You will please to observe the strictest propriety of behaviour while you remain there, and to be guided in everything by the directions of Mr. Barfield.
Under his protection I doubt not that you will be able to achieve the journey without any great disaster or indecency. Do not hold any communication with your fellow travellers in the steam-train without his approval: where you bait,
(#ulink_04c9b736-ba36-5d80-88ab-d15d83557cb0) you had best abstain from all use of fermented liquours. Many things lawful in themselves are to be denied to one who dare not risk a further miscarriage. Above all, do not attempt to save your guinea by travelling under the seat, nor to shorten your journey by any approaches to familiarity with your female fellow passages. Do not bring with you any musical instrument.
Your obedient servant
C. S. Lewis
TO SISTER MADELEVA (W):
(#ulink_05359fda-05c6-55a4-8c24-cd81c3d4112d)
Magdalen College,
Oxford.
June 6th [1934]
Dear Madam,
This is just to let you know that I have your letter and will answer it in the course of the next few days. But I should warn you that what you apparently expect to lie behind the lecture is both more and other than is really there. In lecturing to students who know nothing about the middle ages I have had to be clear and brief, therefore dogmatic: and I have probably—tho’ I hope this was not my intention—appeared much more learned than I am.
Yours sincerely,
C. S. Lewis
TO SISTER MADELEVA (W):
Magdalen College,
Oxford,
June 7th 1934
Dear Madam,
In answer to your first question, there are probably such printed bibliographies as you mention but I have no knowledge of them. The history of my lecture is this. After having worked for some years on my own subject (which is the medieval allegory), I found that I had accumulated a certain amount of general information which, tho far from being very recondite, was more than the ordinary student in the school could gather for himself. I then conceived the idea of my ‘prolegomena’.
(#ulink_98bd1ab8-fd29-5fc5-b8ea-f498f23fa62b)
There were however several gaps in the general knowledge which I had accidentally got. To fill these up I adopted the simple method of going through Skeat’s notes on Chaucer and Langland,
(#ulink_70774f6a-596f-5a1a-9742-4472bba99efd) and other similar things, and followed these up to their sources when they touched on matters that seemed to me important. This led me sometimes to books I already knew, often to new ones. This process explains why I inevitably appear more learned than I am. E.g. my quotations from Vincent of Beauvais
(#ulink_018be8ef-b52e-5c11-b9a1-7bd361051d7f) don’t mean that I turned from a long reading of Beauvais to illustrate Chaucer, but that I turned from Chaucer to find explanations in Vincent. In fine, the process is inductive for the most part of my lecture: tho’ on allegory, courtly love, and (sometimes) in philosophy, it is deductive—i.e. I start from the authors I quote. I elaborate this point because, if you are thinking of doing the same kind of thing (i.e. telling people what they ought to know as the prius of a study of medieval vernacular poets) I think you would be wise to work in the same way—starting from the texts you want to explain. You will soon find of course that you are working the other way at the same time, that you can correct current explanations, or see things to explain where the ordinary editors see nothing. I suppose I need not remind you to cultivate the wisdom of the serpent: there will be misquotations, and misunderstood quotations in the best books, and you must always hunt up all quotations for yourself and find what they are really in situ.
But of course, I do not know what it is you propose to do. I have therefore mentioned all the more important ‘sources’ in my note-book without any attempt at selection. You will see at once that this is the bibliography of a man who was following a particular subject (the love-allegory), and this doubtless renders the list much less useful to you, who are hardly likely to be after the same quarry. In the second part, texts, I have been more selective, and have omitted a certain amount of low or lowish Latin love poetry which is useful only for my own special purpose.
You will observe that I begin with classical authors. This is a point I would press on anyone dealing with the middle ages, that the first essential is to read the relevant classics over and over: the key to everything—allegory, courtly love etc—is there. After that the two things to know really well are the Divine Comedy and the Romance of the Rose.
(#ulink_ab82c67e-d4b4-5eb3-9e30-8f2355d27ff4) The student who has really digested these,* (#ulink_e965522e-66a3-5b2f-b1a4-64c001c58ea9) with good commentaries, and who also knows the Classics and the Bible (including the apocryphal New Testament) has the game in his hands, and can defeat over and over again those who have simply burrowed in obscure parts of the actual middle ages.
Of scholastic philosophy and theology you probably know much more than I do. If by any chance you don’t, stick to Gilson
(#ulink_4a176694-c244-5931-9b93-709ffc9e8452) as a guide and beware of the people (Maritain in your Church, and T. S. Eliot of mine) who are at present running what they call ‘neo-scholasticism’ as a fad.
Of Periodicals you will find Romania, Speculum and Medium Aevum useful.
Remember (this has been all important to me) that what you want to know about the Middle Ages will often not be in a book on the Middle Ages, but in the early chapters of some history of general philosophy or science. The accounts of your period in such books will, of course, usually be patronizing and ill-informed, but it will mention dates and authors whom you can follow up and thus put you in the way of writing a true account for yourself.
If there is any way in which I can assist you, or if you would care to call and discuss anything with me, do not hesitate to let me know.
Yours sincerely,
C. S. Lewis
TO SISTER MADELEVA (W):
Magdalen College,
Oxford.
June 11th [1934]
Dear Madam,
Thanks for your letter. You make too much of a very trifling service. If I am ever in those parts (which is unlikely) I will certainly brave the ‘terrors of convents’ and accept your kind hospitality.
Yours sincerely
C. S. Lewis
TO ARTHUR GREEVES (W):
[The Kilns]
Oct 1st. 1934
My dear Arthur,
I am sending you back Pope Hadrian.
(#ulink_3f5cadd6-eb2a-572b-8fc1-7b51951cfe78) Warnie and I have both read it with a good deal of amusement and enjoyment. The latter is due, I suppose, entirely to the subject—for everyone likes to imagine what a man could do if he were a dictator, or Pope, or Caliph-; the amusement is mainly at the author’s expence. The style is one of the most preposterous I have ever read, and I doubt if I ever saw so much pedantry combined with so much ignorance. Almost every one of his numerous and unnecessary Greek quotations contains some mistake: and in English he seems to think that euphuism means euphemism and that verisimilar means very similar. He is a queer fish—a man with a grievance, obviously: a sincere Catholic who hates almost everything and everybody with which Catholicism is associated: specially France and Ireland. He must have been a most disagreeable man.
We had a most interesting journey back. We drove from Heysham across the back of England to Lincoln. A great deal of this route was spoiled by big industrial towns, but the first stages were lovely: very big, pale hills with many cliffs of that silvery-white rock-it is limestone. It is very different when you get down into Lincolnshire, which is as flat as a pancake. Lincoln itself is quite the best cathedral city I have ever seen. The centre of the town, where the cathedral stands, is on the only hill for miles, and the cathedral consequently dominates the whole countryside. The surroundings of the cathedral are magnificent—a beautiful close, a castle, and a Roman wall. What would specially have appealed to you was that after dinner as we strolled round it, we had the accompaniment of a little summer lightning and very distant gentle thunder. Do you know the kind of thunder which has almost a tinkle in it, like a musical sound?
I don’t know that much has happened since we got back. My reading has been of a most miscellaneous order—Rider Haggard, Thomas Aquinas, Trollope, the Old Testament. Do you remember the passage in the latter where Moses sends spies into Canaan and they come back and say ‘We have seen the giants, the sons of Anak; and we were in our own eyes as grasshoppers.’
