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Leader (1850-1860), 10th May 1856, Edition 2 of 2, Page 19

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      The Praise Of China. The Chinese And The...

      lines from that of the Confucian system , and retiring from Mencius toConfttcius finds the sources of Chinese philosophy in the works of Fan-te , who flourished twenty-three generations before the chronological era . We now discover a clue to the method b y which the new sinologists obtain their chronological results . Like the decipherers of Egyptian monuments , they estimate and calculate , and place generation before generation , calendar upon calendar , in a long ascending line , until the names of dynasties , kings , and teachers of men are placed in distinct positions , beyond the reach of chronicle or criticism . Four works constitute the whole of the ancient literature of China , and these , with a fifth attributed to Confucius , form the canonical books which were not printed during the first nine hundred years of the

      Christian era ; yet upon bases slight as these , the chronologers lay down the tracks of Chinese history to within two thousand years of the date assigned by popular tradition to the creation of the world . Mr Meadows , to all appearances , has been fascinated by the parallelo-< rramic institutions df China ; the tendency of his mind in this direction is exhibited in his voluminous essay on civilization—the balance and the burden of his work . He adopts the pleasant , illusive method of tracing men from the savage to the polished state , and , in his credulity , is almost as ready as Rousseau . But his argument runs , in all parts , parallel with China . Avowing certain special defects in the institutions and morals of that empire , he obviously sees in it the type of English reform , and recommends it to the

      • world at large . We wish his speculation had been placed belore the reader in a more attractive shape . He has so overlaid his subject with digressions , and so confused it with retrospects and parenthetical summaries , that his three projected works—of which the preface is a prospectus—seem to have run together , and so produce the effect of an encyclopaedia disarranged . In a general sense , moreover , though the book presents a variety of instructive explanations on Chinese habits and character , it is a mistake . The speculations of Orientalists on the philosophy of those Egyptians of Asia have been advanced too far , with too many successful results , to be confounded by the " bright-eyed ease" of Mr . Thomas Taylor Meadows .

      Max 10, 1856.1 The Leader. 451

      Max 10 , 1856 . 1 THE LEADER . 451

      Patient Grissell. Griselda: A Tragedy; A...

      PATIENT GRISSELL . Griselda : a Tragedy ; and Other Poems . By Edwin Arnold , Author of "Poems , Narrative and Lyrical . " London : Bogue . In the year 1368 ( according to an apocryphal , but not improbable , story ) , the English poet Chaucer , being then in attendance on Lionel , Duke of Clarence , made brief acquaintanceship , on the occasion of that nobleman marrying the daughter of the Duke of Milan , with the Italian poet Petrarch , and afterwards , at Padua , learned from his own lips the narrative of " patient Grissell . " But whether or not , in that fair " nursery of arts , " that learned and stately town of Lombardy , the poet from the far northern island ever conversed with the southern singer who has embalmed the name of Laura for all time , it is certain that from a poem by Petrarch was derived that celebrated story which Chaucer was the first to introduce to the English mind , and which has tsince rendered the name of Griselda almost a synonym for patience . The tale was an old one in Italy , and was so popular

      there that Petrarch ' s contemporary , Boccaccio , has told it in the "Decameron , " after his slumberous , passionless , and diffusive manner , placing it as the concluding novelette of the work , as if nothing were worthy to come after it ; and in England the fiction has become a sort of household word , has been brought on to the stage , and has even found its way into collections of children ' s tales , where some of the language of the reverend old poet of the days of Edward III . may be found transmuted into modern English . On what grounds , therefore , are we to have a new version of what is already known to all who care to know anything beyond the facts of the day ? For the huirible and ill-informed , there is tradition ; for the lover of old English poetry , there is the wonderful fabric reared upon the vast and enduring pedestal of Chaucer ' s genius ; for the scholar , there are Petrarch and Boccaccio . Yet here is a gentleman who thinks he can infuse some newer , stronger vitality into a story already wafted into the popular heart by tradition , already enthroned in the classical literature of two great countries by the triad whose names have just been mentioned .

      We must confess , individually—we know it is heresy to say so , but we say it—that we do not think the story was ever worth the . telling , or , indeed , fit to be told . It requires some boldness to speak what we think on this matter ; but , to our minds , the narrative is repulsive , and devoid of any moral , worthy to be so called . Nay , if men did not instinctively revolt from it , notwithstanding all their fancied admiration ( which is a mere self-deceit of the intellect ) , the effect of the story would be absolutely corrupting . A woman of humble birth , in order to show the profundity of her submission to the sovereign prince who marries her—and the submission is placed as much on this low ground of grovelling before the occupant of a high placo ,

      as on that of an ultra acknowledgment of the divine right of husbandsconsents , without a murmur , without a welcome the less for the fantastical tyrant who thus uses her , to violate the most sacred instincts of nature and of God ; consents to the supposed murder of her own children , and smilingly praises her lord for hid great benignity and his noble soul . It is the fashion to call Griselda " the divine wife , " " the sweet human mother , " "the true woman . We ought rather to say that she is a monstrous deformity of wickedness—a wretched female flunkey , worse oven than her despicable husband , who subjects her to a torture of ttotilve years , in order that ho may please himself with trvinir how far her pnticnco ' will ffo ! But in truth she is a mere phantom .

      Let us be thankful that there never yet was such a woman ; lot us hope that there never may be . Wo know that tliis is not tho opinion of the critics ; but wo believe it is the feeling of those who in such matters are of greater authority than the critics—wo mean of tho women themselves . Thus much by the way , and because it seems to us that the truth about Griselda has been unduly suppressed , to tho outrage of all true morality . Lot tho framers of tho ladioa' petition on tho wrongs of women , and tho women of Leicester in public meeting assembled , look to it . And ho , having vented ourselves , we return to Mr . Arnold ' s volume , and proceed to examine what are the distinctive features which have justified tho author to his own mind in gilding tho refined gold of Chaucer , painting tho lily of Uoccaecio ,

      and adding a perfume to the violet of Petrarch . And in the first instance we are rather surprised at not finding a scrap of prefatory matter—not the most distant allusion to Mr . Arnold ' s predecessors . However , it might be contended that every one is aware of the pedigree of the tale , and that ii would be superfluous to prattle about it . So let that pass ; and now for s taste of the original treatment which shall freshen this old tale with the lighi of a new genius . What do we find ? We find the well-known incidents , of course . W < find some rather feeble and faint treatment ; we also find evidences of tenderness , grace , and gentle pathos ; likewise stray gleams and flutterings oi poetry . And furthermore we find this : —

      [ Arnold . ] Gkiselda ^/& a cup and presents it . Tht Marquis drinks , and turning round ^ addresses her . Griselda , How Iiketh thee my wife ? Seem these young roses Fair enough for a lord to wear at heart ? Griselda . Right so , my lord ; for in good faith and truth , A fairer saw I never one than she ; I pray they wither not : I pray to God To send you both of his good grace delights , And pleasance , and fair fortunes , and long loves , Unto your life ' s end . ( iVbrae speak . Griselda turns to the Princess . ) Thou bad ' st me tell thee what I was at Court , Fair mistress mine . I was what thou wilt be , There were some few did love me , —for my sake I bid them love my sweet supplanter so ! ( Griselda turns to the Marquis . ) I shall not speak again . Let me say this , I do beseech you , and I humbly warn , That , as ye have this tender maiden ta ' en , Ye try her not ; nor grieve liei tenderness . I pray you think I say it of true heart , For your dear peace . She is not like as I , — She hath been fostered with high nourishing More daintily ; and to my thinking , lord , She raight not all adversity endure , As could a poorly fostered peasant-girl ! ( The Marquis starts from Ids seat , and embraces her with passionate fondness . } Marquis . This is enough ! Griselda mine ! end fear , Die doubt ! Oh , now my heart hath room to beat ! Oh , sorely , surely tried , —oh , great of heart ; Oh , noble wifely patience , —now I know-That nothing breaks it ! Brave heart , pardon me ! £ ( Griselda is speechless and amazed . " ) Oh , dost thou doubt me yet ? Griselda , by the God that for us died , Thou art my wife ! no leave to change I had , Nor wished for ; so God save me ! This fair child Is daughter of thy body , and this boy Her twin-born brother ! See , I kept them safe ! They were at Tailua , —oh , not dead !—not dead ! Take them with twelve years' beauty more than when Thou gavest them me . And let no man bethink 111 of this deed , —it was not idly done ; But for to try thoo in thy womanhood , And guerdon thee and me ! ( GiuaKLDA falls down swooning , ( hen recovering , calls to her children , and piteouslg embraces t / tem . " ) Grisiclda . God thank it you ! God thank it you , sweet lord ! That you have saved mo so my children dear ! I reck not to bo dead now these arc hero , And I stand in your lovo ! My tondor ones , Your woeful mother weened that cruel hounds Had eaten you ! But God , of his good will , And your good fathcr ' n love , hath kept ¦ y ou well ! Kiss mo ! cling both to mo ! ( , S 7 /< : swoons again , and they separata her children from her ( inns with difficulty . )

      rjCHAuCEB . 3 ; Grisilde ( quod he , as it were in his play ) , How Iiketh thee my wife and her beautee?—Bight well , my lord , quod she , for , in : good fay , A fairer saw I never non than she . 0 thing beseche I you , and warne also , That ye ne prickke with no turmenting This tendre maiden , as ye han do mo , For she is fostred in hire norishing More tendrely , and , to my supposing , She mighte not . adversitee endure As coude a poure-fostred creature . This is ynough , Grisildis mine , quod he ; Be now no more aghast , ne evil afraid ; 1 have thy faith and thy benignitee , As well as ever woman was , assaid In gret estat and pourelich arraid : Now know I , dere wife , thy stedefastnesse . And hire in armes he toke , and gan to kesse , And she for wonder toke of it no kepe . . .... Grisilde , quod he , by God that for ua deid , Thou art my wife ; that other faithfully Shal be min heir , as I have ay disposed ; Thou bare hem of thy body trewely ; At Boloigne have I kept hem prively : Take hem agen , for now maist thou not say That thou hast lorn none of thy children . tway . And folk that otherwise han said of me , I warne hem wcl that I have done this dede For no malice , ne for no crueltee , But for to assay in thee thy womanhe . de . ... .. * When she this herd , as woune doun Bhe falleth For pitous joy ; and , after hire swouning , She bothe hire yonge children to hire calleth , And in hire armes , pitously weping , Embraceth hem , and , tendrely kissing , Full like a moder , with hire salte teres , She bathed both their visage and their heres . Grand mercy ! Lord , God thank it you ( quod ahe ) , That yo han savbd mo my children doro : Now rekko I nover to bo ded right here , Sin I stond in your lovo and iu your grace . O tendre , O dero , O yongo children mine f Your woful mother wenfcd stodfastly That cruel houndes , or some foul vermina Hud eten you ; but God of his mercy , And your benigne fader tendroly Until don you kope : and , in that SOluO stouud , Al Bodenly who awapt adoun to ground . And in hire swough so sadly holdcth sha Hire children two , when eho gan hem embrace , That witli gret sleight and grot difficultoo Tho children from their arm they gan araco .

  • Citation
    • Leader (1850-1860), May 10, 1856, page 19, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_10051856/page/19/