was-to what use and purpose? And having received a satisfactory answer, he further inquired after the cause. Any fact or event that did not lead to some political point, he despised and neglected. He was like the bookkeeper in a mercantile establishment, who extracts from a lengthy correspondence only the amount of the Dr. and Cr. resulting from it, and omits noticing the other news contained in them, though aware of their importance for the concern in general. History, from the pen of a Roman, is little more than a register of the fortunate and unfortunate events of the republic, and treated in the same way as their jurisprudence, the leading features of which were the welfare of majestic Rome, and the political principles of her early settlers. To this skeleton in history and law were adjusted and adapted all the passing events, with a tact and order that distinguish their jurisprudence as a masterpiece of practical science, and their history as a work free of all theoretical and abstract speculations.

This character is evident in the very language of the old historical frag

ments. Their language is more pragmatic, precise, and distinct in conveying single and detached notions, than that of the Greek historians, because the Roman weighed and examined with more perseverance and sang froid single facts and notions, than the lively and volatile Greek. The Roman, as if conscious that the events related in his history had no philosophical thread to unite them, called the works of the historians libri historiarum (books of stories), not history! Still more is that spirit visible in the definition the Romans themselves gave of history, and the remarks they made on it. Thus they distinguished annals from diaries (acta diurna), by assigning to the former great and important events, and to the latter indifferent ones. We easily see that they meant, by their great and important events, those concerning the Romans. The arts, sciences, and vicissitudes of other nations were considered a matter of indifference, and were consequently excluded from the sphere of history.

Sempron. Asel. ap. Gell. v. c. 18; Cic. de Orat. 11. 15; Tac. An. XIII. c. 31.

RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW.

Old French and Anglo-Norman Literature, No. V.-Miracle Plays of the
Fifteenth Century.↑

WE have, of late, had our attention frequently called to editions of the Mysteries and Miracle-plays of the Middle Ages, both in English and French. They form, certainly, an extremely interesting and amusing class of our early literature, both inasmuch as they are striking illustrations of popular manners and sentiments, and as they exhibit to us, in a very singular manner, the workings of the imagination while in a rude state of cultivation. In former notices we have had occasion to allude more or less to the general subject of these early stage representations, and we therefore think it necessary in our present article to confine ourselves to the work by M. Jubinal, whose title is given at the foot of the page.

M. Jubinal's two volumes, of which the first only is yet published, consist of Miracle-plays (not, as he has entitled the work, Mysteries) taken from a volume that formerly belonged to the Monastery of St. Genevieve at Paris. In this first volume are contained, the play of the Martyrdom of St. Stephen, those of the Conversion of St. Paul and the Conversion of St. Denis, the Martyrdom of St. Peter and St. Paul, that of St. Denis and his companions, a number of dramatic pieces whose subjects are taken from the Miracles of St. Genevieve, and, lastly, the play of the life of St. Fiacre. Among so many pieces, there is

+ Mystères inédits du quinzième siècle, publiés pour la première fois, avec l'autorisation de M. le Ministre de l'Instruction Publique, par Achille Jubinal, d'après le MS. unique de la Bibliothèque Ste. Geneviève. Tome premier, 8vo. Paris, Techener. London, Pickering, 1837.

GENT. MAG. VOL. VIII.

F

naturally much variety, and while some are full of action and even of farce, others can only be considered as a popular form of theological discourses. The mixture of tragedy and comedy in some of them is extremely curious. As in most other similar productions, the devils are in general comic characters, and, whether in plotting among themselves, or in showing fight against the saints and their spiritual protectors, we always find them passing broad jests and "talking Billingsgate" to great perfection. Sometimes, however, the comic part of the performance is sustained by countrymen, labourers, old women, or inn-keepers, and we will quote a passage from one of the Miracles of St. Genevieve, which will not only be an illustration of what we are saying, but which will, we have no doubt, interest our architectural antiquaries. We think that the allusion to the carving of burlesque figures is extremely curious. The masons are at work on a monastery for St. Genevieve

OGIER, le maçon.
-Huet, pren celle pierre bise,
Sy l'esboche à ton grant martel.
HUET, maçon.

Maistre Ogier, jo say un art tel
Que sans touchier et sans faillir
Là vous ferai en hault saillir,
Mez qu'el oïe le coq chanter.
OGIER.

Or du baver, or du venter;
Parle mains et fay bien besoigne.

HUET.

Par la grant dame de Bouloigne,
Je vueil faire une orde prestresse
Qui chevauchera une asnesse,
En ceste pierre de quarrel.

LE CHARPENTIER, en tennant .1. baston.
Et je vueil cy faire .1. barrel
Pour une fenestrele englesche.
OGIER.

Va tendre ta ligne, sy pesche.
Ahay! es-tu jà au fenestres?
Huet!

OGIER, the mason.
-Huet, take this grey stone,

And rough-hew it with thy great hammer.
HUET, the mason.

Master Ogier, I know such an art [ing
That without touching (?) and without fail-
There I will make you jump on high,—
But let her go hear the cock crow!
OGIER.

Come now, give over your nonsense and
boasting;

Talk less, and do well your business.
HUET.

By the great lady of Boulogne,
I will make a filthy priestess
Who shall ride upon an ass,
On this quarried stone.

THE CARPENTER, holding a staff.
And I will make here a barrel

For a little English window.

OGIER.

Go stretch thy line, and then fish.
Hallo! art thou already at the windows?
Huet!

Beau sire Diex, et quant bevrons ?
Il fait trop grant harle en cest estre.
A boire, à boire, sire prestre ;
J'ay le gorgeron escorchié.

LE CHARPENTIER.

Et mon gosier est sy torchié
Qu'il est sec comme dent de chien.
OGIER.

Foy que doy vous, sy est le mien !
A boire, prestre, ou nous mourrons.
DAN GENESE.

Vous en arez quant nous pourrons.
Lors die à Sainte Geneviève;

Dame, lez ouvriers n'ont que boire;
Sermonnez-leur d'aucune histoire.
Tandiz que j'iray à Paris
Faire emplir .1. or .11. baris,

Un poulez faites déporter.—(p. 265-267.)

And my wind-pipe is so clean wiped,
That it is as dry as a dog's tooth.
OGIER.

By the faith I owe ye, so is mine!
Some drink, priest, or we shall die.
DAN GENESE.

You shall have some as soon as we can.
Then he says to St. Geneviève :
Lady, the workmen have nothing to drink;
Hold them in discourse with some story,
The while I go to Paris

To fill one or two barrels,

Keep them a little in patience.

So Dan Genèse sets out on his journey, and soon returns with a vessel of wine, which is not only of a good quality, but (the greatest miracle of all) the vessel itself has the quality of being never the less empty the more one drinks out of it. Then follows a regular drinking scene, and Master Huet, in the rapture of his joy, instead of carving an "orde prestresse" on an ass, vows to turn out the very best specimen of his workmanship.

On the whole, this is a very curious volume, and we can recommend its contents to our antiquarian readers. In the Notes at the end are printed many shorter miscellaneous pieces, before unnoticed, among which we may point out the poem of " La Chinchefache," a monster that was said, in the fable, to eat all good women, and leave the bad ones, and which belongs to the same legend with a little poem by Lidgate, that was the subject of some dispute among our earlier writers on the Old English Stage.* Chaucer also alludes to this story

"O noble wives, ful of high prudence,
Let non humilitie your tonges naile;
Ne let no clerk have cause or diligence
To write of yow a storie of swiche mervaille,

As of Grisildis patient and kinde,

Lest Chichevache you swalwe in hire entraille."

While on this subject, we will call the attention of our readers to a choice collection of the best works in the French language, from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, advertised for publication in 6 vols. large 8vo, double columns, by Victor Lecou, of Paris (whose list contains some other interesting articles), to be edited by MM. Monmerqué and Francisque Michel, and of which the first volume is already in the press. The first two volumes will contain the most remarkable miracle-plays, jeux, mysteries, moralities, farces, sottises, &c. from the twelfth to the fifteenth century. The third volume will contain a selection of the metrical romances and the Chansons de Geste, such as the Roman de l'Escouffle, Guillaume de Palerme, les Aventures de Fergus, &c. The fourth volume will contain the prose Romances, as Tristan de Léonnois, Gérard de Nevers, Jehan de Saintré, &c. The fifth and sixth will be devoted to a collection of French poetry, from the time of Clement Marot and Mellin de SaintGallais to Regnier and Malherbe. Such a collection, brought thus into small compass, and executed by editors in whose learning and accuracy we can place entire dependance, cannot fail to be a valuable acquisition to every lover of the older literature.

See on this subject our number for July, 1235, p. 43,

POEMS, BY MARGARET DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE.

MARGARET Duchess of Newcastle was distinguished for her writings, in an age when ladies were not authors. A whole folio volume was printed in her praise. The Rector of the University of Leyden wrote to her, that when Minerva beheld her, seipsam, velut in speculo, intueri videtur.' The University of Cambridge compared her to Aspasia, Tenchia, Polla, and Rustitiana; and informed her that she understood quicquid risit Democritus, aut flevit Heraclitus, aut deliravit Epicurus, aut intellexit Aristoteles, aut ignoravit Arcesilas, aut tacuit Pythagoras.' Oxford, not to be outdone, tells her We have a MS. author in Bodlie's Library, who endeavours to shew that women excel men. Your excellency has proved what he proposed, has done what he endeavoured, and given a demonstrative argument to convince the otherwise unbelieving world.' The Duchess of Newcastle was the only lady admitted to the meetings of the Royal Society!! Some of her works are translated into Latin, and she is painted as sitting in a chair crowned with laurel. We should be sorry to break the charm of this intellectual female sovereignty, but happening to have an original letter of Minerva's by us, we shall give a sample of her eloquence :

"As for my writen, or rather scriblen, j contuny that vain solely, and spoyl, j cannot tell which, most paper or white pettecots, as j did, when j had the honor to see you at Anwarp."

We also extract a part of a letter from a very accomplished young lady, a contemporary of the Duchess, Mrs. Dorothy Osborne, of Chicksands, Bedfordhire

"Let me ask you, [she writes to her lover, Mr. Temple,] if you have seen a book of poems, lately come out, by the Lady Newcastle. For God's sake, if you meet with it, send it to me. They say it is ten times more extravagant than her dress. Sure the poor woman is a little distracted. She could never be so ridiculous as to venture on writing books else, and in verse too! . . . . . You need not send me Lady Newcastle's book, I have seen it, and am satisfied; there are many soberer people in Bedlam," &c.

.....

It is from this book of poems above mentioned, called "Poems, or several Fancies in Verse, with the Animal Parliament in Prose," folio, 1653, that we have made the following extracts. Of her plays, we have in vain endeavoured to find anything which would come within the limit of a moderate extract. Mr. Walpole says, there is one written against Camden's Britannia; but her ladyship could be sometimes as pithy as she was prosaic at others. As, for instance, in the Convent of Pleasure,' the following forms a whole scene.

Enter a lady as almost distracted, running about the stage, and her maid follows her. Lady. Oh my child is dead, my child is dead; what shall I do, what shall I do? Maid. You must have patience, Madam.

Lady. Who can have patience to lose their child? who can?

[her.)

Oh! I shall run mad, for I have no patience. (Runs off the stage. Exit maid after

SCENE VII.

Enter a lady big with child, groaning as in labour, and a company of women with her. Lady. Oh my back! my back will break. Oh! oh! oh oh!

1st Woman. Is the midwife sent for?

2nd Woman. Yes, but she is with another lady.

Lady. Oh! my back! oh! oh! oh! Juno, give me some ease.

(Exeunt.)

We must preface our specimens of her Grace's productions, with the commendatory verses of her admiring husband the Duke.

I saw your Poems, and then wish'd them mine,
Reading the richer dressings of each line;
Your new-born, sublime fancies, and such store
May make our poets blush and write no more.
Nay Spenser's ghost will haunt you in the night,
And Jonson rise, full fraught with venom's spight.
Fletcher and Beaumont troubled in their graves,
Look out some deeper and forgotten caves.
And gentle Shakespear weeping, since he must,
At best, be buried now in Chaucer's dust.
Thus dark oblivion covers their each name,
Since you have robb'd them of their glorious fame,
Such metaphors, such allegories fit,

Your judgment weighing out your fresher wit.
By similizing to the life so like,

Your fancy's Pencil's far beyond Vandike, &c.

THE REASON WHY THOUGHTS ARE ONLY IN THE HEAD.

Each sinew is a small and slender string,
Which to the body all the senses bring.
And they, like pipes or gutters, hollow be,
Where animal spirits run continually.
Tho' small, yet they such matter do contain,
As in the skull doth lie, which we call brain :
That makes, if any one doth strike the heel,
The thought of that, sense in the brain doth feel.
It is not sympathy, but all one thing

That causes us to think, and pain doth bring.
For had the Heel such quantity of brain,

As doth the head and skull therein contain,

Then would such thoughts as in the brain dwell high,
Descend into our heels, and there would lye.
In sinews small, brain scattered lies about,
It wants both room and quantity, no doubt;
For if a sinew so much brain could hold,
Or had so large a skin it to enfold,

As hath the skull-then might the toe or knee,
Had they an optick nerve, both hear and see.
Had sinews room, fancy therein to breed,
Copies of verses might from the heel proceed.

NATURE'S COOK.

Death is the Cook of Nature-and we find
Creatures dressed several ways to please her mind.
Some-death doth roast with fever burning hot,

And some he boils with dropsies in a pot.

Some are consumed for jelly by degrees,

And some with ulcers, gravy out to squeeze.

Some, as with herbs, he stuffs with gouts and pains,

Others, for tender meat, he hangs in chains.

Some in the sea, he pickles up to keep,

Others, he, as sous'd brawn, in wine doth steep, &c. &c.

The remainder is still more gross, and in the worst possible taste.

A POSSET FOR NATURE'S BREAKFAST.

Life scums the cream of beauty with Time's spoon,

And draws the claret-wine of blushes soon.

Then boils it in a skillet clean of youth,

And thicks it well with crumbled bread of Truth.

Sets it upon the fire of Life, which does

Burn clearer much, when health her bellows blows.