discover renowned princesses, nonpareils of beauty, in imminent danger, and release them.  They attack hordes of deadly pirates, and scatter their bodies along the shore; and yet, for all their warlike fire and force, they are as gentle as marmozets in a lady’s boudoir.  They are especially admirable in the putting forth of sentiments, in glozing over a subtle difficulty in love, in tying a knot of silk or fastening a lock of hair to their bonnet.  They will steal into a cabinet so softly that a lady who is seated there, in a reverie, will not perceive them; they are so adroit that they will seize a paper on which she has sketched a couplet, will complete it, pass away, and she not know whence the poetical miracle has come.  In valour, in courtesy, in magnificence they have no rival, just as the ladies whom they court are unique in beauty, in purity, in passion, and in self-denial.  Sometimes they correspond at immense length; in Pharamond the letters which pass between the Princess Hunnimonde and Prince Balamir would form a small volume by themselves, an easy introduction to the art of polite letter-writing.  Mlle. de Scudery actually perceived this, and published a collection of model correspondence which was culled bodily from the huge store-house of her own romances, from Le Grand Cyrus and Clelie.  These interchanges of letters were kept up by the severity of the heroines.  It was not thought proper that the lady should yield her hand until the gentleman had exhausted the resources of language, and had spent years of amorous labour on her conquest.  When Roger Boyle, in 1654, published his novel of Parthenissa, in four volumes, Dorothy Osborne objected to the ease with which the hero succeeded; she complains “the ladies are all so kind they make no sport.”

This particular 1662 translation of Pharamond appears to be very rare, if not unique.  At all events I find it in none of the bibliographies, nor has the British Museum Library a copy of it.  The preface is signed J.D., and the version is probably therefore from the pen of John Davies, who helped Loveday to finish his enormous translation of Cleopatra in 1665.  In 1677 there came out another version of Pharamond, by John Phillips, and this is common enough.  Some day, perhaps, these elephantine old romances may come into fashion again, and we may obtain a precise list of them.  At present no corner of our literary history is more thoroughly neglected.[1]

[Footnote 1:  Since this was written, a French critic of eminence, M. Jusserand, has made (in The English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare, 1890) a delightful contribution to this portion of our literary history.  The earlier part of the last chapter of that volume may be recommended to all readers curious about the vogue of the heroic novel.  But M. Jusserand does not happen to mention Pharamond, nor to cover the exact ground of my little study.]