A reader who, with this scheme before him, shall study each of the four narratives in succession, will probably think with us, that no simpler method of reconciling them is to be expected. It may also give a favourable specimen of the scrupulous care with which the author endeavours to adjust all their details. Nor will it be easy to name any book in the language, giving in so small a compass so much information bearing on the subject. When a book has substantial merits, and the general style is not merely unaffected, but flowing and accurate, it may seem hypercritical to advance an objection against the good taste of certain epithets. But we cannot avoid expressing a wish that the author had expunged in numerous places the words invaluable, all-important, remarkable, stupendous, &c. &c., which, when often repeated, do not appear to us really to elevate the subject. We are also at a loss to know why he entitles his book "An apostolical Harmony."

Art. III. Imperial Classics.--Sir John Froissart's Chronicles of England, France, Spain, &c. Johne's Translation. New Edition, with Notes and Illustrations. 2 vols. imperial 8vo. 1839. Smith, London.

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N comparing the histories which are written in a very rude, and in a very advanced and highly civilized state of society, one cannot fail to be struck with the fact, that they are generally chargeable with two opposite faults, both equally at variance with the spirit which should always preside over the composition of history. In the first, the poetic spirit predominates, in the second, the philosophic; in the first, there is a ponderance of imagination, in the second, of reason; in the first, we are apt to find little more than graphic description; in the second, we are often obliged to be contented with the most meagre and general statements of facts, while there is an excess of deduction and speculation founded upon them. The truth is, that history falls pretty equally under the dominion of imagination and reason, and it is essential to its perfection that the balance between both should be preserved, and that neither should be exercised to the detriment of the other. Imagination is necessary to give an adequate conception of the scenes and events described, to make the past present, to bring the distant near, and to impart verisimilitude to the narration; while a sagacious and comprehensive intellect is equally required, to extract from the events of history those lessons of moral wisdom, and those maxims of political science, without which it is hardly worth while to write it at all. Without imagination a narrative will not be sufficiently special and vivid; it will assume, more or less, the unimpressive

form of dry chronicle. Without philosophy, though there may be splendid description, it will be of no more value than that of a novel or romance, and indeed the gratification it imparts to the reader will be of precisely the same kind. As a perfect history demands so great a variety and nice equilibrium of all the mental powers, together with the extensive and indefatigable research which is necessary to supply materials, it is far from surprising that there should be so few works which even approximate to perfection in this most difficult species of composition.

It is not at all wonderful, that in histories composed in an early and rude state of society, the imaginative element should be found so decidedly to preponderate. The course of development which the human mind takes is the same, whether in the species or the individual. In the infancy of nations, as of men, the senses and the imagination are chiefly active, and the material and the visible are every-where predominant. Thus in early histories, as in that of Herodotus among the ancients, and Froissart among the moderns, we find little of general statement; and nothing of abstract reasoning, or philosophical disquisition. They are distinguished by minuteness and speciality in the facts related, and by the most graphic liveliness in the modes of relating them. Not only are actions and events told us, but the manner of them; battles, sieges, personal encounters, negociations, deliberations, are described with as much copiousness as if they took place under the very eye of the historian. This, though it imparts wondrous vividness to the description by filling the imagination, detracts from the value of the whole, considered as history; for there must be in every such case an intermixture of what is false with what is true, which leaves us in doubt what to receive and what to reject. Even where a fact is authentic, we cannot tell that it took place in the manner stated, nor how far the circumstances with which it stands connected are additions made for the purpose of embellishment and picturesque effect. Nor does the matter rest here. The same tendency of mind causes the historian to look at every thing not with relation to its historic value, that is, its truth, but with reference to its capabilities of being wrought up in splendid or imposing description; in a word, in relation to the picturesque. And thus it is, that in writers of this description, we meet with so large an infusion of fiction and legends. This indeed may be partly accounted for on other grounds; the love of such things being aided by that superstition which is so prevalent in the infancy of nations. This, however, is not always necessary to account for the eager pursuit of this species of the marvellous. We have abundant reason to believe, that writers of this stamp have often inserted prodigies and fictions to which they gave no credit themselves. The we λeyoval of Herodotus seems to imply that this was sometimes the case with him, and the sly manner of Froissart is not less conspicuous.

Such might naturally be expected to be the characteristics of historians of an early age. Nothing that we have said, however, is incompatible with the supposition of great honesty, great diligence, and to a certain degree, correctness on the part of such writers. This, paradoxical as it may appear, we hope in the sequel satisfactorily to establish.

Herodotus and Froissart are both remarkable specimens of the species of historians whose characteristics we have been illustrating. They perhaps resemble one another as much as any two writers, one ancient and the other modern, that could be selected for comparison. It is true, indeed, that the Frenchman has not the charm of style, and the graces of language and composition, which are found in the Greek. In truth, the same marked inferiority of taste seems to characterize all the early efforts of the moderns, in every species of literature, as compared with those of the ancients. But the points in which the two writers agree are far more striking and numerous than those in which they differ. In both, the imagination is throughout predominant; both have the same passion for speciality and minuteness of description; both seem to look at history as a species of the romance, and present the same ignorance of its philosophic character, and its true purpose; both regard their materials with the eye of poets, and select and reject them rather with a view to their picturesque effect than to their historic value; both write as much or more to amuse than to instruct; both were indefatigable in the collection of materials, and roamed the world over to fill their scrap-books with whatever was rare and marvellous; both manifested the same laudable diligence in endeavouring to obtain information, and both the same general honesty of purpose. Gray, no mean critic, well states the general resemblance in a letter to a friend. I rejoice' says he, you have met with Froissart; he is the He'rodotus of a barbarous age: had he but had the luck of writing in as good a language, he might have been immortal! His lo'comotive disposition, (for then there was no other way of learning things,) his simple curiosity, his religious credulity, were much like those of the old Grecian.' The Herodotean charm of ample and minute description, of relating not only what was done, but how it was done, not only who were the actors and speakers, but the very words they uttered, nay, the looks and gestures which accompanied them; all this charm, we say, is found as much in the pages of Froissart as in those of Herodotus. It is a charm, however, which is greatly impaired the moment we consider the works of these great writers as designed for more than amusement, since the style of narrative in which it resides, altogether confounds the limits of history and fiction, and prevents us from knowing exactly what to keep or what to throw away. The historic basis in such narratives is doubtless true, as is the

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VOL. VI.

historic basis of Ivanhoe and Kenilworth, but with such additions and embellishments, that it is impossible to discriminate exactly between truth and the fictitious ornaments in which she is clothed. What has been said of Herodotus may well be said of Froissart, that his work is not properly a history, though it is probably 'more delightful than the very best history.'

We have said that both are distinguished by honesty of purpose, and indefatigable diligence in collecting their materials and verifying their observations. This, as already said, may at first seem at variance with the statements previously made. Nevertheless, paradoxical as the assertion may appear, those statements may be easily reconciled. The faults of both are great, we readily admit; so great as in a considerable degree to deprive their works of their historic value, and to reduce them to the level of the historical romance. But their faults are not those of dishonesty of purpose, or of indolence and carelessness. They are such as might be expected from the age in which they lived, from its easy credulity where the marvellous was concerned, from its love of whatever appealed to the imagination, from the character of those works which, in the absence as yet of all genuine history, were the favourites of the people, and which naturally gave a tone to the first attempts in this species of composition. They might both almost be called the fathers of history' in their respective eras, and necessarily wrote in comparative ignorance of those principles on which all just criticism ought to be founded. Hence the imaginative dress which they gave to facts, and their selection and disposition of materials with reference to graphic effect, all which, as we have so often said, makes history in their hands wear almost the appearance of romance. But all this may be admitted without compromising either their honesty or their diligence. Though Herodotus may perhaps be suspected here and there of some natural partialities for his countrymen, his general integrity and unwearied diligence in collecting facts have never been questioned, while recent researches have shown in many points a far greater approximation to accuracy than had before been suspected. Froissart is equally entitled to the praise of diligence, while his honesty and impartiality are still more conspicuous. Though a Frenchman himself, and compelled to record events most humiliating to his country, he has spoken with the utmost frankness and honesty. He has been accused indeed by some French writers, of a want of fairness to his native country. Considering that whatever bias he had must have been in its favour, this very accusation is perhaps the highest testimony which could be given to his fidelity; not to add that the best French critics, especially M. St. Palaye, who has favoured the world with an elaborate critique on Froissart's life and writings,-have defended him from this accusation, and have acknowledged that he has expressed himself,

even on occasions on which some partiality might have been expected and palliated, with the most exemplary fairness. The same observations apply to his relations of other events and transactions besides those which affected England and France.

Froissart was an ecclesiastic, but far, very far from a strict one, and, if truth must be spoken, did but little honour to the cloth. He was indeed thoroughly a man of the world, as fond of gaiety and dissipation as any Frenchman of modern times; nor are many things more amusing than the naïveté and frankness with which he acknowledges his passion for every species of courtly and fashionable amusement then in vogue; for the banqueting-hall, and the tournament; for the active exercises of chivalry, for the amusements of the chase and the dangerous pastime of war. Little does he seem to have been troubled by matins or vespers, by prayer or penance. He was rarely found in his cell, and still more rarely at his devotions. A jolly roundelay seems to have suited him far better than singing or hallooing of anthems,' and the tinkling of the lute than the sound of the organ. He was, in truth, in many respects, a very fac-simile of the jolly monk so well described by Chaucer:

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'A monk there was, a fair* for the mastery,
Ant out-rider, that loved venery ;+

A manly man to ben an abbot able;

Full many a dainty horse had he in stable;
And when he rode men might his bridle hear
Gingling in a whistling wind, as clear
And eke as loud as doth the chapel bell,
Theres as this lord was keeper of the cell.'

A sketch of the biography of so singular a divine would not be uninteresting. But, unhappily, there is comparatively little that is known respecting him. Considering the ample details which he gives us of his movements, how frequently he makes mention of himself as present at the scenes he describes, or conversing with the actors in them, it is astonishing how very little we know of his personal history. Incessantly travelling as he was, his own adventures, especially in such an age, must have been singular; yet almost the only personal incident that he has recorded, was the unpleasant one of being robbed in one of his long journies. This adventure is celebrated in a long poem which contains also some other incidents in his life. 'In this poem,' says M. de St. Palaye, he paints himself as a man of much expense: besides the revenue of the living of Lestines, which was considerable, he

+ Hunting.