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taste of the period will allow. In such figures as "owl-droppings," and "the ostrich turning its broad end to heaven," he goes beyond the standing limits of this century. In 'Sartor Resartus,' the name "Teufelsdroeckh" and the "Nobleman's Epitaph" would hardly

be tolerated if rendered in the vernacular.

Under errors in Taste might also be reckoned his barbarisms and solecisms of language. Farther, almost universally he is charged with abusing his vast figurative resources, with carrying his figurative manner to excess. He would seem to have been conscious of his liability to this charge before it was made: in a passage already quoted from the Sartor, he speaks of labouring under figurative plethora. At the same time, it is undoubtedly to the freshness and variety of his figures that he owes a great part of his reputation.

KINDS OF COMPOSITION.

Description.

In Carlyle's powers of description lies one of his most indisputable claims to high literary rank. He seems to have studied the art most elaborately. We can gather from his various books that all his life long he had watched human beings and natural scenery with an eye to the rendering of their peculiarities into language. Especially in his later writings he describes with incomparable felicity.

In the delineation of external nature, "his peculiarities are to bring forward in strong relief the comprehensive aspects, to impress these by iteration and by picturesque comparisons, to use the language of the associated feelings, and in the shape of harmonious groupings to introduce some of the elements of poetry." The following, from the last volume of 'Friedrich,' exemplifies his statement, repetition, and illustration of the general features of a scene:—

"Torgau itself stands near Elbe; on the shoulder, eastern or Elbeward shoulder, of a big mass of Knoll, or broad Height, called of Siptitz, the main eminence of the Gau. Shoulder, I called it, of this Height of Siptitz; but more properly it is on a continuation, or lower ulterior height dipping into Elbe itself, that Torgau stands. Siptitz Height, nearly a mile from Elbe, dips down into a straggle of ponds; after which, on a second or final rise, comes Torgau dipping into Elbe. Not a shoulder strictly, but rather a cheek, with neck intervening;-neck goitry for that matter, or quaggy with ponds! The old Town stands high enough, but is enlaced on the western and southern side by a set of lakes and quagmires, some of which are still extensive and undrained. The course of the waters hereabouts, and of Elbe itself, has had its intricacies; close to north-west, Torgau is bordered, in a straggling way, by what they call Old Elbe; which is not now a fluent entity,

1 The two its with different references are awkward. In place of "I called it," he should have used some such expression as "I said," without the it.

but a stagnant congeries of dirty waters and morasses. The Hill of Siptitz abuts in that aqueous or quaggy manner; its fore-feet being, as it were, at or in Elbe River, and its sides, to the south and to the north for some distance each way, considerably enveloped in ponds and boggy difficulties."

The following, from his article on Dr Francia, illustrates his dexterity in making a description vivid by imagining the feelings of a spectator:

"Few things in late war, according to General Miller, have been more noteworthy than this march. The long straggling line of soldiers, six thousand and odd, with their quadrupeds and baggage, winding through the heart of the Andes, breaking for a brief moment the old abysmal solitudes ! For you fare along, on some narrow roadway, through stony labyrinths; huge rock-mountains hanging over your head on this hand, and under your feet on that; the roar of mountain-cataracts, horror of bottomless chasms;- -the very winds and echoes howling on you in an almost preternatural manner. Towering rock-barriers rise sky-high before you, and behind you, and around you; intricate the outgate! The roadway is narrow; footing none of the best. Sharp turns there are, where it will behove you to mind your paces; one false step, and you will need no second; in the gloomy jaws of the abyss you vanish, and the spectral winds howl requiem. Somewhat better are the suspension-bridges, made of bamboo and leather, though they swing like see-saws: men are stationed with lassos, to gin you dexterously, and fish you up from the torrent, if you trip there."

This passage is also a good example of a description where the particulars support each other: along with towering rocks and a narrow roadway we naturally expect huge abysses and roaring waters. The mention of the hollow winds shows his sensibility to harmonious poetical effects.

"A description is more easily and fully realised when made individual—that is, presented under all the conditions of a particular moment of time." Our author fully understands this: it is one of his cardinal arts. His works abound in picturesque allusions to seasons and times, to temporary attitudes of things and persons. Thus, in his 'Life of Sterling':

"One day in the spring of 1836, I can still recollect, Sterling had proposed to me, by way of wide ramble, useful for various ends, that I should walk with him to Eltham and back, to see this Edgeworth, whom I also knew a little. We went accordingly together; walking rapidly, as was Sterling's wont, and, no doubt, talking extensively. It probably was in the end of February; I can remember leafless hedges, grey driving clouds, procession of boarding-school girls in some quiet part of the route."

Again

"At length some select friends were occasionally admitted; signs of improvement began to appear; and, in the bright twilight, Kensington Gardens were green, and sky and earth were hopeful, as one went to make inquiry. The summer brilliancy was abroad over the world before we fairly saw Sterling again sub dio."

In his account of Walter Raleigh's execution one sentence is

"A cold hoar-frosty morning." Such touches as the following are pretty frequent :

"The Scots delivered their fire with such constancy and swiftness, it was as if the whole air had become an element of fire-in the ancient summer gloaming there."

In describing the tumults after the capture of the Bastile, he suddenly breaks in

"O evening sun of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slant on reapers amid peaceful woody fields; on old women spinning in cottages; on ships far out in the silent main; on Balls at the Orangerie of Versailles, where high-rouged Dames of the Palace are even now dancing with double-jacketed Hussar-officers, and also on this roaring Hell-porch of a Hôtel-de-Ville!”

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One of his most effective groupings is the bivouac of the army that we have just seen described in their passage over the Andes— "What an entity, one of those night-leaguers of San Martin; all steadily snoring there in the heart of the Andes under the eternal stars! Wayworn sentries with difficulty keep themselves awake; tired mules chew barley rations, or doze on three legs; the feeble watch-fire will hardly kindle a cigar; Canopus and the Southern Cross glitter down; and all snore steadily, begirt by granite deserts, looked on by the Constellations in that manner.”

His narratives are eminently pictorial. At every step in the succession of events we are stopped to look at some posture of the actors or their surroundings. This is one of the most striking features in the 'French Revolution;' it may be called a historic word-tapestry, a series of significant word-pictures; it rather describes events in order than relates the order of events. A short example can give but a faint idea of the character of such a work; the following specimen is taken at random. It describes the storming of the palace of Versailles by a mob:

:

"Woe now to all body-guards, mercy is none for them! Miomandre de Sainte-Marie pleads with soft words, on the grand staircase, 'descending four steps' to the roaring tornado. His comrades snatch him up, by the skirts and belts; literally from the jaws of Destruction; and slam-to their door. This also will stand few instants; the panels shivering in, like potsherds. Barricading serves not: fly fast, ye body-guards! rabid Insurrection, like the Hellhound Chase, uproaring at your heels!

"The terror-struck body-guards fly, bolting and barricading; it follows. Whitherward? Through hall on hall: woe, now! towards the Queen's suite of rooms, in the furthest room of which the Queen is now asleep. Five sentinels rush through that long suite; they are in the ante-room knocking loud: Save the Queen!' Trembling women fall at their feet with tears: are answered: Yes, we will die; save ye the Queen!'

"Tremble not, women, but haste: for, lo, another voice shouts far through the outermost door, 'Save the Queen!' and the door is shut. It is brave Miomandre's voice that shouts this second warning. He has stormed across imminent death to do it; fronts imminent death, having done it. Brave Tardivet du Repaire, bent on the same desperate service, was borne down with pikes; his comrades hardly snatched him in again alive. Miomandre

and Tardivet: let the names of these two Body-guards, as the names of brave men should, live long.

"Trembling Maids of Honour, one of whom from afar caught glimpse of Miomandre, as well as heard him, hastily wrap up the Queen; not in robes of state. She flies for her life, across the Eil-de-Bouf; against the maindoor of which, too, Insurrection batters. She is in the King's apartment, in the King's arms; she clasps her children amid a faithful few. The imperial-hearted bursts into mother's tears: 'O my friends, save me and my children! O mes amis, sauvez moi et mes enfans! The battering of Insurrectionary axes clangs audible across the Eil-de-Bœuf. What an hour!"

We might institute a comparison between Macaulay and Carlyle as regards the description of human beings. Take equal portions of their historical works and you find a greater abundance of concrete circumstances in Carlyle than in Macaulay. As a pictorial artist Carlyle is of the two the more studied and elaborate. Hardly an individual crosses Carlyle's page that is not made to appear in some characteristic attitude, or under some significant image: a much greater proportion of Macaulay's personages are mere names and functionaries. But let us take any individual that plays a prominent part in the narrative, and we shall probably find that Macaulay, in his diffuse way, records the greater number of facts concerning him. We have seen that it is so in the case of Johnson (p. 117). Macaulay's narrative contains fewer concrete circumstances upon the whole, but more concerning any prominent individual.

This difference between our two authors connects itself with a deeper difference. Carlyle is more subjective than Macaulay: he systematically attempts to picture the inner man. Partly as a consequence of this, he gives fewer circumstances: the diffuse Macaulay, taking no trouble to group circumstances about a few leading qualities of mind, gives freely out of the abundance of his memory; but Carlyle gives only circumstances that he sees to be characteristic, that he is able to read into consistency with his ideas of the man's nature. Macaulay gives numerous outward particulars, sayings, and doings gathered with confident hand from all manner of anecdotes and reminiscences, and leaves readers very much to their own inferences as to the thoughts and feelings that passed underneath these appearances. He is pre-eminently objective, and his record of circumstances is given in an easy excursive way. Carlyle, on the other hand, laboriously masters the characters of the leading personages in the events that he relates, and struggles to conceive and to represent how they felt and how they expressed their feelings in the various situations touched upon in his narrative: he is too intensely concentrated upon the immediately relevant situations to go gossiping away into previous incidents in the lives of the personages concerned.

Take as a faint illustration one particular case.

Macaulay's

account of the English Revolution is much less pictorial upon the whole than Carlyle's 'French Revolution.' But Macaulay gives us a great many more particulars concerning the principal statesmen at the Court of Charles II. than Carlyle gives us concerning the principal statesmen at the Court of Louis XV. Carlyle takes up a particular moment, the illness of Louis XV., and dramatically represents how this fact was regarded by various personages and classes throughout Paris according to their several characters: the abundant pictorial matter is given chiefly in illustration of characteristic thoughts and feelings.

Narrative.

As already incidentally remarked (p. 158), Carlyle's narrative method is seen to most advantage in his Friedrich.' In the 'French Revolution' there are many defects afterwards overcome. The introduction of new personages is there less carefully attended to. There also he errs greatly in the excess of his moralisings and preachings, which perpetually interrupt the narrative.

·

In the Friedrich,' through his intense desire to be lucid, to put himself in the reader's place, and appreciate difficulties, the minor arts of narrative are carefully observed. His ordinary narrative paragraph, although never absolutely perfect, is seldom perplexed by the confusion of the persons acting. He always notices the appearance or disappearance of important agents, and, knowing the difficulties of description, does not unguardedly shift the scenes. His long introduction to the history of Friedrich's reign, extending through two volumes, is exemplary in these respects: whatever may be said of the wild phantasmagoric or pantomimic character of the narrative, it certainly has the merit of making us distinctly aware when new figures appear, and when they depart, and of not only bringing but keeping under our attention the place and the circumstances. He also understands well the necessity of supporting the main story in its place of prominence, of indicating collateral and dependent events in their proper character, and of making all his transitions broad and apparent. His imaginary authorities, Dryasdust and Sauerteig, and "the wellknown hand" that contributes subordinate narratives, have this to be said as a justification of their existence, that they do help to keep separate what the author considers of inferior from what he considers of superior importance. Dryasdust gives numerous particulars of small consequence about the private life of the prince, and does such dry business as A peep into the Nosti-Grumkow Correspondence caught up in St Mary Axe:" Sauerteig gives wild views about the proper persons to write history, and does the unpalatable work of defending old Friedrich's character in the loftiest

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