyle: A Bibliography of English-Language Criticism (Tarr), Ixxix, 415

516

INDEX

Thomas Carlyle: A Biography (Kaplan), xxxviii, li, xcviii, c, 406 Thomas Carlyle: The Critical Heritage (Seigel), xxix, xl, xlii, xlviii, 1, liv, Ixix, Ixxx, 351,413 Thomas Carlyle: A Descriptive Bibliography (Tarr), Ixxxvi, ci, 234, 244, 415 Thomas Carlyle: A History of the first Forty Tears of His Life (J. A. Froude), 236, 248, 251, 259, 267, 278, 282-83, 299-302, 317, 327-31, 334, 337, 342, 374, 402 Thomas Carlyle: A History of His Life in London, 1834-1881 (J. A. Froude), xxi-xxv, xxviii-xxix, xxxv, xlii, 1-li, liv, Ixx, 235, 257, 264, 270, 296, 302, 308, 315-16, 341, 345, 354,371,377,402 Thomas Carlyle: The Man and His Books (Wylie), xxxvi, 418 "Thomas Carlyle, Prophet of Fascism" (Schapiro), Ixxiii, 412 Thomas Carlyle and the Art of History (L. Young), xxxv, 418 Thomas Carlyle and Dante (Brand), 293, 397 "Thomas Carlyle and His Works" (Thoreau), 270, 416 "Thomas Carlyle and Islam" (Nash), xli, 409 Thomson, William, xxix, xlii, xlviii, Ixix Thor, 17-18, 117, 246, 253, 255; Burns as, 163, 242, 356, 358; displacement of, by Christianity, 3536, 256; end of the world, 34-35; expeditions of, 31-34, 252, 254; hammer of, 17, 31, 103, 242, 251, 304; importance of, 242, 356; Luther as Christian Thor, 110 Thoreau, Henry David, 1, Ixxx; "Resistance to Civil Government," 270, 416; "Thomas Carlyle and His Works," 270, 416 Thousand and One Nights, The (Lane), 257, 407 Three Plays for Puritans: The Devil's Disciple, Caesar and Cleopatra, and

Captain Brassbound's Conversion (Shaw), Ixxx, 413 Tibet Past and Present (Bell), 232, 396 Tieck, Ludwig, 74, 77, 285 Tillotson, Kathleen: "Matthew Arnold and Carlyle," Ixvii, 237, 416; Novels of the Eighteen-Forties, Ixxix, 416 Tofanelli, Stefano, 73-74, 284-85 Tom Brown at Oxford (Hughes), Ixviii, 405 Tommaso Carlyle: la nuova aristocrazia (Fornelli), Ixxii Tompkins, J. M. S., The Popular Novel in England, 1770-1800, 331, 416 Torfzus, Thormodus, 21, 246; Orcades, 246, 251 Toynbee, Paget: Dante Alighieri, 287-88, 416; Dante in English Literature, 284-85, 416 Transparent Things (Nabokov), xxxix, 409 Trattatello in laude di Dante (Boccaccio), 288, 397 Travels in the Island of Iceland (Mackenzie), 230 Tree as image, 19, 30, 244, 250; art as part of nature in, 92, 298; belief as, 149-50; Scandinavian folklore, 32, 87, 147, 296, 340 Trela, D. J., "Carlyle's Pen Portrait of John Pym," 369, 416 Trench, Richard Chenevix, Letters and Memorials, xxviii, 416 Trevelyan, G. M.: An Autobiography and Other Essays, xl, Ixxvii-lxxviii, 416; Carlyle: An Anthology, Ixxiii, 416 Tristram Shandy (Sterne), 236, 414 Troilus and Criseyde (Chaucer), 376 True Nature of Imposture Fully Display'd in the Life of Mahomet, The (Prideaux), 57, 257-58, 263, 272, 274,411 Turenne: Marshal of France (Weygand), 281, 417 Turenne, vicomte de (Henri de La Tour d'Auvergne), 68, 281

INDEX

Turner, Samuel, An Account of an Embassy to the Court of the Teshoo Lama, in Tibet, 6, 232, 416 Twa Dogs, The (Burns), 355 Twain, Mark (Samuel Langhorne Clemens), Ixxix Twelve Types (Chesterton), Ixxii, Ixxv, 399 Twilight of the Idols, or, How One Philosophizes With a Hammer (Nietzsche), Ixxvi, 410 Two Notebooks of Thomas Carlyle,from 23d March 1822 to 16th May 1832 (Carlyle), xlv, 1, 282, 284, 323, 326, 354, 364, 369, 372, 394 Two Reminiscences of Thomas Carlyle (ed. Clubbe), Ivi, 399 Tylor, Edward B., Researches into the Early History of Mankind and the Development of Civilization, 242, 416

517

"Ober Anmuth und Wurde" (Schiller), 248 Uber dramatische Kunst und Literatur (Schlegel), 93, 299 Uhland, Johann Ludwig, Der Mythus von Thor, 252 Ulfilas, 19, 100, 245, 303 Ulfilas Gothische Bibeliibersetzung, 245 Universal Etymological Dictionary, An (Bailey), 349 Universities, 139-40, 332-33 Utilitarianism, xlvii, 278, 295, 341, 374; Bentham's theory of, 65, 14849, 278

van Gogh, Vincent. See Gogh, Vincent van "Vanity of Human Wishes, The" (Johnson), 326 Varnhagen von Ense, Karl August, xxxix, 302 Venus and Adonis (Shakespeare), 300 "Vernon Lushington: Carlyle's Friend and Editor" (K. J. Fielding), c, 402 Verwandlungen des Abu Seid von Serug, Die, 257, 261 Victorian age, xl, Ixxiv, 276; appeal of heroes to, Ixviii-lxix; Byronism of literary taste in, 81, 293; Carlyle as influence on, btii-lxxii; heroworship in, xxxiii-xxxiv; objections to Carlyle in, Ixxi-lxxii Victorian Frame of Mind, The (Houghton), xxxiv, 405 Victorian Mirror of History, The (Culler), Ivi, 400 Virgil, 79; Aeneid, 289 Vision or Hell, Purgatory and Paradise of Dante Alighieri, The (trans. Gary), 280, 399 Vita Nuova, La (Dante), 290 Voltaire (Francois Marie Arouet), Ix, 239-40, 334, 347, 353, 377; The Age of Louis XIV, 350, 417; as Antichrist, 14, 238; Le Fanatisme ou Mahomet le prophete, xli; public hero-worship of, Ixi, 13-14, 23739 Voltaire (Noyes), 238, 240, 410 Vorschule der Aesthetik (Richter), 281 Voyage et navigation aux isles de Mollucque, Le (Pigafetta), 241-42

Valhalla, 28, 244, 248-49 Valor, 31, 36, 250; of Cromwell, 18384, 373-74; death in battle, 244, 249; humility as, 102-3; of Knox, 124-25; of Luther, 119-21; Odin's favor, 28, 102, 371; in plays of Shakespeare, 93, 300; of Scandinavian people, 28-30, 249; as value, 28, 249 Vane, Sir Henry (the Elder), xliii, 179, 369, 383

Walpole, Horace, 150, 343; The Castle ofOtranto, 343; Memoirs of the Reign of King George the Third, 343,417 Walpole, Sir Robert, 343 al-Waqidl, 263-64, 267, 274 War of the Roses, 176, 366 Warwick, Sir Philip, 182; Memoirs of the Reign of King Charles I, 372 73,417 Washington, George, 179, 196, 370

518

INDEX

Watt, James, 124, 320 Watt, W. Montgomery, xlii-xliii, 1-li; "Carlyle on Muhammad," xli, xliii, li, 417; Muhammad at Mecca, 26869, 417; Muhammad at Medina, 260, 272, 417 Way of All Flesh, The (Butler), Ixiv, 398 Wedgwood, Hensleigh, 229, 241, 245 Wellek, Rene: "Carlyle and the Philosophy of History," xxxv, 417; Confrontations, xxxv-xxxvi, 1-li, Ixxi, 417; Immanuel Kant in England, 328, 417 Werke (Marx and Engels), Ixxii, 408 West-ostlicher Divan (Goethe), 257, 261,266 Weygand, Max, Turenne: Marshal of France, 281, 417 What Coleridge Thought (Barfield), 298, 396 Whitelocke, Bulstrode, 370; Memorials of the English Affairs, 362 Whitman, Walt, liv, Ixxix; Prose Works 1892, lxvi,417 Wilde, Oscar, Ixxvii; "Mr. Pater's Last Volume," xxxii, 417 Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship (Goethe), 230, 405; men who can be trusted, 186, 375; Shakespeare's characters, 93, 297, 299 Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship and Travels (Carlyle), xc, 234, 271, 27778, 329, 394-95, 405 Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre. See Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship Wilhelm Meister's Travels (Goethe), 64, 237, 256-57; "open secret," 69, 281,333-34 Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre. See Wilhelm Meister's Travels Willey, Basil, Ixxiv-lxxv; Nineteenth Century Studies: Coleridge to Matthew Arnold, Ixxv, 418 William III (king of Great Britain), 320 William Shakespeare: A Documentary Life (Schoenbaum), 296, 412 Williams, E. N., A Documentary

History of England, 1559-1931, 367, 418 Williams, Raymond, Culture and Society, 1780-1950, xxxiii, Ixix, 418 Wilmot, John, 178, 367 Wilson, David Alec, Carlyle on Cromwell and Others (1837-48), xxi-xxii, xli, Iv, 418 Wolfe, Don M., 383-84, 418 Woolf, Leonard, Quack, Quack], Ixx, Ixxiv, 418 Wordsworth, William, xxxii Works of Jeremy Bentham, The (Bentham), 342, 397 Works of John Knox, The (Knox), 32324, 406; History of the Reformation in Scotland, 129, 302, 323-24, 400 Works of John Ruskin, The, (Ruskin), xxxiv, Ixii-lxiii, 412 Works of Robert Burns, The (Burns), 325 Works of Shakespear, The (Shakespeare), 280 World as Will and Representation, The (Schopenhauer), 259, 413 Worship, 9-11, 23, 180. See also Heroworship; by Arabs, 42-45; of symbols of God, 104-5 Writer-hero, 133-67; booksellers system, 152, 158, 326, 336, 344, 350; Chinese system for writers, 145-46, 339; hero-worship of, 16566; inspiration of, 134-37; patron support for, 143-45, 152, 336, 33839, 344-45; as priest, 135, 140-41, 144-45, 325-26, 328; as product of new social conditions, 133, 146-52, 326, 336; skepticism and, 147-52, 340; sources for lecture on, 325; witness of truth as aim of, 134, 327, 337; writing as a profession, 133, 137-46, 158,326 Writing of Past and Present: A Study of Carlyle's Manuscripts, The (Calder), xxxii, 398 Writings and Speeches of Edmund Burke, The (Burke), 363, 398 Writings and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, The (Abbott), Ixxviii,

INDEX

379, 395

Wylie, William Howie, Thomas Carlyle: The Man and His Books, xxxvi, 418 Yeats, William Butler, Autobiographies: Reveries Over Childhood and Youth and The Trembling of the

519

Veil, Ixiv, 418 Younger Edda. See Prose Edda, The Young, Louise Merwin, Thomas Carlyle and the An of History, xxxv, 418 Zayd (Muhammad's slave), 50, 62, 268, 275