Gray's "Elegy " is in the front rank, for it has occupied that position for a century and a-half, nor does it seem at all likely to lose it. We reach, then, the final question with which this essay must conclude: what are the elements which have given the " Elegy its unique position as perhaps the most universally known poem in the English language? Space forbids the consideration of the rest of Gray's poetry, though we cannot resist quoting Tennyson's opinion that the lines towards the end of " The Progress of Poesy" are" among the most liquid lines in any language":— Though he inherit Nor the pride nor ample pinion, Through the azure deep of air.* There are, no doubt, many mysteriously intertwining reasons which account for the universality of the "Elegy's " appeal, but we suggest three reasons as being perhaps paramount. In the first place, throughout the poem, we are conscious that the faculty of sympathy attains the measure of genius. Gray does not simply feel pity for the obscure villagers struggling almost always with poverty, and sometimes with tyranny: he understands them, he loves them, and he knows that in the eyes of God the flower which is unseen, the gem which is hidden in unfathomed caves, and the neglected human heart once pregnant with celestial fire are just as important as the flowers and gems and genius which are the subject of fame. Gray, says, Hazlitt, " deserves that we should think of him; for he thought of others, and turned a : entitled to the character of sublime" ("Letters," p. 19, World's Classics selection). Byron: "Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher; it is the corner-stone of his glory without it, his Odes would be insufficient for his fame " (Byron's "Works," edited by R. E. Prothero, Vol. V, p. 554). Tennyson: "Gray in his limited sphere is great, and has a wonderful ear ("Tennyson: A Memoir," by Hallam, Lord Tennyson, Vol. II, p. 288). Even Coleridge, though induced by Wordsworth to re-examine the Elegy "with impartial strictness could not read it "without delight, and a portion of enthusiasm (“Biographia Literaria," Vol. I, p. 27; footnote, edited by J. Shawcross, 1907). *"Tennyson: A Memoir," by Hallam, Lord Tennyson. Vol. II, p. 288. trembling, ever-watchful ear to 'the still, sad music of humanity." In a wonderful portrait of himself which Gray sent to West in a letter written from Florence on April 21, 1741, he describes the changes, good and bad, which had come over him in the two years of his absence abroad. On the good side, he said, West might add a sensibility for what others feel, and indulgence for their faults and weaknesses, a love of truth, and detestation of everything else." He went on to say, with characteristic humility, that he owed these changes to no virtue of his own, "but to a severer school-mistress-Experience. One has little merit in learning her lessons, for one cannot well help it; but they are more useful than others, and imprint themselves in the very heart." 66 Secondly, the "Elegy " is a sort of mosaic of magnificent phrases and ideas suggested to a mind soaked in the best literature. Gray, as Mr. Saintsbury says, was "essentially a scholar." No one can become acquainted with his life and letters without realising that the range of his reading was immense, that his researches stretched over all the arts and strayed also into the field of natural science. Those who would know how studded the "Elegy " is with the jewels of several literatures—of Greece, of Rome, of Italy, of England-should glance at Mitford's notes in the Aldine edition of the British poets. But though the mosaic is there, it is not merely mosaic, for it is transmuted into the peculiar gold of Gray. And so it comes about that the schoolchild reciting the "Elegy," and remembering lines of it ever after, is momentarily if unconsciously-placed in communion with some of the great minds of the world, with Pindar, with Lucretius, with Dante, with Petrarch, and with Milton. Thirdly, in the "Elegy the classical and the romantic elements of literature marvellously converge. In the discipline of its expression, of its metre, of its emotion, the "Elegy " is classical; in its subject, in its attitude to nature, in its mystical melancholy, in its trembling hope, the "Elegy" is romantic. Gray stands midway between Dryden and Wordsworth. It is, indeed, not a little remarkable that the "Elegy " was produced precisely in the middle decade of the eighteenth century. Dryden died in 1700, Wordsworth emerges-with "Lyrical Ballads " in 1798. "Hazlitt's "Lectures on the English Poets," p. 157, edition of 1876, edited by W. C. Hazlitt. In the poetry of Gray, and most of all in the "Elegy," we at once perceive, in vista'd outline, the pillars of that imperial palace whence so great a part of the best literature of the world has come, and, at the same time, we see and hear the ever-old and ever-new sights and sounds of the realm of nature, and of romance. Ah! What means yon violet flower! JOHN BERESFORD *From the exquisite lyric which Gray wrote at Miss Speed's request to an air of Geminiani. ("Poems of Thomas Gray," p. 156, edited by Austin Lane Poole, Oxford University Press, 1917.) THE LETTERS OF MADAME 1. Briefe der Herzogin Elizabeth Charlotte von Orleans. In Auswahl herausgegeben von HANS F. HELMOLT. Leipzig. 1924. 2. The Correspondence of Elizabeth Charlotte of Bavaria, Princess Palatine, Duchess of Orleans, called "Madame," at the Court of King Louis XIV. 2 Vols. Translated and Edited by GERTRUDE SCOTT STEVENSON, M.A. Arrowsmith. 1924-5. SOME people write diaries and letters with their eyes focussed on posterity, others for the mere love of recording events and communicating with their friends. To those with a taste for writing, both aspects of journalism are amusing and seem to give the chronicler a happy sense of superiority over the people they observe. Elizabeth Charlotte, Princess Palatine (born 1652, married 1671, died 1722), second wife of the Duc d'Orléans and sister-inlaw of Louis XIV, noted down the goings on at the French Court for the entertainment of her friends, just as Saint Simon wrote his observations for the benefit of generations unborn. To her relations, this Princess was known by the telescoped name of Liselotte, and her German admirers, who were legion, affectionately called her by this pet appellation. She was loved by her compatriots as the typical German who never, in all the years she lived in France, lost her German tastes or her German heart. For fifty years she hated French cooking, for fifty years she hummed Lutheran hymns to herself, and for fifty Christmasses pined for the bright candled fir trees of the Fatherland. When transplanted from the home of her father, the Elector Palatine, at Heidelberg, Liselotte was a plain unpainted girl of nineteen, without airs or graces and of a strictly Protestant upbringing. Reasons of State caused her to be selected to replace the Stuart wife of the Duc d'Orléans, who had suddenly died. By way of introduction to her future life she was given three weeks' intensive instruction in Catholic doctrine, and then was received into the Church at Metz a few days before meeting her bridegroom at Châlons-sur-Marne. She cried on leaving home, and for days and nights went on crying till she became even plainer than she was by nature. The Duke's first audible exclamation on seeing her was: "Oh, comment pourrais-je coucher avec elle?" Liselotte, who was munching an olive at the time, affected not to notice this remark. She was used to hearing herself called "badger-nosed" by her brothers, and to being twitted by other members of the family circle on her ugliness, and it did not occur to her to expect more homage from a husband than from a blood relation. She showed no concern as to the impression she made on her husband or on any other stranger, being totally indifferent about appearances. For her, enjoyment was to be found out of doors in the company of animals and birds, in the picking of fruit and flowers and in walks in the forest-a conception of bliss with which her effeminate bridegroom had no sympathy. Though fate obliged her to live in palaces, she would have been completely happy living in obscurity on a great landed estate. At first sight the Duc d'Orléans seemed a strange little figure. His bride thought he must be walking on stilts, so high were his heels and so curiously did he mince along. Not only was he sparkling with rings, bracelets and pendants, but he was also scented and slightly rouged and wore an immense wig brought forward over his shoulders like a mane. A long nose was the most conspicuous feature of his face just as a protruding stomach was of his figure. He sucked sweets, taken from his pocket, as continuously as people smoke cigarettes to-day. Liselotte saw nothing youthful or charming in this foppish mannikin of thirtyone, but she is careful to record in writing of him that he appeared very clean. This was a point in his favour she felt, as she stoically steeled herself to do her duty in the station of life to which parental scheming had appointed her. Knowing nothing of Frenchmen she guessed it possible they were all like this, and that perhaps it was the usual thing in a French marriage contract for a bridegroom to stipulate that he should wear his wife's jewels. With a heavy heart and no worldly experience to guide her, Liselotte stumbled sadly on to the dazzling stage known as the Court of Louis XIV. Though English people have less sympathy with unmanly men than with plain women, it is only fair to the Duc d'Orléans to mention that his German Princess was pockmarked and had bad teeth. In one of her letters she makes mock of her own defects and says that, owing to her short legs and "cube " body, |