And if I MAGNIFY SHAKESPEARE, it is not so much for what he
did do, as for what he did not do, or refrained from doing. For in this world
of lies, Truth is forced to fly like a sacred white doe in the woodlands, and
only by cunning glimpses will she reveal herself, as in Shakespeare and others
of the great Art of Telling the Truth,- even though it be covertly, and by
snatches. - Herman Melville
Word Origin &
History
magnify late 14c., "to speak or act for the glory or honor
(of someone or something)," from O.Fr. magnifier, from L. magnificare "esteem
greatly, extol," from magnificus "splendid" (see magnificence).
*************************************
A. Cowley. To Francis Bacon
|
(snip)
V.
From Words, which are but Pictures of the Thought,
(Though we our Thoughts from them perversly drew)
To Things, the Minds right Object, he it brought,
Like foolish Birds to painted Grapes we flew;
He sought and gather'd for our use the True;
And when on heaps the chosen Bunches lay,
He prest them wisely the Mechanic way,
Till all their juyce did in one Vessel joyn,
Ferment into a Nourishment Divine,
The thirsty Souls refreshing Wine.
Who to the Life an exact Piece would make,
Must not from others Work a Copy take;
No, not from Rubens or Vandike;
Much less content himself to make it like
Th' Idaeas and the Images which lie
In his own Fancy, or his Memory.
No, he before his sight must place
The Natural and Living Face;
The real Object must command
Each Judgment of his Eye, and Motion of his Hand.
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Alciato's Book of Emblems
Emblem 69
Self-love
Because your figure pleased you too much, Narcissus, [or - because your beauty (forma) was excessively pleasing to you] it was changed into a flower, a plant of known senselessness (stupor). Self-love is the WITHERING (marcor) and destruction of natural power (ingenium) which brings and has
brought ruin to many learned men, who having thrown away the method of the ancients seek new doctrines and pass on nothing but their own fantasies (phantasia).
Self-love
Because your figure pleased you too much, Narcissus, [or - because your beauty (forma) was excessively pleasing to you] it was changed into a flower, a plant of known senselessness (stupor). Self-love is the WITHERING (marcor) and destruction of natural power (ingenium) which brings and has
brought ruin to many learned men, who having thrown away the method of the ancients seek new doctrines and pass on nothing but their own fantasies (phantasia).
****************************************
Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount-from Cynthia's Revels
By Ben Jonson
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentle springs!
List to the heavy part the music bears,
Woe weeps out her division, when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers;
Our beauties are not ours.
O, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is now a WITHERED daffodil.
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Bacon, Wisdom of the Ancients
NARCISSUS, or,
Self-Love. – 1696 and 1680
THey say, that Narcissus
was exceeding fair and beautiful· but wonderful proud and disdainful; wherefore
despising all others in respect of himself, he leads a solitary Life in the
Woods and Chases, with a few Followers, to whom he alone was all in all;
amongst the rest, there follows him the Nymph Eccho. During his Course of Life, it fatally so chanced, that he
came to a clear Fountain, upon the Bank whereof he lay down to repose himself
in the heat of the Day. And having espied the shadow of his own face in the
Water, was so besotted, and ravished with the contemplation and admiration
thereof, that he by no means possible could be drawn from beholding his Image
in this Glass; insomuch, that by continual gazing thereupon, he pined
away to nothing, and was at last turned into a Flower of his own Name, which
appears in the beginning of the Spring, and is sacred to the infernal Powers, Pluto, Proserpina, and the Furies.
This Fable seems to shew the Dispositions, and For|tunes of
those, who in respect either of their Beauty, or other Gift wherewith they are
adorned, and graced by Nature, without the help of industry, are so far
besotted in themselves, as that they prove the cause of their own destruction.
For it is the property of Men infected with this Humour, not to come much
abroad, or to be conversant in Civil Affairs, specially seeing those that are
in publick Place, must of necessity encounter with many Contempts, and Scorns,
which may much deject, and trouble their Minds; and therefore they lead for the
most part a solitary, private, and obscure Life, attended on with a few
Followers, and those, such as will adore, and admire them, like an Eccho flatter them in all their
Sayings, and applaud them in all their Words. So that being by this Custom
seduced, and puft up, and as it were, stupified with the admiration of
themselves, they are possessed with so strange a Sloth and Idleness, that they
grow in a manner benumb'd, and defective of all vigour and alacrity. Elegantly
doth this Flower, appearing in the beginning of the Spring, represent the
likeness of these Men's Dispositions, who, in their youth do flourish, and wax
famous; but being come to ripeness of years, they deceive and frustrate the
good hope that is conceived of them. Neither is it impertinent that this Flower
is said to be consecrated to the infernal Deities, because Men of this
disposition become unprofitable to all humane things: For whatsoever produceth
no Fruit of it self, but passeth and
vanisheth as if it had never been, (like the way of a Ship in the Sea,) that
the Ancients were wont to dedicate to the Ghosts, and Powers below.
*****************************************
Billy in the Darbies - Melville
(snip)
But me they'll lash me in hammock, drop me deep.
Fathoms down, fathoms down, how I'll dream fast asleep.
I feel it stealing now. Sentry, are you there?
Just ease these darbies at the wrist,
And roll me over fair.
I feel it stealing now. Sentry, are you there?
Just ease these darbies at the wrist,
And roll me over fair.
I am sleepy, and the oozy weeds about me twist.
******************************************
“Why did the old
Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and
own brother Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the
meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the
tormenting mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned.
But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image
of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.” - Melville, Moby Dick
******************************************
Bacon
ESSAYS.
I. Of Truth.
WHAT is Truth?
said jesting Pilate, and would not
stay for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness, and count it
a Bon|dage to fix a Belief; affecting free-will in thinking, as well as in
acting. And though the Sects of Philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there
remain certain discoursing Wits, which are of the same Veins, though there be
not so much Blood in them, as was in those of the Ancients. But it is not only
the dif|ficulty and labour, which men take in finding out of Truth; nor again, that when it is
found, it imposeth up|on Mens thoughts, that doth bring Lyes in favour; but a natural, though corrupt Love, of the Lye it self. One of the later Schools
of the Grecians examineth the
matter, and is at a stand, to think what should be in it, that Men should love Lyes; where neither they make for
pleasure, as with Poets, nor for Advantage, as with the Merchant, but for the Lyes sake. But I cannot tell. This
same Truth is a Naked and Open
day-light, that doth not shew the Masks, and Mummeries, and Triumphs of the
World, half so stately and daintily as Candle-light. Truth may perhaps come to the price of a Pearl, that sheweth
best by day; but it will not rise to the price of
a Diamond or Carbuncle, that sheweth best in varied Lights.
A mixture of a Lye doth ever
add pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of Mens minds
vain Opinions, flattering Hopes, false Va|luations, Imaginations as one would,
and the like; but it would leave the minds of a number of Men, poor shrunken
things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves? One
of the Fathers in great severity called Poesie, Vinum Daemonum, because it filleth the Imagination, and yet it
is but with the sha|dow of a Lye.
But it is not the Lye that
passeth through the mind, but the Lye
that sinketh in, and settleth in it, that doth the hurt, such as we spake of
before. But howsoever these things are thus in Mens depraved judg|ments and
affections; yet Truth, which
only doth judge it self, teacheth, that the enquiry of Truth, which is the love-making, or wooing of it: the knowledge
of Truth, which is the presence
of it: and the belief of Truth,
which is the enjoying of it, is the soveraign good of Humane Nature. The first
Creature of God in the works of the Days, was Light of the Sense; the last was
the Light of Reason; and his Sabbath-Work ever since, is the illu|mination of
his Spirit. First, he breathed light upon the face of the Matter or Chaos; then
he breathed light in|to the face of Man; and still he breatheth and inspireth
light into the face of his Chosen. The Poet that beauti|fied the Sect, that was
otherwise inferiour to the rest, saith yet excellently well: It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore,
and to see Ships tost upon the Sea; a pleasure to stand in the Window of a
Castle, and to see a Battel, and the adventure thereof below: but no pleasure
is comparable to the standing upon the vantage-ground of Truth: (an Hill
not to be commanded, and where the Air is always clear and serene:) and to see the Errors, and Wandrings, and
Mists, and Tempests in the Vale below: So always that this prospect be
with Pity
************************************
Melville, Moby Dick
But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the
sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling
voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant
surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some
unaccountable way — he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my
going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence
that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and
solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill
must have run something like this:
"Grand
Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States.
"Whaling voyage by one Ishmael.
"BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."
Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage
managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when
others were set down for MAGNIFICENT parts in high tragedies, and short and
easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces — though I cannot
tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I
think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly
presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the
part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice
resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment.
Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the
great whale himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my
curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the
undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all the attending
marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my
wish. With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but
as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to
sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I
am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social with it — would they
let me — since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of
the place one lodges in.
By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was
welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild
conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost
soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one GRAND
hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
*************************************
William Shakespeare - Anagram- Is LIKE a Sperm Whale
Melville - Moby Dick
In thought, a fine human brow is like the East when troubled
with the morning. In the repose of the pasture, the curled brow of the bull has
a touch of the grand in it. Pushing heavy cannon up mountain defiles, the
elephant's brow is majestic. Human or animal, the mystical brow is as that
great golden seal affixed by the German Emperors to their decrees. It
signifies--"God: done this day by my hand." But in most creatures,
nay in man himself, very often the brow is but a mere strip of alpine land
lying along the snow line. Few are the foreheads which like Shakespeare's or
Melancthon's rise so high, and descend so low, that the eyes themselves seem
clear, eternal, tideless mountain lakes; and all above them in the forehead's
wrinkles, you seem to track the antlered thoughts descending there to drink, as
the Highland hunters track the snow prints of the deer. But in the great Sperm
Whale, this high and mighty god-like dignity inherent in the brow is so
immensely amplified, that gazing on it, in that full front view, you feel the
Deity and the dread powers more forcibly than in beholding any other object in
living nature. For you see no one point precisely; not one distinct feature is
revealed; no nose, eyes, ears, or mouth; no face; he has none, proper; nothing
but that one broad firmament of a forehead, pleated with riddles; dumbly
lowering with the doom of boats, and ships, and men. Nor, in profile, does this
wondrous brow diminish; though that way viewed its grandeur does not domineer
upon you so. In profile, you plainly perceive that horizontal, semi-crescentic
depression in the forehead's middle, which, in man, is Lavater's mark of
genius.
But how? Genius in the Sperm Whale? Has the Sperm Whale ever
written a book, spoken a speech? No, his great genius is declared in his doing
nothing particular to prove it. It is moreover declared in his pyramidical
silence. And this reminds me that had the great Sperm Whale been known to the
young Orient World, he would have been deified by their child-magian thoughts.
They deified the crocodile of the Nile, because the crocodile is tongueless;
and the Sperm Whale has no tongue, or at least it is so exceedingly small, as
to be incapable of protrusion. If hereafter any highly cultured, poetical
nation shall lure back to their birth-right, the merry May-day gods of old; and
livingly enthrone them again in the now egotistical sky; in the now unhaunted
hill; then be sure, exalted to Jove's high seat, the great Sperm Whale shall
lord it.
******************************************
Melville – Fragments of A Lost Gnostic Poem of the Twelfth
Century
Found a family, build a state,
The pledged event is still the same:
Matter in end will never abate
His ancient brutal claim. …
Indolence is heaven’s ally here,
And energy the child of hell:
The Good Man pouring from his pitcher clear
But brims the poisoned well.