A History of Story-telling: Studies in the development of narrative — John Shaqi
A History of Story-telling: Studies in the development of narrativeRansome, Arthur
History
A History of Story-telling: Studies in the development of narrative
Ransome, Arthur
Fiction -- History and criticism; Narration (Rhetoric); Storytelling -- History
This is no insult to Sir Philip Sidney, but only to the rather
exorbitant demands of the form he had chosen. His own sonnets vindicate
him as a poet, and some of them, even Hazlitt owned, who did not
like him, 'are sweet even to a sense of faintness, luscious as the
woodbine, and graceful and luxurious like it.' Sidney lets us see
his own attitude in that splendid sentence which begins, 'Certainly
I must confesse my own barbarousnes, I neuer heard the olde song
of _Percy_ and _Duglas_ that I found not my heart mooued more then
with a Trumpet; and yet is it sung but by some blinde Crouder, with
no rougher voyce then rude stile'; I should be almost sorry that
he finished it by saying 'which, being so euill apparrelled in the
dust and cobwebbes of that vnciuill age, what would it worke trymmed
in the gorgeous eloquence of _Pindar_?' but that it rings with the
sincerity of his classicism. Taste has changed, and now we find his
'barbarousnes' in the question rather than in the confession. But the
sentence illustrating at once his sensitiveness to simplicity and his
predilection for the classics, shows how genuine was the expression
that the busy, chivalric diplomatist found for himself in the confines
of Arcadia. The classic metres brought as near as might be our Tudor
English to 'the language of the Gods.'
[The slow progress of Arcadian narrative.]
The continual downpour of poetry, the Arcadian substitute for rain,
was not the only drag on the narrative of the pastoral story-tellers.
Serenity was considered essential, and so, while the story was being
everlastingly shunted, so that the lovesick shepherds might plain, it
had also for every step it took forward to take another back in order
to catch again the chosen atmosphere of lovesick repose. The result
was 'a note of linked sweetness long drawn out,' a series of agitated
standstills, and a narrative impossible to end. Cervantes' _Galatea_
was never finished; the last books of _Arcadia_ were written by another
hand; d'Urfé died before putting an end to _l'Astrée_; and Montemor
abandoned his _Diana_.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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