No More Learning

239 (#261) ############################################

Andrewes's Sermons
239
secular life, in the matter of the Essex divorce, was disastrous and
bitterly repented.
His sermons were collected for publication by the command
of Charles I, who was 'graciously pleased to thinke a paper-life
better than none,' though the editors, Laud and Buckeridge, were
well aware that the printed sermons 'could not live with all that
elegancie which they had upon his tongue. ' His preaching owed
as much to his perfect delivery as Hooker's lost by his diffidence.
After-ages will always find the contemporary opinion of Andrewes's
sermons extravagant, but, in spite of the most exasperating faults
of style, there is much to praise. He prefers to tread the well-
worn highway of common Christianity, and will not easily be
drawn either into the Roman controversy or into the insoluble
“deep points' of predestination and the like, in which puritan
preachers often lost themselves. The determination to extract
the most possible from the sacred text leads him into over-nice
distinctions, till he can only express himself with the help of
brackets, and even of brackets within brackets. Yet, notwith-
standing his clumsy apparatus, finicking exegesis and tortuous
language, he commonly rewards the reader's patience. The re-
mark of the presbyterian lord to James I at Holyrood, ‘No doubt
your Majesty's bishop is a learned man, but he cannot preach.
He rather plays with his text than preaches on it,' is not the
whole truth. The texts which Andrewes took for his great series
of Christmas and Good Friday sermons are permanently enriched
by the musings of his devout mind.
It is unfortunately easy to trace the influence of Andrewes
upon the younger preachers of his times. The Andrewes tradition
lasted far on into the century, and, in the hands of lesser men, it
lost the life which the genius of Andrewes had been able to infuse
into it. When, at last, it was superseded by preaching of a plainer
and sincerer style, bishop Burnet wrote its epitaph :
The impertinent way of dividing texts is laid aside; the needless setting
out of the originals and the vulgar version is worn out. The trifling shews of
learning, in many quotations of passages, that very few can understand, do
no more flat the auditory.
John Donne, although eighteen years younger than Andrewes,
survived him only six years. While Laud, Montagu, Ussher and
Hall were destined to preach to another age, Donne preached only
to the age which knew Andrewes. From the first, it must have
been inevitable to compare the two most famous preachers of
James I's reign. Both are deeply read in the fathers and love


## p. 240 (#262) ############################################

240 The English Pulpit from Fisher to Donne
6
to quote them in their original languages. Neither can resist the
fanciful imagery and verbal conceits that their age loved. Yet,
though they work with the same clay, the one achieves a success
in spite of his clumsiness, the other is a finished artist. Andrewes
is read with difficulty for the sake of his matter; Donne is read
by many who care little for his theology. Yet Donne was not
simply a man of letters caring more for his style than for his
matter. He impressed his own age, as he impresses the reader
of today, with his tremendous earnestness. Whether the reasons
which brought him to enter the ministry in his forty-second year
were adequate or not, he gave himself to his new calling with an
evergrowing sense of his responsibility. He took the most exacting
view of the preacher's office, and would excuse 'no man's laziness,
that will not employ his whole time upon his calling. ' In one of
his Candlemas sermons, he discusses the preacher's business and
maintains the need of preaching to the educated and the court
in a different style from that which will suit the simple. It was
Donne's métier, more than that of any man then alive, to preach
to the learneder and more capable auditories' that the times
had produced. The honourable society of Lincoln's inn got the
preacher they wanted, and parted from him with regrets and
fervent gratitude. At St Paul's, he gave himself more preaching
duties than had fallen to previous deans, and a sermon from him
was an occasion of which fashionable London took advantage.
It is a little surprising that a man of his literary experience
published only a few occasional sermons, such as the first sermon
preached to king Charles, printed by royal command, or the
sermon in commemoration of George Herbert's mother, lady
Danvers. A partial explanation is that his sermons, for the most
part, were not ready for the press. It was not till the plague
of 1625 drove him out of London and gave him some months'
leisure, that he set to work upon them. In a letter of this year
(25 November) he wrote:
I have revised as many of my sermons as I have kept any note of, and
I have written out a great many, and hope to do more. I am already come
to the number of 80, of which my son, who, I hope, will take the same
profession, or some other in the world of understanding, may hereafter make
some use.
Again, in 1630, he utilised a time of sickness at Abrey Hatch in
‘revising my short notes. Doubtless, this free revision enabled
the author to write at greater length than he had preached.
Nine years after his father's death, John Donne the younger


## p. 241 (#263) ############################################

Donne's Sermons
241
published Eighty Sermons; but they cannot be identical (as
Gosse suggests) with the eighty mentioned by Donne in 1625,
since many of this first folio belong to a later date. A second
volume and a third appeared later, forming together a larger
library of sermons than Andrewes or any other divine had yet
furnished.
“There is some degree of eloquence required in the delivery
of God's messages,' wrote Donne, and he intended to use all the
literary craft he had learnt to give life to his sermons. Some-
times, his rich fancy leads him into sheer extravagance or paradox.
Sometimes, his delight in assonant words will make him speak of
‘a comminatory or commonitory cross,' or he will end a paragraph
with portentous sesquipedalians, 'irreparably, irrevocably, irre-
coverably, irremediably. Coleridge disliked 'a patristic leaven'in
him, and Hallam said roundly that he had perverted his learning
'to cull every impertinence of the fathers and schoolmen. ' Yet few
readers would willingly spare the penitent's fond references to
'that blessed and sober father,' St Augustine. His wit, his learning
and his poetic feeling are far more often turned to profit than
used for display. The old wit has still its use when he can write,
*The devil is no recusant; he will come to church, and he will lay
his snares there. ' And his poetic fancy can take unceasing delight
in the metaphors of the Bible and marshal his rhythmical periods.
The obscurity of Donne's sermons has been often exaggerated.
No doubt they would be difficult to follow with the ear only, but
we have no means of knowing how closely the printed sermon
recalls the preacher's words. In spite of his profusion of metaphors
and similes, he seldom leaves us in any doubt of his meaning, and
he can be as simple as any man without being ordinary. It is
less easy to say that we always know whither he is taking us.
Every reader must be conscious of a certain arbitrariness in his
treatment. And we must particularly notice how his sombre cast
of thought, and his severe view of his own past failings, are apt to
assert themselves in unexpected quarters. Andrewes and he begin
a Christmas sermon on the same text, but Donne soon loses the
Christmas feeling and brings us face to face with death and
judgment to come. Death has been called the preacher's great
commonplace. Donne repeatedly comes back to this topic, but,
with him, it is never commonplace. Never does he hold us more
in thrall than when he warns in solemn, measured and impassioned
tones of that which comes equally to us all, and makes us all
equal when it comes. '
16
L. L. IV.
CH. XII.


## p. 242 (#264) ############################################

CHAPTER XIII
ROBERT BURTON, JOHN BARCLAY AND JOHN OWEN
It has been rightly observed that the first half of the seven-
teenth century may be reckoned eminently the learned age, and
the authors who form the subject of the present chapter carry,
each in his own way, this mark of the period. Two of these, the
epigrammatist Owen and Barclay the writer of satire and romance,
delivered themselves in Latin, one producing the best known body
of Latin epigram since Martial, the other the most famous work in
Latin prose fiction since Apuleius. From Burton, we have his own
confession that it was not his original intention to 'prostitute his
muse in English,' but, could a printer have been found, to publish
his huge medical and moral treatise in Latin. Yet, while the
frame of the book is in his native English, Latin is never far away.
We find it in phrases interwoven with the text, in formal citation
on page or margent, visible through the paraphrase of the sources
from which he drew. Composition in Latin, at a time when that
language was still international, was, in itself, no special sign of
learning, but Barclay and Owen give proof of wide and apt
knowledge, and possess an individual style and flavour. In their
day, they are remarkable instances of men of real literary in-
spiration, who chose to speak in a past tongue. For width of
reading, rather than precise scholarship, Burton may count among
the most learned of English men of letters. The study of all
three was Man. To a modern mind, the way in which tradition
and direct experience often lie side by side unblended in
seventeenth century literature is strange. An eager interest in
human character and activity consorted with something that
is hard to distinguish from pedantry. But the impulse of the
classics was then stronger if less delicate, and the relation between
life and books has been variously apprehended at various epochs.
The three differ in their lives, literary performance and subse-
quent fate. Owen, a Welshman, educated at Winchester and Oxford,
showed, while devoid of the higher qualities of a poet, a surprising


## p. 243 (#265) ############################################

Robert Burton
243
à
readiness and dexterity in sallies of verbal wit. Barclay, courtier
and cosmopolitan, born in Lorraine of a Scottish father, spending
his manhood in London and Rome, after writing a satirical fiction
in his youth, combined, later, in a romance of elevated and serious
tone, imaginative power with an acute judgment in the treatment
of political questions. Burton the Englishman, an Oxford resident
and priest in the Anglican church, ‘by profession a divine, by
inclination a physician,' devoted his large leisure to the elaboration
of a work which, while technical in its immediate aim, became,
because of its author's vast reading, a storehouse of multifarious
learning; because of his disposition, a book of satirical though
kindly humour; and, because of the subject itself, a panorama and
criticism of human life.
The success achieved by each was remarkable. Owen's first
volume was reprinted within the month. Six editions of Burton's
voluminous treatise appeared within thirty years. Barclay's chief
work, which was posthumous, was reissued on an average once
a year during the half century that followed the author's death.
The sphere and period of their popularity were not the same. Owen
and Barclay, composing in Latin, quickly attained a continental
reputation, and were translated into the principal languages of
Europe; Burton, writing in English, was practically unknown
across the Channel. The fame of all suffered eclipse, at one time,
through changes of literary fashion. Owen, though his production
is less bulky and his merit more on the surface, is still strangely
neglected. Barclay, since 1874, has been the subject of many
learned monographs. The Anatomy of Melancholy, revived by
.
men of genius in the early years of the nineteenth century, the
haunt of the literary, rather than the province of professed
students, alone continues to be reprinted. It is Burton, beyond
doubt, who, of the three, has best preserved his vitality.
Robert Burton is often spoken of as though his personality
were quite exceptional, his book an unparalleled piece of
eccentricity. But much which might seem peculiar to him is,
in reality, shared with other writers of his time. It is no paradox
to assert that Burton is representative of the nation and period to
which he belongs. He was of English ancestry in the fullest sense,
a native of that midland district which has given us his great con-
temporary, Shakespeare. His family had been settled there for
many generations, and an ancestor in the fifth degree had borne king
Henry VIs standard in France. Burton's own career was normal
16-2


## p. 244 (#266) ############################################

244
Robert Burton
and uneventful. He was a permanent resident in Oxford at a time
when the number of students at our English universities bore a
higher proportion to the population of the country than at any
subsequent period? . In his large interest in life, his humorous,
half-ironical sympathy with his fellow men and his shrewd common-
sense, he was a typical Englishman; English, also, in his tendency
to overflow the channels of his thought, in his want of that
delicate sense of measure more commonly associated with the
Latin races.
Before entering Oxford, Burton had acquired the usual grammar
school training of his day, which did not include a belief in a rigid
canon of Latin authors. While ability to read and write Latin
was a chief aim of school education, the classics were regarded as
sources of wisdom and not merely as models of literary form, and
writers of the renascence were even admitted to a place beside
those of the Roman republic and empire.
As a student of Christ Church and keeper of his college library,
enjoying, too, the advantages of the newly founded Bodleian,
Burton had ample opportunity for study. He held some small
ecclesiastical preferments, and there are indications that he would
have been glad to obtain more substantial promotion. Anecdotes
about him must be received with caution. His book became so
much better known than himself that there was probably a tendency
to draw inferences from his work to his person, and to emphasise
such details of his life as seemed most in keeping with his character
as an author.
The whisper of suicide which Anthony à Wood
mentions was, presumably, based on the last lines of the ‘Abstract
of Melancholy' prefixed to the third and later editions of The
Anatomy, or on a phrase on his monument in Christ Church.
Burton, who was ‘by profession a divine,' declared that he might,
had he chosen, have published sermons, but he had 'ever been
desirous to suppress his labours in this kind. ' The nature of his
. '
sermons may fairly be inferred from the section on ‘Religious
Melancholy. His extant minor works consist of his academic
Latin play Philosophaster and occasional Latin verse—elegies,
epithalamia and the like-scattered through university collections.
His Latin comedy, the theme of which is the trickery and exposure
of pretenders to learning in a Spanish university, the arch-villain
being a Jesuit, is ingenious and diverting and of special interest as
containing, in many places, thoughts and expressions that can be
paralleled in The Anatomy. The lyrics, few but effective, are
i Venn, Biographical History of Gonville and Caius College, vol. 1, pp. xx, xxi.
6


## p. 245 (#267) ############################################

The Anatomy
245
>
in rime. The metre of the dialogue, even after allowance has been
made for inevitable ignorance of Plautine and Terentian prosody,
is rough.
The first edition of The Anatomy of Melancholy appeared
in 1621, in the same year as Barclay's Argenis. In modern days,
at least, The Anatomy has been read rather in parts than as a
whole, and some misunderstanding has prevailed as to its purpose.
It has been regarded as a mere conglomerate of miscellaneous
excerpts, as a colossal jest, and the synopsis prefixed to each
of the three parts as nothing but a parody. A study of the work
in its entirety should convince a reader that, however curious in
some of its developments, Burton's main object was the practical
one that he himself proclaimed. The present Regius professor of
medicine at Oxford, while speaking with keen appreciation of its
literary qualities, has pronounced The Anatomy “a great medical
treatise, orderly in arrangement, serious in purpose? '
The introduction, 'Democritus Junior to the Reader,' after
justifying the assumed name, the title, the choice of subject and the
method, shows, by 'a brief survey of the world,' that melancholy
is 'an inbred malady in every one of us. The first partition deals
with the definition, causes, symptoms and properties of melancholy;
the second and shortest) with the cure; the third, in its final
form by far the longest, with the definition, symptoms and cure of
the two distinct species, love melancholy and religious melan-
choly. "The Conclusion of the Author to the Reader,' with which
the first edition ends, did not appear again; but it has not always
been observed that a large proportion was incorporated in the
introduction.
Though the book is primarily a treatise on melancholy, the
elasticity of the term, the universality of the disease and the
elaboration with which Burton tracks its several phases, extend
the subject to the life of man. The writer's temperament, matched
with his theme, exhibits him not merely as the physician of body
and soul, but as a satirist, a humorist and a social and political
reformer, in which last character he constructs the ideal Utopia
of his introduction. The general literary aspect of The Anatomy
has so far overpowered the medical, that Fuller could speak of it
as a 'book of philology. '
Burton's is one of those minds whose interest in human emotion,
conduct and character expresses itself in a meditative, rather than
in a dramatic, form. But he is not confined to man's nature in the
1 Unpublished lecture on Robert Burton by W. Osler.


## p. 246 (#268) ############################################

246
Robert Burton
abstract. The Anatomy is peopled with men and women. Many
a great name from history is there; and instances, various and
picturesque, of affliction and healing, gathered by Burton from
physicians' records——the young maid in Amatus Lusitanus that
would wash her hair in the heat of the day; the strange malady of
Katherine Gualter, a cooper's daughter; the country fellow that
had four knives in his belly, with other baggage; the merchant
from Nordeling that fancied he had lost his money at the fair; the
painful preacher at Alkmaar in Holland and countless other cases.
Panoramic effects are frequent, arising from the author's
fertility and readiness in enumeration. In this impression of
multitudinousness, he recalls in different ways both Rabelais
and Whitman. A most characteristic example of the torrential
manner in which Burton's memories are poured forth is his
rhapsody of the world of books in the member on 'Exercise
rectified. '
Burton's humour is pervasive and inseparably intertwined
with his irony and the kindly commonsense of his attitude to
life. Comparisons are dangerous, but it may safely be said that
in Burton there are touches of Montaigne, and contact in his
character with the most English of our writers, Chaucer and
Fielding. Jusserand points to his kinship with Izaak Walton
in his susceptibility to the charm of country life.
Neither in thought nor in style can he rival the subtlety of
Sir Thomas Browne, to whom he has been compared and with
whom he certainly has this in common that the same readers
seem drawn to both. Though he cannot pretend to the serene
impartiality of Religio Medici, Burton, in his theological views,
shows a widely tolerant spirit. We see him at his highest
in 'Religious Melancholy,' especially in "The cure of despair,
though this is not the only place in which his grave pathos is felt,
and his tenderness for the fear and sorrow' of others that he must
have known himself.
The extent to which the words and names of other authors
appear in The Anatomy of Melancholy is, undoubtedly, its most
striking external feature. But the practice of profuse quotation
was not peculiar to Burton. It was an age when appeal lay to
tradition and authority, and the tendency was fostered by the
formation of libraries. The attitude of a typical scholar of the
day has been summed up by his modern biographer, “If a great
writer has said a thing, it is so? ' It was the fashion of the time
* Pattison, Isaac Casaubon, p. 442.


## p. 247 (#269) ############################################

His Reading
247
to quote by way of proof or illustration, in talk, in writing, from
the pulpit. No exposition or argument could be conducted 'With-
out refreshment on the road From Jerome or from Athanasius. '
In enforcing the most familiar of truisms, men appealed to the
classics without fear of consequences. The pretender to learning
had perforce ‘his sentences for Company, some scatterings of
Seneca and Tacitus' The difference between Burton and his
1.
contemporaries is one of degree:
No man in his time did surpass him for his ready and dextrous inter-
larding his common discourses among them with verses from the poets, or
sentences from classical authors. Which being then all the fashion in the
university made his company more acceptable.
Indeed, if the occasion be considered, the wealth of ancient in-
stances, of Greek and Latin in Taylor's sermon, "The House of
Feasting,' is as surprising a phenomenon as anything in Burton.
Taine, 'superseding the facts by a statement of his own subjective
consciousness,' has spoken of Burton's casting on paper 'a folio
column of heraldry' and 'the history of the particle que,' but, though
Burton modestly spoke of his work as a 'cento' that he had
‘collected out of divers writers,' there is always reason and method
in his borrowings. He never flung bis commonplace book in the
face of the public.
Undoubtedly, Burton possessed an inordinate appetite for
books, a cacoethes legendi. He confesses to a 'want of art' and
'order' in his reading ; 'I have confusedly tumbled over divers
authors in our libraries,' 'rambling amongst authors (as often
I do). ' So Boswell wrote of Johnson in his youth, ‘he read a great
deal in a desultory manner, without any scheme of study, as chance
threw books in his way and inclination directed him through them. '
But Burton in his ramblings must have been ready to suck
melancholy out of all that he met. For all his omnivorous reading,
he was no bookworm. It was the human interest in the printed
page for which his eye was open. Modern critics, unversed in
a literature familiar to Burton's day, have dwelt pleasantly on
dusty folios, and made merry over the names of authors of whose
works they were ignorant, as though what is obsolete for us was
already rare and far-fetched in the 'seventeenth century. Taine
pictured Burton sporting with antediluvian monsters, the first
being Besler of Nürnberg! and an English writer seems to
imagine that Codronchus was a special find for him. There was
1 Earle, Micro-Cosmographie, character 31.
? Anthony · Wood, Ath. Ox. ed. Bliss, 11, 653.


## p. 248 (#270) ############################################

248
Robert Burton
little remoteness in the newly printed text-books of medicine and
botany.
In the case of a reader so all engulfing as Burton, it is not
easy to sum up his sources with precision, but the following heads
will afford a rough notion of the field covered: medical writers
of all periods, and scientific works; the Bible, the fathers,
theologians; Greek and Latin classics (the former 'cited out of
their interpreters'): some few are largely or wholly neglected,
such as Aeschylus : to others, such as Horace, he has frequent
recourse; historians and chroniclers; travels, descriptions of
cities and countries (Burton was 'ever addicted to the study
of cosmography'); treatises on government and politics; the
miscellanea of scholars and Latin belles lettres from the revival of
learning : poems, orations, epistles, satires, facetiae and the like;
English poetry: Chaucer, Spenser, Marlowe, Shakespeare, Jonson,
Daniel, Drayton; Harington's Ariosto, Florio's Montaigne,
Rabelais and others. Interesting light is thrown on Burton's
reading by the list of the books given to the Bodleian in accord-
ance with his will, which includes a large number of pamphlets and
controversial tracts.
Burton was anxious on principle to indicate his obligations.
'I have wronged no Authors,' he protested from the first; 'I cite
and quote mine Authors,' he adds, in the third edition, continuing,
in the fourth, 'which howsoever some illiterate scriblers accompt
pedanticall as a cloake of ignorance, and opposite to their affected
fine stile, I must and will use. ' Burton, it would seem, is here
glancing at writers such as Owen Feltham, who, in the second
edition of Resolves (1628), wrote 'I am to answer two Objections,
One, that I have made use of Story yet not quoted my Authorities,
and this I have purposely done. Yet, while Burton renders to his
medical writers what is theirs, to a great number of the illustrative
and literary quotations in The Anatomy, as is only natural, no
name is attached; to pause at the end of each borrowed phrase to
interject a ‘Shakespeare, ahem ! ' was clearly impossible. But
there is unconscious humour when, in the famous passage conveyed
by Sterne, Burton declares that ‘as Apothecaries we make new
mixtures every day, pour out of one vessel into another'; and
forgets to refer his readers to Andreae's Menippus. In many
instances, the quotations embedded in Burton's text have not
been drawn directly from their original sources. Not that Burton
had any need to fall back on florilegia, a practice that he
expressly disclaims; but it often happens that what in itself is


## p. 249 (#271) ############################################

His Methods of Quotation 249
a quotation, especially if it be an island of verse in the midst
of prose, has caught his eye as it faced him on the page of another
writer and found its way to his own. Lines that stand out in
Xylander's Latin version of Plutarch's Moralia, in Lilius Gyraldus,
in Cornelius Agrippa, in Cardan, in Lipsius, have thus recruited
his ranks ; English writers, too, are made to pay tribute of their
spoil. At times, we may track him down a whole page of a pre-
decessor. The protest, in the preface to Love-Melancholy, against
forbidding the reading of the Canticles, the Ballade of Ballades,
as 'too light and amorous a tract,' has been borrowed from an
oration of Beroaldus. Elsewhere, successive quotations from
Aulus Gellius, Pliny the elder and the philosopher Seneca hail
from a controversial piece by Justus Baronius, and Burton
commits a curious error through misreading his original. When
he protests in his preface that his collection has been sine injuria,
that he has given every man his own, it can be shown, from
passages he refers to, that he is recalling Camerarius's emblem
under that motto. The insertion of supplementary matter in later
editions has here, by separating these quotations, helped to conceal
their provenance. Burton's reading was so wide and devious, his
paths of association so unexpected, that it is rarely safe to assume
by what road a quotation has reached him. One more example
must suffice.
It might be supposed that the two lines
Virgines nondum thalamis jugatae
Et comis nondum positis ephoebi
came directly from Seneca's Hercules Furens. This is not so.
Burton took them from Gaulmin's Latin translation of the Greek
romance of Theodorus Prodromus'. The ways in which he inter-
laces the words of others into his own fabric are very various.
Sometimes, a quotation stands in his text, sometimes, in the
margin; at times, through inadvertence, in both. The margin,
again, may supply the original of the rendering that figures on the
page. His translations often are 'paraphrases rather than inter-
pretations. ' Burton's racy restatements by the side of the Latin
have, at times, a humorous effect akin to that of the advocates'
speeches in The Ring and the Book-or in Calverley's parody.
Burton exercises an author's privilege in taking only what is to
his purpose and in combining separate excerpts into one period.
Naturally, among the thousands of passages that he has occasion
to quote, he has not been able to avoid errors. His memory plays
him false. He slips in a rendering, assigns words of Silius to
· N. and Q. 10 S. x1, 101.


## p. 250 (#272) ############################################

250
Robert Burton
Statius, is led astray by his authorities. If Lipsius refers a sentence
of Plato to the wrong dialogue, Burton takes it on trust. Lipsius
says 'Horace' when he should have said 'Ovid,' Burton copies his
mistake. The number of reference marks in the text and margin
become a source of error when complicated by fresh insertions
in successive issues. Although each edition has a list of errata,
these bear but an insignificant proportion to what may be detected.
It is obvious that Burton's modus operandi was not always the
same. He often quotes from memory; there are places, apparently,
where the book from which he cites lay open before him; at times,
he made use of memoranda. In his introduction, he represents
himself as writing 'out of a confused company of notes. ' Several
books containing his autograph show strokes of the pen against
words or passages utilised in The Anatomy.
Everywhere there is evidence that Burton's brain was soaked
in literature. In his elegiacs ad librum suum, echoes are to be
heard from Nicholas Gerbelius, Palingenius, Claudian, Ausonius,
Juvenal, Martial, Ovid, Vergil. Elia's 'I cannot sit and think.
Books think for me, can be applied to Burton. His constant
habit was to express himself in terms of quotation. But in this
method lies dizziness for the reader and a danger, at times, that
the real strength and individuality of the author's own thoughts
may be overlooked.
Burton himself describes his style when he confesses that his
book was writ with as small deliberation as I do usually speak. '
What we are listening to is the intimate persuasive ring of
vigorous and unaffected talk. He never shrinks from homely
metaphors:
The whole world belike should be new-moulded when it seemed good to
those all-commanding Powers, and turned inside out as we do haycocks in
harvest . . . , or as we turn apples to the fire, move the world upon his centre.
6
"The world is tossed in a blanket amongst them. ' 'As common
as a barber's chair. ' 'As a tinker stops one hole and makes two. '
a
It was because of his expressing himself in such terms as these
that, two generations later, the Christ Church men complained of
Bentley’s ‘low and mean ways of speech. '
It would be an error to suppose that Burton was not consciously
concerned for his vocabulary and the rhythmical movement of his
English. Comparing his book to a bear's whelp, he laments that
he has no time to lick it into form, but the changes introduced in
each new edition prove his anxiety on re-reading to prune away


## p. 251 (#273) ############################################

His Influence
251
pleonasms, to escape awkward repetitions and, by numerous slight
touches, to ease the running of his sentences. When further
additions have affected what was previously in place, he is at pains
to alter it. Only a complete collation could exhibit the amount of
care that Burton bestowed on revision.
The success of his Melancholy, instead of prompting Burton to
the production of any new work, caused him to concentrate his energy
on improving what he had already printed. Additional references
or the names of other authors were adduced to support or illustrate
statements already made. The insertion of entirely new matter is
frequent. In more than one edition, he records a resolve to make
no further change, but the method of the book invited fresh
touches and Burton found it hard to abstain. He pleads in excuse
that 'many good authors in all kinds are come to my hands since,'
and his treatise is continually being made new by contributions
that had been published since the last edition, while he explains of
certain earlier books that they had not been seen by him till now.
From the first, The Anatomy of Melancholy found a ready audi-
ence, and its vogue, to judge from the number of editions absorbed,
lasted for half a century. As its success was due to its having
suited, rather than originated, the taste of the time, it is not always
easy to trace its direct influence. Resemblances have often been
pointed out between Milton's L'Allegro and Il Penseroso and 'The
Author's Abstract of Melancholy,' verses which Burton prefixed to
his third and following editions. John Rous, the Bodleian librarian,
was a friend of Burton as well as of Milton. It has been suggested
that the song in Fletcher's Nice Valour was Milton's immediate
source and that Fletcher owed hints to Burton. The authorship
of the play is matter of controversy, and Fletcher himself died three
years before Burton's verses were printed. The anonymous Vulgar
Errors in Practice Censured (1659) shows extensive borrowings.
The author copies without much intelligence and goes astray through
mechanically repeating Burton's references. Greenwood's’Amoypaon
otopyñs, or Passion of Love, that appeared in 1657, makes con-
siderable use of The Anatomy, but the extent of his acknowledgment
is very slight, though Burton's name is mentioned. At the close of
the century, the passion for accumulating authorities was growing
fainter, and Burton's book was less in touch with the prevailing
literary tone. Indebtedness to The Anatomy was now less likely
to be detected. Archbishop Herring, in an often-repeated passage,
asserted that the wits of queen Anne's reign and the beginning
of George I's were not a little beholden to Burton. Swift, it
would seem, had some acquaintance with him. However little in


## p. 252 (#274) ############################################

252
Robert Burton
accordance with literary fashion, The Anatomy could hardly fail, if
only by reason of its title, and the more obvious peculiarities
of its contents, to attract the attention of any curious reader who
encountered it; and, in the middle of the century, two authors
of importance fell under its fascination. Samuel Johnson, whose
wide reading and hypochondriacal taint instinctively drew him
to The Anatomy, was emphatic in its praise, and affords another
instance of admiration extended at the same time to Browne and
Burton. The influence of The Anatomy is apparent in several
passages of Johnson's talk and writing, although Burton was not
among the English authors from whom the examples for his
dictionary were selected. His definition of oats, his conversational
comparison of a ship to a prison and the Vergilian quotation
by which he points the miseries of a literary life, are all reminiscent
of Burton.
But one name in eighteenth century literature is inseparably
linked with his. Sterne's cast of mind inclined him to reading that
which was curious and away from the common track, and he turned
over The Anatomy with a special gusto. To the literary taste of
the day, Burton was obsolete, and Sterne freely transferred his
thoughts and phrases to Tristram Shandy. Ferriar's list of
passages is far from exhaustive. At the end of the century, the
real revival of Burton began. He was a favourite with Coleridge,
Lamb and Southey. Coleridge annotated his friend's copy of The
Anatomy. Lamb, besides producing an imitation which has
deceived some readers, though with less excuse than was the case
with Crossley's imitation of Sir Thomas Browne, gives frequent
tokens of his fondness for Burton, with whose thought and
expression, as with those of many seventeenth century writers,
he was in close sympathy. Southey was a diligent reader of
The Anatomy and noted many passages from it in his common-
place book. The year 1800 saw the first reprint of The Anatomy
since 1676, and the book thus became more accessible. Keats,
with his Lamia, gave the passage of Burton that suggested the
poem, and a volume of the edition which he used, containing notes
from his hand, has been preserved. Byron praised it as the most
entertaining of literary miscellanies. But criticisms on Burton
are too often evidence that the book has been thought of as an
amusing collection of isolated anecdotes, a vast quarry for quaint
phrases and quotations, and seldom viewed in its purpose and
entirety.
Thackeray, who, in Pendennis, had represented captain Shandon
as putting The Anatomy to base uses of journalism, made it the


## p. 253 (#275) ############################################

John Barclay
253
favourite reading of Martin Lambert in The Virginians-a book
over a great part of which the spirit of Burton is felt to brood. But
the second volume of The Virginians is largely made up of essays,
and it is in the essay of today, if anywhere, that the influence of
Burton yet lingers.
The Scot abroad, winning success in arms or commerce, has
long been a familiar figure. In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, the countrymen of Buchanan and Dempster are often
found in foreign lands as scholars of fortune. William Barclay, of
an old Aberdeenshire family, a Catholic and an adherent of queen
Mary, after some years' legal study in France, accepted a chair at
Pont-à-Mousson in the territory of the duke of Lorraine, and
married a lady of that country. Their son, John Barclay, born in
1582, counted himself a subject of king James, though circum-
stances gave a cosmopolitan tinge to his character. Himself
married to a Frenchwoman, a resident successively in England
and Italy, suing for the patronage of the sovereigns of different
realms, Barclay nowhere achieved the position his powers might
have won. Too little is known of his life in London and his eleven
years' connection with the English court. That he was employed
on important missions is certainly an exaggeration, though passages
in his work appear to indicate some official errand.
To the modern reader, Barclay's yearning for the favour of the
great is, doubtless, distasteful. Each royal personage in turn is
posed as the noblest and pleasantest prince of his acquaint-
ance; but, in his days, to touch without adorning was unpardonable,
and we have the testimony of such men as Casaubon and Peiresc and
Thorie to the real charm of his character. Intellectually, Barclay
was a compound of the student, the man of letters and the curious
observer of affairs, and his highest work combines 'the scholar's
learning with the courtier's ease. '
His first performance, at the age of eighteen, was in the
character of a scholar, a commentary on four books of Statius's
Thebais, with notes on the four following. It has been asserted
that subsequent editors have neglected this book: but Barth refers
to it frequently, and, while criticising it severely at times, styles the
author vir doctissimus, and applauds several of his suggestions? .
Barclay was a fluent and pleasing master of Latin verse, and some
lines of his were published as early as 15992. His collected poems
1 Barth’s Statius (1664), tom. II, p. 514. See Barth’s indexes.
In the Tacitus edited by William Barclay, M. D.
>


## p. 254 (#276) ############################################

254
John Barclay
contain matter of autobiographical interest, and also much adula-
tion of James and others, with an occasional touch of grotesqueness.
In his hexameters on the Gunpowder plot, the poet expresses his
horror that men should have proposed to send the king piecemeal
to the skies, when his own soaring virtues would more rightly
bear him thither.
The first part of Euphormionis Satyricon was published when
Barclay was only one-and-twenty. Before considering this, it is
convenient to note briefly some other productions. His short
account of the 1605 plot was written in the November of that year,
but its appearance was postponed because of James's own manifesto.
The king's sagacity is, of course, applauded ; at the end are placed
the lines already referred to.
In 1609, Barclay introduced a posthumous work of his father,
De Potestate Papae, in which William Barclay, already known as
the champion of the rights of monarchy against Buchanan, was
now seen as the opponent of the papal court in its claims to over-
rule the secular power. In reply to the attacks provoked by the
work, Barclay wrote his Pietas, sive publicae pro regibus ac
principibus et privatae, pro G. Barclaio contra Bellarminum
Vindiciae. In 1614 appeared Icon Animorum, Englished by
Thomas May in 1631 as The Mirrour of Mindes. In this, he
treats of the principal nations of Europe and their characteristics,
beginning with the French, the various dispositions of mankind
and the qualities peculiar to times of life, station and profession.
It shows Barclay's alertness of observation, soundness of judgment
and happiness in expression, and has caused him to be compared
with Montaigne. Merits and failings are skilfully presented, habits
of thought as well as of demeanour. Of the English, he writes: se
ip808, et suae gentis mores, ingenia, animos, eximie mirantur. The
practice of the duello in France here condemned was glanced at in
Euphormio, and its discouragement by Louis XIII made a merit
of that king in the dedication to Argenis. The criticisms are in
no unkindly spirit, but, some thirty years later, a Pole was moved
to protest against Barclay's account of his country?
Much in Barclay's writings had been eagerly welcomed by the
opponents of Catholicism, but his Paraenesis ad sectarios, written
soon after his settlement at Rome in 1617, served to justify his
attitude in the eyes of the Catholic church.
Barclay's main importance, however, for the history of literature
1 Polonia Defensa contra Joan: Barclaium etc. (Dantzig, 1648, anon. [by
L. Opalinsky]).


## p. 255 (#277) ############################################

Euphormionis Satyricon 255
rests on his two adventures in fiction, Euphormionis Satyricon
and Argenis, the one a contribution to the development of the
picaresque novel of real life, the other a finished example of a type
of ideal romance. The first part of Euphormio is said to have
appeared in London in 1603, but no copy is forthcoming. The
1605 edition (Paris) of this part is described on the title as Nunc
primum recognitum, emendatum, et variis in locis auctum. Until
the earlier edition is found, the extent of the changes must remain
unknown. In his Apologia Euphormionis pro se, Barclay has
ingenuously confessed his reasons for choosing satire : youth and
desire for fame. “I decided,' he says, “to accuse the whole world
with guiltless yiolence, more in the hope of winning praise for
myself than of bringing shame on others. ' In plot, Barclay's
satirical novel is a string of adventures. In the first part, the
narrator Euphormio becomes, in a foreign land, the slave of an
ennobled parvenu, Callio. He is persecuted, feigns insanity and
wins his master's favour. Sent on journeys with a fellow slave, he
undergoes a variety of experiences, is flogged and branded and
escapes. The narrative breaks off on a sudden. Interspersed are
an account of a lecture on Roman law, details of supernatural
phenomena, ghost stories and witchcraft, a play acted in a Jesuit
college, an attack on physicians (whose pretensions Barclay was as
ready to satirise as Fielding) and a long dissertation on the present
state of learning, on the faults of verbal and antiquarian scholarship,
and the extremists in Latin style, whether erring through obscurity
or ultra-Ciceronianism, on mistakes in systems of education; in
which last there is excellent good sense. Besides unworthy nobles,
there are many other objects of the author's satire; and we have
in especial an account of the eager and intrusive ambition of the
followers of Acignius, who typifies the Society of Jesus. With
much that is vigorous and interesting, there is a lack of connection.
An elaborate episode in the earlier pages, which shows promise of
continuance, is abruptly dropped, and we miss sureness in tone and
touch. The saeva indignatio of the opening is not sustained, and
one can understand, without accepting, Scaliger's criticism: il y a
un pédant à Angers qui a fait un Satyricon qui au com-
mencement semble estre quelque chose mais puis n'est rien du tout.
Through the second part of Euphormio (1607), there runs a more
distinct clue. We have Euphormio's first impulse to follow the
life of the philosophers (enter a religious order), his recognition of
his mistake, his pursuit of fortune and pleasure, his fresh attraction
to 'philosophy' and the wiles by which Acignius attempts to


## p. 256 (#278) ############################################

256
John Barclay
secure him for his Society. From these, he frees himself with
difficulty, and, finally, reaches the court of Tessaranactus (James),
who admits his service. The scene is laid in Delphium (Pont-à-
Mousson), Marcia (Venice), Ilium (Paris), Boeotia (Germany) and
Scolimorrhodia (England). The atmosphere is more spacious and
the interest wider than in part I. There are again many episodes—
a long dramatic performance, a literary display at a Jesuit college,
an account of the habits of the emperor Rudolf and a puritan
household in England. Euphormio was placed on the Index; the
latter part gave especial offence, and, in reply to attacks, Barclay
wrote his Apologia. He justifies his satire, never scurrilous, on
the Jesuits, and adheres to the view he had given of the dispute
between Venice and the papal court. On the charge of libelling
individuals, he tries to show the absurdity of some identifications;
in other cases, he maintains that the praise outweighs the blame,
but, at times, his defence is disingenuous. Hoping for the favour
of princes, he felt bound to explain away what might prejudice his
career. How far was fact blended with fiction ? According to one
view, part I closely follows the elder Barclay's experiences, part II
the son's, the characters being largely based on originals. This is
supported by Père Abram's Histoire de l'université et du collège
de Pont-à-Mousson! A recent critic has endeavoured to minimise
the element of exact imitation. Certain characters (for example,
Protagon = Henri IV) and incidents are, undoubtedly, real, and,
without following any 'headstrong allegory,' the safer course is not
to assign too important a share to imagination pure and simple.
Barclay's habit was to build fiction on fact.
It is a separate task to trace the indebtedness of Euphormio
to preceding writers and its influence in subsequent literature.
In the mixture of verse with prose, and in style and expression,
Barclay betrays frequent reminiscences of Petronius, while adhering
to his own standard of decency. Echoes of other writers are
frequent and two most prominent qualities are a display of
erudition and a taste for rhetoric. His annotator of 1674 was
ludicrously unable to cope with his references to Greek history.
There is a general resemblance between Euphormio and the
picaresque novels of Spain, but the chief of these were later than
Barclay's satire, and, as yet, few had appeared in a French form.
Some effects of Euphormio may be felt not only in subsequent
Latin writings, but in the vernacular literature of France and
Germany, for example in Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus. It is
1 In MS. See Collignon, Notes sur l'Euphormion,' pp. 9–21.


## p. 257 (#279) ############################################

Argenis
257
a curious fact that those who have written on Euphormio in recent
times have often failed to read it through. Körting, in describing
the first part, believed that he was giving an account of the whole,
and Dukas, in his useful contribution to the bibliography, confessed
he had left some pages unread.
Apologia Euphormionis pro se was printed later as a third part
of Euphormio; to this was added, as a fourth, Icon Animorum, though
it had no connection with the other three. After Barclay's death,
the publishers included as part V Alitophili Veritatis Lachrymae,
nominally a continuation of Euphormio, though the connection is
of the slightest. Claude Morisot was the author of this indifferent
piece, which Robert Burton quoted several times without naming
the source.
A sixth part, Alitophilus castigatus, appeared in the
1674 annotated edition of Euphormio. It is a slight production,
giving the stories and discussions of a group of friends who meet at
one another's houses during a three days' vacation. Dukas, who
refrained from reading it, gives a completely erroneous account,
and, in dealing with the question of the authorship, attributed
to L. G. Bugnot, overlooks the most important pieces of evidence.
Argenis is a far more mature work than Euphormio; its author's
intention is clearer, it has a carefully constructed plot, and, in
style too, a distinct advance is perceptible. The work was written
at Rome where Barclay had settled in 1617, and Rome is recalled
by some of the details in description. Light is thrown on the
composition of Argenis by Barclay's own letters and by those of
Peiresc and others. They show us quite plainly that Argenis must
not be regarded as a purely artistic work of imagination, but, at
least in part, as inspired by political motives. In a letter to de
Puysieu, dated Rome, 12 July 1620, Barclay writes:
Le suiet du liure ou je pretends faire entrer au bon escient Monseigneur
le Chancellier et vous aussy, est une inuention assés gaye comprise en cing
liures ou se traitte de la pluspart des affaires de nostre temps. J'y
adjousteray cette preface de laquelle je vous ay parlé si le Roy accepte
mon service et tourneray aisement le stile de tous les cinq liures à l'honneur
de la France.
In a letter which Barclay sent to Louis XIII with a copy of Argenis
a
a few days before his death, he says of his book:
son principal but est de traicter des guerres et des amours d'un jeune et
chaste Prince qui semblent estre tirees sur le modelle de vostre courage
et genie.
This time, Barclay was anxious to avoid giving offence, and
specimens of what he had written were submitted to the judgment
of others. In his dedication to Louis XIII, he speaks of his work
E. L. IV. CH. XIII.
17


## p. 258 (#280) ############################################

258
John Barclay
as a new kind of writing and, in the course of the book, expounds
its principles in the person of Nicopompus. The poet describes
how he proposes to write a story in the style of a history. The
fictitious element, the exciting and unexpected incidents, are to
attract readers: the pictures of virtues and vices with their
appropriate rewards are to compel men to self-criticism and self-
condemnation. He is careful to add that no persons will be por-
trayed to the exact life, but that disguise will be secured by fictitious
details; consequently, to take offence will be a confession of the
reader's own guilt. It will be an equal error to assume that every-
thing or that nothing corresponds to real fact. As, in Euphormio,
the satirical element was dominant, in the later fiction it is the
didactic.