to destroy them, and, accordingly, kills Passamonte and Alabastro, and converts Morgante, whose mind had been previously softened by a vision, in which the "Blessed Virgin" figures. No sooner is he converted than, as a sign of his penitence, what does he do, but hastens and cuts off the hands of his two brothers, saying— "Io vo' tagliar le mani a tutti quanti E porterolle a que' monaci santi." And he does cut off the hands of his brethren, and carries them to the abbot, who blesses him for so doing. Pulci here is holding up to ridicule and execration the horrid butchery or betrayal of friends by popish converts, and the encouragement they receive from the priest. No sooner is a person converted to Popery, than his principal thought is how he can bring the hands and feet of his brethren, however harmless they may be, and different from the giants, to the "holy priests," who, if he manages to do so, never fail to praise him, saying to the miserable wretch, as the abbot said to Morgante:— "Tu sarai or perfetto e vero amico A Cristo, quanto tu gli eri nemico." Can the English public deny the justice of Pulci's illustration, after something which it has lately witnessed? 1 Has it not seen equivalents for the hands and feet of brothers carried by popish perverts to the holy priests, and has it not seen the manner in which the offering has been received? Let those who are in quest of bigotry seek for it among the perverts to Rome, and not amongst those who, born in the pale of the Church of England, have always continued in it. 1 This was written in 1854. Appendix 327 CHAPTER III On Foreign Nonsense. WITH respect to the third point, various lessons which the book reads to the nation at large, and which it would be well for the nation to ponder and profit by. There are many species of nonsense to which the nation is much addicted, and of which the perusal of Lavengro ought to give them a wholesome shame. First of all, with respect to the foreign nonsense so prevalent now in England. The hero is a scholar; but, though possessed of a great many tongues, he affects to be neither Frenchman, nor German, nor this or that foreigner; he is one who loves his country, and the language and literature of his country, and speaks up for each and all when there is occasion to do so. Now what is the case with nine out of ten amongst those of the English who study foreign languages? No sooner have they picked up a smattering of this or that speech than they begin to abuse their own country, and everything connected with it, more especially its language. This is particularly the case with those who call themselves German students. It is said, and the writer believes with truth, that when a woman falls in love with a particularly ugly fellow, she squeezes him with ten times more zest than she would a handsome one, if captivated by him. So it is with these German students; no sooner have they taken German in hand than there is nothing like German. Oh, the dear delightful German! How proud I am that it is now my own, and that its divine literature is within my reach! And all this whilst mumbling the most uncouth speech, and crunching the most crabbed literature in Europe. The writer is not an exclusive admirer of everything English; he does not advise his country people never to go abroad, never to study foreign languages, and he does not wish to persuade them that there is nothing beautiful or valuable in foreign literature; he only wishes that they would not make themselves fools with respect to foreign people, foreign languages or reading; that if they chance to have been in Spain, and have picked up a little Spanish, they would not affect the airs of Spaniards; that if males they would not make Tom fools of themselves by sticking cigars into their mouths, dressing themselves in zamarras, and saying, carajo !1 and if females that they would not make zanies of themselves by sticking cigars into their mouths, flinging mantillas over their heads, and by saying carai, and perhaps carajo too; or if they have been in France or Italy, and have picked up a little French or Italian, they would not affect to be French or Italians; and particularly, after having been a month or two in Germany, or picked up a little German in England, they would not make themselves foolish about everything German, as the Anglo-German in the book does-a real character, the founder of the AngloGerman school in England, and the cleverest Englishman who ever talked or wrote encomiastic nonsense about Germany and the Germans. Of all infatuations connected with what is foreign, the infatuation about everything that is German, to a certain extent prevalent in England, is assuredly the most ridiculous. One can find something like a palliation for people making themselves somewhat foolish about particular languages, literatures, and people. The Spanish certainly is a noble language, and there is something wild and captivating in the Spanish character, and its literature contains the grand book of the world. French is a manly language. The French are the great martial people in the world; and French literature is admirable in many respects. Italian is a sweet language, and of beautiful simplicity-its literature perhaps the first in the world. The Italians!-wonderful men have sprung up in Italy. Italy is not merely famous for painters, poets, musicians, singers, and linguists-the greatest linguist the world ever saw, the late Cardinal Mezzofanti, was an Italian; but it is celebrated for men-men emphatically speaking: Columbus was an Italian, Alexander Farnese was an Italian, so was the mightiest of the mighty, Napoleon Bonaparte; but the German language, German literature, and the Germans! The writer has already stated his opinion with respect to German; he does not speak from ignorance or prejudice; he has heard German spoken, and many other languages. German literature! He does not speak from ignorance, he has read that and many a literature, and he repeats However, he acknowledges that there is one fine poem in the German language, that 1 An obscene oath. Appendix 329 poem is the " Oberon;" a poem, by the bye, ignored by the Germans-a speaking fact-and of course, by the Anglo-Germanists. The Germans! he has been amongst them, and amongst many other nations, and confesses that his opinion of the Germans, as men, is a very low one. Germany, it is true, has produced one very great man, the monk who fought the Pope, and nearly knocked him down; but this man his countrymen-a telling factaffect to despise, and, of course, the Anglo-Germanists: the father of Anglo-Germanism was very fond of inveighing against Luther. The madness, or rather foolery, of the English for foreign customs, dresses, and languages, is not an affair of to-day, or yesterday-it is of very ancient date, and was very properly exposed nearly three centuries ago by one Andrew Borde, who under the picture of a Naked man, with a pair of shears in one hand, and a roll of cloth in the other," inserted the following lines along with others: "I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here, All new fashions be pleasant to mee, I will have them, whether I thrive or thee; What do I care if all the world me fail? I will have a garment reach to my taile; Then am I a minion, for I wear the new guise. For I will go to learning a whole summer's day; 1 See "Muses' Library," pp. 86, 87. London, 1738. CHAPTER IV On Gentility Nonsense-Illustrations of Gentility. WHAT is gentility? People in different stations in England-entertain different ideas of what is genteel,1 but it must be something gorgeous, glittering, or tawdry, to be considered genteel by any of them. The beau-ideal of the English aristocracy, of course with some exceptions, is some young fellow with an imperial title, a military personage of course, for what is military is so particularly genteel, with flaming epaulets, a cocked hat and plume, a prancing charger, and a band of fellows called generals and colonels, with flaming epaulets, cocked hats and plumes, and prancing chargers vapouring behind him. It was but lately that the daughter of an English marquis was heard to say, that the sole remaining wish of her heart-she had known misfortunes, and was not far from fifty-was to be introduced to-whom? The Emperor of Austria ! The sole remaining wish of the heart of one who ought to have been thinking of the grave and judgment, was to be introduced to the miscreant who had 1 Genteel with them seems to be synonymous with Gentile and Gentoo; if so, the manner in which it has been applied for ages ceases to surprise, for genteel is heathenish. Ideas of barbaric pearl and gold, glittering armour, plumes, tortures, blood-shedding, and lust, should always be connected with it. Wace, in his grand Norman poem, calls the Baron genteel : "La furent li gentil Baron," etc. And he certainly could not have applied the word better than to the strong Norman thief, armed cap-à-pie, without one particle of truth or generosity; for a person to be a pink of gentility, that is heathenism, should have no such feelings; and, indeed, the admirers of gentility seldom or never associate any such feelings with it. It was from the Norman, the worst of all robbers and miscreants, who built strong castles, garrisoned them with devils, and tore out poor wretches' eyes, as the Saxon Chronicle says, that the English got their detestable word genteel. What could ever have made the English such admirers of gentility, it would be difficult to say; for, during three hundred years, they suffered enough by it. Their genteel Norman landlords were their scourgers, their torturers, the plunderers of their homes, the dishonourers of their wives, and the deflourers of their daughters. Perhaps, after all, fear is at the root of the English veneration for gentility. |