Neither made man too much a GodNor God too much a man.
Neither made man too much a GodNor God too much a man.
Neither made man too much a GodNor God too much a man.
Neither made man too much a God
Nor God too much a man.
That could hardly be said of Traherne. It is scarcely possible, I think, to deny that in the above-quoted passage he committed the fault of making "God too much a man." That, however, was a fault which he shared with most of the theologians of his time. Perhaps it is a fault which is almost inseparable from a sincere and ferventfaith. Without refining away the conception of God to a mere abstraction, it is impossible to think of Him otherwise than as an infinitely magnified and glorified man. Since the human mind is so constituted, it is surely vain to attempt to set limits within which we are to think of Him. Every man will do this according to the law of his own temperament. The man of cool reason and well-controlled passions will form a very different conception of the Deity from the man of enthusiastic disposition and ardent emotions. To think of the Deity as "a power not ourselves which makes for righteousness" is no more possible for a Traherne, than it is for an Arnold to think of God as One
who is despised and defied,Undeified almost if once denied.
who is despised and defied,Undeified almost if once denied.
who is despised and defied,Undeified almost if once denied.
who is despised and defied,
Undeified almost if once denied.
To make all men think alike, whether on political, moral, or theological subjects, is now seen by all but a very few reactionaries to be an impossible task. It is needless to defend Traherne for the views he took regarding the relations between God and man; I have only thought it expedient to show that the line he followed was that to which he was impelled by the character of his individuality.
An excellent poet, a prose-writer of equal or perhaps greater excellence, an exemplary preacher and teacher,who gave in his own person an example of the virtues which he inculcated, one with whom religion was not a garment to be put on, but the life of his life and the spring of all his actions—such was Thomas Traherne. Much as I dissent from his opinions, and much as my point of view as regards the meaning and the purpose of life differs from his, I have yet found it easy to appreciate the fineness of his character, and the charm of his writings. It is not necessary that we should believe as Traherne believed in order to derive benefit from his works. Men of all faiths may study them with profit, and derive from them a new impulse towards that "plain living and high thinking" by which alone happiness can be reached and peace of mind assured.
It remains for me to tell the strange story of the fate of Traherne's manuscripts after his death. They passed, we may reasonably suppose, together with his books, into the hands of his brother Philip, as directed in his will. Philip Traherne, I imagine, was in some way—perhaps by marriage—connected with a family named Skipp, which dwelt at Ledbury, in Herefordshire. These Skipps appear to have become the owners and custodians of the poet's remains; and in their hands they probably rested down to the year 1888, when it seems that the property belonging to the family was dispersed. Intowhat hands the Traherne manuscripts then fell cannot now be ascertained; but it was certainly into hands that were ignorant of their value. In the latter part of 1896, or the early months of 1897, some of them had descended to the street bookstall, that last hope of books and manuscripts in danger of being consigned to the waste-paper mills. Here, most fortunately, two of them were discovered by my friend, Mr. William T. Brooke, who acquired them at the price of a few pence. They could hardly have fallen into better hands, for Mr. Brooke's knowledge of our poetical literature, and especially of sacred poetry and hymnology, is no less remarkable for its extent than for its exactness. As soon as he could find time to examine the manuscripts he at once saw that they were of great interest and value. He could hardly imagine that writings so admirable could be the work of an unknown author; and he at length came to the conclusion, from the fact that the poems resembled those of Henry Vaughan in their subjects and partly in their sentiments, that they must be his. This was an unfortunate idea, since it caused a considerable delay in the tracing out of the real author. Mr. Brooke communicated his discovery to the late Dr. Grosart, who became so much interested in the matter that he purchased the two manuscripts. He, too, after some waverings of opinion, during which he was disposed to attribute themanuscripts, first to Theophilus Gale, and secondly to Thomas Vaughan, became convinced that they must be Henry Vaughan's. Under this persuasion he prepared for the press a most elaborate edition of Vaughan's works, in which the matter contained in the manuscripts was to be included. This edition he was, at the time of his death, endeavouring to find means to publish. That the work thus projected was not actually published must, I think, be regarded as a fortunate circumstance. Whether the poems, on the authority of Dr. Grosart, would have been accepted as Vaughan's, can only be conjectured; but it seems probable that they would, since it is unlikely that any critic, however much he might have doubted their imputed authorship, would have been able to trace out the real author. An irreparable injury would thus have been inflicted upon Traherne, while Vaughan would have received an unneeded accession of fame, at the expense of puzzling all readers of a critical disposition by the exhibition of inconsistent and irreconcilable qualities.
Upon Dr. Grosart's death his library was purchased by the well-known bookseller, Mr. Charles Higham, of Farringdon Street. Included in it were the two Traherne manuscript volumes. Having learned from Mr. Brooke the story of the manuscripts, and that they were in Mr. Higham's hands, I became interested in the matter, andultimately purchased them. Afterwards, when a part of Dr. Grosart's library was sold at Sotheby's, I became the possessor of the third manuscript volume, which their late owner appears not to have known to be Traherne's, though nothing is needed but to compare it with the other volumes in order to see that all three are in the same handwriting.
It is due to Mr. Higham to say that he most liberally allowed me to examine the manuscripts before purchasing them, so that I might form my own opinion as to their authorship. I need not say that I should have been delighted if I could have come to the same conclusion that Mr. Brooke and Dr. Grosart had arrived at. Inclination and interest alike impelled me to take their view. But when I sat down to read the poems and to compare them with the acknowledged writings of Henry Vaughan, I soon began to doubt, and it required but a little time for that doubt to develop into a conviction that whoever might have been their author, they were assuredly not written by the Silurist. It is true that the poems deal, as most of Vaughan's do, solely with religious or moral subjects, and that the author dwells continually, as Vaughan did, upon the subjects of childhood and innocence; and that both authors display the same love of nature and of a simple and natural life. It is true also that we find both poets making use of some ratheruncommon words and phrases, and that we find in both the same free use of defective rhymes. These resemblances, however, are merely superficial. In all the deeper matters of style, thought, and temperament, Traherne and Vaughan were as far apart as any two men, animated as both were by a deep spirit of piety and beneficence, could well be. To me, had there been no other difference, one striking note of dissimilarity would have sufficed to prove that the poems in manuscript and those of Vaughan could not have proceeded from the same pen. In the manuscript poems an ever-present quality is a passionate fervour of thought, an intense ardour of enthusiasm, which is not to be found, or at least only rarely, in Vaughan's works. Restrained emotion, expressed in verse which moves slowly and not without effort, is, it seems to me, the leading characteristic of Vaughan's poetry; emotion in full flood, expressed in lively and energetic diction, is that of Traherne's. With Traherne all nature is bathed in warmth and light: with Vaughan we feel sensible of a certain coolness of temperament, and are conscious that he rejoices rather in the twilight than in the radiance of noonday.
With the conviction that the poems could not be Vaughan's, while yet it seemed unlikely that they could be the work of an altogether unknown or unpractised writer, I began to search for indications by which theirauthor might possibly be discovered. Here again I found Mr. Brooke's assistance most valuable. To an edition of Giles Fletcher's "Christ's Victory and Triumph," which he had edited, he had appended a number of previously uncollected seventeenth-century poems. Among these was one entitled "The Ways of Wisdom." To this poem he now drew my attention, as he had previously drawn Dr. Grosart's. It was at once evident to me that its style was very similar to that of the manuscript poems. In fact, that poem, as any reader will see who cares to study it in comparison with the other poems in this volume, presents such strong resemblances and parallels with them that it is hardly too much to say that the question as to their common authorship might have been rested entirely upon it. However, it was of course desirable to find further evidence. Mr. Brooke told me that he had found the poem in a little book in the British Museum, entitled "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God, in several most Devout and Sublime Thanksgivings for the same."[G]The book, Mr. Brooke also told me, contained other pieces in verse. These I desired him to copy out. When he had done so it at once became evident to me that the author of the manuscript poems and of the "Devout and SublimeThanksgivings" must be, beyond all doubt, one and the same person. The fact was as clearly demonstrated to my mind as the truths of the multiplication table. That point being settled, the next thing was to discover, if possible, who was the author of the "Devout and Sublime Thanksgivings." That might have remained unknown to the end of time, but for one clue which the book luckily afforded. This was, as the reader has seen, the statement in the "Address to the Reader" that the author was private chaplain to Sir Orlando Bridgeman. This clue had only to be patiently followed up to lead to the discovery of the author's name. This Mr. Brooke at last found to be Thomas Traherne. It was from Wood'sAthenæ Oxoniensesthat the information was obtained, and from that we also learned that Traherne was the author of two books, "Roman Forgeries" and "Christian Ethicks." The next step was to examine these works to see if any evidence could be found which would connect them with the author of the manuscripts. That evidence was found in "Christian Ethicks." This was the poem which the reader will find on p. 157. The same poem, though in a shorter form and with a good many textual variations, appears in the manuscript "Centuries of Meditations" (see p. 134). Here then was proof positive that Traherne and no other was the author of the manuscripts in my possession. Though Idid not require this evidence myself, it was fortunate it was found, since its discovery put the matter beyond all doubt. Will the reader accuse me of undue vanity if I say that it was with a good deal of self-satisfaction, and no little rejoicing, that I welcomed this confirmation of the opinion which I had formed solely upon critical grounds? One might be tempted to think that the whole train of circumstances by which Traherne was discovered, first to be the author of the anonymous "Thanksgivings," and through that of the more important manuscripts, has the appearance of being something more than the work of chance, were it not that their long concealment, their narrow escape from entire destruction, and the fact that the verses printed in the present volume form only a part of Traherne's poetical works, seem to forbid us to entertain such an idea.[H]
The manuscripts from which the contents of this book have been derived are three in number. They consist of one folio and two octavo volumes. The folio volume contains all the poems from "The Salutation" to "Goodness" which are here printed. The same volume contains a large number of prose essays and memoranda alphabetically arranged so as to form a kind of commonplace book. The greater part of these are in a handwriting which differs from Traherne's. They appear to have been written by a friend of the poet's, since Traherne has in many cases added remarks of his own to those in the other writer's handwriting. I believe it was Dr. Grosart's intention to print the whole of this material; but although it certainly has a curious interest, it does not appear to me that it is worth while to publish it at present. Some parts of this commonplace book appear to have been used as material for "Christian Ethicks" and "Centuries of Meditations"; and the whole of it, as might be expected, is more like the notes of a student than the finished work of an essayist.
The second manuscript volume contains Traherne's"Centuries of Meditations," which I have already described and quoted largely from. The third volume contains Traherne's private religious meditations, devotions, and prayers. It is in this latter volume that the "Hymn on St. Bartholomew's Day," a facsimile of which is given as a frontispiece to the present volume, is found.
I must not conclude without thanking my friends, G. Thorn Drury and E. V. Lucas, to both of whom I am indebted for many valuable suggestions. I have also to thank the Rev. Canon Beeching for similar and not less appreciated assistance. Thanks are due also to the Rev. J. C. Foster, who drew my attention to the passage in Aubrey's "Miscellanies" relating to Traherne's visions, and to Miss Isabel Southall, who searched diligently, though without success, to find out the time and place of Traherne's birth. I have already acknowledged my obligations to Mr. W. T. Brooke, Mr. E. H. W. Dunkin, and Mr. Gordon Goodwin.
These little limbs,These eyes and hands which here I find,These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins,Where have ye been? behindWhat curtain were ye from me hid so long,Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?
These little limbs,These eyes and hands which here I find,These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins,Where have ye been? behindWhat curtain were ye from me hid so long,Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?
These little limbs,These eyes and hands which here I find,These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins,Where have ye been? behindWhat curtain were ye from me hid so long,Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?
These little limbs,
These eyes and hands which here I find,
These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins,
Where have ye been? behind
What curtain were ye from me hid so long,
Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?
When silent ISo many thousand, thousand yearsBeneath the dust did in a chaos lie,How could I smiles or tears,Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.
When silent ISo many thousand, thousand yearsBeneath the dust did in a chaos lie,How could I smiles or tears,Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.
When silent ISo many thousand, thousand yearsBeneath the dust did in a chaos lie,How could I smiles or tears,Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.
When silent I
So many thousand, thousand years
Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie,
How could I smiles or tears,
Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?
Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.
I that so longWas nothing from eternity,Did little think such joys as ear or tongueTo celebrate or see:Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet,Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.
I that so longWas nothing from eternity,Did little think such joys as ear or tongueTo celebrate or see:Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet,Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.
I that so longWas nothing from eternity,Did little think such joys as ear or tongueTo celebrate or see:Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet,Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.
I that so long
Was nothing from eternity,
Did little think such joys as ear or tongue
To celebrate or see:
Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet,
Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.
New burnisht joys!Which yellow gold and pearls excel!Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,In which a soul doth dwell;Their organised joints and azure veinsMore wealth include than all the world contains.
New burnisht joys!Which yellow gold and pearls excel!Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,In which a soul doth dwell;Their organised joints and azure veinsMore wealth include than all the world contains.
New burnisht joys!Which yellow gold and pearls excel!Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,In which a soul doth dwell;Their organised joints and azure veinsMore wealth include than all the world contains.
New burnisht joys!
Which yellow gold and pearls excel!
Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,
In which a soul doth dwell;
Their organised joints and azure veins
More wealth include than all the world contains.
From dust I rise,And out of nothing now awake,These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,A gift from God I take.The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,The sun and stars are mine; if those I prize.
From dust I rise,And out of nothing now awake,These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,A gift from God I take.The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,The sun and stars are mine; if those I prize.
From dust I rise,And out of nothing now awake,These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,A gift from God I take.The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,The sun and stars are mine; if those I prize.
From dust I rise,
And out of nothing now awake,
These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,
A gift from God I take.
The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,
The sun and stars are mine; if those I prize.
Long time beforeI in my mother's womb was born,A God preparing did this glorious store,The world for me adorn.Into this Eden so divine and fair,So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.
Long time beforeI in my mother's womb was born,A God preparing did this glorious store,The world for me adorn.Into this Eden so divine and fair,So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.
Long time beforeI in my mother's womb was born,A God preparing did this glorious store,The world for me adorn.Into this Eden so divine and fair,So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.
Long time before
I in my mother's womb was born,
A God preparing did this glorious store,
The world for me adorn.
Into this Eden so divine and fair,
So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.
A stranger hereStrange things doth meet, strange glories see;Strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world appear,Strange all and new to me;But that they mine should be, who nothing was,That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.
A stranger hereStrange things doth meet, strange glories see;Strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world appear,Strange all and new to me;But that they mine should be, who nothing was,That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.
A stranger hereStrange things doth meet, strange glories see;Strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world appear,Strange all and new to me;But that they mine should be, who nothing was,That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.
A stranger here
Strange things doth meet, strange glories see;
Strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world appear,
Strange all and new to me;
But that they mine should be, who nothing was,
That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.