Edmund Gosse, Sir Thomas Browne, Chapter VII: Language and Influence
Edmund Gosse, Sir Thomas Browne, MacMillan, New York, 1905
Chapter VII: Language and Influence
In his superb neglect of all contemporary poetry and prose, in his scorn of the poets in particular, he exceeds Jeremy Taylor, whose contempt of modern writing went far. The great English authors from Chaucer down to Milton, from Wycliffe down to Dryden, might never have existed for all the attention they receive from Sir Thomas Browne. 191
We are told that Browne was simple in his manners and attire. Let us not believe that his writing is plain or easy. 192
Browne was greatly interested in the beauty of words, in their sound, their form, the image that they raised. But his treatment of them was very curious, and is not easily or completely to be justified. There was something abnormal in Browne’s intellect, and it is shown in the rather mad way in which he tossed words about. He was “exuberant in conceit,” and this richness affected his vocabulary; it made him sometimes freakish and capricious. 193
He goes on to say: “If elegancy still proceedeth, and English pens maintain that stream [of new words]…, we shall within few years be fain to learn Latin to understand English, and a work will prove of equal facility in either.”…This evidence is very precious, for it leaves us in no doubt of Browne’s intention, and explains his vocabulary where it becomes so serviley Latin as to be ugly. 195
It is impossible to exculpate Browne from the charge of using adjective of classical extraction which are neither necessary nor natural. 196
It is odd that when he pleases, Browne can be the most lucid of writers, and employ none but the shortest and plainest of words. In the very middle of the uplifted peroration of Urn-Burial we come upon this limpid strain of music: — “Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us. A small fire sufficeth for life, great flames seemed too little after death, while men vainly affected precious pyres, and to burn like Sardanapalus. But the wisdom of funeral laws found the folly of prodigal blazes, and reduced undoing fires unto the rule of sober obsequies, wherein few could be so mean as not to provide wood, pitch, a mourner, and an urn.” / Here the only word that jars upon is the Brownesque one, “prodigal.” 197
…we can find nothing which suggests the peculiar art of Browne better than pieces of solid plate, gold, or silver, elaborately chased and stamped with stately coats of arms, bearing ostensibly the evidences of a lordly habit of life, and fitted for solemn ceremonial. That these are sometimes heavy in form, monotonous and yet extravagant in ornament, not suitable for easy household purposes, are defects inherent in their peculiar quality of pomp. 200-201
We may believe the felicities of Jeremy Taylor and the wit of Fuller to have been partly accidental, or at least instinctive, causes by the authors’ flights of enthusiasm. We may imagine that these writers did not know how magnificent they were. But Browne, we may be sure, was never carried away. His effects are closely studied, they are the result of forethought and anxious contrivance. We know, from all sources, that he was a very punctilious writer, and he believed that the art of composition was to be learned. 203
He had never had, really, Montaigne’s passion for truth; and his religion became a thing which lay there, ostensible and shining, but holding no communication with his human sympathy, his imagination or his style. / What inspired Browne to a greater height of fervour than any other subject was the contemplation of death. 205
…it is in the contemplation of the millions over whom “the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy,” that Sir Thomas Browne reaches his most glorious flight of imagination. He is the laureate of the forgotten dead, of those who had discovered, what he from the first divined, that this loud world is nothing but “a dream and a mock-show.” 205
We must do our daily round of duty; we may polish the bits of intellectual ornament which are our innocent occasional pastime, we may take refuge from the sad pressure of infinity in speculation, but to strive and cry, or to exaggerate the importance of things around us, or of ourselves, or of the world itself, would be nothing better than a waste of energy. 206
Chapter VII: Language and Influence
In his superb neglect of all contemporary poetry and prose, in his scorn of the poets in particular, he exceeds Jeremy Taylor, whose contempt of modern writing went far. The great English authors from Chaucer down to Milton, from Wycliffe down to Dryden, might never have existed for all the attention they receive from Sir Thomas Browne. 191
We are told that Browne was simple in his manners and attire. Let us not believe that his writing is plain or easy. 192
Browne was greatly interested in the beauty of words, in their sound, their form, the image that they raised. But his treatment of them was very curious, and is not easily or completely to be justified. There was something abnormal in Browne’s intellect, and it is shown in the rather mad way in which he tossed words about. He was “exuberant in conceit,” and this richness affected his vocabulary; it made him sometimes freakish and capricious. 193
He goes on to say: “If elegancy still proceedeth, and English pens maintain that stream [of new words]…, we shall within few years be fain to learn Latin to understand English, and a work will prove of equal facility in either.”…This evidence is very precious, for it leaves us in no doubt of Browne’s intention, and explains his vocabulary where it becomes so serviley Latin as to be ugly. 195
It is impossible to exculpate Browne from the charge of using adjective of classical extraction which are neither necessary nor natural. 196
It is odd that when he pleases, Browne can be the most lucid of writers, and employ none but the shortest and plainest of words. In the very middle of the uplifted peroration of Urn-Burial we come upon this limpid strain of music: — “Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us. A small fire sufficeth for life, great flames seemed too little after death, while men vainly affected precious pyres, and to burn like Sardanapalus. But the wisdom of funeral laws found the folly of prodigal blazes, and reduced undoing fires unto the rule of sober obsequies, wherein few could be so mean as not to provide wood, pitch, a mourner, and an urn.” / Here the only word that jars upon is the Brownesque one, “prodigal.” 197
…we can find nothing which suggests the peculiar art of Browne better than pieces of solid plate, gold, or silver, elaborately chased and stamped with stately coats of arms, bearing ostensibly the evidences of a lordly habit of life, and fitted for solemn ceremonial. That these are sometimes heavy in form, monotonous and yet extravagant in ornament, not suitable for easy household purposes, are defects inherent in their peculiar quality of pomp. 200-201
We may believe the felicities of Jeremy Taylor and the wit of Fuller to have been partly accidental, or at least instinctive, causes by the authors’ flights of enthusiasm. We may imagine that these writers did not know how magnificent they were. But Browne, we may be sure, was never carried away. His effects are closely studied, they are the result of forethought and anxious contrivance. We know, from all sources, that he was a very punctilious writer, and he believed that the art of composition was to be learned. 203
He had never had, really, Montaigne’s passion for truth; and his religion became a thing which lay there, ostensible and shining, but holding no communication with his human sympathy, his imagination or his style. / What inspired Browne to a greater height of fervour than any other subject was the contemplation of death. 205
…it is in the contemplation of the millions over whom “the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy,” that Sir Thomas Browne reaches his most glorious flight of imagination. He is the laureate of the forgotten dead, of those who had discovered, what he from the first divined, that this loud world is nothing but “a dream and a mock-show.” 205
We must do our daily round of duty; we may polish the bits of intellectual ornament which are our innocent occasional pastime, we may take refuge from the sad pressure of infinity in speculation, but to strive and cry, or to exaggerate the importance of things around us, or of ourselves, or of the world itself, would be nothing better than a waste of energy. 206
posted by Raul de Saldanha at
8:15 AM
1 Comments:
Probably the most vindictive, damned with faint praise critical essay ever written on Browne. Gosse's envy and thinly-disguised dislike of Browne is as James Eason recognised, a case-history in itself. Fortunately a number of American literary critics latter in the 20th century (Finch, Huntley, Endicott, Nathanson) did recognise and evaluate Browne slightly more appreciatively than Gosse, culminating in Sebald in 'The Rings of Saturn' (1996) probably the most popular introduction to Browne in the 20th century. Sebald's is a whole lot healthier perceptive of Browne than Gosse's jaundiced view of the major 17th century Brit. lit. figure.
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