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Letters to Dead Authors-Part8_ANDREW LANG(1844-1912)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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yourself and your genius." Probably you were protected by the

invulnerable armour of an honest vanity, probably you declared that



mere jealousy dictated the lines of Boileau, and that Chapelain's

real fault was his popularity, and his pecuniary success,



Qu'il soit le mieux rente de tous les beaux-esprits.

This, you would avow, was your offence, and perhaps you were not



altogether mistaken. Yet posterity declines to read a line of

yours, and, as we think of you, we are again set face to face with



that eternal problem, how far is popularity a test of poetry? Burns

was a poet: and popular. Byron was a popular poet, and the world



agrees in the verdict of their own generations. But Montgomery,

though he sold so well, was no poet, nor, Sir, I fear, was your



verse made of the stuff of immortality. Criticism cannot hurt what

is truly great; the Cardinal and the Academy left Chimene as fair as



ever, and as adorable. It is only pinchbeck that perishes under the

acids of satire: gold defies them. Yet I sometimes ask myself,



does the existence of popularity like yours justify the malignity of

satire, which blesses neither him who gives, nor him who takes? Are



poisoned arrows fair against a bad poet? I doubt it, Sir, holding

that, even unpricked, a poeticbubble must soon burst by its own



nature. Yet satire will assuredly be written so long as bad poets

are successful, and bad poets will assuredlyreflect that their



assailants are merely envious, and (while their vogue lasts) that

the purchasing public is the only judge. After all, the bad poet



who is popular and "sells" is not a whit worse than the bad poets

who are unpopular, and who deride his songs.



Monsieur,

Votre tres-humble serviteur, &c.



LETTER--To Sir John Maundeville, Kt. (OF THE WAYS INTO YNDE.)

Sir John,--Wit you well that men holden you but light, and some



clepen you a Liar. And they say that you never were born in

Englond, in the town of Seynt Albones, nor have seen and gone



through manye diverse Londes. And there goeth an old knight at

arms, and one that connes Latyn, and hath been beyond the sea, and



hath seen Prester John's country. And he hath been in an Yle that

men clepen Burmah, and there bin women bearded. Now men call him



Colonel Henry Yule, and he hath writ of thee in his great booke, Sir

John, and he holds thee but lightly. For he saith that ye did pill



your tales out of Odoric his book, and that ye never saw snails with

shells as big as houses, nor never met no Devyls, but part of that



ye say, ye took it out of William of Boldensele his book, yet ye

took not his wisdom, withal, but put in thine own foolishness.



Nevertheless, Sir John, for the frailty of Mankynde, ye are held a

good fellow, and a merry; so now, come, let me tell you of the new



ways into Ynde.

In that Lond they have a Queen that governeth all the Lond, and all



they ben obeyssant to her. And she is the Queen of Englond; for

Englishmen have taken all the Lond of Ynde. For they were right



good werryoures of old, and wyse, noble, and worthy. But of late

hath risen a new sort of Englishman very puny and fearful, and these



men clepen Radicals. And they go ever in fear, and they scream on

high for dread in the streets and the houses, and they fain would



flee away from all that their fathers gat them with the sword. And

this sort men call Scuttleres, but the mean folk and certain of the



baser sort hear them gladly, and they say ever that Englishmen

should flee out of Ynde.



Fro Englond men gon to Ynde by many dyverse Contreyes. For

Englishmen ben very stirring and nymble. For they ben in the



seventh climate, that is of the Moon. And the Moon (ye have said it

yourself, Sir John, natheless, is it true) is of lightly moving, for



to go diverse ways, and see strange things, and other diversities of

the Worlde. Wherefore Englishmen be lightly moving, and far



wandering. And they gon to Ynde by the great Sea Ocean. First come

they to Gibraltar, that was the point of Spain, and builded upon a



rock; and there ben apes, and it is so strong that no man may take

it. Natheless did Englishmen take it fro the Spanyard, and all to



hold the way to Ynde. For ye may sail all about Africa, and past




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