The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany

EXPLANATION OF A PASSAGE IN ST
PAUL.

MR EDITOR,

IN your Number for last October' I remarked an explanation, rather awkwardly introduced at the close of some verbal criticisms on Shakespeare, of a passage in St Paul which has puzzled all commentators, but which I think the writer of the essay alluded to has cleared up, by the simple aid of a parenthesis, in such a manner that there can be no longer any doubt as to the Apostle's meaning. The passage I mean is that in which St Paul says, "Neither was the man created for the woman, but the woman for the man. For this cause ought the woman to have power on her head, because of the angels." This passage, as it stands, is utterly unintelligible; but I refer your readers to the explanation of your verbal critic, which I believe they will find perfectly satisfactory; yet, coming as it does, at the close of a set of remarks on Shakespeare, it probably has never been so much as noticed. If he has any more criticisms on the much-tortured text of that great poet, by all means let us have them, because he seems to have hit upon some right readings, in the passages on which he has commented, in a very simple and happy way; but he will do well hereafter to separate his biblical from his dramatic criticisms.

things that pleased me most in the I shall not soon forget the looks of whole exhibition, and it did not please cordial love which seemed to beam me the less because I had not been from the pastor to his people, and prepared to expect any such thing by back again from their eyes to their the reports I had heard of him in E- pastor in the Tron Church of Glasdinburgh. He goes to that critical gow. city now and then to preach a charity sermon or the like; and I can easily understand how it may have happened that the impression produced by him there on such occasions may have, in general, been very different from that which I witnessed here in his own church. I can easily suppose, that, on these occasions, he may put himself forward far more exclusively in the capacity of a combative reasoner-that then every look and gesture may speak too plainly his knowledge that he has hostile opinions all about him to grapple with. In fact, such a man must know, that, when he preaches any where out of his own church, his congregation is of a very mixed description, comprising persons who entertain every variety of opinion in regard to matters of religion. In Edinburgh, in particular, he must be well aware the field on which he is sent to labour has its tares as well as its wheat in abundance. The beadle at the door, who, by a long succession of sixpences, has had his mind expanded into principles of universal tolerance, admits with equal kindness birds of every different kind of plumage--he shoves the sanctified hosier into the same pew with the disciple of David Hume, learned in the law. Having such dissimilar auditors to deal with, a preacher like Dr Chalmers may very naturally be led to make use only of argumentation addressed to those reasoning faculties, wherewith all his auditors profess themselves to be more or less endowed. There is no doubt argument is the staple of his preaching even here-and so, in this age of doubt and argument, it ought to be but here, at least, he contrives to adorn his argument with abundance of gentler accompaniments, which perhaps his modesty, among other things, may contribute to render him more slow in using elsewhere. For my self, I have described him as I saw him in the midst of his daily audience

In his allotted home a genuine Priest,
The Shepherd of his Flock; or as a King
Is styled, when most affectionately praised,
The Father of his People.

I am at present tempted to suggest an explanation, of another very obscure, and, apparently, unmeaning passage in St Paul, which is quite according to the cautious principles of your correspondent. By altering the punctuation, without venturing the slightest change upon a word, I think I can throw a very clear light upon the passage in question. It is in the eleventh chapter of the second epistle to the Corinthians, in which the apostle is contrasting his own conduct with that of some false teachers, who, he affirms, were misleading his disciples at Corinth. In the course of this compa

rison, he gets into a vein which he calls boasting. "I say again, let no man think me a fool; if otherwise, yet as a fool receive me, that I may boast myself a little. That which I speak, I speak it not after the Lord, but as it were foolishly, in this confidence of boasting. Seeing that many glory after the flesh, I will glory also. For ye suffer fools gladly, seeing ye yourselves are wise." So far is plain enough, but what follows seems to have no meaning. "For ye suffer, if a man bring you into bondage, if a man devour you, it' a man take of you, if a man exalt himself, if a man smite you on the face." How is this an illustration, as it seems to be intended, of the foregoing assertion, "Ye suffer fools gladly, seeing ye yourselves are wise?" That is a general remark, that people who are wise themselves can bear with temper the absurdities of others, such as boasting and vain glory; but is it an instance of this, that the Corinthians suffered tamely the indignities which are here affirmed to have been put upon them? The next sentence adds tenfold darkness to the whole. I speak as concerning reproach, as though we had been weak. Howbeit, whereinsoever any is bold, (I speak foolishly,) I am bold also." What does this mean?-In or

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der to explain the difficulty, I shall first quote the original words, with the punctuation which I think the true one, and shall then translate them into the sense which they bear, when so regulated. ήδέως γαρ ανέχεσθε των αφρόνων, φρόνιμοι οντες ανέχεσθε γαρ. ει τις ύμας καταδουλοι, ει τις κατεσθίει, ει τις λαμβάνει, ει τις επαιρείαι, ει τις μας εἰς πρόςωπον δέρει, καλα αλιμιαν, λέγω ὡς, ὅτι ἡμεις ησθενήσαμεν εν ώ δ' αν τις τολμα (εν αφροσυνη λεγω) ολο μου καγω. According to this punctuation, the apostle says, "For ye suffer fools gladly, because, being yourselves wise, ye suffer them." He then goes on to make the contrast between himself, and the false apostles above mentioned, still more pointed. "If any one bring you into bondage, if any one devour you, &c., I say thus, that, as to doing things dishonourable to you, we are weak: [it is not of such exploits that I boast; but in whatever respect any one is justly bold, (I speak foolishly,) I am bold

VOL. V.

also." I translate « καλα αλιμιαν "with respect to contumelious conduct," of which the actions before mentioned are instances. Perhaps, however, these words may be better joined with the preceding clause, thus, ει τις ὑμας εις προσωπον δέρει καλα αλ My, and then the meaning will be, "If any one bring you into bondage, &c., if any one insultingly smite you on the face, I say thus, that we are weak," as to such actions namely; "but in whatever respect," &c. There forms of reading be adopted-the last is no great matter which of these may be the more simple; but I have no doubt whatever that I have found the true key to this passage, and that I have restored to the apostle not only good sense, but his own fine and peculiar eloquence. If this is "speaking foolishly," the folly of a commentator likewise, "in this confidence of under St Paul's authority.-I am, &c. boasting," may shelter itself, perhaps,

A WORD-CATCHER WHO LIVES
ON SYLLABLES.

REMARKS ON DRAMATIC SCENES AND OTHER POEMS, BY BARRY CORNWALL. LONDON, 1819.

WE begin to hate the name of simplicity, which of late years has unforaffectation. This small but agreeable tunately been only another name for

volume has not served to overcome our objections: its only fault is its simplicity. To write as our ancestors did, or are supposed to have done, two hundred years ago, is not to write as they would have written, had they been living now: besides, their mo dern imitators do not write as they

aid, but as their own contemporaries

do not. The secret of this sort of composition is nothing but a love of singularity and the spirit of contradiction. Real simplicity of style is the not aiming at distinction, by using any but the most common and obvious modes of expression, which never divert the attention from the matter to the manner: modern simplicity consists in a constant attempt at distinction, by breaking in upon the prevailing usages of language and prescribed rules of versification, in order to show how much wiser you are than the common run of authors, and to

throw a stumbling-block of odd phrases and unscanned metres in the way of the reader. Harmony of sound has certainly been carried to a degree of unmeaning smoothness and monotony; and, therefore, our adepts cut a verse in two, and leave us to jump or hobble over it (like a broken bridge) as well or as ill as we can. In like manner, it is true that our artificial poetic diction has too often taken systematic leave of the natural idiom and humbler resources of the language of prose and therefore the same ingenious theorists set themselves to pick out the most trivial phrases and the most creeping parts of speech to catch attention and signalize the force of their genius. This, we conceive, is a great piece of impertinence; and the worst effect of it is, that it operates as a continual interruption to the chain of ideas which the author is about to convey, entangles the imagination in a questionable epithet, or makes it hitch in an impracticable line, sets you at crosspurposes with the poet, and looks very much as if it were intended as an excuse for him, in case you do not admire his writings, to throw the blame on your want of taste and proper relish for the uncorrupted beauties of a pure and delicate style. "An adınirable evasion" of some of our candidates for fame to lay the fault of their "metre-ballad-mongering" on Nature, to pass muster as belonging to an obnoxious school, and to claim peculiar exemptions and privileges from the unpopularity of their style, when, in fact, let them have chosen what style or school they would, nobody would have read them, and they have only obtained distinction by becoming voluntary martyrs to critical damnation! Such persons, when they have wriggled themselves into notoriety, and become proverbial for insipidity, which their admirers call taste, may exclaim with Lucy in the Rivals, "Well done, little Simplicity!"

Simplicity is a Siren that has seduced many a young author, and it has tried its deceitful arts (not altogether in vain) on Mr Cornwall. In his motto he disclaims any great merit for his "matter," but bespeaks it for his "method," which he calls "an honest method." We think his thoughts sterling, and their garb only meretricious. We are often delight

ed with the beauty as well as novelty of his imagery; he evinces great truth, delicacy, and sometimes profundity of feeling; in his imitations of Boccacio, in particular, he has not overstepped the modesty of Nature," doing neither too little nor too much, preserving the real simplicity of the sentiment, and yet working it out into ingenious and natural dialogue :-it is only when out of what we believe to be a false modesty he affects the quaintness and idle peculiarities of a modern school of poetry that we quarrel with him, and are determined to do so, till he "reforms and writes cleanly." To give a few examples to justify the impatient severity of these remarks. We will take the following lines from the first sketch, "The Two Dreams," which, in spite of all such blemishes, is a beautiful and interesting fragment. Why, then, need it be wantonly defaced?

Wrapped my cloak round, and smiled, for "If cold, my love was warm; if stormy, I

you were safe:

And when the piping winds of winter blew Sleet and the drenching rain against me,

and

On high the fighting elements cast out," &c. "I had a silly trouble on me you Will laugh when I shall tell you of t. (I hope

You will laugh.) I have had a dream; sit closer,

And press your palm 'gainst mine-that's well; but you

Have quite forgot your usual kiss," &c.

the author, (and we think it a pracNow this is a constant practice with tice not worthy of him,) to put some word or monosyllable at the end of a line, which has no meaning or effect but as it is connected with the next line. Is not this purely capricious? There are occasions when this may be done naturally and properly, as, for instance, in tlie lines,

"Last night, 'tis said, (the only night,

when I,

Since our sweet marriage, have been barred from you.")

But to do it constantly, and regularly violate a rule, is a trick, and an indifferent one, which any body can imitate. Again, the following lines contain examples of an irregularity in the metre, without any motive or object that we can see, but to occasion a difficulty to the reader, so that you

There rose a shadowy thing from out your body,

And stood in silence by you. It was not Flesh, no, nor vapour: but it seem'd to be A dismal compound of the elements, Huddled by chance together, ere the form Of man was fashioned into beauty, and Like a most loathsome and unfinished thing Flung aside for ever."

One other objection of this sort, and we have done with remonstrance, Gabriello says,

"Why then about my dream;

For I've dreamt too, and 'twas a terrible dream

Yet I am here to laugh at 't.

Andreana. When did 't happen?" &c.

As the former lines were difficult to

read, the combination of words or letters here is impossible to pronounce. But no more of that. We proceed to the more welcome part of our task, which is to give specimens of the general style and merit of the work, and for this purpose we shall give the second scene from "The Broken Heart," assuring our readers that the other pieces in the volume breathe the same spirit, and are inlaid (if we may use the phrase) with the same beauties of thought and diction. We would extend the same general praise, with the same minute, and, perhaps, captious exceptions, to the miscellaneous poems which follow the Dramatic

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THE BROKEN HEART.

Boccacio. The story is this. Jeronymo [This sketch is founded upon a tale of was sent from Italy to Paris, in order to complete his studies. He was detained there two years, his mother being fearful lest he should marry a poor and beautiful girl, (Sylvestra,) with whom he had been brought up from his infancy. During his absence his mother contrived to have Sylvestra married. He returned, and, after wandering about her dwelling, succeeded in getting into her chamber, conversed with her, (her husband being asleep,) and, at last, died on the bed before her.]

Scene II.-Sylvestra's Chamber.
JERONYMO, SYLVESTRA.