I HAVE had no little to do,
in my day, with the trade of Aristarchus, and have even been accused of
playing the Zoilus. Yet I cannot bring myself to feel any goadings of conscience
for undue severity. Indeed my remorse lies somewhat the other way. How
often, in commendatory reviews of books, whose purpose, whose precision,
or whose piety, rendered them equivocal objects of animadversion, have
I longed to close in the pregnant words of St. Austin, when speaking of
the books of the Manichœans. "Tam multi," says he, "tam grandes,
tam pretiosi codices" — adding, as if aside, "incendite omnes illas
membranas."
I have seen lately some rambling and nonsensical
verses entitled "Political Squibs," in which it appeared to me the author
had blundered upon a title most appropriate, and been guilty, without knowing
it, of a bit of erudition. Versus Politici, political, that is to
say, city verses, was an appellation applied by way of ridicule to the
effusions of certain bards (such as Constantine Manasses, John Tzetzes,
&c.) who flourished in the latter end of Rome, then so miscalled. Their
verses (styled by Leo Allatius from their easiness of composition "common
prostitutes") usually consisted of fifteen feet, but, like those of Peter
Pindar, made laws for themselves as they went along.
Even a good Greek scholar might find himself puzzled by the following sentences. [[Greek text=]] Kwnserbet Deons hmperinm bestrnm, biktor sis semper, bhbhte Domini, Hmperwtores hn monltos annos [[=Greek text]].
The Greeks of the Eastern empire, in the tenth century,
made use of these and similar acclamations upon all occasions of public
pomp. As evidence of the unlimited dominion of their emperors, the expressions
were repeated in Latin, Gothic, Persian, French, and English. Constantine
Porphyrogenitus, who wrote a pompous and silly volume, reducing to form
and minutely detailing the ceremonies of the court, gives the above sentences
as a specimen of the Latin. If we remember that the want of the
v obliged the Greeks to use b
Bulwer, in my opinion, wants the true vigor of intellect
which would prompt him to seek, and enable him to seize truth upon the
surface of things. He imagines her forever in the well. He is perpetually
refining to no purpose upon themes which have nothing to gain, and every
thing to lose in the process. He even condescends to ape the externals
of a deep meaning, and will submit to be low rather than fail in appearing
profound. It is this coxcombry which leads him so often into allegory and
objectless personification. Does he mention "truth" in the most ordinary
phrase? — she is, with a great T, Truth, the divinity. All common qualities
of the mind, all immaterial or mental existences, are capitalized into
persons. That he has not yet discarded this senseless mannerism, must be
considered the greater wonder, as the whole head of his little imitators
have already taken it up. His "Last Days of Pompeii" is ridiculously full
of it. The same work, in its abundant allusions to Egyptian theology, gives
also, sufficient evidence of his love of the "far-fetched." Is it indeed
possible that he seriously believes one half of the abominable rigmarole
put into the mouth of his philosopher Arbaces? I mean that rigmarole
especially, which asserts the brute-worship of Egypt to have been deliberately
intended as typical of certain moral and physical truths. If so, how little
of the spirit of wisdom is here, with how vast a solicitude to seem wise!
I remember, apropos to this subject, that in the year 1096, there thronged
to the first Crusade, in the train of Peter the Hermit, and more immediately
in that of the fanatic Godescal, a herd of some two hundred thousand of
the most stupid, savage, drunken, and utterly worthless of the people,
whose genuine leaders in the expedition were a goat and a goose. These
were carried in front, and to these, for no reason whatever, save beyond
the mad whim of the mob, was ascribed a miraculous participation in
the spirit of the Deity. Had this rabble founded an empire, we should,
no doubt, have had them instituting a solemn worship of goat and goose,
and Mr. Bulwer, with care, might have discovered in the goat a type of
one species of deep wisdom, and in the goose a clear symbol of another.
[The table of contents for the volume lists: "Literary Small Talk.
By Edgar A. Poe, - - - - - - - - 60, 133." The running page heading appears
only on the non-title pages and reads: "LITERARY SMALL TALK."]
[S:1 - AM, 1839]