Iv — Mother Tongue
“Let foreign nations of their language boast
What fine variety each tongue affords,
I like our language as our men and coast,
Who cannot dress it well want wit not words.”
“Great, verily,” says Camden, “was the glory of our tongue before the Norman conquest, in this, that the old English could express most aptly all the conceptions of the mind in their own speech without borrowing from any.”
We still draw from the same wells of meaning as did Chaucer and Camden; the language, by additions from foreign sources, as by native growth, having now become the most composite of any; it is the one we speak, and affect to teach. If we have few masters, it is because we yet cultivate other tongues at its cost. Scholars praise the exceeding richness and beauty of the best writers of the age of Elizabeth, but fail to inform us by what happy chances, whether by force of genius altogether, or more natural methods of study, the language and literature came to its prime in that period. Meanwhile it were not amiss for us to listen to the great authors and teachers of those golden days when our tongue had the sweep and splendor, the force, depth, accuracy, the grace and flexibility proper to its genius and idiom, if we may learn from these authorities by what method they attained to their proficiency in its use; instructors of Princes, as they were, and inspirers of those who made the literature.
Roger Ascham—Queen Elizabeth’s school-master—proposed after teaching the common rudiments of grammar to begin a course of double translation, first from Latin into English, and shortly after from English into Latin, correcting the mistakes of the student and leading to the formation of a classical style, by pointing out the differences between the re-translation and the original, and explaining their reasons. “His whole system is built upon the principle of dispensing as much as possible with the details of grammar, and he supports his theory by a triumphant reference to its practical effects, especially as displayed in the case of Queen Elizabeth, whose well known proficiency in Latin, he declares to have been obtained without grammatical rules, after the very simplest had been mastered.”
Sir Philip Sidney, whose opinions are of the highest importance in these matters, speaking in his “Defence of Poesie,” says:
“Another will say that English wanteth grammar. Nay, truly, it hath that praise that it wants not grammar; for grammar it might have, but needs not, being so easie in itselfe and so void of those cumbersome differencies of cases, genders, moods and tenses, which I think was a piece of the tower of Babylon’s curse, that a man should be put to schoole to learn his mother tongue. But for the uttering sweetly and properly the conceit of the minde which is the end of speech, that it hath equally with any other tongue in the world.”D
Milton, to whom, next to Shakespeare our tongue owes most, and who spent much time in compiling an English Dictionary, writes in one of his Italian Letters:
“Whoever in a state, knows how to form wisely the manners and men and to rule them at home and in war, by excellent institutions, him in the first place above all others I should esteem worthy of honor. But next to him, the man who strives in maxims and rules the method and habit of speaking and writing derived from a good age of the nation, and as it were to fortify the same round with a kind of wall, the daring to overleap which a law only short of that of Romulus should be used to prevent. Should we choose to compare the two in respect to utility, it is the former alone that can make the social existence of the citizens just and holy, but it is the latter that makes it splendid and beautiful, which is the next thing to be desired. The one, as I believe, supplies a noble courage and intrepid counsels against an enemy invading the territory; the other takes to himself the task of extirpating and defeating by means of a learned detective police of ears, and a light-infantry of good authors, that barbarism which makes large inroads upon the minds of men and is a destructive intestine enemy to genius. Nor is it to be considered of small importance what language, pure or corrupt, a people has, or what is their customary degree of propriety in speaking it—a matter which oftener than once was the salvation of Athens. Nay, as it is Plato’s opinion, that, by a change in the manner and habit of dress, serious commotions and mutations are portended in a commonwealth, I, for my part, would rather believe that the fall of that city, and low and obscure condition, followed on the general vitiation of its usage in the matter of speech. For let the words of a country be in part unhandsome and offensive in themselves, in part debased by wear, and wrongly uttered, and what do they declare but by no light indication, that the inhabitants of that country are an indolent, idly-yawning race, with minds already prepared for any amount of servility? On the other hand, we have never heard that any empire, any state, did not flourish in at least a middling degree as long as its liking and care for its language lasted.”
Devotees of grammatical studies have not been distinguished for any very remarkable felicities of expression. If we consult our experience we shall find that we owe much to the home dialect, the school, the books we read, the letters we write; to our fellowships, the practice of such living speakers and writers as chance threw in our way, our habits of thinking, observations of life and things, the cultivation of the sensibilities, imagination, the common sense, more than all else besides. A man’s speech is the measure of his culture; a graceful utterance the first born of the arts.
Nature is the armory of genius. Cities serve it poorly; books and colleges at second hand; the eye craves the spectacle of the horizon, of mountain, ocean, river and plain, the clouds and stars: actual contact with the elements, sympathy with the seasons as these rise and roll. And whoever will strike bold strokes for institutions and literature, must be often afoot with nature and thought in his eye for grasping the select rhetoric for his theme.
VI
Books
“As great a store
Have we of books as bees of herbs, or more,
And the great task to try them, know the good,
To discern weeds and judge of wholesome food,
Is a rare scant performance.”
Daniel.
Books
Good books, like good friends, are few and chosen; the more select the more enjoyable; and like these are approached with diffidence, nor sought too familiarly nor too often, having the precedence only when friends tire. The most mannerly of companions, accessible at all times, in all moods, they frankly declare the author’s mind, without giving offence. Like living friends they too have their voice and physiognomies, and their company is prized as old acquaintances. We seek them in our need of counsel or of amusement, without impertinence or apology, sure of having our claims allowed. A good book justifies our theory of personal supremacy, keeping this fresh in the memory and perennial. What were days without such fellowship? We were alone in the world without it. Nor does our faith falter though the secret we search for and do not find in them will not commit itself to literature, still we take up the new issue with the old expectation, and again and again, as we try our friends after many failures at conversation, believing this visit will be the favored hour and all will be told us. Nor do I know what book I can well spare, certainly none that has admitted me, though it be but for the moment and by the most oblique glimpse, into the mind and personality of its author; though few there are that prefer such friendly claim to one’s regard, and satisfy expectation as he turns their leaves. Our favorites are few; since only what rises from the heart reaches it, being caught and carried on the tongues of men wheresoever love and letters journey.
Nor need we wonder at their scarcity or the value we set upon them; life, the essence of good letters as of friendship, being its own best biographer, the artist that portrays the persons and thoughts we are, and are becoming. And the most that even he can do, is but a chance stroke or two at this fine essence housed in the handsome dust, but too fugitive and coy to be caught and held fast for longer than the passing glance; the master touching ever and retouching the picture he leaves unfinished.
“My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.”
I find books like persons more attractive as they are the more suggestive, more mythical and difficult to render at once to the senses, and enjoy them the more for this blending of nature with mind,—the text sparkling with the author’s personality. What is thus implied is more gracefully delivered than if written literally; it piques then the fancy more and calls the higher gifts into play; and an author best serves me who, speaking alike to imagination and reason, arms with figures apt for occasions, thus pluming the genius for discourse. And the like may be said of the dictionaries: opened at hazard in lively moods, the columns become charged with thought, as if each word were blood-wise and fleshed with meaning. Again, books professing system and completeness are wont to be dry and unprofitable save for their facts and inferences; truth the flowing essence of things, the substance of being, accosting the mind most gracefully as a flowing form, fixed for the moment of passing only in the mind’s eye, and is studied to best advantage rather in books of biography and poetry than of history or science, wherein the personality is oftenest lost in abstractions of fact. Reading, like conversation, is an idealism most profitable as it calls imagination into play, and thus leads forth all other gifts.
Books of table-talk have this advantage over most others; being the best companions for the moment, they can be taken up and laid down without loss, and when sensible are best whetstones for the wits. With the essayists, the poets, books of letters and lives, one’s library were always alive and inviting. Good for moments these are always good: we may open by chance, dip anywhere, read in any order, begin at the last paragraph and read backward as well; obvious consecutiveness being of less consequence. Nor do I find the logic the worse when thus seemingly broken and obscure, since each paragraph is a unit standing apart yet all related in the perspective which the reader commands. We could not spare from our galaxy the great essayists and moralists, Pliny, Plutarch, Xenophon, Plato, Epictetus, Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, Montaigne, Bacon, Sir Thomas Browne Cowley, Coleridge, and the rest; each delineating in his proper way that antique faith in man and the world, which being one and universal in essence, unites all mankind. We know the history of these pieces of life, these experiences recorded for us by their inspired authors, as if themselves were scribes of the spirit and committed it to letters for our especial benefit.
Any library is an attraction. And there is an indescribable delight—who has not felt it that deserves the name of scholar—in mousing at choice among the alcoves of antique book-shops especially, and finding the oldest of these sometimes newest of the new, fresher, more suggestive than the book just published and praised in the reviews. Nor is the pleasure scarcely less of cutting the leaves of the new volume, opening by preference at the end rather than title-page, and seizing the author’s conclusions at a glance. Very few books repay the reading in course. Nor can we excuse an author if his page does not tempt us to copy passages into our common places, for quotation, proverbs, meditation, or other uses. A good book is fruitful of other books; it perpetuates its fame from age to age, and makes eras in the lives of its readers.
One must be rich in thought and character to owe nothing to books, though preparation is necessary to profitable reading; and the less reading is better than more;—book-struck men are of all readers least wise, however knowing or learned.
“Books cannot make the mind,
Which we must bring apt to be set aright,
Yet do they rectify it in that kind
And touch it so as that they turn that way
Where judgment lies. And though we may not find
The certain place of truth, yet do they stay
And entertain us near about the same,
And give the soul the best delight that may
Encheer it most, and make our spirits enflame
To thoughts of glory and to worthy deeds.”
Moreover for gifts, what so gracefully bestowed as fitting books conveying what no words of the giver could convey? Were the history of the few books of the heart published, what more enduring compliment would this confer on their authors! Perhaps the finest books have least fame and find but a few choice readers. ’Tis high praise bestowed on an author that his book is taken up with love and expectation, we coming to his page again and again without disappointment. To be enjoyable a book must be wholesome like nature, and flavored with the religion of wisdom.
Books of letters bring the reader nearest to the life and personality of the writer:
“For more than kisses letters mingle souls,
For then friends absent meet.”
Written with this advantage of perspective, the epistle is oftentimes more acceptable than were the interview, more discreet and opportune, since committing ourselves to the writing with a kind of reserved abandonment, if I may thus characterize our mood, which in conversation we might naturally overleap, we give that only in which another may modestly sympathize and share—so shading our egotism as to tell all about ourselves with the delicacy of self-respect without wounding that of others. Epistolary correspondence is the most difficult and delicate of all composition. And this perhaps accounts for the few books of the kind in our or any language; and the best of these mostly written by women who give themselves heartily to sentiment. One may think himself fortunate if the gift be his, and his experience find expression in his correspondence. Perhaps the diary has this advantage over letters; we make it our confidant committing to its leaves what we would not to another; sure of the sacred trust being kept for us. And the most interesting biographies are composed largely of these. The more autobiographical the more attractive. The keeping of a journal is an education. Let every one try his hand at one and begin young. If it get the best of his hours and an autobiography out of him, neither his time has been misspent nor has he lived in vain. A life worth living is worth recording. To what end lives any, if he fail of getting apparent order at least into it; living in a manner worthy of celebrity? Life were poor enough that does not organize the chaos and bring the joy of creation, pronouncing it and all things good, excellence ever falling naturally into order and melody. Let one value above all literary fame the gift of seizing and portraying his privatest thought,—the homely furnitures and primogenitures,—and if but partially successful consider himself as having attained the fairest laurels the muse has to bestow. As the best fruits of the season fall latest and keep the longest, so those of a lifetime; and fortunate is he whose genius thus gathers his choicest samples housed carefully in a book for any who may relish their flavor.
One cannot be well read unless well seasoned in thought and experience. Life makes the man. And he must have lived in all his gifts and become acclimated herein to profit by his readings. Living at the breadth of Shakspeare, the depth of Plato, the height of Christ, gives the mastery, or if not that, a worthy discipleship. Life alone divines life. We read as we live; the book being for us the deeper or the shallower as we are. If read from the reason, it answers to the reason, but fails of finding imagination, the moral sentiment, the affections, fails of making valid its claims upon the deepest instincts of the heart,—those critics of inspiration and interpreters,—all books owing their credibility to the fact of being written from, and addressed to these, as eye-witnesses and sponsors. Mothers of our mothers we are ever at their teats. Most owe more to tradition than to culture or literature; the best of literature as of nurture, being still largely tinctured with tradition. Our debt to the Hebrew scriptures has been greater doubtless than to any literature hitherto accessible to us of the Saxon stock; greater than to all foreign literatures besides. And now the instincts prompt thoughtful minds as never before to explore the prime sources and drink freely at the fountains.
“Are mouldy records now the living springs,
Whose healing waters slake the thirst within?
Oh! never yet hath mortal drank
A draught restorative
That well’d not from the depths of his own soul.”
Very desirable it were since the gates of the East are now opening wide and giving the free commerce of mind with mind, to collect and compare the Bibles of the races for general circulation and careful reading. For still out of the Theban night rays the light of our day and blends with all our thinking and doing—China, Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Palestine, Greece, Rome, Britain—the christendom and world of to-day.
Why nibbling always where
Ye nothing fresh can find
Upon those rocks?
Lo! meadows green and fair!
Come pasture here your mind,
Ye bleating flocks.
VII
Counsels
“Counsel is not so sacred a thing as praise, since the former is only useful among men, but the latter is for the most part reserved for the gods.”
—Pythagoras.
Counsels
Notes
C “It might be thought serious trifling,” says the accomplished Bishop Berkeley, “to tell my readers that the greatest of men had ever a high esteem of Plato, whose writings are the touchstone of a hasty and shallow mind, whose philosophy has been the admiration of ages; which supplied patriots, magistrates and lawgivers to the most flourishing states, as well as fathers of the church and doctors of the schools. Albeit, in these days, the depths of that old learning are rarely fathomed. And yet it were happy for these lands if our young nobility and gentry, instead of modern maxims would imbibe the notions of the great men of antiquity. But in these loose times many an empty head is shook at Aristotle and Plato, as well as the Holy Scriptures. Certainly, where a people are well educated, the art of piloting a state is best learned from the writings of Plato.”
D “We learn languages,” says Luther, “much better by way of mouth at home, in the street, than out of books. Letters are dead words; the utterances of the mouth, are living words, which in writing can never stand forth so distinct and excellent, as the soul of man bodies them forth through the mouth. Tell me where was there ever a language, which men could learn to speak with correctness and propriety by the rules of grammar. Yet let none think or conclude from all this, that I would reject the grammars altogether.”