Tuesday 19 June 2012

Jonathan Swift and the Battle of the Books


Portrait of Jonathan Swift

Although this blog is primarily about scholars in the sixteenth century, Jonathan Swift’s Battle of the Books (mentioned in my previous post The Battle of the Books: A seventeenth century war of words and ideas) caught my interest.  The debate over the merits of ‘ancient’ traditions against the on-coming tide of science and modernity took form in many different ways during the early modern period.  The famous example of Galileo being sent to prison by an outraged Pope over his claims that the Earth was not, in actual fact, the centre of the universe nor that it was flat, is a case in point.  Admittedly this example is in essence much more complicated than is made out in popular accounts  but it nonetheless demonstrates the thought processes going on in the ‘early modern’ mind. 

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) is best known now for his Gulliver’s Travels, however, in the seventeenth century Swift was known as both Dean of St Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin and for his career as a satirist, essayist and political pamphleteer (switching sides between the Whigs and the Tories).  His ODNB biographer Clive Probyn describes Swift as a satirist with:

 “no equal in English literature for range, subtlety, and power.  His life and works continue to vex as well as instruct and amuse his readers”

-          ODNB Jonathan Swift

Swift’s The Battle of the Books certainly fell into the category of a vexing and thought provoking text.  Published in 1704 as a short satire within a larger work entitled A Tale of a Tub, Swift depicted a literal battle for supremacy between books in the King’s library as representative of their authors (and their ideas).  Think Toy Story as told 300 years ago! 

Each author – ancient on the one side and modern on the other - are described in military terms, as if they were each an army preparing for war:

“The Moderns were in very warm debates upon the choice of their leaders; and nothing less than the fear impending from their enemies could have kept them from mutinies upon this occasion.  The difference was greatest among the horse, where every private trooper pretended to the chief command, from Tasso and Milton to Dryden and Wither.  The light-horse were commanded by Cowley and Despreaux.  There came the bowmen under their valiant leaders, Descartes, Gassendi, and Hobbes; whose strength was such that they could shoot their arrows beyond the atmosphere, never to fall down again, but turn, like that of Evander, into meteors; or, like the cannon-ball, into stars [...] the army of the Ancients was much fewer in number; Homer led the horse, and Pindar the light-horse; Euclid was chief engineer; Plato and Aristotle commanded the bowmen; Herodotus and Livy the foot; Hippocrates, the dragoons; the allies, led by Vossius and Temple, brought up the rear”

As the satire moves on we witness individual battles between ancients and moderns who were generally seen as in argument with each other.  It’s a battle royale!  Aristotle vs. Bacon; Homer vs. Gondibert; and Lucan vs. Blackmore.  In most cases one or the other is victorious.  Although the conclusion is left somewhat open ended as to who won overall, the text suggests Swift’s allegiance with the ancients which is also borne out from his other works and debates with William Wotton. 

I particularly enjoyed the confrontation between Virgil and John Dryden where their individual personalities shine through very clearly:

“On the left wing of the horse Virgil appeared, in shining armour, completely fitted to his body [...] He cast his eye on the adverse wing, with a desire to find an object worthy of his valour, when behold upon a sorrel gelding of a monstrous size appeared a foe, issuing from among the thickest of the enemy’s squadrons [...]  The two cavaliers had now approached within the throw of a lance, when the stranger desired a parley, and, lifting up the visor of his helmet, a face hardly appeared from within which, after a pause, was known for that of the renowned Dryden.  The brave Ancient suddenly started, as one possessed with surprise and disappointment together; for the helmet was nine times too large for the head, which appeared situate far in the hinder part, even like the lady in a lobster, or like a mouse under a canopy of state [...] and the voice was suited to the visage, sounding weak and remote.  Dryden, in a long harangue, soothed up the good Ancient; called him father, and, by a large deduction of genealogies, made it plainly appear that they were nearly related.  Then he humbly proposed an exchange of armour, as a lasting mark of hospitality between them.  Virgil consented (for the goddess Diffidence came unseen, and cast a mist before his eyes), through his was of gold and cost a hundred beeves, the other’s but of rusty iron.  However, this glittering armour became the Modern yet worsen than his own.  Then they agreed to exchange horses; but, when it came to the trial, Dryden was afraid and utterly unable to mount.” 
The rendition of Dryden reflects his personality perfectly.  In 1717 Congreve wrote of Dryden that he ‘was of a Nature exceedingly Humane and Compassionate; easily forgiving Injuries, and capable of a prompt and sincere reconciliation with them who offended him’ (see ODNB for John Dryden.  Although, it would appear that Virgil won this particular encounter no concrete conclusion is noted by Swift.  Although damage is done between books, for the most part, the conclusion remains uncertain.
My interest in this subject derives from researching a paper for the Anglo-American conference which will be held by the IHR on 5-6 July 2012.  Although my paper has very little to do with Jonathan Swift’s satire or the debate between ancients and moderns in the seventeenth century, it is interesting to look ahead of my own research time-period to see where some of the debates in the late sixteenth century ended up. 
If you are interested in looking more at the confrontations and continual intersection between ancient and modern cultures, then there is still room to book a place at this year’s Anglo-American.  It takes place at Senate House, University of London between 5-6 July.  For more information, a schedule, abstracts, and details for registration see the following link: Anglo-American conference 2012: Ancients and Moderns

Tuesday 12 June 2012

Courtly love and Elizabethan politics

Although slightly off-topic, I thought I would share with you a post I uploaded last week to my History SPOT blog for the Institute of Historical Research.  The topic is courtly love as a political tool in Elizabethan England, and, in particular, the poems by Sir Walter Raleigh and Elizabeth.     


Sir Walter Raleigh
Sir Walter Raleigh (c. 1554-1618) well known as an Elizabethan explorer and soldier, is also known to have written a sonnet entitled Fortune Hath Taken Thee Away, My Love.  It is believed that Raleigh wrote this sonnet as a response to the rise of Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, and thus making a complaint over his own fall from influence.  In her publication of the sonnet Gordon Braden has reiterated the belief amongst scholars that ‘Fortune’ was a code name for the Earl of Essex and that Raleigh was informing Elizabeth that this brought him ‘to woe’ and that the Earl was now ‘my mortal foe’.

Fortune Hath Taken Thee Away, My Love
BY SIR WALTER RALEGH

Fortune hath taken thee away, my love,
My life’s soul and my soul’s heaven above;
Fortune hath taken thee away, my princess;
My only light and my true fancy’s mistress.

Fortune hath taken all away from me,
Fortune hath taken all by taking thee.
Dead to all joy, I only live to woe,
So fortune now becomes my mortal foe.

In vain you eyes, you eyes do waste your tears,
In vain you sighs do smoke forth my despairs,
In vain you search the earth and heaven above,
In vain you search, for fortune rules in love.

Thus now I leave my love in fortune’s hands,
Thus now I leave my love in fortune’s bands,
And only love the sorrows due to me;
Sorrow henceforth it shall my princess be.

I joy in this, that fortune conquers kings;
Fortune that rules on earth and earthly things
Hath taken my love in spite of Cupid’s might;
So blind a dame did never Cupid right.

With wisdom’s eyes had but blind Cupid seen,
Then had my love my love for ever been;
But love farewell; though fortune conquer thee,
No fortune base shall ever alter me.
-          Gordon Braden, Sixteenth-century poetry: an annotated anthology [2005], p. 337.


A second sonnet, often argued as having been written by Elizabeth herself, mocks Raleigh in reply.  For more on this have a look at a blog post on Hobbinol’s Blog – Writing the English Renaissance: Elizabethan Courtly Love.

This is just one example of the role that music played at the Tudor court.  Its enactment was political and personal reflecting ideals of courtly love and influencing the process of internal and foreign relations. 
Dr Katherine Butler (University of Oxford) has discussed this topic in more detail on one of the History SPOT podcasts entitled: Recreational Music-Making and the Fashioning of Political or Diplomatic Relationships at the Court of Elizabeth I.  In this paper Butler argues that musical performances in the form of lute or virginal productions carried out in private chambers or in the form of more public displays shaped courtly identity and influence and acted as a carefully staged enactment to express grievances, intent, and personality at court.  Butler gives various examples ranging from Lord Darley, Walter Raleigh, and Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex.