Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 406, December 26, 1829», sayfa 4
"To suckle fools and chronicle small beer."
True, ladies sighed not then for periodicals—but there, in the depths of their ignorance, lay their utter wretchedness. What! keep pickling and preserving during the whole mortal life of an immortal being! Except when at jelly, everlastingly at jam! The soul sickens at the monotonous sweetness of such a wersh existence. True that many sat all life-long at needlework; but is not that a very sew-sew sort of life? Then oh! the miserable males! We speak of times after the invention, it is true, of printing—but who read what were called books then? Books! no more like our periodicals, than dry, rotten, worm-eaten, fungous logs are like green living leafy trees, laden with dews, bees, and birds, in the musical sunshine. What could males do then but yawn, sleep, snore, guzzle, guttle, and drink till they grew dead and got buried? Fox-hunting won't always do—and often it is not to be had; who can be happy with his gun through good report and bad report in an a' day's rain? Small amusement in fishing in muddy water; palls upon the sense quarrelling with neighbours on points of etiquette and the disputed property of hedgerow trees; a fever in the family ceases to raise the pulse of any inmate, except the patient; death itself is no relief to the dulness; a funeral is little better; the yawn of the grave seems a sort of unhallowed mockery; the scutcheon hung out on the front of the old dismal hall, is like a sign on a deserted Spittal; along with sables is worn a suitable stupidity by all the sad survivors.—And such, before the era of Periodicals, such was the life in—merry England. Oh! dear!—oh! dear me!
We shall not enter into any historical details—for this is not a Monologue for the Quarterly—but we simply assert, that in the times we allude to (don't mention dates) there was little or no reading in England. There was neither the Reading Fly nor the Reading Public. What could this be owing to, but the non-existence of Periodicals? What elderly-young lady could be expected to turn from house affairs, for example, to Spenser's Fairy Queen? It is a long, long, long poem, that Fairy Queen of Spenser's; nobody, of course, ever dreamt of getting through it; but though you may have given up all hope of getting through a poem or a wood, you expect to be able to find your way back again to the spot where you unluckily got in; not so, however, with the Fairy Queen. Beautiful it is indeed, most exquisitely and unapproachably beautiful in many passages, especially about ladies and ladies' love more than celestial, for Venus loses in comparison her lustre in the sky; but still people were afraid to get into it then as now; and "heavenly Una, with her milk-white lamb," lay buried in dust. As to Shakspeare, we cannot find many traces of him in the domestic occupations of the English gentry during the times alluded to; nor do we believe that the character of Hamlet was at all relished in their halls, though perhaps an occasional squire chuckled at the humours of Sir John Falstaff. We have Mr. Wordsworth's authority for believing that Paradise Lost was a dead letter, and John Milton virtually anonymous. We need say no more. Books like these, huge heavy vols. lay with other lumber in the garrets and libraries. As yet, Periodical Literature was not; and the art of printing seems long to have preceded the art of reading. It did not occur to those generations that books were intended to be read by people in general, but only by the select few. Whereas now, reading is not only one of the luxuries, but absolutely one of the necessaries of life, and we now no more think of going without our book than without our breakfast; lunch consists now of veal-pies and Venetian Bracelets—we still dine on Roast-beef, but with it, instead of Yorkshire pudding, a Scotch novel—Thomas Campbell and Thomas Moore sweeten tea for us—and in "Course of Time" we sup on a Welsh rabbit and a Religious Poem.
We have not time—how can we?—to trace the history of the great revolution. But a great revolution there has been, from nobody's reading anything, to every body's reading all things; and perhaps it began with that good old proser Richardson, the father of Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison. He seems to have been a sort of idiot, who had a strange insight into some parts of human nature, and a tolerable acquaintance with most parts of speech. He set the public a-reading, and Fielding and Smollett shoved her on—till the Minerva Press took her in hand—and then—the Periodicals. But such Periodicals! The Gentleman's Magazine—God bless it then, now, and for ever!—the Monthly Review, the Critical and the British Critic! The age had been for some years literary, and was now fast becoming periodical. Magazines multiplied. Arose in glory the Edinburgh, and then the Quarterly Review—Maga, like a new sun, looked out from heaven—from her golden urn a hundred satellites drew light—and last of all, "the Planetary Five," the Annuals, hung their lamps on high; other similar luminous bodies emerged from the clouds, till the whole circumference was bespangled, and astronomy became the favourite study with all ranks of people, from the King upon the throne to the meanest of his subjects. Now, will any one presume to deny, that this has been a great change to the better, and that there is now something worth living for in the world? Look at our literature now, and it is all periodical together. A thousand daily, thrice-a-week, twice-a week, weekly newspapers, a hundred monthlies, fifty quarterlies, and twenty-five annuals! No mouth looks up now and is not fed; on the contrary, we are in danger of being crammed; an empty head is as rare as an empty stomach; the whole day is one meal, one physical, moral, and intellectual feast; the Public goes to bed with a Periodical in her hand, and falls asleep with it beneath her pillow.
What blockhead thinks now of reading Milton, or Pope, or Gray? Paradise Lost is lost; it has gone to the devil. Pope's Epistles are returned to the dead-letter office; the age is too loyal for "ruin seize thee, ruthless king," and the oldest inhabitant has forgotten "the curfew tolls."—Blackwood's Magazine.
THE SELECTOR, AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS
DR. LARDNER'S CYCLOPAEDIA
History of Scotland. By Sir Walter Scott, Bart. Vol. I
The rapid and sketchy page just quoted from Blackwood's Magazine will illustrate the high ground which periodical literature is daily attaining in this country. Of this ascendancy, the volume before us is indeed a fine specimen, and one of which we have reason to entertain a national pride. We know it to be a common practice with publishers on the continent to produce long works volume by volume, so that Dr. Lardner's plan is by no means novel; but we should also bear in mind that, compared with our family and cabinet libraries, the majority of similar foreign works are mere flimsy productions; and the Encyclopedie Methodique, published in monthly volumes, in Paris, both in quantity and execution, will not reach our literary standards of 1829. As Dr. Lardner's plan is well known, it need not here be repeated; neither need we remark upon the high qualifications of Sir Walter Scott, as an historian of Scotland. An extract shall speak for itself; and perhaps we cannot do better than select one of the battle-pieces, which has all the vividness of the finest historical painting: say
BANNOCKBURN
"Robert Bruce summoned the array of his kingdom to rendezvous in the Tor-wood, about four miles from Stirling, and by degrees prepared the field of battle which he had selected for the contest. It was a space of ground then called the New Park—perhaps reserved for the chase, since Stirling was frequently a royal residence. This ground was partly open, partly encumbered with trees, in groups or separate. It was occupied by the Scottish line of battle, extending from south to north, and fronting to the east. In this position, Bruce's left flank and rear might have been exposed to a sally from the castle of Stirling; but Mowbray the governor's faith was beyond suspicion, and the king was not in apprehension that he would violate the tenour of the treaty, by which he was bound to remain in passive expectation of his fate. The direct approach to the Scottish front was protected in a great measure by a morass called the New-miln Bog. A brook, called Bannockburn, running to the eastward, between rocky and precipitous banks, effectually covered the Scottish right wing, which rested upon it, and was totally inaccessible. Their left flank was apparently bare, but was, in fact, formidably protected in front by a peculiar kind of field-works. As the ground in that part of the field was adapted for the manoeuvres of cavalry Bruce caused many rows of pits, three feet deep, to be dug in it, so close together, as to suggest the appearance of a honeycomb, with its ranges of cells. In these pits sharp stakes were strongly pitched, and the apertures covered with sod so carefully, as that the condition of the ground might escape observation. Calthrops, or spikes contrived to lame the horses, were also scattered in different directions.
"Having led his troops into the field of combat, on the tidings of the English approach, the 23d of June, 1314, the King of Scotland ordered his soldiers to arm themselves, and making proclamation that those who were not prepared to conquer or die with their sovereign were at liberty to depart, he was answered by a cheerful and general expression of their determination to take their fate with him. The King proceeded to draw up the army in the following order: Three oblong columns or masses of infantry, armed with lances, arranged on the same front, with intervals betwixt them formed his first line. Of these Edward Bruce had the guidance of the right wing, James Douglas and Walter, the Steward of Scotland, of the left, and Thomas Randolph of the central division. These three commanders had their orders to permit no English troops to pass their front, in order to gain Stirling. The second line, forming one column or mass, consisted of the men of the isles, under Bruce's faithful friend and ally, the insular prince Angus, his own men of Carrick, and those of Argyle and Cantire. With these the king posted himself in order to carry support and assistance wherever it might be required. With himself also he kept in the rear a select body of horse, the greater part of whom he designed for executing a particular service. The followers of the camp were dismissed with the baggage, to station themselves behind an eminence to the rear of the Scottish army, still called the Gillies' (that is, the servants') hill....
"On the morning of St. Barnaby, called the Bright, being the 24th of June, 1314, Edward advanced in full form to the attack of the Scots, whom he found in their position of the preceding evening. The Vanguard of the English, consisting of the archers and bill-men, or lancers, comprehending almost all the infantry of the army, advanced, under the command of the Earls of Gloucester and Hereford, who also had a fine body of men at arms to support their column. All the remainder of the English troops, consisting of nine battles, or separate divisions, were so straitened by the narrowness of the ground, that, to the eye of the Scots, they seemed to form one very large body, gleaming with flashes of armour, and dark with the number of banners which floated over them. Edward himself commanded this tremendous array, and, in order to guard his person, was attended by four hundred chosen men at arms. Immediately around the King waited Sir Aymer de Valence, that Earl of Pembroke who defeated Bruce at Methven Wood, but was now to see a very different day; Sir Giles de Argentine, a Knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who was accounted, for his deeds in Palestine and elsewhere, one of the best Knights that lived; and Sir Ingram Umfraville, an Anglicised Scottishman, also famed for his skill in arms.
"As the Scottish saw the immense display of their enemies rolling towards them like a surging ocean, they were called on to join in an appeal to Heaven against the strength of human foes.—Maurice, the Abbot of Inchaffray, bare-headed and bare-footed, walked along the Scottish line, and conferred his benediction on the soldiers, who knelt to receive it, and to worship the power in whose name it was bestowed.
"During this time the King of England was questioning Umfraville about the purpose of his opponents. "Will they," said Edward, "abide battle?"—"They assuredly will," replied Umfraville; "and to engage them with advantage, your Highness were best order a seeming retreat, and draw them out of their strong ground." Edward rejected this counsel, and observing the Scottish soldiers kneel down, joyfully exclaimed, "They crave mercy."—"It is from Heaven, not from your Highness," answered Umfraville: "on that field they will win or die." The King then commanded the charge to be sounded, and the attack to take place.
