There really is nothing much that I can say here that I didn't say in the earlier review of the American lit introductory book. Borges utilizes a very similar organizational pattern, with short essays on the Anglo-Saxon, medieval, Elizabethan and Jacobean era drama, 17th century writers, 18th century authors (with the very notable exclusions of Richardson, Fielding, and Goldsmith, among others), and shorter bits on the 19th and early 20th centuries. What Borges had to say about the authors he did cover jibed well with my own impressions of these authors (I have read virtually all the authors he covers in this book). The encyclopedia-style entries also appear here and for one of my favorites (the other being the entry on Dickens), here is one for Edward Gibbon:
Edward Gibbon (1737-1794).
De estirpe antigua, aunque no especialmente ilustre - uno de sus mayores fue en la Edad Media, marmorarius o arquitecto del rey - , Gibbon nació en las cercanías de Londres. Se educó en la biblioteca de su padre y en Oxford. Ésta y Cambridge se disputan la antigüedad de su fundación; Gibbon escribiría mucho después que lo único seguro es que ambas venerables instituciones exhiben todos los achaques y síntomas de la más avanzada decrepitud. A los dieciséis años, la lectura de Bossuet lo convirtió al catolicismo. Su alarmada familia lo envió a Lausanne, centro de la ortodoxia protestante. El no previso resultado de esta maniobra fue que Gibbon se hizo un escéptico. Como Milton, siempre se supo predestinado a la literatura. Planeó una historia de la Confederación Helvética, pero lo detuvieron las dificultades de estudiar un oscuro dialecto alemán. Pensó también en una biografía de Raleigh, tema del que lo alejó la consideración de que este libro sólo tendría un interés local. En 1764, fue a Roma; entre las ruinas del Capitolio concibió el plan de su obra más vasta, la Historia de la Declinación y Caída del Imperio Romano. Antes de escribir una línea, leyó en su lengua original a todos los historiadores antiguos y medievales y estudió monumentos y numismática. Once años dedicó a esa labor, que concluyó en Lausanne la noche del 27 de junio de 1787. Siete años después murió en Londres.
Dos cualidades que parecen excluirse, la ironía y la pompa, se unen a la obra de Gibbon, que es el monumento más importante de la literatura inglesa y uno de los más importantes del mundo. Gibbon eligió un título que le permitió la mayor amplitud. Su historia abarca trece siglos, desde Trajano hasta la caída de Constantinopla y el trágico destino de Rienzi. Dominaba el arte de narrar. Los más diversos personajes y acontecimientos pasan vívidamente por sus páginas: Carlomagno, Atila, Mahoma, Tamerlán, el saqueo de Roma, las Cruzadas, la difusión del Islam, las guerras orientales, las de las naciones germánicas. Abunda en observaciones mordaces. Los escoceses se jactaban de ser la única nación europea que había rechazado a los romanos; Gibbon observa que los amos del mundo se apartaron con desdén de una tierra áspera, nubulosa y glaciar. Habla de las "batallas nocturnas de la teología," que en el mismo párrafo apoda "ese laberinto eclesiástico." Nietzsche escribiría que el cristianismo fue, en sus orígenes, una religión de esclavos; Gibbon prefiere alabar las misteriosas decisiones de Dios, que encomendó la revelación de la Verdad, no a graves y doctos filósofos, sino a un pequeño grupo de analfabetos. No niega los milagros; censura la imperdonable negligencia de aquellos observadores paganos que, como Plinio, registraron todos los hechos prodigiosos del mundo y no dijeron una palabra de la resurrección de Lázaro ni del temblor de tierra y del eclipse en el día de la crucifixión de Jesús. Desde Tácito, muchos habían ponderado el piadoso fervor de los germanos, que no encerraban a sus dioses en templos y preferían adornarlos en la soledad de los bosques; Gibbon comenta que mal podían contruir templos quienes eran apenas capaces de levantar una choza.
Antes de escribir en inglés, Gibbon lo hizo en francés y en latín; esta disciplina, a la que unió el estudio de Pascal y de Voltaire, lo preparó para la ejeución de su gran obra. Ésta lo llevó a encarnizadas polémicas de carácter teológico, que lo divirtieron muchísimo y en las que siempre fue vencedor.
A la Declinación y Caída del Imperio Romano podemos agregar un tratado sobre los misterios de Eleusis y una admirable auto biografía, que se publicó después de su muerte. (pp. 44-47)
Of ancient lineage, although not especially illustrious – one of his ancestors was in the Middle Ages, marmorarius or royal architect – Gibbon was born in the outskirts of London. He was educated in his father’s library and in Oxford. This and Cambridge dispute the antiquity of their foundation; Gibbon would write much later that the one thing sure is that both venerable institutions showed all the ailments and symptoms of the most advanced decrepitude. At the age of 16, reading Bossuet converted him to Catholicism. His alarmed family sent him to Lausanne, the center of Protestant orthodoxy. The not foreseen result of this action was that Gibbon was made a skeptic. Like Milton, he always knew he was predestined for literature. He planned a history of the Helvetic Confederation, but the difficulties of studying an obscure German dialect stopped him. He thought also about a biography on Raleigh, but the fear that this book would only have a local interest kept him from doing it. In 1764, he went to Rome; among the ruins of the Capitol he conceived the plan for his most vast work, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Before writing a line, he read in the original language all of the ancient and medieval historians and he studied monuments and numismatics. He dedicated 11 years to that labor, which concluded in Lausanne the night of June 27, 1787. Seven years later he died in London.
Two qualities which seem mutually exclusive, irony and pomp, are united in Gibbon’s work, which is the most important monument of English literature and one of the world’s most important. Gibbon chose a title which would permit him the greatest room. His history spans thirteen centuries, from Trajan until the fall of Constantinople and the tragic destiny of Rienzi. He dominated the art of narrating. The most diverse characters and events passed vividly through its pages: Charlemagne, Attila, Mohammad, Tamerlane, the Sack of Rome, the Crusades, the spread of Islam, the Eastern wars, those of the German nations. It abounds in biting observations. The Scots boasted of being the only European nation that had rejected the Romans; Gibbon observed that the world’s rulers withdrew with disdain from a harsh, cloudy, and glacial land. He speaks of the “nighty theological battles,” which in the same paragraph he nicknames “that ecclesiastical labyrinth.” Nietzsche would write that Christianity was, in its origins, a religion of slaves; Gibbon preferred to praise the mysterious decisions of God, which entrusted the revelation of the Truth, not to serious and learned philosophers, but instead to a small group of illiterates. He didn’t deny the miracles; he criticized the unpardonable negligence of those pagan observers who, like Pliny, registered all the prodigious acts of the world and said not a word about the resurrection of Lazarus nor of the earthquake and eclipse on the day of Jesus’ crucifixion. Since Tacitus, many have pondered the pious fervor of the Germans, who didn’t enclose their gods in temples and who preferred to adorn them in the loneliness of the woods; Gibbon comments that those scarely capable of raising a hut could construct temples poorly.
Before writing in English, Gibbons would do it in French and Latin; this discipline, to which he joined the study of Pascal and Voltaire, prepared them for the execution of his great work. This led him to fierce polemics of a theological character, which he enjoyed greatly and in which he was always the winner.
To The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire we can add a treatise on the Elysian Mysteries and an admirable autobiography, published after his death.
As I did with the American volume, I enjoyed this one greatly, for virtually the same reasons I gave in that earlier commentary. Although it's nothing that native English readers (especially those who have had to endure a year or two of British literature taught by those who have more of a passion for the techniques than for the power of the stories) haven't heard before, when viewed as what a semi-outsider (I say semi, because Borges' grandmother was English and she taught him to read and speak English at the same time he was learning to do the same in Spanish, so he was exposed from childhood to the greats of English literature) would recommend to a non-English-speaking audience, this book certainly was worth publishing.
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